Hannah

The apartment is quiet when Robin unlocks the door, quiet enough that she immediately freezes. Because the apartment is never quiet.

Usually, there’s the hum of the refrigerator, or the upstairs neighbors stomping around like they’re rehearsing for Riverdance, or music coming from somewhere down the hall. But tonight there’s something different underneath it all, soft music drifting faintly from the bedroom she’s supposed to be sharing with a complete stranger.

Robin tightens her grip on her keys. Right, she thinks, New roommate day.

She’d almost forgotten about Keith being insufferable for eight straight hours and Steve pretending not to care about his hair getting rained on. Robin nudges the door shut behind her and kicks off her shoes, already preparing herself for awkward small talk and forced introductions.

Instead, she walks into what looks like an enchanted forest, and she actually stops dead in the hallway.

The bedroom door is open just enough for warm golden light to spill out across the carpet. Fairy lights twinkle along the walls, tangled through hanging ivy vines that drape across the ceiling. Little paper stars sway lazily overhead whenever the fan turns. Your side of the room is all soft blankets and patchwork quilts and stacks of books and tiny trinkets tucked into every possible corner. 

Robin stares for a full five seconds before blurting: “What the fuck?”

Your head immediately pops up from the floor where you’re sitting cross-legged beside an open box. “Oh my God, hi!”

And there you are. You’re wearing this oversized sweater that’s practically swallowing your hands, hair messy from unpacking, surrounded by candles and records and enough decorative mushrooms to concern the average person.

Robin blinks. “You’re real,” she says.

You laugh softly. “I think so?”

“No, because I thought maybe the apartment got cursed while I was at work.”

That makes you laugh harder, bright and pretty and completely unembarrassed. Robin feels herself relax instantly.

“Sorry,” you say, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mean to completely fill the room. I just started unpacking, and then I kinda blacked out.”

Robin looks around again. Honestly? The room looks amazing, like one of those bedrooms in magazines that people pretend they casually threw together when in reality it probably took seventeen hours and emotional warfare.

“Are those stars hanging from the ceiling?”

You beam immediately, like you’ve been waiting for someone to ask.

“Yes! Okay, so technically they’re supposed to be Christmas ornaments, but I thought they looked magical, so—”

And that’s it. That’s the beginning of the end for Robin Buckley. Because ten minutes later, she’s sitting cross-legged on your bed while you excitedly explain every little thing you unpacked.

The moon-shaped lamp you thrifted for three dollars. The pressed flowers tucked into frames. The tiny ceramic frog named Ferdinand.

“Named?” Robin repeats.

You look at her like that’s the stupidest question she’s ever asked. “Obviously.” Robin snorts so hard she almost chokes.

You ramble when you’re excited, words tumbling over themselves while your hands move animatedly through the air, and Robin finds herself completely locked in. You talk about books you love like they personally changed your life. You tell stories with your whole body. Every emotion crosses your face so openly that it’s impossible not to get swept up in it.

Most people make Robin feel too loud.

You make her feel matched. At some point, you end up sitting on the floor together, eating vending machine snacks from Robin’s backpack while music hums softly through the room.

“You know,” Robin says after a while, “I was terrified I’d get assigned someone horrifying.”

You gasp dramatically. “Robin!”

“I’m serious! One time, Steve had a roommate who clipped his toenails in the living room.”

You stare at her in horror.

“See?” she says. “Exactly my reaction.”

You laugh again, smiling so hard your nose scrunches a little, and Robin decides right then she likes you, a lot. Like enough that she’s already mentally preparing how to introduce you to the rest of the group. Which, honestly, might turn out to be a mistake. Because if Robin thinks you’re charming now, she has absolutely no idea what’s about to happen when Eddie and Steve meet you.

Robin calls it an apartment warming party even though it’s really just: cheap beer, frozen pizza, three folding chairs, and whoever happened to answer their phones. Which means by seven-thirty, the apartment is full of loud voices and wet shoes piled by the door from the rain outside.

You’re in the kitchen trying to separate paper plates that are aggressively sticking together when the front door swings open. Steve Harrington walks in first. And unfortunately, he’s very pretty.

