✿

Enfp 💌 she/her 21!!!✿ just a girl who’s obsessed w a man who doesn’t know she exists

[kitmon]

from your wips- are there any snippets of Eddie Munson x Reader (13 Going on 30 AU)? I love how you write eddie

Ah! I love when y'all send me asks! Thank you so much for the compliment!

So to be entirely honest, my 13 Going on 30 AU is in the very very early stages of development... and by that I mean all of it has been mapped out in my mind. BUT! Since you asked politely and I haven't posted some of my writing in a cool minute, I thought I'd write a lil snippet just for you, so enjoy this itty bitty little taste.

Your eyes dart around the narrow hallway, taking in the dull yellowed walls as you chew at your bottom lip and fuss with the lacy hem of your slip dress. You avert you gaze down to your shoes where your left foot can’t keep from bouncing. In some odd way, the continued click, click, click of your heel against the hardwood soothes your anxious nerves and you become distracted by your freshly manicured toenails glinting up at you through the peep opening of your pumps.

The door opens with the jangle of a chain lock and your wide eyes find a mature face, smile lines deeper, stubble less patchy but dark honeyed-brown eyes the very same. Your lips can’t help but twitch up at the edges as you take him in.

“You’re not the pizza boy,” he says with a slow skepticism, breaking your engrossment.

You blink at him before speaking with a renewed enthusiasm. “Eddie, it’s me!”

He stares at you blankly for a second, eyes roving over your features and your attire as much as he can through the sliver of space afforded between the door and its stop. His lack of fervor causes your eyebrows to furrow and your mouth to curve into a worried frown.

“You don’t remember me?” You ask, voice desperate for the opposite.

His eyes squint before he says your name with an inquisitive inflection towards the end.

You immediately perk up, exhaling excitedly, “Yes!”

He pushes the door forward to slide the chain lock off and opens it so he can lean his frame against the threshold.

“Um, do you want to come in or…” his sentence trails off as he nudges the door the rest of the way open with his knee. You nod emphatically, holding your clutch close to your stomach as you silently step inside.

Your gaze immediately wanders over every expanse of his apartment thats available to you. There’s a modest audio system in one corner with records filling up multiple crates and cassettes stowed away in a rack hung upon the wall. Posters of bands you know well and some that you’ve never heard of take up the majority of the wall space, all except for one dedicated to his guitars. You’re well acquainted with his Warlock, having accompanied him to every gig he was lucky enough to lock down. She’s well-worn, the crackled body decorated with scattered nicks and scratches while the fretboard houses divots from what you assume is years worth of playing. Surrounding her are much newer guitars with glossy finishes and brightly shining strings ready to be plucked.

Your gaze trails down from the wall to where a simple acoustic guitar is propped up on a stand. The strings poke out from the headstock in every which direction and the white message along the body has been scratched away and made much less legible: “THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS.” You touch the headstock and smile, glad to see that Eddie is just as sentimental as when you left him.

He watches you waltz around his apartment, gazing at his belongings like that of a child totally enthralled by the bright colored fish housed in an aquarium. His brows furrow and he attempts to speak, his mouth forming the beginning shapes of a sentence two or three times before he manages to get something out.

“Do you want something to drink?” Is what he settles on. “I have some Budweiser or, uh, I think I have some orange juice left.”

“Water’s fine,” you say absentmindedly as you walk towards his recessed shelves, built-in under the line of his short staircase. You’re able to make out the debossed silver letters and the blue cotton-bound spine as you approach. You slip the book from in-between the others and begin to flip through it. You find your photo, small and all too easily swallowed by the sea of other faces on the spread but it’s you just the same. It’s odd to recognize a face that no longer belongs to you; yesterday, you looked in the mirror and saw the girl in the book but now it’s like that face is a lightyear away. Before you can drive yourself mad trying to decipher that feeling, you pinpoint Eddie’s photo. You smile and swipe your thumb over the image. He’s scowling and it’s made clear despite the shoddy printed resolution. It’s a wonder he even showed up for Picture Day in the first place but, as you map out the features of this Eddie, the one you’re familiar with, you’re more glad than ever that he did.

“Here you go.” 

He presents the glass of water to you and you take it with a quiet ‘thank you,’ walking over to his couch in the middle of the room and plopping yourself down just as you would have on the ratty old loveseat back at his trailer. You tuck your feet under yourself and take a sip of your drink as you continue to browse the clubs and extracurriculars.

“Uh,” he calls your name to grab your attention,”what are you doing here?”

You look up and are suddenly confronted with how to answer his question without sounding entirely ridiculous. You make the best attempt you can while his disbelieving stare bores down into you.

“Right,” you begin as you set the yearbook and the glass of water aside, straitening your posture and folding your hands in your lap. “So, yesterday was 1984 and I don’t mean that in like the metaphorical or sentimental or Orwellian sense, I mean yesterday was literally 1984, specifically my birthday. Jeanette McBride was there and she swore she’d get me in with her dad who worked at Haloed Magazine and then you and I, we got into this big fight and I ran into your closet and I wished to be older so I could get out of Hawkins! And now… now I’m here. It’s like I skipped everything else. Yesterday I was 18 and now I’m… well, I guess I’d be about 34 right now.”

Your speech slows as you consider your last point staring off to the side before looking up at Eddie. He’s eyeing you funnily, eye’s slightly squinted, head tilted, and mouth open as if he’s preparing to say something but can’t seem to decide what would be the most appropriate response. There’s a stretched out moment of silence between you before he speaks.

“Are you on something?” He questions, leaning in with his hands on his hips, his gaze now focused on trying to discern how dilated your pupils are.

“No!” You say, frustrated that he didn’t seem to grasp any of what you just said.

“Really? ‘Cause it kinda seems like you’re on drugs,” he pushes the possibility.

“Eddie!” You cry out, exasperated, “I’m being serious! My life is all— weird now!”

“Look,” he says as he rubs at his eyes with his finger and thumb, trying to muster as much patience as he can manage in this undoubtedly absurd scenario, “maybe you should see a psychiatrist or maybe check yourself into a hospital, but I don’t know why you’re telling me this. We haven’t spoken in well over a decade.” 

“Eddie,” you say softly, features taking on an inquisitive look as you stand and step towards him, “You’re my best friend.”

You reach a hand out to touch his upper arm, mostly in an attempt to anchor yourself. When you make contact, Eddie looks down at where your hand rests over his bicep. He rolls his lips in towards his teeth and grabs your hand, squeezing it once before setting it back down between the two of you. You watch as he does this, your mouth held helplessly agape.

“No,” he says with a clement tone, “I’m not.”

Deep hurt washes over your features and all of the air that occupied your lungs seems to have vaporized as you fight to take in a steady breath.

Noticing the slump of your shoulders and the weariness of your eyes, Eddie attempts to extend an amicable offer, “Let me walk you home, you seem… unwell.”

You nod, hardly processing what he’s said as you step towards the couch to grab your clutch, holding it, as a comfort, inwards. “Okay,” you respond, voice meek and broken towards the end.

He places his hand on your shoulder and helps to guide you towards the door, walking in time with your dragging steps. As you step past the threshold, he shrugs on a jacket from the coat hanger and closes the door with a quiet click.

[munsonstorm]

You Really Got Me Now

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5.2k words

description: your best friend and roommate eddie is pissing you off, per usual. his way of making you feel heard is not very conventional.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, roommate au, lowkey pwp, best friend!eddie, reader and eddie are both in their 30s, a bit of force proximity, reader is awkward as fuck (she just like me), reader hasn't gotten dick lately, mentions of voyeurism (eddie and reader have listened to each other having sex), kind of dom!eddie, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, lots and lots of dirty talk, eddie cums in reader.... annoying ass neighbors?

authors note: yeah i don't know. i'm just horny for this man. all of the time. thanks to lindsey @amanitacowboy who CONSISTENTLY feeds into my delusions. love u.

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

He pissed you off for the fourth time today. 

You had spent most of your day doing yard work, trying to ensure the home you two shared did not look overgrown for your snooty neighbors. They already hated that there was an unmarried couple living next to them. Even worse they were not even a couple. 

Eddie and you had been friends for over a decade. When you two could not find someone to settle down with once you both turned 30, you decided to rent a house together. You were sick of living at home with your parents and everyone else around you was in love. Steve had Kira, Robin had Vicki, and well… you had Eddie. Eddie had you. But not in a romantic sense. 

That’s what you two told yourselves, at least. 

Made crystal clear years ago, you and Eddie knew your friendship meant more than some knee jerk desires. You had kissed once, and you would be lying if you said you did not enjoy it. He was tentative, kissing you like he was trying to melt all your worries away. At the time, it was a desperate attempt to distract your mind from a shitty break up and Eddie had gotten a bit too high. 

That next morning, you sat down with him and discussed boundaries. No kissing, no sex. That was the hard line, and for years, you two had kept that promise to yourselves. 

There had been moments. An evening out with friends where you two would dance all night together and when you parted to go to your separate rooms, you would linger in the hallway just staring at each other. No one ever caved because you both knew you would regret it in the morning. Or the tense nights where one of you said something to rub the other person the wrong way. Sometimes it would turn into you two apologizing in the dimly lit kitchen, hugging and swaying near the flickering oven lightbulb. 

Today was going to be one of those days for sure. Everything he did rubbed you the wrong way.

He had not done the dishes last night, deciding to stay up late and drink himself into a deep slumber. When you woke up, wrapped in your falling-apart-at-the-seams robe and saw the dishes, you wanted to throw an empty beer bottle at him. But you didn’t. You just did them and didn’t say a word.

Then there was leaving his wet clothes in the washing machine. The moment your nose got a whiff of the despicable scent of molding clothes, you slammed the top down and groaned his name. He was not even in the house, deciding as soon as he woke up that he needed to go get a pack of cigarettes from the gas station. 

Then there was him being adamant about washing his van with the hose you were trying to use to water the dying plants in the flower beds surrounding your front door. You just grit your teeth, jerking your head into a nod when he asked for it. 

Now here he is, making you mad again as you sweat all of your body weight over some weeds. 

“I’m having some of the guys over tonight for some burgers-” “No.”

He narrows his eyes at you, swatting a gnat away from his face as you place your hands on your hips. 

“Why not?”

You had a list. A big long list. The house was a disaster. The neighbors called a noise complaint last time. The grill needed propane.

This was the tipping point. “Eddie, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you in our front yard,” You blow up, throwing off your gardening gloves, “You haven’t done shit for this house in months. I am like your own little personal housewife. I am the only person in this house that keeps it nice and clean. I haven’t had a night out in months because I am using my weekends to keep up with this shithole. I haven’t had a guy over in over a year, for fucks sake! No guy wants to fuck a girl who lives with a shitty roommate who can’t even clean. I need… I need your help.” 

His demeanor shifts, his shoulders slumping a bit. You did not mean for the word vomit to come out like that. You sounded vicious, but all of it needed to come out at sometime.

“Sweetheart-” But you do not want his excuses. You wave him off, storming towards the front door and swinging open the glass door, letting it shut behind you. You needed cold A/C on your face. You were about to pass out from anger and heatstroke. Damn Indiana summers. 

Eddie launches the door open, practically chasing you down to the kitchen. You stand under a vent, tilting your face directly towards the line of air. 

“What do you need my help with?” He asks, a slight arrogance in his tone. 

You don’t even look at him. You just hum as the cold air caresses your face. “The dishes. The laundry. Fuckin’ clean a toilet-”

“And what about guys not coming over?”

You finally tilt your head over at him, confused. “Huh?”

He looks at you with this fire in his eyes that you have almost never seen before. Maybe once or twice when one of his ex girlfriend’s said something based. He did not seem angry, per se, but he seemed agitated.

He crosses his arms over his chest, covering the Metallica logo on the front of his black tank top. His arms are toned and sprawling with randomly harsh lined tattoos. You had to thank Steve for the toned muscles as he was forcing Eddie to lift weights with him twice a week. You are definitely seeing the results. 

“You said no guy wants to fuck a girl who lives with a shitty roommate,” He states plainly, leaning against the kitchen island, “How am I supposed to help you with that?”

It’s like he’s trying to hint at something. Eddie was notorious for not saying what he really wanted to say, just simply talking around the subject. 

“Let me have a night off where I’m not cleaning up after you. Maybe I can bring a guy home.”

He cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips as his eyes take you in your sweaty clothing. You had sweat dripping into places you never knew you even had. You felt better being in the air conditioning, but that did not disguise the already stained areas of the front of your oversized t-shirt and biker shorts. 

“You don’t need me to… do anything else?”

Will this be fifth time Eddie Munson pisses you off today?

“Say what you need to say, Munson,” You warn, annoyed by the creeping smile on his face. 

You watch as he uncrosses his arms, leaning forward towards you. “Do you need me to fuck you, princess? Is that what this is?”

Your jaw hits the floor at his offer.

“What? H-how are you getting that from this-” “You just need a good fuck to release all this tension. It’s written all over you.”

He has never been this bold before. It’s blowing your mind. He has never propositioned sex to you, ever. Maybe jokingly. Wait, last week he did suggest it to get rid of your period cramps-

“You have to be kiddin’ me, Munson.”

He shakes his head, dipping his head down to meet your eyes, “I’m deadly serious, princess.”

“You’re just sayin’ this to piss me off even more-”

He presses his pointer finger to your lips, shushing you immediately, “All this talk and I’m not hearing a no.”

You swat his hand away, groaning in annoyance. You gave Eddie props, he was very convincing when he wanted to be. But you knew better.

But then again, it had been a year since a guy pleased you. 

“Eddie, you know the promise we made all those years ago. No kissing. No sex,” You lean further away, your back arching over the counter. “You can’t just propose this because I am angry at you and want you to take some accountability.”

“I’m not proposing this because I wanna weasel my way out of trouble. I’m doing it because you have been so tense these last couple months, I feel like I am walking on eggshells,” He explains, tossing his hands in the air dramatically, “Just let me get it out of your system. I know it’s been a year or so.”

“How do you know?”

You were trying to find a way out. The deepest darkest secret you held in the very depths of your heart was that you did have feelings for Eddie. You have since high school. But Eddie was occupied in every place in life and you got the permanent label as friend before you even had a chance. He dated around and you were stuck secretly obsessing over him, which- whatever. It was fine. 

All his passes at you were just normal at this point. You never gave them a second thought. You were idle in the idea that it was just jokes and that he never meant it. Even when he said he would give you head to make you feel better when the last guy you dated broke up with you. Or when he told you that he liked the way your hands felt pressed against his bare chest when you helped him apply sunscreen. Or when-

Wait... Did friends usually say that to each other?

“How do I know what?” He asks, his voice wavering a bit.

You huff, “How do you know it’s been a year?”

A mischievous smile spreads across his lips, “Because the last time I heard you through the wall moaning and begging, was about March of last year. It’s currently June.”

The heat rises back to your cheeks as you stare at him wide eyed. You did not realize he was even home when you last had someone over, let alone knew he heard it all.

“Eddie! You sick bastard! You listened?!”

You go to smack his chest but he snatches your hand away, the darkness in his eyes only hinting at his intentions. 

“How can I not? You were so loud for that guy,” He almost looks jealous. Almost. 

“I-“

“Just begging for him to let you cum. Did you, sweetheart? Did you cum for that slimeball?”

Your mouth opens slightly, realizing his hand is still wrapped around your wrist. No ease in the tension around it, just white-knuckling it. 

“I don’t remember-“

“Those moans sounded too good to be true, princess. But what do I know,” He sits back against the counter again, pulling your body closer as he does, “You’ve never cum for me. Maybe you actually do sound like that.”

You really should not. You should just yank your arm away from him and mark this down as Eddie just being a perv again. But something inside you, the tension, the annoyance, the desire, is starting to burn a pit in your stomach.

“I can.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling your wrist and hand up to his shoulder so you rest it there. You grip onto his bare shoulder, while his arm snakes around your waist. 

“You can what?”

Your mouth goes dry, unsure if you can actually mutter the words. You usually had no filter with Eddie, but right now you felt like your voice completely cut out. He looks down at you, his head tilted in curiosity. “Say it, sweetheart. You can what?”

You grit your teeth, finally submitting. 

“I could cum for you.”

He arrogantly smirks, his fingers sneaking up under your shirt, “Yeah, princess? You wanna cum for me?”

Coming from his lips, it’s like melted butter. It seems so natural, his voice dropping as he speaks such absurd things to you. You smack your lips together, almost like you are contemplating giving in. But your mind is already made up. 

Before you can even give him a taste of his own medicine, your mind slips.

“If only you make me scream like those other girls.”

Fuck. Why did you say that?

His mouth only widens, shocked at the statement. “So you were listening to me, huh? You called me a sick bastard mere moments ago when you were doing the same thing!”

Your fingers pinch his earlobe, making him flinch a bit. “Eddie, you cannot help but be loud! Neither can they!”

Your defense is weak, but you try to sound convincing. 

“Well they are screaming for a reason, sweetheart.”

You dismiss the comment for a minute, really trying to mull this idea over. Would this cost you his friendship? Was it all really worth it? 

Your nails trail down and dig into his shoulder blade, warningly. “Do you seriously want to do this?”

He shrugs, casually, like this is the most normal conversation you two have ever had. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you in my bed for years. Seems like I just gotta get you all angry and hot for you to even think about it.”

The revelation deflates you a bit. You mentally slap yourself, thinking back to all the times Eddie has offered you ‘time’ with him in bed. You always took his passes as jokes, because that’s just Eddie. He’s never been serious a day in his life. 

You press your body into him more, your nose getting closer to his, “You’ve wanted this for years?”

He nudges your nose with his, playfully, “Don’t act all surprised.”

The tension is at an all time high. The moment your eyes drop to his lips, you cannot peel them away from them. You have been close to him like this before, but never with explicit intentions. Maybe just to tease him or pester him. One time to inspect a possible bug that flew into his eye. 

Eddie was your friend. Best friend. 

Why was he looking different?

He notes the way you are silent, observing the way his lips curl upward into a toothless grin. 

He shifts down, capturing your lips in a hesitant kiss, testing the waters. When the softness of his lips makes impact on your slightly dry lips, you feel self-conscious for a beat. 

That was until you felt Eddie’s other hand sneak around your waist and pull you even closer. It’s the quiet reassurance you did not even know you needed. 

You lean into it, practically falling into his chest completely. The kiss only progresses from there. Your hand cradles his neck as his hands sneak down from your waist to your ass. You had seen Eddie kiss before, but having it be done to you is a completely different experience. He’s hungry for it, but he’s also so tender and calculated with the movements. 

The groping turns into him leveraging you upward onto the countertop. He slots himself between your legs, feeling up your thighs as his tongue slips past your lips. He’s good at stimulating you in every way, your body riddled with goosebumps. You cannot help the groans leaving your throat.

“God, you’re so hot,” He grumbles between kisses. You giggle into his mouth which makes him shake his head and pull away. 

You hold his face close to yours, smiling up at his lust-blown eyes. “Never thought I’d hear you say that. Well… in this situation at least.”

“Can you just shush and let me make you feel good?” His lips trail down from your cheek peppering wet kisses to your neck, “Lemme make it up to you, sweetheart. Been a bad friend. Bad roommate.”

You roll your eyes for two reasons. One, he’s a dork. Two, his lips feel way too good on your throat.

“Make it up to me by being a good lover.”

He barks a laugh, almost too loud for the joke. “Oh, you want me to make love to you?”

“Can you just keep kissin’-”

His lips touch your collarbones and suddenly your body stiffens. You look down at his sinful expression, his lips dragging lower over your chest. His hand returns to the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging it over your head. Your ratty old sports bra was the least sexy thing you could be wearing, but Eddie eyes you like you are in lacey red lingerie with his name stitched into it. You take it upon yourself to peel the sweaty bra off, luckily the only scent you smell when you lift your arms is your antiperspirant.

“You are more perfect than I imagined,” Eddie mumbles, his hands reaching out to cup your boobs. His hands still adorned with his gaudy rings. Makes the sight even more breathtaking. 

You roll your eyes, not believing him, “You’ve seen me in a bathing-”

His head dips down, catching your nipple in his mouth. The action silences you and instead of continuing your nervous babbling, you moan out his name. He rolls your pebbled nipple between his teeth while hissing in satisfaction. You can not stop yourself from raking your fingers through his curls. 

He pulls away from your chest, pressing a quick kiss to your other tit, “I can’t do this if you continue to give me grief.”

The dig makes you blush. You were always awful when it came to dirty talk. Making it awkward was, unfortunately, your specialty. You nod sheepishly, untangling your fingers from his deep chocolate brown hair.

“I’ll shut up.”

He shakes his head, his lips finding the spot right below your ear. You can feel the smirk on his face, "No, don’t shut up. Just keep making those other pretty sounds for me, sweetheart.”

His thumbs hook around the elastic waistband of your shorts, tugging them down. You lift your hips, using his shoulders to balance yourself. You don’t expect him to have you completely naked on your kitchen counter, but the moment your underwear peel away from your cunt, you realize that the wetness between your legs is not just sweat. 

He pulls away from your neck to look at your bare body before him and the groan he lets out makes your pussy clench around nothing. His hand skips down your body, eventually groping your hips. 

“Eddie,” You hum, tilting his chin up so his eyes meet yours, “I’m very naked and you are not.”

He smiles wickedly, shaking his head, “‘Cause I ain’t fuckin’ you here, sweetheart. This is just a really good place for me to get on my knees and devour you.”

You swallow hard, watching him drop to one knee, making him eye level with your glistening cunt, “And look at how beautiful and wet she is for me. This all for me, sweet girl?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been wanting this for a while,” You admit, your eyes drooping to watch his mouth move across your inner thighs. You are a bit self-conscious, not having prepared your pussy for this kind of activity, but Eddie does not seem to mind. He admires you like a piece of art at a museum.

He flicks his tongue out of his mouth, unhurriedly moving up your slit. Once he has his first taste, that smile returns, “Mmm, there’s that confession I’ve been waiting for.”

Your mind draws a blank as he dives back in, pressing his tongue between your pussy lips. He has never looked so happy doing a task in his life, his beautifully straight teeth bared as his tongue swirls around your clit. His grip only tightens on your thighs ensuring you do not move them together. He needs you nice and wide open while he tongue fucks you. 

He becomes more eager with his movements the moment you try to brace yourself on the edge of the counter. His fingers hook down into your flesh, dragging you to the edge of the surface. He does not miss a beat while he suckles on your clit, wrapping his plump pink lips around it and slurping it like a straw. 

The knot in your stomach is tightening as you study his actions. Somehow it is like he knows your body better than you do. 

The instant he sinks his pointer and middle finger into your soaked cunt, it is game over. Your body reacts before your mind does, vibrating against his mouth and fingers. He does not slow down when you clench around him, instead, he increases his speed and ministrations. 

“Jesus, fuck, Eddie,” you whimper, surrendering to the climax. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting your mouth hang ajar as random moans escape you. Your nerve endings have never felt so electrified in your life. 

Once you feel a slight come down, Eddie comes back up for air. His lips are shiny with his own saliva and whatever escaped you when you came. 

You drop your head back, hitting the upper cabinet. 

“You didn’t even have to beg for the first one,” He grunts, getting back to his feet. He locks his arm around your knees and drags your upper half into his other arm, “But the second one, you have to ask for permission, ‘kay?”

His lips are pressed to your temple, kissing you gingerly. 

“You want me to beg, Eds?”

He chuckles darkly, carrying you princess-style across the house and to the living room. He could take you to bed, but he is not sure if that feels too intimate. You just want him inside you, not caring much where he decides to do it. 

You bounce on the worn-down couch as he drops you down, your bare ass immediately sticking to the leather. His discards his tank top and practically jumps on top of you, his hips resting between your legs. You greedily tug at his basketball shorts, begging to reveal the length behind the tented fabric. 

“Mmm, eager, are we?”

You had seen Eddie’s ass plenty of times. His shirtless frame. But never his dick. His tight pants left little to the imagination most times. But up close, pressed against your palm, you cannot help but gasp about how big he is. 

He grabs your wrist firmly, his curls dropping down his shoulders as he shakes his head, “Wanna hear you beg.”

It spills right out of your desperate mouth. “Please, Eddie.”

“Please what?”

“Let me see your cock,” Your eyes reflecting faux innocence, “Please?”

He cannot help but giggle, assisting you in getting his shorts down his tattooed legs. You had been next to him for the big one on his right thigh, an ode to his favorite Metallica album. You did not completely understand the concept, but the black ink littering his body only added to his appeal. 

His cock is even better than your mind had mocked up before. Long, slightly curved to the left, and not too thick that he may split you in half. 

You truly cannot fathom the fact that this is happening. He is willingly showing you his dick and smiling at you while you gawk. 

He is naked above you, and God is he breathtaking. The mop of curls, the broadness of his shoulders, his very slight tummy from all the beer he drinks, the works of art littering his pale skin.

Your eyes finally make their way back up to his, only to note the serious look he’s giving you. 

“What?”

His lips twitch, “Just can’t believe I finally get to do this. And that it’s real and it’s not all in my head.”

Your heart stutters. 

You lick your lips, searching every crevice of your mind for a response. He realizes that you are trying to muddle up a reply and that he has broken your brain temporarily. So instead of letting you counter his statement, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. 

He wastes no time after that, grabbing his dick and pushing it between your slick folds. You groan into his mouth, your pussy still very sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, holding his face close to yours. 

“Eddie-“

He pushes into you before you can say anything else, a hiss whistling between his clenched teeth. 

“God damn,” He throws his head back, shaking your hand away from his neck, “You’re fuckin’ tight, princess.”

The moan that leaves your throat is a whole octave lower than your actual voice. Eddie looks down at you, the widest smile painted across his face. You feel his hips inch closer and closer to you and you realize he is not fully inside you yet. 

You take a breath, trying to relax your muscles, “Please, please, please.”

He snaps his hips forward, a dark guttural chuckle taunting you. “There she is. Beggin’.”

Eddie had changed into a completely different person. Sure, he was always picking on you, but this was a stark contrast from your silly best friend. The man above you, slowly rocking his hips inside you, was feral. His confidence only burning brighter the more you whimper for him. 

“Please, faster.”

The wet squelching noise that emits between your bodies is borderline embarrassing. You had never heard such a sound with any other man. Eddie loves it, though. The idea that you were just gushing for him is enough to send him into overdrive. 

“Yeah? You want me to go faster,” He pushes your thighs apart, spreading you wider. He wants to look at how beautiful your pussy looks stuffed full of him. “Look at that.”

You shift yourself up on your elbows, looking down at the sight he cannot peel his eyes away from. “Jesus, I cannot believe…”

You drift off, watching Eddie slowly retreat back only to sharply snap forward. Your jaw goes slack as he drives himself into you, disappearing over and over again. 

Eddie‘s eyes are now on you, watching your tits jiggle every time his cock pierces your squishy walls. 

“You really needed this, huh, princess?”

You watch as he reaches down between your bodies, swiping your clit with his thumb.

Your eyes roll back, unable to hold yourself together, “I really did, oh my god.”

Your legs stiffen and Eddie’s hands loosen up, letting you squirm and adjust yourself. Your hips burn and your mind is mush. Eddie’s erratic movements against your swollen bud and his rapidly moving hips are overstimulating, you cannot help but lock your legs around him. 

“Yeah, I can fucking feel you clenching around me,” He babbles, licking his lips, “You just take my cock so well, don’t you? Just fuckin’ made for me.”

He does not stop talking as you grunt your response. You have never seen the man so driven to get something done in your life. He wants to cum, but he wants to feel you fall apart on him even more. His words are just pouring out of him.

“Yeah? You want me to make you mine, huh? Gonna make this pussy somethin’ only I can have.“

Your eyes fly open in shock, his words ringing in your ears. You feel his dick twitch inside you, hitting the same perfect spot over and over again. “Please, please.”

“Fuck, say it, baby. Say that you’re mine.”

He is so desperate, his usual calm, cool, collected voice faltering. 

“I’m yours, Eddie.”

His thumb presses hard down on your clit, causing your hips to shift upward. The nerve endings that were ablaze before are now imploding. 

The vibration of your body catches him off guard at first, so he locks his hands on your hips. You lurch your body into a crescent shape as he continues to chase his high. A final scream rips through your body, chanting his name. 

Every snap forward was another word slipping from his practically drooling mouth. He fucked his cum deep inside you, his words bouncing off the walls.

“Yes.” “The.” “Fuck.” “You.” “Are.”

Your body goes completely limp under him the moment your high dissipates. He is panting like he just ran 10 miles as he slowly drifts to his side, positioning his nude body between your body and the back couch cushions. When his cock leaves your cunt, he dribbles cum over your mound and lower tummy. You glance down at your body, completely blissed out. 

You have never felt more appreciated in your life.

He lays his head right on your shoulder, fanning your sweaty body with his warm breath. He does not say anything, just settles next you, throwing his arm over your midsection.

You swallow, trying to regain your composure. You thought after doing something like this with Eddie, you would feel some guilt. Regret, maybe. But none of those emotions spring up.

You felt relaxed and at peace. Like you walked off the edge of a cliff and instead of landing on a rocky bottom, you landed on a sea of fluffy pillows. It was a relief. 

Your eyes fall onto his lazily smirking face, “I did really need that.”

He hums his response at first, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I could tell. I can read you pretty well, huh?”

That’s the understatement of the century. He can read you perfectly. 

You start to reflect on every word that spilled from his lips during the entire interaction, and suddenly your stomach is in knots. You start to wonder if he really did feel those things, or if he was just lost in the moment. You almost don’t ask in fear that he will tell you something you didn’t want to hear. 

“Did you mean everything you said,” You press, your hand absentmindedly tucking some of his hair behind of his ear. His fingers dance across your flesh, eventually swirling around your collarbones.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He says it so simply. You wanted to believe it was that easy, but there is logistical things that needed to be discussed. Feelings and thoughts that needed further explanation. 

Eddie can see that your mind is racing. Your expression gives you away every time. His mouth slowly opens to further elaborate on his response, but before he can get out a word, there’s a pounding at your front door. 

It is so sudden and loud, you both sit up from the couch. 

“Mr. Munson! You left your hose on! There’s a drought-”

You tune out the rest of the rant from your elderly neighbor because Eddie starts chuckling and rubbing his eyes. He looks down at you as the rant starts to get louder, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips before grabbing his boxers off the floor. 

“You stay there, beautiful. I’ll deal with this.”

You do as he says, the bliss he left you in after the kiss enough to hold you over until he comes crawling back on top of you. He stumbles back into his boxers, going to the front door and cracking it so he can get eyes on your neighbor. 

“Yeah, my fault, Mr. O’Connell. Had to comfort my lady because she cut herself on the shovel. I’ll be right out to shut off that hose and save the rainforest or whatever.”

You hear a scoff from behind the door, the older gentleman taken off guard. “Oh, so she’s your lady now?”

You can hear the smile that spreads across his face. “Always has been, sir.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

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. 

“You have.”

[purgatoryxsilverstar]

The Ghosts of Hawkins Masterlist ♡

Feel free to ask to be on a tag list. 🫶🏻

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

Summary: You move to Hawkins, Indiana on a whim because you need to get out of your old town. Sure, you’ve heard the stories. You know they say it’s cursed. But it’s just a bunch of made up shit. Right?

Warnings: mentions of death, ghosts (obviously), reader enjoys basic pop music (sue me), if you get creeped out very easily… maybe don’t read this. I will add any other specific warnings before each chapter!

Chapter One: The Cursed Town

Chapter Two: Kismet

Chapter Three: Trick-or-Treat

Chapter Four: Ptolemaea

Chapter Five: Now at Peace — coming soon!

[80sfilmclub]

Can you do one where Eddie teaches the reader how to use a bong? And she gets all floaty and wants to make out fjfknhdjfh

hi love! yesyes i most certainly can! eddie'd be so so sweet heh. thanks for requesting! also, this isn't a manual on how to rip a bong, i tried to explain it as best as possible but it's been a minute since i used a bong lol!

requests are open!

"just relax." eddie chuckles as he sheds off his leather jacket at the far edge of the picnic blanket you both are laying on. the water laps lazily at the shoreline of lover's lake, just a few feet away from where you and eddie munson are laying out to enjoy the sun. between you two is his infamous black lunch box and in his hand is a sea-glass green bong.

you take a deep breath to try and loosen your shoulders. "i'm trying. isn't this the whole point?"

he chuckles and sets the bong aside with care. his movements are methodical; digs through his lunch box for a baggy, grinding the bud just enough before packing it into the bowl. “yeah, but you’re stressing me out.” he grins wolfishly at you as he digs a zippo lighter out of his pocket. “ever smoked from a bong before?”

you give him a shake of your head. “only from a joint.”

“that’s alright, i’ll teach you. hold it like i’m holding it—” he has a hand around the neck, the bowl facing outwards. “—and seal your lips inside the hole up here, inhale once you light the bowl. then pull the bowl out once the chamber’s filled up and take your hit.”

you blink once. twice.

“… okay, just watch me. when it’s your turn, i’ll do it all for you so all you gotta do is use those lips of yours,” he grins roguishly but you roll your eyes, ignoring the heat climbing up your cheeks. you watch him lift the bong up, his lips pressed to the mouthpiece as he lights up the bowl. smoke climbs up the chamber for a few seconds and with a deft hand, he tugs the bowl out to allow fresh air in. he inhales, holds it, and releases away from your face. a laziness seeps into his frame and he gives you a half-grin that has your poor little heart thundering.

“you ready for your turn, sweetheart?”

you nod and scoot closer on your knees. without him saying a thing, you settle between his legs, your back resting upon his chest. he chuckles, the noise reverberating around you, and wraps his long arms around you to hold the bong up to your lips.

