Random Dumps

Friends to lovers fluff with Eddie

The sound of a gentle whoosh repeats over your ear like a loop, as Eddie delicately traces his fingertips along the side of your face, sweeping your hair back and forth, absentmindedly.

Nothing needs you right now, except for Eddie’s safe arms that hold you, as you lay snug against his chest.

The fan hums on a medium setting while you go between listening to your friend boyfriend’s heartbeat, and his low, smooth voice as he narrates the latest paperback that caught his eye.

His chin rests on your crown, until you move just enough to be able to throw him a glance, when his scruff kisses your forehead.

“‘it was at that last moment they finally let go-’ hm, what’re you doin’ sweetheart? You still comfy?” He asks peering down at you.

His reading glasses rest cutely on his face as he temporarily pauses his story telling to check on you.

“Mhm, I’m good baby,” you assure him with a kind smile. “Just lookin’ at my handsome man. You know, I didn’t get to tell you before, but one of my favorite things is your voice,” you inform him, sneaking an innocent hand underneath his t-shirt to gently run it up and down his soft hairy tummy.

“ ‘n your smile, your warmth. So many of my favorite things are you.” You shuffle up to plant a couple sweet kisses to his cheeks, watching as they go pink, “just wanted to tell you that.”

You settle back down, pulling the covers to your chin, as you nuzzle back against his chest, making sure he was also nice and covered.

“Eds? Gonna keep reading?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat before bringing a hand to your jaw and leaving a kiss.

“ ‘s just…babe, you’re so fuckin’ special to me, you have no idea,” he whispers, “ ‘m the luckiest man to have had you as a friend, and now as my girl. I love you so fuckin’ much, baby.”

He eagerly searches beneath the covers and quickly finds your hand to hold, slotting his fingers through yours to give them a gentle squeeze.

“I do, Eddie. I love you so much.”

It's quiet, it’s cozy. It’s home.

Tobio Kageyama

Words of Affirmation

Then

"You look... nice." Tobio's slowly trail down your form. His cheeks are pink, but his tone is harsh, almost... like a question?

"Thank you?" You ask back, slipping out of your shoes. "I've bought new trousers. It's hard to find good ones, most of them make my ass look fat."

"It is fat," Tobio points out, almost going cross-eyed as he tries to look both at you and your behind at the same time. "It's nice."

You stop, one hand in your purse, and stare at him.

"Tobio?"

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to flirt?"

He jerks his face away, but you've seen enough of the nervous blush covering every spare inch of his usually pale skin.

"Forget about it!" He barks as he stomps off, your giggling the only sound in the empty hallway.

-

Now

"Oh," Tobio grabs your belly with both hands and kneads it like it's dough. "You put on some weight."

You groan and laugh at the same time. It tickles, after all. "Why do you have to point it out all the time?"

"Because you're so soft and I love you?" He reluctantly lets go of you when you shimmy your hips around and offers you the pair of jeans you'd tried to slip in minutes ago. "I'll buy you new ones if these don't fit anymore, you know?"

"That's not the point," you argue, struggling with the button at the top. "I like these pants."

"I like your belly more," Tobio slides his hand below the waistband of your pants and tickles your skin. "Look how confined it is. It wants out."

You laugh at his silliness. "When did you get so good at flirting?" You ask, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I'm just speaking my mind," he points out. "You just happen to like it, I think. Hoshiumi said I sound like a moron when I'm talking to you."

"See? That's why Hoshiumi's still single."

-

Receiving Gifts

Then

"Tobio?" He freezes in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Did you leave something in my office?"

"Maybe?"

You hold up the package. "Is there a reason you bought me a sample package of lip balms?"

"You said you lose them all the time," he defends himself, shoulders pulled up to his ears. "So I bought you enough that you have one everywhere I go."

"That's really sweet of you," you look down at the present for half a second. "But a 48 piece pack?"

He panics, you can see it in his face, the widening of his pupils and the stiffness in his arms.

"Should I have bought more?"

-

Now

"Tobio?"

"Yes?" He dips his head out of the bathroom door, half of his face shaved, the other half covered in shaving cream. "You called?"

"There's a package on the kitchen table."

"Oh," he nods. "Just a little something I got you."

You eye him curiously before you open the package with a kitchen knife. Inside is something oddly shaped inside a few rolls of bubble wrap. By the time you finally take off the last layer, Tobio has slid up behind you, chin hooked over your shoulder, his left hand softly caressing your belly.

"It's a guy," you point out. "Sitting."

"It's not just any guy," Tobio points out. "This was handmade and designed by me. It was a hard decision, too, but I think we got it right in the end."

