i just wanted to tell you that over the last week i’ve been constantly reading your fics and posts because tbh you’re like one of the best ones out there, your writing is SO GOOD there’s never a boring moment and it really makes you feel in the moment AND THE STORYLINES??? so amazing like im truly OBSESSED and can’t wait for your next fic!! 🩷🩷🩷
;;;-;;; you are such a sweetheart 😏 see what I did there like and subscribe for more witty shit little jokes like that. I’m so happy you enjoy reading my fics💕💕💕. Thank you so much for the high praise you got me giggling, kicking my feet AND twirling my hair. I love writing my silly goofy stories and my more semi real shit but still a little silly stories, they just tickle the brain right you know? Currently I’ve been swept up in new obsessions and sucked back into old ones lol so I’ve slowed down on writing but I’m still working on fics, I’m hoping to have my next Eddie one shot out by next week. maybe. hopefully. only god knows atp. probably. I’m trying my best but I have the attention span of a walnut. I will get through my inbox though 🫂 I can’t wait to share the finished fics with everyone :D
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader || Walter McKeys x Reader ▵ Eddie Munson x Reader || Eric x Reader ▵ Gator Tillman x Reader || Baron Lamram x Reader ▵ Kurt Kunkle x Reader || Duke Goolies x Reader ▵ Travis Meacham x Reader || Sean Lockwood x Reader ▵ Johnny Storm x Reader || Geta x Reader
Summary: It’s kind of uncanny, the connection you felt to this stranger, where have you seen him before?
Word Count: 1000 + each
Tags: Established relationship, fluff, little bit of spice, let’s pretend time is not a thing because time bullshittery, ModernActor! Sean not sure if I nailed him I think he's a little cattier than normal society I guess.
Warnings: 18+, Explicit Language, Kurt :( but now with Duke :(( segment based off a meme I saw. Where all my Duke Goolies fan's at! where'd all these crickets come from.
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You drop a bag of chips into your basket, eyes skimming the shelf for any other snacks you might want for your movie night with Steve. You manage to convince him to pick up Chopping Mall for tonight. You could tell by the look on his face when you mentioned it that he would rather watch some dork shit recommended by Dustin sooner than a crappy B-horror flick, but with a cute batting of your lashes and a pouty ‘Please Stevie’, he disintegrated like a wet paper towel and got called pathetic by Robin. Now, here you were, selecting snacks whilst your boyfriend disappeared off to the haircare aisle to pick up some products he was running low on.
You blow a breath from your lips as you boredly amble through the aisle, grabbing a box of peanut butter boppers and flinging them carelessly into your basket. Your eyes light up as you spot a familiar head of pretty brown hair, back turned to you. Sidling up to the boyfriend-shaped person. You slip your hand into theirs, feeling them startle with a jolt, their hand squeezing yours on instinct. You look up with a confused smile. When was your boyfriend so skittish...
Who the hell is this?
“Uh…” The guy mumbles, his cheeks redden as you scrutinize him, you’re getting pretty close, is everyone in this town so... carefree about personal space?
You quit analyzing the guy, leaning back, much to his relief. You watch the tension leave his shoulders as you say with an apologetic tone, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were my boyfriend.” You make no move to let go of him, still not entirely convinced he’s not Steve, you tip your head to the side to catch his eye, dragging his gaze away from your joined hands, “You haven’t seen him, have you?”
This has never happened to Keys before. He figured you’d drop his hand the second you realized your mistake, but here he is, still caught in your grasp, completely at a loss. “No?” He answers, voice pitching up, “What, uh, what does he look like?” he asks, placing the box of snacks he was holding back on the shelf.
You purse your lips, skimming your eyes over his face once more before answering simply, with a carefree shrug, “Kinda exactly like you.”
Keys just blinks blankly at you. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, as he feels a hot flush crawl up his neck again, coating his cheeks in a rosy red. What? What do you mean exactly like him? “Are you hitting on me?” He manages to squeak out. There’s no way. Right?
Your brows shoot up in surprise as you say, “No? Am I?”
Yeah, he thought as much, his shoulders slumping in defeat, what was he thinking? This isn’t some cheesy Hallmark movie. Still, desperate to salvage his dignity, he stammers, “It’s just- You said- I don’t understand, that wasn’t a pick up line?” He shakes his head in confusion, using his free hand to push his glasses back up his nose from where they slipped down.
“What wasn’t a pick-up line?” You ask, somehow feeling so far out of the loop in a conversation you’ve been a part of this entire time.
Keys rubs the back of his neck; it feels warm under his touch. God, he must look and sound like an idiot as he mutters, embarrassed, “Asking if I’ve seen your boyfriend and then saying he looks like me?”
Well, when he puts it like that, you see where he’s coming from. In your defense, your earlier statement wasn’t wrong. “He does look like you, except for the glasses. Even though he needs them, he doesn’t wear ‘em jus’ squints at stuff, and I guess your hair’s a little flatter, you're pretty skinny too, Loverboy’s got a little more meat on his bones, and he’s got an itty bitty ‘stache growing too.” You fawn, gushing about your boyfriend and picking apart this stranger. You give him a little grimace-y smile as you sheepishly apologize, “Sorry, that felt mean.”
Keys heaves out a heavy sigh, giving you a shug and a weak smile, “No, it’s ok, this is probably the closest I’m ever getting to being flirted with.” Why would he admit that to a stranger? Let alone an incredibly pretty stranger who’s now looking at him like a kicked puppy.
“Oh, that’s sad.” You state, offering him an awkward smile. What else can you say in this situation? Keys just nods. He’s never returning to this town again, being in public is embarrassing.
“Babe?” A confused voice breaks through the awkward silence that brewed between the two of you as you look over Keys’ shoulder at the newcomer, a dazzling smile pulling at your lips.
“Stevie, there you are!” you call out, waving enthusiastically, forgetting your hand is still tangled with Keys’. Steve’s brows furrow, confusion and a hint of possessiveness flickering across his face as his lips twist into a pout.
“Who’s this? Why are you holding his hand?” He huffs, staring at your conjoined hands with irritation. Is this guy bothering you?
Keys tenses up. Oh God, your boyfriend’s here, he’s gonna beat the shit out of him for holding your hand. He quickly drops your hand, stumbling to turn and face the guy to explain. “Uh, no, this isn’t what it looks like, she thought I was you and-” Keys cuts himself off as he gawks at the guy, finally turning to look at him, “Holy shit.” It’s like looking into a mirror. Keys feels a chill run down his spine at the uncanniness.
“What, why?” Steve scoffs, dropping his hair products in your basket, then folding his arms defiantly over his chest as he steps between the two of you, glaring at the other man. “We look nothing alike.” Steve squints, leaning slightly closer to Keys like you did earlier, the latter quick to take a step away from your guard dog.
“Told you he needed glasses.” You chirp from over your boyfriend’s shoulder, giving Keys an amused grin. He manages a weak laugh. Yeah, you were right about a lot of things.
“My eyes are fine.” Steve instantly retorts, quick to stop squinting, now just staring blankly at Keys. Yeah, Keys knows that look, that is the look of a man who cannot see him. Steve huffs, rolling his eyes, curling his fingers around yours, gently tugging you in the opposite direction as he softly murmurs to you, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Keys watches you and Steve walk away. You glance back with a bright smile, calling, “See you ‘round, doppelganger!” He gives a small, awkward little wave as he’s left behind in the aisle; that’s enough social interaction for one day.
“That’s a weird name,” Steve mutters to you, pout still on his lips. “Why were you speaking to some German guy?”
You look at Steve, one brow cocked in confusion, as you start to say, “No doppelganger isn’t… You know what, Loverboy, it is a weird name.” You press a kiss to his pout, a little grin tugging at your lips, and his expression softens as he hears your quiet laughter. Was it something he said?
You stroll up to the workshop, car keys twirling around your finger and a tune on your lips. Your eyes flick up, catching a familiar profile looking down at a sheet of paper, then up at the sign on the building.
“Eddie!” you chirp gleefully, spring in your step as you slam into the man. Your arms wrap him in a strong embrace, your head nestled on his shoulder. He tenses up and lets out a squeal. That was not a squeal of delight, it sounded more like pure terror. You lift your head from the cardigan-clad shoulder and lock eyes with a petrified man.
“Oh, not Eddie, who are you?” you ask. He certainly looks like your boyfriend, but if you’d taken more than a nanosecond to actually think and look at the guy, you'd realize that, aside from his face, he looks nothing like your boyfriend.
The skittish man takes a second to breathe deep once he realizes you aren’t here to accost him; it was just a mix-up. He manages to blurt out a response to you: “U-Uh uhm, Eric?”
Your brows practically shoot off your face when you hear his accent. This buckaroo is a long way from home. “Whaoh, British Eddie,” You joke, more so to yourself than to your new companion, a grin perking to your face.
Eric, as you now know, ducks his head in confusion, and an uncomfortable laugh leaves his lips. “Wha- Ha um no I’m not- sorry who is Eddie?”
“This is my Eddie.” You titter excitedly, fishing your wallet from your pocket and holding Eric close with one arm slung around his shoulders. You flip open the wallet, revealing a Polaroid wedged behind its plastic screen: a dark blur of a person, caught mid-movement, their face slightly distorted, and with what looks like eyeshine. What devil is this?
“Oh, good lord.” Eric stares at the image in your wallet. You think he looks like that? He side eyes you, but can’t help but soften at your fond smile. He supposes there’s someone out there for everyone.
“Isn’t he cute?” you gush, cheeks warming bashfully. You could ramble about your boyfriend to a lamppost and still not run out of things to say.
Eric hesitates, then manages, “Uh, yes?” The picture looks more like something you’d receive in a chain email, and if you don’t send it to three of your friends, he’d be at the end of your bed at 3 am. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Eric clears his throat and sheepishly says, “Sorry, but are you going to keep holding me or…?”
