#the boy is mine eddie munson
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the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition)
AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.
summary: romantic night at the trailer, based off of this prompt!
pairing: bf!eddie x gf!reader
word count: 1, 944 words
content/warnings: MDNI, fluff, kissing, lots of touchy feels, a lil smutty?
a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage! also would like to credit @carolmunson for this prompt and @mrsjellymunson for tagging me! I haven’t written for eddie in so long, and this was a great way to get back into it <3 thank you! hope you enjoy my contribution <3
You basked in the scent of Eddie’s bedding, how he was ingrained into each and every fiber. Every motion, every shift of the sheets, you could smell him. He had foolishly left you to your own devices in his bedroom (which was surprising since the last time he did that, you almost dared touch his Sweetheart) so you indulged.
You curled up in the sprawling mess of blankets and sheets then grabbed the small throw pillow you had embroidered for him and buried your face in it. It was a delicate, pretty, little thing that stood out in his room even with its DnD theme, but he loved it. He loved that you made it, that you put so much effort into it just for him, so he slept with it every night. Unfamiliar with the concept of purely decorative pillows, he didn’t realize most people tucked such things off to the side before getting into bed each night. So, it smelled like cigarettes, convenience store aftershave, and his shampoo. The scent filled you with dizzying affection, only pulling it away from your face to then hug it to your chest as he walked back into his room.
“I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?” he asked as he blew into one of the mugs and then used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it down. He was planning on cleaning those cartoon-themed cups properly for some absurdly fancy hot chocolate you had brought back from your family vacation. He was even planning on making another case for not wasting it on him, but, of course, his attention strayed easily when you were in his bed.
When his gaze finally fell on you, a lazy smile quirked up one side of his mouth. The handles of the mugs hung off the curl of his fingers which rested against his hips now as he took in the sight of you. He tilted his head to put it at the same angle as yours, his favorite pillow in your arms. You were an unbelievably endearing sight. The love that filled him was fluttery and overwhelming.
“And who said you could hold my favorite pillow?” He teased, sauntering over to the bed.
“I made it,” you scoffed with a smile.
He hums lazily in response, that crooked grin still hanging around as he shoved at the clutter on his bedside table. He picked up a small notebook, brow furrowed as he observed it only to haphazardly toss it towards his dresser to make more room. It was that or your tub of Betty Crocker, and he knew better.
You stared at his forearms, drinking in the movement of the musculature underneath. The warmth of his bedside lamp made it even better to watch the lines and curves of his tattoos beneath its comforting, golden light. How could something so simple be so beautiful? Your focus then trailed to the perfect structure of his hands as the mugs slid down his fingers. The ceramic cups clinked against the surface of the old table.
“I think as the creator, I have some right to hold it too,” you continued to make your case while he crawled into bed with you, giving you that subtle mischievous look he always got when he was toying with you.
His strong arms wrapped around you to secure you closer to him.
“I worked very hard on it, y’know.”
Eddie let out an “Is that right?” kind of sound, the texture of his jeans scratching against the bedding. He pulled you into him with such a desperate need to squish you as close as possible as if he thought you might be leaving soon. Those brown curls tickled your jaw while he nuzzled the side of your neck, audibly breathing you in.
“And it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to embroider all that Dungeons and—”
He finally pulled back to cut you off, smushing his face against yours in a way that made you giggle. Eddie’s kisses were always lazy and sloppy this late at night, but you loved them that way. His lips were warm albeit a bit rough from all the anxious biting that he abused them with. A pleased hum left him and vibrated deep in his throat, his large hands encasing the sides of your face and his fingers tangling in your hair. His rings would probably tug a strand or two when he pulled them away, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.
The way your body relaxed reassured him, and he slid his arms down to pull you in again so your stomach could be flat against his own. Then, he let out a small chuckle when he had to separate from you to pluck the throw pillow out from between you. Eddie placed it elsewhere with emphasized tenderness while you stared at those ruddy lips that you missed already.
“Pillow was in the way,” he murmured in a low tone, kissing you back as you pulled him in for a few more pecks.
“And here I was thinking you were starting to love it more than me.”
“Aw, now don’t be like that. You know that’s not true,” Eddie drawled, grinning over that unconvincing little pout you gave him.
He sat back on his legs to move the bedding out of his way, then pulled you forward by your thighs which he readily settled in between. There was nothing he wanted more than to be thoroughly pressed against you. It wasn’t even about sex, at least not always. He just loved the feeling of you being so close to him. The softness of your stomach against his taut abdomen. The plushness of your chest pressed against the flat planes of his own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way your bodies fit together too, but he’d melt into you if he could.
Eddie was the type to lean into you while you were walking together, ending up so close that his wallet chain would keep bumping against you. He always sought out your hand to hold or your shoulders for him to drape his arm across (which of course always ended up with him folding you into him so your face would press against a Hellfire symbol or band name, and he could settle his chin on the top of your head).
“I don’t think I believe you.”
You crossed your arms, failing to keep up with your façade, especially with that smile and those dimples.
“Well then, my dramatic lil lady,” He spoke with that same theatrical cadence that he used during campaigns, his brow furrowed with determination. You groaned over the incoming mawkishness, rolling your gaze up to the ceiling and smiling to the point that the apples of your cheeks ached.
“I suppose I must convince you.”
His hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the center of your throat as he dipped down for another kiss.
“You’re so corny,” you laughed against his lips.
“And you… taste like vanilla,” he sighed, laughing with you after.
“Mm, well, that is the work of Ms. Betty Crocker,” you smiled up at him, gently tapping his nose. “Speaking of…”
Eddie groaned, mentally cursing himself for even bringing it up as you squirmed out from underneath him to grab the container from behind the abandoned mugs. He watched you intently while you sucked a scoop of frosting off your finger. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky grin that he failed to conceal by biting his lip and then wiggled his eyebrows at you.
“You’re a child,” you snorted, reaching out to tap some frosting onto the tip of his nose.
“And you’re devastating,” he countered in a voice so sickeningly saccharine with love that you wiped the frosting right back off. He caught your hand and sucked the sugar from the pad of your thumb before you could fully pull back.
“Who knew the local bad boy could be such a softie,” you teased softly, scooping some more frosting to feed it to him. Eddie playfully bit down just enough to make you laugh.
“I believe you mean ‘the local freak.’”
“Mm, tomato, tomahto,” you shrugged, lapping up some more frosting off your finger. His rich umber eyes seemed to glitter in the dull lighting, his pupils dilating. You looked up at him through your lashes when you felt his stare.
“We’re gonna have a problem if you keep doing that,” Eddie’s voice was rough even as he smiled over you.
“What?” you laughed, full of faux innocence. He just smirked. “No, what?”
“You know what.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you shrug, going to scoop some more frosting out when he snags the tub from you.
“Wh— hey!”
You already missed his warmth when he sank back onto folded legs, dipping his forefinger into the tub.
“You’re gonna get your rings all sticky,”
You blushed when that made him cackle, but you at least got the comfort of his body again as he hunched over you. His smile was tangible against the side of your neck, his hair tickling you again.
“Not the only thing that—”
“Eddie, shu-u-ush,” you laughed, and he flattened himself on top of you again, leaving tacky, sugary kisses on your neck while you pried the vanilla frosting from his hand. He gave up on keeping it from you, happy to have a free hand again to seek out your waist with.
Holding the container with one hand, you arched your other arm over him to scoop just one more—you swore just one more! —fingertip of frosting, but he was pulling back before you could even dip into it.
“Gimme that—”
“So rude taking things from me today,” you tutted, watching with a pout as he fed himself some of your treat.
“Have to have you all to myself,” he mimicked some toxic-alpha-dude-type bravado, but he couldn’t even get through it without chuckling at the end.
Eddie prodded at the dwindling supply of Betty Crocker’s then tossed the container back onto his bedside table. But you reached out to catch his wrist and brought his index finger to your mouth before he could bring it to his own.
He groaned, leaning onto one elbow while he gawked at you. His full lips parted at the sight of you, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you sucked on his finger. Damn.
“You never play fair.”
“And you like that,” you stated proudly once he slid his finger back out of your mouth.
“Course I do,” he grunted, sliding the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. “May have taken a few attempts to graduate, but I’m not that dumb.”
Your following giggle was breathy and fleeting as you sunk into the tension filling the room. You took in the growing heat in his gaze that tracked his thumb while it hooked your bottom lip. He mimicked opening his own mouth as you did so without even being asked, making him smile and drag his tongue over his lip. He slid his pointer finger down your tongue again, letting it trail down until he was holding your chin between his curled finger and thumb. Keeping your chin down and lips parted, he leaned in. The kiss was firmer—more determined—and desperate. He was putting every ounce of his desire into you, and this time you were the one melting. You felt like you were sinking deeper into that old mattress, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him with you.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie stranger things#stranger things#eddiemunson#eddie munson imagine#stranger things x reader#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson ficlet#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#bf!eddie munson#the boy is mine eddie munson#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson smut
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the boy is mine | masterlist
an ongoing collection of ficlets and blurbs by writers of the eddie munson x reader fandom using the same prompt. if you wanna take a crack at it, the guidlines are here!
the boy is mine (luna's edition) by @abibliophobiaa
the boy is mine (bluey's version) by @blueywrites
the boy is mine (bug's edition) by @munson-blurbs
the boy is mine (jo's edition) by @jo-harrington
the boy is mine (gab's edition) by @vvitchwords
the boy is mine (powder's version) by @powderblueblood
the boy is mine (leah's edition) by @eiightysixbaby
the boy is mine (taylor's version edition) by @superblysubpar
the boy is mine (ziggy's edition) by @trashmouth-richie
the boy is mine (roe's version) by @hellfire--cult
the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @rehfan
the boy is mine (dalia's edition) by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple
the boy is mine (cheese's edition) by @br0ck-eddie
the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @writinginthetwilight
the boy is mine (amy's edition) by @bangaveragewhitewine
the boy is mine (claudia's edition) by @jamdoughnutmagician
the boy is mine (v's version) by @lonelysatellites
the boy is mine (red's version) by @corroded-hellfire
the boy is mine (h's version) by @be-ready-when-i-say-go
the boy is mine (the wheels edition) by @wheels-of-despair
the boy is mine (emmy's edition) by @upsidedownwithsteve
the boy is mine (kittie's edition) by @mrsjellymunson
the boy is mine (rose's edition) by @rosebudsgarden
the boy is mine (viv's version) by @vivwritescrappythings
the boy is mine (z's edition) by @uglypastels
the boy is mine (shiv's version) by @justmyheart
the boy is mine (iona's version) by @eddiethefreakkmunson
the boy is mine (hope's version) by @hopeluna
the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition) by @eddiessluttywaist
the boy is mine (chloe's version) by @doomsdaybby
the boy is mine (meg's version) by @courtingchaos
the boy is mine (betty's edition) by @bettyfrommars
the boy is mine (icallhimjoey's edition) by @icallhimjoey (rpf edition)
the boy is mine (carol's edition) by @carolmunson
the boy is mine (belle's edition) by @angelgirlworld222
the boy is mine (jade's edition) by @jadewritesficshere
the boy is mine (hannah's edition) by @rip-quizilla
the boy is mine (manda's version) by @manda-panda-monium-writes
the boy is mine (desi's edition) by @lilmissdoomandgloomfics
the boy is mine (hdyagimr's version) by @howdidyouallgetinmyroom
the boy is mine (mar's edition) by @serasvictoria
the boy is mine (sienna's version) by @belokhvostikova
the boy is mine (call-me-eds edition) by @call-me-eds
#the boy is mine challenge#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fan fiction
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#please ignore the fact that steve is using a phone that boy is allergic to walkies#eddie is obviously joking that boy is head over heels for steve he's just a little silly#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#incorrect quotes#eddiedit#mine#incorrect stranger things quotes#joseph quinn#joe keery#steve x eddie#steddie edit
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Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.
He's not.
They're just... he happened to notice them, once, when Eddie was listening to Dustin talk through how he might want to make his first DM campaign play out.
Steve wasn't even really paying attention at first, just reading some comic he'd found lying in Eddie's room. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen it. Movement.
Eddie and Dustin were sitting at the small kitchen table, Dustin talking about puzzles and traps and monsters and Eddie was smiling, nodding encouragingly, looking more and more exicted. But it wasn't the movement of his head that drew Steve's attention.
It was his hands.
They were resting on the sides of his legs, tapping.
Steve could only see one hand really, but he could see Eddie's other arm jumping the same way, his hands moving faster and faster the more excited he got, until they were just hovering near his legs, flapping in the air beside him as he smiled widely at Dustin. He suggested a few things, to Dustin, Steve's pretty sure that's what he was saying anyway, his ears weren't great anymore if he wasn't focused, and right now, all of his focus was on Eddie's hands.
Dustin slapped his hand on the table, pointed at Eddie and then started scribbling as Eddie laughed, Steve always managed to hear Eddie's laugh, his hands flapping harder, slapping at his thighs.
Steve vaguely hears his name, cocks his head to the side, but doesn't respond, his eyes still locked on Eddie's flapping hands, and then they stop moving. Both of them freezing, the one Steve can see clamps down on Eddie's thigh, fingers pressing into his jeans.
Steve blinks. Tears his eyes away. Looks at Eddie.
He's staring at Steve, his cheeks tinted pink. Steve swallows, gives him a little smile before Dustin has his attention, chatting at him about what he and Eddie had just come up with.
Steve hears about half of it. Nodding when he thinks he should, trying his best to sound interested. It's enough for Dustin. The barely there commitment. And usually Steve is better at engaging with him, even though he has no clue what he's talking about.
