I can’t believe he’s so trusting While I’m right behind you thrusting
Summary: Jonathan had been emotionally distant for months, pining after another girl while you sat there helplessly. Fortunately, Byers isn’t the only one who wants you, and he’ll never have to know.
4.8k words
Contains: TW: cheating (emotional and physical), p in v smut, fingering, allusions to oral (fem receiving), guilt, angst, happy(ish) ending.
…
The first time Eddie Munson kissed you, Jonathan Byers was thirty feet away buying popcorn.
Which honestly should’ve made you stop.
Instead, it made your pulse race harder.
The Hawkins Theater buzzed with noise around you; sticky floors, neon lights, kids shouting near the arcade machines, but all you could focus on was Eddie leaning lazily against the hallway wall beside you, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
You rolled your eyes, but he grinned anyway, smug and impossible.
Jonathan had dragged you there with Nancy and Steve after one of their “investigating weird shit” days. Except Jonathan barely spoke to you anymore during those outings. He and Nancy walked ahead together whispering constantly, heads bent close enough to touch, and Steve fought for his own girlfriends attention like a kicked puppy.
You noticed everything.
The way Jonathan looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention.
The inside jokes you weren’t part of.
How he always seemed more awake around her. Meanwhile, you’d become background noise.
A girlfriend in title only.
So maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to talk to Eddie lately.
Because Eddie looked at you directly. Like he was interested, like he noticed when you entered a room, and maybe you were angry enough to let that matter too much.
“You wanna know something?” Eddie asked quietly.
“What?”
“You keep looking at them like you’re trying not to set something on fire.”
You followed his gaze automatically.
Jonathan was laughing softly at something Nancy said. That ache returned immediately.
Sharp. Familiar. Humiliating.
“I think he’s cheating on me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Eddie’s expression shifted.
Not joking anymore.
“You know that for sure?”
“No.” You swallowed. “But I think he wants to.”
The words tasted awful out loud.
Eddie stared at Jonathan for another second before muttering, “He’s an idiot.”
You laughed weakly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t have to.”
And God, maybe you were lonelier than you realized, because that almost hurt worse.
…
After that, Eddie started appearing everywhere.
Leaning against your locker after class, sliding into the seat beside you during lunch, waiting outside the arcade while you pretended not to notice him immediately.
At first you thought he was messing with you.
Most people in Hawkins treated Eddie like trouble wrapped in denim and chains.
But Eddie looked at you like he understood something ugly sitting inside your chest.
And the worst part?
You understood him too.
“You know Byers is gonna kill me eventually, right?” Eddie asked one afternoon while walking you home.
“You’re assuming he’d notice.”
The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie glanced sideways at you carefully.
“Huh.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I just… don’t think you should talk about yourself like you’re invisible.”
You looked away immediately.
Because lately, invisible was exactly how you felt.
…
The sneaking around started accidentally.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
A ride home after Hellfire ran late. A cigarette shared behind the school gym.
Long conversations in the trailer park while music played softly from Eddie’s room and Wayne slept down the hall.
You kept saying it wasn’t serious. Nothing you’d done with Eddie was physical.
You kept saying Jonathan already emotionally left first anyway.
But guilt still crawled beneath your skin every time Jonathan kissed your forehead distractedly before running off to meet Nancy again.
Because despite everything, Jonathan still trusted you.
And you were starting to hate yourself for breaking that trust even while your heart broke too.
…
One night after a party, everything finally snapped.
You found Jonathan and Nancy alone in the kitchen talking quietly while everyone else crowded the living room.
Nancy’s hand rested on his arm.
Jonathan looked at her the way people looked at stars.
Your stomach twisted painfully. Neither of them noticed you standing there. That somehow hurt most.
You left without saying goodbye.
And twenty minutes later Eddie’s van pulled up beside you while you walked home alone down the dark road.
“Jesus Christ,” he said through the open window. “You look miserable.”
“Thanks.”
“Get in.”
You should’ve said no.
Instead you climbed inside.
The van smelled like gasoline, old leather, and Eddie’s cologne. Music played softly through blown-out speakers while rain started tapping against the windshield overhead.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Then finally Eddie said quietly, “You love him that much?”
Your throat tightened.
“Yeah.”
“And he still makes you feel like that?”
You stared out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Hey.” Eddie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Blame yourself because some guy can’t figure his own shit out.”
You laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, actually, it’s pretty easy in general.” Eddie leaned back against the seat. “If I had a girlfriend who looked at me the way you look at Jonathan, I wouldn’t even know other girls existed.”
That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but after months of feeling unwanted, Eddie’s attention felt dangerously comforting.
The silence between you shifted.
He noticed it too. You could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly.
“You should go home,” he murmured.
Probably.
Instead you kissed him.
It happened fast. Messy. Impulsive.
The second your hand touched his face, Eddie made this startled sound against your mouth like he genuinely hadn’t expected it.
Then suddenly his hands were in your hair and he was kissing you back hard enough to make your heartbeat stumble.
It felt wrong. It felt reckless.
It felt unbelievably good.
Teeth clashing together, knocking against each other with soft taps. His tongue wet, massaging over your own.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, reality crashed back immediately.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Eddie stared at you wide-eyed for half a second before laughing softly in disbelief.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about the reaction I was expecting.”
Guilt flooded your chest instantly.
Jonathan.
Jonathan, who still held your hand.
Jonathan, who still said he loved you even if it sounded distracted now.
Jonathan, who might actually be innocent while you were here kissing Eddie Munson in the front seat of a van.
“I’m a terrible person,” you said quietly.
Eddie’s expression softened immediately.
“No,” he said. “You’re hurt.”
“That doesn’t make this okay.”
“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”
Rain hammered harder against the roof.
Inside the van, everything felt small and overheated and impossible to undo now.
Eddie looked at you carefully.
“You wanna know the really messed up part?”
“What?”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
You laughed weakly despite yourself.
Then Eddie started grinning too.
And suddenly both of you were laughing quietly in the middle of this awful complicated mess because honestly, what else were you supposed to do?
…
By December, sneaking around with Eddie Munson had stopped feeling shocking.
That was probably the worst part.
At first, every secret meeting had made your stomach twist with guilt so sharp you thought you might actually confess just to make it stop.
Now it felt normal.
Dangerously normal.
You’d tell Jonathan you were studying with a friend, then end up tangled in blankets in Eddie’s trailer while Black Sabbath played low through his speakers, your legs thrown over his shoulders in a deep mating press, taking you in a way Jonathan could never quite do for you.
You’d sit beside Jonathan in class the next morning while Eddie burned holes into the back of your chair from two rows over, grinning to himself because nobody else knew where you’d been the night before.
Nobody knew.
Not Nancy.
Not Steve.
Not even Robin, and she somehow knew everything.
Especially not Jonathan.
And honestly?
After a while, you stopped feeling as bad about that as you probably should have.
Because Jonathan still looked at Nancy like she hung the moon.
He still disappeared for hours with her chasing supernatural disasters while you sat at home pretending not to notice.
Half the time he barely touched you anymore unless you initiated it first.
Meanwhile Eddie looked at you like he couldn’t help himself.
Like every room improved the second you walked into it.
It became addictive.
…
Eddie hovered over you on the mattress, curls falling into his face while his hand stayed planted beside your head, trapping you between him and the tangled blankets in a way that made your pulse feel unsteady.
One thigh rested over his broad shoulder, the other wrapped around his hips. His body forced your thighs open, body trembling with uncontrollable need.
His fingers settled deep inside, scissoring them slowly, letting the burning stretch take over.
The closeness alone was enough to make your thoughts blur a little, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his hair, the cold rings brushing your skin whenever he moved, the way he looked at you like he found this entire situation unbelievable in the best possible way.
Months ago, you used to leave the trailer feeling guilty.
Now you just never wanted to leave at all.
Eddie tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift.
“There’s that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one where you remember you snuck around with me for months.”
You groaned immediately. “You are never letting that go.”
“Absolutely not.” His grin widened. “You know how insane that was from my perspective?”
“Oh, here we go.”
“No, seriously.” Eddie laughed quietly. “You’d walk into Hellfire meetings holding Jonathan Byers’ hand, then show up at my trailer three hours later looking at me like that.”
Your face burned instantly.
“Like what?”
“Like you wanted to climb me like a tree.”
You shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh louder.
“You’re unbelievable. You are inside of me right now, this couldn’t wait?”
“And yet,” Eddie said smugly, leaning closer again, “still your favorite bad decision.”
The space between you disappeared again after that.
Not rushed.
Not careless.
Just magnetic.
Your hands slid up into his hair while Eddie buried his face briefly against your neck with a groan dramatic enough to make you laugh softly.
“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You made me wait months, sweetheart. I earned dramatic.”
You rolled your eyes again, but your heartbeat stumbled anyway when he looked back at you.
Because teasing aside, Eddie still had this dangerous habit of looking at you too sincerely when things got quiet.
Like underneath all the jokes and flirting, he still couldn’t fully believe you chose him.
His fingers quickly became replaced with something bigger. He sheathed himself all the way in, not satisfied until his pelvic bone ground against yours.
His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.
“You know what I think?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“I think part of you liked that I noticed you.”
The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by pure confidence and a little bit of power. That made it harder to answer.
You swallowed, because he was right.
Jonathan used to notice you once.
Then somewhere along the line, you became something familiar. Expected. Easy to overlook.
But Eddie noticed everything.
When you were upset.
When you were pretending not to be.
When you walked into a room.
When you looked at him too long.
Even now, his attention felt intense enough to make your chest ache a little.
“You looked at me like I mattered,” you admitted through strangled breaths.
Eddie’s expression changed instantly at that.
Softer, amost angry on your behalf.
“You do matter.”
The words hit harder than they should have, and he drilled in deeper with a brutal force. For a second neither of you moved, Eddie holding you there, letting you feel him pulsing inside of you.
Rain rattled against the windows.
The trailer creaked softly around you.
And Eddie just stayed there close enough that you could feel his breathing, looking at you with an intensity that made everything else feel very far away.
Then his grin returned slightly.
“Still think Byers was blind, by the way.”
You laughed despite yourself.
“There’s the ego again.”
“Massive ego,” Eddie agreed proudly before leaning down to kiss your forehead this time, slower and gentler than before. “Can’t help it. I won.”
The pace picked up again, a conversation far too deep for an act meant to be completely casual melting into pleasurable moans and deep grunts.
The mattress creaked, filling the small room with an unavoidable heat.
…
“Your boyfriend’s gonna figure this out eventually,” Eddie said one night.
You were sprawled across his mattress while cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the trailer ceiling. Outside, rain hammered softly against the windows, wet marks adorning your skin where clothes hid the evidence.
Eddie sat beside you tuning his guitar absentmindedly.
“He hasn’t so far.”
You didn’t even bother to put your shirt back on, perfectly comfortable laying spread in only your underwear.
“That’s because Byers is too busy staring at Wheeler.”
The words should’ve hurt more, instead you just rolled your eyes.
“That obvious, huh?”
“To literally everyone except him.”
You laughed quietly. Months ago that conversation would’ve made your chest ache, now mostly it just exhausted you.
Eddie noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
You looked over at him.
The dim light softened the sharp edges of his face. His rings glinted silver as his fingers moved over the guitar strings lazily. The same fingers that had been knuckle deep inside of you just moments before, completely drenched with the arousal he pulled from my core mixed with the slick saliva from his messy mouth.
His dirty mouth becoming something softer after, always carrying a simple conversation, and somewhere along the line, Eddie had become easy to be around.
Too easy.
“You know what’s weird?” you murmured.
“What?”
“I thought I’d feel guiltier than this.”
Eddie stopped playing.
The room went quiet except for the rain.
“Do you wanna?”
You considered it honestly.
Then shrugged.
“Not really.”
That should’ve sounded horrible.
Maybe it was horrible.
