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cacoetheswriting · 12 days ago

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THATS LITERALLY BEEN ME SINCE POSTING !!

but honestly thank you for reading and being here <3

eddie my love | the right where you left me. epilogue

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 4.1k

summary: in a frantic hurry, Eddie Munson admits he’s in love with you and to his pleasant surprise, the world doesn’t end. quite the opposite actually. it keeps spinning. maybe even a little bit faster? especially when, against your nature, you agree to stay.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, a little angsty but overall fluff era, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

To say a lot happened the night of your High School graduation should probably be considered an understatement. Lives changed. Drunken decisions made in a matter of seconds, by you, your friends, they affected the trajectory of everyone’s individual future like some fucked up Butterfly Effect, or whatever the hell the phenomenon is called.

A dramatic chain of events unfolded in front of your very eyes, but rather unfortunately, you don’t remember most of what occurred because you were dancing along that thin line of a mild hangover the next day and completely blackout drunk (queue instead a horrible hangover).

One thing stands out, for sure. The big thing. A motive (of sorts) that swayed the reasonings of your later dilemma: stay or leave.

Eddie Munson admitted his feelings for you, his best friend.

Sitting on a lounge chair in the back garden of Chrissy Cunnigham’s mansion-of-a-house. Your head resting on his shoulder, talking about plans for the summer, and beyond. With a shaky hand, Eddie removes the plastic cup from your grasp and intertwines his fingers with yours. He takes in a deep breath, which you can hear him exhale despite your inhibitions.

“I like you,” the metal-head says.

You giggle next to him, gaze glued to where his thumb presses into your wrist.

“Well, duh. We’re friends, asshat. I’d be surprised if you didn’t like me.”

Eddie shakes his head and twists, facing you. When you catch his pretty brown eyes, your cheeks bloom because there’s something behind his gaze that’s different to any other time he’s looked at you — which, for all accounts and purposes, is actually quite a lot.

“I like you as eh, as more than a friend.”

Upon hearing his admission, your heart fills with joy, growing like a balloon only inside your chest. The world stops spinning and for a split-second you feel stone cold sober. Eddie like-likes you. That fact makes you giddy because he’s perhaps the best person you have ever met and undeniably, he would make a phenomenal boyfriend.

But reality seeps in and a needle approaches the balloon faster than you’d like. A prick in the form of your ex-boyfriend Billy, who is the only other person on this Earth that’s ever admitted to liking you as anything other than platonic. That is until he died and although you can’t exactly prove the theory that people who love you die — since that list is only one, and that’s not enough data for any scientific research — you still don’t feel like tempting fate. Especially because now it’s Eddie saying these nice things and you need him as a friend more than you need him as something different.

“Eddie…”

“Look, I-I just… We could be really happy, angel. If you just gave me a chance.”

The memory is a little hazy. You want to believe you let him down gently, because that would be easier to digest considering what happened later that same night, but a part of you knows there was nothing gentle about how you handled his heart — Eddie’s version of the story corroborates this feeling you’ve carried.

A shove and quick escape from his grasp. Some irrational yelling about not seeing him in the same light and a very defensive stance on how he could do this to you, as if he’d committed some cardinal sin. There’s begging to forget about him ever saying anything (on his part) and some tears (also on his part). And the topic is put to bed. For now, you remain friends. The balloon has popped.

“I need a minute,” Eddie announces without looking at you and walks back into the house.

For a minute, you’re devastated. Thinking you made a mistake reacting the way you did, you consider running after the metal-head and apologising, blaming your nerves since you’d never actually admit out loud that Billy’s death has fucked you up in any considerable way. Then someone hands you a drink and as you down the burning liquid, you forget all about Eddie’s sad expression.

One foot in front of the other, you follow in his general direction with the intention of finding your girlfriends, Robin and Nancy. You want to tell them what just happened, while it’s still fresh in your mind. Instead, you bump into Steve Harrington.

Although it’s no excuse, it all happens really fast.

In the kitchen, you do a couple shots together, laughing and maybe even flirting. Definitely flirting. You don’t mean to. He’s just really fucking handsome and he’s showing interest a) because he finds you to be smoking hot, b) because he’s just as drunk as you, and c) because he has no idea his friend Eddie finally told you how he feels about you.

Bumping bodies, you move through the crowd of your classmates to find someplace private. Steve’s hand is on your waist as you do and a fire ignites within your gut. An emotional connection isn’t something you’re ready for quite yet, but something strictly physical? Well, you want this guy and you want him bad.

Steve’s mouth is on yours before the door even shuts behind him and the rumours are true: The King is a damn good kisser.

He’s got one hand at the back of your neck, the other strategically placed on the curve of your ass, squeezing. He smirks against your parted mouth, then lightly bites your bottom lip before leaning back down and the suave in his movements, the confidence, it all catches you off guard. Although, that could also be the alcohol. You’re both very tipsy.

Suddenly, your feet are up, off the ground. Legs wrapped around Steve’s waist as he props you against the closed door, closing that gap between you further. His mouth is hot against your skin, working its way across your jaw and down the nape of your neck.

At first, you don’t hear the knock on the door. Too lost in the sensation of Steve’s sultry voice, possessive touch, and honestly, literal BDE. But the knocking gets louder and then a voice calls out. A tone you know all too well. You freeze, once again feeling momentarily sober.

Eddie’s trying to push inside. He’s complaining about the resistance until he manages to get his foot in and Steve pokes his head of hair out.

“Dude,” is all Harrington says.

“Shit man, sorry,” Eddie fumbles, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

The expression fades quickly, however, since in the mirror across, Eddie spots your reflection. Hiding behind Steve’s frame, head buried in his shoulder. Your gaze is peeking out, staring ahead into the mirror too.

“What the fuck?”

Steve sees the look on his friend's face and realises immediately how badly he just messed up. He drops his hold on you and stumbles backwards into the room, allowing Eddie to open the door wider and step inside.

The metal-head doesn’t really care about his mate’s apology. His attention is solely fixated on you. The girl he’s into wholeheartedly and rather desperately. Also the girl who mere twenty minutes ago heard him spill his guts on the matter, and rather ungraciously, shot him down.

He’s angry. Why not him? How come you’re into Steve and not him?

“Fuck- Are you seriously going to listen to me tell you how I feel about you, then try and jump into bed with fucking Harrington?” Eddie’s in disbelief, instantly yelling with his arms stretched out as if he’s daring you to fight back. “You’re both supposed to be my fucking friends!”

“Dude, I-I didn’t know you finally said something.” Steve tries to intervene and calm his friend down. “Fuck, man, it’s no excuse but we’re both kinda drunk and this doesn’t mean anything.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves Harrington out of the way before once again, peering directly back at you. You, who doesn’t want to indulge in this nonsense right now since it was just a stupid kiss. So, you turn back out into the hallway, hoping to find another drink.

Your best friend is hot on your heels. He grabs your arm, spins you around.

“You couldn’t even wait a day to soften the fucking blow?!”

“I fucking told you, Eddie,” you snap back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “I don’t fucking feel the same way!”

Even though it’s not entirely true. At this moment in time, you’ve had one too many drinks and it’s easier to ignore, push down what you actually feel towards him, than address it. People you love die, the devil on your shoulder hisses.

“It’s just a stupid hookup,” you tell him. “You’re not my keeper, Eddie. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Eddie’s silent for a moment. The rage on his face disappears for a split-second, showcasing the sadness and heartbreak you’ve just caused. And if you were sober, you would’ve noticed it sooner – in the moment, as opposed to the next morning when you replayed this interaction in your head. But you’re wasted and Eddie annoyed you by announcing his feelings out of the blue.

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

That’s when you definitely shove him. Or maybe you slap him? He’s suddenly holding your hand either way, preventing you from making this fucked up situation ten times worse, although, in your inebriated state, you don’t really care about optics. Jesus Christ, you don’t really care about anything other than finding another drink.

Undeniably hurt and riled, Eddie on the other hand wants answers and he wants them now. He pulls you through the next open door he sees and kicks it with a thud, right in Steve’s face. No witnesses because maybe if you two are alone, he’ll get you to tell him the truth: what makes Harrington better than him?

What transpires instead is a screaming match you don’t entirely remember the full details of.

Until that moment, you and Eddie have never fought. Not even a silly little argument over the most miniscule thing. He’s been your peace. He’s kept you grounded. Even when Billy talked shit in your ear about the metal-head, you always stood up for the curly-haired boy (much to your then-boyfriend’s dismay).

Standing in Chrissy’s childhood bedroom, your life explodes in front of your drunken eyes. You’re too lost in the alcohol wave to fully understand the repercussions of your words and even worse, your actions. Eddie however, he’s stone-cold sober. He’ll remember every single excruciating detail of this argument, and surrounding reasons, until the day his days on this Earth run out.

Which is why — in the heat of the moment — he calls you a slut and shoves the gifted red guitar pick into your grasp, no longer wanting to have any reminder of how much you mean to him on his body. You don’t want it either. Feeling like he’s policing you, plus that disgusting slut comment, you feel like severing this friendship. So you approach the window and before Eddie knows what’s happening, you throw the piece of plastic out the window.

Then, for good measure, you flip him off.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate,” he spits in response.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

You leave him stewing in his own misery, slamming into his arm on your way out the door, and head back downstairs to rejoin the party.

A group of jocks is playing beer pong. One of them whistles in your direction, tipping his head towards the table, a wordless invitation to join them. You do. One game turns to two, then three. The taste of beer is rude on your tongue, even harsher on your stomach, and you’re reminded — a little too late — never decline the strength of your poison. If you must mix, the only way is up.

Excusing yourself, you stagger towards the front door. Fresh air slaps you in the face, doing very little to prolong the inevitable. In fact, it speeds it up. Bending over a plant pot, brown flume, a mix of vodka and beer, spills out of you in waves.

That’s the last thing you remember.

Eddie, having heard a string of apologies from his mate Steve, wants nothing more than to go home, smoke a joint and forget about this wretched night. He pushes through his drunken classmates, fetching a cigarette from the inside of his jacket. With the bud between his lips, he makes it outside, only to stop dead in his tracks.

You’re leaning against the porch railing.

Hesitantly, Eddie walks around you. His first instinct is to completely ignore the girl who broke his heart not even a half-hour ago, so after he hops onto the grass, lighting the cigarette, he’s really doing his best not to turn around. Then you make a coughing sound. An even worse sound follows after and the metal-head closes his eyes momentarily because he knows he can’t leave you here. Not like this.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He’s by your side, propping you up against him. Carefully, he guides your right arm around his neck and slides his left one around your waist. Stumbling over your own two feet, you barely make a straight line. Eddie’s holding you. Kicking rocks and twigs out of the way, so you don’t accidentally trip over them, sending both of you falling.