But he's distracted. His eyes keep wandering to Eddie's hands. But they don't move again the whole time he's there, Eddie's knuckles turn white as Steve's eyes linger on his hand. His fingers still pressing into his thigh, they drum a quick beat here and there, but his hands don't move.
Steve sighs, drags his eyes away, and tries to keep them off Eddie. Somehow feeling like Eddie is embarrassed, or upset, that Steve had seen... whatever it was he'd seen.
~°~
It keeps happening.
Eddie's flapping hands.
Steve's eyes on them.
But he's careful now. He doesn't stare. Just steals glances when the movements draw his eye. And Eddie always has his hands under tables, or tucked close to his sides, when it happens. Like he's trying to hide it.
Steve doesn't understand why. He likes it. Every time he sees Eddie's hands moving excitedly it makes his chest flutter. Like he's so happy that Eddie's happy it just fills him with warmth.
But it happens other times too.
Not only when he's happy.
It happens when he's nervous.
Happens when he's scared.
The movements are more erratic when he's nervous or scared. His hands flap, shake, clench, and unclench at his sides.
Every time, Steve wants to reach out and touch. To take his hands, hold them in his and tell him he's okay. That whatever it is. Steve will help.
But he hides it. Behind distracting smiles, and under tables, and behind his back, sometimes. But Steve sees him, watches him, and he wants.
Wants to ask. Wants to touch. Wants to be touched.
Wants to feel Eddie's shaking, flapping, hands against him. Wants to be the reason they flap happily at his sides sometimes. Wants to feel them flap happily against his sides. Wonders if Eddie would do that against his back if he kissed him.
Or if he'd do it lying underneath Steve, clutching at his shirt before his hands just taptaptaptapped against his back as Steve pressed him into his matress.
Or maybe he'd hold Eddie's hands, up above his head. Feel his fingers tapping against his hands as Steve kissed him, nice and slow. Eddie would just tap faster, if he was happy, if he wanted that, with Steve.
Steve sighed, deeply, and glanced at Eddie's hands, his left one resting in his lap, thumb twisting at his ring. His right one, hanging down by his leg, shaking happily as he listened to Will and Dustin make plans for their new campaign, and wished he could reach out and touch him. Even just settle his hand against Eddie's, just to feel the joy shake out of his body.
~°~
The first time Steve reaches out and takes Eddie's shaking hand, is at the summer carnival.
It's hot. And crowded. And loud. And they're waiting in line for some ride the kids want to drag them on. People laughing and screaming and crowding around, jostling them and bumping their shoulders.
And Eddie had gone quiet about five minutes ago. Steve keeps glancing down, watching his hands. It takes three more minutes. But they start to shake, flapping at his sides before he grabs at his jeans, wipes his palms, lets them shake again.
Steve leans forward, tells Dustin they'll be over by the benches, and he grabs Eddie's hand, gently slides his hand into Eddie's. Eddie looks at him, blinking rapidly.
"You wanna come with me? Get outta here?" Steve asks, jerks his head to the side. Eddie nods immediately, his fingers clamping down on Steve's hand, hard. But Steve doesn't care, because Eddie's hand shakes, just once or twice, and then it stops. And his hand is warm, and strong, inside Steve's as he leads them to the benches and sits Eddie down.
He gives him a drink of his lemon shake up, snorts when Eddie makes a face at the sour taste, and then sits next to him.
Eddie takes a few deep breaths, his eyes closed. He takes his hand out of Steve's, leaving him aching for his touch. Steve just lets him go, rests his hand in his lap instead.
"Thanks." Eddie sighs, after a long moment, his eyes finally opening, they don't land on Steve. Stay locked on his lap.
"Anytime." He says, and he means it. Deep in his chest he means it, he'd do anything for Eddie. Always. Eddie smiles, finally looking at him.
"Can't believe you tried to kill me with that though." Eddie huffs, kicks Steve's shoe with his own and nods at the cup sitting between them.
Steve laughs, watches Eddie smile, his fingers twitching in his lap, his wrist twitches once, Steve's pretty sure it counts.
~°~
The second time he touches Eddie's hands, Eddie's just made them grilled cheese, his signature dish. And he's stitting in front of Steve, his chin resting in one hand, his other hand hidden under the table. He's watching as Steve chews his first bite.
"Weeeell?" He asks, impatient, as always. Steve makes a show of chewing slower, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as he hums, thinking. Eddie kicks at his shin under the table, his socked foot not hurting at all. Steve snorts, kicks back, and says,
"It's good. Really good. Best grilled cheese I ever had." He's serious, knows he sounds like he's teasing.
"Yeah? You like it? I didn't burn it? I mean I know you said you like them crispy but I thought maybe I got it too dark. Might have burnt it." Eddie rambles, and Steve just smiles, shakes his head.
"It's perfect, actually. You're a grilled cheese wizard. Or a... grilled cheese... bard. No I don't think that's a thing. Wizard applies more here, pretty sure." Steve says, waving off his own words like they're nonsense, looking toward the ceiling again to avoid Eddie's, no doubt, exasperated look.
But that's when he sees it.
His eyes are on their way to the ceiling when he sees Eddie's hand, flapping next to his thigh. Steve looks back to him, sees him beaming, and can't help himself when he reaches out and grabs Eddie's shaking hand.
But it's a mistake. He didn't know it would be. Didn't think. Had forgotten about that first day when Eddie had caught him staring and froze.
The smile drops off Eddie's face and he tugs his hand quickly away from Steve, hiding it in his lap, scooting back in his chair, away from Steve, his eyes on the table.
"Sorry. I can't- sorry." He stammers, shaking his head, his cheeks are red, his eyes darting around the table top as he curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach protectively.
"What are you sorry for? You don't have to be sorry." Steve says, his voice soft, just a breath between them really. Eddie frowns, shakes his head again.
"No. It's annoying. I know it is. It just happens. I can't help it." Eddie's voice is firm, his words sound rehearsed, like he's said them a thousand times. It makes Steve's chest ache, with pain for Eddie, and with anger for whoever told him that any part of himself was annoying. Especially this part, a part of him that Steve is sure is pure joy, made visible, made tangible and expressive.
"It's not annoying." Steve says, and he sounds... mad? A little. But not at Eddie. Eddie's eyes snap up, lock on Steve's face, he doesn't blink.
"It's not." Steve reaffirms, one shake of his head. He moves his hand, slides it across the table top slowly, towards Eddie, and then turns it, palm up, waiting.
Eddie's eyes twitch from his face to his hand and back again. Steve smiles, small, and wiggles his fingers, gives Eddie a nod.
"C'mon. It's okay." He nods his head again, eyes dropping to his hand and then back to Eddie's face. Eddie swallows, sits a little straighter, unwraps his arms from his stomach. Steve sees his arms flex, knows Eddie is squeezing his thigh under the table, nervous. But then he moves, slowly brings his hand up, and places it in Steve's.
He sighs, the contact he's been waiting for finally made, Eddie's breathing is shakey as he watches Steve curl his fingers around his hand, pull it closer across the table.
"It's not annoying Eddie it's-" Steve pauses. Eddie frowns, a grimace really.
"Hey. No. I mean it. I like it." Steve says, and Eddie looks at him, his eyes moving back to their tangled hands over and over.
"You do?" He asks, and he sounds so fucking small. So unsure. So Steve does the only thing he can think of, he stands, drags Eddie to his feet as well, and then presses a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.
"I do. I really do. That's why I was staring." Steve says, breathes it against Eddie's hand, smiles when Eddie's fingers twitch against him.
"I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. But it wasn't because I was annoyed. I promise you that. You believe me?" Steve ducks his head a little, tries to get Eddie to look at him, he's got his free hand up by his mouth, his nail worrying between his teeth. And Steve has to smile, can see Eddie thinking, trying to make sure he does, believe Steve. One moment more and Eddie nods, presses his lips together, and looks at Steve.
"I believe you." He says, teeth worrying into his lip.
"Good. So you- I mean you don't have to hide it. Around me. If you don't want. Cuz I meant what I said. I like it. A lot." Steve feels heat rush into his cheeks and closes his eyes, breathes against Eddie's knuckles for a moment before he looks back up to see Eddie smiling at him. Looking a little in awe. A little breathless.
"You like it that much?" His nose scrunches and Steve just want to fucking kiss him. He nods instead.
"Yeah. I really do. It's like you've got... I don't know... happy little bat wings. Just flapping around you when you're having a good time. I love it. I love-" Steve stops, the words caught in his throat, because that's too much. Maybe. For right now. But he feels it. Has felt it for Eddie for awhile now, the warmth of it humming beneath his skin when Eddie's near him.
Eddie's beaming at him now, tears shining in his eyes, he hides behind his hair, for just a second, before he darts forward, presses his lips to Steve's, a quick press, and then he's gone again, and the space between them is small but still too much.
"Sorry. I've never done that before." Eddie breathes. Steve watches something that could be fear, or regret, pass over Eddie's features like a shadow, and refuses to let it stay there, not even a second longer.
He drops Eddie's hand and cradles Eddie's neck, draws him closer, til their sharing breath.
"Stop apologizing. I want this. You." Steve whispers, pressing his forehead to Eddie's.
"I want you t-"
And Steve kissing him. Slow. Sweet. His hands holding Eddie close. Steve moves his tongue along Eddie's bottom lip, smiles into Eddie's mouth when he gasps, and then deepens the kiss, just so, tilting Eddie's head a little for a better angle. Eddie moans into his mouth, his hands scrambling to grab at Steve's back, clenching in his shirt and unclenching as Steve tilts his world on it's axis.
And then Steve feels it, Eddie's hands, tapping against his back, like he'd thought about since that first day, like he'd dreamed about, on several occasions. Too many to count.
Steve hums into Eddie's mouth, smiles against his lips, their teeth clicking together as Eddie smiles too, laughs into Steve's mouth, his breath filling Steve's lungs as they cling to each other.
See, Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.
He just knew they'd feel perfect tapping out happy rhythms against his skin.
And for once, in his traumatic, full of bullshit life, Steve was right.
He's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.
But he does love them.
The way they move, and shake, and show all of Eddie's joys, wild, and uncontrolled.
And his to hold.
#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie blurb#i just really needed to write something soft and sweet and this wouldn't leave my head#living vicariously through these boys#inexperienced eddie#autistic eddie munson#he's a happy flapper!!!#fates endless inkwell#fei#mine#my writing#my fic#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#this is.... so close to my heart#i just want someone to want me ya know???? to see all the weird shit i do and be like ... fuck. that one. thats the one.
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don't you forget about me (part seven)
(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)(part six)
Eddie takes back everything he’d thought before; sex dreams are so much worse actually, especially when you wake up to the subject of them holding your hand. His face turns bright red the second his eyes open and land on Steve. He sits upright immediately, bunching up the blankets over his lap.
The pounding of his heart - aka the rapid beeping of the heart monitor - alerts Steve who snaps awake instantly and tightens his grip on Eddie’s hand as he asks with urgent concern, “Are you alright? Did you have another nightmare?”
“No, no, definitely not a nightmare.” Eddie’s cheeks burn, feels the flush reach his ears and down his neck too. He clears his throat. “Just, uh- just a weird dream, that’s all. Not bad, just…weird, yeah. I’m fine.”
Steve relaxes. “Okay.” He hesitates, then adds hopefully, “Was it, uh- Do you think it was a memory?”
Eddie shakes his head. “Definitely not.”
“What makes you so sure?” Steve asks.
“It was fantasy.” Eddie’s eyes rake over Steve, and he tries not to wonder just how accurate his dream was.
Steve raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Fantasy?”
“Yeah, fantasy. So unless you have some truly awesome news to give me about the existence of dragons,” Eddie lies (better to have Steve think he’d dreamt of riding on a dragon rather than that he’d dreamt of Steve riding him), “I’m pretty sure it was just a regular old dream.”
“Oh.” Steve's face falls; and Eddie almost wants to take it all back and tell a different lie, that it had been a memory, but he doesn't. “Yeah, no, I've yet to run into any dragons yet, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Eddie says, running his thumb over Steve's hand. “I wish it was a memory. I mean- I wish I had more memories, and I'm sorry that I don't. I'm sorry that makes you so sad.”
The apology only makes Steve look sadder. “Oh, Eddie, no, it's okay.” He shakes his head, squeezes Eddie's hand. “Don't apologize for that. It's not like you chose to forget.”
“I know. I’m still sorry though,” Eddie responds quietly. His dream-sparked lust has since curbed into something softer, inevitably. He looks into those downturned and devastating brown puppy dog eyes. “I didn't choose to forget, but I’m still the reason you're sad - I know that, so I'm sorry.”
It's Steve this time who mutters “You don't have to worry about me so much, Eds, I'm alright,” and it's Steve this time who clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his and brushes a kiss over his knuckles.
It sends a rush through Eddie's whole body to feel Steve's lips against his skin - in real life, that is. Heat rises in his cheeks again, heart rate kicking up for the millionth time. “Uh- yeah, uh, o-okay,” he stutters, can’t seem to form a coherent thought or sentence right now. He pulls his hand away and runs his fingers through his hair instead, changing the subject, “Um. Are you, uh- are you sticking around today?”
“Yeah.” Though there’s still a trace of sadness behind his eyes, there’s something like flirtation there too as Steve smirks and says, “I’m all yours today.”
God. Eddie really is done for, isn’t he.
