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SUMMARY: Everybody in Hawkins knows that you are sickeningly sweet to everyone you meet. Nobody, however, understands that quite as much as Eddie Munson, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that you know how insanely loved you are.
NOTES: Mild profanity, reader is an absolute sweetheart, protective!Eddie, very minor hurt/comfort vibes, mutual pining.
NAVIGATION | S.T MASTERLIST | KO-FI
You never really meant to become the one person in Hawkins High who remembered so many people’s birthdays. It just happened. You liked making things nice. You liked seeing someone’s face light up when you gave them a cookie wrapped in cling film or a sweet treat you had scavenged from your own lunch. It pleased you to be kind. It felt like something you could contribute, even when everything else about school made your stomach twist in that thin, sour way.
Eddie Munson saw it before you realised he had been paying attention at all. The boy was a walking ruckus. He burst down corridors like he was the frontman of a band only he could hear, chains jangling, his voice echoing off lockers, hair refusing to behave in any discernible order. Even from a distance he had an effect on you, like static brushing across skin, both thrilling and a tiny bit unsettling. There were days you caught him looking straight at you and you had no idea what to do with the molten warmth that sparked behind your ribs.
He’d been staring a lot lately. More than usual. You assumed he was simply amused by how much you fussed over people. You had no idea he was keeping count of every time you pressed a bandaid into someone’s hand for a simple scratch, or offered younger students your umbrella when the sky opened over the car park.
Dustin Henderson, who possessed the subtlety of a fire alarm, caught on faster than anyone. He started giving you these little looks whenever Eddie mentioned you, a glint that suggested he knew exactly what was happening. The boy was determined to stir something that already simmered too close to the surface.
You were shelving returned books in the library on a bleak Tuesday afternoon when it really began. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead and the heating rattled as though the pipes were filled with gravel. Eddie strolled in without even pretending he had legitimate business. His boots thumped in that familiar way that made your heart perform tricks in your chest.
Eddie leaned on the counter, tapping a pencil you could have sworn he’d stolen. His smile was wide, the sort that tried its best to hide nerves but never quite succeeded. You noticed these things about him. You noticed more than you let on.
“Got anything new for me?” he asked, gaze flicking towards the fantasy section where he pretended to browse.
“I showed you the new arrivals yesterday,” you reminded him, soft voice disappearing into the hush of the room. “Not sure the library can replenish itself overnight.”
“Shame. I was hoping for something thrilling.” His eyes dropped to yours. “Maybe a little romantic.”
The comment had your pulse tripping, though you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. People always assumed you were calm. They had no idea how loud everything felt on the inside.
Before you could respond, Jason Carver barged in with his usual graceless heaviness, nearly knocking a stack of science textbooks off their trolley. He didn’t apologise. He never did.
Jason spotted you arranging a pile of bookmarks. “Hey, could you make a few more of these? Coach wants something for the team to give out at that charity thing. You did the others, right?”
Your stomach sank. You had already made forty of them last week when he’d said, ‘it won’t take long for someone like you’. He’d smiled while saying it, the kind of smile that made your bones feel hollow.
“I’ve still got homework,” you said gently. “I’m not sure I’ll have time.”
Jason waved your concern away. “C’mon, you’re good at this stuff. Just whip some up tonight.”
Before you replied, Eddie straightened, the noise of it sharp in the quiet room. He planted himself a step closer to you, arms folding in a way that felt protective without being overbearing.
“She just said she’s busy,” he told Jason, tone light but absolutely firm. “Are you being ignorant today or is that just a natural talent?”
Jason scoffed. “Stay out of it, freak.”
“No problem,” Eddie replied. “Happy to stay out of it, long as you stop treating her like your personal craft machine.”
Heat crept up your neck. People didn’t usually defend you. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. They just assumed your gentleness meant permission.
Jason huffed and backed off, muttering something about the ‘weirdos taking over’. The library door swung shut behind him. The silence left behind felt enormous.
You focused on straightening a pile of returned novels, fingers trembling slightly. Eddie stood beside you, not saying anything for a moment. There was surprising quiet around him now, as if the loudest person you knew had chosen to match your softness.
“He always do that?” he asked, turning the pencil over in his hands.
You didn’t want to make a fuss. You rarely did. “I think he just doesn’t realise how much time it takes.”
“I think he realises perfectly well,” Eddie muttered, frowning. “People like him always do. They count on you being too kind to kick up a scene.”
“I don’t want a scene,” you said. “It never helps.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to let yourself get trampled.”
The words slipped in under your ribs, unsettling in their accuracy. No one ever said things like that to you. No one looked at you as though your feelings were urgent.
You stepped back, giving yourself a moment to breathe. “It’s not that important.”
“It is to me,” Eddie said.
The confession landed between you, soft as a leaf and heavy as stone. Your breath caught. His cheeks coloured in a way you had never seen before. Not on Eddie.
An awkward hum rose in your throat before you managed to say, “Thank you.”
He nodded, shaky and relieved. “Any time.”
For the rest of the afternoon he lingered in the quiet aisles, helping you stack books even when he put half of them in the wrong place. He looked at you like you hung the moon. Dustin’s words echoed distantly from last week, when he cornered you outside the science labs, ‘He’s not like that with anyone else, you know. He notices things about you’.
You told Dustin he was imagining things. Now, you weren’t sure.
When the final bell rang, Eddie walked you to the school gate. The sky had clouded over, grey and soft, the air thick with the promise of rain. He kicked at gravel as though searching for the right words.
“You alright?” he asked at last.
You nodded, though you wished you could find the courage to say everything that swelled inside your chest. Gratitude, embarrassment, something warm and terrifying all at once.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, flashing you a smile that lingered long after he left.
You watched him disappear across the car park. You didn’t realise until later that your heart had been glowing the whole way home.
Dustin cornered Eddie the next morning near the vending machines. It was barely eight and Eddie already looked frayed round the edges, pacing as if trying to burn off whatever storm brewed inside him.
“You look terrible,” Dustin said through a mouthful of crisps. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Not the point,” Eddie muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, only succeeding in making it stick up more wildly. “You should’ve seen Carver yesterday. Had her doing his homework but with glitter or something. Absolute parasite.”
Dustin stared. “He asked her for bookmarks.”
“Yeah, and? You know those take ages. She does little patterns and stuff. It’s labour, Henderson. She’s doing unpaid labour for a guy whose entire personality is hitting things.”
“You’re very passionate.”
“Someone has to be.” Eddie leaned against the vending machine, tapping his boot. “She looked so small. You should’ve seen her shoulders. All tense. Kept pretending she didn’t mind.”
Dustin swallowed another handful of crisps through a hearty laugh. “You’re completely gone for her.”
Eddie froze. “I am not.”
“You’re pacing like a dad waiting for a baby to be born. You’re describing her shoulders.”
“They were tense.”
“That’s my point.”
Eddie pushed off the machine, jittery. “I just hate seeing her taken advantage of. She’s too kind. She gives people cookies and she gives me those little heart attacks.”
“You mean heart-warming feelings?”
“Same difference.”
Dustin stuffing the rest of the bag away seemed like his attempt to be serious. “If you like her, you could tell her, you know.”
Eddie scoffed. “Are you kidding? She’s delicate.”
“She’s not made of glass.”
“She might as well be. Have you seen the way she smiles? It’s like a small animal trusting you for the first time. You make one wrong move and poof, she disappears into a log.”
“Into a log? She’s not a worm, dude.”
“It’s a metaphorical log!”
Dustin sighed with the weariness of someone decades older. “Just be honest with her.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie muttered, though the idea made him feel faint.
You arrived not long after, clutching your books to your chest, cheeks still tingling from the cold. Eddie brightened instantly. He didn’t mean to. He’d sell his soul before admitting how reflexive it had become.
You joined them by the lockers. Dustin greeted you eagerly. Eddie hovered, trying to decide whether to say good morning or recite sonnets at your feet. He settled for a quiet, “Hey.”
Your smile, small and soft, made him look away before he grinned too widely. You didn’t notice. You never did.
“Dustin, you dropped something,” you said, bending to pick up a folded bit of paper near his shoe.
Eddie caught his breath. You’d swept your hair forward and the whole hallway seemed to slow down. He nearly said something embarrassing just from watching the way your fingers brushed the floor.
“It’s from Mike,” Dustin explained, stuffing it into his bag. “He’s probably complaining about something unimportant.”
“Oh,” you murmured. You didn’t question it.
Jason strode through the corridor then, and your posture changed in an instant. Eddie spotted it immediately. Your shoulders subtly drew in, chin dipping, gaze dropping to the laces of your shoes.
Jason noticed you. That was the problem. “Hey,” he called, without bothering to sound pleasant. “About those bookmarks.”
You opened your mouth but Eddie spoke first. “She said no.”
Jason’s jaw flexed. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“I know,” Eddie replied, standing beside you in a way that felt protective rather than confrontational. “Still relevant information.”
Jason looked at you again. “You didn’t finish them?”
“I told you I had homework,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
Jason sighed loudly, an exaggerated sound that made your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Could’ve just said you weren’t up for it.”
That hurt. Eddie saw it. He saw everything. The way your throat tightened. The way your fingers curled in towards your palms. He knew you would apologise, even though you didn’t owe anyone a thing.
“She did,” Eddie said. “You just don’t listen.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not dealing with you this morning.”
He walked off with a shake of his head. A few students snickered under their breaths. You looked like you wanted to sink through the linoleum.
Eddie wanted to march after Jason and express certain opinions with strong vocabulary. He didn’t. He turned to you instead.
“You alright?” he asked gently.
You nodded, though your eyes darted away. “It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
Some tension flickered across your face. You didn’t like arguments, even when they weren’t yours. You didn’t like people raising their voices or drawing attention. Every instinct in you seemed built to keep the peace.
Dustin, surprisingly gentle, said, “You don’t have to say yes to everything.”
“I know.” Your voice sounded brittle.
Eddie’s chest ached. He wanted to place a hand over your heart and cradle it like something precious. He wanted to tell you that you were allowed to take up space. Allowed to say no. Allowed to exist without being chewed up by people who mistook softness for weakness.
The bell rang. Students shuffled off. You breathed out slowly before saying, “Thank you. Really. Both of you.”
Eddie melted. He couldn’t help it. Your gratitude hit him in the sternum and spread through him like warm tea.
“Anytime,” he said, voice quieter than he intended.
The three of you walked to class together. Eddie deliberately kept his steps slow to match yours. Sometimes you got lost in your thoughts and drifted. He liked following that pace, the calm of it smoothing his usual restlessness.
Dustin peeled off at science, and you and Eddie continued to English. Halfway there he nudged your elbow, very gently. “You know, if people keep taking advantage, you can tell me. I’m not asking you to cause a scene. I can do that part.”
You almost laughed. “I don’t want you to cause one either.”
He pressed his lips together, a thoughtful expression flickering. “Then I’ll cause a very polite one.”
Your smile returned, small but genuine. “You really don’t have to get involved.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t have to. I want to.”
That left you quiet again, though the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. He watched you as you entered class, slipping into your seat with that careful grace of yours.
For the rest of the lesson he barely paid attention. His mind looped one thought over and over:
He would do whatever it took to keep that worry line off your forehead.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. But something was blooming fast and fierce, like a fire catching on dry leaves.
He didn’t realise he’d been staring until you glanced over with a shy, puzzled look. He shivered, looked away, then scribbled nonsense across his notebook.
Dustin was right.
He was gone for you.
The sky was a flat wash of cloud by the time the final bell rang, the sort of drained grey that made the air feel heavy. You held your books close and walked towards the front steps, hoping to slip out before anyone made more requests of you. Your nerves still hadn’t settled. Jason’s sigh kept replaying in your mind, that disappointed sound that wormed its way into places you hated.
Eddie spotted you from across the courtyard. He had been waiting for you, although he would never admit it so plainly. Dustin had already sprinted home, leaving Eddie with instructions to ‘try not to implode’. Eddie had responded with a rude gesture, though the worry in his eyes gave him away.
He jogged over, boots thumping on the concrete. “Heading home?”
“Yes.” Your voice came out softer than usual.
He picked up on it instantly. “Come on. Walk with me. Or I walk with you. Whichever sounds less creepy.”
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You can walk with me, and I’ll walk with you.”
He fell into step beside you, letting the rhythm settle. The wind tugged at your hair and the cold flushed your cheeks a delicate pink. Eddie tried not to look too long in case his mind sprinted directly into dangerous territory.
“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.
You hesitated. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
He hummed in that way he did when he wasn’t convinced. You reached the pavement and the trees rustled overhead, dead leaves scraping against each other. The noise was soft enough that it didn’t overwhelm you.
“It gets to me sometimes,” you admitted at last. “People assuming I’ll do things. I don’t think they mean harm. They just… assume.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“It’s easier to help than make a fuss.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But it should be your choice. Not theirs.”
You blinked down at your shoes. That sharp coil of emotion twisted under your ribs again, that feeling of being seen in a way you weren’t used to. His voice had softened so much it felt like warm hands cupping something fragile.
“You don’t have to fix it for me,” you murmured.
“I’m not trying to fix you.” His tone had never been more sincere. “I just want you to feel safe. That’s all.”
You didn’t speak for several steps. Your throat felt warm, and you feared if you said anything it might tremble. A minute passed before you said, “Thank you.”
Eddie breathed out slowly, shoulders dropping as though he had been holding something tense and invisible. “Always.”
The wind picked up, blowing your hair across your face. Eddie reached out on instinct, then stopped himself halfway, fingers curling slightly. You brushed the hair behind your ear before he had to make a decision.
“Can I walk you to your place?” he asked. “I know it’s slightly out of my way. Only slightly though, I swear.”
“If you want to,” you said.
“I do.”
You didn’t look at him, but your cheeks warmed just enough that he felt it like sunlight.
You walked in comfortable quiet for a while. Dogs barked behind fences, a car rattled past, someone in a front garden swore at a hedge. Eddie kept close without crowding you. He kept checking your expression out of the corner of his eye, and each time he caught a little crease between your brows, something protective flared so strongly he had to clench his jaw.
When you reached your road, he slowed. There were puddles lined up like silver coins along the curb. You stepped around them with delicate precision.
“Carver won’t bother you again,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “For defending the nicest person in the whole school? Worth it.”
You shook your head but your smile gave you away. Eddie felt his heartbeat scramble like it had tripped over a step.
You arrived outside your house. The curtains were half drawn and the porch light flickered faintly, though it wasn’t dark yet. You turned to him, holding your books a little tighter.
“Thank you for walking with me,” you said. “I’m sorry if I’ve been strange today.”
“You haven’t.” He struggled for words. “You’ve been brilliant. You’re always brilliant.”
Your eyes widened slightly at that. He rubbed the back of his neck. His rings clicked together nervously. For a moment you both stood there, caught between the desire to step closer and the fear of disrupting something delicate.
He cleared his throat. “Can I say something without you running away?”
“I don’t run,” you said quietly.
“You sort of retreat into yourself like a shy woodland creature.”
You huffed a laugh. “You can say something. I won’t retreat.”
Eddie shifted his weight. “Yesterday, when Carver acted like you owed him something, I got angry. Proper angry. Not because of the bookmarks or any of that. Because you looked so… small. Not literally. Just… like someone had dimmed you.”
Your breath caught. He swallowed hard.
“I hate when people take advantage of you,” he continued. “You’re kind. You care. You remember things no one else notices. And it kills me that people think that means you’re easy to step on.”
“That’s not why I’m kind,” you said in a near whisper.
“I know. That’s what makes it special.”
You didn’t know what to say. His words settled over you like a warm coat, heavy and comforting. He shifted again, looking away briefly, gathering courage like it was loose coins in his pocket.
“I really like you,” he said. “I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… needed you to know. Because I think you’re the best part of most of my days.”
Your heart fluttered so sharply you had to inhale slowly to steady it. He looked terrified now that he’d spoken, eyes darting to the pavement as if searching for a crack to fall into.
You stepped forward before you lost your nerve. “I like you too.”
His head snapped up. “You do?”
“Yes,” you said, pulse racing. “A lot.”
A grin broke across his face so quickly it was almost ridiculous. He tried to rein it in but failed completely.
“Can I hug you?” he asked.
You nodded. He wrapped his arms around you with a gentleness that surprised even him. He held you as though you might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. You pressed your forehead lightly to his chest, breathing in the faint smell of smoke and something warm beneath it.
When he let go, he looked like he might float off the front step. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice slightly trembling from trying not to explode with happiness.
“Tomorrow,” you echoed.
He walked backwards for a few steps, grinning at you like a fool before turning and nearly tripping over a recycling bin. You laughed softly. His laughter drifted back to you, bright and unguarded.
You stepped inside your house with a heart beating warm and full, already counting the hours until morning.
Summary: Eddie meets someone interesting at a party he didn't want to go to.
Word count: 1.5k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, brief mentions of alcohol and Eddie dealing, Eddie is smitten from minute one, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(The CCODtober prompt was ‘bats’, and I was inspired by Kate Bush's iconic bat dress photos. Title is from Take A Slice by Glass Animals.)
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Eddie sits alone in his van, less than enthused about the night ahead. A friend of a friend of a guy he knows from somewhere or other had asked about him dealing at his Hallowe’en party. Eddie had been very tempted to say no, but a new amp doesn’t come cheap, and his wages only stretch so far.
He takes one last drag of his cigarette, letting out a sigh of smoke as he stubs the end out on his tobacco tin. He’s been trying and failing to find the courage to go in there and get this over with since he rolled the damn thing an hour ago. He forces himself to move, getting out of the van and slamming the door a bit too hard behind him.
He can only hope the people here are more generous with their money than the Hawkins High crowd ever were.
The lawn’s fairly quiet as he makes his way up to the house, with a few people dotted here and there, but inside, it’s chaos. Eddie can hardly move, let alone figure out where the guy who owns the place is. It doesn’t help that it’s a costume party, so he could be anyone.
This was a stupid idea, he thinks to himself. He’s all set to turn around and figure out some other way of getting the money together for his amp, when he finds himself distracted. A group of girls make their way down the stairs, all in costume. One in particular leaves him staring for longer than he’d like to admit. He watches them make their way through the crowd towards the kitchen.
Maybe he can stay for a little longer.
It takes him about twenty minutes to track down the guy he’s supposed to be looking for, and then all of a sudden, he goes from just some guy to an absolute hit. At least, until his lunchbox has been cleared out.
Just like high school. Some things never change.
Still, now that he’s off-duty, maybe he can try and find that girl he saw earlier. He makes his way through the crowd gathered in the kitchen, craning his neck to help him see better. He’s so distracted that he’s not fully paying attention to who’s in front of him, until it’s too late.
“Oh- Shit, sorry,” he mutters, turning his head to see who he almost knocked flying.
His mouth drops open slightly. It’s you. The girl he’s been looking for. And of course, in true Eddie fashion, now that you’re right in front of him, he suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything.
You don’t seem to have noticed that he’s being weird, and judging by the almost empty cup in your hand, he’d have to be stupid not to have figured out why. Or maybe you’re just being polite. Either way, he’s grateful that you’re nice enough not to call him an idiot. To his face, at least.
“Oh, wow,” you say, as you look him up and down.
Eddie feels his face warm with embarrassment, and he braces himself for whatever shit-talk is coming his way.
“I love your Kirk Hammett costume,” you tell him, your expression almost awestruck as you smile at him. “How long did it take you to get your hair like that?”
Eddie just stares at you. Surely he didn’t hear you right. It’s noisy as hell in here, and he’s hearing what he wants to hear, obviously. That, or he fell asleep in his van, and this is all just a wonderful dream. Because there’s no way you’re saying any of this to him right now.
“Uh, what?” he asks intelligently.
Your smile fades slightly. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I just figured, y’know, with the way you’re dressed and all- Did I get it wrong?”
He shakes his head, as if that’ll knock some sense into him and get him to actually talk to you. “You know Metallica?” he asks.
“I mean, sure, they’re big right now,” you reply. “I’ve got a few of their tapes.”
The way you say it, so casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, leaves him reeling. For someone who normally has no trouble talking the ear off anyone and everyone, he’s really struggling to string a sentence together right now, and it’s driving him crazy. He wants to talk to you so badly, and he knows the longer he stands here gawking like a moron, the faster you’re going to realise that he’s not worth your time and leave.
“No kidding,” he forces himself to say.
God, he’s so bad at this. You seem none the wiser, though, and he’s grateful for that.
He gestures awkwardly towards you. “I love your costume too. It’s, uh…No, wait, don’t tell me, I know it.”
He looks you over, doing his utmost not to be a creep about it. Your head tilts slightly as you wait with an almost expectant expression on your face. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, clicking his fingers as if to help jog his memory.
“Kate Bush?” he guesses, squinting as he waits for you to shoot him down.
Your face lights up then, and you almost knock the rest of your drink over yourself in your excitement. “Yes!” you exclaim giddily.
Eddie feels his face burning again - but for a whole different reason this time. He can’t help but find himself smiling at you. There’s something about your energy - it’s contagious.
“God, I’m so glad someone finally got it!” you tell him excitedly, holding your arms out to show off the bat wing-like lace sewn into the sleeves of your black dress. “Everyone’s been calling me Elvira all night, can you believe that? I look nothing like her.”
Eddie tries his best to focus on what you’re saying. Because if he starts thinking about you dressed as Elvira - the woman he has more posters of than he’d like to admit - he’s gonna embarrass himself for sure.
“I mean, it’s definitely a compliment, she’s gorgeous,” he replies, hoping it sounds light-hearted.
“Obviously,” you say with a smile, taking a sip of your drink. “But I spent ages putting this together, you know? And you don’t even want to know how much hairspray I had to use. My hair’s practically a helmet.”
You pretend to knock at your hair, and Eddie laughs. You’re a little weird, he’ll admit, but he likes it. Besides, he’d be a hypocrite if he judged you for it. ‘King of the Freaks’ isn’t exactly a title that you can just walk away from easily.
You hold up your cup, giving it a little shake. “I’m gonna get a refill. You wanna come with?”
Eddie’s nodding before you’ve even finished asking.
What was supposed to be an hour of work at most turns into the rest of the evening, but Eddie’s certainly not complaining. The two of you end up talking about anything and everything, finding a quiet spot at the top of the stairs to hole up together. Usually, people find Eddie a bit off-putting - which is fine by him, because he usually finds people too normal and boring anyway - but you’re able to keep pace with him easily. He could happily stay here all night.
A voice calls your name from the bottom of the stairs - your friends from earlier, he realises.
“Our ride’s here!” one of the girls shouts, her eyes darting between you and Eddie with a barely hidden smile.
“Oh, shit,” you mutter to yourself, before raising your voice. “Just a sec!”
You rummage through your bag, fishing out an old receipt and a pen. You scribble something down and hand it to him.
“Here,” you say shyly.
Eddie looks down at the crumpled piece of paper. It’s your number.
“Just, y’know, if you wanna hang out sometime,” you tell him, a little nervously.
Eddie just nods, his brain slow to process what’s going on. This never happens to him. Maybe he really did fall asleep in his van.
“Yeah,” he says, dazed. He looks up at you with a smile. “Yeah, I’d- I’d like that.”
Your face lights up in relief. “Great!” you reply. “I gotta go. It was really nice meeting you.”
Eddie’s smile widens. “Yeah. You too.”
He watches as you make your way down the stairs. You’ve barely reached the bottom step when your friends are immediately all over you, talking excitedly and sneaking glances up at Eddie. You turn to wave at him before you leave, with a bright laugh as one of your friends says something he can’t make out.
He waves back, before looking at the paper in his hand again, as if to make sure he didn’t imagine it. He carefully folds it up and tucks it into his pocket. His face is starting to hurt from smiling so much, and there’s an honest to God spring in his step as he makes his way out the door and back to his van.
Maybe parties aren't just as bad as he remembered.