Eventually approaching the van, Eddie helps you into the passenger seat, clicking the seatbelt into place. His gaze scans yours and before he can help himself, Eddie places a gentle hand on your cheek. Thumb grazes along your muscle as your drunken eyes dilate. Something close to a smile tugs at your lips and Eddie’s heart clenches in his throat because he knows, judging by the glazed look on your face, you won’t remember this part of the night. Only the earlier fight.

Dropping his hand, Eddie offers you a bottle of water from the glove compartment and watches you take a few sips before closing the door. He jogs around the front of the car, sliding in behind the wheel. There’s one last longing look shot in your direction, but you’re not paying attention. Gazing instead out the window, into the night.

The drive to the Wheeler residence is silent.

In fact, no words are exchanged until Eddie helps you into bed.

Having taken off your bile-covered shirt and skirt, the metal-head lifts the sheet covers and guides you under. He places the half-drank bottle of water on the bedside table and is about to switch off the light, walk out and hope tomorrow you’re in a mood to talk, when you say his name. Faintly, at first. He’s not sure he’s even heard anything, or if his mind is playing tricks. Then you say it again, with more conviction, and when Eddie looks at you — what will happen to be the last time for the next three years — you reach for him.

“Thank you,” you croak when he hesitantly takes your hand.

Eddie squeezes your palm, eventually forcing himself to let it go.

“Always.”

Then you close your eyes, letting sleep take over, and Eddie drops your hand before walking out — this time without stealing a last glance.

Three years later and the lie of that always has finally stopped gnawing at the metal-head.

In a frantic hurry, Eddie Munson admits he’s in love with you and to his pleasant surprise, the world doesn’t end. Quite the opposite actually. It keeps spinning. Maybe even a little bit faster? Especially when, against your nature, you agree to stay.

Sitting together on the deck, feet dancing with the cold water beneath, you and Eddie talk.

A conversation that should have been had the morning after Chrissy’s infamous graduation party. Instead, a hangover of shame clouded your judgement back then, and Eddie’s ability to hold a grudge definitely didn’t help the matter.

Perhaps parting ways, not speaking for years — and getting sober — then circling the subject all weekend until it was almost too late, well, maybe all of that was for the best. It helped evolve you two into the people you are right this very moment. Two people who are finally willing to accept the love they definitely deserve.

“I uh,” Eddie clears his throat.

“You love me,” you say, tilting your head slightly in his direction.

He nods, once, slowly, then meets your eyes.

“I do.” Eddie affirms, “A lot, actually.”

A smile circles your lips.

“That’s nice.”

He scoffs a laugh, bumping your arm with his own.

“Well, fuck me then. I guess I take it back,” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes, telling him he can’t.

“All our friends heard you say it,” you point out.

Eddie smacks his lips together, pondering, and your gaze instantly shifts downwards from his chocolate-button eyes, landing shamelessly on his mouth. You want to kiss him, but that would be counterproductive. The spell is only broken when you feel the tips of his fingers reach for your own, currently resting on the wooden deck between.

Letting him hold your hand, you look out onto the lake.

“I had a really good weekend with you,” you admit quietly.

Eddie gently squeezes your fingers and after a beat of silence, he says, “I quit my job.”

Before your head even snaps back in his direction, eyes wide in disbelief, he lifts his free hand in the air to stop you from questioning his actions and jumping to conclusions, and continues talking.

“During breakfast, when you said we’ve only been surface level, I knew you were lying and I realised in that moment just how truly scared you are to feel happy because of what happened to Billy.” The metal-head explains, “After I stormed off, I called my boss at the station and I told him I’m quitting because I decided to come with you to Vegas.”

“Eddie—”

“Shh woman, let me talk,” he stops you with a timid smile. “I aim to prove to you, it’s okay to move on and leave the past in the past. The only way I can do that is if we’re in the same city.”

Life in Las Vegas became fuller with Eddie Munson by your side.

Your tiny apartment suddenly doesn’t feel as suffocating when the metal-head fills it with his trinkets, collection of vinyls, and gradually decorates the empty walls with prints and posters. Eddie gives your now shared home, life and in return you help him find a presenter job at a nearby station — a daytime slot, so you don’t have to spend your evenings alone anymore.

As weeks pass, you introduce him to the wellness hobbies you’ve picked up over the years. Hiking, yoga. Seemingly not a good fit for the dark academia vibe of your non-labeled boyfriend, but Eddie dives into these activities head first because they’re a part of the person you’ve become in his absence and this challenge he’s created (and accepted) for himself — “it’s okay to move on” — requires him to be completely willing.

Next on the agenda of assimilation is meeting your Vegas friends.

Jax being first on the list and although you worried about a potential stand-off of male egos, the two guys click immediately, mainly bonding over their shared priority: your happiness. Later on, at a house party Jax throws, Eddie meets the remainder of your new friend group: Chiti, Savannah, and Sammy. People the metal-head only recently became aware of, but a group that undoubtedly cares for you just as deeply as the Hawkins crew.

And speaking of which, they eventually also make their way down to visit — as promised. The six of you cram into your small apartment, squeeze like sardines in a metal tin, but no one complains because you’re together again, if only for a short period of time.

When it’s just you and Eddie, Earth slows down.

His willingness to simply be there for you makes your heart grow tenfold, and you become more and more obsessed with him. Every single morning, brown-eyes find yours and he whispers he loves you, then kisses you softly. Never once forcing you to say it back, although you feel it. With every fiber of your being, stronger each day, you feel the love you have for him.

One evening, about four months into living together, labeless, but with certain strings attached, the two of you are cooking dinner together. Eddie has just come home from work and you wrapped up an assignment, it’s quiet and blissful.

Sitting at the kitchen island, while Eddie is chopping vegetables and telling you about his day, you realise that it has been a while since you’ve thought about Billy. Honestly, if you had to say, you wouldn’t be able to point out at all when exactly your dead ex-boyfriend crossed your mind for the last time.

And you realise right then and there, you’re no longer scared. Eddie has completed his challenge.

So, without giving it a second thought, you blurt out the three words he’s been longing to hear from you for as long as he can remember.

“I love you.”

His head snaps up, gaze catching yours. Seeing the conviction written all over your features, he drops the knife onto the wooden board and rounds the cabinets, approaching you like a moth to flame. His ring-clad fingers grip your face gently and he’s fighting back a smile, which makes your own mouth twitch upwards.

“Are you sure?”

He’s not certain exactly why he asks the question. Maybe because he wants to hear you utter those words again, and you do, with even more fervour.

Nodding, you say, “I love you, hotshot.”

Grinning like an idiot, Eddie lowers his body, lips smashing against yours in an elated kiss because you love him, and he loves you, and all is going to be okay. The past is the past. You’ve both overcome the associated demons and now you’re here, together.

In love.

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities.

It’s cold. Cold enough to make anyone's atoms shiver. Dark grey clouds cover every inch of the sky above, hiding the beautiful autumn sun. The air is brisk. It’s harsh against your skin as you eventually get out of the red Jeep and the unwelcoming breeze that follows makes you wish that you had packed warmer clothes for this weekend.

Déjà vu.

A heavy jacket is draped over your shoulders and you smile, tugging it closer to yourself while looking behind for its wild-haired owner. Eddie winks at you, then opens the boot to grab both of your bags as the door of the lake house swings open and Nancy runs out, arms spread wide as she squeals with excitement.

“You’re both here!”

The hug Nancy gives you is strong, almost full force — pretty much the same as the one she embraced you in at exactly this time last year, in this very same spot. Her arms are wrapped tightly around you and you instantly hug her back, a small smile circling your lips.

“Of course we’re here,” you tell her, pulling back. “It’s not every day your friends organise a weekend getaway to celebrate their engagement!”

She beams and not-so-casually lifts her hand to show off the elegant rock gracing her ring finger. Then, just as quickly, she pulls you by the arm, into another quick embrace and whispers in your ear, “You’re next.”, earning herself a nudge in the side because, even though, you’ve been going steady with the metal-head for just under a year, you��re nowhere near ready for marriage.

Although, marrying Eddie Munson would be far from a travesty.

After saying hello to your brunette boyfriend, Nancy leads you both into the lakehouse. Not much has changed inside, yet the wow effect is still as strong. The rest of the group — Jonathan, Steve, Argyle, Robin — are sitting outside, on the patio. They jump up excitedly when they see you and Eddie, greeting you both like no time has passed (because really, it’s only been a couple of weeks).

Eddie makes himself comfortable next to you, hand on your thigh. He instantly engages in conversation with Jonathan, while you look at Steve. He offers you a cigarette, then lights the bud for you. After a moment of huffing smoke, he leans in closer and with a tender smile on his face says:

“It’s nice to finally see you happy, sweetheart.”

And this time around, right here, in this place where, last year, you’ve reconnected with not only yourself, but the best people in the world, where you met Eddie Munson all over again, opened yourself up to him and fell in the process, the sentiment surrounding your joy is true.

“I am,” you say, leaning your back into Eddie. The primary source of your happiness. Yours forever.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

to all you babes, thank you for loving this little labour of love. i literally can’t believe we’re at the end of this story 🥲 obsessed with every single person that’s liked, reblogged, commented, and overall enjoyed reading this fic. i love you all forever and ever - until next time!

lastly, tagging some cool people that expressed ongoing interest in this story:

@ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie @rizzraa @micheledawn1975 @gracelouiseoneill @moremaple @bigpoppascherry @jeangeniex @daisy-munson @ceeezy @kissmyacdc @cyressluvy @mango-slush-boba @iyskgd @bigpoppascherry @everlove @tieganspeirs

#mwah ily

181 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 13 days ago

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eddie my love | the right where you left me. epilogue

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 4.1k

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

One thing stands out, for sure. The big thing. A motive (of sorts) that swayed the reasonings of your later dilemma: stay or leave.

Eddie Munson admitted his feelings for you, his best friend.

“I like you,” the metal-head says.

You giggle next to him, gaze glued to where his thumb presses into your wrist.

“Well, duh. We’re friends, asshat. I’d be surprised if you didn’t like me.”

“I like you as eh, as more than a friend.”

“Eddie…”

“Look, I-I just… We could be really happy, angel. If you just gave me a chance.”

“I need a minute,” Eddie announces without looking at you and walks back into the house.

Although it’s no excuse, it all happens really fast.

Steve’s mouth is on yours before the door even shuts behind him and the rumours are true: The King is a damn good kisser.

Eddie’s trying to push inside. He’s complaining about the resistance until he manages to get his foot in and Steve pokes his head of hair out.

“Dude,” is all Harrington says.

“Shit man, sorry,” Eddie fumbles, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“What the fuck?”

He’s angry. Why not him? How come you’re into Steve and not him?

Your best friend is hot on your heels. He grabs your arm, spins you around.

“You couldn’t even wait a day to soften the fucking blow?!”

“I fucking told you, Eddie,” you snap back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “I don’t fucking feel the same way!”

“It’s just a stupid hookup,” you tell him. “You’re not my keeper, Eddie. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

What transpires instead is a screaming match you don’t entirely remember the full details of.

