#Gem's Diner

[raye-sim]

first date -- truck stop pancakes.  amazing lot by @alerionjkeee

[fieriframes]

[It's like a little hidden gem in the neighborhood. Yeah. And a Minneapolis butcher... The past was finished; let the dead bury their dead. ...cranking out cold cuts minus the meat. I'm impressed. I'm trippin'.]

[solitaireships]

Forgot to post my new ship charts! Andromeda was made here, Sonia here

[inkykeiji]

omg clari i always forget that you’re canadian 😭 maybe it’s the american in me lol. are there any restaurants that are exclusively canadian that you enjoy?

OH HEHEHE yeah (*/ω＼*) there are!!! quite a few of them are independently owned tho so i’m not gonna mention those for safety reasons HAHA but if we’re talking restaurant chains i really love:

stacked pancake & breakfast house (!!!)

smokes poutinerie

beavertails!!!!! i’m not sure if they’ve reached u guys in the states yet but they’re sooo yummy omg 🤤🤤🤤

mr sub where literally everyone makes fun of me bcoz my order is just bread olives cheese lettuce n sub sauce but i don’t CARE it’s v yummy and something i ate a lot as a kid <3

pita pit which is a pain in the ASS to find but actually quite healthy

barBURRITO which is the only place i’ll ever get a burrito from when i’m out n about

[hertwood]

pointing at self in mirror: do not watch the diner video at 1am

[gayrui]

i DID get kanade though :) awesome :)

[thrilling-oneway]

Oh holiday really fucked up my cgo grinding big time I think I’ve only got 12 pulls

[luna-azzurra]

Grumpy & Sunshine First Date Ideas

Late-Night Diner, She insists on dragging him to a cozy diner at 1 a.m., and he grumbles about how it’s way too late for this. But once they’re sitting in a booth, laughing over greasy burgers and sharing milkshakes, he realizes he’s having way more fun than he thought. He won’t admit it, but he’s already thinking about when they can do this again.

Amusement Park, She convinces him to hit up the local amusement park, even though he hates roller coasters. He complains about the crowds, the noise, the lines, everything. But when she finally pulls him onto a ride, they end up holding hands as they scream through the loops. He tries to hide it, but he can’t help smiling when he sees how excited she is.

Bookstore Date, She takes him to her favorite little bookstore, the kind with creaky floors and shelves packed with hidden gems. They spend hours browsing, her happily pointing out her favorite books. Later, when she’s not looking, he secretly buys the book she couldn’t stop talking about and casually gives it to her like it’s no big deal. But the way her eyes light up? Yeah, it was worth it.

Movie Night at Home, She’s all about cheesy rom-coms, so she lines up a movie marathon of the cringiest, most over-the-top love stories. He groans and pretends to hate it, but as she cracks up at the ridiculous scenes, he finds himself laughing along too. By the end of the night, they’re both wrapped up in blankets, laughing way too hard at the terrible dialogue and he’s totally into it.

[k-hippie]

A BRAND NEW SIMS 3 WORLD : SHETLAND HARBOUR

And here we are ... At last :D

10 years ago, Rope crafted a remarkable world, inspired by Starlight Shores, and generously given away to the community : Brightwater.

We embraced this gift, transforming and reshaping it, creating an island to eliminate distant terrain, and thus, Shetland Harbour was born ...

While many creators have fashioned stunning Sims 3 worlds with a Northern charm—like Saaqartoq, Greymont Bay, Lillebror, or Plymouth Isles—ours, stands a little apart.

Shetland Harbour is a unique blend : a touch of Aurora Skies, a hint of Moonlight Falls, and a dash of the unfortunate Barnacle Bay, all interwoven with our own vision of course. It is a vast yet easily navigable world, balanced between lightness and richness, featuring nearly all the Rabbit Holes the game offers.

Our aim was to craft a cohesive and vibrant world, one that feels alive and contemporary, with harmonious architecture and a spirit that invites exploration and delight :)

Welcome to Shetland Harbour, a picturesque coastal town nestled between rolling green hills and a fantastic bay … It is a beautiful medium/large-sized world, a community nestled on its own secluded island, accessible only by ferry. The town is known for its charming cobblestone streets, a vibrant fish market, and a rich history dating back centuries, dotted with quaint cottages, a bustling coast, and a grand lighthouse standing guard at the harbor’s entrance ...

This hidden gem is a haven for sheep, but don't let that fool you – Shetland Harbour is far from a sleepy place. With its rich maritime history, the town offers a unique blend of tradition and vibrant local culture.

Designed to capture the essence of a northern European island, Shetland Harbour offers a self-contained community with 100 lots in total : 65 residential lots + 35 community lots. Each Lot ( except the Old Renovated Factory ) is fully furnished.

In addition, there are multiple sheep ( all by Murfeel ) fields here and there – the latter being especially dear to the local culture, a close-knit community, where the ocean's presence is always felt and the simplicity of rural life is celebrated.

Shetland Harbour combines a lively downtown with peaceful suburbs and serene neighborhoods, featuring quaint cottages, charming gardens, and scenic paths through lush greenery.

The town's historic churches, like Old Church, Albert Church or Lux Chapel, are steeped in tales of ancient rituals and ghostly apparitions ... Albert Church, built on a Druidic site, is haunted by druid spirits, while Lux Chapel is known for the ghost of a sailor, seen on stormy nights ...

The mysterious stone circle inside the Graveyard, Ghost Place, adds to the island's mystical allure. Rumored to be a portal to another realm, it activates during celestial alignments, with visitors reporting strange occurrences. Town elders speak of a prophecy foretelling the return of ancient spirits and the awakening of the island's mystical powers. Signs include a rare star alignment, the stone circle's awakening, and three chosen individuals with the island's ancient bloodline ...

• Harbor Bay : The central feature of Shetland Harbour is its expansive bay. The bay is a natural harbor with calm, crystal-clear waters, making it ideal for fishing and sailing. It is surrounded by gently sloping hills and cliffs that provide stunning vistas of the sea. The marina is bustling with fishing boats, sailboats, and yachts sometimes … It’s the hub of maritime activity, with a fish market ( aka Grocery Store ), boat repairs, and a sailing club ( aka Business and Journalism Center )

• Lighthouse District : Right beside the Harbour, stands the Lighthouse Point, this district features historical homes and buildings, including a Norman cottage, a strange Diner and higher into the Hills, a fantastic museum dedicated to the town’s maritime history and a recent Hospital ready to welcome all the citizens of Shetland Harbour :)

• Beaches : The Coastline is dotted with sandy beaches, perfect for beachcombing, picnics, and bonfires. These areas are popular spots for locals and tourists alike. And you may want building some Coastal Houses for your Sims which is possible almost all alongside the sea ;)

• Old Town : The heart of Shetland Harbour is the Old Town, characterized by cobblestone streets, historic buildings, and a charming town square. Shetland Harbour's downtown area is a kinda picturesque pedestrian square, and quaint paths perfect for leisurely strolls …The Old Town includes the Town Hall, the Old Toad, the Talking Dog, a Fish and Chips, and even a Geek Store, all of them under the shadow of one of the oldest shop of the Island : the Elixirium ...

• Rolling Hills : Surrounding the town are rolling green hills covered in wildflowers and dotted with grazing sheep. These hills are perfect for hiking and offer panoramic views of the town and the bay. Beware of the fog !

• Forests and Woodlands : To the north of the town are more dense forests and woodlands with waterfalls upstream of the river which separates part of the island. These areas are home to various wildlife and provide a natural retreat for the residents. There are several well-maintained trails for hiking and exploring :)

Come and explore Shetland Harbour all your content ... Whether you're building your dream home, running a local business, or simply soaking in the serene atmosphere, this unique town promises endless possibilities and a truly captivating experience ...

Download Shetland Harbour today and start your new adventure!

\o/

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

IMPORTANT : Before downloading Shetland Harbour !!!

Shetland Harbour contains custom content. As much as we try to include them into the world building process, we learned with time the necessity of providing a list those items. No worries, we used the same cc creators as usual and added 2 or 3 more. Such as the grey/dark roof we made, based on the terracotta roof of the game and the Wood walls you'll find on different lots, the same as the ones of Oaksoak Hollow ... Or more important, the boats used in the world and of course ... The sheeps ! All you need should be included and/or available down here ;)

1) the ANTS & CC :)

ANTS stand for Absolute Necessary Things & Stuff to enjoy Shetland Harbour :)

Download ANTS and CC ( both are needed to have all the right textures, the right look and feel of Shetland Harbour )

You will need too some of our Rabbit Holes

Not mandatory but nice : our 88 Patterns mostly brick, masonry, concrete and wood ;) A bit of fabric & paper too ...

ATTENTION : if you have played with one of our Worlds, you might see duplicate files. We try to use the same objects as much as possible. Of course, you don't have to install twice. Skip whatever you already have. We use Blams objects for some Sims 3 objects ... so if you already have those objects from any other means, just skip ;)

CREDITS & THANKS due to all the following creators :

ATS, Noir and Dark Sims, pitheinfinite, Brunnis-2, Blams, CycloneSue, HydrangeaChainsaw, Leroy157, Lisen801, Murfeele, Nilxis, PotatoBalladSims, Qahne, TheJim07, Mammut ( from BlackSimsZoo ) BlueCoco, BuffSumm, JomSims, Ladesire, Mutske

2) the Saved Games

They are in the same page than Shetland Harbour itself. You have the choice between Unpopulated and Half-populated. Whatever you choose, we always strongly advice with a save game ;) But as far we know, once we delivered a World, it is entirely up to you to begin a new adventure and make your own challenges with your own Sims :D

Download a save game

3) the Lots ( both residential & community )

Quite a bursting town, Shetland Harbour has 100 lots : 65 residential and 35 community and very important : many small sheep fields ( visitors not allowed com lots )

Download ALL the lots

Some lots are Maxis ones we modified, some lots are our own creations, and for the others, they come mostly from MTS ;) And we are very grateful to those creators who always offer a special flavor to our Worlds :)

CarlDillynson - Bellakenobi - Bast - MySimRealty - stonee206 - Norn - Cutbacks - Ferguson Avenue - SimplySimlish - hazelnutter100 - PolarBearSims - RubyRed2021 - CircusWolf - Moihi - Lasciel

Well, it is time for discovery now and you are ready for sure ! We wish you all the best, all the fun with your new life in Shetland Harbour !

Download Shetland Harbour World

PS : Shetland Harbour is a medium/large sized world of 88MB, and has been tested 1 week long on both Mac and Pc ;)

xoxo - blackgryffin

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part3!

multipart story! prev || next

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Charles sat on his couch, scrolling through his phone, his heart feeling unusually heavy. Camille was sitting next to him, engrossed in her own world. He had tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that something was missing, but it was becoming impossible to ignore.

"Hey, Camille," he said, trying to keep his voice light. "Do you want to watch that new movie tonight? The one with all the great reviews?"

Camille looked up, her expression indifferent. "Sure, I guess. But I was thinking we could go to that new club instead. It's supposed to be really exclusive."

Charles forced a smile. "Yeah, we can do that."

As Camille continued talking about the club, Charles' mind wandered to Y/N. He missed how effortlessly they used to hang out, how they didn't need to impress each other or go to fancy places to have a good time.

