#dont stand so close to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jo-harrington · 2 years ago

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I read this twice. TWICE.

And do you know every time I get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach with this story, I look at the True Love tag you’ve put for it and I think “everything is gonna be ok in the end.”

Why are you so intent on wrecking us. Cue Ron Burgundy: “I thought you were kidding!” It was not angsty as I was thinking. (I know, Angstfest 1985 up next) but it just made me super sad for Eddie. Omg. Baby boy.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been listening to Keane’s “Everybody’s Changing” on repeat for my own story inspiration, but it just really hit home on this one. Eddie watching everything change around him and he feels stuck. And the only thing that’s different than seeing the same kids pass him by is Reader. He has this crush and he doesn’t know but he SO HOPES she feels the same. And each time she shares a little something with him, opening up, and he’s like “ok this could happen, she could be in the same torture i am in, she’s letting me in, what if I did something…what if…what if?”

The TOUCHING!!! *dramatic gasp* I am a SUCKER FOR A HAND TOUCH. HOW REGENCY. Let me SHOW YOU MY ANKLE MISTER MUNSON and he immediately gets a boner.

And I’m feeling a little SUSPISH about Chrissy. Because either she’s crushing on him and he’s a) gonna take the chance and reader is gonna feel like TRASH and like “ok how did I ever entertain these feelings” or she’s pulling some shit and he’s gonna get hurt OR she has a crush and Jason and the Boys are gonna hurt Eddie because of it. Are they gonna hurt reader? Are they gonna SPREAD A RUMOR OMG LEI IM GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF!!!

I have so many thoughts and am stopping myself from just crawling through the internet with all of the snacks and treats to bribe you.

All of that being said, once again an AMAZING CHAPTER of an AMAZING STORY. I am so proud of you and I know you have to be feeling proud of yourself. Us slow burn hoes are in it with you to suffer together. It’s the best barbecue, the best perpetual stew. And eventually we will get the tastiest morsels of a payoff.

I am salivating.

(I was going for a cheek kiss, but giving the salivating, the licking also applies. 😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰).

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 7

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 7/? 4.1k. Series Masterlist

Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

Forbidden love is complicated. What will your desire teach you?

Tags/cw: forbidden romance, slow burn, perv!eddie, smut (18+ mdni), true love, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: weed, angst, sibling death mention

Eddie held a joint between his lips, the paper wetting in his mouth as he tapped out a melody on the fretboard of his warlock, fingers making contact with the strings at a feverish pace. He took a long drag, exhaling the smoke through his nose. The ash on the end of it was dangerously long, threatening to drop onto his bedsheets at any moment.

He paused, reaching over toward his nightstand to tap off the excess into the crowded ashtray and instead knocked over two empty Mountain Dew cans. They sputtered drops of sticky liquid onto his magazines before clattering onto the floor. Eddie cursed. He sighed and reached down into the abyss between his nightstand and the bed to retrieve them, cringing at whatever else may have fallen down there that he had long forgotten about.

It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon and Eddie had been awake for all of two hours. There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling that he was all too familiar with on Sundays. He returned his hands to the fretboard and noodled around with the strings, tapping out the melody again as the tingle of the drug washed over him.

He glanced over toward his backpack slumped in the corner by the desk. It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon and he had not even thought about his homework. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had thought about it. Quite a few times actually.

Yesterday he thought about while he was hunkered over the monster manual that he had to reach into his backpack to retrieve. He thought about it while he was at band practice last night too. And again while he was at the gas station at one in the morning, loading up with cigarettes and twinkies. He even thought about it while he was devouring them in front of his television.

He didn’t think about it at all on Friday night though. Well he kind of did, but that’s because he was mostly thinking about you and it just sort of came with the territory. He was mostly thinking about the way his hands felt around your waist, the one he had been itching to touch for two months now. He thought about the way your body felt in his arms, so warm and soft and real.

He thought if he could play it over and over again in his mind that he could exist in the moment for longer than he was given. He wondered when he would be given another. If he would be given another.

He thought about you, out with your friends at a bar he wasn’t even old enough to drink at. He thought about how often you went out like that, and how many times it would be before someone else saw you the same way he did.

His finger slipped and he muttered a curse at the sour note. He adjusted his headphones and glanced around the room.

There was a pile of clothes at the foot of his closet that had been there for almost a month now. A pile of records in front of the cabinet meant to contain them for even longer. The dust was starting to collect on the top of his amp beside it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he vacuumed.