But after months of being ignored, overlooked, and quietly replaced emotionally, your guilt had slowly burned itself out.
Jonathan still technically belonged to you, but his heart didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t for a long time.
Eddie set the guitar aside carefully.
“You ever gonna break up with him?”
The question hung heavy between you. You stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
You frowned at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know.” Eddie leaned back against the wall behind the bed. “You just don’t wanna be the bad guy.”
That hit too directly.
Because maybe he was right.
If Jonathan officially left you for Nancy, then at least your heartbreak could stay clean.
Simple.
But this?
Sneaking around with Eddie for months while pretending everything was fine?
That made you complicated too.
Messy.
Selfish.
Eddie watched your expression carefully.
Then quieter, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”
“You should.”
“Nah.” He gave a crooked smile. “I like complicated girls.”
You snorted despite yourself.
“Your standards are concerning.”
“Very.”
The tension eased after that.
It always did with Eddie.
He had this irritating ability to make terrible situations feel lighter without pretending they weren’t terrible.
That was part of why you kept coming back.
With Jonathan, loving him had started feeling lonely.
With Eddie, even silence felt full.
…
The secrecy became routine.
Thursday nights at the trailer park.
Quick hidden conversations after Hellfire meetings.
Eddie’s hand brushing yours under tables while Jonathan sat three feet away completely oblivious.
Honestly, that part started becoming thrilling too.
Not because you wanted to hurt Jonathan.
But because for once, somebody was choosing you in secret instead of choosing someone else right in front of you.
“You’re staring again,” Eddie murmured one afternoon in the school parking lot.
You blinked. “At what?”
“Me.”
“I am not.”
He grinned immediately. “You totally are.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here you are.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to smile.
Eddie caught your wrist before you could pull away.
The touch lingered.
Your pulse skipped instantly.
God.
That still happened every time.
Eddie’s expression softened just slightly as he looked at you.
Not joking now.
Not flirting.
Just… looking.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you laugh more now.”
Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Because he was right.
You did.
Even with all the lying and sneaking around and emotional disaster of your life, you laughed more with Eddie than you had in months with Jonathan.
Maybe that should’ve told you everything already.
…
The closest Jonathan ever came to figuring it out happened in January.
The three of you were at Family Video helping Steve reorganize tapes while Robin complained loudly from behind the counter.
Jonathan reached for your hand absentmindedly while talking to Nancy.
You froze immediately.
Because Eddie was standing across the store watching.
For one horrible second guilt came rushing back hard enough to make you nauseous.
Jonathan squeezed your hand lightly without even looking at you.
Automatic.
Distracted.
Like habit.
Then Nancy said something and his attention snapped right back toward her.
Your chest went cold.
Across the room, Eddie saw it too.
The hurt.
The realization.
Jonathan let go of your hand a second later without noticing your expression at all.
But Eddie noticed.
Of course he did.
Later that night, you showed up at the trailer without calling first.
Eddie opened the door already smirking. “Miss me?”
Instead of answering, you kissed him immediately.
Hard enough to shut him up.
Eddie stumbled backward laughing against your mouth. “Whoa, okay—”
“You were right.”
“That narrows absolutely nothing down.”
“About Jonathan.”
Eddie’s grin faded slightly.
You looked away.
“He doesn’t love me anymore.”
The words hurt less now.
Mostly because you’d already mourned the relationship while still inside it.
Eddie’s face softened.
Slowly, carefully, he reached up and brushed hair away from your face.
“You deserve somebody who actually sees you,” he said quietly.
And maybe that should’ve scared you more than it did.
And maybe it did.
After that night, something shifted, not between you and Eddie, that had already shifted months ago. No, the change happened inside you.
Because Eddie’s words kept echoing in your head every time Jonathan forgot to call. Every time he canceled plans because Nancy “needed help.” Every time you caught yourself sitting silently beside your own boyfriend feeling lonelier than when you were actually alone.
You deserve somebody who actually sees you.
The problem was, Eddie did see you.
Too much, maybe.
And lately that was starting to scare you.
…
“You’re distracted,” Jonathan said one afternoon.
You nearly laughed out loud at the irony.
The two of you sat together in the Byers living room while Will and Joyce argued softly in the kitchen. A movie played on the television, forgotten background noise neither of you were really watching.
Jonathan had barely spoken to you for twenty minutes.
Now suddenly he noticed something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” you answered automatically.
He studied you for a second like he wanted to believe that.
Then Nancy called the house phone, and just like that, his attention vanished again. You watched him smile at the sound of her voice.
Watched him lean forward unconsciously like hearing Nancy Wheeler speak required his full concentration.
Something inside you finally went numb.
Not broken.
Not shattered.
Just… done.
You stood quietly, grabbing your jacket.
Jonathan looked up distractedly. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
There it was again, that guilty little crease between his eyebrows, like part of him already knew he was losing you.
You almost wanted him to fight for it anyway.
Instead he just looked tired.
And suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you the way Eddie did.
“I’ll call you later,” Jonathan said.
You both knew he probably wouldn’t.
…
Eddie was waiting outside some building on the outskirts of town when you arrived.
Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket damp from the cold.
The second he saw your face, his expression changed.
“What happened?”
You crossed your arms tightly. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
You looked away.
Eddie sighed softly, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement before stepping closer.
“He with Wheeler again?”
You hated how easily he guessed. You hated even more that you nodded.
For a moment Eddie didn’t say anything.
Then quieter, “C’mere.”
The words were so gentle they nearly undid you. You let him pull you against his chest without protest.
His arms wrapped around you instantly — warm, solid, familiar now.
You remembered when touching Eddie used to feel dangerous, now it felt like relief.
“You know what’s really messed up?” you mumbled against his jacket.
“What?”
“I don’t even feel sad anymore.”
Eddie’s hand slowed against your back.
That got his attention.
“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I stopped missing him before we even ended.”
The confession sat heavy between you both, because neither of you had said it out loud yet.
Not really.
You and Jonathan were still technically together.
But it felt more like a memory than a relationship now.
Eddie tilted his head down slightly, trying to catch your eyes.
“You gonna tell him?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Eddie repeated skeptically.
“I know.”
He studied you carefully.
“You’re afraid.”
“Obviously.”
“Of hurting him?”
You hesitated.
Then whispered, “Of him not caring.”
That made Eddie visibly flinch.
His jaw tightened immediately like the idea genuinely upset him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really did a number on you, huh?”
You tried laughing it off.
It came out shaky instead.
…
The next few weeks became unbearable in a different way.
Not because of Jonathan.
Because of Eddie.
Because somewhere along the line, the rules between you had gotten blurry.
This was supposed to be casual. Revenge, maybe. A distraction. Something reckless to numb the ache Jonathan left behind.
Except Eddie started memorizing things about you.
Your favorite songs.
How you took your coffee.
Which movies made you cry even when you pretended they didn’t.
And worse?
You memorized things too.
The exact sound of his laugh when he was genuinely surprised, the way he got quieter when he was tired, how he always handed you the last bite of whatever he was eating without even thinking about it.
It stopped feeling temporary.
That was the problem.
…
“You’re staring again,” Eddie said one night from across the trailer.
You blinked. “Shut up.”
He grinned lazily from the couch. “Nah, seriously. It’s getting weird now.”
“You’re literally wearing a Dio shirt and leather pants indoors.”
“And?”
“And you look ridiculous.”
“Yet deeply attractive.”
You rolled your eyes.
But Eddie caught the tiny smile anyway.
He always did.
The trailer felt warm despite the snow outside. Music played softly from Eddie’s cassette player while Wayne worked the late shift.
You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Eddie’s campaign notebooks absentmindedly.
Then you found it.
A sketch.
Messy pencil lines of your face tucked between pages of monster designs and campaign notes.
Your chest tightened instantly.
“Eddie.”
“Hmm?”
“You drew me?”
His expression changed the second he realized what you found.
For once in his life, Eddie Munson looked caught off guard.
“Uh.”
You stared at him. “When?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Couple weeks ago.”
“A couple— Eddie.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
But his face had gone slightly red.
Which somehow made it worse.
You looked back down at the drawing.
The detail startled you.
He’d drawn you carefully.
Like he’d spent time on it.
Like you mattered enough to study.
Something dangerous twisted low in your stomach.
“This,” you said quietly, “doesn’t really feel casual anymore.”
The room went still.
Eddie looked at you for a long moment without joking this time.
Then finally:
“No,” he admitted softly. “Guess it doesn’t.”
The silence after Eddie admitted it stretched painfully long.
Outside, wind rattled weakly against the trailer windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before everything went quiet again.
You stared down at the sketch in your hands.
Eddie stared at you.
Neither of you seemed to know what happened next, because feelings complicated things.
Feelings turned this from something reckless and temporary into something capable of hurting people.
And maybe the worst part was realizing you didn’t want it to stop anyway.
“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.
Eddie let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone great.”
You looked up.
“I mean it.”
His expression shifted immediately at your tone.
“I know.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, running a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t think you wanted this to be serious.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again, because months ago he would’ve been right. Months ago Eddie had been escape. A distraction. A way to feel wanted while Jonathan slowly drifted toward Nancy.
But now?
Now Eddie was the person you looked for first in crowded rooms.
The person you wanted to tell things to. The person who noticed when you were upset before you even spoke.
And that terrified you a little.
“You know what the really pathetic part is?” you murmured.
Eddie frowned slightly. “What?”
“I think I started falling for you while I was still trying to convince myself I loved Jonathan.”
The confession hung heavily between you both.
Eddie looked stunned for half a second.
Then something softer settled into his expression.
Not smugness.
Not victory.
Just tenderness so genuine it made your chest ache.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “there is literally nothing pathetic about choosing someone who actually makes you happy.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
God.
Jonathan used to make you feel like this once.
Seen.
Important.
But somewhere along the line, loving Jonathan had started feeling like waiting outside a locked door hoping someone might eventually let you in again.
With Eddie, the door had always been open.
You just hadn’t realized how badly you needed that.
…
The breakup finally happened three days later.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Honestly, that almost made it sadder.
Jonathan stood beside you outside the school parking lot, shoulders tense against the cold while students passed around you pretending not to eavesdrop.
You’d rehearsed this conversation all night.
None of the words sounded right anymore.
“I think we both know this isn’t working,” you said quietly.
Jonathan looked down immediately.
That told you everything.
No confusion.
No shock.
Just resignation.
Like some part of him had been expecting this too.
“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.
The simplicity of it hurt more than yelling would’ve.
You crossed your arms tightly.
“I didn’t want us to end like this.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Me neither.”
But neither of you knew how to fix it anymore.
Maybe you never really could’ve.
You studied his face carefully, searching for the devastation you’d imagined for months.
It wasn’t there.
He looked sad.
Guilty, maybe.
But relieved too.
And strangely enough?
So did you.
After a long silence, Jonathan finally said quietly, “Is there someone else?”
Your heart stopped.
For one horrible second, you thought he somehow knew.
You thought about Eddie waiting for you at the trailer later tonight.
About hidden kisses and secret smiles and months of lying.
About the few times he’d have you half heartedly, and all you could think about while he shoved your face into the mattress was how much deeper Eddie could reach. Then, when it became more the physicality, how much sweeter Eddie would talk to you.
Your stomach twisted.
But Jonathan looked tired more than suspicious.
And suddenly you realized something awful:
He was asking because he hoped there had been someone else, because then maybe this wouldn’t entirely be his fault either.
You swallowed hard.
“No,” you lied.
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No screaming.
No accusations.
Just two people quietly acknowledging they’d already lost each other a long time ago.
When Jonathan finally walked away, you expected heartbreak.
Instead you mostly felt empty.
And underneath that emptiness:
Relief.
…
Eddie answered the trailer door already smiling.
“You’re late.”
You stared at him silently for a second.
His smile faded immediately.
“What happened?”
“It’s over.”
The words came out smaller than you expected.
For a moment Eddie just looked at you.
Carefully.