A memory flashed in his mind: he and Y/N, curled up on the couch, watching an old black-and-white movie. She had insisted on watching it because it was a classic, and he had reluctantly agreed. But by the end, he was hooked, and they had spent hours discussing the film’s nuances.

"Y/N, how do you always find these hidden gems?" he had asked, genuinely impressed.

She had laughed, her eyes sparkling. "It’s all about the story, Charlie. You just have to give it a chance."

He glanced at Camille, who was now talking about which outfit she should wear to the club. He tried to engage, but his heart wasn’t in it. He missed Y/N's spontaneous adventures, the way she always made the simplest moments feel extraordinary.

Another memory surfaced: their late-night drives with the windows down, singing along to their favorite songs at the top of their lungs. They never needed a destination; the journey itself was the adventure.

"Remember that time we got lost and ended up at that little diner?" he had said to Y/N, laughing.

Y/N had grinned. "Best pancakes ever. Totally worth it."

Charles sighed, feeling a pang of longing. He looked at Camille, who was now busy on her phone, and he felt a sharp contrast. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

Later that evening, as they were getting ready to go out, Charles' phone buzzed. He glanced at it, hoping it was Y/N, but it was just a notification. He realized he hadn’t heard from her in days. The absence was like a void, growing wider and more painful.

"Camille, have you noticed that Y/N hasn’t been around much?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Camille shrugged, not looking up from her mirror. "Maybe she’s just busy. People get busy, Charles."

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, but his heart wasn’t convinced.

He remembered the countless times Y/N had dropped everything to be there for him, whether it was to celebrate a victory or console him after a loss. Her presence had been a constant in his life, a source of comfort and understanding that he now realized he had taken for granted.

"Do you want to invite her tonight?" Camille asked, her tone slightly annoyed.

Charles shook his head. "No, it’s okay."

As they arrived at the club, the noise and the crowd felt overwhelming. Charles found himself wishing he was anywhere else, preferably in a quiet corner with Y/N, sharing a deep conversation or a comfortable silence.

He excused himself and stepped outside, needing some fresh air. The night was cool, and he leaned against the wall, pulling out his phone again. He stared at Y/N’s contact, his thumb hovering over the call button.

Another memory hit him: the time Y/N had sensed he was feeling down and showed up at his door with his favorite ice cream and a goofy movie to cheer him up.

"You know me too well," he had said, his heart warming at her thoughtfulness.

"That’s what best friends are for," she had replied with a wink.

Charles sighed, feeling a deep ache in his chest. He missed her so much it hurt. He realized that Camille didn’t understand him the way Y/N did, and he felt a growing sense of frustration and loneliness.

When he returned to Camille, she was dancing with a group of friends. She waved him over, but he hesitated. The distance between them felt insurmountable, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental was missing.

That night, as he lay in bed, his thoughts were consumed by Y/N. He knew he had to do something, but he didn’t know what. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when his heart was screaming for the one person who had always been there for him.

And with that, he made a decision. He would talk to Y/N, find out what was going on, and try to fix whatever had gone wrong. Because losing her completely was something he couldn’t bear to face.

taglist : @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @f1fantasys @aundercover @ohthemisssery @ggaslyp1 @hadids-world @matcha---matcha @f1luvrur @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @timmychalametsstuff @janeh22 @ironmaiden1313

[big-snack]

Porcus Isle Part I

Dom had always been larger than life. Standing at an impressive 6'5" and built like a linebacker, he was the kind of guy who turned heads wherever he went. But beyond his imposing physique, Dom was known for his easy-going nature and infectious smile.

Dom worked at a tech company downtown, San Diego, often putting in long hours. Despite his demanding job, he always found time for his true passion: exploring the vibrant food scene in San Diego. From taco trucks in Barrio Logan to high-end restaurants in La Jolla, Dom's weekends were filled with culinary adventures, always in search of the next great bite.

But Dom's favorite place was a small, unassuming diner near the beach. It was there, over a stack of pancakes and a steaming cup of coffee, that he found a sense of peace. The diner was a hidden gem, known only to a few locals, and Dom had been coming there since he moved to Socal. The owner, Jack, greeted him like family, and the regulars always had a seat ready for him. The whole diner was run by and frequented by big men. Dom felt right at home with these guys.

One sunny Saturday morning, as Dom was savoring his breakfast, a new face walked into the diner. He was a tall, built man with sharp features and immense confidence. He took a seat at the counter, glancing around the diner as if taking it all in. Like he was appreciating all the men. "Hey stud, you find what you're lookin' for?" Jack asked...

Intrigued, Dom decided to introduce himself.

"Hey there, first time here?" Dom asked, flashing his friendly smile.

The man looked up, meeting Dom's gaze with a curious look. "Yeah, just moved to San Diego a few weeks ago. Name's Alex," he replied, extending his hand.

"Welcome to the best diner in town, Alex. I'm Dom," he said, shaking Alex's hand firmly. "What brings you to San Diego?"

Alex chuckled. "A bit of everything, really. New job, new city, looking for a fresh start. I'm a software engineer."

Dom's eyes lit up. "No kidding! I'm in tech too. It's a great field, but it can be pretty demanding. This diner is my escape from all that stress."

As they talked, Dom and Alex found they had more in common than just their profession. They shared a love for video games and a passion for good food. Dom offered to show Alex around the city's best eateries, and Alex eagerly accepted.

Their friendship grew quickly, and soon, weekends were spent exploring San Diego's food scene together. Whether it was sampling street tacos, enjoying a craft beer at a local brewery, or having a quiet meal at the diner, Dom and Alex's bond became a craving for both men.

One evening, after a particularly grueling week at work, Dom and Alex decided to unwind at a new barbecue joint that had just opened in North Park. The restaurant was buzzing with energy, the scent of smoked meats wafting through the air.

As they dug into a platter of ribs and brisket, Dom looked at Alex and asked, "So, how's the new job treating you?"

Alex wiped his hands on a napkin, leaning back in his chair. "It's been challenging, but in a good way. The team's great, and the projects are interesting. It’s just... sometimes I miss having a bit more of a work-life balance."

Dom nodded. "I hear you. That’s why it’s important to have nights like this, to just relax and enjoy good company and good food."

Alex smiled. "Speaking of good company, thanks for showing me around, Dom. Moving to a new city can be pretty overwhelming, but you've made it feel like home.", "Anytime, man" Dom replied, raising his glass.

As the night wore on, their conversation shifted to their mutual love for video games. Alex mentioned an upcoming release he was excited about, and Dom suggested they set up a game night. This became the perfect way to unwind after eating out.

One evening, after a particularly intense gaming session and drinks, Dom and Alex found themselves talking about their interests. Alex expressed his admiration for Dom's physique and said he's looking to join a gym. "All this eating is starting to fill me out." Alex jiggled his belly. Dom's eyes darted to his bloated stomach. "Damn man. I didn't even realize." Dom was stupified.

He had always been focused on his own weight, but he hadn't noticed the changes in Alex.

"Yeah, it's been creeping up on me," Alex admitted, a bit embarrassed. "I've been so caught up in work and our food adventures that I haven't made time for the gym. Do you think you could help me out?"

Dom smiled, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect. "Of course! I'd love to help you. Dom had no idea why the thought of Alex's weight gain turned him on.

That night in his dark room. He thought about that moment. His belly jiggled like it was no longer a part of him. There was no visibility of his ribs. His arms filled out his shirt sleeves more. His face softened up. Dom had never masterbated to a guy before. He stopped for a second to think about it.

It was late. He was alone. No one could judge him if he stared to look up what he was fantasizing about. He pulled up Google and started with image searches. 'Fat belly': 'fat belly guy'; 'beer belly'; 'beer belly men'.

That night he spent a few hours looking at fat guys. The bellies started small, but the longer he searched the bigger they got. He glanced at a picture of a man 600 pounds. His belly was covering his lap in bed. Every single ounce of his body jiggled from the slightest shallow breath from being overstuffed. The guy leaned back on his bed and his head disappeared. The big bulbous crescent shape stood at least 4 feet high; he imagined.

Dom hit his climax and started to cum. His body filled with chills, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "I need to see this in person" he screamed and then he slumped back in his seat. He had some clarity and was worried about what he'd just done. "Why the hell did I do that?"

The next day he saw Alex at the diner, for brunch, and had a new appreciation for his body. "You know, after you mentioned it, I thought more about your physique." Dom shared. "Oh really? What is it you appreciate?" Alex said flirtatiously. "Um, well, I mean you're pretty beefy. That's a popular body type." He said nervously. "Beefy implies that I've been working out. I'm all jello, buddy."

The entire restaurant is quieter than normal. Dom didn't notice, but all the men in the diner were listening.

Dom could feel a twitch in his pants. "Ugh, shit, not this again." Alex was blushing. Dom was intently looking at Alex's body well beyond what was normal. "Something tells me you like it." He said with a smirk.

Dom smiled nervously. "I mean, you could say I appreciate the way you look." Dom was getting hot. "I need to use the restroom" Dom said. "Perfect, I'll go with you" Alex responded. Dom struggled to stand up straight.

They walked to the bathroom. "I feel like we're both flustered." Alex said. "Oh yeah, I guess it pretty obvious. I'm not sure what's going on lately", Dom replied.

Instantly and without hesitation the locked bodies and started making out. Dom's hands caressed Alex's newly sprouted love handles. Alex pulls back from Dom's lips and whispers, "You did this to me."

The door handle turns and someone walks in. They separate and the man said, "Are you that clueless, Dominick? We have all been dropping you hints for a while now.

"Is this like a chubby chaser establishment?"

The man responds "You mean the diner between a bear bar and a leather shop? Of course that's what it is. We managed to get you to gain 20 pounds man."

"Holy shit!" Dom exclaimed. "No wonder I love this place. Fat men make me horny. I can't believe I just said that out loud." Panic washed over him. "It's ok Dom. Nothing has changed." Alex reassured him.

"You were a part of this?" Dom questioned.

"Not really, you spoke to me first. I was coming here because I knew what I wanted. It took me a while to realize you had no idea what was going on. I thought you were playing hard to get" 

"Dude I just found out I might be gay, I don't have the bandwidth to come to terms with a fetish."

"Great tech pun" Alex replied.

They both started laughing. When Dom rejoined the room it was like he was seeing it all for the first time.  Some men had their large sack of flesh bulging out of their shirts.

"All right you guys. Dom knows what's going on." Alex announced.

That day was the moment Dom knew that Alex was the one.

---

The next part flashes forward

[cedarmoonzz]

Are you planning on writing a part 3 of between the bars????? <3 love uuuu

slow like honey ꪆৎ ˚⋅

continuation of: between the bars and once more to see you

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

content: angst, making out, doomed relationship, mentions of sex, hurt/comfort

summary: unbeknownst to either of you, you both spend your final night together with stanford

Every anniversary for the past six years, without fail, you and Ford would go out to dinner. The tradition had started rather spontaneously. On your first anniversary, you had decided to forgo the usual gifts and opt for something more experiential. You chose a cozy little bistro near campus that served the most delectable pasta you’d ever tasted. The evening was simple yet perfect—filled with laughter, deep conversations, and the realization that you were embarking on something special.