You let go of his shoulder, flashing an apologetic smile. “Oh, right, my bad, sorry.” A beat of silence passes between the two of you as you really take in the guy; he’s pretty formally dressed for your quaint little town. You tilt your head as your curiosity gets the better of you. You find yourself prying into his business, “So... Why are you in Hawkins?”
Eric’s brows furrow in confusion, the name not sounding familiar as he asks, “Where?”
You pause for a moment, a little stunned. What does he mean, where? Who comes to Hawkins without knowing it’s Hawkins? Never in your life have you seen someone accidentally stumble their way into this town. “Hawkins? This town? Not a whole lot is going on around here, man. You got family around here or something?” You ask, placing your hands on your hips as you watch for his answer.
Eric’s eyes brighten with relief when he realizes you must know where you are. Obviously, judging by how you talk about this town, you must be from here. He quickly fumbles with the paper in his hands, handing it to you in hopes you can help. “Oh, uh, no, actually I’m a bit lost, I’m er- looking for this building.” His fingers pick at the yarn at the end of his cardigan as he watches you anxiously. You take in the information on the letter. “Taxi dropped me here,” he adds, but the furrow of your brow makes him nervous as your eyes scan the address several times before you finally look up at him.
“Dude, this address is for New York City.” You shoot him a worried look. Who in their right mind would drop him here instead of mentioning he was in the wrong place?
“Yeah?” Eric responds, swiping his sweaty palms against his cardigan. Why’d you say it like that? You’re starting to freak him the fuck out.
“This is Hawkins…” You start slowly, only receiving a blank expression in return. With a quiet sigh, you rip the bandage off, “Indiana? You’re in the wrong state?” You watch the color drain from his face; he looks like he’s about to puke.
He draws in a shaky breath, voice trembling as he stammers, “What? You’re joking, right?” A dry, empty laugh escapes him while he staggers closer. He quickly takes back the letter, scanning his eyes over the address again. “No, no, nonono, that can’t be possible.” Eric’s chest tightens, breath coming in short bursts. “You’ve got to be wrong, there’s no way,” he blurts. You hesitantly show him Wayne’s business card: Munson’s Maintenance - Best Mechanic in Indiana* *Indiana, Hawkins. The card is a tongue-in-cheek joke, but you think you might have just ruined this guy’s day with it. His horrified eyes flick to the card, then to the shop sign, then back again. He sinks to the floor, curling his arms around his knees as he begins to hyperventilate and ramble, “Oh my god, what do I do? Oh my god!”
He gulps in another ragged breath as you kneel beside him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…” You murmur, coaxing his gaze to yours. His tear-bright eyes lock onto your steady ones. You offer a gentle rub on his back. “If it helps, they’re not that far apart… kind of,” you add, voice trailing off.
“How far?” He shakily asks, he’s not sure he can afford another plane ticket, but if another form of travel is possible, he’ll take it.
“Uh, like half a day drive, maybe a little more? You could probably get a bus or something there.” Eric sucks in a sharp breath at the travel time, but his breathing soon returns to normal. Something about how lax you are keeps him grounded.
“Okay,” he lets his eyes flutter shut, taking in another breath and then another. He brushes the sleeve of his cardigan under his eyes, sighing. “O-Okay, right um,” His eyes open again, looking back to you for guidance. “Is there a station around here or anything?”
You nod and tip your head to the side as you explain, “Yeah, just a little out of town.” Your hand slips from his back to his arm as you give a reassuring squeeze. “Do you need me to take you?” you ask.
“You would?” He croaks out weakly. A soft smile pulls to your lips. You stand up straight, holding a hand out for him to take.
“Why not? I’m not busy or nothin’,” you reply, pulling him up as he takes your hand. You add, “I should probably give Ed-” Just as you’re about to say his name, you see him wander out of the workshop, a confused pout on his face. “Oh, speak of the devil.”
You told your boyfriend you were coming a bit early to pick him up after work, so when he finished his shift, and you still were nowhere to be found, he went looking for you. “Hey, whatcha doing out here?” He grumbles, his coverall sleeves tied around his waist, leaving his DIO T-shirt on display. Eddie’s eyes track over to a bewildered-looking man who’s just staring at him. Eddie stares back blankly, as if he hasn’t seen that reaction before. “Have we met?” he grunts.
You can’t help but grin at their reactions, nudging Eric’s arm with a teasing smile. “Weirder in person, right?” Eric moves his gawking expression back to you, silently nodding.
Eddie snorts with an eye roll as he lazily bumbles to your side. “Here I was thinking the bullying would end after high school,” his arm slipping around your shoulder as he squeezes you to his side, pressing a kiss to your brow, as he chastises you, “I just walked outside, sweets. You can’t be nice to me?”
You grin, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not calling you weird, freak,” you quip as Eddie gives a sarcastic little ‘oh ok’. “M’gonna take Eric here to the bus station, comin’?” You offer, happy to drop him home if he’s exhausted after his shift.
Eddie shrugs, “Yeah, why not,” and keeps you tucked against his side as you head for the car. Glancing over his shoulder at your tagalong, he calls, “So, where you headed, man?”
Eric quickly catches up to the two of you walking at your side as he awkwardly answers, “New York City, somehow made a wrong turn and ended up here.”
Eddie gives him a look, brows high and a little impressed, the guy managed to get that lost, “Whoa, completely in the wrong state, how’d you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Eric whimpers, face flushing in humiliation as he buries his face in his hands.
You shoot Eddie daggers as you slip out of his grasp, pulling Eric into a side hug, rubbing his arm, and reassuring him. “Hey, it’s alright, go, go, go,” you say quickly, urging him into your car as you exasperatedly look at your boyfriend and sigh, “Ed, come on, I just got him to calm down.” Eddie raises his hands in surrender, giggling to himself as he heads round to the passenger seat.
One hand wrapped around the handle of the drinks fridge. Your eyes scan over all the options. Candy bars are clutched in your other hand. You purse your lips, then finally swing the door open. Grabbing two drinks, you let the door swing shut behind you. As you turn to make your way to the cash register, you bump into a solid frame. Everything in your arms careens to the floor. You hiss out a quiet curse and sigh, reaching down to pick up what you dropped. A voice apologizes as you see in your peripheral the person you bumped into crouching to help. “Sorry about that.”
You shake your head mumbling out a reassurance, as you stand to your feet reaching out to the drinks the guy offers back to you, “S’fine, s’noth-” You pause, meeting eyes with a familiar pretty brown, you blink a little put off as you sputter out, “Gator?”
The man before you looks at you with a lost little smile, brows twitching in confusion for a moment as he quickly looks behind himself before turning back to you, “‘Scuse me?”
You sort of just gawk at the guy. “Are you not my boyfriend?” you blurt out in genuine confusion. On one hand, you couldn’t pay Gator to leave the house without hair gel. On the other hand, this guy has your boyfriend’s face. It’s actually a little scary.
A grin tugs at not-your-boyfriend’s lips, a soft laugh escaping as he teases, “You’re pretty forward, huh?”
You bawk, “Wha-? Sorry, no, it’s just, you look just like him,” you try to explain, shoving the snacks and drink into the crook of your elbow as you dig into your pocket for your phone.
The stranger cocks his head to the side, interest piqued as he watches you fumble with your password. “Who?” He asks, another smile pulling to his lips as you curse out your face ID for choosing now to not work.
“My boyfriend!” you say without thinking, and the man huffs a little laugh. Oh, did you want his number? Is that it?
“You’ve got a lot of confidence, I’ll give you th- Oh wow, ok,” you actually manage to catch him off guard. Once you flip your phone screen around to him, he sees a picture of a guy who looks almost exactly like him, just very grumpy. It’s a cute picture. It’s of you and your boyfriend cheek to cheek: you beaming brightly, him doing the opposite.
“See?!” you exclaim, waggling your phone for emphasis.
“Yeah, I do,” he nods, eyes still locked on the look-alike on the screen. “Huh... Small world...” he murmurs, taking in all the details of the picture. He notes the way the man furrows his brow, the faint stubble on his face, and the shaved marks at his temple. You see his brows raise for a fraction of a second before he schools his features. He then asks, sounding genuinely curious, “Is he a cop?”
You blink in surprise, turning to look at the picture. You can just barely make out the sheriff vest he’s wearing, “Huh? Oh yeah, deputy,” you answer, a little stunned that he even noticed something like that.
“Is he working right now?” he asks casually, taking a quick glance out of the window before turning his attention back to you.
You huff a quiet laugh, a fond smile on your face as you roll your eyes. “Yeah. Though, considering a whole lot of nothing happens in this town, he’s probably on a lunch break.” You tuck your phone back into your pocket as the bell on the convenience store door chimes.
The man laughs, taking a quick glance towards the sound. “Right, well, great meeting you. I'd better go, just blowing through town after all.” He says, giving you a little wave.
You manage a wave, arms full of snacks and drinks. “Nice meetin’ ya,” you call as he turns and hustles out, head ducked. Weird. “Nice guy, though,” you shrug to yourself.
“Hey,” came a gruff voice from directly behind you, almost making you jump out of your skin as you whirl around to the actual familiar face of your boyfriend.
“Hi! God Gates, where'd you come from?” You squeak out, looking over your shoulder for the guy, wondering if you could point him out to your boyfriend. Unfortunately, he left fast. You turn back to your boyfriend, a teasing grin pulling at your face as you say, “You ever do actual work?”
Gator rolls his eyes, already resigned to your antics. “I’m workin’ right now,” he fires back, swiping the Mountain Dew and Snickers from your arms. He pops the cap, takes a long swig, then slings his arm around your shoulder. “BOLO’s out for some guy headed this way. Brown hair, brown eyes, about 5’11. Leather jacket, boots, the usual. You seen anybody like that?” He keeps his arm draped over you as you both head to the register.
