Hi! Iām Yellove (she/her), and I write emotionally devastating, morally questionable, and occasionally unhinged fanfiction ā the kind that makes you stare at the wall for a few minutes after reading. Youāve been warned!
Useful links
Archive of My Own Bad Decisions (AO3 Masterlist)
Yellove's Masterlist of Fic-Induced Suffering (Tumblr Masterlist)
š You can find my works on AO3 here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
šŖļø This blog is my chaotic little corner of the internet where I:
post updates (eventually... probably...);
reblog moodboards and vibes that may or may not relate to anything Iām writing;
scream into the void when characters make terrible life choices (which they always do);
share WIPs, snippets, and tag games;
answer asks (yes, Iām that kind of attention gremlin);
and cry dramatically about plot twists I wrote myself (no one is more betrayed than the author, trust me).
āØ What to expect
Dark themes, slow burn that really earns the "slow", characters with trauma piled on trauma, suspiciously specific metaphors, a sprinkle of hope, and lots of āØemotional damageāØ (you're welcome). Also: occasional meta, overthinking, and posts like āwhat if this one scene had gone even worse?ā
š¬ AO3 is for the polished work. Tumblr is for screaming, spiraling, and talking to you lovely people. So if youāve ever wanted to say āWHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO THEM (TO ME)?!ā ā this is the place.
š I donāt bite (unless youāre a fictional character, in which case... run).
Letās cry about fictional people together, overthink their choices, pretend weāre fine, and call it catharsis. š«¶š»š
If someone told Steve a few years ago that he would regularly lift Eddie Munson into his arms, he would have advised the poor soul to take a long vacation at Pennhurst.
But here he is, holding Eddie against the humming fridge in his dark kitchen, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, with not a single inch of space between their bodies, Eddie's wide, dark eyes fixed on his.
"Two is a coincidence..." Eddie mutters, licking his lips, letting the rest of the sentence dwindle out as Steve's eyes fall shut.
It all starts here:
A hot summer day, them sitting on the lounge chairs next to the pool in nothing but swimming trunks, nursing two cold Coke bottles, when Steve notices something off with Eddie.
"What happened to you, man?" He points his bottle at Eddie's ribs, the large purple bruise on his pale skin enough to have him wince in sympathy. Eddie looks down at himself, then flushes, a pretty pink spreading across his sternum, climbing along his throat and into his cheeks.
"Oh, this?" he asks, sheepishly. "Just a little accident."
"What kind of accident?"
"Just, you know..." Eddie shrugs, turns his head away from Steve, hiding the heat in his face.
Steve frowns at him, unsatisfied with the non-answer. Then, it dawns on him.
"You mean that happened during...?"
Eddie blushes even harder if that's possible. Steve's never seen him like this. He's normally so shameless, flaunting his opinions loud and proud.
"Yeah, Steve, it happened during dot dot dot. Satisfied?"
Steve is, and he isn't. Because how would you even get bruised like that during sex? Unless...
"Did somebody do that to you? Like on purpose?" Does Steve have to drive all the way up to Indy to beat up one of Eddie's hookups?
"No, nothing like that." Eddie groans and rubs a hand over his face. "I fell."
"You fell?" Steve looks down at his Coke bottle. "You fell from what?"
Eddie thumps his head back against the chair, eyes rising towards the sky like he's praying for patience. "From the hot guy's arms I was in, okay?"
Steve chokes on the sip of Coke, he was just about to swallow. "You mean you had sex while standing up?"
"Not exactly sex," Eddie says and shakes his head. "Just making out, I guess."
"Somebody made out with you while lifting you up?" The words feel weird in Steve's mouth, tacky, as if they should have stayed glued to his palate.
"Seems impossible, right? Should've known it could only end in disaster," Eddie laughs. "It was hot in the moment, though. Before he let me fall, and I hit the dresser next to us. Being worried that I might've fractured a rib was kinda a mood killer. Don't think we'll see each other again."
"It's not impossible," Steve remarks, before he can think better of it. "I made out lifting the other person up before. Multiple times."
If possible, the heat in Eddie's cheeks burns even brighter now. Is he getting sunburned? Steve should probably get out the aloe for him later.
"With girls. It's not the same."
"I could easily lift your bony ass, Munson."
Eddie stares at him with raised brows, then scoffs. "Sure, Harrington."
Steve feels his fingers itch with the desire to prove himself, but before he can act on the impulse, Eddie's up and jumps into the pool, splashing water all over Steve's shins.
Steve's determined not to let it drop.
The first time he gets the opportunity is a few nights later when they hang out at the Munson trailer. They climb on top of the roof to split a joint between them, smoking and talking about nothing and everything, about their days, about their friends, about their random shower thoughts.
He likes that about Eddie, how easy things are with him. Eddie's one of those friends who can go on long tirades about the constraints of society, but he never judges Steve, even when they disagree. It's new for Steve, too, to hang out with someone who doesn't think his thoughts and ideas are stupid, even when he tries to estimate how many slices of pizza he's eaten in his lifetime.
So, when he finally jumps off the trailer's roof, a little higher and a little more giggly than before, and Eddie looks down from where he's sitting, worrying his lower lip, Steve doesn't hesitate to open his arms for him.
"Was this always this high?" Eddie asks, and Steve can't help but laugh.
"C'mon, Munson, I've got you."
Eddie doesn't look entirely convinced, so Steve adds, "I would never let you fall, promise."
Next thing he knows, Eddie pushes off the edge of the trailer. Steve catches him around the middle, Eddie's hands landing on his shoulder, fingers digging deep into his flesh.
Steve looks up at him with a happy chuckle, says, "See?" and Eddie's eyes get all wide and startled. He looks kinda pretty, Steve thinks while he keeps Eddie lifted off the ground for a moment longer, what with that star-sprinkled sky behind him.
Then he slowly lowers Eddie down on his feet, showing off his muscles and proving he can indeed lift Eddie without making him fall, even if only for a moment.
They don't talk about it afterwards. Just head inside, cook mac and cheese from the box.
The second time it happens, Eddie's drunk on Steve's couch. They made cocktails with the contents of his parents' liquor cabinet and exotic juices Robin brought from the store while watching Rocky Horror. Steve's not a big fan of sticky-sweet alcohol, so he's mostly stayed faithful to his beer and is thus the only one relatively sober among the three of them.
Robin's already headed up to crash in the guestroom, but Eddie's apparently content with falling asleep right here, in his uncomfortable clothes, without washing up.
"C'mon, Ed, get up," Steve groans, trying to pull him into a standing position by his arm.
"Just leave me here," he grumbles, "don't wanna move."
"Ah, ah," Steve chastises him. "We don't skip the bedtime routine in the Harrington household. You had a lot of sugar, so you have to brush your teeth. Either get your ass up yourself, or I'll carry you to the bathroom."
"Yeah," Eddie laughs, slumps down even further. "As if."
Steve leans down before he can rethink his decision, guiding Eddie's arms around his neck, then sliding one hand below his thigh, and the other around his middle, holding on fast. He lifts him up and into his arms with a grunt, jostling him up and resettling his grip by holding onto both of his thighs.
Eddie's not exactly heavy, but his drunken wobbliness makes it a bit of a challenge to carry him up the stairs to the second floor, still.
"What the fuck, Harrington?" he mumbles into Steve's shoulder, arms curled tight around Steve's neck. Steve turns his head, inhales Eddie's musk- tobacco, and something a little more spicy- tries to ignore the demanding beat of his own heart.
He kicks open the door to his bathroom, sets Eddie on top of the marble countertop, then searches for the spare toothbrush under the sink. He wets it under the tap, then squeezes a bit of toothpaste onto it and hands it to Eddie, who looks at it as if Steve just handed him a weird insect.
Steve ignores his skeptical look in favor of brushing his own teeth, then hands Eddie a cup of water to rinse his mouth. There's no logical reason for Steve to lift Eddie in his arms again afterward, besides wanting to do so.
Eddie curls around him like a koala, not even questioning Steve's motives anymore, holds on like he never wants Steve to let him go. Steve's stomach flips when one of Eddie's hands buries inside his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his strands, one of his rings snatching on a stand, the sharp pain enough for Steve to have to suppress a moan.
He puts Eddie on his bed before he does something he will regret later, tosses some clean sweatpants at him, then goes downstairs to clean up the total mess Robin and Eddie left in his kitchen. When he comes back, Eddie is already asleep, face pressed into Steve's pillow, like he's trying to soak up every bit of Steve's scent.
It gets a little more complicated for Steve after that. The kicking of his heart, the nervous flutter in his gut, are still there, and they're getting harder to ignore. There's not much chance to lift Eddie up, and Steve's feeling a little desperate to hold Eddie in his arms, to feel his breath against his neck, those strong fingers digging into his skin, holding onto his hair.
Opportunity finally arises a few weeks later, when they're in Steve's backyard again, playing Badminton (the only sport Steve could convince Eddie to give a chance).
Suddenly, Eddie yelps, tugging his bare foot around to inspect the sole of it.
"Shit, fucking ouch," he hisses when Steve hurries over, "I think I stepped on a bee."
Steve doesn't hesitate to pick Eddie up, just this time, he puts an arm beneath his knees and the other around his shoulders.
"Did I hit my head, too?" Eddie wonders, but is still holding onto Steve's neck as he always does. "I think I'm getting carried princess style by one Steve Harrington."
Eddie swoons and puts the back of his hand against his forehead. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes in answer, doesn't know what to say to make it less weird. He carries Eddie into the kitchen, sets him on the kitchen counter, then gets an onion and slices it into half before pressing it to the swollen spot on Eddie's foot.
"Do you think the bee is okay?" Eddie asks, and Steve thinks he's a little bit in love with him.
The fourth time it happens, it's on Eddie. He comes storming into Steve's house, calling for him, calling, "Steve, Steve, I've got the job at the garage!"
Steve steps out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel, when Eddie flings himself at him, arms curled tight around his neck. Steve's got no choice but to drop the dish towel, curling his arms around Eddie's waist and whirling him around until they're both dizzy with laughter.
So.
Two is a coincidence.
Three is a pattern.
Five. Well. Five might be a bit of a problem.
That final time in his kitchen at night, happens like this:
The other side of Steve's bed is empty, even though Eddie stayed over. They haven't felt awkward about sharing a bed in a long time, which Steve realizes might seem a little strange in itself, but since they're both members of the regular nightmares clubā¦
Steve heads down, finds Eddie in the kitchen refilling a glass with water from the tap.
"Did I wake you?" he asks, and turns to Steve, leaning against the counter. He looks so good like this, with Steve's shorts a little too big on him and slung low on his hips, hair all tousled from sleep, slim fingers ringless for once. Pretty eyes, pretty lips, even the exact cut of his chin is pretty.
Steve didn't plan for it to happen like this, didn't plan for anything to happen at all, really, but he tugs Eddie's glass out of his hand, places it on the counter, then bends his knees to lift him into his arms, slowly, fabric sliding against fabric.
Eddie's thighs come around Steve's waist like they've rehearsed this, like they've done this a million times before, will a million times more. Steve takes a few steps to the side, trying to find a surface he can secure Eddie against, finds the tall fridge to be perfect for that.
Eddie gasps when his back comes into contact with the cold metal, and he tightens his arms and legs around Steve. For a short moment, they only look at each other, breathing hard against each other.
"Two is a coincidence..." Eddie mutters, licking his lips. Steve lets his eyes fall shut, leans in until his nose slides against Eddie's. His heart is stuck in his throat at this point, his fingers tingling where they're digging into the naked skin of Eddie's thighs. He slides them a bit higher, high enough that they slip under the hem of his shorts.
"Five?" Steve breathes. "What is five?"
"Five is a confession," Eddie whispers back. Steve can't help but press his smile against the edge of Eddie's jaw. God, he likes him so much.
"Do you have any idea what this does to me?" Eddie groans, fingers curling in Steve's hair and tugging on it until Steve moans against his skin. "Lifting me in your freakishly strong arms like it's nothing? Promising me not to let me fall? Jesus freaking Christ, I thought I was going to spontaneously combust every time."
"Yeah?" He hums, pulls away enough to look at Eddie in the spare light of his dark kitchen. Steve's still grinning, his cheeks aching from it.
"Are you always this competitive, Harrington?"
"I like to be the best at whatever I do. Sue me," Steve shrugs, jostling Eddie in his arms in the process.
"Well, we haven't made out yet, so the jury is still out on whether you can do it without dropping me on my ass."
Steve's mouth lands on Eddie's true and right. Kissing the sass right out of him, kissing him pliant and soft, until Eddie's shivering and sighing in his arms.
True to his word, he doesn't let Eddie fall. Not even twenty minutes later, when their kisses have turned hard and heavy, when his hold on Eddie has gotten so tight, he's leaving his own kind of bruises on him.
Hiii, Iād like to order a Eddie Munson, stirred. Rum with no mixer. Add a lime wedge, a sugar rim (for him) and can I get it with a bent straw please?????
I adore your writing, canāt wait for all the new ficsšššš
unbirthday
pairing: eddie munson x reader
summary: you've always hated having a birthday so close to Christmas so you've decided not to celebrate. but your best friend has a different idea. and maybe you'll both get a gift in the process...
wc: 8.8k
order up: friends-to-lovers, canon-universe, smut & fluff, mutual pining, first time (for him), and slight post-hookup awkwardness/tender aftermath.
warnings: talk of drinking, mention of past violence, Eddie Munson eating pussy like his life depends on it, first time, virgin!Eddie, slight internal jealousy, p in v sex, fluff
masterlist
Holidays weren't your favorite time of year.Ā
In fact, the time from after Halloween until New Year's made you more irritated and stressed than happy and joyous.Ā
And maybe your birthday being right before Christmas had something to do with that, sure. Other people didn't have to worry about the biggest gift giving holiday being right around the corner from their own personal celebration.Ā
Parties always got canceled because of snow or holiday conflicts. People were too broke to go out and do anything. Combined Christmas/Birthday gifts felt like a cop out.Ā
So this year you decided to say 'fuck it' and not even mention your birthday. You were in community college for a couple years now, just outside of Hawkins. No one in your newer friend circles needed to know your birthday only to be too busy to celebrate. Hell, you were on break. You didn't even have to see them.
