In which, you buy a diary to tell all your secrets to. Entries that contain stories about abusive exes, best friends that have been there since the beginning. Annoying little brothers and his friends. An overly confident ex-crush. Moving to Hawkins was supposed to be a fresh start but you weren’t no new kid.
Warning ⚠️: 18+ , contains abusive behavior (mental,physical, emotional), depression and talks of suicide, talks of panic attacks and anxiety from the reader, dark humor, sexual jokes and innuendos, some sexy time 😏, drugs and alcohol use, cheating, so much cursing(pls tell me if I missed anything :))
Entry 1
Entry 2
Entry 3
Entry 4
Entry 5 ~ Nov.21
tag me if you would like to be in the tag list for this series, I do plan on writing more stories but for right now, this is all I have
Unfortunately Monday I’ll have to see Edward. Gareth needs a ride to band practice while his cars in the shop and his mom can’t do it. I’m gonna drop him off and speed the hell out of there. I don’t want Edward to take the chance to talk to me while I’m there. I got my first job, so that is super exciting. I don’t have to ask my mom for money anymore. Oh I forgot I started at Hawkins high a week ago. Me and Stevie have 3 classes together and lunch. It’s nice because I’m not lonely all day. I don’t have any classes with Gareth unfortunately. We share lunch together but he sits with that thing or he likes to call himself “The Almighty Dungeon Master”. He likes to make a fool of himself in front of everyone. Yesterday at lunch he yelled my name while standing up on a table. I tried ignoring him but he kept going on and on. When I looked at him he sent a kissy face at me and winked. The entire cafe went bananas and Stevie had the nerve to laugh about it. It seems like all he does is try to make my life a living hell and it’s working. Whenever it happens Gareth always sends me an empathetic smile. God I hate him. I really do sometimes I just want to punch him in his stupid fucking face.
You walked into Hawkins High dreading your day. It was Monday which meant a full week of Eddie giving you hell. Making your way towards you locker, you seen Stevie standing waiting for you. You started walking faster towards you locker until you felt a smack on your ass. You turned around to see no one other than devil incarnate himself. Eddie. He smiled and wink at you after doing it. You could feel your blood boiling at that point. Typically you would let it go but today, no you were done.
“WHO the fuck do you think you are?!” You shouted at Eddie pushing him against a locker. His eyes widened in surprise at your actions.
“I’m Eddie, you’ve known me for a while , you should know my name by now.” He said with a smile on his face. His response fueled your anger even more.
“Hey (Y/N) why don’t we just-“ Steve began saying until you turned around and glared at him. He put his arms up in surrender and stepped back. You looked at Eddie and the fucker had a big fucking smirk on his face. He had the nerve to begin chuckling. He came down closer to your ear. His hand wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to him. It sent shivers down your spine.
“Princess, if you wanted me this bad you didn’t have to push me into a locker, you could have just asked.” He said in a whisper. You could feel his breath hitting your neck. His words sent you into a blush. You tried hiding it by glaring at him and pushing him into the locker again. You began to walk away from him and head to class.
“You have a girlfriend for that,Munson.” You said and sent him a wink. You could see his face was flushed. Steve quickly caught up to you and walks with you to your first class. When you arrived, Steve stared at you wide eyed sitting next to you.
“(Y/N) what the fuck was that? Why would you provoke him like that? Are you two, you know?” Steve asked in a whisper. You looked at him flabbergasted.
“Me and Munson ? Hell no, never gonna happen.” You said and started getting ready for when the teacher came in. Steve nodded and started doing the same. Soon enough Mr. Cowtly came walking in and behind him the name of your existence walked in.
“Munson, you’re late,” Mr.Cowtly said. Eddie scoffed.
“But I walked in right behind you?” Eddie said pointing behind him towards the door.
“Exactly and the bell rang as I was walking in, which means your late.” Mr.Cowtly said. You began quietly laughing at his words. Eddie scoffed and went to his seat.
“(Y/N), since you think this is all so funny, maybe Eddie can make you laugh in detention.” Mr.Cowtly threw a smile at you and started to prepare his things for the lesson. You groaned at his words.
“Stevie, it was nice knowing you. I’m gonna go ahead and off myself.” You said so only Steve can hear. He looked at you with an empathetic smile and patted your shoulder. You could feel someone eyes boring into the back of your head. When you turned around a paper ball hit you in the face. Eddie covered his mouth in shock and eyes widened.
“Sorry” he mouthed towards you. You picked up the note and opened it.
hey, sorry about getting you in trouble.
buy you a burger to make up for it? :)
yes. Or yes
p.s. if you say no I will scream <3
You looked back at Eddie and he shot you a smile. You couldn’t help but feel a smile ghosting onto your face. Stevie peeked over at you and read the note.
“Are you gonna go?” He said in a whisper. You showed him the answers to the page.
“I don’t think I got much choice,” you said with a small chuckle under your breath. You picked up your pencil and found a blank space.
Okay Edward you can buy me a burger. But I also expect a milkshake cause you got me detention. It’s a date ;)
You crumpled the note back up. Waiting for the perfect moment to throw it back.
As you threw it, Eddie caught it. You watched him open the note. He quietly laughed to himself. He looked at you and gave you a thumbs up.
“It’s a date,” He mouthed to you.
“I was joking it’s not actually a date.” You whispered. He shrugged at you and smiled.You smiled and faced back to the whiteboard. Steve’s eyes flashed what almost looked like jealousy towards you. He cleared his throat looking away from you and faced towards the board.
You felt another paper ball hit the back of your head. You picked it up and opened the ball.
Looks like lover boy Steve is jealous over there
You looked back at Eddie with a confused look on your face. He smiled and nodded his head to look behind you. You looked at Steve to see him boring his eyes into you. You shook off his glare and faced towards the board.
‘Stevie doesn’t like me does he?’ You asked yourself. You gave him a quick glance and he smiled at you.
✦ title: the nanny diaries
✦ pairing: ot7 x f!single mom reader (a drabble for each member)
✦ genre: fluff, humor
✦ rating: ?
✦ warnings: will be added for each drabble
✦ summary: what happens when they become nannies? well...anything can happen.
✦ a/n: i blame @bngtnbrat for egging me on. when will these be posted? i'm not sure yet. maybe i post the first one when i hit another follower milestone.
namjoon | au: neighbors
➥ the reluctant nanny
jin | au: friends
➥ the accidental nanny
yoongi | au: housemates
➥ the i-had-no-choice nanny
hoseok ~ ?
jimin | au: co-workers
taehyung ~ ?
jungkook | au: strangers to friends
➥ the unexpected nanny
➥ the blind date
➥ the weekend trip
you meet eddie and his daughter roan. ficlets about falling in love and becoming a family (these are vaguely non-sequential/chronological, can be read in any order but the first three might be a good place to start)
all in once place
eddie meets you for the first time, roan has a meltdown
eddie tries to get roan to stop clinging to you
eddie loses roan at the store, you find her
eddie asks you to pick roan up from daycare
eddie and roan awe at how pretty you look for a date
eddie takes you and roan for coffee, you look like her mom
eddie calls you sweetheart so much that roan copies him
roan loves you so much she hides your shoes
roan won’t let you and eddie cuddle
roan defends your honour when eddie play fights with you
eddie asks you over late at the night, roan finds you
eddie and you cut a date short to go take care of roan
roan colours eddie’s tattoos
eddie asks you to be his girlfriend
eddie and you comfort roan after a nightmare
eddie and you make breakfast, roan joins for cuddles
eddie and you get roan ready for bed
eddie gets more than he bargains for when he calls ‘babe’
eddie finds you and roan awake in the middle of the night
summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue the movies, nachos, cherry cough syrup, and a couple of moments of clarity. [10k]
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!! tw sick fic
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Eddie has the most peculiar curl tucked up by his neck. Where most are frizzy and loose, this one falls in a perfect shiny ringlet below his ear. He shifts and it's out of view, a curtain of dark hair falling forward and hiding his face as he puts your car in park.
"Remind me why you had to drive?" you ask, ducking down to look at the glaring white lights of the movie theatre across the street.
"You were gonna fall asleep behind the wheel."
For once, Eddie might not be exaggerating. He grins at your lack of rebuttal and throws an arm behind your shoulders, twisting in the driver's seat to set his sights on Junie.
"Are you ready?" he asks her.
She wiggles. It's an ecstatic movement. Her clothes are prim and sweet if you do say so yourself, a long sleeved shirt under a pair of the world's cutest dungarees. They crinkle as she moves, pressed to perfection.
You and Eddie open opposite doors in tandem and step out into the brisk, early night. The sidewalk shines with rain, a black slickness stretching in every direction. You shiver and pull your thin jacket tighter to your torso as you turn back to the car, intending to retrieve Junie and rush into the theatre before you can freeze on the spot.
Eddie's already swung open the door and rescued your daughter from the confines of her car seat, neatening up the hem of one of her socks with her face pushed over his shoulder.
She giggles about something and Eddie says, "Sorry, June. 'M tickling you, am I?" so fondly you have to avert your eyes.
He locks the car and hands over your keys with a smile. You smile back, heart flipping like a spinning coin. Head over tails, over and over.
The big, ring-heavy hand he holds to Junie's back reaches for you suddenly enough that you flinch.
"I'm sorry," he apologises, suppressing a laugh, "your necklace is twisted."
He moves in a second time and you raise your chin, chest aflame as his fingers glance off of your bare skin. He slips the chain over his index and pulls, encouraging the links around until the clasp is hidden again.
"Thank you." You huff an awkward, sheepish laugh.
"You owe me," he says, mock-severe.
Your laugh is much more genuine as you follow him across the road.
You're squinting as you approach The Hawk movie theatre. The title cards are hard to look at, aggressively white with black capital letters that read, 'The Great Mouse Detective 7'.
There's a small line of families waiting by the front. You realise it like a shock, that the three of you must look like a family too.
Eddie carries Junie with the surety of a dad that's carried his child a hundred times before; he strokes the back of her head with the affection of one, soothing the mess of flyaways she'd acquired by squirming in her car seat. Junie responds with familiarity, hands tucked into his hair and tugging. She's trying to be nice but his hair won't allow it, all his long curls tangled at the ends from a day at work.
Still, he says, "Thanks, baby. Make sure you get the back, okay?"
"Okay," she echoes.
You look down at your wringing hands. There's ink smudged up the side of your writing hand. You scratch at it half-heartedly, blinking against your fatigue.
You're exhausted tonight and it's only Wednesday. You can't imagine how you'll fare tomorrow considering how little sleep you're expecting tonight — there are a thousand things to do when you get home. Laundry to wash and press, cleaning to do, dinner to make.
You'd been writing cheques for due bills when Eddie had come knocking, well-dressed, stupid-handsome, and announced that tonight you would be accompanying him to the movies. He'd actually said 'accompanying'.
Despite a full agenda, you'd said yes. You're not very good at saying no. At least, not to him.
It takes you a moment to realise you're at the front of the line. You pay for the tickets before Eddie can try it, and with his hands full he can't really stop you. He whines about it all the way to the concession stand.
"You can buy the snacks," you say. His face lights up, and you amend, "If you're reasonable."
"I'm always reasonable…ly over the top," he says, chided by your hard stare.
"Yes, you are."
He follows you down the two steps to the concession and cuts in front of you. "How did you do that? What face was that? I felt my soul leave my body."
"That's my disapproving mom look. I'm disapproving."
"Ah." He pats Junie's side sympathetically.
She pulls her head from over his shoulder and smiles at you. Her arms vy for your hold. You steal her from Eddie and kiss her all over her tiny face, uplifted by how much she loves you, how happy she is to be in your arms.
"What snacks do you want? Do you eat popcorn with butter? Without?" Eddie asks, his newly emptied arms already posed thoughtfully, a hand under his chin as he thinks over his options.
The theatre has a huge array of jellies, an even bigger array of candy bars. There are more brands of soda than there are glasses in your kitchen cabinet.
You're daunted.
"Whatever you want," you say.
Eddie groans and tips his head back. "Don't play with me like this. Butter or no butter? It's an easy question."
"I don't know. Without?"
"You are so weird," he says happily.
You pout and pull Junie closer.
Standing at the side while he gathers concessions, too many things, you watch in awe as Eddie stacks it all against his chest with the sure confidence of someone who's done it before.
He grins at you from between two huge cups. "Are we ready?"
If you could, you'd leave him here in the foyer with his jumbo deluxe popcorn. As it stands, you like him too much to leave him behind. You juggle Junie and your bag to push open the doors for him outside of screen two.
"Thanks, babe," he says outside of screen two. You bite your lip, surprised by his easy tone.
You climb up the stairs and into your seats. You're high enough for Junie to sit in her own chair between you and Eddie and see the screen comfortably but she adamantly refuses, stretching out in your lap like an alley cat hungry for affection.
Eddie moves into the ragtag velvet seat beside you, a million things in his lap and at your feet. He's pretty enough under the theatre lights to dull the panging ache at the back of your head. "If she won't sit here, I will. I got you a lemonade, is that cool?"
If it weren't you'd hardly tell him.
"She's being extremely well-behaved," Eddie notes, an inkling of pride in his tone.
You could sucker punch him. Why does he do this to you?
"I know," you say with a shy smile, "it's suspicious, isn't it?"
"I don't know. If I were in your lap I might be well-behaved too." He raises his eyebrows, an over-exaggerated show of flirtatiousness.
You reach over the arm to take a handful of popcorn. Eyes on Junie, you offer her your stolen goods and say, "I've got two thighs."
"Don't tempt me."
Junie all but snatches the popcorn and tilts her head back. A kernel falls from her hand and disappears between the seats. You make a mental note to pick it up afterward, ears full of her chomping.
You'd worried she might be a little loud for the movies but there's a bunch of kids and none seem keen on keeping quiet, a cacophony of childish complaints to hide your conversation.
"Are babies supposed to eat popcorn?"
You freeze up. "Oh- I don't know," you say, turning Junie toward you so you can watch her swallow.
"I thought I read that somewhere, but-"
"No, I think you're right. Um…" Junie looks at you with obvious confusion. "Was that yummy?" you ask. You hide your concern with a strained bubbly attentiveness.
"I guess she's old enough."
Eddie's being very casual – it is casual. He's just thinking out loud. You know he's not criticising you. He never has, though sometimes you think he should.
It must show on your face anyhow that you're having a 'I'm a bad mom' crisis. A mean stroke of insecurity.
"Sweetheart," Eddie says suddenly, brows pinched, "it's alright. It was just a thought. And she had no problem eating it, I'm sure she's gonna be aces. Better than aces."
Junie climbs out of your lap and into his. He sets the popcorn on the floor to take her, and when her hands reach for his drink he holds the straw to her mouth. All the while his eyes move between her and you.
"Okay," you say, because you're being silly.
Junie is fine. Eddie was only saying something that's very well true. Babies aren't supposed to have popcorn, but June's not a baby, really. She knows how to chew properly. It's unlikely she'll choke.
Eddie has to keep his focus on her to avoid getting soaked – she barely knows how to use a straw and keeps trying to turn the cup upside down.
"Not like that, trouble. Right way up. You got it."
You pick at the loose stitching at the end of your shirt and have to change the subject before the embarrassment of it all swallows you. Such a small thing.
"Can I try one of these?" you ask, grabbing the first bag of candy you can find. They're a bag of Super Sour Suckers.
He looks at you over Junie's head, startled and hiding it poorly. Then, a smile so bright it increases the embarrassment you're feeling tenfold.
"You have to! Robin said they're even worse than the normal ones, I don't wanna go through that alone," he says urgently.
Robin is one of his friends. You're not jealous that he has friends (though you are, because you want your own, but not jealous that he has friends that aren't you). He's mentioned her in passing before. When you'd asked as bravely as you dared if they were anything more than friends he'd laughed maniacally.
"We're definitely just friends," he'd said.
You fight to stay smiling and pull open the bag of candies. Ironically, the jellies inside are shaped like pacifiers. Covered in sugar packed densely and looking almost wet with what you suspect to be citric acid, you shake the packet wearily and search for a candy that won't ruin your tongue.
Eddie holds out his hand. You drop a green one into his palm. Your fingertips ride up the curve of his thumb.
He's unflinching as he eats it. After a few seconds his eyes screw up and he clutches June tight to his chest, raising an unhelpful hand to his jaw.
"Holy sugar," he says, wincing.
You bite into a pink pacifier unfortunately layered in sugar and wait nervously for the sourness to kick in. Sure enough, it comes quick and torturous. It's a knife cutting through fog.
It's hard to feel tired when there's something this sour in your mouth.
"You can't spit it out!" Eddie says.
You stop with your hand halfway to your mouth. "What?" you ask incredulously, trying not to dribble.
"You gotta eat it! Chew and swallow!"
You chew miserably. He laughs at your expression – a warm and hyper sound, practically giggling. Junie joins in as she always does. His joy can't be overstated.
The lights go down while you're still fighting for your life. Your eyes water and you have to smother the taste with a quick drink and a gasping breath.
"You're sick. I can't believe you let me eat that," you whisper.
"You saw me eat mine! You knew what you were getting into… Think June wants one?"
Your outrage has him laughing again. It's a magnetic sound. Every time he does it you want to touch him, his arm one pole and your hand another.
Junie gets comfortable on his right leg, head tipped expectantly against his chest and eyes drawn to the screen as the trailers begin. You don't bother with jealousy; in ten minutes she'll be climbing over the arm to sit with you again, or want to sit in her own seat. She may even try to walk around. Toddlers are indecisive and easily distracted.
Even if she weren't. Even if she sat there in his lap for the next hour and a half and didn't look your way, you're not sure you could harbour any envy against him. His hand spreads over the front of her torso with fingers splayed against her ribs, stroking thoughtlessly through the fabric of her thick clothes.
He tips his head toward your chair. "There's nachos."
"I saw."
"Wanna eat some before they get cold?"
"Subtle."
He snorts. "Yep. That's what they call me. Eddie Subtle Munson."
You reach over the dark floor for the tray of nachos and balance them carefully on the armrest between your two seats. Eddie digs in without fuss, you fret over which ones have jalapeños on them, and Junie gets mad that nobody's sharing with her. She puts her hands straight in a mound of orange cheese. Her face is a picture when she brings it to her mouth. She's discovered molten gold.
"Junie," Eddie says lightly, carding hair away from her ear so she can hear him properly. "Don't get cheese on your pretty clothes. It took your mom a week to get the rocky road out of your strawberry jammies, you know?"
He doesn't care that she's mauled the food. He's worried she might stain her dungarees. Your heart goes crazy, another sudden surge of clarity.
Junie climbs back into your own lap as the movie begins. You whisper to her about proper theatre etiquette in your mommy voice and she doesn't do too bad a job at listening. She finds the appearance of the Great Mouse Detective himself quite funny, and laughs at his grave features and expressions every now and then. It's a golden sound.
Try as you might, you can't keep your eyes open. Junie's having such a good time and Eddie whispers funny commentary beside you, but eventually your eyelids creep shut and Eddie squeezes your arm, skin braceleted by his thick, warm fingers.
-
"C'mere," Eddie prompts, hands vying for your daughter where she's perched in your lap.
"Why?" Junie asks.
He's surprised at her inquisition. "You don't want a hug?"
She nods voraciously. Eddie lifts her off of your lap before she can use you as a climbing frame and into his own.
"I think mommy's sleeping," he tells her.
Junie looks at you curiously. You've got a wet wipe in your limp hand, which he takes and discards, and your head's fallen to one side. You'll have an awesome crick in your neck when you wake up.
Junie gives him a hug. He loves her hugs. They're so small and sweet, she's genuinely an extremely loving little girl. Her smile when she hugs people is beautiful as yours is, though her affection is less hesitant.
Everything's going well until she catches a look at the huge, scary bad guy Professor Ratigan somewhere in the middle.
Eddie's crunching through a greedy mouthful of popcorn and almost chokes as she turns around and hides in his chest. He brings a hand up to her back protectively though he doesn't know what happened, eyes moving between her and the screen at lightning speed.
"Aw, June," he murmurs sympathetically. He really is a scary looking guy.
"Eddie," she says, dangerously close to tears.
"Sweetheart, it's okay! He's only on TV."
She says something that might be, "Don't want." It's not quite there but Eddie thinks she's doing a great job lately with her talking, patting her back in a silent well done as he attempts to reassure her. "Basil's gonna outsmart him, Junie. The Great Mouse Detective is gonna save the day, scout's honour."
"No," she whines softly.
He covers her unhappy face with his hand.
"It's okay," he murmurs, melted and bemused. "It's okay, junebug. I swear."
Despite his best efforts, she starts to cry. Eddie freezes up because she doesn't cry often, not with him. When she does you're always there to find a solution. He supposes the novelty of being a new person has long worn off, and that he's going to have to make more of an effort than just tickling her or petting her hair to make it better.
Her volume increases. He shushes her, clumsy and awkward but earnest, trying the best that he can to make it up. He offers candies and drinks, he rummages through your baby bag for Mr. Bear. She takes it all but none of it lasts.
Someone in the chair behind him coughs pointedly.
Eddie turns to wake you up. He gets one good look at your face and can't follow through.
You're sleeping deeply, at the movie theatre of all places. How tired are you, and why hadn't you said? He'd known to some extent — it's why he'd offered to drive — but with the movie blaring and all the kids and noise and now Junie's crying, he realises you must be exhausted to sleep through it. Why hadn't he noticed? He kicks himself.
He lifts her up with his head angled down, giving your shoulder a swift squeeze and then bumping down the steps with Junie until he's out into the lights of the hallway. The door swings closed.
It's oddly quiet and extremely bright. Junie stops crying to blink, and starts to cry again once she's adjusted.
Eddie does not know what to do. It's a kick to his ego that he quickly accepts, though he does murmur a rueful, "Babe, I thought you liked me."
Lost on deaf ears, his comment hangs in the air.
He pats her back some more, wracking his brain for how you take care of her when she gets like this. Mostly, you're patient. You hum and you wait. Eddie tries to emulate you and your kind heart, walking her up and down the hall as he taps the bottom of her spine.
"It's okay," he repeats. The more he says it the easier it feels. It is okay. He has to find a way to help June understand that, is all.
She grizzles. It's a long process. A couple of times he wonders if he's in over his head, if it's even his place, if he should wake you up and admit defeat.
But Eddie Munson is trying to prove something.
He works Mr. Bear out of Junie's iron grip and pinches his back taut so that his face and arms wiggle when he wants them to.
"Baby June," he begins, in as gruff a voice as he can manage. He tries to channel his uncle's sternness, and his fondness. "Won't you quit crying? You're getting tears on the neck of your t-shirt and all over your cheeks."
Junie quietens. She still cries, but the severity of the situation noticeably shifts.
Eddie keeps on. "I got just the thing," he says, pushing Mr. Bear forward and making smacking sounds as he kisses both of her cheeks. "Gotta kiss these tears right off a'you."
She laughs as Mr. Bear kisses her face dry and laughs some more when Eddie kisses the top of her head.
Eddie loves Junie.
He knows it for a fact.
She's very easy to love. She's beautiful as you are, she's loving, she's sweet. Her laugh is adorable and her smile is more. When she cries, Eddie finds he's never annoyed. Grated by the repetitive sound, maybe, but he can't find it in himself to be mad with her ever. He wants to help her work through it. To get you both through it. Eddie wants to be good at this.
He has Mr. Bear kiss Junie all over her face.
"See?" Mr. Bear asks. "Isn't that better? No more tears, little girl, or we'll never see the end of the movie!"
As Eddie says it, he wonders if taking her back into the theatre is a good idea.
"Hey, junebug?" he says, all drama set aside.
Junie lifts her flushed face.
He smiles gratefully. "Do you wanna go back inside? Go check on mommy?" Leaving you by yourself doesn't exactly sit right with him.
Ah, there's the face he was expecting. Puzzlement, surprise. Junie frowns at him and looks over his shoulder, her own, searching the empty hallway for you and finding only reflective floor lights and patterned carpet.
Eddie starts back into the screen room before she can cry over your being missing, chatting quietly but in a way that commands her attention. He's effective in the art of distraction if nothing else.
The mouse detective and his friends have defeated Professor Ratigan, though Eddie shields Junie's head from the screen in case he's thinking about making a comeback, finding his way back to you in the dark. He picks over other people's snacks and then the abundance of your own, finding you still sound asleep. The sight doesn't spell good tidings.
"Here she is," Eddie tells Junie, "here's mom. You wanna give her a kiss?"
He sits down in his seat and squishes a bag of gummy worms under his boot. Junie immediately bends over the armrest and grabs at your front. You'd worried to him once that she had separation anxiety, and Eddie didn't know anything about it to agree or not. This display makes him think she might. She's clinging to you, desperately wanting your attention.
Eddie winces as she grabs your face. She's obviously not trying to be cruel, hand stroking over your cheek as you'd stroke hers.
"Mom," she whispers, the action itself enough to get Eddie laughing. Her version of whispering is almost like a character in a pantomime.
He doesn't laugh for very long. You're not easy to wake up. Junie squishes your cheek and tries again. "Mommy," she says.
You groan in your sleep and your eyes scrunch together. "What?" you murmur finally, voice scratchy.
"You're missing the movie," Eddie says, patting your thigh.
Your arms come to life before you do. You wrap them around Junie's short torso and encourage her up your chest until you can nose at the top of her head. You rub slow lines, a steady back and forth. Eddie would bet money you don't have a clue in the world where you are.
"S'loud," you complain. Your voice is weak with sleep.
Junie looks at Eddie weirdly. He suspects it's her way of asking him to help out without asking.
He tenses his hand where it rests at your thigh. "Do you wanna go home?"
You don't answer. You go limp under his touch and Junie's weight, nose and lips set in a frown but otherwise near languid.
Eddie's small (and alarmingly ever-present) worry for you multiplies by a hundred.
He grabs up a bag of chips and entices your daughter back onto his thigh. She digs through half the bag as the movie draws to a finish, distracted if not happy, her face and fingers swiftly flaked in corn dust. The lights are thrown up and the noise is immense, a hundred pairs of shoes over tipped popcorn, babies and young kids unsettled, their parents eager to head home and watch their own movies no doubt.
Eddie can't say he'd really watched the film besides precursory glances, his focus on you and your fidgety offspring. He'd been excited to tell you about his Junie success, but now he just wants to get you home.
He says your name as clearly as he can, his hand finding its way to your thigh for the third time. He rubs down toward your knee and gives your leg a shake.
Junie climbs off of his own. Now the lights are on she can see the grand assortment of snacks laid out before her, and she seems eager to try them all.
You eventually, thankfully rouse, you drag a palm over your eyes and cross your legs, squishing his hand in the process. He steals it back.
"Babe, you gotta get up. The attendants are looking at us funny. I think they think I've run you ragged, and while the dad tag doesn't bother me, 'cruel husband' doesn't suit me."