“get ready,” he murmurs in your ear as you mimic the placement of his lips on the bong. with eddie holding the bong up for you, your hands rest uselessly on his thighs that are bracketing yours. he makes sure you have a seal on the mouthpiece before he lights up the bowl again. but in between you inhaling and him pulling the bowl out, something hits your throat the wrong way and you pull away with a dry cough.

his hand rubs your back with a playful cackle of a laugh. “aw, sweetheart. think you might’ve inhaled too quickly. here—” he hands you a water bottle which you readily chug. once your throat clears up, a knowing glint comes over his eyes and you raise a brow. “wanna shotgun? get you warmed up before you try again?”

you pause; you aren’t new at smoking weed, you’re just new with ripping a bong. but you find yourself nodding anyways, your gaze dropping down to his lips before he presses them back to the mouthpiece. he maintains eye contact for a second before he looks down, dark lashes fanning across his upper cheekbones. once he inhales, the bong is set aside before his finger and thumb grip your chin upwards.

you gasp at the sudden tug and he takes the chance to slot your lips together, blowing the smoke into your mouth. you inhale and the familiar, heady rush fills you up slowly. when eddie slowly breaks away, your eyes are still shut before they flutter open to see him watching you.

“mm…” you hum contentedly, boneless in his arms as he keeps an arm around your waist. “if you just wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just said so,” you giggle. he chuckles and brings the bong back up to you.

“ready to try again, sweetheart?”

you nod and let him hold the bong up for you. the process repeats and this time, you make sure not to inhale too quickly. it goes up smoothly now, the burn becoming something more pleasant and warm rather than raspy and dry from your first time. this rip hits deeper than taking it from a blunt, smoother and richer. it has you floating in eddie’s arms and you never wanna leave.

“kiss me, eddie?”

he looks down at you in surprise but his lips are parted, already eager for another test. “do you know what you’re asking for?”

you pout. “i’m high, not stupid. don’t you want to kiss me?” you wriggle in his arms until you’re straddling him, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. his hand holds the bong while the other drops lower to your waist, fingertips skimming your skin below the hem of your shirt.

“’course i fucking do,” he mutters as he closes the distance between your lips. it’s lazy and messy and slow, his tongue slowly sliding against yours in a way that makes your head spin faster than the weed ever could. at one point, he drops the bong to grip your frame, one hand dropping down to indulgently grope your levi-clad ass. it earns him a giggly moan as he glides his slick lips down your jaw, nipping and biting as he goes before he sucks a patch of skin. vessels break beneath the surface, bruising up the skin.

the rest of the afternoon goes by steadily, slow and syrupy sweet as you two exchange bruising kisses, only breaking apart to admire the art you had painted upon each other’s neck and collarbones. eventually, eddie sobers up first, guiding a giggly you into his van. he’d meant to drop you off home but he’d risk the wrath of your mother if you were returned high as hell.

so he takes you back to his trailer, the two of you crashing into his bed for a long needed nap. when you wake, you catch your reflection in the mirror and gasp in horror.

your neck is mottled with hickeys.

as you tug the covers off eddie to confront him, you’re met with a similar view, eddie adorned with matching lovebites.

“i’m never getting high with you again—”

eddie munson taglist : @took-me-hours-to-steal-those / @ali-r3n / @roostersgirl-001 / @luvstvrfyre / @eyesteary / @rainy-thoughts22 / + inbox me your user so i can add you to the eddie taglist !

[carolmunson]

let's go, don't wait | part three

the end, y'all. thanks for waiting a year and some change for this. there are scenes in here that've been planned since april of 2023.

inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead  series masterlist chapter summary: after two and a half successful dates, eddie's feeling pretty sure about your connection. but skeletons from his past rear their heads from the deep end, and some of your old wounds need some healing. fluff/angst/comfort. also, beach episode. cw: 18+ pls. smut (p in v, oral both receiving, blah blah blah). not full body mention but some insecurity for reader. reader does wear eddie's clothes but they're sleep clothes. miscommunication. some mild drinking and smoking.

Eddie stands tall on the diving block above the pool, looking down at his legs covered in hair, seeing the end of one of his tattoos peek out from the bottom of his trunks. He wiggles his toes, running a hand through his long hair. No longer eight, but thirty-two, standing on the diving block while the tinny metallic sounds of the YMCA pool echo around him. The chlorine and subtle must of the room wafts through him, over him, the sounds of the water moving while his swim lesson classmates slowly kick their legs back and forth plays in his ears.  But it’s not his classmates from the 90s. It’s his friends now; Gareth, Jeff, Steve, Robin, Alycia, Tati, Nance, Dustin, Lucas – the rest. They’re all watching him get ready to dive. Some look impatient, some look annoyed, some look curious at what he’ll do next.

“You can do it, kid!” Eddie hears Wayne’s gruff voice call from the seating overhead, “You can do it!”  He turns to see Wayne in his old Carhart jacket, at least ten years older than Eddie is and with not one thread out of place. Ed smiles and waves at him, a shot of confidence pumping through his chest at the sight of his uncle’s worn and weathered smile.  But there you are behind him and his confidence wavers. You smile shyly from your seat on the bench, waving small from your chest. Eddie blushes pink when he sees you sitting there, he doesn’t wanna belly flop if you’re watching.  “H-hi,” he calls out, waving back with an awkward toss of his arm. Your mouth says ‘Hi.’ back but he can’t hear you; the echoes of the pool becoming too loud for whatever you’re starting to say to him.

“What?” he calls out again, cupping his ear. His best friend classmates kick their legs faster, a rush of splashes drowning you out.  “You can do it!” he finally hears you encourage alongside Wayne, “Show me you can do it!” 

At the sound of the whistle he turns his attention back to the water, seeing Miss Tiffany’s bright red swimsuit straps on her shoulders. But Miss Tiffany’s head has been replaced; Chrissy stares back at him treading water with the whistle between her teeth.  “Ready, Freddie?” she asks, hand on the whistle again. Ice runs through him now, nerves, watching while Chrissy watches him. Suddenly he isn’t sure what the position to dive is, where to put his hands, how deep he should bend his knees. It’s been so long since he’s done this, since he’s had to prove himself like this in front of so many people – and now you’re watching too. 

“Uh-um…” he stutters, shuffling awkwardly, “Y-yeah one second.”  “C’mon Ed,” Chrissy says from the water, “You’re gonna get cold up there. Aren’t your feet cold?”  “What?” he asks from the block, another chill running through him. “Are you really not gonna dive, dude?” Steve asks from the edge of the pool, “I’ll dive again if you’re not gonna dive.”  “C’mon dude, just do it!” Gareth smiles, “She’s watching!”  “Uh…” he swallows hard, eyes darting from the water to the stands back to his feet on the white plastic of the block. 

“Ed,” Chrissy sighs, “Seriously? Don’t be boring. People are watching.”  “I’m not boring,” he bites back, “We weren’t boring.”  “Do you think you can really do it? You couldn’t do it for me,” Chrissy blows the whistle again, “Ed just dive. God, just grow up.”  Grow up… Eddie wakes up with a thumping heart; his throat tight with anxiety while he slowly turns onto his stomach. His room is still dark, the apartment a wash with silence with no light coming through the shades on his windows. Still night, still more time to dream.  And you were there, you were watching. Watching him waste time on the block instead of showing you what he can do. Watching him fumble over himself in front of Chrissy who can only feel more annoyed. How much longer were you open to waiting for him to jump? Was it already getting boring? Is the fun part over? He swallows hard in real life, letting a breath out through his nose while he tries to calm himself back to sleep. Eddie reaches for his phone with a flailing search under the covers and pillows; finding it wrapped in his sheets by his hips. His brown eyes squint into the light when he clicks the screen awake; four in the morning. Your name shines back at him in his text notifications, you messaged him two hours ago – he hates that you have so much trouble getting to sleep some nights. 

hey, i know you’re sleeping but i just wanted to let you know ahead of time that there’s a wrench in our sexy plans this weekend. i just got my period so i don’t think i can be very sexy. :( i’m sorry.

He doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a disappointed sigh that he’s glad you’re not around to hear. Getting older doesn’t mean the teenage boy in him that just wants to fuck isn’t disappointed to hear that there wasn’t going to be any fucking. 

This weekend was supposed to be different – you finally had a weekend where you weren’t on call for your boss. Eddie planned to spend every single moment of it in between your sheets so he could show you what he’d been thinking about since that first steamy phone call you had when you went to Arizona. And he knew you were thinking about it, too -- if your texts from last night had anything to say about it. Sending him Saweetie’s Back Seat on Spotify and Aaliyah’s Rock the Boat to give him an idea of where your head’s been since his own was between your legs. 

But he could only imagine it for now, both of your schedules not lining up again – either being too tired or not having time to settle in at each other’s places. Hiding away for a quick drink or two at the bar, kissing softly in the back where no one could see. Acting like two oversized kids who were trying to hide from their parents. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t spending his nights since Steve’s birthday playing the sound of your moans in his head over and over. Trying to remember the way your thighs quaked around his head, the way you gripped his hair, the way you tasted on his tongue. He can wait, he can totally wait.

Eddie wakes in the morning to the cool glow of a rainy day shining through his windows; feeling a giddy excitement reserved for 8th grade crushes on Valentine’s Day. Despite knowing that the weekend won’t be tossed in the throws of passion, he still spends at least forty five minutes in the bathroom, scooping body scrub out of Tati’s old tub of it when she got bored with the scent. In this life where Eddie always got someone's leftovers and hand-me-downs, these are by far his favorite ones.  His body is a new level of soft and smooth when he comes out, the closest shave of his face he’s ever gotten. As he spritzes his cologne, Tom Ford Ombre Leather, a gift from Steve, he looks himself over in the mirror before getting dressed. Two silver chains, small rings, a chain bracelet, skin nearly shimmering – tight black boxer briefs hugging his hips and upper thighs. He looks good. Hair waving perfectly, lips full and hydrated, lashes long and dark – he’d have a crush on him, too. 

Eddie stretches a bit, tugging on a pair of black chinos, still jingling with a layered wallet chain he forgot to remove before he washed them. He tucks the remainder into his back pocket when he hears his phone let off a ‘ding!’ on top of his dresser. He ignores it for a second, rifling through his closet for his favorite cut off tee that fits him just right. In his search he comes by a half empty box of condoms, boyishly sneaking two into his wallet with a snicker -- just in case. Eddie grunts when the phone dings again, walking over to see your name up on the screen. 

hey… His heart sinks, dream coming to reality – you’re gonna change your mind and say you don’t wanna see him anymore. You’re gonna tell him this was a mistake. You’re gonna tell him you don’t actually like him like that. You’re gonna tell him you have a crush on Steve. You’re gonna break his heart ten times over.

He lets out a breath or two to steady himself, fingers shaking while he texts you back.

what’s going on? you gotta work or something?

He watches while the bubble pops up of you typing back – disappearing and reappearing like you don’t know what to say. no, it’s not that. He sighs again, sweat forming on the back of his neck, heart thumping in his stomach. He never should’ve fucking dove, he never should’ve fucking kissed you outside the bar. He never should’ve bought you that fucking throw for your livingroom. what’s wrong? 

He watches the bubble start up again, dot-dot-dot, disappearing and reappearing. you didn’t respond to what i sent last night. i get it if you don’t wanna come over anymore.  He laughs, nervous release, running a hand over his face – he’s so fucking stupid. The release settles into guilt in his chest, you must be feeling as nervous as he is. He thinks about you waking up and seeing that he hadn't replied. Eddie chews on his lower lip while he types back.

oh no, no! i’m sorry. i saw your texts when i woke up in the middle of the night and forgot to respond. i’m not mad, you don’t have to be sorry. i still wanna come over.

is it okay if we don’t have sex? i just sort of feel like ass and like, tmi but it’s really heavy the first couple days why am i telling you this? wtf sorry

please stop being sorry, it’s okay if you want to just be by yourself that’s fine but i really would love to still come over, is that alright? i’d love to take care of you 

ew, you don’t need to take care of me

The speed that you send that makes him roll his eyes. He wonders if you know how clear it makes it that you want him so bad, how you're hoping he comes over and babies you the way you want him to.

i want to

🙄 gross, fine see you soon i guess key is behind the mailbox on the wall

He wastes no time getting in the Honda after he finishes getting dressed but a stir in his chest keeps him sitting in the driver’s seat while the car runs. As he holds the key to the ignition, Eddie takes pause. He swallows, a whisper of fear sitting in his heart – should he even like you this much? He knows you both said it, that you really like each other. But is this too much too fast? Is this too many cards on the table? He thinks to the dates before he met you where things fizzled out early. Maybe he should pull back a little, he doesn’t want you to get bored. He doesn’t want to be boring the way things started to feel boring with his ex-wife. He huffs, remembering his dream, Chrissy’s face in the water. Chrissy’s face while he helped her pack before she left. Chrissy’s face when she told him maybe they should start trying and he said maybe it was still too soon. Chrissy’s face when she told him she’d think it’d be better if they got a divorce.

He pulls in his cheeks, heart sinking while he thinks ahead to a fake memory he’s already convincing himself will happen. Imagining the day you pull away when he tries to hold you, the day he sees you in the morning and his heart doesn’t flutter. The day you tell him -- no matter how encouraging you'd been in the car, how interested you seemed in his life, how much you liked that he was so passionate about his friendships -- that he needed to grow up, too. What if he never grows up? What if he never dives again? 

He lets out a breath that still slightly steams in front of him in the cold air of early spring, giving his face a once over in the rearview before the car whirs to life. Megadeth’s We’ll Be Back jolts him back to the present moment, knowing that at least this weekend you really fucking like him and he really fucking likes you. 

“Hey Thumbelina,” he teases from the door frame of your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe with his overnight bag dangling off his shoulder. Your apartment is small and cozy, the radiator in the corner hissing quietly while your light curtains flutter in the breeze of your slightly open window.

“Hm?” you ask, looking up. Your sleepy face sends his heart hurtling, even more so when you make the connection of whose there – a smile breaking across your face. It makes his cheeks blush a boyish pink while he resists the urge to climb on top of you and smother your face in kisses. When you look at him and he looks at you, the fear he felt in the car feels like a false flag. The dream a reminder of hard feelings long past. When you're in front of him like this, nothing has ever felt more right in his whole life. He could get used to this.

“You’re laying down in the middle of a leaf,” he says, forehead tilting toward the monstera leaf print of your duvet while walking forward to sit at the end of our bed. He reaches out to grab your fuzzy sock covered foot and gives it a squeeze, “Like Thumbelina.” 

You roll your eyes and laugh, turning to your other side and looking at him. Your perfume or body spray wafts through the room, mixed with the scent of dryer sheets from your freshly washed bedding. It’s clear from the state of things that you spent most of your night last night making sure the place looked like it was never ever messy. 

“You look handsome,” you say softly, his blush reddens, “I feel ugly.” 

“You don’t look ugly. If you want, I can downgrade the ‘fit,” he offers, looking you over and smirking at your oversized men’s sweatpants and home-made cropped sleep shirt, “Want me to change? We can be twins.” You nod and laugh the way he likes, "Twins? You got a crop top in that bag?"

"Nah, I'm fresh out," he scrunches his nose, "It's at the cleaners."

"Lame," you shrug, "Well, m'sorry you gotta see me like this. I look like a troll."

“Trolls actually have a pretty high natural armour class so -- it's not the worst thing you can be,” he explains while opening his bag to grab his sleep clothes. "Oh, wow," you start, with a pitying voice, "You're like, really a nerd huh?" "They also can regenerate which like, for a monster of their type is pretty cool. Pretty great perception too -- which like, would make sense y'know considering their surroundings? Good for survival sk...I should stop," he turns pink when he sees your smile, lower lip tucking into your teeth to hold off a giggle. "I'm really cool," he says, "I swear." "I know," you nod with an assured look, laughing, "Go change."

He leans forward, running a hand over your back while he surveys your side tables. Eddie didn’t think the movies always had it right about the 'time of the month', but the litter of candy wrappers, snacks, Advil, and three different drinks made him stand corrected. He presses a kiss by your ear, murmuring a quiet reminder that he’ll be right back.

When he does, you’re back on your side, scrolling through videos on your phone, snuggled under the green throw blanket he bought you when you went on your Target date a few weeks ago. He apprehensively sits on the edge of the bed, watching you, teeth gleaming in a smile when you beckon him over with your hand. He molds to you expertly, knees curling in to tuck behind your own, arm snaking around your waist to pull your back to his chest.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You nod, sinking into him while your body relaxes. He swallows when your body pushes back a little, your hips wiggling in a way that brushes against him just the right way – and he’s not wearing pants that can hide what that might do to him anymore. When you settle, he does too, taking you in. Your body heat, the way you feel against him, how you smell. You smell so fucking good. How do you manage to smell so fucking good all the time? He could eat you and never feel full. “What’re we watching?” he asks, chin resting on top of your head. 

“The scoopability of this week’s slimes,” you laugh. He reaches over to push your hair slightly out of the way of his view. Your neck stretches when his fingertips graze it accidentally, a wave of goosebumps appearing on your arm in front of him. Your neck, huh? He thinks to himself, a subtle smirk flicking onto his lips. He knew from last time you had a spot, but learning the intricacies of you was even more exciting. Where did you really like to be touched? How did you like to be held? There was still so much more to learn, there was no chance he could ever get bored.

“What does that even mean?”

“They make slimes, they scoop them, they rate the scoop,” you shrug, “It doesn’t get any more complicated than that.”

“Uh, okay…cool,” he nods, it’s clear he has no idea what you’re talking about. He watches while the soothing music plays, an ice cream scoop goes through multiple multi-colored and different textured ‘slimes’ with a rating ‘1/10’ flashing on the top of the screen. Some are smooth, some crunchy, some full of weird little add ons that he doesn’t understand. You play one video after another on your phone, thumbing through them on Tiktok like this is a regular pastime for you.

“This is actually kind of nice,” he says after the third clip, “Soothing.”

“Right?” you reply, “I think this account is my favorite, but, I’m never really paying attention to whose videos they are – just that they’re pretty.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, hand slowly caressing the dip of your waist, “But also like, wouldn’t all those little glitters and stuff get stuck in your teeth?”

You pause, putting your phone down and turning your head to him slowly. He lets his hand slide further over your diaphragm while you turn to face him, your face contorted in confusion – you almost look concerned.

“I’m sorry…” you start with a furrowed brow, “Did you think they were edible?” 

“Are -- wait -- are they not?” he asks, genuinely bewildered. “It’s slime…” “Okay, well half of them have food names,” he shrugs, embarrassment building on his cheeks as he tries to explain, “Like, ‘mango peach slushie’, how am I supposed to think it’s not..that?”

“It’s not food,” you laugh, “Oh god, you’re so lucky you’re hot.” He gives you a little shove, laughing with you while you turn your whole body towards him under the blanket. Chest to chest. He breathes you in delicately, eyes coasting over your face in soft and sweet admiration.

“It’s sort of like silly putty.” “Oh, like, to play with,” he nods in understanding, noses nearly brushing when he peers into your eyes, "I'm really 0 for 2 today." “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s an easy mistake," your voice a calming rasp, pushing some hair out of his face,

Your fingers feel so soft against him that he shuts his eyes, trying as much as he can to savor the feeling of being so close to you. Finally a moment where he can hold you as close as he wants, kiss you as deep as he needs to, and there’s no bartender or bystander around to make either of you feel weird about it.

“I like that I’m here with you,” he says contentedly, “This is really nice.” 

“I like that you’re here with me, too,” you grin. His hand comes up from its place on your waist to slide to the back of your neck, thumb running back and forth slowly over the edge of your jaw. Eddie falters a bit when you relax into his touch, moving in closer to him. One of your legs hikes up, your plush thigh resting over his hip – he holds back a groan as you wrap yourself around him.

“Comfy?” he asks. His voice is gruff with the stretch of wrapping himself around you in return, nose tip to tip with yours.

You nod, hiding your face in his neck while he lays a short row of kisses by your ear where he can reach, “Good.”

You lay together like that for a couple of minutes in the cool dark of your room, semi-sheer curtains drawn on this cloudy day so you don’t feel so bad about not going outside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks into the quiet, “Please?”

“You can kiss me,” you nod with a giggle, “Always." Always.

As he leans in, lips ghosting against yours as a precursor for a deep needy kiss, Eddie’s phone buzzes and he turns to your snack-ridden side table to check it. An unknown number glows back at him up at the top of the screen, “Ah, shit...”

“What’s up?” you ask, pushing up on your arms to stretch out your back and sternum. He smiles at you while he gets up from off your bed.

“I ordered Indian food. You said you’re a saag paneer girl, right?” he asks with a tilt of his head before heading out of your room to the front door. 

You lay there with full bellies, clicking through to soulDecision’s Faded music video on your journey of ‘Weirdo Hits from the 90s/2000s’. Back in your snuggling positions, he can tell you feel safe with him, your eyelids heavy while your head lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I knew every word to this song,” you mumble, “I was like seven.” 

“Liquid Dreams is worse,” he barters, fingers running over the side of your head, just above your ear.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “I forgot about Liquid Dreams. That’s next.” 

You get through LFO and O-Town’s top hits, settling on Samantha Mumba’s ‘Gotta Tell You Tonight’ which bleeds into Mandy Moore’s ‘Candy’.

“Oh wow,” Eddie huffs a laugh, “Chris did this with her best friends for the talent show when we were super little. I think that’s when I started having a crush on her.” 

He feels your head tilt up to look at him and he looks down, “Who’s Chris?” 

“Oh,” he says, his chest deflates, “My um, that’s my ex-wife. Chrissy.” 

“Oh yeah, you said,” you nod, leaning up on your elbows. You flop to your stomach and stare up at him, the pad of his finger coming up to lazily tap you on the nose.

“I know you said things were like, okay – but do you guys still talk at all?” you ask, head dipping with an devilish smirk, “Or do we hate her? What’s the gossip?” 

Eddie lets out a hiss of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair from the temples upward, shaking his head, “Oh no, I don’t think I could ever hate her.”

“It’s not like she did anything wrong,” he explains, brows knitting together while he thinks about how to explain it, “We just wanted really different things. She really wanted to settle down and like, y’know, nest. She wanted to be a mom so bad and I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for a lot of things she wanted. In a way, we just sort of outgrew each other – but y’know, sometimes that happens.” 

“It’s funny,” he says with a slight smile, licking his lips, “I was so nervous about being on the apps thinking I was gonna see her profile – forgot she’s fully engaged. Like, I’ve met the guy.”

“Engaged?” you ask with your brows raised, “Scandalous. When did you guys divorce?”

“Pfff, hmm,” he thinks, puffing a breath of air from his cheeks, “We broke up and separated in September of 2020, divorce was filed – hmm, I think officially in January 2021? It was such a blur I can barely remember, we count our divorce as September at least.” 

“And when did she get engaged? Or meet this guy? Is he cool? Or is he like – lame?” you ask, rapid fire.

“Is this a soap opera to you?” he laughs. 

“It’s your lore,” you say, flipping onto your back, “And let’s be real, your lore is kind of soap opera-y.”

“What about your tragic lore, hm?” he presses, “When am I gonna get some of that?”

“We’ll get there one day,” you say with a tilt of your head, lips tucking in breifly. You welcome his arms when they circle around you, his weight shifting as he mimics your cuddling from before. His thigh slings over your hips, wrapping around you like a koala while his lips press against your cheek. 

“It’s gonna be hot next weekend,” he says, nose nuzzling at your temple, “Steve wants to get the crew together to go to the beach. Do you wanna come?” 

Your eyes flutter closed but you nod just the same. “Good,” he smirks, voice dropping to something a little husky, “You can wear that little red suit for me.” 

“Ew,” you let out before you can stop it, your giggles shaking you in his arms, “Perv.” “Yeah?” he smirks, leaning in to kiss just under your ear, “Even though you sent me all those pictures?”

Your eyes shut when he kisses you there, a tiny gasp leaving your lips when he does it a second time. His tongue flicks out, tip of it drawing a thin line from the top of your neck to the hinge of your jaw.

“Ed, I don’t wanna have sex,” you pout.

“I know,” he smiles into your cheek, “I just like teasin’ you.” 

“Well don’t,” you pout, gently shoving his face away from your cheek in faux frustration,  “So unfair.”

You ease up onto your side, leaning over back to your laptop to scroll through the recommended music videos until you land on Savage Garden’s Crash and Burn. “Oh, fuck me,” he laughs, “I don’t think I’ve heard this song since 1999.” “The music video used to freak me out when I was little,” you settle back into him when it starts and he welcomes the weight of you against him. “Yeah it’s kind of freaky for a kid,” he nods, arm wrapping around you while darkness begins to find home in your bedroom, “I mean look how fucking blue this guys eyes are – terrifying.” The sound of your laugh bubbles like the girls at Forest Hills used to sound in the summer. The room starts to darken as the sun goes down, leaving you both in a glow of your laptop screen. “You know, we could watch these in the living room on the TV,” you laugh, sitting up. Eddie pouts when you shift out of his hold, pulling you back down into him. “Yeah, but I like this,” he mumbles, “I wanna hold you like this.”  “Okay,” you snort, flipping back to your side to face him, “But you never told me about the guy she ended up with. Is he cool? Is he weird? Does he suck? When did she meet him?”

“You’re so annoying,” he teases with a shake of his head.

“So cute though, unfortunately,” you shrug, “So you have to tell me.” 

“It’s true, you’re so cute,” he nods, leaning in to offer you a soft kiss on your lips and forehead, “I guess I’ll tell you.”  

“She met Derek I think – errr – six months after we separated? One of those, ‘when you know, you know’ type of things – she even called to ask if it was okay if she went on a date with him.” “That’s kind of fucked up, rubbing salt in the wound,” you shrug. 

“No,” he shakes his head again, sitting up with his back against the wall, “You don’t know her, so like – it sounds fucked up, but she just wanted to be courteous about it. Didn’t want me finding out through the grapevine or whatever. Anyway, they got engaged last May.” “Is he a tool?” you ask again, face scrunching like you might already know.

“No, he’s – he’s very much her kind of guy now that I think about it,” he laughs, “They live in Denver now I think, used to be Chicago, super outdoorsy. He cycles professionally, I think – works in tech. She’s running a yoga studio out there while she gets her masters.” “In what?” 

“Art therapy,” he recounts softly, a gentleness in his tone, “She’s a really gifted painter, it helped her through a lot of shit. Got her undergrad in psych so – she’s always wanted to get her license. She’s just really meant to make people feel good about themselves and help them, I’m happy for her.”

“Okay, so she’s Mother Theresa,” you joke, “Can’t relate.” 

“Mother Theresa if you put some strawberry blonde hair on her and made her a cheerleader,” he laughs, pulling out his phone. He pulls up a few photos, one from prom, a few from after shows, one from early Covid, “This is her.” 

“Oh, wow…” you say wistfully, the glow of the screen lighting up your face. Chrissy’s face and body reflecting back in your eyes like a mirror, “She’s gorgeous.” 

“Yeah, can’t believe she was obsessed with a dork like me,” he teases himself, putting his phone back in his pocket, “I couldn’t believe I pulled someone like that – still can’t.” 

“Hm,” you nod. The room creeps darker with the laptop screen blanking out to sleep. If Eddie was really listening, he would’ve heard the tinge of something aching in your response.

“Do you um,” you start meekly, hesitating for a moment, “...do you still love her?” 

Eddie’s quiet, leaning to his side to turn one of your side table lamps on. 

“I’ll always love her,” he nods with a shrug, running his hands through his hair to make a makeshift ponytail before letting it go again, “She’ll always love me. But like, not in the way that we did when we were younger. We’ll just always have love for each other, I think.” 

“Yeah, cool,” you mumble, taking out your phone, “That’s a cool way to look at it.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie grins, reaching out to put a hand on your head. You move out of his touch, leaning forward to wake your laptop back up to let the next music video auto-play. Fat Joe’s What’s Luv ft. Ashanti  popping onto the screen. You both watch for a bit, still half on your phone and half keeping your eye on the screen. Eddie sees you open and close your texts, your thumbs typing rapidly before quickly closing the app again. 

“It’s so weird how many people were so vocal about how much they don’t go down on women,” you huff at the screen, “Like, that’s not something to brag about guys.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles, “What is it you said before? Oh yeah – can’t relate.” 

You still don’t turn back to face him, but he sees you nod and let out a breath, “That’s true.”  

He slides himself back down on the bed, getting close to you in the way he was before, molding  to your body with an arm around your waist. The soft lingering scent of your perfume still on your skin when he presses his face into the crook of your neck – but it’s not there for long. The bed shifts as you get up, stretching again, enough for your shirt to right up to see the underside of your breasts. A blush kicks up in his cheeks. 

“Dinner and a show?” he quirks, “Don’t spoil me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you squeak out at the end of a yawn, covering your chest, “I’ll be right back.” 

Eddie’s lips tug into a small frown when you make your way out of the room, surprised that you didn’t have a joke to throw back at him. He likes how easy it is to back and forth with you, he doesn’t think he knows anyone who’s as quick as him – not the way you are. He likes that you keep him on his toes like that. 

He checks his phone again in your absence, shooting his group chat with Tatianna and Gare with a regular check in. They left early this morning for a two week long trip to Aruba and he’s kept his phone on the loudest setting possible so he can be ready when he gets ‘the call’. They’ll come back as fiancés, but the only person who doesn’t know that is Tatianna. 

When you come back there’s a grimace on your face, “Um…look, I’m sorry but –” 

“Are you okay?” Eddie’s heart sinks. 

“No, eh, yeah but, I um – I just really don’t feel good,” you confess. 

“Can I get you something? You want some tea? Or I can run out and get ginger ale or –”

“No Ed, no I um…” you let out another long breath, “I think you should go.” 

“G-go?” he asks, sitting up straight on the bed, “Like, go home?” 

He watches you look him over, your shoulders sulking, “Yeah Eddie, you should go home.” 

“Oh…” he thinks for a minute before standing up, “Is it…did I do something?” 

“No, I just really don’t feel well,” you repeat, “I just want to go to bed.” 

“Okay, well, I can…I can go to bed, too,” he tries to bargain, “I can sleep on the couch if you – if you want the bed to yourself. I get it.” 

“Just go home,” you say with finality, not mean, not a yell – you just mean it, “Please.” 

“Um, alright,” his voice is drenched in confusion, brows furrowing while he packs up his overnight bag in the corner, “Y’know if I – If I fucked up you can just say something.” 

“You didn’t fuck up I just,” you deflate, crossing your arms protectively against your chest, “I wanna be alone.” 

“I understand,” he murmurs, heart thumping in his chest, sending disappointment coursing through him. He slings the bag over his shoulder, not even bothering to put on his jacket or change. Cautiously, he approaches you, looking into your eyes trying to find the answer as to why you're telling him to leave.

"Uh, I'll uh, I'll see you soon?" he asks hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe," you nod, avoiding his stare. He can hear the beginning of a cry starting in your throat.

"Can I kiss you goodbye?"

"Uh, yeah, fine."

Eddie leans in, cupping your cheek to kiss you but you barely kiss him back. Lips like rubber even as he pulls away.

It feels like he belly flopped. His eyes start to sting when you walk past him, crawling into your bed and pulling your computer onto your lap.

"Get home safe," you mumble out. "Thanks," he whispers, giving you a half hearted wave before heading out the door.

I don’t want to Miss Tiffany...Swimming sucks.

Eddie gets in the Honda and sits there for a moment in the dark, feeling his jaw tighten and his nose tingle. He rolls his shoulders, sniffling, trying to calm down but the feelings over take him, both hands coming down hard on his steering wheel.

"FUCK!" he shouts, smacking it again with a pained growl, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He feels sick knowing that you slipped through his fingers just as quickly as you fell into them. He should've seen this coming, he should've taken the dream from last night as prophecy. What's the point of making it to level 3 if you'll never make it to level 4? What's the point of diving if you're not watching? If he's gonna belly flop anyway? Eddie's breath comes in shudders, tears spilling over his dark lashes onto his cheeks. You're only about 30 feet away still, he can always just go back to your door. He can fix it like he did on your first date, he can just get out, he can do something.

Grow up...

The unease from his dream blooms black in his chest, Eddie looks at your bedroom window and watches the light snuff out through the curtains. His chest deflates, shoulders rounding while he turns the key in the ingition, car revving on, seatbelt light blinking while the 'ding, ding, ding,' to put in on rings in his ear.

With a final thick swallow, he sucks in his cheeks and bites down to stop himself from crying. Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair, wipes his eyes, looks himself over in the rearview. He wouldn't have a crush on this version of himself, he can't imagine you would either.

With a sigh, he tugs on the seatbelt, puts the car in drive, and pulls down the street. Feeling further away from you than when you were across the country -- different planets, a totally different universe.

In the late afternoon the next day Eddie checks his phone for the twelfth time in an hour. You still haven't texted or called, not even responding when he told you he got home okay. All you did was send a 'thumbs up'. With a quiet sigh through his nose he shoves his phone into his back pocket, pushing open the squeaking wooden doors to Calamity's -- a dive bar that Robin's been working at every Saturday for the last five years. Her sandy hair is tucked behind her ears while she pumps the shaker next to her head, chatting with Nancy who sits across from her on the bar.

At the squeak of the door they both turn to look at him, Robin's brows quirk, "What're you doing here, loverboy?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbles.

"You wanna drink about it first?" she offers.

He nods, climbing onto the stool next to Nancy and leaning on his elbows on the sticky counter top, "Hey Nance."

"Hey Ed," she says, hand reaching out to rub his forearm, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he nods, "I'll be fine, I just -- yeah, I'm fine."

His phone buzzes, immediately reaching for his back pocket only to see an Apple News notification and no sign of you. He checks your socials for any sign of life, but you haven't even posted anything.

Another sigh and he can't help himself, resolve weakening as stubborn as he'd like to be.

hey, haven't heard from you. you okay?