He wondered what your home looked like. If you had a pile of records too or if yours all had homes like they were supposed to. He wondered what sort furniture you had, if you had any posters or paintings or empty Mountain Dew cans sitting around collecting dust.

Probably not.

His stomach growled. He had barely left his bed let alone eaten anything yet today. He peeled off his headphones and set his guitar to the side as he climbed out of the warm comfort of his bed. He opened his bedroom door quietly and padded down the short hallway into the kitchen. The linoleum floor was cold against his bare feet.

He opened the fridge door slowly, careful not to wake Wayne sleeping in the dark living room. He glanced over the milk, eggs, and sparse condiments, spying a plastic bag with leftover once-frozen pizza inside. There were two pieces left.

Eddie glanced over toward the living room, hearing Wayne softly snoring on the fold-away bed. He looked back at the bag of pizza and grabbed it before quietly shutting the fridge.

There was a pang of guilt that came over him as he crept back down the hall toward the lighted door of his bedroom. Guilt for taking the last of it. The pizza. The bedroom.

He shut the door softly and returned to the warmth of his bed, folding his legs under him as he peeled back the plastic baggie.

Cold pizza always tasted better when he was high. Everything did. The combination of the cheese and the cold red sauce, the chewiness of the crust as he bit into it. Even the little brown sausage nuggets had more flavor.

Eddie sighed as he felt the food travel down his throat and fill his empty stomach.

He thought about you again, wondered what you were doing at that moment in time. He thought about you making lunch in your kitchen. Probably a sandwich, or a salad — something healthy. You probably ate it at a table, even wiped it down after you were done. He thought about you in your quiet apartment all by yourself and wondered if you thought about him too.

He wasn’t entirely sure you returned his feelings. Not like how he felt about you anyway. He swore he could feel it though, there was something. Something about the way you sighed when he held you, how easily your body pressed to his, like it wanted to be there. It was the way you never drew away when he drew closer. The way you looked at him. The way you laughed at his jokes and watched him as he left the parking lot.

Eddie glanced at his backpack slumped over by his desk.

He picked a few crumbs off of his sweatpants and sprinkled them onto the floor, taking care that they didn’t end up in his bed.

He wondered what you would think if you walked in right now.

What sort of interest could someone like you possibly have in someone like him?

If there was one thing he was really good at, it was wasting his time.

______

It was a Monday morning and Eddie Munson was tired. Tired of the looks people gave him as they passed him in the hallway. He was tired of waking up early to come to a place that he’d outgrown. Tired of not being good enough to leave it.

He felt his eyes lose focus as he twisted the dial on his locker. It took him three tries before it opened.

He had stayed up entirely too late again. For why, he wasn’t really sure. Maybe to punish himself. He supposed waking up at noon the day before didn’t exactly set himself up for success either.

In his defense he did finally crack open his chemistry textbook at 8 PM, but he might as well have been reading Greek. He stared at at the letters and numbers and formulas until he finally just gave up and tossed it back where it came from.

He did your homework though. He read the final chapters of the book and took notes on them as assigned. There would be a test on Friday and he didn’t want to disappoint you.

He stared into the contents of his locker, at the crumpled papers already accumulating underneath the pile of textbooks that were strewn about without a home.

Suddenly there was a soft voice that came from the other side of the cold metal. “Hey Eddie.”

Eddie swung the locker door inward. Chrissy Cunningham leaned against the locker next to his, clutching textbooks against her soft white cardigan.

“Hey,” he said, giving her a hesitant look.

“So I hear you can, um,” Chrissy bit her lip in thought, glancing off to the side, “Hook people up with certain things. If you know what I mean.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows and grabbed his history textbook before shutting his locker. “Yeah, I know what you mean. What do you need?”

“Well, Tina’s having a Halloween party again this year on Saturday and I was wondering if you could, you know. Deal.”

Eddie thought for a moment. He thought about how much money he had, which was not a lot. Not enough to get the tattoo he’d been wanting for over a month now. He thought about how good it would feel to focus on the prickling sting of the needle driving into his skin for a few hours. It was hard to think about anything else when you were in the chair, and he liked that about it — like a strange meditation. He could use a break from his thoughts lately.

“Yeah, I can deal. What are we talking?”

“Just grass I guess, not trying to kill anybody,” she said with a little chuckle. “People always overdo it at these things.”

Eddie gave a single nod, “I’ve got that.”