It’s no wonder, then, that after spending another full day with Steve, another full day of being subjected to Steve’s bittersweet smiles and friendly banter and (that is, if Eddie’s not just being delusional, which is a very real and probable possibility) the occasional flirty comment, Eddie’s dreams soon turn sappy again:
They were sitting in some restaurant, in a corner booth, holding hands behind a propped up menu. Steve was looking gorgeous in a tastefully tight polo and perfectly styled hair streaked with gold, and he looked at Eddie with that warm little smile that always made his heart glow. It overflowed; Eddie almost couldn't take it.
He said, “I know you said you wanted to do things right, so after how many dates can I ask you to be my boyfriend?”
Steve's smile grew, eyes wide with a sort of wonder and disbelief and anticipation that was vaguely reminiscent of a child on christmas morning. “I, uh- I think the third date is just fine.”
“Okay, good.” Eddie grinned. He caught Steve's other hand and held it right there out in the open without a care who saw or heard. “Because I like you so so much; you’re the best person I know, Stevie, and I wanna lock this down before someone else comes along and snatches you up. I want to be your boyfriend more than anything, and I want you to be mine, if you want that too. So, what do you say?”
Steve must not’ve cared who saw or heard either because he immediately lunged across the table to kiss him, holding Eddie's hands tight as he pressed their lips together fervently.
Eddie certainly wasn't about to complain. He indulged the kiss for a good long few moments before he pulled back to double check, “So that was a yes, right?”
“Yeah, dumbass,” Steve laughed, fond and bright and beautiful. “That was absolutely a yes.”
That ache is back when Eddie wakes up, the wanting, the wishing.
He thinks this dream falls somewhere in between the events of the last two, like his brain is turning this fantasy into a whole connected narrative now, building and fleshing out this wishful story of him and Steve. Unless… No. Eddie can't let himself think like that. If these dreams have been memories, if that had really been the type of relationship they'd had, surely Steve would've said something. It's not unusual for Eddie's daydreams to become so involved and become entire worlds. This is, as he tells himself for the third time now, just another case of his overactive imagination.
Steve doesn't ask about his dreams again, and he soon leaves for work and isn't around much that day, but that still doesn't stop Eddie's mind from continuing the fiction when he falls asleep holding Steve's hand, as always now, that night:
Eddie sat on Steve's couch, his arm slung casually around Steve's shoulders as Steve leaned against him and idly played with the rings on Eddie's other hand while a movie played on the TV in front of them. It was Steve's turn to pick the movie, and there was a time when Eddie would've rolled his eyes and scoffed at the suggestion of watching The Breakfast Club, but it had just come out on VHS and Steve was so excited about it and Eddie was more than happy now to sit just there and watch Steve watch it. Because Steve was smiling and humming along to the songs on the soundtrack, and Eddie felt, suddenly, with such simple certainty that this is where he was meant to be, that this is who he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
Something must've changed in his expression, in his stare, because Steve soon rolled his head to the side to look at Eddie and asked with an amused (and vaguely confused) smile, “What?”
“Nothing, I just-” Eddie shook his head, pressed a kiss to Steve's temple and then said like it was the easiest thing in the world, “I think I've fallen in love with you.”
Steve laughed as if this great big relief just bubbled free from his chest. “Oh thank god,” he said. “I’m in love with you too.”
Eddie believed him, knew it with the same certainty as before. They shared gentle smiles and a sweet, chaste kiss. Steve slipped an arm around Eddie's waist and curled closer against his side. He went right back to watching the movie and Eddie went right back to watching Steve. And that was all there was to it.
Clear, effortless, uncomplicated. Because how could they be anything else but in love with each other?
~
Eddie sighs when he blinks awake. His eyes slowly shift to the side and he looks at Steve strangely for a few silent moments.
Steve asks, “What?”
Eddie's cheeks tinge pink, and Steve wonders, not for the first time, what Eddie had been dreaming about. He gets a devastating sense of deja vu when Eddie shakes his head and says, “Nothing.” But it stops there where Steve's memory doesn't.
Although, Eddie is still considering him in that weird, just short of familiar way, and Steve wonders - again, not for the first time - if maybe Eddie just might remember too. But surely he'd say something if he did.
Eddie taps his fingers against Steve's hand and asks after a long minute. “Are you gonna be around tomorrow?”
“I can be.” Steve is scheduled to work tomorrow, but he'd call out sick in an instant if Eddie asked him to.
“Okay, because, uh, that's when the doctor’s gonna have me try to walk and when they're gonna teach me and Wayne how to take care of my wounds at home for when I’m discharged, and I, um, I want you to be there for that too,” Eddie says.
Steve finds himself a little surprised by this. “You really want me there?”
“Yeah, I mean, If you don't mind,” Eddie starts, rambling like he's suddenly scared Steve might refuse, “I know it's not the most fun thing to be here for, but I just figured whatever the doctor tells us tomorrow you should know too, just in case, you know, like I might need you one day and Wayne can't be around all the time and-”
“I’ll be there, Eddie,” Steve assures him, squeezing his hand. “Of course I’ll be there.”
And so he is. He calls out of work the next day, much to Keith’s annoyance, and stands there as the room fills with doctors and nurses and Eddie's uncle Wayne.
Eddie's mobility is tested first. He makes a soft grunt of pain as he's instructed to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and then another when the doctor taps his knee and his injured leg kicks with the assessment of his reflexes. Satisfied with that response, the doctor moves on to pressing various pressure points on Eddie’s leg to measure how much he can feel (and Steve tries very hard not to feel so weirdly irrationally jealous at watching the doctor feel up Eddie's leg). After a few more soft painful hisses that let the doctor know Eddie's nerve endings are intact - or whatever it was she was testing - he's told to try and stand. He's understandably apprehensive, hesitant. The doctor and his uncle help coax him off the bed; the competent and the familiar. Steve hangs back still, sure he's not needed for this.
But the second Eddie attempts to put pressure on his injured limb and he stumbles, his hand shoots out and it's Steve’s name he calls, as if on instinct. And, on instinct, Steve is there in a second to grab his hand and assist in steadying him. “I've got you,” he murmurs, guiding Eddie to the walker that's been set out for him. Eddie limps a few more feet with the help of the walker and the encouragement of Steve’s (hopefully) comforting hand on his shoulder until the doctor calls it and tells Eddie he can rest again.
Once Eddie makes it back onto the bed, collapsing back into the pillows with a haggard sigh, the doctor and nurses immediately crowd him again, try to go straight into the next step of redressing his wounds.
“Give him a second,” Steve snaps, protectively holding onto Eddie's hand and leaning over him. “Can't you see he's exhausted?”
The doctor shoots the only other proper adult in the room a weary look.
“They know what they're doing, kid.” Wayne's heavy hand lands on Steve's shoulder, both a reassurance and an alert for him to back off.
“I’m okay, Stevie,” Eddie adds. He gives Steve a tired smile and squeezes his hand before prying it out of Steve's hold. “It's alright.”
Steve reluctantly relents and steps back to give the medical professionals space to continue.
Eddie's shirt is pushed up so the bandages on his chest and stomach are accessible as the nurses begin to explain and demonstrate the process of taking care of the injuries. Steve watches, listens intently, wants to absorb every ounce of information so he can best tend to Eddie if need be. Then his eyes flick up and he accidentally makes dead eye contact with Eddie who seems to realize then just how vulnerable and exposed he is right now because his cheeks burn red and his heart rate suddenly increases.
The nurses don't seem to be too worried about this - if anything, they exchange knowing glances with everyone else in the room except Eddie and Steve before they continue their demonstration. Steve isn't worried either anymore - if anything, he finally resigns himself fully to the fact, the irrefutable proof, that Robin was right and Eddie really does have a schoolboy crush on him again.
Steve does his best to keep paying attention, but in the background his mind is spinning and his heart aching.
On the one hand it’s kind of sweet to know Eddie's feelings are not gone completely, that some level of attraction still swirls to the surface even through the empty space in his memory. And Steve has been indulging that crush the past couple days, little comments of flirtation just to feel like he still has Eddie in some way, just to see the reaction and have some evidence that Eddie still feels something at all for him. (Stupid, selfish.)
But on the other hand it is just a crush. Eddie used to love him, but now that's halved; and that's a very specific kind of agony.
Steve’s not sure how much longer he can handle this.
~
Something passed between them when they made eye contact; something sweet and sad flitted across Steve's expression, as it often does, but he looked away when Eddie blushed and has been avoiding his eyes again since.
When the nurses are done showing them how to wrap him up, Steve retreats, saying kindly, though still not quite looking at him, “I'm gonna go get you some water, alright?”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Eddie smiles gratefully after him.
“Your boyfriend seems sweet,” Nurse Katie comments, carefully, as she secures the last of the fresh bandages.
“Excuse me?” Eddie coughs, chokes on his own spit, spluttering, “I’m- he's not- we’re- it’s- um. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Oh, sorry,” the nurse is quick to apologize. “I didn't mean to assume, I just thought since he's always in here holding your hand, even before you woke up-”
“We're friends,” Eddie says shortly. He feels a little dizzy at what she's suggesting and would really rather her stop talking.
“Alright, my mistake.” Katie backs off the subject.
Steve returns then anyways, further killing that topic of conversation. He hands a cup of water to Eddie, who takes it with another muttered “thanks” and starts gulping it down while the doctor goes off on some spiel about the process of having him discharged and more tests they’ll have to do tomorrow. Eddie’s not paying attention. He’s too tired.
Not long after that, the doctor and nurses file out of the room, and Wayne stands to leave too. “I’m glad the two of you are getting close again,” he mentions to Steve and Eddie on his way out. “You were good for each other.”
Whatever that means.
Eddie doesn’t have the brainpower left to contemplate that. Being poked and prodded and trying to walk took a lot out of him. He’s exhausted, achy all over. It’s barely even late enough to be dinner time yet, but he could honestly just pass out right now. He sets his finished water cup on the bedside table and his now free hand reaches, once again, for Steve.
“Tired?” Steve asks as he catches Eddie’s hand.
“Mhmm.” Eddie settles against his pillows, closing his eyes. He adds in a sleepy mumble, “’M glad you were here today.”
“Me too.”
He feels Steve’s lips slide gently across the back of his hand, and then Eddie slides gently into sleep.
Immediately, though, his dreams are not gentle; for the first time since he’s been falling asleep with Steve’s hand in his, Eddie dreams of the bats:
Eddie was in that hell dimension, the scene all black and red and dotted with bats. But he wasn’t alone. Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley were there too, the three of them fending off the creatures with boat oars, and Steve- Steve was on the ground; two bats gnawed on his sides, another had its tail wrapped around his neck. Eddie’s heart was in his throat, roaring in his ears and pumping pure fear and adrenaline through his veins. He couldn’t save him; all he could do was try his best to keep more bats from joining in on the feast.
Steve, however, seemed perfectly capable of saving himself. He managed to sink his teeth into the bat tail around his neck, getting it to let go. Eddie couldn’t see everything, too busy whacking away more incoming bats, but when the last of this fleet of creatures was fought off, Eddie turned back around to find Steve on his feet now, holding a bat by the tail and slamming it against the ground far more times than necessary. He watched as Steve stomped down on the bat’s neck and tore its head from its body. Blood from the bat’s tail hung from Steve’s lips in a thick, dark drip before he spat it into the dirt.
Eddie stared, jaw dropped, pounding heart pumping an entirely different sensation through his veins now. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
Steve gave him a bloodstained grin and Eddie’s knees felt weak. He would’ve dropped to the ground in front of him right then and there if-
“Keep it in your pants, Munson.” Robin shoulder-checked him as she walked past. “At least until we get the hell out of hell.”
Eddie settled instead for sidling up to Steve and, after taking a second to make sure he was alright, whispering low and close to Steve’s ear, “If we were anywhere else and you weren’t injured right now…” The muttered end of that sentence was something so filthy it made Steve’s face burn red, and he laughed.
“Freak,” Steve said affectionately as he smacked a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.
Eddie was quick to turn his head and catch Steve’s lips, locking them together in something searing and intense.
“Boys!” Nancy snapped impatiently from a few feet ahead, which startled them apart. “Seriously? Time and place, come on.”
Both Eddie and Steve laughed as they followed after the girls.
Eddie wakes up a little bit disoriented from that dream. He doesn’t know what to call it: Was it a nightmare or not? Was it a memory or another fantasy? The lines are blurred and Eddie finds himself confused.
Steve must’ve seen this on his face because he asks, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah…” Eddie answers slowly. “I had a dream about the Upside Down…but it wasn’t quite a nightmare, I don’t think. I’m just- I’m not sure if it was a memory or not.” He hesitates, then decides screw it, he might as well try to get some sort of clarification on the reality of some details of his dream. “Did you…rip a bat in half with your bare hands?”
“I did, yeah,” Steve confirms. His expression shifts, sparking with something like hope.
“And, uh, did I tell you that was the hottest thing I’d ever seen?”
“You did, yeah.”
“Okay, cool,” Eddie says, reeling. “Just checking.”
Steve is watching him almost expectantly, but when Eddie doesn’t say anything more on the subject, his face falls into something more like disappointment.
(final part is here!)
taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies; please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. if you didn't make the taglist but still wanna follow along, you can follow the tag #dyfamsteddiefic to keep up with new updates!)
#lots going on here. medical inaccuracies and self-indulgent dreams lmao#our boys will finally get their shit together in the next part i promise and i am just as excited for that as the rest of y'all#steddie#steddie angst#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#fanfic#mine#dyfamsteddiefic
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Steves mom gets a cat. He's a chubby boy who hates being picked up, hates getting too much attention and doesn't like playing. He likes to do his own thing and sometimes sit next to someone so they can pet him for maybe ten minutes. Steves mom thinks hes perfect.