Then, for good measure, you flip him off.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate,” he spits in response.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

You leave him stewing in his own misery, slamming into his arm on your way out the door, and head back downstairs to rejoin the party.

That’s the last thing you remember.

You’re leaning against the porch railing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The drive to the Wheeler residence is silent.

In fact, no words are exchanged until Eddie helps you into bed.

“Thank you,” you croak when he hesitantly takes your hand.

Eddie squeezes your palm, eventually forcing himself to let it go.

“Always.”

Then you close your eyes, letting sleep take over, and Eddie drops your hand before walking out — this time without stealing a last glance.

Three years later and the lie of that always has finally stopped gnawing at the metal-head.

Sitting together on the deck, feet dancing with the cold water beneath, you and Eddie talk.

“I uh,” Eddie clears his throat.

“You love me,” you say, tilting your head slightly in his direction.

He nods, once, slowly, then meets your eyes.

“I do.” Eddie affirms, “A lot, actually.”

A smile circles your lips.

“That’s nice.”

He scoffs a laugh, bumping your arm with his own.

“Well, fuck me then. I guess I take it back,” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes, telling him he can’t.

“All our friends heard you say it,” you point out.

Letting him hold your hand, you look out onto the lake.

“I had a really good weekend with you,” you admit quietly.

Eddie gently squeezes your fingers and after a beat of silence, he says, “I quit my job.”

“Eddie—”

Life in Las Vegas became fuller with Eddie Munson by your side.

Next on the agenda of assimilation is meeting your Vegas friends.

When it’s just you and Eddie, Earth slows down.

And you realise right then and there, you’re no longer scared. Eddie has completed his challenge.

So, without giving it a second thought, you blurt out the three words he’s been longing to hear from you for as long as he can remember.

“I love you.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s not certain exactly why he asks the question. Maybe because he wants to hear you utter those words again, and you do, with even more fervour.

Nodding, you say, “I love you, hotshot.”

In love.

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities.

Déjà vu.

“You’re both here!”

“Of course we’re here,” you tell her, pulling back. “It’s not every day your friends organise a weekend getaway to celebrate their engagement!”

Although, marrying Eddie Munson would be far from a travesty.

“It’s nice to finally see you happy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you say, leaning your back into Eddie. The primary source of your happiness. Yours forever.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

lastly, tagging some cool people that expressed ongoing interest in this story:

#shameless self reblog

181 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 14 days ago

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ahhh stop thank you for reading and sharing and showing love, im literally crying 🥲🥲🥲 im so happy you enjoyed the ending!

eddie my love | the right where you left me. epilogue

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 4.1k

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

One thing stands out, for sure. The big thing. A motive (of sorts) that swayed the reasonings of your later dilemma: stay or leave.

Eddie Munson admitted his feelings for you, his best friend.

“I like you,” the metal-head says.

You giggle next to him, gaze glued to where his thumb presses into your wrist.

“Well, duh. We’re friends, asshat. I’d be surprised if you didn’t like me.”

“I like you as eh, as more than a friend.”

“Eddie…”

“Look, I-I just… We could be really happy, angel. If you just gave me a chance.”

“I need a minute,” Eddie announces without looking at you and walks back into the house.

Although it’s no excuse, it all happens really fast.

Steve’s mouth is on yours before the door even shuts behind him and the rumours are true: The King is a damn good kisser.

Eddie’s trying to push inside. He’s complaining about the resistance until he manages to get his foot in and Steve pokes his head of hair out.

“Dude,” is all Harrington says.

“Shit man, sorry,” Eddie fumbles, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“What the fuck?”

He’s angry. Why not him? How come you’re into Steve and not him?

Your best friend is hot on your heels. He grabs your arm, spins you around.

“You couldn’t even wait a day to soften the fucking blow?!”

“I fucking told you, Eddie,” you snap back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “I don’t fucking feel the same way!”

“It’s just a stupid hookup,” you tell him. “You’re not my keeper, Eddie. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

What transpires instead is a screaming match you don’t entirely remember the full details of.

Then, for good measure, you flip him off.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate,” he spits in response.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

You leave him stewing in his own misery, slamming into his arm on your way out the door, and head back downstairs to rejoin the party.

That’s the last thing you remember.

You’re leaning against the porch railing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The drive to the Wheeler residence is silent.

In fact, no words are exchanged until Eddie helps you into bed.

“Thank you,” you croak when he hesitantly takes your hand.

Eddie squeezes your palm, eventually forcing himself to let it go.

“Always.”

Then you close your eyes, letting sleep take over, and Eddie drops your hand before walking out — this time without stealing a last glance.

Three years later and the lie of that always has finally stopped gnawing at the metal-head.

Sitting together on the deck, feet dancing with the cold water beneath, you and Eddie talk.

“I uh,” Eddie clears his throat.

“You love me,” you say, tilting your head slightly in his direction.

He nods, once, slowly, then meets your eyes.

“I do.” Eddie affirms, “A lot, actually.”

A smile circles your lips.

“That’s nice.”

He scoffs a laugh, bumping your arm with his own.

“Well, fuck me then. I guess I take it back,” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes, telling him he can’t.

“All our friends heard you say it,” you point out.

Letting him hold your hand, you look out onto the lake.

“I had a really good weekend with you,” you admit quietly.

Eddie gently squeezes your fingers and after a beat of silence, he says, “I quit my job.”

“Eddie—”

Life in Las Vegas became fuller with Eddie Munson by your side.

Next on the agenda of assimilation is meeting your Vegas friends.

When it’s just you and Eddie, Earth slows down.

And you realise right then and there, you’re no longer scared. Eddie has completed his challenge.

So, without giving it a second thought, you blurt out the three words he’s been longing to hear from you for as long as he can remember.

“I love you.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s not certain exactly why he asks the question. Maybe because he wants to hear you utter those words again, and you do, with even more fervour.

Nodding, you say, “I love you, hotshot.”

In love.

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities.

Déjà vu.

“You’re both here!”

“Of course we’re here,” you tell her, pulling back. “It’s not every day your friends organise a weekend getaway to celebrate their engagement!”

Although, marrying Eddie Munson would be far from a travesty.

“It’s nice to finally see you happy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you say, leaning your back into Eddie. The primary source of your happiness. Yours forever.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

lastly, tagging some cool people that expressed ongoing interest in this story:

#ily forever

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cacoetheswriting · 14 days ago

Text

THANK YOUUUUUUUU 🫶🏻 makes my little heart very happy that you’ve been here and showed love to every single chapter !! and yeah, ill miss them too, i can’t believe this is it

eddie my love | the right where you left me. epilogue

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 4.1k

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

One thing stands out, for sure. The big thing. A motive (of sorts) that swayed the reasonings of your later dilemma: stay or leave.

Eddie Munson admitted his feelings for you, his best friend.

“I like you,” the metal-head says.

You giggle next to him, gaze glued to where his thumb presses into your wrist.

“Well, duh. We’re friends, asshat. I’d be surprised if you didn’t like me.”

“I like you as eh, as more than a friend.”

“Eddie…”

“Look, I-I just… We could be really happy, angel. If you just gave me a chance.”

“I need a minute,” Eddie announces without looking at you and walks back into the house.

Although it’s no excuse, it all happens really fast.

Steve’s mouth is on yours before the door even shuts behind him and the rumours are true: The King is a damn good kisser.

Eddie’s trying to push inside. He’s complaining about the resistance until he manages to get his foot in and Steve pokes his head of hair out.

“Dude,” is all Harrington says.

“Shit man, sorry,” Eddie fumbles, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“What the fuck?”

He’s angry. Why not him? How come you’re into Steve and not him?

Your best friend is hot on your heels. He grabs your arm, spins you around.

“You couldn’t even wait a day to soften the fucking blow?!”

“I fucking told you, Eddie,” you snap back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “I don’t fucking feel the same way!”

“It’s just a stupid hookup,” you tell him. “You’re not my keeper, Eddie. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

What transpires instead is a screaming match you don’t entirely remember the full details of.

Then, for good measure, you flip him off.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate,” he spits in response.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

You leave him stewing in his own misery, slamming into his arm on your way out the door, and head back downstairs to rejoin the party.

That’s the last thing you remember.

You’re leaning against the porch railing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The drive to the Wheeler residence is silent.

In fact, no words are exchanged until Eddie helps you into bed.

“Thank you,” you croak when he hesitantly takes your hand.

Eddie squeezes your palm, eventually forcing himself to let it go.

“Always.”

Then you close your eyes, letting sleep take over, and Eddie drops your hand before walking out — this time without stealing a last glance.

Three years later and the lie of that always has finally stopped gnawing at the metal-head.

Sitting together on the deck, feet dancing with the cold water beneath, you and Eddie talk.

“I uh,” Eddie clears his throat.

“You love me,” you say, tilting your head slightly in his direction.

He nods, once, slowly, then meets your eyes.

“I do.” Eddie affirms, “A lot, actually.”

A smile circles your lips.

“That’s nice.”

He scoffs a laugh, bumping your arm with his own.

“Well, fuck me then. I guess I take it back,” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes, telling him he can’t.

“All our friends heard you say it,” you point out.

Letting him hold your hand, you look out onto the lake.

“I had a really good weekend with you,” you admit quietly.

Eddie gently squeezes your fingers and after a beat of silence, he says, “I quit my job.”

“Eddie—”

Life in Las Vegas became fuller with Eddie Munson by your side.

Next on the agenda of assimilation is meeting your Vegas friends.

When it’s just you and Eddie, Earth slows down.

And you realise right then and there, you’re no longer scared. Eddie has completed his challenge.

So, without giving it a second thought, you blurt out the three words he’s been longing to hear from you for as long as he can remember.

“I love you.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s not certain exactly why he asks the question. Maybe because he wants to hear you utter those words again, and you do, with even more fervour.

Nodding, you say, “I love you, hotshot.”

In love.

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities.

Déjà vu.

“You’re both here!”

“Of course we’re here,” you tell her, pulling back. “It’s not every day your friends organise a weekend getaway to celebrate their engagement!”

Although, marrying Eddie Munson would be far from a travesty.

“It’s nice to finally see you happy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you say, leaning your back into Eddie. The primary source of your happiness. Yours forever.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

lastly, tagging some cool people that expressed ongoing interest in this story:

#obsessed with you thank you love you #mwah <3

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cacoetheswriting · 14 days ago

Text

she is complete and i am crying.

right where you left me. (the masterlist)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) total word count: 39,640

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, forced proximity, angsty, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, use of pet names, eddie is a bit of an asshole, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, discusses sobriety, and also touches on topics of: unrequited love, divorce, death, grief, toxic relationships, mental health, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle? — pls read the cw's for each chapter and let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

a/n: the following are some songs i think they fit perfectly with their story, so i wanted to share them with you.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

main masterlist

#love to everyone that joined me in creating this along the way

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cacoetheswriting · 14 days ago

Text

eddie my love | the right where you left me. epilogue

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 4.1k

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

One thing stands out, for sure. The big thing. A motive (of sorts) that swayed the reasonings of your later dilemma: stay or leave.

