a summary from jane: a morning with eddie is something you just have to catch a picture of.
It’s early — well, to Eddie, it’s early. He’s sitting on the edge of your bed with droopy eyelids. His hair is a fluffy mess, his shirt wrinkled, and the back of his hand is wiping dried drool that dribbled onto his chin during his sleep. He values his sleep, but of course, you are always at the top of his list. Even if he’s “too cool” to say it to your face.
You step out of your bathroom with a content sigh, your teeth freshly brushed and your hair quickly but carefully done. Leaning against the doorway, your eyebrows raise at the sight of Eddie’s sleepy, cute form.
You grin, a playfully flirty tone glazing your words, “Who let you look so cute today?”
He raises his eyebrow at you, but there’s a growing smile on his face.
You push yourself off of the doorway, walking towards Eddie and situating yourself in front of him. Your voice lowers into something more gentle, just to ease him into the morning a little more, “Morning, pretty.”
His hands raise, resting on your waist as he looks up at you, his eyes swirling with sleepiness, adoration, and a kiss of playfulness, “Morning, sweet thing.”
Your own hand lifts, gently brushing some stray hair out of his face as you tilt your head, fondly looking down at him, “Go get ready, yeah? There’s a lot for us to do today.”
He stands up with a small grunt, and you can’t help but giggle at the sound of his bones popping as he stretches — almost like he’s an old man.
One of his previously contently closed eyes open, peeking at you as he mumbles, “I’m not old.”
“I never said that!”
“You thought it,” he raises two fingers to his eyes, “These guys,” his fingers point back to you, “see everything.”
You playfully roll your eyes at his words, “Yeah, yeah. Well, you and those guys can go to the bathroom and get ready.”
Eddie shuffles to the bathroom, and you take his spot on the bed. You can hear the quiet run of water as he turns on the sink, along with his quiet curse as his toothbrush clatters onto the floor. You hope he washes it. You can hear the way your hairbrush runs through his slightly knotted hair, and of course, he’s quietly cursing again. This time, he dropped the hairbrush — your hairbrush, into the sink. You assume there’s toothpaste smeared on the back now.
You hope every morning after this one, you can sit on the edge of a bed, listening to the clatter of Eddie’s toothbrush, maybe your hairbrush, and a curse or ten coming from him too.
Your eyes raise from your hands to the polaroid camera resting on your bedside table. Sure, there will be other mornings, but this morning is this morning. Why not capture it now? You reach for the camera.
By the time you reach this revelation, Eddie walks out of the bathroom, just as fresh as you were moments before. He stands in front of you, a hand resting on his hip as flashes you a small smile, “Ready to rock ‘n roll, babe?”
Click.
He blinks, his eyes darting down to the camera in your hands, which is now slowly spitting out a photo of him.
He grins at you, “No permission? Ruthless.”
You shake your head at his words, letting out a short laugh, “Can we wait a second? I wanna take a picture of you right now.”
“There it is,” his small laugh follows his words. He leans over, peeking at the developing photo, “Charming, aren’t I?”
“Very.”
The photo in your hands has actually barely developed, but you’re sure of your words.
Yo Ive been thinking about how Eddie has all those mugs in his trailer and maybe can u write headcannons for making like mug brownies with his s/o? Thankies!
(P.s also i love your work btw!!)
i saw the garfield mug in his trailer and i was obsessed … i wrote this as a drabble so i hope that’s okay !! and thank you so so much <3
a summary from jane: Who knew Eddie Munson liked whipped cream so much?
When you step into the Munsons’ trailer, it’s difficult not to notice the various mugs and hats lining the walls. With so, so many different mugs, how could you not make some mug brownies? Especially that Garfield mug.
“Careful, sweet thing.”
You hum at Eddie’s concern, pulling two steaming mugs of brownies out of the microwave, “Mugs have handles, Eddie.”
You don’t hear any odd or witty response, so your eyes flick over to the fridge he was leaning on a moment ago. It’s open, and he’s bent over, digging through it for something. You snort; his pants are slipping down, revealing his checkered boxers, and he doesn’t seem to notice. Well, maybe until your amused laughter.
You hear Eddie’s rummaging pause, “What’s so funny?”
You turn back to your Garfield mug, fanning your hand over it in an attempt to quicken its cooling. “Your pants are sliding down,” you giggle.
“You wanna pull them up for me?”
“No.”
He’s standing up straight now. A bottle of Reddi-Wip is in one hand and the other is resting over his heart, “Ouch.”