But then they leave, just two weeks after getting the cat, leaving Steve to take care of him. Steve is so sure it's going to be miserable. He doesn't need something else to ignore him at home. He'd rather be alone than feel the sting of rejection.
But the cat loves him. Steve starts calling him Baby so much that it sticks- Steve even forgets what his actual name is and Baby won't respond to anything else. He won't respond to anyone else. He's obsessed with Steve.
He always yowls at the doors when Steve tries to close them, scratching at them. He sits and meows when Steve has things on his laps, not shutting up until Steve makes space for him to curl up on him. He's always in Steves room, sleeping on his bed or the pile of old clothes so he's surrounded by Steves scent.
He even lets Steve pick him up. Not for long but, whenever he does, Baby uses the excuse to nuzzle his neck, rub his cheek on Steves, lick behind his ears. He's always purring when Steve is touching him.
One time, when Eddie had been getting a little rough with Steve, Baby had attacked him. Scratching and biting until he bled quite a lot, hissing whenever he tried to go near Steve the rest of the night. He wouldn't even let Eddie give Steve a goodbye kiss.
The dynamic is very clear after that; Steve is Babys human, and as long as that cat is around, no one is allowed to hurt him.
#this is just about my cat but with a different name#he wasn't technically mine but he loved me most :(#might just insert him into everything because I'm missing him#rip to my baby boy#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steve x eddie#fic prompts
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#it’s a dad thing
#stedit#strangerthingsedit#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#jim hopper#dustin henderson#eleven#jane hopper#joseph quinn#joe keery#david harbour#gaten matarazzo#millie bobby brown#hawkins and its best three fathers#also lol that two of these are dustin#that boy's collecting dads like pokemon cards#mine#mygifs*
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The Boy Is Mine (Jo's Edition)
Summary: A romantic night in at the trailer. And a first date.
Word Count: 1.7k
Themes: First Date, Fluff, First Kiss, Teasing, Banter, Geekery
Notes: My submission for @carolmunson's The Boy Is Mine Writing Excercise. This was a fun one, and I know the idea was for it not to be an AU...I guess technically it isn't (although I definitely thought of my STFF Eddie who...well...it's fanfiction *wink* especially since we're not gonna see their first date in the story). Thank you for putting together a fun game Carol.
Tagging a few friends who I think would have some great additions to this prompt: @eddiemunsonbignaturals @undead-supernova @storiesbyrhi
You can find my masterlist here.
Please do not interact if you are not 18+.
Enjoy!
---
Pizza? Delivered.
Twinkies? Vanilla frosting. Not Banana.
Trailer? Tidied.
Sheets? Changed.
There was a knock at the door and Eddie took a breath and held it as he stared at his bed.
"You're not gonna end up in here," he muttered to himself.
Ok but maybe you would. He could be hopeful. Maybe a kiss would lead to something else.
"No idiot. It's just a study date."
There was another knock and he turned on his heel and rushed for the door.
He paused at the last second--glanced around, ran his hands over the front of his t-shirt, and put the most casual smile on his face--before he opened the door.
And then there you were.
A backpack slung over your shoulder, 6-pack of Dr. Pepper hanging from your fingers, looking...hot effortlessly gorgeous...or at least he thought so.
"Hey," you greeted. "Sorry if I'm late."
"No," he shook his head quickly and shifted to the side to let you pass into the trailer. "Right on time sweetheart. Hope you like pepperoni."
Of course you did. It was your favorite.
"It's my favorite."
Eddie clenched his fist in victory as he shut the door and then stood back and watched indulgently as you took in the wonders of the place he called home. He committed it all to memory; the way your eyes lingered on Wayne's collection of mugs and hats from over the years, or your nose scrunched up cutely at the sight of family pictures on a shelf--
Please god, don't see the picture of him missing his two front teeth.
--or the way it scrunched further, more in annoyance than fondness, and your eyebrow quirked at the stack of video tapes beside the television.
Shit.
"Uh," he cleared his throat and swooped in, arm hovering around your shoulders as he led you to the couch where the pizza and his history homework waited. His hand drifted to yours so he could grab the sodas. "Lemme put this in the fridge so it gets cold. I have Mountain Dew...or beer, if you want one."
"Mountain Dew's fine."
"As you wish," he bowed and you giggled. He cursed himself as he headed to the kitchen.
What a fucking nerd--
"So you read the Princess Bride?" you called out to him.
"Y-yes."
"It's one of my favorite books! A story within a story and all of that. And it can be critical of itself. It's perfect!"
Eddie's heart soared.
The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes discussing the merits of the book and the way it provided so much suspense and adventure and escapism; something it seemed, and Eddie wasn't surprised to find, you both had needed throughout your relatively-young lives.
Before long, he shuffled out of the kitchen with two cans and two solo cups to find you comfortably settled on the couch with your legs criss-crossed and a throw pillow settled in your lap. You looked right at home, at ease with him, and he had to say...he liked that sight quite a bit.
"I ran out of like, nice cups," he changed the subject so he wouldn't focus too much on how much he enjoyed the sight. "Hope this is okay."
"Ok, well what are the nice cups?" you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. "Because I see plenty of nice cups right in front of us, Mister."
You gestured at the shelves lined with mugs and Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at you.
"Those aren't nice cups Madam," he scoffed. "Those are family heirlooms. The nice cups are the Star Wars: Return of the Jedi glasses I got from Burger King. Obviously."
"Well excuse me," you straightened in your seat and rocked your shoulders back and forth haughtily. "The fine crystal."
"And don't you forget it."
"And here you are, presenting me with...plastic. Like a peasant."
"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."
He held out the red solo cup filled with fluorescent green liquid and you snatched it from him with a quick flash of your tongue.
Then the two of you got right down to business: homework.
You pulled a small notebook from your backpack and then asked to see his notes from class so you could help him get a better idea of what was important for an upcoming quiz that he'd mentioned the day prior. He was ashamed to say he wasn't the best notetaker, but you pivoted easily as you flipped through a few pages and went from sparse notes about Civics and the US Constitution to long drawn out paragraphs about the Riders of Rohan and graphic descriptions of the Meduseld.
"Don't be like that," you scolded him. "That's not even true. What is this?"
"This?" He waved dismissively. "It's just...notes for Hellfire. Ahem...Hellfire Club...my Dungeons and Dragons club at school."
"Oh yeah?"
"Planning a one-shot for my buddy Jeff's birthday in a world where Theodred doesn't die and goes on to become...well...it's just nerd stuff."
Eddie sniffed and thought back to the many times that he'd been cut short trying to explain his ideas to others; even Ronnie got on his case when he got too into it.
How many times had she heard him get into an argument with himself over the benefits of Mithril vs. Adamantium?
"Excuse me," you looked at him expectantly, breaking through his thoughts. "Nerd stuff?"
"Yeah," he shrugged and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Nerd stuff. We're supposed to be focusing on History."
"Ok, yes but..." you reached out and poked him in the the dimple in his cheek. "You didn't say in a 'we should just focus on history instead' way. You said it in a 'you don't want to hear about this' way."
"Well do you? Do you actually like that?""
"Did I not just tell you that Inigo Montoya is the real hero of Princess Bride and not Westley or Buttercup not five minutes ago?"
Eddie stared at you like a deer in the headlights.
Ok. You got him there.
But...but...God...old habits died hard.
How many times had people not given him the time of day when it came to silly little stories and make believe worlds? How many times had the people closest to him not even taken the time to listen?
He'd already been sold on the fact that you weren't just a dream; how could you be real and actually be his dream girl too?
God, it was too good to be true.
Eddie swallowed hard and centered himself back in reality. He was gonna have to salvage this moment before he made a real fool out of himself and asked you to marry him or something. That would be a little too strong for a first date...and a study date, at that.
He grumbled something under his breath.
"'Scuse me? What was that?" you leaned in closer to him.
"It was 10 minutes ago," he spoke up, staring at you matter-of-factly, a fiery challenge in his eyes to hide the fact that he was actively falling for you. "Actually."
You threw your head back in a laugh and slapped the back of your hand against his shoulder.
"You shithead," you cackled. "Ok fine. 10 minutes. Now. How about we actually study for 10 more minutes, and then you can tell me about this...Dungeons and Dragons while we eat ok?"
He happily agreed.
Towards the end of the night, pizza and sodas had been devoured, homework demolished, and Eddie actually felt like he had a shot at getting a decent grade on his next History quiz.
"Alright," he sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. "I think we're done here. A success if I do say so myself. I guess I'll keep you around."
"Keep me?" you quirked an eyebrow at him. "Uh huh, more like, will you please come back and help me study again?"
"Are..." Eddie scoffed. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah."
"You volunteered!"
"I volunteered for one study date."
"What, so a second one is out of the question?" he asked as he leaned forward and edged into your space.
"Well," you began with an expression that oozed contemplation in an exaggerated fashion. God, you were almost as dramatic as he was.
You were perfect.
"Well, if you're asking me for a second date, Edward? Then the answer is yes."
He clapped his hands together and laughed.
"Haha, see I knew that you couldn't get enough of--"
"But," you stopped him, and he stared, open-mouthed with words half-falling from his lips. "If you're asking me to come back to study? Well, then the second session is gonna cost you."
And he fell for it for a second. Just a split second. He thought that yeah it made sense if he wanted your help, he was gonna have to give something in return.
But then he saw the sly little smile that you were fighting to keep off your lips, saw the adorable little scrunch in your nose that he'd memorized earlier in the night, and the way your fingers fiddled on the couch cushion, as you slowly inched closer to him.
And he understood.
Oh...
"Oh yeah?" He narrowed his eyes at you in faux-suspicion. "Alright...name your price."
"It's not gonna be cheap," you insisted.
"I can pay anything."
"You sure about that?"
"Oh," he leaned closer to you now, volume and timber getting lower the closer he got. "I'm absolutely sure sweetheart."
You bit your lip slyly.
"I think fair market price...is a kiss."
"Just one?" he teased, lips absolutely within smooching distance from yours now.
"Maybe two."
You bit your lip to keep your smile at bay and Eddie had to stop himself from kissing you right then and there.
"Two?! Well," he sighed. "You drive a hard bargain. And who am I to pass up such a once-in-a-lifetime deal?"
"Just a nerd," you whispered against his lips.
"Just a nerd," he repeated, and then slotted his lips right against yours, ending your perfect first date with the perfect first kiss.
Just like on TV.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#prompt game#the boy is mine#stff updates#stranger than (fan)fiction#carol <3
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some more 90’s stuff (steve is trying to grow a full moustache)
#this 90s au of mine is becoming reality for my brain#me when i dont see steve in glasses in s5: GAS P#anyways#steddie#steddie fanart#steve x eddie#eddie x steve#steve harrington#eddie munson#jonathan byers#argyle#can we give my boy a surname please#stranger things#stranger things fanart#art#fanart
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Title: The Boy Is Mine (Mar’s edition)
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: A romantic night in doesn’t go exactly as Eddie had planned.
Word Count: 3.312
Warnings: Established relationship. Insecure Eddie. Hurt/comfort.
Notes: Written for @carolmunson’s The Boy Is Mine Writing Challenge (you can find the rules here). Super late entry and it feels like I’ve been working on this for months, but it’s only been about two and a half weeks. Anyway. Here it is.
At least I can finally read the other entries now so that’s the rest of my weekend sorted.
Not beta-read so if you find any mistakes… those are all mine.
“I’ll take care of everything,” Eddie promised you the night before. “You can just put your feet up, or on me if you want, and I’ll obey your every command. I am but your humble servant.”
It had been one month since you had moved in together and Eddie had insisted on doing this for you since he felt that he had been difficult to live with. Naturally you had disagreed with that assessment, but he had been adamant.
Every time that you walked into the bathroom and he had left the toilet seat up, he would apologize like it was the worst thing in the world. It didn’t matter that you kept telling him that you didn’t mind and that it was no trouble at all, he’d still apologize and dart around you to right the wrong.
Same thing happened when you found the odd sock in a place that wasn’t the laundry basket. Or when Eddie hadn’t used a coaster.
Ridiculous and tiny things that were easily overlooked and ignored. Nothing that would be able to ruin your day so you never called him out on these things, because you genuinely didn’t mind. It didn’t stop him from insisting that he was an awful boyfriend and promising to do better though.
Sure, living with Eddie provided some challenges, which was more down to this still being very new to both of you, but nowhere near as many as he himself seemed to think.
For now, you were eager to find out what he had in store for you. Eddie had been incredibly secretive about it and had offered up no clues whatsoever. The only things that he had said were that it was going to be cheesily romantic and that he would surprise you.
You had been looking forward to it the entire day and were positively buzzing as you parked your car next to his van. Work had been hectic this past week and you had been fast asleep at around eight every single evening.
Thankfully today had been relatively quiet so you had been able to leave early. Maybe you should have called to let him know, but you had completely forgotten in your excitement.
When you got out of the car, you could already hear Eddie swearing inside the trailer. The volume only increased the closer that you got and you could only silently apologize to your poor neighbors.
It made you giggle to hear him swear like a docker on the other side of the door. You could only guess as to why it was, but still tried to keep your face as passive as possible when you finally opened the door to see what lay within.
Nothing could prepare you for what was on the other side however.
The kitchen looked like a bomb had exploded in it and Eddie was standing right in the middle of the chaos with a pink flowery apron that had once belonged to your grandmother over his usual black outfit. It looked both ridiculous and endearing.