"What?" you ask.
He shrugs. "Junie pissed her pants."
Your eyes open, lashes parting clumsily. You move like the air around you has turned to glue and moan in a quiet display of agony as your neck clicks. "She leaked through?"
"Nah, I'm messing with you. Movie's done. Getting some weird stares."
You're quiet, but you shrug on your jacket and Eddie packs what he can of the leftover candy into your bag. He swings it over his shoulder.
"You wanna come up?" he asks Junie.
She raises both arms.
You stand on shaky legs. Eddie stations Junie on one hip with one arm wrapped around her and holds out the other. You let him fold you up into his side.
"You okay?" he asks.
Your face drops into his shoulder. "I'm so tired."
"You're alright to walk out to the car?"
His worry is like a rubber band. You snap to attention, disengage from his hold. It's a foreign and really uncomfortable feeling to see you out of sorts.
Eddie walks behind you with a hand nearly but not touching your back. If you topple, he's not sure how he's gonna save you. Determined anyways, he guards you down the hollow stairs and through the hallway, one step behind you.
It's a cool, crisp night outside.
The smell of rain sticks around. You lift your chin. It's much colder now that night's fallen. The breeze kisses your damp skin. When did you start sweating?
He presses his hand to your shoulders and guides you across the road.
Junie starts her lovely babbling in his ear. "Mouse 'tective," she says at one point. You don't react, affirming his theory: you're more than tired. You're sick.
"Mouse detective," he agrees, arm around your shoulder to assuage his own worries as he gives Junie the best of his attention. "You liked that one, huh?" Besides the evil Professor. "Better than the Muppets in New York? Junebug, you little traitor. How easily your favour changes."
"Are you surprised? She took to you like," — you yawn wide enough that Eddie feels it under his arm, a full body thing — "a duck to water."
He beams, relieved to hear your voice. "Yeah, well, I'm special."
"That's true."
Eddie walks you around to the passenger side and opens your door.
"Flirting! Awesome. You're not too sick to forget how much of a catch I am. Watch your head."
"I gotta do Junie's straps," you say.
"I think I can do it by now."
He's only sort of bluffing. It takes him much longer than it would've taken you. He celebrates his win by pinching her cheek lightly and then whacking his head hard on the roof of your car.
"Fuck," he mutters as he jogs around the hood, scrubbing at the back of his head.
You're staring at him as he opens the door.
He puts the baby bag in your lap and shoves the key in the ignition, trying not to buckle under the weight of your gaze. He cracks quicker than he should, hand paused in its action.
"What?"
"You tryna give yourself a concussion?"
"Kiss it better?"
You kiss the tip of your finger and touch it to his head. It's an instant healing potion.
Getting you both home is easy enough, it's the trying to leave that's hard. You collapse heavily into the couch, Junie drapes herself over your lap and begs for her clothes to be taken off. Your second wind has worn away to nothing, leaving you plainly exhausted.
Eddie can't go home, not until he knows you're alright.
He slinks into your bedroom and tries not to look around too much. It feels like an invasion of privacy despite having made it in here a couple of times, always with his hip to the door as you search for something. He fails spectacularly and straight away, always hungry to know more about you. These days especially.
Your bed looks like you shook out the duvet but never tucked the corners. Your pillow's on the floor, your thin throw blanket is screwed up in a ball. There's a bunch of Junie's stuffies against the headboard. He grins at their straight backs.
He makes for your wardrobe, a cheap bit of cherry wood with one sagging door. As much as he wants to outfit Junie in her goodwill band t-shirt, he pulls a soft pair of cotton pyjamas out from a neatly folded stack, thumbing the blue fabric fondly. There's a noticeable disparity between her clothes and yours. One work skirt and one work shirt hang from two lonely hangers, accompanied only by your infamous 'best jeans'. He frowns at a small stain at the knee and scratches it fruitlessly. Not her best jeans, he thinks in horror, picturing your unhappy face. He can see it so clearly, the pinching of your brows.
Junie squeals happily from the living room. Eddie remembers himself and follows the sound, finding you both on the ground. You're kneeling, blowing raspberries into Junie's naked stomach where she lays on her changing mat, a discarded diaper and her dirty clothes to the side.
There's a big break between raspberries where your eyes drift shut sluggishly. Junie whines for another.
Eddie sits next to you. Stupidly close, his crossed leg kisses your thigh. He could wrap you up in a hug easily right here, and he wants to. Your tired face has his stomach aching with guilt.
"Sweetheart," he says to you firmly, "get back on the couch. You look like you're gonna fall asleep right here."
You don't argue, leaving Eddie the impossible duty of dressing your baby. Junie hates the shirt more than he can describe, loathes the fabric as it covers her face. He has to pick her up to get her into her pants, another fury. She forgives him easily once he's done, lingering by his side with Mr. Bear in hand. She pinches his back and imitates Eddie's low growl, laughing at herself as she does. She finds it very funny. Eddie can't help giggling with her.
"Eddie?" you ask.
He turns. You look miserable.
"What?" he asks softly, startled by your intense expression.
"Thank you."
"Oh, baby," he says, loud and brash as he twists where he is to grab both of your knees. He practically throws himself at you, at your feet, ducking his cheek to your leg. "You really are sick as a dog."
You look visibly embarrassed.
"Listen," he says, insistent, "If we start saying thank you to each other, we won't stop. We'll be a loop of thank yous."
"I think I have more to say than you do," you murmur.
He shakes his head, exasperated at your inability to see him for what he is even now. It's funny. Eddie thinks you've a better view of him than anybody else, that you see him more generously than anyone has ever seen him, and you still haven't noticed he's a boy in love.
You must feel his grin as he kisses your knee, his thumb stroking over the ridge of the cap.
"If I started to say thanks for all the things you've given me I wouldn't stop. I'd talk myself hoarse," Eddie argues.
You laugh at his dungeon master dramatics, but reaffirm, "I haven't given you anything."
"You don't know what you've given me," he says into your leg.
Eddie lifts his head, weary of his chin digging into your leg.
Now isn't the best time to declare devotion, or drop kisses into you when you can't offer any in return. Not that he's expecting you to. Not that he wouldn't receive them gratefully.
"I should go home."
You reach for him. Your hand moves slowly like you've a weight around your wrist, but your fingertips curve over his cheek; you move from the corner of his lip, under his eye, and then finish your circle at the skin beneath his ear.
"Can you hug me?" you ask.
"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't waste any time.
He gets up, slides a knee between your knees and rests his full weight on the couch between them as his arms curve around you and his hands feel for the dip of your lower back. He clutches without any hesitation.
"Can I? Did you mean it like that? My arms work fine."
You curl your arms around him and groan. "You're gonna crush me."
"Really?" He pulls you closer. "How 'bout now?"
"Ow," you whine.
He laughs and pushes his face toward your ear. "Liar," he whispers. "No way that hurts."
"Why's everybody always on top of me?"
"That's your issue?" He pulls back. "You want to sit in my lap?"
"No!"
"Aw, my poor girl. You totally wanna sit in my lap. Alright, get in it."
He sits down beside you and waits, one arm still behind your back. He gives you an encouraging tug.
"I'm not sitting in your lap."
"I didn't think you would, just- Just c'mere," he prompts, pulling your face into his chest.
Your arms slide around his waist. He can feel the scratchy skin on your left index finger, a scar of a recent kitchen accident, against his hip where his shirt has ridden.
"You're really handsy. Has anyone told you that before?" Eddie asks, trying to cover the entirety of your back with his arms alone.
You push your face as far as it'll go into his chest. Eddie keeps you there, and soon a little body has found its way onto the couch next to you both, demanding to be included. Eddie quickly drags her in.
Long minutes of quiet hugs.
"Wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur.
"Well, I'm not going anywhere. If you were worried."
He massages over the slope of your shoulder, a tight looking muscle. You sigh inaudibly, a hot patch over his heart.
"I wasn't," you say.
Eddie thinks you might finally be on the same page.
-
You get really, really sick.
"On my days off!" you croak, the injustice too much to handle.
Eddie laughs from the end of your bed, a bandana tied around his face like a doctor from one of his awful horror movies, though the bandana is far from a clinical white. "That's exactly why you're still sick. Your body sensed the weekend."
Hadn't it? You'd been achy and awful on Friday and Benny had sent you home at lunch, citing a need to keep his patrons from infection. Which sucked, because you'd really wanted to stick around for the very beginning of the Friday night rush and get some payday tips. People are generous when they're high on the buzz of a forthcoming weekend, especially to over obsequious waitresses.
It had sucked worse when Junie came out of daycare in the best mood ever and demanded kisses. You'd had a headache the size of a tennis ball behind your eyes and didn't want to pass anything over, and the crushed look on her face had made you cry in the car on the way home.
Eddie dropped in particularly early that night with soup. "I had a feeling," he'd said.
And now here he is again the day after.
"At least one of us is enjoying this," you say.
"You think I'm enjoying this?" Eddie asks.
You give his precautionary outfit a once over. "Yes."
"This is just something I had lying around."
"Shut up! Shut up, no it wasn't!" You're voice cracks, giggly and giddy even with the spikes of pain to your tender head.
"It was. We did a campaign, I was a plague doctor-"
"That is in terrible taste."
"It was perfectly appropriate, thank you very much. You're determined to vilify me. Need to slow down with the cold medicine, I think."
You shriek as he tries to take the bottle. "No! No, please, my throat hurts."
He takes the bottle. It is a hurtful defeat. You curl your fingers around nothing and sulk, slouching down into a sanctuary of pillows and blankets to hide from him. Extra pillows provided by Eddie. With fresh covers, duh. They smell like him anyway. You turn your nose into it indulgently.
"You've had too much to safely be responsible for any further consumption."
"Further consumption," you echo, eyes closing in defeat as he leaves.
"You okay, June?" you hear him ask, voice occluded partially by the sound of the TV.
"Okay, Eddie?" she asks.
You grin to yourself.
"I'm great. This looks very fun. I'm gonna make mom a cold pack for her head and then you can help me make dinner, okay? Does that sound fun? Tell me, June."
The 'Tell me, June,' isn't a command so much as a gentle reminder that she can answer the question if she wants to.
"Fun," she says.
"Hey, great. Oh, thank you. Thank you."
They better not be cuddling without me, you think bitterly, grin swiftly replaced by a self-pitying frown.
You cough into your hand, roil in your own misery for a second and then grab the big glass of water Eddie had insisted on from the night stand. You tip it down yourself in your hurry.
"Missed your mouth," Eddie says, appearing at exactly the wrong moment.
"Don't baby me."
He pads into the room with a cold pack wrapped in a hand towel. "For your head."
"This is silly. I don't need to be in bed."
"Obviously you do. You're sick, did you notice? Stupid question," he adds regretfully, gesturing for you to lie back. He sets the pack to your forehead. "You wouldn't notice a hole in your stomach. You'd be dripping entrails in the freezer aisle wondering if Junie wants corn on the cob or mashed potato with dinner tonight."
"What does she want for dinner tonight?"
"Boo! Exactly my point."
"I'm gonna go ask her-"
Eddie puts an unapologetic hand in the middle of your chest and pushes down. "You will do no such thing." He lowers his face to yours. "I'm willing to get physical. So behave."
You flush with heat because you're sick and not because he says it a certain way, dropping back down into your fluffed pillows without another word.
Eddie's hand climbs up to your collar, your neck. His fingers slide one after another behind it. It's a blessed cold. You can't find a comfortable temperature today, moving between chills and hot flashes at the drop of a hat.
Or a bandana. Eddie unties the dark fabric from his neck and leaves it where it lands, staring at you without saying anything.
His thumb presses into your sore throat carefully, the barest hint of pressure, and his lips part. He doesn't say anything for a while. It looks like he wants to.
"Do me a favour?" he asks finally.
"Of course." Anything to feel useful right now.
"Take it easy." He again lowers his head, talking to you with a private smile. "The sooner you chill out, the sooner you'll beat this thing."
"Don't say that. Like I have something serious."
"The sooner you'll beat this moderate-"
"Mild-"
"-affliction." He strokes quarter-circles into your neck.
"I don't need to lie down. There's things I have to do."
"On a Saturday?"
"Yes. There's things I need to do everyday." You clear your throat. It's useless, the lump remains and your voice stays scratchy. "I have- I always have laundry. So that first. Gotta wash it and put it out and bring it in and press it. I gotta make sure Junie has lunch for daycare this week 'n if she doesn't I have to go get it, I gotta," — you cover his hand with your own thoughtlessly — "make sure her rash is getting better. And I promised we'd do a tea party tomorrow, I have to make sandwiches!"
"We both know she doesn't remember the tea party."
"I promised."
"And if I… If I tried to get all those things done, would you stay in bed?"
"You can't."
"But if I tried it? I can do laundry. I'm good at it. Get oil stains out of Wayne's coveralls every Sunday."
You slump into a lump of sadness and achy arms. "Don't do my laundry. Don't do any of that stuff. I'll punch you if you do."
Eddie bursts into laughter. "You'll punch me? You horrible woman."
"I will," you promise, fingers curling around his arm to hold him in place.
"Why don't I believe you?"
"I don't know. 'Cos you're a know-it-all who dislikes me."
"I far from dislike you." He grins at you, all dimpled and pretty. "I don't believe you'd hit me because I know you, idiot."
"Name-calling."
"Uh-huh. Are you sleeping or am I helping you out onto the couch?"
While you're happy for the compromise, you have one problem. "I don't think I can move."
Eddie lets his face fall amicably to your collar. "No, I bet you can't. More reason for me to get you on the couch. I think you've genuinely had too much cough syrup," he worries, warm breath fanning over your skin.
You bring your spare hand to his head. He has so many curls.
He lifts his head and you're close enough to kiss. There's no other reason anyone has ever been this close.
"I can see your beauty mark," you say, hushed. You don't wanna breathe on him too much.
"Freckle."
"Your freckle." You lift and drop his curls, fingers toying through the softness towards his roots, the frizz at the ends.
"You- You smell like fucking cherry syrup."
You abandon his hair to clap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry."
He covers his own mouth. "It's okay," he says, similarly muffled. "I like the sweet stuff."
What the fuck does that mean? Your stomach doesn't flip — it leaps right up into your throat. "You're an idiot," you breathe, caught off guard.
"What was that?" he asks, taking away his hand. "Didn't catch it."
"I said, 'You're an-"
"Amazing friend and confidante?"
You try to talk and he says, "A real stand-up guy?"
You try again and he says, "A total rockstar? Baby, if you really think all this you should've said."
You flop completely onto your back, away from his hands, his jokes and his lovely brown eyes where they bore into your own. Eddie hums and rubs brashly over the top of your arm until the skin glows with heat.
"Please stay in bed," Eddie says as he stands.
Medicine or his touch, you're feeling pretty tired. You pull up your blankets and sink like a stone, head disappearing into a mess of pillows and throws.
-
It's much later when you wake. You move into the land of the living abrupt as whiplash.
Eddie seems very sorry. "Sweetheart, June's past due for a new diaper, and I-"
"Oh, right," you say, sounding much more alert than you feel. You're a girl made of sandpaper.
"I would've, I mean. If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable, I would've tried. But I've never changed a diaper in my life."
You scratch your flaky eyes, disorientated and head like a boiling saucepan with the lid glued on.
"That's okay," you say. Your voice refuses to cooperate with you, gruff and too quiet. "It wouldn't bother me, but it's also not your job, so… Um." You yawn wide and cover your entire face.
You spend a minute rubbing your eyes.
"Fuck, what time's it?" you ask, squinting at him and bringing your hands to either side of your face.
"Like, seven. Ish."
"Eddie…"
"I know. I thought you could use the rest. I knew you could. And it's not urgent, you know? Come around, first. Everything's stellar."
You peel back the sheets. You're a clammy, too-hot mess with weak legs.
Eddie sees you wobble and rushes to wrap an arm around your waist. Completely unnecessarily, heart-achingly kind. You wince at the dampness of your shirt under his touch.
Junie sits on the couch in her jammies with a yellow-green soup stain down the front. She's propped up like a princess, a pillow behind her head between the armrest and her blanket covering her legs, cheek pressed to the cushions. Eyes trained on the TV and her bottle propped in a slackening grip, your baby is peaceful, near luxurious.
Only a little wiggle might suggest she's uncomfortable.
You part from Eddie's side and sit down beside her, the seat warm. She doesn't even look up.
"What, no hi for mom?" you ask tenderly, hand falling to the top of her head. She's lovely.
She gasps, little lungs fit to burst. It's pure excitement, her bottle dislodged and the blanket pushed away immediately. She doesn't bother getting to her feet, throwing herself into your lap and assuming you'll do the rest. Of course you will. You pull her up and kiss the top of her head, though you quickly hold her at arm's length.
"Sorry, mommy's still sick," you tell her, sympathetic at her crushed expression.
"Mis'd," she says.
"Yeah? You missed me?" you ask hopefully.
Her lips part in comprehension. "Missed you," she confirms.
You throw your gaze over your shoulder to Eddie. He stands by Junie's changing station with a smug smile. "What?"
"You're not very convincing."
"I'm not trying to convince you, thanks," he says, holding up two hands in surrender.
"She didn't learn that herself," you argue.
"She might've. You tell her enough."
You go back to your girl, pleased at her own smug smile. "I missed you, too, I missed you so much. Missed you millions. Sorry I've been sleeping all day, you've been such a good girl. She has, hasn't she?"
Eddie sorts through a nearly empty bag of diapers and brandishes one with fish printed on the back. "Oh, yeah. Junebug's been amazing. She came in with me to see you earlier, took your temperature." You frown. "From a distance. Kind of. I held her above you. It was… acrobatic."
You close your eyes at his absurdity, your laugh prompting another spike of pain.
Junie forces herself closer and gets both arms around your neck.
You sag into the contact, defeated. "Aw, June," you mumble ruefully. "M'trying to make sure you don't get sick too. Wasting my time."
"Mommy," she says into your neck.
"That's me."
You know she has something she wants to say. You can't wait for the days where she can. Exciting, to think that one day she'll be able to share all of her thoughts.
Right now, she's probably thinking, Woah, mom, you smell weird. And you look weirder.
You feel her back with your hand and cringe. Definitely time to get her changed.
Afterward, you sit with your back to the open front door on one of the porch steps. Physical exertion of any kind seems to be inadvisable; you're sweating up a storm. Junie sits beside you at her own insistence, her hand clasped in your hand and her head on your arm. You look down at her thighs next to your own and marvel at their small size. The evening breeze is a blessing.
Eddie stands in front of you with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a checklist.
"Tea party sandwiches are badly made and saran wrapped in the fridge. Junie doesn't have lunch for Monday but I can go tomorrow if you want me to. Her clothes are folded in the hamper. Uh, some stuff got left out, you might need to press them. Not tonight though, please."
"Thank you."
He talks around a smile. "Soup's on the stove. I'll come back later, if-"
"You don't have to."
"I want to. I wouldn't actually leave, but-"
"Eddie-" You cough into your shoulder. He waits for you to finish. "You- You didn't have to take care of me."
"What does that mean? Of course I did."
He hikes his backpack higher up his shoulder and pads back up the steps, not all of them but enough for him to lean down and stare at Junie.
"Thanks for the best day ever," he says seriously, looking out of the corner of his eye at you. "Almost. See you later?"
Junie nods voraciously and reaches up with her empty hand. Eddie takes it and kisses her temple. He does the same to you, lips brushing soft as downy-feather over your skin.
"I'll come back around ten? Is that cool?"
"Don't knock too loudly," you mumble, very aware of his proximity.
He backs up and bows like an idiot, hand moving in circles.
You and Junie wave him off.
"To work?" Junie asks.
Your eyebrows jump as you pull your gaze from his retreating figure. "Huh?"
"To work?"
You play with her fingers. "No, he's not going to work. He's going to take care of someone else, now."
Wayne, Eddie said, in a fondly exasperated tone that explained everything you needed to know. His uncle's self-preservation must come in similar disinterest to himself as yours does to you.
"We'll see him tomorrow," you say. It's not even a lie, you will both see him tomorrow.
But apparently he's coming back tonight.
-
True to his word, Eddie Munson knocks your door carefully at nearing ten o'clock.
Wayne's dismissal chases his heels. He'd spent an hour worrying about you at the dinner table with his uncle, fingers curling anxiously in his hair.
Wayne had been talking about some gab the boys in the shop had heard about killer mice or killer lice or something when he'd suddenly cleared his throat and snapped Eddie to attention.
"You're a good kid. Notice how I said good, and not smart," Wayne had said.
"Gee, thanks. You always did know how to make a guy feel loved, Wayne."
"You don't wanna be here."
Eddie had frowned. "Obviously I do."
"Kid, what I mean is, you gotta," — he'd nodded his head hard to one side and raised his eyebrows — "you know."
"Haven't brushed up on my mysterious gestures lately. Translate that one for me?"
Wayne had flicked up his newspaper and sighed. "Don't be dumb."
"You keep saying that."
"You keep being dumb, boy."
"I don't know what you want me to do."
"Think you better go look after your girl, don't you?" Wayne had asked finally, clearing his throat.
So here he is to look after you. A tad early, worried you'll be sleeping on the couch with a misbehaving baby in your lap or passed out in the bathroom after an impromptu cleaning.
Thankfully, you open the door in different clothes than he'd left you in, the neckline dark with run-off and face damp under your eyes and by your ears. You dab at your tacky skin with your index knuckle.
"You look better," he says. He wishes he could take it back instantly, though you don't take any offence.
"Hot shower," you explain.
You step back to let him in. Eddie closes the door behind him without turning, eyes glued to your fresh face. He's depressed by the lingering fatigue he finds lining your darling features.
"You okay?" you ask him, perturbed by his silence.
Eddie's better than okay.
He steps close. You look like you might step back, make room for him he doesn't want, so he reaches out for your face and holds it in one hand, the other landing in tandem on your arm.
Your cheek lists into his hand as he wipes away what's left of the dampness on your face. He's not sure you know you're doing it.
"Did you take any more medicine?" he asks quietly, rubbing under your eye carefully with the tip of his thumb.
"No, I- I think you fixed me, Munson. Me and Junie had your soup, and after a shower I felt way better. It was really nice. She slept easy."
He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. "You don't feel too hot."
"Like I said. Fixed me. My hero."
He looks over your shoulder at your life — at his life, or at least where a majority of it seems to take place. All his favourite parts these days happen right there on your couch, or at that table, or knee to knee with a baby that isn't his but- but-
"You said that to me the first time we met," Eddie recalls, shaking his head. It's like there's water in his ears. A few strands of hair drift into his eyes.
You catch his elbows in both hands. "It feels like a really long time ago now."
Months. Only months. "I feel like I've known you for years."
He strokes over your face, chin to cheek, the tip of his thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth.
"That's how I feel, too," you whisper. Utter. Hushed, your words ring loud anyway. "You're my best friend."
Eddie doesn't take it for a door closing because it isn't. It's a door kicked wide open. Split on its hinges. You and Eddie stand on equal ground, and, for once, the same page.
"You know I don't mind taking care of you?" he asks, hand passing over your ear to hide behind it. He wants to see all of your face.
Predictably, you drop your eyes to his neck, pupils wobbling as you search for somewhere to plant yourself. "I know. I'm not sure I deserve it."
"Why wouldn't you deserve it? Everyone deserves taking care of."
"Even murderers?"
"Maybe not murderers-"
"The evil guys from your game? Necromancers?"
"They're not all evil." His left palm skirts up the curve of your neck, encouraging your face back to his. "Don't change the subject."
You press your lips together, caught.
"I actually…" — he gathers as much bravery as he has — "want to take care of you."
"You do."
He holds your face in both hands. "You know you- You know you started it, right? You know it's- that without your-" He cringes internally at his stammering, but he has to get this part right. "You have gold where your heart should be."
"Y/N The Golden Hearted. Doesn't have the best ring to it," you muse, hands clinging to the crooks of his elbows like twin pooled teardrops waiting to fall.
Eddie stares at you, floored.
"What about you?"
"What about me?" he asks.
"What's your name?" you demand, grinning.
"Eddie the Subtle. Munson the Mad."
You huff a laugh. "That's a cop-out."
"Maybe."
"How about…" The air feels thick as jelly. Light from under the bedroom door stops short of your legs, your toes almost touching. His rubber soles, your socks. "Eddie the Indomitable?"
He crinkles his nose. "I'd almost think you were trying to flirt with me, that's how bad that is."
Your blinks are slow. Your eyes soften.
"What if I was?" you ask.
A stock-still silence pervades, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the droning of the bathroom light, left on. He could tell you the contents of this room by its sounds alone.
His hand moves of its own accord, up and down the slope of your neck. "I'd say you needed a better pick up line."
"Like what?" you ask, chest rising too fast.
Eddie takes a step and feels his jacket zipper cut into the cotton of your shirt. It's your matching band t-shirt.
Eddie drags his gaze slowly to your widened eyes, your lashes as they move almost imperceptibly upward. Taking him in as he inches closer.
"You're so fucking pretty," he says.
He leans in. He closes the gap. Eddie Munson takes the leap.
Your hand comes quickly to his upper arm and you turn your face just enough to force his lips, his kiss landing a centimetre shy of your nose.
He struggles to keep his eyes closed. His heart thrums like a blown amp.
"You can't kiss me," you say. Eddie struggles to discern your tone.
His nose presses to yours. Not desperately, but almost. "I can't?" he asks, throat thick with emotion, a stickying, cloying taffy.
"I'll make you sick."
He turns your face with his palm, lips hovering above yours, a hair's width. Close enough to feel their heat.
"Can I trust you'll nurse me back to health, in the event that that happens?" Would you take care of me? His hands tremble where they're touching you. He's too scared to open his eyes.
You don't answer.
You cover his hands and the seconds stretch endlessly, a thousand moments of terror and pining and want suddenly flattened into one as you kiss him.
He exhales against you. His relief is a palpable, viscous thing as he pulls you in and his nose digs into yours. Lips soft as he'd imagined, as he'd known they'd be, you kiss back tentatively. Sweetly.
You're kissing him like he's something that needs a careful touch.
Eddie screws his eyes shut tight enough to see stars, firecrackers, a shattering bouquet of colours as you move beneath him. He can't believe he's kissing you. He can't believe there was a time where he wasn't.
He yields, leaning back just enough to see your face. You keep your eyes shut, your eyelashes kissing the delicate skin beneath. They move like blades of grass in the breeze as Eddie tries to catch his breath, regaining some of his composure. It's hard while he's here, this close.
You make a small sound, a breath like a barb. The shaky demarcation of tears.
"Okay?" he asks, more movement than sound. His lips skip over your own.
You have to feel it.
A laugh bubbles up through your parted lips like a hiccup. "I'm definitely gonna make you sick," you mumble regretfully.
"Make me sick, sweetheart," he says, begs. Whatever.