Tall, broad shoulders shoved into seemingly too-tight tan jacket, hair still annoyingly perfect from the rain somehow. He’s carrying a case of beer under one arm while arguing with Robin before he’s even fully inside.

“I’m telling you, this is not enough food.”

“There are twelve people here, Steve, not the population of Indiana.”

“That doesn’t matter—”

Then he sees you and stops talking mid-sentence. You blink back at him, and Robin immediately notices the exact moment Steve Harrington develops a crush on you. It’s physically visible.

“Oh,” Steve says.

You smile politely. “Hi.”

Robin groans quietly into her drink. “Steve,” she says flatly, “don’t.”

“What? I didn’t even do anything.”

“You’re doing the face.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Before Robin can roast him alive, another figure shoves through the doorway behind him.

“Move your gigantic hair outta the way, Harrington, some of us are carrying important cargo—”

And then he walks in. Leather jacket damp from the rain, dark curls pushed messily out of his face, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear despite Robin threatening murder every time he smokes near the building.

Eddie looks up, sees you, and completely loses his train of thought. “…holy shit.”

Robin closes her eyes. “Oh no,” she mutters, because she recognizes that look too.

You’re still standing by the kitchen counter holding a stack of paper plates, but suddenly you feel oddly frozen under Eddie’s attention. Not in a bad way, but in a terrifying way. Like your entire nervous system just sat up straight. Eddie stares at you for half a second too long before Robin finally speaks.

“Eddie,” she says slowly, “this is my new roommate.”

You say your name softly. Eddie repeats it immediately, like he’s testing how it sounds in his mouth. God. And then he smiles at you, crooked, warm, a little shy underneath all the theatrics. And you are done for instantly.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

Robin physically watches your soul leave your body. Steve notices too, which is unfortunate for everybody involved. The night only gets worse from there, because Eddie is everywhere.

Sprawled across the couch, telling dramatic stories that make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Talking with his hands when he gets excited, grinning every time he catches you already looking at him. And the thing is, you can tell immediately he’s smart.

Not school smart, necessarily. But passionate smart, the kind of person that collects knowledge simply because he loves things deeply.

At one point, he starts passionately ranting about some fantasy campaign he’s writing while Gareth and Jeff argue with him from across the room, and you swear you could listen to him talk for the rest of your life. Which apparently becomes very obvious, because Robin leans against your shoulder at some point and whispers:

“Oh, you are gone.”

You shove her lightly. “Shut up.”

“You have not stopped staring at him for twenty minutes.”

“I have absolutely stopped staring at him.”

Across the room, Eddie glances over at you instantly as if he felt it, then grins. You almost choke on your drink.

Later, after more people show up and the apartment gets louder, you slip away to your room for a breather because your room is softer than the chaos outside. You’re fixing one of the strings of stars above your bed when there’s a knock against the open door.

You turn, and there’s Eddie, leaning against the doorway carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “Whoa,” he says quietly.

You smile a little. “Hi.”

“Robin said your room was cool, but she severely undersold this.”

You laugh softly. “You think?”

“Think?” Eddie steps inside slowly, eyes darting everywhere at once. “Sweetheart, this looks like a woodland creature got accepted into art school.”

You burst out laughing, and the sound alone visibly delights him.

“Oh my God,” you say. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I’m serious!” Eddie says, already wandering toward your shelves. “You’ve got little potions and shit in here.”

“They’re crystals.”

“Ah. Magic rocks. My mistake.”

You shake your head, smiling helplessly while he picks up one of your tiny ceramic frogs with absolute reverence. “This guy rules.”

“That’s Ferdinand.”

Eddie looks at you immediately. “He has a name?”

“Obviously.”

Eddie presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “You get me.”

And that’s it, that’s the exact moment you fall hopelessly, stupidly in love with Eddie Munson. Because instead of making fun of you, he lights up.

Every little thing in your room fascinates him. He asks questions about every trinket and listens to your answers like they’re genuinely important. Gets excited when you explain the meanings of your crystals. Tells you your room feels “safe in a really cool way.”

At some point, the two of you end up sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, talking while the party carries on without you. 

