#my heart is full and warm. ily 🥹 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pullhisteeth · 1 year

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hello, lovely! so so happy to see you writing again, you're really one of my fave writers here 🥹 if you want, would you mind writing a fluffy best friends to lovers one with eddie where he accidentally overhears nancy and robin talking about reader's feelings for him, and how the reader feels like she should just give up on her feelings towards eddie because it seems like a hopeless case lmao i'm sorry if it's too specific! ily ❤️

hi! I love you!!! I'm so sorry this took so long, I got stuck in the middle of it with no way out, so I scrapped it and started again. I hope you love it. thank you for the kindest message, you're a star xxx

contains some dubious eavesdropping and lots of fluff. somethin' suggestive towards the end but nothing huge. :-)

[3k (ish)]

“Hey, handsome.”

Eddie turns to the door. There you are, between the edge of it and the doorframe, socked feet on the step. You’ve got your hands behind your back and you want something.

He smiles at you softly and reaches his hand out without a word. He watches you return the smile and step down onto the porch and towards him. You lift your hand, take the lit cigarette from between his two fingers and lean on the post opposite him.

His eyes linger as you pull it between your lips and inhale, eyes fluttering shut and cheeks hollowing.

“You look nice today,” he tells you.

Your eyes open slowly as you turn your head to look at him. You bring the cigarette down and hold it out to him, twisting back towards the road to blow the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

As he takes it from you, you say, “Thanks.”

“New top?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“‘S’pretty. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you say through another smile. This one’s sly, coy, a wall because he’s complimented you twice and that’s at least one time too many for you. He likes the way he can see how your cheeks warm and how you shift your weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting to stop yourself swooning.

You watch cars go by and listen to the distant sound of Robin’s laugh inside the house, passing the cigarette between the two of you until it’s nothing more than a butt. Eddie throws it onto the gravel at the foot of the porch steps, being gracious enough to save the Wheelers’ nicely varnished wood from being ruined by ash and a filter, and does his best to stomp it out without shoes on.

“Your sock’s gonna get wet,” you tell him.

“‘S’okay,” he says, hopping back up onto the porch and swaying about until he reaches the front door. “C’mon. There’s a mean game of Irish snap waiting for us in there.”

You hum again, only this time it’s a sadder sound. He feels the skip of his heart and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“‘M’gonna stay out here a minute. Need some air.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He takes half a step back towards you. “Okay. You want company?”

You shake your head and it rips something within him. It aches. “I’ll only be a second.”

The ache yawns open somewhere in his chest but he surrenders, returning to the door and leaving it ajar for you as he goes back inside. His mind stays with you as he moves through the house, eyes on his feet and the damp spot on the side of his left sock.

He passes the stairs and as he rounds the corner, he stops dead at the sound of your name.

His ears perk up like an animal and he moves, without thinking, so his back is against the wall.

“-And I get why she feels like that, you know?”

Robin’s pacing. He hears the soft thump of her fluffy slippers each time she takes another step on the carpet.

“She just…” Nancy sighs. “Surely she should try to tell him?”

“Nance, c’mon. You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

“I just…”

“Nance.”

“He’s just… They’re so close, there’s probably so much we don’t see.”

“She tells us everything.”

Eddie catches his breathing getting heavier and stops, holding it at the hilt with lungs full of air. His hands are splayed across the wall behind him and he’s leaning with all his might, willing the floorboards beneath his feet to stay quiet just for a few moments more. His ears strain because to his right, Steve, Argyle and Jonathan are having some kind of cruelly-timed debate about pizza crusts in the kitchen.

“We can’t know that,” Nancy says. Eddie thinks she sounds sad; he can hear her mouth turning down in the shape of her words, and her fingers are drumming across the glass-topped coffee table, her anxious tell.

“We’ve known her long enough. And we’ve known him long enough. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“She just seemed so sad. I wish she’d try.”

“It’s not worth it,” Robin tells her, words short and frank. Her repetitive footsteps stop. “Clearly.”

Nancy hums.

“He’s hopeless,” Robin continues. “She’s been pining after him for what? A year?”

“More than that,” Nancy says quietly.

“Exactly! She deserves to be happy, we want her to be happy. So she has to-”

“Move on,” Nancy offers.

“Right.”

“But… We see him all the time. He’s our friend.”

“I guess we just… Help her through it,” Robin says. “Get Steve to set her up or something. Surely we know someone who’s far removed enough from Eddie?”

The colour has drained from Eddie’s face, seeping down his body and through his damp socks and into the floor. The hands keeping him steady on the wall are rendered useless, because he can feel them clamming up and slipping down the tasteless wallpaper the Wheelers have covered their hallway in. He slowly pushes himself up to stand and his head spins, the gaudy florals on the walls blurring to crisp bursts of colour.