Whatever word you want to use. He doesn't care if he pays for it afterwards, he wants to be close to you now, unapologetically close. And kissing you — kissing you like this, your reciprocation, it's everything because it means you feel the same as he does.
Or a fraction the same. He's reassured either way. If you felt a fraction of what he felt, that's enough.
It's a lot. To be touching you, finally. He grabs at the nape of your neck and kisses, kisses, kisses. He goes slowly, not quite sweetly. He's never been as sweet as you have, never as soft or patient.
It doesn't feel like it matters.
You pull his hands from your face, press his and your own, all four hands to the collar of your shirt.
"It wasn't just a, uh, pick up line, was it?" you ask breathlessly.
"Wh- No." Eddie massages the back of your hands. "No, you're the fucking prettiest girl ever. I think you're aces. Killer. Everything."
"Everything," you say, an almost indecipherable glassiness to your eyes.
"Everything," he says. He spreads his hand over your heart.
You don't throw yourself at him, but you move alarmingly quickly. Arms over his shoulders, hands crossed and buried in his hair. Your laugh is magic, a bright and exuberant sound loud in his ear and then the skin underneath. He's barely got an arm around the small of your back when you start to kiss him, repetitive, chaste pecks over his pulse. It capers under your lips.
"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am-" He begins deadpan and breaks abruptly, your second wave of laughter impossible to ignore.
Your arms tighten at his laughing, palm cupping the back of his head.
"You're my best friend, too," he says. "But you knew that."
"Maybe," you murmur, your smile wide against his skin. You're uncharacteristically mischievous.
He lets his back bend under your weight until your heels lift and you're scrabbling to stay on your own two feet and is rewarded by your shrieking laughter.
Oh, god, he thinks, ecstatic.
"Wait," you say, bargaining for freedom as he squeezes you hard enough to make you laugh again, and again, "wait, wait! Wait, let go. I have something to tell you."
Eddie sets you down. He's reluctant to let you go, almost desperate to hug you now that he knows he can, but his curiosity gets the better of him. What could you have to tell him now that isn't confessional? It's like being promised something good.
You stand sure and sweet in front of him.
"It's…" You look shyly at his lips.
"What?"
"I…"
He shakes his head gently from side to side. "What? Tell me."
"Nothing," you say, beaming. Act dropped, you take his face into both hands and kiss him soundly.
Eddie's barely got his hands on you before you're pulling back.
"Just wanted to do that," you say.
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thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter
if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
→summary: You usually spend Friday nights on your own. This week, your friend and campus fuckboy, Jungkook, decides to pay you a visit.
→warnings: sexual conversations, implied sex, full fic will include smut and have a more detailed warnings list
→notes: this is pure filth and will probably be out within the next week and a half lol!! while u wait u can check out my other writing though. or don't fuck it it's ur life bye ily anyways lol!! also bambi is a nickname!!
“Here's what I think, Bambi,” he mumbles in a low tone, sitting up from his spot on the floor so his gaze is aligned with yours. His palms are on either of your crossed legs, fingers curling into your white blanket. Forcing you to make eye-contact with him. His pupils are black, nothing like the soft brown you’re accustomed to. “You’re so uptight because you haven’t had sex in a while. Good sex, atleast.”
The change in atmosphere makes you freeze. Your breath catches in your throat. You say nothing.
“The guys you fuck don’t know how to treat you, am I right? They can’t make you cum?”
Crickets.
Your lack of response tells him the answer. He chuckles, mocking you.
He was really starting to irritate you. You muster up the courage to give it right back. “Well, what makes you any different?” Your words come out shaky.
He shifts closer, knocking his forehead against yours. Invading your space. He’s so close that you feel claustrophobic. Your heart pounds in your chest.
“I always make the girl cum.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he hums through curled lips as he nods, silver hoops swaying at the motion, nose brushing against yours. “More than once.”
He scans over your body, pausing at your chest for a moment, and then continuing downward. A hand slides up your bare thigh, the warm touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He grabs the hem of your little pink shorts between his index and middle fingers, tugging gently. “These are cute,” his breath fans across your face. It smells like chocolate and syrup. “I’d like them better somewhere else though.”
He licks his lips, making them pink and glossy. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your own. He looks like he wants to devour you.
Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.
Pairing: Jungkook x reader
Genre: fluff; angst; smut; single mum reader
Word count: 20.6k
Warnings: Single mum, small fights, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), safe penetrative sex, reader thinks Jungkook is cheating/playing the field, angst, but also fluff, child gets injured (though not seriously), talks of cuts and a small amount of blood.
Authors Note: Happy Saturday! Hope you’re having a nice weekend so far :)
“Ask him to mow your lawn.”
“What? Rosie, why would I –”
“Because look at your lawn, Y/N,” she twists to look at you with a flat face before looking back out your front window with dreamy eyes. “And then look at him.”
You look at the man in question, every glistening, no-tee-shirt-on, tattooed sleeved, square inch of him. Ok, so maybe you get her point a little. Still, you’re not about agree with her.
“I can mow,” you defend yourself instead. “And my lawns not that bad.”
“But can you mow like him?”
“Anyone can mow like him. He’s literally just going up and down the grass.”
“Y/N. Please. Just look at that body.”
“I thought you wanted me to look at his mowing.”
You catch her rolling her eyes as you twist to sit properly on your sofa, no longer wanting to objectify your new neighbour. You don’t even know his name and yet you’re already ogling at the beads of sweat that roll down the many abs he’s sporting. The feminist in you is ashamed.
summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue lunch break visits, rocky road ice cream, a too-big bouquet, and the rainbow connection.
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, tw talk of dying (and past lives)
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You're dozing against the back wall in the kitchen when Benny clears his throat. The grease back here while he's cooking tends to get pretty thick and you're tired to begin with. It's a recipe for nodding off.
Flinching into a proper standing position, you give your boss an apologetic smile. "What?" you ask, blinking hard.
"Your boy's here."
"My boy?"
"Curly hair, tattoos. Looks like he hasn't showered this week. Or any week, actually." Benny laughs, a chesty, self-satisfied chuckle.
You rush to his side, careful of the spitting hot grill, and follow his gaze out of the kitchen window. Eddie's about two seconds away from opening the glass door, clad in his smart work uniform.
"He's not my boy," you say.
Benny scrapes his spatula across the grill's bubbling surface and flips a burger. "If he's the reason you're tired today, you can consider him banned. He's ruining my best waitress."
"I'm your only waitress." The door opens. Eddie stops in the doorway and casts his gaze around the room. You hide behind the wall and fuss with your hair. "And no, he's not keeping me up. It's Junie." Isn't it always Junie? She's your baby and you adore her, but that doesn't mean she's getting any easier to handle. The terrible twos are persevering with a ferocity you can't quite withstand, or at the very least sleep through.
"He eating?" Benny asks.
"I'll go find out."
You wipe the oil from your nose and grimace as you walk out into the actual seating area of the diner. It's empty but for one person and Eddie, who grins when he sees you.
"Hey, sweet thing."
You try not to show how much you like being called 'sweet thing'. Your face must betray you somehow because Eddie's grin turns smug and he approaches until he's basically stepping on your toes.
"How's it hanging?"
You snort. "Benny asked if you're eating."
"What's today's special?"
"Cheeseburger."
He fixes your shirt collar. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and the cooler metal of a ring grace your throat. "Yeah, I'm eating."
You report back to Benny with his order and find the cook's already added two burgers to the grill. He points his spatula at the now grilled and constructed burger for Darren. If you hadn't taken it you'd still know who's it was; Benny's regulars are loyal to a fault. The same old guys come in here day in and day out, and they all want the same thing.
Quarter pounders.
You take it, twist around a childish Eddie trying to trip you up and deliver it to Darren, a frowny-faced farm-hand that Benny swears is a nice guy deep down. You've yet to dig far enough.
Eddie tries to trip you up again when you come back. You glare at him, stepping on his toes gently – more a threat than a real show of aggression – and disappear again through the kitchen door.
"So." Benny throws down a basket of fries before moving to the chopping board with a fresh tomato in hand. "He's your boyfriend?"
"Do we have to do this?" you ask, joining him at the chopping board. You try to snag a slice of tomato and are quickly tutted away.
"Is he?"
"No," you say, trying again for some tomato.
"Kid, if you don't wait."
You pout and set back on your heels.
The burgers sizzle. Benny throws a slice of cheese over Eddie's and lets it melt. Quicker than you can believe, Benny constructs two burgers and fills a red plastic basket with fries.
He offers them to you. "Lunch break."
Free food. You smile at him sheepishly and try to take them. He pulls his arms back.
"Wha-"
"If he's your boyfriend, you better tell me now."
"Benny, I don't know if you know this, but I'm an adult. Already got knocked up once."
"And where is he now?"
Chastised, you mumble, "He's not my boyfriend," and Benny finally hands over the food. He looks like he might try to ruffle your hair if you stick around, so you knock open the kitchen door with your hip and make a speedy exit.
"What's with the face?" Eddie asks as you sit, reaching for the hot plate balancing across your forearm.
"I think Benny just tried to give me a dad talk."
He laughs like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Really? What did he say?"
You shake your head. That's not a bag of worms you're interested in delving into right now. Your brains too fried, and the food smells great. Your stomach aches with hunger.
"You want a coke?" you ask.
Eddie stands up. "I'll get them. Sit down, okay?"
You sit down and shove a greedy handful of fries into your mouth, turning in your seat to watch Eddie talk.
He leans over the metal ledge of the kitchen window. It's quiet enough to hear him laugh, hear him say, "No, sir," in a tone that borders sarcastic.
He wields a five dollar bill at Benny, who shoots him down.
"Put it in the Junie jar," Benny says.
"Junie jar?" Eddie questions, though he's smiling.
Your eyebrows furrow at the expression. You've never heard it either.
"I don't bother pretending she spends it on anything else."
"You got that right."
You flush with heat all the way to to the tips of your ears and turn back to the table before Eddie can catch you watching.
He throws himself into his seat like he's collapsed. The twin cokes in his hands upheave and then splash back into themselves, an impressive and ridiculous show of skill that makes you gasp.
"For you." He shoves a glass down next to you. The ice cubes clink.
"Thank you," you say, and don't waste any time digging into your food.
He squints at your eager eating, though he waits until you've taken the worlds biggest bite of your burger before he asks, "Hungry?"
You swallow before you mean to and have to take a big sip of your drink to avoid choking to death. "I didn't eat breakfast."
"How come?"
You can't take his concern. Your eyes drop this hand where it picks through fries, no rings in sight. He’d told you once he can’t wear them at work, because he gets really warm and the rings are costume jewellery. His hands look bare without them, but they’re very nice hands. You follow the stark line of a bone down from his knuckles and focus in on his simple wrist watch as you explain.
"It took me an hour to get her to finish a slice of toast this morning. I usually wouldn’t make her finish, but she's not eating well."
You don't have to say who. Eddie tips his head back to eat a handful of fries like a courtesan eating grapes, all grandness.
"Teething?"
"She has all her teeth already," you say. A laugh bubbles up, delighted at his suggestion.
"What do you think it is?"
You wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin and shrug. Eddie sees straight through your forced nonchalance.
"No, seriously. What do you think?"
"I don't know. Maybe she's gonna come down with the flu. She didn't sleep all night either, and…" You rub your tired eyes with the backs of your hands. "I don't know. I hope she's feeling better at pick up, but I doubt it."
"How are you feeling?" He says 'you' softly, almost crooning.
"Tired, Eds."
"I can see that."
The door opens and a breeze whips your ankles. You hide them further under the table and cringe when you kick Eddie straight in the foot. He only raises his eyebrow at you and kicks you back. "What's your problem?" he mumbles under his breath, smiling.
When the burgers are gone and there's only a couple of cold fries left, you and Eddie fall into conversation about tonight. He's finally playing a gig after months without one, and you're riddled with guilt.
"I wish I could come," you tell him, feeling gutted that you won't see him in action.
You wonder what he looks like on stage. Sometimes it's hard to coalesce the Eddie you know and the other Eddie, rocker Eddie. He's so sweet. The image of him on stage and sweating, rocking out, you can't summon it.
You clear your throat. "I'm sorry we can't."
Eddie shakes his head quickly, fingers playing with the chain around his left wrist. "Don't worry about it. Junebugs's gotta sleep. You gotta sleep."
You pick at your nails, shame-faced. If you were a good friend you'd go and see him perform, but you're a good mom so you can't. Maybe you could get a sitter… only you don't trust anybody to look after her. Not the way you would. And people can be evil.
Maybe I could take her to the Hideout, you think tentatively.
You couldn't. It's too loud, it's too rowdy. You're not sure they'd even let you in with a baby.
"Sorry," you say again, dropping your cheek into your palm.
Eddie doesn't smile. He turns his wrist, the back of his hand to the table and his palm open between you.
"Don't be sorry," he says. He watches your face and slowly, slowly, mischief creeps into his expression. "How about I give you a private show?"
Your breath catches in your throat.
"You and June've never heard me play. I could bring an amp. June can play drums. You'll sing."
His allocation shocks you out of your thoughts. "Why can't you sing?"
"What will you do, then? If I sing?"
You flounder.
He lifts his coke to his lips and smirks at your silence. "Exactly."
"Eddie, I can't sing."
He waves his hand at you rather than answer.
"I won't sing."
"Oh, you won't?" he asks, tone enough to make you cross your legs under the table. He rolls his eyes.
"No. Let Junie do it. She's always singing."
"And you'll-? What?"
You shrug. He imitates you, over-exaggerated enough to make you gasp a laugh.
“Is that supposed to be me?"
He ignores your question in favour of his own. "You'll do nothing. Typical."
"You're getting too big for your boots, Munson," you warn, sliding his plate on top of yours.
He stacks your empty glasses. The two of you stand and linger. He should go back to work. You should too.
"I'll come over tomorrow?" he asks finally.
"Okay." You look over him in his clean clothes and neater than usual hair and can't help smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," you say quietly, opening your arms just slightly.
Eddie takes the hint and wraps his arms quickly around your shoulders, careful of the plates in your hand. He rubs them once, a good, grounding pressure across the breadth of your back. Your nose presses against his neck. He smells like aftershave and cigarette smoke and skin.
Before you know it he's pulling away, the end to an amicable embrace between friends. Almost disappointing, not quite what you want anymore, but a relief and a comfort all the same.
He chucks your chin. "Tell Junie I miss her."
"I will."
"Okay." He turns to walk away. "Bye, sweetheart," he shoots over his shoulder.
"Bye!" you call.
The door shudders in his wake. You stand there watching until Benny clears his throat pointedly and asks you to come and make some more coffee.
You rush through the rest of the day. You finish earlier than you should because Benny's in a gracious mood, thrusting your tip jar into your arms with a command to get some sleep. You promise you'll try your best and head out for the daycare.
Junie's asleep in a bean bag by the baby gate when you get there. You stop dead in your tracks. She has her shoes and coat on already, her backpack in her lap. You look up at the childcare worker in charge today, a nice lady called Deborah, quizzically.
"She's been like that for an hour. I'm sorry we couldn't keep her awake."
You pout at Junie. "Why she got her coat on?"
"She insisted. Screamed bloody murder. Think she was excited to see you," she says, smiling softly.
You smile in return. "Thank you, Deborah. Have a nice weekend.”
Deborah nods and disappears back into the play room. You open the baby gate with likely less dexterity than you should have as a mom and drop to your knees in front of the beanbag, careful not to make too much noise. You're wondering if you can carry her to the car without waking her up when her foot moves, then her arms. They fall to her side as her eyes open.
"Hey, baby," you say, feeling weirdly emotional. She looks so lovely and pretty, and if she's sick that's gonna pluck your heart strings (and cause a boat load of problems).
"Mommy," she mumbles, eyes bleary.
"That's me." You reach out to squeeze her little thigh. "My poor girl, what's the matter? Does your tummy hurt?" you ask carefully.
She blinks.
"Why're you sitting here all by yourself? You didn't want to play with Adrien? Or Lucy?"
When she doesn't reply you take her backpack and thread your hand through the strap, offering your open arms to her. She can barely sit up, her movements slow and sluggish.
"Here," you murmur, sliding your hands under her armpits and pulling her into your chest.
She finally smiles, hands bunched up at the collar of your shirt. You leave some room to look at her and she looks at you. You're surprised she's not whining or crying.
"Hey," you say again, amazed at her droopy smile. "You look like you've had a good day."
Her head drops forward. You think she's nodding, though that might be wishful thinking. You don't even know if toddlers can nod.
Of course they can nod, you think to yourself scathingly. I mean… can they?
And Junie isn't like most toddlers. She hasn't really done anything by the book. She meets milestones when she wants to, sometimes early, sometimes really, really late.
You pat her back, her nylon coat crinkly under your hand. "Ready to go home?"
You stand up with her clutched to your chest. Usually you'd have her say goodbye to Deborah or the other daycare workers but Junie doesn't look like she knows her own name right now. You frown at her and encourage her forehead against your chin, trying to gauge if she's a little warmer than usual.
"I missed you," you tell her honestly. You miss her every single day. "I want to know everything you did today. Do you remember what you did?"
Junie pushes against your chest with her hand as you walk out of the daycare centre and into the parking lot.
"Did you do… colouring? Or… building blocks? Did you sing?" you ask, grinning.
You cross the road, and when you look back she's staring at you, straight into your eyes.
"Hi," you say with a laugh.
Her hands rise to your face, fingers thankfully clean and warm against your wind-bitten cheeks. You slow, gazing down at her expectantly. She raises her chin as high as she can and smiles big.
"You want a kiss. I can tell," you croon smugly.
She kisses you. It's a little drooly as baby kisses always are, but it's the best thing that's happened to you all day. It's always so surprising when she initiates affection. That she loves you just as much as you love her.
You steal another kiss.
"Guess what?" you ask, reaching a hand to stroke a little baby hair back.
She says a word that isn't real. It sounds like 'mod'.
"It's payday today, which means…" You beam at her. "Ice cream!"
That grabs her attention.
-
Eddie can't believe it. "You had what without me?" he asks over the phone.
Junie herds your knees, arms around your legs and face turned to the TV. You stand slumped against the wall where your phone is plugged, curling the landline's coiled cord around your finger so Junie can't grab it.
"Ice cream," you supply helpfully.
His voice isn't easy to understand. The Hideout is a very loud place. Eddie's practically shouting down the line. "I can't believe it."
"It couldn't be helped. She needed to be tempted."
"Tempted! Has she eaten anything else?"
You look down at the girl in question and reach down to rub her back. "Oh yeah. She ate like, an entire bag of lays, one of the big ones. She still smells like honey barbecue."
"Nothing else?"
You sigh, that creeping, ringing thought edging in. You're a bad mom.
"I made her cereal, and celery sticks and sandwiches and little cut up peaches and- and she won't touch any of it," you say, like you're promising. Your tone begs to be believed.
There's a loud racket. Eddie shouts, "What did you say? I can't hear you!"
You repeat yourself. You miss the start of what he's saying, but you catch, "-not your fault! She's probably just having a moment. You remember when she kept throwing her bottle? She doesn't do that anymore."
You nod. "Yeah, maybe it's like that. She's figuring she has choices." Not the best timing for your kid to decide she's gonna get picky.
"Exactly! Or maybe she is sick. Does she look sick?"
You look back down at Junie and feel across her smooth forehead for the twentieth time today. "She doesn't feel warm."
"Good. I'm sure she-" You miss the rest.
"I can't hear you," you say with a small laugh. "I can hear the drum kit though. Are you going on soon?"
"I said, 'I'm sure she's fine.' And yeah, couple of minutes."
"Okay. Um. I'll let you go, then."
"Okay." A small gap where you think he's hung up, but then, "Can I talk to her?"
You bite back a smile. "Sure."
You kneel down. Junie looks a short fall from suspicion, though her arms quickly reach out for a hug.
"June, d'you wanna talk to Eddie?"
"Eddie?" she asks, turning to the door.
You catch her hand before she can walk away. "No, babe, on the phone."
You sit down flat with your legs crossed and encourage her to do the same. She doesn't not want to be encouraged, eyes still trained on the door.
"Baby," you say, though you're bringing the phone to your mouth as you do. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Okay, I'm gonna pass her the phone and you're gonna have to talk straight away, because she doesn't know how it works. Alright?"
"Yeah, alright. Bring on the junebug."
You press the phone to Junie's ear. She looks startled and then annoyed, shoulder hiking and head moving in like she might push it away. You can see the moment she realises Eddie is on the other side, her lips part and her eyes widen in wonder.
She listens for a while, flabbergasted. You think you might be able to hear his voice. Not what he's saying, but his bubbly baby tone.
"Eddie," she says suddenly. She looks at you, says a bunch of nonsense words and babbling punctuated by Eddie Eddie Eddie.
"Are you listening to him?" you ask, excited at her recognition.
She grabs the phone out of your hand and stares at it. You try to wrangle it back and put it back to her ear. She is not happy.
Hardly news that your toddler's mood may swing, you shove the phone between your head and your shoulder and wrap her up in your arms with a placating shush. She starts to cry regardless. You think they might be crocodile tears.
"Eddie?"
"Sweetheart, I gotta go, okay? I'm sorry if I upset June–"
"You didn't, you didn't, she–"
"– I'll make it up to you, I swear."
"– misses you, I think–"
"See you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Good luck!" you say. The line's already dead. The dial tone makes your ear prickle.
You feel upset for a second. It's a mess of feelings. You're too tired to deal with any of them.
"Eddie?" Junie asks, hands pulling at the hem of her nightie.
"Just mommy," you say with a smile. The longer she looks at you the easier it gets. "You wanna go to bed and cuddle?"
She laughs and runs away from you.
"I'll take that as a no."
-
Eddie knocks the door and doesn't get an answer.
He pauses, a bouquet behind his back and his acoustic guitar heavy around his neck, a grocery bag hanging from the crook of his elbow. It's a very heavy grocery bag. He'd figured he has a lot of apologising to do this afternoon.
It seems like there's no one home to apologise to.
"Girls? It's me."
Still no answer.
"Eddie," he adds, like a loser.
He thinks he can hear small footsteps.
"Eddie!"
He laughs to himself. "Junebug? Where's mommy?"
"Hello?" you call finally.
"Hey, can you let me in?"
He keeps the flowers hidden firmly behind his back as you open the door. He hears the deadbolt, the chain slide free and then the regular old lock unlocking, and you pull the door open and suddenly he can't breathe. You look that pretty.
"Eddie!" Junie shouts, to his pleasure.
You grin brilliantly as he steps over the threshold.
Junie's arms are quickly around his legs. She's in a sweet blue dress and frilly socks looking almost as pretty as her mom does, hair neat and tidy, face pristine.
You're nearly matching her. You've a soft white shirt on, tucked into a simple blue skirt and a cardigan to match.
You barely stop to look at him, flitting back to the kitchen where you’ve brown paper bags upended, the fridge and freezer doors both wide open. "Sorry, I'm just putting the groceries away. How did the gig go? Did you rock the house?" You giggle to yourself.
Eddie wants to scream, you’re that endearing. “It went great. Awesome. Not sure I rocked the house, but it was metal.”
"Amazing! I- I'm sorry I didn't hear you, I was in my own head," you say as you go, stepping over toys and frozen peas and Junie's Muppet Babies backpack like a natural. He notices your small white socks and feels himself slipping that little bit further into a terrifying feeling.
He doesn't have time to tell you it's okay, or that he wishes you’d been at the gig, or to watch your step. Junies's babbling for his attention and he'd rather die than not give it to her, moving the grocery bag he has hanging from his hand over her head and tossing it toward the couch, where it lands and spills.
"Okay, June, I'm gonna pick you up," he says quickly, pulling the guitar over his head. He props it up by the open doorway, Junie tugging at his jeans the whole while.
"So demanding!" he teases, scooping her up to prop on his hip and unveiling the flowers at the same time.
You aren't looking. He nudges them towards her face and shakes them gently.
Junie can't decide what's more fun, the flowers or Eddie. She wraps her arms around his neck as best as she can but stares at the flowers with a dawning comprehension.
"What are these, baby?" he asks, holding them lower so she can see them all in view. They're mostly red. There's some whites too, big round roses among other flowers he can't name.
"Red," she says quickly. "White. Yellow, blue, green."
She's not right, there aren't any yellows or blues, but he can only blame himself for drilling them into her the way he had. She's showing off that she knows them all, and she deserves some praise.
"Good job! Red, white," he shakes the bouquet enough to reveal a few small pink ones, "pink flowers. They're pretty, don't you think? Pretty as you and mommy?" He hums to himself, patting her back thoughtfully. “Maybe not that pretty."
You're not listening. If you were he's not sure he could say it, not while you're looking like you do. You're always pretty, always, but right now he feels like he did the first time he saw you. Just gone.
Junie tells him something, a more factual tone and air about her. He rubs the top of her upper arm encouragingly, asking, "Is that right?"
"Do you want food?" you call.
He sets June down on her feet and she hates it until he wraps her hands around the bouquet's neck. "Can you give these to your mom for me? Please?" Junie stares at them. "For mommy," he adds, pointing at you where you're closing the cabinet door.
Junie, the tiny smarty-pants that she is, runs to you. Eddie's a coward for it, but he doesn't think he can give them to you himself under honest pretenses, doesn't think he could admit that he'd been thinking about getting you flowers for a while now. Much easier to have her give them to you.
You make a sound like you've swallowed a gasp and stare at them.
"They're nice, right? I saw them and I thought they'd make a good apology for last night."
You don't take them. You can't contain a smile, but you don't take them.
"I'm sorry if I made any trouble for you," he says tentatively.
You drop your hand on top of Junie's head. Your tone is warm, each word reassuring. "No, you didn't. She just… you know, she has a routine, and she loves when you come around. She missed you. That's not your fault."
"Okay, good. I missed her too. Nobody can jam out like she can.”
Junie whacks you in the thigh. Eddie's starting to think he did something wrong because you still haven't taken them from her, your eyes as unreadable as the way your hands move, rigid and curling.
You shake them out and finally take the flowers.
"Thanks, baby," you say. Then, looking at him. "Thank you."
"You can get me back," he says.
Shell shock turns to eagerness. "Yeah, anything."
He picks up the spilled groceries and brandishes them at you. In one hand is this week's dessert, a huge carton of rocky road ice cream, the fancy kind with big chocolate chips and fluffy marshmallows on top. In the other, a plastic jug of your favourite drink.
"Find room for these in the fridge?"
Since accepting them, you've yet to put down the flowers, holding them protectively to your chest as you take what he’s offering and carry them into the kitchen.
June runs full pelt at his legs and he doesn't hesitate to pick her up.
"You're so happy today!" he cheers, saccharine sweet as she burrows her little face into his collar. "Have you been having a good day with mom? I love your matching outfits."