The party finally dies sometime after one in the morning.

Jeff and Gareth leave first, still arguing over something stupid. Robin disappears into the apartment, muttering about cleaning tomorrow because “future Robin deserves to suffer, not current Robin.” And somehow that leaves Steve and Eddie alone, hauling empty pizza boxes down the apartment stairs toward Steve’s BMW.

Rainwater glistens across the pavement outside as Eddie lights a cigarette the second they step outside, leaning against the passenger door while Steve tosses the trash into the dumpster nearby.

For a minute, neither of them says anything. But Eddie’s brain is still upstairs, still stuck in your room. Your laugh. Your stupid little fairy lights. The way your eyes lit up every time he asked about something on your shelves like nobody had ever cared before. Jesus Christ.

He takes a long drag from his cigarette while Steve shuts the trunk. “So.”

Eddie immediately narrows his eyes. “Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a man about to say something deeply irritating.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s this weird grin pulling at his mouth. And Eddie suddenly knows, his stomach dropping in an instant. “Oh no,” Eddie mutters.

Steve leans against the car beside him. “What?”

“You like her.”

Steve pauses, then laughs once under his breath. “Is it that obvious?”

Eddie stares out at the wet parking lot instead of answering. Because yeah, yeah, it is. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t Steve Harrington like you?

You’re pretty and sweet and charming, and you looked at people like they mattered when they talked. You had this soft, dreamy thing about you that made people want to lean closer without realizing it. And Steve? Steve always got the girl.

Not because he was a bad guy. Honestly, that almost made it worse. Steve was good-looking, kind, and dependable in a way Eddie never felt he could compete with. Eddie flicks ash onto the pavement.

“Dude,” Steve says carefully, “you okay?”

“Mhm.”

“That sounded fake.”

“Kinda was.”

Steve snorts quietly, then he says, “I dunno. I just really liked her.”

Eddie’s chest physically aches because he really liked you, too. Pathetically fast, honestly. The kind of fast that should concern medical professionals.

But the second Steve says it out loud, Eddie can practically feel himself shoving the whole thing down into his ribs where it can’t embarrass him. He laughs once instead, forcing casualness into his voice.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “She’s cool.” The words taste awful immediately.

Steve glances over at him, and Eddie knows Steve’s looking for something there. Some reaction. Some claim. But Eddie just shrugs and opens the passenger door. Because what’s he supposed to say?

“Actually, Steve, I think I fell in love with her in approximately four minutes while she explained the lore behind a ceramic frog collection?” No fucking thank you.

Steve hesitates before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You sure?”

Eddie forces a grin. “Harrington, if I fought you every time we liked the same girl, we’d both be dead by now.”

Steve laughs at that, thankfully. But Eddie turns toward the window before he can see his face. The whole drive home hurts. Steve keeps talking about you absentmindedly, not even realizing that each thing he says is basically another nail in Eddie’s coffin.

“She’s funny.”

“Mhm.”

“And smart.”

“Tragic, really.”

“And did you see her room? It looked like a fairy exploded in there.”

That one almost makes Eddie smile despite himself. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It was nice.”

Steve glances over at him again. “You really think so?”

Eddie thinks about you sitting cross-legged on the floor under warm golden lights, looking at him like every word out of his mouth mattered.

He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I really think so.”

But by the time Steve drops him off at the trailer, Eddie’s already making up his mind. He’s not doing this again. He’s not letting himself get stupid over someone who’s obviously gonna realize Steve Harrington is the better option eventually.

So whatever this thing is blooming in his chest, he’s gonna kill it before it gets embarrassing.

The next time everyone hangs out is at Steve’s place. Robin drags you there after work with the promise of free food and “at least three people getting into an argument dramatic enough to count as entertainment.” You spend almost the entire drive fixing your hair in the passenger mirror while pretending not to.

“Oh my God,” she says. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not nervous.”

“You’ve checked your lip gloss four times.”

“I just like to look nice.”

“For Eddie.”

You groan and shove her shoulder while she laughs all the way into the parking lot. And honestly? You’re excited to see him. Pathetically excited. Ever since the apartment party, Eddie’s been stuck in your head constantly. The way he listened to you. The way he smiled when you talked. The softness underneath all the theatrics.