Like he was trying to figure out whether to comfort you or celebrate.
Then finally he asked softly, “You okay?”
And somehow that question broke you more than the breakup itself.
Because Jonathan hadn’t asked.
Not really.
But Eddie always did.
You laughed shakily, wiping suddenly burning eyes before tears could actually fall.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I am.”
Eddie stepped aside quietly to let you in.
The trailer felt warm compared to the freezing air outside. Music hummed softly from the radio while a half-finished campaign map sat spread across the table.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Homey in a way you hadn’t expected it to become.
You set your bag down slowly.
Then Eddie reached for your hand.
Not rushed.
Not secretive.
Just open.
Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Your chest tightened painfully at the difference.
“You know,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles, “this means I can finally flirt with you in public now.”
You laughed through the lingering ache in your chest.
“That’s your first thought?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he grinned softly, pulling you closer, “you still picked me.”
This time, when he kissed you, there was no guilt left hiding underneath it.
new thought. Classic “they’re hooking up but Eddie thinks it’s just a straight guy experimenting with his gay buddy” thing. Then one day Steve mentions an ex-boyfriend and Eddie can only say. “Wait you like guys?!” (they are naked in bed during this convo)
art commissioned from the very talented @tabunierka
Shy!Eddie x Confident!Reader
Eddie meets his junior year crush at the worst possible moment but she thinks different.
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, fingering, unprotected sex, Eddie talks to his dick, dick talks back. Eddie is a bit shy, but not for long.
AN: loosely based on the event where I met the most handsome man in my life while wearing a boyfriend's sweater and looking miserable.
AN2: Joe actually has normal eyelashes but I think make-up people should’ve given him falsies.
Saturday night you went to your best friend’s birthday party, dancing with your friends till closing time. The birthday girl bought pills from the guy by the pool table — kind of a cute metalhead from the trailer park you grew up in. You would never admit it, but you had a little soft spot for them.
Morning was way less fun. You washed down something for the headache and looked at the disaster in the mirror.
Smudged makeup, messed up hair, strap on your slip dress hanging on its last thread.
You looked in your wardrobe and realized everything was in the laundry basket except your prom dress from two years ago.
You dug deeper and found memories hiding at the bottom. A Megadeth shirt from your long gone ex. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel sad to see it this time — just recalled a few good moments you shared before things went south. You pulled out your middle school panties that said Tuesday, knee socks from that one quarter you tried cheering, and cutoffs from the same era. Small and tight.
Fuck, I’m not wearing that outside.
Yes you are, said the mirror.
Eddie slept in. He went to a club last night, made a good sale and got caught playing pool with some guys. Usually a recipe for disaster, but it turned out fine. He woke up still in his jeans, t-shirt on the floor — he must have thought he’d close one eye for a second and blacked out instead.
His hair was a mess and the tee smelled like a skunk. Okay, he thought. Coffee, cigarette, shower.
It helped. He felt human again and even optimistically checked out his lean torso in the mirror, hips wrapped in a towel. He started mentally lining up all the good things he could do today, opened his drawer and realized it was empty.
Fuck, not this again.
Eddie had missed his laundry day yesterday. He growled at the overflowing basket, sighed and started digging through the other drawers. No underwear. Sweatpants he’d outgrown two years ago, mismatched socks, and there it was, on the very bottom of the last drawer. The green shirt. The one with the “Just Say No” logo. He barely remembered how he’d ended up at a Nancy Reagan anti-drug campaign or why the hell he’d accepted the tee.
What choice do I have? Wrap in a curtain? Wear Wayne’s stuff? No one will see me in the laundry, everyone is either sleeping or at church.
Eddie closed his eyes, put the shirt of shame on, and without looking in the mirror once, gathered his hair into a semi bun, grabbed the basket, and with his Walkman playing Metallica’s new album to fix the day, set sail to the small laundry building in the back of the trailer park.
🧺🧺🧺
The laundry room is small and stripped of any personality — just a few washers and dryers, a small window, a poster with rules on the wall, and a single chair some old lady brought in.
No. No no no fucking no. Is there a person more unlucky on this planet?
In that chair sits the girl he’s been eyeing since his junior year. She’s long gone since then, only coming back to visit her mom sometimes — working in the city, fancy and beautiful. She got away.
Eddie considers running but you look up from your book and say “Hi.”
He freezes. Your clean face with no makeup throws him back to when you used to study in the same school and you were an untouchable senior and he was just a horny teenager.
You still are, dude, says his dick, waking up.
Then he registers your outfit.
Megadeth shirt!?!?!? Tight cutoffs you’ve probably had since middle school, legs grown ten inches longer since. Knee socks that don’t reach your knees anymore. The conclusion is obvious. It’s your laundry day too.
You switch the cross of your legs and return to your reading.
“Interview with the Vampire”. I died last night, this is hell. The girl of my dreams is wearing a Megadeth shirt, reading Anne Rice, and I look like I climbed out of a dumpster. At least I showered.
“Hi,” Eddie mumbles and throws his basket in without separating the colors. He leans on the washer and carefully moves his gaze to you. Ronnie has told him on multiple occasions that his lashes are unfairly long, so he half closes his eyes, pretending to be lost in the music, and watches how a loose lock of your hair caresses your long neck, how your lips part a little when you flip the page impatiently, apparently hitting an intense part, how your nipples peek through the letters of the logo.
Are we doing this, man? His dick goes half hard in three seconds.
No no no we are not. Think D&D plot. Think dead possum someone hit on the road.
You place your finger in the book and close it, thinking over what you just read.
“I can see you’re watching. It’s a good one — do you know it?”
“Do I know it — I can quote it to you.” For a second Eddie forgets the embarrassing shirt, the confusion of being this close to you in a small room, and feels the usual heat he gets when talking about something he loves.
“I just read the chapter on Claudia. It’s devastating — she’s trapped forever like that. I need a break.”
“It’s the best one,” Eddie is too serious for the small talk in the laundry room. “Lestat acts like he gave her a gift. Immortality. But for her being frozen in one place forever might not be…enough.”
You nod and look around for something to use as a bookmark, spot only a broom and an ‘out of service’ sign propped between the wall and the washer. Dog-earing the page is not your style.
Oh. She respects her books. Or she borrowed it from a friend.
Instinctively Eddie reaches into his pocket and to his great joy finds a receipt.
“Wait —” he takes it out and stretches his hand toward you. “Here.”
“Thank you.” You read it. “Mickey’s Pharmacy. Condoms, one pack.”
Eddie turns red. Is this hell or a nightmare?
“Don’t blush. I love responsible men.” You close the book and put your elbows on your knees. “Though I’m not sure how responsible you actually are — yesterday you sold my friend some molly, and today you’re wearing this.” You point at the “Just say no”.
Fuck. The shirt. I will burn it.
“I don’t know how I acquired it or why it survived in my drawer.”
“Let me guess — a cute girl was handing them out.”
““Must be that. And you — into Megadeth?”
“My ex’s.” You notice his smile fade and add, “Long gone and forgotten. All my stuff is in the city, I had nothing to wear.”
“Same. So which side are you on?”
“What?”
“Megadeth or Metallica. You’re wearing one and I’ve got the other. There are sides.”
“Told you the shirt isn’t mine. Which side is David Bowie?”
He scratches his forehead, thinking it over. “Bowie is a sovereign nation.”
You laugh.
“Wanna trade?” He points to the book and takes off his headphones. “I assume you’re not allergic to metal.”
“No, I’m not. What you’ve got?”
“Metallica — Master of Puppets. Got it the day it came out, went to the city.”
“Is it good?”
Eddie lifts his eyes to the ceiling, arms spread in a speechless gesture. “It’s ultimate metal, baby.”
He hands over the Walkman and you give him the book. Time drags through the rest of the washing cycle. The air feels charged with so many things you could share. Only the sound of two washers whirring breaks the silence.
Eddie reads sitting on the dryer while you listen to Master of Puppets and watch him with new interest. Besides his ridiculous outfit, he’s good looking — you noticed that yesterday at the party, but today he’s different. A little shy, but instantly lights up when you talk about music or books. You expected a drug-dealing metalhead but he’s so much more, he’s smart and funny, and passionate about things that matter.
The bun is cute but your hands are itching to undo it, let his hair fall down, tangle your fingers in it — wait, what are you even thinking? Is it the music bringing back good memories and desires along with them?
The washing cycle ends and Eddie is still not making any moves, just throwing glances when he thinks you aren’t looking. Well. Two can play that game.
You pull your laundry out and start sorting your lingerie to air dry. Some sheer panties, lace bras and a black babydoll that reveals more than it covers.
Eddie turns red and gasps.
Keep it together, we got laid this month already.
Maybe it’s okay for you, but not for me. If you’re not getting me some action I’m going to signal SOS to the lady.
You dick.
I am indeed.
“What is it, bun?” you ask in your special seductive voice.
“Mhm — what are you doing?”
“This?” You dangle a black lace thong in front of his face. “Separating delicates to air dry. You should do the same with your band shirts if you want them to last.”
“This is against the Geneva Convention.”
“What, lingerie? Like what you see?”
Eddie swallows and nods.
You look down at his sweatpants and see a small wet spot beginning to form.
“Oh! Well, hello there.” You smile. “Sorry, Eddie — my roommate is gay, I’ve lost any casual modesty.”
Sorry friend, it’s my hand again tonight. At least we’ve got something to think about.
“How can you be sure he’s still gay? After all this—”
“He brings guys home sometimes.”
“Okay. Cool. No casual modesty.”
Eddie turns the knob on the dryer a little aggressively and moves toward the door.
“Hey, don’t run away. Come here.”
He freezes like a deer in headlights as you cross the room, lift your hand slowly, and touch his ridiculous bun. Eddie smells lightly of cigarettes and incense.
He’s barely breathing.
“May I?” you ask.
His pupils widen instantly, the shy grin is gone.
“Yeah,” he says and his voice drops lower. “Please.”
You undo his bun, your body brushes against his chest as you reach up.
She likes us, moron. Don’t fuck it up.
“This isn’t real, right?” Eddie rasps as his curls fall down, messy and good.
You pinch his nipple.
“Ouch! Your place or mine?”
“We’ve got laundry to watch. Forty minutes.” You smirk and slide your hands under the elastic of his sweatpants — and that’s when you get your surprise. No underwear. You wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot and silky, so hard it has to hurt. Eddie groans as you stroke slowly.
Oh, yeah. Don’t forget to thank me later.
You take inventory. Sign on the door. Broom secures the handle.
Eddie is not shy anymore.
He pulls his shirt off and pins you to the wall, looking at you with dark eyes.
“You want it?”
“Yes.”
He presses his lips to yours. His hands slide under your shirt and find your waist. He kisses you moving his whole body, hungry, seeking more contact. His one-day stubble rubs against your skin. You open for him and his tongue takes over — he bites, licks, sucks until you moan and arch into him.
He finds your breasts, eager — palming, caressing, his mouth moving down, nibbling your earlobe, finding a sensitive spot on your neck. You dig your nails into his hair and give a slow scratch. Eddie groans and lifts you onto the vibrating dryer.
The Megadeth shirt hits the floor. Shorts undone. Your bra is lacy and pretty. Eddie frees your nipples and latches onto one while his fingers work the other. Your legs wrap tight around him seeking friction but he pulls back.
“Eddie — I need you.”
“Don’t have a condom on me.”
“Come in my mouth then.”
His whole body jerks like he’s touched a live wire.
Man if she keeps talking like that I’m going to blow right now.
I’m dying here too. What do I do?
Improvise.
Eddie brings two fingers to your lips. You open and suck them, looking into his deep eyes. “I’ll make you feel good, baby.” He pulls your shorts down, Tuesday panties and all . He’s too far gone to comment on it. Fingers slide through your folds, tease your clit and push in.
Oh boy. He’s good.