What the fuck?

What the fuck did he just listen to?

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have listened; it was a private conversation, a private conversation about you. And yet he can’t bring himself to move, ears trained solely on the now-quieter mumblings between Nancy and Robin about how to cheer you up, and…

Andy.

Eddie’s stomach turns at the four letters as he hears Robin say them, louder than she’d been before, bright like a lightbulb.

Andy.

He lives down the street from Nancy, in a big house with a wrap-around porch and a mailbox Eddie probably knocked over at some point in his early teens. He has a good car - better than Steve’s, even - and wears ugly, pasty polo-neck sweaters and pristine tennis shoes. He probably plays tennis, Eddie thinks.

He’s everything Eddie knows your parents would love. Hell, he’s heard you complain more times than you should ever have had to about the sly comments your mother makes, the garden parties and barbecues you’re dragged to on hot Saturdays with the sole purpose of setting the two of you up.

“She hates him,” Eddie hears Nancy tell Robin flatly, their voices hushed again but just loud enough for him to do exactly what he knows he should not be doing.

“But he’s interested,” Robin whines.

“Only ‘cause her parents try so hard. He’s awful, Rob.”

“At least he’d try! I bet he’d take her to Enzo’s if we asked him to.”

“Rob,” Nancy hisses. “You can’t be serious.”

Eddie thought his stomach had dropped out of him a while ago, at the first mention of your name, but he’d been wrong, because he gets that awful sinking feeling once more when he hears the front door close.

In the seconds that follow, everything happens both incredibly quickly and painfully slowly, the way a car crash does, or watching someone fall. You round the corner, footsteps softening as you tread over the rug. Nancy and Robin’s hushed voices stop. Steve throws something at the bin in the kitchen. He misses. Argyle and Jonathan shout. You look up from watching your feet, and your eyes find him, wide and unsure. Eddie dies.

Well, whatever he’s feeling is what he imagines dying is like. There’s a cacophony of sensations and emotions bursting from within his body: firstly, there’s nerves, taking the form of butterflies the way they always do when he looks at you. They’re followed by a wave, though, of shame and, later, dread. He shouldn’t be here. He thinks you have worked out that he shouldn’t be here. He can hear Robin’s slippers again, only they’re getting closer this time, and then she’s at the door, right by his left ear. He can’t tear his eyes off you.

She calls your name, once in a tone so soft Eddie’s surprised it came from her mouth, and then again, only more confused.

He sees her in his peripheral vision as she leans her head around the doorframe and finds him with his back against the wall. She gasps, a quiet, wobbly noise, and then Nancy’s there, too.

You’re still standing a few paces from him, damp socks on the rug, looking at him with an expression that he cannot read.

“Eddie?” you call and he wants to die, he seriously wants to die. The world should swallow him whole for this, spit him out in the pits of Tartarus, let Cerberus have his way with him.

“Oh, god,” he hears Nancy say slowly from her spot beside Robin.

“Eddie,” you say again. “What’s wrong?”

Your face has crumpled into something between concern and remorse. Something unspoken hangs in the stuffy air of the hallway, broken only by the sounds of trash can basketball happening in the next room.

“Uh,” Robin drones, “We’ll, uh… We’re just gonna-” She slides out of the room, past Eddie, pulling Nancy with her by the wrist. “We’ll be in here,” she says, more to you than to him, an unspoken declaration that says come find us if you need us, before disappearing into the kitchen and closing the door.

He’s still looking at you, and you’re still looking at him. You’re about as pale as he feels as he stands upright again.

“What happened?” you ask him.

“I, uh… Fuck,” he stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the top of his nose. He catches your wince at the curse and the aggravated edge it comes out with. “Uh… Nance and Rob, they were… They mentioned you, I might have… Overheard a couple things.”

He looks away from you as he admits this, that wave of shame more akin to a tsunami now. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t have listened.

But he did.

“I don’t…” You’re fiddling, fingers winding around fingers, standing before him looking more lost than ever. He chances a glance at you and your face is twisted in confusion. And then it relaxes, mouth agape, as realisation dawns.

“Oh.”

Warmth crawls up your neck. It spreads like wildfire behind your ears, across your scalp, over your cheeks. Everything is hot, the room’s too small, the air’s too close; more than anything, Eddie is too close.

He watches you fidget. You step forward, and your face drops again, wincing like you’re standing too close to a flame, so you step back and turn, moving away from him quicker than he can process. His call of your name falls on deaf ears and ends just as the front door shuts again.

He hears the shuffling of many feet behind the kitchen door but ignores it, pushing himself off the wall and through the hallway. The space is like water, the pressure pushing him down, keeping him from the fresh air - and you.