Summary: Eddie needs help with his Hallowe’en costume, but he won't tell you what it is.
Word count: 3k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, a teensy bit suggestive at the end (but no smut!), Hallowe'en costumes, established relationship, Eddie in make-up (the dream), no pronouns used for reader, no use of Y/N.
(Happy Hallowe'en! This idea would not leave me alone - you can pry gender non-conforming Eddie outta my cold, dead hands. Today's CCODtober prompt was 'All Hallow's Eve'. Title is from The Stroke by Billy Squier.)
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To the surprise of no one at all, Eddie’s favourite holiday is Hallowe’en. An excuse to eat candy until he feels sick and watch horror movies and scare the hell out of the neighbours with a batshit costume? He’s mad that it only comes once a year.
Normally, in the run-up to the 31st, Eddie won’t stop talking about his costume plans. It’s almost constant, you couldn’t get him to shut up if you tried. Not that you’d want to - he’s so cute when he gets all excited like that. He always asks for your help too; in fact, he insists upon it. Says you’re better with the little details than he is. It’s become a bit of a tradition now, and by the time September rolls around, you’re already wondering what Eddie will come up with next.
But this year, he hasn’t told you anything. Not a word.
And it’s not for lack of trying on your part. You’d waited for his usual grand announcement, and when it didn’t come, you’d asked.
To which he’d just replied by tapping his nose with a barely concealed smile.
That’s not like him at all. When it comes to you, Eddie can’t keep anything to himself. Sometimes, it’s to the point where he’s telling you things you don’t want to know. Thankfully, he’s starting to get a better grasp of what is and isn’t appropriate - especially when you’re trying to eat.
So for him to not want to tell you is…strange, to say the least.
It doesn’t stop you from trying, though. When he won’t answer you outright, you start trying to be a little more sneaky about it. You point out characters in movies and TV shows, casually bringing the conversation around that way.
“That’d be such a good costume, don’t you think?” you ask, watching Eddie out of the corner of your eye to gauge his reaction.
“Yeah, I guess,” he replies distractedly, fiddling with his lighter.
It’s starting to drive you mad. He hasn’t forgotten - he can’t have, you’ve bugged him enough times about it. And when you asked if he was still excited for Hallowe’en, he’d looked at you as if you’d said something blasphemous.
About a week later, he comes home from his shift, with a big paper bag half-squashed under his arm. He drops a quick kiss to the top of your head, as is his usual routine, before he’s making a beeline for the bathroom. You don’t think much of it - he’s just home, maybe he’s gotta go. It’s not until the show you were in the middle of watching ends that you notice the time.
“Eddie?” you call.
Maybe he’s in the kitchen.
“Eddie?” you try again.
Nothing.
You’re not exactly worried, more curious in case he’s gone out again and you didn’t hear him leave. You take a quick look around the apartment, finding everything the way you left it. When you get to the bathroom, the door’s locked.
He’s not still in there, is he?
“Eddie?” you call, knocking the door. “You okay? You’ve been in there a while.”
Something heavy hits the ground with a thump, and Eddie mumbles something you can’t make out. He sounds frustrated.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” he shouts back. His voice is a bit too high, exactly how he sounds when he’s pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. “I, uh- I ate something weird at lunch, it’s catching up with me now.”
You hear him blow a hard raspberry for effect, and you roll your eyes. Clearly, he wants some privacy, and he doesn’t want to admit to whatever he’s really doing in there.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” you tell him. “Just yell, okay?”
“Thanks, baby, appreciate it!” you hear him call back, before something heavy clatters against the bathtub.
When he does finally reemerge, it’s as if nothing happened. He asks you about your day and helps with dinner, like he wasn’t hiding in there for a full hour.
About halfway through the night, you start to make a little progress.
“I was wondering,” he starts, a little hesitantly. “Would you be cool with helping me out with some make-up stuff?”
So there is a costume. You knew it.
“Sure. What are we talking? Face paint, fake blood?” you ask, trying your best to sound casual.
If he wants your help, he has to tell you what it is he needs help with, right?
He shakes his head. “I was thinking something a little more glamorous,” he says cryptically.
“So, not Gene Simmons, then,” you reply, eyebrows raised expectantly.
He just laughs. “Keep trying, sweetheart.”
It’s a few days later when it’s brought up again. You’re lying on the couch, taking full advantage of a Saturday afternoon with nothing to do and nowhere to be, when Eddie’s wild mane of hair suddenly appears in your field of vision over your head.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, bending down to press a kiss to your nose.
“Oh, yeah?” you ask. “What kind of surprise? Should I close my eyes?”
You squeeze your eyes shut and hold out your hand. Eddie laughs, tapping his hand against yours.
“It’s not ready yet,” he tells you. “Gimme about…half an hour?”
You glare up at him, pretending to be suspicious. “What are you up to, Munson?”
Eddie gives you a wide smile, as if butter wouldn’t melt. “You’ll see,” is all the answer he gives you, as he makes his way down the hall.
You hear the bathroom door lock, and then it hits you. It’s his costume. It has to be.
You spend about ten minutes trying to distract yourself before you can’t take it anymore. He’s been dragging this out for weeks now. The last of your patience has been worn out completely. Remembering what he’d said about needing help with make-up, you scramble off the couch to your bedroom. You can’t help but stop outside the bathroom for a second on the way. Eddie sounds like he’s fighting for his life in there. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good, you know that much. He’s never let you down yet.
The box you keep all the costume make-up in is already sitting at the end of the bed for you. You dig through it, tossing anything past its expiry date and organising the rest to pass the time. You’ve sorted the brushes three times by the time the bathroom door finally opens. Immediately, you sit bolt upright, all of your attention focused on the doorway. You can’t remember the last time you were this excited for anything.
Eddie raps the doorframe, just out of your sight. “Sweetheart? You in here?” he calls.
“Yes!” you reply, a little too eagerly.
Eddie huffs a laugh. “Okay, I’m coming in. You better have your eyes closed.”
You do as he says, even covering your eyes to stop yourself from peeking. You can hear Eddie moving towards you, and whatever he’s wearing sounds as if it’s causing him trouble, like he’s struggling to walk properly.
Eventually, he stops. Your pulse is thudding in your ears.
“Ready?” he asks, and you can hear him smiling.
“Yes! Oh my God, you’ve dragged this out long enough,” you practically whine at him.
Eddie chuckles. “I just wanted to make sure it was worth the wait,” he replies. “Okay, you can look now.”
You take your hands away from your face, and your mouth immediately drops open. You aren’t entirely sure what you were expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this.
A few months back, Eddie had come home from the video store with a stack of tapes he’d rented. You flicked through them while he fought his usual losing battle with the TV antenna. The thing was on its last legs, but there was no telling him that.
“The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” you’d asked, with a curious expression. “Didn’t think you’d be into that.”
“It’s a horror musical with Meat Loaf, what’s not to love?” he’d replied, blowing out a sigh as the antenna slipped right off the TV.
You couldn’t argue with him there. And sure, in hindsight, maybe you should have realised earlier than you did that the whole premise was right up Eddie’s alley, and yes, you’re very aware that he has a flair for the dramatic. And even if you had guessed it right, you would have thought it would make more sense for Eddie to dress as well…Eddie.
But all of that doesn’t change the fact that he’s currently standing in front of you, dressed as Frank-N-Furter. And it’s not the green surgical gown; no, Eddie's decided to go the whole nine yards - black corset, matching lacy garter belt and stockings; he’s even wearing a chunky pearl necklace.
And the heels. You were so distracted by his cinched-in waist and the length of his legs in all that sheer fabric that you hadn’t noticed his shoes - until he’d wobbled in them. They’re black and strappy, and put him away over 6ft.
“Well?” he prompts, gesturing towards himself. “What do you think?”
You’re honestly surprised you’re not drooling. You can’t stop staring at him.
“What do I think?” you ask, finally managing to make your mouth work again. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”
He fidgets with the pearls around his neck, not quite meeting your eye. And then you realise - he’s actually nervous about this. You reach out to take his hands, careful not to throw off his balance.
“You wanna know what I really think?” you ask. “I think you, Eddie Munson, are the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”
A wide smile breaks out across his face at that. He blows out an exaggerated breath, as if in relief.
“Okay, good,” he replies, a little breathless. “It’s not that I thought you’d be weird about this or anything, it’s just- I dunno, guess I kept getting into my own head about it.”
You give him a reassuring smile. “Do me a favour? Sit down, I don’t want you breaking your ankle.”
Eddie manages to sit down on the bed next to you without knocking himself over, which is quite an achievement, considering. You brush his hair back from his face.
“You never have to worry about things like this with me, okay?” you say softly. “Honestly, I’m just mad that you’re so much taller than me now.”
Eddie laughs at that, his dimples on full display. Your heart feels full.
“You still want me to do your make-up?” you ask. “I’m pretty sure I have all the right colours.”
He nods, and you get to work, laying everything out so you can reach it easily. It's not long before you hit your first hurdle. You’ve barely touched him when his nose twitches. Every time you make an attempt, he moves in some way - blinking, running his tongue over his teeth, scrunching his nose. You can’t get near him. It’s been about ten minutes, and all you’ve managed is a couple of dots of lipstick and half an eyelid of eyeshadow.
“Eddie, honey,” you chide, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “I need you to stay still.”
“Am I not?” he asks.
You raise your eyebrows at him, as if to say ‘what do you think?’.
“Sure, no problem. I can stay still,” he tells you. “Like a statue. Still’s my middle name. You won’t even know I’m here.”
He keeps going like that, rambling on to try and get you to laugh. The more you hold it in, the faster he talks, until finally, you cave.
“Eddie, c’mon,” you insist, trying to be serious. “The sooner you sit still, the sooner we’re finished, okay?”
Eddie gives you an exaggerated nod in reply, shaking his hair everywhere. A few of his curls stick to the lipstick you weren’t able to finish.
Something has to be done about him. You stand up, and immediately, he stops messing around.
“Baby, I’m sorry. Come back,” he says, tugging gently at your wrist. “I’ll behave, I promise.”
“Yeah, you will,” you reply resolutely.
Before he has the chance to say anything else, you press your hands to his shoulders, pushing him onto his back. He goes down all too easily, looking up at you with wide eyes as you climb into his lap. You stare down at him smugly, as if in challenge. For once, he’s speechless. You’ve somehow done the impossible - you’ve actually shut him up.
“This is gonna kill my back, but if you can’t sit still for twenty minutes, sacrifices have to be made,” you say.
Eddie hasn’t moved a muscle, as if he’s still in shock. You’re not exactly having an easy time of it either. If you thought he was gorgeous before; having him beneath you like this, curls splayed out like a halo, full lips parted, big brown eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters…
He really is something else.
But one of you has to try and be the adult here. Which is easier said than done when you keep finding yourself distracted by how his chest rises and falls in that damn corset.
“Eyes closed,” you tell him, and he actually does as he’s told.
You can’t let yourself get used to this, but God, you want to. You do your best to focus on what you’re supposed to be doing, choosing an eyeshadow colour. Eddie flinches slightly as the brush touches his skin, but other than that, he keeps himself still. Even as you gently run an eyeliner pencil along his lower lashes, and rouge his cheeks.
You rummage through the pile next to you, searching for the lipstick you’d attempted to put on him earlier. You remove the lid absentmindedly as you admire your work so far.
“You’re so pretty, Eddie,” you murmur.
“You think so?” he asks, and you can tell he’s trying to make light of it, but his dimples are on full display again.
You tap his nose with your finger. “I do,” you reply sincerely. “Pretty boy.”
His eyes widen, and for a minute, he just stares up at you. Then he lets out a groan, his hands sliding up the length of your thighs, stopping at your hips.
“You can’t say things like that,” he mutters, his thumbs rubbing little patterns over your sweater.
You tilt your head. “What’d I say?” you ask, feigning innocence.
Eddie huffs in frustration, wandering hands trailing up along your back. He presses his palms against you, trying to push you forward.
“Nuh-uh,” you grunt, planting your palms on his chest to hold yourself up. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He has the audacity to whine at you, and you lightly pat his cheek.
“Come on, just a couple more minutes. You can do it,” you say, a teasing lilt in your voice.
Eddie sighs dramatically, but he lets his hands drop back down to your hips.
“There’s my good boy,” you murmur.
Once again, you seem to have stunned him into silence. It probably won’t last very long, so you can’t let it go to waste; you lean in, carefully running the lipstick along the outer lines of his mouth first, before filling in the rest. You can sense how much he’s struggling, but you can’t fault his effort. He’s really trying.
“Almost done,” you mutter. You sit back, gently tilting his head from one side to the other to make sure everything’s even. “Go like this.”
You press your lips tightly together. Eddie copies you, and you smile.
“Perfect,” you say proudly. “You wanna see?”
You pass him a compact mirror. He moves it around as he admires himself.
“You’re a genius, you know that?” he says at last, flashing you a lazy grin.
You chuckle softly. “You’ve got a little lipstick on your teeth, hang on.”
You move to wipe it away, when all of a sudden, Eddie’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you down all the way. You shriek, just about managing to stop yourself from accidentally headbutting him.
“I’m done waiting, sweetheart,” he says quietly, reaching up to cradle your face in his hands.
You frown, pretending to be annoyed. “You’re gonna ruin all my hard work.”
He shakes his head. “You’re so good at it, you can fix it again,” he replies, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Besides, this is just the practice run, right?”
How are you supposed to argue with him when he’s as close as he is, saying all the right things in that low, infuriatingly convincing voice? Dressed like that? You might be stubborn, but you have your limits. You dip your head to kiss him, lightly at first, but then Eddie’s dragging you closer, his arms around your waist, and suddenly you don’t give a shit about your hard work anymore.
All you care about is him. Your Eddie.
When you’re finally able to untangle yourself from him, you can’t help but laugh. His lipstick’s smudged all across his mouth and chin, and you can only assume that you’re not much better.
“Y’know, I was thinking…” he starts, his tone suspiciously coy.
“That’s dangerous,” you reply teasingly.
Eddie flicks your cheek playfully. “I’m serious,” he says. “We gotta come up with a costume for you now, yeah?”
That stops you in your tracks. In all the frustration of trying to figure out what the hell Eddie’s been up to, you haven’t really thought about yourself. And as things are, it’s not exactly high up on your list of priorities right now.
You slowly walk your fingers down the lacy detailing on his corset. “How about we figure it out later?” you ask, giving him a pointed look.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you mean, and Eddie’s always been quick off the mark when it suits him.
“Sure, no problem, consider it a later problem,” he replies in a rush, reaching for you again.
You lean in to kiss him, not caring if the rest of his make-up ends up a total mess.
Summary: Things between you and Eddie start to deepen—what began as something small and secret grows into something real. Between hidden moments, shared smiles, and stolen time, you both find something neither of you expected: happiness.
part 1
tags: Reader is Steve’s twin sister, roughly takes place between season 2 and season 3, SFW, overall fluff, established relationship, secret relationship, insecure Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, Reader is a sweetheart, they're just soft for each other your honor. No mentions of Y/N.
A/N: Here it is! the continuation. Honestly writing fanfics turns out to be so fun. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
word count: 3k
masterlist
Dating Eddie Munson wasn’t like anything you expected.
It was better.
It wasn’t candlelit dinners or school hallway hand-holding. It was late-night walks behind the football field, shared fries in his van, long drives with the windows down and his mixtapes blasting through your bones. It was laughter that felt real, and stolen kisses in parking lots, and the way he said your name like it wasn’t just something to call you—but something to hold.
It was yours.
You hadn’t told anyone.
Not because you were ashamed—never that. But because once you said it out loud, once people knew, it wouldn’t be just yours anymore. It would become a thing to talk about, to ask questions about. It would stop being quiet and soft and secret and would turn into something loud and watched.
So you kept it on the down low. Just for now.
You met up after school when no one was looking. You kissed behind bookshelves and shared knowing glances in hallways. He picked you up two blocks away from your house just to be safe. You stole moments between responsibilities like you were rationing joy.
And in those moments, he was everything.
But sometimes—just sometimes—he would pull away from a kiss too soon, eyes cast down, like he was remembering something he’d promised himself not to forget.
“I still don’t get why you even want to be with me,” he muttered once, lying next to you in the back of his van, his fingers tangled with yours.
“What do you mean?”
He was staring at the ceiling of the van like it had answers written in the rust.
“I mean…” He hesitated. “You’re you. And I’m—”
“Eddie,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. “You’re you too. That’s the whole point.”
He looked at you then, wary and amazed all at once. Like part of him still didn’t believe he was allowed this.
You squeezed his fingers. “I don’t want you to be anything else.”
His eyes softened. “You sure you didn’t hit your head?”
That earned a laugh. And then a kiss.
Sometimes he still needed reminding.
That first month felt like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.
He brought you little trinkets from thrift stores—ugly keychains and weird pins he thought you’d laugh at. You slipped them into your pencil case or coat pocket, just to keep something of him close during the day.
You brought him snacks from your locker and left doodles tucked into the back of his D&D folders. Things like “roll for a kiss” and little sketches of devils making out with elves. He kept every single one.
You weren’t together all the time, but when you were—it was like the world got quieter.
It wasn’t always smooth. You still had to lie to Steve sometimes. Pretend you were doing student council stuff when you were really in Eddie’s van, listening to Metallica and eating gas station candy. You still had to act normal when you passed Eddie in the hallway, even when your chest ached to touch him.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
You found a stray piece of paper inside your locker.
The paper was folded in half, hastily shoved into your locker like the sender was in a rush or trying not to be seen. You glanced around before opening it, even though the hallway was mostly empty.
Scrawled in messy, slanted handwriting:
“Closet by the science wing. 3rd period. I got five minutes.
—E”
You smiled instantly, cheeks heating before you could help it.
You slipped the note into your pocket like it was contraband and made your way down the hall.
The old utility closet was tucked between two classrooms no one paid attention to. Mop buckets. Stale air. Cleaning supplies and dust. Definitely not on the official tour of Hawkins High.
You barely had time to knock before the door opened and you were pulled inside by a familiar pair of hands.
“Eddie—”
He kissed you before you could finish, mouth hot and a little reckless, like he’d been waiting all day for this exact five-minute window.
You grinned into it, your hands already finding the collar of his jacket as your back hit the wall.
“Hi,” you mumbled breathlessly when he pulled back for air.
“Hi,” he said, eyes wild and grinning. “You came.”
“You told me to.”
“Yeah, but I figured you were too good for shady janitor closets during school hours.”
“You’re lucky I like you no matter what,” you teased.
“Luck doesn’t even cover it,” he muttered, kissing you again.
You let yourself get pulled back in, the two of you tangled up between mops and shelves and the faint smell of bleach. His hands slid under the hem of your sweater, fingertips grazing the edge of your waistband, and you let out a tiny laugh against his lips.
“Eds,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice down, “we have class.”
“Five more minutes,” he murmured, already trailing kisses along your jaw.
“You said that five minutes ago.”
“I lied.”
You giggled, smacking his chest lightly before resting your forehead against his. “If I get caught skipping calculus for you, I’m gonna fail my perfect attendance streak.”
“Worth it.”
He kissed you again, slower this time. Softer.
You melted for a second, just one.
Then you gently pushed him back by the shoulders, eyes crinkling with a smile. “We’re gonna get caught.”
“I’ll take the blame,” he said, hands still on your waist. “Say I lured you in with promises of forbidden love and stolen Fruit Roll-Ups.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing again as you straightened your shirt. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you keep showing up.”
“Guess I’m impossible too.”
He opened the door just a crack, peeking out. “Coast is clear.”
You leaned up, pecked him once more on the cheek. “See you after school?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
And just like that, you slipped back into the hallway, pulse still racing and lips still tingling, blending in with the rest of the world like nothing had happened.
Nobody noticed. And that made it even sweeter.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
The Harrington house was quiet, The kind that only felt quieter because the house was too big and too empty, and the only sounds came from the soft clinking of cutlery and the low hum of the radio in the background.
Just you and Steve at the table. A rare sit-down dinner between siblings that hadn’t been microwaved at separate times.
He finally spoke after a beat of silence.
“You’ve been very suspicious lately.”
You looked up, mouth full. “What?”
“You heard me.”
You chewed slowly, narrowed your eyes at him. “Suspicious how?”
He gestured vaguely with his fork. “You’ve been disappearing a lot. Like… ghosting at weird times. Coming home late. Whispering on the phone. You never used to whisper.”
You tried to keep your face neutral. “Student council stuff.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Student council cannot be that busy.”
You shrugged, grabbing your water. “It is when the senior prom budget gets cut in half and everyone suddenly forgets how to behave like functioning humans during meetings.”
Steve leaned back in his chair, still eyeing you like he was trying to crack a code. “You sure that’s all it is?”
“Yes, Steven.”
He squinted at you.
You took a deliberately long sip of water.
Finally, he sighed and gave you a little smirk. “Okay. Fine. But if I find out you’re running a secret gambling ring behind the school gym or joining a cult, I’m telling Mom.”
You grinned. “Cool. I’ll make sure to invite you to the next blood sacrifice.”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he stabbed another bite of pasta. “You're lucky I love you.”
You smiled into your bowl. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
He let it go after that, turning the conversation to his never-ending battle with job applications and his growing theory that the dryer was eating his socks again.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
You knocked twice on the faded door of the Munson trailer before pushing it open just a crack, letting yourself in like you had a few times before.
“Hey, Eds? it’s me,” you called softly, peeking around.
The inside of the trailer smelled like coffee and cigarettes, with a faint trace of bacon from the morning. It was small — tight-knit in the way that made every sound bounce off the walls — but warm. Lived in. Worn, but loved. Mismatched furniture. Faded carpet. A pile of old TV Guides next to the recliner.
And from that recliner, Uncle Wayne looked up, smiling with his eyes before he even spoke.
“There’s our girl,” he said gruffly, reaching for the remote to lower the volume. “Come on in.”
You stepped inside, clutching the sleeves of your jacket like a polite little kid meeting the principal. You’d been here twice before, always for brief hellos and quick pick-ups. But every time, you still felt a little nervous. This wasn’t just anyone. This was Wayne — the man who raised Eddie.
“Hi, Mr. Munson,” you said, polite and a little too formal.
Wayne gave you a long, amused look over the rim of his mug. “Didn’t we go over this already? It’s Wayne.”
“Right. Sorry. Wayne.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t believe a nice, polite girl like you ended up with someone like him.”
From down the hall, Eddie’s voice echoed.
“Hey! I heard that!”
You laughed, cheeks warm, and Wayne gave you a knowing nod as he stood up to head toward the kitchen.
“You kids go on,” he said. “I’m headed to bed soon anyway. Gotta be at the plant by six.”
“Sweet dreams, Wayne,” you said, genuinely.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
Eddie met you halfway down the narrow hallway, his hair half-tied back, his usual band tee and ripped jeans on like he’d just rolled out of bed. He gave you a crooked grin, eyes softening the moment he saw you.
“You’re so polite to him, it’s almost weird,” he said, voice low as he tugged you into his room.
“He’s weird,” you whispered back. “In a cool, intimidating way.”
Eddie snorted. “He once fell asleep standing up in the kitchen and claimed it was meditation.”
The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly the world went quiet again.
His room was exactly what you'd expect — posters of bands, some D&D maps tacked to the walls, piles of cassettes and dice on the dresser, a messy bed with the same plaid blanket you always teased him about. It smelled like incense and laundry detergent, and faintly like him.
Your shoulders dropped the second the door closed. Like they always did here.
You flopped down onto the bed, letting out a long sigh. “It’s cozy in here.”
“It’s a disaster.”
“It’s you,” you said, grinning up at him.
Eddie climbed in beside you, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked down at you.
“Wayne likes you,” he said, a little too casually.
You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“He wouldn’t say it. But if he didn’t, I’d know.”
You smiled, brushing your fingers over his. “Good. ’Cause I kinda like you, too.”
He smirked. “That right?”