He thrusts and twists and works his hand until you are shaking, muffling your moans with kisses, getting drunk on the sounds you make, the way you grab at his hair and shoulders and anything within reach.
“Oh — yes — Eddie, where did you learn this?”
He adds his thumb to your clit, pulsing gently.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.”
“Yes, Eddie …just like that …I’m going to come …I’m coming…”
Eddie keeps fingering you with pace, stamina and precision.
Told you, dude. Five years of jerking guitars had to pay off somewhere.
Sure, and I’ve only seen your callused hand for four of them. If you’d done ballroom dancing we’d be drowning in pussy by now.
Shut up and carry on.
You clench around his fingers, hips bucking hard. Eddie holds you tight so you don’t hit the wall.
“There you go, baby. Was it good?”
“So good. Eddie, I need you inside me.”
Eddie drops to his knees and presses his lips to your inner thigh, working his way in.
“Hello, beautiful. Ready for me?”
“Been ready since the condom receipt.”
You are open for him, slick and warm. He licks a slow line up to your clit and closes his lips around it. He can’t hold back a moan and the vibration sends a jolt up your spine.
“Eddie…stop showing off and fuck me.”
Stop showing off and fuck her.
He frees his cock and teases you at your entrance.
Don’t you dare come before her. She said in her mouth.
I’ll see what I can do.
Eddie pushes in and stills. You are so warm and tight he can barely hold it together.
Breathe, dude.
Breathe yourself.
You open your eyes just long enough to catch his face and see intense pleasure he's barely holding back.
“Move, Eddie,” you beg.
He pulls almost all the way out and slams back. The dryer hits the wall. You cry out. He looks at you, as if searching for approval.
“Eddie…yes …yes yes yes yes—” you gasp each time he thrusts.
“Fuck, you’re unreal.” Eddie slows to play with your breasts, kisses you deep, his tongue moving in the same rhythm as his hips.
Then he pulls out and spins you around. You can barely stay upright. He presses your back down gently and you lay your chest on the dryer, spreading your legs for him. His cock stretches you perfectly and at this angle he reaches so much deeper. Every time he bottoms out you see sparks.
“I’m going to come again …Eddie, please don’t stop…”
He doesn’t. Callused fingers rub slow circles over your clit until the tension snaps and you fall apart, eyes watering, legs giving out completely.
“Shit …I’m going to come too, you feel so good, I can’t…”
A moment later he grabs your boneless body and helps you to the floor. You tilt your head back and open your mouth. His aim falters and he comes across your face and chest.
“Fuck…sorry, sorry, sorry…” He looks around frantically and his eyes land on the green shirt.
He turns to clean you up and the sight stops him completely: you sitting on the laundry room floor, wearing nothing but his cum on your lips, cheeks, dripping onto your chest.
It undoes him on a deeper level than the sex did. It’s worship, not just lust.
Say something nice. Get her number.
“Fuck, you look…” Eddie swallows hard and starts cleaning you, gently tucks your hair away. “Here. I’m sorry, I was too far gone.”
You wipe a little from your lip and lick your finger.
“All good.”
Eddie looks down at the shirt in his hand.
“Finally. This fucking thing is good for something.”
You laugh breathlessly. “Nancy Reagan would be proud.”
You both sit on the floor with your backs against the machines, his arm draped over you, your head on his shoulder, talking nonsense — summer plans, music, vampire books — until the laundry is done.
Dryers click sharply and you fish out something to wear.
“Take the Megadeth one — give it back next time.”
“Next time.” Eddie grins wide. “I’ll hold onto it like a dragon guards his treasure.”
You roll your eyes and pull him in a lazy relaxed kiss.
description: everyone in hawkins thinks you and eddie munson are already married. honestly? you can’t even blame them. between the shared garage, the constant flirting, and the way he cannot help but stare, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend there’s nothing going on between you.
pairing: mechanic!eddie x mechanic!reader (fem!reader)
tags: mechanic!eddie, eddie x you, no y/n, coworkers to lovers, unresolved sexual tension (until...), small town romance, flirtationship, mechanic core aftercare, old married couple energy, fucking on a '67 impala, workplace romance, tension tension tension, whimpering eddie, teasing each other mercilessly
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected, needy eddie
WC: 4.1k
A/N: requested by my beloved @bitterestwillow I HOPE YOU ENJOY QUEEN AHHHHHHH. reblogs are a writer's best friend <3
yes, i had to use this gif for this fic...it does something to me idk......
The bell above the garage door jingled as Mrs. Patterson dug through her purse for her checkbook, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, while you leaned against the counter with a rag tucked into your back pocket.
“So,” you said, tapping the invoice with your pen, “the rattling sound was your serpentine belt. Thing was practically shredded.”
The elderly woman gasped softly. “Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, but you caught it before it snapped completely, which is good. We replaced the belt, topped off your coolant, changed the oil, and Eddie patched that little leak underneath your radiator.” You smiled reassuringly. “She’s good as new now.”
Beside her, Mr. Patterson squinted out toward the garage floor where the familiar sound of classic rock echoed through the open bays. “Which one’s Eddie again?”
Almost on cue, Eddie emerged from beneath a lifted pickup truck with grease smeared across his cheek and curls shoved back with a bandana.
Sweat darkened the collar of his black tank top, coveralls hanging around his hips, while he carried over a sweating tray of lemonade cups.
“There you are,” he said, setting them carefully on the counter. “It’s too damn hot outside not to hydrate.”
Mrs. Patterson practically lit up. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”
“Tell her that more often,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward you. “She’s mean to me.”
You rolled your eyes. “I told you to stop using the good shop towels to wipe down your van.”
“They’re towels.”
“They are expensive towels.”
Mr. Patterson laughed under his breath while Eddie handed them their drinks with an exaggerated flourish.
“Anything for my favorite customers.”
Mrs. Patterson smiled fondly at him before looking back toward you. “That husband of yours is such a gentleman.”
You nearly choked on your own spit.
Eddie froze for exactly one second before slowly turning toward you with the most insufferable grin imaginable.
“Oh?” he said. “You hear that, sweetheart?”
“Oh my God,” you muttered immediately.
The poor woman looked horrified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed—”
“No, no,” Eddie cut in smoothly, leaning against the counter. “Please continue. This is the best day of my life.”
You shot him a glare while he looked seconds away from laughing himself unconscious.
Mrs. Patterson pointed knowingly between the two of you. “You’ve got the look.”
“What look?” you asked suspiciously.
“The ‘been in love for years’ look.”
Eddie outright cackled. You grabbed the invoice and shoved it toward them. “Okay! Your total is—.”
The elderly couple left smiling to themselves while Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you with entirely too much amusement. The second the door shut behind them, he pushed off the counter and followed you toward the office.
“Husband, huh?” he mused.
“Don’t start.”
“I personally think it has a nice ring to it.”
You dropped into the squeaky office chair with a dramatic groan. “You’re unbearable.”
Eddie leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you keep having me back every morning.”
“You work here.”
“Semantics.”
“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly.
You looked up, and he tossed something shiny toward you, and you barely caught it before it hit your face. Your keys, the little keychain Dustin made you years ago, swung between your fingers.
“You left ‘em by the toolbox again.”
“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed smugly. “Good thing your husband’s lookin’ out for you.”
You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”
Instead of leaving, Eddie just grinned wider, sunlight pouring in behind him from the open garage bays.
“Say it once.”
“No.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Just one little ‘thank you, my husband.’”
You threw a balled-up receipt at his head while his laughter rang through the entire garage.
By noon, the July heat had turned the garage into a furnace.
Every bay door was rolled open, old fans rattling uselessly in the corners while the smell of motor oil, hot pavement, and cigarette smoke clung heavily in the air.
Foreigner blasted low from the radio perched near Eddie’s toolbox, occasionally cutting out whenever someone used the compressor.
You were bent over the hood of a Mustang, wiping grease from your hands while talking to a customer, your laugh carrying across the shop floor. And across said shop floor, Eddie was staring. Not subtly, either.
Steve had noticed immediately, mostly because Eddie had been holding the exact same wrench for nearly three minutes without moving.
Steve slowly lowered his sandwich. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hm?” Eddie hummed absently.
“You are down catastrophically bad.”
That got Eddie to blink. “What?”
Steve pointed dramatically across the garage where you were explaining something with animated hand gestures, sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on your skin.
“You’ve been staring at her this entire time.”
Eddie scoffed, finally looking away. “I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been holding that wrench upside down.”
Eddie glanced down, and sure enough, he was.
“Shut up.”
Steve barked out a laugh and leaned back in the lawn chair they’d dragged outside for Eddie's lunch break. It was honestly kind of ridiculous to witness at this point.
Everyone in Hawkins knew something was going on between the two of you, except apparently the two of you.
The lingering touches, the teasing, the way Eddie always magically appeared beside you whenever some asshole customer got too flirty.
The way you unconsciously reached for his cigarettes to steal one straight from his mouth…and the constant staring, especially the staring.
Steve watched Eddie’s eyes drift right back over toward you again.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “There he goes again.”
Eddie ignored him completely. You’d just looked up from the engine bay, pushing hair from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and the second your eyes met Eddie’s from across the garage, you smiled.
It was quick, maybe two milliseconds, but enough to make Eddie smile back immediately without even realizing it. Steve made a loud fake gagging noise.
Eddie finally tore his eyes away. “What is your problem?”
Steve stared at him incredulously. “Dude. I genuinely thought you two would be married by now.”
Eddie choked on his drink. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Like three years ago, I would've put money on it.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, trying very hard to act unaffected while heat crept up beneath the grease on his cheeks.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Hasn’t happened.”
“Why not?”
Eddie began to argue, but froze up. Because honestly? He didn’t fucking know.
Somewhere along the way, the flirting had become second nature. So had the late nights at the garage together. So had sharing fries at the diner after closing. So, had you climbing into the passenger seat of his van without asking. So had you wearing his flannels whenever the shop got cold in winter.
It had all become so normal that crossing the line felt weirdly terrifying. Steve watched the gears turning in Eddie’s head and sighed dramatically.
“You’re both idiots.”
“Says you.”
“I’m serious.” Steve pointed between him and you across the garage. “She might as well have personally invented beer by the way you stare at her. It’s honestly kinda sad, man.”
Eddie snorted. “That’s dramatic.”
Steve deadpanned, “You literally stopped mid-cigarette yesterday because she walked by in shorts.”
“That is such a lie!”
“It is the truth.”
Before Eddie could argue, your voice cut across the garage.
“Munson!” Both men looked over.
You stood beside the Mustang with your hands on your hips. “You gonna come help me, or are you too busy staring at me again?”
Steve immediately burst into obnoxious laughter while Eddie nearly dropped his beer. And from the way you smirked before ducking back under the hood, you absolutely knew what you were doing.
The next morning was somehow even hotter.
By ten a.m., the air inside the garage already felt thick enough to chew through, every fan working overtime while the sun beat down through the open bay doors. You had your coveralls tied around your waist, a cropped tank clinging to your skin with sweat, as you worked under the hood of a Jeep.
And Eddie was being an absolute menace. It started innocent enough; he’d complained dramatically about the heat for twenty minutes straight before finally yanking his shirt over his head with a frustrated, “I’m gonna die in this godforsaken town.”
You had looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Because suddenly there was just, Eddie. Shirtless. Hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. Grease streaked across his stomach and chest. Dog tag and guitar pic hanging against tan skin. His jeans slung low on his hips while he wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a rag.
And the worst part? The asshole noticed immediately. You looked away so fast you nearly smacked your head against the underside of the hood. From somewhere across the garage, you heard another mechanic whistle loudly.
“Ohhhh,” he sang. “How the tables have turned.”
“Shut up, Mark,” you muttered.
Eddie, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. For the next hour, he became absolutely insufferable. Needlessly stretching, standing too close, asking you to hand him tools he absolutely could’ve reached himself.
At one point, he bent over the engine bay beside you, and you caught the smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne and nearly forgot your own name.
