adventures in babysitting | steve harrington x reader ft! the party | currently on-going
in which steve harrington has a baseball bat in one hand and your hand in the other while a gaggle of children walk behind you two.
or, the party has a very screwed up perception of love. lucky for them, you and steve are great role models.
(these one-shots take place in the same universe but are not directly connected to each other except for the first two mike fics. feel free to jump around and read what interests you in any order, divider from @/cursed-carmine)
mike wheeler | the paladin
one - in the middle of the night (post-s3)
mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.
two - the morning after (post-s3)
ted wheeler has never put his kids to bed a day in his life and neither has he made his family breakfast. steve harrington, however, does while you sit on his counter and annoy him.
three - nothing's gonna hurt you baby (pre-s5)
hopper gets sick and instead of cancelling the crawl, steve goes in his stead. he comes back a little worse for wear.
will byers | the cleric
one - sweet boy (post-s3)
will doesn’t want to be a man like lonnie, steve shows him an alternative (indirectly)
lucas sinclair | the ranger
coming soon
dustin henderson | the bard
one - good old-fashioned lover boy (during s2)
dustin's dad sucked at buying presents, steve does not
jane "eleven" hopper | the mage
one - over and under (post-s3)
el’s hair is finally getting longer. her curiosity is piqued when she learns steve can braid hair
two - my girl (post-s3)
people on tv are very grandiose about love, el thinks you and steve are better
max mayfield | the rogue zoomer
one - it never rains in southern california (pre-s3)
max hates the way billy treats girls. steve is nothing like billy.
adventures in babysitting | steve harrington x reader ft! the party | currently on-going
in which steve harrington has a baseball bat in one hand and your hand in the other while a gaggle of children walk behind you two.
or, the party has a very screwed up perception of love. lucky for them, you and steve are great role models.
(these one-shots take place in the same universe but are not directly connected to each other except for the first two mike fics. feel free to jump around and read what interests you in any order)
mike wheeler | the paladin
one - in the middle of the night (post-s3)
mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.
two - the morning after (post-s3)
ted wheeler has never put his kids to bed a day in his life and neither has he made his family breakfast. steve harrington, however, does while you sit on his counter and annoy him.
three - nothing's gonna hurt you baby (pre-s5)
hopper gets sick and instead of cancelling the crawl, steve goes in his stead. he comes back a little worse for wear.
will byers | the cleric
coming soon
lucas sinclair | the ranger
coming soon
dustin henderson | the bard
coming soon
jane "eleven" hopper | the mage
coming soon
max mayfield | the rogue zoomer
one - it never rains in southern california (pre-s3)
max hates the way billy treats girls. steve is nothing like billy.
sit next to me (please) [eddie munson x fem!reader]
you've always hated touch, avoided it ardently - until he came along.
warnings: use of she/her pronouns for reader, touch-avoidant reader, lots of yearning, talk of personal boundaries, readers becomes touch-starved for one (1) man, consumption of alcohol and weed, very slow burn.
word count: 11.2k+
a/n: this was originally titled "would that i" and i believe that i wrote it while listening to the hozier song, craving some super soft eddie all those moons ago. sorry that i tried to bury this one in the graveyard, y'all. i self-projected like all hell onto this reader as well lmao
dividers by @saradika-graphics
How one person can be such a walking contradiction, no one knows.
There is a softness to you. It bleeds out of you, endless and endearing to all those around you. The way you’ll converse with friends with shining eyes, the way you close doors with care, the way you treat your favorite novel like a newborn babe. With both all the inanimate and animate objects around you, your touch is ever warm, ever tender. Like the sweep of a thin curtain sheet in a summer's breeze, or plush grass beneath calves in a verdant spring. Your touch is something to experience, and that was where the dichotomy came into play.
Your touch was deeply sought after, and was a rarity all on its own.
You were amongst the softest people in your friend group, and yet, rarely did you find yourself to be particularly physical. Your petal affections were usually restricted to affirmative words and acts of kindness. Your friends knew that if they needed words of encouragement, you should be the first person they ran to. If they needed a hug, however, you were not.
It’s not because you were cruel or against the displays of physicality. You were just awkward with them. You would turn frigid over the brush of another’s skin against your own. You’d tried to change over the years, offering more goodbye hugs, more spontaneous playing with Nancy’s hair or high fives exchanged with Steve when you kicked one of the younger boys’ asses at the arcade. You tried. But it was hard — something had rooted itself in you long ago that continued to choke you and limit just how much you could handle when it came to another’s touch.
When Robin joined the group, she tried to warm you up more to it. Despite warnings from the group, whispers of she doesn’t like that, she’d continued to offer you her friendly physical affections as long as you reassured her it was fine. It worked, to an extent. You would now at least return the hugs received (even if it took you a few moments to do so), and you wouldn’t hold your breath at a friend’s head on your shoulder or lap. It was all baby steps — timid movements in the right direction, an accomplishment of letting your softness flow through your fingertips as you tried to adjust.
Argyle also tried to wear you down. A casual arm around your shoulder in greeting, frequently sitting close enough to you on movie nights that your side would press into his as you both enjoyed the pizza he’d brought. You still froze, still struggled to thaw, but you never shooed him away. You’d only exchange a secret smile with him, a private acknowledgement between you two that you knew what he was trying to do, and it was okay. Maybe it would work. Robin had, after all, made some baby steps. Maybe Argyle could help you take fuller strides. Maybe, just maybe, this could propel you.
The night you drunkenly braided Argyle’s hair had been a memorable success, but it never progressed past that. The roots remained, the timid natured reigned, and so your friend group simply celebrated what little victories they’d earned and moved on.
They’d accepted you may never be a touchy person. And that was fine — all that you lacked in physical touch, you more than made up for in every other avenue in expression of your fondness.
Until Eddie.
The moment he’d joined your circle, Argyle and Robin were already exchanging knowing looks. Eddie was touchy; the boy was practically starved for it. Overexcited hugs as greetings and the way his hand would reach for the nearest shoulder when he was overcome with joy for the small things. He couldn’t sit alone during movie nights, he’d often lounge with his legs stretched out over the nearest laps, he’d jokingly cuddle into people without a second thought.
And even more than that, his touch was wild and burning. Embers never to be contained. He was overwhelming, they all knew this and so did he, and they feared that if he attempted to embark on the same journey that they had that he may scare you away. That all the baby steps in the right direction would become leaps backward, sending you right back to where you started.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
You’d first noticed that Eddie treated you differently, more restrained, during a movie night. Argyle on one side, a small empty space on the other. You’d witness everyone endure Eddie’s cinematic cuddles on multiple occasions, and amongst your roots had bloomed buds of wistfulness. A strange yearning every time he’d tuck his face into the neck of whichever friend was nearest, jokingly squealing how he needed them to protect him. They saw him as a pest (a lovable one, but still) — and you’d never wanted to be pestered more in your life.
That small space beside you was the last open seat. You thought surely, he’ll sit here. You were optimistic at the likelihood of Eddie sharing your space, of feeling his curls tickle your cheek and neck, at his breath on your shoulder. For the first time in your life, you were painfully giddy at the prospect of someone touching you. When he entered the room with Jonathan, carrying bowls of popcorn and loudly telling everyone to turn on the horror movie chosen for the night, your entire body had buzzed. You would have leapt off that couch and crawled inside his chest right then and there if it wouldn’t have been so startling to not only him, but your entire circle.
He took one look at the empty seat, a pitiful excuse for space, and had paled.
Please sit next to me. Please, please, ple-
“Spread your legs, Harrington,” Eddie had suddenly bursted out, throwing himself on the floor in front of Steve at the opposite end of the couch, “I’m using your knees as collateral from Krueger.”
He chose the floor over sitting at your side. And it ached.
You were unaware of the spiel that Robin and Argyle gave him, the staunch warnings from Nancy, the (sort of) joking threats from Steve and Jonathan. Eddie Munson had been warned off from touching you, was obeying those warnings, and it just left you miserable.
You didn’t get it. You didn’t understand — his choices nor your feelings.
But that night, the burn of Argyle’s arm brushing your shoulder from where it laid along the back of the couch became overwhelming. Until you’d scooted yourself into that space you’d carved out for Eddie, and pouted, like a goddamn child.
Argyle assumed it was just a bad day for touch.
No one realized the yearning blooming within you. You’d never wanted to take a baseball bat to Steve Harrington’s shins more than when you watched Eddie Munson wrap his fingers around them and bury his cheek against them.
The second time, it stung even more.
Months passed and the yearning never faded. You told yourself, over and over, this will pass. This is temporary, and it will pass.
But it didn’t. The more time you spent with Eddie amongst your friend group, the more you craved the same casual touch from him that he extended to everyone else. He wouldn’t even brush past you in enclosed spaces — he treated you like a traumatized dog, bound to snap and bite him if he made the wrong move.
You fucking hated it. You hated that you hated it.
You’d gone years without needing touch, so you cursed that unexpected sting in your chest that night at the bowling alley. When Eddie rolled his first strike (and reported it was his first ever), he’d hugged everyone.
Everyone but you.
When it came to what should have been your turn for a bear hug, your mind was buzzing with adrenaline. This was it. You pictured him wrapping his tattooed arms around your chest, lifting you at least a little bit, swinging you a little due to the force of his affection. You were convinced his high off of the strike was going to make him forget his mission to never touch you. Maybe he’d be embarrassed after. Maybe you could finally offer a small smile that said it’s okay, I’m okay with it.
He only stopped dead in his tracks, arms freezing for a second before they dropped, his lips pressing tightly together before he let them spread back into a smile, and only lifted his brows at you excitedly.
That’s it. That’s all.
Fuck.
“That was pretty metal, Eddie,” you tried to egg him on, bouncing on the soles of your shoes a little, practically begging him with your eyes to just hug you.
He’d been bashful, grinning and hiding his face behind a random curl, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was.”
If you’d known of the talks behind your back then that had ruined that moment, you would have wrecked absolute havoc on your friends. The need, the yearning, the want became impossible to handle. You used his strike as an excuse for him to cover your turn, saying he was on a roll right after exclaiming that if you didn’t go to the bathroom right that second, you’d piss yourself.
When you were alone in the stall, you’d silently screamed and tugged at the roots of your hair.
You wanted him to touch you. You wanted him to catch you off guard in larger than life hugs. You wanted to feel every emotion that thrummed beneath his skin and you wanted to breathe in his cologne, to finally know how sturdy his chest felt beneath his shirt and if his rings really were as cold as Nancy always complained.
You’d finally returned to the group, not able to have a full breakdown in the bathroom without worrying your friends with your absence. Subtly, you’d tried to tuck yourself into Robin’s side when you returned, sitting down a bit closer than you normally would have, just to fill the void. It was almost as if you were encouraging her to reach an arm around you, to let you curl up and press a cheek to her collarbone. Try to alleviate the need for human touch clawing its way through you.
“You okay, babe?” she questioned suspiciously when she felt you squished entirely up against her. There was plenty of space on the bench, there was no reason for your proximity.
No, you wanted to scream, I’m not okay. There is an itch beneath my skin right now that can only be scratched by the affectionate touches of the metalhead sitting across from us who’s joking with our friends, completely unaffected and unaware. He won’t even look me in the eye. And so now I’m trying to get you to just touch me, to just put a goddamn arm around me, to do anything to fill the gaping hole inside of me. But you can’t.
It was an unfair situation to every single party and bystander involved.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied.
You can’t, because the only person who can fill this gaping void inside of me is Eddie.
You were the farthest from fine. You were in flames. And no one would understand it, least of all you, because this wasn’t like you.
You didn’t crave touch. You didn’t need it to survive. So, what the hell was this that you were feeling?
The craving for Eddie’s touch evolved into something more, and that’s when you knew that you were surely in trouble.
Audible denial only worked for so long. Festering, longing, and yearning could only be withheld for so long until suddenly, with your mind on fire and your bones aching to the core, you realized that it was more than wanting Eddie to reach out for you. The want became a two way street. More often than not, you find your hands to be fists at your side, shaking with the effort to not bridge the gap.
After a year of friendship, he had had no choice but to occasionally brush past you. Touches that must have been fleeting to him, but lingered for you. They’d settle into your skin, tender like a fresh bruise, ghosting over you at night when you couldn’t sleep. It was more than just touch, at this point. You wanted everything from Eddie. The denial of his touch had led to you missing out on more than just hugs and movie night cuddles — Eddie didn’t joke with you as much as he did the others, didn’t always turn to you in crowded rooms for comfort, wouldn’t call you up if he was up late and bored like he would Nancy, Steve, Robin, Argyle, fucking everyone in Hawkins except you. The distance was unbearable.
Because you did. You did look for him at every quaint hang out. You did seek him out in every room you entered and you did resist the urge to call him when sleep evaded you. You could imagine his voice over the line, a lullaby over the receiver as he’d ramble about his day. It was like a poison, infecting those roots you’d long since made friends with rather than try to dig up.
You were fucked. Plain and simple. You had a big, fat crush on Eddie, and for once in your life, you’d learned of the panging hunger to be touched.
“Does Eddie have a girlfriend?” you asked as you sat with Robin at a diner, having completely zoned out with the conversation between her and Steve, lost in your daydreams, “Or boyfriend? Just- Is he single?”
Both of your friends went dead silent, staring at you in awe.
Robin cleared her throat, but remained choked up until Steve spoke, “Uh, yeah. He’s single. Why?”
The way your eyes darted down to the table of the booth you three occupy gave it away.
Robin suddenly squealed, “Oh my gosh! You have a crush on him!”
“Do not!”
“Oh, you so do!” she grinned wildly, leaning in close, “Tell us everything — now.”
“Eddie?” Steve’s nose scrunched up, “Really?”
“I don’t have a crush on him!” you uselessly defended yourself, “I just- Look, no, I know that look. You can’t tell him or meddle, Robin.”
“How would I tell him or meddle if you don’t have a crush on him?”
Steve was still confused, and Robin’s eyes glittered with mischief. You would have been better off keeping your mouth shut.
You noticed the way Steve had gone silent, pointedly sipping on his coke rather than looking you in the eyes. As if he had something to say.
“What is it?” you asked him, furrowing your brows, already defensive. A stark contrast to the light-heartedness you usually treat your friends with, “You’ve got something to say. Say it.”
“I just…” Steve sighed, looking off into the distance, “I don’t know. It’s a weird pairing, y’know?”
Your stomach threatened to sink. “What does that mean?”
“You two are just… different,” he continued on, and your stomach really did sink. Right along with your heart, “I mean, he’s really big on physical touch — it’s definitely his love language. And you…”
You don’t like being touched. You actually hate it. Avoid it ardently.
The unspoken ending to that sentence could have shattered your bones that day. You knew. You knew.
You stayed silent, unsure of what else to say. You couldn’t find the words to explain the yearning that invaded your chest all those moons ago, you couldn’t physically bring their hands to your chest and force them to feel the hunger that had begun to eat you alive. You couldn’t scream at your friends, I can change! I can change! I can change!
“I think they’d make a cute couple,” Robin finally broke the tense silence. Steve looked a bit regretful, but you both knew he was right, “Besides, touching is overrated.”
To emphasize her point, she scooted away from Steve until she sat on the very edge of the vinyl seat they shared, a narrow air of separation between them.
You smiled and laughed, and so did Steve, but the fact of the matter still remained.
Your roots have been there since the beginning of time. And maybe, they ran so deeply that you were a fool for thinking you could ever excavate them.
“I need your help.”
Robin looks up at you shocked. You’d never looked quite so determined, so one-track minded as you did in this moment, right in Steve Harrington’s kitchen.
“You need my help?” she nearly yells, fumbling with the empty bowl she was about to fill with chips, “Are you sure you need my-“
“Positive,” you cut her off, “I need your help because you didn’t laugh in my face when I said I liked Eddie.”
Her shock fades, an awful trace of pity in her eyes as she looks at you, “Oh, hon — Steve wasn’t laughing at you. He’s just a dingus, y’know? Doesn’t always think before he speaks, but he has the best of intentions-“
You wave a hand, physically dispersing her words into the air. That conversation at the diner last week didn’t phase you anymore. In fact, it fuels you the more you think about it.
“I know, I know,” you reassure her, walking closer so you can lower your voice, “But he was right. And I’ve been thinking a lot about it.”
“That sounds dangerous. Whatcha’ been thinkin’ about?”
This is it. Now or never. Once you say it outloud, even to just Robin, it was cemented in fact.
“It’s not that I don’t like being touched,” you blurt out, heart racing at the admission, “I just… I don’t know. I’m not used to it. It wasn’t something normal growing up. And… okay, no, this is not meant to be a depressing deep dive into my childhood,” you pause and scowl at the way her face contorts with even more pity, “I’m fine. There’s nothing to be done to change what’s already passed. My point is, I don’t want to stay this way. I don’t want people treating me delicately. I’m tired of you guys not feeling like you can just- fuck, I don’t know, hug me. Like you can throw an arm around me while we joke around like you do Jonathan. Like you can’t take the seat beside me at the booth instead of Steve. Like you can’t be clingy and beg me to play with your hair like you do Argyle when everyone’s smoking.”
Throughout your speech, the pity transforms. With each word, you only grow more passionate, because it dawns on you just how much you miss out on. Your friends love you, you love them — that’s not up for debate. But sometimes, you see those small touches between them, and you feel like an outsider looking in.
“I know I freeze up and I know I get awkward,” your voice finally chokes up, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to silently curse yourself for finally letting all these larger than life emotions wrap around you, “I know you guys think I’m better off if you leave it be. But I’m not. I’ll never get over it if you guys don’t push me. I’ll never get used to it if no one ever touches me.”
“We know!” Robin starts enthusiastically, reassuredly, “We know that! And me and Gyle really do try, but we just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“
“Do it,” you stop her in her tracks, eyes not wavering from hers, “Make me uncomfortable. Put your head on my shoulder, even if it makes my breathing stop for a couple seconds. Grab my hand when we cross a street, even if my palm’s clammy. I can’t grow without a little discomfort, Robs.”
There’s a standstill in the air. A realization settles deep in your bones — growth. That’s what you were craving. Eddie had opened up something entirely new for you, cracked open an age old wound in your chest you’d been unaware of. It left behind a hole, and you’d been so preoccupied with yearning to fill it, you hadn’t seen that the solution was the most obvious one: you had to outgrow the hole. Not fill it with others, but with yourself. You couldn’t live forever as nothing more than roots, buried deep beneath soil and always hiding in their solitude. Eventually, you had to bloom.
“Okay,” Robin nods slowly, taking in your words and the deep breaths that are following. It’s obvious how much this means to you, how much it’s been bothering you, “You’re right. But… you’ve just gotta promise us, if we get overbearing, that you tell us-“
“Not just you and Argyle,” your mouth goes dry. Because this is where the road was leading the entire time, this was the end destination in mind for the entire drive of this conversation, “I want… everyone to do it. I know Nance, Jon, and Steve aren’t as big on the whole touchy thing as you and him but…” your voice finally breaks, and you can’t look her in the eyes now as you whisper, “Eddie is.”
There’s a light behind Robin’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, but you can’t even bear witness to it, eyes zeroed in on the shiny packaging of the chips on the counter, “So this really is about Eddie?”
You could keep denying it. Pretend like the boy hadn’t watered the first sprout that caused this entire revelation, like he hadn’t been the first to shine a light on all the things you’d ignored for years. But he was. He had built a fire inside of you without even realizing it, just by tending his own embers.
You take a deep breath, “It’s like it burns him to touch me. Even just shuffling past me. I don’t think he’s ever sat beside me when we all hang out. I don’t… I don’t even know what he really smells like, Rob. Besides the weed and cigarettes when he smokes with you guys. How fucked is that? I’ve known him for a year and I couldn’t even tell you what kind of cologne he wears. Isn’t that… that’s weird, right?”
“You know the things that matter, though, don’t you?”
It hadn’t occurred to you, that perspective on the matter. “I… guess?”
“Tell me about him. Tell me about Eddie.”
The others will be worrying about how long you two are taking in here soon. Eddie will probably be arriving with Argyle soon. But Robin waits patiently until your eyes finally find hers again, and she lifts her brows, encouraging you to tell her about your mutual friend as if she’s never met him.
And so you do.
Once you start rattling off the minute things you noticed, they pour out of you, watering away at that once withered crush. You tell her about his favorite music, an easy thing to know about Eddie when he’s so loud and passionate about it. You tell her the first song he ever learned on guitar, Little Things by Willie Nelson. It had been encouraged by how much his Uncle Wayne enjoyed the singer. And he’d learned it on a worn acoustic guitar from his uncle. He’d never even performed it in front of the man, always either too choked up or too embarrassed for an audience. You tell her how his favorite subject in school was history, because it always gave him ideas for his DnD campaigns. His favorite color is red, deep and pulsing and eye-catching. The same shade of his electric guitar, lovingly nicknamed Sweetheart, but actually named Elvira. He’s a picky eater, probably the pickiest of your group, and yet also will eat just about anything the moment you propose it as a dare. He knows what he should do to take care of his curls, he just doesn’t, probably due to preferring to take his showers at night. He’s complained of falling asleep with wet hair more times than you can count. He had a lisp as a little kid. He buys a new mug for Wayne every Christmas, and the man acts surprised every year, as if he never saw it coming. He likes sour candy best. He hates movies where the dog dies. He loves musicals, and he would sooner die than admit that to the rest of the group.
All devilish details that Eddie had revealed to you at some point or another, over drinks and over quick cigarettes. Over random bursts of trust and rare moments alone.
By the time you’re done with your rant, Robin is just smiling.
“God, you really like him,” she murmurs, looking across your forlorn face, as if each piece of him that you’d handed over willingly had actually been forcibly torn from you. As if it hurt to share him.
You take another deep breath, and you can breathe a little bit easier, but you still feel the wisps of your roots still dug stubbornly into surrounding ground, “Yeah. I really like him.”
A plan is devised. It turns out Robin was the perfect person to approach about this, because she has no shame — she’s willing to seem like a ‘bad friend’ for the sake of helping you reach your goal.
The first step is to guarantee that no matter what, Eddie sits next to you during the movie.
The best way to accomplish this is to not make it a seat only beside you as you had that first time he’d rejected you, but between you and another person. Because then, if Eddie was still adamant on not indulging you, he’d have someone else to cling to. For now.
The second step would be for you to leave for the bathroom right before you all started the movie. Leave the room, leave all your friends to be gathered without you so that Robin could make an executive call with them all. She would bring up the fact that they all should try to push you a bit more with the entire notion of physical touch, that it’d be good for you, that you’d brought it up casually rather than as dramatically as you really had.
During her explaining of this part of the plan, you discovered the conversations already had behind closed doors about this topic and you.
You couldn’t even blame your friends. You were irritated, but it would pass. They couldn’t change it now, but Robin could help undo what those seemingly beneficial conversations had done. The distance it had created between you and Eddie.
“Who should be on the other side of Eddie?” you ask once you two have your plan and full bowls of snacks.
“Me,” Robin declares, “I have a plan there, too. We’ll sit side by side at first, take up enough space on the couch so that Eddie thinks he doesn’t have a seat. Just trust me and play along when the time comes, yeah?”
You nod.
There’s a knock at the door, perfect timing as you and Robin sat down the bowls of snacks on the table, ignoring Steve’s expected complaint of how long you two took. He runs off, going to let Eddie and Argyle in, as Robin takes her seat on the couch.
Nancy and Jonathan are curled up on the loveseat. Steve had been sitting at the end of the couch that normally could easily seat four. Argyle’s favorite recliner was wide open, and you both knew he’d be jumping into it once he came to the basement. Everything was set perfectly.
Robin manspreads, an entertaining sight but one that forces you to try and do the same, lounging across the remaining space of the couch as casually as possible to make it seem as though another person could absolutely not fit.
You pray to God her plan works.
“Hello, brochachos!” Argyle yells as a greeting when he bounds down the stairs, immediately tossing a box of snow caps in Nancy and Jonathan’s directions before doing exactly as you and Robin had predicted, “Oh, fuck yeah! You guys saved my favorite chair for me!”
He specifically winks your way, as if you had been the one to do so. And you had, technically, but you appreciated that small effort to greet you specifically.
You smile at him, shaking your head lightly as he throws himself down roughly. You can only imagine how on board he’ll be with Robin’s suggestion.
Argyle’s energy had you wondering if the boys had even smoked as they usually did before arriving, his eyes hardly pink rimmed and his smile not quite as dopey as usual. It became clear that they had smoked, but one of them had likely babysat their shared joints, when Eddie descends into the doorway behind Steve.
He’s all half-lidded eyes, lazy grin, comfort wrapped up in a worn band shirt and sweats.
Yes, you wanted to break this stubborn boundary of yours with all your friends, but as you earned your first glance from Eddie, you knew that he would be the greatest reward. You don’t even care if the crush aspect of the entire ordeal never comes to fruition; you’d just like to imagine burying your face into his warm chest like you are now, and not feel weird about it. Not worry if he’ll push you away or be uncomfortable, or taken off guard, by it.
“Hey, losers,” he greets in a rough voice, no doubt gravelly from how much he might have smoked.
You share a quick look with Robin, worried. High Eddie was always extra affectionate, but wouldn’t it be wrong to use that against him? Maybe you two should try another night, postpone the plan for another movie nigh-
You hadn’t even noticed that Steve had taken his original seat back and Eddie was glancing around the seating arrangement, seemingly lost, until Robin was suddenly shoving at you, “Babe, I love you, but scooch. C’mere, Eds. I’m in a cuddly mood.”