You lift the small figurine up to get a closer look. You know that black hair and those blue eyes, that frown on his face and the way he stretches.

"You designed me a figurine of yourself?"

"Yes," Tobio grins proudly. "Look," he takes the figurine from you and sets it next to the stove, pulls out a ladle and lets it rest on little Tobio's stretched out legs. "This guy makes kitchen helper figurines. Ushijima bought lots of stuff from him and I asked if he could model a figurine after me. This way, I'll always be helping you in the kitchen."

You're still struggling for words when he turns, insecurity slowly bleeding into his demeanour. "Did you want someone else? I thought of buying you the one that keeps the lid from closing, because you like giving me steam facials and it would have been funny, but that one was harder to model after me, so-"

"Tobio," you reach out and sling your arms around him, press your face against his shoulder. "I love it. Thank you."

He smiles, just a little one, but one that's true to himself. "Thank God. I already ordered a second one that looks like you. You're paying for it though, so it's your present to me."

-

Acts of Service

Then

Hurried steps follow you down the hallway. You turn, surprised to find Tobio running after you.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes," he pants, grabbing the bag hanging off your shoulder. "I said I'd help you carry it."

"Oh, but it's not that heavy."

"Not the point," he accidentally knocks his hip into yours as he moves, blushing to the tips of his ears as he does so. "Where are you headed?"

"To my car. Are you sure you wanna go outside right now? You're sweaty and it's cold out. I don't want you to get cold."

"I'll be fine. Can I carry anything else for you?"

"You know I'm not sick, right? Or unable to lift weights in any shape or form."

"Right," Tobio nods. "But I'm strong?" He phrases it like a question. "And I want to help you where I can."

You stare up at him, your heart beating a little out of the loop, sloshing around your chest as if waiting for new instructions.

"You don't need to help me," you insist once more, your voice a little weaker than before. "But thank you."

Tobio smiles and leads you out onto the parking lot, pulls you a little closer when you shiver in the cold.

He's out sick the rest of the week, but you don't think he minds it much.

Not when you're at his place every day before and after work, feeding him soup and measuring his temperature with a kiss against his forehead.

-

Now

You can hear the vacuum from where you're scrubbing the shower, the sound almost loud enough to drown out the audiobook in your ears.

You're old enough now to have your very own cleaning routine, but that doesn't mean you like doing it.

Half an hour later, the bathroom is clean and you put away the supplies before you walk out, all the while stretching your sore back.

The vacuum has been tucked away again, but you hear Tobio's voice from the kitchen, the way he struggles to pronounce the Italian words from his own audiobook.

"Ciao. Ciao." He jumps when you sneak up to him, curl your hands around his chest and press your face against his back.

"You're done yet?" You ask, leaning into him with all your weight.

"Almost," he huffs out laughing. "The oven is a mess."

"We can do it another day."

"No, I'm committed now."

"But I'm hungry," you whine. "And we can clean the stupid oven after we have Dinner."

"I already ordered food," Tobio argues. "Might as well get this done until it arrives. You can-"

"No," you insist, feeling stubborn. "Don't make me clean another thing."

"I wanted to offer a seat at the table where you can check my pronunciation, but if you have a better idea..."

"Table it is."

-

Quality time

Then

"And then you jump," Tobio explains, swallowing anxiously. "Did you get that?"

"Uhuh," you inspect your nails for a second, before deciding to speak. "Look, I like spending time with you, but do you really need to train today?"

Tobio falters. "No?" He asks. "Why?"

"Is there a reason why you brought me here for our date then?"

"Well," he fiddles with the ball in his hands, shy again. "I like spending time with you."

"Me too."

"And this is something I know," he explains, looking around the deserted gym. He doesn't need to explain that it makes him feel safe. You've seen it.

"Right," you nod, swallow against the knot in your throat. "How about we do something you know for an hour and then something I know next?"

Tobio nods, clearly relieved. "As long as I'm with you, I don't care what we're doing."

He blushes when you don't react, struck by the softness of his accidental confession. "Did I say something wrong?"

-

Now

Tobio drops like a stone into your lap and he groans so loudly you almost miss the conversation on TV.

"Long day?"

"No," he pouts, "but I missed you. Why do they let you go earlier when I have to stay in longer?"

"Because I'm not their star setter?" You ask, gently threading your hands through his hair. "Hungry?"

"Yeah," he huffs out a breath and closes his eyes. "But I wanna stay like this a little while longer. What are we watching?"

"Well, I was watching a rerun of Friends. You wanna join? Or we can put on a match."

"Friends is fine," he lifts one hand to circle your wrist, tugging it down just enough to press a kiss into the palm of your hand. "As long as I'm with you, I don't care what we're watching."