Chrissy smiled, “Great, here’s the address,” she said, reaching on top of the books she was carrying to hand him an orange flyer.

He took the paper in his hands, looking at the little hand-drawn ghost with the date, time, and address on it. Come and get sheet faced.

“I’ll see you there then, yeah?”

Eddie looked up from the paper, creasing it in the center with his thumb before shoving it into his pocket. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” she said. Her eyes glanced over him, scuffing the toe of her white shoe against the tile absentmindedly, “Looking forward to it.”

______

“Harpies don’t have ranged attacks, we’d be better off hitting them with spell damage while you tank them,” said Jeff, flicking his empty milk carton across the table at Mike.

“Their song is ranged, what are you talking about?” Mike retorted, flicking the milk carton back at him.

“That’s not an attack, dumbass,” said Jeff, chuckling.

Dustin glanced over at Mike and interjected. “The song lures you into close range so they can hit you with their talons. And they can do it from a distance, so…”

“But it’s not an attack,” said Gareth with a smirk.

Eddie sighed and swallowed his mouthful of tater tots. “It’s not an attack.”

Jeff laughed. “See?”

Mike shot Jeff a look, “Well, the spell casters aren’t going to be safe hanging back either way.”

“Guess you’ll just have to hold agro then, Pally,” Jeff said, flicking the milk carton back across the table. The older guys chuckled as the carton tumbled into Mike’s lap.

“Hey uh, by the way, I think we’re gonna have to make band practice later on Saturday,” said Gareth, “My grandma’s in town and we’re doing like… wholesome family shit, you know how it is.”

Eddie wished he could say that he did. “I can’t do it later, I’m going to a Halloween party on Saturday.”

Dustin snorted, “What are you going as?”

“Nothing. It’s, um, a business arrangement,” said Eddie with a look, hoping he would take the hint.

“The one at Tina’s?” asked Gareth, his eyes lighting up.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Can I come?”

Eddie paused, giving him a puzzled look, “I mean, I guess. I could probably use some help.” And some company, but he would never admit that. “Why do you wanna come so bad?”

There was a gleam in Gareth’s eye, “Cindy’s gonna be there, I saw her with one of those orange flyers in science today.”

A low oooh emanated from the table followed by a nudge from Jeff.

Eddie shot Gareth a look, “Who?”

“Cindy. You know, Cindy Wallace, from the science project?”

Eddie looked unimpressed, “Oh, the one you bailed on us for? Yeah I remember.”

“Yeah well, she’s gonna be there, so,” said Gareth, sitting back in his chair.

Eddie sighed, “Fine, you can come, just don’t make an ass of yourself or I’m leaving you there,” he said decidedly, popping another tater tot into his mouth.

“Cindy can take him home then,” laughed Jeff, nudging Gareth again.

The table erupted in laughter.

______

Eddie stared down at the chemistry homework that was now past-due as you went over the first equation for the third time. You had been at this for twenty minutes and he was comprehending absolutely none of it.

“It’s kind of like baking a cake, like all the ingredients come together to create this new thing. It’s different than math in that way,” you said gently, “Here, let’s use the equation for water as an example,” you said, scratching it out on the upper lefthand corner of the paper.

The fluorescent lights beat down on him, tiring his eyes even more than they already were. It made his skin feel hot. He hated the lighting in school. It was clinical, and oppressive, and made him want to take a nap. He blinked, watching your hand move across the paper, noting the soft dusting of chalk that still lingered on your knuckles.

“Ok, now let’s apply this same concept to the first equation here.” You scratched out the problem and walked him through solving it step by step.

He followed along, trying his best to pay attention. It was like you were saying words but his brain was not computing.

“Does that make sense?”

He sat back and looked at your handwriting, neat and pretty. None of it connected. “Um,” his eyes bored into the paper, unable to face yours. He was afraid he would look up and see frustration, or even worse — disappointment.

His face felt hot, his chest like someone had placed a weight there. The numbers and letters blurred in front of him as his voice caught in his throat.

He felt like an idiot.

He could feel your eyes glance over his face and he worked up the courage to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, digging his nail into the side of the pencil. He swallowed as he felt the heat rush to his face again, his pulse pounding in his ears. “I’m an idiot, I —” He stared down at the paper again.

He wanted to cry.

“No you’re not,” you said, your voice was warm and kind.