And oh, that hurt. Which is why you suppose she didn’t tell you what exactly this part of the plan was. That hurt needed to break through your face, even if only for a moment, so that when you left the room, it made sense to discuss.
Argyle catches that micro-expression the moment it graces your features. Even furrows his brows in response. Eddie even opens his mouth to argue, but you move too quickly for anyone else to comment.
You fumble with pulling up your body, scooting over as she requested until there was an Eddie-sized space left between the two of you. When Robin opens her arms wide, Eddie has no room to argue.
“Well, if you insist, Buckley,” he teases, stepping carefully, hesitating for a second as he glances back down at you. Even through pink tinged eyes, you catch a flash of concern. “I’m always down for some cuddles with my favorite girl.”
And that also stings, reverberates like a slap to the face that had landed just a little too harshly.
Robin scoffs, muttering a stern correction of, “Platonic cuddles, dipshit,” just as Nancy also laughs from where she’s tangled with Jonathan.
“Didn’t you say I was your favorite when I bought you a coke last week?”
He probably did. He constantly made those jokes with Robin and Nancy. He never made those jokes with you.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about respecting boundaries for Eddie. Maybe he just didn’t like you-
“You both wound me,” he sighs out as his body lands directly in that space you and Robin had organized, clearly favoring being close to Robin so that his thigh wouldn’t rub against yours, “I’ve officially changed my mind.”
It almost happens in slow motion. Slowly, carefully, he lazily turns his head towards you, lips half lilted as his eyes sparkle in your direction, tongue darting out between his teeth before he drawls, “You’re my favorite, now.”
For the first time in a year, you’re very clearly smelling his cologne, and the look in his eyes is setting you ablaze. The softness you are so used to bargaining out is being returned, an expression so delicate being aimed at you that you don’t know what to do with it. Senses overwhelmed with something woodsy, something musky, and something yearning.
“How charming,” Nancy muses, leveling you with a soft and amused look. Not nearly as gooey as the look Eddie had given you, but still adoring, “Don’t listen to him. Clearly, he says that to everyone.”
“Yeah, but I mean it this time,” he argues.
“Sure, you do,” Steve laughs from his end of the couch, “She’s not gonna go grab you a soda just because you’re kissing ass.”
“Hey, you know what?” Argyle sits up in his chair, leaning towards you and pointing his finger in your direction, “You really are my favorite, and I’m a man of my word.”
“I’m not getting you a soda, either, Gyle,” you flatly joke, narrowing your eyes.
He pours briefly, but shrugs, “Fair enough. I meant it, but fair enough.”
On a limb, you stretch out a hand, and deliver a gentle smack at his hand still hanging limply in the air between you two. Robin is watching on proudly as Argyle looks taken back.
“Shut up,” you giggle, shimmying in your seat to get more comfortable.
Eddie looks wildly around the room, completely stunned, wearing a look of betrayal, “What, you guys don’t believe me? She really is my favorite!”
Lord only knows you were melting into the cushion of that couch. You weren’t used to this amount of attention, certainly not from Eddie, and certainly not so clearly in front of your friends.
If you could hardly handle his words of affection, how would you handle his touches of affection?
“I believe you,” you finally say. Something in your mind screams at you, tells you now is your chance. All you’d have to do is shift your knee, and you could bump it to his in a joking manner. The perfect excuse. The perfect guise. You stare at your two knees for an eternity, though, and before you know it, the moment has passed.
The ache echoes out across the hollow of every bone inside your body as he smiles, satisfied with your response before everyone moves forward with conversation.
You hate yourself. You should have bumped your knee to his.
You don’t hear a single word exchanged amongst your friends. All you can hear is the roar in your ears that scorns you for another missed opportunity.
Now is as good as ever to enact the second phase of the plan.
“I’m gonna head to the bathroom before we start the movie,” you announce, standing a bit suddenly but trying to keep your voice even so it doesn’t seem to Eddie that his words had made you uncomfortable. They didn’t. They’d only fed that hunger, making you suddenly need more. It was your own stupid indecisiveness, what you didn’t do, that was upsetting you.
Robin looks up knowingly, “Sounds good. Don’t miss me too much, babe.”
Babe. Another thing your friends sometimes didn’t include you in — all the pet names, all the terms of endearment. It makes you smile.
If anyone thought you might be rushing out due to the entire conversation that had just taken place, that smile would erase all their fears.
“I always miss you, baby,” you cockily reply, making a joking kissy face in her direction to seal the flirtatious manner of the interaction.
Steve looks pleasantly surprised, Argyle is clearly mentally cheering you on, and Nancy looks plainly proud.
But Eddie is looking up at you, doe eyes almost… sad.
You try not to think of it too hard.
You try to take your time once you reach the top of the stairs, rushing up but slowing as you walk to the bathroom.
You didn’t really need it, obviously, and you highly doubt anyone will be listening in on your footsteps above once Robin proposes the entire debate of it treating you so fragile anymore. In the middle of the hallway, your mind is made up. Instead of continuing on to that bathroom, instead of hiding away and feeding into the panic attack currently brewing despite your full faith in Robin, you retract to the kitchen.
This is what you wanted. You want more than to just offer soft words and soft motivation, you want more than to be seen as the friend with a heart of gold, as the pedestal Argyle constantly puts you up on so eloquently. You want to be felt as it, too.
To give Nancy well-deserved hugs when another one of her publications receive recognition, to give Steve’s hand a firm squeeze when he’s confiding in you about his home situation and the loneliness that follows. You want Robin to hide her face in your shoulder for safety during jumpscares and you want to occupy that recliner with Argyle when you both decide to succumb to snacking while your friends endlessly debate where you should all have dinner, making whispers of commentary jokes before Jonathan would decide to sit on the arm and join you two in the audience as he gave up the battle for Nancy’s sake.
You want Eddie to touch you. You don’t even care how at this point. You want brushing shoulders and knocking knees, you want knuckles bumping into each other on the street and you want him to cling to you when it gets late and he’s tired, but not too tired to keep himself surrounded with his favorite people. You want to truly be his favorite. Favorite person, favorite hug, favorite conversation.
God, you want it so bad that your seams nearly burst. Your composure nearly breaks.
What if he doesn’t want that?
The moment your footsteps on the stairs have vanished, Robin springs into action.
“Okay, group meeting,” she says, clapping to garner everyone’s attention. Eddie jumps slightly at her side, Steve offers her a side-eye, and Nancy shifts her entire body in Jonathan’s arms to look at her fully, “We need to talk about her.”
She doesn’t even have to say your name.
Unfortunately, Argyle takes it the wrong way, nearly leaping out of his chair, “Her? Nah, dude, we need to talk about you. Why would you shove her around like that? I bet if you had just asked politely, she would have cuddled yo-“
“Oh, I know she would have.”
Everyone’s attention is now sharper on Robin.
“Yeah? Then why did you just toss her to the side for Ed-“ Argyle starts up again, and once more, Robin is quick to interject.
“Because she needs the push,” a slight lie, but small enough in the grand scheme of things, “We’ve gotta stop treating her like she’ll shatter if we touch her.”
Nancy finally moves to full sit up, face full of concern, “Robin, I get what you’re saying, but she’s never been the touchy type. And that’s okay. We’ve never minded.”
“What if she minds?” Robin persists. She hasn’t failed to notice Eddie’s silence, and turns to him, focusing her attack and determination, “Have you ever even sat beside her before tonight?”
Eddie’s eyes widen, “You guys told me to take it easy at first! And I did, but I- it would just be weird now to change, wouldn’t it?”
It’s in the way he says it. Not just as if he’s keeping your best interests in mind, but as if it pains him to say it. As if the worst possible thing would be to admit that things should stay the same.
It’s Robin’s in. A falter in his cool guy exterior he only seems to care about maintaining for you.
“She wants it to change,” Robin quietly confesses. Another half-truth, “Me and Argyle never fully got through to it, but we also… we just gave up on it. Like he was saying, if I pushed tonight, she would have said yes. But Eddie has never pushed her.”
“Where are you going with this, Robs?” the one person who could blow this speaks up. Steve, the man who had been there at the diner and heard your practical confession to liking Eddie.
Don’t blow this, Dingus.
“I think we take the leash off of wolf boy, here,” she jabs a thumb in Eddie’s direction, “Lay him on her.”
“I don’t want to make her uncomf-“
“You won’t. And if you do,” Robin remembers your speech from earlier. Those wet eyes and the way your voice cracked at the prospect of growth, “It’ll be good for her.”
He’s not convinced.
So Robin pushes, because she made a promise to you to aid in this self-gardening journey, and damn it she was going to keep her promise, “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. You being the dog in this metaphor might be the wrong choice, considering how she looks like a kicked puppy every time you don’t sit next to her.”
A bit harsh, but the truth. You were always brimming with such hope when Eddie entered the room, only to wilt when he kept up the same exhausting routine of avoiding you.
“She does?” he’s clueless, a goddamn blinded fool, “I- Gyle, does she really?”
Eddie looks to his friend for backup, but Argyle only shrugs from his seat, “If you don’t give the poor dudette a hug tonight, I am. If Birdie here is being honest, and she wants it, then I’m first in line. She’s way gentler on my scalp than all of you.”
“You just want your hair braided by her again,” Jonathan pipes up finally.
“So?” Argyle defends, “That shit stayed. My little skittish friend does not come to play when it has to do with hair.”
They all fall silent, holding their breaths and listening for a moment if you’re heading back down to them.
The house is a ghost town from above.
“I’m just saying,” Robin finally whispers, keeping her tone low and gentle, almost defeated, “We can’t put her in a box. She told me she’d like the change, so I’m changing. She’s a big girl. She can handle it. Besides, she smells really good.”
Robin gives Eddie a pointed look at that, and sees the pink that rushes over the bridge of his nose and up his neck.
You had no idea. No fucking idea. But she did. She’d watched Eddie withhold himself, she’d caught the longing glances, and she’d listened to his endless rambles about you.
“Okay,” is his quiet reply just before your footsteps sound on the stairs.
When you appear in the doorway, you’re holding three cans of coke.
“I bring gifts for taking so long,” you offer, holding up one of the cans as you cradle the other two in the ditch of your arm, extending it to Argyle as you pass by him.
He takes it greedily, appreciation loud and unfiltered, “Thank you dudette! At least someone here loves me.”
You turn your eyes wide as moons, almost comical, fighting back a smile, “Oh? Were they being jerks while I was gone?”
“You have no clue.”
A warning glare comes from Robin.
Even if you were in on the plan, it was dangerous territory.
When you approach the couch, Robin sees the first sign of the plan working when Eddie doesn’t shift out of the comfortable position he’d sunk into. He isn’t jumping to leave an entire cavern for you. He’s leaving just enough space for you, enough that when you sit, you’re closer to him than you were before the bathroom.
Baby steps. Silently, she is screaming at him to keep it up, all while your brain bursts into flames.
He didn’t flinch away. He didn’t shift to be further from me.
Whatever Robin had said was working.
“Movie time?” you ask as you settle into that comfortable space, the unfamiliar yet indulgent warmth of Eddie’s body heat now wrapping around you.
Your roots stretch, apprehensive, but desperate for that sunlight.
It’s one of your group’s usual scary movies. You enjoyed horror, and could handle your own pretty well. If you ever got too scared, you’d usually cling to pillows or blankets that you were left with rather than another person as the rest of the group would. But there were no pillows, no blankets, no security cushions aside from the boy sitting between you and Robin.
When you hand him his coke, his fingers brush yours, and you don’t pull back immediately. Baby steps.
When the first tense moment appears on screen, Eddie mutters a soft “shit” and jumps a little, leaning more into your space rather than Robin’s, lifting some of his curls to curtain his eyes.
You glance at him rather than the screen, narrowing your eyes in the dark, “Does that really work?”
Eddie looks at you quickly at your whisper. Normally, everyone scolded him to be quiet during movies, never entertaining his small comments.
You weren’t the only one taking baby steps tonight.
Tentatively, he drops the curl blocking his vision, before grabbing a thicker one, boyish grin as he offers it to you shyly, “Wanna find out?”
“She’s here!” Argyle shouts as he opens the front door to you, hardly giving you warning before he’s leaping forward and gathering you into his arms, nearly crushing you into a hug.
Warmth. Tender. Softness.
Argyle’s hugs are always bone-crushing, and always welcome. And they always linger as he leaves his arm around your shoulder to guide you into the foyer and shut the door behind you two.
“She is?” another voice shouts as she comes barreling out into the entryway, greeting you with an excited squeal as she rushes forward to pull you out of Argyle’s arm.
Robin.
She’s dressed up for the night — an impressively well put together Robin outfit, complete with yellow spanx and a black mask across her eyes.
“Jesus, Robs,” you laugh as she tightens her arms around you, almost as if she was trying to crush any bones that survived Argyle, “I can’t breathe.”
“Don’t care,” she mumbles into your shoulder before pulling back, “Nice costume.”
A bat onesie. Cheesy, but comfortable, and warm enough to battle against Hawkin’s autumn chill. It’s even complete with a headband that has two small, perky ears attached to it, peeking out between tufts of your hair atop the crown of your head.
“Thanks. Wait till you see the killer fake teeth I packed.”
“Eds will be pissed if your fangs are better than his,” Argyle notes as he starts to walk into the living room. You follow, Robin close behind, to find the rest of your friends all waiting.
A scary movie is already on the TV, a classic slasher revealed by the high pitched scream that rings out into the room from it. There’s a few indoor decorations about — plastic jack-o-laterns and fake webs that will no doubt give Steve hell when he tries to take them back down — and you can see a punch bowl on the counter by where Nancy and Jonathan reside.
And the man of the hour is lounging on the couch, a high mountain of pile already in front of him on the table as he munches on a family pack of candy corn.
“Eddie, isn’t the candy supposed to be for trick or treaters?” you question teasingly as you make a beeline for him. His previous focus on the movie vanishes, full attention now on you.
He’s dressed like a vampire. If the cape didn’t give it away, that small blood line marked from his lower lip in a shade of lipstick you would guess he borrowed from Nancy does.
“I am a trick or treater, sweetheart,” he retorts, popping more candy into his mouth for emphasis, “Besides, Harrington has full-sized candy bars.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He snaps his jaw closed jokingly, the clicking of his teeth making you huff out a laugh as you collapse next to him.
That woodsy cologne is there, one you’re so happily familiar with these days.
Unlike Argyle and Robin, he doesn’t greet you with an overwhelming hug, or palpable excitement. His way of greeting is more subtle. His arm slowly lifts, going to rest on the back of the couch behind you, but quickly falling to your shoulders when you waste no time scooting closer into the space he’s opened up in his side.
You fit kind of perfectly. Like a void always meant to be filled.
“So, Dracula,” you hum, warning your beating heart to slow from its racing when his palm cradles your shoulder farthest from him, “What are we watching?”
Baby steps were a thing of the past for most of the group. They had become great leaps of faith after that fateful movie night. The way Argyle and Robin had crushed you was normal now. Passing touches and flirtatious jokes were regular between you and your friends. They had seen your boundary for what it really was, a roadblock, and bit by bit, they had broken it down.
Eddie’s hesitation isn’t because he can no longer touch you. His hesitation whispered of something more, something different, something still delicate. Just as delicate as the fragile wings of the butterflies in his stomach that fluttered to life every time you entered a room.
They weren’t new. And you still didn’t know they existed — that they had always existed. From the first moment he’d met you.
“One of the Halloween movies,” he tells you, leaning down to keep the conversation more private.
You felt his breath on your ear. A new touch that happened more frequently now. One you sought after almost as vehemently as you had those first few points of contact.
“Oh?” you play along, staying hushed, “How fitting.”
“Very.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t make them put on a vampire movie. You know,” you cut off, and motion to his costume. You bump your knee to his as you do it, “Given your attire.”
“Zee night iz ztill young,” he puts on an obnoxious accent meant to mimic Dracula himself, pronouncing all his ‘s’s as ‘z’s.
You only smile, wide and generous and soft and tender, before you lift a hand to punch at the flared collar of his cape. You don’t even hesitate, not even when your knuckles brush the side of his neck.
“Pretty killer, right?” he jokes, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.
“Very,” you hum in approval, hand dropping as you lean back into the heavy warmth of his arm around you. You almost reach the hand up to his bottom lip to trace that makeup there, slightly smeared and edges rugged already from his snacking, but you do withhold yourself at that line, “I like the makeup.”
“Yeah?” he lights up with pride, “You know, I did the eyeliner all by myself.”
You squint pointedly, leaning in just an inch closer to inspect the feathered charcoal on his waterline, “Really? Very impressive, Eds.”
“Stop flirting,” Steve demands as he leaves the kitchen, “You’re going to give him a bigger head than he needs.”
You both break apart slowly, letting space settle between you two and slowly fading back into the real world and out of that little bubble between you two. Eddie’s arm remains — his palm never leaves you, going so far as to give you a playful squeeze as his finger trails down your bicep.
A pathway of spring roses feels as though they bloom along that trail. Vibrant, full of life, open to possibility. When it came to you, Eddie had one Hell of a green thumb.
“Stop ruining the fun, big boy,” Eddie looks up at your friend, poking his tongue out as his nose scrunches. Adorable. Painfully so.
Steve is dressed as Batman. His mask is discarded somewhere on the counter beside the punch bowl.
“We have plenty of time for fun,” Steve waves off the comment, coming to stand in front of the TV with his hands on his hips, “Am I forgetting anything? I have candy for any kids that come knocking, we’ve got punch thanks to Nance, I ordered our pizza-“
“You better have ordered one with pineapple,” Eddie interrupts, tilting his head sideways in your direction, temple brushing against one of your fake ears, signaling how it was your favorite. You burrow yourself deeper into his touch.
Steve subtly ignores him, “-I have the big speakers set up if we wanna listen to any music in the backyard. Am I missing anything?”
Predictably, he wasn’t. Steve always thought of everything.
The last few months had been nice. Finally getting to enjoy Eddie’s touch had been more than you ever planned for, reveling in the way the boy was so gentle with you even as he finally gave in. Once he started, it was as if you both could finally breathe. A weight had lifted from Eddie’s shoulders just from the simple adjustment of now getting to sit beside you at every function, his bouncing knee always pressing into yours. It had become a silly tradition for him to offer to share that wild head of hair during scary movies, demanding if someone else tried to sit beside you during horror movies in particular that you needed him and his curls to protect you.
You had gone from yearning for touches, yearning for that contact, to your friends arguing over who would be indulged that night.
They had taken it slower than you thought you wanted (save for Robin), but in the end, it had all worked out. You didn’t freeze anymore. Your aversion to touch had slowly, slowly, withered away with each hug, with each clasp of their hands on you, with each casual cuddle session they pulled from you. You no longer felt like an anomaly. And it wasn’t that your friends had ever meant to make you feel like an outsider, but it felt like finally being let into a club you’d mourned being left out of for years.
The day that Eddie had grabbed your hand during a casual conversation amongst everyone while out for lunch, letting his thumb trail back and forth over your knuckles in a soothing motion, you’d nearly cried.
Something so delicate yet so telling. A quiet action of affection you’d spent so long telling yourself you couldn’t have. Back rubs during hugs, letting Argyle braid your hair in return, resting your head onto Robin’s shoulder instead of only vice versa. They were all things you’d denied yourself of for so long. You regret it, but you couldn’t change anything in the past, only the now.
And now, you had the boy who had first sprouted such affectionate want within you wrapped up against you, leaning into you for comfort as he started to ignore Steve again.
“Wanna go out back and smoke while he mother hens?”
He doesn’t have to ask you twice.
You both slip away out the back door unnoticed, a new banter sparking up between Robin and Steve being enough distraction to allow it. Eddie wastes no time digging into his jean pockets once he’s outside, throwing the cape out widely before he pulls out his pack of cigarettes.
“Want one?” he offers, flipping it open in your direction.
You just smile, shaking your head, “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”
You’d never really said that before to anyone in your group, only politely declining up until now. A small detail, but Eddie looks pleased to learn it all the same.
“Huh,” he curiously hums, pulling his own cigarette from the carton before tucking it back away, “I never knew that.”
“I’ve never really told anyone,” you shrug.
“It is some big secret?”
“Nope.”
“Hmph.”
This hum is muffled by the tip of the filter in his mouth, his hands now busy patting down his body for his lighter.
“What?”
His lips struggle to stretch around the tip of the cigarette without dropping it, solely from how wide his smile is, “I like learning new things about you.”
For every thing you had once spewed at Robin that night, Eddie had learned of you tenfold.
It was far past learning how your fingers fit between his or the smell of your perfume. He’d wanted it all; to know the inside workings of your mind, to be privy to all of your beautiful thoughts. The softness set in stone inside of you bled far past what could be felt in your fingertips or the care that shook your hand when you’d brush back stray curls out of his eyes. It fed deeper into you, into parts of you that Eddie could spend hours exploring without once growing bored.
“You say that like I’m interesting,” you murmur half-heartedly, suddenly reaching out beneath his cape and tucking into his back pocket he could have sworn he already checked. His breath is the one that catches at your arm brushing against his waist from the reach, his body is the one that freezes up entirely just from proximity. A change of roles that you had never seen coming, but he’d always figured existed. You never understood the effect you had on him, and that was in part his fault.
You produce his lighter like magic.
“You are interesting,” he insists as he plucks the lighter from you, flicking it three times to get a steady flame to burn the tip of his cigarette to life, “Don’t sell yourself so short, batty.”
“Batty?” you snort, not moving away from him, even as he blows a thin and ghostly stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
He can only shrug, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, I didn’t like it either. Had to give it a chance, though.”
In the quiet solitude of Eddie nursing his cigarette and you watching the trees rustle with the last remnants of daylight, something sharper invades the soft space you two seem to brew whenever together. Between your innards that are gentle by nature, and Eddie’s silken attitude not only in actions but attitude towards you, the spaces occasionally left between you two were always something dulcet. Calm. Welcoming. You’d come to discover that maybe, that’s why you’d always yearned to burrow yourself so deeply into those spaces. It was a feeling of comfort and a feeling of home that you had always seemed out, but never found that fit quite as right as these moments.
“Hey Eddie?” you ask aloud as he finishes off the cigarette, stomping it out on the ground with his boot.
“What’s up?” he answers, making no move to go back inside.
You always liked these moments alone best. From the very beginning. Even before he felt comfortable enough to step closer to you, shoulder to shoulder with you now. He’s trying to squint and see what you’re finding so interesting in the array of colorful leaves in the distance, slowly being covered in blue shadows rather than golden light, without asking.
You liked that. You liked it a lot; the way he always seemed to seek out your perspective on things. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did-“
“Fuck off,” your hand flies up, and smacks his shoulder. You never would have done that before. But you do now, relishing that contact even in the briefest of moments. The freedom to reach out and touch.
Once he stops laughing, clearly amused with himself, he turns to face you. Whatever he had been searching for in the trees is long gone, and your focus has moved onto him now, so it’s futile.
“Ask away, sweetheart.”
A deep breath for bravery, and you’re blurting out, “Did you really only avoid touching me when we met because... the others… they told you not to?”
He wasn’t expecting that question. The crease between his brows makes that clear. You almost take your thumb to it, try to smooth out the worry. But you’re not quite there yet. Maybe one day you would be.
It’s not as loaded of a question as he thinks it is. It’s cute to watch him assume it is, though.
“I mean,” he starts his words slowly, carefully, “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I guess,” he repeats.
Your smile is sending him into a tornado of emotion. He almost curls his hands into fist, just as you used to do.
When you broke down your boundary, it had split a crack through his dam. He knows he can reach out and touch you. He knows you’ll accept his physicality without complaint now. It doesn’t make it any less scary.
For the same reason you don’t press your thumb into his eyebrow crease — having a crush just makes you hesitate like that.
“I’m obviously a touchy guy,” he throws his arms out, aimlessly, and when they return his side, they almost nick yours. You wish they would brush yours, “But… between you and me, I always get nervous around pretty girls.”
The world slows. It doesn’t stop, it can’t stop for two youths who are trying to explore new and giddy feelings — but my God, can it slow to an absolute crawl, if only for the two of you.
“You think I’m pretty?” you tease, swallowing down just how much those words mean. You always have to remind yourself it’s worth it; being just friends is worth it now that you’ve learned the exact brand of cologne he wears and recognize the weight of his arm around you.
“The absolute prettiest,” he breathes out, “I always have. Even if they hadn’t told me to hold back, I would have- Hell, I still do,” the Autumn air makes him honest, makes him brave, “I am- I would be- I just- It’s terrifying, the thought of fucking it up because you turn my brain to… mush.”
Your eyes lift up to his forehead blanketed in his bangs, squinty and entertained, “You’re telling me it’s all just soup in there right now?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Your friends are inside. There is candy to eat until your stomachs ache, and hugs to partake in until your bones have been crushed and pieced back together by threads of platonic affection.
Right now is anything but platonic. And it is time for something else to break, not your bones and not your boundaries. Something more.
“I’m pretty sure your hand on my shoulder when we first met would have ended my entire world,” he confesses, starting the first crack.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. If you had hugged me every time you saw me, I don’t know if I would have ever found the nerve to leave my house.”
Another crack.
“And if I sat next to you every time we went out for dinner?”
“Wouldn’t have been able to eat a bite, I’m afraid.”
A spiderweb of cracks, all widening.
“And if I had laid my head on your shoulder during movie nights?”