You playfully roll your eyes, but you pull him into your arms anyway, your arms locked under his as your nose rubs against his chest, “Better?”
You glance up at him, and he pretends to think before shrugging, “Pants are feeling a little low, but I’m good.”
At the sight of your unimpressed stare, a rumble of laughter erupts from his chest, vibrating against your cheek, and you can’t help but join him before giving him a light shove. You snatch the Reddi-Wip from his hand and lean over the counter, hooking a finger under both mug handles and pulling them towards yourself.
“You’re welcome,” Eddie grins, his head tilted towards the bottle of whipped cream in your hand.
You let out a long, heavy sigh, but the smile never leaves your face, “Thank you, my sweet, sweet, darling, Eddie Munson.”
He seems satisfied with your playful gratitude since he settles on standing behind you, his hair tickling your face as he rests his chin on your shoulder.
“You’re gonna get hit with the whipped cream,” you warn him, lifting the bottle as you prepare to shake it.
“I take sacrifices.”
He’s back at the fridge, leaning against it as you vigorously shake the bottle. Once you’re satisfied, you pop the cap off, squirting a generous amount into both mugs.
“More.”
You raise an eyebrow at Eddie, narrowing your eyes at him, “I just made you the perfect swirl.”
“More.”
“No.”
“More.”
“No.”
“More.”
“Fine,” you huff, squirting an ungodly amount of whipped cream onto his mug. The ratio of brownie to whipped cream is terrifying, but you suppose it’s fine, “Good?”
He gives you a satisfied nod, and the smile he gives you after taking a bite of his monstrosity makes it well worth it, “‘S perfect, babe. Absolutely killer.”
Eddie munson, Garfield, and mug brownies are killer. A scarily large, heaping amount of whipped cream? Not so much.
of course - thank you for the request, my love ! this is so devastatingly short, but i hope you still enjoy it <3
a summary from jane: eddie is sick, and his appetite is at an all time low. thanks to mrs. henderson, you have a solution!
Eddie doesn’t get sick often, but when he does, it’s the worst of the worst. He claims to have a steel immune system from all the dirt, leaves, and five-second-rule snacks he ate as a kid, but even steel can get grinded.
“Eddie, are you okay?” You ask, your voice flooded with concern as you sit yourself on the edge of your bed; on it is a very sweaty, very miserable Eddie Munson.
He leans against the fluffy pile of pillows you set up behind him earlier — you were practically shoving him into bed when he showed up at your door. He pushes some sweat damp hair away from his face.
“Great,” he mumbles, his voice nasally and scratchy.
You grimace at the sound of his scraping voice. “Right,” you sheepishly smile, offering his blanket-covered leg a squeeze, “Sorry.”
His eyes flutter shut, and his voice is thick as he grumbles, rolling over onto his side and complaining again, “I feel like shit.”
“I know,” you sigh, before lifting a small plastic bag, “I got you soup, though! It’s from Dustin’s mom.”
He sits up at the mention of food, watching you pull out a tupperware of chicken noodle soup. He can’t smell anything and his appetite has been nothing but low, but he absolutely can’t resist Mrs. Henderson’s cooking in floral tupperware.
“Here comes the airplane!” You coo, your hand “flying” a spoon straight towards his mouth.
He raises an eyebrow at you, “I can feed myself.”
“Too bad.”
He shakes his head at your antics, but there’s still an amused smile that makes its way onto his face. He can’t resist Mrs. Henderson’s cooking in floral tupperware and you.
He eats all of the soup, and you airplane every bite.
1. "what are you do-" "look, now we match!" with eddie munson please?? i adore you writing, it's so dreamy!!
thank you so so much, babe !! i adore you <3
a summary from jane: you paint your nails, and you think eddie should match!
It’s early. Very early. Despite that, Eddie finds himself at the entrance of his trailer, leaning on the doorway with nothing but pajama pants on. In front of him, you’re lifting your newly painted nails up to his face, and he feels his heart flutter at the sight of the bright smile decorating your face.
“Look at these bad boys! I painted them myself!” you say proudly. He wonders if your mouth is starting to ache from how big you’re beaming. Even though it’s painfully early, he can’t hold back his own growing smile.
He slides a hand under your fingers, leaning down as he looks over the black paint on your nails. His big, brown eyes meet yours with a look that you’ve never really gotten used to: a swirl of adoration and love with a smudge of amusement.
“They’re metal, babe,” he grins.