He puts his phone on airplane mode, going a step further to shove it into the inside zipper pocket of his beat up leather jacket and keeping it locked up. The less accessible the better, he couldn't become the guy that waits by the phone all night aching for you. Not the way he did last night, tossing and turning in bed wishing so badly that you were next to him.

'Should I feel this bad so soon?' Eddie thinks, 'We're not even dating and we're fighting? Is this even a fight? Would this be considered a fight?' He listens to the drone of their conversation, the bar is open but normally no one really shows up until the sun goes down -- at least on the weekend. Robin slides a Jack and Coke in front him, tossing a tiny straw in with flourish.

"Here, sad sack," she teases. "Thanks," he murmurs, toying with the straw, making his silver chain bracelet tinkle against the hardware of his jacket. "Rob, c'mon," Nancy urges, "Don't mess around." "What, I didn't call him a loser," she defends, shrugging, "He's being a sad sack. Right Ed? You're a sad sack?"

"I'm a sad sack," he nods, "Nailed it, babe." "Well, what happened?" she asks again, voice softer this time. She leans herself over the counter, resting her hand on her palm. Eddie matches her posture, lifting the drink with his other hand. "I'll tell you when I finish this," he offers, "Talk to me about literally anything else." "Well I thiiiiink I'm about to land this new creative lead gig," Robin tosses her hair, her violet amber perfume feathering off of it, "Do I love the idea of working for a start up? No. Is it remote and 68 thou a year? Yes."

"Sick," he nods through a mouthful of liquor, "That's awesome."

"Gives me time to still work on my art shit with Tati," she shrugs, sipping from her water bottle, "And we'll probably be able to afford studio space if I get it."

"She'll be thrilled, damn. First an engagement ring and then an art studio that's not her classroom? Everything's coming up Edwards," he smiles for the first time all day. "Wait, did he propose already? Did we miss it?" Nance blanches, clutching her chest. "So far no," he laughs, "I think he's gonna wait until next weekend so they have one full week away as engaged. They're gonna come back and tell me to pack my shit."

"Well, you can always sleep in the loft -- or y'know," Nancy shrugs, "Maybe things're looking really good with your new girl?" Eddie hums, about to open his mouth but the door bursts open hard on its loose hinges and with it, the grittiness of the old subwoofers blasting Lil' Wayne's Lollipop.

“Oh, shit that’s my sooooong,” Steve exclaims while he gets in the door. He walks in like he owns the place, Ray Bans covering his eyes while a strand of his coiffed chestnut hair falls onto his forehead. “Just like a refund, I make her bring that ass back, and she bring that ass back – because I like that,” he drawls along, opening his phone with a smirk while the song gets louder throughout the bar. 

“Shawty wanna thuuuuug, bottles in cluuuuub,” he goes on, walking forward toward Eddie whos chin his still in his palm. Eddie's face scrunches, not in the mood to play along, covering his ears when the bass speakers right above him start to vibrate.

"Turn it down, Steve!" Robin yells, but it's muffled against the beat. "Huh?" he cups his ear like he can't hear her, brows furrowing while he flicks his glasses up to push back his hair. "STEVE!" she shouts back. "What? I can't hear you?" he lies again, turning it up a touch more while he makes his way behind the bar. He snatches Robin's phone by the register before she can get to it to change the volume herself, laughing while he slips it into the pocket of his vest. 'Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya,' he mouths along, body rolling his way closer to her with every word, 'Call-Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya.'

The music cuts abruptly, Nancy now found by the stero with manicured nails lingering on the volume knob.

"I'm changing the fucking Spotify password, dingus," Robin snaps, "You can't do that every time you come here. I'm gonna get fired."

"Don't be such a bitch, Rob," he sours, tucking his sunglasses into the crew neck collar of his shirt, "Nobody's here."

"You're a bitch, Harrington," Robin snaps back. "The biggest bitch I know," Nancy adds, taking her seat back next to Eddie. Steve sits at the end of the bar on the other side of him. "What's the matter, sad sack?" Steve asks, cocking his head toward Eddie, "Mad that it wasn't the Framing Hanley version?"

"Aw, fuck off, dude," Eddie rolls his eyes before running his hand over his face, palm catching on his five o'clock shadow. "He hasn't told us yet," Robin explains, "We're waiting until he finishes his first drink."

Two Jack and Coke’s in, the conversation bumps to the potential art studio, to Nancy’s potential promotion, to Steve’s latest project at work. A few regulars have trickled in, using the TouchTunes to their advantage since Spotify ‘isn’t working tonight’ as per Robin’s punishment for Steve. 

It gives Eddie a good reprieve, he’s glad he went out – beats being home alone and sitting there wondering what happened in the dark. Beats typing it up to send to Tatianna and Gareth and asking what happened and then deleting it because he doesn’t want to bother them on vacation. Beats wondering what you’re doing and why you won’t respond to him. Beats the feeling of laying in bed and wishing he knew what you'd feel like next to him for another night. Beats wondering what he did to deserve potentially losing out on something that felt more right than ever. Beats wondering if maybe you're it and how now he might never know.

“Okay, well, I let you get through two Jack and Coke’s – you gotta spill now, brother,” Robin sighs, leaning back down in front of him on her forearms. 

“Oh yeah, weren’t you supposed to have your wet hot American weekend at her place? What’re you doing here?” Steve inquires, smirk pulling on his lips, “Performance issues?” 

“Steve, come on,” Nancy sighs, “Are you serious?” 

“Nah, nah it’s fine,” Eddie shakes his head, “He’s just coming from experience, right?"

“No um, I really don’t know,” Eddie shrugs, “I went to her house and y’know it’s her time of the month or whatever – so maybe th–” 

“I’m gonna stop that thought before you finish it,” Robin puts a finger up, pink lips pulling into a smile, “Once sec while I pour this guy a beer.” 

Eddie sheepishly takes another sip of his drink, feeling the dull weight of it in the front of his skull – not drunk, but if he’s not careful he won’t be able to drive home. 

“Okay, continue,” Robin says when she gets back. 

 He takes his time walking through the night, retracing his vocal steps, the emotional ones. He talks about the slime videos, getting Indian food, how you didn’t want to have sex. The music videos, the kisses, the way you wrapped yourself around him – how everything seemed fine, perfect even. He was so excited to sleep next to you, to make breakfast in the morning, maybe shower together – maybe fuck in the shower if you were into it. But not…not this, not whatever happened. 

“What did you guys talk about? Like, did she talk about her past or anything? Did she seem off? Did a subject come up that she seemed weird about?” Nancy presses. 

“Yeah, you’re not giving us anything, just like – the highlights. We need the play by play, Munson,” Robin gestures with her hands, now nursing her own beer. 

“I mean, we were watching music videos,” he shrugs, “And Chris came up but like, she knew I was married. She asked about the divorce and whatever, we talked about how she’s with her new guy in Colorado.” 

“And?” 

“And I don’t know?” he shrugs, heart starting to pound a little in his chest, “I mean I showed her a picture of her and like, sort of ragged on myself like – like how I couldn’t believe I pulled someone like Chrissy.”

“Oh dude,” Steve sighs, “Dude, you fuckin’ dumbass.” 

“What? How am I a dumbass?” he asks defensively, hands out, pleading. 

“Cause she’s not Chrissy,” Steve explains, “Like – god, come on. Imagine she showed you a picture of fuckin’ – I don’t know – Jon Bernthal? And was like ‘Yeah, can’t believe I pulled this hot, sexy, manly strong man. I guess you’ll do as a follow up after him.’” 

Eddie blanches, guilt forming a ball in his throat, “But that’s not…That’s not how I meant it. Like, she’s – you’ve seen her. She’s gorgeous. She doesn’t have to look like Chris.” 

“Yeah but, after you talked about her, did she seem all quiet after?” Robin asks, eyes flicking to him and then Steve. 

“Well…well yeah–” 

“See, told you,” Steve shrugs, “I might not have a girlfriend but I still know how ladies work–” 

“Okay, okay, enough from you,” Nancy waves him off, “Did anything else come up?” 

“She asked if I still loved her and I said yeah but like, not romantically. We just will always have love for each other – y’know? I mean, we were like – we were married,” he tries to explain, “Do you think – do you think she thinks I just wanna be with Chrissy?” 

Robin grimaces, sipping her beer. Steve gives him a half hearted cock of the head. 

“I think…” Nancy starts, voice of reason as present as ever, “I think she doesn’t know your history very well and you don’t know hers. It could be that things went left with her ex or she’s been hurt by stuff like this before. She might not have known how to talk about it to you – but I definitely think talking about Chrissy like she was some prize you had and now you’re settling had something to do with it.” 

“But that’s not what I’m doing!” Eddie urges, hand coming down on the bar counter, “I’m not settling! I wanna like – I wanna be with her. I only talked about Chris so much because she asked I – I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. And I asked! I asked if I did something or said something and she said it was fine.” 

“Girls always say it’s fine Eddie, come on, you’ve been divorced. You should know,” Steve says with gravitas, “That’s like, what all women who are actually upset say.” 

“I have an idea,” Robin says with a breath, “First, don’t listen to Steve. That’s obvious. Second, give it another day, send her a message saying something along the lines of ‘Hey, I think I might have said some things that didn’t come out right. I’d love to talk it out with you. When’re you free?’ and see where it goes.” 

“Maybe you guys can hash it out at the beach next weekend? You think she’ll still wanna come?” Nancy asks. 

“Maybe,” Eddie shrugs, moping now, “If she ever wants to see me again.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ed,” Robin rolls her eyes, sandy bangs tickling her lashes, “You just gotta give it a day or two.” 

He only has to give it until later that night, tucked into the couch with a slasher on to ease the ache of his broken heart. On the coffee table, his phone buzzes face down and with a shaky hand he reaches for it, not wanting to be too hopeful. But when your name lights up with a new message he feels his heart leap in his chest. 

i’m okay. thanks for checking in. 

He lets out a slow breath through an O in his lips. Eddie takes a beat, rings tapping against his phone case before he starts typing his response: 

look, idk what’s going through your mind but i really like you. i think i might’ve messed things up here. i’m happy to give you some space if you need but would you wanna talk about this soon? 

He stares at the message for a minute or two, heart pounding. There are so many ways you could respond. You could say no, or cuss him out, or tell him to fuck off. You could say you knew he was shit. You could, at the absolute worst, not even respond. He runs his hand over his face, covering his eyes while he presses send and tossing his phone onto the recliner across the room. Out of sight out of mind. 

If only for a few minutes when he hears the buzz against the leather. 

yeah, we can talk about it. work is kinda busy this week though.

He’d wait for you for months. 

would you still wanna come to the beach? steve said he’s still down to pick you up. 

yeah, i can still come to the beach

A grin sprawls across his lips, cheeks tight. He can still see you, he can still see you in that red suit. He can still talk to you. You still want to see him. It’s not totally ruined yet. 

He hesitates at first, but ultimately sends out the offer. 

tatianna and gare will still be away. if you want, you can stay the weekend at mine? maybe we can have a re-do.  He watches the three dots bubble in and out of the text conversation, watching as you type something and then delete. Type and delete. Type and delete. It’s only when he hears the tinkling of the standing lamp in the corner of the room that he realizes how hard he’s been bouncing his leg while he waits. 

i’ll think about it Well it’s not a no. It’s something. It’s a maybe. It’s a could be.

But if it ends up being a yes, he’ll make it better than what last weekend at yours could’ve been.

The week passed in a slow blur, Monday and Tuesday were a thousand years long – all of his students on his nerves when they caught on that he wasn’t on his phone as much. "Just take the L, Mr. E. You keep looking at your phone. She's obv not gonna text you." "Yeah Munson, you can't have a phone rule for us and then keep looking at yours." "You're giving negative aura points, Mr. E. Just admit you don't actually have any rizz."

He didn't know what any of them meant, but it didn't help the sting. Since Gareth was away there was no band practice on Wednesday, so instead he went to the studio by himself and plugged into the loudest amps he could. Shredding his frustration out through the strings until tears spilled as much as the melodies that leaked from the speakers. Being carried by the frustration that kept building from the way you haven't messaged him or called, from the fear of having to hurt the way he hurt three years ago all over again. From the way this couldn't be it.

By time he finished, his fingertips stung -- raw and red from hours of playing. It still didn't hurt has bad as the lump in his throat. As the dry phone in his pocket.

It’s Thursday afternoon when his phone finally pings and you ask what you should bring for the beach. Time speeds up again. He blinks and it’s Saturday morning, he blinks and he’s sitting behind Steve in his Escalade. He blinks and realizes he wishes he had more time to prepare himself for this, the prepare how to ask you to talk, to prepare for seeing you again after all this. All the rehearsals in his head had fallen away as they drive through your part of town.

“I LIKE A LONG HAIRED THICK REDBONE, OPEN UP HER LEGS, THEN FILET MIGNON THAT PUSSY.” “Oh my god, Steve please don’t say pussy like that.” The car rolls down your street, Robin in the front as always, and Nancy behind Robin. And sure, they could have picked up some of the younger crew but, in Steve’s words – ‘I’ve driven them around enough.’ EveryGirl in the World rumbles achingly loud through the speakers that he just got upgraded, making the leather vibrate under all of them. Lucky for Steve, none of the sound leaks through in your sleepy streets, lazy with the steamy haze of 7:30 in the morning. “I’mma get in an on that pussy, If she let me in, I’mma own that pussy.” “Steve,” Robin groans, “You’re so obnoxious. This is why nobody likes you!” “Everyone likes me – now come ‘ere let me dope you, You should be a dope fiend, your friend’s should call you Dopey. Tell ‘em keep my name out they mouth ‘cause they don’t know me.” “Do you think you sound cool when you rap?” she asks, pulling her sandy hair into a ponytail, “Look in the rearview, do you think you look cool?” Steve’s Ray Bans find the mirror, looking back at Eddie who grins at him while they ease into a stop in front of your place. “My sex game is stupid,” they both start, making Nancy laugh – Robin’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “You’re both so insufferable,” she groans, but a smile pulls at her soft pink lips.

“My head is the dumbest, I promise – I should be Hooked on Phonics, Hah, well anyway, I think you’re bionic.” “Stop!” Robin shouts, laughing now while Steve tips his sunglasses down his nose and Eddie leans over the seat. Both faces eager with faux sincerity while Nancy giggles in solidarity behind her. “And I don’t think you’re beautiful, I think you’re beyond it.” Steve grins, Eddie unbuckling to get out of the car to get you. “And I just wanna get behind it –” “STEVE!” “And watch you back it up and dump it back, back it up and dump it back…” Eddie looks at your house, a nervous thrum in his chest while he gets out. The last time he was here he watched as you turned your bedroom light out after making him leave. You didn’t even respond to his ‘excited to see you, tomorrow’ text last night. You just ‘hearted’ it. He gets to your door ringing the bell and waiting for you, feeling as sheepish and awkward as a kid on a first date. When you open the door he can hear his heart beat in his ears. "Hey," he says quietly, "G'morning." "Morning," you say back. You both smile tightly at each other and then both of your gazes reach the ground. Eddie thinks to lean in and reach for you but retracts, you still feel so far away from him. The familiarity from before -- from Barcade, from showing up at your house last week -- long gone. A stranger he's meeting for the first time. He wonders if the group can even sense it from the car.

“Can I get those for you?” he asks, seeing you hoist your beach bag over your shoulder, a mini cooler in your other hand. “No, it’s fine,” you wave him off as you walk through the door, shutting it behind you. He rolls his eyes, easing the bag off of your shoulder and the cooler out of your hand.

With how things feel, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up and ask if you packed to stay with him for the weekend. But the weight of your bags gives him a soft flutter of ease in his chest that he might get a chance to fix this afterall. "Go ahead and get in the car," he says softly, "Everyone's excited to see you."

He watches you get in while he settles your bags amongst the others in the trunk, everyone says their hellos and he begs for it to not be weird considering they all know what's going on. Nancy takes a cue to move to the bench seat further back so you can sit next to each other, Eddie offering her a grateful nod when he gets back in behind Steve. 

“Alright, so now that we’re all accounted for we’re playing a game,” Steve says, turning the music down, “One by one we’re gonna pick our songs of the summer from when we were kids. We're going summer mode.” 

“That’s cute,” Nancy smiles, “That’s a cute idea you have there, Steve.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, dropping his Raybans down his nose to look at her, “Only cute ideas from the cutest guy here.” 

“Alright, relax,” Eddie grumbles when Steve steps on the gas, arms crossing over his chest. You’re looking at your phone, probably checking to see what song you want to pick, but he wishes you were looking at him. Half of him wants to reach over and rest his hand on your thigh like you’re his, but right now he knows you’re not. He slides his phone out from his pocket, shooting you a text at an attempt to try and salvage the car ride.

hey. you look really pretty.

He watches you while you look at the notification banner pop up on the screen, a soft smile flickers across your face when you open it. Eddie’s phone buzzes in response.

thanks, you too.

And he does look pretty – black shorts and a cut off Hawkins, IN t-shirt from some time in the early 90s. Well worn but still starchy. His tattoos bounce off his skin, a thin little heart outline peeking out from the top of his jeans, wallet chain still shining and silver. He had his hair pulled back messy, bangs and tendrils still flowing in his face – but for the first time you get to really see the curves and slopes of his jaw line, the tension in his neck. He blushes, putting his arm on the back of your seat, close enough where he doesn’t think he’s pushing it. Sunny Came Home flows through the speakers of the car. 

“Pristine choice, Rob,” Eddie nods, “Damn.” 

“Right in the chest, right?” Robin scrunches her nose, “Like sitting in your mom’s back seat on the way home from the grocery store in July or something.” 

Steve’s pick is unsurprising, Nelly’s Ride Wit Me shaking the car while he pulls onto the highway. You skip over yourself, unsure at what to pick, passing the phone to Nancy behind you who settles on Sheryl Crowe’s Everyday Is A Winding Road. Eddie loves how easy it is for you to fit in, like you’ve always been a part of the group – screaming the lyrics with Nancy and Robin so loud that Steve opens his window to let the sound leak out. 

When Eddie get’s the phone he smirks, typing in his choice before passing it back to Steve who chuckles when he presses play. 

“Oh yes,” Robin laughs when the opening riff of Santana’s Smooth booms against the leather interior, “You would.”  “Of course I would,” Eddie grins, tossing you a look for your approval. You nod back at him, mouthing along with the lyrics, rolling and shimmying your shoulders to match Robin’s dancing in the front. He gulps silently, knowing that there’s still a conversation to be had. Do you always hide your disappointment like this? Are you over it? Are you okay? And if you are -- why does it feel like this? Like you don't want his attention? Like you don't want him to touch you? 'Cause it's all he can think about with you next to him, looking pretty the way that you do. Looking perfect. Feeling like an old sweatshirt he wants to be covered in. “It’s the same as the emotion that I get from you, You got the kind of lovin' that can be so smooth, yeah Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it.”  He doesn’t notice at first that his fingers twitch along with the chords when the solar starts. "Wait, tell her the story about Wayne banning this song from your life," Robin says, turning back towards the two of you behind her. "Banned from his life?" you ask in surprise, but your attention is on Robin, "Does he just really not like Rob Thomas?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, biting his lower lip before recounting why it's banned from ever playing at Forest Hills, “I was obsessed when I was little. Sat in my bedroom for weeks listening to it over and over so I could teach myself by ear. Wayne – my uncle – he told me I could never listen to it again. He threw my stereo out the window that summer, he was so pissed – so sick of it, and then got even more mad that he had to buy me a new one. But I had to promise to never play it again at his house for as long as he was alive. And no one else is allowed to play it at the park either.”

“Can you still do the solo?” you ask, eyes finally landing on him. His breath hitches when your eyes meet, mouth going dry.

“Oh yeah,” his voice cracks awkwardly, fingers still playing an air guitar on his lap, “Learned to play a lot of his stuff when I was a teenager. John Mayer too, if you can believe it.”  “Very toxic soft boy of you,” you tease.  “Listen sugar, it was a hit with the ladies,” his voice is soft, but still teasing -- desperate to recreate the banter you've had over the past few weeks. You get nervous, he can tell by the way your knee bounces and a flick of another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Sugar, he thinks, s’that all it takes? When you get the phone you make your pick, certain of it now. Steve nods in agreement when he presses play on Aaliyah’s Are You That Somebody?  “I knew I liked her,” Steve says, catching him in the rearview again, “She better be sticking around.”

Eddie is silently thankful for the encouragement.

The rest of the surrounding towns must’ve had a similar idea because the first half of the beach was full by the time you got there despite the early wake up. Steve’s SUV strolls down the expansive parking lot while It’s Gonna Be Me plays, the boys and Robin screlting along with the music – singing into the straws of their iced coffees.  The bridge hits near the end and he doesn’t want to be obnoxious but he does want to impress you so he hits the runs where he can.  ‘Don’t wanna lose it, but I’m not li-ii-ke that, When finally, finally, You get to lo-oo-ve, Guess what, guess what…’ Steve finally finds parking and you all hop out onto the asphalt, the sun already hot on your skin. The woosh of hot air hits his face, catching against the nervous sweat on his forehead and neck. Macho is as macho does, Eddie and Steve make their way to the trunk, taking all of the coolers and bags of beach games while leaving the chairs to the ladies. 

“We brought you an extra,” Eddie smiles, “In case you didn’t have one.”  “I brought you an extra,” Steve corrects, eyes falling on you from behind his Ray Bans, “You can thank me later, angel.” 

“You do not have to thank him,” Eddie scrunches his nose while you all walk to the wood planked entrance covered in sand. This area was at least less crowded but far from the bathrooms and food stalls by the front of the parking lot. He can feel your eyes on him, following the way his cut off shirt rides up revealing the end of a snake and sword tattoo off his side and oblique. Lingering on the top of his jeans, on the ways his biceps and forearms flex at every move of the load he’s holding. He swallows hard, suddenly so aware of himself and what he looks like – do you like it? Do you think he looks good? 

The blankets get placed and so do the chairs, Steve and Nancy expertly get the umbrella in – she reads the directions out loud and Steve does what she says as she says it. When everything is settled you kick off your sandals and put it by your canvas tote, taking out your sunglasses. Eddie sits on the blanket below you, watching you get yourself together. You reach for the bottom of your shirt, a tee from some time in your life when he didn’t know you. Eddie’s mouth falls open when you pull it up over your head; his tongue curls up in his mouth when he sees the soft arch in your back, the way your breasts press up against the edge of your suit. That red suit. 

He licks his lips absentmindedly, unable to look at you when you start taking your shorts off because if he watches the jiggle your ass and thighs he won’t be able to deal. He’s lucky he’s wearing aviators big enough to cover his saucer like eyes – embarrassed by the way his body react like some teenager reading a Playboy. He's a grown man for god's sakes.

“H-hey Rob,” his voice cracks awkwardly, “You uh, um, you wanna check out the water?” “Yeah, gimme one sec,” she calls out, tossing her hair up in a claw clip from her back pack. “That’s mine,” Nancy argues, “How long have you had that?!”  Robin shrugs, “Long enough that you didn’t miss it.”  “You do this every time you come over. You always steal something,” she huffs, Robin popping her gum between her teeth in response.

"It's a little something to remember you by, Nance," she shrugs with a smirk. “You wanna come?” he asks you, shrugging off his shorts and throwing his trunks over his boxer briefs.  “Not yet, want it to get a little hot before I check it out,” you explain, taking your sunscreen out.  He huffs a laugh, trying a hand at being flirty despite the distance he feels between you, “Well, to be honest sugar, you’re already lookin’ pretty h–”  “Don’t embarrass yourself,” Robin breathes, patting him on the back, “Let’s go.” 

He takes a look back at you smiling at you over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” “I’ll be here,” you wave him off while you start to spray your sunscreen on your arms. He turns back towards the water, crashing in waves and sliding up the shore. The sun kissed his skin over his crop, still not ready to take it off yet. 

“You gonna make it, Ed?” Robin asks, bumping her shoulder against his, "You're fumbling bad. She looks good."

“I just – fuck Rob,” he shakes his head, looking down at their feet while they step over shells and seaweed on the bank above the shore, “It feels ruined. Like she came to like, to check to see if she still likes me."  

“I don’t know what it is. It just doesn't feel easy like it was before,” he shrugs, “How I’m supposed to bring up last weekend or like, how to talk to her anymore.” “She seems totally fine,” Robin says with a look, “Maybe you’re just over thinking it.” “She seems totally fine with you guys but I don’t know – it feels like for me there’s a wall there. Like the insane connection we had before just doesn’t matter because I’m a dumbass. Maybe this should’ve just been a fling and after today we’ll just end it,” he rambles on, “Am I making sense?”  

“You are making sense,” she agrees, “But I don't think you ruined it. I think you're being kind of down on yourself about it and you're doing it on purpose." "What does that even mean?" he snaps. "It means, she wouldn't have come if she didn't want to work it out with you. Like, why would she come hang out for the day with your friends if she wasn't trying to make an effort to fix things?" "Well I mean--" "Not done," she says, putting her hand up, "And further, I think one little hint of something not going totally perfect makes you so afraid that you're gonna get hurt bad like with Chrissy. And it's clear that you really like this girl -- like, really like her. And that freaks you out, so you don't want to go through the motions of fixing it just in case things go left a second time."

“It doesn’t freak me out,” he shuts it down quickly but he knows she’s right, sighing when he considers it, “Maybe it does. Maybe it's scaring me that I'm already thinking about her like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“I dunno, like I wanna be with her. Like really with her,” he shrugs while they step into the foaming leftovers of a wave receding. The water is freezing, not yet warmed up from the heat of summer since the ninety degree weather is such a mid-spring surprise. 

“Fuck!” they both hiss in unison, stepping ankle deep into the water. 

“Be with her like…marry her?” she asks, crystal blue eyes squinting into the horizon, "You sure you're not simultaneously thinking too far ahead?"

“Maybe,” he says, pulling his hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out at the root. The curls at the base of his neck already starting to get tight and coiled with sweat. 

“I should probably start by being her boyfriend first,” he laughs. "You should probably start by working through this little snag first," she corrects, "You can be her boyfriend some other time." "Not all of us want a perpetual 'will they, won't they' relationship like two idiots in bikinis that I know," Eddie teases her, pulling his hair back up in the scrunchy he also stole from Nancy when they went to her house for a movie night. 

“Don’t let Wheeler see you with that,” she warns, reaching out for his hand while they turn back towards the sand. Eddie takes it, savoring the reassuring squeeze she offers in understanding. 

“What’s she gonna do, Buckley?” Eddie raises a brow, “Eat me out about it?” 

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” Robin snorts, letting go to give him a shove in the shoulder while sand kicks of from their heels. 

Back where the towels and beach blankets are set up, you’re on your stomach, leaning your head to one side in a conversation with Nancy that has you giggling with each other. He nudges Robin with his shoulder who nudges him back. He wonders if Robin feels the same way about Nancy as he feels about you. He wonders if Robin will ever tell her. 

“How’s the water?” Nance asks, propping her chin up on the heel of her hand. 

“Freezing,” Eddie grimaces, “Like, bone chilling.” “I’m not surprised,” you shrug, “It’s not real hot yet.” “Just fake hot?” he asks back. “Yeah, just fake hot,” you agree with a scrunch of your nose. Still quick. 

Nervously, he makes the commitment of pulling off the cut off tee he came in, never normally thinking much about his body until you were right there in front of him but lightyears away. Eddie didn’t think he looked bad, but compared to Steve’s tanned, defined chest and abs he thought maybe he left more to be desired. It had kind of always felt like that, he thought, even when he was married. He wanted to feel like someone worth bragging about, and by the end of his relationship with Chrissy – she wasn’t really doing much bragging. With the way he could feel your eyes on him earlier, he was more self conscious now than he had been in years. He folds it up the shity nice, tossing it down on the beach blanket by you before sitting down and fishing into his bag for some sun screen. He’s meticulous with it over his tattoos, standing back up to get the snake and sword on his oblique fully covered.  

“This is kind of cliche but would you be down to get my back?” he asks hopefully, turning toward you, “I can do yours.” 

“Steve did mine,” you reply, face quirking from behind your sunglasses. “Oh um, wow,” he tries to shake it off, but the comment stings.Thinking about Steve having his hands on you in this suit before he ever even got the chance. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure, “Nancy got my back, but I can do yours.”  He frowns, “Don’t joke like that, please.” 

You get quiet and nod, taking the sunscreen from him. “Sorry,” you say in a whisper. Miles away. He wants to apologize for your apology. 

You’re gentle when you rub the sunscreen onto his back, taking extra care of the ink on his shoulder blade flowing down and wrapping into the tattoos on his ribcage. You can tell by the depth of the ink that he takes good care of them, feeling him relax under your touch. Eddie leans his head to the side while you continue, seeing two girls making their way down the sandy banks just by where their crew was set up. They lay out their towels while awkwardly trying to get their umbrella in place – laughing while they keep getting it wrong. When you’re done with his back, he thanks you softly – happy to see that you settle back down next to him. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna take them to finally get it in?” you ask. If he was a stupid boy he’d say ‘That’s what she said’, but he’s not so–

“That’s what she said,” Steve jokes. Eddie turns to see that Steve’s lifted up his Raybans, enjoying the show as the girls dig and shove their umbrella into the sand – losing sight of one of their towels now blowing over in the wind. 

“Come the fuck on,” one of them groans, but they are laughing too hard to be mad, too hard to grip the umbrella tight enough. It’s not lost on Eddie that Steve is watching because the girl with the umbrella in her hands, with her black suit and cat eye sunglasses, is nearly bursting out of her bathing suit top with a cleavage that even makes his own eyes widen. 

“Be right back,” Steve says, getting up out of his beach chair.  “Don’t be embarrassing,” Robin begs, “Please.” Steve flips her off while he walks by her, taking a few more steps past the beach blankets and running a hand through his chestnut hair. 

“Ahoy ladies!” he calls out, “Need a hand?” 

“Ew,” Robin mumbles, “He’s so weird.” 

“He’s gonna come back with both of their numbers, just watch,” Nancy says, “Every time.” 

“Is he really that much of a ladies man?” you ask, “He’s kind of – I don’t know. He’s kind of goofy.” 

Eddie laughs hard, Nancy and Robin joining in. Hard belly laughs. Not because of just the question, but the way you asked it. The genuine curiosity, the admission of how you felt. It was the exact thing Steve needed to hear, a shame he wasn’t around to hear it. It’s here that he knows he needs to just bite the bullet and work things out because you’re so sweet. You’re so – you’re just so you. 

“Don’t worry, we don’t get it either,” Nancy laughs, wiping her eyes. 

“Ooh, I needed that, that was good,” Robin breathes, “But you’re right, he’s super goofy.” 

Steve had come back an hour later, putting together their entire set up and taking some time to sit and talk to him. Without fail, he sat back down in his beach chair with two new numbers in his phone; breaking into one of the Yeti coolers and pulling out the canned mixed drinks he packed en-masse. 

“Whose partaking?” he asks, holding one up. It’s only 11 AM but hot weekends are a means for day drinking, and if anyone needs to take the edge off it’s Eddie Munson. Between the awkward half smiles and some back and forth and the way his heart dips and leaps at any given moment while next to you, he’d take any relaxer he can get. 

You all grab a drink, and he watches fondly as you talk about beach reads with Nancy and Robin. Sitting in the sand while the three of you make semi sand castles with each of your cans in dug out cup holders. He admires the way the sun bounces off your shoulders and tries to not admire the way your suit rides up on your hips. He doesn’t want to fix things just on account of being horny. 

Eddie checks his phone for signs of life from Gareth and Tati – they sent a few photos from Flamingo Island. Tatianna feeding the birds while looking like a supermodel and Gareth keeping a distance from the birds while looking awkward and pale. Another, a live photo of a selfie of Tatianna glowing with the beach in the background. Eddie holds his thumb on the picture, letting it play to Gare reaching over from behind to kiss her on the cheek. He smiles, watching them be in love through the photos, eyes flicking from you to them. Wondering when you’ll both be next. 

Robin sparks a pre-roll and you all sneakily split it like kids hiding from the cops. When you pass it to him, your fingers brush, and he can’t help but flash a bright smile at you while he takes it. 

“Thanks, sugar,” he drops his voice purposely, watching as your posture changes – a fluster running through you. 

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, going back to your sand and conversation. 

Eddie pulls his notebook out, a hybrid for a DnD and lesson plan scrap paper for when he thinks of something fun to do that the board will say no to. He takes their no and does it anyway, it’s not like they check. 

He gets up from the beach blanket, opting to set up his chair under the umbrella to get a break from the sun and so he can see the paper in the bright light. Some time passes and he’s knee deep in planning a new campaign when from above the notepad you’d made your way back from the sand, settling back down. 

“I want fries so bad,” you complain. 

“There’s a stand at the end of the beach,” he offers. 

“I don’t want to go get fries,” you sigh, “I would like the fries to be here already.” He licks his lips nervously before closing the notebook over his thumb, “I’ll go with you.” 

You look up at him from your spot on the blanket and he looks down at you, both knowing that being alone together will only bring upon the inevitable. Maybe you both need to grow up. 

“Um,” you hesitate before nodding, “Yeah, yeah okay. Let me just get my shorts on.” 

Eddie puts his notebook away, grabbing his wallet and putting it into the pocket of his trunks before slipping his shoes back on. You throw on your shorts, sliding into your sandals reaching for your bag. 

“You don’t need your bag,” he says gently, “I got it for you.” 

You smile, it’s small, “Oh, well – thanks.” “C’mon,” he says, ticking his head back toward the planked walkway for an easy walk back up to the asphalt. As you walk ahead of him, Robin, Steve, and Nance all exchange glances knowingly. Robin offers him a thumbs up before he turns around, following you up the beach. 