Over the years, these dinners had become a touchstone. From greasy diners to hidden gems tucked away in the neighborhoods of Gravity Falls, each venue added a new layer to your shared story. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t expect Stanford to ask you out to dinner this time around. The routine felt like it might be breaking, perhaps due to the distance that had grown between you two. Yet, a small part of you held onto the hope that he would make the effort, just as he had every other year.

You stood before the scratched mirror in your bathroom, shifting your weight from foot to foot, the floorboards creaking beneath you. Your reflection stared back with a blend of uncertainty and anxiety, eyes flickering with the weight of the evening ahead. Ford should be coming up from the basement at any moment, and the thought sent another wave of nervous anticipation through you. You had dressed carefully for the occasion—your anniversary dinner—a night that demanded a touch of elegance. Clad in an outfit you had painstakingly pieced together from the second-hand shop by Greasy’s Diner, you hoped the thrifted treasures would suffice.

Boom.

You shut your eyes in frustration, the irritation gnawing at you as another tremor surged through the house. It was as if the very walls quaked in response to whatever Stanford was working on down there, deep in the basement. You could feel the reverberation in your bones, each crash and clatter below resonating up through the floors, making your knees tremble with the force of it. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was an intrusion, a relentless reminder of the chaos that constantly simmered beneath the surface of your life. You were tired of it, tired of feeling every impact three floors above, tired of the way the vibrations seemed to seep into your very being, leaving you on edge, unable to find peace even in your own home.

"Love is patient, love is kind," you mumbled to yourself, the words slipping from your lips like a mantra. You weren’t a religious person—never had been—but there was something about those words that clung to you in moments like this, offering a fragile thread of comfort. As the tremors from Stanford’s work below rumbled through the house, you shut your eyes in annoyance, your eyebrows scrunched up in frustration. Your fingers pressed against your temples, trying to steady the rising tide of irritation.

Boom.

You clenched your teeth at the second jarring crash, a sharp, involuntary reaction that echoed your mounting frustration. "It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud," you muttered, the words barely discernible through the tight grip of your molars, which ground together with an almost rhythmic intensity. The verses, typically a soothing balm, now slipped past your clenched teeth in a strained whisper as you furrowed your brows with even greater force. Your forehead creased into a landscape of deepening furrows, each thud from the basement resonating through your body like a series of small, electric shocks.

You pressed your palms firmly against your eyes, the warmth of your skin meeting the cool, smooth surface of your hands. Your fingers dug into the delicate flesh of your temples, as if seeking to erase the persistent, intrusive thuds from your mind. You leaned back and forth on your heels, the movement gentle yet rhythmic, like a pendulum swinging in a futile effort to find balance amidst the storm. The persistent tremors reverberated through your body, amplifying the agitation that simmered just beneath the surface, leaving you to cling desperately to the fleeting moments of calm you could muster.

"It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered—" The verse was abruptly cut off by a thunderous Boom from the basement. You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Oh, fuck this!" you erupted, the words a raw release against the relentless din that had finally broken your patience.

“Ford!” you bellowed, your voice a raw, resonant cry of frustration that seemed to pierce the very air. With a furious swipe, you raked your fingers through your disheveled hair, the movement almost violent in its intensity. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you with a thunderous bang, the sound reverberating through the quiet cabin like an explosion of pent-up anger. You stormed down the stairs to the first floor, each footfall a heavy, defiant punctuation to your mounting rage. The rhythmic, thunderous stomp of your steps matched the pounding fury in your chest, each stride an urgent testament to your exasperation with the relentless, disruptive noise. "You better be ready down there!"

You slammed your palm against the wall of the hallway, the rusty button of the elevator beneath your hand giving way under the forceful impact. The metal creaked and groaned as it sank slightly, a stark reminder of your mounting frustration. The wall seemed to reverberate with the intensity of your outburst, the weight of your anger pressing down on every crevice and corner.

“Screw this! Screw his stupid portal, his idiotic rules, and screw him!" you fumed, a snarl curling your lips as you impatiently waited for the elevator doors to open. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you—here you were, standing before the very elevator you had designed and built, now reduced to a mere gatekeeper to the "forbidden" basement below. The last time you had descended to that enigmatic lower level felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories flooded back as if it were yesterday. Back then, you hadn’t known that this creation of yours, this marvel of engineering, would one day become a barrier, a symbol of the very authority you now found yourself defying.

The whirring of the elevator mechanisms was almost taunting, each second stretching out as your frustration grew. But beneath that anger, a spark of anticipation flickered—this wasn’t just a return to a place you once knew; it was a challenge to the very constraints you had helped put in place.

As the doors finally slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Instead of the dim, empty hallway you expected, you were met with the imposing figure of Stanford. His presence filled the small space, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was no escape now, no turning back—the gatekeeper wasn’t the elevator after all. It was him.

You pause, breath catching in your throat, as you take him in. Ford’s usual ensemble of a white button-down, tie, slacks, and lab coat has been cast aside in favor of a more commanding and intimate appearance. The white button-down remains, a familiar anchor in this transformation, yet the sterile lab coat has been replaced by a tailored black blazer. The fabric clings to his frame with a sensuous precision, tracing the contours of his shoulders and tapering around his midsection, creating a figure that seems both powerful and inviting, a magnet for the eyes. His shirt, once meticulously buttoned to the collar, now betrays a more relaxed demeanor. The top buttons are left undone, exposing a sliver of skin that hints at the warmth beneath, while his red tie, no longer neatly knotted, hangs loosely around his neck. It rests on his chest with a kind of deliberate carelessness, the bold color contrasting against the pale fabric, drawing your gaze.

His brown hair is tousled, strands falling just out of place, as if touched by the wind—or more likely, the consequence of his own distracted hands. This subtle disarray only adds to the intimacy of his appearance, a sign of his vulnerability beneath the polished exterior, inviting those who see him to look closer, to wonder what thoughts lie beneath the surface.

But it's not just his appearance that tells a story. His face is flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, as if he’s been caught off guard, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He stands in the elevator, holding a bouquet of flowers, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetic intensity. There’s an urgency in the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that betrays a rush of emotion barely held in check. The sight of him like this—disheveled, out of breath, yet so achingly poised with that bouquet in hand— almost makes you laugh.

“[Y/n],” he says, still out of breath, his voice carrying a hushed intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. He extends the flowers towards you, his eyes skimming down your figure with an unmistakable admiration. "You... You look very beautiful." The words tumble out, raw and unguarded, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to commit every detail to memory. There's a vulnerability in his expression, a softness that contrasts with his usual composed demeanor.

The image of Ford standing in the elevator is a stark reminder of your first date all those years ago. You recall a younger Ford, clad in a sweater and slacks, nervously thrusting a bouquet of carefully wrapped lillies towards you as he stood at the foot of your apartment door. His face was as red as the blooms he held, a mixture of anticipation and awkward charm that made your heart flutter then, just as it does now.

Despite the passage of time, Ford remains fundamentally unchanged. You met nearly eight years ago, when you were both twenty years old, grouped together in an Advanced Quantum Dimensional Physics course on a project. Back then, his boyish charm was evident in every nervous smile and every hesitant gesture. Now, even beneath the weight of work and the stress that comes with it, that same charm endures.

"Thank you, Ford," you say, taking the bouquet with a soft smile. "What’s with all the noise? I was about to go down to the basement and beat your ass." Your tone blends relief with playful annoyance, adding a touch of levity to the otherwise tender moment.

Ford’s eyebrows raise, and he snaps out of his thoughts, his face flushing as he tears his eyes away from your form. He gives a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed by the chaos he’s caused. "Oh! Yes, my apologies. I was, um, looking for my car keys. And I seem to have knocked down a grand total of... three destabilizers? Maybe two particle accelerators.”

"Five pieces of high-tech machinery and we still can't afford a new dishwasher?" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him. Your tone is light, but there's a hint of exasperation mixed with amusement as you look at the mess.

“These are necessary purchases, my dear!” he huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the elevator with a charmingly disheveled grace. He extends his forearm toward you, a gesture both gallant and inviting. “Are you ready to go? Our reservation should be starting soon.” His playful grin and the warmth of his gesture make it clear that he’s eager to move past the chaos and enjoy the evening with you.

You take his arm, linking it with your own as you grin up at him. “As long as you agree to order a bottle of Cabernet for the table, I’m ready to leave when you are.” The easy familiarity of the gesture tugs at a longing inside you, a reminder of the effortless closeness you once shared. Lately, things have been strained between the two of you, and you’ve found yourself ruefully returning to your smoking habit in secret, having learned your lesson from the last time Ford caught you. You wonder if he can smell the smoke on your breath, if the scent lingers in your hair despite the deep conditioning you just underwent. The memory of smoking with a grocery bag tied over your head just two hours prior while re-reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar for the fifth time that year brings a pang of regret. You can’t help but feel a tinge of anxiety about whether this secret, this small escape, is detectable to the one person whose opinion matters most.

“Let’s make that two bottles, love,” Ford says with a smile that highlights the bags under his eyes. They’ve deepened, you notice, but he’s still impossibly handsome to you.

The car ride to the restaurant was enveloped in a serene silence, punctuated only by the soft strains of Fleetwood Mac’s newest single emanating from the 8-track tape you had insisted on playing. As the car glided through the wintry landscape, the world outside was a wintery tableau of stillness and quiet beauty. The darkness of the evening, settling in at 7 p.m., cast a soft, muted glow over the landscape. The trees, tall and skeletal, stood cloaked in a delicate blanket of snow, their branches heavy and laden with white. The ground beneath them was similarly covered, the snow pristine and unblemished, save for the occasional delicate track of a nocturnal creature.

The snowy expanse reflected the faint, ambient light of the car’s headlights, creating a shimmering, ethereal quality that danced across the landscape. The quiet was profound, only occasionally interrupted by the gentle crunch of tires over snow or the faint rustling of branches. The scene outside was serene and almost magical, a winter wonderland wrapped in a velvety cloak of darkness, enhancing the feeling of calm and intimacy within the car.

Stanford’s hand rests on your thigh, his left hand gripping the steering wheel while his right palm lies flat but carries a faint tension, as if it’s holding back something unspoken. It’s been two weeks since the night you shared in the snow and a month since his fallout with Fiddleford. Life has settled into a rhythm that feels both familiar and strained.

Despite his efforts to show his love—choosing to spend more nights with you rather than immersing himself in work on the portal—there’s an unmistakable edge to his presence. His hand, warm against your skin, still carries a subtle rigidity, a reminder of the underlying unease between you. His gazes linger longer than usual, and you’ve felt him study you with a mix of affection and concern. His eyes always narrow, as if trying to decipher something elusive about you.

Lost in the whirl of your thoughts, you’re only dimly aware as Stanford navigates the car to your destination. The vehicle glides into a snug parking space near the restaurant—the only refined dining spot in Gravity Falls, a testament to its understated elegance. The night’s darkness casts a soft glow on the restaurant’s exterior, hinting at the warmth and sophistication within.