You’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time replaying that night in your mind. Which is why the disappointment hits so hard when you walk into Steve’s living room, and Eddie barely looks at you. Not barely looks at you because he’s distracted, but barely looks at you on purpose.

“Hey,” you say softly when your eyes meet his.

Eddie gives you a quick smile from where he’s sitting in the armchair. “Hey, sweetheart.”

And then he looks away, that’s it. No wandering over to talk to you. No easy teasing. No immediate gravitational pull toward you like before. Your stomach sinks a little.

Meanwhile, Steve lights up the second you walk in. “There she is,” he says dramatically from the kitchen. “Thank God. Robin almost bought generic chips.”

“I did buy generic chips,” Robin calls back.

You laugh despite yourself, and Steve stays beside you basically the entire night. At first, you don’t think much of it because Steve is naturally affectionate and attentive, but after an hour, it becomes impossible not to notice the contrast between him and Eddie.

Steve sits beside you on the couch. Steve hands you drinks before you ask. Steve remembers tiny details you mentioned in passing. While across the room, Eddie barely speaks to you at all. And every time you try to talk to him, he gives you these short, polite answers before redirecting himself somewhere else. It hurts more than it should.

By the time the movie starts, you’re curled into the corner of the couch trying not to visibly mope while Steve talks animatedly beside you.

Robin notices everything immediately; her eyes narrowing toward Eddie across the room. Eddie pointedly avoids looking over. Coward.

Halfway through the movie, Steve leans closer to whisper some joke in your ear that makes you laugh. And from the recliner across the room, Eddie finally glances over. Then he stands up.

“I should head out,” he says suddenly.

Everyone looks over. Robin frowns. “Already?”

“Early shift.”

“That’s literally a lie,” Gareth says.

“Wow,” Eddie says flatly. “Didn’t know you knew work my schedule better than I did.” But he’s already grabbing his jacket. 

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Eddie finally looks at you directly for the first time all night. And for one awful second, something vulnerable flickers across his face, something almost guilty.

“Night, sweetheart.” Then he leaves.

A week later, Steve asks you out. Not dramatically or arrogantly, he actually looks kind of nervous. The two of you are walking back toward the apartment after grabbing coffee while Robin is in class, and Steve suddenly rubs the back of his neck before blurting:

“So… would you maybe wanna go out sometime?”

You stop walking. Steve immediately winces. “Jesus, that bad?”

“No!” you say quickly. “No, Steve, oh my God.”

He laughs awkwardly. You feel terrible instantly because Steve is wonderful, truly wonderful. But he’s not Eddie. And unfortunately for you, every stupid thought in your head still somehow circles back to Eddie Munson.

You exhale softly. “Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“I really, really like somebody.”

His face falls a little, though he tries to hide it. “Oh.”

“And it’s—” You hesitate. “It’s Eddie.”

Steve stares at you, then blinks. “…Eddie?”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.

“Don’t be.” Steve nudges your shoulder lightly. “Can’t exactly control who you like.”

Then your face brightens suddenly. “Wait.”

Steve eyes you cautiously. “That look concerns me.”

“No, listen, I have a friend.”

“Oh no.”

“She’s in one of my lit classes.”

“You’re trying to set me up?”

“She’s gorgeous.”

“Dangerous opening statement.”

“And she loves dumb movies and rambling and stupidly nice people.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Are you calling me stupid?”

You grin. “A little.”

And somehow Steve agrees to meet her at the next group hangout. Which turns out to be the best decision of his life. Because the second your friend walks into the diner and immediately starts arguing with Steve about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie, Steve falls catastrophically in love. Like, immediately.

Robin watches it happen in real time. “Oh my God,” she whispers to you from across the booth. “He’s gone.”

Steve is sitting there staring at your friend like she personally invented happiness. Meanwhile, your friend is laughing so hard at one of his jokes that she’s nearly crying.

“You know what?” Robin says thoughtfully. “They’re gonna get married.”

And honestly? You kind of think so, too. Which would all be great news if Eddie hadn’t spent the last three weeks completely disappearing from your life.

