pairs: eddie munson x hopper!reader, eddie x platonic!eleven, eleven x bigger sister!hopper!reader
summary: life in hawkins doesn´t always need to be chaotic, dangerous or thrilling. some days all eddie munson needs is a good homecooked meal by his girlfriend and explaining dungeons and dragons to a really invested elfie.
warnings: blurb, super ooc, not really canon timeline, set to be in s4 because trailer park + hop isn´t there but yuh, found family, solely written because i think eddie explaining dnd to elfie would be super adorable. 🥹 it´s all fluffy, comforting and loving.
The trailer smells like onions and garlic and something warm, simmering. y/n stands at the tiny counter, sleeves of her dark grey hoodie pushed up, wooden spoon moving in slow, practiced circles. A pan sizzles. The butter yello colored radio with an antenna murmurs low in the background, something classic rock, fuzzy with static.
She’s tired. The good kind, the earned kind. Hair pulled back messily, curls already escaping. Socked feet on cold linoleum.
El sits at the small kitchen table, legs tucked under her, a D20 rolling idly between her fingers. Eddie is sprawled backward in one of the mismatched chairs, black leather boots hooked around the legs, hands moving as he talks.
“And so,” Eddie says, voice dropping into that dramatic cadence he can’t help, “a saving throw is essentially the universe asking you a very important question.”
El looks up. “What question?”
Eddie grins. “Will you be cool under pressure, or will you spectacularly eat dirt?”
El considers this very seriously.
“So,” she says slowly, “if I roll high… I do not eat dirt.”
“Exactly,” Eddie points at her, delighted. “See? Natural-born adventurer.”
y/n snorts softly from the stove without turning around.
“Oh, don’t scoff, O Keeper of the Sacred Pasta Sauce,” he says. “Your sister here is grasping the metaphysical implications of dice-based fate faster than Henderson did.”
“I heard that,” y/n says dryly, reaching for the salt. “And for the record, Dustin ate dirt at least twice.”
“That was tactical dirt,” Eddie shoots back. “Very different.”
El’s mouth twitches. She likes when Eddie talks like this. Big words, but said gently, like she’s allowed to ask about them.
“What is… metaphysical?” she asks.
Eddie straightens immediately, all seriousness. “Ah. Excellent question.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It means stuff that’s real, but not… touchable. Like luck. Or fear. Or that weird feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen.”
y/n´s stirring slows for half a second.
El nods. “Like when the air feels wrong.”
Eddie’s eyes flick to y/n´s back. Just for a moment. Then he nods too. “Exactly like that.”
y/n sighs, pushing the dark thoughts starting to form in her head away, tapping the spoon against the pan a little harder than necessary.
“Hey,” Eddie says lightly, immediately shifting gears when he notices y/n going silent. “Speaking of metaphysical forces, what’s in that pot, because it smells like it could raise the dead.”
“It’s spaghetti,” y/n says. “You’ll live.”
“Bold of you to assume,” Eddie replies. “I skipped lunch. And breakfast. And whatever meal happens between those.”
“That explains… everything,” she says, finally turning around. “You’re a danger to yourself.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Wow. Concerned and cruel.”
She rolls her eyes but grabs another mug from the cabinet anyway, pouring him some water and sliding it across the counter. "Here. Before you die of starvation AND dehydration"
“See, El?” Eddie says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “This is what true love looks like. Hydration.”
“So,” Eddie says, turning back to El, “where were we?”
“You were explaining… hit points,” El says.
“Ah. Yes. Your capacity to continue existing despite the universe’s best efforts to end you.”
y/n lets out a huff. “You are not explaining mortality to my sister over dinner.”
“I would never,” Eddie says, mock-offended. Then, gentler, he lowers his voice again, explaining “Hit points are how much energy you have left. Not just your body, your will. When they get low, you’re not weak. You’re just tired.”
El looks at the dice in her hands. “Can they come back?”
Eddie nods. “With rest. With help. Sometimes with someone watching your back.”
y/n turns the heat down and lets the sauce simmer. She leans against the counter, listening. The trailer feels warmer than it did an hour ago. Brighter. Like the walls are holding their breath and finally letting it out.
Eddie hands El the D20. “Your turn. Roll.”
Eddie throws his hands up. “YES! VICTORY! The gods smile upon you, Jane the Brave!”
y/n takes a sip of her iced coffee, watching them. Eddie’s grin is crooked, unguarded. El’s laughter is quiet but sure. The sound settles into her chest, loosens something she didn’t realize she’d been holding all day.
For the first time all day, her shoulders drop.
Outside, the sun dips low over the trailer park. Inside, there’s food on the stove, laughter at the table, welking flowers on the windowsill.
And for this one evening, Hawkins can wait.