Stanford’s deft hands turn the keys in the ignition, the engine’s hum fading into silence with a satisfying click. As the car stills, he turns to face you, his expression a blend of eagerness and intimacy. His gaze lingers on you, soft yet intense.

"I want to speak to you about something," he begins, his voice breaking through the silence left in the wake of Stevie Nicks’ fading melody. The suddenness of his words contrasts with the stillness in the car, his tone carrying a weight that pulls your attention fully to him.

Suddenly, your seatbelt feels constricting, as if it’s tightening around you, making it difficult to breathe. The air seems to thin as you take in his gaze, the intensity of his eyes pinning you in place, filling the space between you with a palpable tension. "About?"

Stanford reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt, the click of the release sounding louder in the quiet car. He turns toward you fully, his body shifting to close the distance. You instinctively move to do the same, freeing yourself from the confines of your own seatbelt, now facing him without any barriers between you. His eyes meet yours with a mixture of resolve and vulnerability as he speaks, "About what you asked me. If I'm... still in love with you." The words hang heavy in the air, the gravity of the moment pressing down on you both.

You say nothing, your breath catching as you stare into his eyes, feeling yours widen in surprise. The weight of his words settles over you, and your gaze falters, drifting down to your hands as they instinctively wring together in your lap. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, as you wait for him to speak, your heart pounding in the quiet space between you.

"[Y/n]," he mutters softly, but you don’t respond, your thoughts too tangled to form words. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek in his palm, urging you to meet his eyes. "There is no one else on this earth who I love more than you." His voice is earnest, but as you look at him, you can’t help but notice how much older he seems—the streetlight streaming through the windshield casting harsh shadows that emphasize the worried wrinkles and dark circles beneath his eyes. "It pains me that you think otherwise," he continues, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, his expression a blend of sorrow and love.

"And I know that this... project of mine has formed a rift between the two of us," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. His hand stays on your cheek, the warmth of his touch at odds with the cold truth in his words. "I’ve been cruel to you—cold. None of it would be possible without you. I just... wanted to inform you that I am in the process of dismantling the portal.”

His confession hangs in the air, a quiet revelation that sends a wave of shock through you. The project that consumed him, the very thing that had driven a wedge between you, was now being taken apart. His eyes search yours, seeking understanding, forgiveness, something that might ease the burden he’s carried alone for too long.

“Stanley is coming tomorrow to help me put an end to this blasted mess I've created," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud makes them more real. The mention of Stanley, his estranged brother, only deepens the weight of his confession. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, a mix of relief and fear, etched deeply into his features. His expression is fraught with worry and trepidation, as if the enormity of what he’s undertaking has finally caught up with him. His hand remains steady on your cheek, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you haven’t seen in a long time—a silent plea for your support and understanding as he faces this daunting task.

He looks worried, more scared than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a tremor in his eyes and a depth to his expression that speaks of hidden fears. You know him better than you know yourself, and it’s clear to you that he’s concealing something. The anxiety etched into his features, the hesitation in his voice—it all points to a deeper truth he’s not yet revealing. The sense of something left unsaid lingers between you, an unspoken tension that underscores the gravity of his confession.

"Oh, screw it," you think, your heart swelling with joy despite the unspoken tension. You’re too overwhelmed with happiness to let the hidden fears or unspoken truths weigh you down. A radiant smile spreads across your face, transforming your expression into a broad, irrepressible grin. Leaning into his palm, you let the warmth of the moment wash over you. "No more late nights in the basement?" you ask, your voice light, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted. The joy in your tone contrasts with the earlier seriousness, cutting through the atmosphere like a breath of fresh air, and you bask in the simple, unadulterated relief of the news.

"No more late nights in the basement," he repeats, his voice carrying a note of relief as he takes in your smile. The tension seems to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a softer, more hopeful expression. "I also wanted to ask you something else," he continues, his gaze shifting to meet yours with a mix of earnestness and anticipation.

Your eyes widen just a fraction more as you absorb his words, a thrill of anticipation sparking within you. "What else?”

Ford’s face suddenly flushes a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably, moving his hand from your cheek to tug nervously at the collar of his button-down. “I was, uh, thinking,” he begins, his voice wavering slightly, “Maybe, once this is all over, of course, maybe we can start preparations for the… for the wedding.” The words stumble out of him, each one laden with a mixture of hope and trepidation. The vulnerability in his gaze contrasts with the warmth of his earlier demeanor, as he waits for your reaction to his tentative forwardness.

You’re convinced you’ve never been more ecstatic to hear this man’s voice in your life. A joyous giggle bursts from your throat, escaping before you can even catch it. The realization that your endearing, slightly clueless fiancé will finally become your husband sends a wave of elation through you. Your heart is practically dancing with delight, overwhelmed by the sheer excitement and happiness. The world around you seems to shimmer with a new, vibrant energy, and every thought and worry melts away, leaving only the radiant joy of this moment.

Without a second thought, you practically leap from your seat into his arms. The car’s interior transforms into a haven of warmth and affection as you envelop Stanford in a cascade of kisses. His face, already flushed from his earlier nervousness, now lights up with genuine laughter, the sound rich and full, reverberating through the confined space. His arms come around you with a comforting firmness.

"Yes! Fucking finally, yes, Ford!" you laugh, your voice trembling with the sheer joy of the moment. Your hands cradle his face with a tenderness that feels almost sacred as you lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and the kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of exhilaration and relief that seems to transcend all the struggles you’ve faced. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer against him, fully settling you onto his lap. The lack of the car's heater does little to bother you as you nuzzle your face into Ford’s neck, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

Stanford laughs softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rubs your back soothingly. "Y/n, darling, we're going to miss our reservation," he murmurs with a gentle chuckle. The sound of his laughter reverberates through his chest, adding a comforting rhythm to the moment.

You pull away from the crook of his neck, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Stanford’s hair is now a delightful mess from when you ran your fingers through it moments prior, with rebellious strands splaying out in charming disarray. The collar of his white button-down, once meticulously aligned, now tilts at an angle, as though in a state of blissful disarray. The black blazer, once a paragon of tailored precision, is now creased and rumpled from your shared embrace, the fabric bearing the intimate marks of your contact.

His red tie, previously a picture of neatness, now drapes at a rakish angle, adding an alluring quality to his look. The flush on his cheeks, deepened by the kiss, contrasts vividly with his slightly tousled appearance, while a faint, tender smudge of lipstick lingers at the corner of his lips. You gaze at him, overwhelmed by the fierce surge of love you feel. Despite the messiness, there’s an undeniable intimacy in his appearance, a tangible trace of the passionate moment you shared, making him look both endearing and irresistibly human.

“Forget the reservation,” you say in one breath, your voice breathless and urgent as you surge forward to capture his lips with yours once more. The words barely escape before your lips meet his, and the world outside melts away, leaving only the heated, intoxicating connection between you.

It didn’t last, the kiss. It was intense but fleeting, a fervent moment before Stanford gently pulled away, taking your hands in his. He lifted them to his face, pressing tender kisses to your fingers, to your palms. His expression was a heady mix of adoration and intoxication.

You couldn’t recall ever feeling so radiant, so utterly cherished.

“You are an absolute vision, my love,” Stanford murmured, his voice a soft reverence against the inside of your wrist. He kissed the delicate delta of veins there, his lips tracing a path to the center of your palm, each kiss a silent testament to his deep affection. “You look stunning, incredible—breathtaking. [Y/n], these past few months have been a torment without you by my side. Nothing has made me feel so alive as I do now, looking at you.” He laughed softly, a sound of pure joy, and pressed your hand to his chest. “Do you feel that? My heart is pounding.”

Miraculously, even through the layers of fabric, you could feel the thunderous beat of his heart. He wasn’t exaggerating; his pulse was racing. You took his hand and guided it to your chest, so he could feel your own heart racing in sync with his.

“Look at you,” you said, breathless and beaming. “Dashing, roguishly handsome in your suit. How am I going to keep my hands off you tonight?”

Stanford’s cheeks flushed so deeply that his blush was visible even in the dim light of the car. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his voice was strained with longing as he replied, “Then don’t. Keep them off me, I mean,” he said, leaning closer, his mouth moving toward yours. “Hold me, touch me however you like…”

The temptation was almost unbearable. Dinner seemed a trivial pursuit compared to the desire to peel him out of his suit, to undress him slowly and explore every inch of his body. It had been far too long.

You leaned in, placing a tender kiss on his cheek before brushing your lips against his ear. “Maybe we should go back home first,” you suggested, pulling back and beginning to disentangle yourself from his embrace.

“That's not a bad idea,” Stanford says, his voice steadier now, though his cheeks still carry a hint of the earlier flush. He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, which had been askew from your earlier embrace. “We can order takeout for dinner. Although,” he adds with a playful glint in his eye, “I must admit, I find something else much more appetizing.”

[fieriframes]

[Gemmed.]

[strangermarvelss]

all of the girls you loved before- e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: the one where eddie runs into his first love, leaving you to question your relationship in the aftermath. loosely based on the taylor swift song with the same title.

Warnings: angst, crying, jealousy, insecurity, eddie being rude unintentionally, cursing, pda (gross), eddie and reader are a few years out of high school, fluff, happy ending

Word Count: 4.8k

Request?: No

A/N: hello again everyone, its been a minute! since i’ve been gone, i’ve entered my swiftie era (not like crazy obsessed but def a fan of the music) and this gem of a song dropped and plucked some inspiration from me, so here is a new one shot for you all! enjoy! -sava

The haze within the hot open room of the Hideout was starting to dissipate, the crowd exiting the venue one by one as the band you’ve been cheering on from your spot at the bar begins clearing the stage of their equipment. The ringing in your ears has yet to go away, getting so lost in the metal music that you didn’t care if it would bite you in the ass at work tomorrow, you’d find a way to take customers orders at the diner, even if they had to scream in order for you to understand. 

You found yourself sitting at the same spot at the Hideout every Tuesday night to cheer your boyfriend and his band members on. Within the years since graduating high school, the town you called home started coming around to the type of music your boyfriend played, despite ridiculing him for years prior to their own revelations. With the new popularity, Tuesday nights at the Hideout have gone from 5 drunks sitting in the back to almost a packed house every week, begging for encores and autographs at the end of each show. It made you happy seeing your boyfriend celebrated in such a way, having been there for him in his lowest points when the tables were turned. Now you bask in his glory like never before, cheering him on alongside the rest of the town.

Paying your tab, you begin walking towards the back stage area when you see a tall lanky man with long luscious curls make his way over to you, his smile wide as his signature dimples poked into the sides of his cheeks. He extends his arms wide, not caring if he gets in anyones way as he greets you. Taking off in a run, you launch yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he catches you, hands making contact with your ass in a not-so-subtle way. You pull away and look at him momentarily before pressing your lips to his.

You take in his scent as your mouths move together as one, the sweaty smell that was no match for masking with his cheap cologne filling your nostrils, but you didn’t mind one bit. You part away from his lips, looking at the deep chocolate irises that you love seeing on a daily basis before running a hand through his sweaty mop of curls. He sets you down and plays with his bangs, moving them to the side as they desperately try to cling to his damp forehead.

“You guys killed it tonight,” you tell him, pulling him in for another hug. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side and twisting his upper body and leaning down to press a kiss to your hair before flashing a closed mouth smile at you.