Before you could answer, he leaned down and kissed you — slow, easy, comfortable.
Just the way you liked it here.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
Eddie lay on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes on the ceiling, though he wasn’t really looking at anything. The lamp in the corner cast a warm golden haze across the room, but the softest light came from his chest — or at least, that’s how it felt.
She’d been here a few hours ago. Left her chapstick on his nightstand. Cherry. He kept glancing at it like it might disappear.
It still didn’t make sense sometimes. That she chose him.
Steve Harrington’s sister.
He’d spent half of high school trying to dodge guys like Harrington, the basketball clique, the parties, the fake-smile hierarchy of Hawkins High. And she was part of that world — at least, on paper. Perfect grades. Popular enough to be seen. Always polished, always put together.
But somehow, under all that, she wasn’t them.
She was her. Just… kind. Smart without being a show-off. Funny in a way that caught him off guard. She didn’t flinch when he ranted about Dio or got sidetracked talking about campaign arcs. She listened. She actually listened.
And she liked him.
God, that was the part that kept tripping him up.
Because yeah, he’d had flings before. But this? This wasn’t a fling. This was her crawling into his bed after a crap day and just lying there, curled into him like his presence meant peace. This was him caring enough to wipe off the grease smudge from her cheek without making a joke about it.
She made him feel… like he was allowed to be soft.
But still — the world wouldn’t get it. Not yet.
And maybe, just maybe, he liked that this was theirs alone.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
The cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaos. Trays clattered, the jocks were too loud, and the mashed potatoes looked like someone forgot what seasoning was.
Eddie plopped down at the Hellfire table, late as usual, a smirk already on his face.
“Apologies, gentlemen,” he said, dramatically sweeping his jacket behind him like a cape. “I was detained by... secret society business.”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “You mean you were smoking out by the dumpsters again?”
“Maybe,” Eddie said, popping a grape into his mouth. “Maybe not.”
Jeff squinted at him. “You’re acting weird.”
Eddie froze mid-bite. “Define weird.”
“Like... I don’t know,” Gareth said, leaning in. “You’re humming.”
“I hum.”
“Not Van Halen ballads,” Jeff added. “Also, you showed up to lunch on time two days in a row.”
“And you said ‘please’ to Ms. O’Donnell in chem,” Doug said, pointing an accusatory finger.
Eddie tried to shrug it off. “So I’ve matured.”
“No,” Jeff said flatly. “You’re smiling. Like, not your ‘I just told a dirty joke in my head’ smile. Like, soft. Puppy dog soft.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, trying not to actually smile — which only made it worse.
“Okay, alright,” he said, grabbing his soda. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”
“Good mood?” Gareth echoed. “What, did you finally get your hands on that Iron Maiden bootleg?”
“Or maybe,” Doug said slowly, “maybe Munson’s got a crush.”
Eddie nearly choked on his drink.
“Crush?! On who?” he scoffed, coughing through it. “I’m uncrushable.”
Gareth narrowed his eyes. “Then why do you disappear for twenty minutes between third and fourth period? And don’t say it’s the bathroom. You don’t come back smelling like the bathroom.”
Eddie leaned back, looking way too casual.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “You wound me with your lack of trust.”
“Just saying,” Jeff muttered. “If you start writing poetry, we’re staging an intervention.”
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
Leaves rustled lazily overhead as you leaned back on the threadbare flannel blanket Eddie had spread on the grass. The little clearing by Lover’s Lake was technically off school property, which made it perfect — private, quiet, and far from any curious eyes.
Eddie sat cross-legged beside you, nervously watching your face as you took a bite from the sandwich he’d made.
You chewed carefully. And slowly.
“…Is that—jam and…cheese?”
“Okay—okay, look.” Eddie held his hands up defensively. “I was aiming for sophisticated. Sweet and salty, right? Like those expensive charcu—charcoo—whatever boards.”
You tried to keep your face straight. “It’s not terrible.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”
You grinned. “No, seriously. It’s edible.”
He fell back dramatically onto the blanket. “I knew I should’ve just gone with peanut butter.”
You set the half-eaten sandwich down and leaned over him, hair falling around your face as you hovered above. “You tried,” you said softly. “You planned all this. You packed a lunch, picked a spot, stole this blanket from your uncle—”
“Borrowed,” he corrected from the ground.
“—and didn’t even forget napkins. That’s a win.”
He glanced at you from beneath a tangle of curls, expression softening. “You really don’t mind?”
“Eddie,” you said, voice quiet now. “This is the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in… I don’t even know how long. I’m not just happy about the food, or the blanket, or this dumb sandwich. I’m happy with you.”
His eyes flickered. “You mean that?”
You nodded. “Yeah. You’re the only person who sees me for more than my name, or my grades, or being Steve’s sister. And you don’t treat me like I’m porcelain.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. “You’re steel under all that sugar.”
Your heart caught on the compliment. You didn’t reply — just lowered yourself beside him, your fingers brushing his as the wind stirred the trees.
For a long while, neither of you spoke.
Then, Eddie murmured, “I think about you all the time. And not just, like, the way a teenage guy usually thinks about a girl. I think about how you laugh when you’re trying not to. How you always line up your pencils. How you tilt your head when you’re listening to something you care about.”
You turned your head toward him, surprised.
“I just…” he trailed off, unsure how to land the plane. “I like you. A lot.”
You smiled, eyes glinting in the sunlight. “I like you too, Munson.”
He nudged your knee. “Even though I’m bad at sandwiches?”
“Especially because you’re bad at sandwiches.”
You both broke into laughter, letting it roll through the trees and across the lake, untethered and light.
You were just two people — lying in the sun, hearts on your sleeves, perfectly happy.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
On Saturday night—or Sunday morning—a knock on your window came at 12:42 a.m.
Three soft taps — your signal.
You shot upright in bed, brushing hair from your face as you crept to the window, already biting back a grin. And sure enough, there he was. Perched in the oak tree just outside your second-story bedroom, clinging to the branch like some dramatic, smirking forest goblin.
“Rapunzel,” Eddie stage-whispered, grinning through the leaves. “Let down your—oh shit, wait, you don’t have hair that long.”
“You’re going to break your neck,” you hissed back, trying not to laugh as you unlocked the window.
He wobbled theatrically, then swung a leg across, hoisting himself onto the ledge before tumbling—gracelessly—into your room with a thud. You grabbed his arm to keep him from knocking over your nightstand.
“Shh! My brother’s literally down the hall!”
Eddie straightened with a cheeky grin. “Then I’m right on time.”
You gave him a look but couldn’t hide your smile. His hair was windblown, he smelled faintly like motor oil and incense, and he was still wearing his battered denim jacket over pajama pants with tiny skulls on them.
“God,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you stepped back. “So this is how Nancy felt.”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
You shook your head, laughing. “Never mind.”
The room settled into a warm quiet, the kind that only happened after midnight when the world felt softer. You both sat cross-legged on your bed, knees touching, his fingers absently tracing the hem of your blanket.
“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” you said.
“Neither did I,” he admitted. “Just… couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe if I saw you, I’d remember how to breathe again.”
You stared at him, heart tumbling.
And before you could think better of it, you whispered, “I actually have something for you.”
His eyes lit up. “A gift? For me? You shouldn’t have.”
“I mean it’s not huge, don’t get excited,” you said quickly, reaching for your desk drawer. “I found it at that thrift store by Elm, the one with the spooky mannequin that always stares at me.”
He leaned in, curious.
You pulled out a small cloth pouch and pressed it into his palm.
He opened it slowly — revealing a chunky silver ring with a deep red stone in the center. Worn and slightly scuffed, but unmistakably him.
Eddie blinked. “This is… sick.”
“I thought so too,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You have, like, twenty already, but I figured one more wouldn’t hurt.”
He stared at the ring for a beat, then at you. “You saw this and thought of me.”
You nodded, suddenly shy.
“I love it,” he said, sliding it onto his index finger. “Now I’m up to twenty-one, which is obviously a magic number.”
But before either of you could bask in the sweetness, a voice cut through the hall.
“Hey, you still awake?” Steve’s voice.
You both froze.
“Shit—” you hissed, grabbing Eddie by the wrist.
He was already halfway to the closet, no questions asked.
You shoved open the door, pushed him in, and slammed it shut just as your bedroom door creaked open.
Steve poked his head in, eyes squinting. “Why are your lights still on?”
You turned, innocent smile activated. “Couldn’t sleep. Reading.”
Steve raised a brow. “Without a book?”
“I just finished one. I was… reflecting.”
He stepped in, suspicious. “You’ve been acting weird again.”
You crossed your arms, hoping he couldn’t hear your heart pounding. “It’s 1 a.m., Steve. Everyone acts weird at 1 a.m.”
He sniffed the air.
You held your breath.
“I swear it smells like smoke in here.”
“I burned a candle earlier,” you lied smoothly.
He stared a second longer, then backed out slowly.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
The door clicked shut.
You waited ten seconds before yanking open the closet. Eddie stumbled out, trying not to laugh, hair tousled and eyes wide.
“Okay,” he whispered, grinning. “I love you, but I’m never doing that again.”
You grinned, grabbing his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss.
“You love me?”
He froze, then broke into a smile. “Well… yeah. Obviously.”
You kissed him again — breathless, giddy, and still full of adrenaline — knowing that somehow, all the sneaking around was worth it.
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Summary: Being Steve Harrington’s twin sister means always living in someone else’s shadow, under the surface, you're just trying to feel seen. That is, until a chance encounter with Eddie Munson sparks an unexpected connection.
part 2
tags: Reader is Steve’s twin sister, roughly takes place between season 2 and season 3, SFW, overall fluff, meet-cute(?), secret relationship (in part 2), mutual pining, developing relationship, they're just soft for each other your honor. No mentions of Y/N.
A/N: This is my first ever fic, so please bear with me. If you have any suggestions or thoughts feel free to reach out to me (please be nice 🥺). Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
word count: 3k
masterlist
You never really hated high school. It just never quite felt like it belonged to you.
People smiled at you in the hallways—tight-lipped, polite, surface-level smiles that came with your last name. Harrington. Like it was a crown you wore, passed down from Steve.
To most people at Hawkins High, you were just the quieter, smarter, slightly more tolerable version of your brother. “Steve’s sister.” Never mind the fact that your GPA could bench-press theirs or that you ran student council meetings with enough bite to scare actual adults. They didn’t care. You weren’t a real person to them—you were Steve’s sister who didn’t make a mess and remembered to smile.
So you smiled. Every morning. Even now, as you moved through the hallway past rows of metal lockers and neon-colored posters for the winter formal, the same fake grin tugged at your lips.
A locker slammed shut next to you.
“Council meeting’s still on today, right?” asked Mindy, the senior secretary who wore her cheer uniform like it came with a superiority complex.
You nodded. “After seventh period.”
“Cool, cool,” she chirped. “Oh! And hey, there’s a party at Kyle’s tonight—his parents are out of town again.” She grinned, clearly not inviting you just yet. “You should totally come.”
You opened your locker, swapped out your English textbook for Chemistry, and waited.
You gave her a practiced smile—half-assed, barely curled at the edges—and shut your locker. “I’ll let him know.”
You didn’t say yes. You never said yes. You just walked away, the sound of your Converse on linoleum echoing down the hallway like punctuation.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
Seventh period passed in a blur of equations and doodles in the margins of your notes. After the council meeting, you finally stepped outside, the air already cooling into that signature late-fall crispness. The parking lot was nearly empty.
You considered heading home. You could’ve taken the long way, past the neighborhood where the autumn leaves were still clinging to the trees. You could’ve gone to the arcade. Or the library. Or just—anywhere that didn’t involve someone asking about your brother.
But you didn’t expect to find him sitting on the curb, chain smoking like he wasn’t technically banned from school property after last week’s fireworks stunt in the boys’ bathroom.
Eddie Munson.
The freak. The guy who played guitar like his soul depended on it and made people uncomfortable just by existing too loudly. You’d seen him in the halls before. You’d sat two rows behind him in Honors English last year until he flunked out. You weren’t friends, not really. Just two people whose orbits occasionally overlapped.
He didn’t see you at first.
You almost kept walking. You almost didn’t say anything at all.
But then—
“You know you’re gonna die with those lungs, right?”
His head snapped toward you, brows raised like he expected a punchline. He looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the school ID clipped to your lanyard.
“Oh,” he said. “Royalty speaks.”
You snorted. “Hardly.”
There was a beat of silence. He blinked, like you’d just said something in another language.
You tilted your head. “What? You think I’m gonna write you up or something?”
He shrugged, flicked ash from his cigarette. “Dunno. Just surprised you acknowledged me. Usually your kind has blinders for the unwashed masses.”
You raised a brow. “You mean people who sit alone after school chain-smoking Marlboros in the parking lot?”
He looked at you again, this time with more curiosity than sarcasm. “You’re not as much of a Harrington as I thought.”
You shrugged, offering the tiniest smile—this one not fake, but not fully real either. “Guess you don’t know me.”
He took another drag, then said, “Not yet.”
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
The thing about Hawkins High was that everyone fit neatly into their little boxes. Jocks. Cheerleaders. Band geeks. Burnouts. Even the ones who tried not to belong ended up in their own category—like Eddie Munson, who made being an outcast feel like a damn art form.
You weren’t supposed to talk to him. Not because anyone said it out loud, but because it just wasn’t done. You were student council. Straight-A’s. Some teacher’s favorite. You were a Harrington.
So when you found yourself walking into the library during study hall, the last thing you expected was to spot Eddie Munson camped out in the farthest corner—feet kicked up, a tattered fantasy novel in hand, and a sketchbook open in his lap like a secret he wasn’t ready to share.
You would’ve left him alone.
But then he glanced up and said, “Look who it is. Council Queen.”
You sighed. “Do you ever not give people nicknames?”
Eddie leaned back in his chair like the whole world was a stage. “Only the ones who are boring.”
You raised an eyebrow. “So I’m not boring?”
He seemed to consider that for a second. “Not yet. You’ve got potential.”
You rolled your eyes and sat a few chairs away—not close enough to seem like you were seeking him out, but not far enough to ignore him either. You pulled out your notes and started reviewing for an upcoming history quiz.
“Lemme guess,” Eddie said after a beat. “American Revolution?”
“World Wars,” you replied without looking up.
He let out a dramatic groan. “Man, I barely passed that class. Too many dates. Not enough dragons.”
You stifled a laugh. “Well, there were enough battles, if that helps.”
“I dunno,” he mused, tapping his pencil on the edge of his desk. “Would’ve paid more attention if it had orcs or something.”
You shook your head but didn’t tell him to shut up.
After a few minutes, you noticed him glancing at your notes. Not in a copying kind of way—more like he was genuinely trying to make sense of what you’d written.
“You know,” you said, “you could probably pass this year. If you actually tried.”
Eddie gave you a skeptical look. “What makes you think I want to?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” you replied, gesturing to the stack of books on the table. “In the library. During study hall. You could be skipping.”
He blinked like he hadn’t considered that you might notice details about him.
A pause settled between you. Not awkward. Just… curious.
“Alright,” he said eventually. “You got me. I’m trying. Might as well graduate before the world ends.”
You smiled at that. Not the fake smile you gave to party girls who only wanted Steve’s number. A real one. Small, crooked, surprised.
“I won’t tell anyone,” you said, turning back to your notes.
Eddie watched you for a moment longer, then smirked and opened his book again.
And for the rest of study hall, you sat there—quietly, separately, but somehow in the same kind of peace. Like two kids who had accidentally wandered off the map and didn’t hate the company they found.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
Suddenly, he's everywhere.
One day, you passed him in the hallway and gave him a nod. The next, he was already sitting in your usual study hall corner when you walked in, a second chair dragged out for no one in particular. After that, it was lunch outside behind the bleachers—he said the cafeteria made his skin crawl—and you just… started showing up there too.
You never planned it. It was like some weird, unspoken schedule only the two of you understood.
Eddie would make fun of your neatly labeled folders. You’d mock his absolute refusal to use lined paper. He’d tell you about his latest campaign, sketching monsters in the margins of his algebra homework. You’d quiz him on history while he threw pencils at squirrels and pretended not to care. But he always remembered the answers.
There was something safe about being around him. No pretense. No performance. No Steve’s sister nonsense.
Just you.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
It was one of those strange after-school afternoons where neither of you had anywhere to be.
You were sitting across from Eddie in the back corner of the library, pretending to work on student council flyers while he doodled little bats and swords in the margins of a notebook he wasn’t even pretending to study from.
Somehow, the conversation wandered—casually at first—from school stuff to the past, to old reputations that still lingered like cigarette smoke.
And then Eddie said, without looking at you, “You know, your brother used to be a real dick to guys like me.”
You paused, pen hovering mid-air.
“I know,” you said quietly.
He didn’t say it cruelly. Just plainly. Like it was a fact he’d carried around long enough that it didn’t burn anymore.
You shifted in your seat. “He’s not like that anymore.”
“I’ve noticed.”
There was a beat of silence, then you added, “Still, I’m sorry. For how he used to be. He’s my twin, yeah, but he doesn’t speak for me.”
Eddie looked at you for a moment—really looked at you.
Then he shrugged, smirking a little. “Honestly, I stopped holding that against you the moment you made fun of my Dio shirt and didn’t follow it up with a hair flip and an insult.”
You huffed a laugh, a little relieved.
“I don’t do hair flips,” you said.
“Exactly my point,” he replied, tapping his pencil like he’d solved a riddle. “You’re not him. Never were.”
You blinked.
That shouldn’t have meant as much as it did.
But it did.
Because most people only ever saw you as a footnote to Steve’s reputation—his smarter, quieter, more polite twin. A fun twist on a familiar character. Even the compliments felt borrowed.
But Eddie? He said it so simply.
You’re not him.
You felt seen in a way you hadn’t expected. And honestly? It left you a little speechless.
Eddie went back to doodling like he hadn’t just rearranged something in your chest.
You stared at him for a while longer, wondering when exactly things had started to shift.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
You were just trying to kill time. Saturday afternoon, no student council meetings, no tutoring sessions, no expectations. You walked into the music store on Main for the quiet, for the rows of records and the occasional hum of something being tested over the speakers. You liked it there. It felt like a place that didn’t need you to be anyone.
The bell above the door jingled behind you just as you were flipping through a bin labeled Classic Rock / Staff Picks.
“I’m not stalking you, I swear,” said a familiar voice.
You looked up, and there he was. Eddie Munson. Denim vest, unruly curls, a tiny tear in his shirt sleeve like always. He looked like he belonged in a record store. You didn’t.
You raised an eyebrow. “Sure you’re not.”
“I mean, I could be,” he added with a smirk. “But I feel like that’d ruin the whole ‘slow burn indie drama’ vibe we’ve got going.”
You snorted. “You think we’re an indie movie?”
He nodded toward the back of the store. “Only if there’s a scene where we judge each other’s music taste in complete silence.”
You followed him.
It wasn’t planned. It never was.
You browsed together for a while after that, shoulders bumping now and then, fingers almost brushing in the cramped aisles. You argued about The Clash vs. Talking Heads. He talked smack about synth-pop when you admitted you kinda liked it.
“I feel like you’re the kind of person who secretly likes Fleetwood Mac,” you said.
He scoffed. “Secretly? Nah. I’m man enough to admit ‘The Chain’ kicks ass.”
You laughed. A real one.
He stared for a beat too long.
You pretended not to notice.
Eventually, you ended up near the little listening station in the corner, headphones too big for your ears, vinyl spinning on a dusty turntable.
He watched you tuck your hair behind your ear as you adjusted the headphones and dropped the needle.
Your eyes closed. You swayed slightly. He didn’t know what you were listening to, but he knew he’d never seen you look more yourself.
Like the version of you no one at school got to see.
You opened your eyes, caught him staring.
He didn’t look away this time.
“What?” you asked, half a laugh in your voice.
He shrugged. “You’re just…”
He trailed off. Words fumbled somewhere between his mouth and brain. He looked down, suddenly very interested in the scuff on his boot.
“…Different than I thought,” he finished lamely.
You watched him.
He looked like he was waiting for you to laugh at him. Or roll your eyes. Or say something biting.
But you just said, “You too.”
There was a pause.
Then he asked, “You wanna go get fries or something?”
You blinked. Not in disbelief. Just in surprise that he asked.
Like this wasn’t just some weird afterschool friendship you both stumbled into. Like it could be more. Like maybe it already was.
You smiled. “Yeah. I do.”
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
By the next week, you were swapping cassette tapes like they were secret codes. Eddie gave you one labeled For Better Days in black Sharpie. You gave him a mixtape called Study Fuel that was half Bowie, half The Smiths. He said it was pretentious. He listened to it anyway.
He started walking you to your car when no one else was around.
You started waiting for him by his locker after seventh period.
It wasn’t a thing. Not officially. Not yet.
But when his pinky brushed yours one afternoon as you passed him a note—stupid, doodled lyrics and inside jokes—you didn’t pull away.
And when he looked at you after, not smirking but watching, really watching you like he saw something no one else did…
You looked back.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
The Harrington house was quiet that night — just the low hum of the fridge and the soft hiss of the shower running upstairs. You were sprawled on the living room floor, textbook open in front of you, pretending to study while the same sentence blurred in your vision for the third time.
You were smiling, just a little. That kind of soft, absent smile you didn’t realize you were wearing.
“You’re either having a mental breakdown,” Steve said from the doorway, “or you’re into someone.”
You glanced up, startled. He was leaning against the doorframe with a glass of water in one hand, looking entirely too smug for someone who couldn’t pass pre-calc without divine intervention.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re so nosy.”
“And you’re being weird.”
He walked over, flopping dramatically onto the couch, water nearly sloshing out of the glass.
“I’m not being weird,” you muttered.
“You’re smiling at your homework. Geography homework. That’s suspicious.”
You tried to glare, but he saw right through it. Always had.
He let the silence stretch for a second before speaking again—quieter this time.
“Seriously, though. You seem… I dunno. Lighter.”
You blinked. That caught you off guard.
“I do?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Like… you’re not carrying the whole damn school on your back for once.”
You didn’t answer right away. Just stared down at your textbook and let that settle in your chest.
He waited.
That’s the thing about Steve—he could be a pain, but he was patient with you. Always had been. You could tell him anything, and he’d listen. No judgment. Just a quiet, solid kind of love.
But still, this one was yours.
For now.
So you just said, “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”
Steve gave a slow, knowing nod.
“Well,” he said, “whoever or whatever it is… keep it. You deserve to feel good.”
That time, you didn’t hide your smile.
“Thanks, Steve.”
He leaned back with a grin. “Now come make popcorn. I’m starting a movie and I need emotional support.”
“You mean you need someone to explain the plot to you.”
He pointed at you dramatically. “Exactly.”
You laughed, closing your textbook and pushing up from the floor.
Whatever was blooming between you and Eddie… it could stay secret a little longer.
For now, it was enough that you knew.
And Steve knew you were okay.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
It started awkward.
Not just regular-Eddie awkward, but nervous Eddie. A rare breed. You spotted it immediately: the way he kept bouncing his leg under the cafeteria table, the way he scratched at the back of his neck like his skin didn’t quite fit.
You were sitting outside again, a half-eaten apple in your hand, a history notebook open but ignored between you.
He cleared his throat once. Then again.
“Hey, uh,” he started, staring hard at the pavement. “So—okay—this is probably stupid.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Great opener.”
He gave you a look. “Let me finish.”
You waited, biting back a smile.
“There’s this… thing. Thursday night. At the Hideout.” He was fiddling with a piece of string from his jacket sleeve now, twisting it around his finger like it owed him money. “Corroded Coffin’s playing. Just a couple of songs. It’s not, like, a real gig. Mostly drunks and a few dudes who mistake us for Sabbath.”
You tilted your head. “Are you… inviting me?”
He winced. “I don’t know. Am I?”
You blinked, then grinned—slow and amused and maybe a little fond.
“Well,” you said, “I guess that depends.”