When he wrenches the front door open he’s hit first with the smell of rain, that hollow, metallic scent. And then it mixes with something like sorrow, and he feels it burrow into his bones, a deep-set melancholy he wants so desperately to fix.

You’re sitting on the porch steps, your back to him, hunched over with your head in your hands. The way your shoulders move gives you away; Eddie’s at your side quicker than he can think to breathe, touching you before really checking that you want that from him right now. It doesn’t seem to matter; you lean into him like always. You hiccup and sniffle, face pressed into his t-shirt without thought, and his arm sits around your shoulder and his fingers press into your shoulder.

“I’m here,” he says, unsteady. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say into his chest. You lean back and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I didn’t… You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

Eddie’s brain is working too quickly for him to keep up with, but he manages to tell you it’s okay. “I’m not mad,” he says, thumb pressing into your jaw, the pads of his fingers on your neck, checking you over.

“I’m mad,” you choke. There’s the hint of a laugh there and he can’t help but return it.

“That’s allowed,” he says. He’s surprising himself with how quickly he’s turned into something solid and reassuring. “Want a do-over?”

You look at him and he aches again, his nose burning. You’re flushed and your eyes are pinker than usual, and as his eyes dance over your lips he sees they’re wet from crying and ripe for kisses.

They twist into a smile and he decides that, for now, that’s better.

“Eddie,” you breathe, coy. You nudge him softly in the stomach with your elbow. “Fuck off.”

“What?” he laughs. “I can leave you out here, if you want. Maybe Andy will come save you from m-”

Your elbow hits his lowest rib this time, with far more force than before, and the gasp he pulls from you is almost comical.

“Eddie,” you hiss, “they did not-”

“Oh, Rob would set you up in a heartbeat.”

You groan and let your forehead fall to his shoulder. And it’s here, where he’s enveloped in the smell of rain and the feeling of you, that he feels something open in his chest, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“He’s better than me, anyway,” he says quietly, fingers carding through the ends of your hair. “You’re too good for me. Some other boy would be better.”

“Other boys are boring,” you tell him, leaning back. Your voice is small and you can’t meet his eye but it’s the truth; he’s blind to it, apparently, but Eddie Munson is the only boy who has ever interested you. He is the only boy who listens, the only boy who sees you, the only boy you have any desire to know inside and out. You’re not sure you ever will know him completely, but if you spend the rest of your life trying, you’ll be happy doing it.

His fingers dance through the space between the two of you until they find yours, toying with the loose threads of denim at the frayed hem of your jeans. His bigger hand takes yours and you still can’t look him in the damn eye. You’d find a smile if you did, though.

He squeezes your hand and touches your chin lightly with the other, pressing the side of his index finger to the underneath of it to bring your face level with his own.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You obey, because it’s Eddie, and he’s so close and you can smell his uncle’s washing powder and the stubborn stain of pot and you love him.

“We could go for pizza,” he says, just as soft. “How’s Enzo’s?”

“You don’t have t’go fancy on me,” you whisper back. “I like Benny’s more.”

A grin splits his face and you match it, giggling.

“My girl likes burgers, huh?”

“Y’know I do,” you say, squeezing back. “Your girl?”

“Gotta take you on a date first,” he says. “Do it properly.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like a gentleman.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Your breaths are one and the same by now, your mouths so close together that your vacant space has become his. Your eyes move between his eyes and his lips and you catch his doing the same, and there’s an ache somewhere between your legs that makes you pull your thighs together.

He dips his head just enough, thumb pushing into your chin to pull you closer. You let your eyes shut and feel his lips over yours, slow and distant, before you lean into him. He kisses you sweet, his hand smoothing over your jaw to hold your face like it’s made of gold, and he moves against you with certainty.

He’s determined and as his tongue meets yours you bend into it, relenting. It’s magic, just as you’d imagined all these years.

He releases your hand and grabs your waist in his firm grip. It starts to get slovenly, your hips against his thigh, his tongue everywhere, and your head’s starting to spin.

“You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself,” you say, panting, smiling, pulling back from him to look him in the eye again. He’s all browns, dark lashes and darker irises, never wavering from your sight. “Thought you had to take me on a date first.”

“You’re too pretty,” he says, kissing you gently at the corner of your mouth. His breath blooms across your skin as he speaks. “Got years of not kissin’ you to make up for.”

His fingers dig gently into your sides and you suck in a breath that’s half a giggle.

“Gotta get back at Rob and Nance,” you say as his mouth moves over your jaw and leaves a mark somewhere beneath your earlobe.

He hums and leans back, saying his goodbyes to your skin with one last peck to your cheek, just below your eye.

“I think we owe them,” he says. “I do, anyway. Was never gonna get my ass in gear. Coulda lost you to Andy.”

“Never,” you say without a beat.

“Never,” he says back.

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