Eddie Munson admitted his feelings for you, his best friend.

“I like you,” the metal-head says.

You giggle next to him, gaze glued to where his thumb presses into your wrist.

“Well, duh. We’re friends, asshat. I’d be surprised if you didn’t like me.”

“I like you as eh, as more than a friend.”

“Eddie…”

“Look, I-I just… We could be really happy, angel. If you just gave me a chance.”

“I need a minute,” Eddie announces without looking at you and walks back into the house.

Although it’s no excuse, it all happens really fast.

Steve’s mouth is on yours before the door even shuts behind him and the rumours are true: The King is a damn good kisser.

Eddie’s trying to push inside. He’s complaining about the resistance until he manages to get his foot in and Steve pokes his head of hair out.

“Dude,” is all Harrington says.

“Shit man, sorry,” Eddie fumbles, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“What the fuck?”

He’s angry. Why not him? How come you’re into Steve and not him?

Your best friend is hot on your heels. He grabs your arm, spins you around.

“You couldn’t even wait a day to soften the fucking blow?!”

“I fucking told you, Eddie,” you snap back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “I don’t fucking feel the same way!”

“It’s just a stupid hookup,” you tell him. “You’re not my keeper, Eddie. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

What transpires instead is a screaming match you don’t entirely remember the full details of.

Then, for good measure, you flip him off.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate,” he spits in response.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

You leave him stewing in his own misery, slamming into his arm on your way out the door, and head back downstairs to rejoin the party.

That’s the last thing you remember.

You’re leaning against the porch railing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The drive to the Wheeler residence is silent.

In fact, no words are exchanged until Eddie helps you into bed.

“Thank you,” you croak when he hesitantly takes your hand.

Eddie squeezes your palm, eventually forcing himself to let it go.

“Always.”

Then you close your eyes, letting sleep take over, and Eddie drops your hand before walking out — this time without stealing a last glance.

Three years later and the lie of that always has finally stopped gnawing at the metal-head.

Sitting together on the deck, feet dancing with the cold water beneath, you and Eddie talk.

“I uh,” Eddie clears his throat.

“You love me,” you say, tilting your head slightly in his direction.

He nods, once, slowly, then meets your eyes.

“I do.” Eddie affirms, “A lot, actually.”

A smile circles your lips.

“That’s nice.”

He scoffs a laugh, bumping your arm with his own.

“Well, fuck me then. I guess I take it back,” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes, telling him he can’t.

“All our friends heard you say it,” you point out.

Letting him hold your hand, you look out onto the lake.

“I had a really good weekend with you,” you admit quietly.

Eddie gently squeezes your fingers and after a beat of silence, he says, “I quit my job.”

“Eddie—”

Life in Las Vegas became fuller with Eddie Munson by your side.

Next on the agenda of assimilation is meeting your Vegas friends.

When it’s just you and Eddie, Earth slows down.

And you realise right then and there, you’re no longer scared. Eddie has completed his challenge.

So, without giving it a second thought, you blurt out the three words he’s been longing to hear from you for as long as he can remember.

“I love you.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s not certain exactly why he asks the question. Maybe because he wants to hear you utter those words again, and you do, with even more fervour.

Nodding, you say, “I love you, hotshot.”

In love.

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities.

Déjà vu.

“You’re both here!”

“Of course we’re here,” you tell her, pulling back. “It’s not every day your friends organise a weekend getaway to celebrate their engagement!”

Although, marrying Eddie Munson would be far from a travesty.

“It’s nice to finally see you happy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you say, leaning your back into Eddie. The primary source of your happiness. Yours forever.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

lastly, tagging some cool people that expressed ongoing interest in this story:

#this is it guys; the end #thank you for being a part of their story just as much as me (if not more)#right where you left me.#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson slow burn #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson series #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

181 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 14 days ago

Text

break my heart again | chapter six from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 6.4K

summary: He realises in that moment how, although you’ve never said anything, you have feelings for him too. Back then, even stronger now. All along. All this time. And Eddie does next what he knows is wrong. He forces your hand — just like he did three years ago, but this time, he’s hoping for a different outcome. That’s all he’s got left. Hope.

content warnings: forced proximity, angsty, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / little comfort, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, implied intimacy | non-explicit, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

2:34AM.

The house is still. Quiet and empty. Everyone is hiding away in their own rooms, trying to get some sleep after a long and exciting day.

Except the house is not still. There’s shouting bouncing between the walls, keeping the group awake. Raised voices coming from one bedroom.

Eddie’s, to be exact.

Ding. Phones illuminate the darkness. The group chat.

Steve: They’ve been arguing for over an hour… Robin: should someone check what’s going on? Robin: not it

Jonathan sends a thumbs down emoji.

Nancy: Let’s leave them alone for a bit longer. Steve: I’m trying to sleep Robin: we’re all trying to sleep, Harrington Nancy: 15 minutes and I’ll go, okay?

Thumbs up reactions fly in. The chat dies down for a moment. Phones get locked, attempts at eavesdropping continue.

Robin: do we know what they’re arguing about? Robin: they looked mighty cosy this evening and now this? Steve: I can take a wild guess Robin: do enlighten us, detective Jonathan: Guys, it’s not our business. Steve: They’re kinda making it our business, Byers Steve: I suspect it’s got something to do with Chrissy Robin: of fucking course

Chrissy has had enough of being made to look like a fool. She felt as though she sacrificed enough for Eddie Munson during their time together and she wanted something in return, for the years she wasted on the metal-head. For all the instances he’d tell her you meant nothing, yet his actions proved otherwise.

Chrissy no longer wanted to be the butt of the joke.

Recording her version of the story, articulating it into words she’s been too afraid to feel, was therapeutic. She should have left it there. Let the past go and find someone who actually cares. But she couldn’t just let it be. Not so deep down, she wanted Eddie to hurt — you’re just collateral damage, a means to an end.

You pressed play without thinking too much about the implications because what could Eddie’s pretty ex-girlfriend possibly want with you. Issue some vague and empty threats, perhaps? Or maybe to tell you something along the lines of ‘good luck, he’s an asshole’ — typical ex-girlfriend stuff.

Only there isn’t anything typical about Chrissy’s message.

Listening to it once should have been enough for you, but no, you had to go and hurt your heart by playing it again and again and again, until the words made even less sense than they did the first time around.

It’s incredibly incriminating, to say the least, and you don’t quite believe that anything Chrissy has said is true, so you let auto-pilot take over and saunter down the hall, towards Eddie’s bedroom.

He opens the door before you even get a chance to knock, as if he knew you were coming. As if he felt your energy gravitate in his direction and he wanted to meet you halfway. A smile reaches his lips, cocky yet soft, and your heart clenches because you desperately want everything to remain on the edge of whatever the hell you two have been doing all day.

“Miss me already, angel?” He quips, arm above his head, resting against the frame.

“We need to talk,” you say and slide under his bicep, stepping inside his safe space.

Eddie shifts, his smile faltering. He gets the sense that he’s not going to like what’s about to come out of your mouth. He swallows a breath and shuts the door with the heel of his foot, a gentle thud vibrating against the floorboards.

“What’s going on?” Concern laced through his tone.

You don’t answer. Not really. Instead, you hold up your phone, the one you’ve been gripping tightly in your hand, imprints left behind on your palm.

Staring at the metal-head, you press play. Chrissy’s voice booms from the speaker and you observe Eddie for any sort of reaction: to prove she’s lying. She has to be lying.

“Okay, ugh. This is so weird,” Chrissy’s note begins. “You don’t have to listen to this. In fact, I half expect you’ve already turned it off because you don’t owe me anything. We were never friends, just friendly. Acquaintances by nature or some shit.”

She pauses. Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the phone. He takes a step forward, but doesn’t try to come any closer to you. Almost as if he knows what his ex-girlfriend is about to say and he feels helpless to stop it.

“Now that you seem to have reconciled with him. There’s something I think you ought to know. Something he definitely won’t tell you since he’s always been quite chickenshit when it comes to the truth and you - separately and combined.”

You play the second voice note, eyes not leaving Eddie’s brown ones for a second.

“Our graduation party. There’s not a lot I know about what happened between you, Eddie, and Steve. He never told me the specifics, but I can piece together a rough picture and I know there was a blowup, one he blamed you for.”

Shuffling in the background indicates she’s on the move as she speaks.

“Listen, I’m not here to make assumptions or whatever. I just think there’s been a certain double standard which you don’t deserve - coming from me, that must feel like a shocker.”

Chrissy chuckles. The voice note ends. You play the next one, but not before Eddie says your name which makes your insides curl.

“After you fought for everyone at the party to hear, and after Eddie took you home, I don’t know if you know that he came back. I found him ruffling through the bushes. I suppose he was looking for something, although he never told me what. He never told me much when it came to you.”

Your free hand lands on the guitar pick around your neck.

“Well, I invited him in.”

“Angel—”

“Eddie, shut up.” You interrupt, voice quavering because now, seeing the downcast expression on his face, you know what Chrissy is about to say next is true.

The note continues.

“I’ll spare you the details. We slept together. Bet Eddie would never tell you that, huh? He’s all high and mighty about whatever you did with Steve earlier that very same night, when in reality he’s not much better.”

A pause for dramatic effect.

“Then, word spreads that you’ve skipped town and Eddie comes around more often. I asked about you, you know? I asked if he told you about what we did because I’m not stupid, I know there’s always been something between the two of you, and I didn’t want to step on any toes in case you came back. All he did was shrug and say you didn’t deserve to know anything from him anymore.”

Tears wet your lashes.

“Talk about being a conniving asshole.”

In the last, shortest note, she adds, “Sorry you had to find out this way.”

With the click of a thumb, you lock your phone and go back to gripping it, tight. Anger seeps through your fingers, although that’s where it starts and ends. The rest of you feels borderline numb — which usually drives you to drink. You hate yourself for this setback, but more so for allowing this in the first place. For getting caught up in Eddie’s forgiveness and his laugh, his touches and kisses, his promises of a better tomorrow.

The sham is clear. Chrissy spelled it out in her voice notes.

Eddie Munson gave you hell for kissing Steve then jumped into bed with the blonde Cunningham. Whatever. He needed someone to make him feel better. That’s not what irks you.

What hurts the most is the radio silence that followed beyond the night. The years of no contact.

What hurts the most is allowing you to think everything was your fault. For allowing you to isolate yourself from your friends, your home. For letting you stew in misery, thinking you hurt him beyond repair.

“I was going to tell you,” Eddie says, taking another step in your direction. “I swear, angel. I-I just didn’t know how to go about it.”

You scoff although your voice wobbles as you say, “Well, thank god for your ex-girlfriend.”

Eddie’s now an arm-length away.

“Look, I-I know this looks bad, but this doesn’t have to change anything,” he half-pleads. “I mean, we dated after, so it’s not like—”

“Like me and Steve?” You interrupt in disbelief at this entire situation. “I thought we moved past that.”