“On what?”
“Will I get to say I knew you before you were famous?”
Eddie’s eyes lit up, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight. “If you come, you’ll be part of the origin story.”
You tossed your apple core into the trash and stood up, slinging your bag over one shoulder. “Thursday,” you said. “I’ll be there.”
He nodded, visibly trying to play it cool. “Cool. Yeah. Totally cool.”
You laughed on your way back inside.
He watched you go, wide-eyed like he couldn’t believe he’d just pulled that off.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
The Hideout smelled like beer and cigarettes and old amps. The stage was barely six inches off the ground, the crowd maybe a dozen people deep, most of them nursing cheap drinks and ignoring the music.
You stood near the back, your hands tucked in your coat pockets, heart doing stupid things in your chest the second Eddie stepped onstage.
He was different up there.
Still himself—loud, cocky, electric—but amplified. His voice rough and raw, his guitar loud enough to shake your ribs. He didn’t look like a high school burnout up there.
He looked right.
You didn’t cheer like the drunk guy near the front or yell like the girls in the corner.
You just watched.
And he saw you.
Halfway through the second song, between lyrics, he looked right at you. Not at the crowd. Not at the door. You.
And he smiled.
Not that showy grin he wore like armor. A real one. Soft. Open.
It ruined you a little.
──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──
After the set, you found him outside behind the bar, sitting on an upside-down crate and smoking a cigarette like it was the only thing keeping his hands steady.
He looked up when he heard you approach, eyes a little wide, hair wild with sweat and adrenaline.
“You came,” he said.
“You weren’t half bad,” you teased.
He scoffed. “We were loud. That’s about it.”
You sat beside him, knees bumping. “You looked happy.”
He went quiet. The good kind.
“I was,” he said eventually.
You turned to look at him. “That’s rare?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Kinda.”
The air buzzed between you, quiet and heavy, like the end of a song that hadn’t quite faded.
And then he said, almost too softly, “I kept looking for you.”
You blinked. “During the set?”
“Yeah.”
You swallowed. “Why?”
He shrugged, eyes flicking to yours. “Made it easier.”
You didn’t think.
You just leaned in.
And for once, Eddie Munson didn’t run his mouth. He didn’t joke. He didn’t fumble or flinch.
He just met you halfway.
The kiss was slow and tentative at first, both of you careful, like you weren’t sure this was allowed. Then it deepened—warmer, steadier—like you were both finally breathing after holding it in too long.
When you pulled back, he stared at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.
“Okay,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “That was…”
You smiled. “Yeah.”
Neither of you said it out loud, but it was already understood.
Summary: After a disappointing prom night, you stumble into an unexpected conversation behind the gym with Eddie Munson—Hawkins’ favorite scapegoat and misunderstood metalhead. What starts as a casual talk over a shared escape turns into something else unexpected.
Tags: Fluff, pure fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, honestly yall will need a dentist, SFW, mutual pining, developing relationship, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, prom, dancing, 80s sci-fi references, no upside-down. No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N
A/N: Yeah, you know me, I love a good 'ol fluff, I needed to feel something. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
Word Count: 8.4k
masterlist
You didn’t even bother glancing back.
The bass from the gym echoed down the corridor, muffled and distant, like a heartbeat you weren’t part of. Glitter clung to your dress and your shoes pinched with every step, but you didn’t care. The heels were coming off soon anyway. The air back here was cooler, quieter, less drenched in Aqua Net and teenage desperation. You welcomed it like an old friend.
You weren’t angry. Not even a little heartbroken. Just… done. Your so-called prom date was slow dancing with some girl from his chem class—too close, too familiar—but honestly? It was a relief. The two of you had nothing in common, and you’d spent most of the evening counting down the songs until you could leave without it being “a thing.”
Now, finally, you were alone.
You pushed the heavy double doors open and stepped out into the cool night. The gym’s back lot was empty, save for a few leftover streamers fluttering from a fence post. You sighed, breathing in the crisp air. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada buzzed lazily.
Then you caught it—the scent of smoke.
Cigarette smoke.
You turned your head and there he was, half-shadowed by the building’s edge, denim jacket draped over a worn prom tee, black slacks like he hadn’t tried at all—and still somehow made it work. Eddie Munson, leaning against the brick wall like the whole world bored him to tears.
He raised an eyebrow when he noticed you, but didn’t say anything at first. Just took another drag and watched you with a crooked smile.
“Well, well,” he said finally, voice low and amused. “Didn’t peg you for a backdoor escape artist.”
You crossed your arms, smirking. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d show up at prom.”
He shrugged. “Had to see it to believe it. The glitter. The heartbreak. The emotional meltdowns. It’s like a zoo in there.”
You laughed, the first real one of the night. It caught you off guard.
He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette and nodded toward the gym. “So. Who do I have to thank for you gracing the back alley with your presence?”
You tilted your head. “My date’s dancing with someone else.”
Eddie winced dramatically. “Oof. Harsh.”
“Nah,” you said, leaning against the wall beside him. “We had the chemistry of a wet sponge. I’m just glad he realized it before I had to fake a bathroom emergency.”
He chuckled, and it sounded honest. Warm.
“Well,” he said, holding the cigarette out like an offering, “welcome to the land of misfit prom-goers.”
You eyed the cigarette, then shook your head. “I’ll pass. But thanks, ambassador of the misfits.”
Eddie grinned, sliding it back between his lips. “Suit yourself.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt kind of… easy. The thump of music behind you became background noise, like it belonged to another world. You looked out across the empty lot, then back at him.
“So what about you?” you asked. “Didn’t have a date either?”
Eddie snorted. “Please. Can you imagine me at a formal dinner with someone’s mom taking pictures? Nah. I’m just here for the chaos. Thought I’d maybe sneak in, spike the punch, throw a few firecrackers—y’know, the classics—but someone already beat me to it. So now I’m stuck lurking like a gremlin in the shadows.”
You laughed again, easier this time. “Well, you wear the gremlin look well.”
He placed a hand on his chest. “High praise.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Peaceful. Like the noise of the gym didn’t even exist out here.
You twirled the cigarette in your fingers. “I used to think you were all noise, y’know,” you said without really thinking. “Like, loud music and heavy boots and wild hair.”
“I mean, I am all of those things,” he said, raising a brow.
“Sure,” you said. “But I don’t know… I think there’s more to it.”
He looked at you for a second, like he was trying to read your mind. Then he smiled. “Alright. Your turn. Tell me something about you that’d surprise me.”
You thought about it. Then, what the hell.
“I like science fiction. Books. Comics, too.”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
You shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not something I talk about. People think it’s weird.”
“Okay, hold on.” He straightened up, suddenly animated. “What kind of sci-fi? Like, classic stuff or weird future dystopia stuff?”
“Both,” you said, grinning despite yourself. “Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov. And there’s this one graphic novel series I’ve been obsessed with—The Long Tomorrow. You probably haven’t heard of it.”
Eddie’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me? Moebius is a god. That gritty noir-future vibe? That’s, like, the blueprint for half my D&D campaigns.”
Your jaw dropped. “Wait, you like Moebius?”
“Like him? I worship him. I have The Airtight Garage under my mattress so my uncle doesn’t ‘accidentally’ throw it out during one of his cleaning sprees.”
You couldn’t stop smiling now. “That’s ridiculous.”
He pointed at you with his cigarette. “You’re ridiculous. All this time I thought you were just another prom queen in disguise and now you’re telling me you’re secretly a sci-fi nerd?”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not a prom queen.”
“No,” he said, grinning. “You’re way cooler.”
The compliment caught you off guard. There was no smirk behind it, no teasing edge—just honesty. His eyes lingered on yours, and for the first time all night, you felt seen. Not dressed up, not performing, just you.
“Guess we both had the wrong idea,” you said quietly.
He nodded. “Guess so.”
And just like that, the space between you didn’t feel so distant anymore.
You both stood there for a while, trading stories—about favorite books, childhood cartoons, and how utterly overrated prom was. You were surprised how much you had in common. Maybe not in how you moved through the world, but in the way you looked at it. Like both of you were on the outside looking in, only now you had company.
Through the slightly cracked door, a new song filtered out. Faint but unmistakable.
“I wanna know what love is…”
You glanced back toward the gym. The colored lights flickered just beyond the windows, a blur of red and blue. The music carried more clearly now, bleeding into the cool night air like some kind of cosmic joke.
Eddie took another drag, then stubbed out the cigarette under his boot. “You should go back in,” he said after a moment, flicking ash from his fingertips. “It’s prom. Go dance with someone. Someone who doesn’t hang out behind dumpsters and make fun of the decorations.”
You tilted your head at him. “You mean someone boring?”
He gave a breathy laugh. “Someone who won’t get you judged by, like, the entire social hierarchy of Hawkins High.”
You shrugged. “I already got ditched by my date. What’s the worst they can do? Gasp?”
Eddie smiled, but his eyes drifted back toward the glowing gym windows. “Still… I’m not exactly prom royalty.”
“Well, neither am I,” you said. “So maybe that’s the point.”
He didn’t answer. Just rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure of himself for the first time that night.
You tilted your head again, studying him. “You know,” you said slowly, “you could go dance too.”
Eddie barked a short laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He held up his hands, surrender-style. “I can’t dance. I mean it. Like, at all. I’ve got rhythm when I’m playing guitar, but put me on a dance floor and I look like I’m dodging bees.”
You stared at him for a moment. Then something wild and impulsive bubbled up inside you.
You stepped forward, just close enough to be a little dangerous.
“Okay,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “So don’t go on the dance floor.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Stay right here. Dance with me.”
Eddie straightened slightly, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. “Are you… serious?”
You nodded, smiling now. “I’ll guide you. You don’t have to know how. Just follow me.”
He hesitated. And for a second, you thought he’d say no. But then, slowly, like he was afraid the moment might break if he moved too fast, he took your hand.
His fingers were warm. Calloused. A little shaky.
You placed his other hand at your waist, your free hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
The music swelled behind you, soft and sweet and full of yearning.
“…and I want you to show me…”
You started to sway, just a little. Nothing fancy. Just moving to the rhythm, simple and easy.
“Okay,” you said, voice low. “Just match me. That’s it.”
Eddie watched your feet like they held all the answers in the universe, but he followed. Awkwardly at first. Then with a little more confidence. Then a little more.
He looked up at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re really doing this.”
“So are you.”
And under the stars, with music bleeding out from a world that didn’t quite fit either of you, Eddie Munson danced.
With you.
You didn’t let go.
And for the life of him, Eddie couldn’t understand why.
Your dress swaying slightly in the night breeze, and you were holding his hand. Guiding him like this was just some normal thing people did — like you weren’t the kind of girl who was supposed to laugh behind your locker with friends in matching dresses. Like you weren’t way too pretty, too bright, too out-of-his-league to be caught slow dancing with the town freak behind a gym full of people who’d never get it.
But there you were. Smiling at him like he wasn’t a joke. Like he wasn’t just a rumor in black denim.
And all Eddie could do was follow your lead.
You moved gently, no pressure. Just a simple sway. His hand was on your waist, and he could feel your heartbeat through the fabric, could feel the way your fingers gripped his just enough to ground him. Like you knew he was seconds away from spinning off the planet.
How was this real?
For once, Eddie Munson wasn’t putting on a show or throwing up middle fingers at the world. He wasn’t posturing or mocking or performing.
He was just here.
Dancing with you under the stars, to a song he didn’t even like, and somehow? It felt like the most honest thing he’d ever done.
The ride home was quiet, but not the awkward kind. The good kind. The kind that settled between the two of you like a blanket, warm and easy.
Eddie’s van rumbled softly down the back roads, headlights cutting through the dark. Your heels were in your lap, your feet bare and curled up on the seat, glitter still dusting your legs. The leftover makeup smudged slightly beneath your eyes, but you didn’t care. Neither did he.
He kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You noticed, but you didn’t say anything.
The radio played something soft—some late-night ballad that felt a little too on the nose—but neither of you reached out to change the station. It kind of fit.
When he finally pulled up in front of your house, the engine idled low, casting the porch in pale yellow light. You didn’t move at first. Neither did he.
You turned to him, your voice softer than it had been all night. “Thanks for the ride.”
He looked at you, really looked at you, and gave a small, genuine nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
You opened the door, about to step out, then hesitated.
“And… thanks for earlier,” you added, eyes meeting his. “I actually had fun tonight.”
His brows lifted, surprised. “Yeah?”
You smiled. “Yeah. Like… more than I’ve had in a while.”
Eddie’s fingers drummed once on the steering wheel. “That’s kinda sad,” he teased. “But I’ll take it.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade.
He watched you for a second longer, eyes darker in the dim light. “You’re not what I expected,” he said, quietly.
You tilted your head. “Good unexpected?”
He shrugged, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you now. “Yeah. Definitely.”
You nodded slowly, then stepped down from the van. The door thunked shut behind you, but you lingered at the curb, turning back one last time.
“See you Monday?”
He grinned. “I’ll be the one getting detention.”
You laughed, backing toward your porch.
And he stayed there, parked under the streetlight, watching you go—wondering what the hell just happened, and why he kind of, maybe, really wanted it to happen again.
Monday’s cafeteria buzzed with leftover prom talk—who wore what, who threw up in the parking lot, and who was already regretting their choice of date. You sat with your usual group, a tray of barely-touched food in front of you, picking at a soggy fry as your friends swapped stories.
“I swear, if I hear more stories of Lisa and Charlie slow dancing, I’ll puke,” one of them groaned.
“I heard Jeff cried during I Wanna Know What Love Is,” another snorted.
You chuckled under your breath, but you were only half-listening. Your thoughts were still stuck somewhere in the quiet part of Friday night—lit by stars, wrapped in soft music and Eddie Munson’s uncertain hands.
“Okay,” said Courtney, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, “tell us. What happened with you? You disappeared after ten.”
Your stomach did a small flip. “I, uh… went outside for some air.”
“That long?” someone chimed in. “Didn’t your date ditch you?”
You shrugged. “Yeah. But it was mutual, kinda. No chemistry.”
Courtney raised an eyebrow. “So what, you just wandered off?”
You hesitated, then decided to own it.
“I ran into Eddie Munson. We talked for a while.”
The table quieted. You didn’t miss the way someone blinked. Or the small, uncomfortable scoff.
“Wait—Eddie Munson?” said one of the girls, drawing out his name like it tasted wrong. “As in… Hellfire Club, Eddie?”
You looked up, steady. “Yeah.”
“Oh my god,” another said under her breath. “Isn’t he like… failing half his classes?”
“I heard he might repeat senior year again,” someone else added. “That’s like—what, his third time?”
You set down your fry and leaned back a little. “So what?”
That shut them up for a beat.
You looked around the table. “He was nice. We talked. We danced. It was actually… fun.”
Courtney blinked at you, like she couldn’t quite process it. “You danced with Eddie Munson?”
You smiled. “Yeah. He’s different than people think.”
They exchanged a few glances, probably trying to figure out if you were serious, but you didn’t give them room to argue. You just went back to your tray, casual but firm.
You didn’t owe them anything else.
And when they finally moved on to a different story, you let your mind drift again—back to Eddie’s hands, awkward and warm in yours, and the way he’d smiled like no one had ever looked at him the way you had.
The final bell rang and the halls of Hawkins High exploded with noise—slamming lockers, shouted goodbyes, the usual stampede toward the exit. You were pulling out your books, ready to head home, when a familiar mop of messy curls came into view.
Eddie.
He almost walked past, arms full of binders and that damn lunchbox of his, but then he spotted you. His grin bloomed instantly.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite prom partner,” he said, walking backward in front of you with dramatic flair.
You snorted. “I’m your only prom partner.”
“Details,” he waved off, turning to walk beside you. “Still the best.”
You shook your head, trying not to smile too wide, but it was hard. He kept cracking jokes—half of them dumb, some surprisingly clever, all of them weirdly charming. By the time you reached the front doors, you were laughing hard enough to forget about the weight of your backpack or the way people stared.
Outside, the sun was still high, casting golden light over the parking lot. You lingered near the bike racks, and Eddie rocked back on his heels, suddenly looking like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.
He scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh…”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You doing anything right now?”
You blinked. “Not really. Why?”
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Wanna get milkshakes or something?”
You tilted your head, amused. “Are you asking me out?”
“What? No!” he said quickly, eyes wide. “I mean—not that you’re not—ugh.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Not like a date date, just, y’know. A post-school, ice-cream-adjacent hangout. Very casual. Extremely non-threatening.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “You’re doing a terrible job of making it sound casual.”
He groaned. “God, I know.”
You paused for a second. Then smiled.
“Yeah. Let’s get milkshakes.”
Eddie blinked. “Wait—really?”
“Really,” you said, starting to walk again, this time toward his van. You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Do I get to pick the music in your van?”
He placed a hand over his heart, mock wounded. “Absolutely not. But you can control the windows.”
Lunchtime in the cafeteria. Same old gray plastic trays, same mystery meat, same half-hearted arguments about campaign rules. Eddie was halfway through explaining, for the third time, why rolling a nat 1 on perception doesn’t mean you automatically get eaten by a mimic, when something—or rather, someone—stepped into his line of vision.
You.
He blinked up at you, startled. You were holding something. A piece of paper, no—thicker than that. Watercolor paper.
You thrust it out toward him before he could even say hi.
“I, um… I made this.”
Eddie looked down.
It was a watercolor painting. Bold, messy brush strokes in warm and murky tones. And there, standing like some strange cosmic king, was Major Grubert from The Airtight Garage. Rendered with this dreamy, layered energy—loose and vivid, with little gold details that shimmered when they caught the light.
“You painted this?” he asked, dumbfounded.
You nodded quickly, already looking like you regretted everything. “I don’t know. It’s dumb. I just— You said you liked the comic, and I was painting for art club, and I thought maybe you’d—”
He stared at you.
You stared at the floor.
“Anyway,” you rushed, already backing up. “You don’t have to keep it or anything. I just—yeah, okay, bye.”
And then you turned on your heel and disappeared between the tables, like a mirage, gone as fast as you came.
For a second, Eddie didn’t move. His tray sat forgotten, and the painting was still in his hands.
“What the hell was that?” said Gareth.
Jeff leaned over, squinting. “Is that… art?”
“Holy crap,” said one of the freshmen, eyes wide. “Did she just give you that? Like, a gift?”
“I think she did,” Eddie murmured.
He was still staring at it. Still stunned.
Because it wasn’t just the painting—though that alone was cool as hell—it was the fact that you made it for him. That you remembered that offhand comment about The Airtight Garage from days ago. That you painted this weird little sci-fi character, and thought of him while doing it.
It was… a lot.
Eddie cleared his throat, trying to shake the dazed look off his face. “Shut up,” he mumbled, carefully sliding the painting into his binder like it was made of glass. “None of you get it. It’s called being interesting, you cretins.”
They didn’t stop staring.
Gareth leaned over the table. “Dude. Seriously. What was that?”
Doug raised an eyebrow. “Did you hex her or something?”
“Shut up,” Eddie muttered, still guarding the painting like it was top-secret government property. He shoved it deeper into his binder, then clapped it shut with a loud snap.
Eddie sighed like a man defeated, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Fine,” he mumbled, keeping his voice low. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me eat my damn lunch?”
They all nodded in rapid, eager unison.
Eddie leaned forward slightly. “We danced at prom.”
The table went silent.
“What?” Gareth blinked. “Who did?”
“Me and her,” Eddie said, voice a little more defensive now. “It just kind of… happened. She came outside. We talked. She offered. I didn’t step on her feet. Miracle of the decade.”
“She asked you to dance?” Jeff repeated, stunned.
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yes, Jeff. It’s not that hard to believe.”
“It’s just—she’s, like… art club. Social. Normal,” said Doug.
“And I’m a freak,” Eddie finished, not angrily—just matter-of-fact. “Yeah, yeah. I know. That’s the whole thing, right?”
They all exchanged awkward glances.
Eddie softened a little. “We’ve just been talking since then. That’s all. She’s cool. Funny. Into sci-fi stuff. And apparently, she paints really badass cosmic generals in her spare time.”
The group went quiet again, but this time with a slightly different energy.
Jeff nodded slowly. “Huh.”
“Damn,” Gareth muttered. “Did not see that coming.”
Eddie shrugged, leaning back in his seat and finally stabbing at his lunch. “Neither did I.”
But under the table, his fingers tapped quietly on his knee—restless in that weird, hopeful way.
Because yeah… he didn’t see it coming.
Your room looked like a clothing explosion.
Jeans on the bed. A skirt on the floor. Three different tops draped over your chair. You stared into the mirror, adjusting the neckline of your favorite shirt for what had to be the fourth time, then gave up and let out a groan.
It wasn’t a date.
Not officially.
But still.
Eddie had asked you yesterday—Eddie Munson, king of chains, dice, and anti-establishment rants—if you wanted to go to the new Starcourt Mall. He’d said it kind of awkwardly, like the words felt weird in his mouth. Then he’d doubled down with, “I mean, I hate malls, they’re corporate brain rot, but if you’re there too, I guess I won’t spontaneously combust.”
Which, translated from Eddie-speak, meant: I want to spend time with you, and I’m doing something completely out of character because it might make you smile.
So yeah. Maybe it was a date.
You adjusted your hair again, spritzed the tiniest bit of perfume, and gave yourself one last once-over. Just polished enough to show you cared—but not so much it looked like you were trying. Hopefully.
A soft knock on your door pulled you back to Earth.
Your mom peeked in, eyes twinkling.
“Sweetie?”
“Yeah?”
She pushed the door open with a hand on her hip and an expression halfway between curiosity and polite judgment. “There’s a young man waiting downstairs for you.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “He’s early?”
She shrugged. “Five minutes. Maybe he was excited.”
You tried to hide your smile as you turned back to the mirror, smoothing down the hem of your nicest top. Not fancy fancy — just enough to look like you put in effort. It wasn’t every day Eddie Munson asked someone to hang out somewhere as un-Eddie as the Starcourt Mall.
You were flattered. And a little impressed. He was trying.
Your mom lingered by the doorway, arms crossed loosely now.
“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone.”
You paused, lip gloss wand hovering in the air. “I’m not. We’re just… hanging out.”
She arched a brow. “Uh-huh.”
You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “I mean it.”
“Well,” she said, pushing off the doorframe. “He’s… not what I expected.”
You turned slowly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Leather jacket. Messy hair. Rings on every finger. He’s got a… rough-around-the-edges thing.” She shrugged. “I didn’t peg him as your type.”
You hesitated. “Is that a problem?”
She raised her hands. “Not for me. Just... interesting choice.”
Then, softening, she added, “But he stood up when I walked in. Called me ma’am. And he didn’t look at the family photos weird, so… he’s alright in my book.”
You blinked. “Wow. High praise.”
“I’m just saying,” she smiled. “You could’ve warned me you brought home a James Dean type.”
You rolled your eyes again, but this time you were grinning. “He’s not like that.”
“If you say so.”
With that, she turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t leave him waiting too long—he keeps checking his watch.”
Your heart fluttered.
You gave yourself one last look in the mirror—quick swipe of gloss, tuck of hair behind your ear—and grabbed your bag.
You didn’t expect Eddie Munson to know his way around a shopping mall.
And to be fair… he didn’t.
From the moment you stepped into Starcourt’s fluorescent glow, he looked like a vampire in daylight—eyes squinting, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, muttering about “late-stage capitalism” like the air itself offended him.
“This place smells like fabric softener and broken dreams,” he declared as you passed an Orange Julius stand.
You grinned. “You’re so dramatic.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d have already burst into flames.”
But despite all his grumbling, he stuck close. Arm brushing yours. Slowing down when you lingered in shop windows. Letting you tug him toward places you knew he’d secretly like—like the comic shop tucked near the food court, where he perked up at the sight of a rare Swamp Thing issue and ended up ranting, passionately, about horror art for ten straight minutes.