You try to hide how the compliment affects you, face buried in the freezer. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that your freezer has ample room, you don’t need to look for space. and he can see the way your hand tightens around the bouquet. He loves how shy you've become lately over his compliments, no matter how small. It's worth the possibility of making a fool of himself to see you flustered.
Junie reports back on the day. Eddie listens intently for words he might understand but finds none.
He doesn't let this bother him, leaning against the counter behind so he can hold Junie low on his stomach to watch her expressions flicker, hands encapsulating her back. She looks happy, obviously, but she also looks very intent on something.
"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his head toward her knowingly. "Was the grocery store exciting? Did you do anything else?"
"Duckies!" she says.
"Duckies? You saw ducks?" he asks curiously, looking to you for confirmation.
You're still holding your flowers to your chest.
Junie chatters. "Duck, duck, duck."
"What's she talking about?" he asks, pulling her up enough for her head to rub against his chin.
"Oh, we went to the duck pond. She was obsessed," you say.
"Right, right. Can't say I blame her.”
"Trying to explain why they weren't yellow took some dedication."
Eddie smiles at you softly. "You can put them down, you know."
Your eyes flicker between him and the flowers. "I- nobody's ever got me flowers before. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do with them. I don't… have a vase."
He hadn't realised he'd be the first guy to get you flowers. It makes him wanna wrap you up and hug you, because how is it fair that a girl like you never got flowers? Not once?
"Shit," he says instead.
He flinches hard and looks at Junie. She's too busy with her hands in his hair to notice what he's said. He apologises anyways.
You roll your eyes. Eddie's relieved to see it's with obvious fondness, a funny lopsided smile to your lips.
"If she starts dropping s-bombs, you're the one who has to deal with it," you warn.
"I will.”
He takes a step toward you and you take a step toward him.
You hum and hold the flowers up to Junie as he had before. "Aren't these just something else? Look how pretty they are! Why don't you pick one, baby?"
Eddie shifts her onto the right side and you both watch her touch them, hands adorably careful as she feels the leaves between her fingers and pokes the fuzzy yellow centre of a flower with white, round petals.
"That one?" you murmur, pulling it out from the rest with the same adorable carefulness.
Junie accepts the flower and immediately shows it to Eddie, ecstatic.
“Yellow," she proclaims.
"And white," he says, ruffling the petals with his index finger.
She smells like talc and you, that soft jasmine perfume, and her hair is fragrant where it tickles his face. He indulges and hugs her that little bit tighter. She indulges him in turn and hugs him back, the flower petals cold and silky against his neck.
"How do you…" You scratch the base of your neck. "Do you think I could squeeze all the stalks into one glass?"
It's only a bunch from the grocery store but he thinks a glass might be a little too small. "Maybe you can split it? Have one in your room, one in here."
You set about following his suggestion, snipping away the cellophane with a pair of scissors and acquiring two tall glasses. The stalks are tall. You trim them down and begin arranging them. Eddie has no clue why you're being as particular as you are but he's happy for you to do as you please, traipsing into the living room where Junie seems to have been running rampant before his arrival with intentions of cleaning up.
He closes the front door and bends at the waist to let Junie back on her feet.
She goes down easy enough. Eddie turns on the TV to keep her occupied while he whips around the room. He wants to clean (as best as he can) before you see him and tell him to stop. He puts your small handbag and Junie's backpack at the sideboard by the door. He sweeps up all of her toys and tucks them under the television as you would, then moves onto the rogue dirtied pajamas on the floor. They're Junie's favourites, the ones with tiny strawberries that she always chooses when given the option.
Your laundry basket isn't anywhere in the living room or kitchen. He attempts to sneak past you where you're still arranging flowers intently. The sight of you stops him in his tracks.
I need to get her a vase, he thinks. And another bouquet.
You turn to him, a pleased expression turning your features from pretty to chest-achingly lovely.
He holds up the pajamas and then keeps on down the hall to the bathroom, even as you chasten, "Eddie," with a fond exasperation.
You showcase your first bouquet upon his return, sheepish, awaiting judgement. You're conflicted tonight, a handful of emotions shaken and stirred.
"Tada," you sing.
"Looks sick, sweetheart. If this whole waitressing thing doesn't work out for you, you could definitely be a florist."
You huff a laugh. "Oh, for sure."
"I'm serious. It looks really nice."
He thinks maybe he can see the way you might've been before, in that moment. There's something so young – and you are young, as he is, as he keeps forgetting – about your face and how you take praise. You look like you want desperately to brush it away, and you look like you want him to give you more.
He stands close enough that you're forced to turn back to the counter where the second bouquet is taking form. "This one looks nice too."
"I thought I'd put the prettiest one out here." You lean back and your shoulder presses to his chest. "And then the reject in my room," you say, chin lifted to look him dead in the eye.
He feels heat crawling up his neck and decides to fight fire with fire, even if the fire is entirely imagined. "Do you often have rejects in your bedroom?" he questions with a smarmy smile.
You laugh. Far from the polite and prim giggling you'd used when you first met, though that was cute, too, this laugh is something else. He wishes he had a tape deck with him to record it, play it back.
"Only if they're very pretty," you say. You place the last of the flowers into the second bouquet. "And these ones are beautiful. Thank you, Eddie. You didn't have to get me flowers."
"I wanted to."
Your head falls gently against the top of his shoulder. He stands very still.
The faucet drips. The TV plays. If he listens, Eddie can hear the sound of kids outside on their bikes, shouting and jeering.
Like this, he can see the curve of your neck, the hill of your chin. He can see the pillows of your lips and the slopes of your cheek. The darling shape of your nose. He knows a kiss would fit there well, fit there perfectly, if he would only raise his hand to your shoulder. Turn you ever so slightly.
Even the flat of your forehead begs for affection. He can almost feel it from looking at you – the warmth of your skin under his lips. He can't decide whether he'd kiss you from temple to temple, or smack dab on your crown. Between your brows, at the tail of them. The corner of your eye might work.
Anything would work.
Eddie lifts his hand. Careful not to startle you, he cups the side of your waist like he had before a hundred moons ago when you'd cut his hair in this same kitchen. He spreads his fingers wide and inches over your soft abdomen, feeling for the shape of you.
You turn your cheek into his shoulder. He lets his lips touch the back of your head.
Plinking echoes from the living room sudden enough to startle you in tandem. Kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you and Eddie both turn to the living room and come away from one another. You're more confused than Eddie at the sound; a split-second and you're out of reach.
He closes his hand and follows you. Now past the obscurification of the cabinets, he can see that Junie's finally noticed his guitar and has pulled it down flat on the floor.
She plays with the strings enthusiastically. Eddie can't bring himself to care at her roughness when she looks the way she does, curious and entertained, giggling her contagious baby laugh.
"I forgot you brought that," you say, looking to him, he suspects, for a cue. A silent, Is she allowed?
Of course she is. “I told you I'd give you a private show."
"What happened to the amp?"
"My hands were full." Eddie sits on the floor to Junie's left. "Whatcha doing, trouble?"
She hits the neck.
He takes her hand in a gentle grip and encourages the side of her finger across the strings.
She laughs thick and sweet as honey. "Brmm," she imitates, lips pinching between giggles as he helps her do it again.
"You're a total rockstar," he says.
You kneel opposite. "She's gonna lose her mind when you play something."
Eddie feels very smug at what's to come.
You let Junie play for a time, and then you open your arms and she walks around to your side, sitting on your thighs. She continues to reach for the guitar, seems sulky when Eddie picks it up, and quietens when he plays an experimental note.
"Are you gonna sing? I've heard you sing before, you know? You're not bad."
You wrinkle your nose.
First, he plays the Muppet Babies theme tune for June. She gets excited and starts to hum. You have to hold her in your lap to stop her from messing him up. He wouldn't mind if she did. He's hoping, maybe one day when she's old enough to understand, he could get her behind her own guitar. He's not kidding about starting a band.
He drops his eyes to his fingers, shaking his head on instinct to try and shake away the thought.
June sings and sings and eventually, quietly, you start to sing too. You’re purposefully not trying but any flatness is easily made up for by the familiarity of your voice alone. The way you talk, so charming and careful, the sweetness of your newfound shyness and the rough hint of ever-present tiredness you carry, it all seeps into your singing. Eddie adores it.
Junie almost gets some of the words right. It's very exciting for you, Eddie can see it in the tilt of your head. You enunciate precisely and he slows the tempo to give you time.
"It really sounds like she's almost there. She definitely said 'dreams come true,’” he says as the song ends.
"You think?"
"Definitely. Do you want to sing it again?" he asks, words falling into a high-pitched sugar, eyes on Junie.
"More?" you add, a slight correction. Junie doesn't know what 'again' means yet, but she understands 'more'.
"More," she says seriously.
You go through it one more time. If he plays slow to drag out your reluctant singing, that's his business.
He unveils his next song with a dash of edgy stage presence. "For my next song, I'll be playing what can only be described as the absolute pinnacle of music."
He sounds legitimate.
Your eyebrows pinch together at his sombre attitude. "Sure."
"I'm gonna play it as true to form as I can, but… I don't have a banjo. So…"
He plays the first few seconds of Kermit The Frog's The Rainbow Connection.
When he sings, he does it after an internal pep talk consisting of a scathing, Be brave, idiot.
"Why are there so many, songs about rainbows. And what's on the other side?" he sings, trying and failing to sound like Kermit. He abandoned that pursuit immediately in favour of his regular voice. Thankfully it's a slow song. Simple. It doesn't take much to play, either. The real challenge are the lyrics, which he doesn't really know. "Rainbows are visions, but only… illusions?"
You bob your head appraisingly, hands crossed over Junies front, cheek pressed to the top of her head.
"And rainbows have nothing to hide."
You’re making it impossible to concentrate, looking as earnest, homespun, and ridiculously pretty as you do. Pretty in more than just your looks. The way that you watch him, the way you rub a pattern over Junie's ribs, it’s all so indicative of your heart.
He fucks up the rest. Bad timing, amateurish fingering over the struts, lyrics that escape him. You'd never know he could play Master of Puppets a month after it's debut from the way he performs now.
You cheer, gathering Junie's hands into yours to help her clap.
He blushes like a fool.
—
Dinner tonight – take out.
You're prouder than you should be when Eddie asks, "Can I help you cook tonight?" and you get to say, "No, you can't. I'm not cooking."
You'd never shake your head at a frozen pizza but there's an irreplaceable satisfaction that comes from getting hot food delivered. Maybe it's the convenience, maybe it's that you don't have to cook it yourself. It might even be the grease. Whatever it is, it tastes better than any freezer food ever could.
You've trapped Junie in her high chair. Diaper changed, pajamas on, bib in place. You rolled her sleeves all the way up and gave her two slices of cheese pizza cut into small pieces that have been blown on for a more than generous amount of time and tell her to go ham. She doesn't bother with her plastic fork and you don't blame her, eating your own pizza in a similar fashion.
Rather than sit opposite you or next to Junie, Eddie has opted for the chair on your left. Junie on your right, your daughter eats with an animated little grin that apples her cheeks, giving her that chubby baby-like smile.
"You see her smile?" you ask, taking a big bite of perfect crust. You have to stop yourself from sighing happily, fingers covered in crumbs.
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, pizza sauce or his face like a little kid.
You sit back in your chair so he can really see her. "She's always been a smiley baby, and when she was much smaller all her smiles were so chubby cheeked. She was chubby cheeked. Now when she smiles like that she makes me remember her when she was a baby."
"I'm not surprised she was a smiley baby if she had you… D'you miss having a baby?"
"Watch yourself," you say, and then giggle as all the blood drains from his face. "Kidding. I don't know if I miss having a baby baby. I mean, she's so little, she's practically still a baby. But I do kinda wish I could go back and hold her as a newborn."
Eddie wipes his cheek and stands up to get some paper towels. He wipes his face and hands and grabs the juice from the fridge to fill his glass (that's basically still full) and then yours (the real reason he'd stood, you reckon).
"Was she heavy?" he asks.
You worry for a moment he's humouring you. It's clear how much you love Junie, you know it is, and that shows in how much you want to talk about her. You'd never expected that part, though of course it makes sense – sometimes she smiles and you wanna call the newspapers – and you don't think Eddie's insincere. He seems like he genuinely wants to know and that's enough for you to want to round the table and throw your arms over his shoulders.
"I think…" You pick up your glass and hesitate with the rim to your lip. "I think if you'd held her back then, you wouldn't think she was heavy."
He practically smolders, bringing an arm up to tense his bicep. "Thank you."
You laugh at him. "Shut up! I just think, you've been good with her ever since you met her. When I held her for the first time it's a good thing I was laying down. I probably would've dropped her."
Eddie takes Junie's sippy cup to fill. You'd say it was a waste if he hadn't bought it himself, she's too busy eating her weight in cheese to care about something as rudimentary as juice.
"You would not have dropped her."
"I would've."
"You wouldn't have! And if you did, it would've been an accident. Next point, they don't have skulls, right? No harm, no foul."
"Who told you babies don't have skulls?"
"...I'm not at liberty to say."
You eat the rest of your crust and shake your head at his misguided education. "They have skulls, Eddie. The scalp is super soft and fragile for ages, but they definitely have skulls. You know what they don't have?"
Eddie squeezes Junie's shoulder as he walks behind her. "What?" he asks in alarm, passing you to sit down again. His knees touch the side of your thigh.
"Kneecaps."
His hand stops on the way to the pizza box, body frozen.
"What?" he asks, his alarm doubled.
"Swear down. No knee caps."
"Don't they need them? For crawling? I feel like knee caps are more important than skulls."
"If you didn't have a skull you wouldn't be able to breathe," you say, though you're guessing.
"What use is breathing if you can't move?"
You turn to him to take him in properly. You beam, because this is an outlandish conversation and you're enjoying every second of it and he looks just as happy as you feel.
"Do babies need to move? June could never move again and I'd still look after her,” you counter.
"Sweetheart, you're cheating."
"I can't exactly breathe for her-"
"What are you talking about? Of course you could. I don't know how but you'd find a way, Y/N, I know what you're like."
Your teeth click together, a funny retort squashed down by his unexpected admittance of faith. He always does this; Eddie loves to tell you the kindest things anyone has ever told you like they don't cost him a thing.
"I would," you agree, blinded by love rather than supported by any logic.
"Mommy," Junie says, like she knows she's the topic of your hypothetical devotion and she wants in. "More pizza"
"Please?" you tack on, though her small sentence had impressed you to the point of elation. You turn to her already with your hand in the pizza box.
"Pizza," she says. You love the way she says it, like the 'zuh' sound at the end is a complete surprise.
The pizza's cold enough by now to give it to her intact. She's amazed at the big slice you put on her plate, picking it up with a coordination you know is taking a lot of effort for her.
"Good job, baby," you praise, using her distraction to pull a little string of cheese off of her messy cheek.
She takes a huge bite. You watch her worried she's gonna choke, and feel Eddie's knees press deeper into your thigh as he moves forward to join in.
"Is it weird that she's impressing me right now?" he asks.
You giggle and roll your shoulders back until you can feel the brush of his hair against your shirt. "No, she's awesome."
For dessert, you insist on plating up. Or bowling up. You scoop a more generous than she should really have portion for Junie, something similar for Eddie, and a normal portion for yourself.
"On the couch?" Eddie asks.
You can see him cleaning up Junie out of the corner of your eye. You wish he wouldn't but you're grateful that he does. His attentiveness makes your hands feel heavy in that you remember you have them, and you remember what it's like to want to hold someone else's.
"Yeah," you say, though eating on the couch makes you nervous. You don't want to ruin it. You're lucky you even have one.
Eddie scoops Junie up easy and pats her back.
“You put away a lot of cheese, kid. A lot. Was that yummy or what?"
She burps. His laughter is roaring and boyish as he applauds her.
"You're patting her back, she's gonna keep burping.”
"That's what you're supposed to do for babies, isn't it?"
He stands under the harsh kitchen light with his face turned away and down toward Junie, hair a mess of flyaways, t-shirt covered in shiny toddler fingerprints over one shoulder and jeans slipping down low on his hips. Your explanation comes breathlessly. "When you give a baby a bottle they suck in too much air and it gives them trapped wind. You burp that kind of baby. Not greedy almost three year olds."
"She is not almost three."
"I think I'd know, Munson."
"She's like, two and a half at most."
"I'm rounding up for emphasis," you say, and glare at his eyebrows rising.
He pats her back some more anyways. She burps again and he laughs even more. "Juniper The Burpiest," he says to himself as he walks away, voice fading as he settles down across the way on the couch.
Junie has crashed and burned, warm thick cheese and dough putting her quickly into a close to listless state in his lap. He faces her out toward the TV and she leans heavily against his chest with his hands around her torso, propping her up. You shepherd in the desserts.
"Gimme Junie's," Eddie says.
"She's gonna fall asleep," you say, but pass it over anyhow.
Eddie places the bowl of rocky road in her lap with a hand between to stop from making her legs cold and starts to spoon ice cream into her mouth. She accepts. It's adorable to watch. His face over her shoulder, Junie's face slowly deflating, eyes bleary and blinking as her lips close lazily around the spoon. She barely flinches at the cold.
You eat your own ice cream in the seat next to them and wonder if this is forever.
Eddie wipes her chin with the side of his hand and watches her head fall. He wears a loving smile. It makes you want to cry, to know someone else loves her.
You let all your weight fall against his shoulder and eat your ice cream casually. This is the least casual thing you've ever done. Spoon in your mouth, you press your cheek to the top of his arm and glue your gaze to the TV.
You swear you can feel his eyes on you, but when you chance a look he's watching the TV, head inclined to yours ever so slightly, a hand brushing Junie's hair from her dozing face. You're weak. You give yourself over to what you want and turn your nose to his arm. He smells lIke he always does, warm in the truest definition of the word.
You close your eyes. After a few minutes, you feel Eddie take the bowl from your hands and set it next to Junie's. You want to open your eyes and say sorry but they’re heavier than you'd thought, and you can only manage a murmur of sound.
His hand sliders under your elbow and curls around your arm. His head drops on top of yours so softly you almost don't feel it.
You doze, digging your face further into his arm, feel the curve of it under your cheek and the cut off of his sleeve rising.
A frayed thread tickles your cheek and you complain without thinking, sighing your annoyance.
"What?" Eddie asks.
You raise a hand to rub at your face and eyes. "Tickled me."
"Did I? M'sorry."
"T-shirt. Did you cut them yourself?"
"You know it. Was going through a phase."
"Going through."
"Say it to my face," he says. Soft, teasing.
You lift your head and find him smiling at you.
He has a beauty mark under his eye, occluded near completely by his eyelashes. You can't believe you've never noticed it before.
"You have a freckle," you whisper.
"Where?" He nods. "Under my eye?"
"Yeah."
You sit up and stare at him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I've never seen it before," you continue, still whispering. "It blends in with your eyelashes."
"I think you're the first person to see it who isn't my mom. No one ever looks at me this long,” he says quietly.
If his eyes weren't closed you'd never have had the courage to do what you do next. You raise your hand with his cheek, thumb pressed to the skin beside his nose and fingers slipped under his ear. You turn his face toward the light. Eddie lets you without complaint, his breath warm where it fans over your thumb. You push your fingers further until they've threaded into his soft hair, your thumb brushing up under his eye. You part his mess of dainty lashes with your thumbnail until the beauty mark is clear in view.
"That's so sweet," you whisper, awed.
Eddie readjusts Junie in his lap with an overabundance of caution and doesn't speak. He's lax under your touch.
"It's really pretty. You had it since you were a baby?"
"I think so."
You laugh under your breath.
"What?" he asks.
"It suits you." Something pretty hiding in plain view.
"I heard," he says hedgingly, "that freckles are a sign of how you died in a past life."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Bet it was something really gross, like a parasitic worm-"
"Ew."
"Or someone stabbed me. Or shot me. With an arrow."
"You're only twenty. Your past life would have still been in this century."
Eddie opens his eyes just to glare at you. "Don't deprive me of a badass past life. How would you have had me die?"
You push his hair from his face. "You know what I heard about them?"
"What?"
Fun to whisper with him like this. Like you’re younger than you are, trading secrets in the dim light.
"I heard they're kisses from a past life."
You raise your second hand to his cheek and cradle his face.
Eddie leans into it. “You wanna give me one for the next?” he asks, a short fall from salacious.
Your breath doesn’t catch. Your hands don’t shake. “Is that what you want?”
He falters. Bravado slips. Your heart skips a beat, worried maybe he doesn’t like you the way you’re thinking after all.
“Y/N,” he says.
You can’t hear his rejection. You won’t.
You close your eyes and kiss his cheek. Your nose slides over his skin, the heat of his blood under the surface warming your palms, and you steal a second there, two, breathing in his smell. If this is all you get, you can be okay with it. Eventually.
You pull away.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter
if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
please forgive any mistakes and how long it took, i have been a bit unwell! hopefully it won’t be too long before part four :3
Summary: you've separated from your husband, eddie, but aren't looking to rebound anytime soon. but he is
Series Warnings: angst, crying, mentions of not being worthy/capable of real love, custody talks, dad!eddie and mom!reader, eddie's kinda a dick, smut in parts, fluff in parts
A/N: this is the series i mentioned! set 4 years after eddie graduates high school, you both continued your life in hawkins in the year 1990. i'm excited for this series and thought it would be a cool concept. not sure how many parts i want to make this series but i'll continue to update the masterlist as i go :)
i’m the anon who sent in the ridiculously long Eddie orgasm denial smut last night…. but i felt like i had to elaborate anyway…
you cum long before he says you can. you cant help yourself. you were doing so well - he had fucked you mercilessly after making you beg him to not let you cum. his cock moving in and out of your pussy, going torturously deep, the curls above his cock brushing your clit with every thrust of his hips. it was torture, but you lasted. Eddie came inside of you with a growl in your ear, whispering “good girl” while you whimpered underneath him.
Eddie pulls out of you slowly, a gasp leaving your lips as he does. you close your legs and rub your thighs together desperately, the slight friction making you moan pathetically. Eddie chuckles, a mean sound that makes your pussy clench anyway. he pulls your legs open, lowering his body so he’s eye level with your pussy, and you start begging. Eddie has teased you before, but never like this. you’ve never been so desperate, so needy for him.
“oh, princess. look at you… so wet for me. jesus christ, baby.” he hasn’t touched you, just keeps holding your legs open, staring at your pussy and saying the dirtiest things to you. your hips are bucking up against nothing, pussy clenching around air. Eddie is loving every second. “so needy for me. bet you could cum just from this, slut. that’s how fucking desperate you are. so cock drunk you could cum just from me talkin to you, huh? maybe i won’t even touch you anymore tonight. don’t know if you deserve it.”
you’re writhing underneath him, desperate for him to do anything to you. as pathetic as it is, he might be right, maybe you could cum just from the way he’s talking to you. he has you that desperate, that humiliated, that on edge. your walls are clenching nonstop at his words, your arousal dripping onto his sheets, a wet spot that he would tease you about later forming underneath you, hips bucking wildly against nothing. when he says you don’t deserve to be touched, you snap, a wild sob leaving your lips. “oh god, Eddie, please. i’ve been such a good girl for you. told you i didn’t wanna cum, and i don’t even need to. promise. but please, oh god, please just touch me. cant take this anymore. ‘s too much.”
Eddie settles further down between your legs, moving one of his hands to trail up your stomach and massage your breast, tweaking your nipple as he does so. a load moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact, and Eddie’s eyes meet yours.
“what’s too much, princess? ‘m barely even touching you. remember what you said before, pretty girl? wanna stay just like this for me, huh? keep this pretty pussy just how i like it. so needy for me. ‘m already hard again, baby, and i would hate for you to cum before i get to use this pussy again.” he blows on your clit for emphasis after his finishes, and your hips buck upwards violently. “jesus, pretty girl. ‘m not even touchin’ you, and you think it’s too much. just imagine if i put my fingers in you? or if i used my tongue? i wanna do those things to you, princess, but i have to protect you. if you cum, you’ll stop feelin this good, right, baby?”
“no, no, Eddie, please. i promise i’ll be good. just touch me. i won’t cum, i won’t i swear. i just… i cant take this anymore.”
Eddie looks like he’s thinking for a moment, and suddenly his index finger is dragging up your slit. you cry out with relief at the feeling. he moves his finger up to your clit, and starts drawing small circles on your overly sensitive nub. “look at me.”
you’re in such a state of bliss that you don’t obey. Eddie presses his fingers down hard on your clit, almost making you cum on the spot, and your eyes jump to meet his. “think you can handle this, sweet girl? ‘m gonna touch you, okay?” he inserts two fingers into your hole, continuing his assault on your clit with his thumb. you throw your head back, hips bucking up rhythmically to meet his hand. he lets you fuck yourself on his fingers for a moment before he holds your hips down with his free hand, pressing on your lower stomach and adding to your quickly growing pleasure.
Eddie moves up your body so you’re face to face, pinning your body to the bed with his own, his hand still fucking your dripping hole relentlessly. he puts his mouth next to your ear, and his words make your walls tighten around his fingers. “jesus christ, this pussy’s so fuckin wet for me, ‘m gonna need to taste you, sweet girl.” his next words come out as a low growl, “don’t you dare cum. fucking slut. want this cunt so fucking desperate for me when i fuck you again.”
Eddie crawls back down your body so he’s once again eye level with your dripping folds. the tears are streaming down your face nonstop, and you’re so fucked out, so needy, that you can barely form a sentence, but you feel yourself nodding your head. hear yourself promising Eddie that you won’t let yourself cum, hear yourself lying (“i can handle it, Eddie, promise.”) as he attaches his lips to your clit. he knows youre close, teetering right there on the edge, knows you cant handle this, knows he’s about to make you cum even though he’s just told you not to. he starts slow, lips wrapped around your clit, fingers pushing into your hole gently. your hips are rutting against his face, and he pulls away, looking directly at you with a devilish smirk on his face. “don’t. fucking. cum.” with that, he dives into your pussy. lapping at your folds, sucking up your juices, his nose bumping your clit, tongue in your hole. you’re screaming, telling him that he has to stop, you can’t take it anymore, you’re going to cum if he keeps going. and he does. Eddie holds your hips to his face, and continues to eat you out. you snap. your orgasm hitting you like a truck. you only feel good for a moment, though, because as soon as you’re cumming on Eddie’s tongue, he’s pulling away, ringed fingers coming down hard on your pussy, the hard slap ruining your orgasm as quickly as it had come. you scream out, somehow even more desperate than before.
Eddie looks down at you and tsks, wiping some of your tears away. “thought i told you not to cum, sweet girl. now ‘m gonna have to punish you.”
not this coming in to my inbox right before i’m about to go to sleep HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?
After 10 minutes of waiting his van halted in front of you.
Eddie had his arm resting out his window, as he calls over to you "hey, doin alright doll?"
God. Doll. He can't make this any harder for me can he?
"yeah, yeah I'm doing alright. Just.. needed a ride back," you say, climbing into his shotgun.