“Wrench?” he asked casually, but you evidently handed him the wrong one.
Eddie bit back a grin. “Sweetheart, this is a screwdriver.”
Heat flooded your face. From behind him, Mark made an obnoxious gagging noise, and you narrowed your eyes.
Fine. If Eddie wanted to play this game? Two could absolutely play. Play a stupid game, win a stupid prize, right?
About twenty minutes later, Eddie was halfway underneath a truck when he heard your laugh ring across the garage.
That’s not unusual. However, what was unusual was the guy you were laughing with. Some customer leaned against the front counter while you smiled up at him, twirling a socket wrench lazily between your fingers.
Eddie immediately rolled himself out from under the truck on the creeper.
“What’s that?” Mark asked innocently from nearby.
“Nothing,” Eddie muttered.
“Looks like jealousy.”
“Not jealous.”
“Mhm.”
The customer laughed at something you said, briefly touching your arm, which caused Eddie to sit up straighter. Then the asshole smiled.
“Oh,” Mark murmured. “He’s flirting.”
Eddie stood immediately.
Mark burst out laughing. “THERE he is.”
Before Eddie could storm over there and make an idiot of himself, the rumble of an engine pulled into the lot. All three of you looked over automatically, and then Eddie froze.
“No fucking way.”
The car rolling slowly into the garage was gorgeous: black paint gleaming beneath the sunlight, chrome shining, low growl of the engine unmistakable.
A 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire garage seemed to pause.
Even you looked impressed. “Well,” you said softly. “Would you look at that?”
The driver climbed out, explaining something about rough idling and overheating, but Eddie barely heard a word. Because holy shit, it was pristine.
You walked slowly around the car, fingertips dragging lightly over the hood appreciatively. “She’s beautiful.”
And unfortunately for Eddie? The way you said it sounded dangerously similar to the tone you sometimes used with him. Mark caught the look on Eddie’s face and immediately started grinning.
“You alright there, big guy?”
Eddie ignored him entirely, stepping beside you near the Impala. “Think it’s the thermostat,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward you instead of the car.
You glanced up, and there it was again: that stupid tension. Especially when your gaze dipped briefly down his bare chest before snapping back up. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.
“Oh, now who’s staring?” he asked quietly.
You held his gaze for a long second before reaching forward and grabbing the grease rag tucked into the back of his jeans. Eddie blinked, then watched you slowly wipe your grease-covered hands on it while maintaining eye contact.
Mark made a strangled noise somewhere behind him while the customer looked wildly confused. And Eddie? Eddie looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his mind entirely.
By the time the sun finally started setting, the garage had gone quiet.
The OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly before Eddie reached up and flicked it off with grease-stained fingers, plunging the office into dim golden light. Outside, cicadas screamed into the warm Indiana night while the last of the heat clung stubbornly to the concrete floors.
Most nights ended like this lately. Just you and Eddie lingering hours after closing, claiming there was still work to finish when really neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.
The Impala sat in the center bay now, hood propped open while you leaned halfway into the engine compartment with a flashlight between your teeth. From the radio near Eddie’s toolbox, a slow rock song crackled softly through static.
And across the garage, Eddie was still shirtless, still. All damn day.
You tightened something with your ratchet a little harder than necessary before finally glancing over toward him. He was bent over the workbench this time, curls falling loose from his hair tie while sweat gleamed across his shoulders under the overhead lights.
Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.
“You know shirts exist for a reason, right?” you called.
Eddie didn’t even look up. “Do they?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
You rolled your eyes, ducking back under the hood. “Pretty sure OSHA would have a field day with you.”
That finally made him laugh. Then you heard the scrape of his boots as they crossed the garage floor. A second later, Eddie appeared beside you, leaning against the Impala with crossed arms.
Still shirtless, and still oh-so-very smug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like what you see?”
You made the mistake of looking at him fully then. Big mistake, because up close was somehow worse.
Grease streaked across his stomach, forearms flexing where they crossed over each other, and his stupid hair half falling out of the tie from working all day.
Your eyes dipped for half a second too long, and Eddie caught it immediately with a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You do.”
You snapped your gaze back to the engine. “Shut up.”
“Nah.” He leaned closer. “C’mon, tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re sweaty.”
“Thought girls liked that.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Heat crawled up your neck as you tried very hard to focus on the engine instead of the fact that Eddie was standing close enough for his knee to brush yours every few seconds.
“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said softly.
You scoffed. “You wish.”
“You handed me a screwdriver this morning because you were too busy looking at my chest.”
“That happened one time.”
“And then you wiped your hands on my jeans while making eye contact with me like a psychopath.”
A smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. “That was funny.”
“It was hot.”
Your ratchet slipped loudly against the engine, then silence. Then Eddie laughed quietly under his breath. You pointed the flashlight at him threateningly. “Don’t.”
But Eddie just leaned further over the hood beside you until your shoulders bumped.
“You know,” he said casually, “if this is your way of admitting you’re into me, there are easier methods.”
You snorted. “Into you? Please.”
“Sweetheart, half this town thinks we’re married already.”
“That’s because old people are nosy.”
“That’s because you look at me like that.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
Eddie’s eyes flicked slowly over your face, enough to make your stomach flip and your face burn pink. “Like you want to kiss me every time I open my mouth.”
Eddie’s grin faltered just slightly when you stepped closer instead of backing away.
“Oh yeah?” you asked lightly.
His eyes flicked over your face. “Yeah.”
You crossed your arms, leaning against the Impala beside him now, shoulder brushing his bare arm. “What about you, huh?”
Eddie blinked once. “What about me?”
“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice quieter now. “The staring. Following me around the shop all day?”
“That is not—”
“You literally almost dropped a transmission last month because I called you pretty.”
“That was one time.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. “Mhm.”
Eddie opened his mouth to argue again, but you stepped even closer first, close enough now that he had to tilt his head down to look at you properly. And suddenly, he wasn’t smirking anymore.
Interesting.
“You wanna know what I think?” you murmured.
Eddie swallowed visibly. “What?”
You reached up slowly, fingers hooking around the chain of his dog tags. The sharp inhale he took was immediate.
“Oh, you like this way more than I do.”
His eyes went dark instantly. “Careful,” he said softly.
“Or what?”
Eddie laughed once under his breath, disbelieving almost, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to kill him on purpose. Then, the tension snapped like a fan belt under too much strain.
You tugged harder on Eddie’s dog tags, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss; raw, needy, and immediately pliant.
His hands hovered at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch, even after years of circling this exact moment. You solved that for him by grabbing his wrists and planting his grease-streaked palms firmly on your ass.
“Kiss me like you mean it, Munson,” you growled against his lips.
Eddie melted. His mouth opened for you instantly, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while you backed him up against the Impala’s fender.
He tasted like cigarettes and the beer he definitely should not have had earlier, and he whimpered, actually whimpered, when you bit his bottom lip and sucked it between your teeth.
“Fuck… sweetheart,” he panted when you finally let him breathe. His cock was already straining against the front of his coveralls, obvious and aching. You shoved a hand between you and palmed him roughly through the fabric. Eddie’s hips jerked forward into your grip with a broken sound.
“Close the hood,” you ordered, voice low.
Eddie blinked, dazed. “Wh—”
“Now.”
He scrambled to obey, reaching over and slamming the heavy hood of the Impala shut with a solid thunk that echoed through the empty garage. The second it latched, you pushed him back, hopped up onto the glossy black hood, and spread your legs in invitation.
Your coveralls were already half-off, tank top shoved up, work jeans unbuttoned, and yanked down your thighs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. Eddie’s eyes went wide and dark, pupils blown as he stared at your exposed pussy glistening under the overhead lights.
“On your knees,” you said, hooking a boot behind his shoulder to drag him forward.
He dropped so fast his knees probably bruised on the concrete. The first drag of his tongue was tentative, almost reverent—then you grabbed a fistful of his messy curls and ground against his face, and Eddie moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
He licked broad and sloppy, sucking your clit between his lips exactly how you liked it once you told him, “Higher—there, fuck, just like that.”
His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, but he never tried to take control. Every time you tugged his hair or rolled your hips, he whimpered gratefully into your cunt and doubled down, tongue fucking into you while his nose rubbed perfect circles against your clit.
Sweat and grease streaked his bare chest; his cock was leaking a wet spot through his coveralls. You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you rode his face through it, moaning his name loud enough that it probably carried out the open bay doors.
Eddie kept licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to stop. When you finally pushed his head back, his chin was shiny with your slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy and adoring.
For a second, you thought he was going to stay soft, sweet, and submissive, but then he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and bent you over the warm hood in one rough motion.
“Eddie—” you started, but he was already kicking your feet apart.
“Please,” he whined, voice cracked and needy as he shoved his coveralls and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavily against your ass, dripping wet. “Need to be inside you—fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”
He didn’t give you time to answer. He lined up and pushed in with one desperate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The broken whimper that tore out of him was pure filth.
“Oh my god—oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasped, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His hips jerked forward again, shallow and frantic. “Feels so good… so fucking good—”
You gripped the edge of the hood, moaning as he started fucking you harder. He was still whimpering and panting with every thrust, but he had you pinned now; big hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, cock driving deep and relentless.
“Eddie—shit—”
“I’m sorry, I just—fuck—” He sounded wrecked, voice cracking as he slammed into you again, the car rocking under the force. One hand slid around to rub messy circles over your clit, too desperate to be coordinated, but perfect anyway. “Can’t stop…wanted this for so fucking long—”
You pushed back against him, and he sobbed a moan, pace turning sloppy and needy.
“Please—please let me come inside you,” he begged right in your ear, hips snapping faster. “I’ll be good—I'll be so good for you, just—fuck, I’m so close already—”
You clenched around him on purpose, and his rhythm stuttered, another broken moan spilling out as his cock throbbed inside you.
He came with a loud, shattered moan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside you, shuddering and whimpering through every pulse. Even after he finished, he stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “I think I just died.”
You laughed breathlessly and gently tugged his hair. “Good,” you murmured.
You sat on the edge of the workbench, now wrapped loosely in Eddie’s discarded flannel, while he rummaged through one of the lockers near the tiny office bathroom.
“You alive over there?” he called.
“Mhm.”
“Liar. You sound deceased.”
You laughed tiredly, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him move around the shop, half-dressed and still unfairly attractive. Honestly, it should’ve annoyed you more. Instead, your chest felt warm.
Eddie finally turned around, holding a towel triumphantly over his head. “Ha! Told you I left one here.”
“You keep towels at the shop?”
“Sweetheart, sometimes engines explode on me.”
He crossed back over toward you, hair falling loose around his face again now that the tie had disappeared somewhere in the chaos.
Up close, you noticed how pink his cheeks still were, how his lips looked swollen from the relentless eating and hungry kisses.
“C’mon,” he said gently, nudging your knee apart so he could stand between them. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
The bathroom attached to the office was tiny and honestly kind of terrible. Half the lightbulbs buzzed, the water pressure sucked, and the shower curtain had little motor oil stains near the bottom from years of mechanics rinsing off after long shifts. Still, with Eddie in there with you somehow, it felt strangely intimate.
You stood beneath the spray, rinsing soap from your arms while Eddie sat on the little built-in ledge beside you, lazily rubbing shampoo through your hair with surprising gentleness.
“There’s no way you know how to do this,” you mumbled.
“I’m multi-talented.”
“You use dish soap on your hair sometimes.”
“That is slander.”
You snorted softly while he carefully worked his fingers through the ends of your hair. His touch slowed after a minute, fingertips brushing lightly along the back of your neck.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and you turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Then he reached forward, wiping a little mascara smudge from beneath your eye with his thumb. “Pretty girl,” he murmured.
You leaned against the tile wall while Eddie stood close enough for the warm water to run down both of you at once. Then, after a long, quiet moment, he grinned suddenly.
“So.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “What?”