A delighted sound leaves your lips at his words, and in the next second, you’re nearly tearing off his arm as you eagerly tug him inside.
He’s barely able to shut the door before he’s stumbling over his own feet, following your trail to his bedroom. Before he can utter a word, your hands are on his shoulders, sitting him on his bed with a small, “Sit.”
His eyebrows raise at you, and he watches as you begin digging through your bag, “And I’m sitting because?” he trails off.
You wave a hand around and playfully shush him, “You’ll see,“ a delighted hum leaves you, “Give me your hand, Eds.”
You grab his hand before he can lift a finger.
You’re unscrewing the cap to something — black nail polish, and still, he asks, “What are you do-“
“Look, now we match!”
His eyes flick down towards his hand in yours; you’ve already begun neatly swiping black polish, the one you’ve used on your own hands, over his nails. His heart swells at how concentrated you look; you’re chewing on your lip, and your hand is steady, careful not to brush any polish on his skin.
He speaks quietly, careful not to startle you, “D’you practice or something? You’re good at this.”
Your eyes stay put on his fingers, but he can see the small smile on your face, “Jus’ a little on myself and Robin.”
He’s seen Robin sport all kinds of colors on her nails, so he’s not too surprised. He tried it out himself one time, but he couldn’t keep the polish off his skin for the life of him — a big black splotch was added to the collection of mysterious stains on his mattress.
You’re glowing with satisfaction as you lift Eddie’s hand, “Good?”
“The best. Thanks, baby.”
He’s lifting his hand to ruffle your hair, but you quickly hold it still, frantically blowing at the wet polish. You narrow your eyes at him, “You are painting your other hand if you mess up this one.”
Somehow, he manages to stay still, and there’s no second black splotch that makes its way onto his mattress.
hello, all ! in celebration of 200 followers, i’ll be taking any and all requests from this prompt list ! i mainly write for stranger things, but i would be happy to expand into other fandoms !
all you have to do is send me the prompt number (you can send the actual line if you want!), along with the character you’d like me to write for !
heyy, jane! could you write some soft smut with eddie <33 mayyybe you have a nightmare and he comforts you or something :)) love ya!
nowhere, just here ♫ eddie munson x reader
a summary from jane: you have a nightmare. luckily, eddie knows just how to reassure you he isn’t going anywhere.
wordcount: 1.3k
warnings: nsfw - smut, oral [fem receiving], fem reader, slight praise kink, emmm eddie doesnt get to cum im so sorry maybe next time </3
if you’re under 18, please don’t read this !! 18+ only, babes !!
Eddie’s palm is pressed against your cheek, and your eyes snap open at the feeling of his skin caressing yours. Hesitantly, your eyes flick up towards his big, doe ones, which seem to be glazed with concern.
He’s here. He’s fine.
“Hey, hey,” he whispers, his voice low and scratchy with sleepiness, “You’re okay, sweetheart.”
You sit up, thickly swallowing, and it feels like all of your words followed the swallowed lump in your throat. You’re still as Eddie’s thumb tenderly brushes against your skin, smearing the small stream of tears that was finding its way down the curve of your cheek.
You find your voice after a moment of silence.
“Eddie,” you mumble, “You can’t leave, okay?”
He blinks at your words, but he’s quick to reassure you, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweet thing.”
He’s gentle as he tugs you into the space between his legs, lulling you with his grounding presence. You can feel his chest pressed against your back, his calloused fingers grazing over your thigh, his nose brushing against your neck. You can feel him.
“I’m right here,” he murmurs.
Your eyes slowly flutter shut as his hot breath fans against your neck, and you can’t stop your whisper from slipping out of your lips, “I want you, Eddie.”
“And you have me,” he says.
You can feel him smile against you, but with your vulnerable state, he cuts the teasing short. Your breath hitches as he begins to mouth at your neck, his teeth nipping at and dragging against your skin. His soft lips slowly trail up, up, up, until they reach that spot, a spot he’s gotten to know well with all the time he’s spent licking and biting at.
He feels himself strain in his boxers as he eyes you, pretty as ever. Your eyes are shut with fluttering lashes, your lips are slightly parted, providing the smallest escape for each breathless sound you let out, and your hand, it’s tightly gripping onto his, almost as if you thought he would disappear. He hums against you: maybe that is what you’re thinking.
You let out a breathless whimper, a sound thick with need. He attempts to satiate you by biting down on your neck, your spot, but he’s only successful in riling you up more.