Unfortunately, for your plan, there was one person who never forgot your birthday.Ā
Who's voice was currently wafting through the house like this was a performance piece.Ā
Eddie was downstairs, chatting up your mom the way he'd done since freshman year, when you guys had your first school project together. And the rest was history.Ā
Except you graduated a couple years ago and Eddie... didn't. So you saw a little less of each other than you usually did.Ā
It bothered you more than you cared to admit, and it bothered him even more.Ā
"Thanks for the cookie!" You heard, a mouth half full but still booming voice yell from the stairs. Footsteps, heavy even without shoes and two at a time, came next before three distinct knocks at your bedroom door.Ā
"No solicitors." You say, deadpan, sitting on your bed reading the same line in your book for the past five minutes.Ā
"Even if I'm selling my soul to you for a very, very discounted rate? It is your birthday after all."
You sigh. "Come in."
The door opens with a loud creak and then a soft click as he shuts it behind him. He's wearing a flannel over a band shirt that's so faded you can't even make out the logo, and faded black jeans, the chain on his wallet jingling as he walks over. He slings his jacket over your desk chair like he usually does.
"Happy birthday." He's holding out a small, poorly wrapped gift.
"You didn't have to get me anything. I told youā"
"'Not doing my birthday this year', yeah I heard you. You tell me a lot of things." He cuts you off, but not in a mean way. He's smiling. "Doesn't mean I agree with all of them."
You take the gift and set it beside you on the nightstand with a soft but reluctant 'thanks'.Ā
Eddie flops dramatically backward across your bed, making you pull up your legs into a crossed position so he doesn't break his spine on them.Ā
"So," he starts, glancing over at you. "Twenty one, huh? Finally legal toā¦ drink rum without a mixer."
The joke lands, you can't help but snort a little. He always remembered your go-to, the one youād refilled with water in your parents' liquor cabinet since you were old enough to sneak sips. "Very specific."
He shrugs, shifting on the bed so he's propped up on an elbow, facing you. The movement brings him closer than you expected, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the slightly chapped state of his lips.
"C'mon, you really don't want to do anything? Not even a 'finally legal' crawl to the Hideout? The sticky floors and three drunks aren't enticing you even a little bit?" He's grinning, all teeth and easy charm, but you know him better. You can see the flicker of something else underneath, something hopeful and a little worried that youāre actually going to say no to everything.
You sigh, closing your book for real this time and setting it aside. The spine makes a soft thud on the nightstand, right next to the present. "I don't know. I'm kind of justā¦ burned out on it all. The whole song and dance." You pick at a loose thread on your comforter. "I'd rather just chill, you know?"
He's quiet for a second, just watching you. "Yeah," he says, the word softer than you expected. "I get that."
The silence that follows isn't awkward. It's familiar. Itās a thousand late nights spent in this very room, homework spread between you, music playing low from a tinny radio. It's a comfort you didn't realize you missed as much as you had this semester.
What is new is the small bruise forming under Eddie's left eye, that you just got to see in the light.Ā
"Eddie..." Your eyes narrow as you reach out and touch it lightly before he can stop you. When you pull your finger back there's a nude residue on it.Ā
You arch a concerned brow at him and he lays back with a groan.Ā
"Are you wearing makeup?"Ā
"I.. it's no big deal. I didn't want to... look like shit if we ended up doing birthday shenanigans, so Buckley put some of this stuff on me. She said it was good to help 'conceal'. I don't know." He gestures vaguely at his face.Ā
"You're wearing concealer on your face." You state simply, still processing.
"Yes." He confirms in a way that sounds like he's admitting to murder.
"Okay, the mental image of Robin trying to get you to hold still long enough aside... Why didn't you tell me you got in a fight?" Your fingers twitch with the want to touch him again, to check if he was hurt anywhere else.
"Because it's embarrassing."
"Getting in fights is kind of your thing."
"Yeah, when they're on my terms. And for self defense. And not against dudes twice my age and double my size." He rubs his hands down his face as he speaks.Ā
Your curiosity and concern are equally piqued, especially when he walks over to your vanity and bends down, squinting at the damage.Ā
"It's not that bad right?" He asks, still looking in the mirror.Ā
You unfurl your legs in front of you again, getting comfortable against your pillows as you watch him.Ā
It's not your fault your eyes travel down to where his flannel lifts a little at his back. Or to where his jeans fit just right on his lean frame...
"Is it?" He finally turns around, taking your silence as a bad answer.Ā
"No. Uh, it's definitely not the worst you've looked." You say, clearing your throat.Ā
If he caught you, he doesn't seem to care because he's sauntering back over to your bed and flopping down again. Next to you this time.
"You gonna explain why a large man in his forties beat you up, or no?" You push, wanting to keep him talking, keep him here with you.
"Look, it's not that big of a deal. I promise." He says, sounding less theatrical and more honest. "I probably deserved it. And honestly, he took pity on me."Ā
"Okay now you have to explain."Ā
He sighs. "Fine. But you're gonna think I'm an idiot."
"I already know you're an idiot. So no news there." You smile as you nudge him with your knee.
"Fair." He sits up straighter. "I was at the Hideout last night. As one young degenerate male does on a random Thursday."Ā
"Uh-huh..." You press, knowing he's being theatrical.Ā
"And there was this girl... woman really..."
"Oh a woman caller, huh?" You tease, but something tightens in your stomach.
"Shut up." He pushes back playfully. "And she was sitting alone at the bar. Maybe in her thirties? I don't know. Women confuse me with their age magic. But she was a knockout."
"At the Hideout?" You ask, trying to hide the weird jealous flash with skepticism.Ā
"I was as shocked as you." He snorts, clearly not noticing any issue with your tone. "But I had just finished my barback shift and... I don't know... it kinda felt like she was watching me throughout the night."Ā
"Because she found you hot? Or because you were wiping down the bar with a dirty rag and sweating into the beer cooler?"
"The latter, probably. A look of pity maybe? Not sure." He shrugs. "But anyway, after my shift was over, she told me to sit with her."
The story pauses, Eddie looking at you as if to gauge your interest. You don't have to fake it. You've leaned in slightly, waiting for the rest.
"And?"
"And she got me a drink. Which, you know, was mostly booze because Bev doesn't slack."Ā
"Bev loves you. In her own weird way."
"She loves what's left of my tips at the end of the night." He corrects you with a grin, the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's looking at you, really looking at you, and it makes your stomach feel like a flipped switch. "So we drank. We talked. She wasā¦ cool. Older. Like, she had a real job and an apartment."
"And you, what? Made her a mixtape of all your favorite Black Sabbath songs?"
"Blasphemy! You know I only make mixtapes for the two special girls in my life." His grin was big and genuine. "You and the van."
You roll your eyes but he continues.Ā
"One thing led to another and we're outside, by the cleaner dumpster. And she's... you know..."Ā
Your tone was clipped. "I certainly don't."Ā
"We were making out like... heavily. More than that one time with Nicole Summers under the bleachers after..."
"Okay, Jesus. I get it." You hold up a hand, not wanting to hear about that particular memory either. That was the summer before your senior year, and you'd had to hear all about it for a week.
"So anyway, she starts to... explore lower... with her hands...and then uh... she's... lowering herself..."Ā
It was weird to hear Eddie talk about this. Uncomfortable, even.
You knew he was a virgin. Not exactly a hot commodity in Hawkins. So you didn't hear this kind of thing from him often.Ā
"Look, I'm not gonna paint you a mental mural, but there she is." He gestures lower to his junk. "Eye level with the beast--"Ā
"No." You say, shaking your head. "Don't call it that."
"It's my dick." He laughs, but it's a nervous one. "It can have a nickname."
"It shouldn't."
He shrugs. "Okay. So she's down there, doing her thing and I'm just about to..."
He makes a face, a very unflattering one at that.
"... finish?" You wince, using the least crude term you can think of. āAnd hopefully not looking like that.ā
"Shut up. And almost." He corrects you, then he covers his face with his hands. "And that's when the husband shows up."
Your jaw drops.
"The husband?" You ask, a little too loudly.
He nods from behind his hands. "The husband. Apparently she has one. And he's not too pleased that I'm receiving a uh...gift...from his wife." He finally drops his hands.
"Jesus Christ, Eddie." You whisper, the image seared into your brain. The poor girl, probably trying to reclaim some lost piece of her youth, and Eddie, your Eddie, caught in the crossfire.
"I know, right? So he shoves me. Hard. I fall back, hit my head on the dumpster. He screams something about a 'greasy little punk' and then he's just... wailing on me."
Your eyes dart back to the makeup on his face.
"And you just took it?"
He lets out a laugh that's more mortified than anything.
"See...he only landed one punch. Because the woman... she uh, she explained she was doing me a favor. Told him I'm uh... not what he thinks I am. She called me... a charity case." The last words are whispered, a confession.
It hits you like a physical blow. The casual cruelty of it, the public humiliation. The fact that Eddie, who puts on such a show of not caring what anyone thinks, had to stand there and take that.
"She was trying to stop him from hitting you more?" You ask, trying to understand the logic, trying to find a silver lining.
"Yeah. I don't know. I was mostly focused on trying to pull my pants up." He flops back on the bed, defeated. "Moral of the story: still a screw up, still a virgin."
You sigh slowly, wrapping your head around it as you lay down next to him more.
"I mean... did you really want to lose your v-card by the dive bar dumpsters?" You ask softly. The words are meant to be comforting, a gentle reframe.
He turns his head to look at you, your faces inches apart on the pillow. "No, not really." A beat of silence. "Did you expect a full, gruesome story of my near-deflowering on your twenty-first birthday?"
You can't help the small, breathy laugh that escapes. "No, not really." You admit, a grin tugging at your lips. "But I'm glad you told me."
His gaze is unwavering, full of a warmth that's been there for years but feels suddenly, intensely new.
As soon as it flashes it's gone.Ā
"Yeah well. In a couple months I'll be twenty-one, and I'm really hoping I'll have an actual deflowering by then. So maybe I should work on it." He jokes, but it doesn't land.
It sits in the air like something sour.
"You don't need to work on anything, Eddie." You say, your voice barely a whisper. "And you're not a charity case."
The look on his face is unreadable, a complicated mess of gratitude and something else, something you can't quite name.
"I know." He says, but it sounds like a lie. He thinks he's scraps, and it breaks your heart.
"It's not even that great. Trust me. I've had guys play dj with my labia for thirty seconds and ask me if it was 'good for me'. Or the one time the guy from band camp felt me up and then cried. And I only lost it last year in the backseat of this art student's van." You offer, trying to make him feel less like the odd man out. Trying to make him feel less alone.
Eddie looks at you, his head tilted on the pillow, a slow smile spreading across his face. It's not the big, performative grin he uses at school or in the Hideout. This one is smaller, softer, real.
"Art student's van, huh? Was it a good one?"
"The sex or the van? He had a futon mattress in the back, so... you know. It was a step up from your van. The sex wasā¦adequate."
"Okay wow, shots fired to my second best girl? I wouldn't take you in the van for our first time at least. That's a third time kind of activity." The words are out before he can catch them. A beat of silence hangs in the air, thick with the weight of what he just implied.
His face flushes, a deep, splotchy red that climbs up his neck. "I mean, not that... fuck. That's not what I..." He stammers, sitting up abruptly as if to put distance between the admission and himself.
You don't move. You just watch him, a strange, warm feeling blooming in your chest.
"I knew what you meant." You say attempting to calm him, and yourself.Ā
Eddie stops mid-fidget, turning to look at you. "Right. Good."
He doesn't sit back down. He just stands there, awkwardly, by the bed. The space he created feels too big now.
This was the precipice. Years of late-night study sessions, shared secrets, and inside jokes all led to this one, charged moment. The air in the room feels different, thicker, humming with a new kind of energy.
You make a choice.
You swing your legs off the bed and stand up, crossing the small space to stand in front of him.
"You're not some charity case, Eddie."
"Yeah, you said that."Ā
"No I mean..." You sigh, taking his large hands in yours. "Girls in Hawkins are cowards. And if the Bible thumpers and hick idiots didn't run this town, you'd be a catch."
He looks at you skeptically, like you're full of shit, frankly.Ā
"A catch? Me?" He snorts.
"A catch." You confirm. "You're funny, you're smart when you're not being a dumbass, and you're... you're loyal. You're a good person."
"You just described a dog."
"A really, really good looking dog." You correct him, stepping closer.
You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his breath hitches in his throat. He's not deflecting anymore. He's justā¦ watching you. Waiting.
"You don't have to do this." His voice is a low rumble, a last-ditch attempt at giving you an out. "Just 'cause I'm an idiot and said that out loud... you don't owe me anything. It was just... I misspoke. I don't...I don't want that from you."Ā
It feels like a cold shower.Ā
No, It feels like a cold tidal wave.Ā
'I don't want that from you.'
"Oh. Okay." You drop his hands and take a step back, the space between you feeling like a canyon. You cross your arms over your chest, a pathetic attempt at holding yourself together.
"I mean," he says, stepping forward again, trying to backtrack. "That's not..."
But you've already closed yourself off. The heat in your cheeks is gone, replaced by a cold wash of shame.
"No! No... it's fine. Just..." You turn to your bed away from him, pretending to fuss with the blankets. "I think I just want to be alone. Like I said. For my birthday." You need him to leave. Right now. Before you start crying in front of him.
"Wait. That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm so bad at this." He's behind you, a pleading in his tone that would normally make you melt. Right now, it just grates.
"I'm just tired." You lie.Ā
"Okay," he says, and you hear him back toward the door. The rejection stings more than you expected it would. More than that, the embarrassment, the sheer mortification of putting yourself out there and being shot down so cleanly, it was a new kind of pain. A hot, prickling feeling behind your eyes.