After that, it all got easier.
He let you drag him through a novelty store, where he made you try on glittery heart-shaped sunglasses and nearly bought a lava lamp “just because.” At Sam Goody, you flipped through cassette tapes while he made dramatic gagging noises at pop albums and then—when he thought you weren’t looking—quietly bought a Bowie tape because you mentioned liking one song.
Somewhere between Cinnabon and Spencer’s, your arms brushed again.
And this time, he didn’t move away.
Instead, he offered his elbow in that silly, exaggerated way, like some knight escorting royalty through battle. You rolled your eyes but linked arms anyway.
You didn’t unlink for a while.
When you passed the photobooth, it was your idea.
“C’mon,” you said, already tugging at his sleeve. “We have to. It’s practically a law.”
“I hate pictures,” he protested.
“Too bad.”
He grumbled, but followed.
The booth curtain smelled like static and old gum, and the light inside was way too bright. But Eddie slid in beside you anyway, pressing his knee against yours in the cramped space.
The timer beeped.
First photo, a blur of you both, too late to pose.
Second photo, you were smiling, he was sticking his tongue out.
Third, he turned his head and said something just as the flash went off, so his mouth was frozen mid-word and you were laughing.
Fourth, he looked at you. Really looked. And you looked back, cheeks warm. And for that one second, neither of you made a face.
That last one made your stomach flutter.
The strip slid out a few seconds later, still warm from the machine. You both leaned over it, smiling like idiots.
“I’m keeping this one,” you said, pointing to the last shot.
“No way. That’s the best one.” He mock-whined. “It’s mine now.”
“Split it,” you said, already reaching for it. “Even trade.”
So you carefully tore it down the middle, each of you keeping two little squares. You tucked yours into your wallet. He stuffed his into the pocket of his jacket like it was something worth keeping safe.
After that, you shared a cherry slushie and browsed the record store. You ended up on one of the benches near the fountain, your shoulders bumping gently as you sat.
Eddie kicked at the tile with the toe of his boot. “Okay, confession,” he said, not looking at you. “This was kinda fun.”
You smiled. “Even though it’s a capitalist wasteland?”
He grinned. “Especially because of that. I got to rant and be dramatic and walk around with a pretty girl on my arm. All the core Eddie Munson needs.”
You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder.
And you didn’t say it out loud, but in your pocket, the photo strip pressed between your wallet like proof:
Something was happening between you.
And it felt really, really good.
The smell of acrylic paint alingered in the air, windows cracked just enough to let in the late afternoon breeze. You sat cross-legged on a stool, paintbrush in hand, blotting a soft gradient of pink across the corner of your sketchbook while your friends chatted around you.
“So then Brad says he didn’t cheat, he just ‘accidentally’ kissed her,” Courtney said, rolling her eyes as she rinsed a brush in a cloudy jar of water. “Like that’s a thing.”
“Classic,” Angela muttered. “Men are such a disease.”
You hummed in vague agreement, still focused on blending your colors. It wasn’t until Courtney nudged your foot under the table that you looked up.
“Okay, but you had that smug little look on your face when you walked in,” she said. “So. Tells us. What did you do this weekend?”
You paused.
Then smiled. Just a little. “I went to the mall.”
“Ugh, I live there,” Angela said. “With who?”
“…Eddie.”
Courtney blinked. “Eddie Munson?”
Angela dropped her pencil. “Seriously?”
You shifted in your seat, brushing a spot of paint from your thumb. “Yeah.”
They exchanged a glance, the kind that was just a little too loaded. “Are you—like—serious with him?” Courtney asked, a bit cautiously.
You looked down at your sketchbook.
The memory hit you fast and warm—Eddie, leaning back on a food court bench, drumming his fingers against his knee and grinning every time your hand brushed his. The way his face softened when he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. The photobooth picture in your wallet, folded so carefully it was starting to wear at the edges.
You swallowed, eyes flicking back up.
“I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. “But… maybe.”
Courtney raised a brow. “I mean, he’s kind of—”
“Different,” Angela finished for her. “Like, not who we thought you’d be into.”
You let out a breath, not defensive—just tired of that tone.
“He’s actually really sweet,” you said. “He listens when I talk. He cares about stuff. He remembered I liked a random song and went back for the tape the next day. He’s not what you think he is.”
The girls went quiet for a second.
Then Courtney shrugged. “Okay. I mean, if you like him.”
“I do,” you said quietly, adding a final brushstroke to your page. “More than I thought I would.”
Angela cracked a smile. “Well… if he breaks your heart, we’re egging his van.”
You laughed. “Deal.”
The library was louder than usual—not in noise, but in energy. Stress hung thick in the air, like a storm cloud hovering over every student hunched at their tables. Pages flipped, pencils scratched, the occasional frustrated sigh echoed off the stone walls. It was exam season.
Eddie Munson was in hell.
His science textbook lay open in front of him, untouched for the last ten minutes. His notebook was empty, save for a rough sketch of a dragon flipping off a periodic table. He tapped his pencil against his lip, eyes unfocused, legs jittering under the table.
This wasn’t his place. He hated the cold lighting, the itchy silence, the way it all felt like it was judging him for every gap in his knowledge.
And then you walked in.
Like sunlight in a storm.
You made your way across the room, dodging backpacks and tangled limbs, carrying your bag against your hip and a calm expression that made it look like you weren’t drowning in deadlines and formulas. You spotted him, gave a little wave, and sat down across from him.
“Hey,” you said softly.
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day. “Hey.”
You glanced at the disaster zone of his table—crumpled notes, half-drawn doodles, an empty soda cup with a chewed straw—and smiled.
“Rough day?”
Eddie dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m about five minutes away from faking my own death and starting a new life as a gas station poet in Ohio.”
You laughed, but it softened quickly as you reached into your bag and pulled something out: a clean, colorful folder. It had your name written neatly on the corner, and sticky notes poking from the sides like a rainbow spine.
You slid it across the table toward him. “These are my notes. For science. And history. And… okay, maybe I got carried away.”
He blinked. “You—”
“They’re color-coded. Definitions are in blue. Equations are pink. Anything our teachers stressed in class is highlighted. I even made flashcards, they’re in the back pocket.”
Eddie just stared at it.
Not because he didn’t want it. But because something about it felt… personal. Intimate.
No one had ever done something like this for him before.
You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t know, maybe it’s dumb. But they helped me. I figured maybe they’d help you too.”
He reached out slowly, fingers brushing the cover. Then, reverently, he opened it.
It was like walking into your mind. Your handwriting curled neatly over page after page. You’d drawn little diagrams. Circled key dates. There was even a little cartoon mitochondrion wearing sunglasses on one page.
He swallowed.
“This is…” he said quietly, still flipping pages. “This is incredible.”
You shrugged, trying not to blush. “Just thought you could use a little help.”
Eddie didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, running his thumb along the edge of one of the pages like it might disappear if he let go.
Then he looked up at you. Not with the usual teasing smile or lazy smirk.
He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
“I swear to god,” he said, voice low and serious, “if you keep being this perfect, I’m gonna have to make you mine.”
Your heart stuttered.
You blinked, stunned—but not in a bad way. Just… surprised by the weight of those words, how much they didn’t sound like a joke.
You recovered with a half-smile. “You should probably focus on passing chemistry first.”
“Baby, I’m failing chemistry because you walk into the room and all the atoms in my brain rearrange.”
You laughed, covering your face for a second. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It’s emotional science,” he insisted. “Way more complicated.”
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth wouldn’t leave your cheeks.
He closed it gently, like he was sealing up treasure.
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.
“Of course,” you replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been helping me too. Just in a different way.”
Eddie tilted his head. “Oh yeah? How?”
You looked at him, and this time, didn’t hesitate. “You make me feel like I don’t have to hide the weird parts of myself.”
Eddie’s eyes softened.
“I’d riot if you did.”
You were digging through your locker for your pencil pouch when you heard it—footsteps, pounding fast down the hallway, like someone was being chased. You didn’t even look up until a voice you knew all too well shouted your name like it was a fire alarm.
“Hey!”
You turned just in time to see Eddie Munson nearly skid on the polished floor as he sprinted toward you, hair wild, jacket flapping behind him like a cape.
He nearly collided with the locker beside yours, bracing himself with one hand, breath coming in quick bursts.
“Eddie—what—?”
“I passed,” he said, eyes bright and disbelieving. “I passed.”
It took you a second to register what he meant. “Wait—like... everything?”
He nodded, grinning so hard his face looked like it might split open. “Everything. Math, English, science—Mrs. Miller gave me a D-minus, but that’s still a D! That’s still passing!”
You dropped your books onto the floor without even caring.
“Eddie, that’s amazing!”
And before you knew what you were doing, you threw your arms around him.
He laughed into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you clean off the floor for a second, spinning once with the wildness of it all.
“I had to tell you first,” he said, voice muffled in your hair. “I ran here.”
You pulled back just enough to see his face. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes shining with something that looked way more intense than just pride.
He looked at you like you were the sun after months of rain.
“Seriously, I never would’ve made it without you,” he said. “Those notes? Those flash cards? The dumb acronyms you made up so I could remember physics formulas—”
“They weren’t dumb,” you said, laughing.
“They were adorable,” he corrected, like it was obvious. “And apparently effective.”
His hands were still on your waist. Yours were curled into his jacket without you noticing. Your faces were close—closer than usual. And you saw it flicker across his face—something unspoken, something about to break through.
And then it did.
He kissed you.
No hesitation, no stammering this time. Just a sharp inhale, and then his lips were on yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It wasn’t polished or practiced—it was a kiss powered by sheer joy, by the rush of success and the comfort of you, by everything he’d been holding back. His hands slid from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face like he couldn’t believe this was real.
And the thing was—you didn’t stop him.
You didn’t pull away.
You kissed him back, arms looping around his shoulders, grounding him, steadying him in the middle of this ridiculous, beautiful rush.
When he finally pulled away, your faces still close, you could feel his breath fanning your lips, still uneven.
You stared at him, slightly dazed, your pulse thundering in your ears.
“…You didn’t plan that, did you?” you asked, voice half-breathless, half-amused.
Eddie gave the softest little laugh, head leaning against yours for a second as he caught his breath.
“Not even a little,” he said. “I think I blacked out after I said ‘I passed.’”
You shook your head, cheeks burning in the best way.
He grinned, wild and flushed and completely Eddie. “You’re gonna be so sick of me.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
And you didn’t even have to think about it.
Because if this—this chaotic, sweet, completely unfiltered boy—was the reward at the end of every academic achievement?
You’d tutor him forever.
“Eddie’s here,” your mom called from the hallway, her voice light and knowing.
You looked up from the mirror, heart skipping just a little.
Your dad’s voice followed a beat later from the living room. “Tell him to keep it under 60 this time.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately as you grabbed your bag. “He only sped once, and that was because we were late for grad practice.”
“He was going eighty,” your dad replied.
“It was downhill,” you said, already headed for the door.
You passed your mom in the hall, and she gave you a soft smile. “He brought flowers. Again.”
You couldn’t help the way your smile grew.
When you stepped outside, the warm air wrapped around you like a blanket. The sun was still high, the cicadas buzzing lazily in the trees, and there he was—leaning against his van like he belonged there, a bouquet of mismatched wildflowers in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his worn jeans.
He looked up the second he heard the screen door creak.
And you swear, even now, after everything, he still looked at you like it was the first time.
“There she is,” he said, grinning wide.
You walked up to him, arms crossing just to keep yourself from doing something embarrassing, like swooning. “What’s the occasion?”
Eddie held out the flowers. “Just celebrating the fact that I somehow tricked the universe into giving me a girlfriend this amazing.”
You rolled your eyes, taking them anyway. “You’re ridiculous.”
He leaned closer, voice low and smug. “And yet… here you are.”
You bumped his shoulder with yours, but your smile gave you away.
He opened the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow. “M’lady.”
“Such a gentleman,” you muttered, climbing in.
As he circled the van to the driver’s side, your dad stepped out onto the porch with a glass of coffee and a suspicious glare.
Eddie gave a little wave and a crooked smile. “Sir. Swear I’ll have her back by ten. Eleven max. No stunt driving this time.”
Your dad just raised an eyebrow.
Eddie slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door and pulling on his seatbelt. “He loves me.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” you said as he started the engine.
“So,” he said, flicking the stereo on low, “this theater just started showing Back to the Future. Two days early, somehow. I figured a little time travel with you sounded better than melting in my room watching The Evil Dead for the twelfth time.”
You laughed and gave him a look. “You just want to see the DeLorean.”
“…Okay, also that.”
He reached over and laced your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on the bench seat between you.
The van rumbled down the sunlit road, windows cracked open, the summer air carrying in the scent of grass and gasoline. Your hair danced in the breeze. Eddie hummed along to whatever cassette was playing—a little out of tune, but you didn’t mind.
Not when his thumb kept tracing slow circles over the back of your hand.
Not when the entire summer felt like it was unfolding in front of you like something sacred.
And as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, grinning like you were the best part of the world—
You thought maybe you were right where you were supposed to be.
The mall was alive with its usual symphony—chatter, synth-pop from overhead speakers, the distant ding of arcade machines, and the occasional whir of the fountain in the food court. You and Eddie split off the moment you stepped into the theater’s cool, air-conditioned lobby.
“I’m getting the tickets,” he said, already headed toward the box office.
“And I’m getting snacks,” you said before he could argue, already turning for the concession stand. “Don’t fight me on this, Munson.”
He shot you a mock glare over his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
When you met back up, he handed you a single stub—he’d already torn them and given the other to the usher. You handed him a large bucket of popcorn and a cherry Icee with two straws.
Eddie blinked. “You got two straws in my Coke?”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s our Coke now.”
His heart may have done a ridiculous little flip at that, but he just grinned and led the way inside.
The theater was dark and cool, the trailers already rolling as you found seats near the middle—close enough to feel immersed but far enough that you weren’t cranking your neck. Eddie set the popcorn between you, but you curled into his side instead, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm and resting your head gently on his shoulder.
He stilled for half a second, surprised by the contact—he never quite got used to the way you just… leaned into him like that. Like it was easy. Like it was safe.
“You comfortable?” he whispered, glancing down.
You nodded without looking up, your voice soft. “Perfect.”
When the movie began, the glow of the screen lit your faces in blues and oranges and whites. You quietly giggled at the opening scene, nudging Eddie every time something ridiculous happened—he whispered a sarcastic comment back each time, just enough to make you cover your mouth to stifle laughter.
At one point, he reached into the popcorn bucket and accidentally brushed your hand. You didn’t move away. Neither did he.
When Marty McFly first hit 1955, you leaned closer, eyes wide with wonder. Eddie didn’t say anything—just smiled a little to himself, letting you rest there, your head warm on his shoulder, your heartbeat syncing quietly with the slow, steady thrum of his.
And in the dark, surrounded by strangers and movie magic, Eddie Munson let himself imagine—just for a moment—what it might be like to have this forever.
The van rolled to a quiet stop in front of your house, headlights casting soft beams across the porch. The movie was long over and the cassette in the stereo had looped twice already.
Neither of you moved.
You glanced at Eddie with a small smile, fingers nervously picking at the edge of your sleeve. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”
He turned toward you, his hand resting on the steering wheel. “Yeah? Me too. That was…” He looked at you like he was still a little surprised this was real. “That was a good night.”
You both laughed at how underwhelming that sounded.
“I mean—great night,” he amended, mock-dramatic. “One for the ages.”
You shook your head, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Come on, rockstar. Walk me to the door?”
Eddie hopped out first and came around the van, opening your door like he always did—even when you rolled your eyes at him for it. The night air was warm but quieter now, the street still and bathed in porchlight glow. You walked side by side up the driveway, close enough that your arms brushed.
At the bottom step, you turned to face him.
Eddie scratched the back of his neck, shifting on his feet like he wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words. “I, uh… hope this wasn’t too boring. You know the mall and a movie isn’t exactly my usual scene.”
You shook your head. “I loved it. And… I like seeing different sides of you.”
That got a smile out of him. A real one. Small, warm, a little shy.
You stood there for another beat, the silence stretching out but never uncomfortable. Just full—like both of you were hoping time would slow down.
“Well…” you started, tilting your head toward the door.
“Yeah,” he said. “Guess this is—”
You kissed him.
Soft and certain. You leaned in first, lips brushing his with the kind of ease that only came with practice and care. He melted into it instantly, one hand slipping to your waist, the other steadying him against the railing like the whole world had narrowed down to just this.
When you finally pulled away, your noses were still almost touching.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” you whispered.
He blinked, dazed. “Goodnight.”
You stepped inside with a smile still tugging at your lips, and the second you closed the door behind you—
“That was quite the kiss.”
You jumped. Your mom was standing in the kitchen, sipping tea with your dad, both of them clearly having witnessed the entire thing from the window.
“Did he trip over the step again?” your dad asked casually. “He always does that when he’s nervous.”
You groaned. “You two seriously have nothing better to do?”
Your mom just smirked, eyes twinkling. “We like seeing you happy.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning, but you couldn’t stop the grin from breaking through.
Because yeah… you were happy.
Dating Eddie Munson is nothing like you expected—and everything you didn’t know you needed.
It’s loud music in his van, the kind that rattles the floorboards and makes you laugh when he drums on the steering wheel like the world’s watching. It’s his leather jacket slung over your shoulders when the air turns cold, his rings cool against your skin when he reaches for your hand. It’s messy hair, wild ideas, and the way he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, like it means something.
It’s learning to love the chaos, and realizing that under all that noise and bravado, Eddie’s just… gentle. Thoughtful. Unbelievably loyal.
Dating Eddie is getting a cassette made just for you—your name scribbled on the label, each song chosen because it reminds him of you. It’s him sitting beside you while you paint, trying not to move too much even though he’s definitely itching to fidget. It’s him reading the comics you lend him, even the weird ones, just so he can talk to you about them later.
It’s milkshakes and movie nights and the kind of laughter that makes your chest hurt. It’s long drives with no destination, arms dangling out the window, his voice carrying through the breeze as he sings along—terribly—to some over-the-top power ballad.
It feels like a plot twist Eddie Munson never saw coming.
He thought he knew how his story would go—misunderstood metalhead, high school dropout, maybe famous one day if he got lucky. But then you happened. And now every chapter feels rewritten.
It’s surreal, honestly.
You—who used to feel so out of reach—actually laugh at his stupid impressions and roll your eyes in that way that kills him, but never walk away. You sit next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You hold his hand like you mean it. That alone blows his mind.
It’s the way you look at him like he's not some town freak. Like he’s not a rumor or a punchline or a lost cause.
Like he’s enough.
He'll go to every goddamn mall just to see you smile under neon lights, taking photos in a booth he secretly keeps in his wallet, and pretending not to blush when your head rests on his shoulder during a movie.
Dating you, to Eddie, feels like finding out the world isn’t as cruel as he thought it was.
It’s not always easy. He still worries he’s not good enough for you, that you’ll wake up one day and see what everyone else says they see. But you never flinch. You just keep showing up. Keep choosing him.
And he’d burn down the whole world just to deserve you a little more.
Yeah. Dating you?
It’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.
Eddie does his very best to help you through the current heatwave — eddie x pregnant!reader fluff
warnings: pregnancy, a little angst if you squint
words: 1.6k
Boiling.
That was the only way your trailer could be described right now. It was one of Indiana’s hottest summers on record, and it didn’t help that you were six months pregnant and living in an aluminum box.
You owned three electric fans, and they were all on full blast and aimed at the couch, but they really weren’t making as much of a difference as you needed.
There was a series of thuds coming from something or other outside the thin walls of your trailer, so you assumed your husband was home. And you were proven right when he entered, immediately apologising for leaving you alone in this heat.
He had no reason to be sorry. Eddie has been so attentive and helpful through this pregnancy, showing you exactly why you fell in love with him everyday, and he was even proving it now.
Since he just came back from a quick run to the store for some ice, fruit, and frozen treats, he set everything he bought on the recliner before crouching down next to you.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and started lightly stroking some of your hair.
“How are you feeling?” Eddie asked.
You gave him a side eye, too exhausted to even lift your head. “Take a guess, Teddy.”
He smiled slightly. If it was at the use of your favourite nickname for him or your exasperated joke, you weren’t quite sure.
“I know that, sweetheart, and I’m sorry. Hopefully I can help a little.”
“Thank you. Did they have black cherry ice cream?”
He hummed out a quiet ‘mhm’ then stood up with a stifled groan. “But it might have melted a bit on the way back. I’ll put it in the freezer and we can have it soon.”
“What about oranges?”
That was your latest craving. The ice cream and popsicles were luxuries to get you through the heat; the oranges were necessities. You were thankful that your cravings switched from tomato soup to citrus just in time for the heatwave, or you weren’t sure how you would get through it at all.
Eddie made his way back over to the living room and picked up a paper bag from the recliner.
“Big bag of ‘em, just for you.”
Hoping to dive right into the bag of fruits, you attempted to sit up, but the baby bump paired with the immense summer heat rendered the process slow and tiring.
Eddie watched as you moved sluggishly, pitying how this heatwave was taking an extra hefty toll on you.
“Don’t push yourself.” He advised gently while holding out his hand for you. “I’ll help you with whatever, even if it’s just getting up.”
You thanked him, then grabbed a cutting board and paring knife so you could slice the oranges how you like.
“You know,” Eddie spoke again. “I was thinking that we could stay at someone else’s place for a bit. Just to get through the heat, you know? I’m sure everyone we know would be more than happy to have us over.”
You started shaking your head before Eddie even finished the proposition. He and you both knew what your answer would be, but Eddie figured there was no harm in asking.
He really just wanted the best for you. He wanted you to be safe and comfortable, and although that obviously was something you wanted too, you just couldn’t accept his offer.
“Eddie, I know you just want me to be happy, but I promise you I’m happiest here, at home, with you.”
He sighs, torn between wanting to get you out of this sauna of a trailer and letting you decide what’s best for yourself. In the end, he had to go with your choice, even if it meant suffering; both of you suffering together wasn’t the worst thing ever, he supposed.
“Alright. Want me to at least draw you a bath?”
“Will you feed me orange slices and ice cream while I’m in the bath?” With wide eyes, you flashed him a hopeful smile.
He rolled his eyes jokingly, then smiled sincerely back at you. “Of course, anything you want.”
You let out a happy giggle, then took the ice cream out of the freezer almost as quickly as it got there.
He kissed you on the forehead before heading off to the small bathroom.
You heard the sound of running water, then your husband’s voice. “Make sure to scoop enough so I can have some too!”
You happily obliged and doled out an extra scoop into the bowl. Then you plucked one ripe cherry from the bag in your fridge and placed it atop the dessert. That was Eddie’s favourite, and if he was being so nice to you, then you would return the favour.
You took the time to clean the kitchen up, then brought both the ice cream and the orange slices to the bathroom to see Eddie sitting by the tub and turning off the water.
“It’s a little bit cooler than usual.” He warned. “I just didn’t want the water to be too hot when the whole place is already hot and you’re—”
You cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips, then another on the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you, baby. Now hold these while I get undressed. And then turn around.”
“I don’t get to watch?” Your husband asked, baring one of the most betrayed looks you’ve ever seen.
You shook your head. “I promise, you don’t want to see me struggling to get my clothes off because they’re drenched in sweat and I’m about to enter my third trimester. I mean it, don’t look. I don’t want you losing all attraction to me.”
Your husband sighed dramatically, then obeyed and turned slowly to face the other way.
It only took a bit of effort, but you took off your dress and placed it on the towel rack beside you. Then came a wolf whistle from right behind you. After turning around, you noticed that Eddie could totally see you in the bathroom mirror.
“Pervert.” You mock accused. “Does me being all gross and pregnant really turn you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on.”
And he meant that. Not an ounce of insincerity in that promise.
You faked a gag and then smiled just because you couldn’t help it. Holding out a hand, you asked if he could help you into the tub and he obviously did so after putting your food down on the counter.