“Eddie,” your voice is quiet, “Please.”
At the sound of your plea, his lips pull off of your neck with a soft ‘pop’, and marks blossom all over it, forming a bruised gallery in an empty museum.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin.
He slides an arm under your thighs, giving you a small lift and laying you down. You look like an angel. You have a halo of false innocence; wisps of your hair frame your face, your hand clutches at the soft fabric of his pillowcase, and your thighs, they’re pressed together now, tight.
Slowly, he slides a hand between your thighs, and it trails upwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His thumb drags against the skin of your upper thigh and wanders towards your cunt, clothed with pretty, pink panties.
He can’t help the small smile that forms on his face as his finger sweeps over the soft cloth. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs.
His thumb presses against your covered clit, and you’re quick to react, a soft moan leaving your trembling lips paired with a small arch of your back. He doesn’t deny you the pleasure, brushing off the throb of his cock because right now, this is about you.
He’s not sure why your sensitivity is amped up to twelve, why your hand is holding onto him like he’ll disappear if he’ll let go, or why you push yourself to keep your eyes on him, even as they constantly shut with each of your heavy blinks.
Now isn’t the time to ask you, though, he knows. Not when your brain is melting with thoughts of him, him, and him. Not when your heavy-lidded eyes are flooded with a mix of pure love, need, and a smudge of longing. And not when the only thing you can whisper is his name again, and again, and again.
He hooks his thumbs under the band of your panties, swiftly pulling them down and allowing you to kick them off your ankles. His hands slip under your thighs, lifting you towards his eager-to-please mouth.
He says it again, “I’m right here.”
His words are warm, and so is his mouth, his tongue, him. His soft tongue drags up your slit, collecting the wetness that drips with each small cry you let out. His nose nudges your clit as he pushes himself further into your weeping cunt, and he doesn’t miss the small jerk of your body as it does so.
Your slick is dribbling down his chin, but it’s obvious he doesn’t mind, not when he pushes his face in further, continuing to lap at your entrance like you’re the only drink that’ll quench his thirst. If he’s honest with himself, you are. His mouth travels upwards, and a choked gasp leaves your own as he suckles on your clit, rolling his tongue around it.
With your hands digging into the mattress, you squirm in his secure hold, breathless moans of his name endlessly flowing out of your lips.
“Fingers,” you pant, “Put them inside. Please.”
You can feel the wetness of drool dribbling down the side of your mouth, but you don’t find it in you to care, not when Eddie’s working his fingers into you the way he is. He’s set you down now, so you can squirm freely against the sheets, bucking your hips as much as you please.
He replaces his mouth with his thumb, continuing to work slow, big circles onto your swollen clit. His chin is glistening with your slick, but he doesn’t bother wiping it off as he grins, “Messy girl.”
You pout at his words, narrowing your eyes at him, “‘M not messy, you are.”
He hums, and it’s almost drowned out by the filthy, loud squelch of your weeping cunt.
“Sounds like a messy pussy to me,” he teases.
His words only tighten the knot in your heaving chest, and your eyes are closing again, screwing shut as you fly towards your high. Eddie’s fingers are quick, pumping in and out of you with his hand rubbing against your clit just right every time. You’re practically panting and heaving at this point, and one of your hands is reaching out now, set on a blind journey to find him.
Eddie takes it into his other hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he watches your face, your pretty, pretty face, contort in pleasure as you cum, flooding his fingers with your wetness.
“That’s my good girl,” he hums, slowing the pace of his fingers as he guides you through your orgasm.
You watch Eddie wipe off his fingers on the sheets, and for a moment, you think about the mysterious stains he has littered all over his mattress. Perhaps he’s wiped his fingers off there a few times too many.
He looks down at you, his head tilting to the side, “What’s on your mind?”
“Are the stains on your mattress cum?”
He pauses, and he’s slow to shake his head. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t know what they are.”
You sit up, opening your mouth to speak, but Eddie’s quick to pull you into his arms. His hand is on the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he presses it against his chest, “There’s my good girl.”
You happily hum at his words, peeking up at him as you whisper, “I blue balled you.”
He snorts at your words, and the amusement stays on his face as he looks down at you, “‘S okay, baby.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, you’ll make it up to him, and maybe, you’ll tell him why he gave you head at 11 PM.
so nice to write! just a small warning though, things the tiniest bit of suggestive near the end! nothing very vulgar at all - just a hickey and some neck kissing!
a summary from jane: eddie is pretty when he’s sleeping, but he’s even prettier when he’s awake. and kissing you.