You give him a blank look. That could be literally anyone. What a lackluster description. You scoff out a dry laugh, taking the bottle from him before he can take another sip, screwing the lid back on, and putting it on the counter with the rest of the stuff you were going to buy, as you snidely say, “Yeah.”
Gator looks up at you, surprised as he blindly slaps a ten on the counter to pay as he asks, “Ya have?”
“Lookin’ right at him,” you respond with a smug smile, taking the plastic bag of snacks from the counter. You saunter out of the store without him. Gator scoffs and rolls his eyes. He snatches his change off the counter and trails after you into the frigid afternoon air.
“You ever take anythin’ serious?” He huffs with a petulant pout. You snort at his face, fingers curling into his collar as you tug him into a quick kiss, pulling away before he can even lean into it.
“Nope,” you chirp, smirking as you pat his chest. You dig through your bag, hand him his drink, and fish out your own. “Met a guy today, by the way,” you add, the odd encounter suddenly popping back into your mind.
Gator scrunches his face up like he sucked on a lemon. “Ain’t I enough for ya? Whatcha ‘meetin’ guys’ for?” he huffs, miming quote marks as he mimics what you said.
You grin at your boyfriend, head butting his arm as he instinctively hooks an arm around your waist. “You are aware I exist on the planet Earth and have the chance to run into randos when I’m out in public, right?” you tease, giving his cheek a little pinch as his brows furrow, and he swats your hand away.
“Smartass,” he grunts, pressing a grouchy kiss to your lips to get you to shut up, teeth nipping lightly at your lower lip.
“Dumbass,” you mock back, sticking your tongue out at him. If you're not careful, he’s gonna bite it off. “Anyway, guy I met right, god Gator it was like looking at a-,” You flap your hand around as if trying to grasp words that could articulate the sheer bamboozlement you just went through as you just give in and blurt out, “I don’t know magic mirror, to a world where you don’t single-handedly fund the hair gel companies.”
Gator’s brows knit together, you still want to talk about the guy you met, “What?”
“The guy, babycakes,” you stress, ignoring his growl of protest at the pet name, you continue, “He looked just like you, like exactly like you, I thought he was you for a second, didn’t have your scowl, though,” Through all your rambling you don’t notice the pieces your boyfriend is putting together in his head with the description of the guy you met. “Nobody's got a sourpuss like you do, though,” you say, slipping in a compliment?
Gator rifles through his pockets as he pulls out his phone, hissing out a, “Damnit,” before pulling up the picture of the suspect, it’s grainy cctv footage, but still sort of visible enough to make out a few key features, he’s been badgered all morning about looking like the criminal whos on the run, he turns the phone to you an grits out, “This guy?”
You squint a little at the phone before a smile pulls to your lips, “Yeah!” It immediately drops as you turn to Gator, “Oh shit,” you speak through a grimace.
“You let him go?!” Gator scolds, turning to you, hands on your shoulders as he gives you a little shake.
You huff, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t know, Genius. I look like an officer of the law to you? Stop shaking me!” You pout, grabbing his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Where’d he go?” He grills, maybe if you know, he can still go after him and catch up.
“What am I, his best friend now? I don’t know,” you say, looking at him like he’s an idiot. He forgot you’re incredibly unhelpful; he might just arrest you for obstruction of justice. Surely, that’s what this is. The pair of you spend so long bickering that Lamram is probably on a different continent by now.
It was one of those days where you managed to convince Kurt to have a day out with you without streaming, and he actually agreed, as long as he could vlog. Beggars can’t be choosers. At the very least, you managed to convince him not to vlog the entire time, and by 'convince' you mean anytime he reached for his camera, you’d ask to hold hands, and Kurt, being unable to resist any form of contact with you, always obliges, forgetting all about what he was going to do. It’s a win-win. For you mainly. You get to hold his clammy ass hands in this shitty Azusa heat, your boyfriend isn’t narrating everything you’re about to do to his phone, and he can’t wander off. It's ingenious.
Relief washes over you as the icy blast from a nearby ice cream parlor's air-con drifts over your heated skin. You turn to the rainbow-bright storefront and ask, “Hey, wanna get an ice cream?” You reach a hand up to tug on Kurt’s sleeve, fingers wrapping around a thick cotton sleeve. Your brows furrow in confusion. Was Kurt wearing a jacket? You turn to look over your shoulder, and for a brief second, you genuinely believe your boyfriend just changed outfits, but you would never let Kurt out of the house wearing a beanie like that. You drop the stranger’s arm fast. “Oh! uh sorry I thought-“
“Yeah, I’m down,” the not-Kurt interrupts, tossing out a shrug and a crooked grin. You just gape at him, brows furrowed, stunned into silent disbelief.
“Uh… no, I’m sorry, I thought my boyfriend was next to me.” You stammer awkwardly, glancing around the busy mall as you hiss, “Where did he go?” You’re not sure what’s worse, the fact that you're now stuck in this weird-ass conversation with this complete stranger that might be your boyfriend’s long-lost twin, or the fact that Kurt has somehow disappeared in the mall doing god knows what. Probably getting scammed. Again.
“I love ice cream,” The guy says, breaking you out of your Kurt-induced hysteria.
You turn back to him, confusion clear on your face. Why the fuck is he still here? “…Ok?” You say, glancing off to the side. Should you divert his attention and make a run for it? What the fuck do you do?
He bites his bottom lip, squinting at the menu through the glass, deep in thought. “I’m gonna get sprinkles,” his lips pull into a pout as he declares his decision, rubbing his knuckles under his chin like he’s making a life-altering decision.
You blink at him. What the hell is this guy’s deal? “No, I didn’t mean to ask you,” You reiterate, slowing your speech to be clearer. Is he stupid, or is he just purposely ignoring you?
Your rescue arrives in the form of your slightly sweaty boyfriend, fanning himself with the collar of his shirt, a goofy, triumphant grin lighting up his face as he bounds over to you and calls, “Hey, I was- I lost you, Where did you go, babe?”
Your shoulders drop in relief. “There you are!” you exclaim, exasperated. For your own sanity, you decide to ignore his claim that you were the one who wandered off. Your gaze lands on the plastic trading card store bag in his hands. Mystery solved. Judging by the mountain of card packs, you’re in for an hour-long unboxing session when you get home.
“We’re going to get ice cream,” Beanie guy says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the little ice cream shop. You slowly turn to him, face scrunched in frustration. Kurt’s gonna have to hold you back; you’re about to beat the shit out of this guy. Your boyfriend perks up in surprise, just now registering that you were in fact with someone else this entire time.
Before you could once again tell this guy that you were not in fact getting ice cream with him, recognition flashed across Kurt’s face, a slightly awed smile pulling to his lips as he points out and says, “Oh, hey, it’s Duke Gool-”
You snap your attention back to your pookie, shocked. You cut him off as you interrogate him, “You know him? Are you friends?” You can’t believe Kurt knows someone named Duke. Who names their son Duke? Is he a dog?
“No,” Kurt states simply, he mistakes your shock for excitement. His eyes flicked over to the popular content creator and then back to you, clammy hand latching onto yours as he tugs you closer to him. “Why were you talking- What, um, what were you guys talking about?” he asks, more to you than to the other guy. “Are you a fan?” he sounds almost worried when he asks that, a faint pout on his lips, and you feel his fingers flex against yours. You stare blankly at Kurt. Fan? Oh God, he’s an influencer, isn’t he?
“Are you a fan?” Duke asks, a pleased grin on his face, eager for your response. Maybe he can get your Instagram after this. You’re pretty cute, he wonders if you’re an Instagram model. Although judging by the GoPro in sweat boy’s right hand, you might be a vlog couple. That’s never stopped him before.
You shoot Duke an irritated look before turning back to your boyfriend, squeezing his hand to reassure him. “No, I thought he was you and accidentally asked if he wanted to get ice cream,” you explain, sighing heavily through your nose.
“I’m already getting sprinkles, but you can get caramel sauce if you want?” Duke says to your boyfriend with a shrug.
You shake your head in confusion, looking back at the lookalike. “What? We can get the same toppings. You can’t just call dibs on the toppings,” you respond incredulously, gesturing with your hands in frustration. You let a groan of irritation out. This shit doesn’t matter, you’re not getting ice cream with this guy.
“I call dibs on hot fudge!” Kurt announces with a perky smile, relieved to find out you're not a fan. It was silly, really; he knows you’ve never seen any of Duke’s videos, he checks your watch history all the time, duh.
“Kurt, don’t listen to him. We don’t know him,” You tug his hand, garnering his attention. “and he’s fuckin’ weird,” you mumble to him under your breath.
“I call dibs on waffle cone,” Duke swoops in, completely ignoring your side conversation.
“Aw, I wanted a waffle cone,” Kurt pouts, shoulders slumping.
“No, stop! I don’t even know who you are, dude. Kurt, we’re leaving.” You huff in annoyance. This circus act has gone on long enough. Time to go.
You drag Kurt away as he calls out to the other man, “Hey, follow my socials Kurtsworld96!”
Duke gives a tight-lipped smile and a thumbs up before tucking his hands into his pockets. Yeah, he’s not gonna do that; he is gonna get an ice cream, though.
It’s quiet at the front entrance. You sit with your feet kicked up on the front desk, Travis’ worn copy of The Body Snatchers in your hands, your eyes tracing over the same paragraph over and over again. You’re bored, and you miss your blondie. How long do lock checks take again? “Excuse me, you work here, right?” A smooth voice calls out to you, garnering your attention.
You snap to attention, feet thudding back to the floor. “Huh? No, I- Oh wow.” The man before you is a vision of effortless style, dressed fashionably and comfortably for the heat, sunglasses resting atop hair that looks like it’s never known a bad day. He oozes charm, leaning into the counter with elbows propped, chin resting on his fist as he gives you a once-over. That smile of his is suave and practiced.