You coo at his softness and lean down to kiss the tip of his nose, only to tease him right after.

"I'll remember that the next time we're fighting over the remote."

-

Physical touch

Then

"You should go back inside," you insist, "It's freezing."

"It's fine," Tobio presses through chattering teeth, his sweaty jersey barely a shield against the cold. "It's not even that cold."

You look up at him, your bag over his shoulder, his arms crossed confidently in front of his chest.

"Do you like me, Tobio?" You ask, and even though it feels a little silly, given everything he's done and said, it still feels necessary to be voiced.

He swallows, blueberry eyes locked in on you, and then he nods.

"So much," he breathes out. "That I never know what to do with my hands when you're around. O-or what to say. You're the prettiest, smartest, nicest, coolest girl I've ever met and I know I'm just... me, but if there's anything I can do, anything, I will, I-"

"You could kiss me," you interrupt him, your heart beating in your throat, your fingertips, your toes. "If you want."

His lips are cold and his eyes are wide open, and you think, not for the first time, that there's an ocean of warmth hiding in these blue depths. He takes your hands in his, squeezes them one, two, three times and kisses you again, clumsy and eagerly, and so much in love.

And then he sneezes.

-

Now

"Morning," Tobio presses a kiss against your shoulderblade and sinks into you, his chest pressed against your back so that you can feel his heartbeat. "I need to go for a jog."

"Mhm," you make, half awake and already in love with him, the gentle way he wakes you every single day. "I'm not joining you."

"Shame," he leans in to kiss the shell of your ear, the soft skin behind it, the nape of your neck and the corner of your mouth.

"One more for the road?" He asks, sounding more awake than you ever could be at this early hour, and you turn your head a little so you can squint at him, can offer him all of your mouth and not just a corner.

Later, after you've fallen back asleep, he will kiss you again, taste like toothpaste and smell like aftershave, and you'll try your best to pull him back into bed, to fall back asleep in his arms. Rarely does it ever work. But he'll always stay a little while longer, just to touch you, just to breathe you in.

for @writingsofanomnivore

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Eddie Headcannon-

Eddie love to watch his Sweetheart get ready in the morning/get ready for bed.

Eddie stands behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist as you lean closer to the mirror to apply your makeup. He watches as you prep your skin , apply moisturizer, use different brushes and blenders on your face, his tongue either poking out in concentration or lips pursed together even though he is only a spectator during this process.

You take out your mascara and sweep your lashes with the brush ." Careful Princess."

You laugh." Afraid I'm going to poke myself in the eye?"

"Fucking terrified."

If you take out the eyelash curler he cringes." What the fuck kind of torture device is that?"

You giggle." It curls your lashes Baby. Want me to try it on you?" You curl your lash and he gasps dramatically.

" I think the fuck not. Have you ever pinched your eye lid in there?"

"Once-"

"Fuck Princess." He shivers.

You run liner along your upper and lower lids and he holds his breath. Again you smile." Breathe Baby, I promise it's going to be ok."

" Why do you wear makeup Darlin?"

"It makes me feel more confident in myself."

"You do realize that you are absolutely, positively the most beautiful human being in the world without all that right?"

You smile at the most beautiful human being in the world standing behind you." You are so fucking sweet Edward Munson. "

" It's true. " He leans in and kisses your neck." With or without your fucking perfect "

At the end of the night he watches as you wash the makeup off your face, he will sometimes take the cloth from your hand and carefully wipe around your eyes, biting his lip as he does so. He watches you cleanse, and moisturize again, breathing in the light soft scent of your lotion. He is happy, happy to be a part of this process and happy to have his beautiful fresh faced girl back❤️

Kenma is currently trying his best to keep his hands from shaking. He is ultimately unsuccessful when he finally gets them to hold still, just to have his leg shaking right in its place. He hates fighting with you, and to be honest he is really trying to avoid it. But how can he when he is almost certain that you are slipping away from him in favor of your new coworker. He would be lying if he said that he always felt secure in your relationship, but it was never your fault. He had always subconsciously felt like you needed someone who wasn't so introverted so you could properly enjoy dates, vacations, and parties like you deserved. He had been quite surprised when you didn't seem to mind that most of your dates were at either your or his apartment or that he was never the last one to stay at one of Kuroo's events. He considered himself lucky, but that doesn't mean he still wondered if you would ever find someone else.