Eddie is sprawled out on your bed, and god, does he look pretty. His hair is a fluffy mess, his shirt is lifted above his stomach, and he just let out one of the most ungodly snores in all of Hawkins, but he’s still so, so pretty.
You’ve been awake just long enough to brush your teeth and fix your hair, but you think it’s about time Eddie’s woken up and joined you. You don’t want to eat breakfast alone today, anyway.
You crouch down next to the bed and rest your head against your palm. The other slowly lifts from the sheets, brushing Eddie’s bangs back, his hair soft on your fingers. You’re gentle as you rub them against his scalp and whisper, “Eddie. Wake up.”
He stirs for a moment, his eyes screwed shut as he lets out a sound - something that seems to be a mix between a grunt and a grumble. He’s always been slow to get up, something about resting his fingers for you and his sweet, sweet guitar. An absolute dork.
You give him a small shake, your hand squeezing at his shoulder, “Up, Eddie.”
A second later, his lashes flutter and reveal his big, brown doe eyes. Pretty. He’s always pretty, but right now, he’s especially pretty. At the sight of pure adoration in your eyes, he offers you a tired smile, gazing back at you with his own heavy-lidded eyes, “Am I s’posed to be your dog now?”
You shake your head at his words with a giggle, feeling a smitten smile grow on your face as you instead whisper, “Hi, pretty.”
“Hi, sweet thing.”
He slowly sits himself up, attempting to blink away his sleepiness, and he makes sure to shake his head around like a wet dog for that extra effect. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed now, and your hand is resting on top of his.
“You dream good last night?” He asks, moving to intertwine his fingers with yours.
The familiar, cool press of his rings is missing, but the warmth of his skin makes up for it.
You nod as he lazily leans against the headboard. His shirt is rising up again, and for a moment, you let yourself indulge in the sight of his skin, but you’re quick to flick your eyes back up to his as you speak, “Mhm. I had a dream about you, if that’s what you were asking.”
He chuckles at your words, and the smile sticks onto his face as he places his hands onto your hips, pulling you onto his lap. Your chest is pressed against his, and for a moment, you’re worried you might be crushing him. He reassures you with a quick squeeze to the hips. One of his hands begins to trail up your back, and it slowly finds a place on the back of your neck. The other stays put on your hip, his thumb rubbing against the soft skin.
“Goosebumps,” he whispers with his breath fanning against your ear, his voice still gravelly with sleep, “Was I really that scary in your dream?”
Your voice is equally as quiet as you grin, “Terrifying.”
He hums, and it vibrates against your skin as you feel the press of his lips on your neck. Slowly, his lips trail up, and you can feel the slow, wet drag of his teeth. Your breath hitches at the contact.
“How’re we feelin’ up there?” His voice is muffled, and you can feel his words on your skin.
Your hand drifts up from his back to his head, your fingers nestling in his soft locks as you make a small sound, “Good.”
“Good,” he responds.
You tuck his hair away from his face, your hand pausing as he mouths against your neck. His breath is warm, and your own hitches as he begins to suck.
Right as you tilt your head up, preparing for him to lower himself, he pulls back, but not before biting down on your delicate skin. He’s smiling smugly at you now, and you push his head back with a finger to his forehead.
His smile doesn’t leave.
“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he says.
You purse your lips at his words, pressing your palm against his mouth, “Brush your teeth, you beast.”
can u write a hurt/comfort eddie x reader where the reader is all sulky bc of some annoying parents or shitty friends? ur eddie stuff is literally key for getting through a shit week 💞💞
yes!!! i’m glad my writing helps you out, but i also hope you’re feeling better, babes !!
a summary from jane: eddie’s good at comforting you, and he’s got a few things - or people, up the sleeve of his leather jacket to help you out in the future.
Eddie sits on the edge of your bed, his hand resting on your blanket-covered knee. Even with his grounding presence paired with Cyndi Lauper’s bright voice playing the background, the atmosphere is sticky with your sadness.
He gives your knee a firm squeeze, and you can feel the slight pressure of his rings through the blanket. His tone is gentle as he speaks, “What’s wrong, hm? You can lay it on me, y’know.”
“I know.”
You cringe at your lackluster response, and your eyes flick up to meet Eddie’s big, brown ones. His eyebrows are raised, and you know he knows. You feel as though the reason for your sulking is stupid, and you’d much rather play it off as some mystery than tell him straight up.