“Couldn’t have done it without my number one fan,” he says, cupping your cheek with his large calloused hand and placing yet another kiss to your body, this time directed at your forehead.

“So I was thinking that maybe tonight we go back to my apartment and watch some movies? I know we usually go bother my coworkers at the diner after your show but I kind of just want some you and me time,” you tell him with a smile.

“That sounds even better than going to the diner. I bet you’ve already picked out a selection of movies.” “You know me so well. I rented Halloween, Nightmare on Elm St-“

“Eddie? Eddie Munson?” a feminine voice calls out from behind you. You and Eddie turn around, watching a slim figure approach you with a bashful look plastered on her face. As she got closer, you noticed she was wearing a short black leather skirt and a bright pink top, barely leaving anything to the imagination with the amount of cleavage she was showing. Her hair was long and straight, looking silky to the touch as her skin glowed under the colorful stage lights that were still on. Who the hell is this, and how did she know Eddie?

Eddie squints his eyes as she approaches the two of you, his face relaxing and the smile growing wider than you’ve ever seen it when he finally makes out her features. You won’t deny the twinge you feel in your chest as you watch him drop your hand and give the mysterious woman a big embrace, bigger than the one he gave you moments ago.

“Holy shit! How are you? I haven’t seen you in forever,” Eddie exclaims, breaking away and tucking his hands under his armpits.

“M’good! Just finished up college not too long ago so I came back to Hawkins while I search for something a little more permanent,” she tells him, her timid demeanor going out the window as you watch the two grow comfortable with one another. “I see things at the Hideout have changed since we went to high school not too long ago.”

“Yeah, they sure have,” Eddie chuckles, kicking one of his feet out as he looks down. “Looks like the people in this shit town have finally come around when it comes to listening to good music.”

As you watch the interactions from person to person unfold in front of you, you feel the familiar tickle in your nose begin, hoping and praying that you won’t be noticeable if you aren’t able to get rid of the impending sneeze.

“Achoo!” You exclaim, bending down and hiding your nose in the crook of your elbow, silently yelling at yourself when you watch both pairs of eyes land on you.

“Bless you,” the mystery woman says with a smile. You nod, taking a step forward to try and join in on the conversation.

“Thank you,” you tell her, extending your hand. “I’m Y/N by the way, Eddie’s girlfriend.”

You watch Eddie nod as she takes your hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m Heather.”

Suddenly you feel your brain catching up with the rest of the world, clicking into place once the name leaves her mouth. This was the Heather you’d heard so much about from Eddie’s friends. The same Heather that just so happened to be his first love, capturing his heart in ways you wish you could’ve done yourself. If only you’d moved to Hawkins earlier in your high school career compared to your senior year, a.k.a Eddie’s second attempt at being a senior. 

The members of the Hellfire Club gave you all the details that you needed to know about Heather: that she was Eddie’s first everything. First date, first love, first time, and eventually, his first heartbreak. The two were smitten with one another when no one else wanted to look Eddie’s way, with all the judgy classmates questioning why they were together in the first place. They didn’t see Eddie for who he truly was, they only ever judged him based on his outer appearance. The same goes for Heather: everyone always questioned why someone as hot as her would settle for someone like Eddie, which always made you upset to hear.

“It’s really nice to meet you Heather. I’ve heard a lot about you,” you tell her, trying your best to sound as sincere as possible. Eddie shoots you a look, silently telling you to stop, which makes your heart drop a bit. Adverting your eyes from him, you look back at Heather, who didn’t miss the interaction. 

“All good things I hope,” she jokes.

“Are you kidding? Of course all good things. I can only hope you extended the same courtesy for me, if you did tell your college friends about me,” he says, rushing the last part out. Was he getting nervous?

“I can assure you that I did. Even after the way things ended…” she says, looking down to the ground as her sentence trails off. You can sense the tension in the air, feeling as if you’re causing the vibe of the conversation to shift a bit. Masking your feelings with a smile, you turn to them and excuse yourself, lying about needing to use the restroom before heading out for the night. Holding the curtain to the side, you enter the backstage area and round a counter towards an empty hallway you know nobody ever comes down after the shows, as you and Eddie have had your share of moments in this very spot, both PG and R rated moments.

As the secluded feeling sinks in, you feel the confidence and happiness that filled your body just moments ago begin to evaporate, vanishing into thin air as you replay the last few minutes in your head. His big smile when he saw her, the big and warm embrace, the look he gave you when you nudged your way into the conversation. It made you want to shrink into yourself. Jealousy was never something you were known for having, usually being more focused on the moment at hand and knowing the security you had with the relationships you had with the people around you.

But the history between Eddie and Heather changed that.

When you first heard about Heather, you didn’t pay much attention to it because you knew that was his past. He told you numerous times that he loves you and loves being with you, and it made you confident in the strength of your relationship. But knowing how strong those feelings he had for Heather and seeing her interact with him in real time, it changed things. He was a different man from the one he was in high school, having graduated and making a name for himself with the music he loves performing. And now that Heather is back in Hawkins for a while, it makes you wonder what could happen between the two of them. 

Would they be able to reconcile? It didn’t look like there were any harsh feelings anymore, so maybe making up was still an option for them. What if Eddie wanted to revisit his past and be with the girl he loved before you came into his life? Was the love he had for her stronger than the love he has for you?

You could feel yourself being to spiral, your arms wrapping around your body and hugging on tight. Your breathing was starting to become jagged and unsteady, trying your best to take deep breaths slowly to get yourself to calm down. Thinking the worst was always such an easy solution for you, because preparing for the worst and not being shocked by the disappointment that lies ahead was better than being blind to the impending doom.

Once you feel yourself becoming calmer, you exit the hallway and walk towards the curtain once again, hesitating and stopping in your tracks. Peeking your head out, you can see the two of them still talking, Eddie throwing his head back in laughter as the two share a funny moment with one another, making your heartache grow. Retreating back behind the curtain, you turn and see Gareth walking your way, a smug look on his face before contorting into a welcoming smile.

“Hey Y/N! Glad to see you made it out tonight, even though I know you’re in the audience every Tuesday,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. You give him a quick hug, pulling away and failing to mask the hurt as you see his demeanor change. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything is fine…it’s just, Heather is here tonight. She came up to Eddie and I and started talking with him and catching up-“

“Wait, Heather Heather?” Gareth asks before poking his head out of the curtain. “Holy shit! I had no idea she was back in town. Still looks as hot as ever.”

Pretending to ignore that, you let out a sigh and tap him on the shoulder. Gareth turns to you, lifting a brow.

“Can you make out what her and Eddie are talking about? I think I sort of killed their vibe earlier and now it looks like things are picking up now that I’m not there.”

“Yeah, hang on one second,” he tells you before disappearing behind the curtain. As much as you appreciate Gareth helping, you were more scared to know how the conversation is going. With all the possibilities that were swirling around in your head, it was just getting fogged up with negativity that you were not expecting this evening and you hated going to such a low place.

A moment later, Gareth pops back from the other side of the curtain with a neutral expression, which worries you more than it should. You raise your eyebrows at him, bracing yourself for whatever news that he was about to deliver.

“So I used the gig as an excuse to talk with them and told Eddie that we were almost done loading the equipment up, which is true, and he said he’d be back here in a minute. But as I was walking away, I heard Heather mention how they should catch up another time over coffee and when I looked back, she was writing her number down on a napkin for him,” he explains.

Somehow the news hurts you more than you imagined it would. With their plans on the horizon sometime soon, it made the insecurities rise once again. You knew how special someone’s first love could be because Eddie was that for you. Before moving to Hawkins, you had your fair share of dating but none that meant much to you compared to the feelings your harbor for Eddie. Knowing that he already experienced that with someone else didn’t bother you until that person had to show up right there in front of you. A majority of these worries and doubts reside in your head, you’re aware of that, but it almost feels as if there is going to be a choice he is going to make, and it isn’t looking good for your side.

You can feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, unable to hide the frown that resides on your lips as you process what Gareth told you. Looking at him, you flash him a sad smile before wiping away at your bottom lash line, a half-baked attempt to get rid of the tears. He rests a hand on your shoulder, ducking his head down to try and make eye contact with you. 

“Hey, don’t get sad, okay? Heather is just Eddie’s past, but you’re his present and his future. You don’t have anything to worry about,” he tries to reassure you.

“Yeah, you might be right,” you tell him before meeting his gaze and making eye contact. “But you didn’t see the way he looked at her. The way he smiled at her, the way he held her. On top of that, the way he looked at me when I talked to her. I’m worried that I actually do have something to worry about,” you explain.

Now it was Gareth’s turn to frown, breaking the eye contact and staring at the floor below. He should know better than anyone how Eddie felt about Heather all those years ago and it doesn’t just go away overnight. 

“I think I should go. I’m going to sneak around the other way…will-will you tell Eddie I wasn’t feeling good or something? If you can think of a good excuse, just use it, because my brain is fogged up right now and I can’t think of any,” you ask. Gareth nods, sending a sad smile your way before you disappear behind more curtains as you make your way around the stage to exit through the front doors unnoticed.

—————————————————————————————————————

It’s been three days since you’ve last seen Eddie.

Clocking out of your shift at the diner, you sigh as you realize its your usual date night with Eddie, yet haven’t heard a word from him since the awkward encounter with his ex at the Hideout. To say the silence has hurt you would be an understatement, as you wait by the phone any chance you’re home hoping he will call. He always makes it a point to call you at the end of each day when he knows you both are already off work, catching up on each others days and talking for hours before falling asleep.

Now you’re going home alone for the fourth night in a row, wasting away as you prepare yourself for when Eddie does eventually call you to break things off, telling you he wants to try things with Heather again while she is in town and rekindle the blissful and naive love they once held in their hearts for one another.

Tossing your jacket on the back of one of the chairs at your kitchen table, you let out a sigh as you begin making your way to your bedroom and undressing your uniform. Quickly, you change into a comfortable band t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, tossing your dirty uniform in your laundry basket before going back to the kitchen. Opening your fridge, you spot the bottle of wine you have been eyeing every day after work this week. The delicious red teasing you and wanting you to indulge in the sweet liquid to cope with the impending end of your relationship.

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, before grasping the bottle and twisting the cap open. Opening the cabinet above, you grab the first wine glass you see and take it out, pouring the wine in until it gets close the the rim. You take hold of the glass and make your way over to your couch, bringing the glass to your lips and letting the wine travel down your throat with ease. 

Before you’re able to bask in the taste, you hear your doorbell ring throughout your apartment. With a puzzled expression, you set the glass of wine down on your coffee table and make your way back to the front door, sliding the peep hold cover to the side to get a look at just who could be outside. Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath before opening the door, standing face to face with the man who owns your heart. At least, for the next few minutes.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says with a smile.

“What are you doing here?” You ask straight out of the gate. 

“Good to see you too,” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking down at the pizza box resting in his hands for a moment. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do for date night tonight, so I just took it as an opportunity to plan an evening of pizza, movies, and indulging in the new weed I got from Rick yesterday.”

“I just thought we weren’t going to do date night this week since I hadn’t heard from you,” you say.