“Are you a fan?” he teases, that charming smile not leaving his face, the same face that you wake up to, actually.
You blink slowly. Is this a prank? Movement on the monitor draws your attention; you see Travis hopping up and down, waving his hands at the camera to get your attention. You see a giddy smile split onto his lips as you watch him fumble his hands for a moment, making a triangle, then a circle, before finally nailing a heart for the camera. A soft laugh slips from your lips. But if Travis is making heart hands on camera 7... Who the fuck was this guy in front of you? And did he just call you a fan? You turn your attention back to Alternate Travis and blurt out with a confused look, “What?”
The stranger gives a coy little wave, his voice smooth as velvet. “It’s alright, I don’t mind if it’s just you.” He fishes a small leather-bound pocketbook from his summery blazer pocket, plucks a photo from a neat stack, and hands it over with a charming smirk.
“Oh. Alright… thanks?” You accept the photocard, determined not to make this bizarre encounter any more awkward than it already is by leaving him hanging. “I guess…” You glance down at the glossy, signed headshot. Sean Lockwood? The name means nothing to you. Looking back up at ‘Sean,’ you ask, “So, what did you need here?”
His smile fades the moment he remembers why he’s here, sighing as he says, “I was told something was left here for pick up, something for the set.” He folds his arms, rolling his eyes and muttering, “Not sure why I had to pick it up, not like I’m the lead actor or anything.” With a sardonic grin, he shrugs and keeps venting, “I mean, what are PAs for if not the grunt work, right?”
You nod, “Sure, just a sec,” you say, scooting over to the tannoy.
“Yeah, take your time,” he graciously says, resuming his position of leaning on the front counter, boredly looking around the front entrance.
You press the button and announce, “Um, Travis? There’s some guy here to pick something up… can you come back to the front?” You release the button, then press it again, squeaking out a quick, “Please?” Your cheeks flush; you doubt you’ll ever get used to hearing your own voice echo back.
Sean huffs, ‘Some guy?’ Oh, you must be being subtle about him being here, how sweet, “I appreciate you being discreet.” He says, moving to stand in front of you again, “It gets exhausting sometimes.”
You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod your head, “I bet.” The sound of sneakers quickly squeaking along the floor is then accompanied by your out-of-breath boyfriend quickly rounding the corner, “Travis! That was quick.”
He staggers over, panting and a little sweaty. “Hey, I’m here, I’m here,” he manages, leaning hard on the desk beside Sean. Sean gives him a quick once-over, wrinkles his nose, and edges away.
“Did you run?” You ask, grabbing his metal water bottle off the desk and handing it over to him.
“Uh-huh, you needed me,” He says, like running up all those stairs was the only logical thing to do when your partner asks for help. He gratefully takes the bottle, twists it open, and chugs, a little spilling from his lips and onto his shirt, not that he cares. He finishes drinking, handing the bottle back to you and swiping an orange sleeve over his face before turning to the customer. “Hey,” Travis balks at the guy, because no fucking way, this guy looks just like him, even his own brother doesn’t look that similar to him, “Holy shi-”
Sean sighs, holding a hand out to stop the ruffian you called to assist, “Please, I’m just here to pick something up.”
“Huh? Oh, right uh-” Travis manages to stop staring, turning to you and giving you a little ‘are you seeing this’ look. You respond with a bewildered nod, and Travis clears his throat before pointing to the clipboard on the desk. “Babe, can you get the sign-out sheet for me, please?” You quickly grab it for him, swiftly handing it over, his warm fingers brushing against yours as he takes it, and he praises you sweetly for your help: “Thank you, pretty.” Travis turns back to the guy, holding back a full-body shiver as it feels like his own unimpressed face is scrutinizing him. Does this guy not see it? “Uh, just sign here on the dotted line, and then I can open the grate and get you the keys for-”
“I get it,” Sean cuts him off flatly, taking the pen from the clipboard's holder.
Travis presses his lips together and nods, mumbling, “Yup, right, obviously.” Instead of grabbing the clipboard, Sean opts to use the other man as a makeshift stand. “Oh, you can take- Okay…” Before Travis can even finish his offer, Sean clips the pen back onto the board. Travis gives the signature a once-over before handing it back to you and saying, “Cool, uh, babe, keys for this one.” You take the board and quickly retrieve the corresponding keys for Travis. He smiles dreamily at you, his hand clasping around your own as he takes the keys from you, another compliment spilling from his lips, “You’re beautiful.” He turns to the man and offers the keys. “Here you go, man.”
A dry, “Thanks,” is all he receives as the man brushes past him to the elevator.
Travis spins around, calling after him, “Oh, uh, you’ll want sub 2. When you get there, take a left out of the elevator, walk a bit, you’re looking for—” The elevator doors slide shut, cutting him off. The last thing Travis catches is Sean’s tight-lipped smile. “And he’s gone…” Travis sighs, slumping an elbow onto the desk as he stares at the closed doors.
“I think your customer service is great, Travvy,” You coo, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. You see his eyes light up as he quickly turns to you, his nose bumping yours as he leans over the desk more to press his lips to yours.
You pull away, his cheeks cupped in your hands as he sighs out, “‘Least you think so.” Travis wrinkles his nose, adding, “Also, was it just me, or was that guy like givin’ you a weird vibe?”
“If you mean he looks exactly like you and is a famous actor, trying to be lowkey, then yes,” you reply, letting go of your boyfriend to pull up your earlier Google search on your phone.
“Famous?” Travis says, arching a brow. The guy can’t be that famous, he’d know if there was a famous celebrity that looked like- “Whoa, famous,” he says, reaching over to gently take your phone from you, scrolling through the guy's extensive IMDb. “Think he’ll give us an autograph?” Travis asks as a half-joke.
You snicker, tipping your head to the side and teasingly asking, “You a fan?”
Travis smirks at you, “No,” giving a carefree shrug as he says, “But people pay a pretty penny for shit like that, right?”
You grin, rolling your eyes as you pull out the signed photocard. “Lucky me, he gave me one,” you tease, flashing it to Travis, who leans so far over the counter he nearly climbs across.
“Wow,” the blonde breathes, studying the glossy photo. “You really think I look like this?” Travis holds the card up beside his face for comparison.
You cock a brow, “Think? Lovebug, if I hadn’t seen that guy today, I’d assume it was a picture of you.”
Travis looks baffled, cheeks flushing. “I’m blonde?!” he protests, as if you’ve made an absurd claim.
“Your roots say otherwise,” You tease with a grin, causing Travis to pout and claim that he’s gonna dye it again soon and that he’ll need your help and not just because he wants you to run your fingers through his hair.
Johnny said he was going to Rome and asked if you would come with him. He failed to mention that it was Ancient Rome, and that it was a retrieval mission you weren’t even allowed to go on, but he insisted that you’d both beg for forgiveness later. So here you are, in a comfortable, flowy tunic, trying to blend in as you admire the architecture. “Pretty,” you whisper, fingers gliding over a cool marble pillar. “Also, where are we?” You ask with furrowed brows, turning to where your boyfriend should have been standing, “Johnny?” You call, eyes darting around the little isolated courtyard area for a glimpse of blonde hair. “Babe?!” You call out again. Now you’re freaking out, panic prickling at your skin. Being lost in another country is bad enough; being lost in another time is worse.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” You grumble under your breath. The next time you see him, you're gonna give him such a tongue-lashing. There’s gotta be a better phrase for that. You hold your hands out in front of you, fluttering your eyes shut as you take a grounding breath. “This is fine, totally fine, super fine, being lost in Ancient Rome without my emotional support superhero boyfriend, this is totally… Groovy…” You sigh heavily, letting your eyes open again. You give another scan of your surroundings and see a blonde flash behind a tree. Your heart jumps to your throat as you hurriedly make your way over. “Johnny!” Your elation is immediately snuffed out as you round the tree to see a pale, golden-haired, dark-eyed man, dressed in gold and white, sitting on a marble bench, “Not Johnny?”
“Lost are we, pet?” The man asks, settling his book in his lap. His stare pins you in place as he curiously rakes his gaze over your form.
“Huh?” You manage to choke out, your startled look makes the regal man laugh, you look like a deer in the headlights, or in his case, a peasant about to be hit by a carriage.
His smirk is broad with amusement as he leans towards you, “Quite ill-mannered too, speaking to your emperor like that, no less.”
What did he say? “Em-emperor?” you squeak, voice cracking. That does not sound good. For you. You can’t believe you’ve been in Ancient Rome for like 30 minutes and you’re gonna be beheaded. Unlucky.
The emperor scoffs, his eyes narrowing at you like you’ve got some gall. “Surely, even you can recognize the ruler of your country.” He tips his head to the side in thought, studying you with a sharp, almost predatory curiosity. “Although you look a little out of place, a foreign one perhaps?” he muses, voice dripping with suspicion.
You blink and shake your head in confusion, “Foreign what?”
“Concubine obviously pet,” He retorts, like it was obvious, leaving his book on the bench as he takes a step towards you. “Uneducated ones always tend to be the cutest,” his hand coming up to pinch your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping your chin up to bore his eye into yours.
“Excuse me?!” You fluster in a panic. Absolutely not. You need to get away from this man immediately. Where the hell is- “Johnny!” Relief floods you as you lock eyes with those anchoring blue eyes, his warm hand grasping yours. He whisks you away from the emperor, and you stumble into his chest, your hands pressed against him. Safe.
A cold sneer pulls to the dark-eyed emperor's lips as he hisses hatefully, “What right do you have to touch my pet like that, you scum?!”
“Where have you been?” you whisper worriedly, clinging to your blue-eyed hero. His sly smirk melts your tension, and your shoulders finally relax.