“How’s the water?” He asked. “I can add some hot or cold water if the temperature is off.”
“It’s amazing, handsome. Perfect temperature for some orange slices.”
Eddie chose the slice that was calling to him the most and held it for you to bite. Some of the juices missed your lips and dropped into the bathwater, but you paid that no mind.
You were thankful that your husband bought a whole bag of these, because you had a feeling your diet over the next few days would be mainly oranges.
After a few more slices, you decided you now wanted some of the black cherry ice cream that you had also been craving recently.
As Eddie held the spoon up close to your lips, he noted that this was similar to feeding a baby—something you would be experiencing soon enough.
“I don’t know about that.” You said. “I think a baby would be a lot more difficult to feed than me.”
Eddie cringed exaggeratedly and shrugged, telling you he doesn’t know about that either.
Maybe proving his point, you splashed about a cup’s worth of water at his chest, taking care in your aim to make sure none of it got in your ice cream. He ‘retaliated’ by doing the same to you, though the water didn’t affect you when you were already in a whole tub of it.
“Do you want to join me?” You proposed, gesturing vaguely to the tub so small that you had to cram just to sit alone in.
“I don’t think this thing can fit both of us, baby. You enjoy it now, and a big tub will be on the top of our list when we buy a new house.”
“It’ll take a while.” You told Eddie. “A lot of our savings are gonna go to the baby, and who knows when we’ll be able to leave the trailer park.”
“Don’t say that. We’ve been working hard and saving. We’ll get there soon.” Eddie assured you. “And even if we can only afford a place without a big tub, I’ll live in the dark and eat nothing but salt and pepper for as long as it takes to get you one.”
You tried to hide your grin, but you knew you were failing at it. Maybe he didn’t think you believed him, so he kept going.
“I’m serious. We’re almost there.” Eddie looked down at your bump sticking out of the water. “Our baby is gonna have a good life”
“You’re so cheesy, Teddy.”
“I’m in love. Love makes you do cheesy things.”
“Like feeding me ice cream in the bathtub?” You asked, attempting to not put your true intentions on display.
But Eddie understood, just like he always does. He picked up the spoon once more and scooped a heap just for you.
“Like feeding you ice cream in the bathtub.” He nodded in agreement.
shy!reader goes to the pool with Eddie and is too afraid to wear her swimsuit in front of him? Maybe she’s wearing clothes over her bikini/one piece and doesn’t want to undress at first because of her nerves lol
hope u like it! — you still get a little nervous showing your body, but eddie takes it all in stride (shy!fem!r, established relationship, cw for mentions of body insecurity, 1.1k)
Eddie’s rubber flip-flops are much too big on your feet. You fight to keep them on and match his longer strides at the same time. He leads you down the scenic trail of the Harrington vacation home with one hand curled intently around your own. He doesn’t seem phased by the dirt clinging to his bare feet.
“Think Steve’s folks will get mad if we skinny dip?” he jokes over his shoulder, wild curls billowing in the late afternoon wind.
You shrug. “I don’t think they own the lake, so…”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he scoffs.
“Me neither,” you concur with a quiet laugh.
A set of wooden steps lead off the trail and towards the shore. They creak under your weight, ancient and half-eroded with time. Eddie stands beside you on the dock, lips curled into a pink, lopsided smile. “Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” he quips before reaching for the hem of his shirt.
You giggle when he lifts the fabric up and over his head. His milky white torso is left on display for you, sprinkled with sparse hair and a couple of faded tattoos. His body is lanky and lean — stomach soft with gentle pudge where his happy trail begins. You couldn’t hide your leering if you wanted to.
“You’re crazy,” you say, still laughing.
“Crazy for you,” the boy croons.
You watch him reach for the buttons of his jeans, fumbling with them for a moment. Your chest swirls with a strange, hollow feeling. “Wait— Are you serious?” you wonder with wide, glimmering eyes. You’ve never felt totally comfortable swimming in a bathing suit, let alone naked.
Eddie shrugs his freckled shoulders and tugs his jeans down his scruffy thighs. “Yeah. Why not?”
He’s left in his thin, plaid boxers now. He doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by it as you do. Heart thrumming like an anxious hummingbird, your eyes dart over your shoulder and back to him. “What if the others see?!”
“Then let ‘em see,” he chuckles, golden like the early setting sun. “Who cares?”
I care, you almost say, ‘cause you’re too pretty, and I’m not pretty enough.
You swallow your loathing and instead reply, “Steve would never let you live it down if he caught you out here. You know that.”
Eddie’s bare feet pad against the creaking wooden dock. The sound is mostly drowned out by the waves ebbing and flowing beneath you. Nothing could hide the heavenly sound of his laughter, though. “What? That I’m skinnydipping with the prettiest girl in Indiana?” the boy retorts with a boyish chuckle. “I wouldn’t want him to let me live it down.”
You swallow hard, not swayed by the compliment. Your unsure gaze flits to your feet and the black sandals Eddie lent you on the way down. You see his paler, bare ones come into view just before his calloused palms smooth over your waist — above the oversized t-shirt you wear, which also belongs to the boy in front of you.
“I’m just… I’m just kidding, you know? About the skinnydipping thing,” Eddie assures you, suddenly serious and much quieter with it. His head ducks down to catch your falling gaze. His chocolate eyes sparkle beneath the yellow sun. His lips curl into a lopsided smile. “We don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. We never have to do anything you don’t want, you know that.”
You purse your lips to the side and think for a moment. You’re not nearly as at ease swimming naked as he is, but you’d be silly to turn down the opportunity to be alone with him. You have spent the entire weekend babysitting, after all.
“Can I keep my bathing suit on?” you wonder sheepishly.
Eddie scoffs. “Of course you can! You can do whatever you want, doll. I’m followin’ your lead here.”
He smacks a kiss to your lips, mouth tasting of nicotine, soda, and strawberries — like nostalgia and springtime.
“Can you turn around?”
Eddie meets your coy look with a wider smile. “Yeah. Sure,” he hums and steps back from you to spin on his heel. You know he’ll see you in your bathing suit before you step foot in the water, but you’ve always felt distinctly smothered by his gaze. You don’t feel half deserving of the adoration always swimming in the deep brown of them.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you know?” he quips without looking at you.
“It’s different,” you insist, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head. You fold it neatly before setting it gingerly on the dock. You’re left in the pretty one-piece you thrifted before the trip — a floral number that dips low at the chest and ties into a bow at the back.
Eddie doesn’t really understand, but he figures he doesn’t have to. He’ll do whatever makes you most comfortable, no questions asked. “Sure,” he nods. “Can I look now?”
You hesitate for a reason you can’t name. You feel more at ease with Eddie than anyone else in the whole wide world — and besides the fact that he’s seen you in much, much less — you shouldn’t be as nervous as you are now.
“Yeah…” you waver.
Eddie peeks at you over his shoulder for a moment before turning to face you fully. His pink lips purse and a low whistle sounds between them. “Damn,” he mumbles.
You fight back a smile and look away from him, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. “Hush…”
“You’re a total smokeshow, baby.”
“Eddie!”
“Don’t know why you wanna hide from me so bad…” he teases lowly, gravitating towards you without thinking. His hands are warm and wide as they smooth over your sides. His palms curl around your lower back and idle there, fingers lingering just above your ass. “All I wanna do is look at you, and you won’t even let me…” he jokes, mostly serious, but with a playful pout on his lips.
Your arms cross between your bodies. You glare up at him with pretty doe eyes that swim with all the love you have for him. You couldn’t pretend to be annoyed if you tried. “It’s ‘cause you’re so nice…”
His brows raise and disappear behind his fluffy bangs. “You’re shy because I think you’re hot?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s weird.”
“Maybe,” Eddie laughs. He figures it’s on-brand enough for him, as the resident freak and all. But loving you has never felt unnatural or strange. It feels normal, like an instinct he’s always had, something he’s always been destined to do. So he just tilts his pretty head and smiles sweetly down at you. “Can’t help it, though.”
summary: you’re way too busy at your new job to even remember to eat sometimes. but you could spare a minute or two to pretend not to like it when johnny would flirt with you. inspired by busy woman by sabrina carpenter!
word count: 3.9k+
note: help wanted part 2 is here! thank you for all the love on part 1 🫶🏻 i’ve been working on this for like three months and she’s finally here 🥹 i’m definitely planning more stuff for these two but i may need to see the movie before more parts come out lmao who knows! enjoy !!!
< prev part
“Excuse me. Sorry.” You weaved and dodged the hoard of busy employees rushing in different directions. With the looming deadline on the horizon, the facility resembled an ant colony more than an office. Each person had a single goal and that was to get that rocket up in space.
While you couldn’t solve a complicated equation or weld metal, you quickly learned that you were pretty good at being an assistant. You had already built a system and connections with other departments that made it easier for you to do your job. Sue seemed to like you, at least you hoped she did cause it’s only been a month and you realized that you really liked working here.
Currently, you were on your way to deliver the stack of folders in your arms. Across the floor, you spotted the long chalkboard filled with various symbols and numbers that you would probably never understand. Dr. Reed Richards stood at one end, a piece of chalk hovered over the board. You approached him.
“Dr. Richards?” He flinched a little as if you pulled him out of a number-induced trance. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Ah, you didn’t. You saved me, actually. I needed a break. This equation’s been racking my brain for weeks now.” Dr. Richards crossed out a string of numbers and letters.
“It does look pretty tricky.”
“Tricky’s one way to describe it.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw while he stared at the board in thought.
“I don’t wanna keep you for too long. Sue wanted you to have these documents.” You handed him the stack of files. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly at the mention of his wife.
“Thank you.” He flipped through them and picked out a single folder. “Has she mentioned anything about tonight?” He glanced at you expectantly.
“She’s very excited for your date.” You grinned. Over the past few weeks, you’ve been a firsthand witness of Sue and Reed’s relationship. The sweet nothings they would mumble to each other when they thought you were out of earshot, the extra slip of paper slipped in between stacks of folders, the way they seemed drawn to each other in a crowd.
Definitely didn’t make you feel more single than you already were.
Nope.
“Great.” Dr. Richards smiled shyly. You tried to ignore how red his face had gotten. “You tell her I’ll be done in a few hours and that I promise to be on time.”
“I will.”
“You’re the best.” Dr. Richards turned back to his board and immediately started scribbling. You took that as your sign to go back to your desk. Again, you weaved and dodged the crowd to get back to your desk and get started on yet another task. You were listing down to-dos in your head when you spotted a man by your desk. You sighed and braced yourself for impact.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Jonathan Storm called out as he saw you approaching. He was leaning on the front of your desk. One leg crossed over the other, arms bracing his weight behind him. Big, handsome grin on his face.
“Johnny.” Your voice clipped as you walked around him. You started typing on your computer, trying to ignore him in hopes that he would leave you alone before he could see how flustered he had made you with two words and a smile.
“Busy?” He turned and put his forearms on the edge of your desk, eyes burning a hole in the side of your head.
“Kinda.”
“Gunning for employee of the month?” Johnny picked up a pencil from your cup and started tapping it against the side of your monitor.
“Maybe.” You spared a glance at him. “Do you need anything from Sue?” You tried to divert the attention away from you.
“No, I don’t need anything from my dear sister today.” Johnny sighed and plopped down on the seat you kept in front of your desk for any visitors.
“Then what are you doing here?” You stopped your typing and you fully faced him.
“Wanted to see my favorite assistant.” He shrugged.
“I’m not your assistant.” You scoffed.
“No? Then I just wanted to see you.” A sly grin spread across his lips like the Cheshire cat. You blinked at him for a second, two. Allowing yourself to indulge in his attention until you remembered who he was, who you were, where you are.
You pulled your eyes away from his and looked down at your desk.
“Johnny… You can't say things like that to me.” You strained.
“Why not?” He asked you.
“Cause you work here.” You threw your hands up in exasperation. Could he really be this dense? “And I work here. For your sister, might I remind you.“
“What does that have to do with anything?"
“You can’t…you know.” You moved your hands in the air awkwardly.
“What?” He was goading you now, big brown eyes boring into yours.
“Flirt with me.” You said through your teeth.
“But I want to.”
“But you can’t.”
“You don’t want me to?”
“I-“
He had you cornered. Damn him.
“How about this? I’ll try my absolute best not to flirt with you.” You glared at him but he never wavered. He continued to blind you with that signature Storm smile. “And you can pretend not to like it. Deal?”
“Johnny.”
“Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me.” Johnny put his arms out as if to say ‘See?’. “Just as pretty as you are.” He added with a wink.
“Johnny!” You exclaimed. You couldn’t stop the flush that spread over your body even if you wanted to. Before you could tell him off again, you heard Sue’s voice calling you from inside her office. “This isn’t over.” You pointed a finger at him and narrowed your eyes.
“Oh, I hope not.” Johnny simply smirked and slid down on the chair as if he were lounging on the beach.
The keyboard clicked and clacked away as you typed out a report. The office had gotten quiet, people started leaving a couple of hours ago. Even Sue had passed by your desk and told you not to stay that late. You promised you wouldn’t. You just had a couple more things to do and you could call it a day.
But you thought about how you would save so much time tomorrow if you got a few more things done today. So here you were, neck aching and hands cramping, checking off yet another one of your to-dos.
You rolled your neck around to relieve some of the ache. You really needed to be more conscious of your posture.
“If you keep staying here this late, I think they’re gonna start charging you rent.” A voice echoed through your empty office, making you jump. Your relief turned into annoyance when you saw who it was.
“Johnny, you scared me!” You put a hand to your pounding chest.
“You’re working in a dark office all alone and you get scared by little old me?” Johnny dropped down in the seat in front of you again. “But, don’t you worry. Johnny’s here now and he’s gonna keep all the scary monsters away.”
“My hero.” You said dryly but a smile tugged on your lips. “Nothing better to do tonight?”
“Just keeping you company.” He shrugged. “And making sure you don’t stay here overnight. Do you realize how late it is? You shook your head and checked your watch.
“It’s already 10pm?” You gasped. The nearest window to you was a couple of desks away so you didn’t realize just how late it had gotten. You swore you weren’t working that long.
“Didn’t see the sun setting?”
“Not really.” You mumbled sheepishly.
“Did you leave this desk at all today?” Johnny raised a brow at you.
“Yeah, Sue had me pick up some reports from her earlier.” To which you took to your desk, sat down, and typed out reports for.
“And?”
You rattled your brain. “And… I used the ladies’ room a couple of times.”
Johnny made a ‘tsk’ sound and plopped a brown paper bag on your desk. “Eat up, busy bee.”
“What is this?”
“Food.” He reached inside and tossed something your way. You awkwardly caught it and saw that it was a burger wrapped in parchment paper. “I'm pretty sure you haven't had anything to eat the whole day.”
“How’d you know that?” You said, voice barely over a whisper. Your stomach grumbled as if it remembered what hunger was. Meanwhile, Johnny was already digging into his own burger.
“Well, I’ve been watching you for a couple of weeks now. I know you get so focused on your work that you skip meals.” He picked up a fry from the bag and popped it into his mouth. “And when I saw your car in the parking lot, I figured you'd be in here for another hour or so, so I went and picked up some burgers for us. Lo and behold, here you are. Glued to your desk.”
You were quiet for a second. Since you started here, Johnny had been pestering you. He was nice, of course but he had a knack for catching you at your busiest and talking your ear off. He annoyed you most days, made you smile on others.
Today. Today, he made you smile. Johnny noticed that you were working late and brought you food. You could cry but you weren’t sure if it was because you were touched or hungry.
“You've been watching me? Stalker.” You unwrapped your burger and took a bite. He rolled his eyes at you.
“That's all you got? No ‘I love you, Johnny! You saved me from starving to death!’?”
“Thank you, Johnny. You saved me from starving to death.” You continued to eat your burger and looked Johnny dead in the eye.
“I think you got that first part wrong.” Johnny lifted his brows, expectantly. He wanted to hear the words ‘I love you, Johnny’ come out of your mouth. Fat chance.
“Mm,” You moaned exaggeratedly around your burger, making Johnny shift in his seat. “This is so good. It wiped my memory. Who are you again?”
Johnny chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Go eat your burger.”
A-choo!
You sneezed into a wad of tissue that you’d crumpled into your hand. You wiped your nose and stuffed it into your skirt pocket. There was a bug going around and you did everything in your power to keep it away from you. You took your vitamins, overloaded yourself with fruits and vegetables, stayed far away from anyone who tried to clear their throat.
And yet. It got you.
You sniffled miserably and went back to taking notes on the engine test Sue asked for. It was hard to focus when you had a pounding headache and a round of coughs threatening to spill out. Shake it off.
“You feeling okay, hon?” A gruff voice asked. You turned and saw the kind, worried eyes of Benjamin Grimm.
“I’m fine, Ben.” Your voice was hoarse.
“That runny nose and wad of tissues sticking out of your pocket says otherwise.” He pointed a finger down.
“That’s nothing.” You shoved your hand in your pocket and pushed everything down.
“If you say so.” He nudged your arm with his elbow. “Take it easy at least.”
You smiled gratefully. Ben looked rough and mean on the outside, piercing blue eyes and a mouth of a sailor to match. You were pretty intimidated by him when you were first introduced but you quickly learned that he was just a big sweetheart once you got to know him.
The two of you continued your work. Ben was helping you make sense of all the technical jargon. After a couple of minutes of note taking, your vision started to get hazy and you wobbled on your heels.
“Okay, let’s take a break.” Ben stated. He gripped your arm and gently pulled you down to a nearby chair. You wanted to protest but he cut you off. “No, no. Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”
You tried to call out to him but that round of coughs you were suppressing finally made itself known. When you were done, you sunk down in your chair. I hate this. You thought. God, you missed the days when your nose wasn’t clogged.
“Hey, so I stayed in last night. Crazy, I know. Who am I?” You groaned. Johnny was gonna rip you a new one. You sat up and put on the most “I’m not sick!” expression you could muster, even slapped your cheeks a few times to get some color back in them. Johnny strolled up, carefree as always. “Anyways, I watched that movie you were talking about last week and- whoa, wait.” He stopped in front of you. Johnny scanned your face with an intense gaze.
“Hi, Johnny.” You said, sweetly, but he just narrowed his eyes at you.
“What’s wrong?” He questioned.
“Nothing’s wrong. How was the movie?” You tried to distract him.
“No, no, no. You look pale.” Johnny put one hand on the back of your chair and bent down to be closer to you. Your face was heating up. You were going to chalk that up to the fever you were probably developing…and not because of his face so close to yours. “Did you forget to eat again?”
“I had lunch.”
“She’s sick!” You looked over Johnny’s shoulder and saw Ben coming back with a glass of water in hand.
“Ben!” You groaned.
“Sick?” Johnny immediately grabbed your face with both hands. “You’re burning up, sweetheart.” Johnny’s voice was soft. His thumb brushed your cheek with a featherlight touch. You leaned into his palm for a fraction of a second. Blame it on your flu-ridden brain.
“Johnny, it’s okay.” You matched his tone.
“What the hell are you doing here? Go home.” He gave you an incredulous look. He took one of his hands away from your face and reached back for the glass of water from Ben. “Drink.”
You took big gulps. You didn’t realize how dehydrated you’d become. “I’m not going home.”
“I’m taking you home.” Johnny put his hands on your forearms and pulled you up gently but firmly.
“You don’t know where I live, Johnny. And I’m not leaving.” You shook your head which was a big mistake. You felt light-headed again and wobbled. Johnny gripped you even tighter while glaring at you.
“Sue!” Ugh. You heard your boss’ heels clack behind you. You turned your head much slower this time. “Your assistant has the plague and refuses to go home.”
“The plague?” Sue raised a brow.
“He’s being dramatic.” You corrected him. Sue put the back of her hand to your forehead and tsk-ed.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve given you the day off.” She crossed her arms.
“We have so much to do.” Your argument was getting weaker every time.
“It can wait til tomorrow. Today, all I want you to do is to rest until you feel better.” She pointed at you.
“But-“
“No buts.”
Fight’s over.
“Fine.” You conceded with a pout.
“I’ll drive her home.” Johnny put an arm around your shoulder and guided you to a walking pace.
“Feel better, hon!” Ben called out to you. You waved back to him.
“Did you like the movie though?” You asked Johnny.
“Loved it.”
The copy machine was slower than usual today and you were getting impatient. You had a pile of 30-page reports that needed 4 copies by tomorrow morning and you were only at number 3. It didn’t help that you picked the wrong pair of heels today and they were pinching your toes. Never, ever wear pointy heels at work.
You fed another piece of paper through the machine and put your weight against it while you tried to alleviate some of the pain on your feet. You rolled your ankles a few times on each side while grabbing the warm piece of paper and placed it with the rest of the copies. That was the last of copy 3. You pulled out the original pages and started the process one last time.
Sighing, you put the first page in. You looked around the office. It was pretty empty at this time, but there were a few stragglers that you knew would start packing up soon. The machine whirred while you took a headcount of who was still here. John, William, Shelley, Johnny….
Wait.
Your eyes snapped back to your desk where a certain blonde was in his usual seat. A smile tugged on your lips and you may or may not have started speeding up your copying. Once the final page shot out onto the tray, you gathered all of your papers and walked back to your desk.
Johnny was mindlessly fiddling with the pens you kept in a mug on your desk. He had his back to you so you would be able to surprise him for once.
“I think people are starting to notice that you spend more time at my desk than you do at yours.” You giggled when he flinched.
“Well, the view here is much better than mine.” He recovered quickly and shot you an easy smile. You shook your head, letting the flirty comment wash over you.
You pulled out the puncher and punched holes through the reports. You opened your box of paper fasteners and started to arrange your copies into their respective folders. Sparing a glance at Johnny, you saw that he was tapping a beat on your desk with a pensive expression on his face.
“Is everything alright?” You asked.
“Why wouldn't it be?” Johnny tried to keep it light but you heard the edge in his voice.
“You're just…” You dragged, trying to find the right words. “Quieter than usual.”
“‘s been a long day.” He let out a long breath. Johnny’s brows furrowed and the corner of his lips turned downwards.
“I heard you went out into the field today.” You fastened the last report into its folder and gave Johnny your full attention.
“Keeping tabs on me?” A ghost of a smirk graced his lips.
“Part of the job.” You shrugged. “Did something happen?”
“I’m grounded.” Johnny said after a beat.
“What?”
“I’m not allowed to fly for a month.” He stopped his drumming and placed his palm flat on the wood.
“Why would they do that?” Johnny was one of the most competent pilots in the program. It made no sense to suspend him like this.
“You know that the new jets came in this week, right?” You nodded to answer his question. “Well, they asked me to test those bad boys. See how fast they’d go. And that’s what I did.”
“That doesn’t explain why they’d ground you though.” You tilted your head in confusion.
“Well, they only wanted me to go up to a certain speed but I knew they could go faster. I could go faster.”
“Did you?”
Johnny smiled, the first genuine one of the day. “I did. Going that fast. Nothing better than that. You just feel so…free.”
“That sounds amazing.” You couldn’t help but smile with him.
“It was. Until I landed.”
“What did they do?”
“Insubordination. That’s what they called it. The jet was fine, by the way. It was built to go that fast. The admiral just has a stick up his ass. I let him know that too.” Johnny said through gritted teeth, hand curling into a tight fist. You could see a flush of red on his cheeks and his breaths getting shallower.
“How long ‘till you can fly again?” You wanted to reach out and touch his hand but you held yourself back.
“A month.” He scoffed.
“Okay.” You sighed in relief. “You’ll still be able to join the launch.”
“Ha, they can try to replace me.” Johnny jabbed a finger on his chest. “They won’t find someone else.”
“Oh, I know. The team wouldn’t let that happen.” You paused. “Neither would I.”
Johnny’s eyes crinkled. “Going soft on me now, sweetheart?”
“Just cause you’re all mopey today.” You teased. “I am sorry, Johnny.”