Eddie sees them completely by accident, which somehow makes it worse. He’s cutting through downtown after leaving the record store, headphones hanging around his neck and a cigarette tucked between his lips, when he glances across the street and nearly walks directly into a parking meter.

Steve is sitting outside the little café near campus. And across from him is a girl Eddie’s never seen before. Not just sitting, holding hands, laughing. Steve looks disgustingly happy about it, too, leaning across the tiny table while she steals fries off his plate.

Eddie stops dead on the sidewalk, and his stomach twists immediately. “What the fuck,” he says out loud.

Because no. No no no. Steve Harrington did not spend weeks following you around like a lovesick puppy just to immediately start dating another girl. Eddie’s chest burns hot, and before he can think better of it, he’s already crossing the street.

Steve notices him halfway there and grins automatically. “Munson!”

Eddie does not grin back. Steve’s smile slowly fades. “Uh oh.”

Eddie walks right up to the table, pointing accusingly. “What the hell, man?”

The girl blinks between them. Steve looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“I literally don’t.”

Eddie gestures wildly at the girl sitting across from him. “This!”

Steve stares, the girl stares, and Eddie looks personally betrayed.

“You spent all that time chasing after her, and now you’re out here cheating on her in broad daylight?”

The girl chokes on her drink. Steve’s eyes widen in horror. “What?!”

“Don’t what me, Harrington!”

“Eddie,” the girl says carefully, trying not to laugh, “I think maybe—”

“No, because this is insane behavior!” Eddie continues. “You were obsessed with her!”

Steve suddenly realizes. And then, unbelievably, he starts laughing. Like full-body laughing.

Eddie glares at him. “Oh, cool. Awesome. Glad infidelity is hilarious to you.”

Steve physically puts his head in his hands. “Oh my God,” he groans through laughter. “You are so stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

The girl beside Steve is openly giggling now. Steve looks up, finally, still laughing. “She turned me down, dumbass.”

Eddie blinks. “What?”

“She turned me down because she likes you.”

Silence, actual complete silence. Even the traffic noise suddenly feels far away. Eddie just stares at him. “…what?”

Steve looks at him like he’s witnessing a medical emergency. “She likes you,” he repeats slowly. “She literally told me she had feelings for you.”

Eddie’s brain completely short-circuits. “Nah,” he says automatically.

“Yes.”

“No, she—”

“Eddie.” Steve points at him. “The girl spent an entire party staring holes into your head.”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “She… what?”

Steve looks genuinely offended now. “How did you not notice?!”

Because Eddie had been so busy convincing himself Steve would win again that he never even considered the possibility that you’d wanted him back. You wanted him. Oh my God.

Ohhhhhhh, shit.

Every interaction over the last month slams into him at once. You laughing at all his jokes. You always gravitate toward him. The way your face fell every time he pulled away. The hurt in your eyes the last night everyone hung out. Eddie physically pales.

Steve watches as the realization hits him in real time. “There it is,” Steve says flatly. “That’s the face of a man realizing he ruined his own life.”

“Oh my God,” Eddie breathes.

“You stopped talking to her!”

“I know!”

“You idiot!”

“I KNOW!”

The girl across from Steve is laughing so hard she’s wiping tears from her eyes. Eddie runs both hands through his hair frantically. “Oh my God,” he repeats. “She probably thinks I hate her.”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Steve points down the sidewalk dramatically. “Go fix it!”

Eddie doesn’t even argue; he turns so fast he nearly trips over the curb before sprinting back down the street.

Eddie almost falls up the stairs to your apartment, seriously. He misses the second step entirely because his brain is moving faster than the rest of his body, heart pounding so hard it feels painful.

You like him. You liked him the whole fucking time. And he spent the last month acting like a wounded puppy instead of just talking to you like a normal person. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, shoving a hand through his curls as he reaches your door.

The lights are on inside. Good, good. Eddie knocks once. Then, immediately again, louder this time because he suddenly cannot breathe properly. And the door swings open. Oh. Oh, he is so unbelievably screwed.