There were eggshells on the counter and the contents of said eggs were dripping down it. There were white footprints on the floor, because your boyfriend must have stepped in what you assumed (and hoped) was flour. And then there were the white globs of something that looked like frosting that were everywhere, including in his hair.
“Eddie?” Upon hearing your voice, he turned around with a horrified expression on his face since you had caught him in the act. The spoon that was in his hand clattered to the floor loudly. Whatever was on it spattered onto the floor and also left debris on his socks and his jeans. You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Oh fuck.” Eddie rubbed his hands on the apron, leaving white smudges in its wake. “I thought I had another hour at least.”
Very calmly, you took off your shoes and hung your coat and bag on a peg near the door before walking closer to survey the mess that your boyfriend had made. Somehow it was even worse up close and that was saying something.
There was a mixing bowl on the counter, which seemed to be the source of the mess, with a hand mixer next to it. You could picture him using the highest setting only to have the contents end up all over the place.
“I got to hand it to you, I’m definitely surprised,” you eventually managed to get out whilst desperately trying to suppress your giggles.
“But not exactly in the right way,” he admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “In my head, you would come home after I cleaned everything, with the table set all fancy, so many lit candles that it would be a fire hazard and with some sappy record playing.”
“That does sound nice.” There were paper molds with batter in them right behind Eddie, which he was unsuccessfully trying to block from view. “Shame that I got home a bit earlier.”
“You could always leave and pretend that you’ve never seen this.” That’s what finally makes you laugh and since you had been holding back for a while, it didn’t take long for your eyes to well up with happy tears. It made him crack a smile, too. “Which you’re obviously not going to do.”
“Course not,” you replied as you wiped your eyes. “And honestly, as much as I appreciate this,” you gestured around the messy kitchen and then at Eddie himself, “you need to take a shower.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna-“
“No,” you interjected simply and when it looked like Eddie was going to argue, you simply pressed your pointer finger on his lips to ensure that he kept silent. “No.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbled against your finger. “This was supposed to be about you.”
“And I love it.” You pressed a kiss to his frosting stained cheek and could taste the vanilla. When you pulled away, his thumb wiped over your lips to clear the residue that was stuck to it away before sticking it into his mouth. “But I also like you clean and you are, and I’m sorry for saying this, a mess right now.”
“Thought you liked that,” he retorted with an accompanying wiggle of his eyebrows.
“I do yeah, but not when you’re covered in raw eggs, flour, cake batter and frosting.”
“Okay, okay, point taken,” he sighed deeply as he held his hands up to indicate that he was going to let it go. For now. “But I could always leave some of the edible bits on so you could lick them off later though,” he added with a wide and naughty grin.
“Absolutely not.” You pushed him out of the kitchen and in the direction of the bathroom. “If you want me to eat stuff off you, buy some Cool Whip.”
“Kinky!” Eddie laughed when your hand came down on his ass to give it a firm squeeze before he rounded the corner. “I’m not forgetting about that by the way,” he called out before closing the door behind him.
“Didn’t think you would,” you answered.
Part of you already knew that he’d run out to buy some the next morning and that at one point during the day you would end up finding him in the bedroom with the stuff lathered all over himself. You made a mental note to remember to put either a towel or a box of tissues in the bedroom tomorrow just in case, because you had a feeling that things could get messy.
But that was a problem for later. You had to deal with something else right now.
The kitchen was such a mess that you barely even knew where to begin, but the first thing that your eye fell on was a small notebook, one that Eddie always had on him, folded open to a page with a recipe that was written in handwriting that was much nicer than Eddie’s was, not to mention legible.
Chocolate cupcakes with vanilla buttercream frosting.
His little notebook was a closely guarded secret, something that your mortal eyes would not be able to comprehend (his words right before he had shielded it from you by holding a throw pillow in front of it). He used it to jot down notes for D&D campaigns, ideas that he got for lyrics, or whatever else that came to mind that he judged important enough to write down, so the fact that he used it for a recipe that he had procured for you was pretty meaningful.
This was quite possibly the sweetest thing that he had ever done, going through all this trouble for you by doing something that was completely alien to him, since he didn’t think that he was much of a cook. It wasn’t that he didn’t do it, it’s just that his repertoire seemed to be limited to heating up canned foods.
Lost in thought, you had barely even scratched the surface in concerns of the mess that Eddie had made, only managing to put several things in the sink and getting rid of the eggshells, when he reappeared again in a pair of black sweatpants with an old Iron Maiden shirt. If it wasn't for his wet hair, which was soaking the fabric of his shirt, you might have been inclined to think that he hadn’t washed himself at all.
“Did you just stick your head under the tap?”
“No. I took a shower, just like you asked.” He stepped in close enough so that you could smell the soap on his skin. “I just didn’t want you to clean my mess.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You always say that,” he groaned with obvious frustration. “Just let me do it.”
“We can do it together.” You held out a wet cloth to him, which he was eying reluctantly, simply because he felt that you weren’t supposed to help clean up the mess that he had made. “Is that a good compromise?”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ for emphasis. “I insist.”
“So I basically have no choice.”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay, whatever.” Seeing that he had lost the discussion, he admitted defeat and finally took the cloth from your hands. “Help me clean then.”
Cleaning together was a lot faster than if he had gone at it alone and before you knew it, all the surfaces were wiped clean, the dishes had been done and were drying in the dish rack, and most importantly of all, the cupcakes were finally in the oven.
“See? That didn’t take too long, now did it?”
“You weren’t supposed to help though.”
That much was kind of made clear to you while the two of you were cleaning. There were little looks that Eddie threw in your direction, whenever he seemed to think that you weren’t looking, that seemed to indicate that he was less than pleased with your help. His expressions were also somewhat… pained at times? It didn’t make a lot of sense and only made you think about why he was even acting like this to begin with.
“I genuinely don’t mind. I wasn’t going to sit and watch you clean, you know that.” You took his hand, pulled him along in the direction of the couch and gestured at him to sit. “Now. What’s this about anyway?”
“What do you mean?” Eddie immediately started fidgeting, even more so than usual, and his leg started bouncing anxiously. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”
Something was obviously bothering him. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate that he had done all this, because you really really did but there was a reason behind this and you’d keep picking at him all night if you had to.
“Excellent deflecting. I’ll get it out of you somehow,” you replied with certainty.
Leaving him on the couch, you stepped back into the kitchen to check the oven and to get something to drink. Eddie had even splurged on the soda by buying something that wasn’t store brand and therefore cheaper. It was amazing how he had managed to plan all of this without giving anything away.
“We appear to have run out of nice cups.” Instead you held up a red plastic cup that you found earlier in one of the cupboards. “So is this okay?”
“We don’t have any nice cups,” he replied without missing a beat.
“How dare you,” you clutched at your chest, pretending to be aghast at his statement. “That Star Wars cup is the best thing that we own.”
“Oh yeah, of course it is.” He rolled his eyes when you mentioned your favorite cup. You were always waving it in his face whenever you needed a quick laugh. “You’re just saying that because you have a thing for Han Solo.”
“You’re just jealous that they didn’t have one with Leia on it.” You handed him his drink and settled in next to him on the couch. Nudging your shoulder into him, you asked, “Now, tell me, why did you do all this?”
“Is it a crime to want to do something nice for you?”
“No, of course it’s n-”
“So why are you interrogating me?”
“Because I know you.”
Eddie avoided your gaze and ran a hand down his face, because of course you’d be able to tell. He knew that he should have thought up some convincing excuse beforehand, but it was too late for that now and the chances that he’d successfully make up something on the fly were practically nonexistent.
Silence fell and for a second there, you thought that he wouldn’t tell you at all, that he would end up brushing it off, as if he was embarrassed to tell you the real reason, which was simply ridiculous. So what was it?
“I wanted to impress you,” he finally admitted softly and pulled you out of your train of thought. “Just once.”
His confession bewildered you and you genuinely didn’t know what to say. You had no idea that he had even felt this way, but you obviously needed to mend this situation since your actions seemed to have inadvertently caused this.
You liked taking care of Eddie, perhaps a little bit too much, and it seemed to have caused him to think that you didn’t need his help at all, which couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
“Eddie, that’s not- hey, look at me.” You cupped his face with your hands until his sad eyes, which were usually filled with so much warmth, finally focused back on you. “I’m already impressed.”
“You’re always looking after me, but I don’t do much,” he sighed dejectedly. “And I’m like the worst cook ever.”
"Aw, don't be like that. That’s not even true," you declared. “Your cooking is fine.”
“Don’t lie.”
“No one can make SpaghettiOs better than you can.”
“Ha, ha.” He tried to sound annoyed, but missed the mark completely when he (accidentally) laughed in earnest. It made him clear his throat in a very poor attempt to hide it. “Very funny.”
“Still made you laugh.” You poked a finger into one of his dimples until he jerked his head away with an even bigger grin than before. “I always like it when you make me breakfast.”
“That’s nothing special,” he shrugged. “Just buttered toast and fruit juice.”
“So? I like it just fine.” Seeing him act so dejectedly over feeling inadequate was breaking your heart and you felt like an idiot for never noticing it before. “Just take the compliment, please. You do enough. Trust me.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“You want me to give examples? Okay, how about when my car broke down and you dropped everything to come pick me up.” It was the first example that came to mind and you could see a spark of amusement in his eyes when you reminded him. “Dustin wouldn’t talk to me for about a week because I ruined your D&D night.”
“The little shit only forgave you when I threatened to kill off his bard,” he laughed. “As if I was going to leave my girl at some seedy gas station in the middle of the night.”
“It was nine, still light out, and mister Jenkins was fine with me hanging out with him until the tow truck showed up.”
“Of course he was fine with it. Have you seen you?” His hand came down on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze, since the sheer memory of that night ignited a spark of possessiveness inside him. “I don’t trust him.”
“The man’s at least seventy, Eddie!”
“So?” He said very matter of factly, as if it made perfect sense for Eddie to act so territorial around someone that posed no threat whatsoever. “He’s still a guy and I didn’t like how he was looking at you when I got there.”
“Oh yeah? You’d beat up an old man to defend my honor?”
“Babe, I would beat anyone up to defend your honor.”
“And that’s how you take care of me,” you replied resolutely, because he had just proven your point. “You’d take on the whole world for me.”
“I have to. You’re my girl.” Hearing those words were enough to make your heart swell about three sizes in your chest and you managed to catch him off guard when you pressed your lips against his for a quick kiss. “What was that for?”
“For being you,” you sighed contentedly as you rested your head against his shoulder. “That’s why I love you.”
“I love you too.” He put his arm around you and attempted to pull you even closer into his side. “Let me try this again. How about a romantic evening with me, your loving boyfriend, while I fully intend to feed you the cupcakes that I made all by myself, and maybe then we can watch a movie?”
“What movie?”
He pressed his lips into your hairline, suddenly embarrassed, and mumbled, “A Room with a View.”
“Really?” It made you pull away from him, wide eyed and excited, so you could see his face and found that he was dead serious. “You didn’t!” you exclaimed in surprise.
“I did,” he confirmed. “You should have seen Harrington’s face.”
“It’s not really your kind of movie.” Eddie’s taste in movies was fairly unique to put it mildly. He had a penchant for loving the ones that were unbelievably bad. “You must have really shocked him for not renting something shittier.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with Hard Rock Zombies.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned when you remembered that particular movie. “Or Slumber Party Massacre, which you called an ‘underrated classic’ if I recall correctly?”
“It is! My tastes are just too high end for you and I accepted that shortcoming in you years ago-“
“Hey!”
“Let me finish.” It was his turn to place his index finger over your lips to ensure your silence this time around. “So yeah, I could have rented one of those masterpieces, but I didn’t because this is your night and this one came highly recommended by Robin. So, babe, would you do me the honor of watching this movie with me?”
“I would love to.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a self satisfied smile. “So just sit here and look pretty while I get everything ready, okay?”
“I shall eagerly await your return.” Eddie took your hand, kissed the back of it and let it slip from his grasp as he went back to the kitchen. “You’re such a dork.”
“Your dork,” he corrected. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” you confirmed.
And you wouldn’t. He was your guy after all.
#the boy is mine#stranger things#stranger things fic#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fic#mar writes
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the boy is mine (carol's edition)
you know i had to do it to 'em. if you'd like to take a crack at the 'the boy is mine' writing challenge, you can check it out here. you can also see the masterlist of everyone's works here.
a/n: for me, how eddie was fleshed out in FOI has always been how i see him. hurting, but goofy, but snarky, but sweet, but loving, but scared, but all that. eddie 'has taken care of himself since third grade' munson just makes sense to me. in this ficlet, our romantic night in gets muddled when eddie doesn't know how to just let someone love him right. i've also always have written eddie as older than he actually is, so here -- he's 25. argue with the wall.
tw: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, some smutty references but no smut, references to smoking and drinking. some arguing but nothing crazy.
The day was hard on his shoulders and back, no one should be hunched over the hood of a car for this long -- and even being young isn't saving him from the grimace he makes every time he gets out of his bed with a decades old mattresss. Eddie cracks his neck each way while he chugs down the road leading to Forest Hills, slick and shiny with rain from the afternoon. The orangey yellow headlights on his beat up '71 Chevrolet bounce cheerily off the darkened asphalt, but the scrape, clatter, and growl of his engine and whatever else was a stark reminder that this van was on it's last leg. As bright as the headlights were, the gloomy purpled evening sky was a perfect match to his mood.
Today is Eddie Munson's birthday.