Without the buffer of everyone else, the tension feels worse. He’s not sure whether to reach for you, but when you tuck your hands in your shorts pockets it becomes obvious that you don’t want him to hold your hand. 

“Weather’s pretty wild, huh?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Your shoulders bump while you keep walking, not continuing the conversation but muttering a soft apology when you collide. 

Eddie sighs, a little too audibly because your shoulders sulk a bit when he lets out the last of the breath. He can’t really take this anymore, biting his cheeks for resolve and guiding you over to the concrete barrier that separates the boardwalk from the beach. 

“Look,” he begins, voice shaking, “Before we get fries we – we really need to talk about the other night.” 

“I said it was fine,” you respond, but you don’t meet his eye. Your tone lacks energy, like you’re just trying to push it away; but he doesn’t want that. His rings clink against the concrete when he pats the top, “Sit.” 

When you oblige, he stands between your knees, “It’s not fine. You were really upset. I wanna talk about it.” 

“It’s stupid, it doesn’t matter,” you reply, your eyes landing on his shoulder, looking at the people walking past him, “I’ll get over it.” He tentatively puts a hand on your leg, letting his thumb run over your soft skin. A rush runs through him when you don’t pull away, soothingly running his hand back and forth.

“It matters to me,” he says, moving his head so he can catch your gaze. It’s clear now that whatever is part of your own tragic lore has a lot to do with how you approach stuff like this; how you don’t really want to tell him that he hurt your feelings. 

“Is it because of me talking about my ex?” he asks. 

You’re quiet for a few minutes and he’s patient, watching you mull over the night in your head and finding the courage to let the words out. His hand travels from your thigh to where your hand rests on the barrier, interlocking your fingers with his.  

“She’s just so pretty,” you say, voice strained with emotion – weak like you’re swallowing a cry, “And I don’t look like that.” 

“I don’t want you to look like that,” he says gently. 

“It’s not just that…it’s just – I –” you roll your eyes at your own ridiculousness, “I just…I’ve been the rebound a lot, before my ex. Always for people whose partner before looked like your ex-wife, and was perfect, and pretty, and graceful, and all of the nice things you said she was. And I’m sure she’s great, I really believe you.” He squeezes your hand with gentleness while you continue. 

“I just don’t want to like you this much just to be your rebound,” you confess, “And I know you said you like me and that what we’ve been doing so far has been so good, but that’s like – that’s how it always starts out. These guys will act like I’m so great for them just to y’know – toss me when they get what they need. And you just sort of went from talking about how amazing and caring she is to like – talking about my body.” 

His brows crinkle, a frown pulling on his lips, “Why didn’t you tell me I was making you feel like that when I asked?” 

“I didn’t want you to be mad,” you mumble, a crackle in your tone, “Or tell me I was being stupid or get defensive because I just…I didn’t want to ruin it. But I – I ruined it anyway.” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head, taking his sunglasses off, round eyes pleading to you, “Sweetheart you didn’t ruin it. I’m – I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me. I wouldn’t have been mad.” 

“I just really don’t wanna get hurt,” you plead, “I don’t want to waste my time.” “You’re not I – babe, I don’t wanna get hurt either,” he sighs, “But you’re not a rebound. It’s…it’s been three years since I even considered seeing someone seriously. That’s not what I’m looking for. I already told you that night after Barcade how much I like you.” 

“Yeah but people say a lot of things just to get laid,” you shrug. 

His chest deflates, “Is that really what you think of me?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Maybe we just don’t really know each other yet.” 

It dawns on him slowly, you don’t really know each other yet. He knows how he feels about you, and how it feels like he’s known you his whole life. But he doesn’t know your ins and outs and you don’t know his – there’s a patience and excitement about the idea of learning it all.

“I don’t just wanna sleep with you,” he says earnestly, “Hell I was – I was so nervous to kiss you at Little Spoon, and even after Steve’s birthday…I – I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. And when things went left y’know I just – I was waitin’ by the phone for you to say something. I didn’t wanna push because I figured maybe you needed a minute.” “But sugar, I really felt awful,” he continues, letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I really was scared that you just decided you were done with me.” 

“I don’t wanna be done with you,” you say through squished cheeks. 

“I don’t wanna be done with you, either,” he says, “Cause getting started has been really great so far.” 

“I still really like you,” you profess. 

“I’m kind of obsessed with you,” he laughs breathily. 

“Yeah, I know,” you laugh, almost a little teary, “I tell you all the time.” 

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” he asks, running his tongue over his lips. 

“Okay.” With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you into him, letting his nose brush your first before pressing his lips against yours – no longer rubbery and despondent in their response. He feels weightless, not even caring about the people walking by who might be staring when he slips his tongue into your mouth. Kissing you feels more right than ever. Kissing you feels like coming home. 

When he breaks away, breathless, his eyes coast over your features, “Shit…” 

“What?” 

“I just…I really fucking like you.” 

You lean forward to bless him with a kiss again, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be afraid to steal one from you whenever he wants now. 

You continued your talk on the remainder of the walk to get fries, explaining your insecurities that he quelled with each thought that passed your lips. He confessed to the tears in his Honda and how he didn’t mean to come off so in love when talking about Chrissy – just that she was important to him, and that part of him will love her in a fond way, always. You confess you have a few people like that in your life too, but you’ll talk about that in ‘another episode’. He lets you know you only have to talk about things when you’re ready. 

On the way back, you hold hands, Eddie holding the bag with your fries in the other. He presses kisses to your temple and cheek every few intervals – laughing at you when you stop at the sound of Return of the Mack to hit a groove. 

“Truthfully, this is one of my favorite songs of all time,” you tell him, “And I played it all week to try to make myself feel better.” 

“Did you dance like this in your house each time?” 

“I did.” 

“I’m sad I missed it, I could’ve used a laugh,” he teases. 

“You’re very cruel,” you concede, hip bumping him while you continue on, “You’d die to have me give you a lap dance.” 

His ears turn pink at the thought, “Heh, well um…well if you’re offering…”

“It’s on the table,” you shrug, giving his hand a squeeze. 

“It can be anywhere, sweetheart – table, chair, in space – you name it I —” 

He stops when he notices the way a guy looks at you as he walks by, eyes scanning from the top of your head down to your thighs. Eddie’s head tilts, following the guys vision even as you pass – the man getting a good look as your ass with abandon. 

“Hey,” Eddie snaps, a touch of pride swelling in his chest. The guy looks up and meets his eye. 

“Yeah, you,” he continues, holding eye contact with a furrowed brow, “See somethin’ you like, chief?” 

“Listen man, I’m not startin’ trouble here I was – I was just –” 

“You were just walkin’ the other way,” Eddie finishes for him, “Get fuckin’ lost.” 

You tuck your lips into your teeth, while Eddie guides you away, hand wrapping around you to slide from your waist to your ass with a firm squeeze before settling in your shorts back pocket. You turn to look at him while you walk and he shakes his head. 

“Don’ look at me like that,” he huffs a laugh, grinning slightly, “Look, this is my ass.” 

“Well, technically it’s my ass but um, y’know, whatever you say,” you respond, a little breathy. He remembers the way you mentioned tipsily at the bar that you liked that streak in him. And if anything this true now, after these conversations, he wants everyone to know you’re his. He’s not playing around. 

When you get back to the group there’s another set of blankets next to yours, and a collection of more friends that you remember from Steve’s party. 

“Oh, hey freaks,” Eddie chimes when they all say their cheery hellos to the both of you. He nods at Erica in respect, “Miss Applejack.” 

“Nerd,” she hums out, fishing out a Nerf howler from Steve’s bag to play with Max and Lucas. Steve, of course, is back over making a fool of himself by the girls from earlier while Nancy, Robin, Dustin play cards. Mike, who you haven’t met, is stuck in a book under the umbrella. 

“What’re you reading Wheeler?” Eddie asks, taking you hand in hand back to the blanket to sit down. 

“It’s called The Ethical Slut,” he murmurs, “Me and El are practicing Ethical Non Monogamy while she’s in LA with Will.” 

“Practicing what?” he asks through a mouthful of fry. 

“Ethical non-monogamy,” he sighs, peering over the pages, “My guys at Oberlin were telling me about it. It’s like, it’s like being open.” 

Eddie pulls a face and take the book out of his hand, hitting him in side of the head with it, “Don’t be fuckin’ weird, dude.” 

“It’s not – ugh it’s not weird, you’re just old and don’t get it,” he sighs. 

“You’re old and don’t get it, tool,” Eddie clicks his tongue, “This is why you’re both always fighting.” 

“Oh my god, we’re not always fighting we just–” “Alright twerps, meet my friends,” Steve says with a game show host smile, hands showing off the two girls from before. They introduce themselves, everyone going around to offer their names, too. 

“And over there is Lucas, Max, and Erica,” Steve says, pointing at the three closer to the edge of the shore. He motions for them to sit, offering them drinks from the coolers while they make themselves comfortable. 

“I think we should play never have I ever so we can all get to know each other,” Steve offers, sitting between the two women who giggle whenever he looks at them. Clear from the look on their faces that he definitely snuck one of Robin’s pre-rolls over to spark up before bringing them to the group. 

“No, Steve, we’re not playing that,” Eddie waves the suggestion off like a bad smell. 

“How come?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Cause we’re in our fuckin’ 30s, what is this, a high school beach party?” 

“You just don’t like it ‘cause you always lose,” Steve teases, catching your eye, “He’s a sore loser, angel.” 

“I believe this,” you nod. 

“Okay, well, I still said what I said,” Eddie huffs. 

“There’s no way, look, I’ll start with an easy one,” you offer, “Never have I ever um…spent a weekend in jail.” 

Eddie scowls with a gravelly sigh, bringing a beer to his lips. Steve barks a laugh, “See, I told you – sore loser.” 

Max, Lucas, and Erica come back to the blankets when they see the newcomers sitting with the group. Max tosses Robin and look and Eddie knows that means they’ll be double teaming to make sure Steve looks like a tool at every given moment. Lucas asks if it’s a round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ and everyone excitedly agrees except for Eddie whose stewing, and Mike whose chest deep in his book. 

“Okay, we don’t have to play,” you soothe, running your hand over his bicep, “But damn, you spent a weekend in jail?” 

“I have spent,” he sighs, taking another sip of beer, “A lot of weekends in jail, sweetheart.” 

“Like – for bad stuff?” 

“Like, for stupid shit,” he explains, “I was a dumb kid, it was all dumb shit. But yeah, I got a little record. Nothing crazy enough to keep me from teaching.” 

“Sooo mysterious,” you tease, laying down on your back while you snag a fry from the back, “Very bad boy of Dawson’s Creek.” 

“Mean,” he glares playfully, laying next to you, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know about you, then.” 

“Hmm,” you think, turning to look him over, “I am lifeguard and WSI certified.” 

“WSI?” 

“Water safety instructor,” you answer, “I teach swim lessons. Well used to.” 

“You know like, first aid and stuff?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod excitedly, “Like CPR and stuff.” 

“Hm,” he hums, leaning on his side, propping his head up, “Like you could give me mouth to mouth?” 

“Don’t be horny and gross,” you laugh, “I could save your life.” “It would save my life to have your mouth on my mouth, I promise,” he says with a hint of seriousness. 

“Tell me somethin’ else I don’t know about you, jailbird,” you prompt, matching his posture. 

“Ummm, ah!” he snaps, “I um, I speak Spanish.” Your brows furrow, “Like, fluently?” 

“Sí, con fluidez,” he smirks. 

“Show off,” you grin.

“Ooh, you think it’s hot, don’t you?” he laughs, “You think I’m so sexy.” 

“You’re somethin’,” you sigh, “How’d you get fluent in Spanish?” 

“I took it in high school and college,” he shrugs, “But I worked at a pretty authentic Colombian restaurant for like, five years while teaching before getting to the private school. I was in the kitchen and all the guys spoke Spanish so I sorta committed. And y’know, a lot of my kids’ parents speak Spanish so it’s helpful to be able to communicate with them too. I don’t wanna lose it, so I practice a lot.” 

“Look at you,” you encourage, “What else would surprise me?” 

“Oh I don’t know,” he shrugs, feeding you a fry, “Maybe – hmm – I love Sza.”  “The singer?” you ask through a mouthful. 

“Yes,” he nods, “She’s my celebrity pass I’m, wow, I love her. She’s so fine. But also, I dig her sound – Ctrl is one of my favorite albums of all time. We even do a cover of The Weekend at our sets sometimes.” 

“How does that work? Like, is it just a screamo version?” 

“Screamo? Don’t disrespect me like that,” he holds a hand to his chest over his silver chains, “We’re a metal band, baby.” “Sorry, please excuse me. Like, is it just a metal version?” you repeat back with a little bite. He rests the tip of his tongue by the sharp point of his canine when he smiles at you, flicking over your face before looking back into your eyes. 

“It’s kind of a Deftones-y version,” he shrugs. 

“Oh,” you nod, “Okay.” 

“What?” 

“Nothin’ just, would really like to hear that someday,” but there’s something in the way you say it, “Did you ever record it?” 

“Might’ve? Maybe just rehearsals,” he shrugs, “If we did, it’s somewhere on my hard drive.” “Well, maybe we can find it later.” “Later?” he asks, eyes glittering with excitement, “You’re – you’re gonna come over?” 

“Yeah, I – I packed a little extra just in case,” you giggle. He knew he was right, that feeling in his gut when he took your bag. He was gonna give you the re-do of a the century. 

“We’ll look for it when we get home and you can listen,” he promises. “It’d be cool to hear it live one day,” you suggest. He makes a note to put it back in rotation for the summer set list; even though they put the cover to bed some time last year. 

“You wanna see me play?” 

“Of course,” you nod, “You’re gonna be a famous rockstar, remember? We went over this.” 

“You’re right,” he nods back, leaning forward, tucking a fingertip under your chin, “I remember.” 

You both ignore the coos and aws from the group as he leans in to kiss you. 

‘After sun sleepy’ is what you called it in the car as the group of you piled in, the weight of the day heavy on your eyelids. Salt and sand coated both of you, a soft tinge of pink glowed off of Eddie’s shoulders where the sunscreen couldn’t hold out any longer. The ride home was less eventful than the ride there, everyone tuckered out and sun soaked from the day’s activities. Steve gave you both some parting teasing once you let him know he didn’t have to drop you off at your house once he pulled up in front of Eddie’s. 

“Use protection,” he calls out from the window. 

“Bye,” Eddie calls back out, “Don’t ever come back.” 

He’s much cooler about opening the door this time around, not speedily trying to get things done before the party made it back to his. No count down for when you had to leave. He has the rest of the night and all of tomorrow to have you to himself. This time he could take it slow, take his time, you could both relax. “I need to shower,” you mumble, slipping your sandals off in the entryway. “We can shower,” he nods, placing the beach bags down next to his Vans – he’ll deal with that later. You turn around on the balls of your feet, smirking while your arms fold across your chest. He tries to ignore the way your boobs push in and up, the top curve of tour cleavage  making him feel dumb. 

“We?” you ask. 

“Uhh,” he coughs to buy time, smirking to himself behind his hand, “I just – um – I don’t know. I don’t know why I said that. Why I said it like that.” 

You laugh, watching him sputter, “I think I know why you said it like that.” 

“Look,” he puts his hands up, “It may or may not have been something I’ve been thinking about at night when I’m trying to avoid grading papers. That’s all.” 

He guides you to the bathroom, stopping at the small closet down the hall to grab you both towels and washcloths; fresh from the dryer this morning. It’s when you’re both standing on the tile floor, water running, that he realizes what’s next and he’s…well, he’s nervous. 

He holds his breath while you take down your shorts, thumbs looping into the straps of your bathing suit to start pulling it down. He braces himself, watching some sand come down with the red fabric while you tug it further over your chest, down your stomach until it’s on the floor. Every inch of you available for him to see, and it doesn’t feel like the horny sexual guttural reveal he has imagined it to be. It feels different, eyes scanning over you, your decolletage, your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dimples in your skin just above your stomach. Your belly, your thighs, the smattering of cellulite where they meet, following all the way down to your toes. Eddie regards you like a painting, like something too sacred to touch. A tug pulls in his ribcage, butterflies in his stomach, throat getting tight where he almost wants to cry. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. So beautiful that it’s unfair. 

“Wow…” he whispers, delicate and subdued. A smile spreads across your face, so bright and genuine that he melts. 

“I’m guessing that’s a good wow,” you infer, pulling back the shower curtain to step in. He catches a glimpse at the back of you, sucking in a breath at the curve of your thighs and hips, meeting to prop up a butt cheek while one foot stays on the lip of the tub. 

“Yeah, yeah it’s um, it’s a really good wow,” he answers, albeit dumbly. 

“You coming in, too?” you ask, stepping fully behind the curtain. 

“Yep, yeah,” Eddie nods, hurrying back to himself only to feel the aching tension in his pants. He groans internally, humiliation bubbling in his belly like he got called on in class to come to the board. This was going to happen eventually, right? You were going to see it eventually? So why is it so weird thinking about being in the shower with you. You know he has one, it’s not weird, it’s not…a surprise. 

Just take your pants of, Munson, c’mon, he urges to himself. He awkwardly shimmies his trunks down, folding down the boxer briefs beneath them where sand had collected uncomfortably in side. 

Sand in my fucking ball sack and now I have to go stand in the shower with her? Are you kidding? he grumbles internally. His shirt gets pulled over his head and he’s face to face with himself in the mirror over the sink. A dusting of freckles forming on his shoulders in the soft pink of the mild sunburn, a little burn on the bridge of his nose. Tattoos vibrant against skin that just never seems to get enough sun. 

Eddie leaves his rings in Tatianna’s jewelry bowl that they started to share when Tatianna taught him that his jewelry will last longer if he stops showering with it on. As his silver chains drizzle in next to his rings, he takes a breath, turning toward the shower curtain where he can already smell his body wash wafting through the steam. 

“Did you start without me?” he asks, fingers taking in the fabric. 

“You’re taking forever, and I hate feeling sandy,” you respond. He steps in, the warm water hitting his toes, seeing yours where the suds hit to go down the train. When he looks up to see you, he gulps – not only naked, but naked and soapy. 

Jesus Christ, he sighs in his head. Any sense of calming down his cock had long since passed now. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, hand covering himself while he steps in.

“It’s okay,” you assure, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. Eddie’s cheeks redden when he watches you scan over him, a satisfied smile pulling your cheeks toward your eyes, “Hey, you.” 

“Hey,” he chokes out, the ease of talking to you and getting you flustered is suddenly harder than it’s ever been before. With a nervous step forward, he reaches for your hips, bruised and rough fingertips sliding over your skin from his assault on his guitar earlier this week. Eddie gulps when he steps fully behind you, his length pressing flat against him between the two of you with a friction that makes both get a hitch in your breath. 

He leans in to print a kiss on your shoulder, a waft of cedar, bergamot, and vetiver on your skin. Another kiss and he leans his forehead against it while you both stand in the stream of the water. 

“You are…” he trails off, taking a shuddering inhale, “You are so, so beautiful.” 

One hand stays on your hip while to other travels up to your waist, to just under your breasts. Slipping and sliding on the soap and water mixing on your skin with left over sunscreen to be washed down the drain. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, headiness deepening your voice. Neither of you move too quickly, letting him press kisses over you before finally kissing your lips to switch sides in the shower. He lathers up and you see it. Your brows raising in surprise while he lets the water soak his curls. 

“What?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

“You know what,” you laugh. 

“No, I don’t know what,” it’s a tease and he knows that, but it’s still fun to watch you get like this. 

“You weren’t lying when you said – when you y’know…” 

“When I said…?” 

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes, embarrassment evident on your face, “When you said it was big.” 

“Oh yeah,” he nods coolly, scrubbing shampoo into his hair, “Why would I lie about that?” 

And despite his half chill demeanor at the comment, he is fucking cheering so loud in his head that you think this about him and are saying it outloud. 

“Well don’t get a big head,” you joke, taking the remaining wash cloth from the edge of the tub and loading it with water and soap, “It’s more important that you know how to use it.” 

He tilts his head at you after rinsing out the shampoo, “Be honest, do I look like a guy that doesn’t know how to use it?” 

“Like I said before,” you reach forward with the washcloth, massaging it onto his shoulder, “We don’t know each other.” 

It’s the way you touch him and the mild scolding that makes his knees weak. You’re soft but deliberate, sudsing him up on his chest and back while he smooth conditioner in his hair. A muffled moan comes from his diaphragm when you ease the cloth over his lower belly, soap catching on the hair of his happy trail. Your eyes flick up at him mischievously, stepping closer to him to give him a kiss. Eddie sighs into it, letting the water pour down his back and rinse the conditioner out while he leans in rest a hand on your cheek, the other takes the wash cloth from you. 

“Do you not want me to do it?” you ask sheepishly. 

“I want you to do it way too much,” he smirks against your lips, quickly leaning down to get his legs and nether regions, “But thank you, you’re very sweet.” 

There’s plenty of hot water left, and it doesn’t go to waste. Both of you standing in the shower, soapy and fresh where you both feel safe enough to explore. His hands roam the expanse of you, trailing from the top of your neck down to your ass, cupping your breasts and with a gentle squeeze while you both gasp between kisses. His rigid length stays pressed between you, leaking pitifully while snuggly hugging your hip bone. 

You leave his kiss bitten mouth to nip at his jaw, down further to run your tongue from the base of his neck to the shell of his ear. Unable to hold back anymore, he whines. Needy and desperate, he does it again when your tongue flicks at his earlobe. 

“Mmm’god,” he breathes, slurring. He feels your smile against his skin when you go back to his neck, embarrassed at the reveal of his sensitive ears and jugular. Your tongue traces the tattoo on his right peck, some scratchy shitty demon head he got when he was sixteen from some older kid in his living room. Wayne would’ve made him sleep outside if it hadn’t gotten infected and needed attention. Eddie keeps meaning to get it covered, but by the way you’re kissing over it he thinks maybe he’ll keep it around. 

He twitches when you get to his ribs, a sharp inhale making him stand rigid while you move further down his body. Your hands rest on his stomach and glide to his thighs while you take your place on your knees in the cramped tub. His cock standing at attention straight out, reddening at the tip, in some way knowing there’s a girl staring right at it without his brain needing to send the signal. 

“This okay?” you ask, looking up at him with dew drops in your lashes. He nods, afraid that if he speaks he’ll just spill all over, one false move and he’ll end the night before it even began. 

You move slow, hands just under the swell of his butt. You bypass his erection and kiss his hip bone, then his pelvis. He shivers, hand gripping the shower curtain rod, white knuckling the ceramic coated metal while your breath coasts over his shaft. 

Your wet tongue runs flat from base to tip, making his eyes shut tight. 

“Shit,” he whimpers and you chuckle. He could just die, feeling the vibration of it on his head where your tongue stays. Your hand grips him gently, pumping him while you keep the top half in your mouth and against your lips. He cracks his eyes open to look down at you, mouth hanging open at the immediate eye contact he gets from you looking up at him. Mouth full and eager, wet and hot. 

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, free hand delicately resting on the back of your head. You continue your double duty for a few more stroke before dropping your hand. Your eye contact stops, determination in your brow when he feels your mouth and throat open up around him. Your head moving further down his shaft with skill – snug and tight. He thrusts forward slightly, moaning as you work with his hips. Eddie feels himself tighten, the heat in his belly growing to a steady and churning thrum. 

You like the challenge of getting him off and he can tell by how you keep going, down far enough that you gag and as much as he hates himself for it the sound sends him hurtling towards release. With a cruel bite to his inner cheek he holds back, but the sight of you with spit trailing from your mouth to his shaft does little to aid in settling him down. Almost pornographic. 

You wipe your mouth, reaching your hand out to stroke him again, but as your mouth leans in to start up he pulls his hips back.

“Baby, baby, wait stop–” he whines, moving away. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, putting your hands on your thighs. 

“I just..wow I –” he collects himself, offering his hand to help you stand up on the slippery tub floor, “I haven’t um – wow, I haven’t had my dick sucked in a – in a long time and I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna cum yet.” 

Your worry turns into a cocky and confident smirk, “Oh, was that where that was heading?” 

He takes another ragged breath to steady himself, “Don’t get slick, we got all night.” 

You kiss until the water turns cold. 

Two boxes of pizza sit open on the coffee table in front of the couch you’re both snuggled up in. Both of your bellies are full and eyes drowsy in the glow of the TV. The sun had made its way down and the weather cooled off considerably, the breeze from the windows keeping you both under blankets with your bodies wrapped around each other in a cozy post carb bliss. 

“This is honestly all I’ve wanted for weeks,” Eddie murmurs. 

“What is?” you ask, tilting your head up so the tip of your nose hits his cheek. 

“This,” he says softly, “Being all snuggled up on my couch with you.” “You’re so cheesy,” you tease. 

“Yeah, that’s something you should get to know about me,” he says into a kiss, “M’super cheesy.” 

“Huge tool,” you nod, another kiss. 

“It’s really bad,” he agrees, “I’m so annoying.” “So annoying,” you mumble, tongue striping his lower lip. He grants you access with ease, tongue dancing with yours while you maneuver your way onto his lap like you had after Steve’s party. 

“Snuggled up on my couch with no one to interrupt us,” he says, looking up at you with desperate eyes, “Right?” 

You bite your lip nervously, the confidence from the shower ebbing away even in the heat of the moment, “Right.” “Come with me,” he says, voice sweet and slow like molasses. Eddie eases you off his lap, taking your hand to bring you into his bedroom – which he scrubbed to sparkling the night before. At the foot of his bed he kisses your cheek, fingers running over the hem of your sleep shirt, no longer a sputtering idiot but smooth in his movements while he eases it off you. 

He leans down to kiss your neck, earning him a breathy sigh while your back arches into him. His thumbs tuck under the band of your sweats and panties, letting them fall to the floor by your feet – easing you on to your back on his comforter. 

He takes down his own sweats, half hard as he climbs onto the bed on his knees, kneeling between yours. Your arms come up to snake under his, wrapping around his back, hands landing on his traps. He relents leaning down on his forearms so you’re skin to skin, chest to chest. Your noses brush, Eddie using his to angle your face to him, pressing your foreheads together, the tops of your lips touching. 

“This is okay, right?” he asks, the warm white glow of the rope light on his far wall illuminating the frizz in his curls like a halo. It cradles your face, bouncing off your eyes that look so sweet at him. 

“I think if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be naked under you right now,” you say back, barely audible. 

“Right, right,” he chuckles, lips attaching to yours with needy hunger. He stiffens below the belt, groaning when your hips roll up to meet his, when your legs wrap around him. But he can’t just start like that, pushing up again onto his hands. 

“I gotta go down on your first,” he huffs. 

“I mean I’m not gonna say no,” you laugh, he laughs too. A pepper of pecks following from your lips and down your chest, he takes fond care of your nipples on the way down. Tongue and teeth gently nipping and licking while his fingers explore between your legs. 

“Eddie…” your breathy call of his name sends a shiver through him, feeling how wet you are already just from having him pressed up against you like this. 

“That feels good?” he asks tentatively, meeting his fingers between your thighs. 

“Mhm,” you sigh, back arching slightly while his face disappears and all that can be seen are the tops of his curls. He dips and swirls his tongue in all the ways you liked before, burying himself deeper the more you react. Each desperate cry spurring him on to continue, each pump of his fingers inside you making you clench around the digits. 

“You taste,” he starts, replacing his fingers with his tongue at your entrance for a bit before breaking to your inner thigh, “so, so good.” 

“Please do that again,” you whine, weak and pitiful. He obliges without hesitation, keening into your touch when you grip his hair at the crown. It stings but he likes it, it stings and he wonders how hard you can pull. When you start to get loud he lifts his head up, brows raised under his fluffy bangs. 

“Wow,” he smiles into a snicker, “Y’know, I got neighbors sweetheart.” 

“Oh my god,” you laugh shakily, covering your face, “M’sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says with a shake of his head, crawling back up your body. He moves your hands away, looking down at you, “You’re not fuckin’ with me, right?” 

You shake your head no, “I’m not fucking with you it’s — yeah, even better the second time.” 

He shrugs with a cheesey grin, “Well y’know I’m kinda—”

“Don’t be a dweeb,” you put two fingers to his lips, “Shut up and fuck me.” 

Eddie chokes on his words, “Oh, yes uh — yes ma’am, absolutely.” 

He nervously climbs over you to get to his side table drawer, the box of condoms he found last week sitting undisturbed. He rips the foil open with his teeth, taking his time to roll it on while you turn to your side to watch him. 

“It’s bad for your teeth to do that,” you note. 

“Is that your concern right now?” he asks, looking up from under his brow while he finishes the task. 

“I’m just saying,” you shrug. He motions you further up the bed, settling between your legs again, taking a chance to admire you below him. Soft curves and skin, legs pressed against your chest and splayed open for him, a peace offering after years of not getting it right. You were right. 

“You’re just saying?” he replies with the tilt of his head, smoothing back down to press himself against you, a bruising kiss in his wake, “S’that it? You were just saying?” 

“Mmmhmm,” your response is muffled against his lips, a low whine bubbling through your kiss as his tip catches between your legs. Neither of you take pause, his hips buck forward, still wrapped up in you and again until he feels it. The firm pressure of your core wrapped around him, sucking him in to the hilt. 

“Jeeesus Christ,” he groans in your ear, pressing his face into your neck. He can tell he’s stretching you out, feeling your nails dig into his back in a sting that feels just as delicious as you pulling his hair. 

“Oh my god,” a strangled moan leaks from your throat in a head voice. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, letting himself rock into you steadily, supporting himself on one arm and the other making it’s way behind your knee to keep you spread open. He pushes up a little, hair falling forward on one side, curtaining one side of your face. 

It’s more than he could’ve imagined, kicking himself for not getting it right in all the day dreams he had of this moment, you look serene. Brows slightly pinched, mouth open to let out all your little huffs and sounds. Your arms let go of him as he raises over you, laying back with your palms up toward the ceiling by your head. He watches as your breasts bounce on your chest, the gentle jiggle in your arms, the arch in your back. 

“Kiss me,” you breathe,aching, “Please.”

And how can he deny you when you ask like that? Maintaining his position he cranes his neck down to latch himself onto you, feeling your hands cup his face. Eddie grunts into the kiss, speed picking up while he chases the pleasure beating like a drum in his body, each lewd smack of skin against skin making him hungry for more. 

You moan wantonly into his mouth, making him moan in return, trying to find any angle and speed to make you keep making those sounds. Neighbors be damned. He pulls out to pull you by the thighs flush to him, pushing back in without a breath and you wail. He can feel your walls squeeze down on him, warm and tight, even tighter when he pushes your legs back up against your chest. From here, he can tell this position works for you – which is perfect because it’s working even better for him. 

“Sh-i-hi-hit, baby,” he grunts, sweat starting to sheen across your skin, “This good?” 

“Yeah.” He has to shut his eyes again, think of something bad so that he doesn’t bust at the sound of you whining like that. Like an amateur porn star who never fakes it. 

“Yeah?” he teases, snaking back down to kiss your neck. 

“Oh god…” you nearly blubber. 

He coasts his lips over you until landing at that spot that he found on his couch a couple weeks ago. The tip of his tongue teasing at first before letting his teeth graze it with his lips. 

“Oh! Oh fuck,” you yelp. He holds in a laugh, nipping and sucking on your neck while your hips meet his thrusts. 

“Oh god, fuck - fuck more,” you groan, voice ragged while he keeps the pace in his hips. Another bright sting accosts him when one of your hands drags down the expanse of his back from under his shoulder blade. 

With a growl he feels you cum, clamping down on him – but you’re so slick that it doesn’t deter his thrusts. You pulse, moans and cries peeling off into a high pitched whisper while he slows down inside of you before coming to a stop. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Y-yeah just…need a sec,” you sigh, “Need a breather.” 

“That’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands comfortingly over your thighs. 

“Are you having fun?” you ask between deep inhales. 

“Oh, I’m having a blast,” he confirms with a laugh, settling back on his calves while you collect yourself, “Are you?” 

“God,” you reply, exasperated, “I knew you were trouble.” “Doesn’t answer my question,” he says with a quirk of his lips. 

“I’m having a lot of fun,” you nod, a sleepiness pulling at your eyes, “Can I say something?” 

“Always.” 

“I thought you’d be a sex playlist kind of guy.” 

“Excuse me?” he asks. 

“You just gave me a ‘has a sex playlist’ vibe,” you shrug. 

“Why do you think that? What vibe?” Eddie’s tone falls under bewilderment, “Do you think I need music on so I can fuck?” 

“I don’t know, you’re a music teacher maybe that’s just your thing,” you laugh at his surprise and mild offense. 

“I don’t need a beat to know what I’m doing, babe, that’s just disrespectful,” he jokes. 

“I was a little surprised when you didn’t go to your stereo to be like ‘Let me just set the mood,’” you’re teasing him on purpose now, it makes his heart skip a beat. That quick mouth of yours coming back full force – he likes you like this. He could love you like this. 

“Set the mood? I’m not setting the mood enough for you, hm?” “You just have a very ‘let me play grunge while I get it on’ sort of energy going on–” “Listen, listen, enough,” he waves you off to shut you up, “Your break is up if you’re gonna use it to make fun-a-me, flip over.” 

“Flip over? Yeah?” you challenge. “Yeah,” he challenges back, gripping you at the hips, “Flip over.” 

Seeing you in an arch like this turns his brain to mush, ass in the air with hips that follow down into your waist and back out again. He smirks, readying himself behind you while his hand smooths over the swell of your hip. 

“I could get very used to this,” he murmurs to himself. 

“Nice view up there, Munson” you ask, cheek pressed up against his pillows. You wiggle your hips against him, tantalizing and slow. 