“What the Hell is a movie?” he jokes, chuckling a bit nervously now, “Who knows? Certainly not me, certainly not when my favorite girl is curled up next to me.”
One more crack, and the entire thing will finally shatter. You’re begging it to shatter.
You bite your tongue on any remark about still being his favorite, because since that goddamn night, he’d never said Robin or Nancy were his favorites again. Never. He’d meant it. You were his favorite.
“And if I just…” you pause as you step forward, leaning in slowly, and it takes everything in Eddie not to turn and run as your lips brush over his cheek as you whisper, “Kissed your cheek? Right here, right now?”
He doesn’t respond, your lips press together and then press down.
It shatters with a resounding snap that must be heard across Hawkins. Across Indiana.
One moment, your lips are on his cheek, and the next, they’re on his lips. He turns his head quickly before any doubt or nerves or roots can interrupt the moment.
Endless. Endearing. Warmth. Tenderness. Soft.
His lips are soft. So goddamn soft.
His hands are foreign things for a second, as if he’s in shock that he’d actually done it and kissed you. But they come back to life when your own lift to his neck, wrapping behind his neck and beneath the collar of that cape, pulling him in even closer to you.
He kisses you. And kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. Till you’re both dizzy and it doesn’t matter that the earth won’t stop spinning long enough for you two to live in this moment.
It should be unfamiliar, especially to you, but it isn’t. It’s as if the two of you have done this dance before. In another life, in another world, on another Earth far away from here. Your lips know his in this lifetime, and they will know his in the next — this first meeting only allows for a sigh of relief in the Universe, and in you.
He paused the kisses briefly, palms cradling your face with care and intention, “Do you know,” he places his lips onto yours one more time, as if fearful that spending too much time apart will let you vanish, “how often,” another kiss, deeper this time, “I’ve wanted to do this?”
A final peck. A period to the end of a sentence that the two of you had taken your time writing.
“No,” you laugh earnestly, fingers digging into the soft skin at his nape, reveling in the slip of his curls between your knuckles, “Maybe you should tell me about it.”
“Tell you about all the times?” he’s leaning back in, lips brushing against yours. Just a touch, but it shakes you to your core, “All the times I wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss you?”
You capture his lips in yours, unable to resist anymore. You’ve spent months resisting — his lips and kisses, his touches and brushes, his warmth and sunshine. You’re done resisting.
“Every,” you pull back and catch the glint in his eyes. He’s done, too, the rubble of the shatter, “Single,” you peck one cheek, “Last,” you peck the other, now rosey, “One.”
You finally kiss his lips again. Your fingers tug harshly on his curls, and his mouth falls open at the unexpected sensation. Instead of taking this any further and starting something you’d never want to end, you do the adult thing — you nip at his bottom lip, a bite of adoration that leaves him with a sting to remember.
“Fuck,” he sighs out, chasing after you, but your hands press into his chest to keep him into place, “I- Sorry, was that too much?”
“Too much?” you laugh breathlessly, shaking your head immediately. Once upon a time, it might have been too much. But now, it wasn’t enough. “No such thing, not with you.”
“Careful,” his hands came up to cover your fists balled into the front of his shirt, moving so that his cape brushes against your sides now, “I’m known to be quite a handful, sweetheart.”
You snort and grip his shirt even harder. “God, I sure hope so. You’ve been holding out on me, dracula.”
“Oh, have I?”
His smirk and your smirk are perfect mirror images of each other.
synopsis: when johnny storm barges into your bakery during a pr “cooling-off period,” the last thing you expect is for him to keep coming back.
requested by: @tsunchani
The bell above your bakery door chimed so sweetly that you didn’t look up at first. It was a weekday lull—post–morning rush, pre–office crowd—and the whole place smelled like butter and patience. The mixer hummed. The ovens whispered. A sheet pan of cinnamon rolls cooled on a rack like a chorus line, glossy with glaze that caught the light. You were alone, sleeves shoved to your elbows, a pale dusting of flour on your cheek that you’d forgotten about ten times already.
“Tell me you do witness protection,” a voice said, low and fast, like he’d just slid into a booth at a speakeasy.
You glanced up with a practiced smile for anyone who came in flustered. The smile faltered when you recognized him. Johnny Storm stood just inside the door in a baseball cap that fooled exactly no one, sunglasses dangling by one arm from the collar of a bomber jacket. He wasn’t out of breath so much as vibrating, the kind of kinetic too-bright energy you felt in your teeth.
“I usually just do pastries,” you said, even as your eyes flicked past him to the window. Two long-lens cameras hovered across the street by the bodega, their owners pretending to be fascinated by a rack of gum.
Johnny followed your look, winced, and offered a grin that had probably negotiated world peace more than once. “I swear I’m not here for drama. I’m here to not be drama. For once.”
“You?” Your eyebrows climbed.
“Shocking, right? Sue gave me a lecture this morning. Our PR team called it a ‘cooling-off period.’ Apparently, if I get photographed doing anything except reading to puppies for forty-eight hours, civilization collapses.” He took a step closer to the counter, lowered his voice. “So, if a journalist asks, I’m a model of restraint and baked goods.”
“So… hiding.” You made it a statement. He didn’t flinch.
“Strategically… off the grid.” He nodded toward the case. “With a cinnamon roll for cover, if you’re feeling merciful.”
You slid open the glass, lifted a still-warm roll to a plate, and set it on the counter. He didn’t reach for it yet; his attention landed on you, a yes-or-no he never said out loud. Your bakery. Your call.
“Take a seat,” you said after a beat, nodding toward the two stools near the register. “I don’t do witness protection. But I do have napkins.”
He smiled like you’d offered him a favor he could feel in his bones and sat. He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair with no ceremony, blue eyes flicking over the room like he was memorizing where you kept everything. His shoulders unspooled one notch at a time.
“This is great,” he said around his first bite, eyebrows shooting up with genuine surprise that made you want to laugh. “I’m not just saying that because I need a safe house. That frosting—wow. I didn’t know sugar could do that.”
“Sugar can do anything if you treat it right,” you said, then regretted the softness in your tone. You pivoted. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please, whatever you recommend. Unless it’s decaf. I have a personality to maintain.”
You poured two cups before you’d decided to. You didn’t ask yourself why.
He didn’t pretend not to be recognized, didn’t sign the napkin some customers tried to give him like a contract. He just ate slowly, glanced toward the window less and less, and asked you questions that weren’t small talk. Did you always know you wanted to bake? What do you listen to when the bakery’s empty? What’s the worst order you ever got. He listened. That was the part you didn’t expect. Not from Johnny Storm, human highlight reel.
You were halfway through telling him about a three-tier cake that collapsed like a bad secret when the bell chimed again. “Don’t set anything on fire,” Ben Grimm grunted as he shouldered in, then spotted Johnny and stopped short. “Aw, for cryin’ out loud.”
“Nice to see you too, Benji,” Johnny sang without turning. “Don’t blow my cover. I’m living a quiet, simple life as a pastry monk.”
Ben gave you a look that said he was sorry on the world’s behalf and then nodded at the coffee urn. “The usual.” He slid a few bills across the counter, big fingers careful not to wrinkle them. “If he gets in your way, kid, you tell me.”
“He’s paying,” you said dryly. “So for now, he can stay.”
Johnny clutched his chest. “At last. Validation.”
Ben snorted, grabbed his coffee, and lumbered out, muttering something that sounded like, “He’s gonna break your mixer.”
“I’m not going to break your mixer,” Johnny promised immediately. “I might serenade it.”
“You’re not going near my mixer at all.”
“We’ll see.”
He came back the next day. And the one after that. And the one after that.
At first, you thought it was coincidence. But no man who looked like Johnny Storm came into a hole-in-the-wall bakery five mornings in a row by accident. By the second week, you had started saving a cinnamon roll for him behind the counter. By the third, you caught him lingering long after his plate was empty, elbows on the counter, teasing you about how your apron never stayed tied properly or asking which cake flavor was your personal favorite.
One afternoon, the bell jingled and in came Sue, balancing a reusable grocery bag on one hip and wrangling a squirmy Franklin. “Franklin refuses to sleep without his dinosaur pajamas,” she explained, lifting the bag a little. She clocked Johnny leaning against your counter and smirked. “Oh. I see we’re… cooling off.”
“Don’t say it like that,” Johnny said. “I’m rebrand—ing.” The hyphen was the panic.
“Hmm,” she said, the way only a sister could. She glanced at your case, brightened. “Are those lemon bars? Reed will propose to anyone for a decent lemon bar.”
“Tell him to hold off,” Johnny said. “We have a brand to protect.”
“If you want to protect the brand,” she murmured, eyes twinkling, “stop staring at her like that in public.”
You pretended to be deeply invested in evenly spacing brownie squares while your ears burned.
“Hi!” a small voice chirped from knee-height. Franklin peered around his mom’s legs, face smeared with something that looked like chocolate. “Uncle Johnny, can I have the sprinkle donut?”
“Buddy, that’s not a—well, no, actually, we do have one in the back that is technically a sprinkle donut,” Johnny said, and you weren’t sure what was funnier: his need to be correct about pastry taxonomy or the way he lit up for a five-year-old like the paparazzi didn’t exist.
You brought out a baked not-fried “donut,” really a cake ring with icing and every rainbow sprinkle you owned. Franklin’s eyes got huge. “This looks like a birthday,” he breathed.
“It’s everyone’s birthday somewhere,” Johnny said solemnly, and you had to turn away so you didn’t laugh into your own apron.
Franklin stuck his hand straight into the sprinkles before you could stop him, came away with a sticky constellation across his cheeks, and sighed like he’d discovered divinity. “Uncle Johnny talks about this place,” he informed you gravely. “He says it smells like happiness.”
“Does he.” You didn’t look at Johnny. You didn’t need to; you could feel him—how his smile went wry at one corner, how he pretended to inspect a tip jar that already had too many of his twenties in it.
“He also says,” Franklin continued, “that you—”
“Okay!” Sue scooped him up like a vengeful crane and kissed his sugary temple. “Time to go tell Dad we found lemon bars. Say ‘thank you.’ And ‘sorry for my uncle.’”
“Thank you,” Franklin said clearly. “Sorry for my—Uncle Johnny is good.”
Johnny pressed a hand to his chest. “Finally, someone says it.”
When the door closed, you realized you were smiling at nothing. When you glanced up, Johnny was watching you watch the door, and the look he gave you was unguarded enough that you had to look away.
He asked you out the following Tuesday. It wasn’t a production. He didn’t make fireworks spell your name over the East River, didn’t arrive on a flaming motorcycle, didn’t grandstand in a way that would have made you flinch. He finished restocking napkins, rinsed his hands, wiped them on a towel, and leaned his elbows on the counter.
“Go out with me,” he said, simple as a request to pass the salt. “Somewhere with real chairs and no timer beeping every twelve minutes.”
“You’re very confident,” you said, not because it needed saying but because he was waiting for you to say something.
“I’m very… sure.” He tilted his head like he was searching for a better word. “Of this one thing.”
You arranged your face into something neutral so your traitor heart didn’t volunteer you before your brain caught up. You could say no and nothing would break. You could say no and he’d keep coming in for coffee, would keep carrying flour, would keep being the one person who laughed at your terrible playlist ironically and then unironically, and you could watch him find someone else to set on fire.
“Friday,” you said, and the way relief washed through him would have embarrassed a less shameless man. He didn’t hide it. He grinned like you’d handed him a dare.
He took the cooling-off memo seriously. No paparazzi bait, no restaurant where the point was to be seen. He showed up at your apartment door in a suit the color of midnight and a tie that had been tied three times, if the askew knot told the truth. He held flowers like he’d rehearsed not making a joke about them. He didn’t make you feel like a bit. He made you feel like something he could ruin and would rather not.
The restaurant was just nice enough to make you sit a little straighter. He pulled your chair out and didn’t make eye contact with the hostess for longer than he needed to. The first ten minutes felt like you’d known each other six weeks—exactly the number you had—and also like you’d fallen into a pocket of air outside the world’s timing, where banter synced with breath.
“Is there anything you’re actually bad at?” you asked at one point, more curious than teasing.
“Geography,” he said immediately. “And waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“For anything good.” He sipped his water like that hadn’t been naked.
You decided to ask him things you could only ask away from the clang of sheet pans. If he ever wanted to stop. If he ever got tired. He asked you if there was anything about baking you hated but did anyway because the end justified the mess.
“Inventory,” you said. “And fondant.”
“You hate fondant?” He looked genuinely betrayed. “It’s so shiny.”
“It tastes like sweet rubber.”
“Okay,” he said, “rude but fair.”
It was easy. It was dangerous, how easy. Maybe that’s why you tested the seam of it, the way you sometimes pressed your thumb into the bottom of a cake to see if it sprung back.
“What’s your type?” he asked, casual, somewhere between appetizers and pasta. He didn’t say it like a trap. He said it like a kid trailing a sound with his finger.
You considered. You could have said something diplomatic. You could have said “funny” or “kind” and meant him. Instead, you smiled—small, mean, a little curious about what happened next—and drew a line down the center of the tablecloth he’d set so carefully.
“Black curly hair,” you said. “Brown dreamy eyes. Bulky. Veiny arms.” You tilted your head. “You know. A little broody.”
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to. His mouth made a shape that wasn’t a smile, his eyes flicked to your mouth then back to your water glass, and he sat back like the chair had scooted a millimeter further away. The laugh he gave you was bright enough to be a weapon.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, scoffing, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “I get the picture.”
“You asked.”
“I did.” He found the corner of his napkin with his thumb and smoothed it as if the linen had personally offended him. “Broody’s a classic. Everyone loves a storm cloud. So—good for you.”
You watched him the way you watched the edge of caramel before it tipped into bitter. He wasn’t angry. Johnny rarely burned that way. He was… skewed. A little to the left of himself. He rolled his sleeves to his forearms like he’d just remembered he had them. He sat straighter, and when the server came to refill water, he straightened more, and when you reached for your wine, he handed it to you before you’d decided to ask.
He overcorrected. That was the thing he did. He overcorrected with style, but still.
He walked you home without saying anything sharp. He waited while you found your keys. He didn’t ask to come up; he didn’t try to erase what you’d said with his mouth. He said, “Thank you. For letting me pretend for a night that I’m extremely good at being a person,” and you said, “You’re better than you think,” and he stared at your door for a beat like you’d put something on the other side that he wanted.
He still showed up at the bakery the next morning at six. He did fifty push-ups on your forty-inch square of office floor while you did inventory on a clipboard because of course he did. He carried three sacks of flour into the back one-handed and didn’t look at you when he set them down like he hadn’t planned it at all. He wore a T-shirt with sleeves short enough to flash the rope of his forearms every time he reached for a dish towel. He flexed, for the first time, for real. Not because he was vain. Because he was trying to be a language he thought you spoke.
“Careful,” you said when he snapped the elastic hairnet at his hairline, which he insisted on wearing like a crown. “You’ll break something trying that hard.”
“Not possible,” he said, smiling like he’d swallowed a dare. He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder. “I’m excellent at everything.”
“You’re objectively bad at tempering chocolate.”
“That was one time.”
“It was yesterday.”
He grinned and burned the second batch, too. You pretended you didn’t notice him reset the thermometer to try again, jaw tight, determined to get this right for reasons he was not going to name.
It would have been cute if it hadn’t also tugged something in your chest in a way you didn’t like. You hadn’t meant to pin him to a chalk outline. You hadn’t meant for a sentence to lodge in a person that way. Your own words ricocheted off the copper bowls and back into your face: You know. The opposite of you.
You told yourself your type had always been a good joke. You told yourself you’d meant eyes that saw you when you were behind a counter and your hands wouldn’t stop moving. You told yourself you hadn’t meant to make him small.
When your oven broke during a massive order, you nearly burst into tears. You stared at it like sheer will might bring it back to life, then yanked out your phone. Ben had given you Reed’s number months ago for a bulk order, swearing, “He’s the only one who can talk you through measurements if I screw it up.”
You typed fast: Oven dead. Wedding order today. Please tell me you do miracles.
“On my way,” Reed replied almost instantly. Then: Also, please do not let Johnny fix anything.
You glanced toward the front. Johnny was gloving up to carry trays from the proofing cabinet, blissfully unaware. “Noted,” you muttered.
He noticed, of course, when the first tray of meringues went into an oven that didn’t heat. He noticed the way your face didn’t move and then moved too much all at once. He glanced at the thermostat, at your hands, at the clock. “What do we need?”
“Time,” you said, which was the same as saying Nothing realistic.
He pulled his phone out without asking. “Hey, Reed,” he said when the line picked up. “Are you already—great. We have a… situation.” He listened, hung up, and then leaned both palms on the stainless counter and met your eyes. “Okay, game plan. I’m going to call Ben for muscle. Reed’s bringing gizmos. Sue has… Sue has something in the car that will keep us invisible if we need it, but let’s pretend that’s Plan Z. You—tell me how many things can be salvaged and how many I need to call in favors for.”
“You don’t—”
“You’re not alone,” he said, so simply you didn’t know what to do with the sentence. Then he softened it with a smile. “Also, I really want to see Reed sweet-talk an oven.”
Ben arrived first with a rolling tool chest that should have been in a garage, not a bakery. He took one look at the oven, whistled low, and said, “She’s seen things.”
“She’s going to see Reed fix her,” Johnny said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was channeling patience from another dimension. “And then she’s going to bake like she’s trying to win prom queen.”
Reed arrived like a man who had made peace with the weird. He crouched in front of the oven, murmuring to it with the same reverence he reserved for quantum anomalies, then extracted a series of warped parts like a magician pulling scarves. Sue backed through the door balancing a box and a sleepy Franklin, who immediately lit up at the sight of you like you were Saturday.
“Is it an emergency?” Franklin asked solemnly as Sue settled him with crayons at a corner table.
“It’s a little one,” you said. “But your uncle is being very useful.”
“Useful,” Johnny repeated, glaring at you like you were the moon and he’d just learned you’d been orbiting him the whole time.
“Useful is high praise,” Sue said under her breath, and then while Reed coaxed life back into the pilot light with a screwdriver and a speech about longevity, she rolled up her sleeves and started cutting butter into flour like she’d done it a hundred times. “Tell me quantities,” she said, and when you did, she didn’t blink. She just said, “Johnny, stop staring and start whisking those egg whites like they offended your honor.”
“I love it when you talk to me like I’m a stand mixer,” he said, already whisking.
By eight, the oven had a heartbeat again. By nine, meringues piped in perfect spirals lined every flat surface you owned. You and Sue fell into a wordless rhythm people only get when they’ve watched each other be brilliant in other rooms for a very long time. Ben iced lemon bars with the meticulousness of a bomb technician. Reed improvised a stabilizing bracket for your oven door out of parts you didn’t know you had and wrote you a note with maintenance tips that read like love poetry to thermal consistency.
Johnny did everything. He carried sheet pans without scorching them. He ran interference with a delivery driver who arrived an hour early and immediately needed to pee. He answered the phone and soothed a bride, promised an on-time delivery with a calm he did not feel, then biked the first tray over himself because he could sew through traffic faster than your old van. When paparazzi began to gather because the Fantastic Four were very obviously inside a small business, he stepped outside with a box of sample cookies, charmed them into staying across the street, and then did something you didn’t learn until later: he told them that if any photo of you inside doing your job ran, he’d personally blacklist the outlet from every charity event he did this year. He said it like a promise he knew how to keep.
He came back with hair mashed flat from a helmet and cheeks flushed and dove back into the kitchen as if the floor were lava and everything depended on it. He burned the heel of his hand catching a falling tray because by the time he remembered he couldn’t be burned, he’d already moved. When you reached for the burn cream, he made a big production of how he was absolutely fine, look at me, fireproof, nothing to see, do not cry about it.
You cried about it later, for thirty seconds in the bathroom, silently, with your palms pressed to your eyes.
By noon, you were ahead. You were sweaty and sugar-sticky and weirdly giddy. Reed kissed Sue’s hair and left a note taped to the oven that said, in his precise hand, “Please, for the love of god, schedule quarterly checks. —R.” Ben pretended he wasn’t proud of his perfect lemon bar grid. Franklin fell asleep in the corner with a sprinkle stuck to his eyebrow and the dinosaur pajamas slumped over his lap like a captive flag.
Johnny stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching you pipe the last ring of meringue like it was a wedding vow, and you felt his gaze like sunshine between your shoulder blades.
“Hey,” he said when you set the piping bag down. He didn’t have a joke ready. That was how you knew he meant it. “You were… you were art.”
“So were you,” you said, which made him blink, taken apart by one sentence.
Ben made an exit with a grumbled, “I ain’t third-wheeling in a bakery,” which was nonsense because he had third-wheeled you for two hours already. Sue carried a sleeping Franklin out like contraband and blew a kiss over her shoulder that made Johnny groan. Reed, bless him, sent you an invoice for exactly zero dollars and a text that said, “Satisfied client?” with a photo of the oven’s happy flame like it was a baby’s first steps.
The bakery exhaled. The street noise lowered. You turned and found Johnny with his back to the counter, arms braced behind him, head tilted like he could hear a frequency you couldn’t. His hair was a mess. There was a streak of flour on his cheekbone he hadn’t noticed and you hadn’t told him about because you liked seeing him marked by your world.
“You should sit,” he said, nodding to a stool. “Before gravity remembers you.”
“You should stop trying to be someone else.” It slipped out as if your mouth had decided to stop letting you be a coward.
He went very still, only his eyes moving. “I’m not—”
“The sleeves,” you said, and flicked your fingers at his forearms. “The push-ups in my office. The… just the whole thing. I said something stupid. I wanted to see if I could make you flinch. And then you—”
“You wanted to see if I’d go away,” he said softly, like he’d known for days and hadn’t wanted to say it out loud. “Because if I did, it would be neat. There’d be a place for it on a shelf. ‘That was the time Johnny Storm flirted with me for a few weeks and then realized I’m not a sports car or a camera.’ You wouldn’t have to—”
“I didn’t want you to go away,” you said, which felt like such a risky thing to admit that you had to look at the floor. “I wanted to know what you’re like when you don’t win.”
He laughed once, hoarse. “Horrible. Petty. In denial.”
“Determined,” you corrected. You took a step closer. “Useful.”
He made a face like you’d said he’d been elected treasurer. “Stop. That word is going to haunt me.”
“Good.” You reached up and used your thumb to swipe the flour off his cheekbone. He went cross-eyed trying to watch your hand and then gave up and watched your mouth. You left your hand where it was because you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. “Listen to me.”
He did. God, he did.
“I said something on that date that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I was filleting a fear in public and calling it taste. I don’t know what my type is. I know what my person is.” You held his eyes, didn’t let him joke his way out of it, didn’t let him dodge. “You are not my type, Johnny. You’re my person.”
His expression—there wasn’t a word for it you’d used before. It was not triumph, exactly; there was too much relief in it, too much unguarded ache. It was something like a man who’d spotted land he’d almost convinced himself he’d imagined.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rough like a fire that had burned down to coals.
“Positive,” you said, and that was the whole truth.
He didn’t lunge. He didn’t do anything dramatic. He stepped into your space like you were warm and he’d been cold for ten years and wrapped his hands loosely around your waist like he was asking you a question you already knew the answer to. When he kissed you, he did it as if he only had one kiss and he intended to spend it very wisely. You kissed him back like you were done pretending that your life hadn’t been bending toward this, very gradually, the way a plant will tilt toward a window without anyone telling it where the sun is.
He pulled back with his forehead resting against yours and laughed into your mouth, breathy and astonished. “You have no idea how badly I wanted that.”
“I have some idea,” you said.
“I’ll still do the push-ups,” he said quickly, and you laughed and shoved at his shoulder and his laugh unspooled into something that sounded like relief and the first day of vacation and a kid told he can go back and ride the roller coaster again.
He stayed. He stayed through the afternoon rush, as he always did, now shamelessly stealing a kiss when he ducked into the back with a tray because you’d both decided the bakery was Switzerland and also yours. He stayed through cleanup, where he proved magnificent at mopping if he could dance with the handle and narrate as if he were on a cooking show. He stayed when you locked the door and the lights glowed low and the mixer went quiet and you climbed up on the counter and ate the ugly lemon bars that didn’t make the cut, squeezing the wedge of time between closing and night like it owed you.
He didn’t ask for your type again. He didn’t try to be less himself. He didn’t stop rolling his sleeves because you liked his forearms; he just rolled them because he liked his sleeves rolled and you liked his forearms and everybody won.
Paparazzi came back. Of course they did. He didn’t hide from them unless there was a reason, and he never used you as one. When they lingered outside, he stepped onto the sidewalk and flashed a grin and answered three questions and gave them a picture that kept them happy enough to move on. He never let anyone take a photo from inside; that was the only rule he asked for and the only one you would have agreed to before he said it.
He took you out again, and again. Once to a rooftop garden with twinkle lights and a chef who wept over your tart crust. Once to a Knicks game where he behaved himself so hard you half expected him to explode. He got better at waiting. You didn’t ask him to be one thing or another. You let him be a man who loved cameras and also loved slipping into your bakery on a Tuesday morning because the song on the radio was one you’d told him about and he wanted to listen to it in the place where you liked it.
Ben kept coming, and pretended not to like you and then liked you because it was impossible not to. Sue brought Franklin by on purpose now, to bribe him into putting on pajamas but really because Franklin’s joy at a sprinkle donut was the exact medicine for days that felt like too much. Reed installed a thermometer that looked like it could be used to measure a star and wrote you a note on letterhead that said, “Remember: you can ask for help,” and you taped it to the inside of your cabinet where you could see it when you needed to.