“Did you miss me?” he teases, but your unimpressed glare wipes the smirk off his face, replacing it with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, must’ve gotten separated when we warped.” He tries to explain, but your scowl lingers. “I was looking for you,” he promises, lips jutting in a small pout. “Please don’t be mad at me?”
A wild snarl erupts beside you, followed by the golden-haired man’s thunderous roar: “I AM YOUR EMPEROR, AND I AM SPEAKING TO YOU FILTH!” You and Johnny both flinch at the outburst, your hands clutching his tunic as he stares, lips pursed in surprise.
He lets out a low whistle, glancing back at you. “Woof, he’s angry. What’s his problem?” he mutters, shooting the furious emperor a sideways look.
You wet your lips as you nervously inform your doofus, “Uh, he is the emperor of Rome, and he thinks I’m his concubine and that you are probably some audacious peasant who thinks he can do whatever he wants,” you finish with a little smile.
“Oh…” Johnny says a tiny bead of sweat is forming on his brow. Getting tangled up with an emperor probably won't have any consequences. Johnny takes the opportunity to do something important. Make a suggestive comment, “Concubine, ey? If you’re gonna be anyone’s concubine, you’d be min- ow!” You sock him on the shoulder; you have bigger priorities right now.
“GUARDS!” The man explodes with anger, turning his visage a furious red. You know what they say. Lovers who piss off Ancient Roman emperors together will probably be turned into gladiators together or whatever.
“Whu-oh, time to go,” Johnny says, scooping an arm under the back of your knees and the other around your back, lifting you off your feet as he hurriedly carries you off to somewhere you can both warp without exploding the minds of Ancient Roman citizens.
“SEIZE THAT CUR MAKE HIM UNHAND MY PET!” the emperor bellows. Footsteps thunder behind you, but you keep your face tucked into the warm crook of Johnny’s neck, holding on tight as he makes a sharp turn down a quiet hallway.
“He sure is fond of you. Sure you don’t wanna stay?” Johnny teases with a shit-eating grin, you smack his shoulder again with a frown as he lets out a squeak at the action.
He sets you back down onto your feet as you huff, "That’s not funny, Johnny. I don’t want to be a concubine for a tyrant leader. By the way, you still owe me a real trip to Rome."
“What’s wrong with here?” He asks with a stupid smile on his lips, looking up from the watch he’s fiddling with on his wrist, setting the time back to your present day.
“Johnny, stop talking.” You huff, arms crossed over your chest as a light blue glow emanates from the watch screen, casting you both in its light. You feel Johnny pull you closer by the waist.
“Yes, my Love.” He croons, and with a flash, you’re both gone.
A/N: And you know maybe the April Fools were the April's we fooled along the way. Look, I'm late and I can explain... No I can't I've just got some major writer's block, literally had to ring my brain like a rag to get this out of my head and into my drafts but it's here!! this was not proof read they never are but I hope you still enjoyed!!
I will hopefully get back to normal at some point but as of now stuff will come when my brain fog lifts <3
I fully intend to finish these, It will probably be a while till they're all release and they'll probably heavily tweaked but it is what it is. Feel free to leave an ask if your curiosity is peaked by any of these or if you just wanna chat why not send and ask to the [mailbox] and whilst you wait why not peruse the ol' [masterlist]
OMGGG are you enjoying the pitt?? who is ur fav character!
OMG SO
Love Dennis <3 I can never resist a cutie with big sad puppy dog eyes and he's a sweetheart sign me tf up. He’s my all time favorite so far, if I ever catch up on all my drafts I might write a fic for him.
Dana is a close second though, she is holding that ER together as best she can and I salute her for it because omg they’re all falling apart, I love her so much, I love all the characters in their own special way but these two are my all time favorites.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader ▵ Eddie Munson x Reader ▵ Gator Tillman x Reader ▵ Kurt Kunkle x Reader ▵ Travis Meacham x Reader ▵ Johnny Storm x Reader
Summary: You two have perfected your night time routine, no notes.
Word Count: 700-900+ each
Tags: Established relationship, Fluff the tooth rotting kind, I love them all equally all of the Travis' and not Travis', Eddie Munson Crash out, Johnny's is shorter than the rest my apologies king.
Warnings: 18+, Explicit Language, Kurt Kunkle, this one gets a little frisky in some of them, a little nipple play in Steve's no I will not elaborate, Gator needs to be leashed.
Main Masterlist ▵ Tag List
A groan of relief escapes him as warm water drums down his back. He kneads the day’s tension from his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, slicking it away from his face. He turns to reach for the shampoo in the hamper behind him, unintentionally locking his eyes with you, his perverted elf on the shelf perched on the bathroom counter just watching him through the glass door of the shower. With a smirk, he asks, “You sure you don’t wanna just join me?” as he dollops a decent amount of Faberge Organics into his hand.
“No, I’m good here,” you hum, eyes glued to him, following the rivulets of water as they snake down his body and vanish behind the metal bar that blocks your view of the big guy, a nickname that never fails to make you grin and Steve blush.
“Ok,” Steve scoffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he works shampoo into his hair. He flusters at your attention. You’ve never been shy about your affection; it’s a constant with you always shooting off a compliment or just looking at him, and he’s happy to say the feeling is mutual as he can't seem to ever take his eyes off you either. He catches you just blatantly staring at his chest. You really dig the chest hair. “God, can you stare any harder?” he teases with a crooked smile.
“Ok.” You mimic with a shrug, widening your eyes to stare more intensely at him, searing all the pretty mole-patterned plains of his body into your brain for the rest of eternity.
Steve huffs, he should’ve seen that coming. He turns away from you, head back under the warm stream of the shower, washing the shampoo out of his hair. Soap suds trailing down his shoulders and long legs, again the metal bar blocking the real treat. You know what fuck this shower door, you’re gonna go buy a new one tomorrow. Steve glances over his shoulder, catching you trying to burn a hole through the metal bar with your stare, an affectionate smirk pulling at his lips. “Whatever happened to shame?” he asks.
You whip your eyes back up to your boyfriend’s pretty face. “What’s there to be ashamed of? I love my boyfriend and want to stare at him. You gonna stop me?” you challenge, crossing your legs one over the other, hands braced just behind you.
You see red heat creep up from his chest to his neck and then his face as you nonchalantly profess your love, knocking the wind out of him. You love him like it’s easy, making his stomach flutter. He mumbles, just loud enough to rise above the sound of the shower fall, “Well, when you put it like that…” He finishes the rest of his shower routine, twisting off the water and reaching out to grab a towel to wrap around his waist.
“Aww, boo shows over,” you heckle, flashing a mischievous grin. He smirks at you as he steps out, dripping onto the bath mat, and grabs a second towel to ruffle through his hair. He gives his hair a quick tousle before letting the towel rest around his shoulders to catch the excess droplets. He looks perfect, hair all over the place, eyes lit up in mirth.
He lets out a low laugh, “Hardly. Now you get to watch me get dressed.” He strolls over, gently nudging your legs apart so he can step closer to you, his hands on the counter caging you between his arms, as he leans in to grab his razor, his nose brushing yours for a second before he tries to pull away.
“Yippee Encore!” You chirp with a gleeful smile, hooking your legs around his waist so he can’t get away from you. He laughs, it’s a beautiful sound. He presses a kiss to your lips, understanding he won’t be freed until he pays the toll. You feel his stubble tickle your face, bringing a finger up to pet the hair on his upper lip with a thoughtful look. When he pulls back, you murmur, your eyes flicking from his lips to his pretty brown eyes, “You know, sometimes I kind of miss your little ‘stache.”
Steve cocks a brow, corner of his lips twitching up, “Yeah? Want me to grow a full ‘stache for you? Look like a real coach?” He teases, pecking your lips once more before stepping out of your orbit to shave.
You snort, “Maybe not just yet, wait until you go gray, then it’ll really suit you,” You quip with a cheeky grin. . Steve snorts too, finishes his shave, and tugs you off the counter, bringing you to the bedroom. He drops you on the bed with a little bounce and lets you gawk as he puts on a pair of pajama pants. Finally, the pair of you crash into bed, you wrapped around him like a koala bear.
He settles his arms around you, lying on his back, and he presses kisses to your face, squeezing you in his arms as he murmurs tiredly, “Goodnight, Honey.”
“Goodnight, Loverboy.” You whisper back, head nestled against his warm chest. You take a deep, satisfied breath, inhaling the scent of his body wash, fingers tracing patterns on his hip, trailing up his abdomen. All is quiet in the house.
“Quit pinching my nipple,” Steve states flatly, eyes still closed, as he grabs your wandering hand in his, holding it to his chest, lacing your fingers to keep them in jail.
You smirk, then exaggerate a pout as you offer a half-hearted, “Sorry.”
“WHY DO YOU CONSTANTLY FUCK ME!” Eddie screeches, snatching up the entire center pile with a slap of his hand, pouting as he begins sorting through all of his new cards, little curses slipping from his lips as a couple slip from his grip and he has to pick them up again. You catch Wayne’s side-eye as he disappears into the bathroom to get ready for his night shift. You and your freak are sprawled on his bed, both in pajamas. Well, more like in his pajamas. You always tend to nab one of his shirts to sleep in when you spend the night, paired with your own comfy pants for optimal sleep conditions.
“You’re such a sore loser, Eds,” you murmur, watching his brow twitch in frustration. Like any other sleepover, you both have resorted to a card game, said game being Bullshit because every other board game has been overruled on the account that Eddie sucks at them, and he stuffed Anne from Guess Who? in his mouth when you guessed her off rip the last time you played, you don’t really wanna try and pry wet paper out of his mouth again.