You’re standing there fresh out of the shower, hair still damp around your shoulders, oversized sleep shirt slipping off one side slightly. No makeup. No jewelry except the tiny rings you always wear, soft skin still a little damp.

You look sleepy. Comfortable. Beautiful in this terrifyingly effortless way that makes Eddie’s brain go completely blank. Your eyes widen when you see him standing there looking half feral. “Eddie?”

His name leaves your mouth softly, confused. Your brows knit together a little. “Hi.”

And God, that almost kills him too, because even after he’s been avoiding you for weeks, you still sound happy to see him.

“I’m an idiot,” Eddie blurts immediately.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m, like, a catastrophic idiot, actually.”

“Okay…”

“I thought you liked Steve.”

You stare at him for a second. “Oh, my God.”

“I KNOW.”

“You thought I liked Steve?”

“He asked you out!”

“And I said no!”

“Yeah, apparently everybody knew that except me!”

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. Eddie looks so distressed standing there that it’s honestly a little adorable. His cheeks are flushed pink from running over here, his curls are windblown, and his chest is still rising too fast.

“I thought,” he says breathlessly, softer now, “I thought for one second maybe I actually had a shot with you, and then Harrington told me he liked you and I just…” He laughs once at himself. “I don’t know. I got weird.”

You stare at him because suddenly everything makes sense. The distance. The avoiding you. The weird tension every time Steve sat beside you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

“I know, sweetheart, trust me, I know.”

“You thought I wanted Steve Harrington over you?”

Eddie grimaces. “When you say it out loud, it sounds stupid.”

“It is stupid.”

“I’m aware.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself now. And Eddie looks at you like the sight of that smile physically revives him. “I really hurt your feelings, didn’t I?” he asks quietly.

You hesitate, which is an answer enough. Eddie closes his eyes briefly like he hates himself for it. “Shit.”

Before you can respond, he suddenly steps closer. “You have any idea,” he murmurs, voice rough, “how hard it’s been not to talk to you? See you?”

Your breath catches instantly while Eddie’s gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes. And when you don’t move away, that’s it. His hand slides gently against your jaw, and suddenly, he’s kissing you. Like he’s been starving for it. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks, which, to be fair, he has. 

You make this tiny, surprised sound against his mouth before immediately melting into him, hands sliding up his chest to the back of his neck as he kisses you harder. Eddie groans softly the second you kiss him back.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes against your lips. “Thank fucking God.”

You’re laughing a little now between kisses, dizzy from how fast this is happening. “You are insane,” you whisper.

His hands slide carefully to your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every ounce of attention you're gracing him with. He walks you backward into the apartment without breaking the kiss, one hand still cradling your jaw like you might disappear if he lets go. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and he spins you gently, pressing your back against it. “Been losing my mind over you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “Every fucking night.”

You make a soft, overwhelmed sound and pull him closer by his jacket. He shrugs it off in one messy motion, letting it hit the floor, then his hands are back on you, sliding under the hem of your shirt, palms greedy against your bare waist.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He kisses down your neck, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. “Tell me what you need.”

You don’t even know how to answer. You just tug at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, revealing all that pale skin and dark ink. Your hands explore him immediately, tracing over every tattoo and piece of him that you can get ahold of. 

He walks you toward your bedroom, never letting you get more than a breath away. When the backs of your knees hit the bed, he eases you down like you’re something precious, then follows, crawling over you.

“Look at you,” he whispers, eyes dragging over your body. Your shirt has ridden up; he pushes it higher, exposing your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breasts. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh breathlessly, a little shy under the intensity of his stare, but he leans down and kisses the sound right out of your mouth. Then lower, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, the soft underside of one breast. When his mouth closes around your nipple, tongue teasing, you arch with a broken moan. He hums in satisfaction. 

Eddie takes his time, like he’s making up for every second he wasted avoiding you. He maps your body with his mouth and hands, murmuring filthy-sweet things the whole time.

When he finally hooks his fingers in your panties and tugs them down, he actually curses under his breath at how wet you are. Two long fingers slide through your folds, circling your clit with devastating patience until your thighs start shaking.

“Eddie, please—”

“I got you.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, then looks up at you through those dark curls, eyes almost black with want.