“Very, very nice,” he assures. He guides his still aching length to your entrance, and he can tell even half way in that this is a position that works for you. Already gripping the sheets next to you before his hips make it align with yours. He doesn’t let it deter him, backing up to give you a not so delicate thrust all the way into you. 

You let out a surprised huff. 

“See what happens when you make fun?” he coos. 

“I will make fun of you all the time if this is what I’m getting out of it,” you smirk. This playfulness is something he missed, feeling familiar, even in this position. He looks you over again, your body a stunning expanse infront of him – not afraid to do what he needs, not afraid to break you. 

Things with Chrissy had been fine, sure. But there felt like there was so much more possibility here, snug tight inside you. 

“Hmm, I’ll make a note of that,” he grits out, steadying himself before starting up a rhythm. He leans his head back with a desperate groan, fingertips sinking into the fat of your hips harder with every ‘plap! plap! plap!’ of his pelvis against your backside. The downside is not getting nearly as good of a view of your face, but if it saves the neighbors from ringing the bell he’s all for it. You’re loud enough with your face in the pillow. 

He sputters, hands moving from hips to waist when you bounce back against him. 

“Shit, doll,” he growls, watching your ass bounce in double time. Every meeting of his thrusts tugs on him quicker, his resolve faltering when you start to come undone under him again. He has no qualms with how easy it is to get you there, in fact, he makes a mental note to try to beat the high score every time. 

Your thighs and hips give way, pressing back down into the mattress where he follows. Eddie readjusts while you catch your breath, letting you lay flat on your belly with your legs together. 

“Stay like this, hm?” he says in a whisper in your ear, kissing your temple. 

“Hmm,” you respond, eyes fluttering closed. 

He settles over your thighs, reaching down to part your lips that are soaked and puffy with latent need. He’s close, and knowing he’s essentially fucked you to sleep is doing nothing but getting him closer. Pushing in slow, with your legs together, makes him shudder. You squeeze your thighs and while he can’t see you he knows you’re smirking to yourself. 

“Hmm, keep doin’ that for me,” he mumbles headily. 

“S’it feel good?” you ask. 

“S’real good, baby,” he murmurs back tightly, still quiet. The ends of his hair tickle your back while he leans forward over you, drilling you hard into the mattress. 

“Oh god, fuck,” he growls when you squeeze your thighs and walls again, “Fuck, baby, just like that.” 

He lets his breath run through his nose like a bull, groaning and grunting before an aching moans pools of out him – spilling into the condom while inside you. 

Pulling out, he takes a heaving breath, taking care of the condom and collapsing beside you. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs, looking at you with glassy eyes. 

“You gonna make it?” you ask with a raise of your brow. Body like dead weight, he wills himself closer to you, wrapping you up in his arms over the covers. 

“If not, that’s totally fine,” he says into your temple, “Dying right now would be totally fine.” 

“Well don’t,” you say back, “I’d prefer you didn’t.” 

“Okay, I won’t," his eyes close with the scent of you in his nose, lulling him to sleep. “Thanks," your sleeply reply vibrates against his chest where your face stay planted in comfort. “You’re welcome.” 

Eddie wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room, eyes peering open blearily to the sun pouring in from his window. He flicks his eyes over to you, seeing your bare back and steady breaths. Fast asleep. 

He eases out of bed, grabbing his boxers off the floor before making it to the living room on the balls of his feet so he doesn’t step too loudly. At the flip of his phone he’s assaulted with the reflection of himself on an incoming FaceTime call. He answers it, rubbing his eyes when a happy scream echoes through the speaker of his phone. 

“I’m a FIANCEEEEEE!” Tatianna screams from behind her hand, the rock on her finger front and center in the camera.

“Congratulations,” he sing songs, speaking low, “Hold on, hold it a little further away from the camera so I can see.” 

Tatianna flips the camera to show off her ring in the sunlight, Eddie’s heart flutters when it glitters and catches in the rays. She flips the camera back to her, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Did you know?” she asks. 

“Of course I knew,” he says matter of factly, “I’ve known for months. I helped make it happen.” 

“He did so good, Ed,” Tatianna smiles, “Sunrise? He really like – he knows me. That’s my husband! AHHHH!” 

Eddie laughs again but shushes himself, remembering you’re still asleep in the other room. 

“Why’re you being quiet? Oh shit – she’s there huh?” she grins. Gareth makes his way into frame, passing her a glass of champagne. 

“Yeah, guys, she’s here,” he nods, “And she’s sleeping. Otherwise I’d be screaming too.” 

“Sure there was plenty of screaming last night if she’s sleeping,” Gare nudges Tati who nudges him back. Eddie let’s them laugh at him because it would be even worse if they were actually there.

“Everything’s good though? Rob texted me saying things kind of went left but I didn’t want to bring it up if you didn’t bring it up to us,” she asks, sun gleaming off her skin and bright blue bikini top. 

“Everything’s good, we’ll talk about it when you come back,” he assures. 

“Well we don’t wanna interrupt, then,” Gare says, leaning in to kiss Tati on the cheek and then her lips, glossy with champagne. 

“It’s more like I don’t want to interrupt you,” Eddie says back, “I’ll call you later. Love you both.” “Love youuuu,” Tatianna calls back, “I’mma fianceeeee!” 

They cut the call with their mouths on each other and he’s sure he won’t hear back from them for at least a day. He’s glad it at least all went off without a hitch. 

Leaving his phone on the coffee table, he makes his way back to the bedroom where you’re wrapped up in his covers. Running a hand over your shoulder, he gently shakes you awake. 

“Hey pretty,” he coos when your eyes open, “Was gonna make some breakfast, if you want.” 

“Wassonthemenu?” you yawn out, stretching. 

“French toast,” he offers, “I’m kind of a connoisseur.” 

“Ooh that sounds good, I don’t think I’ve had french toast in years,” you say with your eyes closed. 

“Take your time,” he kisses your forehead, “Just meet me in the kitchen.” 

When you do, he’s cracking eggs. Your slow shuffle gets his attention, turning to look at you he sees you picked up his sweats and shirt by mistake. 

“Hello, good morning,” you say stiffly, “It appears I am dressed to impress.” 

“You certainly are,” he jokes back. 

“I’m happy to get some coffee together while you make breakfast,” you offer, “Just let me know where everything is.” 

He points out where you can get started but grabs the mugs for you, giving you a sweet kiss good morning while he does. You don’t talk much, just the sounds of him cooking and the coffee machine whirring while the town wakes up around you both outside. He tells you about the engagement and that they can call again later so you can congratulate them too. You of course, gave him a reproachful look for not waking her up to start with. You pour the coffee while he plates the toast, thick and crusted over with brown sugar and cinnamon. He sets the butter and maple syrup on the center of the kitchen table while you grab plates and silverware. The domesticity makes his heart ache, because with you, it feels like this could be your house together. With you, it feels like it’s a future where he doesn’t live with Tati and Gare, and he wakes up to you every day.  He swears he smells chlorine in the air. 

“You don’t like cream or sugar, right?” you ask, putting the mug in front of him while he sits at the table. 

“I don’t, but we have some. There’s milk and cream in the fridge door and I thiiiink some stevia packets in the cabinet with all the baking stuff. That one.” 

He points to the cabinet next to the stove and you snatch a couple like gold. He sips his cup while you prepare your coffee, giggling to yourself. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“It’s just, this outfit is not what I had in mind to be wearing in front of you after a night like that,” you laugh, “I thought maybe I’d have a sexy robe on or something and instead I just –” You take a sip from your mug, shaking your head, “I look like a teenage boy from ‘07 whose about to do a kick flip for the ladies.” 

Eddie barks a laugh into his coffee cup, “You do, you look just like that.” 

“I know,” you laugh back, “But then again, I’m in your clothes. So I guess it’s you who looks like a teenager from ‘07.” 

“I can do a kick flip,” he admits. “Yeah, I’m not surprised,” you say into your next sip. 

Eddie swears he can hear the rush of water while his classmates kick on the side of the pool, his own toes on the edge of the block. 

“You know who you look like, almost exactly?” he asks, putting his mug down and meeting you at the counter. “Who?” you ask with a smile. 

“You look just like Eddie Munson’s girlfriend,” he says, hand falling on your hip. 

“Yeah?” you reply, a little taken aback, “Just like her?” 

“Spitting image,” he nods. 

“You know, before I said that thing about looking like teenage boy, I was gonna say ‘Hey, you know something? I think I look just like Eddie Munson’s girlfriend,” you beam. Your response makes his heart race, such a goofball, so like him, so easy, so right. 

He cocks his head, peering at you, “Wait, I think – wait – are you…the lead guitar player’s girl? Eddie Mnson’s girlfriend?”

You smirk, falling into the bit with him, “Oh my god yeah, that’s me – can’t get you in the show though, sold out. He’s like, a totally famous rockstar now.”

“Ah, that’s okay,” Eddie shakes his head with a winning smile, hand splaying over your waist to pull you in, “I know someone in the band.” 

A coffee flavored kiss seals the deal. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears the shrill call of Miss Tiffany’s whistle. 

He nails the dive every time.

[icallhimjoey]

Yes please make ex husband Joe jealous 🥹 I’m waiting for the next part

your wish, my command, here you go (apologies in advance) (but also not really lol) ❤ Wordcount: 5.2K

---

Something Somehow Someday

part one - part two - part three - part four

You’ve not even left his flat before you receive a text from him.

“Sorry for rushing, talk later”

You get dressed quickly and efficiently, getting ready to leave his flat on your own. By yourself. No one to say goodbye to as you pull the door shut, which would be funny if it didn’t feel like a quiet act of violence.

Joe didn’t even want to see you out the door like a normal person after last night, and that’s fine, you don’t mind that you didn’t hover in a doorway for half an hour, but it’s just… like, come on, dude. A text? He couldn’t have woken you up to least maybe have that coffee together? Talk about what happened maybe? Gage the vibes?

Apparently not.

You think for a moment about what to send back, and it feels exactly like you’re lingering in the hall with your coat half on half off, so you decide to not.

You’re not going to text him back.

Joe can see that you’ve read the message, and that’s going to have to be good enough for now. That’s what he gets for making you wake to daylight and absence, to his bed being warm around you, but cold on Joe’s side.

Tough.

He can deal with it.

You ignore how you feel rage in your hands when you put your jeans back on because you can still feel his hands on you. You ignore how you can still hear him whisper back where you belong, the fucking audacity of this man, it makes you want to scream into a pillow until your throat gives out.

Instead, you focus on getting home as quickly as possible.

You don’t take anything with you.

Outside, the air is cold enough to wake you fully, and you walk home with your hands in your pockets and your jaw clenched, holding yourself together with sheer stubbornness and a quick pace.

Your phone buzzes while you’re halfway home.

Joe, again.

You see his name when you quickly check your phone.

“All good?”

You don’t reply.

Another buzz, barely a minute later.

“??”

You keep walking, shoulders pulling up as if bracing for impact, and your stomach tightens at the blue ticks you’re giving Joe. It’s silly how read-receipts almost feel like a pulse check, a little sign of proof of life. Joe’s using it as a digital tether he can tug on to see if you still like him.

You don’t.

You love him, still, which is maybe the most unlikable thing about you. Here’s a woman who loves her ex-husband still. Gross. It’s a hard sell. It’s outrageous that you got someone you could potentially spend a little more time with to feel the same way about you. You had told this new guy, “Sorry, I just got out of a marriage and it’s still on the forefront of my mind a lot, so I might be hard work.” And he’d simply said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

You could carefully like a new person whilst still desperately loving the old one, right? You think so. Hope so, anyway.

But, you don’t like Joe right now.

So, Joe can eat his blue ticks, and you won’t feed him anything else. At least for today.

By the time you’re home, there’s another message waiting, longer this time, like he’s tried to wrap padding around whatever he’s feeling so it doesn’t sound too raw.

“I didn’t mean to leave before you woke up”

“I remembered my call time and I panicked”

“Didn’t want to wake you up and make it weird”

“Should’ve just woken you up, I sound ridiculous”

“Hope you liked the coffee I made for you”

You think, here you go Joe, two blue ticks for every message. That’s all you want to give him, even though you catch your thumb hovering. You realise it wouldn’t take much to push you right over the edge of choosing softness. You could easily reply something neutral, it’s fine, I’m ok, no worries, because you know that would open the door a crack.

But no one is pushing you, thank fuck, and so you lock your phone instead.  

It takes about an hour before you receive another text.

“I’m not trying to make this weird”

“I just need to know you got home okay”

You hate how your chest softens at that, that your body responds to the shape of him giving a shit, even when it’s tangled up in cowardice. Joe’s just checking in, which is a lovely thing to do, but it’s also Joe’s way of apologising without saying he’s sorry. It’s how he admits he’s scared he did something wrong without owning up to anything.

You used to fall for it all the time. Accepted that that’s just what he was like and twisted it into something endearing about him. You would hold the weight of interpretation, would do all the work of translation, and decided which version of him he got to be inside of your head…

He’d text “Sorry, had a busy one. Miss you” after a day of unanswered texts from you, and you’d reply immediately, relief spilling into your thumbs as you typed, “You’re ok! Miss you too!” before you’d get left on read.

He’d have done his part.

He’d checked in, he’d said the thing, and you would swallow the rest so he wouldn’t have to carry it. That’s how it went most of the time. You made your feelings smaller so he could keep breathing.

But you would still stare at that read-receipt back then too, feeling ridiculous, stupidly needy and incredibly angry at yourself for wanting more than a sentence sent across a time zone.

Logically it should feel better to be the one not doing the texting, to be the one that reads and doesn’t reply. It doesn’t. It’s cruel how it all feels strangely similar. The road towards this heavy feeling was different, but it leads towards the same awful reality that you took to bed that night.

The next day, it doesn’t stop.

“Morning” Joe texts, testing if he gets to be a part of your day just by existing in it.

You make coffee.

You shower.

You head out of the door, head to the station, and go about your day with a level of competence that fools everyone around you into thinking you’re fine. You’re so good at it, you almost fool yourself too.

Just after lunch, another message comes through. You decide to take your time getting to it, to let it breathe before you open it, but then, when you go to actually read it...

This message was deleted

Your stomach drops and involuntary swoops. What the fuck? What did he send? What did he send and then read back and then decided, oh no whoops, you didn’t need to actually read that?

You stare at it for far too long, like the message might reveal itself if you squint hard enough.

Was it something vulnerable? Something mean? Something that would’ve forced you to respond?

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

What was that?

You don’t type it, but fucking hell, do you want to.

Ten minutes crawl by before you receive another text.

“Sorry, ignore that”

That night, another deleted bubble appears. It happens in the same way. Joe texts, you see your phone light up from across the room and take too long to get to it.

This message was deleted

You feel your jaw tighten, irritation mixing with concern because you can tell he’s spiralling. Maybe not in the dramatic, cinematic way, but in the way Joe always used to spiral before. Quieter, and more exhausting. He overthinks, second-guesses, reaches and then retracts. You’ve watched him do it before, not with texts, but with silence and pacing and the way he’d go still when he didn’t like what he was feeling. You’d say something nice, unoffensive, and Joe would take your gentle comment like an attack.

“I’m sad you have to leave again so soon.” you’d murmured into his chest as you lazed around in bed, and Joe’d gone quiet. Shut down, system overload. “Joe?” Fucking nothing. “I know you have to, just… just wish you didn’t.”

He’d come back with a cold, “What do you want me to do about it?”’

Like you were blaming him.

You’d blinked, stunned, heat rising in your face, because you’d been so careful, hadn’t you? You’d chosen your words like stepping stones, hoping not to fall. Just wanted to let your husband know that you appreciated having him close, in your bed, here, with you.

“I don’t want you to do anything,” you’d said. “Just sharing a thought, that’s all.”

Joe had sat up then, jaw working, and you’d watched him swallow everything he couldn’t say before he’d swung the covers off his lap and got out of bed.

“Don’t fucking do this, that’s so unfair of you,” he’d grumbled.

“Unfair?” you’d repeated, incredulous, watching him walk around the bed to the other side of the room. “I’m just… sharing a feeling? Am I not allowed to share feelings with my husband?”

And now you stare at his deleted message bubbles and feel the same old battle lines carved into your memory. Joe doesn’t want to feel responsible for how you feel, and you don’t want to be alone with your feelings inside of your own marriage.

But, you’re divorced now.

You no longer have to deal with this.

You lock your phone again, and you don’t reply, simply because you don’t have to.

On the third day, it stays suspiciously quiet until you’re just about to cook yourself some dinner.

“Are you actually just not going to talk to me?”

You put your phone down and force yourself to keep cutting vegetables, to keep your hands busy with a task that isn’t typing back. It’s the right thing to do. The right thing is often the thing that hurts, so this feels correct.

“I’m not asking to talk about it”

“I just want to know how you’re doing”

“Tell me what you’re up to”

It takes about three minutes before those last four messages disappear.

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

And then, a second later,

“That sounded controlling”

“Sorry”

“I’m not doing great with this”

It’s the closest he’s gotten to saying anything honest, and honesty was always your weakness with him. You’d forgive too fast, you’d soften too quickly. You’d fall for a trick where he’d ask you to show him your hands and he’d take you home to massage your shoulders.

The urge to text back is bigger than ever before, but still. You don’t. It takes a lot, and you hate how you can feel tears prick behind your eyes, but you don’t, and that has to count for something.

You’ve not texted him back once.

It catches up to you the next day, late at night. Joe hasn’t sent anything all day, and suddenly, that rubs you wrong. You’ve noticed how all day long you’ve checked your phone a lot more than usual, thumb flicking across the screen in muscle memory.

You tell yourself it’s just habit.

It’s a lie.

You tell yourself you just want to make sure that, if Joe truly starts crashing out, that you don’t miss it. That you can call and tell him, Joe, darling, what’s going on?

That’s also a lie.

You don’t like that it feels like he’s withdrawing when you’re the one who’s been quietly pulling away this time. You don’t like that he’s taking back the little proof of desire you’d been pretending you didn’t need from him.

The hypocrisy of it makes you want to throw your phone across the room and then run after it because, what if it buzzes?

It’s past midnight when your phone lights up on your bedside table.

“The least you could do is tell me if you’re all right”

“And ask me if I am”

Both messages get two blue ticks from you. You’re both online.

Joe’s typing.

Then he stops.

Maybe he waits for you to type, but you don’t.

He starts typing again, and then,

“I’m not”

“I’m trying really hard not to spiral here”

You think he already is.

“I miss you”

For a moment, you really consider just giving him a ring. Being the bigger person, the adult in the room, and just check in with him because, you do care, still. And Joe’s allowed to know that you do. He’s just not allowed to expect it anymore. You caring about him shouldn’t be a normal part of his day anymore.

“Did I fuck this up?”

“Because it feels like I did”

You get out of bed and take a few steps around the room, because if you’re going to call him, you can’t be all tucked up and cosy. But when you pick up your phone, you’re greeted with some changes. Again.

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

This message was deleted

In the time you weren’t looking at the screen, Joe’s sent a couple more messages and then deleted all of them before you had the chance to read them.

You audibly sigh at how obvious it is that this man is going through it.

You decide to give him something more than blue ticks, type out a short message, change your mind about fifteen times, but then send it anyway.

“miss you too”

The ticks stay grey, and then it takes ages for you to fall asleep.

When you wake up, the first thing you do is check your phone. There’s a few messages, unfortunately none from Joe, but from someone else, asking if you want to join him for drinks that evening.

The weird ache in your chest caused by guilt and… what is it, craving? You’re not sure, but it immediately makes you want to turn the offer down. Send back a text saying, “thank you but I don’t think I should, I’ve been ignoring my ex-husband all week and I’m weirdly upset about it” or maybe a more sensible “Sorry can’t I’ve got plans maybe another time”.

But then you see your message to Joe still hasn’t been read by him, and you think, maybe it’s time to prove to yourself that you can move on. Maybe it’s time to prove you’re not going to spend the rest of your life orbiting a man who can’t hold you when you want him to, but only when he wants to.

“hey! good morning! would love to”

Not a stranger, not a first date, someone safe enough that you’d already told them lightly about the situation you’re in, and he’d respected that. Kept it easy, kept it slow, kept his hands to himself the way decent men do when they’re told to.

He replies fast.

“lovely! I’ll take you to some nice places, ok?”

“can you be central around 7?”

You’ve already said yes, but saying it again feels final.

“sounds good”

You’re going on a date, it’s set in stone now. With someone who texts back immediately but also doesn’t randomly ring you without explanation. It’s a shame you don’t take it that seriously, the contact you’re having with this man. It’s a shame it doesn’t feel like the planets are aligning with this one, that it doesn’t feel like everything suddenly falls into place and makes sense… But. It’s fine. It’s okay. You’ll have fun.

When you receive a text with the exact location to meet him at, your stomach drops a little.

It’ll probably be fine, but that’s… that’s familiar territory.

You could tell him.

Make him take you some place else.

But, for whatever reason, you don’t, and that evening, you meet him outside a place you’ve been to many times before.

It’s warm and loud inside, kind of busy, most of the seats taken. The lights are low enough to blur the edges, and the music just loud enough to make you lean closer to hear people. This means everyone’s bodies are always nearer than they should be, and it’s why the light touch to your side makes sense when he leans to speak into your ear. This is the point of a bar, you think, and it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“I’ll go get you a drink, you see if you can find somewhere to sit.”

A scary task.

“All right.”

But you’re not incapable.

You walk further into the bar, coat still on, pushing past people, and your eyes flick to parts of the room where Joe tends to… exist. Your body runs a scan without your permission, to tables where you have sat before, where his hand would wrap around your leg, tips of fingers pressing into your inner thigh, and where his eyes would lose focus as he’d stare at you all night.

There’s no free tables.

No free seats.

You’re about to turn back around, have been on your own for maybe twenty seconds, but then something stops you. You feel it before you’ve seen it, your body recognising something before your eyes have fully caught up.

It’s crazy that you know you’re about to feel Joe’s hands on you a fraction of a second before you feel them.

There he is.

“Are you aware,” Joe slurs into your ear, both hands on your hips as he stands behind you. “Of how insane you look?”

He’s tipsy. Maybe more than tipsy.

You lean sideways to look over your shoulder before you turn around. He looks flushed at the cheeks, hair slightly mussed like he’s run his hands through too many times, and he’s got his jacket still on. Before you get the chance to move away, Joe’s hugging you. His arms lock around your sides and he squeezes you close, pressing his full body up against yours, from his clavicles all the way to his crotch.

“Hi,” is all you manage.

When he pulls back, his hands stay at your waist, thumbs pressing in.

“I was hoping I’d run into you tonight.”

“Joe–”

“Do you have any idea…” Joe tips his head, looks you over with blatant appreciation. “How much I’ve– you’ve been, on my mind, twenty-four seven. Just, you’re in there, in here, and I…” Joe sighs, but it’s not with annoyance. His breath is warm, and he’s smiling, his eyes a little glassy.

Joe’s flirting.

It’s not subtle about it either. He’s not being careful, or particularly coherent. Joe’s leaning into you as if the whole week hasn’t happened. Like he thinks it’s funny and cute that you’ve ignored every single text he sent you, until the very last, which… he still hasn’t officially read, by the way.  

“Whatever this game is that you’re playing,” Joe’s voice is low, almost playful ‘round the edges. “It’s fucking working.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows and give him an unsure smile. “You’ve had a few, haven’t you?”

“It’s the weekend,” Joe dismisses as he leans in closer, hands holding you at the waist a little firmer, smiling like this is a private joke. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

And then, your date returns.

Two drinks in hand.

He slows when he sees how close Joe is standing, how Joe’s hands are still on you like he forgot to take them off, and your face heats as the awkwardness is already blooming.

Your date clears his throat. “Hey.”

You step back instinctively, forcing space where Joe won’t let any exist, and the attempt to create a gap feels like a slap across the cheek to Joe. You can see how his smile falters.

“Hey, um, this is…” you start, then wince at the sound of yourself, because there is no graceful way to draw this line out loud, no gentle way to tell a stranger that the man touching you like this used to be allowed to.

“This is Joe,” you say, now removing both of Joe’s hands with your own. “My ex-husband.”

The word drops between you and shatters like glass.

Joe’s frown deepens, and you watch the moment, the whole week, catch up to him all at once. The drinks this man is holding, the week of unanswered blue ticks, the fact that you’re here, dressed like this, with someone else stepping into the bubble Joe tries to create...

He looks at your date properly now.

Then back at you.

“Oh,” he says, and the word is flat, like something in him just went still.

“Right,” he adds, blinking, and he sounds offended. “Yea. Okay.”

Your date awkwardly hands you one of the glasses without asking to see your hands first, then stays beside you, not leaving because why would he? This is clearly A Situation, and he’s not stupid enough to abandon you in it.

Joe stares at the drink in your hand, then looks around, sort of checking if anyone is aware of how much of a fool he’s just made of himself before he looks back at you.

You have the decency to look apologetic, but you could’ve fucking said something before he pressed his dick into your stomach, you know?

Momentarily, he waits for an I’m sorry, but when he doesn’t get one, he laughs. It’s sharp and humourless and it hurts your ears.

“Enjoy.” He says flatly, and there’s bite in it now, all earlier flirtation and tease gone. He turns and walks away fast, doing his best to outrun his own humiliation, and you watch him leave the bar.

You hesitate.

Should you follow him?

Should you go and check if he’s sober enough to make it home all right? That he won’t do anything stupid, like run into traffic, or trip and fall down an escalator?

Your date says your name, quietly. “Are you–”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, sighing to yourself. “I’ll be back. Just–”

You hold a hand up that tells him to stay put and don’t wait for permission. You hand your drink back over and weave through the crowd, heart hammering as you push out the door into cold air.

Joe is already halfway down the street, fucking booking it, when you spot him.

“Joe!” you call, but he doesn’t stop.

For fuck’s sake.

You jog to catch up, breath puffing in the night, and when you finally reach him, you grab his sleeve lightly.

He spins around immediately, and he is furious.

“What?!” he snaps, eyes hard, voice jagged. “What do you want? Are we doing this again?”

“No,” you say immediately. “I just… I came to check on you, I–”

Joe laughs, loud and ugly.

“Check on me,” he spits. “That’s new.”

“Joe, you’re drunk.”

“So?” he spits, stepping closer, breath sharp. “So are you, probably. Or, you’re about to be, aren’t you? With him.”

“That’s none–”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “Don’t do the calm voice. Don’t do all the sweet, all the caring, all the… whatever the fuck you always do, fucking don’t.”

You hold your ground, even though your heart is thudding like it wants out. “I’m not here to fight.”

“Yes, you are,” Joe says, voice rising. “You just want to do it with the moral high ground. Let me say all that shit first.”

“That’s not true.”

Joe’s eyes flash. “You knew I’d be there.”

Your throat tightens.

He sees it.

He sees the fraction of guilt, and it lights him up like fuel.

“See? You did, you fucking–” his hands fly into his hair, voice shaking now. “You know where I go. You knew I was going to be there, and the plan was to, what? You wanted me to see you? You wanted to prove something to me?”

“I didn’t–”

“You did,” he insists, stepping closer until you can feel the heat of him, until the street feels too narrow for the both of you. “I text you all week, and you don’t reply fucking once–”

“I did!” you protest, but Joe doesn’t even hear you and just continues his own monologue.

“And then you show up and just, stand there, hug me like you’ve missed me, and then introduce me as your ex-husband like you’re– like I’m suddenly– and I’m just supposed to– what were you expecting?”

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t know what you were expecting.

“I wasn’t asking for much,” he snaps. “I was asking for, for… for anything. A word. A sign. A fucking emoji, just– anything, and you gave me fucking nothing. Just– nothing!”

You’re just staring at him now.

“Nothing.” Joe says again, and he makes it sound like a swear word. “Do you feel better for it? Hm?”

You close your eyes in frustration and try your best to ignore Joe’s tone.

“Do you feel better after making me feel like fucking shit?”

“You don’t get to demand access to me,” you’re surprised by how steady your voice sounds, even though your chest aches. Joe is shouting at you in the street, and people are looking. “Not anymore.”

Joe’s face changes, twisting like you’ve called him something ugly.

“Demand access? I’m your husb–...” he shouts, but he catches himself just before he finishes the word and lets the rest of his breath escape him through flared nostrils.

Fuck.

He nearly said it.

Nearly revealed where his mind still lives, still wants to live, and where you won’t let it.

“Joe, we’re–”

“I know what we fucking are.”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, and you don’t mean for the fact that you’re divorced. You’re sorry for the fact that he’s hurting. You’re sorry that Joe’s only just now coming to terms with something you’ve accepted weeks, if not months, ago.

Joe stares at you, breathing hard. It takes a few seconds, but then suddenly, his shoulders drop and he rubs a hand down his face as he sighs.

“I hate this,” he says, voice a lot softer. “I hate that you do this.”

“Do what?” Apologise?”

“You leave,” he says like it pains him. “You leave, and then you come back just enough to keep me alive. It’s always just enough to make me think that maybe, maybe I’m not insane for still feeling it.”

“But that’s not what I’m doing.”

“It is,” he snaps, voice cracking. “Maybe that’s not what you think you’re doing, but it is. It’s exactly what you’re doing. You move on and then you don’t. You act like you’re above it, and then you show up in my bed, and you–”

You shush him with wild eyes, you’re in fucking public. Joe listens, stops talking, suddenly aware of the people around and then lowers his voice. “And then you disappear.” He hisses. “You read my messages, I can see that you read them, and then you don’t answer and make me feel like a fucking idiot.”

And he’s… he’s not entirely wrong.

There’s a humiliating truth that he’s laying bare, in that you like the evidence, the thether, the reminder that Joe still wants you. It makes your marriage feel less like a dumb chapter in your life, a little less like a wrong choice you made without thinking.

“You disappear and then you pop back up, like, here you are!” Joe gestures at you with both arms. “I was leaving, I’m going home, and look who runs after me.”

You take a breath, slow and deep. “I’m trying to break the pattern.”

Joe laughs again, but there’s still no humour to be found. “Oh, okay, well done. Congratulations.”

“I’m not going home with you,” you say firmly. “I came out here to make sure you don’t hurl yourself into traffic, or whatever, and then I’m going back inside.”

Joe’s whole face shifts, because this is the first time you’ve seemingly said no, and mean it with your whole body. He hears it, and he hates it.

“Okay,” he repeats, like the word offends him. “So, you get to come out here, poke at me, check I’m alive, and then go back to him?”

“I’m not–”

“Yes, you are,” Joe spits, getting more and more frustrated that you keep telling him that he’s wrong when he knows he’s not. “You are.”

He takes a step back, shaking his head like he can’t stand looking at you anymore, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Do you know what’s sick?” he says, voice low and trembling. “I’m glad you followed me.”

Your heart can’t help but stutter.

Joe’s eyes lift, furious and bright. “I’m glad. Because for a second I thought–… I thought you were doing it again. I thought you were choosing me again, you know?”

He laughs, and it sounds a little broken. “But then you opened your mouth and reminded me you’re just… managing me.”

“That’s not fair,” you whisper, knowing it’s a triggering word for the two of you, but it’s just how you feel, so it’s out before you realise.

“Don’t. Don’t say fair to me.” Joe steps closer again, and his voice drops into something uglier, something meant to cut. “Go back inside, yea? Go take your drink. Go let him touch you, let him think he’s the one who gets you.”

He leans in, eyes hard.

“But don’t come running after me pretending that you give a shit. You don’t get to take away my access,” Joe mocks. “And still want me to behave nicely about it.”

Your throat tightens. “Joe…”

“No,” he snaps. “No. Don’t say my name like that. Don’t soften it. Don’t–” he gestures wildly between you, the street, the bar behind you, and then definitively states, “You want out? Then be out.”

And, fuck off.

You stand still, heart pounding as anger builds, trying your best not to show him how badly his words are affecting you. Joe is the one who keeps inviting you back in, and now you’re getting punished for saying yes? For letting him pull you back into his world? That doesn’t feel fair.

You can’t tell him though.

Can’t say the word fair or unfair, because those words have been weaponised in your short marriage, and you know that using either one feels like a gunshot aimed right at the heart.

So instead, you take a deep breath and quietly say, “We’ll talk when you’re sober.”

“We won’t,” he says, watching you as you take a small step back. “Because you don’t reply, remember?”

You take another step back, because you can feel yourself starting to soften, a want to cry crawling up your throat, and you cannot afford it to be comforted by Joe again. Not here, not tonight.

“Please just– don’t do anything stupid, all right? Go home,” you say softly. “And take care of yourself. I’m going back inside.”

Joe stares at you like you’ve just killed something.

“Goodnight, Joe.”

“Yea...” Joe nods, clenches his jaw. “Goodnight.”

You turn and you walk away, and behind you Joe’s voice follows, loud enough to fucking bruise.

“Don’t text me!”

You don’t look back.

You go back into the warmth and noise, apologise for taking so long, and pick up your drink like your hands aren’t shaking, like your heart isn’t splintering.

Whatever you were trying to prove to yourself by going on this date, has been proven right. But the night has proven something else as well.

You can take your access away.

And Joe will not forgive you for it.

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @beau-hawkins, @dailyobsession, @eddies-puppet, @everythinghasafacee, @gri959, @hazelenys, @iliwyshann, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @kravitzwhore, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @nunofurbusiness123, @overthinking-raccoon, @overtrred28, @readergf, @royale1803, @screaming-ontheinside, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sunvick, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @xxladymjxx, @14ferluvr, @starry-swan, @royale1803

add yourself

[chervbs]

lipstick — e. munson

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

synopsis: you bite the bullet and ask out your best friend, eddie, whom you have feelings for. only eddie doesn’t think he deserves you and does what he does best - self sabotage.

warnings: angst, eddie is dumb as hell in this I’m sorry, eddie’s abandonment issues, reader is described to wear makeup and a dress, a little dash of fluff in the beginning but it goes down hill fast, angsty ending, probably mediocre writing because it’s been years and I’m rusty, lmk if I missed anything! inspired by the line from washing machine heart by mitski.

a/n: my first time posting a fic in a while so apologies if it’s not up to par with my older writing. the new st season has me wanting to write so I’m hoping this gets the ball rolling. I was originally writing this as a spencer reid fic but I thought it fit better for eddie. though i’m not opposed to posting the spencer one. the ending to this is a little sad but I’m open to writing a part 2 if enough people want it!

masterlist

♫ I’m not wearing my usual lipstick / I thought maybe we would kiss tonight ♫

You were gonna do it.