One night in late summer, you closed early because you could. He came by at dusk with hair damp from a shower and a T-shirt that had obviously lost a fight with a dryer. You sat on the floor behind the counter with your backs against the cabinets and shared the last cinnamon roll, torn in your hands, eaten with the lazy greed of people who didn’t have to leave yet.
“You know,” he said, licking sugar from his thumb, “I can probably stop pretending to be good for PR now. They got busy yelling at someone else this week.”
“You were pretending?” you asked, scandalized.
He laughed. “Okay, fair. I was… shifting the ratio.” He tilted his head so he could see your profile in the warm light. “I’ll still do it when I need to. Be… photogenic in public. I like it. It’s fun. But this—” He gestured with his chin at the room. “It is not lost on me that I started sleeping through the night the week I started hiding in here.”
“Strategically off the grid,” you said.
“Exactly.”
You set your head on his shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t jostle, didn’t make a joke to cut the quiet. He reached for your hand and threaded your fingers together, and you felt the way his palm mapped yours like he’d known it longer than he had.
If anyone asked you later, you would say that your type was a man who stayed when the oven quit and the meringues fell. A man whose jealousy was soft-edged because it came from wanting to be close, not from wanting to control. A man who believed that sugar could do anything if you treated it right, and applied that rule to people.
He would say that his type was you.
He’d grin when he said it, because he couldn’t help himself. He’d say it to a camera if someone asked, just once, in a way that made twelve PR managers faint and three more resign. He’d say it to Franklin at bedtime when he needed a story. He’d say it to Ben and roll his eyes when Ben pretended not to hear. He’d say it to Sue in a text accompanied by seventeen heart emojis until she threatened to block him. He’d say it to you in the doorway of your bakery in the morning when the sun hadn’t quite happened yet, like a prayer that sounded suspiciously like a joke.
And when you teased him about his sleeves or his push-ups or his silly attempts to be broody, he’d laugh and kiss your flour-dusted cheek and whisper, “Useful,” in your ear, like a promise that the best things didn’t have to be loud to light up a room.
Summary: You were an adult, with adult money. You can buy things that bring you joy! Hopefully your boyfriend never finds out about it.
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: Straight up fluff, small mention of blood, superhero-ing things
A/N: First Clark fic! Hope I did the punk-rocker justice!! (also trying a new writing style to avoid having to use y/n as often. I think it's neat!)
It was a silly purchase.
Something that you insisted you didn’t need.
But, with ten dollars less in your wallet, you walked out of the mall with your head held high, new purchase secured in your bag.
It was the sort of purchase you’d want to keep from your boyfriend—at all costs. Not that it was a secret, something to hide in the dark shadows of the unknown, but because it was deeply… embarrassing. The kind of embarrassing that reminisced on high school days, mean girls and cutting words, lunches-eaten-in-the-bathroom kind of embarrassing.
So, it was an omission, you decided. Something that you simply kept from your boyfriend, but, if he were to ask, you’d tell him.
Maybe.
—
You didn’t mind the superhero-ing, not at all. You knew your boyfriend was a good person, him using his metahuman abilities for the greater good only confirmed your theories, amplified your feelings on the matter. He did the most for the people around him, friends, family and strangers alike. You didn't mind it, couldn't mind it, even.
What you did mind was the blaring fact that he was late to dinner… again.
You pulled all the stops. Handmade pizza with dough you had resting all day, your mother’s recipe for garlic knots—one of his favorites—and you even uncorked a moderately priced bottle of wine, the one from the back of your cabinet. Everything was perfect.
What would be even more perfect would be the man of hour sitting across from you, making that same corny joke about pizza—every time, without fail.
“Wanna hear a joke about pizza?”
“Clark…”
“Come on, you know you love it!”
“I really don’t—”
“Nah, you’re right, it’s too cheesy.”
What you would give for that right about now. Shit-eating grin and all.
Instead, you sat with a cooling plate of pizza and disappointment. In his defense, he had sent you a quick message about an hour ago, one like he usually does, laced with apology and too many emojis to decipher. He even added an American flag to the end of his message this time, which was odd, a new one for him.
Until you scrolled on your phone, passing post after post about Superman currently fighting inter-dimensional beings in Washington D.C, the monuments making for a more compelling backdrop to the fight than the typical skyline you were used to.
The American flag made sense now.
You gave up on the idea of a shared dinner about twenty minutes later, carefully replacing the slices of pizza and garlic knots in containers for a future meal—probably his lunch for tomorrow, if he even made it back in time to pack one. Instead of corking the rest of the wine, you carried it with you to the couch, sans glass, and made quick work to collapse into the pillows.
It was your first argument—if you could even call it that—what pillows to furnish your new apartment with. You had wanted something a bit more simple, something that wasn’t too flashy or forward, something to go with the seasons. Clark wanted… something different. He was a man—metahuman abilities or not—at the end of the day, and he wanted that stupid chicken pillow. Not a pillow with chickens printed on it, a pillow entirely shaped like a chicken. Claimed it ‘reminded him of Ma’.
No chance in hell you were winning the fight after that.
The chicken sat over on the seat across from you, menacingly, a reminder of who you were missing. A swig of a bottle in your hand calmed your sorrows, just for a moment, before tuning in to the news that flashed across your television. Reporters were focusing on the attack on the Nation’s Capital, the monsters that were attacking it and Superman’s ability to reign them in. Some were applauding Superman for his hard work and dedication to the country, others chose to criticize the damage he had caused to a few of the monuments.
“Rather there be some rubble from monuments celebrating slave owners than actual human lives,” you said into the bottle, taking another small sip. “But okay.”
You got tired of the news, tired of watching your boyfriend from afar, worrying about his safety as if he wasn’t literally the most capable man on Earth to handle something like this. Flipping through streaming services, you settled on something mindless to watch, to get your head out of the clouds and back to reality. Watching hot people try to flirt with one another seemed like a good way to do it.
You scowled at the phone, pursing your lips as you re-read the words.
Another buzz.
C.K 🤓:
Sleep well. Love you. ❤️
“Love you too,” you said softly to the universe, as if he could hear you across state lines. You wouldn’t put it past him.
It was difficult, being Superman's partner. The late nights, the constant worrying, the anxiety that maybe you'd let his secret slip if the right person asked you at the wrong time. You knew this. You prepared for this. What made it easy was Clark. Sweet, sweet Clark Kent, farmboy from Kansas with the heart of gold. He made it easy, made you so willing to keep up with it all.
He was worth it.
You give up on the rest of your evening, trashy reality television and wine long forgotten. With heavy steps you tread to the bathroom to get ready for bed, peeling your clothes off unceremoniously. The hamper was nearly full, you’d have to do laundry tomorrow, adding the cherry on top of your shit cake of a day. A moment of appreciation for your underwear was given, your eyes raking over your reflection in the mirror—bright red lace, accentuating your features nicely, a favorite of Clark’s.
“Shame,” you hummed, peeling it off and throwing it on top of the hamper, knowing he’d see it. Good, you thought. Suffer, you added.
Opting for something cozy, you rummaged around the dirty clothes and pulled out one of Clark’s shirts, one he had recently worn on your latest date night around the city. A black t-shirt from a Daily Planet outing, a picnic of some kind, he loved it to bits—meaning he wore it frequently. A quick sniff test allowed you to pull it on, choosing it as your sleepwear of the evening. Adding a pair of your own shorts, a pair from college, you decided this was the best you could do.
Washing of your face allowed you to take a moment for yourself. Rubbing your nightly routine into your skin was usually relaxing, methodical, even. Taking care of yourself before bed was something you tried to find pride in, whenever you remembered to do it, anyway. Grounding you to the here and now, not spiraling with thoughts of Clark getting hurt, limping home to you, bloodied, battered and bruised, dying—
You spat your toothpaste out.
When did you start brushing your teeth?
As if anyone else was in your apartment, you tiptoed across the hall into your bedroom, quiet as a mouse, ready for the comfort and solace of your bed. It was a cozy thing, sheets made of flannel for the cooler winter months, Clark’s pillow a bit firmer than your own—something about neck pain, he mentioned once. You found it hard to believe a metahuman like himself could get neck pain from simply sleeping, but you allowed the man to have his delusions, as long as you kept every single one of your own pillows on your side. All three of them, two for your head, one for your legs, saved for whenever Clark couldn’t replace it.
Much like tonight.
Falling asleep was never a chore, you welcomed it with open arms most of the time, shutting your brain off and allowing it to come… that was the struggle. But, with your secret weapon stashed behind your pillows, now firmly tucked between your chest and neck, you found the solace of slumber.
—
The sun was shining through your window, the curtains had been pulled back, much to your sleepy dismay. Groaning, you rolled over, hoping you could just… will them to close on their own. Instead, you were met with the brick wall that was Clark Kent, laying peacefully beside you. He hadn’t bothered changing out of his suit, not fully, taking in every inch of sunlight he could. You knew at first glance the man wasn’t sleeping, his breathing was too irregular. You also knew he could tell you weren’t sleeping, either.
“No… suit in the bed,” you managed to grumble, voice still thick with sleep. Your hand patted his arm lovingly, despite your words.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he responded, his eyes opening up to meet your own. Blue as the sky, deep as the ocean, you had told him once. He liked that. “I was so tired and—”
“—needed sun,” you finished, yawning. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll wash them,” he promised quickly, turning a bit on his side, his gaze never leaving your own. “Today, I promise.”
“You promise a lot of things, Superman,” your voice had no real bite, no edge, but it still stung in his ears.
“I’m sorry,” Clark sighed. “I deserve that, yeah.” He deflated into the mattress, as if his body was finally allowing him to relax, your presence almost a soothing balm on his soul. “I deserve that,” he repeated, a bit softer.
The hum of the fan in your bedroom drowns your ears, filling any empty space your silence left. “You don’t. Deserve that, I mean.”
Clark closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pursing half as long before he responds. “I do. I-I promised I’d be here, I left you alone with your meal you worked so hard on—which looked amazing—”
“Slow down, Kansas,” you said, pressing a hand to his chest. He took a deep breath. “I know what I signed up for.”
He sat straight up, as if your hand had suddenly burned him. “No, you signed up for—for some dorky reporter, a kid from some small town in the Midwest, not… Superman.”
You look at him fully, watching as this sturdy rock of a man was practically crumbling before you.
“You’ve seen Shrek, yeah?”
“I—what?” He looked down at you as you began to sit up, not nearly matching his height, but closer than before. His thick brows furrowed nearly into a single line. “How does that have anything to do with—”
“Much like ogres,” you said, cocking your head slightly, “you, Clark Kent, are like an onion.”
He blinked.
“…an onion?”
“You have layers,” you shrugged. “Sometimes they’re stinky, complicated, superhuman, but layers nonetheless.”
“I don’t think I quite love this analogy, sweetheart,” Clark finally chuckled.
“It’s too early for me to be poetic, sorry,” you said a bit sheepishly. “But you get what I’m trying to say, yeah?”
“You love me, stinky layers and all?”
“Something like that.” Your grin could light up the room, sunlight be damned. It was something he was certain of. “I love you, stinky boy, please stop trying to make decisions for me.”
“I love you too,” he said softly. “And… I’ll try.”
“And stop overthinking so much,” you poked his forehead. “I can see the steam pouring out of your ears.”
He laughed at that. “Noted.”
“We can talk more about your layers later, after some coffee. Sound good?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. We can talk all about my stinky layers later.”
You groan. “You know I don’t think you're actually stinky—though let’s be honest you didn’t even touch a shower before getting into our bed—”
“I’m washing the sheets!” He laughed again, watching your nose scrunch up comically. “I’m serious!”
“So am I!” Your laugh matched his own, feeling his fingers run up your sides. An attack, clearly. “Clark!”
“Nope, Clark’s not here,” he said, expertly evading your dodges. “Superman’s got an agenda.”
“A-agenda?” You squeak between gasps.
“A tickle agenda,” he shrugged. “Tickle taxes need to be paid.”
If laughter was a true currency, as Clark had teased, the two of you would be rich beyond your years. Thankfully, after your fourth or fifth smack to his arms, he stilled his onslaught. “You missed pizza night,” you said breathlessly, eyes chasing his own.
“I know.”
“You love pizza night.”
“I know,” he groaned.
“It’s still in the fridge,” you hummed, thumb rubbing circles on his elbow. “I hardly ate any of it, so you can have all the pizza you want.”
“I only need a pizza your heart,” he grinned.
“Clark.”
“What? Too cheesy?”
“Clark!” You throw your pillow over your face, as if it would hide you from his blinding grin, the one you knew you loathed, the one you knew you loved.
“Come on, pretty,” Clark said, gently pulling the pillow off of you, a bit of your blanket following in his grip. “Let me see that smile.”
You tried your best to twist your smile into a pout, failing miserably. “M’not smiling.”
“Smirking, smiling,” he kissed your nose. “Same thing.” You allowed him to continue to press kisses to your face, each one taking great care to be gentle, not overwhelming in the slightest. His peppering slowed when his gaze found a flash of red and blue under your sheets.
Confused by the sudden break, your own eyes opened, following his sight quickly. If it wasn’t for his super-speed, you would have flung the culprit across the room and into the abyss, but no, your boyfriend was always faster, always one step ahead. “Oh you really don’t have to…”
In his iron grip was a stuffed rabbit, the one from your childhood, the one that survived every move, every heartbreak, every life change. That wasn’t the secret. Clark knew full well about BunBun, hell, he shared a bed with her occasionally. Who would try to separate a girl from her emotional support stuffy? Not Clark Kent, that’s for sure. What did surprise him, was her new attire. Long gone was the faded shirt with a baseball team’s logo—she was originally a gift from your father, a huge fan of the team—and in its place was a brand new, shiny, red and blue—
“BunBun has a Superman shirt?”
You wanted to die of embarrassment. Thrown off the top of your building, set aflame, drowned in the bay, whatever could kill you fastest. “Her old one was falling apart…” your conviction was shaky, your reasoning a bit unsound. You didn’t even believe you, how could you expect the man who could literally hear your heartbeat to do such a thing?
He pulled the rabbit into the light, fully out of the sheets and straight into the air. “Well I’ll be darned.”
“It was a stupid purchase, an impulse buy,” your grave was practically digging itself at this point. “It hardly cost me anything!”
His thumbs ran over the print on the front, his ’S’ logo clear and clean, hardly a shoddy piece of merchandise. “I didn’t even know they made stuff like this, I mean, the mugs and the shirts are a given, but this…?”
“Is silly right?” You finished his thought, trying to grab your rabbit from his death grip—obviously to no avail. “I mean, sooo silly! It’s hysterical, really. Clearly—Clark give her back!”
“No, no,” you could feel his chuckles shake the bed, his arm flying, trying to keep the rabbit out of your grabby hands. “It’s so… cute.”
“I swear on all that is holy if you don’t give BunBun back to me right now—”
“Did you…?” He pressed his nose to the blue fabric. “Oh honey…”
“Don’t.”
“You didn’t,” he nearly growled, the sound coming deep from his chest.
“Clark, please, just let me rot in this bed forever—”
“You sprayed it with my cologne?”
This must be what heaven feels like, you think. Considering you wish you were dead in this moment, you must be in heaven. Your eyes closed the second he spit out the truth, his arms grappling to you like a vice against his chest, all warm and full of affection. Your mumbles were lost to you, but everything to him.
“Hm? What was that?”
“You heard me, Kansas,” you said, a bit louder, peeking up from the mountains of his chest. “I miss you sometimes, okay?”
“Sweetheart, I know you do,” he rubbed your back lovingly, BunBun casually hanging in his other hand. “When I’m gone I miss you too, though, clearly you’re winning the ‘Missing My Partner Olympics’.”
He laughed at your attempt to smack his chest again.
“You can’t blame me,” you pointed at him, the distraction working just long enough to wriggle the rabbit out of his grasp. With BunBun in hand, your heart rate slowed, just a bit, your relief almost instant. “I occasionally miss my boyfriend, sue me.”
His grin softened at your declaration, though layered in that classic humor of yours he knew so well, it was honest—true. “It’s cute, you’re cute.”
“It’s embarrassing—”
“—adorable.”
“Deplorable—”
“—endearing.”
“It’s not even licensed!”
“Do I need to license my image?” He asked no one in particular, the voice lower than expected.
“I mean… they’re using it without your permission, Clark.”
He furrowed his brows.
“…should I be suing people? I mean, can I even sue people?”
This time, the laughter from the both of you shook your bed.
“Superman shouldn’t be suing people,” you decided.
“I’m not seeing any profit from this, sweetheart,” he added. “I mean, think of the things I could buy you with that kind of cash.”
“What? Like a ring?”
It was a tease, a joke.
“Yeah,” he said softly. "Like a ring.”
He wasn’t joking.
“S-Superman shouldn’t be suing people,” you repeated, your heartbeat drumming loudly in your ears. Surely your pulse was skyrocketing.
“Yeah,” he hummed, looking down at the stuffed animal, taking care to admire his own insignia. “Probably for the best.”
And so, the conversation was dropped, the topic untouched.
“This is a sign though,” Clark added, turning to you now. “We have to make a trip to the mall.”
“Why’s that, handsome?”
“I need a stuffy that’s dressed like you, duh,” he said incredulously. “I feel left out.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly serious,” he booped your nose. “It’d be a matching set! BunBun could sit proudly next to Bearemy on the bed, you don’t have to stuff her between the headboard—”
“Bearemy?”
“Yeah,” his voice cracked, shoulders touching his ears in a shrug. “That’s his name.”
“You don’t even have a bear yet, and you’ve already named him?”
Clark jumped out of bed, peeling off his suit. “Oh honey, if that’s shocking to you, do not go through my notes app on my phone—you’d be horrified at what’d you’d find.”
The small revelation warmed your soul.
Maybe you’d tell him about your super-secret list, too. One day.
“I don’t plan to snoop, Supes.”
“Thank goodness,” he sighed playfully, walking to the hallway. “Your trust is everything to me, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you watched him swoon against the doorway, nearly naked—save for his grey boxers. A moment of appreciation for your boyfriend’s appearance was never a wasted one. “Go shower, stinky.”
“Stinky, stinky onion man,” Clark sang softly, a bit off key and no real tune in mind, waltzing to the bathroom only a few steps away. Only until you heard the old pipes creak did you finally flop back onto your pillow, rabbit cuddled against your chest.
“Yeah,” you nodded to the rabbit, as if she could hear you. “I’m gonna marry that man.”
summary: you survive the metropolis museum and just really miss clark. its a shame you have to settle for a disappointed superman instead
content: a lecture from superman, clark kent is silly, everyone's in love!!
As it turns out, the building toppling into the museum was kind of Superman-bait.
You figure this out on your hospital bed, the gash on your arm freshly wrapped in bandages and gauze. You're embarrassingly winded after all those lung tests, and are still seeing spots from when you had a light shone into your eyes. Though her work is done, the nurse who did it is hovering over your side, her eyes fixed to the TV.
“There’s a major development in our story involving the Metropolis Museum of Art,” one of the newscasters begins, her tone rehearsed in that way all people on TV speak. “We have just received word that the collapse of its neighboring building, an empty but newly built office complex, was caused by an explosive placed on its fourth floor.
“Officials believe that this device was planted to distract emergency services from the bank robbery in the Central Business District. While it is still unclear how much money was stolen, early estimates suggest losses upwards of seventy-thousand dollars. Bill Rossi is on location with the details. Over to you, Bill.”
The screen cuts to a man in his mid-forties, his mustache thick and his lips pressed thin. There’s a few awkward seconds where he stares into the camera before smiling. “Thank you, Linda. Eyewitnesses believe that this may have been the work of some metahumans, with some reporting seeing ‘a blue figure with a laser gun’ blowing a hole in the side of the building…”
Your focus wanes as the camera pans over to the bank, blue goo dripping down where a wall used to be. First responders rush across the screen, walking through the wreckage of it all.
You wonder again why you chose to live in Metropolis over Central City.
You’ve never been so excited to see the steps out of the metro.
Your arm aches like crazy and you really just wish you could call Clark, but your phone fell out of your purse sometime when you were being rushed to safety.
It’s hard not to believe that this isn’t another example of the universe punishing you. You wanted a Clark-free day, and it’s what you’re getting.
Instead, you’re forced to settle for his freaky doppelganger, because Superman is leaning against a streetlight a few feet away from your metro exit.
The sentence sounds insane to even think about, but it’s a fact. He waves and grins at the few people who pass by, who beam smiles back at him. You get the urge to prod at his dimples, which are made even more pronounced by the upturn of his lips.
You weren’t lying when you told Clark that you thought Superman was great. As you walk past him, a kid wraps herself around one of his legs, and he crouches down to talk to her. The girl’s dad trails behind her, looking just as starstruck as he speaks with the hero about the thunderstorm that hit Metropolis last night.
Superman seems so genuinely happy about getting the chance to talk to everyone, and you find it surreal that he’d saved you just a few hours ago. You can’t wait to tell Clark about your first meeting with his not-friend.
Superman’s gaze lands on you, and you feel your heart break free from your ribcage.
He’s just as striking up close, the sweetness of his face offset by the intensity of his eyes. A frown flips his features, and he kindly excuses himself from the conversation he’s having before he…
Huh. That’s funny.
Superman starts walking somewhat in your direction.
You turn your eyes forward and keep walking. His gaze is so intense, you almost feel bad for anyone who’s ever been on the receiving end of it.
The rich timbre of his voice drags your thoughts away from your walk. Distantly, you hear, “Excuse me, I need to speak with you.”
Your steps falter ever so slightly, but you continue walking. You resist the urge to be nosy and look to see who Superman is flagging down, instead looking in your purse to make sure Clark’s dumb paperweight is still inside. You hadn’t checked if it’d cracked in the commotion, and you feel a little sick at the thought. You’d almost died for this thing, after all.
“Ma’am?” Superman says again. This time, he’s right beside you.
For the first time since you’ve gotten discharged from the hospital, you stop moving.
You hadn’t had much time to really look at Superman earlier. He’d flown you out of the museum and said something a little rushed and frantic — maybe a ‘get to safety!’ — before he was hurrying back inside to save more lives.
As you stare up at him now, you have a little more time to really look at him. He sounds beyond upset, but he’s just as gorgeous as he is on TV — a fact that you’ll be sure to leave out when you recount this to Clark.
You turn around to see if someone is standing around you, and frown when you come up empty. The only person on this half of the street is you.
“Oh. Hello, Superman. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.”
“I understand. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” he says, his hands falling to his hips. His eyebrows are knit together in what looks like… disappointment. You can’t help but feel like you’re in trouble.
“Okay,” you say, drawing out the last syllable. You can’t quite tell if the hospital was thorough enough in their concussion screening. “Do you mind if we do this while we walk? I really need to get back to my apartment.”
“Of course.” His voice is so agreeable you find yourself getting a little distracted. He redirects you by kindly gesturing ahead, and you find yourself leading Superman back to your home.
“Would you like me to fly you there?” he offers. “I’m sure it’d be a lot faster.”
“No, thanks. It made me a little sick last time.”
It’s not that big of a deal to you, but Superman’s frown seems to worsen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it could make people feel like that.”
“Don’t be. It was either that or getting crushed by a falling building, right?”
Your joke seems to fuel Superman’s bad mood even more. You walk a little faster, letting him lengthen his strides.
“That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about.”
“The museum?”
He nods, and when he turns to look down at you, the edge of his cape brushes your arm. The fabric is impossibly soft.
“When I found you, it seemed like you were walking further into the building. Is that correct?”
You wrack your brain to the moments before you were taken out of the building. Had it really only been three hours ago? It feels like it’s been a week since then.
“Well, kind of. I wasn’t trying to, like, run into the flames or anything, but I was picking up something I’d dropped. And it just happened to be further away from the door.”
The vein on his forehead seems to twitch. “Do you understand how dangerous that was?”
Your head throbs similarly. “Sorry, what?”
You aren’t sure you’re hearing him right. Is Superman… trying to lecture you?
“I feel the need to ask you what you were thinking,” he says, completely serious. “You were putting your life at risk.”
“I was hardly in danger.” You only half believe that, but can’t find it in you to agree with him. He’s somewhat hijacked your walk home, after all. “It was only an extra few seconds that I was inside the building. And, did it really matter? You were there to save me, anyway.”
“And I’m glad I was.” Superman says, his eyebrows bunching together. “Who knows what could’ve happened if I wasn’t there? Those seconds could’ve been the difference between life and death.”
You frown, but don’t respond. He’s stopped trailing slightly behind you and is now walking alongside you, absorbed in his rant.
“What could’ve possibly been so important that you were willing to risk your life for it?”
Someone gives you an odd look as you pass by. You can only imagine how weird this looks: Superman arguing with a civilian in the middle of the street. It definitely isn't something you see everyday.
Or any day, actually. You've never heard about Superman lecturing someone on proper emergency response before.
“It was a paperweight.” The admittance kind of hurts. It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. “A Superman paperweight from the museum.”
He blinks, his eyes widening a fraction. He stutters out something, and you tilt your head, confused.
“I need you to understand that what you did was incredibly stupid. You can not and should not be putting yourself in danger for— for a thirty dollar piece of glass!”
You’re impressed at how accurate his price guess was, but irritation still flares up in your chest, souring your mood. “No offense, but you can save the lecture for someone who needs it. I’m not an eight year old.”