For the past few years, Eddie has spent his birthday working double shifts at the auto shop and then meeting the guys at the Hideout to get so drunk he can't see. Can't be sad about your birthday if you're too drunk to think about how your mama's dead and your dad won't call. Can't be sad about how you won't ever get to hear her sing you happy birthday, or put on a record, or dance with you in the living room. Or have your dad make dinner and put the six pack away if only for that night. To not run out on 'a job' or 'work a late shift' where he won't come back for days afterward.
He'd drink and drink until you had to hold him up to get him out of the bar, piling him into the back seat and having the guys follow you home to help load him into bed. He always looked forward to the greasy diner hangover breakfast in the morning where it could be just the two of you, and not his birthday, and not all the awful things he thinks he is.
The gravel groans and crunches when he pulls in at the side of the trailer he used to share with Wayne. With another roll of his head and shoulders he kills the ignition, hopping out of the van and leaning over to grab his bag. It's only when he slings it over his shoulder that he notices the warm glow of the kitchen light on, passing muted through the small curtains. He hip checks the door shut and makes his way up the steps that need repairing -- another thing to add to the list for 'Spring Cleaning' in a couple weeks that he knows he'll forget to do until you remind him or one of the boards rots out.
Eddie's ring tap against the metal handle and he braces for the screech of the door, only to be met with the cozy blend of garlic, onion, and rosemary hitting his nose first. He swallows while he kicks off his work boots, turning the corner to see you in the kitchenette, putting the lid back onto the one large pasta pot he has and turning the burner off.
"Oh!" you jump when you see him, shock turning into a smile, "You're earlier than I thought you'd be. Hold on!"
"What're y--"
He's interrupted by you hurrying into the fridge, glass clinking when you pull out a Mionetto bottle that was already opened to reveal the cork.
"Surprise!" you ring out, popping the bottle with a little flourish, "Happy birthday!"
He stands there, unsure at first what he's looking at, trying to take it all in. You in the kitchen with an apron on, the table set nice, a cake set on the counter to cool with a covered bowl of what looks like home made vanilla frosting next to it. To the side, a familiar small notebook lays opened to a buttercream recipe -- his mom's buttercream recipe, still scrawled in her loopy handwriting on yellowing pages with fading blue ink.
"Melvald's didn't have any like, nice cups," you say with a scrunch of your nose as you pour two glasses of prosecco into flimsy plastic flutes, "Is that okay?"
"Uh..." he snaps back to reality when you hand him the cup, "Y-yeah that's okay."
"Happy birthday, handsome," you smile, raising your drink before you take a sip, he follows suit.
"What is all this?" he asks, voice sounding like it's coming from someone else. Objectively, he should be falling to his knees right now, crying with adoration for you. Sobbing over the clear effort you've put in for a romantic night together at the trailer.
"Um," you suck in your lips quickly, and release them, eyes lowering to the scuffed linoleum, "I uh, I made braised short rib and mashed potatoes, some broccoli. Wayne told me that um, that your dad used to smoke them for your birthday but we don't have a smoker so..."
"Why?"
The swell in his heart builds from genuine affection to suspicious bitterness, this was way too much.
"Did you not check the calendar today or something? It's kind of a big day," you try to lighten the mood with a laugh, taking the apron off and hanging it on the hook by the hallway, "Sit, sit."
He follows your direction, sitting at the table where the place setting is the best it can be with what you have. You even folded up the paper towels nicely. He silently sips on the bubbles, uncomfortable on the makeshift throw pillow cushion on the chair, while you take the plate in front of him and begin serving.
"I should um," he starts, voice gravelly, "I should wash my hands and uh, and change or..."
"Yeah," you nod, voice higher pitched than expected, "Go, go ahead. It'll all be ready when you're done washing up."
He leaves the glass behind, thudding into the bedroom where he notices a Frederick's of Hollywood bag sitting at the end of the bed. A small pile of gifts in shiny blue paper lay stacked up pretty on his dresser -- a card front in center 'Eddie My Love' - you write it in the same way you sing it to him absentmindedly every now and again. Flipping the lyrics every time.
He swallows again, pulling in his cheeks and biting down while he peels off his coveralls and slips into what he was planning to wear to drinks later -- a band tee and some worn jeans. It feels cheap to wear this now, now that you've put in all this effort. Now that you're looking all sweet and put together in the kitchen for him. He rolls his shoulders again, trying to stretch the frustration out. He doesn't wanna be mad at you, you didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't wanan feel so sick in his chest over it -- but he does. All this work for what?
Eddie takes his rings off to wash his hands, using the same Dove bar soap to wash the remaining grime off his face from work. Big inhale, big exhale into the towel on the door before making it back to the kitchen where the dinette table was ready for dinner, two tapered candles lit in old holders on the side. He sits across from you, your eyes glittering in the light of the flame.
"You didn't have to do this," he says quietly. Your lips twitch into a half smile, head cocking slightly to the side.
"I know, but it's your day...it's a big one, too. The big two-five," your voice doing its best to soothe, "Can't just, I dunno -- get plastered at The Hideout every year..."
"Sure I can," he shrugs with a quirk of his brows, pushing the mashed potatoes around with his fork. He watches the melty pat of butter ooze off one of the edges like a volcano, pooling in next to the broccoli.
"And you like that? That's fun for you?" you chuckle before noticing he's just playing with his food, "You gonna eat?"
"Getting plastered at The Hideout is like, tradition," he mutters, looking at the clock over the cabinets, "And we're gonna be late meeting the guys."
"Ed..." you say, a vapor of disappointment floating through his name when you say it. He winces.
"Like I said, babe," he says, "You didn't have to do all this -- y'know, spend all this extra cash on dinner and --"
"I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to -- I wanted to do something nice so that your birthday could be sp -- "
"Okay, well I don't need my birthday to be special, it never is," he snaps, he doesn't mean to, "I didn't ask you to do this for me."
You hold your soft gaze at him, shoulders round down while you rest a cheek on your palm. If Eddie's mama was still alive, she'd tell you to get your elbows off the table.
In the flame, your glittering eyes turn glassy. You let a soft breath out through your nose, a sulk clear in your posture.
"You're right," you mumble, a soft squeak of a sound while you slowly stand, shaking your head, "You're right, you didn't ask. I shouldn't have assumed that you..."
You trail off while you flick the lights on in the kitchen, leaning forward to gently blow out the taper candles. Your hand swishes away the smoke and soot, pushing out out of the cracked kitchen window before the smoke detector catches it. The cabinets creak while you take out some Tupperware from the top shelves, the good stuff that the ladies in the park sold Wayne back in the 70s. They click and clack as the bowls and trays and their tops hit the formica counter top.
"Well--well, wait -- you don't have to pack it up, babe," he says, sitting up a little taller in the chair. When he hears the shudder in your breath he stands, "You don't have to put it away."
"No, it's fine," you assure, a small strain coming through from your chest, "It'll be like -- you'll be so excited when you get home and there's all this food. I just gotta call the guys and tell them to just go to the bar instead of coming here."
"Whaddayou mean, coming here?"
You turn around, eyes wet now but not crying, a tug on your brow and taughtness in your jaw from where you try to hold it back.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," you shrug, "But like, it's not important. Lemme just pack this up and I'll get it figured out."
"What's the surprise?" he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at you.
"Well I..." you let out another breath, lower lip wobbling; an action your stop with a sharp inhale through the nose.
"Well I thought it would be fun if the guys came over and did a birthday oneshot campaign with you. I helped Gare and Jeff write it and Jeff was gonna DM," you let out in one breath, "And it was gonna be like, a silly drinking game version."
"You were gonna play?" he asks meekly. You nod. You rarely play, always watch. Always make snacks or help him clean up the trailer, always order the pizza because Eddie forgets to. Always add extra mushrooms on one because Richie likes extra mushrooms. Always make sure to get one with white sauce cause red cause doesn't sit great with Dustin.
"Did a, um, did a character sheet and whatever," you say, defeated, while you open the utensil drawer to pull out an extra pair of tongs and a serving spoon, "Drew her -- it's in your card."
You start to pack up the food and the tears start up again, welling in your eyes but still not spilling over. Eddie steps forward, getting between you and the pots and pans on the stove.
"Hey, wait," his voice bare audible, "Babe, don't."
"It's okay," you sniffle, "I just have to call them."
"No -- baby, stop," there's an edge now, ring hand falling on your wrist, "Stop packing it up."
"It's fine--"
A waltz between you, him, and the tupperware on the counter.
"Don't make me..." he huffs, trying to maneuver the tongs out of your hand, "If you don't stop, we're gonna have a pr--"
"Ed, enough! We will go to the bar, it's fine," you urge, anxiety heightening in your chest where it bursts, you start to cry, "Please, let me put it away. It's fine. I just -- fuck --"
"I feel like such an asshole," you sigh, breaking. You relent, letting go of the tongs where he takes them and leaves them between the burners on the yellowed stove.
"Don't be like that, you're not," he soothes, closing in on you against the counters edge, "You're not, I'm sorry."
"I really just wanted your birthday to be special," you weakly murmur, wiping at your eyes.
"You know how I get," he says, rough hands coming up to cup your face where he leaves a soft kiss to your cheek, "M'just not great at bein' fussed over."
"You deserve to be fussed over, doofus," you garble out, his thumbs replacing your fingers to catch the tears as they fall.
"It's hard, babe," he nods, "You knows it's hard for me. Y'know with my mom's stuff gone and my dad being...who fuckin' -- who fuckin' knows. The Hideout just makes sense. That's y'know -- that's what I deserve."
"That's not even true," you shake your head, "Don't be stupid."
"Well, I barely graduated so," he offers you a peck to each salty, wet cheek, "Stupid's my middle name."
"Don't cry, sweetheart," he breathes, leaning in with a slow kiss. A kiss drenched in apologies and thank yous, breaks away just to kiss again. And again, and again, and again until you're both breathless under the sickly yellow green glow of the overhead kitchen light.
"How about I change into something nicer than this, and we'll pop these plates in the microwave and start over," he asks, a smile toying on his full lips, "'Kay?"
You nod back, getting another peck stolen from you, and following him down the hall.
"Oh, yes, yes, allow me to slip into something more..." he announces with flourish, posing half sexily half awkwardly in the doorway to his bedroom, "Uncomfortable."
You snort, giggling while you follow in after him, settling on the end of his bed, "You don't have to dress up fancy."
"'Course I do," he tsks, brows furrowing, "M'going to a five star restaurant doll, I can't look like a slob."
He pulls out a pair of slacks from a funeral he went to two years ago, discarding his jeans and sliding them up over his pale legs. To your dismay, he plucks the t-shirt with a screen print of a tux out of his closet, and exchanges the worn Dio tee with that. You'll always prefer the Dio tee.
"Classy," you tease. He winks, and that's enough to make you okay with the tux shirt. His fingers trail over the stack of presents and land on the envelope.
"Can I open the card?"
"Sure."
"Am I gonna cry over it?" he asks, looking at you over the dull paper when he flicks open the top.
You shake your head, "Nah, it's not sappy. You're the sappy card writer."
"I'm so sappy," he agrees, pulling out the card, "I gotta work on that, huh?"
"No, I like when you're sappy, ya sap."
You watch him read the card, blush evident in the warm wash of gold from his bedside lamp. You're not a sappy card writer, but you always know how to make him feel like a kid with a crush. When he opens up your character sheet his bottom lip tucks between his teeth.
"Shit," he grins, "Rogue tiefling, huh? You tryna kill me?"
"I thought it could be fun," you titter, standing up to look at the pages next to him, "Chaotic evil. Look at me."
"Ugh, baby's first villain," he gushes, "I love it."
"Look at the picture," you bounce on the balls of your feet while he goes to the next page. A much quieter 'shit' falls from his mouth. It was not a drawing that was for the rest of the guys to see, a sketch of a tiefling version of you in an outfit meant for his eyes only.
"So you are trying to kill me," he asks, fingers tracing the curve of 'your' hip on the page where the outfit digs into the fat of 'your' hips.
"No, that'll be later," you smirk.
"Hm?' his brows raise.
"What do you think is in the Frederick's bag?" you ask, faux innocence smattering into your tone.
"Ah, you put a little costume together for me?" Eddie's mouth waters at the thought, brain fuzzy as he looks at the picture and then at you.
"Something like that," you tease, making your way back out into the hallway.
"Something like that?!" he repeats back, hurrying back out to pull you into a searing kiss before you can make it back into the kitchen. The kind from the movies where he dips you down toward the faded carpet. As he pulls away, he nuzzles your nose against his, staring at you through lowered lids, "Thank you."
"You're very welcome," you nod, both of you making it back to full height, "Happy birthday."
You relight the candles on the table and nuke the plates of food, topping off each others plastic flutes with the left over Prosecco. There's three cases of beer in the fridge and you know Gareth is bringing Absinthe and it's something you pray doesn't mess your boyfriend up too much.
Dinner is the best meal Eddie's had in years, unable to keep his eyes off of you in between bites while you rehash your day and him, his. You're picking up the dishes off the table when the boys show up and they deliver. Taking the heat off you, they provide the snacks and even more extra booze. Jeff passes out party hats that make you all look ridiculous -- Eddie can remember laughing this much on his birthday, not even when he was a kid. Not even when his mama was alive.
After the oneshot completes and everyone is ankles deep in a tipsy haze and the smoke from a few joints lingers in the air, you walk in with the cake that is finally frosted -- the 2 and 5 confetti colored candles dancing in front of him while the rest sparkle in the middle of the coffee table. He makes one thousand wishes that he knows will come true because his friends are all still there with him and so are you. You're one room right over, cutting the cake and plating it up, and you'll be there when the boys leave in your skimpy nerdy costume that you bought just for him. And you'll be there while he sleeps and you'll be there when he wakes up. You'll be there across from him the next morning when he feeds you fries dipped in chocolate shake at the diner.