“We did,” he agrees with a shake of the head. “Fuck! I-I am just trying to say how what happened between me and Chrissy is different.”

Slowly, you nod. “Right, because that explains it so much better.”

“Angel—”

“You think I’m mad because you had sex with her?”

He seems shaken by your question which answers it immediately.

“Eddie, I don’t give a shit about who you sleep with. Chrissy, those horny moms that listen to your radio show, whoever else.” You tell him, “I’m upset because I went years believing everything that happened to us was my goddamn fault!”

The yell slips and he flinches, not expecting such ferocity.

Eddie left you to your own guilt and that’s his prerogative. The secrets however, they hurt. First the Billy thing, and now this. And imagining how different things could have been if you knew all this information sooner makes you want to scream.

“You keep secrets, Eddie. Billy and this, and you fail to realise how these secrets impacted me and my decisions!” You accuse. “What’s worse, we had a heart to heart last night, which would have been a good opportunity to tell me about this thing with Chrissy, but you chose yourself over me, again.”

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You still left, remember? You didn’t have to do that. You could have stayed and we uh, we could have tried to work it out—”

“I left because of you!”

Something snaps then. The last string of forging forward.

“Okay, I don’t like the accusation when you’re the one who made out with my friend.” Eddie goes on defence.

“Jesus! How many times are you going to make me apologise?” You throw your arms up with the question. “I was drunk and sad. My best friend—” You point to the metal-head. “— just told me he had feelings for me at quite literally the worst possible time and I wasn’t ready to…”

The sentence fades as you shake your head. “No. You don’t get to say anything about me kissing Steve anymore because you forgave me, remember?”

He’s staring at you. Hands formed into fists at his sides.

The argument bounces back-and-forth like this. You’re hurt. He’s hurt. Neither of you willing to back down first because there’s a whole lot more to lose now than there ever was before — boundaries crossed, all those kisses and whatever the fuck they mean.

“Do the others know?” You ask, breaking a tension filled moment of silence.

Eddie shakes his head.

You smack your lips together. “That tells me you’re ashamed, which means you know what you did is wrong.”

“What do you want me to say?!” He half-shouts, feeling agitated and defeated all at the same time.

“You still haven’t said you’re sorry,” you answer, softer, sadder.

Eddie’s heart clenches. He can see the hurt behind your eyes, hear it in your voice. He should have apologised, but you came in hot and he felt blindsided — not like that’s a good enough excuse, although maybe it is considering some forty-eight hours ago, you two were hating each other.

Well, he didn’t hate you. Never ever. Quite the opposite in fact, all this time.

“I'm sorry, okay.” Eddie says eventually. “I am really fucking sorry.”

“If only that wasn’t so forced.”

He sighs. “We’re going in circles here, angel.”

And the argument starts again. At this point, it feels stupid, but there’s a gnawing inside your chest that’s not allowing you to let this shit go.

“You let me believe you were broken over me.”

“I was!” Eddie shouts. “What happened with Chrissy has nothing to do with how I feel about you, goddamn it!”

You blink. Feel, he said. However, not even a split-second passes to let you dwell on the word and his use of it because Eddie continues with his rant.

“The facts are, you left. Despite whatever I said or did, and whatever you said or did. At the end of the day, you still left! And maybe I am a shitty person, shitty friend, for not reaching out and not telling you about getting with Chrissy that same night, fucking sue me!”

The metal-head approaches you as he speaks. He stops only when he’s toe to toe, hovering over you, demanding eye contact.

“I was heartbroken and I chose to react how I did to help me get over you!”

He fucked up, he knows, but you’re no better either. There’s been years of miscommunication and hidden information; that’s hard to fix over a few days.

“Eddie…” You whisper his name and search his gaze for absolution. An ending to this whole debacle.

“Which frankly, is a tough fucking thing to do,” he adds and clenches his jaw in anticipation of what you’re going to tell him next.

But you don’t get to reply. You don’t even have a minute for his admission to settle because his phone starts intensely vibrating on the bedside table.

Hanging his head, Eddie walks towards it and after glancing over his shoulder at you, a sad look on his face, he reads the texts that are coming into the group chat.

He types.

Eddie: We’re fine. Steve: Sure doesn’t sound like it, dude Steve: Heard my name a couple of times… Eddie: It’s fine. Robin: liar

He slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans with a sigh, and as he turns back around, he says: “I’m sorry, angel. For my part, I am.”. But you’re not there anymore.

The door to his bedroom is wide open. You must’ve slipped out in the split-second he paid attention to his phone instead of what truly mattered.

He follows, looking for you. When he finds you outside, sitting on the lawn and staring ahead at the lake, you tell him you want to be alone. Eddie says he knows, yet plops down next to you because he’s not making the same mistake he did three years ago. He’s not letting you retreat and run away when he just got you back.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says earnestly, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes.

“So you’ve said,” you reply, choosing to focus on the reflection of the stars in the dark water.

He sighs. “You don’t make things easy, you know.”

“So you’ve said,” you repeat.

Suddenly, he’s in front of you. Parting your legs, so he can slide in between. His own knees bump your arms, keeping you in place, no escape, as his hands delicately grip your face and force you to meet his sad brown gaze.

“I should’ve fought for you.”

Not a simple sentence whatsoever. Hard to say, hard to hear. The words settle around you, within you. They hold your heart. Squeeze it and let the blood pour until you’re faint.

The weight of this is bigger than anything he’s ever said to you. Eddie knows this too. He feels the way your body sags in his embrace. How you’ve seemingly stopped breathing.

He realises in that moment how, although you’ve never said anything, you have feelings for him too. Back then, even stronger now. All along. All this time.

And Eddie does next what he knows is wrong. He forces your hand — just like he did three years ago, but this time, he’s hoping for a different outcome. That’s all he’s got left. Hope.

“I should’ve fought for you because I-I don’t think I’ve ever stopped… feeling things for you.”

“Eddie.”

“And I-I think the problem all along has been your fear of reciprocating anything real.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug, “Or maybe you’re just trying to find another reason, another excuse, to push me away so you don’t have to face what’s been in front of you all along. Me.”

He kisses you before the words fully escape his plump mouth. The fight’s not over. The argument, simply put on hold. His lips trace yours, then travel along your jaw and down your neck. He reaches your collarbone and kisses there too, slow and steady.

He wants to hear you say it. Admit the feelings you’ve been harbouring.

His movement is methodical. His hands now on your waist, splayed fingers digging into your lower back as he bites your flesh, coaxing a moan from your parted lips.

“Eddie,” you breathe, “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

But you don’t. In fact, you lean forward.

“But we’re not having sex,” you mutter against his parted lips.

“Okay,” he breathes.

“And this doesn’t fix anything.”

“You already said that, angel.”

Since you have no further rebuttals — actually, you have plenty, but all you can think about right now is how much you want him.

Sure, the circumstances could be better, but fact remains. You want him to touch you and make you forget, make you feel better. Make you happy. And you want to return the favour, out on the grass, under the cover of darkness, because if nothing else, at least you’ll both have this moment.

3:17AM

Steve: It’s oddly quiet……… Nancy: Maybe they went to sleep? Jonathan: Exactly what we should be doing too.

He follows with a frown emoji, to which Harrington reacts with a thumbs down.

Robin: they’re not in their rooms Robin: and yes, I went to check because that’s what good friends do Jonathan: Not our business. Steve: The cars are still here, so they must be somewhere on the property Jonathan: Guys, seriously. Nancy: We should all go to sleep. Robin: fine Robin: but if they’re still missing in the morning, I won’t be the one talking to the cops Nancy: I’m sure they’re both fine. Steve: They’re in the backyard….. Robin: oh? Steve: They’re fine

He wraps the conversation up with a winky face and locks his phone. The rest of the group do the same, only after Robin sends one last message: “fucking finally”.

Finally.

That’s what you’d say to describe this moment too.

As Eddie’s hands gently slide under your top, as he works his lips along your jawline, as you tug his brown locks in your fingers, as he lay you down on the grass and wedged his denim-clad knee in between your thighs, finally is the thought that definitely crosses your mind.

Until it doesn’t.

“Eddie,” you mutter his name.

“Yes, baby?” He’s kissing down your neck, excruciatingly slow.

You exhale, eyes rolling to the back of your skull, turned on, but also nervous for his reaction to what’s about to come out of your mouth.

“What are we doing?”

He smirks against your skin. You can feel the twitch of his lips against that soft spot you didn’t even know you had until the metal-head found it.

“We’re not having sex,” he replies, teasing with your earlier comment.

The corners of your own lips twitch upwards involuntary. Happy, content. He’s funny. He likes you. Why is the devil on your shoulder trying to ruin this good thing?

“No.” Pressing your forehead to his, gently pushing away, you continue, “What are we doing?”

Slowly, the metal-head lifts his head, catching your gaze with his own. The gentle moonlight glow illuminates his face.

“There’s a lot riding against us,” you say. “And it doesn’t help that we’ve been avoiding this conversation.”

“What conversation?” He questions, although he already knows the answer.

“Eddie,” you whine. “We can’t keep pretending.”

Brows furrowed, he drops his hand to your lap, interlocking your fingers together. He squeezes once, twice, then swallows his breath. Nervous. A ticking time-bomb, this thing between you. That’s how he’d describe it. A lot of questions and excuses, not a lot of decisiveness out of fear, mainly.

“Pretending?” He ponders.

“Pretending it doesn’t hurt every time we look at one another,” you explain, “Pretending. everything is fine and we’re just two people who used to be friends.”

Eddie sighs. “That’s bullshit.”

And his lips are back on yours. Softer this time. A loving kiss. A loaded kiss. Making you forget why you were nervous in the first place because despite everything, he’s here and as are you. Together. Feeling… things. Liking each other. That should be enough.

Right?

Wrong.

Birds chirping and a cool breeze stir the brunette awake. He sits immediately because the first thing Eddie notices is how he’s alone — which is not how things ended at the ungodly hour of the night.

In the aftermath of a lovestruck haze, you fell asleep in his arms, but now you’re gone and dread spills into his gut.

Pulling his T-shirt over his bare torso, Eddie is on his feet and rushing toward the house. Inside, Steve throws him a look, a cup of coffee barely hiding the knowing smirk.

“Some night, huh?”

But Eddie ignores his friend. He’s got no time to entertain the teasing of it all. He needs to find you first.

“Fuck off, Harrington.” Eddie grumbles, albeit growing red as a beet.

Steve snorts a laugh, shakes his head, and dips out the back door to enjoy the rest of his morning coffee.

Eddie resumes his search.

The living areas are all deserted. Quiet. Upstairs, he checks his own room first, the common bathroom, and when they too prove vacant, he rushes down the hall until he reaches the door of the last place you could be.

He knocks. Once, twice. There’s no answer and his anxiety spikes. Calling your name, he helps himself inside. Also empty.

Worse. There’s no sign of you whatsoever.