You were gonna ask out Eddie Munson.

After months of pining and lamenting to your friends about how cute and sweet Eddie was, they had finally convinced you to take the plunge and ask him out.

“Eddie is literally head over heels for you! I swear there’s nowhere you go that his big baby cow eyes don’t follow you.” Robin says, sitting upside down on Steve’s couch, head of mousy blonde hair hanging off the edge.

Steve shoots her a weird look, repeating the phrase “baby cow eyes” under his breath until he thinks about it enough to raise his eyebrows in agreement. “Robin’s right-and I don’t say that often. Munson worships the ground you walk on, it’s kinda pathetic actually.”

He lets out an oof at the pillow you throw at him. “He’s not pathetic!” You defend. “He’s kind, he’s always giving me rides even though I know my car takes way less gas than his van and he won’t let me pay him back. He visits me at the diner to keep me company on my breaks, he always lets me picks the movie when we have movie nights even though I know he can’t stand to watch The Breakfast Club again but he sits through it because he knows I love it.”

You unconsciously end your rant with a little sigh, a cheesy smile on your face. There’s a beat of silence and you look at your two friends who stare at you with matching, knowing expressions.

“You might have a point.” You reply with pursed lips.

And thus the decision was made. You were going to bite the bullet and ask out Eddie Munson, because there was absolutely no way he was going to say no.

It was a few days before you got the chance to ask. During your weekly movie night where the two of you were watching (you guessed it) The Breakfast Club, you approached the subject with caution, still jittery with nerves despite your friends insistence that Eddie was into you.

The credits were rolling, soda cups empty and popcorn bowl down to the last few kernels. You watched Eddie sit up and stretch his arms, your voice coming out quieter than you meant for it to. “Hey, Eds?”

“Yeah?” He replies through a yawn. You took a second to admire his messy head of curls and the heaviness of his eyelids that told you he’d be crashing soon.

“I was just wondering-“ You swallowed, wiping your suddenly sweaty palms onto your pants. “Would you, maybe, wanna go see a movie? This week?”

Eddie suddenly looked more awake than he was ten seconds ago, big brown eyes open wide as he processes what you’ve asked. “The movies?”

You nod, a shy smile on your lips. “Yeah, I was thinking that new movie Labyrinth? The one with David Bowie I think you’d like!”

Eddie melts inside, because the first time you mentioned to movie to him you said he would like it, and he watched the previews to find out that you were right, because you knew him that well.

He nods dumbly. “I recall.” His arm reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I think i’d be down. We can do Friday?”

Your heart leaps in your chest, unable to keep the grin from blooming on your face. “Friday is good! Friday’s great actually! Pick me up at seven?”

There’s a surge of adrenaline coursing through you as you realize that you finally did it. You asked our Eddie Munson, your best friend who you have feelings for, and he said yes!

Before he can even answer your question, you look up at the clock hung above the door of the trailer, realizing how late it was. “Oh shit, I should’ve been home like an hour ago. I have work early tomorrow!” You curse, scrambling to collect all of your stuff.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay? It’s late for you to be driving?” Eddie asks, a little concern seeping through his tone.

You shake your head, slipping your shoes back on. “No can do, the emergency work uniform in my car has had one too many spills and smells like grease.” You tell him with a scrunched nose.

Eddie chuckles, following you to the door. “Okay, well, be careful. The roads are probably still wet from the rain earlier.”

Your stomach flutters at his care for you. “I will, Eds. I’ll see you Friday?” You grin at him once more, taking the leap and jumping to press a kiss to his cheek.

You’re already halfway in your car, waving goodbye to him and don’t see the rush of color that floods his cheeks. You also don’t see him hold his hand where your lips had touched as you drive out of the trailer park.

The memory of the sweet kiss you left on his cheek burned for the rest of the night. The dopey smile on Eddie’s face stayed in put until he was in bed, replaying the night in his head, just as he did every time the two of you hung out.

Only this time Eddie has an epiphany, shooting up in his bed, eyes blown wide. “Was she asking me on a date?”

-

Eddie spends the next few days reeling after the realization that your invitation for the movies had been you asking him on a date.

In hindsight, it also explains the cheek kiss that damn near brought him to his knees.

He can’t even let himself be excited, instead his mind is choosing to turn on him. He should be on cloud nine, ecstatic that the girl of his dreams wants to go on a date with him.

No, his years of abandonment issues choose right now to pull him down.

Why would she ever want to go out with you? You can barely afford to feed yourself, how do you expect to pay for all of your dates? You have a twin mattress in a trailer, a room you can’t keep clean and a van that break down more often than it drives. What about you screams boyfriend material?

She’s just confused, mistaking your kindness for something with longevity. She deserves better than a loser who can’t even finish high school on time.

The thoughts keep him tossing and turning until he’s gone days without a good nights sleep. He gets lucky that you’re swamped at the diner and have no time to see him. The couple of instances that you ask to see him, he makes up an excuse about too much homework, or doing something for Wayne.

And you, of course, don’t get upset at him. You tell him it’s okay, in your sweet voice, and bring up how excited you are for Friday. It only makes him feel worse.

He starts to believe his brain is right. You deserve better than he could ever provide for you.

So the morning of your date, Eddie decides to make a phone call.

-

You were walking on air the days leading up to your date with Eddie.

You were a little bummed you couldn’t see him before then, but you’d both had a busy week and you just couldn’t wait for tonight.

“Got a hot date or something?” Rhonda, your fellow waitress and the sweetest woman alive, asks. “You’ve been floating around here for days now. You didn’t even get upset when the four top last night left without leaving a tip.”

Heat flooded your face, a shy smile appearing without your control. “Or something…” You trail off, placing all of the dirty dishes on your serving tray into the sink.

Rhonda cocks an eyebrow at you, smirking knowingly. “I hope this something is happening with that scruffy boy that’s always in here for you.”

“It might be.” You shrug coyly. “It’s just a movie date.”

“We all know what happens on movie dates.” Rhonda teases, bumping your hip as she moves past you into the kitchen.

You sputter at her retreating figure, flustered at the idea that anything intimate might happen between you and Eddie tonight. Your mind starts to spiral and you work the rest of your shift on autopilot, too busy trying to shake the images of Eddie in more promiscuous positions.

-

Your heart refuses to steady as you sit in your living room. You’ve smoothed out the fabric of your dress a million times, and your lips sting a little from how much your teeth have pick at the skin. The layer of wax typically on your lips, your usual lipstick, is significantly missing from your makeup.

You left the tube untouched on your vanity, silently hoping that maybe the night would end with a kiss. A kiss that would be better without lipstick smeared on both of your chins after.

It’s a few minutes before seven, but you’d been sitting tensely for the last twenty minutes, the anticipation for the night influencing you to get ready extra early.

A mistake you’re learning, because it leaves you stewing in your anxiety while you wait for Eddie to pick you up.

After what felt like forever, a flash of headlights spills through the front windows. You shoot up from your seat, now stuck standing in the middle of your living room.

A few seconds later a knock sounds on your door and you almost lunge to open it before you realize that you don’t want Eddie thinking you were waiting at the door. Even if that’s exactly what you were doing.

You wait a beat, take a breath, then reach for the door with shaking hands.

The door opens and Eddie stands there, clad in one of his many band t-shirts, his leather jacket and dark jeans. It isn’t anything different from his everyday wear, yet the sight of him is enough to release a wave of butterflies in your stomach.

Similarly, Eddie freezes when the door reveals you. You, in your pretty dress, standing there with the kitchen lights behind you making you glow like an angel. It actually knocks the breath out of him.

He glances to your mouth, noting the absence of your signature color. He has no time to dwell on that detail.

“Hi.” You say, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you are. Even though you have no reason to be. This is your best friend Eddie. You have movie nights all the time, you’ve stayed over at his trailer a dozen times, why does this feel any different?

“Hi.” He chokes out. “You look beautiful. I mean-“ His eyes go wide. “You always look beautiful, just right now-it’s like…extra?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, “Thank you, Ed’s.” You chuckle despite your efforts. “Ready to go?”

To keep his dignity, Eddie refrains from trying to speak again, instead waving his arms towards his awaiting van.

You think him quietly when he opens the passenger door for you, something he does all the time, yet the action makes you smile.

“Excited for the movie?” You ask as the van exits your neighborhood. It breaks the silence that had fallen over you.

Eddie hums in confirmation, “Yeah I think it’s gonna be good.” But says nothing else. You frown, finding it weird that he’s so quiet. Eddie usually can’t go five minutes without going on a tangent, it’s one of the things you love about him.

Maybe he’s just nervous, you tell yourself.

Little else is said in the few minutes it takes to get to the Hawkins Theater. A couple mumbles of how your respective days were is the extent.

By the time you’re parking, the butterflies in your stomach had been replaced by an odd feeling, one that you couldn’t name because you didn’t know what was making Eddie act so weird.

Was he already regretting the date? It had barely even started.

Still, he slips out of the car and jogs to your side to open the door for you, a gentlemen despite his out of character behavior.

Already the night isn’t going like how you envisioned. You thought by now your usual banter with Eddie would have put you both at ease, maybe even holding hands on your way in.

Eddie, though, seems to not want to get any closer to you than a couple feet. His hands stay buried the in pockets of his jacket and he hasn’t said a word in the last few minutes.

You both reach the ticket booth. “How can I help y’all?” The woman behind the counter chirps.

“Uh, yeah, two tickets for Labyrinth. Please.” Eddie replies, pulling his wallet out.

The woman beams. “Great choice!” She slips two tickets through the plastic slot. “Two tickets for the happy couple. Y’all enjoy!”

You flush at the title, but when you look over at Eddie he’s frowning, mumbling a thanks as he grabs them.

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything, already heading towards the door. You send a friendly smile to the employee before jogging to catch up with him.

He seems to be in a hurry to get inside the theater, his long strides making it hard to keep up. “Eds-“ You huff. “Eddie, wait up!”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, but you do eventually make it to the theater where he wordlessly holds the door behind him.

You let out a breath, following him into the dimly lit room. You’re walking behind him up the stairs, so close to his back that his shoulders block your view of the seats.

Everything seems normal, until an all too familiar voice calls your names.

“Hey! There you guys are!” It’s none other than Dustin Henderson, flanked on either side by Lucas and Mike, Max, El, and Will next to them. In the row above them are Steve, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan.

The entire gang is taking up a good chunk of the seats, and you have a sinking feeling them being at the exact same showing as you and Eddie isn’t a coincidence.

“The movie’s gonna start soon! We bought some popcorn for you!” The teenager grins, holding up an untouched bucket of popcorn.

You force out a laugh. “Yeah, I-I didn’t know you’d all be here.” You cross your arms, eyes bouncing from one friend to another.

“Oh Eddie didn’t tell you? He called this morning, said you wanted all of us to come see the movie. Guess the diner was really busy this week?” The innocence in Dustin’s tone is what really has your heart sinking.

Your friends aren’t here by accident you realize. Eddie invited them. He invited your entire friend group to what was supposed to be a date.

A wave of humiliation washes over you as you finally put two and two together. Eddie was acting weird because he clearly didn’t want this to be a date. And what makes it so much worse is Steve and Robin, the only people who knew of your plan to ask out Eddie, seem to also realize what’s happening, their stares morphing from confused to pitiful.

You glance at Eddie and his eyes are everywhere but you, landing the final blow to your heart.

You look back at Dustin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah, it was busy.” You don’t wait for Eddie to sit, shouldering past him instead to claim the seat next to Robin.

He takes the seat next to you but you don’t dare look at him.

Robin and Steve both turn their heads towards you, the blonde leaning closer to mumble to you. “Are you okay?” They both look at you with concern clear on their faces.

You can’t look at them, fearing the eye contact may break you entirely. “Ask me tomorrow.” You say, blinking away the tears that stung in your eyes.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

navigation

[jo-harrington]

(A few more than) Sixteen Candles - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nobody told you that your 30s were going to be just as awkward as your teenage years. Maybe even more-so. Then everyone goes and forgets your birthday? Oh! And there's also a hopeless nerd with a crush on you...who you might be crushing on a little bit too.

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: Birthdays, Humor, Friendship, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Coming of Age but that age is your 30s and it's worse, Maybe in the same universe as Eddie Munson's Day Off and The Office parody from CCFest but no need to read either of those before this one.

Note: Originally this was a birthday fic for @fracturedarkness AND @courtingchaos. But what is time; I am sincerely like...6 months late. So I'm going to tack on a few other bdays because that is the kind of fic this is. Birthday fluff for @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @deadboyfriendd @tomtomslongdong I love you guys.

And I know I promised a subscript dedication for getting me to finish this today. But then I did realize we are in Aquarius season so this is a double dedication for you too.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You had always thought your teenage years were the worst of your life. John Hughes seemed to always get it right in the movies, after all. Crying in hallways and learning life lessons. Awkward, didn't fit right in your body, changing emotions, self identity crises left and right, crushes on absolutely unattainable guys.

It turned out that your 30s were much of the same.

Except that instead of growing out of your figurative baby deer legs and blooming into a beautiful flower--according to your high school health teacher, at least--you were hurtling off a cliff towards your inevitable death.

"That's a little bit dramatic, don't you think?" your best friend asked over the phone as you complained to her. "You're not dying. We are not dying. It's just growing pains."

"We're supposed to grow out of growing pains," you huffed right back. "And I'm not growing. If anything, I'm shrinking."

"You're not shrinking! What are you? 60?"

"I might as well be!" You flopped backwards on your bed. "If I want anything to grow, it would be my boobs, but bras are expensive so thank you but I think I'd like to stay right where I am. Slowly rotting with nothing to look forward to."

"Oh-for-the-love..." There was a crinkly pause over the landline. "Listen, your birthday is coming up soon--"

"Don't remind me," you grumbled.

"--so you have that to look forward to, at least. You said they do balloons and cake at the office. Maybe you can suggest drinks with some of your coworkers? And I'll plan something so we can get away for the weekend!"

That did sound nice.

"Something with booze."

That sounded even nicer.

"And then you can forget about all your woes. You just have to make it to the end of next week."

You sighed. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I am."

Except she was wrong. Hugely, terribly wrong.

This, the day marking the anniversary of your birth, started uneventfully.

No, literally.

You lived alone, so it's not like you expected much. No roommates who decorated, which was kind of a bummer sometimes but such was the downside to the desire for your own space. No surprise breakfast in bed from a lover because you were Capital S Single. Shockingly, though, your parents--your mother specifically, who liked to celebrate the momentous occasion of her beloved child coming into the world by being the first to wish you a happy birthday--didn't call.

Even your cat, who liked to bap you awake to demand breakfast most mornings, left you alone.

So you woke up like you would on any other day, to the shrill sounds of your alarm clock. You swiftly threw an arm out and smashed your hands against the top of the wretched object until it shut up, and then you rolled over and tried to smother yourself with your pillow.

It was then, in fact, that you realized what day it was.

You lifted your head again and looked at the glowing red LED lights on the alarm clock. Was it too early? Had the time changed? Was it Daylight Savings? Usually someone called by now.

"Weird," you muttered to yourself. Weird, but not unwelcome. You could stand to be a little less of a diva on your birthday. Maybe your mother just had a little lie in. As a retiree, she was entitled to it, so good for her.

As you went through the motions of your morning, though, it seemed that everyone seemed to be lagging behind. Every thing.

Coworkers bustled in the lobby and one of them even pushed you out of the elevator because they needed to get up to your floor ASAP.

"Sorry," they apologized as the door slid shut. "Emergency meeting, I need to get up there."

And once you did make it to your floor, your cubicle, you were met with a big old nothing. No balloons, no banner, no coworkers to say happy birthday. The girl across the aisle from you, someone you considered your closest friend at work, didn't even say hello. Too busy tapping out some kind of spreadsheet in Excel.

That was weird to you, though. Marcy remembered everyone's birthday. She wasn't a part of the party planning committee but she always put her flair on everyone's special day, especially when it was someone she was close to.

"Hey Marce," you called out to her as you dropped your things on your desk. "Happy Friday."

"Hmm," Marcy barely responded. "Nothing happy about this Friday."

"Nothing?" you goaded her and then stepped to hover at the entrance of her cube. "There's nothing good about today."

"Nope." She popped the "p" and then stopped typing abruptly. She turned her head slightly over her shoulder and you raised your brows expectantly. "Unless you mean the board meeting at 11? Free bagels after they all scram? You love a 2pm bagel."

You did love a 2pm bagel. Sesame with the chivey cream cheese. Mmmmm. But that wasn't what you were getting at, obviously.

"You don't feel like you're forgetting something?" You felt a little guilty for pushing it, especially when she seemed so busy. It was just...there was that little part inside your heart that enjoyed the attention that birthdays brought, even if you were being a bit of a sourpuss about it this year.

"Oh! Fuck!" Marcy's voice echoed across the sea of cubicles. You felt the corners of your mouth quirk but you purposely forced a frown so you wouldn't seem too eager when she started grovelling. "The fucking Johnson report! Sorry, hon, I've gotta go down to records. I'll see you in a little while! I'll bring you a fresh coffee from the break room!"

She pushed past you and you watched, all anticipation draining from your body, as she ran down the endless aisle until she disappeared.

"Is this a remake of Sixteen Candles?" You asked yourself. "Did everyone forget my fucking birthday?"

And it might as well have been.

Because they did.

Change your name to Molly Ringwald and cue the Dragnet theme song, because before you knew it, headed straight for your desk was the biggest Geek in the company.

Ok, that wasn't fair. Mailroom Manager Eddie Munson wasn't the biggest geek in the company and he was actually a pretty nice guy. Always had a smile and was a fan of water cooler talk. He was, honestly, one of your favorite people at work. Pretty cute too. He just had piss poor timing, especially when you were in a bad mood.

You were honestly shocked that you hadn't scared him away yet.

You had just plopped into your desk chair when you saw him out of the corner of your eye. You didn't even giggle as he straightened his shoulders and fluffed his hair; it would usually amuse you to no end but you were just not in the mood for it today.

"Well if it isn't my favorite Senior Coordinator of Spreadsheets and Sales reports," he greeted cheerfully.

"Morning, Eddie," you droned in return. "What have you got for me today?"

His fingers danced along the tops of envelopes in his cart with the dexterity that would even put your keyboard-adept fingers to shame.

"There are proofs for your approval," he listed off and handed you a large manila envelope.

"Great," you deadpanned.

"And, oh, some intra-office mail. Is Jim in accounting sending love letters?"

You let out a laugh then, unable to keep it at bay.

"If anything, I need to start sending him love letters so that my expense reports don't get audited."

"And last but not least..." He made an exaggerated show of looking through the mail cart. "Hang on, I thought that it was here. I know I saw it." He scratched his chin before lifting a finger in the air in a silent eureka, then pulled a pretty, blue envelope from his back pocket. "Ta-Da."

You frowned and hesitantly took it from him; there was no stamp, no postmark, and it wasn't even addressed. No, your name was just scrawled across the front of it with the messiest handwriting you'd ever seen.

You ran your fingers gently over the pen marks that had been pressed too-hard into the paper, and then looked up at Eddie.

"Well?" He rocked back and forth on his toes excitedly. "Open it."

"Who's it from?" you asked, adding an edge of suspicion into your voice.

"Secret admirer? The president? Santa Claus?" He shrugged and grinned cheesily. "Could be from anyone? Can you just open it?"

You delicately peeled the envelope open, careful not to simply rip through the paper. You reached inside, pulled out the folded, heavyweight paper of a greeting card, and were met with a hand-drawn image of a cake. Not just any cake, either. It was the type of cake you vaguely remember mentioning to Eddie as being your favorite on your birthday last year, after Marcy had gotten you some fancy bakery monstrosity.

The drawing was a little cartoonish, a mixture of black ink and watercolor markers, but clearly recognizable as your favorite, with a few little candles atop it. You opened the card and out fell a bunch of hole-puncher confetti made from astro-bright printer paper.

You looked up at Eddie with the biggest smile on your face, and you sprang out of your chair so you could pull him into a hug.

"Happy birthday." He chuckled as you squeezed him tightly. "I guess you like the card."

"I love it!" You pulled away to point at the cake. "You drew this?"

He visibly blushed, then shoved a hand into his hair so he could bashfully rub the back of his neck. "I...I've been known for some artistic talents."

"It's great! I can't believe you remembered what I said about the cake! I can't believe..." You shook your head. "I can't believe you remembered my birthday."

"Well, why wouldn't I?" he asked. "We're..." He paused for a second. "Friends. Right?"

You felt your own cheeks get hot now. You weren't sure how to respond to that. So in the end you chose to focus on the lesser of two evils. "Nobody else remembered my birthday," you confessed. "So I figured...well, I figured I might as well not expect much across the board."

Cue a stereotypical Eddie Munson record-scratch moment. Times like these, you could practically hear it.

"Wait a minute..." He grabbed you by your upper arm as you tried to turn away. "What do you mean that nobody else remembered? Not even Marce? That's your partner in crime!"

"She's busy," you explained, both to yourself and to him. "And she's stressed. I don't blame her."

"Bullshit!" He practically shouted, his voice echoing over the cubicles. You shushed him and slugged him in the arm "That's bullshit. Even if Jeff was in the hospital and bleeding from his eyeballs, I would still expect him to say happy birthday at the very least." You shot him a skeptical look and he shrugged. "Ok maybe not then."

"It's ok," you insisted and slipped back into your chair. "It's fine. Really. She'll remember after she finishes her big report this afternoon, and she'll feel really bad about it and then pay for all my drinks at Happy Hour on Friday."

You tried turning your chair away to dismiss the subject, but Eddie swiveled you back around to face him and then he crouched to you were practically nose-to-nose.

"Who else forgot?" he questioned softly. His eyes darted between yours. "Everyone? Or everyone?" When you didn't respond, he let out a very low whistle. "Damn, well you're having a real Sixteen Candles kinda day, aren't you?"

"That's actually what I was thinking," you shrugged. "Only double the number of candles. Give or take a few...I dunno. Birthdays don't mean much when you get to a certain age but I guess it's still disappointing not to get something." You gestured down to the card. "Well, you know what I mean."

"You have enough problems when you get old." He agreed, then paused nervously. "Not that you're old...just a turn of phrase."

"I know, don't worry."

He stared pensively at you, then popped right back up to his feet and clapped his hands together. "Well, seems like a job for yours truly."

"What do you mean?" He ignored you and simply turned on his heel and zoomed away, pushing the mail cart ahead of him. You rolled out of your cubicle and shouted after him. "Eddie, what are you doing? Eddie!"

Although he was out of your sight, he shouted back.

"When you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose, right?"

You blinked twice and then shook your head.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

You waited for the other shoe to drop all day.

Either the shoe where your coworkers came to the realization that it was your birthday.

Or the shoe where Eddie reappeared with whatever hare-brained scheme that popped up in his fluffy head.

Unfortunately, you were as shoeless as Cinderella. Actually, no. Less shoeless than her, considering that you were waiting for two shoes.

"Enough with the shoe metaphors," you scolded yourself and shook your head as you poured another cup of bland, office coffee.

You were an anxious wreck. You picked at the sandwich you'd packed for lunch and you even passed up afternoon bagels.

"Seriously?" Marcy waved her own poppyseed-and-chivey-cream-cheese creation under your nose. "No bagel?"

"No," you batted her hand away and sadly kept pressing buttons on your keyboard. "I think I have a stomach ache."

She immediately pulled the bagel out of your vicinity. "Well if you need to puke, please do it over there."

You tried laughing but the sound came out sad and dry.

You had been the kind of person who thought your thirties would change everything. Your teens were abysmal and your twenties were an awkward mess of journeys towards some elusive sense of self-identity. As soon as you hit 30, you thought "this was going to be your time." Romance, travel, adventure. Something out of a Marisa Tomei romcom. But instead it had been more of the same.

Birthdays were those special days that all of the crap life had to throw at you melted away. Celebrations of all sizes with everyone you knew. You should have known better than to expect that to last for very long. This year made something clear; you were worth nothing and your life was going nowhere. No need to expect much.

Then you glanced at the card that you'd tucked under your keyboard, and a smile forced its way to the corner of your mouth. Sure, he might've left you high and dry--he had work to do too, you couldn't blame him--but Eddie had your back when no one else did.

You heard the tell-tale sounds of your coworkers all signing off, clocking out, and closing the little lamps in their cubicles. You said your farewells with a little bit of a better attitude than you'd had all day.

"Next year," you sighed as you finished up a revised expense report, "I'm going to take the whole week off for my birthday. Go someplace nice. Alone." You looked at the card again. "Or maybe it will be with someone else."

You were one of the last ones out of the office at the end of the night, the beautiful glow of the sunset providing something of a bittersweet backdrop to your birthday. You grabbed your bag and coat, then headed towards the elevator; before you hit the button to head down to the lobby, you considered stopping by the mail room. Maybe to offer Eddie one last thank you for remembering your day? Maybe to ask him out for a drink if you were courageous enough?

You were not courageous, though; you simply hit the button and headed down to the lobby. You fumbled with your coat and with your bag as you went through the revolving doors. Almost cinematically, the cars that had been idling at the curb began to pull away, and you got a clear view of him:

Eddie, leaning against the side of his van, in the otherwise empty parking lot, just like Jake Ryan. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, as he stared expectantly at the revolving door, waiting for you.

His smile got bigger and he extracted a hand out of his pocket to wave at you. You felt your cheeks get warm and you looked down at your feet for a second; then you lifted your eyes, somewhat bashfully and pointed at yourself.

"Yeah, you!" Eddie laughed. "Who else?"

"Is this your surprise?" you asked. He closed the distance and took your things from you in a very gentlemanly manner. "I almost missed you."

"No, you wouldn't have. I've been standing out here for a while waiting for you." He gestured back inside. "And no, this is not my surprise. I just figured...well, we're working with a theme. You'll see."

He led you inside and refused to answer your questions. You passed a few straggling coworkers behind as you rode the elevator back up to your floor and followed Eddie to the breakroom.

It was dark. Well, dim would've been a better word. The harsh, cold overhead lights were off and every counter and table was illuminated by a collection of candles that were usually found around the office on various desks and the supply closet. You recognized Marcy's own Sage and Eucalyptus scented therapy candle that she usually had on her desk for post-board-visit-panic-induced headaches; how had he gotten that without anyone noticing?

Most of the tables were pushed to the perimeter of the room, but there was one that remained right in the center, and on it was an overabundance of treats. Snack cakes, candy bars, bags of cookies. All from the visibly-empty vending machine in the corner of the room.

"It's not cake, but...surprise!" Eddie said softly. "A little birthday celebration just for you. With, uh...sixteen candles...doubled...give or take a few." He was right, as you got closer, you noticed them. Cute little birthday candles, unlit and all studded into the sugary feast. The exact number for your age. "I might've begged Deb in HR to sneak a peek at your personnel file. My uncle always said it isn't nice to ask a lady her age."

"It isn't," you immediately agreed, but then melted as you ran your eyes over the scene again. "Eddie...you didn't have to do this."

"But I wanted to," he insisted. "You deserve more than this, actually. You deserve a whole office birthday where everyone remembers you."

You shook your head and fought the smile as you took a few steps closer to get a better look. Before you got too far, though, you turned on your heel and pulled him into the biggest hug.

"You like it?" He laughed and squeezed you back, just as tightly as you were holding onto him. "Did I do alright?"

"You did more than alright." You closed your eyes and luxuriated in being surrounded by him. The feel of him, the sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne and the tinge of sweat from wearing his office attire all day. "This is the best surprise I've ever gotten. Thank you."

He pulled back and looked at you with a serious expression, even though the periodic quirk in his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth gave away his ruse.

"Even better than the card?" he questioned. "Because I think I worked harder on that surprise than this one.

"I'll cherish both surprises forever."

"I'm glad," he muttered. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

The proximity was suddenly very obvious, the heat of his body, his breath fanning over your face. You couldn't help the way your eyes dropped to his pretty pink lips, until his tongue poked out to wet them, then your gaze snapped back up to meet his.

You realized, at that moment, that it was unfair to think of him as Farmer Ted or Jake Ryan; Eddie was someone of his own caliber. Comparable to no one, second to none.

And this wasn't Sixteen Candles.

So you had a choice to make. Because you could just back away, you could enjoy his surprise for what it was. Treats and friendships and a good gesture from an even better coworker. You could let another year pass by and pretend that there might not be something more there.

Or you could take a chance, just like Eddie took a chance.

You inched forward, chicken that you were, then said fuck it. Your arms, of their own accord, pulled back from their place around Eddie's shoulders so you could grab his face and plant one on him. Your heart soared as you felt the sparks dance across your lips as they mashed with his. He inhaled sharply, in shock, and then melted into you. You felt his mouth shift into a smile as he returned the gesture, and then he pulled you closer.

You let yourself get lost in the kiss, so soft and tender and everything that you instinctively knew that Eddie was. It was overwhelming and so perfect and better than any birthday gift that you could've ever gotten. Not the card, not the snack cakes. Hell, not even a bar of gold could beat this.

Your heart swelled, and when you couldn't take it anymore, you pulled away and took joy in the way that Eddie leaned forward to follow your lips.

He hummed, and bit his lips, fighting a smile of his own. "Happy birthday to me."

"It isn't your birthday," you chuckled.

"It might as well be." He beamed. Overwhelmed by the moment, you tried to lean forward for another kiss but Eddie stopped you. "Hey now, wait. We've got the whole night to celebrate. We've got a bunch of snacks. And candles. Aren't you gonna blow out your candles? Make a wish?"

And you couldn't help but quote the movie that had defined the whole day.

"It already came true."

[suprclark]

love curls and other incriminating evidence — ( eddie munson )

eddie munson x fem!reader

your carefully hidden secret relationship unravels in the most humiliating way possible. but the undeniable fact through it all was that eddie munson is terrible at pretending he isn’t in love with you. by the time the whole group figures it out, eddie’s already lost his ring, his dignity, and any hope of acting normal around you. . . but at least he gets to stop pretending you aren’t his.

🏷️ 2.1k — fluff, secret relationship gone wrong ( right ), eddie munson yearns so hard it’s embarrassing, mutual pining even while dating, accidental coming out x4

request — [ by anonymous ] hii! i saw your cry for requests and im here to save the day 🦸‍♀️ can i req eddie and reader who are secretly dating and she's steve & robins friend so she's around the party a lot and they find out thru little things (wearing one of his rings, talking like him, love curls theory 🫣) if you end up doing this, thank you sm!

author's note — okay hi first of all thank you so much to the lovely who requested this. and also thank you to everyone who’s sent in requests lately because wow. . . there are a lot and i see you and i appreciate you more than i can explain. anyways, requests are open. enjoy <3

꒰ masterlist ꒱ : navigation

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ────────

Eddie Munson was exceptionally bad at secrets. Horrifically, painfully bad at them.

This was an objective truth, right up there with gravity and the fact that Wayne always knew when he was lying. Which made it deeply unfair that he was now in a secret relationship with you — someone who could kiss him breathless in a supply closet and then walk back out five minutes later like nothing had happened. Like your mouth hadn’t just been on his. Like his hands hadn’t still been shaking when you’d adjusted your shirt and told him to “act normal.”

Normal? Eddie Munson had never once acted normal in his entire life, and you expected him to start now?

The worst part in his opinion was that you were criminally good at pretending. At acting like Eddie was just. . . there. Someone you tolerated for Steve and Robin’s sake. Someone mildly annoying. Someone whose knee hadn’t been wedged between yours twenty minutes ago. Eddie, meanwhile, looked like a man actively resisting the urge to gnaw his own arm off.

Which was why Robin Buckley was currently psychoanalyzing him with narrowed eyes from behind the counter with the kind of look that made Eddie feel like confessing to crimes he hadn’t even committed yet. He slapped on a lopsided grin and gave her a little bow. “Buckley,” he said, hand to chest.

She rolled her eyes so hard he was pretty sure she saw her own brain, then turned back to the counter, organizing the stack of tapes you’d just dropped in her arms. Eddie sagged in relief and took a seat against the counter. Robin paused.

“. . . What do you need?” she asked without looking at him.

“Uh,” Eddie said, buying time. “Horror?”

She finally looked up. “You need horror?”

Eddie straightened, offended. “Wow. Love the confidence, Buckley.” He jerked his chin toward you. “Ask your coworker. I love horror.”

Robin’s brow arched. “Why would she know what you like?”

Words jammed up in Eddie's throat. “I— I mean—”

“Of course it’s because she’s the smartest and most emotionally evolved out of you three,” Dustin cut in at lightning speed, suddenly appearing at Eddie’s side and waving his hands vaguely between you, Steve, and Robin. “Like. Obviously.”

Robin gave Dustin a long, assessing look. “You and I have never really clicked, have we?”

“Uh,” Dustin drawled.

She stared at him another second, then huffed and disappeared into the storeroom.

Dustin leaned closer. “You owe me one,” he muttered.

Eddie exhaled and pointed at him. “I owe you several.”

Dustin grinned and wandered back to the rotating shelf.

Oh yes. Dustin Henderson was the only one who knew about you and Eddie. And it hadn’t been intentional. If Eddie had gotten to choose, he might’ve told Nancy — if only because he would have talked about you to her and she would just listen, not caring in the least. But the unfortunate incident had already occurred. You’d been over at the trailer. Dustin had, at that exact moment, decided to drop by unannounced. And well. He’d caught the two of you in a. . . compromising situation.