Today is Eddie Munson's birthday.
And his mother's buttercream frosting is the sweetest it's ever tasted.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson fanfiction#the boy is mine challenge#eddie munson x y/n
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Steve Harrington gives me Beach Boys vibes
Like. Steve's a little neutral on pop; he doesn't hate it, but it's not usually his first choice. But like a lot of kids, his musical exploration begins with his parents' collection
He finds his mom's Beach Boys albums when he's about twelve, a little after they start leaving on longer trips and he starts poking around the house because he's bored and alone. He can sort of remember his mom playing them when he was really young, can remember her dancing around the kitchen and being silly in ways she usually isn't
He starts playing the Beach Boys when his parents are gone, just sometimes, because the songs have a pretty good beat and the lyrics are fun and it makes him feel a little less lonely. He's got one playing one evening when his parents get home earlier than expected; his dad just shoots him a look at tells him to "turn down the damn racket" (which Steve does, quickly) before stalking up to his office, but his mom stands in the living room doorway, just watching him for a moment
It's the first time in a long time he remembers her just sitting down with him, smiling, laughing, listening to the music with him. She tells him about the first time she heard the band on the radio, and about how she'd gone out to buy their album the very next day. She tells him that his dad had called in to the local station more than once to request "Barbara Ann" because he knew it was her favorite (Steve can't imagine his dad doing anything like that, but he guesses his mom would know better than he does). She tells him that when he was little, too little to really remember, he would ask her to play "the surfing song," even though she was pretty sure he had no idea what surfing was
They don't do it again, but Steve holds onto the memory
He keeps playing the albums. He gets them on tape, when he happens to see them, and then he can play them in his car when the mood strikes. He wouldn't call himself a fan, exactly, but he doesn't have a better word for it. He ends up memorizing a lot of the lyrics, and finds that he doesn't mind having that knowledge at all
December of '85, the first holiday season Steve and Robin spend together, Robin is ready to tease Steve mercilessly for not only knowing all the words to "Little Saint Nick," but for singing along with it while standing at the counter of Family Video. In public. Steve takes it with good grace, but he also makes sure she also knows all the words by the end of their shift. They sing it together every time it comes on the overhead speakers after that
(Steve gets the feeling Robin's enjoyment is half ironic, but he doesn't mind. Her joy as she sings is sincere, and that's the important part)
Robin isn't the last convert he manages to induct, either
"Kokomo" comes out in '88, and Eddie wants to hate it. Really he does. It's really not his speed, he doesn't like surf music, but he just - he can't quite bring himself to dislike it. Not when Steve is listening to it on the radio in the kitchen, singing along, dancing around unselfconsciously while he does the dishes (moving his hips in ways Eddie does not want to associate with the Beach Boys)
But of course, the second Steve catches Eddie listening with anything other than disdain, it's all over. He turns all his attention on Eddie, singing to him, trying to beckon him into the kitchen to dance with him while Eddie valiantly tries to hold out against the fucking dork-ass romantic he's been dating for over a year
Steve points him and then curls his fingers in a "come hither" gesture as he croons along with the radio, telling Eddie to "come on, pretty mama," and Eddie has to let his head hang back while he tells Steve "I hate you," just so Steve won't see how hard he's smiling
He does end up dancing, his head resting on Steve's shoulder because he's laughing too hard to hold it up on his own, his eyes watering while Steve continues being ridiculous just for him
(It is absolutely not their song, but many years later, it does end up on Eddie's carefully curated wedding playlist. He disavows all knowledge of how it got there)
#if you actually know shit about the beach boys and any of this is off just. just look away. I'm sorry.#steve harrington#stobin#steddie#robin buckley#eddie munson#stranger things#I have no idea if they played 'little saint nick' on the radio as relentlessly in the 80s as they do now#let's just pretend#also; if you end up with a beach boys song stuck in your head due to this post: join the club#the one currently stuck in mine is sloop john b#solar wrote
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Eddie ft. my closet
day two: borrowed pjs
(tattoo inspo from this post by @strangersatellites ^)
#look at me finally bringing this back#those tiny shorts are some of the comfiest pants i own and i feel like eddie would love them in the summer#and the shirt might not be his but all my old frat shirts were never originally mine either so#but in this little world steve is a lil frat boy and eddie loves a comfort color shirt#sleepy lil grump#also took some tattoo liberties cause why not#eddie munson fanart#eddie munson#i draw things#eddie as my dress up doll
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#chocolate button eyes (3/?)
#stedit#strangerthingsedit#eddiemunsonedit#netflixedit#tvedit#usermaguire#userangelic#useraurore#userspacey#usernowz#userrhi#userthea#dixonscarol#eddie munson#stranger things#mine*#jqcb*#the prettiest boy i ever did see
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The Boy is Mine (Betty's Version)
word count: 1.2k
18+MDNI, mature themes, getting high, allusions to smut, eating, nerds in love
The Scene: a romantic night at the trailer
My wee contribution for @carolmunson's writing exercise The Boy is Mine. I've never attempted a prompt like this before, and I usually write au's, so I wanted to give it a try. It's a quick little thing, I hope you enjoy 💚🚬
--
“Have you ever tried a vanilla frosting covered pickle before?”
You held a big, fat dill up to the light and spooned a helping of frosting onto the tip before sticking the silverware in your mouth to lick it clean.
Eddie slid in next to you at the kitchen counter, meeting your curious eyes over the offering in question. “Is this you getting back at me for dumping all the raisinets in the popcorn last time?”
"Not at all. These were two of the four things left in your fridge," you stabbed it in his direction, making his eyes cross down the end of his nose. “And you know I like raisinets in my popcorn.”
He frowned, thoroughly confused. “I had vanilla frosting in my fridge?”
“That and a demonic voice asking for Zuul." Nibbling at the end, you chewed with your lips curled back like a bunny.
Eddie floated nearby, humming the Ghostbusters theme song, jutting his chin back and forth to the tune. He paused to wave a hand in front of your face when you were unresponsive for too long, hovering as if your body might start contorting from the unnatural combination.
“It’s not bad,” you nodded, fixing your eyebrows high. “Here, try it—-”
You charged forward, wielding the pickle.
“You are so stoned right now,“ he shuffled back, giggling. Both pairs of eyes in the trailer that night were comically bloodshot.
You missed your target and booped his cheek with it instead of his mouth, leaving a white glob there, eliciting a few dueling snorts of laughter.
He took hold of your wrists, dancing you in a circle so that your back was against the wall, searching your face as he wet his lips. “If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”
“I’ll give you a problem,” shifting forward, your foot tangled between his, making you stumble against his chest and drop what was in your hand. It landed with a weighty thunk and rolled into the shadows of the hall.
“Oh nooooooooo,” you turned to him, faces mirroring horrified shock, followed by a laughing jag so intense that no sound came out, each of you buckling at the knees.
When you managed to regain some composure, he smooshed his chest into you with a hmfph, blinking butterfly kisses on your cheek with his lashes.
”Hey I’m—I’m sorry there’s not much in my fridge,” he murmured, lifting his head but averting his gaze. “I’ll have more money this weekend. I’ll make it up to you.”
“I’m not the one complaining about the food in this fine establishment,” you tucked his hair back behind his ears, and then you untucked it. “But I’m glad we could feed the floor a pickle.”
“And what a treat for the floor that was,” he ran his thumb along your jawline. “Shall I roll another one?”
You found his hand to intertwine your fingers. “I don’t think I’ll be able to drive home if I have any more of Rick’s secret sauce weed.
At that, he held a finger up in the air, and then spun to flip open the lid of the lunchbox that was at the end of the counter.
“Well, that’s the thing. You’re staying here with me tonight,” he put a rolling paper down and pinched some green from inside a clear baggie.
The flat of your palm traveled up his spine as you rested your chin on his shoulder to watch him work his magic. Next to the lunchbox sat one of his small, spiral notebooks covered in doodles.
“I hate my bed when you’re not in it,” his hair hung down to shield his face as he concentrated. “I hate this world when you’re not with me.”
Your teeth found the meat of his arm for a nibble, tasting the cotton of his t-shirt. “That’s very romantic.”
“It’s just you and me, monkey,” he lifted his arm up so you could slide in next to him. He lit the end and put it to your lips. “Promise you’ll stay?”
You nodded on a tight inhale, holding the smoke in your lungs.
“There’s ramen in the cupboard and we can split the last beer,” he talked while you exhaled, nuzzling his neck, feeling the vibration from his voice as he spoke.
“I need a glass of water first,” you mumbled against his warm skin.
He passed you the joint and went over to the dish rack to pick up something. “I ran out of, like, nice cups, is this okay?”
It was his class of ‘86 mug.
You gave a thumbs up and he filled it with water from the tap. “You know how much I went through to get this thing. Only the best for my liege.”
Something colorful on the sofa caught your eye and you left the kitchen to get closer, squinting at what you thought you saw. “Where did that throw pillow come from?”
“Where did what come from?”
“This,” you lifted up the white square edged with a floppy ruffle. Someone had embroidered a raccoon on the front, and the raccoon was holding a Garfield mug.
“Wayne’s new girlfriend, the one he practically lives with these days. She made it.” He spanked his palm on his hip with each step as he brought the mug over to you. “It’s pretty cute, right?”
“I love it,” you ran your fingers down the embroidery, finding immense joy in the expression on the raccoon's face. “Is this supposed to be Wayne? It looks more like you.”
“Aw, don’t say that,” his arms found you once again, pining you close to his side. “It’s not even true, don’t get my hopes up. If only I were so handsome.”
After a few gulps of water, you put the pillow down and turned to slot a hand on the side of his neck. “Want me to start the noodles while you find us something to watch?”
“What sounds good?” He mumbled against your mouth, nudging your nose with his. “I recorded that Sunday night movie you wanted to see, the one about the time travelers. But I’ve got some other stuff, Rick gave me a whole box of tapes he didn’t want.”
“You recorded Time Bandits for me? Wait, when did you get a VCR?”
“I didn’t,” he brought his head back, sucking in his lower lip, and then he opened up his arm, gesturing to the contraption under the TV. “I mean, you can rent them now. Stevie boy gave me a deal.”
The sides of your mouth quivered. “Just so you could record my movie?”
“Well,” he shrugged, looking down to play with your fingers in his hand. “I knew you’d be at work that night, so.”
The kiss that came next was deep and urgent, and it stirred a frenzy in both of you. In a few seconds, the mug was on the ground, and you were undressing each other, pulling shirts off so you could be as close as the confines of your bodies allowed.
“Fuck the movie,” he mumbled, breathy against your mouth, unbuttoning your shorts while you undid his belt and pulled him onto the couch.
—----
The next morning, limbs tangled up with Eddie on his bed, you were just stirring when you heard Wayne come home. Eddie groaned, shifting to roll over and spoon you from behind while you listened absently to the sound of his uncle taking his boots off and dropping his keys on the counter from behind the closed door.
Wayne took a few steps down the hall toward the bathroom, a pause, and then: “Son? Are you awake? Why is there a frosting covered pickle on the floor?"
------
Smooches 💚
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The Boy is Mine (Hannah's Edition)
Thank you @carolmunson so much for coming up with this awesome prompt! I had a lot of fun writing this one :)
Click here to read the original prompt, here for the masterlist of everyone's different takes on the idea!
Word Count: 3k
Summary: Eddie's romantic night with Chrissy doesn't go as planned, so you do what any good neighbor would do and pull him out of his pity party.
Eddie was an idiot.
He had done everything he could think of to make tonight so romantic that Chrissy would finally see him as something more. See that he was worthy of a girl like her. That he could treat her right, the way a gentleman should.
Up until now, their relationship had been casual; nothing was set in stone or exclusive. She was free to go on dates with whomever she wanted, they didn’t talk to each other at school or do boyfriend-girlfriend things. Eddie had been fine with that… until he wasn’t.
He wanted Chrissy to know that he could treat her just as well as her country club boyfriends could. He could be romantic. He was worth more than making out in the back of his van and secret notes stuffed in lockers.
Today was her birthday, so he’d pulled out all the stops- he’d cleaned the trailer, bought her flowers, made pasta with the fancy parmesan on top. He’d even baked her a birthday cake. Sure, it was funfetti cake mix from a box, but it was more work than Eddie usually went through for a cake.
“Make yourself comfortable, food’s almost ready!” he gushed when Chrissy had first entered the trailer. She’d taken a seat on the couch, eyes wide as she looked around the kitchen and living room. The coffee table had been cleared of its usual magazines and ashtray, newly set with old yellowed doilies as placemats and silverware, worn porcelain plates with little powder-blue curly cues along the edges…
“Eddie,” Chrissy had said, bewildered. “What…what is all this?”
He’d barely heard her over the cacophony of sizzles and bubbles that surrounded him in the small galley kitchen. “I hope you like Italian,” he threw a smile over his shoulder as he stirred the bubbling tomato sauce on the stove. “It’s your birthday, I wanted to make you a proper dinner. Even baked you a cake!” Eddie smiled, but then widened his eyes in alarm when he remembered that he’d put the cake in the oven and forgotten to set a timer. How long had it been baking for? Eddie couldn’t remember.
“Shit…” He hissed, yanking open the oven door as angry smoke plumed into the tiny trailer. Eddie waved an oven-mitted hand, frantically trying to clear a path for his vision to see if the cake was at least salvageable… which it wasn’t.