You sigh, but you attempt to at least quirk your lips up for him, “‘S just me, Eds.”
Before you can make an attempt to come up with another excuse, you find yourself wrapped in Eddie’s strong, comforting embrace. His hold on you is firm, and you can feel the reassuring squeeze of his fingers against your waist as he speaks, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
You’re silent. He pulls back for a moment, but his hands are still on your shoulders. His head slightly tilts to the side to meet your wandering gaze, “People?”
You never knew how Eddie just knew things sometimes. For a guy that can’t spell ‘restaurant’, he’s more than capable of reading your feelings.
A small smile makes its way onto his face at the sight of your owlish stare. His voice is still soft, “You shouldn’t keep shit like this to yourself, y’know.”
A finger pokes your cheek, “Does stuff to you,” he continues, “What happened, hm? You can tell me anything.”
You know you can, so finally, you cave and give in. Your words are slow to leave your lips, and it almost feels like they leave a sticky trail as they do so.
“My friends,” you begin; your voice is raw with frustration as you continue, “It’s all shit. It’s stupid, Eddie.”
You know you’re more than capable of providing a more legible response, but everything is just so frustrating. Your thoughts are all mixed up and so are your words. Tears prick at your eyes, and it hurts to swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts to think.
“It’s stupid,” you repeat. “I hate it.”
Your face is pressed against Eddie’s chest again, and he doesn’t budge. Not even at the sound of your gross, snotty sniffles.
“Those shitheads are stupid,” he agrees. “But you,” he starts, giving you a small shake, “You’re golden, babe.”
He grins at the sound of your teary laugh, pulling back once again. This time, your face is in his hands. The metal of his rings are cool against your cheek.
“Listen,” he begins, “You’re gonna drop those assholes, and you’re gonna come with me. I’ve got a pretty boy, a smart girl, and a kinda dorky girl for you to meet. No assholes here, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay,” he repeats.
His thumb rubs soft circles over your cheek, and his gaze is just as gentle, “I’ve got you, sweet thing.”
a summary from jane: eddie jumps off the last few steps on stairs instead of using them. of course, a few scratches are inevitable. that doesn’t stop you from worrying, though!
warnings: brief mentions of scrapes and scratches, eds loves to play it cool way too much … and you’re very very worried !!
“Ready, sweet thing?”
You nod, happily humming at the use of the pet name. You follow Eddie down the steps, and like always, he never uses the last few steps and jumps off of them instead.
You’re unsure if this is his way of taking a shortcut, or if in his eyes, his lack of stair-use is impressive. You’re not able to dwell on it, however, because in the next second, Eddie lands on his knees rather than his feet.
Despite the small height, you’re still wrapped in worry as you quickly make your way towards him. Before you can offer him your hand, Eddie quickly pushes himself off of the cement. He offers you a smile as he dusts himself off, “Just making sure the sidewalk is safe.”
You shoot him that look, but you opt to inspect his hands instead of scolding him. A frown tugs at your lips as your eyes scan at his scratches. They’re small, but they’re there.
“Hey,” he starts, slightly leaning down to meet your worried gaze, “I’m fine, babe.”
He reaches up, brushing his thumb against your pouting lips, “Don’t worry about it, ‘kay? You can smack a bandaid on it later if it makes you feel better.”
You’re quick to pull him into your room as soon as you step into your house. He sits himself on the edge of your bed, watching as you rummage through the drawer of your nightstand.
He’s touched that you’re so worried about him, but a needle of guilt pricks him at the sight of your concerned expression. He’a dealt with far worse.
Before he can say anything, you’re waving a tin of bandaids at him. Finally, you speak, “Hearts or stars?”
Your question is simple, but just the sound of your voice brings a grin to his face. He responds, “Hearts. Definitely.”
Your smile returns, and you’re gentle as you grab his hand, being more than careful as you stick the heart littered bandaid over his scrape.
He lifts his hand, his lips quirked up as he examines the pink hearts. Those “cynical” eyes he claims to have are filled with nothing but adoration as looks back at you, “Good as new.”
You place the bandaids on top of your nightstand, eyeing the other cuts on Eddie’s hand. They’re much too small for bandaids, but you can’t help the frown forming on your face.
Eddie is quick to notice and pokes a finger at your cheek, “You don’t have to worry about me all the time, sweet thing.”
‘That’s pretty impossible with all the trouble he gets himself into,’ you think. How can you not worry when he’s practically throwing himself off of every flight of stairs he sees?