He holds up a finger to correct you. “Clearly, you do need it—”
“You’re not my friend or my boss,” you say, just like an eight year old, “so I appreciate the concern, babe, but I think I’m fine.”
Superman’s steps falter. His eyes glance upward. Then, they shift somewhere to the left of you. Your eyes widen as the apples of his cheeks pinken with blush.
The shiftiness, the glancing away and then around before back at you… you’ve seen it all before.
Superman has the exact same reaction to the nickname as Clark.
His doppelganger, the same man who looks just like the superhero when his glasses are off. But that couldn’t possibly mean…
No.
There’s no way.
Are you seriously considering the idea that Clark is Superman? Just because they get embarrassed the same way?
You’re being ridiculous. Superman’s name is Kal-El, and he’s some guy from Krypton. You’ve read Clark’s articles about him, the ones he’s written after interviewing him.
Interviews only Clark seems to be able to get.
You must be concussed. You're definitely just confused.
Superman continues to rattle off words at you, almost pouting with how frustrated he is. The words enter in one ear and out the other as you take him in.
From a distance, he and Clark look similar enough. They’re around the same height and have the same hair color, and the strands free of gel even seem to curl the same way. They share perfect dimples, and even though Clark hides in those baggy suits of his, you’ve seen him in those nice t-shirts he has. There’s no hiding that frankly, he’s built. Just like the man speaking with you now.
But Superman shows his face. All the time. He’s not like Batman or The Flash with their masks and hidden identities. Superman is a real man from Krypton, who probably goes home to his massive superhero lair under the city. Not your little apartment complex by the park.
But… there was the blushing. The way Superman knew exactly how much the paperweight was — the same paperweight Clark complained was too expensive. The way he knew just what metro stop you’d be getting off at, and his odd interest in your safety.
Your head is reeling.
“—I don’t have to be your friend or your boss to be worried about you,” Superman says when you tune back in. You stare blankly at the outline of his back. Could this really be Clark? “It’s up to all of us to look out for each other. The job doesn’t just fall to the people we know.”
Superman walks alongside you a little too naturally, like he’s done it a million times before. He even interrupts his rambling to remind you to watch your step when you pass by the sidewalk with the broken slab of concrete. The way he leads the charge back to your apartment is like second nature.
“So, I’m sorry, if you didn’t want to hear this, but it was very important to me that I spoke with you about this,” Superman says, gesturing very seriously.
At the end of the street, you let your steps slow, gaze fixed on the man as he continues to speak.
He’s frowning when he says, “I’m sure that you have plenty of people at home that care about you and worry about your wellbeing. So, when you act recklessly like this, you’re not only—”
Without a spoken direction from you, or with you gesturing in any way, Superman turns on his heel and leads you around the corner. Right in the direction of your shared apartment.
You grab the back of his flowing cape and tug.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much. He staggers back a step, but you think it’s more to do with the shock of you pulling him back, rather than any show of your strength. Superman whirls on you, startled. You step forward until your chests are nearly an inch apart, staring directly into his eyes.
“What—”
“Clark Kent,” you hiss under your breath. “You must be very proud of yourself.”
His features blow wide with shock. He blinks owlishly, surprise swimming in his blue eyes. “W-I’m not… What?”
“Oh, come on, farmboy.” You lean back to cross your arms, frowning. “I can’t believe all it took was one conversation with you in your costume to figure it all out. You couldn’t have at least pretended not to know where our apartment was?”
Superman — Clark — pulls you closer by your shoulders, holding your injured arm very gently. He throws a few glances around the empty street, like he’s checking to see if there really is no one around. It's only when he’s certain the area is clear that he coughs and lets you go.
“That’s a pretty big assumption,” ‘Superman’ says, his voice taking on an even more authoritative tone. “And one that’s untrue.”
“Superman.” Your voice softens as you say it. He stands up straighter, like he’s trying to make himself even larger than life. “You can hide under that cape all you want, but Clark Kent is going to bleed through no matter what.”
He opens his mouth, about to protest, but you continue.
“You still blush when I call you ‘babe,’” you say, watching his face light up with embarrassment. “And you still nudge me twice to switch spots so you can walk closer to the street.”
“I—That’s… you can’t…” His lips flatten into a line, frustrated, while he wrestles with what to say. When he grimaces, it looks all too familiar.
It does nothing but make you more sure.
The man in front of you is your best friend. There’s no doubt about it.
A second later, the urge to argue leaves him.
He drops his voice to a whisper, and you finally hear it for the first time today.
There’s no Superman-tone-of-voice when he speaks, no puffing out of his shoulders, or a dazzling smile meant to put scared people at ease.
He’s just your Clark when he asks, “Can we talk about this at home?”
(For the second time in one day, Clark takes you flying. This time, he makes sure to go a lot slower.)
“Krypto,” you echo, slumping back against his couch cushions. “You named your dog Krypto.”
Clark looks the picture of innocence in front of you, your knees knocking together where he sits in front of you on the ottoman. He’s since changed out of the Superman suit at your request — the sight of the symbol on his chest was making for a very distracting conversation.
As you look at Clark now, in a pair of jeans and one of his old Hanes t-shirts, you have a hard time believing the words he’s saying. He looks like any old person you’d find on the streets of Metropolis while he explains the powers and the flying to you.
Maybe you should’ve made him leave the suit on.
“He’s not even mine. I was just… dogsitting.”
“No wonder you refused to tell me what his name was.”
Clark smothers down a smile. “A bit on the nose, isn’t it?”
“Hmm. Just a bit.”
You take another sip from the glass of water he gave you. He’d told you that you were only allowed to ask questions if you’d finished the cup, but you know he’d answer no matter what.
“The whole thing with the yellow sun is pretty crazy,” you add thoughtfully. “If you photosynthesize, does that mean you’re kind of like a plant?”
“Well, I don’t photosynthesize, so, not really.”
You make a noise that’s between a scoff and a laugh. “You said, and I quote, ‘the Earth’s yellow sun is the source of my powers.’ That sounds a lot like photosynthesis to me.”
It’s kind of endearing how seriously he takes your half joke. He perks up at the chance to explain something. “Plants don’t have powers, the last time I checked, but I understand where you’re coming from. They’re converting light energy to chemical energy, but—”
Clark trails off when he looks over at you, and you don’t bother with hiding the smile on your face.
“...You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? So you don’t have to hear the rest of my lecture about your safety?”
“There’s more?” You try not to sound shocked when you say it, but you do. “And it’s not my fault you’re so easily distracted, Superman. All I did was ask you if you’ve been faking being asleep all this time. You were the one who wanted to go into the specifics of if it’s really necessary for Kryptonians to eat food or take naps.”
He mumbles something like, “It was a really good question, actually,” before he replaces the empty glass you’re holding with his own hand. He tugs you up from the couch and you trail behind him dutifully.
You swipe over his calloused palm and squeeze until he has to let go.
He moves to the fridge and you watch him intently from your new seat atop his counter. You really like Clark. You find yourself charmed by most things he does, whether he’s hunched over his laptop working or filling up your cup.
He presses his side against your left thigh when he hands it back to you. “Here you go.”
You feel warm. “Thanks, superstar.”
Clark’s eyes shine. “That’s going to be right up on the list of nicknames with farmboy, isn’t it?”
“Oh, you bet. I’m trying to decide which one I like better.”
“I’m partial to both, I think.”
“That’s good. I like Big Blue, too.”
“I’m sure Green Lantern will be stoked to hear that.”
You lean heavily on his shoulder, and he curls an arm around you, taking care not to disturb the bandages around your bicep. Usually, you’d find the silence in the room discomforting. But there’s something so natural about being in Clark’s apartment, letting him bring you glasses of water and teasing him about whether or not he’d classify as a plant.
He squeezes your side and you let out a pleased sigh.
“Hey,” he teases. “You wanna explain why you were at the museum and not halfway to Civic City earlier?”
Right. You’d almost forgotten that you’d lied to him about that. Your chest pangs with regret.
“I was buying you a gift.” You gesture back in the direction of his front door, where you left the piece of glass by his key dish. “Remember? The ridiculously expensive paperweight?”
“Yeah, I remember.” His voice is light, but you recognize this sidehug for what it really is.
Clark is softening you up to get you to confess. And the worst part is — you think it’s going to work.
“What was the occasion, though?” he adds, very nonchalantly.
“No occasion,” you answer quickly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to lean too close to him. “It was just because.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s real sweet of you.”
“Well, you’re a sweet friend.” You press your lips together firmly to try and resist the urge to spill your guts to him. “You don’t believe I’d buy you a gift just because?”
Clark laughs. “I believe you. But I also know that’s not the case right now. I notice a lot more than you think.”
“Yeah? And what are your supersenses telling you, Superman?”
He seems amused. “Well, I can hear the sound of your heart beating a little faster.” He brushes your hair away from your face to look at you better. “You blink more often when you lie, and you try not to look at me as much. But you also don't like eye contact when you're embarrassed, so sometimes it's hard to tell. I usually can though."
His words have pulled the rug out from under you, and he can tell.
You’ve never felt so… seen before. You notice all of Clark’s weird quirks because you really like him, and honestly have for a while. You never once expected that he’d been doing the same for you — taking note of your tells and habits.
The little smile on his face grows. “You’re not the only one who knows the other person so well.”
You can’t help it. You poke at one of his dimples, and his warm laughter curls up inside your chest.
“Whatever, detective.”
“Are you going to tell me, then?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll pay for your coffee next week,” he bribes.
“You do that anyway,” you point out. “I’ll tell you for free. As long as there’s no dinner pancakes for the next two weeks.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deathly.”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he mulls it over. The idea is very serious to him, apparently.
After a few seconds, he says, “Alright, fine. No pancakes. Now get talking, superstar.”
Your lips press together while you look at him, and his eyes remain on your face even when you glance away.
The feeling of his gaze feels like little pinpricks on your skin. You wonder how much of that is Superman, and how much of that is Clark.
This entire situation is just so embarrassing.
“I was avoiding you,” you admit, dropping your voice to a whisper.
The words sound harsh, but he seems to take them head on. His head tilts. “Why?”
You whack his shoulder. “Did you forget the part where I joked about wanting to be in Superman’s harem? And then immediately told you that you were the spitting image of him?”
Clark’s lips turn up into a closed-mouth grin.
“You freaked out, and then I freaked out, so I assumed—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, cutting off your rambling with a hand on your thigh, “I wasn’t freaked out by what you’d said. I was worried you’d put it together. About me being Superman. You’d never seen me without my glasses on before.”
You frown. “My first thought when I realized that you looked the same wasn’t that you were Superman. I was more annoyed that you looked cute with or without your glasses on.”
Clark flushes red. You preen.
“My glasses,” he says, like he’s just remembered something. He pats around his collar until he finds the frames, the temples tucked into the neckline of his shirt. “I forgot to tell you. They’re Hypno-Glasses. They kind of mess with your head. Trick you into thinking I look a lot different than I actually do.”
He slips them on, and your lips part.
It’s just like it was last night. The difference on his face is there, you just can’t pinpoint where, or how.
You urge Clark closer until he’s standing between your legs, your gaze transfixed on his face. His eyes go a little crosseyed with how close you are, the remnants of his blush still lingering on his cheeks.
You hold onto the frames and push them up slightly, until they no longer obscure his features.
It’s so weird. It feels like your eyes are straining, but when you blink, the tension is gone, and Clark’s face changes.
“Woah.” It’s all you can manage to say.
He looks a little shy under your attention, which is funny when you consider the fact that he moonlights as a public figure. “How different do I look?”
You hum, letting the glasses slip back down his nose bridge. Your touch lingers on his shoulders. “Not too different. It’s kind of like… like when Catherine upstairs got her haircut. Your face is the same, but it’s also managed to change everything.”
His eyes dance over your face, and you find yourself a little self-conscious. You wonder just how well he can read you with his enhanced senses. Your hands feel clammy.
“Sorry, it’s hard to explain. You already know you still look cute, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you add.
He smiles to himself, his eyes cast downwards. “I’ll sleep a lot better tonight, thanks.”
“You’re always welcome, Clark.”
His line of sight trails down to something by your side, and he stiffens. “Your arm.”
You glance down and see what he’s so worried about. The cut on your bicep has bled through the bandages slightly, a small blot of red blooming there.
When you look back up at Clark, he’s already digging through the cabinets over the sink.
“What’re you looking for?” you ask, raising your voice over the sound of various cleaning supplies being knocked over.
His head pops back out, a white box in his hands. “This.”
It’s a first aid kit, which he drops down next to you on the counter. A thin layer of dust flies up, and he waves it away with the back of his hand. Clark cracks open the container and begins to take stock of what’s inside, his face screwed up in thought.
“Hey, Superman,” you say, leaning over on the counter to look through it with him. It’s full of all the medical supplies you could ever possibly imagine. “What hospital did you rob for this?”
He raises an eyebrow at you, reaching for something towards the bottom. “I bought this myself, actually.”
“I thought the big yellow Sun helps you heal.”
“It does.” He answers you absentmindedly, squinting at a small packet of… something.
You pick up a yellow tube on the top of the pile. “Then who’s the Neosporin for?”
“You.”
Clark gives you about five seconds to let the words sink in before he says, “Ha! Here it is.”
It’s a roll of bandages. He gestures for you to stick out your arm, which you do without a word. You feel dizzy.
“Sorry—this is for me?”
“Yep.” He’s winding another thin layer of the material around your arm again, looking very concentrated. He frowns, rewraps a section, then continues again when he’s satisfied. “Do you remember that time you almost cut your finger off chopping onions?”
“That’s an exaggeration. The cut was hardly that deep.”
He laughs. “Well, it made me realize that you’re… a lot more fragile than I am. So I got this in case you ever really did hurt yourself.”
Clark had gotten all of this for you. He’d bought all of these things that he’d never use himself, just in case you’d ever need it.
It feels like you left your heart in the sky while soaring a thousand feet over Metropolis. You fight down the lovesick look threatening to take over your face.
“The man said at the hospital that a little bleeding is normal,” he explains. “I’ll just have to add another layer of bandages and then apply pressure, and then the bleeding should stop. We’ll have to go back if it’s still bleeding after half an hour, though.”
“The man at the hospital,” you repeat. “You were at the hospital?”
Clark freezes where he’s applying firm pressure to your cut. “Superman may have passed by today.”
“While I was there?”
“Maybe. You might have been. It’s a big hospital.”
You think you’re on your way to falling really in love with Clark Kent.
You pass him a piece of medical tape, which he uses to seal the bandage neatly. He takes care to press it down flat, making sure there aren’t any creases. He’s awfully committed to the task, glancing over the wrap, testing your circulation and seeing if it’s too loose.
“I was really worried, you know,” he says, after checking the bandage for the fiftieth time. It’s obvious that it’s secure, but he seems to need something to do. “I didn’t recognize it was you until after I got you out of the museum. And I almost didn’t believe it.”
“Oh, Clark, I’m sorry for lying about where I was. I was embarrassed by what I’d said, but I also just needed…”
Things you can’t admit to him.
“…I guess I wanted to be alone today.”
He seems to wilt.
“The paperweight was an apology gift,” you admit, a little ashamed. “I felt so bad not talking to you. I was going to go down to the park and eat lunch, but I was really just thinking of you the entire time.”
Clark’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “I know that I worry, and I’m not going to apologize for that. I worry because I care about you. But I am sorry if I… make you feel coddled. I don’t mean to, I just want you to be okay. So if you—you ever want space, or a day to yourself, I understand—”
“No, Clark, that’s not it at all,” you answer unthinkingly.
“It’s not?” He looks beyond confused. “What is it then?”
You hadn’t thought this far into the conversation when you responded to him a second ago.
How do you even begin to explain this to him? Sure, you avoided him because you were embarrassed, but you also avoided him because you were scared. Scared of your feelings, scared of wanting to be more than friends, scared of what that’d do to your friendship.
But this is Clark. You refuse to let him think he’s done something wrong for even a second. You have to tell him the truth, even if it means humiliating yourself all over again.
“Well…” you begin, unsure. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands, unable to take the look on his face. He’s so earnest. “You’re my best friend, if you couldn’t tell already.”
“Uh oh,” he jokes, tapping your side. “This can’t be good.”
“I don’t want space from you. That's kind of my problem.”
“Why would that be a problem?” It’s such a genuine question that it makes your heart ache. “I love spending time with you, too.”
“It’s ‘cause I really like you, Clark. I like you so much I got scared and told you I was leaving the state. I like you so much I thought a day away from you would make my feelings more normal. I—I like you so much I spent thirty dollars on a stupid paperweight for you!”
He looks winded. You watch his eyes widen with each word, and your stomach churns anxiously.
“Honestly, now that I think about it, you could’ve gotten that paperweight for free, right?” you ramble on. He’s staring at you, his mouth parted in surprise. “I mean, you could've just flown in dressed as Superman and probably asked for one.”
“It’s not the same, though.” The soft lilt in Clark’s voice makes your head spin. You’re momentarily distracted by him caressing the skin of your thigh, but he makes sure you’re looking at him when he says, “It means more because it’s from you. Someone who I also like. A lot.”
Oh, you think to yourself.
“Oh,” you say out loud.
Clark’s amused. “Do you really think I let just anyone drool on all my sleep shirts?”
“Wow.” You dig a finger into his chest, your face heating up. “Who knew Superman was such a dick?”
“I thought I’d have to watch a horror movie all by myself tonight,” he says, a teasing smile on his face.
You thread a hand through his hair, and he leans into your touch. You’re shaking a little. “Maybe you’d actually be able to finish one without me there.”
He beams at you, practically shining. “But then who’d be there to grip onto my shirt and make me turn on all the lights?”
“Hmm. Dunno. She sounds very reasonable, though.”
”Very.”
“The night isn’t over yet, Clark,” you remind, hand sliding down his chest. “We can still watch that horror movie.”
His eyes light up, his gaze flickering over your face. “I actually had something in mind.”
“Clark, fuck—oh my god.”
He smiles, pressing a tender kiss to your jaw.
“Holy shit,” you gasp out. “You’re actually fucking crazy.”
His arms tighten around your sides, and you think you’re clutching onto him so tightly it’ll draw blood.
“When you said you had ‘something in mind,’ I didn’t think you meant something like this!”
Clark tilts his head. He looks down.
All the way down.
From the top of one of the tallest buildings in Metropolis.
You wouldn’t be surprised if you walked right into a flying bird at this height. The concrete ledge he's lowered you down onto feels halfway to crumbling.
“Hey, you’re okay,” he says, aiming to soothe. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
You give him the most incredulous look you can muster. “Clark, you know I trust you with my life. But what are we doing up here? Besides raising my blood pressure, that is.”
He laughs again, the slight breeze biting his cheeks. “If you’d unlatch yourself from my neck, you’d be able to see.”
“I’d also be able to fall one hundred stories to my death.”
Clark exerts no effort when he turns you in his grasp, despite your death grip on him. He spins you around in the direction of the city, and you hold your breath, afraid to breathe wrong so high up.
In front of you, is the most gorgeous sunset you’ve ever seen. The horizon is lit up in a smattering of gorgeous purples and pinks and oranges, and you gasp.
“Oh,” you say, relaxing in his hold. “I thought you were doing this to mess with me.”
Clark smiles into the crown of your head. “As if I’d ever do such a thing.”
You really like Clark. You can’t believe you ever thought you’d be able to wish away your feelings for him.
“I’m returning that paperweight if you drop me, by the way.”
“Oh, honey, please, anything but that.”
You kiss Clark Kent in front of the Metropolis sun until your knees buckle and you nearly slip off the building ledge.
Thankfully, he makes sure to pick up where you left off when your feet are on solid ground again.
Ivyyy @supermans_wife
OH MY GOD OH YMG FOD OH YMG FODKD
roe @gothamsurvivor
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
oomf are you okay
Ivyyy @supermans_wife
↳ replying to @gothamsurvivor
IM AT MY FRIENDS HOUSE AND JUST LOOKED OUTSIDE OF THE FUCKING WINDOW AND I SAW SUPERMAN MAKING OUT WITH SOME GIRL ON SOME ROOF WHAT THE HELLLLLL
not carly @c4rlycane
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
that was me sorry ❤️we’re asking you to please respect our privacy at this time
JustinIT @justinit04
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
Holy shit are you serious lmfao
Ivyyy @supermans_wife
↳ replying to @justinit04
I AM NOT KIDDING.
attachment: [supermanhasagfthisisnotadrill.jpg]
🍒 @iluvtheflash
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
His tongue is definitely down her throat… DELETE THIS NOW PLEASEEEE
[CLOSED] SUPERMAN IS CUFFED 😭😭 @ sup3rman
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
Excuse me ma'am, not to be disrespectful or rude but could you please take post down. That is my sister who was killed by a metra train. And it this post is very disrespectful. Idk who you are or if you even know her but I need you to take this down please.
D4RKNESS @FILLTHEV0ID
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
#Supershit getting a girl before me 🥀
star | 8 days until s2!! @ robintruther
↳ replying to @supermans_wife
Thank you ivy I actually can not wait to list your account and this photo as my thirteenth reason
BONUS:
Clark pokes your side, voice rough with sleep. “What are you doing?”
You look up at him through the glasses you stole from him. They really do absolutely nothing — they’re just a magical pair of blue light glasses.
Clark’s pretty as a picture laying on your bed, the rising sun painting his back golden. You press a kiss to his arm, the closest part of him you can reach.
You smile. “Nothing. Just catching up on some Superman hate posts.”
notes: clark the people's prince thank you for bringing back the concept of #RealMen. let me know if u had a blast i know i did!!!
warnings: fluff, reader tends to overthink a little, a bit of self-doubt, but overall this is happy!!! she/her for reader, not much of robin in this one :(
a/n: this is probably the last part and it’s kinda long!! i sort of winged this whole small series :D but i enjoyed writing it sm it’s the first time i’ve written multiple parts for a story, thank you for all the love!!! 💝 i think this is my favorite part.
feedback + reblogs are appreciated! ☆
a few weeks had gone by and your friendship with eddie had only gotten stronger. the project for history had gone great, and it’s only a matter of time until the grades are passed out.
though eddie and you have spent lots of time together after school at various locations, such as your house or his, diners, local shops, or visiting robin at family video—there’s one thing that neither of you have gotten the courage to ask for.
each others number.
many days spent seeing each other, the thought of continuing to keep conversations going after you both go your separate ways, has been something you’ve wanted to do since the start.
it’s a simple thing really, but for some reason you don’t find the perfect time to ask for his number, or bring it up. feeling as though that would be too awkward. he hasn’t brought it up either, which only fuels your reluctance.
which brings you to now.
it’s a friday and you’re both spending the evening at a local diner, waiting for your food to arrive, well, specifically eddie's.
"are you sure that you don't want anything else?" he looks at you as he drinks from his cup, he had ordered a burger along with some fries. while you had only gotten a vanilla milkshake with fries.
"yup, i ate some lunch at school earlier. remember?"
he nods his head, "right. just don't steal my food when it gets here." narrowing his eyes at you.
"pfft, what? i would never do that." you say, grabbing one of your fries and taking a bite.
eddie rolls his eyes and smiles, "uh huh, just like you didn't steal my chicken nugget during lunch, or yesterday at the movies and i got some m&m's , or the other time when you said you didn't want anything but then asked for my chi-"
"alriiight! okay! i have no idea what you're talking about. that wasn't me." hiding your smile by taking a sip from your milkshake, he leans onto the table crossing his arms in front of him. "sure it wasn't, she looked a lot like you though. weird."
he steals one of your fries.
"hey! now who's the thief?" smacking his hand away, but you were too late, he had already grabbed it and ate it, smiling innocently back at you.
he shrugs, "don't know what you're talking about."
"i hate you." you say shaking your head and laughing.
he laughs, "oh please, you love me, sweetheart."
you blush. because first of all yes, you do, and second of all because of the nickname he's gotten used to calling you.
"you wish." you roll your eyes, acting as if his words didn't cause your heart to race and cheeks to burn. you hope he doesn't notice. but of course, he does, though he doesn't bring it up.
"i'm wounded, you don't love me." he puts his face in his hands as if he's crying. that's when the waitress comes over with his food.
"okay, here's your burger and your fries, sir," she smiles and puts the food down in front of him, causing eddie to look up and rub his hands together at the sight of food, "enjoy your meal! you both make a lovely couple." she smiles as she looks at you both.
you both freeze and look at each other, you see eddie smile. oh no.
"thank you so much, she doesn't love me." he deadpans with a fake sad smile as he looks at her.
an awkward look appears on her face. "oh! i'm, uh, sorry about that." she looks over at you.
"that's- no! i never said that, he's just kidding. ha ha." you look at eddie who's trying not to laugh at the look on your face. you kick him under the table.
he yelps and the waitress leaves after awkwardly laughing.
"uh, ouch?!" he rubs his leg under the table.
"oh c'mon it wasn't that hard!" you laugh. your face feels warm once again, "what'd you have to say that for? the poor lady, she was just doing her job." you shake your head with a fake disappointed sigh.
"just having some fun, sweety pie."
"ugh, don't ever say that again."
"we gotta keep up the act now! right, sweetums?" he bats his eyelashes at you and takes a bite of his burger.
"stop!" you laugh.
"why, sweetcheeks? apple of my eye? buttercheeks?"
"buttercheeks?" you ask, still laughing.
"i don't know where that came from, kinda started pulling some outta my ass." he laughs, taking another bite.
