•EddsWorld X Reader • Imagines•

Edd • The Tomb of Trials • NSFW

There's a hot moment of just silence until you hear him sigh. A hand, larger and warmer than yours, clasps over your shoulder and you managed to hold in the squeak of surprise that threatened to spill. He nudges your shoulder so you spin around to face him, gently unfolding your arms so they lay by your sides. The way his fingers run down along your forearm has the hair standing on end. You look up at him in bewilderment, but find that he's not looking your direction, eyes trained elsewhere across the room.

He interlocks his fingers with yours, and for a moment the tingle that rushes up your arm has a flurry of butterflies overwhelming your belly, and you too can't help but look away. You also can't help the way your fingers tighten just a fraction, and you stay like that for a moment.

The stone door shifts open, and you quickly let go.

•

This new room is not anymore different than the last, though there were a few bits and pieces there of shattered terracotta pots sat upon waist-height podiums that you observe. Unfortunately, there is not much else of value. What kind of trial was this anyway? And how would it know whether you performed the things asked of you? These questions circled within your head as you anxiously tighten your fist, eyes catching sight of the next trial written into the stone tablet.

Your eyes gloss over the words, widening.

In chambers where the last lies still,
To move ahead, you must fulfill,
A gesture of warmth in the dark,
Embrace another, leave your mark

A hug? Now you have to hug?

You turn to Edd and shake your head.

"I can't do this. We have to go." You make your way towards where you came from, but his hand launches out, tugging on your sleeve tight enough to put a stop to your motion.

"Hang on - we can't just leave like this!" He all but whines. You attempt to shrug him off, but he's persistent in his hold - even pulling you in closer so you stumble slightly in your footing.

"This is getting weird. Besides, why don't you just bring back one of the other boys to do it with you?" You glare softly. But really, the bite isn't there as it's just to distract him from the dumb blush you struggle to fight off of your face in response.

"Well, I don't wanna do it with the others!" He huffs. His exclamation has your heart jumping at the intention of his words, and your hands' grip loosens. Until he finishes. "They're too far away, and they're probably dead by now. Besides, I promise I'll split the treasure with you 30/70."

Your glare hardens.

"...or at least 40/60?" He lifts his voice towards the end. God, he's so fucking annoying. You tut at his words.

You reach your hands out and grasp the front of his hoodie, jerking him forward in a way that catches his off guard. And then you wrap your arms around his mid-riff, face planted into the soft cotton that just so wonderfully smells of him—the faint smell of detergent, the cola that is permanently etched into his clothes, and even the faint musk of his cologne. It reeks of him, and you hate it.

You grumble through his clothes. "40/60 it is, then. But I'm taking the 60, you arsehole."

You feel a small rumble through his chest, which you presume to be him laughing. And then his arms clasp behind you, chin resting atop your head.