Kenma's head snaps up as he hears your keys in the door. He takes a steeling breath to calm his nerves and hopefully get his thoughts in order. You come in and your eyes immediately fall onto your sweet boyfriend. Kenma can see the smile growing on your face as soon as you catch his eye and he feels bad that he has to be the one to ruin it for you. He sees the look of confusion that takes over your face at Kenma's face. "Hey baby is everything okay?" Your voice always sounds so sweet and hearing it almost makes him want to just drop this subject. How could the love of his life, with the sweetest smile and the sweetest voice ever do something as heinous as cheating? There's no way.

"Yeah, I just think we should talk." Your heart drops at Kenma's tone. He sounds as if he's a shell of a person, like whatever is bugging him has taken root and replaced your Kenma. Your voice is much shakier when you respond "Yeah, no problem." Kenma doesn't miss the fact that you stopped yourself from saying babe at the end of your sentence and feels absolutely distraught. He never thought that you withholding a pet name from him would absolutely wreck him as much as it does. He takes a deep breath before he bluntly asks "Are you interested in Hikaru-san?" You stare at him blankly as you process his words. Interested? Why would you ever be interested in Hikaru? You confidently tell Kenma "No, why would I be interested in Hikaru-san?" Kenma then responds with a cold "Then why have you been talking and hanging out with them so much?" You try to hold back your laughter at the absolute ridiculousness of this whole situation. Your boyfriend that you live with and have been with for years is jealous of the young intern that has been appointed as your trainee. The only reason why Hikaru has had to text you so often is because he has gotten lost taking the train back to his university more times than you can count. He had a big heart, but he could be a little dense. You two had also had to stay overtime a few days because he had forgotten to turn in some very important paperwork and you were scared if you left him alone to do it he would mess something up. You decide that showing Kenma instead of telling Kenma would be a much better course of action, so you unlock your phone and hand it to your skeptical boyfriend. He looks up at you for confirmation and starts looking through your text messages with Hikaru after you smile and nod at him to start the search. What he gathers from the messages is that your responses are very polite and almost monotone. It's exactly what he would expect from a coworker that you aren't particularly close to. He also notices that Hikaru's texts are anything but flirty. Almost all of his messages consist of him panicking over getting off at the right stop and missing an important meeting, or him trying to gauge how much time an important task will take so he can try and make time for his own coursework. He hands you your phone back sheepishly, but he still thinks that something has to be going on. He waits as you quickly navigate to your instagram to show him Hikaru's profile. You turn your screen around to face Kenma as you go through Hikaru's bio and posts. You see realization dawn as Kenma's face before he looks up at you to confirm to see a knowing smile spread across your face.

"Ken he has a boyfriend."

Oh.

one of the reasons i think eddie munson is still so popular is because he would truly love you for YOU. he’s such a genuine character to the point where it’s hard not to love him? it doesn’t matter what size, color, mental state, etc you are, eddie would love you and everything that comes with. he would be impossible to feel uncomfortable around because he’s just so undeniably himself to the point that you would want to do the same.

between you and your husband, you were the one more…vocal about your love for him. leaving him sweet notes with doodles of the two of you in his lunch, ending all heartfelt messages with x’s, planting a big kiss on his cheek that he pretended to cringe at but in reality he looked forward to it everytime he left the house.

people would always come up to you, telling you that he doesn’t reciprocate his love with words and such and asking you how you dealt with it. truth be told it took a while for you to get used to but soon enough you began to see the signs.

it was the way that every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom he would tuck your feet back into bed. the way he spent a solid twenty minutes cleaning your phone screen, and with furrowed brows as he placed your new screen protector on, making sure there were no bubbles. it was when you opened his wallet that you saw all the notes you wrote him saved in one pocket of his shitty leather wallet that was begging to be put to rest. it's the way when you come home after a long night out with your friends he takes his time undressing you, removing and placing your jewelry carefully on your bedside table and making sure to gently take off your makeup and of course do your skincare routine that he has memeorized. when he goes out and he spots a little something with your favorite character on it he buys it immediately, not bothering to look at the price tag because the way your eyes would light up when he brought home the little gift was worth more than a billion dollars to him.

it was when on your third month anniversary when the two of you were still dating, while the two of you sat down on the booth next to each other at a restaurant he held your hand and squeezed it three times. signifying the words, i love you. he knew he loved you from the start but was scared it was too soon to say it and this was his silent way of telling you so. and you picked up on it quickly when he started to do it more often.

and on your wedding day, as the two of you stand in front of all your loved ones and the officiator he says the most beautiful vows ever, telling you that "if death do us part then i hope to find you in every lifetime" and once he ended with that sentence, he squeezed your hand three times. i. love. you.

you always knew your husband loved you because his actions spoke a thousand words to you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

sigh. TSUKISHIMA FREAKING KEI!!!!!!!!, akaashi keiji (he writes notes back to you), KITA. SHINSUKE., iwaizumi hajime (30) athletic trainer, suna rintarou, USHIJIMA, kageyama tobio (squeezed your hand a lot when you started dating), MIYA OSAMU, sakusa kiyoomi, OH OH OH AONE!!,

Jealousy: Kyotani (Mad Dog)

The bar was crowded—not uncomfortably, but just enough that the air pulsed with low music and the warm scent of whiskey and fryer oil. The lights were low, warm and golden, casting soft shadows over tables cluttered with drinks and peeling coaster edges. Glass clinked softly in the background, a lazy rhythm to the Friday night energy building in waves.