“Sorry sweetheart, that is my bad.” He tells you as he makes his way inside your apartment. He sets the pizza on the kitchen table and opens the fridge and pulls a beer out. “I’ve been extremely busy this week with work, band practice, and…uh, well…”

“Heather?” You question, closing the door and resting your back against it as you bring your arms to cross in front of your chest. He stills for a moment, frozen in place as silence falls over the apartment unit. Turning to you, he raises his eyebrows while biting his lip, his physical look of guilt showing front and center. Trying your best to remain stoic, you quirk a brow at him, keeping your position at the door as you wait for an explanation. 

“How, uh…how’d you know about that?” He finally asks after several minutes of silence.

“Gareth told me before I left on Tuesday. Said he overheard her giving you her number,” you answer plainly.

Another beat of silence falls throughout the room. Eddie’s attention is on the floor below him, kicking his feet as he digs his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and forgetting about the beer he was excited about enjoying. You find your eyes diverting to the ground as well, finding it hard to look over at your favorite metalhead. Mentally preparing yourself for the ache to grow, you finally let out a deep sigh, your hand coming up to rub at your forehead before you work up the courage to look at him again.

“Look, if you came all this way to let me down gently with pizza and weed, you can just save yourself the trouble. I’ve already spent the past few days preparing for this, so lets just call it what it is and go on about our lives, okay?” You muster out, feeling your throat close up and voice waver towards the end. You shut your mouth, turning your head as you feel your bottom lip begin to quiver. Opening the door, you step to the side and remain silent, not trusting yourself to speak anymore. You can’t breakdown in front of him, not when he’s choosing another girl over you.

You hear his heavy footsteps grow closer to you, stopping right before your figure. Your eyes are planted to the floor, seeing his stark white Reeboks enter your vision before leaving once again. Suddenly, you feel his hand lay on top of the one holding the handle to the front door, guiding it to a close and stepping to the side.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he reveals.

You whip your neck in the direction he moved to, seeing the sad expression on his face as his big brown cow eyes look into yours. Part of you was hesitant to question him about it, not wanting his mind to change in a matter of seconds and leave you in a puddle of sadness afterall. But the more logical part of your brain wanted answers. Why did he not bother calling you for days but thought it was okay to hang out with his ex? Why didn’t he confess earlier about seeing her around? Why was he acting so strange at the Hideout, and why didn’t he want you talking to her?

“What?”

“I said I’m not breaking up with you, sweetheart. Why was that even a thought that popped into your head?” He asks, his voice level and sweet. He takes a step closer to you, filling the small gap that had separated you moments ago before slowly extending an arm out to you, cupping your cheek in his hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb across the soft skin.

“I don’t know…” you finally answer, the lack of confidence in your voice giving you away as your sentence trails off.

“C’mon, I know you had to think that somehow. I won’t be mad or anything, I promise. Just want my sweet girl to talk to me.” You take the beat of silence to think about to how explain it to him without coming across as a jealous and needy girlfriend. You can do this, you think to yourself.

“It’s just-I know how you felt during that relationship and how deep the feelings were thanks to Gareth and Jeff, a-and the way you were talking to her and looking at her at the Hideout on Tuesday made it look like no time had passed and that the feelings were still there. I mean, she gave you her number Eds! A-and you just said you hung out with her!” You exclaim, breaking out of his grasp and retreating towards the living room. You run a hand down your face, sighing as you try to level your heavy breathing. 

“Okay, when you put it like that…yeah it sounds bad,” you hear him say from the kitchen. You sit on the couch, taking a large sip of the wine you abandoned earlier. Eddie turns around and stalks over to you, sitting on the chair opposite of you, not wanting to get too close again after the failed attempt. “But baby, I promise nothing happened with Heather and I, okay? We went over to Rick’s last night after grabbing coffee and smoked. Nothing more.”

“I just wish you told me about it,” you let out, feeling deflated from the way you were reacting.

“I know baby, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Work had been busy and when I was going to call you after I woke up yesterday, Heather called and asked to hang out at the coffee shop. I should’ve used the payphone outside the place or hell, called you before I left my place. If I could go back and do so I would.”

You flash him a half-hearted smile, looking back towards your wine glass before picking it up once again. Bringing it to your lips, you take another big sip, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol move throughout your limbs and send a tingling feeling in them. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Eddie slide over onto the couch, still leaving room between the two of you as he leans his arms on his knees, hanging his head down a bit and letting his long mane of curls move forward with him.

“You want to know what we talked about yesterday? Over coffee?” He asks, quirking a brow your way as he shifts a bit from his position.

“Hmm?”

“We caught up, I asked her about college, she told me all kinds of stories. Even told me the story of how she met her fiancé, who moved in with her when she came back to Hawkins. They’re getting married in November, a few weeks before Thanksgiving which I thought was nice. Then I talked to her about you, and how we’ve been dating since the winter of ’84 and been inseparable since then. I must’ve been smiling really hard or something because she pointed out how happy I looked when I talk about you, which is true,” he chuckles out, a silly grin creeping onto his features.

Now it was your turn to smile, unable to hide the warm and fuzzy feeling that made its way into your chest at hearing the words. You set the wine glass back down, shifting on the couch so you were facing his direction, legs crossed as you leaned over to take his hand in yours. “Really?”

“Oh of course baby. Look, what I had with Heather all those years ago was great, and I appreciate the time I had with her then. But loving her taught me how to be better and show the person I was really meant for all the more love and affection that they deserve. You,” he boops your nose, making a giggle escape past your lips. “-you are the one I love now and will love until I take my last breath okay? All the shit I’ve been through was worth it because it brought you to me when you moved here, and I am so fucking happy about that. Wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

You can’t help but feel the burning sensation behind your eyes at Eddie’s sweet words. Sure, you still felt like a bit of a fool for acting like a jealous girlfriend, but hearing Eddie shut down all your worries and reassure you about his feelings for you in the nicest way you could’ve imagined warmed your heart. You move your hand to the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and closing the distance between you as your lips meet his. His hand instinctively goes to your hip, holding you closer as his mouth moves against yours in fever.

Eventually pulling away, you lean your forehead against his, giggling to yourself as you feel his bangs tickle the sensitive skin of your cheeks. You look at his big brown eyes, seeing the soft look he was giving you and melting all over again.

“Sorry for acting like a jealous girlfriend babe. Not the prettiest look for me if I’m being honest,” you joke.

“Hey, if the roles were reversed, I would totally act the way you did, so I get it. But now you know that you don’t ever have to worry about anyone else, because like I said, you’re it for me baby. I love you.”

“I love you more,” you say, pressing your lips to his cheek. He shoots you a grin, breaking contact with your forehead and rubbing slow circles into the fabric of your leggings. 

“How about I warm up that pizza I brought over and we pop in one of those movies I rented? You probably need some food after all that wine you drank,” he says, making you laugh. Nodding, you agree.

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had.”

[saradika-graphics]

DIVIDERS MASTERLIST

AESTHETIC - CELESTIAL

— Stars & Space | Sun

— Stars & Space | Moon

— Stars & Space | Planets

— Stars & Space | Purple

— Stars & Space | Beige/Grey

— Dark Space

— Zodiac Dividers

AESTEHTIC - PRIDE

— Ace

— Bambi Lesbian

— Genderfluid

— Genderqueer

— Pan

AESTHETIC - FOOD

— Bakery | Part ii

— Chocolate

— Coffee/Tea

— Citrus

— Pancakes / Waffles

— Peaches

— Pies

— Pizza/Spaghetti

AESTHETIC - OTHER

— 50’s Neon Diner

— 70's Music / Flowers

— 80's Music / Rock

— Academia

— Angel / Cherub

— Arrows

— Art Deco (Blue Version)

— Art Nouveau

— Artist/Crafts

— Beige Daggers

— Blue & Orange Feathers

— Blood

— Cameras/Photography

— Car/Roadtrip

— Casino / Cards | part ii

— Celtic

— Chess Pieces / Card Suits

— Clouds

— Coffee / Cigarettes

— Cottagecore / Dark Academia | part ii

— Cowboy | part ii | dark | space | christmas

— Cute Pastel

— Eclipse

— iOS Emojis | part ii

— Fairy Lights

— Fantasy Weapons

— Forest

— Gems & Pearls

— Goblincore

— Music Notes

— Ocean | Part ii | Part iii

— Off-Center Dividers

— Pink/Coquette (blue & purple)

— Pirate/Mermaid

— Rain/Storm

— Ravens/Moons/Roses

— Red/Black Scroll Work | Silver/Gold

— Red Riding Hood

— Rings (Engagement/Christmas)

— Royalty | part ii

— Skeleton (black) | (grey/white)

— Smutty | Pastel

— Spooky Red / Deer

— Stained Glass

— Tech Dividers (green/black) | blue/orange

— Vampires | Royalty

— Viking

— Vintage Telephone

— Waves / Leaves

— Weapons

— Witchy

— Werewolves

— Windows/Webcore | part ii | part iii

✨(Everything was made using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

[pullhisteeth]

wise words | eddie munson

summary Eddie f*cked up (royally) and has to work his ass off to get you back. based on a swift song obviously [4k]

contains 18+! fem!reader, a bit of fuckboy!eddie, angst, arguing, grovelling, hurt/comfort, crying, eventual fluff, suggestive themes/allusions to smut, Robin and Steve being disappointed but supportive pseudo-parents

-

He’s standing on your doorstep.

He’s standing on your doorstep and he’s shaking. Like a fucking leaf.

He looks down at the flowers wrapped in cellophane and thinks, are they good enough?

Am I good enough?

Will anything ever be good enough?

Thick drops of rainwater run down the plastic and coat the pink petals and he resolves that no, they’re not good enough.

He knocked twenty-three seconds ago. He knows this because he’s counting, keeping himself grounded.

Twenty-four Mississippi.

Twenty-five Mississippi.

Twenty-six Miss-

The door swings open quickly, almost impatiently, as though there wasn’t nearly half a minute between the knock and the response.

He looks up and when his eyes meet yours he knows for sure this time that this was a bad idea.

“Are you insane?” you ask him. Concern cuts through the irritation, leaving those creases by your eyebrows he’s so familiar with.

He doesn’t respond, his mind elsewhere. He’s desperately trying to pull it back but it’s running fast, back to yesterday evening.

-

“Eddie, seriously,” Robin says, impatient, “you have to do something. This is getting ridiculous, and besides, she’s crazy about you, even if you did royally fuck up, and- Hey!”

“What Rob means to say,” Steve interjects, giving her a swift and clean elbow to the ribs, “is that you’ve gotta grovel, man.”

“But it’s been so long,” Eddie whines, running his hands over his face, a pattern he has grown accustomed to over the past few months. A fed-up, miserable routine of lamenting his deepest regrets to his patient but equally-as-fed-up friends over beers on the nights you’re too busy to join them. “I can’t- I don’t know what I’d say.”

“Here,” Robin says, laying her palms flat on the table, fingers splayed. She pushes herself up, weight on her hands, and leans over Eddie. He stares up at her from behind his own fingers and winces quietly. “You love her, right?”

“Yes,” he responds, voice muffled under the heels of his hands.

“And she loves you-”

“Does she?”