“I’m not a sore loser because I’m not losing!” He huffs. You look down at your hand, a singular card, then up at his hand. He’s somehow got 54, and part of you believes that in his crashout, he picked up the instructions to play as well. Eddie’s right, he currently has the advantage because he has every card, which means he knows which one you have, he just has to avoid it. Unfortunately for him, it’s your turn to start.
You place the lone card down face-first and announce, “One Ace…” It’s quiet for a few beats as Eddie shuffles through his deck numerous times to count how many aces he has. Three. He has three. “You gonna call it?” you prod, poking the bear. He sucks air through his teeth and slams his cards down as they scatter all over the bed. You press your lips together and slowly shut your eyes to save from laughing in his face.
“This game is bullshit!” Eddie crows, sweeping the cards off the mattress in a dramatic cascade to the floor. You’re sure someone will pick that up later, probably. Your fluffy-haired lover flops into your lap, head resting on your thigh as he clings to your leg like a body pillow. You flutter your eyes open, brushing your fingers through his hair, detangling any knots you come across as he lets out an anguished huff at his loss.
“Tired yet?” you ask, as he buries his face against your thigh, sulking at the wall. He huffs again, brows still furrowed as he rolls onto his back, looking up at you. The light behind you casts a soft halo around your head, saving his eyes from the blaring light, his frustration wavering at the pretty sight.
His peace is shattered by his Uncle leaning his head in, patting his face dry with the towel around his shoulders. “Please say yes,” Wayne drawls, looking down at his nephew rolling around in your lap like a pup. “We don’t need another noise complaint talkin’ bout, just let that little boy win for once, stop him hollerin’ all the damn time, told ‘em that won’t help nothin’, he’s a sore winner too.” Wayne busts out a loud cackle to himself as Eddie shoots his uncle a glare, watching the older man saunter back into the bathroom.
“Don’t you have work?” The curly-haired boy snarks, pushing himself up just enough to glare after his uncle’s retreating form, still draped over you, his chin resting on your shoulder, as he calls after his uncle, hoping to hurry Wayne out the door.
“Ain’t it past yer bedtime?” Wayne comments, finishing up in the bathroom, tugging the string light off, and wandering off down the hall. You hear him pick up his keys from the dish on the kitchen counter with a clink.
“I’m a grown man!” Eddie retorts, still hanging off you in the warm comfort of your arms. You’re practically cradling him, his soft hair tickling your neck and collarbone, as you quietly trail your fingers up his spine, feeling him melt.
“Coulda fooled me,” Wayne taunts with a smile in his voice. Eddie lets out a grumpy grunt as you both hear the door open and Wayne call out, “Be good kids!”
“Bye, Wayne!” You call back, leaning back slightly to see him out. Eddie gives a halfhearted mumble, and you hear the door shut. You flop onto your back, your boyfriend rolling off you to save you from being smushed under him. Turning to him, a serene smile on your face as you raise a finger to trace over his cupid’s bow, his lips still pulled into a petulant frown. You hum, poking his cheek, “Stop pouting.”
“M’not,” He mutters, opening his mouth to nip at your finger. You pull away quickly and tap him on the nose. He wrinkles his nose, rolling onto his side to face you as he tugs you by the shirt to his lips. You sigh through your nose, melting into the kiss, and your hand comes up to cup his cheek, stroking it tenderly with your thumb. Eddie sits up, his lips still on yours, as he places a hand to brace himself over you. Unfortunately, a stray card causes his hand to slip, and his entire torso falls on you, his face planted into the sheets next to your head. A wheezy laugh bursts from you as your boyfriend just lies on top of you in defeat. The news is right: games are the devil.
You’re foaming at the mouth. Because you’re brushing your teeth! Staring blankly into the mirror, getting lost in your reflection, one of Gator’s old oversized T-shirts hanging off your frame. Your peaceful before-bed routine is interrupted by a warm hand landing on your ass as your boyfriend slithers into view. He sidles up behind you, hair slicked back but not due to gel, just damp from a fresh shower. You see the smirk on his face as you feel another palm cup your other ass cheek and give both an appreciative squeeze. “I assure you, your toothbrush is nowhere near my ass,” You mutter around the toothbrush in your mouth, giving him a dry stare, his eyes managing to pry away from staring at your ass for one second to meet your eye in the mirror.
“Jus’ appreciatin’ you, that so wrong?” he drawls, dropping a kiss to your shoulder. You see the way his arms flex as they slide up to settle on your hips, his white vest displaying his strong arms, and that stupid fucking LOL tattoo on his bicep. With an eyeroll, you quickly bend to spit out the toothpaste, bucking your hips straight into Gator’s crotch, his hands squeezing your hips as he winces, brows furrowing, at the impact, “Oof, Jesus, baby, watch it.” He takes the opportunity to cop a feel again, and you debate on whether or not you hurl your toothbrush at his head or kiss that infuriating face.
“You watch it, get off my ass, Gator,” you murmur, scooping some water to your mouth and swishing it. You bend to spit again, but less violently, earning a pleased hum from the brunette as his hands roam, they brush gently over your warm skin, inching your shirt up as his hand explores higher ground.
“Never usually a problem,” Gator purrs huskily, sly smirk on his face, as he presses himself closer to you, warm, calloused hands spread over your stomach, one managing to find its way up to your chest, rewarding himself with a squeeze. You swat at him with an annoyed grunt, he recoils and he slips his hands away, raising them in defense, tentatively, he places his hands in a more appropriate place. Your ass. Again. Accompanied by him saying, “Ok, ok, someone’s testy, are you-“
You shoot him a scalding glare through the mirror as you rinse off your toothbrush, dropping it back into the cracked cat mug alongside his. “Don’t even finish that or you’ll be sleepin’ on the porch,” you growl. Gator’s brows shoot up. There’s a hazy glint in his eyes. Fear. Who are you kidding? It's lust.
“Ok,” he says, voice pitching up in defense. “Don’t be mad,” he pleads lowly, warm breath skimming across your neck as he winds his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against him again.
“When you wind me up on purpose and then say ‘Don’t be mad,’ I’m gonna be mad,” You retort with irritation, sharp in your voice. You place your hands over his, but make no move to take them off of you, instead lacing your fingers with his, pulling his arms tighter around you.
“Sorry,” He muffles into your hair, as he presses his face next to your ear, his damp strands leaving your shoulder wet. Letting his head drop to your shoulder again, his lips pressed apologies along the side of your neck until he reached just under your ear, and then trailing them back down. You sigh, melting into the feeling, as you reach a hand to pet his hair.
“You’re gonna make me go gray,” you say softly, fingers combing through his damp hair, gently tugging it loose from its slicked-back state. Gator takes a moment to just rest his forehead on your shoulder as you quietly brush your fingers through his hair, then presses another kiss to your shoulder.
“You’ll still be a pretty little thing. C’mon, let me show you just how sorry I am,” Gator purrs, flashing a flirty grin as he pulls away your hand, dropping to your side. He hooks his fingers into your shirt, turning you to face him. He plants a few kisses on your collarbone, lips finding the spot revealed by your stretched neckline, and he tugs you gently toward the bedroom.
“Thing?!” you echo, eyebrows shooting up as you gawk at him in disbelief.
His flirty smirk falls flat as he rolls his eyes, fingers still curled in your shirt. "You got selective hearin’? I called you pretty an’ I’m offerin’ you head over here, an’ all ya heard was thing,” he grumbles, shaking his head in disbelief. Then he sasses back, echoing your words back at you, “yer makin’ me gray.”
You roll over, half-asleep, reaching for the warm body that should be next to you, only to feel nothing but cold, empty sheets. Your brows knit together, eyes still squeezed shut as you pat over the void in the bed. “Kurt?” Your voice comes out slightly muffled, face buried in your pillow. You get no response, but your ears register the soft clatter of keyboard and mouse clicks coming from Kurt’s desk across the room. You lift your head slightly, eyes fluttering open and then squinting into the dark, the only light in the room coming from Kurt’s monitor.
“What’re you doin’?” you droll out, dragging yourself up into a seated position, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You blink your eyes hard, trying to shake off the sleep as you wait expectantly for a response, only to get none. You fix a bleary stare on the back of your boyfriend’s head, taking note of the headphones clamped over his ears. “Talkin’ t’my fuckin’ self,” you grumble under your breath.
You pluck your phone off the nightstand and check the time, giving a heavy sigh when you see the hour. You shouldn’t be surprised. Swinging your legs out of bed, you take a brief moment to will yourself to get up. You stand and stretch, feeling your back click. You let out a sigh of relief and pad your way over to the brunette whose face couldn’t be any closer to the screen.
His posture is awful, curved spine like a shrimp, one foot propped up on the seat, the other on the floor, as he’s lost in cutting clips from his stream from yesterday. You tap the top of his headphones, trying not to make him jump. It doesn’t work as he jolts, pulling them off of his ears, letting them rest on the towel around his neck. His wide brown eyes, ringed with tired dark circles, peer up at you as you let a hand settle on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly to get him to sit back from the desk. “Hey, come to bed,” you coax, tipping your head toward the comfort of the bed.
Kurt looks over at the bed, then back to the screen as he pulls one of the cups of the headphones back over his ear to listen to the audio, as he tries to bargain with you. “In a minute, I’m just- I’m almost done clipping up the last few minutes of the stream for the Kurties,” his eyes flick from the screen to you again, getting distracted by your fingers running through his still-damp hair. You told him before you went to sleep to dry it properly, or he’ll get sick. You’re so glad he listened to you. You sigh heavily. At least he washed it, baby steps.
“You said that at 11, Kurt… It’s 3:30,” You point out, his eyes flicking over to the bottom corner of his desk top, he doesn’t give much of a reaction.