Eddie circles the room, slowly. The bed is made. En-suite clear of any lotions and bottles alike. Hesitantly, he opens the wardrobe, only to find nothing at all. Free hangers and unoccupied shelves. Your suitcase is also gone.

Something catches the metal-heads eye. A singular item left behind. The plushy he won you at the fair. He reaches for it, then stops abruptly because a sound coming from downstairs catches his attention instead. The entryway. Hinges open, close.

Your laughter.

Hastily, Eddie grabs the toy and rushes out of the room. He stops at the top of the stairs when his wide gaze lands on the girl he was sure left him behind — again.

“You’re here?” He half asks, half says.

Your head snaps in his direction and a timid smile graces your features.

“Good morning.”

“You’re here,” Eddie repeats, stepping down the steps, until he’s an arms length away from you.

“Where else would I be?”

“Your room is empty,” he points out, then lifts the plushy in his hands, “This is the only thing that was left.”

You reach for the toy, but grab his hands instead. Fingers interlocking together and you squeeze.

“I packed up my car. The rabbit must’ve fallen out of my bag.” Slowly, you pull his knuckles to your chest.

He nods, once. Slowly.

“I-I just thought maybe you… The whole Chrissy thing and what I said last night…”

“Yeah, we should definitely talk before we leave today,” you say and offer him another smile.

Eddie takes it in, the twist of your lips, and relaxes slightly, but there’s a look in your eyes he can’t quite place. A certain detachment. He wants to ask you about it. He wants to double check that you’re okay because he doesn’t quite believe that you are. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance because you slip away from him, into the kitchen where seemingly the rest of the group has now gathered.

The detachment is intentional. You’re just unaware that Eddie picked up on it. He wasn’t supposed to.

Truthfully, when you woke up this morning, tangled in his limbs on the hard grass, your insides curled with panic.

The metal-head kind of predicted it himself, with what he said. You’re afraid of falling. Love and other good things. You don’t want to feel them because they’ve hurt you before and he knows that. Which is why your instinct is to leave. Run to Las Vegas and forget about Eddie Munson once and for all. You can’t keep stringing him along forever.

You were almost free and clear, driving away without any goodbyes, when Nancy caught you.

She saw the look in your eyes and understood immediately because it’s the same look that you shared with her three years ago, when she told you to leave.

This time however, the Wheeler girl is telling you to stay. “At least say goodbye,” she says and you nod. “It’s the right thing to do.”

All through breakfast, you workshop a list of pros and cons to the internal turmoil of leave with Eddie or leave alone.

The Munson boy is staring at you from across the table and his deep brown gaze makes it all that much harder to think. Thoughts of he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve this, turn to, don’t leave him, don’t leave him, don’t leave. But no good will come of you staying, that’s what the devil is telling you. The dark part of yourself.

“This was a really good weekend,” Robin announces with a smile. “Thank you for organising, Nance. You’re the best.”

Steve lifts his mug. “To Nancy.”

“To Nancy,” the group echoes, you included.

“To us,” the brunette girl says instead.

Your gaze locks with Eddie’s and your heart drops. You don’t want to leave him. Not now, not ever. So maybe him coming with you to Vegas is a bad idea, because it’ll be that much more difficult to inevitably say goodbye?

His words echo in your mind: “Maybe you’re just trying to find another reason, another excuse, to push me away so you don’t have to face what’s been in front of you all along. Me.”, and despite the sinking sensation, you plaster on a smile and repeat Nancy’s sentiment, eyes not straying from the mahogany across from you for even a second.

“How about we each say what our favourite part of this trip has been?” Robin suggests, “Eddie, why don’t you kick us off?”

The metal-head swallows. He forces himself to look away from you, towards the remainder of the group and nods.

“Uhm. Sure.” He clears his throat. “I uh, I had fun at the fair.”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers because that would reveal too much to your friends. Although, judging by the snickers coming from Steve’s end of the table, they already know a lot more than they’re letting on.

“Good start,” Robin says and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “Who wants to go next?”

Argyle puts himself forward. He says he enjoyed canoeing the most and the whole table, minus you and Eddie, barks out in laughter. Jonathan reminds his friend that he never joined them on the lake, he was afraid, and Argyle disagrees.

“That doesn’t sound like me, dude.” He drawls.

The group continues to laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Steve interjects, ceasing his chortles. “My favourite moment was cutting onions that very first night.”

Your eyes snap in Harrington’s direction and for the first time all morning, the smile on your face doesn’t feel forced.

“Don’t be cute,” you tease.

Steve rolls his eyes. “What can I say, sweetheart. I loved reconnecting with you.”

“That’s been my favourite too,” Robin chimes.

“Guys, stop,” you force, getting slightly choked up about this sentimental moment you’ve found yourself in. “These feel like cop-out answers.”

“What’s yours then?” Robin asks.

You hesitate. There’s been a lot. Some bad moments too, although the good outweigh them. Eddie is at the top of your mind. Making out in the lake. Later, dry humping (etc.) on the grass. A burn in your cheeks at the sudden flashes of memory.

“It’s all been really nice,” is what you settle on.

Robin rolls her eyes. “Right, ‘cause that’s not a cop-out answer.” She huffs, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Nice,” Steve repeats. “I guess bumpin’ naughties—”

“Well,” Jonathan interrupts, “I agree. It’s all been really nice.”

You flash him a grateful smile and he tips his head in your direction. A way of expressing ‘don’t worry about it’ behind the look he’s sporting.

“Me too,” Nancy adds.

“You guys are no fun,” Robin half-whines. “Only Eddie understood the assignment, and even he’s not being a hundred percent truthful.”

“I am,” the metal-head speaks. “Being truthful, that is. I really liked the fair.”

Robin smiles at him. “I know, dude. But I also know you guys did something salacious last night,” she says, pointing between you and the brunette across from you, “And I would’ve thought that’s the favourite moment.”

“Robin!” Nancy breathes in shock.

“We… I-I…” You stammer, searching for the right thing to say since there’s no use in denying it.

“That’s none of your business,” Eddie huffs for the both of you.

“I told them that,” Jonathan says.

“Oh come on,” Steve laughs, “It’s not a big deal. We’re just happy for you two. It’s been a long time coming.”

Hesitantly, you look back at Eddie. His own gaze is fixated on the ceiling above, head resting on the edge of the chair. He’s thinking about that detached look on your face. How can he share the same energy as his friends when you feel like you’ve already slipped away?

“So, are you guys like, together?” Argyle asks innocently, pushing the conversation along. “Congrats either way, my dudes.”

You want the ground to swallow you up whole. For all the talking you’ve done with the metal-head, you’ve not discussed a lot about what any of this means. The plan was to do so last night, before Chrissy’s voice notes. Plans shift. Mere moments ago, you said you’d talk before it’s time to go. You certainly didn’t think you’d be having this conversation in front of / thanks to your friends.

“We’re not together,” you say, blinking the embarrassment away, and the whole table looks at you. Including Eddie, whose lips part as if to say something different.

And he does.

“We uhm,” the metal-head clears his throat. “We actually haven’t talked about it.”

“Not for lack of trying” You mean it as a whisper, for no one in particular to hear. It comes out a little more intense than that.

Eddie leans forward. A snap judgement.

“You really want to do this here?” He asks quietly.

“Okay,” Robin chimes, “Guys, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, the dryness becoming unbearable. “All the arguing last night, and one reason we didn’t talk, would be my ex-girlfriends fault.”

Steve shouts, “I knew it!”, while you flutter your eyes closed. Breathing in, then out.

Last night. You decide, a little too late, that last night would’ve been a good idea to finish the argument. Wrap this cursed graduation party topic up, once and for all.

Instead, you gave into deep confessions and Eddie’s beautiful chocolate-button eyes, his light touches and the sensation of his lips on yours.

The group is chattering. They’re pressing Eddie for more details on what his hell-of-an ex did this time. He’s trying his best to fend them off: intentions may be innocent, but it’s none of their business. Unfortunately, he’s not having much luck.

Eventually, he cracks.

“I slept with her.”

Opening your eyes at that moment, you look at him again. His attention is already on you. Apologetic, sad.

“Well, duh, dude,” Robin begins, “You dated her. We kinda assumed you boinked.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Before,” he says, pauses. You can see him swallow his nerves. “The night of the graduation party.”

Silence stretches across the table.

And then you realise something.

You have to leave. Alone.

The flight to Vegas, and everything in between, cannot happen. How can you entertain the idea of falling for someone who, aside from wild confessions, doesn’t want to talk things through?

He too is always finding an exit strategy. Later, later, later. Eddie says later and nothing happens because there’s something different that gets in the way. His own excuses since he too is afraid to get hurt.

“Dude,” Steve begins, “That’s like…”

“It’s fine,” you chime. “That’s one of the things we actually did talk about. Not completely, but more than other stuff. ‘Cause we’ve done a lot of catching up, but uh, it’s all been very surface level.”

“Surface level?” Eddie asks in disbelief.

“Aside from Chrissy’s confession, we haven’t talked about anything real, Eddie.” You continue. “And we probably won’t because one of us will always find an excuse. Plus, there’s just too many other variables that make things difficult and as nice as this weekend has been,” you pause, heart hammering inside your chest, “We should stop kidding ourselves.”

His jaw locks into place.

“If that’s how you feel,” he says, monotone.

You nod, then blatantly lie. “That’s how I feel.”

Eddie stands. Chair sliding, falling backwards with force. He leaves before anyone else can add to the shitsorm that’s just transpired. Steve follows after his friend, shooting you an apologetic glance before he leaves. Robin and Nancy are suddenly on either side of you. The blonde telling you how she’s sorry for pushing this topic and the brunette reminding you that this doesn’t have to end. You freeze their voices out. Focusing on only one thing: the heartbreak in Eddie’s eyes as you spoke the words you didn’t mean.

Only a few seconds, you think, that’s all it ever takes to ruin a good thing.

After breakfast, you don’t care to stay much longer.

Itching instead, to get back to Fort Wayne. See your mom. Cry about everything while she hugs you. Maybe you’ll stay there a couple of days. Call in sick to work. Fake an emergency. Have her piece you back together. Maybe, while you’re with her, you’ll change your mind— No.

One by one, the group exchange goodbyes. Quick and long hugs. Promises of staying in touch. Some tears. A lot of pained laughter.

Robin says she’ll call every day and she’ll see you soon, for her girlfriend's birthday bash.

Nancy reassures her and Jonathan will also plan a trip to see you, and once again tells you about the room at her future house with your name on it. You stifle a sniffle and embrace her for a second too long.

Jonathan offers some wisdom. The silent killer, Jonathan Byers. A man of very few words yet, as you have come to experience, they’re somehow always the right ones. His hug is quick and you appreciate that about him. No mushy things needed.

Argyle announces loud and proud how it’s been nice to meet you, get to know you. “Likewise,” you tell him honestly and exchange a fistbump.

