Charred Perfection
Pairing: Eddie x Reader Word Count: 781 Prompt: @fluff-cember Day 1: roasted marshmallows Summary: Eddie teaches you to roast marshmallows the Munson way. Warnings: Fire hazard, mild language, mentions of childhood struggles.
The crisp winter air nips at your cheeks as you tug your jacket closer, watching your breath form little clouds in the dim light. Eddie’s trailer stands behind you, its metal exterior dusted with frost. Before you, a small bonfire crackles and pops, the orange glow illuminating Eddie’s mischievous grin. His wild curls halo his head, and his denim jacket is layered over a frayed hoodie, the scent of smoke and pine clinging to the fabric.
"Alright, sweetheart," Eddie declares, holding up a marshmallow skewered on a slightly bent metal rod. "Prepare to witness greatness. This is how you roast the perfect marshmallow." His dark eyes glint in the firelight, his enthusiasm infectious as he crouches by the flames.
You sit cross-legged on an old blanket spread over the cold ground, your own marshmallow at the ready. “Is this one of your many hidden talents?” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look.
“Of course,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re about to experience the art of marshmallow roasting, Munson style.” He gives you a mock bow, flourishing the skewer like a sword.
Eddie holds the marshmallow just above the flames, turning it with exaggerated care. “Patience,” he intones, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “The trick is to rotate it evenly—don’t let it burn. You want that golden-brown perfection. Anything less is sacrilege.”
You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. “So no charring? No flames?”
He shakes his head gravely. “Flames are the enemy, my dear. Unless you like eating crispy, sugary disappointment.”
For a moment, you think he’s actually got it. The marshmallow starts to take on a lovely, golden hue, just as he promised. He glances back at you, smirking as if to say, See? Told you so. But then—predictably—it happens.
With one careless flick of his wrist, the marshmallow plunges too close to the fire. Flames leap up greedily, engulfing it in an instant. Eddie yelps, jerking the skewer back and waving it wildly in the air. “Shit! Abort! Abort!”
You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as Eddie frantically blows on the blackened marshmallow. He manages to extinguish it, but the damage is done. The marshmallow is a charred, drooping mess, bits of molten sugar dripping off the stick.
“Well,” he says, holding up the ruined confection like it’s a battle trophy. “Not my finest hour.”
“Not exactly golden-brown perfection,” you manage between giggles.
“Hey, it’s all part of the process,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “Even geniuses have off days.”
You shake your head, still laughing, and reach over to hand him another marshmallow. “Here, try again. Maybe with less...flair this time?”
Eddie plops onto the blanket beside you, taking the fresh marshmallow with a mock bow of thanks. “I’ll let you take the reins next. Can’t have you thinking I’m a total disaster.”
The fire crackles between you, its warmth chasing away the bite of the cold. Eddie’s hands linger over the flame for a moment before he settles back, his shoulders brushing against yours. “You know,” he says after a pause, his voice softer now, “when I was a kid, Wayne used to build bonfires like this behind the trailer. It was one of the only times we didn’t care about the bills or whatever crap life was throwing at us. We’d just sit out here and talk.”
You glance at him, his face lit by the glow of the fire. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s seeing those nights all over again. “What did you guys talk about?” you ask gently.
He shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Stupid stuff. Stories about his wild days when he was my age. Advice about girls—none of which I ever followed, obviously.” He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes, he’d just let me rant about whatever sucked at school. He always listened, you know? Never made me feel like I was being dumb.”
The raw honesty in his voice warms you as much as the fire. You lean your head against his shoulder, and he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he tilts his head to rest gently against yours.
“Thanks for this,” you say after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper.
“For what? Setting marshmallows on fire?” he jokes, but there’s a tenderness in his tone.
“For this,” you say again, gesturing to the fire, the stars overhead, the quiet comfort of his presence. “It’s perfect.”
Eddie looks at you then, his grin softer now, and he bumps your shoulder with his. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “It kind of is.”