His nose burned as tears threatened behind his eyes and he hated himself for it. Hated himself for feeling like a child. For being unable to solve a basic problem even after all the extra help. Hated himself for still being here after six years. He didn’t know what he did to deserve your patience. He wondered when it would expire or if he was better off just dropping out. Maybe then he could ask you out like a real adult. He didn’t feel like one though. Not right now.

He felt a hand on his back.

He turned to look at you. The softness in your eyes could have melted him. Your gentle hand moved back and forth between his shoulder blades soothingly and he sighed at the touch.

“You’re really smart, Eddie. This just isn’t your thing, that’s all.”

You meant it, he could tell.

His eyes were large and wet but his tears obeyed and did not spill over his lashes. “Thanks,” he said softly. “For your patience, for your time, for … everything. I don’t know if I deserve it, but…”

Your hand stopped moving. His heart lurched. He watched as your expression changed, like you were pained all of a sudden. Your pretty mouth twitched, eyes lowering in thought.

“Please don’t say that. It’s really no trouble, I…” Your eyes darted back and forth between his, laying down words like you were hopping across a stream on small rocks, careful where you landed. “I really like… spending time with you. I…”

He leaned closer toward you, like a magnet was pulling him. “I like spending time with you too.” He could feel your breath against his cheek. His eyes lowered to your lips, so soft and so close. He wondered what it would feel like to close the gap and snatch them up in his.

Your eyes grew wider and Eddie swore he saw your face turn a deeper shade. He ached when you took your hand away.

“Let’s put this away and work on something else. I think you just need a little break.” You turned back toward your desk, bringing that same hand behind your neck as you cast your eyes downward. “Maybe we can come back to it later, or on Wednesday.”

Eddie swallowed and glanced away, turning to put his homework back in the beat up folder it came from. His face felt hot all of a sudden.

“So, uh, how was your birthday?” he asked, searching for anything to distract from the nerves twisting in his gut.

“Oh, it was uh,” you tidied your desk, “Fine. It was nice. I listened to the tapes you gave me,” you said, meeting his eyes again.

“Oh yeah?” He perked up.

“Yeah, multiple times actually,” you said, a bashfulness creeping through your smile. “I really liked them.”

“Really?”

“Yes really. I love music that’s driving, you know? Like, it takes you somewhere. It’s got this energy about it that’s really addicting, like it makes you want to move. I can see why you love it so much,” you said. Your eyes were sparkling, the redness in your face fading.

“Which one was your favorite?”

“Favorite song or album?”

“Both. I’m curious.”

You put a curved finger to your lips in thought. He loved it when you did that. “I think I liked Paranoid the best out of the two. And then song, let’s see... I think… War Pigs.”

Eddie blinked, “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a protest song, which I love. It’s the one that really made me pause and think, you know? It’s really true, what they’re talking about. How war is a game played by people who have power and the pieces are the people who don’t, who have no other choice but to be played. It’s a really powerful song. Catchy as hell too.”

Eddie propped his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek against his hand. He was tempted to bring you his entire collection if it meant that he could listen to you talk about them all the way you talked about everything — with careful perception.

You sighed softly, lowering your eyes before meeting his once more. “You know, I think more people would like it if they really listened.”

There was a tug at his heart. A loud and restless part of him stirred — awakened, acknowledged. “That’s what I’ve been saying,” he said breathlessly. “For years.”

You smiled at him in a way that made him feel something he felt so rarely. Seen.

He twisted at the rings on his fingers.

“Did um, did you do anything fun this weekend?” you asked, tidying a few papers on your desk.

“Nah, besides the usual stuff. Band practice, campaign planning,” he said, trailing off. “Homework,” he added quickly. “How was the rest of yours?”

“Oh, uneventful. Reading, errands… just boring stuff. I tried decorating for Halloween but…” you glanced off to the side and he noticed your brows furrow slightly. “I just haven’t been feeling all that festive this year. It’s weird living alone.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, shifting in his chair. “Yeah, I uh, got invited to a party this weekend but I can’t say I’m really feeling festive either.”

“Oh.” Your face dropped. It happened so quickly that he almost didn’t catch it before you corrected it. “Are you going as anything?” you asked innocently.

“Nah. I’m just… going.”

He wondered what you’d think if you knew why. You — behind the desk with chalk on your hands and worry in your eyes. You — staying later than required, with no extra pay, for him — a drug dealer.

He cast his eyes downward and thought about his father. A criminal. Only he was in jail and Eddie was free. Free to sell drugs to teenagers. They had more than a few things in common — he couldn’t manage to graduate high school either.