"it's okay, honey, you're trying your best." deciding to play along, patting his free hand that lays atop the table.
though, unbeknownst to you, his brain kind of short circuited for a moment once he heard you. you called him honey and you don't even realize the effect you have on him. usually, he's the one calling you pet names, loving the way you react to them, it's sweet. though he only thinks it's because you're a naturally shy person, but he's questioned in his mind if there was another reason as to why.
and he hopes he's the reason why you get all flustered when he says them.
taking another bite to keep himself occupied, nearly finished with the burger, he smiles at you once he finishes.
"i really am, you cutie patootie." he wipes his hands on a napkin before, leaning over and booping you on the nose.
"seriously? cute patootie? out of all the options?" you finish your milkshake, putting the rest of your fries to the middle of the table in between eddie and you so you can share.
"it suits you! but all right then, uh.." he looks up in thought, eating one of your fries, "...snookums."
"i really do hate you." you take the final fry.
"hey, we're supposed to be keeping up an act here, boo boo bear." he points an accusatory finger at you, you stare at each other for a moment before you both end up bursting out laughing.
"we should head home, love bug." you say, getting out your wallet.
"uh uh uh! no. i'll pay." he stops you.
"eddie you paid last time. i'll pay."
he sighs, knowing he won't be able to stop you. he hasn't been able to stop you all the other times before.
you smile, knowing that you won.
now you're both in his van and he's driving you home.
it's become a routine for you both, he started picking you up for school and driving you home. if he kept this up you'll end up not remembering how to drive.
he turns up the radio, one of his metallica cassettes is playing. looking over at him, you smile at the sight. he's looking straight ahead, hands drumming on the steering wheel to the music, head moving to the beat. you believe he does it subconsciously, as if he doesn't realize he's doing it unless someone points it out.
you look away once he glances at you.
"staring it rude, sweetheart." he says sternly, though you can hear his smile.
"wasn't staring."
"sure you weren't."
"just was admiring the view."
"you flatter me, y/n." he twirls one of the strands of his hair playfully with his free hand, while the other is on the wheel with his elbow resting on the window that's down.
you shove him gently, "don't let it get to your head. it's big enough as it is."
he laughs, "who knew you'd be so mean, what happened to the shy girl from a few months ago?"
"i wasn't that shy."
he looks over at you with his eyebrows raised.
"okay maybe i was."
he laughs, "couldn't even keep eye contact with me."
"i was just nervous!"
"i make you nervous, sweetheart?"
"no."
"sure." he smiles.
the rest of the drive was comfortable, music playing in the background, you like that about being with eddie. it doesn't feel awkward having periods of silence, he makes you feel safe, welcome, you can just be you.
he lowers the volume of the radio once he stops in front of your house, putting the van on park.
"well, home sweet home." he says, turning to look at you.
"home sweet home." you repeat, unbuckling your seatbelt. "thanks for the ride, eds."
"of course. you know i don't mind." he smiles.
you smile at him and get out, waving back at him once your in your house as he waits for you to get in safely, and shut the door.
once you're safely inside, eddie glances down at where you were sat, and finds napkin with scribbles on it.
he grabs it and looks at it properly, about to throw it to the back to throw away later (he always forgets), but stops once he reads what's on it.
it's a telephone number, it's your number. and beside it is written 'call me!' with a smiley face and a messy heart.
you had called robin as soon as you got home, gushing once again about your time with eddie, while she talked to you about her encounters with vickie.
and now here you were a few hours later, anxiously laying on your bed and flipping through magazines, waiting for eddie's call. will he even call?
did he even see the napkin? oh no, what if he threw it away? or what if he doesn't care?
that's when a ring begins to sound.
you jump up from the bed, fixing your hair, but then realizing he won't even be able to see you.
you pick up the phone, "hello?"
"well hellooo, y/n. i can't believe this is our first time calling each other."
you immediatley begin to smile, "i know right! we're so stupid."
"i didn't know how to bring it up."
"neither did i."
you both laugh.
"we really are so stupid." he says.
you picture him by the phone, is he standing? or is he sitting? is he smiling as much as you are?
"so..."
"so... what'd you do today?" he asks, and you know now that he's definitely smiling, and you can picture it so easily. maybe he's even toying with the phone cord, maybe not.
"hm... well i went to school obviously," "obviously." he interrupts, sounding as if he's holding back laughter.
"okay. and then just hung out with this guy after school."
"aah.. a guy you say? should i be worried?"
IS HE FLIRTING? you swear your heart skips a beat. breathe!
you laugh, "oh no, no. nothing to worry about."
"you sure?"
"totally, he wouldn't even hurt a fly."
"sounds like a pussy." he laughs.
"definitely."
"heeey! you weren't supposed to agree." he pouts, though you can't see him.
"you're the one who said it!"
"well, i don't know the guy, so i can say it."
"eddie you literally are the guy."
"i am?"
"idiot."
your laughs quiet down and you hear quiet breaths over the receiver, something about it makes it feel so intimate, it makes you blush. it's like he's so close, but he's so far away. only a couple of minute's drive away, but still, too far for your liking.
"still awake over there?" you whisper.
you hear a loud exaggerated snore in return, causing you to pull the phone away for a moment.
"well you must be in very deep slumber, i guess i'll hang up.."
"no! i'm awake. sorry, must've fallen asleep a bit there. oops. my bad, i'm up. don't hang up."
"nearly ruptured my eardrum." you laugh.
"myyy bad." he snickers.
"i am getting a bit tired though," a yawn escapes you in the middle of your sentence.
you hear him sigh, "guess we gotta sleep then."
"guess so."
a moment of quiet.
"you doing anything tomorrow?" he asks.
"um, no i don't think so. you?"
"nope."
"cool." you smile, knowing he'll ask to hang out.
"can i ask you something?" he sounds nervous.
"of course."
"we should hang out tomorrow."
"...okay, i'm down. was that the question?" you laugh softly, opting to lay down on your bed again.
"sorry- no that's not the question," you hear him move around, "uh, i was thinking."
"oh no."
"shut up," he laughs, "i was uh, wondering, if you- do you want to go on a date with me?"
quiet.
WHAT. oh. oh this is real.
"uh it's okay if not, can just forget i ever said that-" "i'd love to."
he swears he stops breathing for a moment, "yeah?" he smiles once he hears your answer.
"yeah." you giggle.
"cool.. nice. i'll pick you up, uh is like 3pm cool?" "yeah, that's cool."
"awesome. well... i'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart." he whispers.
"see you tomorrow eds. goodnight."
"don't let the bed bugs bite." he says, did he really just say that? he rubs his face, but he feels calmer once he hears it made you laugh.
"alright, bye eddie."
he can't wait for tomorrow.
excitedly going to sleep, the next day comes quick.
calling robin and immediately telling her you have a date with eddie.
you wake up, have some breakfast and tell your mom, take a shower, and spend time looking for an outfit.
he didn’t tell you what the plans were, so you decide on something a bit casual but also a bit dressy. you put on a nice babydoll shirt and some jeans along with your docs.
sitting at your desk, where you have a small mirror and your make-up products, you get started on getting ready. you take your time getting your hair to look nice and not going too over the top with the make-up just some simple concealer, mascara, and lip gloss.
by the time you finish it’s about 2:30pm. okay, 30 minutes left. cool. now it’s really sinking in that you’re about to go on a date.
you get up and put on some jewelry, some earrings and a necklace, and just a few bracelets.
okay, now you’re ready.
wait! some perfume too. can’t forget that.
looking at the mirror you fix a few things—and you hear a knock at the door.
your mom went out to do some groceries—so you rush to the door and take a breath, not wanting to seem too eager. but you are.
you open the door and see eddie, he looks good. really good, which you’ve always thought but you can see he put effort in for this. his hair seems softer somehow? he’s wearing a black button down that fits loosely and some jeans, he’s still wearing his rings, you take notice that one his arms is hidden behind his back.
“you look great.” you both say at the same time.
“uh thanks.” you feel your face heat. “you look nice.”
“thank you, swetheart.” he pulls his arm from behind his back and he gives you flowers. you almost sigh dreamily, almost. you take it, unable to stop the smile that comes to your face.
“you remembered my favorite flowers?” you say as you look down at them.
“i remember everything you tell me, beautiful.”
his pet names aren’t new, but knowing this is a date makes hearing them a lot more difficult to not love the way it sounds.
“thank you, eds. i’ll just go put them in some water and i’ll be right out.” he nods and waits for you.
you’re out really quickly, excited.
he opens the door for you as he always does, but this time he even buckled the seatbelt for you, before going to the drivers seat. gentleman.
“so, where are you taking us today eddie?” you look over at him seeing him smile and starting the van.
“guess you’ll have to wait to find out.”
he hums along to the music that’s playing, opting to turn on the radio and put on one of his favorite stations. you hum along to the songs you do know, the ones you’ve listened together with him and some you’re just now hearing.
the trees on the side of the road pass you by, shades of green and brown since it’s almost fall, but still warm enough to be outside.
“i think i know where we’re headed.” you say, your gaze still outside the window.
“sh! sh! i still want it to be a surprise. even if you know where we’re going.” he chuckles.
you smile lazily over at him, your head resting on the headrest. “alright.”
the drive to the location is peaceful, as it always is. it’s filled with silly banter, teasing, and causal conversation.
once he parks the van, he rushes out and opens your door before you even get the chance to reach for the handle.
you hop out, “thank you.” you pat his chest.
“of course, your majesty.” he puts out his hand and your grab it.
he leads you to the back of the van and he opens it with his free hand, grabbing a blanket and a basket.
“a picnic?”
“a picnic.” he blushes and looks away, feeling a bit flustered by the way you look at him in adoration.
he leads you a bit further into the trees until you reach a good place; with a beautiful view of lovers lake.
letting go of your hand with a soft squeeze, he opens up the blanket and places it on the ground, putting the basket on it and sitting down. he look up at you and reaches for your hand.
“you gonna join me? or are you just gonna stand there and look pretty? i wouldn’t mind either one.”
you sit down across from him. “oh shut up.” you mumble.
he nudges your foot with his own, “don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart. let’s dig in.”
“alright, let’s see what you brought.”
opening up the basket he pulls out sandwiches, drinks, a container with cupcakes, and some fruit.
he looks up at you once he finished laying everything out. “i know it’s not much.. but i hope you enjoy it. i know you’ve mentioned before how badly you wanted to go on a picnic before.” he looks back down and counties setting everything.
you grab his hand and squeeze it. “it’s perfect, eddie. thank you. anything we would’ve done today i would enjoy regardless, you make things fun ed’s.”
letting go of his hand, he sits up and smiles.
“likewise, cutie patootie.”
“ooookay. well then, this has been fun—” you move to stand.
“no! alright, alright. i’ll behave.” he laughs, putting his hands on your shoulders.
“thanks, buttercheeks.” this causes you both laugh.
he hands you a sandwich, you take it and eat. the time is spent eating the snacks he had brought, goofing around, and shy glances when the other thought they weren’t looking.
the food was eaten and now you were snacking on some grapes, now sitting side by side, looking out at the lake, the sunset making the trees surrounding it to have more color and the water to glimmer.
“it’s so beautiful.” you say, looking at the scenery.
“yeah. it is.” he says softly, but he’s looking at you. he’s leaning on his elbows, his legs stretched out and crossed.
looking over at him, you lock eyes. only this time neither of you look away. you move to mirror his position, now at eye level.
“hey.” he says in a low voice.
“hey.” you say.
you eat another grape.
“can i have one?” he glances down at the fruit in the container.
“if you can catch it.” you smirk, sitting up as he remains how he is. he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but understands once he sees you raises your arm, about to throw the grape.
he opens his mouth in attempt to catch it, but it hits his eye, causing you to burst out laughing.
“laughing at my pain, i see how it is.” he picks up the grape that fell onto the blanket and throws it back at you, which hits your shoulder.
“you missed.”
“you hit my eye!”
“it was close!”
“that was not close.”
you throw another one, catching him off guard. it hits his nose.
“now that was close.” you say, eating one yourself.
he shakes his head and sits up, reaching for the container. you pull it away playfully.
“oh? is that what we’re doing now?” he says.
you shrug.
he moves to grab it again, you pull it away.
neither of you move, until you stand and run with the container. he gets up and tries to reach you, but unfortunately you trip on a tree root and fall onto the grass, eddie falls as well by trying to reach for you.
he falls atop you, the container of fruit now forgotten.
“y’know if you wanted to be on top of me, i think that could’ve been after a couple more dates, eddie.” you joke.
eddie leans over you, not wanting to put his full weight on you. “ha ha.” he rolls his eyes.
“so what i’m hearing is.. you’ll go on more dates with me?” he brushes a loose strand of hair that fell in front of your face.
“mmm… maybe.” you smile.
“cool.”
“cool.”
he glances down at your lips, looking back to find you doing the same. “can i kiss you, sweetheart?” he whispers.
you nod, and that’s all he needs before leaning down to connect your lips. he feels your soft lips and he can’t help but sigh against the kiss. this is real. he’s kissing you. moving your hands to wrap around his neck, you feel his lips love against yours, tasting the cupcakes from earlier and a hint of mint. smiling against his lips, he pulls back for breath.
smiling down at you, he looks at you, a gleeful look on your face.
he moves to move off you, but you pull him back down for one last kiss.
he laughs against your kiss, helping you up.
“can’t get enough of me already?”
you shove his shoulder gently, “what, don’t want me to kiss you then?”
“now, now let’s not get crazy. i didn’t say that.” he pulls you closer, both of you now standing. he leans down and pecks your lips, pulling away and humming contently.
“nice?” you say.
“more than nice. amazing. awesome. beautiful. spectacular. though i think i know what would make it even better.”
“yeah? and what’s that?” you play with the ends of his hair.
“if you would be my girlfriend.” he says, blushing.
you hide your smile by hiding your face in his neck.
“i’d love to be your girlfriend, eddie.” you kiss his cheek.
he embraces you. “thank you.”
“for what?” you laugh, feeling him shrug.
“being you.” he kissed the top of your head, “…i’m your boyfriend now.” he smiles, pulling away and holding your hand.
and that next monday, in history class, where it all first started, he looks at his grade, an A written at the top.
he looks over at you, leaning over to give his girlfriend a dramatic sloppy kiss on the cheek.
summary: you and eddie grow closer when eddie invites you to hangout outside of school.
warnings: fluff, pining, the upside down doesn’t exist here! a slow burn apparently, reader is introverted kinda
a/n: my obsession with him comes and goes but whenever it comes back IT COMES BACK HARDD 😭 it’s been a week of it consuming me again, i need more content of eddie! (robin & reader are very birds of a feather coded in my head)
feedback + reblogs are appreciated! ☆
you rush over to where robin is seated, not bothering to get in line for food. you’ll go later.
“i’m going crazy.” is what you say as soon as you reach her, interrupting what she was about to say, her mouth agape.
an amused expression covers her features, “oh? and why exactly, are you going crazy?” she leans closer to you, a knowing look in her eye.
you take a seat beside her, your back to eddie’s table.
“we got paired up for a project in history class.” is all you say as you steal a cold french fry from her tray.
“hey!” she swats your hand away, but she’s too late, “paired up, huh? i bet you’re thrilled!” she smiles over at you.
you groan and put your face in your hands.
“it wasn’t so bad, honestly. it was pretty fun. i didn’t make a fool of myself.” your words were muffled in between your hands, “…at least i hope not.” you say, facing your friend once again.
she laughs at your distress, “oh c’mon! you should be happy that you finally have an excuse to talk to him!”
“it’s not funny, robin! how am i going to survive this? oh my god, robin.” you look at her smiling, you know that you’re being dramatic. but besides your nerves, you are pretty excited to finally be talking to eddie.
“what?” she raises her eyebrows at you, eating her fries.
“he’s so dreamy.”
robin gags, “gross.”
you nudge her shoulder laughing, “oh please! maybe you’re right. i should just be happy about this. he was pretty nice.” you look at her and sigh dramatically, “it was pretty nice.”
“you’re hopeless.”
“you’re supposed to be hyping me up right now! i finally talked to my crush.”
“yeah, and i still can’t believe it only took you being partners for it to happen. by force.” she laughs when you pout.
“okay, okay! yes, of course i’ll hype you up. he’ll totally ask you out, though. i bet he’s thinking of you right now, planning how to do it. actually, he’s planning your marriage as we speak.”
“okay. let’s not get too crazy now.” you laugh, moving to stand to finally get in line for some food, but blushing at the thought nonetheless.
robin rolls your eyes at you, “you are too far gone.”
you steal one last fry from her before leaving, hearing a faint “oh c’mon!” behind you.
standing in line, you see the same girl from your history class in front of you, elizabeth? you think her name is?
she turns around, “oh, hey!”
“hey, elizabeth, right?”
“yes! you’re y/n? right?”
you smile, “yeah, we have history together.”
“right! i hope this project is over with quickly, i got stuck with byers,” she glanced at a table, “but it can’t be as bad as munson.”
you were taken aback, you knew what other people thought of him, but being outright rude is crazy.
“oh! eddie’s a great partner, honestly… we spent the class coming up with ideas. jonathan’s really nice too, i’ve helped him take some photos before for the yearbook.”
she raises an eyebrow at you, “hm. hopefully he won’t bring your grade down.”
you feel uneasy now, what’s her problem? do these people even give eddie a chance and actually talk to him?
“i doubt it, he seemed pretty excited.”
she laughs, “that’s because a girl is finally giving him some attention.”
“no, it’s because we’re working on a project together. and i dunno, i don’t talk trash about him?” you state, plainly, giving her an unamused look, not interested in continuing the conversation.
“wow, didn’t know you could even talk that much. that’s the most i’ve ever heard you speak!” she tilts her head at you mockingly, clearly you’ve upset her.
you don’t answer her, “could you move up? the lines moving.” avoiding her taunting gaze.
you see her roll her eyes from your peripheral, and she finally turns back around.
letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, you finally make it to the food. mood ruined. why are people so mean. you’re starving. at least they’re serving your favorite today, chicken nuggets and fries. such an amazing meal, the best school food gets.
walking back to robin you catch a glimpse of eddie, he’s making another dramatic display. you don’t catch what he’s saying, since he stops his rant as you’re about to walk by, where he happens to be walking.
he bows dramatically, giving you room to walk around him, “my apologies, madame.” he smiles at you.
you shake your head laughing, “thank you, sir.”
you sit beside robin once again.
“finally! you’re back. it’s been too long! we’re finally reunited.” robin gives you a dramatic side hug.
“i know, sorry! i was held up by a troll. asked me to solve a riddle, couldn’t figure it out.”
she laughs, “oh yeah? how’d you make your away around it?”
“i ate it.” you deadpan, opening your pack of ketchup.
you finally turn to look over at her, both of you burst out laughing.
as you eat, you explain to robin your conversation with elizabeth.
“what an asshole.” she says as you both stand to throw away your trash and put away your trays.
“i know right!” you shake your head, putting your tray away.
“i just don’t understand why it bothers people so much if people don’t talk. like, hello! maybe they just don’t want to talk to you?” she says, “or- or, like why it bothers people so much that people are different from them, in general? the times i’ve occasionally spoken with eddie, he seemed pretty chill.” she raises her hands in exasperation.
“right? i don’t get it either.” you sigh.
walking out the cafeteria you join robin by her locker, before going to your own, where she accompanies you as well, and grab what you need.
“see you at dismissal?” you say.
“yup! i don’t have practice today, steve’s gonna pick me up. i got a shift after school today.” she gives you a fist bump before going on her way to class.
it’s finally the end of the day.
you can finally take that nap.
you make your way to your locker, leaving your books.
by the door on your way out you see robin, “we’re free!” she exclaims.
she wraps her arms around your shoulders, “let’s get outta here.” you say.
“what do you plan to do? while i’m away at family video, locked inside there, along with an annoying dingus, with no other choice but to do work?” she lets out an exasperated breath, looking over to you.
“i was planning on taking a nap.”
“fun!” she says, with fake enthusiasm. “was kinda hoping for a, ‘i’ll come by and see you, of course! you’re my bestest friend! i won’t let you suffer alone!’ but i see now how much you truly care about me.”
you laugh, “i’ll come by to see you, robs.” making your way to your car, steve isn’t here yet, so robin walks with you.
“really?” she says hopefully.
“yeah, after i take my nap.” you say, looking straight ahead.
“oh c’mon! your naps always last, like, forever!” she whines.
“it won’t be that long this time!” you look at her, and she looks at you.
“okay maybe it will be.”
she shakes her head as you reach your car, leaning onto it.
“you and your fucked sleep schedule.”
“it’s me and my crap sleep schedule against the world.”
“hey, i thought it was you and me against the world!”
you were too busy bantering with robin that you didn’t realize eddie walking up behind you.
he was looking for you in the hallways, even stopped by your locker. he was working up his courage all throughout lunchtime, and his last classes.
“y/n! wait!” he calls out your name, jogging to reach you.
you stop what you were about to say, staring at robin.
seeing her light up, a smirk appearing on her face.
turning your head, you’re met with eddie, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“eddie?”
“yeah, hey. it’s me. givemeasec.” he breathes out, before standing upright again.
“hello.” he turns to robin, “and hello.” he nods his head to her.
“hey.” she looks behind him and looks back at you, “oh would you look at that? my rides here! i’ll call you later y/n! bye!” she leaves before you can even respond. you look at the direction she ran, steve’s not even here yet.
eddie turns back to face you, also looking confused by robin’s sudden disappearance.
“s’that usually happen?” he has an amused look on his face.
you shake your head, “no.”
“ah well- uh anyway. i wanna ask you something.”
oh? okay. cool. he wants to ask you something.
“yeah?”
“yeah.” he looks at you.
“okay.. you can ask me anything, eddie.”
“right! shit, uh. i was wondering, are you doing anything? later?” he sees your panicked look, he backtracks, “i mean to, y’know, work on the project.” nice save.
ah. you hide your disappointment, “oh, yeah sure. i’m not doing anything today.” oh robin’s gonna be pissed that you canceled your nap for this and not see her at work.
“okay, cool. uhh where do you wanna meet? i mean, we could go to my place? or if not that’s cool too we could go to the library or something. dunno.” he kicks a loose pebble in the parking lot, messing with his rings. cute.
“your place is fine. i could just follow right behind you,” you jiggle your keys in-front of you, “i gotta call my mom first though, let her know.” you flush, “uh, where is your place?” you ask, knowing your mom would want to know.
“it’s uh the forest hills trailer park.” he continues to fiddle with his rings, looking at you now.
“right, i know where that is. let me just ring her real quick, yeah? i’ll be right back!” you head towards the telephones outside the school, call your mom and assure her it’s just for a project and that you won’t take that long.
you head back to your car, seeing eddie still standing nearby.
“all good?” he says, smiling.
“yeah, let’s go.” you smile back.
on your drive there you realize what exactly you’re doing.
your going to eddie’s place.
you’re freaking out.
it’s okay, that’s cool. it’s just for the project. you have your notebook in your book bag still. you have your notes.
entering the trailer park and parking beside his van, you mentally prepare yourself. oh god, you’re going into his home.
breathe! you still can’t even believe your mom let you come over in the first place, to a boys place.
seeing eddie get out his van, you get out your car with your bag and stand awkwardly as you wait for him.
“this way, madame.” he says, walking ahead of you and up to the trailer. grabbing his keys from his pocket, he opens the door and lets you in first.
“welcome to my paradise.” he walks in after you, shutting the door behind him.
you look around the small living room. it’s cozy, comfortable, it feels homey. you gently place your bag on the couch.
“it’s a nice place eddie.”
he laughs and turns away, heading to the kitchen.
“you don’t have to lie.”
“i’m not lying.” you say, genuinely. “i used to live in a trailer too.”
he looks up, grabbing two cups. “really?”
you nod, “best years of my life, honestly. we moved to our current house when i was about,” you look up in thought, “7? 8? maybe?” you head over to where eddie stood.
he hums in acknowledgment. “didn’t know that.”
you shrug, “never really talked about it, not a big deal really.”
looking at you, he asks “would you like some water? soda? you can take a seat y’know.” he smiles over at you as he heads to the fridge.
taking a seat at one of the chairs at the table you answer, “hmm, what soda do you have?”
“uhh.. let me see.” he moves things around, “got some pepsi, sprite, coke..”
“i’ll take some coke, please.”
“comin’ right up, sweetheart.”
your brain nearly explodes.
oh you’re definitely calling robin after this.
he comes back to you with two cans of coke for the both of you.
“thank you. what a wonderful host.” you smile at him as he pulls out the chair beside yours and sits in it.
“you’re welcome.” he laughs.
“right.. so..” you open your can, “the project?”
a brief look of confusion crosses eddie’s face. right. the project.
he clears his throat, “yeah, the project. um, i’ll be getting the stuff tomorrow.” he stepped out during lunch for a bit to sell and earn some more cash, thankfully he got enough for the materials for the poster board, they’re pretty affordable anyway.
“alright, cool! thank you for that, by the way. i wouldn’t of had minded buying it.”
he shakes his head, drinking from his can. “no, no. it’s fine. i don’t mind.”
you’re about to say something when he gives you a look, “fine.” you huff in defeat.
“good.” he smiles, knowing he won.
“let me grab my notebook from my bag.” you get up and grab your book bag from the couch, unzipping it and looking for your notebook.
huh.
you look through it again, pulling out the ones you do have, double checking.
you can’t believe it. you literally have all your notebooks, except your history one. you sigh frustratedly, zipping your bag back up and heading back towards the kitchen, empty handed.