The secret had cost Eddie a science kit Dustin had been eyeing for weeks. Worth it, probably. Still unfortunate.

Eddie was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of your voice.

He turned just in time to see you leaning against the counter with Steve, who was pointing at the jacket slung comfortably over your shoulders. His jacket. The one Eddie distinctly remembered owning. The one that was very much not on his body anymore.

“Hey,” Steve said, squinting at you. “That’s not yours.”

You nervously laughed. “Wow. Gold stars for you, Steve.”

“No, I mean,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck, “that’s not your style at all. Funny thing is,” He paused. “it is someone else’s style.”

And then, like the universe hated Eddie Munson personally, Steve turned to look at him like it was a genuine coincidence.

Steve’s smile faltered.

His eyes dropped to Eddie’s shoulders and to the absence of denim and patches. His eyes widened slowly, realization crashing in.

“Oh,” Steve said.

You and Eddie locked eyes. Yours went wide. Eddie’s probably fell out, he couldn't tell.

“Nope,” you said, clamping a hand over Steve’s mouth before he could finish that thought. You shook your head, your eyes begging, a little threatening, pleading all at once. Then you nodded sharply at Eddie like move, grabbed Steve by the arm, and hauled him toward the door.

Eddie scrambled after you, heart in his throat, while Dustin looked up from the rotating shelf just in time to see the three of you disappear outside.

“Wow,” Dustin muttered to himself. “Science kit paid for itself already.”

You dragged Steve far enough that the neon glow of Family Video buzzed behind you, then finally yanked your hand away from his mouth. He sucked in a breath like he’d been underwater.

His eyes bounced between you and Eddie. “You two?” he blurted, voice cracking like a kid going through puberty again.

You shook your head on instinct at the exact same time Eddie nodded, helpless and completely incapable of lying when it came to you. Steve stared at the contradictory answers.

“What? Okay, hold on,” Steve said, backing up a step and pointing between you. “So that’s why you’ve been acting weird. And you,” he pointed at Eddie, who waved weakly, “you’re always acting weird so I didn’t notice anything.”

Eddie perked up. “Hey.”

Steve laughed suddenly, then stopped just as fast. “Wait. How long? And does anyone else know?”

You hesitated. Eddie didn’t. “A while and yes, Henderson knows. He kind of walked in when we were uh. . .” he drawled and thankfully Steve put up a hand.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Okay. Okay!” He straightened, visibly puffing up. “First of all? I figured it out. Me. Not Robin. Not Henderson. Me.”

Eddie scoffed. “I told you Henderson knows.”

Steve waved that off immediately. “Yeah, but he didn’t figure it out. That doesn’t count. That’s like. . . accidental knowledge. I solved it. I’m a genius.” He pointed at his own head. “Brain like a steel trap.”

Before either of you could react, Steve stepped forward and wrapped both of you into a hug. You stiffened in surprise as Eddie froze entirely, arms hovering uselessly at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Oh,” Eddie muttered, patting Steve’s back awkwardly. “There there, Harrington.”

Steve pulled back just enough to give him a look. “This guy. Seriously?”

Something in Eddie’s chest suddenly unlocked as he had a quick realization. If Steve knew then that meant Eddie could finally. . . He leaned in without thinking, instinct dragging him forward, nose brushing yours, heart thudding loud enough he was pretty sure Steve could hear it too.

“Hey, dude,” Steve said immediately. “I’m standing right here.”

Eddie froze mid-lean, eyes snapping open. “But, you know,” he said, like that explained everything.

Steve stared at him. “Yeah. I know. That does not mean I want to watch you two suck each other’s faces off outside my place of work.”

Eddie groaned, tipping his head back. “This is oppression.”

You laughed and patted Eddie’s chest in a traitorous way, like you weren’t the reason his brain had short-circuited entirely. Steve shook his head, lips twitching despite himself, and gave you both a lopsided, fond smile. He turned and headed for the door. You followed for exactly three steps.

Then you pivoted on your heel, grabbed Eddie by the front of his shirt, and kissed him. Eddie made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper and promptly melted, knees going weak.

When you pulled back, grinning, Eddie just stared at you, eyes blown wide, brain fully turned to static.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah. I’m— I’m ruined.”

You squeezed his hand and slipped back toward the store before he could recover. Eddie stood there for a second longer, heart racing, smiling like an idiot, as he ticked off a second person off his list.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ────────

The third coming out came much faster than expected.

You had Nancy and Jonathan over for movie night from which Robin had bailed with a vague excuse about a headache that sounded suspiciously like people. You’d all piled onto the couch Somewhere around the halfway mark, you’d half-dozed off, cheek pressed into a pillow, brain blissfully empty.

You woke up to whisper-arguing.

Groggy and unconcerned, you brushed it off immediately. Nancy and Jonathan fought sometimes. You rolled over, eyes still closed when you heard Eddie’s voice.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, sitting bolt upright.

You scrambled off the couch, just in time to look toward the front door. Nancy stood with her hands planted on her hips. Jonathan stood beside her, looking sleepy. Eddie was trapped between them, glancing around, clearly assessing every possible exit — the door, the windows, maybe the floor could magically open up. Now would have been a great time for one of those demogorgons to come out.

“Hey,” you offered weakly.

“Hey? Hey?” Nancy repeated. “Would you care to explain this?” She pointed directly at Eddie.

You blinked. “That’s. . . Eddie.”

“Oh yes,” Nancy said flatly. “Thank you. That was exactly what I was asking.”

You winced. “There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Nope.”

What followed could only be described as an interrogation. Nancy was pacing the entire time as Jonathan offered Eddie some water who was answering far too honestly when directly addressed and clamming up the second she looked away. You tried to help. You really did. It did not help. At one point Nancy paused mid-lecture, eyes widening.

“Wait,” she said. “Steve figured it out before you me?”

Eddie groaned quietly. You covered your face.

Eventually, Jonathan managed to steer Nancy toward the door, hand on her shoulder, murmuring reassurances and promises of later discussion. She shot one last suspicious look over her shoulder before leaving.

The door shut.

Eddie exhaled deeply which told you he’d been holding his breath for ten minutes straight. “She scares me,” he said faintly.

You nodded immediately. “Me too.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ────────

The last coming out somehow managed to involve everyone.

It happened during one of the group’s meetings. Eddie was half-sprawled in a chair and you very pointedly sitting not next to him. Everything was fine.

Well, until you accidentally made a D&D reference.

Will’s head snapped up. “. . . Wait,” he said with narrowed eyes. “You hate D&D.”

You froze and shrugged, forcing a laugh. “I mean. I don’t hate it.”

Lucas squinted at you as he began assessing you and then his eyes dropped to your hand. “Is that a new ring?”

Your stomach dropped.

“I’ve actually seen that before,” he continued, leaning closer. “Eddie has the exact same one. Eddie, show her.”

All eyes turned to Eddie. He swallowed, then reluctantly held out his hand. The ring was gone.

Jonathan immediately tried to redirect the conversation so hard it almost qualified as cardio. Robin leaned forward, interest sparking.

“Hey, Munson,” she said. “Where’s your ring?”

Max’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to her.

“They’re dating,” Max said, pointing wildly between you and Eddie. “They’re dating.”

“No!” You exclaimed before clearing your throat. “No. Eddie just. . . happened to give me his ring. Because I liked it.”

Max raised a brow at you which made you nervously twirl your hair.

Max gasped. “Oh my god—”

“Your hair is curly,” Mike cut in.

You deadpanned. “Yeah. I’ll tell you the secret later, Mikeala.”

Mike rolled his eyes as Max shot him a glare. “I was about to say that. Girls’ hair turns curly when they’re in love. See?” She gestured at her own hair. Lucas grinned proudly.

Across the room, Will and Jane exchanged a look.

“No,” Will said.

Everyone turned to them. “What now?” Dustin asked.

“Last week,” Will continued, “we saw her leaving Eddie’s trailer.”

Eddie spluttered. “Why are you snooping around my trailer, Byers?”

“We were going to Max’s house,” Jane said. “We thought we were hallucinating.”

Will nodded. “Because, well, she’s gorgeous. And you’re Eddie.”

Eddie paused. “. . . I’m not even gonna argue. That’s true.”

What followed was a long, exhausting debate with who almost caught them when. You exchanged a look with Eddie who had now been deemed the love coach by Max and Will for having to be able to get a girl like you while being like him.

Only Robin was quiet which was very unusual and mildly unsettled you. You nudged her when everyone got distracted by another argument. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I just— I can’t believe the dingus figured it out before me.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ──────── © suprclark . all rights are reserved. copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or works as your own is prohibited .

[burgundysnow]

“Eddie…” 

You breathe softly. His room reeks of sex and your lower half feels like it’s molding itself back together slowly. 

Cleaned up and with a new shirt on, you lay your head down on his pillow, exhaustion creeping over you softly while you watch Eddie pull down his own shirt over his head. 

“Hm?” 

He turns, still with some pink of the tips of his own cheeks and his bangs sweaty and stuck to his forehead. 

“Do you love me…?” 

He smiles and it only takes his eyes off of you for a few seconds to find some boxers in his drawer. 

“Yes.” 

“Would you do anything for me…?” 

“Again, yes.” 

“Okay…” 

You trail off and watch as the boxer band snaps around his hips. Hairy legs on display, you watch as he walks over and sits right next to your legs. Pushing hair from your face. 

“What do you waaant?” 

“Nothin’” 

“No come on! You started it, you want something.” 

“No Ed’s, it’s nothing.” 

“Tellll meeeee.” 

He’s shaking you slightly, it feels like if a dog were to bounce up on your chest and beg for a treat. That’s when you know you’ve got him. 

“I’ve like, never wanted a chocolate bar this bad except for this moment in my entire life.” 

“You haven’t?” 

“No m’like really craving it right now.” 

“Craving? What are you, pregnant?” 

“Might be with how you fucked me.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and stands up, he goes back to his dresser to find pants because apparently he now has to do a snack run. 

“You thinking about chocolate while I fucked you?” 

“S’the only thing that got me over the edge.” 

“Haha—”

His laugh is dull as he grabs his keys from off the top of the dresser, and comes back to plant a kiss at the top of your head. 

“Quick gas station run for some chocolate and I’ll be right back okay? Don’t fall asleep.” 

“We have a new star trek episode to watch.” 

“I know. That’s why I said don’t fall asleep.” 

[linkykirby]

eddie‘s a clinger when he‘s drunk ♡

cw: moderate alcohol consumption, fluff

navigation

The booming bass from whatever hair metal song is playing thrums through the walls of whoever's house this is. You‘ve already forgotten who even hosted this party. All you know is that it was one of Eddie’s stoner friends, who had apparently insisted that it would be a "chill hangout" with "just a few people". Not having had anything better to do on a Friday night, you tagged alongside Eddie.

"Chill hangout" was a lie.

You weave through the dense crowd of people scattered around the kitchen, on a mission to refill your drink. Everyone smells like weed and sweat and it’s honestly making you a feel a little nauseous, but you’ve already been outside to get some fresh air like five times now already, and you froze your ass off every time. It may be stuffy in here, but at least it‘s warmer than out by the back porch.

Your train of thought is quickly interrupted by a familiar, stumbling weight attaching itself to your side.

"There you areee," Eddie beams, his words slightly loosened and slurred around the edges. His arm drapes clumsily over your shoulders, and he leans in close enough for you to be able to smell the beer on his breath mixed with his signature cigarette smoke aroma. "Thought I lost you."

An amused huff of breath escapes you. You left Eddie alone on the basement couch in order to get some water—repeatedly assuring him you‘d be back before he could even blink because he wouldn‘t stop whining and trapping you in place, mind you. You should‘ve known that he‘d get impatient. "I was gone for, like, two minutes, Eds," you reason, affectionate amusement thick in your tone. His hair is a little frizzier than usual, cheeks flushed pink, his smirk sweet as honey and simultaneously hazy as fog. He‘s looking at you like you might as well be the only person present in this musty, crowded room.

"Two minutes too long, sweetheart." He smirks and sways slightly, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles against your hair. "This party sucks." His smirk dissolves into a pout. You feel the sudden urge to kiss it right off his lips.

You can’t help but smile fondly at his inebriated state. He really is the cutest when he lets loose and gets all touchy-feely like this. You reach up to pat his hand where it dangles near your shoulder. "You're the one who wanted to come..."

"Mhm, terrible decision, babe. Worst decision. Should'a stayed home with you." He punctuates his regret by pressing a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss to your temple. Then another, then another, like he's forgotten how to stop. Maybe he doesn't want to remember how.

"Okay, okay," you squirm and giggle joyfully, now leaning over the kitchen sink and trying to pour your refreshment one-handed while your boyfriend clings to you like a lanky, leather-clad barnacle with zero shame. "How much have you had, baby?"

"Not that much," he protests, though the loopy grin on his face clearly suggests otherwise. "Enough to know how— how pretty y’are. But I always know that. Which means…" he trails off conspiratorially, hands sliding up to grip your waist. "M‘perfectly fine 'n' not drunk at all."

Your face heats up before you playfully roll your eyes. He‘s making no sense and lying through his teeth, but you‘ll let him just this once because he probably isn‘t even aware of it himself. "Uh-huh. Sure," you reply, unimpressed. He doesn‘t stop smiling.

You manage to finish pouring your water and turn to face him properly, resting back against the kitchen counter. He immediately cups your face with both hands, rings cool against your warm skin, looking at you with those big brown eyes. They‘re unfocused and half-lidded from the booze, but no less pretty.

"C'n we go?" he asks, voice dropping to something quiet, weary, and almost vulnerable. "Wanna— wanna be alone with you."

"We've been here for like forty minutes."

"Forty minutes too long." He pouts, thumb stroking the apple of your cheekbone. "Please? It‘ll be nice. Got a new tape we could listen to. Could braid y’hair. Could let you braid my hair." He suggests in a low, muttered tone, trying his best at being persuasive. Then he gasps like he’s just had the best idea in the world. "We could braid each other's hair."

You laugh. He‘s as ridiculous as he is loveable, you think.

"Okay," you relent without much hesitation, the party not being too much of a hit anyway. It’s not like you’re absolutely dying to witness sweaty high teenagers making out and flailing their limbs around wildly in an embarrassing attempt at dancing. "Let's go."

Eddie’s whole face lights up, dimples carving into the corners of his mouth. He immediately grabs your hand with his clammier one, lacing your fingers together, and starts pulling you toward the front door with singular, albeit drunken focus. When someone calls his name, he just waves and shouts back vaguely in their direction without looking, too busy making sure you‘re still right there beside him.

Once you‘re finally outside, the cool night air seems to sober him up just slightly. He leads you toward his van, which you‘re inevitably obligated to drive tonight, and spins you around under a streetlight on the way, giggling—actually giggling—when you yelp and stumble into his chest due to the unexpected gesture.

"Pretty girl," he murmurs fondly, wrapping both of his arms around you from behind and pecking your neck, still gently steering you into the right direction on the sidewalk. The night chill doesn‘t even begin to compete against how warm Eddie makes your insides feel.

© linkykirby. All content is original and written by me. Please don’t repost, copy, or redistribute my work without explicit consent.

[kassy-djomunson]

i will never recover from this

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ S.H.

⭐︎ Warnings: 18+ mdni! post apocalypse, character death, angst, mean!steve, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, blood, wounds -- all the gory stuff, smut in the future chapters, hurt/comfort

⭐︎ Pairing: Grumpy!Steve Harrington x sunshine(fem)!reader

⭐︎ Summary: Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end.

⭐︎ In collaboration with @hellfire--cult

⭐︎

Prologue ☀︎ When the sun hits, she'll be waiting

Chapter one ☀︎ Welcome and Goodbye

Chapter two ☀︎ Can you see right through me?

Chapter three ☀︎ You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost

Chapter four ☀︎ While I'm alone and blue as can be

Chapter five ☀︎ Watching cityscapes turn to dust

Chapter six ☀︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.

Chapter seven ☀︎ Fall back into place. Fall back...

Chapter eight ☀︎ Dead-eyed. Dead weight.

Chapter nine ☀︎ Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met

Chapter ten ☀︎ Turn me into something tragic, just for you, I let it happen

Chapter eleven ☀︎ And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all

Chapter twelve ☀︎ You’re a bandit like me. Eyes full of stars

Chapter thirteen ☀︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far

Chapter fourteen ☀︎ The devil in your eyes, won't deny the lies you've sold

Chapter fifteen ☀︎ Every print I left upon the track has led me here

Chapter sixteen ☀︎ One day I am gonna grow wings...

Chapter seventeen ☀︎ Now I'm racing for what to do, all roads lead me right back to you

Chapter eighteen ☀︎ I'll give you all that I can, as long as you'll wait for me there

Chapter nineteen ☀︎ When you’re lying between my legs, it doesn’t matter

Chapter twenty ☀︎ If you can't survive, just try

Chapter twenty one ☀︎ Look into my eyes and baby, whisper

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ Prologue

⭐︎ When the sun hits, she’ll be waiting

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, post apocalypse, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, gore, blood, mean!steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another patrol. Patrols he's been doing for a whole year, and nothing ever changes. Maybe he had to kill one demodog, or demobat, but overall, it was the same walk, the same stance, the same weariness… only this time, something new appeared in his walk.

Word count: 4.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult and I are back with another Steve series, I hope you're as excited as I am, you got a lot of angst, fluff and smut coming your way! And also, shoutout to @ghost-proofbaby who picked the title for this story, thank you my love

series masterlist

☀︎

It was funny. 

He had watched apocalypse movies. He had seen the terrible visual effects done with strawberry syrup, the gelatin that exploded pretending to be brains and flesh, the people becoming zombies and doing loud and stupid moans in their chase. He knew the apocalypse would never look like that, but he also never believed he would live in something very much alike, and not at all a movie.

They had not defeated Vecna. They have killed him, but defeated? No. He is gone but he left behind the world he created, he reached his goal and got what he wanted, something that Steve and the others were very blind to at first, they watched him die; they burned his body to make sure that he was gone for good. They thought they won, but it was a false victory, one that gave them all the opportunity to recover, opportunities that included them trying to become a town again, yet after three months of what they thought was safe, the first demogorgon crawled out of the big gates that were created. Killed instantly. Then another. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Demogorgons, demobats, demodogs, and other upside down creatures... and this time, they came with infectious venom.

Venom that turned people into bloodthirsty, flesh eating monsters with nothing but death in their eyes, people turned into monsters who became part of Vecna’s army, crawling into homes and houses, spreading way too quickly and unable to be stopped from claiming not only the town but all of the country and soon the whole globe. 

They noticed when it was already too late, when the world was already too far gone and the lives of many were lost and claimed by darkness. 

When the realization started sinking in and he saw, felt the panic, the fear, the desperation, the dread and death, he felt like he was going to lose himself, knowing that the world he once knew was gone and never to be brought back again, that it was all lost and someday to be forgotten but a feeling he hadn’t noticed yet was acceptance. 

Because if anyone knew how to adapt, then it was him. Unlike many others, he had no home that he lost, he never had one in the first place. His parents' house was only ever a big lonely space that he never found comfort in until his friends filled that space with warmth and laughter, laughter that still echoes in his ears whenever he thinks of simpler times, laughter that he thinks he will never hear again. 

The house is now even emptier and colder than before, claimed by vines, dust and spider webs, just like most of the houses in Hawkins are… or the rest of the world. He passed familiar houses before, Dustin’s home and Lucas’s, he only glanced at them, not bearing to look longer, not wanting to feel, not wanting to look back at what he lost. 

The gun in his hand feels light, nothing like it used to feel the first few times he had to hold one or use one. His footsteps are barely audible as he walks through the empty cul-de-sac, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed, he is on high alert, he always is, even when he doesn’t have to. 

He feels relaxed, despite the circumstances, despite the death that could be waiting around any corner, he feels relaxed. He walks past the abandoned cars and houses, watching out for any creature that could come crawling out from any hole. A lone plushie lies on the ground, dirty and splattered with blood – a sight that would have made him sick a year ago, thinking about whose blood it could’ve been, now makes him feel indifference. He had seen so many ugly, disturbing things, nothing truly fazes him anymore, it’s awful and sometimes he wonders if he is still a good person or if the horrors of this world have turned him into a monster as well, if the darkness had claimed him too like it had claimed the sick people. Sometimes he feels pain, sometimes he feels nothing but today he feels a sliver of sadness, one that he swallows down as quickly as it comes, he can’t stand it. 

The sun shines down on him but he barely feels the warmth even though it’s there, the light of it illuminates the empty road ahead of him, the chaos left behind, the rotten grass and the dead flowers, they don’t grow anymore, the birds don’t sing anymore, he wonders if there are even any left in this world, most have died, just like the ones he used to see every day, they have died. 

A soft huff falls from his lips when he notices that the laces on his boots have come undone, he stops walking and looks around, making sure that nothing and nobody will creep up on him the moment he kneels down, he would be surprised if something like that still happened around here though. Hawkins is empty of people and monsters, it was only the doorway for them to get through to get to the rest of the world, this place is just as abandoned as the houses are. 

The only place that got swallowed whole was Forest Hills trailer park. Where Max used to live. Where Eddie used to live.

Placing the gun in his holster, he kneels down and reaches for the undone laces, wasting no second to tie them. His ears pick up on any sound, on the wind that howls through the bushes and the trees, through the broken windows, the bells that still hang from the ceilings on the empty porches. His eyes never stay focused on only the task before him, he is always ready to fight, to kill but it’s been a while since he had to use his gun or a machete, or even his bat. 

But today the hairs on his neck stand up for the first time in a while. Goosebumps arise on his skin and he feels it, a presence behind him. Steve swallows harshly, not knowing what to expect the moment he turns around, a demogorgon, a demodog or a sick one. He ties the knot on his boot, tightly. 

Unlike a few months before, he no longer feels fear whenever he is about to stare evil in it’s eyes, he no longer dreads it, he no longer feels his heart skipping or racing, he feels nothing anymore. 

He reaches for his gun and jumps to his feet, raising his arm and the gun, turning on his heel and aiming at the presence that lingered behind him, the one that would have normally lunged at him by now but it’s not a creature staring back at him nor is it a sick person, a sick person wouldn’t raise her arms up in surrender or step back in fear. 

“Hang on! I’m not bitten! I’m alive, I’m still alive!” Your voice is panicked, your eyes are too. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched, his eyes move up and down your body, taking in the state of your clothes first, no holes or tears in them, they are clean – clean for the end of the world. Your hair is tied, hanging down your shoulders in two braids, there are knives tucked into your belt and a gun in your thigh holster that you have no intent to reach for. He eyes your exposed skin, where your flannel had slipped down your shoulder, exposing a wound, not a bite, not a scratch, only a cut that he can’t help but wonder how it got there or why. 

“Turning takes days,” Steve murmurs as he tears his gaze away from you for a second to scan the area around you two, who knows what you had dragged here or who. 

“I can sing Madonna for you?” 

He rolls his eyes as he looks back at you, for someone armed with knives and a glock 17 strapped to her thigh, you sure do look like a frightened cat, ready to run. You are not a threat. He knows it; he sees it; he feels it. He knows danger; you aren’t that. 

“You’re not bitten?” He asks as he lowers his gun, letting you relax again. 

You shake your head, though you can still see the hesitance in his eyes, the mistrust. 

“Do I–” you start innocently, blushing already as you look at the man before you, “do I need to get naked? If so, I’d prefer a woman, if that is possible.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, ignoring the heat that rises in his cheeks. He puts his gun back in his holster. 

“Fuck, no, no… I believe you, what– what are you doing in the middle of Hawkins?” 

He sees the way your shoulders relax, the way you take a deep breath in and then out, lowering your arms to your sides. 

“I was in a small camp, a few towns away, and I’m trying to get to my old home… though, I got a bit lost cause a bat ripped my map out of my hands…” You frown. 

“Demobat.” 

You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows, “what?” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, shaking his head at himself, he keeps forgetting. 

“Nevermind.”

Your head is still tilted, your brows still furrowed, you look him up and down, no words fall from your lips, for a moment you are quiet. 

He grows a little flustered beneath your gaze, not that he would ever admit, you are just the first stranger he had encountered in a while, a stranger who creeped up on him. 

“You’re not very attentive.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You only noticed me when I was already too close.”

He wants to laugh… a little. 

“Sounds like you were up to no good,” Steve retorts, glaring at you to which your eyes only widen, filled with yet more panic. You open your mouth and close it again, a few times, the shock not letting you speak but when you do, you stutter and shake your head. 

“No! Oh my god! I’m just saying – listen, I want no trouble, I’m just passing through, I just want to go home.”

Steve can’t help but be a bit amused by the panic and the fear in your eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

If laughing hadn’t become such a strange thing to him these days, he would do it now, yeah, he would chuckle, he would laugh loudly. 

“That’s funny,” he mumbles under his breath, looking you up and down one more time before he turns on his heels and continues his journey down the road. His boots hit the gravel roughly, footsteps echoing through the empty streets, it only takes three seconds before a second pair joins, just like he had suspected. 

“Wait!”

You catch up with him quickly, walking beside him now. He feels your eyes on him but he doesn’t turn to look. 

“Is this a community?”

He wouldn’t call it that, the few people that stayed here all fend for themselves, just like him and his friends do. 

“Not exactly. Would be a very shitty one if anyone could just walk in.”

“Right…” He hears you murmur softly. “Are you passing through?”

“No.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

Steve rolls his eyes, side-eying you. He is not very talkative anymore, he finds no joy in holding conversations, let alone in answering questions, he barely uses his voice nowadays, he doesn’t feel bad about it, or even guilty. Normally he would keep quiet or even snap at whoever is bothering him, today he can’t find it in himself to be mean… meaner. 

“Cause it’s my hometown. Why are you by yourself?” Steve asks without looking at you. 

“I left my last camp cause I want to go home, like I said before–”

“I know, I mean why are you traveling by yourself? It’s not safe out here, especially not for women.” Steve rounds the corner, inching closer to the only house that has a light peeking through the boards on the windows. 

“It’s not safe for anyone out here, not just for women,” you correct him, looking at him in surprise when he opens the gate to the backyard before you and lets you walk in first. “But I haven’t seen many people since I left the camp,” You mumble and look down at your converse, that look very dirty in comparison to his black boots. 

You stand before him now, close, a little too close for a stranger, though he makes no move to put more distance between you. He sees the wound on your shoulder clearer now, a cut caused by either a knife or glass. 

You tilt your head up again, you are close enough to see his face now properly, the color of his eyes, hazel. Freckles and moles kiss his skin, his features are soft, his expression isn’t. His brown hair is very… voluminous, his beard is trimmed, he looks clean and he doesn’t smell, a rarity nowadays. He is tall, his shoulders are wide, he is certainly much stronger too, his biceps strain against his black shirt, and it only now dawns on you that you followed a man to what you presume is his home, you followed with no hesitation. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat and take a step back. He had shown no interest in you, he doesn’t seem fond of you following him either. He is just as much of a threat as you are, you tell yourself. 

“So er… is it just you here?” You ask, looking at the house he stopped by, the house you presume is his home, his fortress. 

“No.”

You nod, pursing your lips as you look into his cold eyes but he quickly breaks eye contact and starts walking again. 

“Where is everyone and how many people are here?” You ask as you continue on following him, staring at the back of his head, his mullet looks good, taken care of, you notice. “Also this town lacks security, you should have bigger gates--”

Steve turns on his heel, sighing loudly as he glares down at you, not even moving back when you almost bump into him. 

“Will you shut up for a second!?” He grumbles, glaring at you again as he stares you down. 

You press your lips together, gazing up into his dark eyes, not breaking eye contact. The look on his face should intimidate you, the cold eyes should scare you, he should scare you but he doesn’t. 

“Have any monsters gotten in yet and if so, have you ever fought any? I ran into a dog like creature the other day, that fucker nearly bit my hand off, I–”

Two seconds. You shut up for two fucking seconds. 

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, raising his hand up, he runs his fingers through his hair, his annoyance doesn’t faze you in the slightest, you open your mouth again, ready to ask another question but someone else beats you to it. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

You instantly press your lips together, throwing your hand to your holster as you snap your head to look towards the gate and at the person who cut you off, startled by his presence, you take a step closer to the stranger you just met as you eye the man with the long hair, who is looking at you with a smile on his face. His eyes are kind, much kinder than the ones of the man beside you. He is holding a box, a gun is secured and tucked into his belt. 

“Who’s this lovely lady, Harrington?” He asks, not stepping closer yet. 

Harrington. 

You don’t even notice the girl beside him until she clears her throat, offering you a small smile. Her hair is long and curly too, her bangs cover her eyes a little, a rifle is strapped over her shoulder. 

“Someone passing through,” Harrington grumbles under his breath, clearly wanting you to keep passing through. “She’ll be on her way now.”

It’s getting dark now, it’s not safe to continue your travel when the sun sets. You planned to find shelter when you stepped foot into this town, maybe find some cans of food in one of the abandoned houses. 

The girl meets your eyes, hesitating, she shakes her head. 

“Oh, it’s getting dark, besides she could use a bath, Steve.” The girl says, frowning as she looks you up and down. 

Offended, you scrunch your nose up and look down at yourself, “hey, I do my best in any possible lake!” You argue, despite the surprise in you. Every group, every community you have come across before, did not offer baths or shelter, not after your pleading, at least. 

“She has to go to her hometown–”

“All alone?” The girl asks, frowning at the man – at Steve, beside you. She glances at the one next to her, they share the same look in their eyes. You wonder if they are siblings. 

“Yes, all alone.” Steve sighs. 

They look at him in disappointment. 

He doesn’t want you here. 

It’s nothing you aren’t used to. 

You’re on your own, you always have been. Though you can’t remember the last time you had a proper shower, a real meal or a night full of sleep. You don’t know how to hunt, you wash yourself in lakes and you never sleep through the night, no matter how safe you think you are, you can’t sleep. You can’t even remember the last time you felt fully rested, not even the communities that provided you shelter gave you that real feeling of safety. 

You don’t know these people, the man beside you and the pair before you, but the kind blue eyes and the chocolate brown ones are different from any of the ones you have looked into before – you can feel the indifference from Steve, he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t trust you. 

“I-It’s fine, I was just passing through,” you shrug, offering a smile, despite the weird feeling in your stomach. “Do you… maybe have a map for me though?”

“Yeah,” Steve instantly speaks up, clearly wanting to get rid of you quickly. 

She crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring your question, she glares at Steve, “did she ask to stay?” 

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring back at her with an icy cold stare. 

“We can’t afford another mouth to feed–” 

The guy with the curly hair steps forward with a sigh, approaching Steve with a stubborn look on his face, “I’m keeping her.” 

Steve scrunches his face up, scoffing at his friend, “she’s not a fucking puppy!” 

Though he doesn’t listen to him and turns towards you, nudging his head at you, motioning for you to follow him as he goes to open the door to the house, “come on, we’re gonna eat dinner soon, we’re making stew. And you can get cleaned up if you want, Nancy will give you some clean clothes.”

You want to follow badly, the mention of food, of a warm meal makes your mouth water, and you wouldn’t say no to a shower and fresh clothes either but Steve’s unwelcoming expression makes you hesitate. 

He is looking down at the ground, his jaw tense, his eyes unimpressed. 

The girl, Nancy, she is looking at him still, waiting for him to look at her too but he doesn’t. There is something in her eyes that you can’t read, the same look that resides in his own. 

With a sigh, she looks away and starts walking towards you after closing the gate behind her. She can see the hesitation on your face. 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, we’re leaving soon too–”

“We are not,” Steve says harshly, nearly making you flinch. 

“We are.” Nancy argues, her brows are pulled together, her lips curl downwards. 

She is certainly more intimidating than he is. 

“You can stay for the night, like Eddie said, we’ll have dinner and you can get cleaned up, tomorrow you can be on your way with the map you have asked for, but it’s getting dark now – so, you’re staying.” 

“Okay.”

It’s funny, normally that would have been a warning sign for you to run. People aren’t usually so persistent for you to stay and if they are, you never stay long enough to find out what evilness they have planned for you. Usually you aren’t so trusting, but her kind blue eyes make it hard not to. 

Finding kindness in this world is a rarity nowadays, you wonder if these people ever encountered real danger – not the creatures, or the sick people but humans, you found out that those can be much worse, evil. You figure that they haven’t, otherwise they wouldn’t be so trusting towards you, even Steve, he didn’t ask you to take your weapons off of you, didn’t tell you to hand them over, he just let you follow, and his friends open the door to their home for you, they let you inside, he does too. 

You have a growing suspicion that they don’t really know the world they live in now, they haven’t seen past this untouched town, they haven’t seen what people are capable of, how cruel and evil they can be, because if they did, you would not be welcome here, not so easily, no matter how harmless you seem to them. 

But the kindness you are greeted with today encourages the hope that never died inside of you. 

Hope that died in him a long time ago. 

Hope that will die in you just like it did in him. 

He watches you closely, the way you look around the house the three of them have stayed in for the past year, you throw your backpack to the ground, leaving it abandoned by the stairs. You eye the radio station in the living room, curiosity lingers in your eyes, he notices how your fingers twitch but you don’t touch it, you draw back from it when you catch him staring at you like a hawk – he almost feels bad when you shy away. 

You turn your back to him and look at the bookshelf, tilting your head to the side. 

Steve should stop it, the staring, but he can’t, he doesn’t know why, you are not a threat, he doesn’t need to watch you but he keeps doing it, slowly following you through the house like you are his prey. 

You are the first stranger to enter this house, the first and the only. Every person who stumbled upon this ghost town was turned and scared away by him. He doesn’t know why he let you inside, Eddie and Nancy wouldn’t be able to keep you here, no matter how persistent and stubborn they had been. If they didn’t want you here, you would have been long gone and not walking around the house. 