The beginning of your commute back was jarringly quiet. Or, loud, rather. Everything else was loud. The sound of his wheels whirring on the asphalt, the sound the seats made when you shifted, Even the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel.
"y'know, you've been real quiet lately Y/N."
He breaks the silence, yet you grit your teeth at his comment.
"yeah?" You reply, with slightly more distain then you'd meant.
"yeah.. whatever's bothering you, you can always tell me."
He looks over to you for a second before he continues driving.
No. No I can't. I haven't told you for three years and I won't tell you now, and I especially won't because it's Chrissy.
You acknowledge him by nodding, adding to the already stark and stifling quiet.
He parks in your houses driveway, opening the door for you.
"hey uh. Can you ask Chrissy if she maybe wants to hang out with us tomorrow? I mean we just learned she smokes so you know, thought we could add her to our usua-"
"why don't you just ask her yourself?" You scoff, walking up to your front door and fumbling with your keys.
Since you like her so much, you add under your breath.
"yeah I.. guess I should, right?" He laughs nervously, trying to keep the air light.
You don't respond.
".... Well, I'll see ya tomorrow sweetheart, alright? Bright n' early as per usual" he smiles slightly, before swiftly getting into his van and driving off.
Asshole.
The next morning, you see Eddie's van parked outside of your house as he honks his horn, calling out to your window.
"y/n!! M'here to pick you up little lady!"
You have a raging headache, and his honking isn't making it better. You feel awful about how coldly you treated everyone yesterday, it wasn't either of their faults you liked Eddie.
You had thought that after three years, it would at least have faded, but no. And that was your own pathetic problem, not theirs. So as you shoved your feet into your shoes and pulled your sweater over your head, you walked out your front door with a smile.
"I'm coming!" You Hollar, seeing at Eddie who was checking an invisible watch on his wrist.
Youre about to hop in shotgun like you usually do, but stop in your tracks.
"oh, sorry y/n! Ed's said I could ride on the passenger side this morning. I hope that's alright with you?" She blinks, batting her eye lashes. With anyone else, that'd sound sarcastic. Somehow it makes it worse that Chrissy doesn't know how she's making you feel.
"not at all!"
And you hop in the backseat.
The entire ride Chrissy and Eddie talk, laughing at eachothers stupid jokes, gasping at eachothers stupid stories. You don't say a word the entire ride.
Eddie holds your door open, "m'lady,"
You smile through clenched teeth, not able to muster up a laugh.
In class, all you could think about was Eddie. You bowed your head on your desk, sulking.
Goddammit.
Why couldn't I get past this stupid crush?
It'd be different if you had told him, or if you were dating. But you weren't, and to the best of your knowledge he had no idea you liked him.
And if that wasn't enough, it felt like Eddie was slowly moving away from you.
And closer to Chris.
You felt betrayed by the both of them, though they didn't actually do anything to actually offend you. It was silly. All of this was.
Now at Eddie's trailer you all sat in a circle as Eddie rolled.
You didn't really mind Chrissy coming, you did love having her around. It really was just the implications, and how much you didn't like them together.
After a little while, the paper was more than half through, and you were all laughing and coughing together.
"y'know what Ed's? I'm gonna grab a drink. I'm raidin your fridge." You say, speach slower than usual.
"I'm not sure that's too good of an idea, princess, you're mixin' stuff and you got school t'morrow" he says, a hand reaching your shoulder to narrowly stop you from reaching his refrigerator.
You scoff, and grab a Redhook,
And another
And another one.
The blunt was basically just a stump at this point. You were arguably sober, but the argument would have no basis, and would be objectively wrong. You were drunk, and high, and not thinking straight.
Chrissy got up, smoothing out her skirt.
"hey guys, m'gonna go use the ladies room, okay?"
Eddie nods and you raise you hand to wave bye to her, all lazy like. Like you were a muppet being controlled by some puppeteer who really hates his job.
"m'gladdd she's gone," you slur, words coming out of your mouth with zero stops.
Huh? Eddie says, tilting his head.
"So.. so I can get you alllllll t'myyy self!"
Eddie chuckles, thinking it was just drunk, stupid words. People say stupid things when they're intoxicated, and you had a history of just letting your thoughts flow.
"you two have been avoiding me for soooo long..m'startin to think you hate me Ed's," you sniffle, slouching into his shoulder.
"I don't hate you, m'sorry ya feel that way."
"yyyeah. I'm glad you don't hate me, because I loveee youuu," you whine, teary eyed.
He laughs, patting your head but you suddenly snap up, offended.
"not like the way you're thinkin'!! M' in love with you." You blurt.
Eddie tries to respond, shocked, but you interrupt.
"and I'm tired of pretendin' that you aren't ignorin' me to go suck Chris's face off, you two love eachother sooooo much, but you didn't even like Chrissy until I introduced you guys!! " You get up, stumbling and almost tripping on your own feet.
"hold on, are you serious y/n? Do you think me and Chris are sucking faces and that I just suddenly don't like you or something??" He says, raising his voice and standing up in front of you. He completely eclipses you, but you daringly raise a finger at him.
"yea, and I hope Chrissy finally screws you so you can get rid a' her as easilly as you're getting rid of me-"
Chrissy opens the door.
"e-everything alright in here?"
A/N sorry if this one's a tad long guys! Got carried away at four am. I hope you guys enjoyed this one :)
Tag list *it wouldn't add some ppl srry guysies :(*: @rebelcthulhu @ietss @soclover3000 @mddieeunson @charliiexx @bambi-munson @nightless @creativedogs @erodahellfire @thecraziestcrayon @yourfavoritefangirl @eddiemunson4ever @televisionboy @kellysimagines @comic-harley @chloebeansack @estellaisaloser
CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART TWO
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
[33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.
I can’t stop, the way I feel.
Camp Upside Down was about eighty miles outside of Hawkins, Indiana, just past Belmont and hidden amongst the trees of the YellowWood State Forest.
It held too many kids, a collection of old wooden cabins, a few impressively sized lakes, sports equipment that was made in the sixties and Steve fucking Harrington.
It’s not like you had always hated the boy, you just couldn’t really remember the last time you liked him.
The first of June brought blue skies, summer rolling in with thick white clouds, the kind that didn’t look real. The Indiana air was warm and hazy, growing hotter in the afternoon, long days, bright nights and the return of fireflies and open air pools.
Each year you left Hawkins behind, a kiss pressed to each cheek by your parents, your old car packed to the brim as you headed west for six weeks, to your home from home, buried between cedar trees, amongst giant redwoods and overgrown wildflowers.
You rolled out of town and took the sun with you, windows down, radio blasting music and static, that soft buzz that you loved so much. You sped past the water tower, the quarry and the wheat fields, the strawberry patches and the forest that no one liked to wander too far into.
You hated that Steve Harrington followed, his car newer, shiner, faster. You hated when he overtook you on the straight, before you had even had a chance to leave town. So you would hang your arm out the window, middle finger poised in a pretty salute just for him and he’d send you one back, like clockwork, like you’d practised it, like it happened every year.
If you could get close enough, your car bumper threatening his, you could just make out the scowl behind his raybans, the twist of his lips cursing you out in the reflection of his rear view mirror.
It went on like that for the whole drive, never stopping unless the boy did, refusing to fall behind, because bathroom breaks were for losers and you did not fucking lose to Steve Harrington.
It was flat out, foot down, wind whipping in on the highway; a game of cat and mouse, curses yelled over the radio, hair messy in your face, just pushing the speed limit until overhead signs and four lane roads turned into something else.
It’s like the sun got softer when you turned off the freeway, the light hazy between the trees and it made this part of the world seem like it was just for you.
Single track roads took you through the forest, past rivers and lakes, mountains in front of you, Hawkins behind you and the air was sharper, muddled with pine and moss, still wet tree trunks from the morning rain, wildflowers and something too sweet to name.
Smoke threaded through it all when you got closer to camp, the big wooden archway greeting you like an old friend, the cabins appearing through cracks in the forest, the doors open, staff carrying in pillows and sheets, prepping for the arrival of the kids in a few days time.
And when you pulled your car into the staff parking, a clearing between trees behind the big gymnasium, you turned off your engine, closed your eyes and listened to the little slice of peace you’d get in your six week stay.
No kids, no screaming, no arguing, no singing. Not yet.
Just bird calls and the buzz of insects, soft wind between branches and the slow crackle of the main campfire if you strained your ears hard enough.
“Your shitty car gets slower every year, princess.”
You swore, low under your breath, the soft “for fuck sake,” mixing with a sigh as you let your head fall onto the seat and you opened your eyes.
Steve was standing at your open window, hip leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed, expression smug. He grinned at you.
“Harrington,” you greeted, a drawl that lacked any sort of warmth, tinted with annoyance instead.
The boy tsked, sarcasm dripping from him as he leaned in, arms on the window ledge, peering into the car and peering at the pile of cassettes on your passenger seat.
“Blondie? Really?”
You swatted at him, brows knitted together already because you’d been at Camp Upside Down for quite literally three minutes and the boy was already doing his best to infuriate you.
“That’s not very nice,” he told you but he was still grinning. “You didn’t miss me?”
You pushed the car door open, knocking Steve out of the way in the process and you scowled as you popped the trunk, turning to him with a glare.
“Miss you? I saw you at the store two days ago.”
Steve watched you haul out your bags, snorting when you let them fall to the forest floor without much care.
“Yeah, but you called me a dickhead and hit me with your cart.”
“You yelled across the store and asked me where my cauldron was.”
You set the boy with a stare, a little dead behind the eyes, just like you’d perfected. Your lip twitched into an almost smile when you let another bag tumble out of the trunk, narrowingly missing the boy's foot when he flinched out of the way.
Steve shrugged, tongue pressed to his cheek to stop his grin as he stared at you right back.
“It was a valid question.”
You slammed the trunk, your gaze on the boy withering and you kicked at one of your bags. You hated this part.
“Are you gonna help me with these?” You really didn’t know why you were bothering to ask, because the boy was already backing away, hands shoved into the pockets of his Levi’s and he was still fucking grinning.
“Why would I do that?” He questioned. “Besides, I only came round to tell you Hopper wants everyone in the office. Now.”
You glared at Steve, seething, lips parting with a high pitched scoff as you threw an arm out and gestured to all your belongings, most of your life packed into four too big duffel bags.
“You fucking just watched me unload the car.”
Steve hummed happily, too far away for you to throw a pine cone at. He tutted, all faux concern and sad brown eyes.
“Damn, I did, didn’t I?” And then he was walking away, heading to the offices that were housed in the row of cabins by the lake. “Don’t be too late, princess, Hops already in a shitty mood.”
——————
Camp leader Jim Hopper, was indeed in a foul mood when you arrived twenty minutes later, out of breath and just as annoyed as he was.
The cabin was full, bodies squeezed between desks and the moth-eaten couch was piled with people. Faces new and old stared back at your sudden entrance, the scowl that was already on your face only deepening when Steve, who was leaning lazy against a wall, wiggled his fingers at you.
“Hawkins,” Hopper barked, “how nice of you to finally join us. You think after doing this for four years, you’d know that the first day meeting is always at eleven o’clock sharp.”
Hopper's habit of calling people by their hometown should’ve been insulting, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a teddy bear looking man, moustache twitching when he was either annoyed or amused, but he had soft eyes and an even softer patch for the camp kids.
When you first pointed out that there were three counsellors that came from Hawkins, he merely started calling you Hawkins number two, so you tended to not remind him after that.
“Sorry,” you huffed, not sounding all that sorry, and you glared at Steve as you squished yourself between Eddie Munson and Robin Berkeley. Buckley.
“Okay, shitheads, listen up,” Murray, Hopper’s right hand man, stood with a clipboard, thick rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “Roll call.”
“Muson, music. You’ve got three new kids that have signed up for private guitar lessons, you’ll get their info by tonight, make sure you check in with Joyce at reception.”
Eddie Munson, one of the older boys nodded, long, dark curls already frizzy with the warmth that the forest trapped beneath its canopy. Originally from Pittsburgh, the boy was still dressed in his leather jacket, a denim vest that had ripped sleeves and a giant Dio patch sewn messily onto the back, ready for a metal concert rather than s’mores around the campfire.
“And for the love of god, wear the proper uniform this year.”
On cue, Hopper started throwing out the mandatory shirts, white and years old, the sleeve cuffs red, just like the printed ‘staff’ on the back, in bold, capital letters.
“Nancy, you’re moving up this year, senior counsellor,” Nancy Wheeler, another Hawkins native, nodded sharply, her hair clipped back and uniform already on. “We’re gonna need the first week's schedule done for the kids arriving at the weekend and christ, make sure these idiots turn up for their shifts.”
Robin snorted from beside you and Murray rounded on her, a finger pointing accusingly. “Buckley, any more missed shifts from you this year and you’ll be on clean up duty for every dinner shift. Bob wants you in the mess hall tomorrow for lunch prep.”
The girl scowled, mumbling under her breath about how it wasn’t her fault she never heard the morning tannoy. A pretty girl from Detroit, Robin was all ripped jeans and backwards caps, sarcastic comments and sleeping wherever she could make herself comfortable.
Hopper threw a shirt at her, grinning when it landed against her face with a soft thump.
“Jonathan.” The boy who was busy fiddling with the camera around his neck suddenly looked up, eyes wide as if he’d been caught half asleep. “The parents are more than happy to buy more of the photo packages this year and we need new prints for the newsletters so we want content, content, content. No slacking and distracting your girlfriend or you’ll be sleeping on the other side of the lake.”
Jonathan Byers, from Bloomington, just a few hours from Hawkins, mumbled an agreement before walking over to sit by Nancy and resting his head on top of hers.
“Hargrove,” Hopper barked from behind his desk, “you’re back on sports but we’re a lifeguard down this year so you’ll be splitting shifts with Harrington.”
Billy Hargrove, California bad boy, was sliding an unlit cigarette between his lips, getting the tip slick as he grunted his agreement. He caught his staff shirt as it flew through the air at him, winking at you when he tucked it into the waistband of his too tight jeans.
“And for fuck sake, Billy, no non staff members in the cabins after six,” Hopper groaned, “I’m not having screaming mothers at my door at one in the morning this year, corrupt the girls of Indiana on your own time, not mine.”
“You two,” Murray finally rounded on you and Steve, a sardonic grin pulling at his lips. “Lovebirds, you’re both on games and swimming.”
Steve and you both huffed out a protest at the term, features pulled into a scowl and you flipped off both Robin and Eddie when they chuckled.
“And Jesus Christ, if any more of your lovers' tiffs result in more broken equipment, it’s coming out of your wages.”
You scoffed, a sound of protest as Steve swore. “Bullshit, what broken equipment?”
The rest of the team snickered as Hopper levelled you with a stare from over the top of the computer screen. Murray snorted from behind his fist and even Steve had to try to hide his grin at your words.
“There’s three cracked kayaks, fourteen broken tennis racquets and a box of punctured basketballs sitting behind the gym as we speak, sweetheart, don’t even go there.”
You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off of the couch, grabbing Robin’s hand and yanking her up with you when she batted at your arm.
Everyone else shuffled to their feet, leaving the few newbies in the corner, wide eyed and worried as they waited for their orientation.
Hopper glared at the seven of you as you lined up at the door, restless and waiting to escape to your cabins, to steal some food from the kitchens when Bob wasn’t looking.
“No drugs,” Hopper announced before Eddie could open the door. “No smoking, and for god sake Munson, don’t tell the kids that you can eat the mushrooms, not again.”
Eddie had the audacity to look bewildered, brown eyes big and doe like as you held in a snicker from behind him. He swatted at your leg and you thumped him back, grinning when the back of your hand caught the edge of his rolling tin in his front pocket.
The older man moved onto Billy, glaring when the boy only smirked, sliding a pair of gold rimmed aviators over his eyes.
“Nudity is for the showers and your own cabin, California, I don’t wanna see your ass comin’ out of the lake, I don’t care how early it is in the morning.”
Billy simply grinned wider, snickering when Nancy blushed, rolling his eyes when Robin dug her fingers into his ribs.
“And you two,” Hopper lifted a hand, gesturing between you and Steve once more, “if I gotta break up any more fights, or play couples therapist, you’ll be paying for my own before summer is over, you hear me?”
The pair of you sulked, eyes lowered to the floor and feet shuffling as you weighed up your options of arguing back, but the office room was lacking its usual cloud of cigar smoke and the coffee machine in the corner had a piece of paper with a big ‘out of order’ scrawled on front.
“Loud and clear, chief,” Steve smirked, eyeing you from where he stood, Eddie grinning between you both.
Murray opened the door to the forest and the sun, the wall of heat seeping in and fighting with the old aircon unit and Hopper’s last words to you all before you slipped out were:
“Play nice and don’t kill the kids.”
Billy caught Steve by the shirt as they left, the boy’s watching as the rest of you walked down the gravel path that led through the trees, splintering off from cabin to cabin.
The blonde boy turned, grinning sharklike, sunglasses still on. He nodded to your retreating frame, taking a second to watch the way your shorts rode up the backs of your thighs as you climbed the cabin stairs behind Robin.
“You tapped that yet, Harrington?”
Steve glowered, ripping away his arm from the other boy but his reaction only made Billy smirk wider, a lighter appearing from his pocket as he lit his cigarette.
“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve did his best to sound bored, like he didn’t care.
But it only made Billy laugh, blowing smoke to the blue skies and he followed Steve down the opposite trail, heading towards the same cabin that Eddie was currently dragging a small amp into.
Steve huffed when the blonde boy stomped up the stairs behind him, stepping over the forgotten bags that lay unpacked on the floor.
“Maybe that’s Hawkins' problem, you know?” He asked, referring to you. Billy eyed Steve, leaning against his top bunk, the air in the wooden cabin so much cooler than outside. “Maybe she just needs a good seeing to.”
Eddie raised his brows, looking carefully between his bunkmate and Billy, wondering if there was about to be a new record for how quickly a fight broke out. The current sat at seventeen hours after arrival, but there had been a lot more vodka involved that time, and maybe a comment or two about that one time Billy got the clap from some girl in the next town over.
“Now now, boys,” Eddie intoned, “I’ve not nearly had enough sleep to deal with this shit.”
He went ignored.
Billy continued, teeth sharp and white and bared as he followed Steve around the bunks, leaning against the dresser before the boy had a chance to open it and his eyes flashed when he watched the muscle in the brunette’s jaw twitch.
“Think she’d let me?” Hargrove asked, “think she’d get a little wild for me?”
“Don’t you have shit to do?” Steve snapped, refusing to look at Billy, ‘cause he could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, a horribly uncomfortable tightness clawing at his throat.
But Billy could see right through him, years of spending summers together, watching the way you and Steve argued, nose to nose and chests panting. He always made sure he had a front seat to the show and poking the angry bear only made the inevitable first argument so much more fun to witness.
Billy clicked his tongue, still grinning unbearably wide. “Maybe I can go visit Hawkins… I’m sure there’s something heavy that your girl needs help with.”
“She’s not my fucking girl.”
The blonde winked at Eddie as he passed, the longer haired boy doing nothing to hide his smile, knowing fine well what game Hargrove was playing. And shit, he was winning, ‘cause by the time Billy left and Steve spun back around, his fists were clenched and a heavy scowl pulled his brows together.
“You’re too easy, Harrington.”
“Shut up,” Steve muttered, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He liked Eddie, and god, he knew he was right.
——————
“You know, every summer I expect you and Harrington to walk into camp, hand in hand, talkin’ all sweet to each other,” Robin wasn’t looking at you as she spoke, too busy stuffing already crumpled shirts into the shared dresser, but you knew she was grinning. “The sexual tension has to break sometime, you know?”
“Over my dead, fucking body.”
Your reply was one she’d heard before, year after year, summer after summer, because every June, the same thing happened. Fall outs, arguments, screaming matches in the mess hall, head to head battles on the dock, late night yelling over a campfire and a bottle of cheap bourbon.
“I still don’t get it,” the girl smirked, finally eyeing you from over the top bunk. The late morning light made the small cabin glow, the surface of the lake reflecting in through the open window and off of the panelled walls. “Steve isn’t that bad.”
“That’s because you didn’t have to go through high school with the King himself,” you deadpanned, already bored of the conversation. You’d had it before, several times over with almost all the camp staff, each one wondering why you and Steve fucking Harrington wanted to kill each other over a game of dodgeball, the last poptart at breakfast, picking teams on games night. “Harrington got everything I worked hard for, just ‘cause his daddy has some money.”
You threw your now empty duffle bag to the ground kicking at it until it slid underneath the bed. Your own pillow was in its rightful place on top, the peach coloured case clashing horribly with the army green duvet, but it smelled like home.
“I announced I was running for class president in sophomore year, and then that asshole decided he would to,” you levelled Robin with a stare, still petulant after so many years. “He threw a party at his stupid rich house and by Monday, everyone was talking about Steve Harrington’s pool and how they were voting for him.”
“Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to hold onto such a grudge-”
You cut the girl off, on a tangent now she’d brought the sore subject up. “Like, wasn’t it enough that he was the swim team captain? And then! When we got into that stupid fight in Junior year, we both ended up with a weeks detention but no, no. Mr Harrington swoops in with a little two grand donation to the school’s library upgrade and low and behold, little Stevie is suddenly off the hook.”
You kicked another bag, this one not as empty and you tried not to wince when your toe made contact with what you assumed was a collection of books.
“As long as his record is squeaky clean, right? S’not like his dad won’t just pay his way into fucking Yale, or Princeton, for him anyway,” you were grumbling now and when you looked up to see Billy Hargrove walking by with a too smug smile, you flipped him off, trying to make yourself feel better.
He just wiggled his fingers at you in a wave, winking when you grimaced.
“I think I need a drink,” you said, throwing yourself down onto the bed and concluding your Steve Harrington rant, more than likely only the first of the day.
The sheets smelled the same, like they always did. A little musty, like the back of a storage cupboard, almost hidden by the laundry detergent you knew Joyce made Hopper use. Fresh like pine needles, like the forest floor and mountain air. Kinda like another home.
Robin barked out a laugh before coming over and standing between the space between your knees, your legs splayed over the too narrow mattress. She offered you a hand, exaggerating a loud groan when you took it and she pulled you back up to sit. An affectionate pat fell on your head before she looked around the mess of your half unpacked cabin, sheets and folded towels on the dressers, drawers open and half full, a litter of shoes by the door and an unplugged radio on a chair.
“You know what?” She huffed out, “we both need a drink.”
——————
The keg party by the lake was a first night tradition, the older staff members long gone to their beds after a tiring first day in the forest heat, lugging around equipment and furniture.
The rest of you gathered at the dock, crowding the small part of the water front that had sand instead of rocks, the air still warm from the leftover sun despite the stars in the sky. It was inky black in the middle of the woods, the clouds navy, the lake a mirror and the fire gave off an impressive amber glow.
Everyone was painted in orange light, pink and red on their cheeks, smoke in their hair and a different kind of fire in their chests when Billy produced a few bottles of cheap whisky, a half bottle of bourbon and surprising everyone, Nancy had added a bottle of vodka to the pile. Cheap beer came in the form of lukewarm kegs and despite the effort it took, Jonathan pulled the short straw and drove out of camp, meeting the delivery boy on the main road to pick up a pile of hot pizza boxes.
It smelled like summer, smoke and god awful decisions.
The dirty beat of Need You Tonight by INXS started through the tannoys above you, the old, tinny speakers hidden in the trees.
Some people cheered, others moved to the sand to dance, a slow grind of bodies with their bare feet in the lake, water lapping at ankles as they moved. Steve was grinning from the dock, a rip in the one knee of his jeans, the skin underneath already tanned as if he belonged under the sun. The white t-shirt he wore was threadbare, years old with ‘camp upside down’ faded in green on the chest.
He was watching you, a feeling that used to make you unravel, like you knew he did it just to earn a rise from you. So you waved instead, sugary sweet and full of sarcasm, huffing when he beckoned you closer with a hand that was holding the last of the bourbon, and you told yourself it was the promise of alcohol that made your feet move.
You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at the boy in front of you, your red cup clutched to your chest and you couldn’t help but take another step forward, just a small one, until the toes of your shoes were touching his.
He looked down at the wooden boards, the water lapping underneath, barely seen between the cracks in the dark, but the boy was too focused on the way your converse bumped his nikes. It felt like a challenge, like everything with you did and when he looked back up, your chin was tilted high and your eyes were glittering.
You looked like trouble and he hated it.
“Is this another one of your shitty mixtapes, Harrington?” You let the words drip from your lips, whisky mixing with distaste and the late night air.
Everything was warm and sweet, bourbon and peaches, campfire smoke and leftover lake water on your skin. Steve looked at you, eyes shining, freckles on his nose like stars and he grinned.
“How’d you know, princess?” He took the cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear, slid it between his lips as he kept your gaze, always undefeated in the staring contests you both never meant to start.
“‘Cause it sounds like something a boy would make when he’s trying too hard to get a chick in his bed.”
He lit the cigarette, still grinning, the end of it caught between teeth and Steve Harrington looked so unbelievably ready to play one of your little games with you. The ash burned red in the dim light, the sounds of your friends and co-workers dull behind you both.
“Does that mean it’s working?”
“You fucking wish, wonder boy,” you scoffed and you made a grab for the bottle he was holding, twisting your lips to hold in the annoyance when Steve moved it out of reach, holding the amber liquid above your head.
“So mean already,,” Steve tutted and you hated the familiar warmth that wrapped around his words, like it was supposed to be a compliment. “Don’t you usually wait for day three before breaking out that one?”
“Give it,” you demanded, and from over Steve’s shoulder you could see Eddie and Jonathan watching, expectant smiles on their faces and interest in their eyes.
“Make me, princess,” Steve answered, voice just as short as yours but he sounded too amused, like he always did when he was trying to push your buttons. The boy was too tall, his hand and the bottle well above your head, leaking into the night sky above and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself by trying to jump for it.
So you drained what was left in your cup, the vodka was too cheap and it burned your tongue but the mix of cherry kool aid made up for it, staining your tongue red. You swiped at your lips, grinned and planted your hands on Steve’s chest much to his surprise.
But just as his mouth fell into a pretty ‘o’ shape, his brown eyes darkened to that dark honey shade you were used to, you pushed, hard. He hit the water with a splash and to the raucous sound of whoops and cheers, a wolf whistle when he emerged, white top soaked and clinging to the ridges and dips of his muscles, tangled at his waist.
He spluttered, waist deep in the lake as he stared back up at you, hair dripping into his eyes and oh, he was mad. You were fucking joyous, wrapped up in the way people were laughing and you didn’t break eye contact with the boy as you bent at the waist and picked up the bottle that’d dropped as he fell.
You pulled off the lid, grinned and brought it to your lips, draining the rest of the smoky drink, another burn that nipped at your throat, your chest, your skin. You felt too warm when you chased a stray drip of it with your thumb, sliding over your lip before sucking it back between your lips.