“couldn’t find it?”
“couldn’t find it.” you continue to stand, “sorry.”
“nah, it’s fine. uh.” he looks at his watch, “hasn’t been that long, if you, maybe wanna stay for a bit longer?” he taps on his can, please say yes.
you keep your excitement at bay, trying to remain cool.
“yeah, that’d be cool.” nice. super cool.
“cool.”
you sit back down, “so..” you smile, looking down at your can of coke.
“soo….” he mimicks.
“i wanted to let you know, about me calling my mom, it isn’t because i don’t trust you, i swear. she just likes knowing where i am, she worries.” you look at him.
“it’s all good. don’t worry ‘bout it.” though he does look as though he feels more comfortable now, “you get used to it.”
“you shouldn’t have to.”
he shrugs, changing the subject, “nice that your mom’s protective of you though.”
you laugh, “not as much as my dad though.”
“really? what’s he like?” he tilts his head at you, asking in genuine curiosity.
“well.. i’m the only girl. so you could imagine how protective he can be. he’s not like, controlling, but he’s just a bit strict. curfews and stuff like that.”
“hmm. you have siblings, then? brothers?”
“yeah,” you smile, “three actually. 2 older brothers and one younger. my older brothers moved out already though, but they visit frequently.. do you have any?”
“me? nah, no, i don’t. only son.”
you nod your head.
“live here with my uncle wayne, actually.” he moves his gaze back down to the table, “he works at the factory most days, ‘s why he’s not here right now.”
“oh cool, my dad used to work there too.”
“what’s he work in now?”
“construction. he’s out of the city on the weekdays, comes home on weekends. though sometimes he doesn’t come for a few weeks if the job is too far away.”
this is the most you’ve told someone about yourself, other than robin, in just a day.
you’re really going crazy.
“that’s cool-” he tries to find a way to lighten the mood after seeing your expression, but accidentally lets out a loud burp.
you laugh and he smiles.
“‘scuse me.” he laughs, covering his mouth.
“i lived with my brothers, trust me, you’re all good.” still laughing.
“what’s your uncle like?”
he goes on to talk about his uncle wayne, the conversation goes smoothly. you feel at ease with eddie’s jokes and banter, it’s an automatic click. a rare thing for you to come by, you hope this is the first of many hangouts. you realize that your closest friends are the complete opposite of you—robin, who can somehow make a conversation not boring, always including you with her other friends and makes you be apart of the conversation. it’s the same with eddie, how do they do it? it must be a superpower, or something.
you finish laughing after a story he had been telling you involving his friends from hellfire when you speak up, “could you tell me the time?”
he looks down at his watch, “uhh, it’s about to be 7 o’clock,” looking at you through his bangs, “tryna ditch me, sweetheart?”
dramatically grabbing at his chest, he says “i’m wounded.” and nearly falls out his chair.
“definitely. yeah, i can’t wait to get outta here.” you reply sarcastically, “i do have to go though.” you sigh.
“i had a lot of fun.”
he crosses his arms and smiles. “as did i.”
you get up from the chair, eddie does too and walks to the couch, grabbing your bag and handing it to you once you reach him. “thanks.”
he opens the door for you and walks you to your car, “we should uh, do this again sometime. hangout..” he scratches his neck, looking around before looking at you once again.
“i’d love to!” you twirl your keys in your hand.
“cool! can’t wait.” he clears his throat. “see you tomorrow? at school?”
“see you, eddie.” you smile over at him when you open your car door, getting in and closing it.
you can’t stop smiling on your drive home, you just hung out with your crush. you’re friends with your crush now.
right as you get home and talk to your mom, you immediately call robin spending another few hours talking to her.
you go to sleep that night feeling happy, and you can’t wait for the next day to come.
summary: being paired up for a project with eddie leads to a beautiful friendship, it's inevitable that you gain a crush.
warnings: PINING, slow burn, fluff, slight self-deprecating thoughts?, reader is an academic achiever/seeks academic validation kinda (self insert lmaoo), reader has long hair, the upside down doesn't exist here, lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: this is longer than i expected it to be, maybe i'll even make a small series of this :3 lmk if you guys would be interested!
feedback + reblogs are appreciated! ☆
the morning started out as it always does.
your alarm wakes you up, you get ready for school, say goodbye to your mom, and maybe grab a quick snack before heading out and driving to school. the usual routine.
it's your senior year, it's supposed to be the best year of high school. though, so far it has been very disappointing. you blame yourself for not being as extroverted as you hoped to be during your freshman year, now you don't have as many friends as middle school you had envisioned.
but you do have robin.
she's been your closest friend throughout the years, having met her in freshman year in the library, where you spent your lunchtime at, and you're okay with just having one close friend. you've come to peace with that. robin has been the bestest friend you've ever had, she's became a confidant, and you never have to put up a front with her. it's easy to talk to her, she has that sort of power somehow. what usually takes you a few weeks to become comfortable with someone new, it had only been a mere few days before being totally comfortable with robin.
as you walk into the school, you walk to your locker, seeing her right beside it.
"hey robin," you smile at her as she moves out the way for you, "good morning."
she returns your smile with her shoulder to the locker beside your own, one bookbag strap hanging from the other, "goood morning!"
you grab the materials you need for the first class of the day, "what's got you so happy this early?" you yawn.
robin shrugs, "can't a woman just be happy to see her best friend?"
rolling your eyes playfully, "of course you can!" you smirk at her, closing the locker and adjusting your bag on your shoulder, "...but maybe it has to do with a certain bandmate of yours?" you whisper.
she gasps, whispering back, "what! no. definitely not, definitely did not talk to her just a few minutes ago."
you laugh as the bell rings, signaling the start of the day.
"guess i'll see you at lunch?"
she nods, "can we go to the cafeteria today instead of the library? forgot my lunch today, woke up late."
you both begin to walk to the direction of your classes, "yeah that's fine, see you there!" giving her a side hug, you both go your separate ways.
it's now your class before lunch, history.
the day has felt longer than usual. you can't wait for it to be over and have your after school nap.
dropping your bag beside your desk, you sit and take out your notebook for the class.
the other students come walking in, he sits in his usual spot behind you.
you sit up straighter, god i'm so embarrassing.
usually, you hate having to have people sit behind you. it always feels like their watching your every move. of course, it's not true, but you can't help but think it. it's why you always sit in the back. but unfortunately, those seats were taken when you had walked in the first day of this class.
it's even worse when you think the person behind you is cute.
you move your hair to your shoulders, hoping it covers the sight to your notebook. you're just shading in the margins.
you look up when the teacher gets up from his desk, class is about to start.
"alright class, let's get started."
he walks over to the door and shuts it, and begins taking attendance.
"well, for today it'll be fairly easy. you won't hear me talk much today," the class let's out sighs of relief, the jocks who get along with him laugh playfully, "alright, alright. you won't be doing that after what i tell you."
oh no. you already know what he's about to say.
"we'll be doing a project! you'll be grouped up in pairs." immediately people begin to look at one another, already knowing who they want to be paired with, you look around, you don't really talk to anyone in that class. though, nancy wheeler has been kind to you, hopefully she'd want to pair up with you. but probably not, since barb and jonathan is in this class too. you can still hope though. any of them!
"before you get excited, i'll be the one assigning groups. it'll be at random."
now, the class really does let out sounds of disappointment and dissatisfaction.
"i told you, you wouldn't like it!" he laughs and clears his throat and goes back to his desk, grabbing a piece of paper and going back to leaning on his podium.
"alright, let's see here." he goes on to list the pairings, you anxiously wait for your name to be called.
please. please, please, pair me with nancy. or barb. or jonathan.
"nancy wheeler and-" please! "barbara holland."
well, okay. that's fine, who else is left? you'd been so caught up in waiting for your name that you hadn't kept up with who was called and who hasn't. jonathan! he hasn’t been called yet. please, please, please-
the girl in front of you turns around and whispers to you, "good luck."
should you turn around? if you don't what if he thinks you're upset about being paired with him? you should probably turn around, the teacher keeps listing names, and you look back briefly.
he's already looking at you and you awkwardly make eye contact; you give a small smile and turn back around. okay that wasn't so bad right? dang it. you've tried your hardest to not talk to him. but if you think someone's cute you should want to talk to them, right? wrong. you never know what to say when you like someone, how can you even like someone without talking to them? you don't know, but it happened anyway. and now you're basically being forced to talk to him.
robin's going to love this.
"okay, now that you know who your partners are, i'll talk about what this project will be about. you and your partners will come up with a topic, it'll have to be a significant part of history. you'll make a presentation where both will have to speak in front of the class. you can bring in photos, poster boards, anything to aid the presentations. it's not necessary, but it could earn you extra points!"
he looks over to the clock on the wall, "... i'll give you until the end of class, which is about," he looks down to his wristwatch to double check, "40 minutes from now, to come up with a topic, come to my desk to let me know you've come up with something before leaving class, please."
clapping his hands together, he sighs, "alright! pair up!"
everyone begins to move to be with their partners, darn it. all you have to do is turn around. it's not that big a deal. as nervous as you are to talk to eddie, your grade matters more than a silly crush.
you turn around in your seat, grabbing your notebook and putting it in your lap. finally looking up you see him tapping his pencil on his desk, also looking up. the awkward eye contact again, awkward to you at least.
okay. maybe you can fail one project.
who are you kidding, your parents would look at you crazy if you came home with a failing grade.
"hey." you finally say, giving him another shy smile. god damn it why are you so awkward.
he nods, "hey." he leans onto his elbows, looking away, "it's alright if you wanna switch partners y'know? or if you wanna work alone, or something."
you look at him in surprise, "no! it's fine. i don't mind working with you, sorry if i gave that impression." furrowing your eyebrows, dang it maybe your nervousness made him think that.
he looks back to you, "really? i wouldn't want to bring your grade down, straight A student." he smiles. okay, now he's just messing with you.
you can't help the heat that rushes to your cheeks, so he must know about you then? how does he know that?
"funny that you think i would let that happen." you laugh.
he leans back onto his chair, arms now crossed on the table. "alright then, are you sure you wanna be my partner, then?" he looks at you, eyebrows raised.
"yes, i'm sure." you now lean on his desk, arms also crossed.
"do you have any ideas for our topic?" you grab the notebook from your lap, grab a pencil, and put it in between you both on the desk.
he sits up now, leaning on the desk, mirroring your actions.
oh no, he's close now, breathe.
he scratches the back of his neck, "uh... not really."
"alright, that's fine. uhm," you look at the clock, "we have about 35? 30? minutes, so we have time. we should just pick a few things and then we can pick the one we like best, yeah?" you write in your notebook, ideas, and underline it. you look back up and find eddie looking down at your notebook before looking back up as well.
"yeah, that sounds like a good idea."
you tap your pencil and bite your lip, thinking.
"hmm... we could do like the great depression or something." you murmur and write it down.
as you have your head down to write it, you miss eddie's panicked gaze. he's never really had much care for these types of things since usually whoever he's partnered with doesn't even bother talking to him and do it all themselves, doesn't even give him the chance to contribute. he quickly tries to think so that he can add something too.
"uh, the- what about the american revolution? or something? i dunno."
you look back up, "yeah! you wanna write that?"
you offer the pencil to him, "sure." he takes it, turning the notebook towards him, feeling a bit insecure about his handwriting compared to yours that's above his own. it isn't the neatest, and he never really cared about it, but he can't help it when you look at him like that.
the rest of the time goes by like that, going back and forth with ideas, your notebook page filled with both your handwriting.
"okay, we have like 10 minutes left. do you have a favorite?"
you tilt your head as you wait for an answer.
"uh," he bites his lip as he looks down at the list, "the invention of the printing press?" to be honest he just picked a random one.
"cool! i'm alright with that." you smile as you put a small star beside the idea.
"hmm... would you want to do a poster board? or anything?"
no, honestly he would not. but he looks at you and can tell that you really would, anything that would earn extra points, right? he smiles.
"i wouldn't mind it. i could buy the stuff for it." he doesn't have the money for it, but he'll just have to sell more of his stuff for it.
"really? no that's okay, i'm the one that wanted to do it."
"nooo," he gives you a pointed look, playfully scolding you, "i'll buy it. what do we need for that?" he plays with the end of his hair twisting it in front of his face. a nervous habit of his, you make him nervous. not that you realize.
"well, the board, some markers, we could use mine since i already have some, and some glue. we could print out the stuff we need at the library, once we find out whatever we need to print."
"alrighty then. we made a lot of progress today then, huh? i'm the best partner you could have! we're really an unstoppable duo, right here." he puts his hand up for a high-five.
you give him the high-five, ignoring the tingly feeling on your hand, and it wasn't from the impact.
"oh yeah, totally." you laugh.
"i don't like that tone." he squints at you.
"what do you mean? i'm serious! we are the best duo." you smile.
"alright, i believe you." he smiles and stretches.
the bell rings, and it feels like suddenly the day went by too fast now.
you stand and grab your things, writing your names on an index card and the topic for the project.
eddie stands as well, about to say something but you beat him to it.
"let's go turn in our topic."
he usually is out the door when they do this, okay.
you both walk to the teachers desk, you smile and give him the index card.
he takes it and looks up with a smile, "great topic!" he looks over at eddie, "hopefully she rubs off on you!"
you frown and look over at eddie, who gives him a sarcastic smile and nod.
you both walk out the classroom, "do you have lunch after this?" he asks.
you stop in your tracks, about to walk to the cafeteria to meet robin.
"yeah i do, do you?"
"yup." he smiles and walks beside you, making your way to the cafeteria.
"y'know i was always scared to talk to you." he gives you a side eye, before looking straight again.
"what? of me?" you look over at him incredulously.
"oh, totally. thought you were scary, y'know being a smarty pants and all."
ah, so he's messing with you. again.
"ha ha," you roll your eyes, though you're smiling, "very funny."
"you know those candies? what're they called? smarties? yeah, that's you."
"what? it's a candy!" you laugh.
"so? that's still you."
"okay, okay. i'm not that smart alright?" you shake your head, still smiling. you can't stop smiling.
he looks at you like you're crazy. "you're kidding, right? don't you have like, the highest grade in the class?"
you shrug, feeling shy. "could be better, though."
the cafeteria is in view now, and you desperately need to change the subject. "well, guess this is where we go our separate ways." you sigh dramatically.
"i guess so." he breaks eye contact and looks around, "you could uh, sit at our table. if you want."
"oh! uh... i wouldn't want to bother-" "you wouldn't be."
you smile at him and he swears he can hear his heat beating out his chest right now.
"thank you. but i was gonna meet with my friend robin. i'll see you tomorrow in class, though."
"right, yeah, that's fine. see you tomorrow." he opens the door to the cafeteria and dramatically makes way for you to pass through.
you wave him goodbye as he makes way to his groups table, you see robin at your usual spot.
summary: eddie and you see each other at an awards ceremony, years after your break up.
warnings: angst? bittersweet? fluff? how the breakup happened can be up to you!
inspired by the movie la la land :) the upside down does not exist here! i also have no clue how this industry works, so sorry if something isn’t right or doesn’t make sense lol and i wrote this at 3am! sorry for any mistakes.
the lights were blinding as he steps out of the expensive car. it’s surreal, the cameras begin to flash as he walks to the crimson carpet, his date by his side.
his partner was nominated for an awards that night, hence why he’s attending the ceremony. they’re both ushered to walk to the center of the carpet for photos. he positions his hand onto his dates waist and smirks to the cameras, instinctively posing.
the cameramen shout their names for their attention, choruses of “eddie! eddie! over here!” and “beautiful couple! amazing!” as they walk off the carpet, onto the interviews. they ask his date the standard questions, “what’re you wearing tonight?”, “i see you’ve brought yourself a date!”, “see you’ve both been going strong!”
he smiles as he lingers behind, answering when he needed to. having previously too busy with tours and recordings, he didn’t have a proper chance to attend a ceremony like this with his current girlfriend. it’s been nearly a year since they’ve both been official, and he thinks that she might be the one.
as they both take their seats where the event will take place, he takes everything in.
looking around himself, he takes a deep breath, allowing his mind to wander.
he really made it.
thinking back, it’s been nearly 6 years since he left his hometown of hawkins, indiana to move to the chaos of california.
he wonders how everyone is, his old friends, what the small town is like now. what do they think of him now?
he wonders how you are. he’s heard your name before, in newspapers, in magazines. so he has an inkling that you’re doing amazing, doing everything you’ve ever dreamed of. could you even be here, tonight? he didn’t even know who else was nominated besides his girlfriend.
he looks around the dimly lit room, for a sign, a possibility, just out of curiosity. but he sees no familiar faces of his past.
you’re running late, which has rarely ever happened. you just so happened to have a wardrobe malfunction, a strap of your dress having snapped. luckily, your team fixed it right up, but it pushed the schedule behind.
which brought you to your current dilemma, being stuck in traffic.
robin, who you’ve brought as your plus one, sits by your side.
“oh god, we’re gonna be so late! we’re gonna walk in there while the ceremony has already begun and everyone’s going to know that we’re late! hopefully we don’t walk in when someone’s giving their speech-“
“robin!” you interject her rambling, smiling in amusement, “it’s going to be okay! i’m nervous too, i absolutely hate being late. but we won’t be that late! we’ll most likely get there just as it’s starting.”
she lets out a dramatic sigh as she leans her head back onto the headrest, before sitting up straight, not wanting to mess up her appearance.
“okay, okay. you’re right. it’s gonna be okay.”
you both enjoy the ride as music plays and waste the time talking, then before you know it, you arrive.
getting out the car with robin right behind you, camera’s flash. a sign that you’re in fact, not that late. you smile and walk to the carpet, a routine you’re now used to, but never get tired of. it’s a reminder, that this is what you’ve worked so hard for.
pictures are taken, you pull robin with you for them, she was standing by wanting for you to have your ‘moment’.
both walking off the carpet and semi-speed walking to your seats, you both have big smiles on your faces. the room is dimly lit as you’re both led to your assigned seats for the night, usually you say hello to the other guests, but the night took a turn of events, and you had no time.
it was a big night, the biggest so far for your career as an actress. you were nominated, for one of the biggest awards that night, best leading actress. you were beyond ecstatic from the moment you got the news.
it was a moment of realization, a moment of pure joy.
you met eddie in summer of 1985, after you graduated. you worked at star court mall in a small video store in order to save up money for college.
he had walked in, looking for a star wars movie. which led to a long conversation about star wars.
and the rest was history.
the friendship blossomed into shy glances and flirty comments until eventually, eddie had gotten the courage (after encouragement from his friend and uncle), to ask you out on a proper date. friends to now lovers, you were both inseparable. you helped him with graduating the following year, even attended his graduation. you were his biggest cheerleader.
he’d remember you as long as he lived. you, his first true love. his first example of an unconditional and healthy romantic love.
he’ll never forget your support, the way you encouraged him to keep going to his gigs at the hideout when he would feel like there would be no chance, you sitting at the bar, smiling up at him as he sang and played his guitar. it have him hope, he gained his confidence.
for you, the feeling was mutual. eddie, who would attend every one of your shows, no matter how big or small your role was.
the relationship had lasted four years, the year was now 1989.
1989, the year that eddie was offered his dream.
the hideout had began to gain more clients and corroded coffin began to gain more fans, steadily, they were making progress.
one night had changed everything. the band was approached by a man who claimed to be a part of a record label and had taken an interest in them and gave them his information for when they had made up that night, you were there right beside them.
as the man walked away and out the building, the band erupted into pure happiness, shouts of joy, hugs, faces of shock and in awe.
eddie turned to you, a big grin adorned his face as he embraced you and picked you up, wrapping your arms around his neck, he gave you both a twirl.
“oh my god! eddie! this is amazing!?” you smiled up at him as he placed you back on your feet, his arms still wrapped around your waist, yours now placed onto his shoudlers.
“i still can’t believe that was real, that was real right? that just happened?” he couldn’t contain his joy, “i mean i must be dreaming. there’s an angel looking at me right now.”
you blush, “oh shut up,” you lean up and give him a kiss, “you’re going to say yes, right?”
he looks at his friends over his shoulder, who heard you and look over in anticipation.
eddie looks back at you, “hell yeah we are!”
from the moment the band agreed upon the proposal made to them, the changes came quick.
the label wanted demos for songs that they’ve played at the hideout, which led to them having to travel.
“california?”
“yeah, it’s a long way from here.”
you sit with your legs crossed and pulled up onto the couch and look at eddie, who’s sitting beside you. you’re at his trailer that he shares with his uncle wayne.
he looks at you with anticipation and bites his lips, “do you think i should go?”
“me? eddie, this is entirely up to you. but if you want my opinion, i think that you should definitely go. this is an opportunity of a lifetime! it’s your dream.” you smile at him as you grab his hands, softly squeezing.
he smiles at you, “i jus’ don’t want to be so far from you. i’ve never even been far from home, really. it’s all too fast.”
tears well up in his eyes, causing your own to do the same.
“hey.. i’m always gonna be rooting for you, baby. who knows where this’ll take us? it’s a big change, sure. but we’ll be okay. don’t let me or anyone else stop you from doing this.”
you’re both crying now, it feels different.
“i wish you could come with me.”
you place yourself onto his lap, embracing him as he wraps his arms around your waist. resting your forehead onto his own, tears streaming down both your faces.
“i wish i could too, but i’ll be too busy with college.”
you’d decided to finally attend college, having saved up enough money to afford it. you wanted to continue studying acting, get better at it.
“and when i’m done with that, we can be the iconic couple.”
you both let out teary laughs, “we’ll be okay.”
the ceremony continued on, and finally, the moment comes.
the anticipation of waiting. the nominees for best leading actress being named and some jokes being made, it was exhilarating. beside you, robin takes a hold of your hand, both filled with nervousness.
the feeling was indescribable, the moment that your name was called.
it felt as if you were walking on air, the room was filled with applause, just as it had been throughout the night. but this time it was for you.
you won!
you stood and robin hugged you tightly, you didn’t know how to react as you hugged her back. walking to the stage was the craziest thing you’ve ever done, people shook your hand, congratulating you. some were people you looked up to, people you admired.
going up the steps, you greet the people on stage and accept your award. looking out into the crowd, you meet robin’s gaze, whose already smiling right back at you with tears in her eyes.
feeling your own fill with tears, you walk to the microphone to give your speech.
you open your mouth, and words momentarily fail you.
“wow.” you laugh, “this- this is something that i truly never would’ve thought i would receive. and to be here,” you look at the award in your hands and back up to the crowd, “with you all, is so crazy!”
“i want to thank everybody who has helped me make this dream come true.” you take a small moment to gain your composure, that moment, was when you saw him.
“wow.” you couldn’t believe he was there. the room laughs, thinking your reaction was from the award, not from seeing your past lover.
“i want to congratulate the other nominees, who i admire and am in awe of all that you do. and i want to thank my team, my friends, my family, my fans!”
you look over at eddie once again in the crowd, smiling with tears in both your eyes. it’s like deja vu.
“thank you, for everything.” the sincerity in your voice must be heard by everyone, since the room begins to applaud once again and you’re guided off the stage.
you meant the last part to be directed towards him.
summary: moments shared with eddie throughout your friendship, up until his death.
warnings: ANGST! 😱 mentions of death.
guys i haven’t written in a while and this song has been on repeat this week so this is just something i had an idea of so i’m sorry if it sucks!!! hope u enjoy :)
feedback + reblogs are appreciated! ☆
inspired by anything by adrianne lenker!
it was a summer day and you had just graduated high school.
the day was sunny and hot—a perfect day for going to the local pool.
eddie and you agreed to meet there, it was his idea, wanting to spend some time with you after the ceremony before you had to celebrate with your family.
this would be his second time not graduating.
“eddie don’t beat yourself up over this, i’m sure that next year you’ll be walking that stage. and i’ll be there cheering you on.”
as you both make your way to the pool entrance, he looks over with you with an eyebrow raised.
“don’t give me that look! i mean it.” you give him a playful shove.
“mrs. o’donnell is always on my ass, i doubt that’ll change next year,” he sighed, “plus, it’ll be less fun without you there.”
he wraps an arm over your shoulders as you both make your way to a pair of empty chairs, settling your belongings down onto them.
you had brought some sliced fruit, drinks, sunscreen, and of course a towel.
“y’know i’m not going anywhere anytime soon, we can still see each other as much as we want this summer.” you finish putting down your things and sit on the edge of the chair, applying on sunscreen.
you look over at eddie who’s on his own chair beside your own, “yeah, but what if you change your mind about staying in hawkins? you should be doing bigger things than staying in this dump.”
he looks away from you and leans his head back onto the chair, playing with a strand of hair.
meanwhile, you open the container you had brought with the sliced fruit, eat a piece of apple, and pass the container to eddie. the thought of leaving hawkins was constant, who wouldn’t want to leave after seeing the things that you’ve seen? yet you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, one of the reasons being right beside you.