You hear the jingle of his keys as he picks up his jacket from the chair. "Happy birthday, by the way."
The door clicks shut, and you finally let out the breath you were holding.
Itās short lived.Ā
"You know what? No. Nope."
Your door opens a moment later and he's pointing like he has a point to prove, before he flicks it shut.Ā
"What are you..."Ā
The jacket it's thrown over your chair once again and two large, ringed hands frame your face, callouses grazing your temples.Ā
His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence. Soft and firm, like he's been thinking about it for a while.Ā
He tastes like the cookies your mom baked and mint, and he pulls back before you can really taste him.Ā
"What... but you just said..."Ā
Your brain is spinning and you know your confusion bleeds into your expression. Because Eddie's eyes are wide, like he's not sure he should have done that but is so glad he did.
"I'm an idiot." He states, and you nod a little in agreement. "I wanted it. I want you. I just didnāt want it if it was some pity thing. That's what I meant to say. I just... panicked. But then you looked so sad and I knew I fucked up. Because trust me, I have wanted that for longer than you probably want to know. Because if I say that out loud... it makes it real. And I... I'm bad at real. Real gets you punched by angry husbands in a bar parking lot." He's speaking in a rush, words tumbling over each other to get out.
"That wasn't real." You say, trying to calm him. "That was just... stupid. And not your fault."
"This." He gestures between the two of you. "This is real. This is us. And I'm terrified of screwing it up."
"I don't have a secret husband. I promise." You say, your hands coming up to rest on his wrists, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse against your fingers.
His gaze drops to your lips. "That's good to know."
He's not moving, though. He's still waiting. For you. Always for you.
So you close the distance.
This kiss is different. It's you who leads, a slow, deliberate press of your lips against his. You pour everything into itāyears of unspoken feelings, of late-night comfort, of shared laughter.
"You think I'm good looking?" He says muffled by your lips, a dumb little smile forming as he kisses back.
You can't help but laugh into his mouth, a real, genuine laugh that breaks the tension into a million pieces.
"Shut up," you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You have terrible timing."
"I have great timing. It's your birthday. I'm giving you what you want."
"You don't know what I want."
"Yeah, I do." His thumbs stroke your cheeks, the gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. He looks in your eyes like he's searching. "I'm not the most experienced guy but you know... I'm also not gonna..."Ā
He makes a little DJing motion with his fingers and you groan, remembering what you said earlier. "Oh my god, please stop."
"Right, sorry." He grins, leaning in to kiss your nose. "But seriously, what do you want? Your big twenty-one. Whatever it is, we can do it. Hideout crawl? Diner milkshake until we puke? Or... we can stay here."
The last part is a question, hanging in the space between you. He's offering you the choice, the control, and it's the most Eddie thing in the world to do.
He leans in, breath hot on your ear, voice lower. "Let me make you feel good on your birthday. Let me try."
You're nodding before you even realize it, a small, almost imperceptible motion. It's all the permission he needs.
His lips find yours again, and he's backing you up to the bed. You stumble a little when the back of your knees hit the frame, but you sit with a giggle.Ā
He pulls back to look down at you, smiling softly. Before you can say anything, he's already sinking to his knees in front of you.Ā
"Eddie, what are you doing?" You ask, your voice a little breathy.
"Shhh." He runs his hands up your thighs, squeezing gently. "Let me."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your sweats, and he looks up at you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod again, a little more confidently this time, and he tugs them down your legs.
The air is cool on your skin, and you shiver. His eyes are dark, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart pound.
His hands are warm on your bare thighs, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your knee, then your inner thigh.
"What I lack in experience..." he says, trailing kisses upward. "I make up for in enthusiasm."
Itās a joke, a deflection, but it lands softer than itās meant to, a genuine confession of sorts.
"You're doing okay so far," you whisper, your hands tangling in his hair.
He looks up at you, a small, proud smile on his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He leans in, and you feel his breath, warm against the cotton of your panties. "You smell so ready for me."Ā
He groans as he nuzzles into your panties, your clit throbbing with the need for direct contact. The slight stubble of his chin catches the fabric, sending a jolt through you.
"Eddie," you breathe out, your hips rocking forward, a silent plea.
He pulls back, looking up at you. "You want me to take these off?"
You nod, unable to form words.
He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and slowly, carefully, slides them down your legs. Heās careful with you, the way youād expect him to be with something precious.
Once they're down, he's looking at you so intensely, it almost makes you nervous.Ā
"Is... something wrong?" You whisper.Ā
Did he not like what he saw? Or maybe it wasn't what he was used to seeing, if he'd only seen porn. Maybe you weren't enough.
"Wrong?" He asks, his eyes wide. "No. Nothing is wrong. I just... I can't believe this is happening."
He's on his knees in front of you, looking at you like you hung the moon.
"You're... wow."
"Thanks," you say, your voice barely a whisper.
He leans in again, this time with no fabric between you. His breath is warm against your core.Ā
"I've never done this like... came close one time before. But uh...contrary to my academic record, I am a quick learner. " He confesses.
"You have to stop telling me your sexual experience stats." You say, but it's without heat. "I'm not a job interview."
"Okay," he says, looking up at you with a grin. "But you are the job I want."
You almost laugh at the cheesy line, but then his tongue is on you and all thought flies out the window.
Itās not hesitant. Heās not tentative. Heās confident.
His tongue flattens against your clit, and he licks a broad stripe up, then circles the sensitive nub. Your small sounds are driving him nuts and he pauses just to look up at you.Ā
"Never heard you make that noise before." He says, a proud look on his face. "I like it."
Before you can respond, his tongue is back on you, more insistent this time. Heās exploring, learning you, committing every gasp and shiver to memory.
He pushes one of your legs up and over his shoulder, opening you up more to him. The new angle allows him to go deeper, and he takes full advantage, licking into you with a focused intensity.
Your hands tighten in his hair, holding him to you as he works. His hands never stop touching your thighs, the callouses and metal rings making each sensation feel new, making it feel like him.
"Does that feel good?" He asks, his voice a low rumble against you.
You nod, unable to speak, and he takes that as his cue to continue. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, gently at first, then a little harder.
A sound escapes you, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
"Fuck," he whispers, pulling back just enough to look up at you. "You're so sensitive, baby."
The pet name is new, but it sounds natural coming from him.
He leans back in, a little more confident now, a little more sure of himself. Heās less a nervous student and more an eager apprentice. He's listening to your body, learning what makes you tremble, what makes your breath catch.
Your hips begin to rock against his face, a slow, involuntary rhythm. He doesn't shy away from it. He meets it, encouraging it with a hand on your ass, pulling you closer. The move shocks you a little and you let out a breathy giggle mid moan.Ā
He pulls back to look up at you, eyes full of genuine adoration, lips quirked into a soft smile, glistening with you.
"Why'd you stop?" You pant out, trying your best not to seem needy, but you deeply craved how his mouth felt a moment ago.Ā
"I love your laugh." He says softly, still looking up at you from the floor. "I've been trying to get you to laugh like that for years."
Your brain scrambles for a witty comeback, something to cut through the sudden, overwhelming intimacy of his words, but you come up empty. All you can do is stare at him, at the earnestness in his eyes, at the way he's looking at you like you're the most important thing in the world.
"I mean, I have. Made you laugh. Plenty of times. But... there's these moments where you just..." He trails off and you frown a little.Ā
"Where I what?" You ask, just as soft.Ā
His eyes soften and he starts to aimlessly drum his fingers against the soft fat of your ass.Ā
You know that fidgeting. He's nervous.Ā
"Where you uh... you just kinda let go. Stop caring about anything except the current moment. And, well hell, you know. You have to know." He shakes his head a little, wistful look on his features. "You look... you're so beautiful when that happens."Ā
It makes your breath hitch before you even realize it. The way he looks up at you, from his knees, no less, is something else. He's not trying to be anything or anyone but himself. Raw, open, and completely at your mercy.
The idea of him thinking about you like this, of him cataloging your laughs and your moments of unbridled joy... it was a secret you never knew you were keeping. You can't find it in yourself to be mad that he's been holding this in.
"You're a sap." You whisper, running a hand through his hair again. But your tone is far from teasing. It's gentle and so fucking fond.Ā
He looks like he's calmed down a bit from the weight of the confession.Ā
"Yeah well, you're easy to be sappy for." His eyes close and he kisses his way back up your inner thighs, alternating between them. "And God..."Ā
Another kiss, closer to where he was before.
"You taste so fucking good."Ā
His mouth is on you again but it's teasing, in between words.Ā
"I watch a lot of porn like this. Not gonna lie. The girls... they always look like they really like this part..."Ā
A kiss to your clit, but not with the flat of his tongue. A closed-mouth kiss. A tease.
"But the guys are always so... clinical. Like they're trying to find a leak in the sink. Or like they're too focused on fucking up." He's mumbling into you. "But doing this for real? With you? I'm just... I'm so hungry for it."
He licks a stripe up your center and your whole body shakes.Ā
"Eddie..." You plead for more quietly
"Hmm? Baby, I'm trying to have a very sinful makeout session here. Don't be interrupting."
You can't help it. A real, uninhibited giggle bubbles up from your chest, loud and unrestrained.
"Fuck... yeah that's the one." He groans, finally flattening his tongue against you. "Right there. That's the laugh I was talking about." He licks against you. "So pretty when you laugh for me."
His praise is dizzying, and the new confidence in his touch is even more so. He is a different person now that he knows he has your permission to be this way with you.
He wasn't lying when he said 'makeout session' either. Now he's fully in it, his tongue exploring you with a purpose, learning your folds and dips. He circles your clit again, this time slower, more deliberate. He's drawing it out, savoring the taste of you, the feel of you. The sounds you make.
The hands on your ass are no longer idle, they're kneading, encouraging you to rock against his face again as he groans against you.Ā
You comply and he rewards you so, so kindly with his tongue delving into your entrance, a gasp from your lips follows.
You've thought about his tongue more times than you care to admit. In fantasies just like this. Every time he made a dumb face or licked an ice cream in the summer, your mind wandered for just a second.Ā
And now, here he was, practically fucking you with it.
Eddie's enthusiasm is intoxicating. He's not trying to perform a scene from a movie, he's just... feeling. His movements are clumsy in their earnestness, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow, but always, always sincere. It feels amazing and the thought alone is so overwhelming that it pushes you closer to the edge.
He's moaning into you, getting lost in the taste and the feel of you, and the vibrations send another jolt through your body. You can feel the wetness building, the pressure in your core tightening, and you know you're close.
He can feel it too.
His eyes flick up to you as he's messily devouring his new favorite treat, and you can't look away.
Your eyes are locked as you come undone on his tongue. The pleasure is overwhelming, a wave of sensation that crashes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. You're not quiet, and you don't even try to be. You let go, just like he said, letting the sounds of your pleasure fill the room.
He holds you so close to him, like he'd be a fool to waste a single drop, and it's that thought that has your body twitching from overstimulation. He finally pulls away, chest heaving, face slick and flushed.
"Wow." He says, looking up at you, a dazed, happy expression on his face. "That was... wow."
You're still catching your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
He pushes back his hair, almost a baffled look on his face. "God... I just made you... I mean, me? Holy hell. I kinda hate any guy who saw that before me."Ā
You're a little dazed still and let out a sound that may be a laugh. He snaps out of patting himself metaphorically on the back and moves to lay next to you on the bed.Ā
"You okay?" He asks softly, rolling onto his side to face you.
You nod, your brain still a little fuzzy. "More than okay."
"Good." He's grinning again. "That's what I was going for."
You roll onto your side to face him, mirroring his position. The air between you is charged, but it's a comfortable kind of charged, the kind that comes from years of unspoken feelings finally being put into words.
When you glance down, just taking in the sight of him, you can see how painfully hard he must be.
He follows your gaze and chuckles lightly, licking his lips. "Uh... you don't need to worry about him. He's been... patient for a while. He'll live." He's trying to make it a joke, but there's an undercurrent of something else, a sincerity that makes your chest ache.
"Eddie," you say, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw with your finger.
"Really, it's okay, " he says, cutting you off gently. "This wasn't a... transaction. I didn't do that to get something back. I did it because I wanted to. Because I've wanted to for a long time."
He takes your hand from his face, lacing his fingers through yours. His are so much bigger, the rings cool against your skin.
"And... look," he continues, his gaze serious. "Maybe one day we could-"Ā
You don't let him finish, you hands palming him over his jeans.Ā
"Fuck-!" He hisses.
"Do you want to sleep with me?" You whisper, nearly against his lips now.Ā
His incredulous face makes you stop your ministrations.
"Woman, I want to date you. I want to take you out on dates, and hold your hand at the movies. I want to meet your parents again, but as your boyfriend this time. I want to drive you to class, and then go to my own bullshit classes, knowing you're mine." The list falls from his lips, a torrent of romanticism that is so purely Eddie. "I mean, if you'll have me. Of course."
You smile against him, a real, genuine smile that feels like itās been waiting years to break free. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
And then you're kissing again, slow and deep and full of all the words you haven't said yet.
His hands are on you, one in your hair, the other tracing patterns on your back, learning the landscape of your body. You begin to palm him again, this time with more intention, a slow, steady pressure that has him gasping into your mouth.
He doesn't try to stop you this time. Instead, he shifts, giving you better access, his hips rocking into your touch in a silent, desperate plea.
"Okay," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Okay. Your parents are downstairs though and I know the TV is loud but I don't want to risk everyone in the house seeing my dick."
"You didn't seem that worried about them a moment ago."Ā
"I was a little busy."
You laugh. "Right. My bedroom door has a lock."
"You didn't seem that worried about them a moment ago." He throws your own words back at you with a grin.
You lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. He pushes you gently away for a second.Ā
"Pause. Let me utilize that lock."Ā
He's painfully quick about it, and you settle against your pillows, taking off your shirt and bra as he turns back around.Ā
"Wow." He says, frozen in place.