“You think fucking on an Impala counts as our first date?”
anywayy... hope you all enjoyed ;) dean winchester fic coming later today if you're interested MUAHAHAHA
Summary: Yelena had chosen to keep what she feels for you a secret. Feelings were dangerous, after all. But maybe walking into the void could make her see things differently.
A/N: This is a very random little idea that I wrote in under an hour loll. It's not masterfully elaborated, but it's cute!
Set during Thunderbolts, so expect some spoilers ahead.
Word count: 1,5k
Masterlist
"Why don't you ask her for something different?" You took a sip from your iced coffee, head resting on one palm. "A change of scenery?"
Yelena hummed. She had her eyes cast down, holding a staring contest with her coffee. She hadn't taken a single sip yet. "Valentina is not exactly malleable." She shrugged; there was a tiredness to her that had been there a while.
The night would settle in soon enough; the sky was already a darker shade of blue and orange. The air was fresh, though, that's why you had decided to sit together at the tables outside, instead of inside the little café.
Yelena's hair, still wet from a fresh shower, was combed back and framed her face prettily. She wore a dark grey hoodie and a silver chain around her neck. Her eyes reflected the last rays of sun. She was the most beautiful woman you had ever known.
Yelena had lost contact with all the Widows she set free from mind control. All, except you. She kept you close, she called time and time again to check on you.
You were the only one whom she sought out at night, when her knuckles were bloody and her lips tasted of sin. You kissed it all away. You were the one she'd hold close and press her mouth against with no words necessary.
You were the one no one knew about, the one who she'd deny being hers if anyone asked.
You were the one she couldn't let go of. And the one she'd never admit having.
"Try anyway?" You hoped, leaning down to try and find her gaze. Genuine worry for her hid behind the sweetness of your voice.
One side of Yelena's mouth quirked up. If you looked closely, you'd see her cheeks turning a soft pink. She wasn't used to having someone around, perhaps that's why you sometimes missed her, even when she was right in front of you.
Yelena reached over the table, all timid and reluctant. Her fingers brushed over your knuckles in a silent request for closeness.
It was all she'd give you out here in the streets, under so many watchful eyes. You could only love her in secret—safer that way, or so she'd say.
You turned your hand over, welcoming her touch when she tangled her fingers with yours.
There were new scars on Yelena's hands. You made a mental note to kiss them later.
Yelena squeezed your hand. "Can I see you later?" She always asked. Her brows would always tilt up a little with the vulnerability she tried to hide. You could almost hear how she held her breath while you held the silence.
Yelena still feared the day you'd tell her no. The day you'd walk away, too.
You took hold of the spoon resting on Yelena's forgotten coffee. You stirred it lazily, each swirl clinking against the mug's porcelain.
Yelena glanced down, finally took the mug, and brought it to her lips. You smiled; "You better."
—⧗—
The clock read 12:36 a.m. when Yelena knocked on your apartment door.
She felt her heart skip a beat upon hearing your soft steps come to her. Yelena bit the inside of her cheek and wondered if the anticipation would ever go away. Part of her hoped it wouldn't.
When you opened the door for her, a sigh she'd been holding since leaving her father's house fell past her lips. Yelena knew the dangers of getting attached, but every time she tried telling herself it would be the last time, her throat closed up tight, and her fingers shook.
An empty cup of tea was on top of your coffee table, and the only light came from the kitchen adjacent to your living room. There was a wildlife documentary on, serving as background noise. And a fluffy blanket over the couch.
You'd been waiting for her.
Maybe it was unfair. Because Yelena would come back to you tasting of heartache and all the sins that wouldn't let her sleep at night, and still you'd kiss her, and hold her, and look at her as if she's someone worth looking at.
Yelena's hands were dripping with so much blood, but you held them anyway. And you pulled her in and you pressed your lips to each one of her scars, even the ones you couldn't see.
Yelena held onto your waist, falling forward like she had many times before. Her upper lip brushed yours. Yelena couldn't get enough of you.
"I called her," she breathed against you, Russian accent heavy on the syllables, "Just one more job and I'm done." Yelena's hands sneaked under your pajama shirt. She felt your goosebumps. She shivered at the thought of being the one to cause it.
You smiled into the kiss, hands buried in her short hair. You felt giddy at her consideration of what you'd said.
Yelena mimicked your smile with one of her own. She breathed you in. When you held her, she was free of all her sins.
Yelena loved you. She'd never tell you. You were her best kept secret.
—⧗—
New Yorkers were almost used to seeing disasters and superhumans wreak havoc in their city. You would have kept your distance from the chaos, but the city had been engulfed in a black void, and Yelena was at the heart of it.
You'd run to the eye of the storm, with fear sinking in your stomach and your heart beating at the rhythm of her name. There were fires to one side of you and rubble to the other. The smoke in your lungs made it difficult to breathe, but you needed to find her.
When you did, you caught the tail end of Valentina's speech about the new Avengers.
You stood among the crowd of civilians, rising on tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of who was at the front of the commotion.
Yelena froze when her gaze landed on you. Her eyes widened, and she took a step forward as if going to your side was second nature.
And you, you felt tears pooling in your eyes as soon as you finally caught sight of her. Dirty skin, bloody lip, torn clothes—but alive, and with the prettiest green eyes, finding you amidst so many people.
As soon as Valentina finished her speech, Yelena rushed forward without a second thought, pushing her way through the crowd. Reporters called out her name, and civilians tried to thank her for saving their lives. Yelena ignored them all, she kept walking, and then running towards you.
You met her in the middle, falling into a bone-crushing hug with the same kind of desperation and relief.
Yelena's arms closed tightly around your waist, her hands roamed over your back, trying to convince herself you were real.
Her head fell to your shoulder, nuzzling there. You did the exact same, hands bunching up the fabric of her suit.
She smelled like smoke, blood, and sweat. But still had the same soft warmth you knew so well. Your lips found the space just under Yelena's ear, you placed a kiss there. It was gratitude for her coming back to you and a plea that she'd never leave again.
"What are you doing here? Are you okay?" Yelena's voice broke in the middle, out of relief, or something deeper.
You pulled away only to look her in the eyes, feeling the taste of tears on your lips. "Me? What about you? I was so worried, Lena."
A chuckle escaped her then, all shaky and happy. Her own tears left a clear path down the dust on her cheeks. "I'm okay. I'm okay now."
From the corner of your eye, you noticed Yelena's new teammates throwing very curious glances your way. An older man in red seemed especially excited, and the one you knew to be Bucky Barnes had to hold him back from running in your direction.
Part of you almost instinctively felt compelled to let go of Yelena, to put a respectable distance between the two of you. Yelena had always kept things private and hidden, after all.
But today, she didn't let you. Yelena's hold was strong for both of you; she wouldn't let you take a single step away.
You sighed, feeling your heart rate slow down for the first time in what had been an exceptionally long day. You let your forehead fall against hers at last. "Some last job, huh?"
"I'm sorry," Yelena whispered, one of her hands found your jaw. You felt the warmth of her skin and the fabric of her glove. "Please don't leave."
You closed your eyes. Your nose bumped hers when you shook your head vehemently. "I would never."
Yelena kissed your lips with poorly concealed love. Her hands held the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair and pressing into the skin there—it gave beneath her fingertips, as if it'd been made for her touch alone.
Yelena's love was familiar. You felt the taste of it on your lips, felt the shape of it on your skin. It had always been there.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
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description: eddie thinks steve gets every girl he’s ever wanted, so when he finds out steve likes robin’s new roommate too, he backs off before he can get his heart broken. the only problem? you've been hopelessly in love with eddie since the moment you met him.
pairing: eddie x farirycore!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, mutual pining, jealous eddie, friends to lovers, slow burn if you squint, fluff with mild angst, love triangle (?), conscious eddie, cottagecore!reader
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, unprotected
WC: 5.6k
A/N: requested by @carolinaclouds i hope you enjoy!! <33 i proofread as best as i could, i've been studying for some stupid exam so my brain is in PAIN. anyway...reblogs are always appreciated, my loves:)) enjoyyyyyyyyyyy<3
The apartment is quiet when Robin unlocks the door, quiet enough that she immediately freezes. Because the apartment is never quiet.
Usually, there’s the hum of the refrigerator, or the upstairs neighbors stomping around like they’re rehearsing for Riverdance, or music coming from somewhere down the hall. But tonight there’s something different underneath it all, soft music drifting faintly from the bedroom she’s supposed to be sharing with a complete stranger.
Robin tightens her grip on her keys. Right, she thinks, New roommate day.
She’d almost forgotten about Keith being insufferable for eight straight hours and Steve pretending not to care about his hair getting rained on. Robin nudges the door shut behind her and kicks off her shoes, already preparing herself for awkward small talk and forced introductions.
Instead, she walks into what looks like an enchanted forest, and she actually stops dead in the hallway.
The bedroom door is open just enough for warm golden light to spill out across the carpet. Fairy lights twinkle along the walls, tangled through hanging ivy vines that drape across the ceiling. Little paper stars sway lazily overhead whenever the fan turns. Your side of the room is all soft blankets and patchwork quilts and stacks of books and tiny trinkets tucked into every possible corner.
Robin stares for a full five seconds before blurting: “What the fuck?”
Your head immediately pops up from the floor where you’re sitting cross-legged beside an open box. “Oh my God, hi!”
And there you are. You’re wearing this oversized sweater that’s practically swallowing your hands, hair messy from unpacking, surrounded by candles and records and enough decorative mushrooms to concern the average person.
Robin blinks. “You’re real,” she says.
You laugh softly. “I think so?”
“No, because I thought maybe the apartment got cursed while I was at work.”
That makes you laugh harder, bright and pretty and completely unembarrassed. Robin feels herself relax instantly.
“Sorry,” you say, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mean to completely fill the room. I just started unpacking, and then I kinda blacked out.”
Robin looks around again. Honestly? The room looks amazing, like one of those bedrooms in magazines that people pretend they casually threw together when in reality it probably took seventeen hours and emotional warfare.
“Are those stars hanging from the ceiling?”
You beam immediately, like you’ve been waiting for someone to ask.
“Yes! Okay, so technically they’re supposed to be Christmas ornaments, but I thought they looked magical, so—”
And that’s it. That’s the beginning of the end for Robin Buckley. Because ten minutes later, she’s sitting cross-legged on your bed while you excitedly explain every little thing you unpacked.
The moon-shaped lamp you thrifted for three dollars. The pressed flowers tucked into frames. The tiny ceramic frog named Ferdinand.
“Named?” Robin repeats.
You look at her like that’s the stupidest question she’s ever asked. “Obviously.” Robin snorts so hard she almost chokes.
You ramble when you’re excited, words tumbling over themselves while your hands move animatedly through the air, and Robin finds herself completely locked in. You talk about books you love like they personally changed your life. You tell stories with your whole body. Every emotion crosses your face so openly that it’s impossible not to get swept up in it.
Most people make Robin feel too loud.
You make her feel matched. At some point, you end up sitting on the floor together, eating vending machine snacks from Robin’s backpack while music hums softly through the room.
“You know,” Robin says after a while, “I was terrified I’d get assigned someone horrifying.”
You gasp dramatically. “Robin!”
“I’m serious! One time, Steve had a roommate who clipped his toenails in the living room.”
You stare at her in horror.
“See?” she says. “Exactly my reaction.”
You laugh again, smiling so hard your nose scrunches a little, and Robin decides right then she likes you, a lot. Like enough that she’s already mentally preparing how to introduce you to the rest of the group. Which, honestly, might turn out to be a mistake. Because if Robin thinks you’re charming now, she has absolutely no idea what’s about to happen when Eddie and Steve meet you.
Robin calls it an apartment warming party even though it’s really just: cheap beer, frozen pizza, three folding chairs, and whoever happened to answer their phones. Which means by seven-thirty, the apartment is full of loud voices and wet shoes piled by the door from the rain outside.