But something about you makes him mad.

Maybe it’s the way you so easily fit in, or maybe it’s the way you fall for Eddie’s charm and giggle at every attempt of his to make you smile, maybe it’s the way you get along with Nancy right away, Nancy who is usually distrusting of anyone she doesn’t know, or maybe it’s the way you look at him when you sit across from him during dinner, the golden light from the fireplace touching your soft skin. Your eyes are big and innocent, the air around you is too, like you had been untouched by the horrors of this world, like nothing ever happened to you, like you didn’t lose anything or anyone, like the world didn’t even scratch the surface of you. 

He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know anything about you but he knows what you are – a naive and stupid girl, one that throws herself into danger, the cut on your shoulder and the scars on your upper arm are proof of that, you won’t survive long, people like you never do. 

He stares into your eyes and you stare back, eyeing him while Eddie talks your ear off, who is happy to have someone new to talk with, considering he is stuck with people who aren’t the most talkative. 

You blink, holding his gaze for a while. 

You are trouble, the kind that he wants to stay away from, the kind he needs to stay away from. 

And yet he finds himself knocking on the bathroom door to give you the toiletries and the clothes that Nancy had prepared for you after dinner. He is huffing loudly when he hears you singing, or humming. The only person he ever heard hum in a shower nowadays was Eddie, and he did it just to be an obnoxious prick. You, you are just happy, and who the hell is happy nowadays with how the world is? A psychopath. You are a fucking psychopath.

“One sec!” Your voice was sweet as the water is turned off, and soon after, the door is opening and his eyes are everywhere. You are wrapped in a towel, holding it tightly on your chest where the edge is tucked in. Your wet hair falling down your shoulders, the droplets all over your skin, and you have a stupid smile on your face. That snaps him out from the trance of staring at you more than he should. He blames it on not meeting another woman in a while. The only one in this ‘community’ of his age is Nancy, and she and him made it clear that whatever happened when Vecna was alive, that it was purely out of adrenaline and the need to be or feel cared for by someone in that moment.

“Have your stuff. Remember to give the clothes back before you leave tomorrow.” He extends his arms towards you, the body cream on top of the clothes, making you gasp as your arms shoot to take them from him, your eyes stuck on the white bottle.

“Oh god… thank you… I can’t– I can’t thank you enough–”

“Not me. Nancy and Eddie. I wanted you gone, still want you gone.” His eyes are looking away from you, down the hall as he speaks. He is harsh and he knows it, but there is a limit on water usage in the community, and you just used a ton. Which makes him think that Nancy and Eddie are being serious on leaving, not caring for the limits any longer. 

Your eyes look up, catching onto the patch of freckles and moles on his neck, as well as a very prominent scar. As if he had been choked by some rope, going all the way around. You were hurt by his words, but yet, this guy is being mean, and wants to kick you out, and he is standing in front of you handing you body cream and clothes, when he could have refused. He could have shot you and defy his friends. He could have been pushier.

And so your hope doesn’t die.

“I’ll thank them later… but yet, thank you, as well.” You persist and he grumbles something under his breath, his head turning to look at you one last time. Hopefully, the last time he sees it before he wakes up tomorrow. 

“Have a safe trip tomorrow.” And with that, he walks down the hall and towards his room, slowly closing the door behind him. Robin is going to kill him. Letting a random girl inside the house. Eddie and Nancy were out of their minds. Everyone was, except him. Hopefully.

He hears murmurs between you and Nancy in the hallway, giggles that disappear as you two disappear into Nancy’s room. She is letting you sleep on the bed with her. What the fuck was Nance thinking? You are a stranger… A stranger who seemed harmless enough, a stranger who looked… tired. Like the only thing you wanted to do was sleep, and sleep, and sleep. 

He might be over-exaggerating with how he is treating you, but can anyone blame him for it?

His eyes move towards a scarf on his bed frame, his fingers caressing the hand-knitted mustard colored cotton between his fingers. He hears Eddie whistling as he goes into his room and his anger bubbles up inside of him again.

He isn’t leaving this town. It is a stupid idea to do so. It is reckless. It is also going against the community’s rules. He isn’t going to leave. He can’t leave Robin behind, and Eddie and Nancy know she won’t be coming along.

He won’t leave the last thing that is keeping him alive.

[keeksandgigz]

we all have a hunger

part 3 of chef! eddie munson x waitress! reader

summary: “Can’t believe you’ll finally let me do dinner service,” you let out with a laugh, and guilt blooms in his chest. Over how selfish he’s been, over how unfair he is to you, that have committed no sin besides being what he can’t have. Fuck, the wine is making his head spin. “Have I been promoted to the good list?” You joke. 

Maybe the best way to rid himself of how feverishly he wants you is to keep you around. Not avoid you. 

“I think I just need to stop being selfish,” he mutters. And that’s it. That’s all it takes for Eddie to realize that all he wants at this moment is to put his goddamn cigarette out and hold you with both hands. 

cw: no y/n, eddie calls reader 'kid', age gap (r is 26, e is 46), language, smoking, moral angst, dual pov (in the sense that you get to see what both eddie and r are thinking), yearning and pining on steroids, smut (minors DNI), oral (f receiving), eddie cums in his pants (what's new), food as a love language, fwb status achieved, the last dialogue is heavily influenced by heated rivalry because they've plagued my existence

word count: 6k

series masterlist | chef! eddie moodboard | pt. 1 | pt. 2| pt. 4 coming soon!

song inspo- hunger by florence + the machine

divider by @saradika-graphics

all my works are 18+ pls minors dni

The sound is deafening. It’s like watching a wine chalice fall from your tray, and being unable to do anything to stop it. 

It’s the silence right before. The anticipation. Expecting the mess it will make on the floor. It all bubbles in your gut, right as you see him walk towards you. He’s holding a glass of Chablis full to the brim, accompanied by its half-finished bottle. “Figured I’d come out for a smoke, too,” he blurts out, muffled by the cigarette between his lips. The spark wheel makes its sound, and the cigarette between his lips rims with golden embers. The air feels trapped in Eddie’s lungs, a weak cough escapes him. What now? 

“‘S cold out here for an old man like you,” you point out, chuckling at him, but your tone is uncertain. As you speak, you see him walk over, and lean on the banister. Right next to you. His suede-clad shoulder bumps into yours, and the proximity makes you shiver. He takes a sip of his wine and places the glass on the rickety metal table right next to him. 

“Watch that tone,” he jests. “I’m a big boy, I can take a little snow,” his voice slightly charred by the alcohol, mirrors your amused tone. His spiritedness slices a sympathetic smile through your lips.

“I never got to thank you for the food,” you change the subject. Suddenly, the air around Eddie feels thick. He must be a real thick-brained motherfucker if he thought you wouldn’t have put two and two together. Maybe he did want you to figure it out, to know that he wasn’t avoiding you because of anything that you did– he just had to care from a distance. 

“What food?” 

“The one you’d leave in my locker. I figured it was you because of your handwriting on the notes. The same one as the note you left on the bacon, egg, and cheese after I got drunk,” you explain, taking another hit of your cigarette. Again, there’s no shame behind your admission of what happened that night. Yet, every mention of that night it’s like a gunshot wound to Eddie’s chest.

“You’re too fuckin’ smart, kid,” he grumbles, followed by a fat swig of wine, and the compliment makes you fluster. “After the eggs and fries I assumed you don’t eat a whole lot with all the runnin’ you do around the restaurant, so–” he trails off, shrugging like it’s not a big deal. Except it is.

“I really liked that brie and fig preserve sandwich. You used that good ham we have in the fridge, didn’t you?” you ask, a bit embarrassed that he’d use the good stuff on you. He emits an affirmative hum, and if possible, he sees your smile get bigger. Fuck. Stop looking at me like that. “Will you make it for me again some time?” You bat your eyes at him in a joking manner, but all Eddie can think about is how twinkly your eyes look reflecting the lights brightening your street. 

“Tell ya what, kid– if you come after lunch and do dinner service with me, I will,” his tone is soft, as he turns around and nudges you with his shoulder. You look at the curve of his nose and lips pointing at the moon. At his fingers, tightly wrapped around his cigarette, while the smoke of it surrounds you like a wall. He’s looking at you, now. He keeps himself there, right against you, hoping you can’t feel how badly he wants to touch more than your shoulder. More than your arms. That he wants to wrap his arms around you, grip your waist, take off– no, not yet– as much as he would like to. He wants you to want it first, just so he won’t feel like a complete pervert. 

Your eyes turn into half-moons, which make the real thing pale in comparison, squinted by a smile. Then his eyes travel down your lips, wrapping around the cigarette, which has turned into a stump, and he’s done for.

All he thinks about is to kiss you until you’re so dizzy you can’t stand, and he’ll be there to hold you up. To feel the taste of your smile against his lips. To cup your face, shield you from the cold. Fuck, he needs more wine. 

“Can’t believe you’ll finally let me do dinner service,” you let out with a laugh, and guilt blooms in his chest. Over how selfish he’s been, over how unfair he is to you, that have committed no sin besides being what he can’t have. Fuck, the wine is making his head spin. “Have I been promoted to the good list?” You joke. 

Maybe the best way to rid himself of how feverishly he wants you is to keep you around. Not avoid you. 

“I think I just need to stop being selfish,” he mutters. And that’s it. That’s all it takes for Eddie to realize that all he wants at this moment is to put his goddamn cigarette out and hold you with both hands. 

He looks at you with the eyes of a man who’s starving, hands inching up the length of your arms, he’s now a palm’s length away from you. “You’re so beautiful,” it comes out choked, like a breath he’s been holding underwater. 

“Chef–” 

“Just Eddie, please,” he corrects with a murmur right against your face. He’s pervaded by the tobacco smell of your mouth, the smell of your hair in which snowflakes have deposited themselves to become droplets. There’s no more restraint, no more control. “Let me kiss you,” he whispers, as he looks into your eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” his voice is feeble. He’s begging. He’s so desperate with it, you see it in the flush of his cheeks. 

“But– but you’re drunk?” You counter, pushing back the crawling feeling in your body. The one that wants to push you closer, until you’re basically inside his jacket. 

“‘M sober enough to know I want to kiss you. That– that I’ve wanted to kiss you since that one night I gave you my cigarette,” he breathes, stutters, blubbers. The proximity to you, to your lips, makes his brain short circuit as his breath warms your face with the smell of wine and cigarettes. 

You don’t answer, and in return, you just press your lips to his.  

He sears with the heat of you despite your cold lips. Your hands on his cheeks, your body right against his, as you let the cigarette fall down the balcony. Feverish, dizzy. He can’t fucking think. 

“Three months–” he mutters against the softness of your lips, “ever since that fucking interview, I’ve wanted you so much it made me stupid, selfish–” his hands travel up and down your arms, to your waist, to your back. 

“Shut up and keep kissing me, Eddie,” and hearing his name begged out of your lips is enough for him to stop rambling his pleas for forgiveness. There’s a sheen of sweat that’s coating both of your foreheads, your upper lips, as you open his coat. 

He’s offering himself to you in the barest way he can think of. It’s not love, no. Just a carnal need to show you his bones, blood, flesh. Not literally, but in the way that he ebbs and flows with the rhythm of your own body. He doesn’t force anything. He lets you part your mouth of your own volition, to caress his tongue over yours. 

It’s all he’s been wanting. It’s everything he’s waited three months for. He’s not subtle with how hungry he is for you. 

“Tell me you don’t want this, sweetheart. Please, stop me,” he says, another, final, attempt at a trace of goodness left in him. His breath ragged, tortured, because he can’t stop it himself. He can’t. 

“I want– want it so much, Eddie,” you pant inside his mouth. You’re way past forming a rational thought, not when the fullness of his lips makes you dizzy enough to stumble where you stand. 

He’s surprised with the eagerness of your own dormant hunger. The one that led you to sleepless nights, pushing away your duvet because of the heat that took over your body whenever you thought about him. Whenever your hands slipped ever so slightly under the waistband of your underwear, letting yourself indulge in the thought of him. Unlike him, you didn’t even make an attempt at goodness. 

It was something private, something that you could keep a secret. You would’ve come apart at the seams otherwise. 

His hand is placed behind your head, cushioning, as he holds you against the glass window. His mouth makes his way down your jaw, your ear, your neck. Like he wants to memorize all of you with his lips. Drawing outlines in the cold-pricked skin, like he’s keeping the image of your kiss-bitten lips for a rainy day. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he almost growls against the softness of your skin. “It’s been making me crazy, to even– even be in the same room with you,” he stutters, and that’s all the explanation you need as to why he’s been avoiding you. Yet, you don’t say anything besides sighing against his hairline, smelling the pine scent of his shampoo. 

“Can you say my name, please, sweetheart?” he sobs. Not chef, not anything else. He just wants to be himself. He bites at the column of your neck, and like he’s pushed a button, you comply. 

“Eddie–” it’s a sigh, a plea, a prayer. It rings into his ears like a dog whistle. It makes him stupid. “In–side, please,” you grit out, pushing through the feeling of his hands sneaking their way under your coat and pyjama shirt. You grab the collar of his coat to drag him past the sliding door, back in the warmth of your home. 

Your coats come off with heavy thuds against the hardwood floor, forgotten in a pool of brown and white. You’re immediately pushed over the couch, watching him kneel between your parted legs. 

“I’ve wanted you so bad,” he whispers, nudging your nose with his, “I don’t know how– I don’t–” It makes him stupid, delirious. Drunk on your smell, and the little gasps that escape you whenever he places a kiss right down the sliver of skin the first button of your pyjamas makes available to him. His hands travel up and down your hips and stomach, like a gentle caress. 

“It’s– it’s okay,” you pant against his ear. “Please, don’t make me wait,” you demand, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, trying to get him to take it off. Clothes feel offending, oppressive. Not when you’ve both been so patient. Once his shirt is off and you can see him, he becomes a smatter of tattoos, spidery lines in black ink that litter his arms, his chest, his upper back. You hear him chuckle at your stunned pause, which makes you burn with embarrassment. 

“I won’t make you wait, sweetheart, but please don’t stop staring at me like that,” he gives you a skewed smile, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama top. He could’ve easily lifted it over your head, he’s aware, but he likes this. This self torture, this proof that even at the eleventh hour, when you’re panting right under him, begging to undress you, he can still exercise restraint. 

For someone who’s always running, always in a hurry, every second feels like an eternity as he peels every layer of you with careful attentiveness. Almost afraid to miss anything that’s laying dormant under the pink flannel.

He’s soft beneath your hands, with pearly scars that bump his skin close to his wrists and forearms. You measure the length of them with soft strokes of your hands, up and down. You want to make sure he’s real, that this is real. That every muscle, bump, and hair that you feel in the wake of your hands exists because he’s letting himself exist in front of you– naked, and beautiful. 

When he takes off your pyjama top you can hear him suck a breath through his teeth. He’s so hungry for skin he’s yet to explore, smells he’s yet to sense, ones that make his dick twitch in his black sweatpants at the mere thought. His hands travel up your stomach, reaching up to your chest, squeezing the skin of your breasts with such gentleness, it makes you keen for more. 

“You’re so, so pretty,” he exhales it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to find out. “Look at these–” he marvels with a firmer squeeze that elicits a squirm from you. “Can’t believe I made you wait this long, sweetheart, look at you,” he whines in return at the sight of you, arched into his touch, like you’re going to die without it. 

He grabs your face with one hand, keeping your chin in place, as he trails kisses down your stomach, never breaking contact with your stunned eyes. 

Your skin is  stained with wet kisses, while you look at him press his free hand on your legs, inhale the smell that is pervading his nostrils in a way that’s making him dizzy. 

“You been thinking about this, sweets?” And his smugness makes you want to scream from every pore. “Because I have, so many times,” he pants against the dampening crotch of your pyjamas. “I’ve thought about you like this, looking at me with your pretty eyes– God, your eyes–” he groans, “and I never did anything about it,” he confesses. “It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair to you, sweets. Because I didn’t know you wanted me just as bad as I wanted you.” His last confession comes out lamentful, strained. Like he can’t believe he tortured himself this much over you. 

“You… you didn’t–” 

“Did you?” he asks like it’s a challenge, staring straight into your waiting eyes. It makes you feel embarrassed of the many nights spent moaning his name into the void of your room. So you nod, quietly, and you can feel the wicked smile bloom on his lips, right against your inner thigh, “God, you’re sweet,” he chuckles, mirth dripping from his voice.

“I didn’t– didn’t know,” you correct in between gasps, while his tattooed fingers hook on the elastic of your Christmas pyjamas. 

“How could you have known?” He whispers against the skin of your stomach, mouthing his own secret language like prayer, like he wants to inhale the scent of your skin and bottle it for him to keep. He looks at you– eyes twinkling in the dim orange light of your living room. Dark and wanting, but an underlying twinge of adoration he’ll never bring himself to admit. 

His hand that’s holding your chin in place sneaks up to your lips, and there’s a silent pause. A moment where he looks into your eyes, a silent declaration that yes, this is okay. It’s barely perceptible when you nod around his hand, and he wastes no time pushing his way past your lips with his thumb, eliciting a moan from you, while his other hand pushes your legs back, and he inhales. 

“This okay?” he mumbles, out loud this time, against the smooth skin of your thigh, followed by a nip of his teeth that makes you cry out around his finger. You nod again. “Rest your legs on my shoulders, sweets, it’s okay,” he invites, and you comply. There’s nothing he could ask of you you wouldn’t do at this moment. If anything, it only adds more matches to the pool of flaming gasoline at the bottom of your stomach. 

Another deep inhale, a hitching breath. He can’t believe he’s there. Right between your legs, as his hand is about to push your panties to the side, and his heart is beating so hard right against his chest, that he thinks it might poke out of him. You smell so good it makes him feel stupid. 

He looks at you again, eyes glazed over, impatiently waiting for him to do something, anything. Yet you wait. You don’t push, or press, or demand. You’re just there. 

You who are always so composed, so polite, so witty. Rendered wordless by his hovering mouth and ragged breath right where you need him most. And yet you just wait. 

So he goes in, and the sound that comes out of you is like music ringing in his ears. A sacred collapse of resolve. 

“Fuck– shit– Ed–” like you’re trying to begin new sentences, and the thread snaps right then and there, rendering you useless under his ministrations. 

“Don’t have to speak,” he mouths right against the wet skin of your pussy. He explores, he takes his time. It’s the sweet torture he’s been wanting to inflict on himself all along. “You’re doing good,” he affirms before going in again. Lapping at as much surface he can cover with his tongue. He slurps and sucks like he’s never eaten a meal in his life. His free hand, the one that’s holding you open for him, moves down the length of your thigh, so close to where his chin is resting, waterfalled by the blissful pooling of your arousal. He crooks one of his fingers inside you, and you’re so responsive it makes his cock twitch in his sweats at every noise and whine that escapes your lips. 

And he groans. At the smell of you, the taste, the way you clench around his finger like you’re trying to keep him there forever. The vibrations make you shiver. 

“You always this messy, or just for me?” He murmurs amused, watching your eyes roll back at the additional stimulation.“Another one? Or are you good?” He asks, in a teasing whisper. He curls his finger deeper, and watches with resolute satisfaction at the way you arch your back off the couch, blubbering around his thumb.

“‘Nother one, please,” you mumble, and he obediently obliges, coaxing another whine out of you. 

“Woulda done this sooner if I knew how– fuck, how wet you got for me,” he stands up and curls over you like a cat, while he pumps his fingers inside you. You can feel him grind on your thigh, heavy breathing in your ear. He’s embarrassed at the knowledge that he’s not going to last, but at this moment, he really doesn’t care about anything except coaxing more sweet sounds out of you. “Gimme kiss,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, as he takes his thumb out of your mouth, and replaces it with his searing tongue. You can smell yourself all over his mouth, chin, and nose, and you want nothing more than to lick it off of him. To take back the proof of how much you wanted it. 

“Go on,” he says, like he can read it in your mind. “Lick me clean,” and so you do. The flat of your tongue swirls on his chin, under his nose, the side of his lips, and each roll of his hips against your soft thigh elicits more groans, more whines, right inside your mouth. 

He can feel it. The way your breath is hitching, the pitch of your whines becoming higher, more desperate. The unabashed moaning, right in his mouth, the sweat  that pools at your hairline, the way you’re squeezing his fingers like they’re keeping you alive. 

“Eddie I’m g– please, please let me–” he shushes you, hot hair fanning your face. 

“I got it, baby, don’t worry,” he soothes your desperate plea. He keeps his pace, he doesn’t speed up, or change the way his fingers are pumping inside you. Rather, his mouth leaves a trail of kisses down your jaw, to the soft lobe of your ear, and bites. “You gonna cum for me, sweets? Please lemme hear you cum in my ear,” he begs through broken huffs and labored breaths. 

“The– there, plea–” you ramble, and with a final curl of his fingers, you come undone. There’s a silent scream, a whine, a jolt, as you bite down on his shoulder, and ride out your high. He feels it, you don’t want him to let go just yet, so he cups your head, placing another searing kiss on your lips. 

“Shh, I got you,” he whispers, following the whine that comes out of you once he takes out his fingers, and the sight that’s in front of him is past any of his wildest fantasies of you. His hips twitch in turn, and a groaned-out sound that seems similar to your name escapes him, but you can barely hear it. You’re spent, head hung back on the headrest of your couch. Eyes half-lidded, sleepy. 

“Holy shit,” you slur, still trying to steady your breath, looking at him. His thumb draws invisible straight lines against your thigh, soothing you through the aftershocks that still shoot through you. 

“So much for being good,” he chuckles at himself, placing a kiss on your temple, and you’re not totally sure what it means. There’s a sourness in his expression that you can’t quite decipher. Like he’s disappointed in himself. 

Maybe he wants you to return the favor? A weak hand reaching for the waistband of his sweats. He stops you. 

“No more for tonight,” he soothes, soft, yet firm. 

His reaction confuses you. You thought he wanted this, all of it. Did you make him feel forced to do this? 

He sees the disappointment in your eyes “You don’t need to return the favor,” he intimates, his tone weak and cold. Then you look down. The stain that darkens his sweats, the one that he’s trying to cover with his hand as much as possible while he slips his shirt back on. It makes him feel pathetic, embarrassed, and if possible, even more of a pervert. 

“Eddie, it’s fine. If anything’s kind of endearing–”

“It’s late. I should go home.” 

And the wall’s erected in between you once again.

As confused as you are, you sit up and follow him with your eyes. “There’s no more trains, it’s like four in the morning. You can sleep on the cou–” you try to intervene, but he stops you.

“I’ll walk,” he grunts, walking off to grab his coat from the floor. He feels disgusted with himself. “‘M not far.” 

“Stay, please,” you extend his hand towards him, voice thin, and you see him stop in his tracks. 

There’s an uncomfortable sense of hurt that spreads through your chest, but you’re too tired to entertain it. 

You sound so hurt, and it feels like a stake through his chest. He was about to be that asshole that walks away without giving any type of aftercare. The thought of it makes him sick. 

Instead, he walks back to the couch, sighing a pained “Alright,” standing behind the headrest, his hand caressing the crown of your head. Only then you realize how heavy your lids feel. You’re not sure whether he’ll leave once you’re asleep, and it concerns you– how much you care about whether he’ll be there in the morning. 

“I’ll stay,” he whispers, while his heart sinks. 

He walks around the couch, reaching for your discarded clothes on the floor. You’re quiet, looking at him through your lashes as let yourself be dressed by him– sleeve by sleeve, button by button, while his mind steeps into an uncomfortable place, a scary place. Your silence deafens him. Now what? 

“Don’t be gone when I wake up,” you slur, fully laying down. 

“I won’t, promise,” he whispers.

“Mhh– thanks, Eddie,” you whisper in a sleep-daze, closing your eyes for good. 

He thinks about the talk he’s gonna need to have with you when you’ll wake up in the morning. You’ll expect a continuation of what happened. Breakfast, getting to know each other, all that morning-after bullshit. Expecting things he won’t be able to give to you. He can’t be a boyfriend. He’s too tainted for something so beautiful. 

Guilt suffocates him as he picks up your limp body off the couch to take you to bed, and he feels the weight of it against his arms. Yet, it’s not the weight of you. Just the weight of what he did. 

The feeling of deja-vu that overtakes him makes him dizzy. He’s awake, in your apartment, and it’s five in the morning. Head in his hands, he sits right where you did, in his wet spot of shame. 

Maybe he should have asked you for a spare pair of sweats. And a shower. 

When you wake up, he’s asleep, mouth breathing on your couch. It makes you chuckle. 

The wine bottle’s finished, and the Chinese food leftover has been put in the fridge. Dishes still piled up in the sink. You sigh. 

You walk over to the sink trying to keep as quiet as possible as you soap up the pans and utensils, washing them one by one. Eddie’s awoken by an especially loud clank from a soapy pan that slips out of your hands. 

“Jee-sus,” he curses, heart thumping. He rubs his eyes, heavy with sleep. Fuck, you’re awake. 

“‘Morning,” you greet. Your tone is flat, and Eddie can’t tell if it’s whether you’re mad or just focused on the task at hand. 

“Hey, kid,” he yawns. He’s back to ‘kid’. Like his head wasn’t between your legs last night. The thought makes your stomach sink for a second. There’s a glimpse of his mouth, of his drawled-out words against your skin, it muffles your ears for a second. 

“Sleep good?” You try to make your tone as detached as possible, while you scrub another dish and put it away on the drying rack. Eddie stands up to walk over to the kitchen island, sitting on one of the stools. 

“Yeah, your couch is comfy,” he lies, the small talk making him feel uneasy. “Sorry for leaving all those dishes in your sink and hittin’ the road last time, kid. Should’ve woken up earlier, I could’ve had the time, but–” he lets the sentence hang in an exhausted sigh. It’s like he’s trying to scold himself. Like he let his steely control slip for just a moment, and because of it, his resolve crumbles once more. Another bout of silence. 

“Never had a man apologize for not doing the dishes,” you emit a dry laugh that makes Eddie’s stomach twist. “Guess you’re not used to it when you have a line of dishwashers to do it for you, chef,” you shrug, marking the end of your last word with a sibilated sound. If he’s putting up walls, you can do the same.

“I started as a dishwasher, kid. At Salt, just like you,” he mutters the end of that sentence like he’s afraid of it. 

“You didn’t tell me you worked at Salt,” you point out, a scheptical smile on your face. 

“I was a scrawny kid getting yelled at by one of the nation’s top chefs because I broke a plate. Not exactly one of my proudest moments,” he sniffs, while you stare attentively at him. He’s playing with a hangnail on his finger, like he’s trying to avoid your gaze. 

“Hey, I followed a piece of shit ex here,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “If there’s anyone who should be ashamed is me,” you shrug, putting down the last of the dishes.

The air turns thick for a second. Like you keep dancing around the elephant in the room. You exhale, Eddie’s still looking at his hands.

You turn away from him, grabbing two mugs– a silly snowman-shaped mug, and one shaped like a stack of cookies– and pour some coffee from a keurig. “Coffee?” You ask without looking at him. 

“Please,” he answers, lifting his eyes from the offending hangnail to watch you pour milk into both mugs, and beeline to the chair right in front of him. 

He gets the silly snowman mug, which is a bit inconvenient to drink from, but after the night he’s had, he’ll drink coffee out of a shoe if he needs to. 

After a few sips of coffee, he stands up off his chair and heads towards your cabinet. 

“What are you doing, chef?” Every reaction from you is deliberate, calculated. You want to coax what you want out of him. 

“Pancakes? Go shower in the meantime.” 

You just can’t help but oblige. 

The shower is scalding, but it doesn’t cleanse you of any sin. You can still feel Eddie’s head burrowed in between your thighs, and his firm grip on your chin. When you woke up, you weren’t even too sure if what happened the night before was a sick and twisted dream your mind had thought up. 

Yet, with every memory of his words, drawls, commands, you seem to keen into your own touch as you lather yourself with as much soap as you can to clean up your mess. Both physical and mental, that is. 

If there’s one thing that Eddie can bury his own emotions in, it’s cooking. He can be angry or frustrated and make a mean carbonara– the Italian way, with the whipped yolk and cheese, relaxed, happy, stressed, he can make dessert. 

The issue is, that it feels unnatural now, like he’s forgotten how to. 

His hands feel like two huge cutting boards as he ventures into your cabinets for flour, sugar, baking powder, while he debates on the topping. It can’t be normal pancakes, no. Only when he reaches into your fridge for the butter, he nudges a white container that reads ‘ricotta’, and he’s got it: Whipped ricotta and lemon pancakes. A smile slices through his face as he gets to work. 

His struggle is short-lived. When it comes to pancakes, it feels like muscle memory at that point. It reminds him of slow Sunday mornings after Wayne came back from church. He’ll find a little Eddie running around the kitchen with a scalding mug of coffee in one hand, a stack of maple butter blueberry pancakes and bacon in the other. 

The stain in his sweats is long forgotten, even though he curses himself for not asking for a change of clothes and a shower before he got to work on breakfast. He warms the butter on the stove, slightly charring it, letting it turn a warm shade of brown, dividing it between the dough and the whipped lemon ricotta. What comes out of it is something almost visually sinful– stacked high, four warm, spongy pancakes, topped with chilled sweet lemon ricotta and chopped mint at which he makes a mental note to make them again for Wayne when he goes back to visit. 

When you come out of your shower, hair wet, in an old t-shirt and sweats, you’re enamored by the sweet-acidic smell that surrounds your kitchen. Two stacks of pancakes at the table, accompanied by fresh mugs of coffee, your stomach betrays you before words do. 

“Sit down and eat, kid, sounds like you’re starving,” he snickers, pulling your chair back. 

“What–uh, what are these?” You were expecting regular pancakes, maybe even the frozen ones sitting in the back of your freezer, or something. Not whatever this masterpiece is. 

“Well, they’re pancakes,” he explains with an amused smile, coaxing one out of you in turn. 

“Yeah, no shit. I mean the flavor.”

“Lemon and sweet ricotta, and mint, and… other bullshit,” he points at each ingredient with a voice full of pride as you sit down and take a bite. Needless to say the flavors– so delicate, yet so specific to each ingredient– makes this the best stack of pancakes you’ve ever had. 

“I don’t even like pancakes that much, but these–” he’s ashamed to admit that he prepared himself for this moment. For the way your mouth curls in a smile, and your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Wait, back up. You don’t like pancakes?” 

“Well– maybe I don’t dislike them, but there’s better breakfast food out there,” you shrug, chucking a mouthful of pancakes in your mouth. In the blink of an eye, Eddie reaches your side of the table and snatches the plate from under you. “Wha–” 

“Maybe you don’t deserve my pancakes,” he says, holding your plate above his head. A wicked smile slices his face. 

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that. Your pancakes are lovely, I promise,” you whine at him, standing up and walking over to his side to make an attempt at recovering your plate. 

“After everything we’ve shared,” he laments, mock-clutching his heart, dodging your grabby hands, “can’t believe you would betray me like this.” It makes a smile bloom on your face, despite how annoying Eddie’s being. 

He’s laughing, and it’s a sound you didn’t know you needed to hear until now. It’s boyish, full of feeling, unlike his gruff appearance– higher-pitched than his own voice. It settles in your bones and rings, it makes you shiver. 

You don’t want the pancakes anymore. 

“What, you’re just going to admit defeat?” He snickers, putting down the plate, and sliding it over to where you were just sitting. Yet, you stand there, staring back at his face, watching the amusement wash off. It leaves room for expressions you can’t quite place. Confusion, apprehension, fear.

Upon further inspection, there’s a smudge of flour on Eddie’s face, which you quickly swipe without thinking. You can see his eyes close at the immediate contact with your thumb. Betrayed, again, by his own body. 

“Are we not going to talk about last night?” You whisper it like a secret, reaching for your mug, taking a swig from it, and then cradling it with both hands. 

“What do you want from me, kid?” He’s back to the gruff tone. Eddie hangs his head, staring into the circling bubbles of his coffee. Tired and maybe a bit scared, he sounds enticingly pathetic. It makes your skin burn.  

You place your mug down and settle into his lap, letting his eyes inspect you. You can hear his breathing quicken, becoming heavier and dysregulated. The effect you have on him gives you a satisfying pleasure, you smirk at his reaction.

“I had fun,” you mumble against his skin. 

“Sweetheart–” there it is again. One thing about him, he knows how to keep a boundary. He’s trying to decipher what you mean by that. Do you want to do it again? Is it a one-time thing? Do you want a relationship? He quivers at the latter. 

“I’m saying that we could do this more often. Casually, of course,” you detach, looking at his blown-out eyes. Desperate for a kiss. “Say,” your tone is pointed, unlike anything he’s heard come out of your mouth. “I casually gave you my number for when, y’know, you, casually, feel lonely after dinner service, or on your day off,” you ghost your nose on his cheek, right by the shell of his ear. The slightest hitch of his breath that makes you smirk. “And say, I’m casually all by myself at home,” you continue.

“And I casually were to grab my phone and call you,” he exhales, mocking your tone. He notices the way your fingers play with the edge of one of his burn scars, how your pupils are wide, eyes full of mischief. He can see you through the curtain of his loose hair, making your way at the lobe of his ear. You mouth at it, and you can hear him whine, his hands conveniently finding a solid place to keep him aground on the curve of your hips. He feels your heart thrum against his chest as you press light kisses on his jawline. 

“I casually might answer,” you breathe into his ear.

“... And I asked you to come over, casually.”

A smile creeps up your lips as you finally look at him: “I casually might come.” 

a/n: suprise! as always, feedback is appreciated and thank you for reading! :)

[rylandsgrace]

First appearance -> last appearance

Stranger things (2016 - 2025)