Steve’s next on the goodbye train. This hug you don’t particularly want to let go of. His strong arms hold you tightly, as if he’s trying to take away all of your worries and pain. In a hushed whisper, he apologises for what happened earlier and says how he only wants you to be happy — a sentiment not so dissimilar to the first conversation you had together this weekend. You place a soft kiss on his cheek and tell him you love him, because it’s true. He smiles, forehead pressed to your own.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Platonically, the feeling is not as scary.

When you break apart, you glance between the group and a lump forms in your throat. These are the best people you have ever met and reconnecting with them this weekend is what really matters, at the end of the day.

This group, plus Eddie.

Because Eddie is currently not here. He didn’t come to say goodbye.

And as you stride down to your car, glancing over your shoulder one last time, at your friends, at the house, you feel a thousand times worse for wear.

Until the front door opens with a violent shake.

Eddie comes into view. He’s got a wild expression on his face as he barrels down the front porch steps, then the gravel which crunches underneath his sneakers.

He pushes through your mutual group of friends and doesn’t stop his pace until he’s face-to-face with you, peering down into your surprised eyes, slightly breathless.

“It’s not been surface level,” he says.

“Eddie,” you begin, but his thumb is suddenly pressed against your bottom lip and you stop dead in your tracks.

“I’ve been head over heels in love with you for a very long time, angel.” Eddie states, a nervous tick in his voice because you don’t do well with proclamations, but he’s not going to let you leave this time.

(Never. Again.)

“Long before this weekend, definitely over the last three years, and before the graduation party, before Billy. Probably, actually,” he swallows, “I’ve been in love with you since the very first time I saw you.”

Tears brim the corners of your eyes as the metal-head continues.

“And I know there’s a lot we haven’t talked about and a lot we need to figure out, but this thing we have, baby, I’ll be damned if I let you get in that car right now thinking that all we’ve done is surface level.”

“Eddie,” you try again.

He shakes his head. “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re staying to have a proper conversation, the one I owed you yesterday, I don’t want to hear it.”

Someone — Robin — shouts, “Kiss him, you fool.” and the rest of the group snickers. Well, Argyle and Steve snicker, while Jonathan and Nancy remprimend the lot.

Then they lead them back into the house, leaving you with this boy who is wildly in love with you, and who you perhaps love back, but how can you even begin to tell him that, since the last time you uttered those words, they were to someone who died.

“Please, angel.” Eddie pleads.

You open your mouth, then close it just as fast, chewing instead, on the inside of your cheek for what feels like eternity. In reality, it’s only a split-second while your brain works out what to do.

When you lean forward, inhaling his breath, his scent, him, you don’t intend to kiss him. You do anyway. Softly, tenderly.

And suddenly, your arms are around his neck and his hands are on your waist. He’s pinning you to the side of the car and his knee is wedged between your thighs. Your fingers pull his brunette locks and he bites your bottom lip, hungry, needy, pleading for something else entirely than a conversation.

“Okay,” you mutter against his parted lips, “Let’s talk.”

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

#last chapter coming your way tonight my friends

234 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 18 days ago

Text

Go Fish

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: A shocking turn of events leaves Eddie bereft and furious. Luckily you’re waiting for him back at his trailer with soft hands and comforting words. Based on I Saw Red by Warrant.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: cheating (not on reader and not by Eddie), Chrissy is a little bit demonized but for good reason, crying, destroying property (his own), hurt/comfort, Eddie has an ongoing mental breakdown, allusions to sex, angst with a very happy ending, best friends to lovers, flufffff, a kiss without explicit consent, more consensual kissing, Eddie is going through it but reader helps him

A/N: Draft fic that was done like two months ago. I was gonna name this ‘I Saw Red’ after the song, but then I decided I like the reference to the fish better (read and you'll get it).

Masterlist

Tires screech as his lead foot lands on the brake pedal. Opening the creaky door, Eddie flies out of his old van, marching up the driveway to his girlfriend’s house. His eyebrows pull together as he recognizes the car haphazardly parked diagonally across the drive. Chrissy doesn’t own a pickup truck…

Blood starts rushing in his ears like water in the Grand Rapids. Surely not. She wouldn’t.

Knocking on the heavy door, he waits impatiently to be proven right or wrong—he’s not sure which would feel worse. If he’s right—well, god forbid. And if he’s wrong, that still begs the question: why is Jason Carver’s car in Eddie’s girlfriend’s driveway? The chain attaching his wallet to his pants jingles as he taps his foot, trying to find a place for the nervous energy to go.

The sound of the lock clicking brings a smile to his face—force of habit—but the sight before him has the smile plummeting straight to a confused frown. Wide, worried, blue eyes meet his, but what really brings the frown is the reddish-purple mark on delicate skin. There on his girlfriend’s neck is a hickey—clear as day.

Now, Eddie’s never been known to be a particularly gentle lover—often getting too excited and sometimes teeth and suction comes with the territory. But Chrissy used to reprimand him any time he’d try to give the girl a hickey. ‘Eddieeee, stop. I have a game tonight, the makeup will sweat off and everybody will see,’ she’d whine. The good and respectful boyfriend that he is—he abided by her instructions, appreciating the boundaries she set.

However, it seems those boundaries are nonexistent for her ex.

No need to see any more proof, no desire to hear apologies and excuses—Eddie throws a look of disgust at his girlfriend. “Fuck this.” Shaking his head at the nerve of the girl, her blue eyes fill with tears—pretending like she gives a shit now. Promptly whipping around, he takes long, angry strides back to his van, ignoring the soft calls of his name. Fuck this.

The world is dangerously blurry as he drives back to his trailer, hot tears spill down his cheeks as he replays every moment he spent with her in his mind. Surely there is something he missed. One doesn’t just go cheat on a good thing. He must’ve done something. Was he not good enough? He satisfied her, he knew that. But was he not a good partner? He’d buy her things, take her places, listen to her complain about class, her friends, practice. He did so much for her.

Tires skid on gravel as he slams the brakes. He’s thanking every lucky star in the sky that Wayne is working tonight. Eddie would very much like to break down in peace. Muttering curses, he throws the car door shut, harder than he ever has before. Of course, the piece of shit that it is, the door clicks shut and then unclicks with the force he used on it, swinging open again—only pissing him off more. “FUCK,” he roars, shoving all his force and body weight behind his palm, the door finally bangs shut.

If he had half a logical mind, he would have noticed the lamp in his bedroom was on. Normally, he’s meticulous about turning off all the lights when he leaves. That one summer Wayne made him pay the electricity bill to teach him a lesson for constantly leaving them on around the trailer really scarred him. But Eddie isn’t thinking logically right now. All he feels is rage, and all he can think about is punching a hole in the universe—everyone should feel lucky he doesn’t have superpowers. He’s pretty sure this would be his villain origin story.

The girl he loves doesn’t love him back, then the girl he gets with to get over her cheats on him. Life is going perfectly for him.

Fumbling with the keys to the front door, he kicks the wall of the mobile home when they fall from his shaky grip. He crouches down to pick them up, but instead of standing back up and trying again, he just stays down, hunched over with his wet face in his hands. Trying to stop the hyperventilating breaths, he forces himself to hold air in for ten seconds before blowing it out. After about thirty seconds on the ground, he vigorously scrubs the tears from his face, swiping the keys off the ground and successfully unlocking the door.

As if the crying on the drive over wasn’t enough, even more tears fall once he’s safely inside his home. Looking around at the clutter, he starts throwing shit around. Everything is a mess, everything is bullshit. His D&D character sheets are bullshit, the empty beer cans on the edge of the counter bound for the recycling are bullshit. The heap of homemade Hellfire shirts on the couch are extra bullshit. Picking up the pile of useless t-shirts, he sniffles as he marches into his room, heading straight for his closet and throwing them messily down on the floor in there before slamming the door shut.

“Are you cleaning up for your date tonight?”

Eddie’s back goes rigid at the sound of your voice. He had no idea he wasn’t alone. If he knew he had company, he would’ve delayed his breakdown at least long enough to tell you to get lost. But he wouldn’t do that. Not really. Because unfortunately, you’re exactly what he needs right now and he can’t tell you that.

A fresh wave of tears stream down his wet cheeks, already feeling light headed from all the dehydration. It’s your genuinely excited voice that sends him into another spiral. You knew he was supposed to celebrate eight months with Chrissy tonight, but it appears you had no idea the time he was going to go over there. The insinuation that he’d bring the cheerleader back here makes him bristle, the way you’re so blasé with the comment—you really couldn’t give less of a shit that he’s with another girl, huh?

“You must be excited,” you try again.

Slowly turning around, he gives you a deadpan look. No need to dismiss your comment—his appearance will do it just fine. Weirdly, he feels vindicated when the light in your eyes dims and your smile falls as you take in his swollen, red eyes and runny nose.

“In that really awful suicidal way,” you finish slowly, standing up from your place on his unmade bed. “I’m sorry, I just let myself in. I figured you’d be back eventually.”

He watches with a sniffle as you jerk your thumb to the window he keeps cracked specifically for you. You’ve come knocking at his window late at night enough times for him to just permanently leave it open for you—like a cat that comes and goes as she pleases.

At his heavy silence, you continue, nervously fiddling with your fingers, “I didn’t know if you’d already gone over or–” It’s pretty clear now where he was, he can see it in your face. You’re sad for him and you don’t even know any details yet. You’ve always been like this, though. You feel what he feels. Sharing in his joy, his sadness, his fear, his pain. How could he not love someone who loves him so completely—but not the way he needs it, that’s the caveat.

“Did something happen–” Okay, that was a stupid question, you’ll admit. But how else do you broach the radioactive emotions of your best friend when you don’t even know what went down?

A humorless, wet chuckle leaves his throat as he shakes his head at the question. Did something happen? No, not really. Just the past eight months of his life blew up in his face tonight. What’s new in Eddie’s world? Nothing much, what’s new with you?

Deciding he needs something to do, he starts fluttering around his bedroom, throwing any garbage he finds onto the floor. The mixtapes of pop songs Chrissy swore were good—floor. Food wrappers from late night ventures into the kitchen while staying up on the phone with her—floor. The goblin PEZ dispenser she got him for their five month anniversary—floor.

Wide eyes watch him with shock and worry as he doesn’t show signs of stopping his rampage, you don’t know how to help him if he doesn’t tell you what happened. “Eds, what’s going on? Is she not well?” You’re shooting in the dark here—it could be anything for all you know.

Another humorless chuckle escapes him as he swipes a stack of D&D papers off his dresser. He watches as the papers drift peacefully to the ground—a stark contrast to the raging tornado of emotions inside him—shaking his head at the idea that Chrissy Cunningham could be unwell. She had two boyfriends, after all!

“Oh no, she’s well, alright. She’s fucking fantastic. Got her boyfriend back and everything.”

Missing the indignation in his form, you frown as you pick up the papers he threw. You know he’s on a whole other level right now because he’d never treat his precious D&D stuff like this. That’s the one place in his life he’s the most organized. Compiling the looseleaf notes, press them into a neat stack again. “I didn’t know you guys were having problems.”