You were suddenly very aware of how you looked. Naked on your bed. For him.
He seemed to be trying very hard to keep his gaze on your face. He failed. His eyes trace your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, with a reverence that is both thrilling and a little intimidating.
"You sure it's not my birthday? Cause this feels like a gift."
You can't help but laugh, a light, airy sound that fills the room. "Get over here."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He's on the bed in an instant, caging you in with his arms, his body hovering over yours.
"Hi." He says, his voice a low rumble.
"You're overdressed for this event." You smile up at him.Ā
"Ah, so you do want to see the beast." He jokes, but there's a nervous energy to it.
"I want to see you, Eddie. All of you."
The words hang in the air, a promise, a permission slip he didn't know he needed. He sits back on his heels, shrugging off his flannel and pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.Ā
He reaches for his belt buckle and starts to hastily undo it but stops midway through.Ā
"You're sure about this? I mean... this is a whole other..." He can't find the words.
You push yourself up to sit in front of him, your hands covering his on the belt buckle.
"Eddie. Look at me."
His eyes meet yours, a storm of nerves and want swirling in their depths.
"I have been sure about this since you tried to explain the entire Lord of the Rings lore to me in the back of a van, even though I kept calling the hobbits 'the little guys'."
"I could be bad at it. Like, shockingly bad." His honesty is a punch to the heart, because you know it's not a trick to get you to say 'no, you'll be great.' He's genuinely terrified, admitting a vulnerability.
"I'm really not worried about that."
"Okay." He says softly, letting you help him with the belt and the button on his jeans. "Okay, then."
He shucks them off along with his boxers, and there he is. All of him. Not the 'beast' he joked about, just... Eddie. Pale skin, a scattering of dark hair, a trail leading down from his navel.
You trail your fingers down his stomach and he sucks in a breath, a sharp, audible sound. You follow the path your fingers just took with your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin just above his hip.
"Hey," you say, looking up at him. "Relax."
"I'm trying," he says, a little breathless. "It's just... a lot."
"I know."
You lean in, pressing a kiss to his other hip, mirroring the first. His hands come to rest on your shoulders, a gentle, grounding touch.
"Can I...?" You ask, your gaze dropping to his cock, hard and flushed against his stomach.
He nods, a little jerkily, and you take him in your hand. He's hot and heavy in your palm, and you give him a slow, experimental stroke.
A choked sound escapes him, a mix of a gasp and a moan. "Oh, God."
You smile, a private, triumphant thing. You like seeing him like this, undone and a little helpless. You like knowing you're the one doing it to him.
"You've got a dirty smile, you know that?" He says, a low growl of a thing that makes your stomach clench.
"Only for you," you murmur, leaning in to press a wet kiss to the tip. He curses under his breath, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"I... I won't last long if you keep doing that," he warns, his hands tightening on your shoulders.
"There's condoms in my nightstand." You say, pulling back slightly. "I'm on the pill but... you know."
He looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before he leans over you to rummage in the drawer. He comes back with a foil packet, his hands shaking slightly as he tears it open.
"Here," you say, taking it from him. "Let me."
He watches, transfixed, as you roll the condom down his length, your touch slow and deliberate. When you're done, you lean back against the pillows, pulling him with you.
"Come here," you whisper, and he follows, settling between your legs. He's heavy, a warm, solid weight that feels more right than you ever could have imagined.
His cock nudges against your entrance, and you both still, the reality of the moment crashing over you.
"Hey," you say, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. "Look at me."
His eyes meet yours, wide and dark with want.
"It's just me," you say, your voice soft. "It's just us."
He lets out a slow, shaky breath, and you can feel the tension drain out of him.
"I'm really glad it's you. And I'm really glad it's us." He says, then, as if to prove it, he slowly pushes inside.
The stretch is a slow burn, a pleasurable ache that has you arching your back, a soft sigh escaping your lips. He goes slowly, giving you time to adjust, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.
"Jesus... fuck, are you always this wet or is it just me?" He asks, the question a breathy whisper against your neck. He's trying for a joke, trying to deflect, but the awe in his voice is unmistakable.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. "It's you."
A choked sound escapes him, something between a laugh and a groan. "Don't feed my ego. I'm already at risk of developing a complex."
You can't help but smile, a real, genuine smile that feels like it's been waiting years to break free. "Good."
He starts to move then, a slow, shallow rhythm that's more about connection than anything else. Each thrust is a question, and your body answers, meeting him, pulling him in.
He's not silent. He's never silent. He's talking, a constant stream of whispers and praises that are just soā¦ Eddie.
"You feel... God, I didn't know it could feel like this."
"Is this... is this okay? Tell me if it's not okay."
"I'm trying to go slow, I swear, but you're making it really, really hard."
That last one makes you smile, mid moan. "You don't have to be so careful with me."
He stops, buried deep inside you, and looks down at you, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion.
"Are you sure?" He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I don't want to... you know."
"Hurt me?" You finish for him.
"Yeah. That."
"You won't."
"Okay." He says, and he seems to take you at your word.
"I know what you're into." You tease.Ā
The choked moan that escapes him is devilish. "I swear I will cum right now if you keep talking to me like that."
"Promises, promises."
He looks down at you then, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. It's the same grin he gets right before he hits a particularly killer guitar solo, the one that says he knows exactly what he's doing and he's going to enjoy every second of it.
He pulls out almost entirely, then slams back into you, a sharp, deliberate thrust that steals the air from your lungs.
"Oh," you gasp, your eyes flying wide.
"Yeah?" He asks, a smug look on his face even when it's twisted in pleasure.
He does it again, and again, setting a pace that's anything but careful. It's rough and demanding, and it's exactly what you wanted.
He's kissing you all over your face as he hikes your thigh up over his hip. It's sloppy and wet and it's perfect.
"I'm not hurting you? You can tell me to stop." He insists, but he doesn't stop.
"Keep going." You pant out, digging your nails into the expanse of his back.
"I am, I am." He says as you both watch his dick sink in and out of you, a filthy, hypnotic rhythm. When he looks up and meets your eyes his lips are parted and his bangs stick to his forehead, but he's never looked more attractive to you.Ā
That's when you feel it. That familiar coiling in your stomach, a tightening that promises a second release.
"Shit, I think I'm gonna..." you start, but the words get lost in a moan as he hits a spot inside you that makes your vision white out for a second.
"Yeah?" He asks, a smug, breathless grin on his face. "You gonna cum again? For me?"
His words are a final, delicious push over the edge. Your body tenses, pulled taut, and then it snaps. The orgasm crashes through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it's almost painful. You pull him down by his neck, lips crashing onto his.Ā
The moan that he lets out into your mouth is sinful as he stills inside you, spilling into the condom with a shudder, a final, deep thrust that leaves you both breathless.
For a moment, you just lie there, a tangle of limbs and heaving chests, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the distant hum of the TV downstairs. He collapses on top of you, his full weight a comforting pressure, and you bury your face in his hair, breathing in the scent of him.Ā
His hands are rubbing your thighs, feeling them still slightly twitch from your orgasm.Ā
"Thank you... fuck, thank you." He says into your neck before he pulls out, making you both wince a little.
He gets up and pads across the room to your trash can, and you watch him move in the dim lamplight, all long limbs and pale skin, a smattering of dark tattoos scattered on his body.Ā
He comes back to the bed, and you expect him to reach for his clothes, to pull away now that the moment is over. But of course he doesn't. He isn't any of your exes or a hook up.Ā
He lays next to you, both of you fully naked, and pulls the blanket up over your bodies. He pulls you into his chest, and you rest your head on his heart, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat. He wraps one arm around your waist, the other coming up to play with your hair.
"So... " He says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "New birthday tradition?"
You can feel the vibration of the words in your cheek, the beat of his heart a steady, reassuring thrum against your ear. A tired, happy laugh escapes you, a puff of warm air against his skin.
"God, I hope so," you mumble, your words muffled by his chest. "I don't think I can go back to just cake and ice cream after this."
"Yeah, well, we can do both." He kisses your forehead. "And I could even be persuaded to do this more than once a year. Just saying."
You shift, propping your chin up on his chest to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, all sharp angles smoothed out by the lamplight and the aftermath. He looks... content. A little dazed. A lot happy.
A thought bubble pops into you head and you look over at the nightstand.
"I never opend your gift.." you say softly, reaching for the small package.
"I'd say you opened a far better one," he says, waggling his eyebrows, the gesture so quintessentially him.
"You're ridiculous." You roll your eyes, but you're smiling as you sit up, the blanket pooling around your waist. The package is small, wrapped in what looks like the classifieds from the paper.
You carefully peel back the tape, trying not to rip the wrapping. He watches you, his hands tracing lazy patterns on your back.
Inside is a small, wooden box, no bigger than your palm. It's plain, unadorned, but you can tell it's handmade. There are small, imperfect tool marks around the edges, a little burn mark here and there.
You run your thumb over the lid, feeling the smooth, worn wood.
"My uncle," he says, answering your unspoken question. "He's into woodworking. He taught me a few things. I uh... I made the box. He just helped with the... technical stuff."
You open the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded, red velvet, is a guitar pick on a thin silver chain. It's black, with a small, white skull-and-crossbones etched into it. It's worn down, the edges smooth, the center slightly concave from use.
You look up at him, your throat tight.
"It's my favorite one," he says, his voice quiet. "I've used it for... God, years. Almost every show. It's kind of lucky, I guess. I wanted you to have it."
You lift the necklace from the box. The silver chain is cool against your fingertips, the plastic of the pick warm and familiar. It's such a simple thing, but it feels like the most intimate gift you've ever received. A piece of him, of his music, of his soul.
"Eddie..." You start, but the words catch.
"I had this whole...uh, fantasy I guess that you'd suddenly...I dont know, realize how I felt or something. When you opened it. And it would be this big, romantic moment." He laughs a little, a self-deprecating sound. "And instead I had a full-blown panic attack and nearly left. And then came back and ate you out on your bedroom floor."
You can't help but laugh, and winces a little.
"Which, I mean," he continues. "Arguably also a big fantasy of mine. I just..."
You can see him worry that it wasn't a good start to this new chapter for you two and you want to fix that right away.
He's sitting up now, the blanket pooled around his hips, looking at you with those big, anxious eyes.
"Here," you say, holding your hair up and turning your back to him. "Put it on me."
He's quiet for a moment, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head. He's thinking about the weight of it, the meaning. Then, you feel the bed shift as he moves closer.
His fingers are a little clumsy as he works the clasp, the metal cool against the nape of your neck. You can feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, the slight tremor in his hands. He's nervous, even now.
When you turn back he gets to see you, fully nude in nothing but the necklace he made for you. You watch his eyes follow the chain down to your sternum.
"It looks..." He starts, then stops, as if the words are too big for his throat. He just shakes his head, a slow, awestruck movement. "It looks right."
You reach up, your fingers closing around the pick. It's smooth and familiar, a piece of him resting against your skin. "Thank you," you say, your voice softer than you intended. "It's perfect. All of this...it was perfect."
He reaches out, tracing the chain with one long finger. "I was worried I'd..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "I don't know. That I'd be bad. Or that it would be weird. That we'd be weird."
"We're a little weird," you concede, a small smile playing on your lips. "But we were weird before. This is just... a new flavor of weird."
He laughs, a real, unburdened sound that fills the small space between you. "Yeah. Okay. New flavor of weird. I can live with that."
a/n I wasn't sure where this was going exactly when I wrote it, but I truly hope you guys like it!
and don't worry, I see the hype train. the next post is gonna be steve and his massive gift to the world.
Major virgin Eddie who has convinced himself when he finally gets out there he's gonna be a dom because he thinks he's got the vibe.
Cut to a pre-S5 meeting where Nancy requests a volunteer for some task.
Steve immediately speaks over Jonathan "I'll do it."
"It needs two people." naturally Jonathan is about to speak up, which will be a nightmare, but then Steve clamps a sure hand around the back of Eddie's neck, squeezing in a way that has Eddie factory-resetting,
"Eddie'll do it, won't you?" Eddie is nodding before he even knows what he's nodding to and he's reevaluating everything he thought he knew about himself, especially when that hand drops and slaps his ass in such a fucking jock way, "attaboy."
sit next to me (please) [eddie munson x fem!reader]
you've always hated touch, avoided it ardently - until he came along.
warnings: use of she/her pronouns for reader, touch-avoidant reader, lots of yearning, talk of personal boundaries, readers becomes touch-starved for one (1) man, consumption of alcohol and weed, very slow burn.
word count: 11.2k+
a/n: this was originally titled "would that i" and i believe that i wrote it while listening to the hozier song, craving some super soft eddie all those moons ago. sorry that i tried to bury this one in the graveyard, y'all. i self-projected like all hell onto this reader as well lmao
dividers by @saradika-graphics
How one person can be such a walking contradiction, no one knows.
There is a softness to you. It bleeds out of you, endless and endearing to all those around you. The way youāll converse with friends with shining eyes, the way you close doors with care, the way you treat your favorite novel like a newborn babe. With both all the inanimate and animate objects around you, your touch is ever warm, ever tender. Like the sweep of a thin curtain sheet in a summer's breeze, or plush grass beneath calves in a verdant spring. Your touch is something to experience, and that was where the dichotomy came into play.
Your touch was deeply sought after, and was a rarity all on its own.