“Ah, it‘s not your fault.” He waved a hand at you. You frowned.
“But you’re upset and you’re my friend so still. I’m sorry.” You rambled.
“I’m your friend?” He asked, sounding way too happy about it.
“I think so. Do you think we are?” Your voice got quiet, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“I do.” Johnny nodded.
A warm, fuzzy feeling came over you. You didn't know when it happened, but Johnny had become a staple in your life. It was so easy to talk to him. You found yourself drawn to him in a crowd, saving seats for each other every time there was an office-wide meeting. Then of course, you found yourself here on most days. Sitting at your desk, talking about everything and nothing. Some days, Johnny would just sit there and wait for you to finish working. He’d talk your ear off but you realized it was just to get you to stop working and go home.
Johnny was a friend. And a pretty good one at that.
“Do you wanna go get something to eat? I think we both need to get out of this place.” You logged off your computer and shut it down.
“Asking me out?”
“As a friend.” You gave him a pointed look.
“Uh-huh, sure.” He played along, nodding sarcastically. “Unfortunately, I’ve got plans tonight so I’m gonna need a raincheck on that.” A part of you was disappointed but you brushed it off.
“That’s okay. Next time?” You slung your bag over your shoulder.
“Next time. But, thank you.” Johnny locked eyes with you. “For listening.”
“Any time.” You smiled at him. “Ready to go?”
“You go ahead. I forgot something in my locker.”
“Okay, I’ll see you Monday?”
“Drive safe.”
You navigated out of the building and pushed the doors open. Fresh air filled your lungs, something you often take for granted after being in a stuffy office all day. The parking lot was fairly empty. You could see your own car a few rows down and spotted Johnny’s fire red convertible parked close to the door.
What you didn’t expect to see was the woman leaning against it.
You recognized her. She worked here too but in a different department. She didn’t pay you mind when you walked past, too caught up with finding something in her bag. You looked away before she could catch you staring but your brain was going a hundred miles an hour.
Did she know Johnny? Of course, she knows Johnny. Everyone knows him. What was she doing by his car? And most importantly…
Why was this bothering you so much?
Eventually, you made it to your car and started the engine. As you were pulling out of the driveway, you caught a glimpse of Johnny coming out of the building. In the rearview mirror, you watched him walk up to the woman, kiss her cheek, and open the passenger door for her.
You pulled your eyes away and focused on the road ahead. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your gut. You felt a little nauseous but you ignored it, just like you ignored the green-eyed monster that was slowly making itself known.
Whatever.
You were too busy to have a crush on anyone, anyways.
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summary: it’s your first day at your new job and a certain cocky blonde helps you out.
word count: 2.2k+
note: not me getting attracted to a blonde man 😔 the f4 trailer kickstarted my mcu hyperfixation again so i had to get this out of my system. might be the start of a lil series of one shots based on this pairing 🤭 also i ignore the fact that joseph wears blue contacts for this. i simply do not accept baby cow eye erasure 🙂↔️
next part >
“You got this. You got this.” You whispered to yourself in the comfort of your car.
Job hunting was going poorly and you were getting desperate when you saw the ad on the paper. An assistant job. That didn’t seem too hard. Get some coffees, organize files, schedule meetings. You could do that.
What you couldn’t do was freaking rocket science. You could just imagine the look on your face when your potential new boss told you that you’d be working with her at the space center. Why didn’t you read the fine print before going to this interview? She was kind enough not to laugh in your face when you explained that you didn’t have any experience in that field. She just gave you a kind smile and moved onto the next question.
You thought that was it. You blew it. But a few days later, you received a call to let you know that you got the job and that they'd be sending you an information packet soon. You might’ve squealed into the poor receiver’s ear.
Now, here you were in your car, bouncing your leg anxiously and staring at the giant facility that housed rocket ships. You sighed and flicked through the folder in your lap.
After going through everything for the fourth time this morning, your watch read 20 to 9. That seemed early enough to look competent, but not too eager. Another deep breath and you stepped out of your car. You slung your bag over your shoulder and clutched your folder to your chest like a lifeline.
A loud screech made you jump. Your head snapped towards the sound and saw a bright red convertible pulling into the parking lot. A cloud of dust trailed behind it as it pulled into the spot across you. Your curiosity was piqued.
Only the back of the driver’s blonde head faced you so you couldn't make out his face. He adjusted the rear-view mirror and looked at his reflection through a stylish pair of sunglasses. The stranger ran his hand through his hair, and it fell perfectly back in place.
You knew you should get inside but you couldn’t help but stare a little longer. That backfired on you when he peered over the tops of his glasses and you saw big brown eyes looking straight at you, corners crinkled in amusement. The driver killed the engine and you held your breath. He opened the door and long legs stretched out of the flashy car.
He wore nice shoes, khaki trousers, and a well-fitting blue dress shirt. You trailed your eyes further up and saw that he took off the glasses, placing them on top of his perfect hair.
He was handsome.
“Hi.” He called out and looked you over, lingering on your legs. Your fingers reached down to the hem of your skirt and pulled it down ever slightly.
“H-hello.” You stammered and scurried off towards the building. Mentally, you were hitting yourself for stuttering.
“Hey, wait!” You didn’t stop. Gravel cracked behind you and you made the mistake of turning around. You saw him running after you, catching up immediately. “You new here?”
You nodded. “First day.”
“Figured.” He sped up a little until he was a couple of steps ahead of you. He started walking backwards so you could see the devilish smile he put on. “Would’ve definitely remembered you.”
You nearly tripped over your heels.
And he clearly noticed.
“I’m Johnny.” He stopped and held a hand out for you. You hesitated before slipping your hand in his. You gave him your name and tried not to notice how nice his calloused hand fit in yours. “Pretty.”
A warm flush came over your body. You had to get inside quick. “It was nice to meet you, but I have to get going.”
“Which department are you in? Maybe I can give you a tour.”
“That’s very kind but, I know where to go.” You waved your folder in front of him. You didn’t know where you were going but you had a feeling that the longer you spent around him, the more you’d embarrass yourself. The door handle was just inches away from your grip but Johnny beat you to it.
“Sure, but I’m much better to look at than a boring piece of paper. More fun too.” He shrugged, putting his weight on the handle. You tried not to notice how the muscles under his shirt shifted.
“I'll take my chances with the paper.” You scoffed.
Johnny pouted and put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes and managed to squeeze your hand in the space between Johnny’s arm. Just barely able to grip the cool metal, you pushed the door open and he pretended to fall inside. You couldn’t even try to hide the silly smile on your lips when you walked past him. The lady behind the front desk looked up at you with an annoyed expression. You faltered in your step.
“Be brave.” Johnny whispered in your ear. You glared at him and he gave you a wink in return.
“Good morning.” You said with a bright smile. The receptionist didn't greet you back. She just gave you another withering stare. “It's my first day and I was told to get my badge here.” You continued.
“Name?” She snapped. You told her, a little taken aback by her tone. She slammed a piece of plastic on the counter and slid it towards you. “You know where to go?”
“Uh-“
She sighed, exasperatedly. “Take the elevator to the right down to basement 3. Turn right down the hallway, take two rights, one left, and it’s the 5th door on your left. Got that?”
“I-“
“I’ve got her, Marge.” Johnny popped up beside you, a thousand-watt smile on yet again. “You have a day as beautiful as you.”
‘Marge’ made a disgruntled sound, looking less than pleased. She gave him a withering look and went back to her work. You shuffled after Johnny to escape Marge's wrath.
“Bet you wish you took up my offer now, huh?” Johnny hit the button to call the elevator.
“Is she always like that?” You kept your voice low in case she could still hear you.
“Yup, haven’t managed to crack her yet but, trust me, it’ll happen one day.” He held up a finger and looked far away, dramatically. Silly. You thought. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Johnny put a hand on the frame and gestured for you to go in. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“Do you remember how many turns you have to take?” He raised a brow. You paused for a second too long. He chuckled at your hesitation. “I’m going that way anyways. It’s no problem.”
You wanted to turn him down again but you knew you would just get lost and be late on your first day. Having someone who knew this place to show you the way would be the most logical decision.
Plus, you were slowly learning that you liked brown eyes.
“Okay.” You went inside first and Johnny followed. He pressed ‘B3’ and the doors closed. Your nerves settled in again once the elevator rumbled as it descended down. You tapped a finger against the folder. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Johnny’s gaze burning in the side of your head. You turned and saw him leaning against the wall, studying you. “What?”
“You nervous?” He nodded towards your finger.
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“Me.” Johnny cocked his head. You shook your head incredulously. “You know who you’re gonna be working for?”
“Susan Storm.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah.” You narrowed your eyes. “You know her?”
“I do.” He crossed his arms. “What are you gonna do for her?”
“I’m her new assistant. I don’t really know what to expect.” You sighed.
“You’ll be fine. She’s nice, really.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Johnny held the door open for you again and let you go out first.
“Are you sure? I only met her once during the interview.” You followed Johnny’s lead as he took you through the maze of your new office.
“Positive. She’s a bit of a hard ass sometimes but she’s one of the smartest people I know so she has a right to be. Don’t tell her I said that. She’d never let me live it down.” Johnny’s hand hovered over your upper back to guide you to turn right when you were about to turn left. “So if she chose you, you must be someone special. I wouldn’t worry.”
“That actually makes me feel a bit better.” Johnny gave you a reassuring smile and you noticed your fingers weren’t fidgeting anymore. “What do you do here?”
“I’m a pilot.” He said, nonchalantly, but you noticed his chest puffed out just a tad.
Your eyebrows shot up. “A pilot?”
“Impressed?” Johnny’s smile turned into a smirk.
“Trying not to be.” You teased but you genuinely were.
“Once you see my skills, you won’t be able to resist.” Innuendo dripped off his words and he looked way too pleased with himself. Johnny led you through two more turns and presented you with an unlabeled door. “Et voila, your new home.”
“Thank you, Johnny.” You said, genuinely. “There’s no way I would’ve found this on my own.”
“No worries.” He leaned against the door and gave you that smile again. The same one that had you tripping over yourself. “But… if you ever wanted to repay your knight in shining armor, maybe you could join me for dinner sometime?”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, not knowing how to respond.
“Johnny!” A voice saved you from your own embarrassment. You looked over Johnny’s shoulder and saw Susan Storm walking towards the two of you. She had a stern look on her face as she stared at the man in front of you. “No flirting with my assistant.”
“I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.” He winked at you.
Susan put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him behind her, standing in between the two of you. Her bright blue eyes turned to you and gave you a warm smile. “Hi, it’s so nice to see you again.” You shook hands.
“It’s nice to see you again too, Ms. Storm.” Her eyes crinkled as her smile reached her eyes.
“Oh, please, call me Sue.” She put her other hand on top of yours and squeezed. Now, you felt stupid for being so nervous. “I see you've met my brother, Jonathan.”
“B-brother?” You looked at Johnny and back at Sue, finally noticing the similarities between the two. Blonde hair, same noses, similar jawlines. Fuck. Were you flirting with your boss’ brother on the first day?
“Younger brother.” Johnny supplied.
“Ah.” You nodded. He was clearly trying not to laugh.
“Hope he wasn’t too much of a bother.” Sue squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.
“He was very helpful actually.” She tilted her head at you and looked back at Johnny, who just shrugged.
“See? I’m helpful.” Johnny told his sister.
“Then go be helpful inside. Ben’s looking for you.” Sue cocked her head in the direction of the room. Johnny rolled his eyes and moved towards the door.
“Fine.” Johnny turned those brown eyes to you again. Something in your stomach fluttered when you locked eyes. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
“Johnny, what did I say!” Sue hit his shoulder.
“Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder and stumbled through the door.
“Sorry about that. If he ever makes you uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll hit him again for you. Now, let me show you around.” Sue gestured for you to follow her.
You followed your boss through the door and your jaw dropped as soon as you saw what was inside. Behind the nondescript door was a big hangar. There were computers everywhere and various metal parts in every corner. But the piece de resistance was the rocket ship in the middle of the room. It was as shiny as it was tall. You’d never felt so small in your life.
“Whoa.” Was all you could get out. You craned your neck back to see the pointed tip of the ship.
“Ain’t she a beauty.” Sue sounded proud. “That’s the Marvel-1. Our baby. We’re taking her up to space soon.”
“You are?” You walked further in and saw workers walking around, carrying different parts towards the rocket. Banging and clanging sounds echoed through the big space.
“Mhm. It’ll be a small team. Just me, my husband, Reed, our friend, Ben, and Johnny.”
You couldn’t help but scan the people’s faces, trying to get a glimpse of the blonde again but no dice. Is it weird that you were disappointed?
“That’s amazing.” You looked back up at the rocket. “I’ve never seen a rocket in person before.
“You’ll be seeing a lot of them now.” Sue put a hand on your shoulder. “Now, we have a lot of work to do before that thing is ready to launch and I’ll need your help.”
“You can count on me.” You stood up straight.
“I know I can. That’s why I chose you.” Sue smiled at you. You wanted to prove her right. And most importantly, prove to yourself that you could do this. “Ready to take on your first task?”
“You’re staring,” you commented, fingers smoothing down from the jaw, pressing firmly to form the shape of the muscle at the side of Geta’s neck.
His eyes followed your hands, your fingers, jealous of the clay version of himself. There was no measuring today. Only the careful rake of your eyes along his neck and shoulders.
It could be felt even with his eyes closed.
“I’m not,” he insisted, his face hot.
You didn’t argue, just let the corner of your lips twist up into a half-smile, eyes following the muscle down to where it met his shoulder.
He looked away.
The breeze chilled Geta’s shoulders where he sat, robe pulled down off them, held shut at his waist. He felt exposed, but he hadn’t yet seen your eyes stray any lower than his collarbones.
He was still hopeful. But as he eyed the sculpture, he knew time was running out.
It was almost finished.
“When it is done, what will you do with it?”
“The marble?” you asked, eyes darting between your work and his skin.
“No. That.” He gestured to the clay copy of himself.
Oh. That.
“Well, it will be with the sculptor for quite a while. I suppose they will destroy it when it is finished–”
“No,” he insisted, sitting up a bit straighter. The vessel near the base of his neck bulged, emotion plain in his face. “I will allow no such thing.”
“Forgive me, I suppose that wouldn’t happen in this case, with you being… you.” He still seemed concerned, so you attempted to placate him further. “I will tell the sculptor you wish it preserved.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
Another dip in the basin, fingers pressing in to form the line of his throat.
He swallowed.
“So you spend days on these, and they are ruined after?”
“Well, surely the sculptor wants no comparison,” you explained. “It’s an important step in the whole process, but I cannot expect them to allow me to preserve their stencil.”
“And why do you not sculpt the marble as well? Surely there would be no one better than you, after all this time studying my face?”
And what a face.
“To be an artist, a true, full-time artist, you must first have a patron, Emperor. And I have no such thing, nor will I. I’ve never sculpted marble, it’s too expensive to fool around with. Clay is… easier.”
He made a small sound of understanding, eyes focused on your hands that rested on the clay neck, work finished. The grey streaks along and between your fingers, various shades of watered down clay dried at the back of your hands. Dark grey clay embedded beneath your nails, pressed into your cuticles, dried.
“What if I…” The words had sprung out of his mouth before he could think better of them. Too late to take it all back now. “I could be your… patronus.”
That triggered a bashful reaction in you.
“Emperor, I appreciate your endorsement, but I could be terrible at it. I lack the formal training.”
“I will have someone teach you.”
As if it was the simplest thing in the world.
Geta watched you flounder for once. You sat there spiraling, brushing hair back out of your face, clay left behind unnoticed by you.
His eyes traced over the grey smear, imagining pressing his own fingers to it. Would it still be cool? Or would your skin heat it up that quickly?
“That won’t be necessary. Because I cannot. I have to help my family–”
“Is that not the job of a patron? To allow you your lifestyle?”
His amber eyes met yours. He was serious.
“And you are offering this, why? Just out of the goodness of your heart, Emperor?”
He caught the jab. But with the way his heart was beating, he was too far gone to pretend otherwise.
“Of course not. Patrocinium.”
So he was familiar.
“Sponsor, benefactor, and… protector.” His gaze was direct, imparting extra emphasis on his last word.
Heat filled your face. “And in return?”
He stayed silent, his gaze no less intense.
It was clear what he wanted. What you wanted to give him. He seemed to have trouble admitting it.
How best to prove your value to your Patronus than to read his mind?
Watching his eyes widen the closer your hands got to the water basin, you held off.
He wanted the mess.
“Leave us,” he ordered, his eyes locked on yours.
Anyone waiting on the fringes of the room made their way briskly for the exit, not willing to be told twice.
Shuffling. The click of a latch. Then silence.
As you moved in closer, he reached down, quick like lightning, to grab the robe and keep it shut at his waist.
“Oh,” you realized.
He watched your eyebrows raise, feeling a bit foolish at his desperate wardrobe choice. But then your clay-covered fingers were on his skin and he no longer knew the word shame.
His eyes fluttered shut, a big sigh leaving him.
Soft, tentative touches along his brow, down over his cheekbone, then lower, under his jaw. He felt tingling there as your fingers slid along it, to just under his chin.
He clenched his jaw beneath your fingers, brows knitting together in mild distress.
“Are you alright, Emperor? Is this… too much?”
Teasing.
He frowned. “It’s fine.”
“You seem tense.”
“Of course I do,” he muttered, grimacing as if in pain as your fingers slowly traveled down the pronounced muscle in his neck.
Up. Back down, trailing over a collarbone. Over and up, ghosting over his throat–
“May I ask you something, Emperor?”
He swallowed, keeping his eyes shut. “Yes.”
“I… I have enjoyed this time spent with you. Have you… also enjoyed yourself?”
He scoffed. “No.”
“No?” He could hear the indignation in your voice, could imagine your expression without even looking.
His throat. Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your touch. As your fingers trailed along the expanse of it, you felt him swallow.
“I have been driven to the brink of insanity in these small hours. It has felt at once like only a few minutes, and also a lifetime. Like I am walking to my death.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” You accused, eyes drifting over his flushed neck.
“No, I don’t,” he spoke, cutting the tension off at the knee. “You have watched me flounder here under your hands, and you say nothing of it. It is… maddening. I have never known such weakness in all my life, not since my–” He stopped short, turning away altogether.
He stared at the back of the finished clay bust, then over to the pile of un-sculpted clay. He imagined sinking his own fingers into it, leaving streaks on your skin. It was frustrating how his own mind betrayed him so easily. Was he truly so weak?
Eventually he turned his head back, eyes cast down to where your hands waited between the pair of you, as if asking for more. You continued your gentle touches silently, letting him stew in his emotions, his desires, his needs.
Before long his entire neck bore streaks no wider than your fingertips, tracing all along his features, outlining his muscle, lines of grey spreading out, running along the top of his shoulders, highlighting his collarbone.
He was a work of art. But this was something you would keep to yourself.
“I suppose I better clean you up.”
He hummed in the affirmative, his eyes falling shut as you dipped a cloth in the basin.
The water dripped down over his chest as you worked, cleaning the thin layer of clay from his skin one small area at a time.
It didn’t take long. You stood from your chair, wiping the last bit away from his forehead. As you turned to rinse the cloth in the basin, his ringed fingers closed around your wrist, pulling you away from it.
“Enough,” he spoke, sighing.
“Emperor?”
He released you, his hands instead sliding up the back of your thighs, over the material of your dress, resting just beneath the swell of your ass.
“You vex me.”
Even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t true, not in the way he said them. No, you vexed him in delicious ways. Ways that he hoped bore fruit.
His eyes fluttered as your fingers traced down either side of his face.
“You are fun to vex, Emperor.”
“Fun?”
You nodded.
“As your Patronus, I would ask you to be more polite, my little sculptor.”
Summary: Eddie stays over at your place, and you help him with his hair.
Word count: 1.6k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, established relationship, no use of Y/N.
(Did I have any clue what I was doing when I wrote this? No. Does it make sense? Man, I hope so. Just wanted an excuse to write some fluffy Eddie while I'm working on a Caracalla request.)
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It's a funny sort of domestic routine you've both fallen into.
At this point, Eddie's probably staying at your place more than he is his own. He has his own drawer for his clothes in your bedroom, and his tapes and books are slowly starting to mix in with yours.
Neither of you have been able to brave the talk about moving in together just yet, but you're comfortable and happy with the way things are right now. Why try and fix what isn't broken, right?
You're curled up on the couch one evening with a handful of takeout menus in front of you, trying to decide what to order for dinner. You hear Eddie come out of the bathroom, a wall of steam flooding out behind him. His hair is a tangled, dripping mess hanging over his face as he tries to wrestle his still-wet ass back into his boxers, hopping precariously on one foot.
"Eddie, for Christ's sake," you say with a groan as you catch him from the corner of your eye.
Ever prepared for your boyfriend's antics, you take the pyjamas you'd laid out for him - an old band t-shirt and plaid bottoms - and toss them across the room.
"You're an angel. Thanks, baby," Eddie replies, letting his boxers drop to his ankles as he picks up the clothes laying on the ground.
You roll your eyes. He's gonna be the death of you.
He dresses himself, struggling to push his soaking wet hair out of his face as he heads for your bedroom.
"Do you have a comb or something I can borrow?" he calls. "Never mind, found your brush!"
You immediately scramble after him, snatching the brush out of his hand before he has a chance to put it anywhere near the bird's nest that sits on his head.
"Don't you dare," you grumble, setting it back on the dresser. "You'll break it."
Eddie pulls a face. "Well, what am I supposed to do? I don’t have anything with me," he says.
You grab the sleeve of his T-shirt in reply, pulling him with you as you find a towel and make your way back to the living room. You sit down on the couch, tossing a cushion on the floor in front of you.
"Sit there," you tell him.
He looks at you, confused, but does as you say, settling himself between your legs. You gather up sections of his hair with the towel, gently pressing it in an attempt to soak up some of the water.
"Y'know, it might be easier if you just let me run around outside and shake myself dry," he jokes.
"That's not a bad idea, actually," you reply with a mischievous smile. "I mean you eat and shed like a dog. Should probably make you sleep out there too."
Eddie turns to you, pretending to be offended, and you drop the damp towel over his face. With a strangled yelp, he snatches it away, glaring at you. Or tries to, at least. His hair is all over his face again. You can't help but laugh at him.
"You're so mean," he says, and you can hear the pretend pout in his voice.
You lift the towel again and continue where you left off.
"Oh, I am not," you reply, "Would I be doing this for you if I was so mean, huh?"
You run your fingers along his neck, pulling a laugh from him.
"Huh?" you insist, smiling.
"No, you wouldn't," Eddie relents grouchily. "Because you're perfect. Best thing that's ever happened to me. Happy now?"
He says it a silly, exaggerated voice, and yet you can't help the little breath that hitches in your throat.
"You mean that?" you ask quietly, dropping the pretence of arguing.
Eddie pushes his hair out of his eyes and leans his head back to look up at you, big brown eyes full of sincerity.
"'Course I do," he murmurs. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me."
You lean down to press a kiss to his lips. He kisses you back, and you can feel him smiling against you.
"Except maybe my guitar," he mutters against your mouth, his soft smile quickly turning into a shit-eating grin.
You lightly smack his arm in reply. He just laughs.
"I can just leave you to do this yourself, y'know," you tell him, as if it wasn't your idea to begin with.
"Oh, that's fine," Eddie replies with a nonchalant shrug. "I can take care of it, no problem."
He starts slowly shaking his head back and forth, and your eyes widen.
"Eddie," you warn, "Don't you dare."
You shriek as Eddie violently shakes his head, sending water everywhere. You're off the couch in an instant, tackling him to the ground to make him stop.
"I take it back, you're worse than a dog," you scold.
Eddie doesn't say anything, just looking up at you from the floor.
"What?" you ask, a little nervously.
He always freaks you out when he goes quiet like that.