“Why do you jump off the stairs, anyway?” you ask, genuine curiosity in your tone.
He gives you a small shrug, “Jus’ think it’s fun.”
a summary from jane: eddie has the perfect hair for braiding, and luckily, you know just how to do so!
Eddie sits in front of you, twisting the rings on his fingers as you gently comb through his hair. His voice rings out in the quiet atmosphere, “D’you have anything I can do?”
You pause, leaning forward to get a peek at his pretty face, “Like, while I do your hair?”
“Yeah,” he leans back, flashing you a small smile, “Can’t let you have all the fun, right, babe?”
A dramatic gasp leaves your lips, and you playfully turn your head away with your eyes squeezed shut, “Are you calling me boring?”
He grins at your lighthearted antics, “Oh, very.”
You bite back a smile and shake your head. You always found yourself enjoying Eddie’s witty responses. With the brush still in your hand, you point at the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner of your room, “Well, if sitting still is such a treacherous task for the Eddie Munson, then you can play around with that.”
He quickly retrieves the guitar before settling back in his spot in front of you. He strums a chord, “Dunno know if the Eddie Munson would’ve survived without this.”
You lightly tug at his hair, “You’re such a baby.”
“Thought you were braiding my hair, babe. ‘S it really time to experiment with hair pulling?”
That only results in another light tug, and you take his head between your hands, turning it back towards your guitar, “Hush up, and play Madonna for your stylist.”
He taps his fingers against the guitar as you begin braiding his hair. You can hear the smile in his voice, “My personal stylist, huh?”
You let out a soft giggle at his smitten tone, “Only the very best. I’ll make you look so punk, babe.”
He slightly turns his head, glancing at the very colorful flower clips resting on your thigh, “Definitely.”
“Don’t sound so skeptical!” You tie up his first small braid and assure him, “You’ll like it.”
“I like everything you do, sweet thing.”
You let go of his braid with a sigh and press your cheek against his back with a short, but giddy laugh. A smile sticks to your face as you feel Eddie reach back and place his hand on your knee, rubbing his calloused thumb over the skin.
“Just being honest with you, sweetheart,” he says.
With another content sigh, you sit up straight, placing a flower clip in his hair as your stomach flutters with nothing but affection, “I love you, Eds.”
He’s quick to respond, “Love you too, baby.”
Your smile still hasn’t left your face as you reach over to your nightstand, grabbing one of your mirrors and handing it to Eddie, “Check it out.”
You watch as he examines himself, reaching up to take the braid between his fingers, “Looks sick, babe.”
“Told you that you’d like it.”
He moves the guitar off his lap, and the bed creaks as he turns around to face you. He wraps a gentle hand around your wrist, pulling you towards him. He leans in close, his other hand lightly brushing against your arm and sending shivers down your spine, “Already told you I like everything you do.”
You tilt your head, trying to think of something he might deem “bad”, “Even if I … steal your clothes?”
His lips quirk up, “That’s supposed to be a bad thing?”
You shrug, reaching up and tucking his hair behind his ear. You don’t miss the slight raise of his eyebrows at your doting actions before you speak, “I don’t know. What’s bad to you?”
He raises his eyebrows, “Tough question.” He mimics your earlier shrug, “I don’t know. Maybe my personal stylist requesting Madonna.”
You snort, shoving him, but he doesn’t budge, only tugging you closer with a growing grin. You mirror his smile before slowly sliding out of his grasp. You grab the guitar and place it in his lap, “I’d like to request you play Material Girl.”
a summary from jane: you and eddie like to make beaded bracelets together.
Eddie sits on your bed, your box of beads between his legs. The room is swirling with a comforting silence as you two slide bead after bead onto string. ABBA is faintly playing in the background. ‘Play whatever you want, sweet thing,’ he had said when you sifted through your vinyls earlier, glancing back at him for recommendations.
“Y’almost done, babe?” Eddie asks. He pauses his bracelet making as he glances at you.
“No,” you answer, squinting your eyes at your beads, “I keep putting the letters on backwards.”
He snorts, leaning forward in an attempt to read over your bracelet, “What’s it supposed to say?”
You shake your head, leaning back and pulling your bracelet along with you as you grin, sparking with excitement, “You’ll see when it’s finished, Eds.”
You peer over your hands, catching sight of his own creation. To most, it would seem like a jumble of random beads, but you know he put some thought into it, “Finish yours! I don’t see one letter on there!”