“Oh man, it sure is late,” he says, voice flat with exhaustion, as he clicks back onto the editing software to continue cutting clips. You roll your eyes, grab his headphones, and take them off. Kurt reaches for them, brows creasing in confusion as you hold them out of reach. “Wh- Hey,” He could easily stand and retrieve them from you, but that stern look on your face makes him second-guess crossing you. He pouts up at you, and to his surprise, you don’t fold like normal. He also doesn’t like that you haven’t called him ‘Kurtie Bear’ yet. You are far too tired to crack tonight. You set his headphones on his desk, gripping the arm of his chair to stop him from turning back to his desk.
Kurt’s wide, anxious eyes track as your hands take the towel from his shoulders and give his hair a quick ruffle; he continues to stare at you pleadingly, sensing your irritation. You seem annoyed with him, but he can’t seem to pinpoint why. You sling the towel over the back of his chair, combing your fingers through his fringe. “Okay, time for bed, Kurtie Bear,” You say softly, watching your boyfriend visibly relax as you point to the bed. Relieved you're not mad at him, Kurt then gets caught in a loop of looking at you, the bed, and his computer.
Stuttering out, “But I-“ He reaches for the mouse again, but you move his chair away from his desk. He stands, and you block his path. He stares at you like a kicked puppy, his brows furrowed in confusion as he anxiously wrings his hands together, “Please, can I at least save it? Please?” You sigh, turning to save the project for him. Kurt leans over your shoulder to watch you as you save the work he's done so far, his fingers curling into your shirt. The room plunges into darkness when you shut down his computer. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, but once they do, you feel Kurt’s hands drop from your shirt as you walk over to the bed, settling back under the covers with a contented sigh.
After a few minutes of silence, you call out in a clipped tone, “Kurt. Don’t make me drag you,” You hear him murmur to himself as he trudges over to you, surprised his plan to just stay very still and hope you just forget you told him to come to bed didn’t work. He flops down next to you, curling himself around you, his face buried in your neck as he huffs. You feel his lashes tickle your skin every time he blinks as you let yourself sink back into sleep. Every time you feel like you're about to fall asleep, you feel Kurt blink. With a weary sigh, you mutter out, “Don’t even think about it, close your eyes right now.” Kurt grunts, burying his face deeper in your neck, petulant pout on his lips, his arms squeezing tight around you, as he gives in to the demand of sleep.
“What if I jus’ call in sick?” Travis mumbles, face buried in your blanket-covered lap, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow over the pair of you. You smile warmly, placing your book on the bedside table to thread your fingers through his soft hair, scratching his scalp just how he likes. You feel him melt into your touch, sinking into your warmth; his whole weight rests on your legs. You’re in pajamas, about ready to go to sleep, Travis is in his work clothes, garishly bright orange shirt hangs open to show his white undershirt, his dark wash jeans slung low on his hips, belt not even buckled yet, and he has one sneaker on his foot as he gave up getting dressed as he lost the will to finish getting ready right at the end.
“Would Griffin believe that?” You ask, knowing the answer: his boss is an asshole, you’ve had the misfortune of meeting him a few times before you and your sweetheart got together. Hate is a strong word; it is also the exact word you would use to describe how you feel about that motorbike-riding asshole. You’re pretty sure, even if Travis had the plague, he would still expect him to come in for his shift. Prick.
The doe-eyed blonde’s silence is answer enough, but he graces you with a muffled, “…No.” before refraining from suffocating himself in your lap by turning his head to rest his cheek on your thigh, cuddling your thighs. You sigh through your nose, brushing his hair over his ear, getting a better view of his pretty face.
“There’s your answer, Travvy,” You say, grabbing a couple of strands of his hair to give him a little braid. Travis squishes his cheek against your thigh in distress, groaning in anguish, only slightly healed by the fact that he can writhe in agony in your lap.
“But I don’t wanna leave, wanna stay here, with you, forever,” he whines, rolling onto his back to give you the puppy eyes. You snort at the full view of him, his fly undone, you can see those goofy Scooby Doo boxers you bought him for a joke on full display. Turns out it was the best gift anyone had ever given him, which is both sweet and a little tragic if you think about it too much. Travis continues his ramble, hands gesticulating as he speaks, “like, do I really need to go? No one ever comes to storage at night.” You see the gears in his head turn as he amends what he said, “Well, except Mrs. Rooney, she’s there like every night, no idea why. She comes in, spends like forever in her unit, and then leaves. I guess someone would have to be there to let her in, but I have coworkers, so like, do I really have to be there?” He finishes with a furrowed brow and his arms crossing over his chest.
You smile sweetly down at your boyfriend as he trails off on his tangent, distracted by the curve of your pretty lips, “Travis?” You coo down at him, peering down at his pretty brown eyes.
“Yeah, baby?” He murmurs back, reaching up to push your hair behind your ear, his warm fingers lingering on your cheek, allowing you to turn your head and peck his fingertips. His heart practically pops out of his chest at the soft affection.
You hold his hand to your cheek as you croon down to him. “Go to work.” You ruined it.
Travis frowns, flops back over to his side, and uses his other hand to cling to your legs again. “Don’t wanna,” he refutes.
You laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head as you murmur into his hair, “You do this every night, you know, and you know what happens?”
Travis grumbles, pressing his face into your thigh, back on the plan to suffocate himself instead of going to work, a muffled “No.” is muttered into your leg, and you huff and try to pry your blondie’s face off of your leg.
“You go to work, and then you come home so I can look after you,” you remind him, managing to pry him off your leg, his hair covering his eyes as he goes limp in your hold, pretending to be dead. You huff a quiet laugh, poking the moles on his cheek like they’re buttons to reset him.
He sighs heavily, looking up at you forlornly. You look so comfortable; you have that soft, sleepy aura to you, and he’d give anything to just curl himself around you and drift off into sleep with you and your warmth. “Just want one night where we sleep in bed together,” He murmurs, pressing kisses to the tops of your thighs, his big brown puppy dog eyes peering up at you, trying to will you to somehow make his boss not an asshole and by some miracle get him the day off.
You sigh, gently brushing his hair from his face as he takes your hand, pressing soft kisses to your palms and fingertips. “How about when you get home, we sleep through the morning together? I’ve got a few days off, so I’ll be home all day for the next few days,” you murmur, a sweet smile blooming as you watch his eyes light up.
“You will?” He asks eagerly. It’s always a good week when your schedules align; nothing makes him happier than being able to spend all his time with you.
“Always, I love sleeping...” Your tone is warm, a teasing glint in your eye. Oh, you just want to sleep… Travis thinks he might kill himself, only for you to add with a gentle peck to his furrowed brow, “but most of all I love you.” Never mind, all is well.
“I love you more,” Travis replies, hand coming up to brush your cheek. He supposes he can go to work, as long as he gets to come home to you.
Johnny is the perfect boyfriend for chilly winter nights; he’s a human heating pad. His warmth enshrouds you, comforting and gentle, and during those nights, you find yourself buried in his side more often than not. The only problem right now? It’s not winter.
“Stay away.” You grumble, rolling away from your boyfriend, your skin flushed and prickly with heat, making you irritable. The duvet is already banished to the floor, kicked away for personal space. You don’t care if you’re exposed at this point, too hot to care, the demon under the bed can have free range of your ankles. It's so hot.
Johnny grins, blonde hair sticking up all over the place, as he scoots after you, his warm arms encircling your waist. He trails feather-light kisses up your neck and across your shoulders, humming softly, his bare chest radiating heat against your back. “But I love you,” he murmurs, lips pressed against the back of your neck, chest rumbling against your back, his grin stretching wider as you reach your hand back, squishing his cheek as you try, in vain, to push him away.
“Johnny,” you whine, squirming in his arms. You feel him capture your palm, peppering kisses to your hand as you wriggle around in his grip. “It’s like being inside a kiln,” you huff, pushing yourself to sit up, and rescuing your hand from his barrage of affection, his arm still loosely draped across your waist. “I’m cooking from the inside out.” You peel him off of you and roll him away from you. He laughs as he allows you to roll him back to his side of the bed.
“You’re so dramatic,” Johnny hums, flopping over onto his stomach and his arms flexing as he hugs his pillow, watching you fiddle with something beside the lamp on the nightstand. Before he can ask what you’re up to, a blast of icy air hits him. He yelps, sitting up and instantly regretting it as he exposes more of himself to the aircon, which chills him to his core. “Jesus, babe, are you trying to freeze us?!” He shivers, pouting over at you, wrapping his arms around himself as you set the remote down with a satisfied sigh of relief.
“Now who’s dramatic?” you smirk, eyeing your trembling boyfriend as you flop back onto the bed, starfished and at peace. The room instantly starts to cool down, the only heat now radiating from the pouting Johnny huddled next to you. “This is so much better,” you sigh, shutting your eyes, letting the cool air brush over your overheated skin. Maybe you should pick the duvet back up, you might need it now.
“Is it?!” Johnny whines, scrambling for the blanket on the floor, pulling it back up onto the bed, and wrapping it around himself to conserve his heat. “Can I touch you now?” he begs, flopping down next to you in his cocoon, looking to you imploringly with his pretty blue eyes.
“Mhm, c’mere,” you say, smiling as you open your arms to him. He wastes no time, opening the blanket and cocooning you in the warmth. You welcome it now that the rest of the room is practically an icebox, your cool skin pressed against his warmth makes you sigh happily, and your handsome boyfriend begrudgingly allows you to rub your cold ass feet on the back of his calves. In return, he takes it upon himself to have a treat of his own. “Johnny, get your hand out of my underwear,” you huff, biting his shoulder, earning no reaction from him besides a warm laugh, one of his legs slipping between yours.
You feel Johnny’s sly grin as his hand squeezes your ass and he hums, “You can put your hand in mine. In fact, I encourage it.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then to your jaw, trailing down to your throat, his blue eyes sparkling with delight as he nips at your skin, as you roll your eyes at him.