"Eddie," you try again, chewing at your bottom lip.
Eddie smiles up at you, a slow, lazy smile that brings out his dimples. He shakes his head.
"Nothing," he finally replies. "Just wondering how I got so damn lucky, that's all."
A blush creeps over your face at his words. How does he manage to be both a pain in the ass and the sweetest guy in the world at the same time? You tell him as much, and he dramatically clutches at his chest.
"I'm wounded," he says, straining his voice for effect.
He's a nuisance at the best of times, but you can't help the fondness you have for him. He makes you laugh until you're in tears, listens to you like you're the only person in the world that matters. Makes you feel safe, even at your worst. He's like no one you've ever met.
"Still with me, sweetheart?" he calls softly.
You nod, embarrassed that you were clearly caught staring. Eddie lets his hands wander to the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric gently.
"C'mere," he says, his tone uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden.
You frown at him, confused, until he reaches up, pressing his hand to the back of your neck and pulling you down to kiss him. It's soft and slow and everything Eddie lets himself be when he's around you.
You could easily let yourself stay there all night, wrapped up in his arms - if Eddie's hair wasn't currently leaving a slowly spreading puddle across the floor. You reluctantly pull away from him, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his nose as you sit up.
"Come on, get up," you say, as you manage to climb off him and back onto the couch. "I'm not done with you yet."
Eddie just blinks up at you. "I wasn't done with you," he grumbles, eventually dragging himself into a sitting position again.
You bite back a smile, refusing to take the bait as you continue where you left off. Once you're satisfied that you're no longer under threat of being soaked again, you drop the towel on the floor, focusing your efforts on trying to detangle the mess of hair in front of you. You begin prying his curls apart gently with your fingers, taking care to ease out the little knots so as not to hurt him.
Eddie tries to make an effort to look through the takeout menus you'd forgotten about, but after a while, his interest wanders as you work at his hair. He's clearly enjoying the attention, if the little hums escaping him are anything to go by.
“You doing okay down there?” you ask with a little laugh.
“Sweetheart, this is fuckin’ heaven, you know that?” he says lazily.
He sounds as though he’s about to fall asleep, and judging by the way his head is starting to droop, he probably is. You reach around to give him a soft tap on the cheek and he jerks upright again.
"Hey, sleepyhead, don't doze off on me. I'm almost done, okay?" you say gently.
He just grunts in response as he tries to rouse himself. You're not faring much better if you're honest - the repetitive motion of separating his curls, as well as Eddie's weight and warmth against you, is strangely soothing.
Eventually, you've done about as much as you can, and you gently shake Eddie by the shoulder. He lets out a very attractive snort as he jolts out of the doze he'd drifted into.
"All done," you tell him. "Well, it's the best I could do."
Eddie turns around, leaning his arms against your legs.
"What would I do without you?" he asks, smiling up at you.
You lightly squeeze his face between your hands.
"Do you really want me to answer that?" you ask in turn, your tone teasing.
Eddie laughs, gently pulling your hands away from his face to press a kiss to each of them.
"You're on menu duty until I get back, okay?" you tell him.
He gives you a little salute as you grab the towel from the floor and stand up, stretching your back out as you do. Eddie immediately dives for the couch as soon as you're up.
"Aw, babe, you kept my seat warm for me," he teases with a little grin.
You roll your eyes at him as you head to the bathroom. Eddie watches you go before focusing on the very important task you've set him.
“Eddie?" you shout from the bathroom, "Did you use all of my shampoo?!"
If the empty bottle in your hand wasn't proof enough, the loud thump as he falls off the couch in a frantic scramble to get out of your line of fire certainly is.
This is a continuation of the betrothed!reader blurb series as decided by [this] poll, thank you! (also it's more like empress!reader now...)
[ prior betrothed!reader entry can be found here ]
“And the brothels, they have been… rowdy, as of late,” A senator spoke, his hands clasped together. “The men grow restless. We should consider advancing the start of the next campaign.”
Another senator rose. “You would go against the general’s request for leave?”
You could see it from a mile away. Geta was dreadfully bored.
He tried to hide it, tried to appear as though he enjoyed this part of his title, but you knew far better.
His eyes slid over slowly to you, a smile growing as they raked over your hair, the laurels he placed there despite your protests shining.
They suited you, he thought.
Your smile as you registered his gaze passing over you. The way your fingers moved to play at his, dangling off the arm of the throne. He loved all of it.
Right as he leaned over to speak with you, to offer some small promise of what he’d ask of you after these meetings were over, he was interrupted.
“Emperor?”
The questioning voice cut through his small moment of happiness. His eyes darkened as he looked back at the toga-clad man, who seemed to very much regret his interruption.
“You have something you wish to say that is so important? As if you all haven’t been bickering the entire afternoon?”
Geta’s hand left your knee.
“Are you sure her presence in these chambers is… necessary?”
He was trying so very hard not to be rude, but failed entirely.
Your hands clung to Geta’s wrists, recognizing the tension growing in him, but he slipped out of your grip easily, stalking forward out of his throne.
“You misunderstand, Senator. That,” he pointed to you, “is our Empress, and you owe her your respect, for we are all at her whims.”
“It is just abnormal, Caesar,” the senator attempted to explain.
Geta became quite terrifying. “Abnormal? Are you men so weak that you cannot handle the sight of her in your midst?”
“She has bewitched you, Emperor,” someone else called out.
Geta’s fury focused in on a single target. He stalked forward, holding a hand out for a sword, the sound of it being drawn by the loyal Praetorian sending chills down everyone’s spines.
It was leveled at this Senator.
Geta was aware of the sharpness, of the bite of the blade, even as he held it against the man’s neck. If his heart beat any harder, the movement would split the vessel across the blade with how tightly it was pressed to his skin.
“I will give you only one opportunity to retract your blatantly false and ridiculous statement.”
“Kill him,” Caracalla grinned.
Geta rolled his eyes, turning back to speak with his brother. “I’m not going to kill him,” he spoke, slightly exasperated.
Caracalla frowned.
As Geta returned his attention to the Senator before him, the man raised his hands, held together.
“Forgive me, Emperor. It was a moment of madness. I did not mean to insult her.”
“Her?”
“O-Our Empress, Caesar.”
“That’s right. My Empress. And there will not be another word about it. Ever.”
He tossed the sword aside, letting it clatter to the ground, sliding right over to stop at the feet of the Senator that brought up the topic in the first place, as if daring him to pick it up.
He did not.
As the Praetorian collected the sword, unbothered, possibly quite used to the twins’ antics, Geta slid back into his seat.
“Do you feel better now, dear husband?” you whispered, eyes alight with mischief.
His lips slid back into that easy smile, his eyes darting down to look at you. “Quite.”
summary: you decide it’s high time eddie finally meets your parents. your boyfriend isn’t so sure.
warnings: fluff!!! plus cool parents.
a/n: based on this prompt, sentence prompts can be found here and here. this was also very self indulging; the dad in this is based heavily on mine and I lost him to cancer last year, but he loved stranger things and I'm positive Eddie would have been his favorite character for the same reasons in this story. this was, of course, beta’d by the talented and gifted @kitmon . happy reading!
“You what?”
You huffed, arms crossing under your bust as you repeated, “I want you to meet my parents.”
Eddie blinked hard, absolutely baffled by your statement. It wasn’t long before a scowl crossed his pretty features, mouth morphing into a frown while his brows pinched together.
“No.”
“What?” Your own lips twisted into a pout, tensing when he denied you.
“No,” Eddie sighed, eyes fluttering shut to compose himself. Once he’d reined in his emotions, he approached you, his hands slipping over your hips. “Look at me, kid. I’ve never been the guy pretty people like you bring home to the ‘rents.’”
It wasn’t completely true, the last time he’d met the parents of a girl he’d been seeing, he quickly realized she was just using him to upset them. While he was all for anti-conformity, his feelings had been caught in the crossfire; and he’d been left devastated. It turned out, being used hurt like a bitch.
“Well, since I’m pretty,” you agreed, hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders and tug him closer, “and I’m also bringing you home to meet my parents, I guess your logic is pretty flawed, huh?”
Eddie couldn’t fight the small smile, he knew exactly what he was signing up for when he fell for your stubborn ass. “I guess it is.”
You grinned, hands moving to cup his cheeks as you drew him in for a heated kiss.
“They’re gonna love you, all they want is for me to be happy. Luckily for you, you happen to make me very happy.”
Eddie’s arms wrapped completely around your waist, pulling your chest flush up against his.
“God, I hope I do.”
“And I’ll hide my dad’s brass knuckles, you’ll be fine,” you joked and Eddie laughed nervously, lifting you off the ground as he made his way to his bed.
“I think I’m gonna need you to reassure me a little more, honey,” he drawls with droopy eyes and a crooked smile, “but maybe with a little more skin-to-skin contact.”
The next evening found you waiting anxiously for Eddie’s arrival by the front door. Your house smelled amazing, your mother had gone all out when you informed her that Eddie would be attending dinner. She’d demanded to know his favorite foods and had called into work to have more time to prepare. You had a feeling she’d love him. Your dad, on the other hand, made you a little more nervous.
He was a big, burly man. Not as around as he’d like to be, what with being a trucker, but he was also a big softie. With you, anyways. He hadn’t liked any of your ex-boyfriends. You were positive it was because he simply didn’t like you dating anyone. But, you had a secret weapon, something neither was aware about the other. While you’d supplied a couple of details to your dad about Eddie and a couple of details about your dad to your boyfriend, you’d purposely neglected to mention–to both men– that your father and Eddie actually had something in common; their taste in music. Heavy metal, some hard rock and a couple of other slightly altered genres in-between. Your dad had more guitars than you could count around the house, though he kept his most precious one in the master bedroom, mounted to the wall in its special display case, facetiously referred to as ‘Cheryl.’ When Eddie had introduced you to Sweetheart, you had been instantly reminded of your father’s guitar.
So, you just had to make sure to bring it up before your dad could find a bogus reason to hate him. Easy peasy.
The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts and you quickly opened the door for Eddie. He was obviously nervous, and you could tell he was trying to seem as unlike himself as possible—something you didn’t exactly like—by wearing only a white shirt, a pair of unripped jeans you’d never seen him sporting before then, and a blue flannel. He had his hair back in a ponytail as well—that you didn’t mind too much, he looked so cute when he put it in ponytails and buns—and was holding a bouquet of pink roses.
You yanked him over the threshold, giving him a quick but thorough kiss.
He mumbled a ‘hello to you, too’ against your lips, a hand reaching up to cup your cheek but you pulled away before he could deepen it, eager to get the introductions started.
“You know, I think you’re hot all the time, even right now but I prefer when you dress like yourself.”
He looked sheepish, cheeks tinging a pretty shade of pink. “I just wanted to make a good impression."
“I know, baby,” you reassured him, a hand reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want my parents to meet you, though. I’ll let this—” you gesture down to his attire, a little more boring than anything he’d normally wear. “—slide, but if you try acting differently, we’re gonna have a problem on our hands. I want you to always be yourself.”
The smile Eddie rewarded you with had you weak in the knees, and you nearly melted when he leant down to press his forehead against yours. “As you wish.” I love you.
Satisfied, you bypassed the living room where your father was sitting on the recliner, watching tv, and made your way to the kitchen instead. He could meet your mom first.
“Mom,” you called to get her attention, she glanced up from the dish she was working on, her face nearly splitting open with how big she grinned at the sight of you holding Eddie’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie, this is my mom. Um,” you sarcastically faltered, “what’s your name again?”
She rolled her eyes at your joke, pulling off her apron as she closed the distance and introduced herself.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. These are for you.” Eddie held out the bouquet to her and the gasp she let out was comical, the hand that hadn’t accepted the flowers flew to her chest.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing, these are beautiful! You know what, I’ve got to get these into some water right this minute.” You watched with amusement as she threw her apron into the sink of all places before she dug around in one of the cabinets for a vase.
“Honey, why don’t you introduce Eddie to your father? Dinner’s ready, I’m just gonna put everything on the table, will you get your brother, too?”
You agreed and then pulled Eddie out in the direction of the living room. His palm was beginning to feel slick against yours and you squeezed it to calm his nerves.
“Hey dad.” You stopped in the entryway, trying not to appear as nervous as your boyfriend was when your dad twisted his upper half around to look at you. “I’d like to introduce you to Eddie.”
Your dad used the remote to switch off the tv (oh God, why did that simple action scare you?) before pushing himself up. He was clearly intimidating, face passive and unreadable as he approached the two of you.
You gulped, but soldiered on, “Daddy, this Eddie. Eddie, this is my dad; I’ve known him all my life.” Another intentionally bad joke, pitiful attempt to ease the tension. Unlike your mom, your dad didn’t even offer an amused roll of his eyes, just stared you down.
Eddie held out his hand, willing his nerves to not fuck him over. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Your dad eyed his hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. Your eyes narrowed at him in warning and, despite how much he wanted to, he didn’t break Eddie’s hand.
Your father still hadn’t said anything though, and you knew he was quickly convincing himself to not like Eddie so you supplied, “You know, daddy, you actually have a lot in common with Eddie. He loves heavy metal, too. Plays the guitar real good, he’s in a band and everything.”
It was like a flip switched, your dad’s eyes lit up as he regarded Eddie with something akin to interest. “You play?”
Eddie nodded, eyes flashing to yours before you gave him a reassuring nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. Pretty often, actually.”
“What do you play on?” You could tell your dad was testing the waters, trying to size him up and determine if he actually held the interest or if you two were just trying to impress him with a white lie.
“NJ Warlock, 24 fret,” Eddie answered without hesitation.
Your dad raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle, there was obviously something impressive about it but you didn’t know all that much about guitars. Except that you kind of wanted your dad’s. No real reason why, you didn’t even know how to play though your father had tried to teach you on more than one occasion.
“An electric man. I don’t mean to be rude, just wasn’t expecting that from you in that get up. You look like you’re about to sing me the entire Simon & Garfunkel discography with an acoustic.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I sort of dressed down for the occasion, a lot of people assume the worst about anyone in leather and I wanted to make a good impression.”
“If you want to make a good impression, you can show me what you’re made of. I’ve got my own Warlock upstairs, just hold on a minute. Sweetheart, I’m gonna go get Cheryl, if your mom calls us to the table, distract her for a couple of minutes.” You watched as your big, bad dad ran up the stairs like a child, eager to show his new friend his cool toy.
“Oh, you definitely won him over.” You glanced up at Eddie to find him already watching you, finally looking a little at ease with an excited grin stretching his lips.
“You think so?”
You didn’t get to reply as your dad bounded back down the stairs, jumping the last two, the white guitar with the bandana tied to the bottom of the strap clutched in his hands like it was some precious cargo.
“Check it out!” Your dad beamed, holding the guitar out to display it in all its apparent greatness. It was just a white guitar to you, but from the way Eddie was looking at it, it must have been impressive.
“Holy—wow,” Eddie caught himself, leaning down to closely inspect the guitar. “She’s a beauty. I don’t see so much as a fingerprint on it, you must treat her right.”
That was exactly the right thing to say, your dad’s chest puffed with pride under the praise.
“C’mon, I’ve got the amps in the garage. Come get us when the table’s ready, will you, sweetheart?” Your dad lead Eddie over to the garage, and with how relaxed Eddie seemed to be, you found yourself not worrying about the possibility of your dad murdering your boyfriend. Instead, you went upstairs to fetch your brother, Lloyd, for dinner. Once you got his attention, he had promptly let you know he’d be down in ten minutes, all of which you spent arguing with him for not listening to you.
The loud sound that was Eddie shredding on your dad’s guitar didn’t even surprise you, you were used to your dad playing at his ridiculously loud volume but something in your belly warmed, knowing Eddie was bonding with your hard-to-impress dad.
You ended up dragging your brother down with you just as Eddie and your dad emerged from the garage in the middle of a conversation regarding Metallica and Van Halen, your mother in tow. She hated when your dad used his amps this late so she’d probably gone over to yell at him.
“Sweetheart, he’s good at playing! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did! Numerous times! You always tuned me out.”
Lloyd was swatting at your hand that was gripping his upper arm but you didn’t release him from your hold until you’d all flooded into the dinning room. The nine year old adjusted his glasses, glaring over at you as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table. Your mom and dad sat on either end of the table and Eddie was sat next to you, your hands intertwined under the table.
Lloyd waved his hand from his place, holding his other hand to his chin as he signed his question.
Who’s he?
You’d almost forgot to introduce them!
You rolled your sleeves further up your arms, fingers signing the sentence as you spoke, “Eddie, this is my little brother Lloyd. Lloyd, this is Eddie.” You used a custom name sign you’d made for Eddie, fingerspelling it out for your brother so he’d know who you were referencing from then on.
Lloyd grinned, pleased that you hadn’t come up with something he’d consider lame like you had in the past. He stuck his thumb up in approval.
“He’s deaf,” you explained, though you could already see the gears in Eddie’s head turning as he figured it out on his own. Lloyd reached up to turn his hearing aid on, something he only did when around company or other hearing people other than you, your mom and your dad.
“Oh, uh—nice to meet you, Lloyd.” Eddie glanced from you to Lloyd, relieved when he noticed you signing to your brother, obviously interpreting for him.
Lloyd smirked, and his fingers began moving furiously as you voiced for him, “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve read all about you—HEY!” You slammed your fist on the table top, glaring at the little menace and the smug look on his face. He quickly twisted his upper half around, his back almost completely to you as he wrapped his arms around himself, wiggling his hands over his shoulders to mock your diary entries noting your make-out sessions.
“No fighting at the dinner table!” Your mother scolded, giving the both of you a stern look.
“He just—you always let him get away with it, mom!” You argued, brows furrowed in annoyance as you sank back into your seat.
“Stop reading your sister’s diary,” your mother said aloud as her nimble fingers signed a much shorter version of it for Lloyd. He just shrugged and began loading his plate up with food.
You rolled your eyes, positive that he’d continue to do it so you’d have to find a new hiding place for it in your own damn room. You turned to face Eddie, who appeared thoroughly amused with the interaction, a small smile on his face as yours grew abashed, suddenly shy and embarrassed about the whole thing.
Your mother came to your rescue though, “So, Eddie, I’m told you’re a senior. Is that how you two met? in school?”
Eddie squeezed your hand under the table as his nerves came rushing back now that school had been brought up, fearful of having to mention failing to graduate twice. Really gonna impress ‘em.
He tried not to let his voice quiver, “Uh—yes, yes. We have a class together.”
That’s not how you met, he’d been dealing to you for the last two years, but telling your mother that would only guarantee them forbidding your romance.
You could only sit in your chair and hope your poker face didn’t give anything away, though you knew very well your parents packed and shared a bowl when they thought you and Lloyd were asleep. You’d found the bong in their bedroom while searching for your walkman they’d taken captive after a brief grounding. Hypocrites.
Despite how badly he didn’t want to actually bring it up, Eddie felt inclined to, as though hearing it from him, unprompted, would somehow make it his saving grace.
“This will actually be my,uhm,third a-and final senior year.”
You could feel Eddie’s hand tighten around yours—though it wasn’t painful—as his body tensed up, waiting for the inevitable judgment and the comments they’d berate him with.
Instead, your mother looked slightly sympathetic but not pitying, and your father didn’t even look like he cared about some high school three-peat senior dating his kid, focusing on cutting into the meat on his plate instead. He mumbled, “High school’s a bitch.”
“Honey!”
“What? It’s not like he can hear me.” Your father gestured to Lloyd, who was purposely unaware of the discussion before him, and then nodded in your direction. “And we both know that one has the mouth of a sailor.”
Eddie was flabbergasted, mouth slightly open in shock—not only because of the lack of a negative reaction regarding his education, but also at how non-judgmental your parents seemed to be in general. He wasn’t used to that from adults. Wasn’t used to not being picked apart for his flaws.
“That’s how we met, you know. In high school,” your mom crooned, staring at your father with lovesick eyes. “I got held back my senior year and met him in my Economics class the next fall.”
Your dad snorted, lifting his glass of water to his lips with a grin. “You’re being selective again, my love. You didn’t get held back, you were expelled.”
“Minor details, I appealed it and ended up graduating eventually—but you’d better learn from my mistakes.” Your mother pointed her fork threateningly in your direction and you held up your hands in defeat.
“I don’t stick it to the man, mom. The man isn’t worth my time, here, anyways.” You knew all about your mother’s hippie past.
Your mother seemed to notice how quiet Eddie had gotten, looking unsure of himself in his seat. The motherly nature she so naturally possessed came tenderly out, “I’m assuming you were expecting a different reaction?”
He hesitated only a moment, glancing at you for support. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning in to bump your shoulder against his arm to encourage him.
Eddie licked his lips before answering. “Yes. Truthfully, I was pretty nervous about all of this. I’m not—I’ve never been really welcomed or accepted before, with these kinds of things.” Or anywhere, really.
Despite being sat at your dinner table, surrounded by a picture perfect family, Eddie wasn’t overtly aware or self-conscious about the ink on his skin; intentionally hidden by his clothing. He wasn’t overtly aware that he was almost able to legally drink but still struggled with a high school Civics class. Being with you and your family almost made him feel like he wasn’t a freak.
“It’s a little—’’
“Daunting?” Your mother supplied, a thoughtful expression on her features.
“Yeah,” Eddie exhaled, nodding once.
“Well, you’ll find that everyone in this house has something about them that makes us a little more unique than most. I grew up in a pretty rough setting myself, one in which I was always desperate to escape. When we had kids, we decided that we’d never make them feel like they had to escape. I extend that belief to all my guests as well, you are welcome in our home as you are. I can tell you’re doing your best and you make my child—” you rolled your eyes, intent on starting a drinking game one day for every time she referred to you as her child, “—happy. Plus, I’m hoping this means you’ll actually come inside from now on instead of scaling my roof to reach a certain window.”
“Yeah, I’m tired of replacing those damn shingles.” Your dad added, even though you knew he was excited at the idea of another musician hanging around the house, one which he could have jam sessions with.
“You still haven’t. Now, pass the mashed potatoes.”
The rest of dinner went off without a hitch; Eddie seemed much more at ease with your family, comfortable and you loved watching him as they interacted with each other. Even Lloyd was developing an attachment to him;. Once he’d found out Eddie played Dungeons and Dragons, he was practically begging you to take him to Hellfire sessions, even though you weren’t actually a part of Hellfire. When Eddie offered him a spot in his next campaign, you had no choice but to happily agree.
He looked like he was part of your family. You hoped that one day, he really would be.
After everyone was done eating dinner, your father and Lloyd quickly tidied up the dinner table and hauled the dishes off to the kitchen for washing while your mother set up the living room for a movie.
You and Eddie slipped out the front door, keen on spending the rest of the night, just the two of you.
“So? Polling the audience, what does the survey say?” You intertwined your fingers with his, leaning into him as you walked down the driveway towards his van. Once you reached the van, he pressed you up against the side of it, arms caging you in as he rested his palms against the vehicle on either side of your head.
“Survey says your family is really, really fucking cool.”
You beamed up at him, eyes shining as you noticed the glimmer in his own warm, chocolate gaze. “I’m pretty sure they think the same thing about you. In fact, I think my dad may be my competition. Did you see the look on his face when you listed the bands you listen to?”
Eddie laughed, his dimple prominent as he flashed his teeth. “Sorry to break his heart but I’ve only got eyes for you, kid.”
He leaned down and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, meeting him half way to press your lips eagerly to his. He groaned as your tongue swiped along his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth once he’d given you the opportunity. You stayed there, lazily making out against his van for a good couple of minutes, oblivious to the flash of your Polaroid camera from one of the living room windows. Your mom thought you’d like to have a cute little keepsake from the night. She also thought it’d be a really good moment to display during a future wedding reception; there was no way that boy wasn’t going to be asking them for permission to marry you in the future.
She was positive from the moment you’d walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, that she’d just met her future son-in-law.
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