You were amongst the softest people in your friend group, and yet, rarely did you find yourself to be particularly physical. Your petal affections were usually restricted to affirmative words and acts of kindness. Your friends knew that if they needed words of encouragement, you should be the first person they ran to. If they needed a hug, however, you were not.Ā
Itās not because you were cruel or against the displays of physicality. You were just awkward with them. You would turn frigid over the brush of anotherās skin against your own. Youād tried to change over the years, offering more goodbye hugs, more spontaneous playing with Nancyās hair or high fives exchanged with Steve when you kicked one of the younger boysā asses at the arcade. You tried. But it was hard ā something had rooted itself in you long ago that continued to choke you and limit just how much you could handle when it came to anotherās touch.Ā
When Robin joined the group, she tried to warm you up more to it. Despite warnings from the group, whispers of she doesnāt like that, sheād continued to offer you her friendly physical affections as long as you reassured her it was fine. It worked, to an extent. You would now at least return the hugs received (even if it took you a few moments to do so), and you wouldnāt hold your breath at a friendās head on your shoulder or lap. It was all baby steps ā timid movements in the right direction, an accomplishment of letting your softness flow through your fingertips as you tried to adjust.Ā
Argyle also tried to wear you down. A casual arm around your shoulder in greeting, frequently sitting close enough to you on movie nights that your side would press into his as you both enjoyed the pizza heād brought. You still froze, still struggled to thaw, but you never shooed him away. Youād only exchange a secret smile with him, a private acknowledgement between you two that you knew what he was trying to do, and it was okay. Maybe it would work. Robin had, after all, made some baby steps. Maybe Argyle could help you take fuller strides. Maybe, just maybe, this could propel you.Ā
The night you drunkenly braided Argyleās hair had been a memorable success, but it never progressed past that. The roots remained, the timid natured reigned, and so your friend group simply celebrated what little victories theyād earned and moved on.
Theyād accepted you may never be a touchy person. And that was fine ā all that you lacked in physical touch, you more than made up for in every other avenue in expression of your fondness.Ā
Until Eddie.
The moment heād joined your circle, Argyle and Robin were already exchanging knowing looks. Eddie was touchy; the boy was practically starved for it. Overexcited hugs as greetings and the way his hand would reach for the nearest shoulder when he was overcome with joy for the small things. He couldnāt sit alone during movie nights, heād often lounge with his legs stretched out over the nearest laps, heād jokingly cuddle into people without a second thought.
And even more than that, his touch was wild and burning. Embers never to be contained. He was overwhelming, they all knew this and so did he, and they feared that if he attempted to embark on the same journey that they had that he may scare you away. That all the baby steps in the right direction would become leaps backward, sending you right back to where you started.Ā
They couldnāt have been more wrong.
Youād first noticed that Eddie treated you differently, more restrained, during a movie night. Argyle on one side, a small empty space on the other. Youād witness everyone endure Eddieās cinematic cuddles on multiple occasions, and amongst your roots had bloomed buds of wistfulness. A strange yearning every time heād tuck his face into the neck of whichever friend was nearest, jokingly squealing how he needed them to protect him. They saw him as a pest (a lovable one, but still) ā and youād never wanted to be pestered more in your life.Ā
That small space beside you was the last open seat. You thought surely, heāll sit here. You were optimistic at the likelihood of Eddie sharing your space, of feeling his curls tickle your cheek and neck, at his breath on your shoulder. For the first time in your life, you were painfully giddy at the prospect of someone touching you. When he entered the room with Jonathan, carrying bowls of popcorn and loudly telling everyone to turn on the horror movie chosen for the night, your entire body had buzzed. You would have leapt off that couch and crawled inside his chest right then and there if it wouldnāt have been so startling to not only him, but your entire circle.
He took one look at the empty seat, a pitiful excuse for space, and had paled.
Please sit next to me. Please, please, ple-
āSpread your legs, Harrington,ā Eddie had suddenly bursted out, throwing himself on the floor in front of Steve at the opposite end of the couch, āIām using your knees as collateral from Krueger.āĀ
He chose the floor over sitting at your side. And it ached.Ā
You were unaware of the spiel that Robin and Argyle gave him, the staunch warnings from Nancy, the (sort of) joking threats from Steve and Jonathan. Eddie Munson had been warned off from touching you, was obeying those warnings, and it just left you miserable.Ā
You didnāt get it. You didnāt understand ā his choices nor your feelings.Ā
But that night, the burn of Argyleās arm brushing your shoulder from where it laid along the back of the couch became overwhelming. Until youād scooted yourself into that space youād carved out for Eddie, and pouted, like a goddamn child.
Argyle assumed it was just a bad day for touch.
No one realized the yearning blooming within you. Youād never wanted to take a baseball bat to Steve Harringtonās shins more than when you watched Eddie Munson wrap his fingers around them and bury his cheek against them.Ā
The second time, it stung even more.
Months passed and the yearning never faded. You told yourself, over and over, this will pass. This is temporary, and it will pass.Ā
But it didnāt. The more time you spent with Eddie amongst your friend group, the more you craved the same casual touch from him that he extended to everyone else. He wouldnāt even brush past you in enclosed spaces ā he treated you like a traumatized dog, bound to snap and bite him if he made the wrong move.
You fucking hated it. You hated that you hated it.
Youād gone years without needing touch, so you cursed that unexpected sting in your chest that night at the bowling alley. When Eddie rolled his first strike (and reported it was his first ever), heād hugged everyone.
Everyone but you.
When it came to what should have been your turn for a bear hug, your mind was buzzing with adrenaline. This was it. You pictured him wrapping his tattooed arms around your chest, lifting you at least a little bit, swinging you a little due to the force of his affection. You were convinced his high off of the strike was going to make him forget his mission to never touch you. Maybe heād be embarrassed after. Maybe you could finally offer a small smile that said itās okay, Iām okay with it.
He only stopped dead in his tracks, arms freezing for a second before they dropped, his lips pressing tightly together before he let them spread back into a smile, and only lifted his brows at you excitedly.Ā
Thatās it. Thatās all.
Fuck.Ā
āThat was pretty metal, Eddie,ā you tried to egg him on, bouncing on the soles of your shoes a little, practically begging him with your eyes to just hug you.Ā
Heād been bashful, grinning and hiding his face behind a random curl, nodding, āYeah. Yeah, I guess it was.āĀ
If youād known of the talks behind your back then that had ruined that moment, you would have wrecked absolute havoc on your friends. The need, the yearning, the want became impossible to handle. You used his strike as an excuse for him to cover your turn, saying he was on a roll right after exclaiming that if you didnāt go to the bathroom right that second, youād piss yourself.
When you were alone in the stall, youād silently screamed and tugged at the roots of your hair.Ā
You wanted him to touch you. You wanted him to catch you off guard in larger than life hugs. You wanted to feel every emotion that thrummed beneath his skin and you wanted to breathe in his cologne, to finally know how sturdy his chest felt beneath his shirt and if his rings really were as cold as Nancy always complained.Ā
Youād finally returned to the group, not able to have a full breakdown in the bathroom without worrying your friends with your absence. Subtly, youād tried to tuck yourself into Robinās side when you returned, sitting down a bit closer than you normally would have, just to fill the void. It was almost as if you were encouraging her to reach an arm around you, to let you curl up and press a cheek to her collarbone. Try to alleviate the need for human touch clawing its way through you.
āYou okay, babe?ā she questioned suspiciously when she felt you squished entirely up against her. There was plenty of space on the bench, there was no reason for your proximity.
No, you wanted to scream, Iām not okay. There is an itch beneath my skin right now that can only be scratched by the affectionate touches of the metalhead sitting across from us whoās joking with our friends, completely unaffected and unaware. He wonāt even look me in the eye. And so now Iām trying to get you to just touch me, to just put a goddamn arm around me, to do anything to fill the gaping hole inside of me. But you canāt.Ā
It was an unfair situation to every single party and bystander involved.
āYeah, Iām fine,ā you lied.Ā
You canāt, because the only person who can fill this gaping void inside of me is Eddie.
You were the farthest from fine. You were in flames. And no one would understand it, least of all you, because this wasnāt like you.
You didnāt crave touch. You didnāt need it to survive. So, what the hell was this that you were feeling?Ā
The craving for Eddieās touch evolved into something more, and thatās when you knew that you were surely in trouble.Ā
Audible denial only worked for so long. Festering, longing, and yearning could only be withheld for so long until suddenly, with your mind on fire and your bones aching to the core, you realized that it was more than wanting Eddie to reach out for you. The want became a two way street. More often than not, you find your hands to be fists at your side, shaking with the effort to not bridge the gap.Ā
After a year of friendship, he had had no choice but to occasionally brush past you. Touches that must have been fleeting to him, but lingered for you. Theyād settle into your skin, tender like a fresh bruise, ghosting over you at night when you couldnāt sleep. It was more than just touch, at this point. You wanted everything from Eddie. The denial of his touch had led to you missing out on more than just hugs and movie night cuddles ā Eddie didnāt joke with you as much as he did the others, didnāt always turn to you in crowded rooms for comfort, wouldnāt call you up if he was up late and bored like he would Nancy, Steve, Robin, Argyle, fucking everyone in Hawkins except you. The distance was unbearable.
Because you did. You did look for him at every quaint hang out. You did seek him out in every room you entered and you did resist the urge to call him when sleep evaded you. You could imagine his voice over the line, a lullaby over the receiver as heād ramble about his day. It was like a poison, infecting those roots youād long since made friends with rather than try to dig up.Ā
You were fucked. Plain and simple. You had a big, fat crush on Eddie, and for once in your life, youād learned of the panging hunger to be touched.Ā
āDoes Eddie have a girlfriend?ā you asked as you sat with Robin at a diner, having completely zoned out with the conversation between her and Steve, lost in your daydreams, āOr boyfriend? Just- Is he single?āĀ
Both of your friends went dead silent, staring at you in awe.
Robin cleared her throat, but remained choked up until Steve spoke, āUh, yeah. Heās single. Why?āĀ
The way your eyes darted down to the table of the booth you three occupy gave it away.
Robin suddenly squealed, āOh my gosh! You have a crush on him!āĀ
āDo not!ā
āOh, you so do!ā she grinned wildly, leaning in close, āTell us everything ā now.āĀ
āEddie?ā Steveās nose scrunched up, āReally?āĀ
āI donāt have a crush on him!ā you uselessly defended yourself, āI just- Look, no, I know that look. You canāt tell him or meddle, Robin.āĀ
āHow would I tell him or meddle if you donāt have a crush on him?āĀ
Steve was still confused, and Robinās eyes glittered with mischief. You would have been better off keeping your mouth shut.Ā
You noticed the way Steve had gone silent, pointedly sipping on his coke rather than looking you in the eyes. As if he had something to say.
āWhat is it?ā you asked him, furrowing your brows, already defensive. A stark contrast to the light-heartedness you usually treat your friends with, āYouāve got something to say. Say it.āĀ
āI justā¦ā Steve sighed, looking off into the distance, āI donāt know. Itās a weird pairing, yāknow?ā
Your stomach threatened to sink. āWhat does that mean?ā
āYou two are justā¦ different,ā he continued on, and your stomach really did sink. Right along with your heart, āI mean, heās really big on physical touch ā itās definitely his love language. And youā¦ā
You donāt like being touched. You actually hate it. Avoid it ardently.
The unspoken ending to that sentence could have shattered your bones that day. You knew. You knew.
You stayed silent, unsure of what else to say. You couldnāt find the words to explain the yearning that invaded your chest all those moons ago, you couldnāt physically bring their hands to your chest and force them to feel the hunger that had begun to eat you alive. You couldnāt scream at your friends, I can change! I can change! I can change!
āI think theyād make a cute couple,ā Robin finally broke the tense silence. Steve looked a bit regretful, but you both knew he was right, āBesides, touching is overrated.āĀ
To emphasize her point, she scooted away from Steve until she sat on the very edge of the vinyl seat they shared, a narrow air of separation between them.Ā
You smiled and laughed, and so did Steve, but the fact of the matter still remained.
Your roots have been there since the beginning of time. And maybe, they ran so deeply that you were a fool for thinking you could ever excavate them.Ā
āI need your help.āĀ
Robin looks up at you shocked. Youād never looked quite so determined, so one-track minded as you did in this moment, right in Steve Harringtonās kitchen.Ā
āYou need my help?ā she nearly yells, fumbling with the empty bowl she was about to fill with chips, āAre you sure you need my-ā
āPositive,ā you cut her off, āI need your help because you didnāt laugh in my face when I said I liked Eddie.āĀ
Her shock fades, an awful trace of pity in her eyes as she looks at you, āOh, hon ā Steve wasnāt laughing at you. Heās just a dingus, yāknow? Doesnāt always think before he speaks, but he has the best of intentions-ā
You wave a hand, physically dispersing her words into the air. That conversation at the diner last week didnāt phase you anymore. In fact, it fuels you the more you think about it.
āI know, I know,ā you reassure her, walking closer so you can lower your voice, āBut he was right. And Iāve been thinking a lot about it.ā
āThat sounds dangerous. Whatchaā been thinkinā about?āĀ
This is it. Now or never. Once you say it outloud, even to just Robin, it was cemented in fact.