“Made you,” you told Steve.
The things you do, don’t seem real.
The kids arrived in a wave of colours and chaos, bags forgotten on buses, new cabins already turned inside out and Joyce had a queue as long as the lake outside of her office, her hands full of allergy medication, inhalers and requests to change bunks ‘cause ‘Kyle Jamison snores like a seventy year old with a lung condition.’
The camp itself was just as messy, it always had been. The old cabins littered the space, winding dirt tracks leading you into a cluster of trees, surrounding the old wooden huts, the porch light almost always flickering in the dark.
There was faded bunting hanging from branch to branch, the old gym that sat with its rusting tin roof near the back, the dock with its splintering planks by the lake. The grassy hub at the centre was worn down by constant running and makeshift picnics and the wildflowers that free in between it all were getting too tall, bursts of red, yellow and orange between green moss.
It was getting old, things were a little broken but the entire forest smelled like morning dew, that ‘it’s just rained’ kinda way and old campfire smoke. It was another home.
Camp Upside Down was officially in full swing.
You were pleased to see you had some of your returning favourites in your group that year: Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Suzie Bingham and Dustin Henderson.
You were just going through the last of the names on your list, kids gathered in front of you and awaiting their assigned cabins when Steve snatched the clipboard from your hand, huffing.
“Harrington!”
“What the hell is this?” Steve grumbled, looking at the sheet of paper and at your group. He singled out Dustin, and the boy flushed, all nervous grin and bright eyes underneath his curls. “Henderson, I thought you said you were requesting my group this year?”
The young boy shrugged, glancing at the trees instead of Steve.
“I, uh, I said I was happy with either of you,” Dustin grinned, front teeth coming in more than they were last year and you beamed back. “Besides, Hawkins sneaks us extra cookies before bed.”
You shot the boy a look.
“Hey! I told you not to tell anyone about that,” you admonished, eyes rolling. “And that’s not my name, Dustin, we spoke about this last year.”
But before Dustin could argue back, Steve was pulling you aside, his hands shockingly warm as they wrapped around your wrist. You stumbled into the tree line with him, shoes sinking into moss, senses surrounded by cedar and cicadas and Steve.
“What the fuck? Steve!” You hissed, pulling yourself from his grasp with a scowl.
Before either if you could say anything,Lucas Sinclair, a tall, dark haired kid tapped a passing new counsellor on the arm. They looked concerned when the boy pointed to you both, hidden in the trees.
“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he told them, voice bored and lacking any real worry.
“You’re stealing my kids, princess!” Steve’s voice was just as annoyed as yours, his brow furrowed as he stabbed a finger at your sheet of names.
“Stealing?” You scoffed, whacking your clipboard against his own. The metal clip narrowly missed his fingers and he swore at you hotly. “Stealing? They’re children, Harrington, not collectibles.”
The kids in question were giggling where you’d left them, your group mixing with Steve’s as they stared in that unabashed way only preteens could. You flushed when you heard one of them - Nancy’s brother, Mike, you were sure - made wet, kissing noises. Immature and highly ironic, you noted, considering he was standing hand in hand with a girl called El.
You glared at them all and they quietened, but only just.
Spinning back round to deal with your other problem, you pointed a finger to Steve’s chest, hating the way he smirked at your sudden frustration.
“And what’s your point anyway, huh?” You huffed, “you have Maxine this year, I always have Max in my group!”
Steve looked entirely too smug as he bent a little at waist, crowding down into you so you were both toe to toe.
You hated it.
You hated his brown eyes, the way they caught the sun. You hated the smattering of freckles he got every summer, the moles on his neck, the ones you knew dotted the rest of his skin. You hated his hair, how it fell into his eyes when he got mad at you, how he was too focused on you to push it back.
“Maybe Max just likes me better.”
You gasped, entirely offended at his accusation and before you could hurl something sharp and quick back at him, the girl in question raised her hand from the middle of the crowd, face scrunched in uncertainty.
“Hi, uh, yeah” You both turned to look at the redhead. “Yeah, no, that’s absolutely not true.”
You rounded back on the boy, a shit eating grin on your face as you raised your brows, your expression victorious.
“Whatever,” he mumbled, almost nose to nose now and you could smell the spearmint gum he’d chewed, the clean smell of his cologne, whatever body wash he’d used that morning. “Good luck keeping mini Byers alive.”
“Hey!” Will piped up, louder than he’d been last summer and he was scowling at Steve. “I only have three inhalers now.”
Steve rolled his eyes, finally moving out of your space and rounding up his kids like some sort of rogue cowboy, sans horse. He waved the boy away, sounding somewhat placating when he congratulated him.
“That’s great, Will, honestly buddy,” Steve offered a fist bump, one that the smaller boy happily accepted. “Just don’t let Hawkins here let you forget them yeah?”
Steve turned back to you once more, still smug, still infuriating. “We wouldn’t want her to get in trouble now, would we?”
——————
“Camp has been in session for five minutes.”
Murray was standing in front of you, hands open in a gesture that screamed ‘for the love of god, explain yourselves.’ Hopper was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers running circles at his temples and he sighed heavily.
Neither you nor Steve spoke, eyes trained on the old, worn floorboards, converse shuffling, shoulders shrugging, lips twisted to hide your matching smirks.
“Does someone want to explain what happened this time? Because we can’t keep throwing kayaks in the trash like they’re broken cups, people! They're not cheap!”
“Well, you see, Steve has this real annoying habit of-”
“- just because the princess feels then need to win at everything-”
“I need to win at everything?! Me?! Are you fu-”
“Yes you! Always breathin’ down my back, waitin’ for me to fuck up so you can-”
“Enough!“ Hopper jumped up from his chair, hands slamming on his desk as he hunched over it, shoulders heaving, face too red. “Who. Broke. The Kayak?”
You and Steve sighed, shoulder slumped, heads tilted to the ceiling as if you could avoid the question, each other, the inevitable punishment that was coming your way. You sighed, Steve groaned and you both swore.
Because, honestly? You weren’t sure who’s fault it was. Maybe yours, probably Harrington's. More than likely both. ‘Cause the kids had stumbled out of the lake, giddy and a little sunburnt, leaving you to haul the kayaks onto the shore on your own.
Steve had only watched you for a few minutes, smirk on his face as you struggled with the faded red boats, huffing as you attempted to lift them onto the racks, feet clumsy and damp hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks.
In fact, he looked entirely too amused as he leaned against the dock and by the time he’d come over, offering a rare display of help, you stubbornly told him to ‘fuck off.’
He’d laughed at that, angering you more and you squeaked as he stretched out behind you, his chest still bare from helping his group in the water, and the solid warmth of it brushed against your back when his hands moved to help yours.
He jumped when you did, hands stuttering over your own, over the kayak and you had to push yourself up onto your toes when the boat slipped from the railing. You both caught it in time, Steve pressed into you, cedar and mint and boyish cologne as the curve of your ass settled into his hips. As soon as the kayak was in place, you spun, pushing at his shoulders.
“I can do it myself,” you mumbled, suddenly far too flustered to sound overly annoyed. “I don’t need your help.”
“Christ, princess, you sound like a five year old,” Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, looking like you felt. “Can’t admit when you need help, huh?”
“I don’t need help from you, wonder boy,” you tried to laugh, but it came out too pitchy, too forced.
The camp was quiet now the kids had gone back to their cabins, the lake settling after the afternoon swim, the smell of churros and pizza rolls coming from the mess hall. The air fizzed with summer heat and something else and you weren’t sure why, but your chest was heaving, the straps of your swimsuit suddenly feeling too tight.
“Stop calling me that,” Steve growled, eyes flashing and he moved into you again, the way he did when every argument started. “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”
“No shit,” you spat, meeting him in the middle, chin raised in a taunt, a dare, a challenge. “You think I’m here to make your life easier than it already is?”
“You’re fucking infuriating,” Steve hissed, “you know fuck all about my life, princess, don’t act like you’re so hard done by.”
You pressed a hand to Steve’s stomach, ignoring the way the muscles there clenched under your touch and you pushed at him, something inside you crackling when he didn’t budge.
You hated his stupid smile, the way his lips twisted when he made you mad enough to scrunch your nose at him. You hated the way he looked down at you when you were this close, through his lashes, like you were something to be studied. Like he liked the way got into his personal space.
“Well damn, why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Harrington?”
Steve pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to try and hide his grin, and he shrugged, trying to look entirely unbothered at your pushing. He took another step towards you, chasing you slowly when you stumbled back, body pressed to the stacked kayaks behind you.
The old boats were warm from the sun, the cheap pvc hot on your skin, back bared down the low cut of your swimsuit, your shorts doing nothing to protect the backs of your thighs. You wondered if that’s why your chest felt flushed, if that’s why your face was heating up.
“Can’t do that,” he said, tutting before taking his time letting his eyes drop down your body, before trailing back up again. He caught your gaze, held it, bolder than ever. “I’ll get in too much trouble.”
And then, he fucking winked.
So really, it was Steve’s fault that you stumbled into the racks, the kayak that the boy had just helped you push into place rocking on the rails. Neither of you had the reflexes to do anything about it when it slipped backwards, landing on the hard ground, the dull thud ringing out across camp, the sound ending with a sharp crack, the pvc splitting across the bow of the boat.
So that’s how you both ended your night in the mess hall, waving after Bob as he finished serving up sloppy joes and went to find the gaggle of kids that demanded that he needed to fix their broken Walkmans and waterlogged Mattel electronic games.
Murray had stood in front of you both, grinning widely as he handed you mops and cleaning supplies, gleefully pointing out the mustard stains on the linoleum, the spattering of jello that had somehow painted one of the windows.
It was times like these that you were almost sure you preferred Hopper’s red face and grumbled lectures.
“I want this place spotless,” Murray told you both, waving a pair of yellow rubber gloves at Steve. The boy snatched them, face less than impressed when the man simply chuckled. “If you can flirt somewhere away from expensive camp property, you can work out some of this sexual tension by trying to get rid of that dried in chilli from last year.”
You would’ve gagged at the mention of the fossilised food if you hadn’t burned at the insinuation of flirting. And sexual tension. With Steve fucking Harrington.
But the boy beat you to it, as always, his eyes widening and he brandished the mop like a weapon as he pointed at you.
“We were not flirting,” he insisted, “we do not flirt.”
Murray chuckled, “alright Casanova, keep your hair on.”
You snorted and Steve scowled, shooting you a look that clearly was meant to tell you to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t help yourself.
“Murray, I’d like to think in all the years that we’ve known each other, you’d think I had better taste than to pine after Harrington,” you turned to the boy, smiling as sweet as the summer outside. “Wonder boy has enough of the fifteen year olds twirling their pigtails for him.”
“Stop calling me that.”
You ignored him, splashing his trainers with your mop instead and he kicked your bucket in return.
“Yeah, no, this?” Murray clicked his fingers at you both, pointing back and forth at you as if you were a science experiment. “This is ridiculous. Do something about it before you both implode. I’m not having you take the entire camp down just because you’re both too horny to come to terms with normal human emotions.”
Your jaw dropped, a small noise of indignation coming from you and Steve looked completely bewildered.
He grinned once more, smug as he shook his head, like he was the only enjoying whatever inside joke was going on. He turned to leave, not before reaching into his pocket and flicking something at Steve.
The boy caught it instinctively and he turned to the man with wide eyes. But Murray was already walking away, a stern hand raised in the air, finger pointed to the roof as if he was giving you both some sage words of wisdom as he called out:
“Keep it clean!”
You realised he wasn’t just referring to the mess hall when Steve held up the object, face aghast and cheeks positively on fire, the square, foil packet pinched between his fingers.
You were burning, mouth open in surprise and you panicked, batting Steve’s hand and making the condom fall into the sudsy water you had both already spilled onto the floor.
You definitely preferred Hopper’s way of punishment.
“Put that in the trash, right fucking now,” you demanded, staring at the offending object like it was a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow.
“Christ, settle down, princess priss,” Steve huffed, “it’s not gonna bite.”
But for once, he did what you asked, the highs of his cheeks still tinted pink as he snatched the silver packet from the floor, stuffing it deep into the trash bags you’d both been equipped with. He didn’t look at you.
You both worked in silence as the late afternoon turned into dusk, the sky outside the window a pretty lavender, the clouds over the lake turning the water tangerine and it was so quiet.
Most of the kids would be in their bunks by now, some excitedly making their way over to one of the older cabins where Eddie would organise a game of Dungeons and Dragons for them all. Nancy would be in Hop’s office, going through the next week's schedule and Jonathan would be hidden in his makeshift darkroom, a small shed that was once used for bikes.
You were almost certain Billy would be skulking the woods, looking for a ritual sacrifice or some lone kid to blow his shrill whistle at. Either option seemed likely.
Robin would probably already be back in your shared cabin, music on, one of Eddie’s free joints hanging from her lips and you wondered if Steve would normally spend his down time alone, or if he liked to wander the collection of bars the next town over had to offer. If he brought some girl back to his cabin, if he pressed her down onto his stupid bunk that probably smelled like sunscreen and his cologne.
Your stomach twisted ugly at the thought and you slammed the soaking mop down onto the floor harder than you needed to.
You were positively glowering at the streaks of leftover over pudding some kind had smeared across the floor, kicking the forgotten baseball cards and tiny action figures so they skittered under the stacked chairs.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” The boy called out.
He was sitting on one of the long lunch tables, legs swinging with a smirk on his face. He’d hardly cleaned, you’d come to realise, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had other reasons to be mad now.
You stared at him from across the empty hall, chest heaving with an annoyance that only Steve Harrington could pull from you. You let mop clatter roll the floor, uncaring as you rounded on him.
“You,” you spat, hands on your hips and hair messy from where the late night heat made it stick to your forehead.
“Me?” Steve asked, all faux shock and innocence with a hand pressed to his chest. He grinned, wolfish and sharp edges. “Didn’t realise I had an effect on your underwear, princess, wanna elaborate?”
There it was again, you realised. That flirting lilt that weaved its way through his usual taunts and teases, Steve’s normal bite not quite cutting as deep. Not this year, not this time.
It made you flustered, on edge, unable to formulate the kind of barbed reply you usually kept on the tip of your tongue, just for him, and oh my god, it infuriated you.
“You have absolutely no reason to be thinking about what’s under my shorts, Harrington,” you told him, eyes narrowed as you went about moving the stacks of chairs against the wall.
“Bold of you to assume I’d want to, Hawkins.”
The light was leaking from the day and what was left of the sun made the shadows on Steve’s face lilac and peach. You didn’t know you’d marched over to him until you were able to reach out and touch him.
You didn’t. You couldn’t.
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, “don’t call me that as if you don’t come from the same shitty, backwater town as me.”
Steve leaned forward, his hands curling around the edge of the table as he raised his brows, ready for another argument. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like he’d trapped the sun in his chest, like summer lived inside of him.
“D’you prefer princess? The princess of Hawkins, is that it?” His voice was mocking, his eyes sarcastically soft.
“Fuck off, Harrington,” you snarled, and you couldn’t help but lean in too, Steve’s knees pressing into the front of your thighs, your fists clenched by your sides. “At least I’m getting away from that place without my daddy paying my way out.”
“Watch your mouth, sweetheart,” Steve spoke lowly, more serious than you’d heard him before. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Ooh, did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?” You bit back.
The boy stared at you, gaze heavy and hot in a way that made you squirm. The air was buzzing, popping and crackling like there had been a fire lit between you and suddenly, you didn’t know how you were supposed to end this fight.
The tension was too thick to walk away from, sticky like honey, trapping you there.
“You’re fucking impossible,” he whispered, staring at you like you were a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit. “You’re a pain in my ass, you have been since fucking freshman year.”
You scoffed, pinched and nipped by his words because you were just as aggravated by his presence as he was yours. Maybe more. And probably for longer.
“Freshman year?” You said, surprise colouring your tone. “That’s real cute Harrington, but you’ve been getting on my last fucking nerve since seventh grade.”
“Seventh grade? What the fu-”
You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself. You’d been waiting for this moment for eight years.
“Mrs Duncan’s science fair!” You burst out, “I worked my ass off making those vegetable batteries!”
Steve was staring at you blankly, lips parted.
“I had my tables and all my charts, I even bought a metre to measure the voltage with just my pocket money!” You jabbed a finger to his chest, lips twisted into an almost pathetic pout but you felt twelve again and Steve Harrington still pushing your buttons.
“And you! You waltzed in half an hour late, with a stupid bottle of coke and some mentos, claiming that you’d been the one to discover fucking CO2.”
Steve, unable to hide his amused smile, just shrugged. “I was barely thirteen, Jesus Christ princess…”
“And then your dad came in behind you,” you sniffed. “He walked right up to Mrs Duncan and handed her a piece of paper. And I remember it had a few zeros on it,” you laughed without much humour.
The smile slipped from Steve’s face.
“It was so weird, y’know? How that happened and then you won? And then the next week the library had been restocked and suddenly there were new bunsen burners in the science lab.”
You were genuinely surprised when Steve shoved past you, his hands a shocking heat on the dip of your waist as he grabbed at you to tug you out of his way. You didn’t know when you’d moved to stand between his legs, close enough to see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the way there was a small freckle just below his left brow.
He was marching across the mess hall, mop and trash bag forgotten and you were so shocked that it took you a few seconds before you called out, weaker than you had previously been speaking.
“What’s wrong, wonder boy? Don’t like it when you’re called out?”
You weren’t sure if you felt smug or concerned when he spun on his heel, stalking back towards you and moving into you, close enough that the mess of his hair brushed your forehead. But you stood your ground, your legs bumping into the back of the table he’d just left, and you watched through interested eyes as Steve’s chest heaved.
He looked like he wanted to say something, to yell at you even. But you tilted your chin in one last act of defiance, the tip of your nose just, just brushing his and you swore on everything that was holy that you watched the fight leave him.
He was still breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile, took a few hits in a boxing ring, got into a fight with a pretty girl and walked back in for more. You hated it when you realised your chest was moving the same, breaths leaving you in short bursts but you didn’t dare let your stare drop from the boy’s.
You watched lips part, you watched his gaze drop to your mouth and suddenly the birds outside stopped chirping and you could’ve sworn that the world ceased spinning. It felt like the forest was waiting.
Like it was holding its breath.
But then the mop that Steve had left resting against the table he had crowded you against fell, clattering to the floor with a sharp echo. It startled you both, jumping apart as you shared one last breath together, eyes on the floor, cheeks burning.
You didn’t try to stop him when he left a second time, managing to disappear out of the door and into the summer night. You watched the trees and the shadows swallow him, fireflies and leftover smoke in the air and fucking hell, you hated that you watched him walk away until his cabin door could be heard slamming shut.
Tell me what you’ve got in mind.
By the end of the second week of camp, the staff was starting to show the stress of running after a bunch of kids twenty four hours a day. Some of the younger children in Robin's group had caught a bug, and between your friend, yourself and Joyce, you were all run ragged, hauling buckets across camp and dishing out cold compresses like sweets.
So when Saturday rolled in, warmer than the last, you were all ready to let off some steam, meeting behind the gymnasium when the sun went down, greeted by a small fire that Eddie got going in an old trash can. He brought some pre-rolled joints, some stolen bags of chips from Bob’s secret stash and the gym was far away enough from the rest of the camp that no one heard the noise of the boombox Jonathan brought with him.
You threw your own additions into the middle of the makeshift circle that the seven of you made, the newer counsellors still too scared to toe the line of what might get them fired. You stared at the pile of paraphernalia in the middle of the halved logs, makeshift sofas in the too long grass.
A baggie of weed, a grinder and Eddie’s tin of joints, Billy’s favourite whisky, another bottle of vodka - loaded with cherry jolly ranchers that made it pretty and pink. A few cassettes, some homemade mixtapes, the stolen chips, some red vines and sour patch kids, the packet already open and sugar coating the grass.
You hadn’t really spoken to Steve since the mess hall incident.
You’d rather immaturely begged Eddie to switch block sessions with you, allowing you to take your kids to the other side of camp, far from where Steve spent time with his group. You’d organised a massive arts and craft project with Nancy instead, avoiding her knowing looks and pointed questions, letting Dustin go crazy with googly eyes, glitter and neon felt tips instead.
It didn’t matter if you’d asked the kids to make their favourite animal, you’d accept Henderson’s four eyed, sparkly green lizard looking thing over Nancy’s inquisition any day of week. You felt a little bad though, when you all discovered as a group that Will was most definitely allergic to the new type of glue sticks that Hopper had bought.
But it meant that you’d only seen Steve during some meal times, a glance over breakfast, a small collision during one dinner, fries and a bottle of iced tea falling to the floor and everyone had stopped, stared, waited for the yells.
They hadn’t come.
You’d watched him argue with Max when she climbed a tree that he’d already warned her was too tall, you and your group stopping mid swim in the lake to bob around in the current, watching as the boy kicked a dead branch in frustration before scrambling up after her when Max inevitably got stuck.
You knew he was listening in when Dustin started asking why you worked at the camp, a question he asked you every year. You always told the boy it was because you loved seeing him and the rest of the rugrats he called friends. And it always worked when he was younger, ‘cause he’d smile and let you muss up his curls, overjoyed with such an answer and a piece of bubblegum from your pocket.
But he was older now and less believing and when you gave him the same adoring monologue, he simply raised his brows and asked again.
“College,” you had told him simply. “Or money really. I need the cash to be able to leave Hawkins and go somewhere else.”
“Where?” Dustin had asked you, sincere in only the way kids could be.
You were overly aware that Harrington was sitting behind you at the other table, back to back with you on the benches as he showed El how to tie her elastic just right, so that her slingshot would definitely beat Sinclairs. You didn’t have it in you to tell both of them that that kind of craft project definitely wasn’t allowed.
You leaned into Dustin instead and shrugged, smiling softly despite the way you saw Steve in your peripheral, turning just enough so he could hear you say:
“Anywhere.”
So it was a little jarring when he arrived at your little staff get together, camp shirt replaced with one of his own, a sunshine yellow tee that made his eyes look like honey and his skin more tanned. You hated that you noticed, that you knew he looked good.
He greeted everyone warmly, bar you, sending you a curt nod of his head over the burning fire that had Nancy rolling her eyes and Robin poking you in the ribs. Because there were no barbed wire words exchanged between either of you, no jabs, no bites, no smug smiles or sarcastic grins.
“What is going on with you two?”
You ignored her question, giving her a warning glare that she also chose to ignore, ‘cause she went and sat next to Eddie and Jonathan instead, whispering to them behind the plumes of smoke they’d created.
After a few drinks and several people telling Billy to shut up, the night turned darker, the sky navy and the air still stiflingly warm. The fire was more a source of light than heat at this point, or as Eddie liked to remind everyone, ‘it’s for the ambience,’ and everyone was doing their best to stay away from the flames, skin already tight and sore with fresh sunburn from that day.
It only took the vodka bottle being emptied before Billy announced a game of truth or dare, to which everyone groaned and asked what age he was. But he tutted, unperturbed and dropped the empty glass bottle into the middle of the messy circle your bodies had made.
“Don’t be so fuckin’ boring,” he intoned, “it’s either this or hitchhiking into Bloomington to find a chick that likes being on top-”
The girls groaned, faces pulled into disgust and Jonathan was shaking his head, a bemused look on his face.
“-and quite frankly that seems like too much effort tonight.”
Steve scoffed, taking the joint Eddie offered him, pushing it between his lips for a hit before he turned to Billy, one eyebrow raised.
“You mean finding a girl that doesn’t already know you’re a giant dickhead is gettin’ harder to find?”
Sometimes you wondered if Steve hated Billy more than he hated you.
“There’s always your princess,” Billy grinned, eyeing you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. “She’s gotta give into me sometime, right?”
“Keep dreaming, Hargrove,” you butted in, doing nothing to hide the disgust in your voice. You wanted to kick yourself when you realised you’d responded to being Steve’s princess, your name never even being mentioned. “I’d rather kiss Harrington.”
The wave of something washed over the group at your words, wide eyes and soft smirks, and you felt your stomach sink. Steve was staring at you, eyes lit up with something that looked akin to a challenge, a dare that you hadn’t yet been asked.
Fuck.
“Is that so?” Billy laughed, a harsh noise that let everyone know he wasn’t happy at your statement. But he grinned, sharp teeth and sharper blue eyes, steely on you. “You always pick dare, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“That’s not-”
“I dare you to give us all some entertainment and make out with Harrington,” Billy continued, talking over you without even blinking. “Maybe if both of your mouths are busy, we’ll get some fuckin’ peace and quiet around here.”
Nobody breathed.
But someone must’ve picked your mixtape out of the pile, ‘cause the opening beat to ‘I Think We’re Alone Now,’ by Tiffany, started to play. You stared at Billy, shocked at his suggestion, his demand. The game suddenly felt less fun and the only sounds were the echo of your strangled scoff and the crackle of the fire.
But then Nancy was pushing her foot into your ankle from where she sat on her boyfriend's lap, eyes glittering.
“On you go,” she told you, and you think she was trying to be encouraging.
“What?”
“What?” Nancy repeated, doe eyes innocent and wide, like she didn’t know what she was doing. “You picked dare!”
“I didn’t say shit!” You exclaimed, looking around at your friends for help. Robin and Eddie were cackling, faces pressed into each others shoulders, and being absolutely no fucking help to you. “Guys!”
“C’mon, Hawkins, you don’t like to lose now, do you?” Billy was grinning from where he lazed across some old crash mats, his voice a slow drawl as he chewed some gum obnoxiously. “Give Harrington a little lovin’.”
‘Children, behave… that’s what they say when we’re together.’
You turned to Steve, who was still leaning against the gym wall, his eyes finding yours even in the dim evening light. He looked unsure, nervous even, like he was ready to tell the rest of them to shut up, to pack it in. But then he watched the way you brought the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the rest of the sweet drink trickle past your lips and god, he looked at you like he was ready to fight.
Dark brown eyes, smirk on his lips, cocky tilt of his head like he was waiting for you.
He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he watched you stand there, thinking, weighing up your options.
“What’s my forfeit?” You asked cautiously.
You turned when Billy chuckled, blue eyes looking as navy as the sky. He let his head tip back, smoke slipping from his lips and into the trees before he grinned at you, far, far too happily.
“Me,” he told you.
So Steve sighed, overly dramatic before he spoke to the group, voice full of that easy confidence you hated so much.
“Don’t worry princess, you can give it your best shot and I promise I won’t feel a damn thing.”
Your friends cackled and hollered around you; always thoroughly amused by the show you and Steve put on. Robin shook her head from where she sat beside Eddie, a shit eating grinning pulling at her lips and she spilled some beer as she leaned forward and called out:
“What’s that they say? It’s a fine line between love and hate?”