“-and we know this because we’re her friends.”

Eddie’s eyes flit to Steve, whose face is drooping with sympathy. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a Robin Buckley lecture knows the feeling, and he has had his fair share.

“So what you gotta do,” she continues, dipping her head to regain his attention, “is apologise.”

“I tried that-”

“Properly.”

At this he gives in, huffing a sigh and dropping his arms to fold in front of him, quickly enough to catch his head as it drops to the table like an anvil. He hears Robin return to her seat, and then feels gracious fingers on his elbow.

“Eds, man, it’s gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta fight for it.” It’s Steve, being soft as ever, so desperate to see his two friends happy that he’ll relinquish himself to his affectionate side.

“I want to,” he says, voice muffled again by the denim of his jacket sleeves. “But she deserves better than me.”

“Tell her that,” Robin suggests, voice far softer now. “Tell her you miss her, it’s been a long time, and that you were scared.”

She’s clever, Eddie thinks, pulling that gem out from the archives. On a particularly bad night, maybe two months after it had happened, he’d admitted to them the truth at the heart of all of this: he’s a scared boy, one who resolved while young that he would never fall in love, never let the walls down, for fear that he’d have to endure loss any more than was necessary. Your love had driven him mad and fear had driven him away, and now he avoids three diners and nearly all of the gas stations across Hawkins, schedules doctors appointments at the most inconvenient times and definitely never steps foot in the movie theatre downtown.

“She’ll come around,” Robin tells him kindly. When he lifts his head, eyes regretfully filling with that hopeful spark, she says, “She’s mad, don’t get me wrong. But she’ll come around. You just have some work to do.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Steve says in a cadence that worries Eddie enough to make him lift his head back up again, looking at Steve’s stern expression, “she does deserve better than you.”

“Stop, Steve, seriously-”

“She deserves better than you if you can’t find the fucking courage to go get her back.”

-

Now, standing on your front doorstep, looking at you for the first time in half a year, Eddie knows Steve was right. He doesn’t have the balls to do this; he’s too afraid of rejection, and more specifically rejection from you, and this was a bad idea. You deserve better.

He barely notices when you step one pace to the left, and when you speak your voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out there.”

He moves without thinking too hard, because you’re right - it’s cold as fuck out here and he’s grateful for the humming warmth he can feel coming from inside your home.

“Just stay there, I’m gonna get some towels.”

He feels pathetic, standing in your hallway, dripping wet like a fucking dog, gripping so hard onto the flowers that his knuckles are turning white. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, afraid of getting anything in your house wet, but acutely aware of how stupid he must look.

You come back around the corner with two big bath towels in your arms. They’re white and Eddie feels the burning shame of ruining them but says nothing, remaining tight-lipped and letting you clean up the floor. When your fingers curl around his tense ones he stares at you, at the strange, unreadable look on your face, and feels the jolt of a thousand volts carry down his fingers and into his shoulder. Where your fingers made contact you leave a sensation not unlike carpet burn.

“These are pretty,” you tell him, gently pulling the flowers from his grip. The cellophane crinkles and it slowly brings him back to this, to you, and he nearly chokes on air.

He says your name, a pathetic sound followed by even more pathetic noises, and when you smile, tight-lipped just like him and brows turned down, he cracks, voice failing him as he stumbles.

“Get your boots off and meet me in the kitchen,” you say, your face unreadable as ever as you turn on your heels and step back through the open door he knows well. 

You leave him bewildered, like a soldier in the wake of a bomb, but he eventually comes to and does as you say. He debates leaving them outside, to cause you the least bother possible, but decides instead to leave them on one of the towels by the door.

His socks are soggy, slipping on the hardwood as he treads softly through your home. The reaction his gut is having to being here is ugly, so he breathes in slowly through his nose and wipes rainwater off his cheek with the back of his hand.

You’ve got your back to him, standing over the sink. At first he thinks you’re sorting the flowers, the way you always do - wrapping off, stalks trimmed, vase filled - but then he sees that, instead, you’re gripping the porcelain. White-knuckled.

For the first time he gets a look at you, or the back of you at least, because he’s pretty sure you haven’t heard him come around the corner. You’re much the same as before, except for the way you’ve cut your hair, and the fact that he remembers you in pretty sundresses and tennis shoes but it’s December, so you’re bundled in a jumper and sweats.

“I, uh-” He stammers, words catching on the edges of his teeth. He says your name again and watches you flinch. “It’s- It’s been so long, I-”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shoulders relaxing and grip loosening. You turn and lean back on the sink with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Just so you know,” he starts, and he can feel it, the fucking sarcastic tone that he can’t seem to shake. It comes out whenever he has to be genuine and it’s like someone else somewhere is pushing his buttons, controlling what comes out of his mouth. “-it’s been the, uh, the longest six months I think... ever.”

You look at him, more than familiar with this tone and this game. 

“Yeah,” you say again.

“I don’t really know how to-”

“Eddie,” you bite, words like venom. “Can I ask you a question?”

As he nods his head, a little bemused, you gesture to the kitchen table. He catches on and sits at the chair closest to the door as you mirror him on the chair opposite.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

You rest your crossed arms on the table and lean on them, peering at him.

He breathes in slowly.

“To apologise.”

You scoff and he flinches, recoiling at the sound.

“And how’s this one gonna be different to the other hundred apologies?” You spit the word, as though it bears no meaning. At this point, and when it comes to Eddie, it almost doesn't.

That’s fair, he thinks.

-

“You are such a fucking jackass, Eddie Munson,” Robin barks, raising her arms in defeat. She’s pacing the aisles of Family Video while he sits on the counter and Steve loiters behind it, sorting tapes. “A jackass, seriously!”

“I get it, Rob, thanks,” he drones.

“No,” she snaps, feet finally finished being aimless and instead marching her over to him. She stands somewhere close to between his knees and if it weren’t Robin and she weren’t about to grill him for all he’s worth, it might be endearing.

She jabs her index finger into his chest, straight to the centre of his sternum.

“You’re a piece of shit. An asshole. A douchebag. And I’m allowed to call you all of these things because it’s me who gets the phone calls at two in the morning when she’s crying over you. Again.”

He drops his gaze, his hair covering her wrist and his face.

“Why’d you do it, dude?” Steve asks from behind him. “Like… I just don’t see the… Goal, or whatever.”

Eddie groans and tips his head back, staring uncomfortably at the ceiling tiles.

He wonders for a brief moment, before answering, why the two of them are still friends with him. Clearly his end goal is being as inaccessible as possible, keeping everyone at such a far distance at all times that he can never feel remorse, or that he’s letting anyone down. But now he’s here, with his friends, and he’s let them down and, worst of all, let you down, too. More than ever.

“I was trying to make it better,” he says, and the jab to the sternum comes harder this time, and is the full brunt of Robin’s fist rather than her finger.

“That is bullshit,” she says.

“I was!” he maintains, exasperated. “I just… I started trying to explain myself and I just couldn’t tell the truth.”

“So instead you told her you never want to see her again?!”

“I-”

“How does that help literally anything?!”

Robin’s right, of course. She’s always right; too smart for her own good, Eddie’s always thought. But he doesn’t have an answer for her.

“She’s better off that way anyway,” he says, sighing.

-

He blinks at you, studying your stern expression, before answering.

“I wanna be honest with you,” he begins, “like, actually this time. And I know it’s been ages and that I have been…”

“Awful,” you suggest.

“Yeah, awful-”

“An asshole. The worst. Evil. Cruel. Mean.”

“Right,” he says, nodding limply. “Yeah. That.”

You lean back, arms still crossed like armour.

“I want to get this right,” he admits, surprising himself, “and I’m trying to work out how.”

You also seem taken aback by this, brows raising just a bit, your eyes going wide. You don’t say anything, though.

“I want you to know how sorry I am,” he continues. He’s sitting rigid in his seat and can’t find something to occupy his fingers, so he begins twisting a ring around one of them. “But, like, I don’t know how to get that across… The flowers were, uh, step one, and this is step two… I, uh…”

He’s stumbling again, searching for the words in a sea of insecurity and unsteadiness. You wait, sitting still and breathing shallow.

“I think I- I was scared.”

“Of what?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He was expecting a vast silence that he would have to fill with pleas, excuses, sorries and truths. He thought you’d leave him to it and let him down slowly at the end.

“Uh, of you. Of us, I guess.”

“What?”

He leans forward finally, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to-”

“Try,” you say flatly.

He looks up at you, unsure.

“Try to explain it. You haven’t even tried.”

Deep, heavy breath in.

-

“Eddie, you can’t, I don’t-”

“Fucking stop it,” he bites, arrowhead words ripping you open.

“I don’t understand,” you try again, voice thick with tears and your throat closing in. In fact, everything is closing in.

He’s leaving.

“Exactly,” he spits, pulling his shirt on. “Just… I’m going.”

“But-”

He’s out of the door, jacket in arm, before you can protest any further. Your mind is racing, spinning out in search of something that you could have done to fix this, or else something you could have done to cause this.

But you’re coming up empty, because you’d spent the day the same as any other day this summer: in your bed, entwined, wayward fingers and lazy kisses. Sweet nothings splashed in whispers across bare skin, and-

Oh, you think. Oh.

-

“When you said you loved me,” he begins, wincing at his own honesty, “I just… I freaked, it was scary. I… Honestly, the main problem here is that I was fucking scared. I am scared. I don’t know how to… How to love, or whatever… How to do it right and not hurt you, or me, or both of us. I’m useless, it’s why I’ve never bothered before and I knew, even before we started hooking up, that-”

“Hooking up?”

He looks at you, pulling his eyes back from their wandering, to find you bitter and your face contorted in disgust.

“You call that hooking up?”

“I mean- I-”

“If you think we were hooking up, that’s bad enough, Eddie. Hook ups don’t last three months.”

“No,” he sighs. “They don’t. I think I’m… Trying to make myself feel better about it.”

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him, and though it’s cutting and it should hurt, your voice is so kind so suddenly that he can’t help but lean into it, tugging gently on the hands of care it extends to him. “You left me, after months of stringing me along. I was basically your girlfriend, without the labels or whatever. There isn’t another word for what we were.”

“No,” he agrees, dwelling for a moment too long on those moments of domesticity, the quiet mornings drinking coffee on your front lawn, the afternoons spent hanging the laundry and throwing stray socks at one another. “And that was fucking scary. I was way too scared, when you said you loved me that morning, way too scared to admit what I really, really wanted.”

“Which was?” you ask, arms still firmly crossed.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You know what I-”

“Say it.”

“You-

“Say it.”

He breathes, defeated, and looks at you dead in the eye.

“I love you,” he tells you. “I loved you then, and I love you now, and I have no idea what to do about it.”

You deflate, your arms going lax, face surprised as though you didn’t expect him to actually do it, to rise to your challenge and be honest. For a flash, he feels smug, but then he remembers-

“I love you,” he repeats - the feeling of the words rolling off his tongue is unbearable, they’re too heavy, they won’t stop falling - “but you deserve better than me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in frustration.

“Why are you here then?”

“What?”

“If I deserve better than you,” you repeat, finally releasing the tightness of your crossed arms and planting your palms on your knees, “why are you here? To torture me? Not satisfied with the last six fucking months, huh?”