āItās not that I donāt like being touched,ā you blurt out, heart racing at the admission, āI justā¦ I donāt know. Iām not used to it. It wasnāt something normal growing up. Andā¦ okay, no, this is not meant to be a depressing deep dive into my childhood,ā you pause and scowl at the way her face contorts with even more pity, āIām fine. Thereās nothing to be done to change whatās already passed. My point is, I donāt want to stay this way. I donāt want people treating me delicately. Iām tired of you guys not feeling like you can just- fuck, I donāt know, hug me. Like you can throw an arm around me while we joke around like you do Jonathan. Like you canāt take the seat beside me at the booth instead of Steve. Like you canāt be clingy and beg me to play with your hair like you do Argyle when everyoneās smoking.ā
Throughout your speech, the pity transforms. With each word, you only grow more passionate, because it dawns on you just how much you miss out on. Your friends love you, you love them ā thatās not up for debate. But sometimes, you see those small touches between them, and you feel like an outsider looking in.Ā
āI know I freeze up and I know I get awkward,ā your voice finally chokes up, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to silently curse yourself for finally letting all these larger than life emotions wrap around you, āI know you guys think Iām better off if you leave it be. But Iām not. Iāll never get over it if you guys donāt push me. Iāll never get used to it if no one ever touches me.āĀ
āWe know!ā Robin starts enthusiastically, reassuredly, āWe know that! And me and Gyle really do try, but we just donāt want to make you uncomfortable-ā
āDo it,ā you stop her in her tracks, eyes not wavering from hers, āMake me uncomfortable. Put your head on my shoulder, even if it makes my breathing stop for a couple seconds. Grab my hand when we cross a street, even if my palmās clammy. I canāt grow without a little discomfort, Robs.ā
Thereās a standstill in the air. A realization settles deep in your bones ā growth. Thatās what you were craving. Eddie had opened up something entirely new for you, cracked open an age old wound in your chest youād been unaware of. It left behind a hole, and youād been so preoccupied with yearning to fill it, you hadnāt seen that the solution was the most obvious one: you had to outgrow the hole. Not fill it with others, but with yourself. You couldnāt live forever as nothing more than roots, buried deep beneath soil and always hiding in their solitude. Eventually, you had to bloom.Ā
āOkay,ā Robin nods slowly, taking in your words and the deep breaths that are following. Itās obvious how much this means to you, how much itās been bothering you, āYouāre right. Butā¦ youāve just gotta promise us, if we get overbearing, that you tell us-ā
āNot just you and Argyle,ā your mouth goes dry. Because this is where the road was leading the entire time, this was the end destination in mind for the entire drive of this conversation, āI wantā¦ everyone to do it. I know Nance, Jon, and Steve arenāt as big on the whole touchy thing as you and him butā¦ā your voice finally breaks, and you canāt look her in the eyes now as you whisper, āEddie is.āĀ
Thereās a light behind Robinās eyes that youāve never seen before, but you canāt even bear witness to it, eyes zeroed in on the shiny packaging of the chips on the counter, āSo this really is about Eddie?āĀ
You could keep denying it. Pretend like the boy hadnāt watered the first sprout that caused this entire revelation, like he hadnāt been the first to shine a light on all the things youād ignored for years. But he was. He had built a fire inside of you without even realizing it, just by tending his own embers.Ā
You take a deep breath, āItās like it burns him to touch me. Even just shuffling past me. I donāt think heās ever sat beside me when we all hang out. I donātā¦ I donāt even know what he really smells like, Rob. Besides the weed and cigarettes when he smokes with you guys. How fucked is that? Iāve known him for a year and I couldnāt even tell you what kind of cologne he wears. Isnāt thatā¦ thatās weird, right?āĀ
āYou know the things that matter, though, donāt you?āĀ
It hadnāt occurred to you, that perspective on the matter. āIā¦ guess?ā
āTell me about him. Tell me about Eddie.āĀ
The others will be worrying about how long you two are taking in here soon. Eddie will probably be arriving with Argyle soon. But Robin waits patiently until your eyes finally find hers again, and she lifts her brows, encouraging you to tell her about your mutual friend as if sheās never met him.Ā
And so you do.
Once you start rattling off the minute things you noticed, they pour out of you, watering away at that once withered crush. You tell her about his favorite music, an easy thing to know about Eddie when heās so loud and passionate about it. You tell her the first song he ever learned on guitar, Little Things by Willie Nelson. It had been encouraged by how much his Uncle Wayne enjoyed the singer. And heād learned it on a worn acoustic guitar from his uncle. Heād never even performed it in front of the man, always either too choked up or too embarrassed for an audience. You tell her how his favorite subject in school was history, because it always gave him ideas for his DnD campaigns. His favorite color is red, deep and pulsing and eye-catching. The same shade of his electric guitar, lovingly nicknamed Sweetheart, but actually named Elvira. Heās a picky eater, probably the pickiest of your group, and yet also will eat just about anything the moment you propose it as a dare. He knows what he should do to take care of his curls, he just doesnāt, probably due to preferring to take his showers at night. Heās complained of falling asleep with wet hair more times than you can count. He had a lisp as a little kid. He buys a new mug for Wayne every Christmas, and the man acts surprised every year, as if he never saw it coming. He likes sour candy best. He hates movies where the dog dies. He loves musicals, and he would sooner die than admit that to the rest of the group.Ā
All devilish details that Eddie had revealed to you at some point or another, over drinks and over quick cigarettes. Over random bursts of trust and rare moments alone.
By the time youāre done with your rant, Robin is just smiling.
āGod, you really like him,ā she murmurs, looking across your forlorn face, as if each piece of him that youād handed over willingly had actually been forcibly torn from you. As if it hurt to share him.Ā
You take another deep breath, and you can breathe a little bit easier, but you still feel the wisps of your roots still dug stubbornly into surrounding ground, āYeah. I really like him.āĀ
A plan is devised. It turns out Robin was the perfect person to approach about this, because she has no shame ā sheās willing to seem like a ābad friendā for the sake of helping you reach your goal.
The first step is to guarantee that no matter what, Eddie sits next to you during the movie.Ā
The best way to accomplish this is to not make it a seat only beside you as you had that first time heād rejected you, but between you and another person. Because then, if Eddie was still adamant on not indulging you, heād have someone else to cling to. For now.
The second step would be for you to leave for the bathroom right before you all started the movie. Leave the room, leave all your friends to be gathered without you so that Robin could make an executive call with them all. She would bring up the fact that they all should try to push you a bit more with the entire notion of physical touch, that itād be good for you, that youād brought it up casually rather than as dramatically as you really had.Ā
During her explaining of this part of the plan, you discovered the conversations already had behind closed doors about this topic and you.Ā
You couldnāt even blame your friends. You were irritated, but it would pass. They couldnāt change it now, but Robin could help undo what those seemingly beneficial conversations had done. The distance it had created between you and Eddie.
āWho should be on the other side of Eddie?ā you ask once you two have your plan and full bowls of snacks.Ā
āMe,ā Robin declares, āI have a plan there, too. Weāll sit side by side at first, take up enough space on the couch so that Eddie thinks he doesnāt have a seat. Just trust me and play along when the time comes, yeah?āĀ
You nod.
Thereās a knock at the door, perfect timing as you and Robin sat down the bowls of snacks on the table, ignoring Steveās expected complaint of how long you two took. He runs off, going to let Eddie and Argyle in, as Robin takes her seat on the couch.Ā
Nancy and Jonathan are curled up on the loveseat. Steve had been sitting at the end of the couch that normally could easily seat four. Argyleās favorite recliner was wide open, and you both knew heād be jumping into it once he came to the basement. Everything was set perfectly.
Robin manspreads, an entertaining sight but one that forces you to try and do the same, lounging across the remaining space of the couch as casually as possible to make it seem as though another person could absolutely not fit.
You pray to God her plan works.
āHello, brochachos!ā Argyle yells as a greeting when he bounds down the stairs, immediately tossing a box of snow caps in Nancy and Jonathanās directions before doing exactly as you and Robin had predicted, āOh, fuck yeah! You guys saved my favorite chair for me!ā
He specifically winks your way, as if you had been the one to do so. And you had, technically, but you appreciated that small effort to greet you specifically.Ā
You smile at him, shaking your head lightly as he throws himself down roughly. You can only imagine how on board heāll be with Robinās suggestion.
Argyleās energy had you wondering if the boys had even smoked as they usually did before arriving, his eyes hardly pink rimmed and his smile not quite as dopey as usual. It became clear that they had smoked, but one of them had likely babysat their shared joints, when Eddie descends into the doorway behind Steve.
Heās all half-lidded eyes, lazy grin, comfort wrapped up in a worn band shirt and sweats.Ā
Yes, you wanted to break this stubborn boundary of yours with all your friends, but as you earned your first glance from Eddie, you knew that he would be the greatest reward. You donāt even care if the crush aspect of the entire ordeal never comes to fruition; youād just like to imagine burying your face into his warm chest like you are now, and not feel weird about it. Not worry if heāll push you away or be uncomfortable, or taken off guard, by it.
āHey, losers,ā he greets in a rough voice, no doubt gravelly from how much he might have smoked.Ā
You share a quick look with Robin, worried. High Eddie was always extra affectionate, but wouldnāt it be wrong to use that against him? Maybe you two should try another night, postpone the plan for another movie nigh-
You hadnāt even noticed that Steve had taken his original seat back and Eddie was glancing around the seating arrangement, seemingly lost, until Robin was suddenly shoving at you, āBabe, I love you, but scooch. Cāmere, Eds. Iām in a cuddly mood.āĀ
And oh, that hurt. Which is why you suppose she didnāt tell you what exactly this part of the plan was. That hurt needed to break through your face, even if only for a moment, so that when you left the room, it made sense to discuss.Ā
Argyle catches that micro-expression the moment it graces your features. Even furrows his brows in response. Eddie even opens his mouth to argue, but you move too quickly for anyone else to comment.
You fumble with pulling up your body, scooting over as she requested until there was an Eddie-sized space left between the two of you. When Robin opens her arms wide, Eddie has no room to argue.Ā
āWell, if you insist, Buckley,ā he teases, stepping carefully, hesitating for a second as he glances back down at you. Even through pink tinged eyes, you catch a flash of concern. āIām always down for some cuddles with my favorite girl.ā
And that also stings, reverberates like a slap to the face that had landed just a little too harshly.Ā
Robin scoffs, muttering a stern correction of, āPlatonic cuddles, dipshit,ā just as Nancy also laughs from where sheās tangled with Jonathan.
āDidnāt you say I was your favorite when I bought you a coke last week?āĀ
He probably did. He constantly made those jokes with Robin and Nancy. He never made those jokes with you.Ā
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe, just maybe, it wasnāt about respecting boundaries for Eddie. Maybe he just didnāt like you-
āYou both wound me,ā he sighs out as his body lands directly in that space you and Robin had organized, clearly favoring being close to Robin so that his thigh wouldnāt rub against yours, āIāve officially changed my mind.āĀ
It almost happens in slow motion. Slowly, carefully, he lazily turns his head towards you, lips half lilted as his eyes sparkle in your direction, tongue darting out between his teeth before he drawls, āYouāre my favorite, now.āĀ
For the first time in a year, youāre very clearly smelling his cologne, and the look in his eyes is setting you ablaze. The softness you are so used to bargaining out is being returned, an expression so delicate being aimed at you that you donāt know what to do with it. Senses overwhelmed with something woodsy, something musky, and something yearning.Ā
āHow charming,ā Nancy muses, leveling you with a soft and amused look. Not nearly as gooey as the look Eddie had given you, but still adoring, āDonāt listen to him. Clearly, he says that to everyone.ā
āYeah, but I mean it this time,ā he argues.Ā
āSure, you do,ā Steve laughs from his end of the couch, āSheās not gonna go grab you a soda just because youāre kissing ass.āĀ
āHey, you know what?ā Argyle sits up in his chair, leaning towards you and pointing his finger in your direction, āYou really are my favorite, and Iām a man of my word.āĀ
āIām not getting you a soda, either, Gyle,ā you flatly joke, narrowing your eyes.
He pours briefly, but shrugs, āFair enough. I meant it, but fair enough.āĀ
On a limb, you stretch out a hand, and deliver a gentle smack at his hand still hanging limply in the air between you two. Robin is watching on proudly as Argyle looks taken back.
āShut up,ā you giggle, shimmying in your seat to get more comfortable.Ā
Eddie looks wildly around the room, completely stunned, wearing a look of betrayal, āWhat, you guys donāt believe me? She really is my favorite!āĀ
Lord only knows you were melting into the cushion of that couch. You werenāt used to this amount of attention, certainly not from Eddie, and certainly not so clearly in front of your friends.
If you could hardly handle his words of affection, how would you handle his touches of affection?Ā
āI believe you,ā you finally say. Something in your mind screams at you, tells you now is your chance. All youād have to do is shift your knee, and you could bump it to his in a joking manner. The perfect excuse. The perfect guise. You stare at your two knees for an eternity, though, and before you know it, the moment has passed.Ā
The ache echoes out across the hollow of every bone inside your body as he smiles, satisfied with your response before everyone moves forward with conversation.
You hate yourself. You should have bumped your knee to his.Ā
You donāt hear a single word exchanged amongst your friends. All you can hear is the roar in your ears that scorns you for another missed opportunity.Ā
Now is as good as ever to enact the second phase of the plan.Ā
āIām gonna head to the bathroom before we start the movie,ā you announce, standing a bit suddenly but trying to keep your voice even so it doesnāt seem to Eddie that his words had made you uncomfortable. They didnāt. Theyād only fed that hunger, making you suddenly need more. It was your own stupid indecisiveness, what you didnāt do, that was upsetting you.Ā
Robin looks up knowingly, āSounds good. Donāt miss me too much, babe.āĀ
Babe. Another thing your friends sometimes didnāt include you in ā all the pet names, all the terms of endearment. It makes you smile.Ā
If anyone thought you might be rushing out due to the entire conversation that had just taken place, that smile would erase all their fears.
āI always miss you, baby,ā you cockily reply, making a joking kissy face in her direction to seal the flirtatious manner of the interaction.Ā
Steve looks pleasantly surprised, Argyle is clearly mentally cheering you on, and Nancy looks plainly proud.Ā
But Eddie is looking up at you, doe eyes almostā¦ sad.Ā
You try not to think of it too hard.Ā
You try to take your time once you reach the top of the stairs, rushing up but slowing as you walk to the bathroom.
You didnāt really need it, obviously, and you highly doubt anyone will be listening in on your footsteps above once Robin proposes the entire debate of it treating you so fragile anymore. In the middle of the hallway, your mind is made up. Instead of continuing on to that bathroom, instead of hiding away and feeding into the panic attack currently brewing despite your full faith in Robin, you retract to the kitchen.
This is what you wanted. You want more than to just offer soft words and soft motivation, you want more than to be seen as the friend with a heart of gold, as the pedestal Argyle constantly puts you up on so eloquently. You want to be felt as it, too.Ā
To give Nancy well-deserved hugs when another one of her publications receive recognition, to give Steveās hand a firm squeeze when heās confiding in you about his home situation and the loneliness that follows. You want Robin to hide her face in your shoulder for safety during jumpscares and you want to occupy that recliner with Argyle when you both decide to succumb to snacking while your friends endlessly debate where you should all have dinner, making whispers of commentary jokes before Jonathan would decide to sit on the arm and join you two in the audience as he gave up the battle for Nancyās sake.