More laughs, whispers and knowing nudges, dollar bills exchanging hands as the group placed their bets on what would happen next.
“I bet your dick says otherwise.”
You don’t know what made you mention Steve Harrington’s dick, but it made the boy’s jaw go slack and the rest of the circle lost it. More whistles, jeering and catcalls broke the quiet of the night, loud over the music, louder because of the vodka and you couldn’t help but set Steve with a smile and a shrug.
This felt like a game you wanted to win.
So you walked over to where he stood, leaning lazy against the gym wall, watching you move towards him like a predator stalking its prey. He was looking at you the same way he did when you ended up on opposite teams for a game of capture the flag, all red hot intensity, pride and confidence bubbling over.
You were surprised when Steve’s hands settled on the dip of your waist, holding you there as you pushed up on your toes to find his lips. Your hand grabbed at his shirt, fisted at the collar to pull him down to you and something in your stomach tumbled when he obeyed.
He didn’t make any more moves though, eyes almost closed as he looked at you through his lashes, watching, waiting, seeing if you fulfilled your dare.
It was awfully quiet now, your friends silent, the radio and the fire both crackling and you could hear how you and Steve’s harsh breaths fell over each other’s faces.
You’d never been this close before. And then it all happened a little too fast.
His fingers flexed at your sides, digging into the soft there and you weren’t sure if it was out of anticipation, impatience or annoyance. There is as something screaming inside of you to move away, to take the loss, that kissing Steve fucking Harrington wouldn’t be worth the five second glory of completing a dare behind the gym hall.
But then Steve was whispering and it fell across your lips, his breath sweet like raspberry sour patch kids and rosè wine.
“If you’re too scared, princess, I totally understa-“
One more push was all you needed. A poke, a pinch, from him, the one person who knew how to rile you up the best.
You kissed him with a surprising softness. Your mouths clashed rough at first, like you did it just to shut him up, to prove a point. And that was true. But your lips gave way to him with surprising ease, a push and pull that felt less like a fight than you thought it would.
It was easy to pretend it wasn’t a dare when Steve let out the prettiest sound, a half sigh, half groan that came from the back of his throat and when he tried to move into you, to take a little more control, your hand that was still curled into his shirt pushed him back into the wall he was leaning on.
He seemed to like that though, ‘cause you felt the curve of his lips on yours, smiling into the kiss and his grip on your waist got almost too tight, like he was planning on leaving marks on you.
Maybe he was.
But then it was a fight, like always, the most dizzying kind. His lips were hot and he tasted sweet, like summer and candy and too cheap alcohol. It felt nice to be kissed, it was all very nice until you remembered it was Harrington and you pushed into him a little harder, nipped at his lip and tugged on his hair. He gave it back just as good, nails scraping against your back, just catching bare skin as he lifted the shirt from your sides.
No one said a word when you parted. Not you, not Steve, not your friends. Not even Billy. You left Steve with a small gasp, a soft noise as you finally parted, so entirely unaware of how long you’d been caught up in his kiss. You felt bruised, on fire, like you’d just stumbled away from your most heated argument yet.
The only saving grace was that he looked as dizzy as you felt.
—————
When a team meeting was called early the next morning, you walked into Hopper's cabin last, only to find everyone in different stages of a hangover, but all equally happy to see you.
They were all grinning, wide, knowing smiles that set your own teeth on edge, your headache worsening when you caught sight of Steve slouched low on the sofa.
He had a pair of Ray Bans perched on his nose and he didn’t look at you when you walked in, eyes on the floor and wincing.
Why the fuck did you kiss Steve fucking Harrington?
“Good morning to you, darlin’,” Billy drawled from where he was leaning against Murray’s desk, smirking with tired eyes. “Sleep well? You didn’t come knockin’ on my cabin so I assume Harrington took real good care of you.”
Oh, you remembered. That’s why.
“Fuck off, Hargrove.”
It was all you could muster when your mouth still tasted like bourbon and Steve, and Murray looked thoroughly interested when he took to the middle of the floor, clipboard in hand.
“I don’t know what went on last night,” he chuckled, “but I’m sure your hungover asses will be pleased to know that it’s hike day.”
Please for the love of god, no.
Everyone groaned, faces dropping in upset and Robin, who had already been sitting on the floor, her back to Nancy’s legs, slumped over, cheek pressed to the old carpet and she made a noise that was akin to a wail.
“Lucky for most of you, we already have sign ups,” Murray crowed gleefully. “Harrington, Hawkins número dos, have a great day.”
Your mouth fell open in protest - hypocritical, you knew, considering you went through the training for hiking safety last summer, but you weren’t on the schedule until next week.
You stared at Nancy who was flicking through the rota with confusion knitted into her features and when she caught your eye, she just shrugged.
“No, no, no,” you told Murray, a strange laugh bubbling in your throat that sounded like panic, “I’m not taking my kids out until next weekend, with Robin!”
Murray shrugged, not looking like he really cared and he crossed his arms, nodding his head towards Eddie.
“No, I know,” he told you in a voice he probably thought was soothing. “But Eddie Munster here-”
“Um, it’s Munson actually.”
“Whatever - your idiot colleague here decided that the road less travelled was the best way home last night.” Murray grinned and pointed down to where Eddie’s foot sat on a small stool, his ankle wrapped tightly in a haphazard bandage. “He’s sprained it.”
You gaped at the boy and Eddie had the right to look sorry, his teeth bared in an apologetic grimace and he mouthed “sorry” at you from beside Steve. His bunk mate hardly stirred.
“Can’t someone else go?” You asked, spinning back to Murray and you didn’t even care that you sounded desperate. “Like, literally anyone else?”
But Murray kept smiling, his clipboard clasped to his chest like a schoolgirl with a secret diary and he sighed dramatically at you before shaking his head.
“No.”
“But Hopper specifically said that we’re not allowed to group together anymore!” You tried, gesturing wildly to Steve who barely answered with a groan. “Not after summer eighty three when he almost drowned me.”
“Okay that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
You rounded on the boy, hands still flapping around yourself. “Oh, he speaks! Don’t you have anything to say about this?”
Steve peered at you from over the top of his sunglasses, brown eyes weary behind them. He groaned, frowned and pushed his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.
“Yeah, no, I’m too tired to argue right now, princess.”
Murray looked entirely too amused and he crooked his finger in air quotes when he snorted and said, “sure, tired, gotcha.” He turned back to you, still grinning obnoxiously. “Anyway, chief isn’t here today and I figured there isn’t any boating equipment for either of you to break out in the mountains.”
The group tittered.
“So hop to it,” he clapped his hands, board tucked under his arm and everyone leapt to their feet when the older man made a move to grab the whistle that hung around his neck. “The kids are finishing breakfast and I want both your groups at the meeting point for a safety debrief before nine.”
—————
You were busy smearing another layer of sunscreen on Will’s nose when Dustin appeared at your side.
The two groups had made it halfway up the trail, the sun lazy and warm, the way it could only be on an early morning hike. The sky was still hazy, a soft blue lavender that made the clouds in the sky seem dreamlike. The kids were still quiet with sleep, trailing happily behind each other, trading secrets and sips of water with their assigned hike buddies.
It was nice. Apart from Steve leading the way with a scowl on his face.
“Are you and Steve fighting?” Dustin asked, curls stuffed messily under a Camp Upside Down hat.
You finished patting at Will’s forehead as you turned to the other boy with a soft frown. But the two kids stared up at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of answer.
“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Henderson,” you laughed softly, “but Harrington and I fight all the time. Argue, I mean. Hitting is bad.”
Will rolled his eyes as he fell back into step beside you, the three of you continuing up the path a little behind the rest of the group. But Dustin tugged at your shirt sleeve, clearly not finished with the conversation, nor satisfied with your answer.
“But that’s the point,” he proclaimed and you huffed as you pulled him out of the way of a fallen branch, his attention focused too much on you to notice it in his way. “You haven’t been mean to each other all morning.”
“Or called each other names,” Will pointed out from the other side of you.
“That’s because name calling isn’t nice,” you tried to protest, but your voice sounded weak even to your own ears.
“You call each other names all the time.”
For the love of god.
Suzie Bingham had appeared beside Dustin, coke bottle glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she set you with a knowing look. Dustin grinned at the girl's appearance, cheeks pink as their shoulders brushed together on the narrow path.
“That’s not the point,” you told her, grappling for an explanation. You glanced up ahead, over the crowd of children’s heads to see Steve bickering with Lucas and Mike, Max poking him in the back with a long stick as she trudged behind them. “We’re adults.”
All three kids stared at you, expressionless and less than impressed.
“Have you and Steve ever kissed?” Will suddenly asked, letting the words burst out from his chest like he knew he shouldn’t have asked.
You tripped over a branch, the same fallen sticks that scattered the trail that you’d pulled Dustin away from. You turned to look at the boy so fast that your neck protested, your eyes wide.
“Because Steve looks at you like he wants to kiss you all the time.”
And then you were on the ground, gravel stuck to your bare knees and dirt on your hands and shins, swearing at the forest floor because all you could think about was the press of Harrington’s lips on yours, the way he dug his fingers into your sides like he couldn’t let go.
Fuck.
“Shit!” You cried out, hot, frustrated tears brimming at your lash line and you winced when you tried to stand back up.
Suzie dropped to the trail beside you, eyes worried as she took note of the blood that slipped down your leg, a nasty gash on your knee that looked like it came from the jagged piece of bark that lay beside you.
“Someone get Steve,” she started to say, a small hand on your shoulder that brought a little comfort.
But Dustin was already cupping his hands over his mouth and positively hollering over the line of kids that were oblivious to what was going on behind them.
“STEVE!”
You groaned, “Dustin, no, I’m fine, honest.”
“You’re bleeding!” Will protested, looking rather sickly at the sight of the red line that was quickly seeking into the white of your sock.
“STEEEVE!”
“Kill me,” you whispered to the ground, “just kill me.”
You saw Steve’s trainers before anything else, the soft thud, thud, thud of his soles on the dirt as he pushed his way through to you. You managed to shove yourself back, your knees protesting before dropping to your ass, inspecting your bloodied leg, wincing.
“Shit, are you okay?”
No comment about your clumsiness, or how you were dumb, or how your dirty, cut up knee looked gross. No, Steve’s voice was shockingly soft with concern as he dropped down on his haunches to inspect your injury.
“M’fine,” you muttered, cheeks warm because he was almost as close as he had been last night, smelling like leftover cologne and sunscreen, the strawberry smoothie you’d watched him grab at breakfast.
“Really?” He mused, his tone disbelieving. “‘Cause that looks pretty nasty, princess.”
His hand moved to cup the back of your sore knee, fingers tucked into the sensitive skin there as he went to inspect the scrape. You jolted at his touch, body electric underneath him and you watched the way Steve’s eyes widened at your reaction.
“Shit, did that hurt?”
“What? No, yes, fuck,” you were panicking, you could hear it in your voice and from somewhere behind you, you heard the distinctive sound of Max Mayfield’s laugh. “Just, Christ, don’t touch me.”
“I’m trying to help, idiot,” Steve snarked but he backed off scowling. You watched how he flexed his hand after he let go of your leg, like his skin was burning the same way yours was, like he’d been scalded. “You need to go get that cleaned.”
You hated that the boy was right but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. Instead, you wrestled to your feet, grunting as you did so, wiggling your ankle to make sure you hadn’t suffered the same fate as Eddie. It seemed fine, nothing crunched at least, but the sting around your split skin screamed at you.
Another slide of red rushed from your cut and down your leg as you moved it and beside you, Will groaned, quickly moving into the crowd to find Mike, his head pushed into his friend's shoulder and his hands clutched at his own stomach.
A chorus of “eww’s” came from the kids and you weren’t fairing much better, your expression pitiful as you watched your white converse turn crimson. You held your leg out awkwardly, hardly balancing on your good one and every time you pushed your foot to the ground, you hissed.
It stung like a bitch.
But then Steve was clapping his hands, well into camp mother mode as he demanded the kids attention. To his credit, everyone looked at him, waiting for further instruction. Well, everyone except Max, who’d found a larger, longer stick and was holding it, javelin style.
“Okay, let’s go,” he announced, his eyes still on you, and you were still surprised to see worry knitted in the space between his brows. “Turn it around gremlins, everyone in front of us and take your time going back down, okay? Stick with your buddy.”
The kids obeyed, muttering between themselves about how much blood was on your leg and would Hopper let them go to the lake now instead? But they trailed back down the path, two by two, and you and Steve waited for the last pair to pass you before he turned, grimacing.
“Put your arm ‘round me.”
You baulked, staring at the boy as if he’d suddenly grown another head.
“What? No,” you hated that you sounded so nervous, and you wondered if he could tell.
“Christ, woman,” Steve rolled his eyes, offering a hand out to you, the warmth of it hovering close to the small of your back. “Can you swallow your fucking pride for a second and let me help you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed, but you wobbled on your one good leg and Steve didn’t try to hide his smile.
“Stubbornness, then,” he mused, eyes on you and his hand still hovering over your back as you started down the hill, an uneven step that had you swearing and muttering to yourself. “Spite, maybe?”
“Fuck you, Harrington,” you told him plainly, hardly any heat behind it for once due to all your attention focused on the pain you were in. Your poor sock was ruined.
Steve’s shoulder bumped yours, his body too close, acting like a buffer in case you fell again. You huffed every time you touched, bare arms brushing, hips grazing and his damn hand still an almost touch on your spine. You could feel the warmth radiate from him.
“Is that dare, princess?” He was smirking.
You stumbled, swearing profusely as you had no choice but to reach out and grab the boy. Steve was already halfway to you, his arm resting at your waist, his other hand catching yours as it grappled for purchase on something. His fingers curled around yours and you were surprised to realise, that aside from the night before, this was the most you had touched the boy in all the years you had known him.
It was dizzying. But maybe that was the blood loss.
His palm was even warmer where it was pressed against your back, the dip where the band of your shorts sat, fitting into the curve rather nicely. Steve guided you down the trail, taking more of your weight when the ground became rockier, the gravel under your soles making you slip, your side falling into Steve’s.
“We’re not talking about that,” you told him, teeth clenched as your knee bent at a funny angle, a new kind of pain nipping at you.
“Oh, we’re not?” Steve asked, voice annoyingly light. You could feel his grin without having to look, like you knew the way the air changed when he smiled, everything warm and dizzying around you.
“Nope!” You declared, your tone leaving hardly any room for argument. Luckily for Steve, he always liked a challenge. “In fact,” you crowed, “it didn’t even happen.”
The boy snorted, a soft sound that you felt through your body, half of your back pressed into his chest as you both toed your way down the steepest part of the mountain. He held you to him, careful not to let you drop your weight onto your leg, one hand still curled large around your own, the other holding your waist now.
You swallowed, throat tight.
“It didn’t happen, huh?” Steve asked, voice low in your ear as you approached the back of the kids, Lucas and Suzie’s ears pricking up at the idea of eavesdropping. “That’s what we’re doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeated again, voice airy, nails digging into the back of Steve’s hand, a warning, another fight blooming in your chest.
Another snort, a tighter grip at your waist, as if he was trying to remind you of the way he held you last night, calloused fingertips pushing at the cotton of your t-shirt, barely touching the skin underneath.
You were so much warmer than when you were climbing up the mountain.
This waiting ‘rounds killing me.
The third week went by in a blur, your incident on the hike leaving you with a nasty cut on your knee that Joyce had to dig gravel and dirt out of, and a sudden overwhelming awareness of where Steve Harrington was at all times.
Your body lit up like a warning light every time he was near, a new agitation at the sight of his stupid hair and his stupid sunglasses and his stupid, stupid smirk.
He didn’t try to talk about the kiss again, he wasn’t that idiotic. But the energy between you both was a little different than before. It was still fiery, buzzing with tension and an electrical current that kept you on your toes, but it was different.
You weren’t sure if you liked it.
The week led up to the annual game of hide and seek, the entire camp split into two teams, the cabins turned into bases, the inside of the old gym a ghost town. No one was surprised when Murray declared you and Steve team leaders - one seeking, the other hiding - the camp cheering and whistling as you both took your new shirts, both with ‘captain’ printed on the back.
You’d barely led your team away from the middle of the camp before you heard Steve declare:
“Okay listen up, we need to win.”
You appraised your own squad with the same focused stare that Steve had, your gaze settling over Eddie and Nancy, the gaggle of kids that were all smearing face paint over their friends. War stripes on their cheeks, bandana’s wrapped around their foreheads and Dustin had even gone as far as to don a green ski mask.
You squinted at him, wondering if you should ask where he got such a thing but you decided against it, voice endearing as you said, “Dustin, sweetie, I don’t think you’re going to be able to see very well out of that.”
And before he could argue his case, Eddie pinched the top of it, whipping the fabric from his head, curls spilling out messily. The boy pouted, but he didn’t argue, instead standing still enough to let Lucas smear blue lines over his face.
“You gonna force me into the smallest corner you can find?” Eddie had turned to you whilst Nancy handed out some bottles of water, hushing the trash talk that was starting to get out of hand between Lucas and Suzie.
You grinned, looking at Eddie with an easy smile, shrugging, “maybe. You’re pretty flexible, right Munson?”
The boy snorted, shoulder nudging into yours, “like a fucking gymnast, sweetheart.”
You fell into a soft conversation with Eddie, a rare occurrence in the craziness of the camp, all gentle laughs and hands pushed to arms, cracked jokes and the promise of a joint after the game was over. And then Steve was there, almost too close, brows knitted together as he watched the way his bunkmate pressed teasing fingers into your ribs, making you squeak.
“Are we flirting or are we playing?” He snapped, shoulder brushing yours. But Steve wasn’t looking at you, his stare heavy and trained on Eddie. “Hey dude, didn’t Joyce tell you you’ve got to stick with Will?”
Eddie could read his friend like a book. He smirked, unable to help himself when Steve was making it so obvious, but he nodded, moving away from you to tussle at Will’s hair.
“Sure am, Harrington,” the longer-haired boy smiled good naturedly, “little Byers and I are gonna find the best spot, right kid?”
Will nodded enthusiastically, inhaler in hand and Mike at his side. But Steve was still scowling, eyes finally meeting yours before he turned suddenly, marching back to his team as if he couldn’t bear to be around you for any longer.
And that was fine with you. Totally fine.
From then, it was chaos, carnage across the camp with kids running riot, wrestling for the best hiding spot as Hopper and Murray watched from the office window, cups of coffee in hand.
It went the way it always did, with Mike and Will caught first, the latter giving away their hiding spot way too soon because his allergies made him sneeze, the other boy refusing to split from his friend.
Eddie trailed behind them, lazy and unbothered about being out of the game so early, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, waiting for Murray to stop watching.
The kids spread around the camp in clusters, hiding in beached kayaks, under the dock, squeezed between the crash mats in the gym. Max was caught out in the open - after being refused sanctuary in Hopper’s office - scowl on her face, El dragged behind her, grinning as you laughed.
“Hit the benches,” Steve had told them both, watching as they took their consolation s’mores from Joyce and sat with the rest of the captured kids around the fire.
Steve’s team took out the other kids one by one, screams and laughter heard across the forest, campers crawling out from underneath decking and out of trees, covered in mud and nettle stings, but so, so happy.
And then there were hardly any players left.
But Steve bypassed Dustin and Lucas, the two boys snickering underneath an overturned canoe, and he headed to the gym instead. The old building was empty, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum and the lights were off, the sun that was starting to set just barely shining in the high set windows.
It painted stripes of light and shadows on the floor and the air seemed golden. Steve kicked at the crash mats that were stacked and
pushed against a wall, his movements playful and throwing dust mites into the air. They caught the light, floating, glittering and Steve saw a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the ball cage and he grinned.
If you heard him walking over, you didn’t show it, stubbornly standing your ground until Steve rounded the corner, eyes bright on yours.
“You’re losing your edge, princess, that was far too easy.”
You were scowling at him and you pushed yourself away from the cage, the wheels squeaking as you rounded the other side, eyes on the boy. It was familiar, that feeling, that push and pull, a chase, a challenge, a dare.
“Don’t kid yourself Harrington, I’ve been waiting here for about an hour now.”
Steve followed, eyes trailing over your bare legs, the swell of your ass in your shorts, freckle on your thigh, the silver scar on your knee from the hike. You noticed, brows raised and you snorted when he shrugged, unapologetic in a way you hadn’t seen before.
He didn’t care if you caught him staring. Steve Harrington had always been the first to call you annoying, stubborn, a thorn in his side. But he’d never tried to deny that you were good to look at.
“That’s only ‘cause I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Steve shot back and you smiled at him, eyes narrowed, overly fake. “But it looks like I win, who would’ve thought?”
But you were still moving, stepping around the pile of mats, the cold material brushing against your shins and the light from the window made you glow, eyes too bright, smile sharp.
You stared at the boy from across the crash pads, voice sticky sweet when you asked, “don’t you have to tag the other opponent before they’re out?”
Steve stopped, level with you across the hall and he grinned. And fuck, he looked pretty like that, standing in a sunbeam, freckles on his nose, hands on hips and eyes burning on you.
You weren’t arguing, not quite, not yet. But it still felt fun.
Steve looked around, eyes conspiring, and he smirked. “There’s no one here to say I didn’t, princess.”
And then you were moving again, circling each other, smiling a different kind of playfulness and you tutted, pushing your hands into the back pockets of your shorts and you smirked when Steve followed the movement of it.
Steve twisted his lips, ran a hand through his already messy hair and made it flop into his eyes and he pretended to think, just for a second or two, as if he didn’t already know what he was gonna throw back at you.
“Usually,” he told you, voice low, a little rougher than before. “But I think you owe me one, princess.”
You quirked a brow at him, standing still, one knee lifted and pressed to the mats to steady yourself.
“Is that so?”
There was a fizz in the air that hadn’t been there before.
“You got to win your little dare ‘cause of me,” he told you and god, something shifted. Maybe the sun dropped, maybe the shadows got darker, maybe the air got heavier. “I saved you from the clutches of Hargrove.”
You scoffed, turning and going back to walking around the mat, hiding the way your cheeks burned.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, remember?”
But Steve just grinned, that wide, bright kinda smile that showed off the dimples you almost forgot he had. He looked boyish like this, handsome in a pretty way, soft and full of sun. Maybe it was because he was looking at you without the lines between his brows, the downturn of his lips.
“Oh but you do, don’t you, sweetheart?”
‘Sweetheart’ was starting to sound less like an insult, less like a jab, when Steve said it. His voice was softer, a teasing pitch to it, that sounded so much different than you’d heard and you decided that you didn’t hate it.
Not at all.
But the boy was talking about the kiss and he was looking at you like you both shared a secret, despite the very public location it happened in. He was acting as if he liked it, as if he wanted you to admit that you did too.
You stopped, converse digging into the wall the mats made, eyes wary on the boy because Steve kept walking. He found one side, then the other, only pausing when you were a foot away from him. He mirrored you, hands shoved into his own pockets as he watched you through messy hair.
“What d’you want me to say, Harrington? Huh?” you smiled, sardonic, lips twisted to the side and gaze careful. You didn’t want to give anything away. “You want me to tell you that I liked it, is that it?”
Steve smirked, enjoying your tone, the teasing, the push of the taunt, the bite to your voice. He knew it so well.
“You want me to tell you that you’re a good kisser? Does wonder boy need a little ego boost?”
“Oh princess, I don’t need anyone to tell me that.“
Steve’s voice was a drawl. Heavy, warm, sticking to you like the summer heat, all low, hot sun and sweetness.
You were too warm, a tumble low in your stomach, a flush across your chest.
“I’m good at a lot of things,” Steve continued,voice far too casual, as if he wasn't making you think about the dirtiest things imaginable.
“You’re a pig.”
“You love it.”
“You fucking wish, Harrington.”
“Now you’re just flirting with me, princess.”
You weren’t sure when you’d moved closer. Neither was Steve, really. But you were once again in your favourite position with the boy, toe to toe and your chin tilted up defiantly to stare at him. He looked too happy, excited even.
“I’m not playing your games,” you narrowed your eyes at him, hands on your hips in an arrogant display, trying your best to prove that you weren’t as affected by the boy as you actually were.
The toes of his shoes brushed yours and you could smell his cologne, the forest on him, campfire smoke and pine, leftover rain and something minty.
“No?” Steve asked and his eyes were tracing the features of your face, the length of your lashes, the dip of your Cupid’s bow, the curve of your lip. “Not even if I pick dare?“
You swallowed, hard.
You weren’t sure what this was. Not anymore. Because it didn’t feel like the arguments you usually had, the poking and pushing and pulling at each other until something snapped and the yelling started. In fact, you were sure this was the quietest you’d ever been around Steve Harrington.
Except for the thundering of your heart. It beat against your ribs, a drumming sound that you wondered if Steve would hear. It made your body vibrate, it made your chest feel fit to burst and you couldn’t help but part your lips under his stare, sucking in a breath that you suddenly so desperately needed.
Steve did the same, an instinctual response to watching you, his tongue wetting at his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and hooded. You didn’t remember taking another step towards him, but you don’t recall Steve moving either. It was all a slow lean, a curl into each other’s bodies, slower and softer than the first time.
Your hand was on his chest again, fingers splayed across his shirt rather than fisting it in your palm and god, you still really weren’t sure if it was to encourage him closer or shove him away.
But then his touch was at your waist and the sun finally dipped below the windows and the hall went dark. The shadows sparkled as you got used to the lack of light, Steve’s face a pretty palette of lilacs and navy, the rosy tint of his lips looking deeper and closer to you than ever.
The slide of your nose against his, stuttering and a little clumsy, unsure and nervous. Everything in your body was screaming at you. To push him away, to pull him towards you, to chew him out, to devour him.
Steve fucking Harrington made you want to yell, to fight, to roll your eyes and rant for an hour and a half. Steve fucking Harrington made you want to be slammed against a wall, pushed down onto a bed, lips on your neck and kisses that were all tongue and teeth.
His breath huffed against your cheek, slow and careful like he was still deciding what to do too. Steve was cherry cola and the heat of an argument, cedar and spice and bad decisions. Steve was a hot touch on your waist, a white hot burn through your shirt and a tight grip that was sending you to another level of frustration.
Then light flooded the gym, a bright burst of it coming from the main doors as the very last of the low setting sun leaked through as they slammed open.
The noise of them hitting the wall made you both jump, the angry squeak of the hinges bringing both back to the harsh reality of who you were about to kiss. You stumbled and Steve tripped, falling backwards onto the crash mats with a soft “fuck” as you turned to see Nancy and Robin standing in the doorway.
No one spoke, not for a few seconds and the quiet was painful.
But then Nancy cleared her throat, a smirk on her face that she covered with her hand and Robin grinned.
“Um, all the kids have been found,” she told you both, glee in her voice that she couldn’t cover and god, you were burning with a new kind of heat. “We’re doing story time.”