You’re in the kitchen trying to separate paper plates that are aggressively sticking together when the front door swings open. Steve Harrington walks in first. And unfortunately, he’s very pretty.
Tall, broad shoulders shoved into seemingly too-tight tan jacket, hair still annoyingly perfect from the rain somehow. He’s carrying a case of beer under one arm while arguing with Robin before he’s even fully inside.
“I’m telling you, this is not enough food.”
“There are twelve people here, Steve, not the population of Indiana.”
“That doesn’t matter—”
Then he sees you and stops talking mid-sentence. You blink back at him, and Robin immediately notices the exact moment Steve Harrington develops a crush on you. It’s physically visible.
“Oh,” Steve says.
You smile politely. “Hi.”
Robin groans quietly into her drink. “Steve,” she says flatly, “don’t.”
“What? I didn’t even do anything.”
“You’re doing the face.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
Before Robin can roast him alive, another figure shoves through the doorway behind him.
“Move your gigantic hair outta the way, Harrington, some of us are carrying important cargo—”
And then he walks in. Leather jacket damp from the rain, dark curls pushed messily out of his face, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear despite Robin threatening murder every time he smokes near the building.
Eddie looks up, sees you, and completely loses his train of thought. “…holy shit.”
Robin closes her eyes. “Oh no,” she mutters, because she recognizes that look too.
You’re still standing by the kitchen counter holding a stack of paper plates, but suddenly you feel oddly frozen under Eddie’s attention. Not in a bad way, but in a terrifying way. Like your entire nervous system just sat up straight. Eddie stares at you for half a second too long before Robin finally speaks.
“Eddie,” she says slowly, “this is my new roommate.”
You say your name softly. Eddie repeats it immediately, like he’s testing how it sounds in his mouth. God. And then he smiles at you, crooked, warm, a little shy underneath all the theatrics. And you are done for instantly.
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”
Robin physically watches your soul leave your body. Steve notices too, which is unfortunate for everybody involved. The night only gets worse from there, because Eddie is everywhere.
Sprawled across the couch, telling dramatic stories that make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Talking with his hands when he gets excited, grinning every time he catches you already looking at him. And the thing is, you can tell immediately he’s smart.
Not school smart, necessarily. But passionate smart, the kind of person that collects knowledge simply because he loves things deeply.
At one point, he starts passionately ranting about some fantasy campaign he’s writing while Gareth and Jeff argue with him from across the room, and you swear you could listen to him talk for the rest of your life. Which apparently becomes very obvious, because Robin leans against your shoulder at some point and whispers:
“Oh, you are gone.”
You shove her lightly. “Shut up.”
“You have not stopped staring at him for twenty minutes.”
“I have absolutely stopped staring at him.”
Across the room, Eddie glances over at you instantly as if he felt it, then grins. You almost choke on your drink.
Later, after more people show up and the apartment gets louder, you slip away to your room for a breather because your room is softer than the chaos outside. You’re fixing one of the strings of stars above your bed when there’s a knock against the open door.
You turn, and there’s Eddie, leaning against the doorway carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “Whoa,” he says quietly.
You smile a little. “Hi.”
“Robin said your room was cool, but she severely undersold this.”
You laugh softly. “You think?”
“Think?” Eddie steps inside slowly, eyes darting everywhere at once. “Sweetheart, this looks like a woodland creature got accepted into art school.”
You burst out laughing, and the sound alone visibly delights him.
“Oh my God,” you say. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I’m serious!” Eddie says, already wandering toward your shelves. “You’ve got little potions and shit in here.”
“They’re crystals.”
“Ah. Magic rocks. My mistake.”
You shake your head, smiling helplessly while he picks up one of your tiny ceramic frogs with absolute reverence. “This guy rules.”
“That’s Ferdinand.”
Eddie looks at you immediately. “He has a name?”
“Obviously.”
Eddie presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “You get me.”
And that’s it, that’s the exact moment you fall hopelessly, stupidly in love with Eddie Munson. Because instead of making fun of you, he lights up.
Every little thing in your room fascinates him. He asks questions about every trinket and listens to your answers like they’re genuinely important. Gets excited when you explain the meanings of your crystals. Tells you your room feels “safe in a really cool way.”
At some point, the two of you end up sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, talking while the party carries on without you.
The party finally dies sometime after one in the morning.
Jeff and Gareth leave first, still arguing over something stupid. Robin disappears into the apartment, muttering about cleaning tomorrow because “future Robin deserves to suffer, not current Robin.” And somehow that leaves Steve and Eddie alone, hauling empty pizza boxes down the apartment stairs toward Steve’s BMW.
Rainwater glistens across the pavement outside as Eddie lights a cigarette the second they step outside, leaning against the passenger door while Steve tosses the trash into the dumpster nearby.
For a minute, neither of them says anything. But Eddie’s brain is still upstairs, still stuck in your room. Your laugh. Your stupid little fairy lights. The way your eyes lit up every time he asked about something on your shelves like nobody had ever cared before. Jesus Christ.
He takes a long drag from his cigarette while Steve shuts the trunk. “So.”
Eddie immediately narrows his eyes. “Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a man about to say something deeply irritating.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s this weird grin pulling at his mouth. And Eddie suddenly knows, his stomach dropping in an instant. “Oh no,” Eddie mutters.
Steve leans against the car beside him. “What?”
“You like her.”
Steve pauses, then laughs once under his breath. “Is it that obvious?”
Eddie stares out at the wet parking lot instead of answering. Because yeah, yeah, it is. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t Steve Harrington like you?
You’re pretty and sweet and charming, and you looked at people like they mattered when they talked. You had this soft, dreamy thing about you that made people want to lean closer without realizing it. And Steve? Steve always got the girl.
Not because he was a bad guy. Honestly, that almost made it worse. Steve was good-looking, kind, and dependable in a way Eddie never felt he could compete with. Eddie flicks ash onto the pavement.
“Dude,” Steve says carefully, “you okay?”
“Mhm.”
“That sounded fake.”
“Kinda was.”
Steve snorts quietly, then he says, “I dunno. I just really liked her.”
Eddie’s chest physically aches because he really liked you, too. Pathetically fast, honestly. The kind of fast that should concern medical professionals.
But the second Steve says it out loud, Eddie can practically feel himself shoving the whole thing down into his ribs where it can’t embarrass him. He laughs once instead, forcing casualness into his voice.
“Yeah,” he says lightly. “She’s cool.” The words taste awful immediately.
Steve glances over at him, and Eddie knows Steve’s looking for something there. Some reaction. Some claim. But Eddie just shrugs and opens the passenger door. Because what’s he supposed to say?
“Actually, Steve, I think I fell in love with her in approximately four minutes while she explained the lore behind a ceramic frog collection?” No fucking thank you.
Steve hesitates before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You sure?”
Eddie forces a grin. “Harrington, if I fought you every time we liked the same girl, we’d both be dead by now.”
Steve laughs at that, thankfully. But Eddie turns toward the window before he can see his face. The whole drive home hurts. Steve keeps talking about you absentmindedly, not even realizing that each thing he says is basically another nail in Eddie’s coffin.
“She’s funny.”
“Mhm.”
“And smart.”
“Tragic, really.”
“And did you see her room? It looked like a fairy exploded in there.”
That one almost makes Eddie smile despite himself. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It was nice.”
Steve glances over at him again. “You really think so?”
Eddie thinks about you sitting cross-legged on the floor under warm golden lights, looking at him like every word out of his mouth mattered.
He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I really think so.”
But by the time Steve drops him off at the trailer, Eddie’s already making up his mind. He’s not doing this again. He’s not letting himself get stupid over someone who’s obviously gonna realize Steve Harrington is the better option eventually.
So whatever this thing is blooming in his chest, he’s gonna kill it before it gets embarrassing.
The next time everyone hangs out is at Steve’s place. Robin drags you there after work with the promise of free food and “at least three people getting into an argument dramatic enough to count as entertainment.” You spend almost the entire drive fixing your hair in the passenger mirror while pretending not to.
“Oh my God,” she says. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not nervous.”
“You’ve checked your lip gloss four times.”
“I just like to look nice.”
“For Eddie.”
You groan and shove her shoulder while she laughs all the way into the parking lot. And honestly? You’re excited to see him. Pathetically excited. Ever since the apartment party, Eddie’s been stuck in your head constantly. The way he listened to you. The way he smiled when you talked. The softness underneath all the theatrics.
You’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time replaying that night in your mind. Which is why the disappointment hits so hard when you walk into Steve’s living room, and Eddie barely looks at you. Not barely looks at you because he’s distracted, but barely looks at you on purpose.
“Hey,” you say softly when your eyes meet his.
Eddie gives you a quick smile from where he’s sitting in the armchair. “Hey, sweetheart.”
And then he looks away, that’s it. No wandering over to talk to you. No easy teasing. No immediate gravitational pull toward you like before. Your stomach sinks a little.
Meanwhile, Steve lights up the second you walk in. “There she is,” he says dramatically from the kitchen. “Thank God. Robin almost bought generic chips.”
“I did buy generic chips,” Robin calls back.
You laugh despite yourself, and Steve stays beside you basically the entire night. At first, you don’t think much of it because Steve is naturally affectionate and attentive, but after an hour, it becomes impossible not to notice the contrast between him and Eddie.
Steve sits beside you on the couch. Steve hands you drinks before you ask. Steve remembers tiny details you mentioned in passing. While across the room, Eddie barely speaks to you at all. And every time you try to talk to him, he gives you these short, polite answers before redirecting himself somewhere else. It hurts more than it should.
By the time the movie starts, you’re curled into the corner of the couch trying not to visibly mope while Steve talks animatedly beside you.
Robin notices everything immediately; her eyes narrowing toward Eddie across the room. Eddie pointedly avoids looking over. Coward.
Halfway through the movie, Steve leans closer to whisper some joke in your ear that makes you laugh. And from the recliner across the room, Eddie finally glances over. Then he stands up.
“I should head out,” he says suddenly.
Everyone looks over. Robin frowns. “Already?”
“Early shift.”
“That’s literally a lie,” Gareth says.
“Wow,” Eddie says flatly. “Didn’t know you knew work my schedule better than I did.” But he’s already grabbing his jacket.
“Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay.”
Eddie finally looks at you directly for the first time all night. And for one awful second, something vulnerable flickers across his face, something almost guilty.
“Night, sweetheart.” Then he leaves.
A week later, Steve asks you out. Not dramatically or arrogantly, he actually looks kind of nervous. The two of you are walking back toward the apartment after grabbing coffee while Robin is in class, and Steve suddenly rubs the back of his neck before blurting:
“So… would you maybe wanna go out sometime?”
You stop walking. Steve immediately winces. “Jesus, that bad?”
“No!” you say quickly. “No, Steve, oh my God.”
He laughs awkwardly. You feel terrible instantly because Steve is wonderful, truly wonderful. But he’s not Eddie. And unfortunately for you, every stupid thought in your head still somehow circles back to Eddie Munson.
You exhale softly. “Steve…”
“Yeah?”
“I really, really like somebody.”
His face falls a little, though he tries to hide it. “Oh.”
“And it’s—” You hesitate. “It’s Eddie.”
Steve stares at you, then blinks. “…Eddie?”
“I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“Don’t be.” Steve nudges your shoulder lightly. “Can’t exactly control who you like.”
Then your face brightens suddenly. “Wait.”
Steve eyes you cautiously. “That look concerns me.”
“No, listen, I have a friend.”
“Oh no.”
“She’s in one of my lit classes.”
“You’re trying to set me up?”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Dangerous opening statement.”
“And she loves dumb movies and rambling and stupidly nice people.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “Are you calling me stupid?”
You grin. “A little.”
And somehow Steve agrees to meet her at the next group hangout. Which turns out to be the best decision of his life. Because the second your friend walks into the diner and immediately starts arguing with Steve about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie, Steve falls catastrophically in love. Like, immediately.