He kicked himself for even mentioning the party.

There was a deep worry in your eyes, deeper than you could hide. “Please be safe.”

Eddie leaned closer, “Are you ok?” he asked softly, probing you with his dark eyes.

“Um,” you lowered your eyes again, thumbing at the eraser of the pencil in your hand. “This time of year is… complicated for me.” For once you looked at a loss for words.

“What happened?” his voice was gentle.

You sighed and met his eyes. “My brother,” you started, swallowing as if your voice was caught, “My older brother, he… drove home drunk from a Halloween party. He was 17 and new at driving, and the roads were wet, and — “ you swallowed again, blinking as you stared off into nothing, “He didn’t make it home.”

The waver in your voice made his heart clench. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked at you.

You — who he watched day after day from the back of the classroom. You — who had all of the answers.

You looked so small from this side of the desk.

Your hand trembled, hovering above the mess of eraser shavings that the two of you had made together. He wanted to touch you. His hands twitched in his lap. When you found the courage to meet his gaze again, he caught the barely-there shimmer of tears threatening your lower lashes, and he couldn’t help himself.

Pulse racing, he reached across the space between and took your hand in his.

Your eyes were wide with trepidation.

“It’s ok,” he said softly.

His touch was delicate at first, timid until you squeezed back. His eyes fluttered up to yours for just a second, searching for approval before returning to your hand.

Your hand. The hand that writes back silly notes on his papers in green pen. The hand that opens his gifts wrapped in newspaper as if they were Tiffany’s boxes.

He rubbed his calloused thumb over your knuckles, wiping away the chalk. Your fingers were cold, fragile almost. Your palm so soft and warm against his. You had a paper cut on your index finger, he noticed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, swiping the knuckle from your other hand underneath your lashes quickly.

“Don’t be, it’s ok.”

He brought his other hand around yours, his grip solid and gentle all at once. He felt you relax and his curious fingers changed positions, as if he was trying to commit the touch to memory, to feel as much of your hand as possible. What surprised him was how eager yours was to do the same.

He felt your fingers move against the back of his hand, along his tendons, his knuckles, his rings, feeling the strong bones under the soft flesh. The pulse in your wrist hammered against his, your palm starting to sweat.

The echo of footsteps clicked up the hall, coming closer. Your eyes flashed up at his and you took your hand away.

You cleared your throat, sitting up straight again as the footsteps passed the door. “Um, thank you,” you said.

“Sure. Anytime,” he said softly, scratching his head.

The two of you sat there a moment in stillness. Nothing but the ticking of the clock and the clicking of heels moving away now.

“He was really something else,” you said softly, the light in your eyes returning. “From what I remember anyway. I was in eighth grade when it happened. You know, I can’t even say you would have liked him. I mean he was…” you trailed off, lost in thought, “He was in a different crowd. But he just had this energy about him that was so… magnetic. You have that in common at least.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Magnetic?”

The look you gave him made his heart flutter. A glint he caught in your eyes, there for only a second. “Yeah.”

You thumbed at the pencil on your desk again, brows furrowed in thought. “I never really went to many parties. Not in high school, not in college either. There’s a part of me that feels like I really missed out.”

“If it’s any consolation you’re really not missing much,” he said with a little chuckle.

“I know but it’s still… an experience.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Can’t argue with that.”

You sighed and looked at him again, the worry creeping back onto your features. “Please be careful, ok?”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

______

A/N: We thought Tina’s 1984 Halloween party was angsty, who’s ready for Angstfest 1985??

I also want to make a little note that I hope teacher!reader having this very specific backstory element doesn't deter anyone from the story! It was important for me as a writer to give her a reason for her behavior and relationships (specifically with her mom). It's all going to make sense, I promise! Just stick with me 💜

I want to give a special shoutout this week to the people who leave feedback (especially every single chapter!), and to the people who send me excited asks and messages. Your encouragement really keeps me going, you have no idea. (I do love all your hearts too, shy folks, please don’t get me wrong! They make me smile and I cherish you.)

I’m a small blog. I have less than 1k followers (but I’m closing in!). When I posted chapter one I had 165. This is my first big series and I’m learning a lot in the process. So if you love this story and feel comfortable sharing it, please do! I love you.

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#Fic Rec #chapter review #Dont Stand So Close to Me #What do you want your tag emoji to be do you have a preference #I don’t really know how people track tags on other peoples pages tbh so this is mainly for me #eddie munson x reader

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