“Y’don’t need words to send out a message, baby.” he holds up his bracelet, grinning at it before tilting his head at you and raising his eyebrows, “Thoughts?”
“’S perfect.”
“Thanks, baby.”
You answer with a small hum, carefully snipping the string of your bracelet, then tying the two ends together. You snip the excess string of the tie before sliding the bracelet onto your wrist, turning it as you admire the outcome of your work. You look up as your bed creaks, only to find Eddie following in your steps. Rather than wearing his own bracelet, he slides it on your wrist, alongside your own.
Your furrow your brows, “Your wrist is naked.”
He lifts his arm. It’s hidden by his leather jacket, “No skin.” He unzips it, revealing a flash of skin, “I can be,” he pauses, “vulgar sometimes.”
You turn your head away, covering your eyes as you giggle, “So vulgar!”
He places your box of beads on the floor, scooting towards you as he rezips the wrists of his jacket, “Don’t worry, babe. I’m saving your innocence.” He tilts his head as you uncover your eyes, “However much of that you have left.”
You give his shoulder a small shove, and the two of you break into laughter. Your laughter calms into a content chuckle, and you take the time to look down at the bracelet Eddie made. He used just about every kind of bead you had, but he took the time to pluck out your favorite colors.
“Next time,” you say.
“What?”
“Next time, I’ll be the one to make you a bracelet, Eds.”
He looks down at you. Your cheek is squished against his arm, and your nose is brushing against his jacket as you stare up at him. He thinks you look insanely pretty, and he also thinks you deserve to know that, “You’re so fucking pretty.”
“You’re the prettiest,” you retort. You raise your wrist at him, “and the sweetest. You chose my favorite colors - I should be calling you ‘sweet thing’.”
He shakes his head at you, “Can’t. That name’s taken.”
“As if we both don’t call each other ‘babe’.”
“Everyone calls each other ‘babe’.”
“They don’t! Dustin calls Suz-“
“That. That is different.”
You playfully roll your eyes, “Whatever you say… sweet thing.”
Before he can respond, you hold up your wrist, your bracelets bumping against each other as you shake them at him, “Aren’t you curious about my bracelet?”
He recalls your moment of secrecy and gently grabs your wrist, holding it still as he rubs his thumb over your skin and reads over the words, ‘I ♡ Eddie.”
He lets go of you, letting out a breathy laugh, “It’s awesome, baby. Absolutely sick.”
His heart flutters in his chest, and he looks over at you. You’re looking at him with that smile. The prettiest smile he’s ever seen.
He places his hand on your head, and he lets himself get a little more mushy for a moment, “Heart you too, sweet thing.”
Your eyes soften, if that’s even possible with the way you already look at him, and you can’t help the giggle that slips past your lips, “Sweet thing.”
“Didn’t we just-“
You cut him off, practically beaming as you’ve made your decision, “That’s what your bracelet will say.”
Steve or Eddie having and ice cream date with their gf??? Steve’s Scoop’s experience coming into play or just Eddie being cute <33 Whoever you’d like to write about :))
so cute !!! i chose steve for this one, i hope u enjoy, my love !!
a summary from jane: steve is absolutely sure he can scoop you a better ice cream cone.
“They didn’t put enough ice cream on your cone.”
You pause mid lick, furrowing your eyebrows as you look down at the huge scoop of strawberry ice cream sitting on your cone. Your eyes slowly trail back up to Steve as you tilt your head at him, “What?”
“Your cone,” he motions towards your ice cream, “There’s not enough ice cream on it.”
You blink. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve most definitely thought he was joking, “Steve. What’re you trying to tell me?”
He slightly shifts on his spot on the curb, his shoulders raising into a small shrug as he stares off into the street. His voice is quieter as he speaks, but his words are kissed by a smug tone, “I’m just saying, I could probably do a better job at scooping.”
You can’t help but let out a laugh filled with fondness. Even as you’re bent over in laughter with your dessert nearly sliding off the cone, you don’t miss the quirk of his lips, along with the stars of adoration in his eyes.
Your laughter fades into an endearing sigh, “Harrington.”
“Steve works too.”
“You and your ice-cream spoon-“
“Scooper, babe,” He corrects you.
“Scooper. Will always be number one,” You nuzzle your nose against the soft fabric of his sweater, beaming up at him before returning to your apparently under-scooped ice cream.
He scoots closer to you, as close he can, so your thighs are touching, your arm is pressed up against his own, and his knee keeps bumping into yours.