You want Eddie to touch you. You donāt even care how at this point. You want brushing shoulders and knocking knees, you want knuckles bumping into each other on the street and you want him to cling to you when it gets late and heās tired, but not too tired to keep himself surrounded with his favorite people. You want to truly be his favorite. Favorite person, favorite hug, favorite conversation.Ā
God, you want it so bad that your seams nearly burst. Your composure nearly breaks.Ā
What if he doesnāt want that?Ā
The moment your footsteps on the stairs have vanished, Robin springs into action.
āOkay, group meeting,ā she says, clapping to garner everyoneās attention. Eddie jumps slightly at her side, Steve offers her a side-eye, and Nancy shifts her entire body in Jonathanās arms to look at her fully, āWe need to talk about her.āĀ
She doesnāt even have to say your name.
Unfortunately, Argyle takes it the wrong way, nearly leaping out of his chair, āHer? Nah, dude, we need to talk about you. Why would you shove her around like that? I bet if you had just asked politely, she would have cuddled yo-āĀ
āOh, I know she would have.āĀ
Everyoneās attention is now sharper on Robin.
āYeah? Then why did you just toss her to the side for Ed-ā Argyle starts up again, and once more, Robin is quick to interject.
āBecause she needs the push,ā a slight lie, but small enough in the grand scheme of things, āWeāve gotta stop treating her like sheāll shatter if we touch her.ā
Nancy finally moves to full sit up, face full of concern, āRobin, I get what youāre saying, but sheās never been the touchy type. And thatās okay. Weāve never minded.ā
āWhat if she minds?ā Robin persists. She hasnāt failed to notice Eddieās silence, and turns to him, focusing her attack and determination, āHave you ever even sat beside her before tonight?āĀ
Eddieās eyes widen, āYou guys told me to take it easy at first! And I did, but I- it would just be weird now to change, wouldnāt it?āĀ
Itās in the way he says it. Not just as if heās keeping your best interests in mind, but as if it pains him to say it. As if the worst possible thing would be to admit that things should stay the same.
Itās Robinās in. A falter in his cool guy exterior he only seems to care about maintaining for you.
āShe wants it to change,ā Robin quietly confesses. Another half-truth, āMe and Argyle never fully got through to it, but we alsoā¦ we just gave up on it. Like he was saying, if I pushed tonight, she would have said yes. But Eddie has never pushed her.ā
āWhere are you going with this, Robs?ā the one person who could blow this speaks up. Steve, the man who had been there at the diner and heard your practical confession to liking Eddie.
Donāt blow this, Dingus.
āI think we take the leash off of wolf boy, here,ā she jabs a thumb in Eddieās direction, āLay him on her.ā
āI donāt want to make her uncomf-ā
āYou wonāt. And if you do,ā Robin remembers your speech from earlier. Those wet eyes and the way your voice cracked at the prospect of growth, āItāll be good for her.ā
Heās not convinced.
So Robin pushes, because she made a promise to you to aid in this self-gardening journey, and damn it she was going to keep her promise, āIāve seen the way she looks at you. You being the dog in this metaphor might be the wrong choice, considering how she looks like a kicked puppy every time you donāt sit next to her.āĀ
A bit harsh, but the truth. You were always brimming with such hope when Eddie entered the room, only to wilt when he kept up the same exhausting routine of avoiding you.Ā
āShe does?ā heās clueless, a goddamn blinded fool, āI- Gyle, does she really?āĀ
Eddie looks to his friend for backup, but Argyle only shrugs from his seat, āIf you donāt give the poor dudette a hug tonight, I am. If Birdie here is being honest, and she wants it, then Iām first in line. Sheās way gentler on my scalp than all of you.āĀ
āYou just want your hair braided by her again,ā Jonathan pipes up finally.
āSo?ā Argyle defends, āThat shit stayed. My little skittish friend does not come to play when it has to do with hair.āĀ
They all fall silent, holding their breaths and listening for a moment if youāre heading back down to them.Ā
The house is a ghost town from above.
āIām just saying,ā Robin finally whispers, keeping her tone low and gentle, almost defeated, āWe canāt put her in a box. She told me sheād like the change, so Iām changing. Sheās a big girl. She can handle it. Besides, she smells really good.āĀ
Robin gives Eddie a pointed look at that, and sees the pink that rushes over the bridge of his nose and up his neck.
You had no idea. No fucking idea. But she did. Sheād watched Eddie withhold himself, sheād caught the longing glances, and sheād listened to his endless rambles about you.Ā
āOkay,ā is his quiet reply just before your footsteps sound on the stairs.Ā
When you appear in the doorway, youāre holding three cans of coke.
āI bring gifts for taking so long,ā you offer, holding up one of the cans as you cradle the other two in the ditch of your arm, extending it to Argyle as you pass by him.
He takes it greedily, appreciation loud and unfiltered, āThank you dudette! At least someone here loves me.āĀ
You turn your eyes wide as moons, almost comical, fighting back a smile, āOh? Were they being jerks while I was gone?āĀ
āYou have no clue.ā
A warning glare comes from Robin.
Even if you were in on the plan, it was dangerous territory.Ā
When you approach the couch, Robin sees the first sign of the plan working when Eddie doesnāt shift out of the comfortable position heād sunk into. He isnāt jumping to leave an entire cavern for you. Heās leaving just enough space for you, enough that when you sit, youāre closer to him than you were before the bathroom.
Baby steps. Silently, she is screaming at him to keep it up, all while your brain bursts into flames.
He didnāt flinch away. He didnāt shift to be further from me.
Whatever Robin had said was working.
āMovie time?ā you ask as you settle into that comfortable space, the unfamiliar yet indulgent warmth of Eddieās body heat now wrapping around you.Ā
Your roots stretch, apprehensive, but desperate for that sunlight.Ā
Itās one of your groupās usual scary movies. You enjoyed horror, and could handle your own pretty well. If you ever got too scared, youād usually cling to pillows or blankets that you were left with rather than another person as the rest of the group would. But there were no pillows, no blankets, no security cushions aside from the boy sitting between you and Robin.Ā
When you hand him his coke, his fingers brush yours, and you donāt pull back immediately. Baby steps.
When the first tense moment appears on screen, Eddie mutters a soft āshitā and jumps a little, leaning more into your space rather than Robinās, lifting some of his curls to curtain his eyes.
You glance at him rather than the screen, narrowing your eyes in the dark, āDoes that really work?āĀ
Eddie looks at you quickly at your whisper. Normally, everyone scolded him to be quiet during movies, never entertaining his small comments.
You werenāt the only one taking baby steps tonight.
Tentatively, he drops the curl blocking his vision, before grabbing a thicker one, boyish grin as he offers it to you shyly, āWanna find out?āĀ
āSheās here!ā Argyle shouts as he opens the front door to you, hardly giving you warning before heās leaping forward and gathering you into his arms, nearly crushing you into a hug.
Warmth. Tender. Softness.
Argyleās hugs are always bone-crushing, and always welcome. And they always linger as he leaves his arm around your shoulder to guide you into the foyer and shut the door behind you two.
āShe is?ā another voice shouts as she comes barreling out into the entryway, greeting you with an excited squeal as she rushes forward to pull you out of Argyleās arm.
Robin.Ā
Sheās dressed up for the night ā an impressively well put together Robin outfit, complete with yellow spanx and a black mask across her eyes.
āJesus, Robs,ā you laugh as she tightens her arms around you, almost as if she was trying to crush any bones that survived Argyle, āI canāt breathe.āĀ
āDonāt care,ā she mumbles into your shoulder before pulling back, āNice costume.āĀ
A bat onesie. Cheesy, but comfortable, and warm enough to battle against Hawkinās autumn chill. Itās even complete with a headband that has two small, perky ears attached to it, peeking out between tufts of your hair atop the crown of your head.Ā
āThanks. Wait till you see the killer fake teeth I packed.āĀ
āEds will be pissed if your fangs are better than his,ā Argyle notes as he starts to walk into the living room. You follow, Robin close behind, to find the rest of your friends all waiting.
A scary movie is already on the TV, a classic slasher revealed by the high pitched scream that rings out into the room from it. Thereās a few indoor decorations about ā plastic jack-o-laterns and fake webs that will no doubt give Steve hell when he tries to take them back down ā and you can see a punch bowl on the counter by where Nancy and Jonathan reside.Ā
And the man of the hour is lounging on the couch, a high mountain of pile already in front of him on the table as he munches on a family pack of candy corn.Ā
āEddie, isnāt the candy supposed to be for trick or treaters?ā you question teasingly as you make a beeline for him. His previous focus on the movie vanishes, full attention now on you.
Heās dressed like a vampire. If the cape didnāt give it away, that small blood line marked from his lower lip in a shade of lipstick you would guess he borrowed from Nancy does.
āI am a trick or treater, sweetheart,ā he retorts, popping more candy into his mouth for emphasis, āBesides, Harrington has full-sized candy bars.āĀ
āDonāt talk with your mouth full.ā
āYes, maāam.āĀ
He snaps his jaw closed jokingly, the clicking of his teeth making you huff out a laugh as you collapse next to him.Ā
That woodsy cologne is there, one youāre so happily familiar with these days.Ā
Unlike Argyle and Robin, he doesnāt greet you with an overwhelming hug, or palpable excitement. His way of greeting is more subtle. His arm slowly lifts, going to rest on the back of the couch behind you, but quickly falling to your shoulders when you waste no time scooting closer into the space heās opened up in his side.
You fit kind of perfectly. Like a void always meant to be filled.Ā
āSo, Dracula,ā you hum, warning your beating heart to slow from its racing when his palm cradles your shoulder farthest from him, āWhat are we watching?āĀ
Baby steps were a thing of the past for most of the group. They had become great leaps of faith after that fateful movie night. The way Argyle and Robin had crushed you was normal now. Passing touches and flirtatious jokes were regular between you and your friends. They had seen your boundary for what it really was, a roadblock, and bit by bit, they had broken it down.Ā
Eddieās hesitation isnāt because he can no longer touch you. His hesitation whispered of something more, something different, something still delicate. Just as delicate as the fragile wings of the butterflies in his stomach that fluttered to life every time you entered a room.Ā
They werenāt new. And you still didnāt know they existed ā that they had always existed. From the first moment heād met you.
āOne of the Halloween movies,ā he tells you, leaning down to keep the conversation more private.
You felt his breath on your ear.Ā A new touch that happened more frequently now. One you sought after almost as vehemently as you had those first few points of contact.Ā
āOh?ā you play along, staying hushed, āHow fitting.āĀ
āVery.āĀ
āIām surprised you didnāt make them put on a vampire movie. You know,ā you cut off, and motion to his costume. You bump your knee to his as you do it, āGiven your attire.āĀ
āZee night iz ztill young,ā he puts on an obnoxious accent meant to mimic Dracula himself, pronouncing all his āsās as āzās.
You only smile, wide and generous and soft and tender, before you lift a hand to punch at the flared collar of his cape. You donāt even hesitate, not even when your knuckles brush the side of his neck.
āPretty killer, right?ā he jokes, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.
āVery,ā you hum in approval, hand dropping as you lean back into the heavy warmth of his arm around you. You almost reach the hand up to his bottom lip to trace that makeup there, slightly smeared and edges rugged already from his snacking, but you do withhold yourself at that line, āI like the makeup.āĀ
āYeah?ā he lights up with pride, āYou know, I did the eyeliner all by myself.āĀ
You squint pointedly, leaning in just an inch closer to inspect the feathered charcoal on his waterline, āReally? Very impressive, Eds.āĀ
āStop flirting,ā Steve demands as he leaves the kitchen, āYouāre going to give him a bigger head than he needs.āĀ
You both break apart slowly, letting space settle between you two and slowly fading back into the real world and out of that little bubble between you two. Eddieās arm remains ā his palm never leaves you, going so far as to give you a playful squeeze as his finger trails down your bicep.
A pathway of spring roses feels as though they bloom along that trail. Vibrant, full of life, open to possibility. When it came to you, Eddie had one Hell of a green thumb.Ā
āStop ruining the fun, big boy,ā Eddie looks up at your friend, poking his tongue out as his nose scrunches. Adorable. Painfully so.
Steve is dressed as Batman. His mask is discarded somewhere on the counter beside the punch bowl.
āWe have plenty of time for fun,ā Steve waves off the comment, coming to stand in front of the TV with his hands on his hips, āAm I forgetting anything? I have candy for any kids that come knocking, weāve got punch thanks to Nance, I ordered our pizza-ā
āYou better have ordered one with pineapple,ā Eddie interrupts, tilting his head sideways in your direction, temple brushing against one of your fake ears, signaling how it was your favorite. You burrow yourself deeper into his touch.
Steve subtly ignores him, ā-I have the big speakers set up if we wanna listen to any music in the backyard. Am I missing anything?ā
Predictably, he wasnāt. Steve always thought of everything.
The last few months had been nice. Finally getting to enjoy Eddieās touch had been more than you ever planned for, reveling in the way the boy was so gentle with you even as he finally gave in. Once he started, it was as if you both could finally breathe. A weight had lifted from Eddieās shoulders just from the simple adjustment of now getting to sit beside you at every function, his bouncing knee always pressing into yours. It had become a silly tradition for him to offer to share that wild head of hair during scary movies, demanding if someone else tried to sit beside you during horror movies in particular that you needed him and his curls to protect you.Ā
You had gone from yearning for touches, yearning for that contact, to your friends arguing over who would be indulged that night.Ā
They had taken it slower than you thought you wanted (save for Robin), but in the end, it had all worked out. You didnāt freeze anymore. Your aversion to touch had slowly, slowly, withered away with each hug, with each clasp of their hands on you, with each casual cuddle session they pulled from you. You no longer felt like an anomaly. And it wasnāt that your friends had ever meant to make you feel like an outsider, but it felt like finally being let into a club youād mourned being left out of for years.