“And uh, one of you needs to take over,” Nancy explained, still smothering a laugh under what she thought was a serious expression. “Billy started talking about demogorgons and made Will cry, so…”
“Again?” Steve muttered from his seat on the mat. “I thought Eddie told him that it was all made up.”
You didn’t dare look down at him, your body still overly aware of his, his shoulder brushing against your thigh as he moved and when he clambered to his feet, you were spurned into motion, your legs carrying you quickly across the gym.
Your shoes squeaked on the floor and your heart was still racing, leaving you feeling like a hormonal teenager who was out of control and unable to handle some stupid boy being too close. Grabbing Robin’s hand, you mumbled some sort of thanks to Nancy and then made up a lie about feeling sick, and how you needed to go back to your cabin now.
Looking at your flushed skin and glassy eyes, no one could really argue with that. So you left Steve with the responsibility of the nightly campfire story and ignored Robin’s husky laughter as you pulled her through the trees and the dark until you got back to your shared bunk.
You flew into the cabin like a bat out of hell, doing everything in your power to get away from the boy as quickly as you could. Robin was close behind you, still cackling before she slammed the door, just as you dumped yourself onto your bed, groaning.
The other girl braced herself, back against the wood, facial expression scandalised as she stared at you wide eyed and through messy bangs.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looked like you and Harrington were about to rail each other on those fucking crash mats.”
You spluttered, the sound of protest getting caught in your throat as you tried to sit up, pushing yourself onto your elbows so you could glare at Robin, trying your best to look appalled.
“What?!” You choked out, and you knew you were beetroot, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the flush over your chest. “No we weren’t!”
“You know,” Robin mused, head tilted to the side as she looked at you, “your summer could be a lot more fun if you just admitted you don’t hate him as much as you claim to.”
Another noise came from your throat in response, strangled and panicked as you paced the cabin, old floorboards creaking under your feet.
“I do hate him,” you insisted, turning your back to the girl to fuss over a pile of clothes you’d left on your dresser after laundry day. You wondered if she’d be able to see the lie on your face, if she could hear it in your voice. “Harrington is a pain in my ass, he has been since-”
“Seventh grade, yeah, yeah,” Robin interrupted, her voice bored and impatient, and she waved a dismissive hand at you. “Science fair, vegetables, Steve and mentos and his dad, I know.”
You glared at her, clothes abandoned, clean shorts dropping to the floor, your arms now crossed. You hated that you were pouting.
“He didn’t look like he was causing you too much grief when you had him up against the gym wall the other week…”
“That was a dare!”
“And now - in the gym again actually - do you have some sort of kink?”
“Robin…” you were groaning, pleading.
“Is it a competitive thing? It gets you both going?”
“Nothing happened! We were- we were arguing!”
The other girl smirked, eyebrows raised and her back still pushed against the doorway. “Yeah, but babe, that’s foreplay for you.”
“I hate you,” you lied and there was no heat behind it, in fact, it only made your friend grin wider.
“As much as Steve?” She asked, voice sweet. “Should I light some candles? Pop a mint?”
“You’re a dick,” your voice was mulish but you couldn’t find it in you to care.
“You’re in denial,” Robin shot back, still sounding far too happy about the discussion. “Don’t you think all that pent up frustration could be easily solved?”
You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. The girl was moving towards you, eyebrows wiggling as she ran her hands over her chest in what you assumed was supposed to be a suggestive manner.
“Y’know, there’s other things your mouths could do instead of arguing.”
You pretended to gag, face scrunched up at the thought of it and you went back to sorting through your laundry. “You sound like Murray.”
“I knew he was a sensible man,” she told you and you scoffed because you’d watched Murray Bauman light a firework with the end of Billy’s cigarette last summer.
“But seriously, you’ve got to be attracted to him, right?”
“Murray?” You asked, all faux innocence, “he’s a bit old, no? Hopper, however-”
“You’re disgusting,” Robin snorted, grabbing at the pile of clothes you were hoarding, taking some of her own shirts to fold as she levelled you with a stare. “And you’re not fooling anyone. I’m very much gay - like, with a capital ‘G’ - and even I can say Steve is easy on the eyes.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” you tutted, “his head will get bigger.”
“Oh absolutely not.”
You fell into an easy silence then, clothes folded and sorted on your beds and you were surprised when Robin - perpetually messy - even went as far as to make her bed from that morning.
It gave you too much time to think. About how the boy had been almost nice to you at some points this summer, helping you when you fell, teasing instead of scathing, always too close, always nearby. It made you notice him too much, made you far too aware of him.
Like how his skin tanned so easily, new freckles every other day, how blue and yellow looked good on him, how when he got too close you noticed he had some green in his eyes. You knew he liked a smoothie for breakfast, he turned softer and quieter when speaking to Will, he encouraged Max to run faster, jump higher, swim deeper, that it was okay to be a little scared sometimes.
You stopped, a choked breath of complete indignation leaving your lips and dropped the pyjamas you’d been folding and marched to the door.
“Uh, where are you going?”
“To tell fucking Harrington that I know his game,” you seethed, “and that it’s not fucking working.”
Robin looked startled. “What?!”
You flung the door open and cringed when it hit the wooden wall behind it but you barely paid it any mind. The woods were dark, the sky inky and it smelled like rain was coming.
“His game!” You urged, and god, you sounded a little manic, didn’t you? “He’s trying to get me to like him. And it’s not happening, he’s not winning!”
“Winning what?” Robin was almost yelling, confusion colouring her tone and she squinted at you.
“I don’t know!” You told her, mouth agape because Jesus Christ, you really didn’t know, but you’d be damned if you let the boy think he had some kind of one up on you.
“Babe, curfew is in like, ten minutes.”
One glance at the clock on the wall told you that Robin was right, but stubbornness won out over sensibility so you made a strangled sound and shrugged, closing the door behind you a little too loudly and you made your way over the carpet of pine needles, heading towards the other cabins.
—————
Eddie answered when you knocked, wearing an old, Metallica hoodie that was too big, his long curls pulled messily back into a bun and he grinned, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.
“Now, I’m pretty certain you’re not here for me,” he told you, voice all light and full of a humour that you didn’t appreciate, “but there’s absolutely no fucking way you’re here for Harrington.”
You scowled.
“Is he in?”
Eddie cackled, pushing himself away from the door as he called out over his shoulder, looking thoroughly entertained.
“Hey, big boy, you’ve got a lady caller.”
This was starting to seem like an incredibly bad idea. Your irritation had waned slightly as you’d marched across the dark forest, the fresh air soothing your anger just a touch. But before you could change your mind, Steve appeared at the door, barefoot and shirtless, his hair messy and wearing nothing but a pair of low slung grey sweats.
For the love of fucking god.
He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, like he’d planned on taking a shower, but he seemed content to stay and talk to you, his body leaning lazy on the door frame like Eddie had.
“Princess,” Steve greeted, sounding bemused, “is this a booty call?”
From inside the cabin, Eddie snorted and you both made a point of ignoring him.
“Absolutely fucking not,” you told him, outraged at the idea of it. But you were warm again, tongue feeling clumsy and too thick in your mouth and you started to wondered when the fuck Steve Harrington made you feel nervous. “And that’s the reason I’m here, actually.”
Steve simply raised his brows, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips.
“Oh?”
“Mhmm, yeah,” you were stalling, trying to remember why you were actually standing outside with Steve at nine o’clock at night. His arms were entirely too distracting, the muscles there tensing and flexing as he moved. “I know what you're up to, Harrington.”
“You do?” Steve smirked, entirely entertained the way your gaze landed on his shoulders, his bare chest. “What am I up to, exactly?”
“This shit, that you keep pulling,” you told him, gesturing between the two of you. The space there crackled, it popped and buzzed with something unseen and electric, and you swore Steve felt it too. He had to, right? “This flirty, ‘lemme help you walk down the mountain’ crap.”
Steve was staring. And from inside, on his bed, Eddie was cackling again.
“Would you rather I’d left you to hobble down by yourself?” Steve asked, lips twisted to hide his amusement. Your eyes were flashing with annoyance, and you’d leant against the porch fence for support, back to the wood and hands curled around the ledge. “Let a mountain lion get you?”
“There aren’t any mountain lions in Indiana,” you replied scathingly.
“A bear then,” Steve shrugged, and Christ, he was grinning again, dimple and all. “Anyway, you think I’m flirting with you, princess?”
You stared, suddenly speechless.
“I’d have more luck getting Munson into bed with me than managing to have a pleasant conversation with you, sweetheart.”
But then Eddie was yelling from inside the cabin, a pillow hitting Steve’s back as he called out, “ready when you are, honey.”
Steve ignored him, eyes still on you. “If you think that I’m flirting with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”
He oozed too much confidence, sarcasm and charm.
It pissed you off.
“Well then stop it!” you growled, pushing yourself off of the porch fence and moving towards Steve. You stared up at him, stubborn, face tilted up to him, eyes defiant. You couldn’t help but push a finger into his bare chest. God, he was warm. “Stop doing-”
“Stop doing what? Huh?” Steve was smiling. Why was he smiling?
You stumbled over your breath, it hitched in your throat and honestly it only caused more anger to bubble in your chest. Was it anger? Annoyance? Frustration?
“Stop - stop, getting all close to me all the time, stop calling me princess and stop doing this thing where you’re clearly trying to distract me.”
Steve raised his brows, looking down at the small space between the two of you. He tilted his head, smirk dripping with amusement and you knew you could argue anymore. You’d moved to him, chests almost brushing, warmth radiating off of him to you, sharing the same air.
Fuck.
“Do I distract you?”
The facade dropped. The game, the challenge, the fight - whatever it was - it stopped. Genuine surprise coloured the boy's tone and he uncrossed his arms, leaving his chest open and more space between you both. He was so warm, you could feel it from his skin, like the sun lived in his chest and he swallowed the summer.
Steve looked shy, all of a sudden. Face flushed, eyes bright and wide and his lips dropped into a pretty ‘o’. Even in the dark, you could make out the pink of his cheeks, the tips of his ears and he was looking at you like an entirely different kind of challenge. A puzzle maybe, a new type of game.
“What?” you were panicking inside. That white hot flash of embarrassment ran up your spine, blooming over your chest until blood rushed loud in your ears. “What? No, I didn’t say that.”
“You definitely just said that.” There it was, that smile again.
“I didn’t,” you scoffed, eyes searching anywhere but his. You stared at the door behind him, groaning when Eddie waved from his bed, grin wider than Steve’s.
“You did,” Eddie added to the conversation, all soft smiles and messy curls. “I heard you.”
Suddenly you had had enough of boys.
“Oh for fuck sake.”
You stormed away from Steve with more swears mixing in with the night air, your frustration taken out on the stairs as you stomped back down them, trainers kicking up pine needles and fallen acorns as you made your way back to your own cabin, completely done with Steve fucking Harrington.
✶He made it clear he never wanted to see you again, and yet, here you were running into him face-first after he hunted you down.✶
NSFW — parent death, alluding to abuse, light angst, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use
chapter: 4/? [wc: 3.5k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04
AO3
Chapter 4: Waffles Heal All Wounds
A diner. That’s where you woke up. The frowning woman knocking on your car’s roof told you so.
Squinting from the sun behind her, you rolled down your window and tried to appear more awake than you were. “Hi?”
She put a hand on her hip where her brown half-apron was tied. “You’re illegally parked.”
You leaned your head out and, sure enough, when you had pulled into a parking lot last night out of desperation to avoid an embarrassing death of ‘cried too hard and hit a tree,’ you parked sideways, taking up three spaces. “Oh shit, sorry.” You fumbled for your keys in the cupholder under a mountain of tissues.
Maybe it was how haggard your appearance was, or specifically the streaks of dried mascara on your cheeks, but she took an ounce of pity on you. “Cops like to stop to get coffee here, didn’t want you getting a ticket,” she said, going inside to flip around the sign on the door.
“‘Preciate it!”
Having nothing better to do until later, and still reeling from the after effects of your massive post-sob hangover, you decided a morning beginning with a stack of syrupy waffles sounded amazing right about now. You adjusted the rearview mirror and scrubbed yesterday’s fuck up from under your eyes, staining your crisp white tracksuit’s sleeve. Doing your best to tidy up your appearance regardless of the nauseating remorse churning your stomach.
“What else did I expect?” you chided your reflection.
The same middle-aged woman from earlier sat you at the booth in the corner. It was your decision to face the wall. After the memories of last night had flooded in, you just wanted to be left alone to sulk; head in your hands, waiting for food you were losing the appetite for the longer you stewed over what you’d done.
When the waitress returned to take your order, you were still hunched over, rubbing your palms into your eyes. “Waffles.”
“Long night?”
“Yeah.”
“Waffles cure everything!” she expelled her wisdom, chipper than when you were causing her problems in the parking lot.
“Doubt it.”
Nursing your headache with soothing sips of fresh coffee, you sat in disillusioned silence. Tinny music cut in from a radio near the kitchen. Someone turned the pages of a newspaper. The door chimed. Chimed again. Tiny birds chirped, hopped, pecked around the concrete outside. A chair creaked as someone sat down a few tables behind you. None of it an adequate distraction from your cynical sentiments about being in the small town you had ambivalent feelings towards. Hating your rather optimistic bout of nerves yesterday at the prospect of seeing him again. Building and building. Excitement, adrenaline over seeing your childhood best friend. Hoping.. Hoping against all odds he’d be just as happy to see you too.
Stupid.
So stupid.
Two waffles appeared before you. A small cup of syrup and a packet of butter, too. Delicious. Unfortunately, you weren’t hungry for more than half of the one on top, surrendering by dropping your fork and knife on the plate, not caring about the loud clang they made, struggling to chew and swallow what was in your dry mouth.
After what seemed like the longest thirty seconds of your life, you drank the rest of your coffee and scooted to the end of the booth and stood up, too busy ruminating on your failures to pay attention to what was in front of you.
RATT.
The band’s logo came into focus a fraction before your nose collided with it. Along with patches on a jean vest. Hints of weed and alcohol despite the gentle, sober breath grazing your face. The invading scent of stale cigarette smoke and worn leather. Old Spice, too. You’d think he’d find something new to wear since you left, but he didn’t, and somehow, the pang of nostalgia was both comforting and vicious. A trap you understood like an old friend.
Standing toe to toe with Eddie, you were shivering in the artificial cool air. He was warm. A welcoming presence once upon a time, now stiff and awkward with your sudden proximity. Bodies touching on accident due to your timing of getting up to leave the moment he approached. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped; the only tell he was equally as flustered as you. When you forced your gaze to meet his, you caught the flick of his eyes lifting from elsewhere lower on your face.
“I’m ready to talk,” he stated.
Relief and fear was evident in your simple, “Okay.” You motioned for him to join you, and of course, he was already moving to do so without your permission.
This booth was not made for two people on tentative speaking terms. Sitting across from Eddie, the top of the table was cramped with your plate and drinkware; underneath, you fidgeted until your legs were between his, so he could stop stepping on your shoes. He knocked your right knee in the shuffle and you clenched your teeth to hide the wince.
“You look rough,” he said, clearly indicating the smeared lines of mascara on your cheeks.
“You look handsome,” you retorted in the same deadpan tone.
Against his will, his eyebrow quirked. Sincere amusement flashed in his dark brown eyes. A charitable glimpse of the boy you used to know. “Haven’t been called handsome in years. If I call you beautiful, can I have the rest of that?” He pointed at the waffles, and of course, you were already pushing them towards him.
And that was it. That’s all it took for you to fall victim to your old ways. Volunteering, practically, to fawn over the most minute of details in how he ate with your fork. Chewing with his mouth slightly open, always. Sipping from your water glass.
Either he’d meant to put his lips over the exact print your chapstick left behind in a sort of pseudo kiss, or he had impeccable aim.
The waitress lingered at the end of your table gripping her notepad and tapping her pencil on it nervously, shifting her gaze from you to the cops at the counter staring you down with a fierce sneer.. Well, not you. They were glaring at Eddie’s existence, who was distracted by the birds outside.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
Eddie swept his attention to her, a grand smile on his face and hands clasped cutely on the table. “Could I get a coffee, please and thank you?”
She didn’t look at him. Rather, eyeing his myriad of heavy metal patches. Making assumptions about him and turning on her heel. Treating him differently from how she treated you, regardless of the fact you may as well have been cut from the same cloth. If it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. In mutual agreement, you remained quiet in the lulled purgatory of lapsed conversation, waiting until she returned with his coffee, refilled your own, and walked away to pick up where you left off.
“So..” Eddie stabbed another piece of waffle. “Why’d you leave without telling me?”
“Starting with the million dollar question, I see.” You sank back into the dense cushion of the booth, and when that felt too far away for your private conversation, you rested your forearms on your thighs and picked at your cuticles. “Do you know what my last memory of you is?” Glancing up from the plate, he shook his head, and you’d never recover from the way his curls bounced.
Accepting your burgeoning grin, you wore gladly, aware it wouldn’t last. “We were standing in your kitchen. Riders on the Storm was playing in your room. I had just blown out the candles on the birthday cake you made me and I remember thinking how that was the nicest thing anyone had done for me, birthday or not. It meant even more coming from you. The year before that you picked me flowers, which I still have pressed in a book, by the way, but there was something special about you going through the trouble of baking me a cake and decorating it. We’ve known each other for most of our lives and not once have you looked at me like you did when I took a piece. You were just so.. I don’t know, proud of me.” You exhaled a long sigh until anxiety closed in on your lungs. ”I wanted our last memory together to be a happy one. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“Did you eat it? The cake?”
“Hell yeah.”
He allowed his smirk to come through. “Good. Didn’t want it to go to waste because of your mom.”
“Right..” you agreed, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. Your change in demeanor was palpable. An omen like vultures circling the obvious. Eddie’s rings clinked on the table as he set down the fork, tilting his head to get a better read on your expression painted in melancholic hues from the rogue cloud covering the sun.
“You made me strong,” you said, crossing your arms and digging your knuckle into your lip, savoring the mild pain on your gums. “You know I couldn’t cry around her, or else she’d.. whatever. I would just hold it in. All day. And when things got really bad, at night I’d play the BBC Radio’s adaptation of The Hobbit. It’s not the same as you reading to me, but it helped.” Outside, the birds flew away. “I thought about you every single day, Eddie.”
“I thought about you too,” he admitted, tearing open sugar packets. Your heart leapt at each scrape of the spoon against the ceramic mug. “Tried not to.”
Prepared to hear as much, but at a loss for words, you prompted him for more, “Yeah?”
He ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. “Yeah.”
One uttered word wielded like a weapon. You had never seen him angry before last night. Pissed off over inconveniences, sure, but last night.. He hated you, and though you could hazard a guess why, he hadn’t explained his side of the story yet.
For someone who wanted to talk, he hadn’t said much.
“I thought you would be okay.. I mean, I was the one moving to a new state and starting over from scratch, at least you had other friends here.”
“Not like you,” his vulnerability was whispered, “Our friendship was different. You knew that.”
“Eddie..”
Finished eating, he set the plate at the end of the table and ran his hand over his face. Doing the thing he did when he wanted to hide how upset he was; dragging his fingers over his closed eyes and down to his jaw. Working through the sting of knowing a memory he hated was beloved by you. Confused as to what he should be feeling when the night that changed his life for the worse was meant to comfort you through trauma. Was it right to be mad at you?
A difficult thing to parse when so much of sitting across from one another was intrinsic to your time together, having done it casually day after day, cramped together at the small green table in his kitchen, or huddled at the end of the cafeteria table away from the other students, or skipping class to sit at the picnic table in the woods. Longing for the familiar territory of one another’s company and not knowing if it could ever be the same, or if it would last.
“Listen, I don’t remember much about the day you left,” he explained. “Or the days after, really. I kinda went off the deep end, but I do remember telling Wayne I knew you were leaving and I was just taking it hard, so he doesn’t know the full scope of everything, if you were wondering.”
Even when faced with your betrayal, his first priority was protecting your image.
The desire to hold his hand consumed you. It manifested in tears spilling over your lower lashes. It clutched onto your breath. An urge so severe it panicked you, and yet, its inappropriateness kept you frozen. “I never meant to hurt you. I.. F-Fuck.” You stared at the ceiling, gathering your emotions. Imagining a time when you two were inseparable. Laying in the grass, listening to music together.
When you could speak again, you accepted your consequences. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. I don’t know where to go from here, but I’m so sorry for hurting you. I’m so sorry.”
Pennsylvania State University Women’s Gymnastics Team. A chance at a better life. Reading the embroidery on your jacket with the same somber expression as last night, he spoke aloud softly, honestly, “You were right to leave.”
Patting down his pockets for some substance to escape the past, and finding nothing, he changed the subject instead. “I imagine you didn’t drive all this way to give me closure, so why are you really here?”
“Well, I guess that’s as good as a segue I’ll get..” Thankful for the switch in mood, you made a few more uncommitted hems and haws, bouncing your leg against his inner thigh. “She, uh..” You waved your hands, searching for the words, and settling on a lilting, “She.. died?”
Rightfully so, he angled his ear at you and clarified, “Your mom died?”
“Like two months ago.” You shrugged, wide-eyed, waiting for his reaction. He made a drinking motion. “Yep, liver failure.”
“Do you want my condolences?” he asked straightfaced.
You pulled a short, but comical, grimace and offered the truth, “Nah. It’s complicated, I guess. I should feel sad she’s dead, but in some ways, I have my life back.. I never told you, but my bank account has always been under her name. She’s had full control over everything, starting way back when I worked at Benny’s on the weekends. Even up til she died, she used my student loan money to go on benders. I specifically got another waitressing job so I could skim some of the tips without her noticing. She’d still berate me if I didn’t earn enough, so it was a tough balance, but it was the quickest job I could think of where she couldn’t access everything.” Eddie reached into his jacket’s inner pocket to take out the envelope you left for him. “No! Keep it, really. It’s for you and Wayne. Or, at the very least, to pay you back for all the weed over the years.”
Hesitating, he accepted you weren’t going to take it, and put it back. “I never would’ve made you pay for weed.”
You snorted. “What a gentleman.”
“You could’ve made more tips by stripping, just so you know.”
“I take back what I said.”
Deflecting to your mugs of coffee after the short fervency of your eye contact became too heated, you continued, “Her death has been a real bitch to deal with. Not in a sad way. Just, God, it doesn’t quit. One thing after another. I didn’t expect to have literally nothing in my bank account, and do you know how expensive dying is, even after the medical bills? Not only did I have to put together some stupid funeral arrangement for this bitch, I had to do shit like terminate the lease on her apartment. And you wouldn’t believe how bad this woman trashed it. Had to hire help to clean it out, and now I’ve come to find out she’s still paying for shit like the lot in Forest Hills.” You rolled your eyes to the high heavens. “Who fucking knows why. Probably just to waste my money. Anyway, that’s why I’m still here. I’m going through the process of having everything transferred in my name and having them demolish that fucking trailer–which reminds me I need to schedule a dumpster for that because the contractor won’t supply one. Oh! And as a bonus ‘fuck you’ because Hawkins is ass-backwards and hates me, they won’t accept anything by fax. I have to go to court and sign shit in person, so I’ll be back here again in 30 to 45 business days to finish the permits for the aforementioned construction, praying my car makes the drive, and then I’ll be free.”
Eddie nodded patiently, eyebrows raised, giving you the grace to vent to him as he finished his coffee. “It’s not even my life and you make me want a cigarette.”
You laughed, hard, and fuck, did it feel good to laugh again. To reap the reward of his shy smile. His leg resting against yours. His fingers cupped around his mug in the center of the table, where yours were too, doing the same thing. Tapping your mug for the sole purpose of discovering the delicate nature of his knuckles being softer than yours with each beat.
He sat forward, sliding your knee along his inner thigh. “You sure you don’t want your tips back to help pay for all this?”
Quick to respond, you inquired, “Would you like to stuff them in my G-string, or would you rather I lay down and you can rain them on me?”
It was his turn to laugh. Bright like his naturally higher voice, which you adored, and a bit cackling too, as if he were a villain. A full laugh coming from the heart. A dangerous thing, you realized when you looked at each other a bit too long.
Once eye contact had been established, there was no coming back. The affection in your gaze roaming his face. The tenderness in his smile, just like old times. But a reserved version. On guard. Already fading at the rhythm of your pounding hearts.
“I feel like I’ve been going on, and on, and on,” you said. “Tell me what’s been up with you–?” Your watch beeped. 11:00 blinked at you. Swiveling around, you examined the lively restaurant brought to life by the lunch rush. “Have we really been here that long?”
Eddie shrugged. “Got somewhere to be?”
“My first appointment of the day. I’ve gotta be downtown in, like, ten minutes.”
Too soon.
Hope ignited the instant neither of you made to leave. The backs of your fingers touching his, metal to flesh as you learned the sensation of his ring’s edges against your skin.
He said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
You said, “Okay.”
Neither of you moved.
“Wouldn’t want you to be late.”
“No, that would be terrible.”
He puckered his lips to rid himself of his uneven grin, fixing his gaze on your touching hands. You did the same. Existing in the strange dynamic you found yourselves in. A state of unforgiveness, but willing to blot each other’s wounds for the sake of healing and moving on.
Your watch beeped again. “Okay, I really have to go now.”
After paying, you took one step out the door and did a double-take, bewildered beyond belief. “You still drive that thing?”
Eddie joined your side, following what you were pointing at. “Yeah, it’s the same van.”
“I would’ve thought you had crashed it by now.”
He clicked his tongue, offended, “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly safe driver.”
“You literally drove it into a ditch the day you got it,” you reminded him. He flapped his hand like a mouth to mock you. You shoved his arm. “I meant to ask, how did you know where to find me?”
Coming round to your vehicles, he lingered at your trunk while you unlocked your door. “Gut instinct.” You raised your brows, asking him to elaborate, and he spun his keys around his finger, dragging his feet on the walk to his van parked next to you. “I just knew.”
“All right then, keep your secrets,” you conceded. “Oh yeah!” He paused, hand on the headrest, about to climb in. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Turning to regard you as if you’d said the bizarrest thing, Eddie’s hair flowed over his shoulders in the wind, a precious pinch of confusion between his brows, and a handsome twist to his mouth.
“You mentioned a boyfriend I could go home to last night, but, alas, I must regretfully inform you I do not have one.” When he remained speechless, you broke. Doubled over with laughter, holding your sides. Giddier than you had any right to be.
Eddie shook his head at you. Then, he thought about it. “You said you’ll be back in 30 to 45 business days?”
“Unfortunately!”
“Okay,” he said, “Okay.”
He was quick to get in his van and shut the door behind him, as were you to start your car and get to your appointment on time, but.. It wasn’t until your third alarm beeped that you realized you had been sitting there, tracing your thumb over your grin, forgetting to drive away.
And it wasn’t until you glanced in your rearview mirror, you saw Eddie was doing the same thing, remembering he wasn’t dreaming.