Robin watches it happen in real time. “Oh my God,” she whispers to you from across the booth. “He’s gone.”
Steve is sitting there staring at your friend like she personally invented happiness. Meanwhile, your friend is laughing so hard at one of his jokes that she’s nearly crying.
“You know what?” Robin says thoughtfully. “They’re gonna get married.”
And honestly? You kind of think so, too. Which would all be great news if Eddie hadn’t spent the last three weeks completely disappearing from your life.
Eddie sees them completely by accident, which somehow makes it worse. He’s cutting through downtown after leaving the record store, headphones hanging around his neck and a cigarette tucked between his lips, when he glances across the street and nearly walks directly into a parking meter.
Steve is sitting outside the little café near campus. And across from him is a girl Eddie’s never seen before. Not just sitting, holding hands, laughing. Steve looks disgustingly happy about it, too, leaning across the tiny table while she steals fries off his plate.
Eddie stops dead on the sidewalk, and his stomach twists immediately. “What the fuck,” he says out loud.
Because no. No no no. Steve Harrington did not spend weeks following you around like a lovesick puppy just to immediately start dating another girl. Eddie’s chest burns hot, and before he can think better of it, he’s already crossing the street.
Steve notices him halfway there and grins automatically. “Munson!”
Eddie does not grin back. Steve’s smile slowly fades. “Uh oh.”
Eddie walks right up to the table, pointing accusingly. “What the hell, man?”
The girl blinks between them. Steve looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”
“I literally don’t.”
Eddie gestures wildly at the girl sitting across from him. “This!”
Steve stares, the girl stares, and Eddie looks personally betrayed.
“You spent all that time chasing after her, and now you’re out here cheating on her in broad daylight?”
The girl chokes on her drink. Steve’s eyes widen in horror. “What?!”
“Don’t what me, Harrington!”
“Eddie,” the girl says carefully, trying not to laugh, “I think maybe—”
“No, because this is insane behavior!” Eddie continues. “You were obsessed with her!”
Steve suddenly realizes. And then, unbelievably, he starts laughing. Like full-body laughing.
Eddie glares at him. “Oh, cool. Awesome. Glad infidelity is hilarious to you.”
Steve physically puts his head in his hands. “Oh my God,” he groans through laughter. “You are so stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
The girl beside Steve is openly giggling now. Steve looks up, finally, still laughing. “She turned me down, dumbass.”
Eddie blinks. “What?”
“She turned me down because she likes you.”
Silence, actual complete silence. Even the traffic noise suddenly feels far away. Eddie just stares at him. “…what?”
Steve looks at him like he’s witnessing a medical emergency. “She likes you,” he repeats slowly. “She literally told me she had feelings for you.”
Eddie’s brain completely short-circuits. “Nah,” he says automatically.
“Yes.”
“No, she—”
“Eddie.” Steve points at him. “The girl spent an entire party staring holes into your head.”
Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “She… what?”
Steve looks genuinely offended now. “How did you not notice?!”
Because Eddie had been so busy convincing himself Steve would win again that he never even considered the possibility that you’d wanted him back. You wanted him. Oh my God.
Ohhhhhhh, shit.
Every interaction over the last month slams into him at once. You laughing at all his jokes. You always gravitate toward him. The way your face fell every time he pulled away. The hurt in your eyes the last night everyone hung out. Eddie physically pales.
Steve watches as the realization hits him in real time. “There it is,” Steve says flatly. “That’s the face of a man realizing he ruined his own life.”
“Oh my God,” Eddie breathes.
“You stopped talking to her!”
“I know!”
“You idiot!”
“I KNOW!”
The girl across from Steve is laughing so hard she’s wiping tears from her eyes. Eddie runs both hands through his hair frantically. “Oh my God,” he repeats. “She probably thinks I hate her.”
“Probably, yeah.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Steve points down the sidewalk dramatically. “Go fix it!”
Eddie doesn’t even argue; he turns so fast he nearly trips over the curb before sprinting back down the street.
Eddie almost falls up the stairs to your apartment, seriously. He misses the second step entirely because his brain is moving faster than the rest of his body, heart pounding so hard it feels painful.
You like him. You liked him the whole fucking time. And he spent the last month acting like a wounded puppy instead of just talking to you like a normal person. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, shoving a hand through his curls as he reaches your door.
The lights are on inside. Good, good. Eddie knocks once. Then, immediately again, louder this time because he suddenly cannot breathe properly. And the door swings open. Oh. Oh, he is so unbelievably screwed.
You’re standing there fresh out of the shower, hair still damp around your shoulders, oversized sleep shirt slipping off one side slightly. No makeup. No jewelry except the tiny rings you always wear, soft skin still a little damp.
You look sleepy. Comfortable. Beautiful in this terrifyingly effortless way that makes Eddie’s brain go completely blank. Your eyes widen when you see him standing there looking half feral. “Eddie?”
His name leaves your mouth softly, confused. Your brows knit together a little. “Hi.”
And God, that almost kills him too, because even after he’s been avoiding you for weeks, you still sound happy to see him.
“I’m an idiot,” Eddie blurts immediately.
You blink. “What?”
“I’m, like, a catastrophic idiot, actually.”
“Okay…”
“I thought you liked Steve.”
You stare at him for a second. “Oh, my God.”
“I KNOW.”
“You thought I liked Steve?”
“He asked you out!”
“And I said no!”
“Yeah, apparently everybody knew that except me!”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. Eddie looks so distressed standing there that it’s honestly a little adorable. His cheeks are flushed pink from running over here, his curls are windblown, and his chest is still rising too fast.
“I thought,” he says breathlessly, softer now, “I thought for one second maybe I actually had a shot with you, and then Harrington told me he liked you and I just…” He laughs once at himself. “I don’t know. I got weird.”
You stare at him because suddenly everything makes sense. The distance. The avoiding you. The weird tension every time Steve sat beside you.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
“I know, sweetheart, trust me, I know.”
“You thought I wanted Steve Harrington over you?”
Eddie grimaces. “When you say it out loud, it sounds stupid.”
“It is stupid.”
“I’m aware.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself now. And Eddie looks at you like the sight of that smile physically revives him. “I really hurt your feelings, didn’t I?” he asks quietly.
You hesitate, which is an answer enough. Eddie closes his eyes briefly like he hates himself for it. “Shit.”
Before you can respond, he suddenly steps closer. “You have any idea,” he murmurs, voice rough, “how hard it’s been not to talk to you? See you?”
Your breath catches instantly while Eddie’s gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes. And when you don’t move away, that’s it. His hand slides gently against your jaw, and suddenly, he’s kissing you. Like he’s been starving for it. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks, which, to be fair, he has.
You make this tiny, surprised sound against his mouth before immediately melting into him, hands sliding up his chest to the back of his neck as he kisses you harder. Eddie groans softly the second you kiss him back.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes against your lips. “Thank fucking God.”
You’re laughing a little now between kisses, dizzy from how fast this is happening. “You are insane,” you whisper.
His hands slide carefully to your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every ounce of attention you're gracing him with. He walks you backward into the apartment without breaking the kiss, one hand still cradling your jaw like you might disappear if he lets go.
The door clicks shut behind him, and he spins you gently, pressing your back against it. “Been losing my mind over you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “Every fucking night.”
You make a soft, overwhelmed sound and pull him closer by his jacket. He shrugs it off in one messy motion, letting it hit the floor, then his hands are back on you, sliding under the hem of your shirt, palms greedy against your bare waist.
“Eddie—”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He kisses down your neck, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. “Tell me what you need.”
You don’t even know how to answer. You just tug at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, revealing all that pale skin and dark ink. Your hands explore him immediately, tracing over every tattoo and piece of him that you can get ahold of.
He walks you toward your bedroom, never letting you get more than a breath away. When the backs of your knees hit the bed, he eases you down like you’re something precious, then follows, crawling over you.
“Look at you,” he whispers, eyes dragging over your body. Your shirt has ridden up; he pushes it higher, exposing your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breasts. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”
You laugh breathlessly, a little shy under the intensity of his stare, but he leans down and kisses the sound right out of your mouth. Then lower, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, the soft underside of one breast. When his mouth closes around your nipple, tongue teasing, you arch with a broken moan. He hums in satisfaction.
Eddie takes his time, like he’s making up for every second he wasted avoiding you. He maps your body with his mouth and hands, murmuring filthy-sweet things the whole time.
When he finally hooks his fingers in your panties and tugs them down, he actually curses under his breath at how wet you are. Two long fingers slide through your folds, circling your clit with devastating patience until your thighs start shaking.
“Eddie, please—”
“I got you.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, then looks up at you through those dark curls, eyes almost black with want.
He doesn’t tease for long. The first slow drag of his tongue has your back bowing off the bed. He groans like you’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm, two fingers curling inside you just right.
One of your hands fists in his hair; the other clutches at the patchwork quilt beneath you.
You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out his name in a broken whimper. He keeps going through it, gentling you down with soft licks until you’re trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally crawls back up, his mouth is shiny, pupils blown. You pull him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and reach between you to palm him through his jeans.
He hisses, hips jerking. “You sure?” he rasps, already sounding wrecked. You nod, helping him as he desperately tries to take his belt off.
He hovers over you for a second, then smirks as he reaches to your shelf and turns Ferdinand around. “Look away, buddy,” he mumbles.
He leans back into you, kissing you gently as he settles between your thighs. He braces one forearm beside your head and looks down at you, suddenly serious beneath the hunger.
“You sure?” he whispers. “We can slow down. I’ll wait as long as—”
You cut him off with a kiss and guide him to your entrance. “I want you. Now.”
He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. When he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep, just panting against your mouth.
“Fuck… you feel like heaven, baby.”
Then he starts moving, slow rolling thrusts that drag against that spot inside you with every stroke. Eddie’s mouth stays on yours, on your neck, on your chest, wherever he can reach. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head while he fucks you harder.
“Look at me,” he breathes. “Want to see you when you come again.”
You do; staring into those big brown eyes while the pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He angles his hips just right, and you shatter around him with a sharp cry, clenching so hard he curses and follows right after, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and groans your name, followed by a couple of “fuuucks” for good measure.
For a long minute, the only sound is your mingled breathing and Eddie’s rabbiting heart. Eddie collapses half on top of you, face tucked into your neck, arms wrapped around you like he never plans to let go. You’re both smiling in that dazed, exhausted kind of way, the kind that feels a little unreal.
Eddie presses one slow kiss against your shoulder. “You alive there, sweetheart?”
You giggle softly into your pillow. “Barely.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs smugly.
You snort immediately. “Don’t start.”
“I earned starting.”
“You are so annoying.”
“And yet,” Eddie says dramatically, motioning to the predicament the two of you are currently in.
You laugh again, turning your head slightly, and then you notice it. Your tiny ceramic frog statue is still sitting on the bookshelf, facing the wall.
You go completely silent, Eddie noticing instantly. “What?”
Slowly, you point toward the shelf. Eddie follows your gaze and physically freezes.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
Eddie immediately starts laughing. Not a cute laugh either, a full body, wheezing, face-in-your-neck laugh.
“I cannot believe you turned Ferdinand around!”
“He didn’t need to see all that!”
You burst into helpless laughter beneath him. “Eddie!”
“What?!” he says between laughs. “You said he had feelings!”
“He is ceramic!”
“Yeah, and he could have been a traumatized ceramic!”
You’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts now, trying to shove at his shoulder while he grins down at you completely unashamed. “I cannot believe you did that.”
“I was respecting the sanctity of your weird little frog son.”
“That is actually insane behavior.”
“Says the woman with an emotionally significant amphibian collection.”
You groan loudly into your hands while Eddie keeps laughing. Then suddenly, he pushes himself up just enough to glance toward the shelf again.
“…do you think he’s mad at me?”
You stare at him for half a second before dissolving all over again, while Eddie looks absolutely lovestruck watching you laugh beneath him.