You were leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks, while Kyōtani had ducked away to use the bathroom. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, eyes on the bartender shaking cocktails two seats down.

Which was, in hindsight, the exact moment the universe decided to test your patience.

“Hey there,” came a voice to your left—slurred, low, and too close. You caught the sour tang of beer on his breath before you saw his face.

You didn’t turn immediately. You’d felt it coming—like a storm you could smell in the air.

“I been watchin’ you from across the bar,” the man said, a lazy, drunken confidence in his voice. “You look like you could use some company.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m good, thanks.”

He chuckled. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a drink, sweetheart.”

You turned your head, offering a cool, unimpressed stare. His eyes were glassy, cheeks blotched red from too much alcohol, and his grin was the kind of smarmy that made your skin crawl.

“You don’t wanna do that,” you said flatly.

The guy blinked. “What? Buy a pretty girl a drink?”

“No.” You shifted your weight, voice firm. “Hit on someone who’s taken.”

He raised a brow, like he thought you were bluffing. “Taken? Don’t see anyone here. You ditched him already?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You need to back off.”

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Men like that never did.

Instead, he laughed—loudly, like he’d just heard the best joke of the night. “Relax, baby. You’re hot. I’m just tryin’ to show some appreciation.”

You turned back toward the bar, trying to signal the bartender, but the guy didn’t take the hint. You felt him step closer, invading your space. Then his hand brushed your arm—too familiar, too bold.

That was when you felt it.

The air shifted. Like the pressure dropped.

A presence behind you—heavy, hot, and unmistakable.

Kyōtani.

A shadow passed over the drunk guy’s face, but he didn’t turn fast enough.

Kyōtani didn’t speak. He didn’t posture. He didn’t warn.

He just swung.

A blur of movement exploded at your side—a crack, loud and sharp, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. The guy lay sprawled across the scuffed floorboards, groaning, his hand cupping his jaw as shocked silence rippled through the nearby tables.

Kyōtani stood over him, jaw clenched, one hand still curled into a tight fist, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared down at the guy like he was debating whether to throw another punch for good measure.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

You just looked down at the groaning man and said, with a shrug and a sip of your half-warm drink, “Told you so.”

Kyōtani turned to you, golden eyes burning with residual fury, scanning your face and arms like he needed confirmation you were untouched. “He touch you?”

“Barely,” you muttered. “He tried.”

Kyōtani grunted low in his throat, gaze snapping back to the guy on the ground. “You’re lucky I stopped at one.”

The bartender said nothing. No one did.

You grabbed your second drink off the bar, rolling your eyes. “Guess I need a new gin and tonic now.”

Kyōtani huffed, throwing a protective arm around your shoulder, steering you away from the scene. “Let’s go. I hate this place anyway.”

“You hate every place.”

“Not true,” he muttered, hand tightening at your waist. “I like the ones where people don’t talk to you.”

You laughed under your breath as the two of you disappeared into the cooler night air, Kyōtani’s hand never leaving you for a second.

And as you walked, he leaned in, voice low and unrepentant.

“Next guy that touches you,” he growled, “I’m breakin’ his ribs.”

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I know.”

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The bed shakes with another round of Eddie’s laughter, wheezing giggles shaking the bed with you lying beside him, trying your best to catch your breath and wipe the tears from your eyes.

Your hand finds his belly, still full from all the food you had at dinner, running your fingers through the dusting of just hair below his bellybutton.

“You gotta catch your breath, baby,” you smile as your hand makes its way to his chest, rubbing a soothing pattern there as your own heart swells over the pure joy painting his face.

And that laugh. Your favorite sound.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in a while,” he sighs happily, his hand rubbing his eyes before finding your hand, giving it a few squeezes before tilting his head to lean against yours.

“It feels so good,” words whispered so softly you almost don’t hear them.

Words holding so much weight.

You press a kiss to his chest with eyes closed, feeling the thumpthumpthump of his heart before snuggling even closer.

“I know.”