The day that Eddie had grabbed your hand during a casual conversation amongst everyone while out for lunch, letting his thumb trail back and forth over your knuckles in a soothing motion, youād nearly cried.
Something so delicate yet so telling. A quiet action of affection youād spent so long telling yourself you couldnāt have. Back rubs during hugs, letting Argyle braid your hair in return, resting your head onto Robinās shoulder instead of only vice versa. They were all things youād denied yourself of for so long. You regret it, but you couldnāt change anything in the past, only the now.
And now, you had the boy who had first sprouted such affectionate want within you wrapped up against you, leaning into you for comfort as he started to ignore Steve again.
āWanna go out back and smoke while he mother hens?āĀ
He doesnāt have to ask you twice.Ā
You both slip away out the back door unnoticed, a new banter sparking up between Robin and Steve being enough distraction to allow it. Eddie wastes no time digging into his jean pockets once heās outside, throwing the cape out widely before he pulls out his pack of cigarettes.Ā
āWant one?ā he offers, flipping it open in your direction.
You just smile, shaking your head, āNo, thanks. I donāt smoke.āĀ
Youād never really said that before to anyone in your group, only politely declining up until now. A small detail, but Eddie looks pleased to learn it all the same.
āHuh,ā he curiously hums, pulling his own cigarette from the carton before tucking it back away, āI never knew that.āĀ
āIāve never really told anyone,ā you shrug.
āIt is some big secret?ā
āNope.ā
āHmph.āĀ
This hum is muffled by the tip of the filter in his mouth, his hands now busy patting down his body for his lighter.Ā
āWhat?āĀ
His lips struggle to stretch around the tip of the cigarette without dropping it, solely from how wide his smile is, āI like learning new things about you.āĀ
For every thing you had once spewed at Robin that night, Eddie had learned of you tenfold.Ā
It was far past learning how your fingers fit between his or the smell of your perfume. Heād wanted it all; to know the inside workings of your mind, to be privy to all of your beautiful thoughts. The softness set in stone inside of you bled far past what could be felt in your fingertips or the care that shook your hand when youād brush back stray curls out of his eyes. It fed deeper into you, into parts of you that Eddie could spend hours exploring without once growing bored.Ā
āYou say that like Iām interesting,ā you murmur half-heartedly, suddenly reaching out beneath his cape and tucking into his back pocket he could have sworn he already checked. His breath is the one that catches at your arm brushing against his waist from the reach, his body is the one that freezes up entirely just from proximity. A change of roles that you had never seen coming, but heād always figured existed. You never understood the effect you had on him, and that was in part his fault.Ā
You produce his lighter like magic.
āYou are interesting,ā he insists as he plucks the lighter from you, flicking it three times to get a steady flame to burn the tip of his cigarette to life, āDonāt sell yourself so short, batty.āĀ
āBatty?ā you snort, not moving away from him, even as he blows a thin and ghostly stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
He can only shrug, wrinkling his nose, āYeah, I didnāt like it either. Had to give it a chance, though.āĀ
In the quiet solitude of Eddie nursing his cigarette and you watching the trees rustle with the last remnants of daylight, something sharper invades the soft space you two seem to brew whenever together. Between your innards that are gentle by nature, and Eddieās silken attitude not only in actions but attitude towards you, the spaces occasionally left between you two were always something dulcet. Calm. Welcoming. Youād come to discover that maybe, thatās why youād always yearned to burrow yourself so deeply into those spaces. It was a feeling of comfort and a feeling of home that you had always seemed out, but never found that fit quite as right as these moments.
āHey Eddie?ā you ask aloud as he finishes off the cigarette, stomping it out on the ground with his boot.
āWhatās up?ā he answers, making no move to go back inside.
You always liked these moments alone best. From the very beginning. Even before he felt comfortable enough to step closer to you, shoulder to shoulder with you now. Heās trying to squint and see what youāre finding so interesting in the array of colorful leaves in the distance, slowly being covered in blue shadows rather than golden light, without asking.Ā
You liked that. You liked it a lot; the way he always seemed to seek out your perspective on things. āCan I ask you something?ā
āYou just did-ā
āFuck off,ā your hand flies up, and smacks his shoulder. You never would have done that before. But you do now, relishing that contact even in the briefest of moments. The freedom to reach out and touch.
Once he stops laughing, clearly amused with himself, he turns to face you. Whatever he had been searching for in the trees is long gone, and your focus has moved onto him now, so itās futile.
āAsk away, sweetheart.ā
A deep breath for bravery, and youāre blurting out, āDid you really only avoid touching me when we met because... the othersā¦ they told you not to?āĀ
He wasnāt expecting that question. The crease between his brows makes that clear. You almost take your thumb to it, try to smooth out the worry. But youāre not quite there yet. Maybe one day you would be.Ā
Itās not as loaded of a question as he thinks it is. Itās cute to watch him assume it is, though.Ā
āI mean,ā he starts his words slowly, carefully, āI guess.ā
āYou guess?āĀ
āI guess,ā he repeats.
Your smile is sending him into a tornado of emotion. He almost curls his hands into fist, just as you used to do.Ā
When you broke down your boundary, it had split a crack through his dam. He knows he can reach out and touch you. He knows youāll accept his physicality without complaint now. It doesnāt make it any less scary.Ā
For the same reason you donāt press your thumb into his eyebrow crease ā having a crush just makes you hesitate like that.Ā
āIām obviously a touchy guy,ā he throws his arms out, aimlessly, and when they return his side, they almost nick yours. You wish they would brush yours, āButā¦ between you and me, I always get nervous around pretty girls.ā
The world slows. It doesnāt stop, it canāt stop for two youths who are trying to explore new and giddy feelings ā but my God, can it slow to an absolute crawl, if only for the two of you.
āYou think Iām pretty?ā you tease, swallowing down just how much those words mean. You always have to remind yourself itās worth it; being just friends is worth it now that youāve learned the exact brand of cologne he wears and recognize the weight of his arm around you.Ā
āThe absolute prettiest,ā he breathes out, āI always have. Even if they hadnāt told me to hold back, I would have- Hell, I still do,ā the Autumn air makes him honest, makes him brave, āI am- I would be- I just- Itās terrifying, the thought of fucking it up because you turn my brain toā¦ mush.āĀ
Your eyes lift up to his forehead blanketed in his bangs, squinty and entertained, āYouāre telling me itās all just soup in there right now?ā
āThatās exactly what Iām telling you.ā
Your friends are inside. There is candy to eat until your stomachs ache, and hugs to partake in until your bones have been crushed and pieced back together by threads of platonic affection.
Right now is anything but platonic. And it is time for something else to break, not your bones and not your boundaries. Something more.Ā
āIām pretty sure your hand on my shoulder when we first met would have ended my entire world,ā he confesses, starting the first crack.
āYeah?ā
āYeah. If you had hugged me every time you saw me, I donāt know if I would have ever found the nerve to leave my house.ā
Another crack.
āAnd if I sat next to you every time we went out for dinner?ā
āWouldnāt have been able to eat a bite, Iām afraid.ā
A spiderweb of cracks, all widening.
āAnd if I had laid my head on your shoulder during movie nights?ā
āWhat the Hell is a movie?ā he jokes, chuckling a bit nervously now, āWho knows? Certainly not me, certainly not when my favorite girl is curled up next to me.āĀ
One more crack, and the entire thing will finally shatter. Youāre begging it to shatter.Ā
You bite your tongue on any remark about still being his favorite, because since that goddamn night, heād never said Robin or Nancy were his favorites again. Never. Heād meant it. You were his favorite.Ā
āAnd if I justā¦ā you pause as you step forward, leaning in slowly, and it takes everything in Eddie not to turn and run as your lips brush over his cheek as you whisper, āKissed your cheek? Right here, right now?āĀ
He doesnāt respond, your lips press together and then press down.Ā
It shatters with a resounding snap that must be heard across Hawkins. Across Indiana.Ā
One moment, your lips are on his cheek, and the next, theyāre on his lips. He turns his head quickly before any doubt or nerves or roots can interrupt the moment.Ā
Endless. Endearing. Warmth. Tenderness. Soft.
His lips are soft. So goddamn soft.
His hands are foreign things for a second, as if heās in shock that heād actually done it and kissed you. But they come back to life when your own lift to his neck, wrapping behind his neck and beneath the collar of that cape, pulling him in even closer to you.Ā
He kisses you. And kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. Till youāre both dizzy and it doesnāt matter that the earth wonāt stop spinning long enough for you two to live in this moment.Ā
It should be unfamiliar, especially to you, but it isnāt. Itās as if the two of you have done this dance before. In another life, in another world, on another Earth far away from here. Your lips know his in this lifetime, and they will know his in the next ā this first meeting only allows for a sigh of relief in the Universe, and in you.Ā
He paused the kisses briefly, palms cradling your face with care and intention, āDo you know,ā he places his lips onto yours one more time, as if fearful that spending too much time apart will let you vanish, āhow often,ā another kiss, deeper this time, āIāve wanted to do this?āĀ
A final peck. A period to the end of a sentence that the two of you had taken your time writing.
āNo,ā you laugh earnestly, fingers digging into the soft skin at his nape, reveling in the slip of his curls between your knuckles, āMaybe you should tell me about it.āĀ
āTell you about all the times?ā heās leaning back in, lips brushing against yours. Just a touch, but it shakes you to your core, āAll the times I wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss you?āĀ
You capture his lips in yours, unable to resist anymore. Youāve spent months resisting ā his lips and kisses, his touches and brushes, his warmth and sunshine. Youāre done resisting.
āEvery,ā you pull back and catch the glint in his eyes. Heās done, too, the rubble of the shatter, āSingle,ā you peck one cheek, āLast,ā you peck the other, now rosey, āOne.āĀ
You finally kiss his lips again. Your fingers tug harshly on his curls, and his mouth falls open at the unexpected sensation. Instead of taking this any further and starting something youād never want to end, you do the adult thing ā you nip at his bottom lip, a bite of adoration that leaves him with a sting to remember.Ā
āFuck,ā he sighs out, chasing after you, but your hands press into his chest to keep him into place, āI- Sorry, was that too much?āĀ
āToo much?ā you laugh breathlessly, shaking your head immediately. Once upon a time, it might have been too much. But now, it wasnāt enough. āNo such thing, not with you.āĀ
āCareful,ā his hands came up to cover your fists balled into the front of his shirt, moving so that his cape brushes against your sides now, āIām known to be quite a handful, sweetheart.āĀ
You snort and grip his shirt even harder. āGod, I sure hope so. Youāve been holding out on me, dracula.āĀ
āOh, have I?ā
His smirk and your smirk are perfect mirror images of each other.Ā
I know i havenāt been super active lately (between uni, work, and health stuff itās been... a time), but at least some of it was good chaos so i canāt really complain š¶āš«ļø
Anyway! Yesterday, while posting chapter 24 of How to Pretend Youāre Not in Love with Your Best Friend (and Fail Miserably), i realized something horrifying: iām almost done posting it. like. two chapters left. TWO. This fic was my first longfic ever and yeah, it has its flaws but i love her, your honor. (go ahead, sue me.)
So! i started digging through my notes app, google docs graveyard and the chaotic mess that is my pinterest boards and found some fun stuff iāve been working on/screaming about:
an Ezio Auditore/Reader one-shot because apparently iām back in my renaissance man era (itās a second chance fic during Brotherhood because i needed to suffer and be delusional in peace);
a Steddie post-Vecna one-shot (eddie lives but not exactlyā¦ the same eddie š itās painfully slow burn because steve is an emotional disaster after, well, everything ā yes, i wanted to hurt myself);
a 5+1 Steddie i started for Spooktober last year and then yeeted off ao3 because life said āno writing for youā (itās finished though?? So maybe sheāll make a comeback);
a Modern AU Steddie longfic (no Upside Down, just āØfeelingsāØ ā not sure if iāll ever post it because i need to be in a happy mood to write fluff andā¦ yeah, you know how that goes);
an Until Dawn shortfic because yes, i 100% platinumed it and yes, iām still emotionally damaged. (and no, i donāt mean the remake.)
Also thinking about finally posting Perfect Sense on AO3 because why did i abandon her here? Who knows! š¤£
Oh, and about the other wips i started here on tumblrā¦ yeah. We donāt talk about those. Just know: if i post something here thatās not a oneshot, drabble, or microfic, it means iām āØdeeply unsureāØ of how long itāll take me to finish it.
Love me. š
Hate me. š
I'll be in the corner drinking coffee and pretending to be productive ā
"this fic uses em dashes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans use em dashes.
"this fic has long paragraphs with overly described details and scenes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans can write like this.
"this fic has inconsistencies, so it must be ai-generated" real humans make errors and mistakes. that's why we have this thing called plot holes. sometimes writers are tired and they don't remember what they wrote in the last sentences or paragraphs, let alone chapters.
"this fic sounds robotic and unnatural, so it must be ai-generated" not every writer writes in their native language. sometimes they can sound 'robotic and unnatural' if they wrote in their second or third or fourth language (and kudos to them).
"this fic has a prompt left in it that the author forgot to delete, so it must be ai-generated" the 'prompt' the author accidentally left in their fic could actually be a part of an outline that was meant only for them, so they could keep track of what they would write.
"this author posts too often, no human writes this fast, so they must use ai" 1.) you don't know how fast someone can or can't write, how much time a person has in a day or how motivated/skilled they are. 2.) the frequent updates you see could be something that has already been finished and sitting in the author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted doesn't always mean it's recently written.
my point? no, you can never know if a fanfic is 'ai-generated'. unless the author says they use ai, you're just assuming, suspecting and witch hunting. chances are that you're not going to 'stop ai fics from being created', you're just going to wrongly accuse genuine writers of using ai and ruin their day at best, make them want to quit writing or sharing their works at worst.