“No, I-”

“Well, Eddie-” You spit his name like it’s gone bad and it twists something inside him. “-I’m fucking fed up of you and your… How mean you are. You’re always so mean to me and I hate that I cried over you for weeks-”

-

The door swings open and Robin rushes inside, expression tight with fear and worry.

She calls your name in a tone that drips affection as she rounds on you, where you’re standing with your weight on the wall and a hand over your face. By now it’s puffy and uncomfortable, your cheeks raw from wiping them with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“What happened?” she asks, holding you like you’re about to break and moving you across your house to the couch. “Did you argue? Or-”

“He left, Robs. Just left.” You sigh and it heaves like you’re sat under a crate of bricks. Robin’s heart aches, nearly cracks in two at the sight of you and the fury she feels for her stupid, good-for-nothing metalhead friend.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, wrapping you up in strong arms. As she rocks you, you cry, and she kisses the crown of your head and tells you, without much belief in it herself, that it’ll be okay.

“Steve’s on his way,” she says after ten or fifteen minutes.

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“We’re gonna stay here,” she says quickly, “just for tonight.”

You look at her, eyes glassy, and as you speak your voice cracks. “I love him, Rob.”

She looks back at you sadly, fingers gripping your hands. “I know.”

-

You’re on your feet now, pacing back and forth and he’s watching, transfixed, as your shoulders move up and down, powered by rage, understandably.

“-I cried so much because I had spent weeks working up the courage to say that to you, to admit it to you and to myself because you’re so cold, Eddie. You’re so cold and distant and I still managed to fall in love with you.”

It’s at this point that Eddie’s drifting eye, which is following you back and forth, lands on the cluster of picture frames on your windowsill. He recognises most of them - photos of the group of you, up by the lake or in Chicago, some of your family and others at special occasions. But one of them calls to him loud enough to pull his eye from you completely.

It’s a silly frame he found at the thrift store. It’s hand-painted in gaudy colours, brush strokes in swirls and bursts of yellow and purple and green. And behind the glass is a picture Wayne had taken one day when you were at his trailer, watching movies on the couch.

It’s a polaroid, as most of your photos are, bright cracks of colour and light caused by the window right by his head - his head which is looking straight ahead, big wide grin and happy eyes, and you beside him, hands on one of his thighs, pushing yourself up to kiss his cheek.

It’s only when you stop pacing and, more noticeably, stop talking that he realises anything is wrong. His face is wet and there are new drops of water on the table - not the drying rainwater from his hair, but one or two drips from his jaw.

“Are you crying?” you ask, hands on your hips.

“Huh?” He asks, wiping his face with his wrist. “I, uh… Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just-”

His eyes flicker upwards and past you, to somewhere you follow with your own gaze. It lands on the photo and you start, cheeks flushing warm.

Suddenly, the anger lingering in the room, filling the air and his lungs and almost definitely yours, dissipates. It doesn’t disappear as such - you’re still seething, breathing loudly, but it’s like someone cracked a whip and the dust lifted.

He calls your name and you look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you earnestly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You breathe out slowly and he watches your chest deflate as you take a step to sit back down. As you sit he rises, stepping over to you on unsure feet. He’s tentative, waiting - expecting - an adverse reaction.

You watch him as he gets closer and lowers himself to the ground.

“You are not about to-”

“I’m not getting on my knees, if that’s what you’re gonna say,” he says, and his tone is light - too light for his liking, but he catches the twitch in the corner of your mouth and something warm blooms in one of the chambers of his heart.

He squats beside you, resting his weight on one hand on the table. He keeps the other to himself, fingers spread over his bent knee.

“I’m an asshole. In fact, I’ve been all of those things you said, and I don’t think I’ll ever be sorry enough for you. But I… I’ve had all this time, and some… intense conversations with Rob and Steve, and I… I want to try to be sorry enough. Or to just make it up to you, somehow. Because I can’t… It’s too hard, doing all of this without you.”

He knows how this must look, him on the ground, soggy socks and soggier hair, staring at you like a lost puppy. But the way your eyes soften, and the familiar feeling of the brush of your fingertips over the damp skin of his bare wrist, is enough to make him go limp.

“What’d they say?” you ask him, watching your own fingers where they trace aimless strokes.

“Hm?”

“Rob and Steve. What’d they say?”

He laughs lightly, embarrassed.

“Uh, that I’m an asshole. In fact, Rob, she made sure to tell me that multiple times. Basically every time I saw her. And Steve, he… He’s such a good dude, you know? But I… I disappointed them, and myself, and you. I hurt you so bad and I don’t know where to put all this guilt I have.”

Neither of you are looking at one another, but you chuckle, thinking about Robin. Her loyalty makes your head spin. And Steve, with his heart of gold, who held you all those times you cried and fought silently between his anger at Eddie and his love for you.

“I love them,” you whisper, your fingers halting. The pad of your thumb hovers over the protruding joint, stroking it softly until you feel the thrum of his pulse under your own. Your fingers wrap the opposite way, until you’re holding his arm like a bracelet.

You squeeze and he sucks a quick breath in.

“You really hurt me, Eddie,” you tell him, lifting his arm off the table. He wobbles and uses his free hand to steady himself on your chair, the knuckle of his thumb meeting the side of your thigh for just a second. You manoeuvre his hand into your lap, where you lay it flat. You both stare at it and all he can hear is your breathing and the rush of blood past his ears.

“I know I did,” he says. “I can go, if you want.”

You hum and begin tracing the lines on his palm. “It’s gonna take a while,” you say.

“What is?”

“Making it up to me.”

His eyes move without permission to your face, where he finds a barely-there smile and the beginnings of the crows feet by your eyes.

“Forever,” he says, knowing you’re right - it’ll take a long, long time.

“Forever.”

“I must’ve been crazy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Hm?”

Your fingers are still now, resting on his, and he finally moves his own. His knees are burning from squatting and the balls of his feet are digging into something sharp under the linoleum, but he’s not thinking too hard about any of it. He takes your hands in his and holds them, backs of your palms to the front of his. He dips his head and kisses your left wrist and then your right, lingering to feel the thump of your heart.

“I am crazy,” he says. “I let you go.”

“You left me,” you correct him. “I never wanted to go.”

He looks up at you and pales when he sees the tears. Your eyes are wet and red round the edges and he thinks to himself that you’ve been doing this, crying over him, for six months. And it’s his fault.

The two of you move quickly and without thought. His knees buckle, giving into the strain he’s been putting on them for so long, and as he hits the floor he tightens his grip on you without meaning to. You’re pulled off your chair with a yelp and a clatter, landing in his lap with your knee dangerously close to his crotch.

Hands paw and wipe tears and you lift your leg to plant it beside him. As you stabilise yourself his arms come around you, too quickly at first; so quick he worries you’ll push him off, tell him to go fuck himself. They’re met by yours, though, coming around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

You say nothing, and instead push your face further into his shoulder.

He feels and hears you sniffling, so he pulls you back gently. Some of his hair sticks to your face and you wipe your nose unceremoniously with the back of your hand, scoffing at him when you see he’s smiling at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tell him, looking away.

“Like what?”

“Like… That.”

“I don’t-”

“You have that look,” you say, groaning. And then you reach up to hold his face, and he caves, bowing into you in every way he can. “You’re so fucking pretty and it’s the worst.”

“You’re one to talk,” he tells you, enjoying the way you flush.

“Always the charmer.”

“It’s true,” he says. “Never seen anyone as pretty as you.”

He leans into your palm and twists just so, lips brushing the heel of it in a quick kiss.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you tell him, your smile deceiving you only slightly.

“I know,” he says. “But it might help me.”

You’ve been inching closer to his face, and now you’re all he sees. You’ve taken up his field of vision, your breath brushing past the end of his nose.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Wow,” you laugh, “Steve taught you how to be a gentleman since I last saw you or somethin’?”

“Stop- You’re ruining this.”

“Sorry,” you say, still laughing. “You were just never the kind to be so… chivalrous.”

“I’m hardly being chivalrous,” he says, matching your smile. “But now you mention it, yeah, actually.”

You lean back only slightly but it’s enough to make him deflate, unhappy at the new distance.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean… I was an asshole, as we’ve established. Needed to learn my manners again.”

“What did he say?”

“Can we please talk about this later? I just wanna-”

“No,” you say, grinning now. “I want to know.”

He groans, the hand he has spread across your back to hold you up tensing.

“I dunno, he just… He really did a number on me, y’know, telling me how I did everythin’ wrong and that I…”

He’s gone coy and you’re relishing in it.

“You what?”

“I… Steve called me a fuckboy.”

You bark out a laugh so loud Eddie flinches, but then he watches as you carry on laughing, nearly bent double, eyes all crinkled just the way he likes, the way he’s missed terribly.

“What’s so funny?!”

“It’s true,” you say. “It’s so true! Robin, Steve, I mean, we love you, obviously, you’re our friend, but like… They did say when you and me started, y’know… That I was in for it, that you’d break my heart, and I told them they were crazy ‘cause it was just sex, right? But then I realised maybe it wasn’t just sex, when you basically started living here, and we were more like… I dunno, like a couple… But they were right!”

He looks at you, aghast.

“They told you all of that?”

“Yeah! I mean, they were right, huh?”

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t know it was that bad, that they’d be able to notice that kinda thing.”

“You know,” you say, fingers tapping patterns up his chest. “Steve told me somethin’ else, a few months back.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, mind reeling through the thousands of things this could be.

“It’s not bad,” you say. “Well, it’s not one of the bad things. There were still bad things.”

“Right.”

“He said… He said he’s known you for, what, like three years now? And in all that time, before you and me met, you’d always have different girls, were known as a bit of a player at school…”

“Christ, okay.”

“But after you left me, Steve said he’d never seen you be so… Alone.”

Eddie looks at you in shock, so frightened by what else Steve may have said, but also by how you’re relaying this to him. Calm, stoic, unfeeling.

“I mean… I haven’t, y’know, slept with anyone else, if that’s what you-”

“I know,” you say. “I just… It makes it feel more real, you know?”

“I know I’m gonna be spending the rest of my life making sure you know I’m sorry,” he says, breathing out through his nose slowly, “but I mean it. I’ll do it. For the rest of my life. There isn’t anyone else. I’ll forego women, relationships, whatever… ‘Cause I won’t have time. Will be too busy makin’ it up to you.”

He noses at your neck, trying with everything he has to hold himself back from kissing you. The air around the two of you feels thick with laboured breaths and unsaid things - so many unsaid things, things he’ll tell you one day and other things he’s sure he’ll hear from you.

“So can I?” he murmurs into the warm skin above your collarbone, lips only a hair from making contact.

He feels your fingers come around the back of his neck, taking root at the nape where his hair starts. They curl around it, tugging him up, and then you do the dance - the one that always happened between the two of you in these moments. You dip in, so close, and back out, ebbing like a riverbank. It drives him crazy and he knows that you know it, so he smiles, and it’s only then that you finally kiss him.

As you move against him, lips and hands and chest and thighs, he lets his eyes close and his tongue move with yours, and thinks that this - kissing you - is much better when he’s being honest.

-