Chrissy sat frozen on the couch, hugging a time-tattered throw pillow to her stomach and toying anxiously with the fringe at its edges as she watched Eddie place a blackened tin of burnt cake on the stovetop. It was like watching a train wreck; Chrissy couldn’t look away, no matter how painful the scene before her got.
“Eddie, it’s okay,” she said, voice overly soft and sweet, as if she were breaking bad news to a volatile toddler. “You don’t have to-”
“Wine!” Eddie interrupted, excitedly (desperately) remembering the wine he’d bought. He’d read somewhere that red wine paired well with spaghetti and meatballs, so he’d run to the nearest gas station he knew never carded and bought the best red wine he could afford- which was the only red wine at the gas station- but he thought the label looked pretty, so it must be good right?
"I ran out of, like, nice cups,” Eddie said, voice strained as he did a little hop to reach the matching plastic steins on the highest shelf. “Is this okay? My uncle used to be into fancy beer that was apparently too classy to drink from a can, so he got these things. Kinda makes you feel like you’re in an old-timey tavern when you drink out of ‘em, though, which is cool-"
“Eddie-”
Chrissy’s voice sounded strained, pitying- Eddie didn’t like that. It wasn’t how he wanted her to feel on her birthday. “I don’t drink wine much, so hopefully I got the right kind! I mean, wine is wine, right? Can’t be that bad-”
“Eddie!”
He froze. He turned to her, bottle in one hand and a stein in the other. His heart thumped out a warning in his chest.
“Eddie… if I gave you any kind of false impression, I’m so sorry-”
Nope. He didn’t like where this was going.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, princess! I’m sorry I burned the cake, that was my bad- I forgot to set the timer, and-”
Chrissy winced at the pet name; he’d only used it a couple times before that, so Eddie had assumed she didn’t have a problem with it… liked it, even.
“When you asked me to come over, I didn’t realize it was…” She took a short deep breath, huffing out the exhale. “I didn’t realize you meant it as a date.”
“I know,” he replied. It was immediate, reassuring. “I know this isn’t what I usually do, and I’m sorry for that. You deserve more than… than secret makeouts after cheer practice, and lying in the back of my shitty old van.” Eddie smiled at her, hopeful. “I can do better than that, and I’m trying-”
“I don’t want better than that.”
Eddie stopped, stunned. Chrissy winced again. “That came out… wrong. I… I mean, I do want something like that, maybe someday. But…”
Her words trailed off, lips retreating into each other as she bit them nervously, unsure of how to communicate what she meant.
Eddie knew how though.
“...But you don’t want it with me.”
She looked up at him, eyes brimming with guilty regret. “Eddie, I’m so sorry. If I had known you felt this way-”
“No, don’t worry about it princess.” There was venom in the name now, a bitterness that rivaled the smell of burnt funfetti that still wafted around them. “No harm done. I understand.”
“I’m so sorry, Eddie-”
“Go home, Chrissy.” He turned his back to her, reaching for the knob on his stove to switch the burners off. “Seriously. It’s okay.”
The venom had left his voice; he’d channeled all of it into the word princess, and now all that was left was resignation. It wasn’t her fault for not liking him; he wasn’t even sure he’d ever liked her. He’d just known that if he could get a girl like her to like him, it might mean he was worth a damn.
But she didn’t. So he wasn’t. Which wasn’t a surprise to him.
“Go home. Celebrate your birthday. It’s okay.”
And she did. She got in her car, brows pinched with painful sympathy, and drove back home. The spaghetti got cold and the cake was tossed in the trash, leaving Eddie with far too much pasta for himself, an unopened bottle of red, and a container of vanilla frosting.
And then there was you.
Your trailer sat parallel to the Munsons’, a modest one-person camper on the opposite side of the dirt path the Forest Hills considered a road. You kept a plastic lawn chair and a rainbow beach umbrella in your front “yard” for days when the sun was warm enough to relax outside. Today was one of those evenings where the light was still bright enough for you to see your notebook, perfect for watching the sunset and sketching whatever caught your eye.
Today’s trailer park still-life didn’t disappoint. Your neighbor, Eddie, sat on the concrete stoop eating vanilla frosting- all by itself- with a spoon as he stared dejectedly at the horizon. Sad as the scene before you was, you loved the sketch that was taking form in your small spiral notebook of the forlorn metalhead. As if the picture couldn’t get any sadder, beside him sat an unopened bottle of cheap wine that you had every confidence he planned on drinking without a glass. Sure enough, you watched as your neighbor let out a heavy sigh, put down the frosting, and grabbed the bottle of wine.
He started wrestling with the foil over the top of the bottle, sighing with relief this time when he finally removed the foil but groaning to himself when he saw the cork in the top. You couldn’t help but laugh when he whipped out a knife from his back pocket.
“Please put that away,” you called over to him, closing your notebook and placing it on your seat as you stood up. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”
Eddie glanced up, seemingly surprised you were there in the first place; he must not have even noticed you. You disappeared into your camper before he could say a word, reappearing a moment later with a wine key in hand.
He made no move to stop you when you took the bottle, easily twisting the corkscrew into the soft stopper and leveraging it out in seconds. You smiled at the satisfying pop that echoed against the metal walls of the Munsons’ trailer.
“Thanks.” Eddie said, accepting the wine from you with a nod.
“You can thank me by promising you’re going to eat something more filling than frosting before you down that.” You nodded to the freshly opened bottle in his hand with an eyebrow raised.
Eddie stared back at you, his expression hard as he raised an eyebrow to meet yours. “I’ll be fine.”
Oh. You didn’t like the self-destructive undertones of that response.
“Didn’t take you for a wine drinker.” you mused. “Let me see that label again?”
Eddie sighed, handing it to you begrudgingly. You recognized the label; it was the only cabernet you’d been able to afford in your early days of being legal drinking age. You’d never gone to college, choosing the starving artist life over classes you didn’t care about and student loans you’d be paying for over a decade. Technically, you still referred to yourself as a starving artist, but at least now you had a decent savings account and could afford a nice bordeaux now and again.
“Man, this stuff takes me back.” Eddle looked at you curiously, so you elaborated. “I used to get these constantly, it was the only wine I could afford to buy in my early twenties.”
“That can’t have been too long ago.” Eddie replied, a bit of a smile dancing on his lips. You smirked, handing him the bottle back.
“It wasn’t,” you said wryly, “but it wasn’t yesterday either.”
Eddie chuckled, taking a swig of the wine before immediately twisting his face with wrinkled disgust. “Oh my god,” he half gargled the words, promptly spitting the wine into the dirt beside him. “This tastes like shit!”
You laughed, taking the liberty of grabbing his bottle and taking a gulp for yourself. The taste was familiar, but certainly wasn’t pleasant. You cringed slightly and shook your head. “That would be why it’s so cheap.”
Eddie stared at you, aghast. “And you said you like that?”
“Never said I liked it, just drank a lot of it.” you giggled as the young man shook his head with his tongue hanging out, face scrunched up like a baby whose parents had handed them a lemon slice. You cocked your head, still smiling. “You know, whatever’s bothering you isn’t going to get better after a bottle of shitty wine and some frosting.”
That sobered him up quite a bit. Eddie’s gaze turned cold as he frustratedly grabbed the frosting and resumed shoveling it into his mouth.
“Yeah, well…” he harrumphed around his heaping bite, “...beats going back in there and cleaning up the biggest disaster in the history of failed dates.”
Your smile fell, empathy plucking at your heartstrings. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think it was.”
So Eddie told you about Chrissy. How he had delusionally hoped he could be boyfriend material. He relayed the events of the evening to you in all their excruciating detail, and the entire time he waited for your face to mimic hers, to display the same sympathetic pinch of her eyebrows that said Oh, you poor, poor boy. How did you not see this coming? How could you have expected any outcome other than this?
But you didn’t. The only thing he saw in your eyes the entire time was understanding.
“I’ve had my fair share of disastrous failed dates,” you sighed. “Yours is by far not the worst.”
Eddie laughed ruefully. “Oh yeah? What could be worse than a guy who misreads an entire relationship so bad that he fools himself into thinking it was even a relationship in the first place?”
“Oh don’t be like that,” you scolded him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “That’s not even true! From what you told me, you had a relationship with this girl, even if you hadn’t officially defined it. She gave you no indication that she didn’t want a traditional, romantic relationship with you, and it wasn’t wrong in the slightest for you to want that with her. The way tonight went down sucks to say the least, but that doesn’t make it your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong here.”
Eddie was quiet, and you were keenly aware of the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. When he made no move to speak, you continued.
“For all you know, that was the first time that someone had done something so romantic for this girl. It’s possible she was so overwhelmed at your thoughtfulness that she simply didn’t know how to break it to you that she didn’t feel the same way, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t appreciate what you were trying to do for her-”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” he griped.
“Well it should!” you retorted, voice rising an octave. “You showed that girl that she is worth flowers and Italian food and wine and birthday cake! So many people walk around like they don’t deserve things like that, but in reality we all deserve to know what it’s like to have someone care about us like that.” You huffed out a deep breath; you were working yourself up over this. “Now, at least that girl knows the standard that every guy should have to live up to from now on.”
Eddie’s eyes were trained on you, ignited by the passion with which you spoke about the worthiness of love that everyone apparently had. He wondered if that passion came from a place of experience, or a place of longing for the sorts of romantic gestures that he’d tried to gift to Chrissy.
“Has someone done those kinds of things for you before?”
Now it was your turn to go quiet. You looked down at your lap at the wine bottle in your hands, remembering how many failed dates had left you home alone with this exact bottle on your counter. How many works of art had come from that loneliness, and how many times those works of art had sold for just enough to pay for that week’s meals. At least something useful came from all those lonely nights.
“No,” you whispered, “that’s why this Chrissy girl is so lucky. Even if she didn’t want what you were offering her, she at least knows how it feels to be valued like that. Let’s hope she chooses not to settle for less.” You took a swig of wine as Eddie eyed you curiously. “Lord knows I settled for less a few times, and look where that got me.”
“Drinking shitty wine in a trailer park?” Eddie supplied.
You smirked at him. “Well, I could also be eating frosting with a spoon.”
Smiling wryly, Eddie looked down into the half-eaten container of frosting, then offered it to you spoon and all. You eyed it for a moment, then accepted.
You wrapped your lips around a generous bite of the sugary substance while Eddie took another crack at the wine. He cringed of course, but muscled through, sighing as he stared at your little camper across the road.
“So does this mean I’m destined to become you? Single and doodling under a rainbow umbrella?”
Eddie’s tone held no malice; nothing but sarcasm and mock dread for his future, but you shoved him with your shoulder nonetheless.
“Hey, now, don’t be mean.”
“Do you at least have a cat or something?” he leaned into your shoulder, lazing his weight into you like a sleepy child. “I don’t exactly want to be a crazy cat lady, but one or two cats might sweeten the deal if I’m fated to be a trailer park bachelorette.”
“If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.” You laughed through the words, pushing him off of you and handing him back the frosting container, but not without licking the spoon clean and bopping him on the forehead with it. He may have been a little too focused on your tongue as you cleaned the spoon, but you didn’t notice.
“If you must know, I do have a cat.” you said. “His name is Fibonacci.”
Eddie nodded. “I’ve seen him in your windowsill. He’s gray, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. I have to open the windows whenever I paint because of the smell, and whenever I do he assumes his favorite spot to soak up the sun and keep watch over his domain.”
That earned you a chuckle. “His domain, huh? He own the whole park?”
“He certainly thinks he does.”
“Well, now I know who to kiss up to in case I’m ever late on rent.”
You glanced at Eddie out the side of your eye, admiring the way the light played on his curls. “Y’know, Fibonacci and I are pretty close.”
“Oh you are, huh?” he quipped. He seemed to know where this was going, and chose to play along.
“Kissing up to me is basically kissing up to him.”
“Is that so?”
You nodded sagely. “It is.”
The two of you were facing each other now, the air between you shifting from neighborly to something more.
“And how might somebody go about kissing up to you? Hypothetically.” Eddie’s voice was a smidge deeper now, and the timbre felt warm in your ears.
“Coffee.” you replied, “At that little cafe on Kerley. They agreed to hang some of my pieces there.” Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance but eyed Eddie with contact that conveyed anything but. “Hypothetically, if someone took me there for coffee and gushed about my shitty artwork, that would definitely land them in my good graces.” You paused, then added, “And by proxy, Fibonacci’s graces.”
Eddie’s grin was blinding as he beamed. “I guarantee your artwork isn’t shitty.”
“Ah, you’re very good at this gushing thing.”
“I’m just getting started.” Eddie placed the frosting container on the stoop behind him, forgotten. He wasn’t hungry for empty calories anymore. “You free Sunday morning?”
Your smile matched Eddie’s now; you couldn’t fight it if you tried. “Pick me up at 10?”
He winced, jokingly unsure. “That’s pretty early for such a long drive to your place, but for you I’ll brave the journey.”
You giggled, standing to make that very journey back across the road. “Oh, aren’t you sweet.”
“The sweetest.”
And he was. Eddie picked you up on Sunday, 10 o’clock like you’d planned, with a bouquet of daisies in hand. You immediately began protesting, thanking him profusely but simultaneously insisting that he really hadn’t needed to go through the trouble-
“You remember what you told me, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. That was enough to shut you up.
“You said we all deserve the flowers, the home-cooked meals, the birthday cakes- right?”
You nodded, clutching the flowers as your face began to hurt from the brilliance of your smile.
“Well,” Eddie shrugged, “you shouldn’t settle for less.”
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