He doesn’t tease for long. The first slow drag of his tongue has your back bowing off the bed. He groans like you’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm, two fingers curling inside you just right.

One of your hands fists in his hair; the other clutches at the patchwork quilt beneath you.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out his name in a broken whimper. He keeps going through it, gentling you down with soft licks until you’re trembling and oversensitive.

When he finally crawls back up, his mouth is shiny, pupils blown. You pull him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and reach between you to palm him through his jeans.

He hisses, hips jerking. “You sure?” he rasps, already sounding wrecked. You nod, helping him as he desperately tries to take his belt off. 

He hovers over you for a second, then smirks as he reaches to your shelf and turns Ferdinand around. “Look away, buddy,” he mumbles. 

He leans back into you, kissing you gently as he settles between your thighs. He braces one forearm beside your head and looks down at you, suddenly serious beneath the hunger.

“You sure?” he whispers. “We can slow down. I’ll wait as long as—”

You cut him off with a kiss and guide him to your entrance. “I want you. Now.”

He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. When he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep, just panting against your mouth.

“Fuck… you feel like heaven, baby.”

Then he starts moving, slow rolling thrusts that drag against that spot inside you with every stroke. Eddie’s mouth stays on yours, on your neck, on your chest, wherever he can reach. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head while he fucks you harder.

“Look at me,” he breathes. “Want to see you when you come again.” 

You do; staring into those big brown eyes while the pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He angles his hips just right, and you shatter around him with a sharp cry, clenching so hard he curses and follows right after, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and groans your name, followed by a couple of “fuuucks” for good measure. 

For a long minute, the only sound is your mingled breathing and Eddie’s rabbiting heart. Eddie collapses half on top of you, face tucked into your neck, arms wrapped around you like he never plans to let go. You’re both smiling in that dazed, exhausted kind of way, the kind that feels a little unreal.

Eddie presses one slow kiss against your shoulder. “You alive there, sweetheart?”

You giggle softly into your pillow. “Barely.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs smugly.

You snort immediately. “Don’t start.”

“I earned starting.”

“You are so annoying.”

“And yet,” Eddie says dramatically, motioning to the predicament the two of you are currently in. 

You laugh again, turning your head slightly, and then you notice it. Your tiny ceramic frog statue is still sitting on the bookshelf, facing the wall.

You go completely silent, Eddie noticing instantly. “What?”

Slowly, you point toward the shelf. Eddie follows your gaze and physically freezes.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Eddie immediately starts laughing. Not a cute laugh either, a full body, wheezing, face-in-your-neck laugh.

“I cannot believe you turned Ferdinand around!”

“He didn’t need to see all that!”

You burst into helpless laughter beneath him. “Eddie!”

“What?!” he says between laughs. “You said he had feelings!”

“He is ceramic!”

“Yeah, and he could have been a traumatized ceramic!”

You’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts now, trying to shove at his shoulder while he grins down at you completely unashamed. “I cannot believe you did that.”

“I was respecting the sanctity of your weird little frog son.”

“That is actually insane behavior.”

“Says the woman with an emotionally significant amphibian collection.”

You groan loudly into your hands while Eddie keeps laughing. Then suddenly, he pushes himself up just enough to glance toward the shelf again.

“…do you think he’s mad at me?”

You stare at him for half a second before dissolving all over again, while Eddie looks absolutely lovestruck watching you laugh beneath him.

:))

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@this-issam @ali-r3n

He uses the menthol shaving cream so you know he’s got it that cool, minty kind of smell.

The yo-yo is maybe the least surprising thing ever. It’s gotta be a borderline stim toy.

The PEPPER SHAKER 🤣 I know it pisses Wayne the hell off when he’s in the kitchen and can’t find the damn thing.

This spray is tuner cleaner for color tvs

I can’t find an exact match, but I think the other box is a foldable ice bag. Convenient for nursing injuries sustained by egging on jocks

Eddie could have sourced from one of the following,

Dungeons & Dragons Sourcebook Dragons of Deceit; September 1985

Dragonlance Calendar 1985, featured in the month of August