“i’ll just study here at the community college, see where that takes me. then, who knows what’ll happen?”
leaning back onto your own chair, you look over at eddie. his hair has begun to stick onto his skin from the heat, his loose shirt slightly slipping from his shoulder, the sunlight shining just right, enough for him to look as if he’s glowing.
he turns to look at you, smiling, “you’ll be out in some big city, doing whatever the hell you want! maybe we could even be roommates, like we’ve talked about.”
he grabs a piece of mango and takes a bite, excess juice dripping.
you smile, “yeah that’d be really nice. but for right now, i’m happy where i’m at.”
that year during the end of summer and towards the end of fall, you had your first boyfriend.
the relationship was not super long, and it never felt like there was much progress. he’d take you out to dates, he’d do everything right.
yet there was no true connection. it’s something you realize after the break up. you’d call each other—but no conversation ever had much depth.
but, when you were both together physically, you felt comfortable, you felt wanted. the cuddling, the kissing, you loved all of the relationship related things, and it made you believe you did love him.
it came crashing down when you saw him out with another girl, you were walking out a local coffee shop with robin when you spotted him. his arm linked with hers, no shame as he leaned over to kiss her, smiling.
it’s what lead you breaking down later that day in eddie’s trailer.
you had planned hanging out with him anyways. your now ex knew about your close friendship with eddie and he never seemed to really care. you realize that he never really cared about many things.
trying to act casual after your discovery and confrontation, you should’ve known better. eddie could see right through your act. be it the way you seemed less talkative, less enthusiastic, he knew something was up. he somehow always does.
he was telling a joke, trying to make you feel better—and you love his jokes, even if they’re the cringiest or stupidest ever, you always laugh or make some sarcastic remark—when he finishes telling his joke, you laughed, which made him smile.
both sitting on the couch, he laid his arm behind where you sat, pulling one of his legs up and turning to face you.
“sooo.. you wanna talk about it?”
you turn to him, your face written with confusion, “talk about what?”
“something’s obviously bothering you. and iiii do not like that.” he tilted his head, softly smiling.
“ah, how did you know?” you give him a small smile and look up to his ceiling, letting your head hit the cushions of the couch.
you see him shrug his shoulders from the corner of your eye, “i just know.”
the tears start to form before you even register it happening, and you tell him what happened.
and he’s there, like he always is. he holds you, let’s you cry to him about your ex. not knowing how much he hurts seeing you like this over a douchebag who didn’t deserve you to begin with.
he rubs your back, attempting to calm you down. you hadn’t realized you were clinging onto him, you pull back and just opt to laying your head onto his shoulder, a few start tears falling. he wipes them away and you close your eyes, feeling his hands soothe you.
that’s when you knew.
it all happened too quick, so suddenly.
one moment you were at the basket ball game, cheering lucas on.
the next eddie was on the run for supposed murder.
and now he was laying in front of you, on the ground.
dustin was kneeled with you, but the ringing in your ears blocking everything else out. all you could see was blood and all you could hear was your ragged breathing.
soon, your vision became blurry, tears clouding your vision. in one quick moment, you were back to the present. a shout. someone was yelling, you look in front of you and you see dustin crying, eddie on his lap.
you reach for eddie’s hand, intertwining it with your own, the other wiping tears away from his face. it was now your turn to wipe away his tears, but you would’ve preferred it to be over some girl, rather than it be because of what’s to come.
his hand is already startling cold, yet you still feel him tighten his hold on you.
“eddie, you gotta keep breathing alright? we’re gonna get you out of here. dustin! we have to get him out of here!” you look over at dustin, who heard you and you both move to get up, but eddie stops you both.
“no. no—” he momentarily chokes on his own blood that gathered in his mouth. he doesn’t let go of your hand and grabs dustin’s before he could get up.
“what do you mean no?!” you cry, moving to get up again.
“s-stop! there’s no,” he gulps, “no way i’ll be able to—” he coughs, blood splattering as he does so, you use the sleeve of your shirt to shakily clean his chin, “make it.”
he looks at you, and that’s when you see. that’s when you see he’s not changing his mind, he’s not going to let you and dustin pull him back.
a part of you knows, the logical part of you, that he won’t be able to make it. that it’ll be too late by the time you pull him back home.
so you cry, you cling to him. dustin cradles eddie’s head on his lap once again, you both cling to him.
“please. please don’t.” you say between sobs, your head on his chest, his heart beat still present, your hand still in his.
he doesn’t reply, he can’t. blood blocks him from saying anything else, so he brings your intertwined hands shakily up to his lips, kissing your hand. you bring your head up to look at him, and that’s when you knew.
that’s when you knew, everything was reciprocated. you don’t know how, but you did.
you both just know each other too well, but apparently not this.
he looked at you and attempted to smile, the three of you crying. already grieving what’s to come and what could’ve been.
you shake your head, “this isn’t fair! you never should’ve been a part of any of this mess! i—i tried so hard, so hard to keep you away from all of this. but it wasn’t enough.”
laying your head back onto his chest, you feel his free hand move to your back. the familiar feeling of him soothing you, rubbing your back, making you cry harder.
then suddenly, it all stopped.
it’s like time stopped all at once.
the movements on your back were gone, the soft heartbeat had stopped.
you could’ve sworn that in that moment, yours had too.
summary: being there throughout basically her whole life, you form a friendship with ellie. the line of being friends or something more becomes blurry. best friends to lovers!!
warning: a make out sesh? idk if i would call it that they just kiss lol and this is probably the shortest thing i’ve ever written tbh
feedback + reblogs are appreciated! ☆
inspired by apocalypse by cigarettes after sex!
you’ve never been much of a fan of physical affection.
the only occurrences of physical affection is when you’re in a relationship, somehow it comes naturally when it’s with a significant other.
so why does it come so naturally whenever you’re with ellie?
you’ve never been so affectionate with your other friends, but with ellie.. things are just different. you allow yourself to hug her, lean on her, grab her arm, any sort of physical touch. compared to your other friends, where there’s only an occasional hug or just a side hug.
you’re in denial of your feelings, blaming the events you’ve both been through together causing you to be so protective of ellie, be so drawn to her, always wanting her close.
it was only a matter of time before it all became too much; you just dreaded the day it would come to light, the fear of ruining such a meaningful and important relationship with someone who’s such a big part of your life. the glances you both give each other, the touches that linger, becoming too much. tricking your mind into thinking she feels the same, hope that there’s a chance.
you held onto that small bit of hope.
ellie’s arms were wrapped around you as your head lay on her chest, feeling it rise and fall as she took each breath, hearing the rhythmic sound of her heart.
you could stay like this forever.
you move yourself closer to her, wrapping your own arms around her waist, begging that she couldn’t hear or feel your own heart.
“what’re you thinking about?” she asked quietly, having been laying on her bed in comfortable silence for a few minutes now.
“how peaceful this is.” you reply, just as quietly. “it’s like we’re in our own little world.”
ellie began to subconsciously draw circles onto your back, causing you to suppress a shiver due to her simple touch.
you move your head slightly upwards in order to have a view of her face, only to find her focus already being on you.
a soft smile forms onto her face, lost in thought.
“what are you thinking about?” you nudge her playfully.
she hesitates for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, before answering.
“how beautiful you look right now.”
your face becomes hot.
“oh, shut up.” you laugh as you turn your head back down, trying to hide how flustered she’s got you, missing the slight look of disappointment from ellie.
there was a short moment of silence before you hear her voice again.
“i mean it.” she breathes out, her tracing on your back stopping.
you look back up to her, finding her gaze already on you yet again. a look of determination and sincerity covered her face.
her hand comes up to your face, causing you to lean into her touch without much thought.
“thank you.” you didn’t know what to say. yes, she’s given you compliments before, many causing your heart to pick up speed and make you kiss her right then and there— but this, this felt different.
you both stare at each other before beginning to laugh, nuzzling your head into the crook of her neck and tightening your hold on her.
“god, we’re so bad at this aren’t we?” she says, her hold on you tightening as well.
you free yourself from her hold, leaning yourself onto one of your elbows so that you’re laying sideways, looking down at her.
“..this?” you ask in disbelief, is this really happening?
you notice ellie’s look, her eyebrows furrowed and avoiding your gaze, realizing that she took your reaction as something negative.
“ellie… what do you mean?”
she meets your gaze once again, eyes slightly wide. “i just—” she sighs before continuing, “maybe i took things the wrong way. i’m sorry.” she moves to get up, feeling embarrassed.
“no, ellie. you didn’t, honestly i thought i was the one who was taking things the wrong way.” you push her back down onto the bed, eyes hopeful and relieved. a smile on your face as you looked down at ellie, who also wore a look of relief—as well as disbelief.
“you’re my best friend, ellie. i love you, but what i feel is so much more than what just a friend should feel.”
she smiles up at you, hands coming to brush away loose strands of hair, once again holding your face.
“well. that’s good. i’m glad we got that straight.” suddenly she grabs your waist, having you lay on top of her. you pull yourself up, now sitting and slightly flustered by the position, “because i love you, too.”
“can i kiss you?” she looks up at you, hands resting on your waist as she awaited for an answer.
you lean down until your close to her face, hands on each side of her head on the bed, caging her in.
“yes.”
with that, she leans up, you meet her halfway and you feel her lips on yours.
and it’s everything you expected it to be.
her lips were slightly chapped, yet soft. her hand coming to the side of your head, you lean into the touch, making the kiss deeper.
you break the kiss once you ran out of air, both of you looking breathless and content.
ellie leans back up and gives you multiple pecks all around your face—as well as your lips, causing you to let out a giggle.
you let yourself lay atop of ellie, feeling her arms wrap around your waist securely.
summary: feeling spontaneous, eddie come to pick you up to go on a road trip.
this one’s also kinda short, feedback is appreciated!! <3
you hear a knock at your window, which causes you to stop momentarily in the middle of the room as you were making your way to your bed. once again hearing the noise you slowly pick up the show that was nearest you.
hearing the soft knock again, you slowly walk to the window. quickly opening the blinds you see your boyfriend, eddie.
you let out a deep sigh and opened the window, letting him in.
being clumsy as he is, he trips and falls to the ground with a thud and groan. as he lays on your floor, you throw the shoe that you held onto his back.
this causes him to sit up and look at you, in playful disbelief.
“did you just throw a shoe at me?” a dramatic gasp escapes him and he stands up and tackles you onto your bed, causing you to laugh.
as he stops he leans on one of his elbows to look down at you, his face just inches above yours.
“why are you here, eddie?” you wrap your arms around his neck.
“just wanted to see my very lovely partner.” he smiles down at you, leaving a kiss on your forehead.
“mhm, sure. i wouldn’t question it if it wasn’t the fact that it’s literally,” you look over to the clock sitting on your bedside table, “1:32 am?” looking back at him.
he smiles at you, getting up from his position over you, he lends out a hand for you to grab.
of course, you grab it. also standing up from your bed as he eagerly starts to open your window back up, a look of confusion settling onto your face.
as he looks back over at you, realizing your confusion, he quickly explains himself.
“let’s go on a road trip!”
you didn’t expect your night to go like this at all.
though you really do not mind it, being used to eddie’s antics now, though at first you weren’t used to the random activities he set up for the two of you.
but now, you just find it all so endearing. the fact that he even thinks about doing things with you, even the simple stuff.
so now here you both were, walking to his van in the middle of the night.
“where are you taking us tonight, munson?” you ask as you both were now settled in and he starts the vehicle.
“i’m not.. really sure.”
you laugh, “it’ll be a surprise then.”
he looks over at you one last time, quickly reaching over to give you a peck on your cheek, before he pulls out the driveway and sets off for the unknown journey ahead.
laying on the damp grass of a random field late at night, you didn’t realize could be such a wonderful feeling.
especially with eddie munson laying so close right beside you.
looking over at him, you watch as he stares into the star filled sky. his hair sprawled out around him with the moonlight shining onto his features. you were so in love.
you were broken out of your trance as you realize he turned his face towards you as well. feeling your cheeks flush at being caught, you just smile over at him, returning your own gaze back to the sky.
“heey, why’d you look away? i was enjoying the view.” he poked your cheek, intertwining his hand with yours, he kisses your conjoined hands. while with the other arm he leans on his elbow. just as he did earlier in your bedroom.
giving in, you turned back to face him.
“god, you’re so gorgeous.” he leans down to kiss you, freeing your hand and cupping your cheek.
you lost track of time as you and eddie lay on the field. but soon he was unwrapping his arm from your shoulders, pulling his head away from your neck (though not before leaving one last kiss there), and helping you stand once again, leading you back to his van.
noticing that it’s now very late, eddie decides to book a room at a small motel that he saw on the way.
you both walk into the room and you immediately take off your shoes and throw yourself onto the bed, face down.
soon later you hear eddie do the same, a larger weight is felt above you.
eddie has jumped right on top of you, on your back. literally sandwiching you between him and the old mattress. you could’ve sworn your whole life flashed before your eyes.
“eddie!” your voice was muffled due to it being smushed halfway into the mattress. though he knew you weren’t truly harmed, since you were laughing hysterically.
“get off of me you idiot!” you tired to wiggle yourself out from under him, but he would not budge.
he laughed as he remained in place, soon you stopped moving and gave up.
“i’m gonna pass out from lack of oxygen, y’know?”
“pfft, don’t be so dramatic!” he wrapped his arms around your waist and turned you over, now you were laying on your back as he hovered over you.
taking in a dramatic amount of air, “i can breathe again!”
he rolled your eyes at you playfully as he set himself beside you, pulling up the covers and you joining in soon after.
he pulled you in close, an arm wrapped around your middle as you placed your head against his chest, legs intertwining. you felt safe and so at peace like this.
“goodnight sweetheart, i love you.”
you could hear that he was on the brink of falling asleep, voice soft and low, which brought a soft smile to your face.
“goodnight baby, i love you.”
you thought he didn’t hear you, since his chest was rising and falling steadily, assuming he was now asleep. but soon as now you were falling asleep, you feel a kiss to the top of your head, then falling into slumber soon after.
waking up to the sound of birds and sunlight on your face, you take a deep breath and look up to see your boyfriend still sound asleep.
leaning up to place a kiss to his cheek, you feel him start to wake up, hand around you slightly tightening.
he rubs his eyes with his other hand and opens them to look at you, a soft smile forming onto his lips.
“well good morning, beautiful.” he pulls you in for a kiss.
“good morning, sleepy head.” you pull away and sit up to stretch, him following suit.
“we should probably be heading out soon..” he says with a yawn.
“mmm.. yeah. how about some breakfast? we should look for a diner or something close by.”
he wraps his arms around you as you both sit on the bed, face snuggling into your neck.
“that is a good idea.”
both now sat a booth in a small diner, he sat in front of you, looking at the menu that was given upon arrival and wearing a concentrated expression.
“there’s so much delicious looking stuff here, i can’t just choose one!”
he drops down the menu and picks up his drink, looking over at you, who’s already prepared on what to order.
“what are you gonna get?” he sets down his drink and crosses his arms on the table, squinting his eyes at you, and leaning forward.
“just some pancakes.” you shrug smiling at him.
“‘just some pancakes’ you say!” he lifts his arms up and drops them back down onto the table. the rings he wore making noise, causing a few others to look over.
“yes, eddie!” you laugh.
he sighs, “y’know what actually, i’ll get that too, then. i have no idea what to choose.”
he suddenly gets an idea.
“we could share! like those cheesy movies that you like to watch.”
his long outstretched legs under the table bump into yours, though he doesn’t care to move them and leaves them against your own.
“oh please, you have to admit you secretly love them. you sit through each and every one i put on.”
“pfft! i have no idea of what you’re talking about.”
he grabs his drink once again and takes a sip from the straw.
“just admit it, you’re a big softie.”
you see him blush, rolling his eyes at you and playfully bumping his legs against yours once again.
“yeah, yeah. whatever you say.” he grabs one of your hands across the table, smiling at you.
after you both ate the shared order of pancakes, you sit for a while at the booth still. making conversation and goofing around. though soon you both knew you would have to go back home sooner or later.
walking out the diner hand in hand, you feel grateful to have eddie as your boyfriend. no matter what other people say about him, seeing him be so vulnerable and just so himself around you makes your heart beat speed up just at the mere thought of him.
“m’lady.” he opens the passenger door for you, bowing and making a motion his his free arm that isn’t holding the door.
you get in as he walks over to the drivers seat, getting in and starting up the engine.
he looks over at you to see you staring at him, blush once again creeping up his face.
“what? do i have maple syrup on my face?”
you shake your head, lean over and give him a kiss, leaving him flustered as he pulls out of the diner’s parking lot.
“should we just keep driving? see how far we go? i would love that, y’know, just you and me.”
upon your words he grabs your hand with one of his, bringing it up to his lips, meanwhile the other stayed on the wheel.
“i would also love that. maybe during summer break, we should do this again.”
you nod your head, though he didn’t see it since his eyes were on the road. your thoughts being filled with pure adoration and love, knowing that you’ll always love him.
unbeknownst to you, his own thoughts were filled with the same as yours.
summary: on eddie’s birthday, you give him a gift that makes him fall even harder for you.
kinda proud of this idea i had.. was smiling so hard mannnn i hope i wrote the idea i had in my head well enough for you guys to feel what i was feeling :)
also writing this made me realize i don’t know exactly how mixtapes work.. but let’s ignore reality rn and ignore the mistakes!! 😄
feedback is appreciated! <3 two works in one night? who am i
you were on your way to eddie’s trailer. that’s where you had told the hellfire club to meet up, since it was his birthday today.
parking your car in front of his home, you got out and walked up the steps, knocking on the door.
behind it revealed eddie, who was expecting you.
“hey, gorgeous.” he moved out of the way to let you in, keeping one of the doors open, knowing the rest will soon come.
a beautiful smile covered his features as he embraced you in a big hug, giving you a tight squeeze.
“happy birthday, baby.” you leaned up to give him a sweet kiss, causing yourself to smile feeling his own lips on yours.
he was completely whipped for you, and everyone knew.
both of you were so in love with each other, though in public he wasn’t big on pda, still everyone just knew by the way he treated you and looked at you.
whether it be something as small as holding your hand, waist, or an arm over your shoulder, or lovingly staring at you as you talked, the constant need to be around you, it was just perfect.
“thank you sweetheart.” he let go of you as he leaves one more peck to your cheek before moving to the small kitchen and grabbing something to drink, offering you something as well.
not too long after, the rest of his friends arrived as well.
they had brought a cake and all sorts of snacks to celebrate their friends birthday.
as you all finished eating and cleaned up the place, you all sat in the living room. it was time to give eddie his gifts.
as you saw his friends give him their gifts, it was finally your turn.
giving him a small bag, he opened it and revealed new guitar picks and a few rings you found at the thrift shop, thinking he’d absolutely love them.
which he absolutely did.
immediately, he put them on and got up from the spot on the floor and kissed you. causing dustin to dramatically protest.
“hey, get a room you two!”
“shut it, henderson.”
eddie pulled away and jokingly glared at dustin, pointing a finger at him.
the interaction caused you to laugh, blush creeped onto your face and you leaned back into the couch.
as it got darker outside, everyone said their goodbyes and left. leaving you and eddie on your own.
he closed the door and turned to you.
“well, looks like it’s just you and me left princess.”
he jumped to the space beside you on the couch and wrapped himself around you. cuddling.
you laughed into his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist. feeling him relax on top of you.
“do you want to go lay on your bed?” you play with his hair as you wait for an answer.
“yes, please!” he immediately gets up, stretching a hand out to you, which you gladly grab.
he pulls you into his room and shuts the door. jumping into the bed he opens his arms and looks at you, expecting you to join him and have a nice cuddling session.
“wait! i have go get something out of my car.”
his arms fall to his sides and let’s out a very dramatic groan in protest.
“i’ll be quick, i promise!” you tell as you run out the door and go to your car.
you grab the small box in the passenger seat and smile to yourself. walking quickly into the trailer and making sure to lock the front door, you enter eddie’s room again.
you were met with eddie dramatically sprawled out on his bed, laying face down, with his head on the pillow.
“eddie, you idiot. i’m back. see? i told you i’d be quick, wasn’t even a minute!” you sat on the side of his bed and playfully shoved his head.
he turned his head slightly and opened an eye.
“is it.. really.. you?” he jumped out of his position and was now sitting up, “it’s been.. ages! you’re finally back!” flailing his arms around he wrapped you into an embraced and jokingly cried onto your shoulder.
“here i thought that i would never see you again, my beloved.” he held your hand and held it to his chest. acting as if he were wiping tears away with his other.
playfully rolling your eyes at his antics, you decided to play along with his dramatics.
you wiped away the invisible tears, “i am back! and i have came with a gift as my recompense, do not cry!”
his act faltered as he looked at the box in your hands, eyes softening, one hand still holding yours.
“sweetheart, but you already gave me a gift? there was no need for another.” he moved his gaze to look back up at you, giving your hand a squeeze.
you knew he didn’t like you wasting your money on him, but honestly, you didn’t have to spend much for this.
“i know, i know. buuut, i wanted to give this to you.” you pushed the box to him, biting your lip as you waited in anticipation.
he smiled at you and leaned to give you another kiss to your lips, grabbing the box he glanced over at you.
“open it.” you smiled as he did.
watching carefully as he did, he gently grabbed the first one, a mixtape.
you pulled your feet up onto the bed and crossed your legs, leaning your head onto your hand, waiting for a reaction.
he looked at it carefully, the first case had a small polaroid of you both hugging, it was taped to the front. he remembered the day, you both spent the day doing absolutely nothing. just stayed in and enjoyed the other’s company. on the small space at the bottom, was just his name written in sharpie with a small heart beside it.
he looked up at you, only to see you waiting expectantly.
“a mixtape? you made this?”
you smiled and felt your face heat up, “yeah.”
he opened it and a small piece of paper fell out. a small track list of the songs you had put onto it. they were all definitely songs you listened to.
he smiled and looked at you, turning the paper to you.
“that cassette has songs i’ve listened to and reminded me of you. they’re probably definitely songs you wouldn’t listen to.. but you better listen to them anyways.”
you jokingly pointed a finger at him threateningly as he raised his arms up.
“yes ma’am!” as he read the list over, he wore a fond smile and closed the case shut.
“i hope you know that even if i don’t listen to what you listen to, these are definitely my top favorites now, by the way.” he carefully put it back into the box, pulling the other out.
you laughed, “you haven’t even listened to them yet!” scooting closer to him, you now sat by his side, laying your head onto his shoulder.
“doesn’t matter.” he kissed the top of you head as he looked over the next one.
this one had another polaroid, but it was of him with his guitar in a funny pose as you took the picture.
he laughed at the memory. it was when you both had just recently started dating, you had came over and asked him to play something on his guitar for you once you saw it.
and of course, he did.
once again on the small space at the bottom was just his name and another heart.
his heart swelled with adoration as he took in your gift.
you had made this? for him? you took your own time and thought, to make something for him.
he carefully opened the case, another piece of paper, with another list. this time though, it was of names he recognized. his favorite singers and bands.
he looked down at you on his shoulder.
“on this one.. uh. well, i gave a listen to your favorite artists and i chose my favorites.” you nervously gulped.
“i dunno, i just thought it was a cool thing y’know?i know music is something that you love. and i know.. you love these bands and singers so i.. chose my favorites from theirs and thought, ‘hey! now when he hears these he’ll think of me’ or yeah.” you realize you started rambling and shy away deeper into his neck.
“sweetheart.” he pulled away and grabbed the sides of your face, making you look at him.
you realize now the tears welled up in his eyes.
“eddie..” you reached up as you cupped his face.
he smiled and shook his head, “i can’t believe you made this. i.. how are you so amazing? huh?” he laughed tearfully as he pulled away and put a hand to his hip, causing you to break a smile.
“i’ll be treasuring these for the rest of my life.” he grabs both the cases and hugs them to his chest.
“best birthday gifts, ever.” he grabs the first one and stands up.
“wait no don’t!” you sit up straight, realizing he stood to put the tape into his stereo to listen to it.
he stopes midway of putting it in, turning his head to face you.
“wait until i leave, okay?”
he throws his head back and rubs his hands along his face.
“you’re gonna be the death of me!” he pulls out the tape and sets it back into its case.
rejoining you in his bed, he tackles you. leaving you entrapped once again by him laying on top of you, head in your neck.
“i love you.” the words were muffled due to his face being buried in your neck.
you smiled, though it was not the first time he said it, each time made you feel the same way it had made you feel the first time.
“i love you too.” you kissed the top of his head.
he leans up to look at you now, “seriously though. thank you, y/n.” his eyes still a bit watery.
you move his long hair out of his face, the adoration and love in his gaze making you melt.
he leans up and kisses you, really kisses you. one of his hands coming up to cup one of your cheeks and the other combs through your hair.
while your arms wrap around his neck.
“what did i do to deserve you?” he pulls away and looks at you.
faces just an inch apart, you could see all of his beautiful details. the colors in his eyes to the small bumps on his face. he’s so real, and he’s yours.
“i could ask you the same thing.” playing with the hair on his neck, he shakes his head, smile on his lips and leans his forehead to yours.
“i really wish i could stay the night.” you close your eyes, his proximity is intoxicating.
“you caaan.” he kissed your forehead and lays next to you now, facing you, an arm lazily draped over your middle.
“i could, but my parents would kill me.” you smile over at him as he lets out a deep sigh.
“one day if i’m in a rebellious mood i’ll do it. but, i know you’re dying to listen to those tapes.”
you get up from the bed and stretch.
“i really wish you could stay though.” he pouted at you from his laying position.
you sighed, “i know, i do too.”
he got up and walked you to your car, with one last kiss and goodbye, he stood outside until he saw your car safely go out onto the road before he ran back into his room and immediately played those tapes.
safe to say the next day once he saw you, you were immediately attacked with kisses and hugs. his mind completely sealed on that you were the one, and that he was so hopelessly in love.