“Her old boyfriend,” he specifies, sending another trinket she bought him flying to his carpet.

You stand up, placing the papers back on his dresser now that he’s moved on to the pictures on the mirror. A look of shock and horror crosses your face at his revelation. All you manage to string together in response is a somber, “Oh, shit.”

Choosing once more not to look at you, he rips up a photo of himself and Chrissy from the day they went to Indianapolis together. “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you cross your arms, squeezing the skin on your biceps anxiously. “Well, it’s okay,” you try, taking on a soft, consoling tone. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

It’s a classic for a reason—there’s so many more people out there and it’s not over because Chrissy Cunningham cheated on him. You never really understood their whole thing anyway. It was weird to see him crossing the social stratification, especially in a town like Hawkins—that was practically unheard of.

Making sure there are no pictures of Chrissy left on his mirror, he pauses at the one of you and him. It’s from last summer, when you dragged him to the Hawkins pool, even convincing Wayne to come along since it was his day off. He grumbled the whole time and refused to dip more than a toe into the water, but it gave the old man the perfect opportunity to capture the moment.

The picture shows Eddie holding you bridal style in the water, while you’re very clearly pushing his head away, trying to get him to put you down because he wouldn’t stop dunking you. Both of you are mid-laugh, with wet hair and squinting eyes.

The sunny memory drives an icicle into his heart—followed by fifty more—only making him feel worse. He can’t have you, but he can have you just enough to hold you in a joking manner. He can’t feel you, but he can feel you just enough to know the heat of your skin from a thousand half-hugs. You’re not his, but you’re his just enough to take up precious space in his small room.

Snorting at your pitiful attempt to help him, he smooths his thumb over the image of your smiling face. “There’s only one fish I want and she’s not interested.”

Your scoff draws his attention, placing the photo back onto the mirror, he turns to gauge your reaction. “Well, that fish is stupid!”

His eyebrows raise, unimpressed by your defense of your own argument. Also, you clearly don’t understand what he’s talking about—you must think he means Chrissy, judging by the way your reaction shows unbridled anger.

“Eddie, seriously, fuck her. She didn’t know what she had when she had it, dude. You deserve so much better! Any girl would be so lucky to call you hers,” you declare, pissed at your own sex for neglecting such a gem of a man. You’ll never admit it, but a small, selfish part of you is secretly glad he doesn’t exactly have girls knocking down his door for a date. However gnawing that feeling is, you won’t rejoice in his sorrow.

Bristling at your constant friend-zoning, he huffs out. You never fail to slip a ‘dude’ into your sentences when you speak to him, it makes him even more upset. He’d die just to hear you use at least one endearment. If Hades himself came to drag him down to the Underworld, he’d barter for one ‘baby’ in that sweet tone you only use when he’s upset or you’re talking to animals.

You mistake his huff of annoyance for rejection of your assertion and march over to him, doubling down. “I’m not just saying that! You’re kind, you’re handsome, you have interesting hobbies, you’re fucking funny,” you list out each description on your fingers, looking at him wildly, imploring him to believe you. “Seriously, I’m jealous of any girl who gets to be with you because I know she’s got the best man in Hawkins—no, the universe! Just because Chrissy fucking Cunningham was too much of an airhead to see it doesn’t make it any less true.”

Slowly, his frown melts into a look of quiet shock. Did you just say you’re jealous? Not to mention, this is the first time he’s hearing you say something bad about the girl he’s been dating for the past eight months. You always seemed so supportive, but were you covering up your disdain?

You assured him you’re not just saying that because of everything that went down tonight, so he’s inclined to believe you. Did he miss something in his friendship with you? He certainly missed some change in his relationship with Chrissy, so he doesn’t think he’s been on his game. Maybe you feel differently for him than he originally thought.

You called him handsome to his face just now. And you said you were jealous of any girl who gets to have him. You also said it like you don’t know he’d drop any date in a heartbeat if you’d even look his way. Maybe he hasn’t been clear enough. He can be clear.

Observing the change in his expression, you’re pretty sure he just looked down at your lips. You don’t think you imagined that—or maybe you did. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately. The world feels like it’s moving in both slow motion and hyper-speed when he leans down, large, ringed hands holding your face ever so gently as he brings your lips to his.

The kiss makes you feel like the laws of physics no longer apply and you’re floating up to the ceiling, his warm hands are the only things tethering you to this plain. The way his lips move on your stunned mouth feels like a wave of butterflies will erupt from your throat, traveling up from your stomach the second he parts from you.

But that’s not what happens.

When your frozen lips still refuse to meet his languid movements, he jumps back like he’s been burned. Your mouth is parted in surprise and your eyes make him think he’s never going to see you again once you leave this trailer. “Oh fuck. Oh shit, I’m so–I’m so fucking sorry,” his hand covers his mouth, mumbling his words. It probably looks like the general reaction of shock, but the hand is there more to stop him from trying again.

He’s mortified and on the verge of angry tears—at his awful actions, not your lack of response—but he’s also vibrating with the need to feel you that close again. It’s like you’re a neodymium magnet and he’s scrap metal trying to fight the pull.

His head won’t stop shaking side-to-side in awe of his stupid actions and because it’s the only movement that feels like the word ‘sorry’ without saying it. Eddie watches in horror as you stay silent, only bringing soft fingers to your lips, like you could feel his kiss still lingering. “God, that was so shitty, I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. Please, please forgive me, that was–I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your prolonged silence and distant stare have him mentally flogging himself for forcing this on you—his best fucking friend, who was only trying to make him feel better. He’s never felt more like a piece of shit, and he’s had the town on his ass since he was eleven. Hurting you is the most deplorable thing he’s ever done, and he’s two seconds away from dropping to his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

“Jesus H. Christ, I’m such an asshole,” he shouts with a humorless huff, restless hands grasping the roots of his curls. He fucked up with you, then he fucked up with Chrissy, then he fucked up with you, again. It’s the definition of insanity at this point. Despite your lack of interest in him for all twelve years that he’s known you, his stupid ass thought maybe eight months made a difference. Clearly it hasn’t.

“I ruin fucking everything, no wonder she went back to Jason! Am I just like–a plague of a person? What the fuck is wrong with me? Everything I do–”

His rhetorical, self-deprecating meltdown is halted when you shut him up with your perfectly soft lips. A grunt of surprise turns into a moan he’d feel humiliated over if it wasn't for the fact that you’re kissing him. Of your own volition. And you’re not stopping when he hesitates. No, you’re taking the reins with no qualms, trusting his brain will catch up eventually.

Once the Big Bang happens behind his eyelids, his hands move on their own accord, desperately grabbing your cheeks, pulling you in closer. The tiny mewl you let out nearly has his knees buckling.

You pull away first, your delicate hands gently pushing against his chest. He gives you space, but he’s needy for your touch already, refusing to drop his grasp on your cheeks. His mouth is parted and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. Before you speak, you make sure his eyes are on yours—but what you don’t know is that he’s never not looking at you.

“Shut up.” It’s a firm order to someone who hasn’t spoken a word since your lips graced him a second time. “You’re not a plague, you’re the best person I’ve ever met and when I said any girl would be so lucky, that included me.”

Afraid to speak too loudly and break the spell he seems to have cast on you to finally capture your attention, he whispers hesitantly, “You like me?”

Your palms glide down his abdomen. Your fiery touch has him fighting everything inside him to keep the groan in the back of his throat from escaping. He’s not religious by any means, but he used to pray for moments like this—falling asleep dreaming about the way you touched his arm that day or pretending the soft pillow was your body, finally allowing him to hold you. You play with the hem of his shirt as you give him a chiding look. “Do I even have to dignify that with a response?”

He sure would like you to. “But if you–then why didn’t we–” Unable to form coherent thoughts, his mind replays every interaction he’s ever had with you in a split second—this time with a better outcome to hold onto than the one he found in his reflection on his relationship with Chrissy.

You give him a wry smile, shrugging half-heartedly. “You never asked. I didn’t know you felt the same. Thought I was doomed to watch you marry Chrissy Cunningham and live in a big house with a picket fence.”

Coming back to his body, he frowns at that, “Where would I get the money for a big house? Marrying Chrissy wouldn’t make me rich.”

Scoffing, you click your tongue at him, “I don’t know, Edward. I was too busy breaking my own heart to figure out the logistics.”

Your biting tone brings a smile to his face, his cheeks feeling like unstretched leather, stiff from the dryness left by his tears, but his grin still puts every shining star to shame. “Aw, baby,” he coos, leaning in to give you a sweet peck. “Don’t break your heart for me. I like you too.” Purposely holding back, he doesn’t think you’re quite ready for the other ‘L’ word—but lord knows he is.

You can’t fight the relieved smile that overtakes your face at his adoring words and gentle affection. He kisses you so easily, like you’ve been doing this forever. The thought makes you both happy and sad—you could have been doing this forever. But at least you know you will be doing this forevermore.

“But what about Chrissy? Why’d you–” You struggle to question his choices—not for lack of confusion, but because you hate to bring up his very recent ex when he’s trying to tell you how much you mean to him.

His brown curls sway as he shakes his head, but his grip on your cheeks never falters. “I’ve been trying to be a good friend for the past five years,” he whispers, thinking back to when you went from his best friend to the girl he dreams about at night. “And, of course, being the asshole that you are, you just kept getting prettier and prettier every year,” he quips, “It got harder and harder to be around you.”

Your face warms at the compliment. You try to look away from his piercing gaze, but he doesn’t let you. With heavy eyelids, your best friend leans in again, halting your attempt to retreat with another world-altering kiss. His lips on yours makes you feel like those cartoon characters entranced, floating toward a delicious-smelling pie. You can’t help but get trapped in his orbital pull, his tongue draws you in for more. He shines so bright, it’s blinding, and you’d gladly feel your way around forever.

When he frees you once again, your body is swaying from the hum of electricity he shot straight into your bloodstream with that kiss. “Chrissy asked me out as a rebound and I thought it was the perfect chance to try and get over you. But now I don’t wanna be over you,” he rushes out, desperate for you to understand just how ‘yours’ he’s always been.

No, he doesn’t want to be over you—maybe under you, but that’s a ways down the road. He’s going to treat you right—not rush into things, get you to stop calling him ‘dude’—because he doesn’t want to be alone again. He’s tasted your lips, felt your hot touch, and he’s pretty sure if you take this drug from him, he’ll go insane. He just got you, and he knows there’s no reality where he’d rather be without you. No reality where he could stand to be without you.

Realization dawns on your face, you let out a gasp as you look into his eyes, “Am I the fish?”

An elated chuckle leaves his lips as he watches you with crinkling eyes and a toothy grin, “You’re the fish, sweetheart.”

A/N: like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed it! I wanna know what y'all think!!!

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#*screams into the abyss*#im on the floor; this is soooooooooooo good #🫰🏻#fic rec #reblog

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