“Insufferable,” You huff, swatting him on the ass as he jerks at the sting, his hips bucking against yours before he settles, nuzzling his nose against your neck.
“Beautiful,” He murmurs softly to you, moving his hands to somewhere a little more respectful and pulling you against his lips with a satisfied hum.
A/N: In my defense I got swept up playing Resident Evil Requiem and then binged watched The Pitt so like fully my fault this took a while like 100 percent with out a doubt, I'm sorry it will absolutely happen again probably. You may all have a rock each to throw. But I hope you enjoyed this one, I know I had fun writing it, Next post will be my Eddie x cheerleader!reader req! and after will be the Jealousy Snippet or the April fools one depending on how slow I am. much love, see you next time <3 :)
this but imagine it's Eddie Munson who didn't die in the upside down but instead got maimed and went into hiding from the demobats. maybe his girlfriend is having a s1 Joyce moment and is noticing all these things that are not adding up. lights glowing bright and flickering out. the tinny sounds of someone strumming an electric guitar. it gets louder sometimes when she's at home holding his guitar? I think Wayne might've salvaged it from the destroyed trailer at the end of s4 and gave it to her for safe keeping? this goes on for a few days and the others think that she's grieving, it's just denial, it's a natural part of the process of grief. but then the others witness it and have an oh shit moment. either Eddie is still alive or he's haunting them. it's Hawkins so who knows at this point?
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Wayne takes his brats to the petting zoo for his nephew’s birthday.
Word Count: 3.0k
Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff just Fluff, Happy family outing <3 (edited)
TW: literally nothing, unsafe seatbelt usage? lmao
A prequel to Maybe I'm Crazy, Maybe I'm Out Of My Mind. (I recommend reading the other fic first <3 They can be read separately though)
Series Masterlist▵ Eddie Munson Masterlist ▵ Tag List
“Do we have to take your car?” your boyfriend whines, his voice rumbling against your back. The two of you crammed onto the only seat left in Wayne’s shitty, busted two-seater. You sit between Eddie’s legs, practically slipping off the seat. His arms are braced around your waist, working as your second seat belt. The actual seat belt is stretched around you both, but the part that goes across your chest only covers Eddie because when the two of you tried to put it over you both, you ended up being choked out by the fucking thing.
“Well, I told my boneheaded nephew to get his oil changed before it was too late, and guess what he didn’t do,” Wayne says with raised brows, shooting a pointed look at the fuzzy-haired boy. Eddie clamps his mouth shut and then mimes zipping his lips before slumping back into the seat, successfully pushing you further off the seat. He quickly straightens, tugging you back and whispering apologies in your ear, your laughter bubbling out in bright little pearls. He nuzzles his face against your neck, basking in your laughter like it’s the best present he’ll get today.
“Where are we goin’ anyway?” Eddie asks, resting his cheek on your shoulder and staring out the window as they pass the sign for Forest Hills and turn onto the main road.
“It’s a popular spot for folks to spend their birthday,” Wayne replies, a sly smile curling his lips, that only you catch; he winks at you. You say nothing, a grin of your own pulling to your lips. Eddie mutters under his breath, baffled and a little put out, wondering why you all couldn’t just stay home and watch a movie like any other birthday.
You thread your fingers with his and give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feeling him mash his face into your hair, his pout practically pressed to your skin. You turn your head, lips grazing against his temple as you reassure him, “You’ll love it, Eds, promise.” He grunts in uncertainty, but ultimately lets it go; you’ve never led him astray before.
“What the hell is this?” Eddie blurts out, eyes wide as he gapes at the giant sign that reads ‘Petting Zoo and Pony Rides this way!’ The air buzzes with shrieks and laughter as families with their young kids flock to the farm on their own little weekend excursions. Eddie turns around to find you and Wayne cheesing at him with expectant expressions. You’ve got lunch in a cooler bag slung over your shoulder. It’s packed with all kinds of snacks, drinks, and the cake you picked out earlier that day for him. While Wayne sports a Polaroid camera, ready to capture every single moment from today, he may as well fill up the empty photo albums. Both of you look family outing ready, and with the way you're buzzing with excitement, Eddie can already tell whose idea this was.
“Today’s going to be fun! Come on,” you say, skipping over to Eddie, grabbing his hand, and dragging the reluctant, curly-haired boy toward the entrance of the petting zoo. Wayne trails lazily behind you both, fiddling with the camera, determined to get the flash to turn off. Your little trio certainly stands out among the families with young children, not that any of you care.
“If you behave, we’ll let you ride a pony at the end,” Wayne calls out, grinning wickedly. Passersby glance over, expecting a toddler, only to find a lanky, grungy, scowling teenager shooting daggers at his uncle. Definitely not the demographic of the cutesy little farm they currently reside in.
Eddie turns beet red under the stares and lets out a frustrated, growling yell at Wayne. “How old do you think I am?!”
“Look how cute they are!” you gush, your voice soft as you reach out to pet the eager little goats pressing against the fence. Their cheerful bleats make you laugh, and your smile only grows as even more goats crowd in, all vying for your attention.
Wayne, now shouldering the cooler bag so you can wander around unburdened, snickers at his nephew, who is trying his best to get the attention of literally any of the goats, but they all seem to be gravitating towards you. He didn’t realise his nephew was dating a Disney princess. “Why ya so stiff, you look like a mannequin, s’why they don’t like you,” Wayne teases, grinning as Eddie shoots him a withering glare from his awkward, hunched position next to you.
“Shut up!” Eddie barks at the older man, then, with a pitiful pout, he turns to you, whining when he hears you laugh at him.
“Smile!” Wayne crows, eyes twinkling with mirth as he snaps a photo of you and his sulking nephew with the goats. You’re crouched low, next to the goats, tossing up a peace sign for the picture, and Eddie’s mid eye roll with the posture of a shrimp.
While Wayne chuckles over the polaroid, you wander off to another corner of the little farm. Eddie, meanwhile, is wrestling his jeans out of one of the goats' mouths, making the rips in them bigger. “Oh my god! Eddie, come look!” You call, peering into another pen. He finally breaks free, hustling over to you while shooting wary glances back at the offending goat.
“What?” he asks, sliding in behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning in to see what caught your attention, only to freeze, his arms tightening around your waist.
“Little ducks, so cute,” you coo with a bright smile on your face. As you lean in for a closer look, Eddie yanks you back against his chest, arms locked tight around you. Brow furrowed in confusion, you glance up at him. “Babe, you ok?” you murmur, voice gentle for your suddenly tense boyfriend.
“Nut up, would ya,” Wayne heckles, knowing exactly what his nephew’s problem is. God, you take a kid to the park one time to feed the ducks, turn your back for one second, and then suddenly he’s being mobbed for bread. It’s not his fault Eddie was such a scrawny kid, how was he supposed to know a couple of ducks would bully his nephew, now he’s scarred for life.
“You nut up!” Eddie shrieks back at his uncle, making your ears ring. You can’t help but laugh at their bickering. Eddie pouts at you once again, “We’re not getting any closer,” he huffs, trying to waddle away with you to literally anywhere else but near those little heathens.
You dig your heels in, and it’s Eddie’s quick to just maneuver around you and start dragging you away. You grab him by his flannel sleeve and pull back, and now you're just playing tug of war with each other’s arms. You think you hear the camera shutter amidst the struggle. “Eddie, come on, they’re only little babies,” You reason, managing to overpower him with your pretty eyes and pout as he goes stumbling into your chest. You loop your arms around him and coax him back over to the little ducks. Keeping him in your arms, you both look at the ducklings.
“Happy,” Eddie deadpans, glancing at you after a few seconds of him blankly staring at the little beady-eyed puffballs.
“Mhm,” you hum, smiling with satisfaction. You shift to wrap your arms around his shoulders, plant a quick kiss on his lips, and watch as he softens.
QUACK
“Let’s leave,” The words are instant as Eddie hooks his hands under your thighs and whisks you away in a random direction, determined to put as much distance as possible between you and the ducks.
A surprised yip escapes you, a little impressed that he just picked you up like nothing. You wave your hand at Wayne over Eddie's shoulder to signal to him that you're moving on, and he stops taking pictures of the duck pond. “Ok, ok, we’re going, we’re going,” you say gently, patting Eddie on the back and pressing a kiss to his cheek as he marches off to the next area.
Wayne leans in with a sly grin as he slips the photos into his pocket. “Think we forgot his pacifier in the car,” he teases. You bite back a laugh, shoulders trembling enough for Eddie to notice.
“You guys are being mean!” Eddie calls out with a dramatic huff. He didn’t hear the whisper, but he could sense it. Adjusting his grip on you so you wouldn’t fall, you hook your legs around his waist so you wouldn’t slip down.
“We ain’t said nothin’,” Wayne protests, not very convincingly. Eddie hears the grin in Wayne's voice behind him, so he rolls his eyes, while you can’t help the smile that creeps up on your lips again as Wayne continues with a knowing grin, “nothin’ he can prove.”
Back on your own feet, you stand by the coop, hand in hand with Eddie, as you both watch the Hens waddle around pecking at the floor. “Chickens,” Eddie points out, to whom you're not sure, but you're just glad his fear of ducks doesn’t translate over to other birds.
“My nephew’s a genius,” Wayne quips as he takes a quick picture of the hens, then swivels the viewfinder to Eddie and just sees his unimpressed face take up the entire frame. You can’t help but snicker, giving Eddie’s hand a playful tug to draw his attention back to the coop.
“Aww, look, little chicks too,” You fawn, pointing out the little chicklets peeping along the hay-covered flooring to tweedle after the mother hens. You grin brightly at the cute sight, patting Eddie’s arm in excitement.
Eddie gazes at you with pure adoration. Your smile right now is something he wants seared into his brain for the rest of eternity; it’s a smile that could keep anyone clinging to life for. “You’re the cutest chick,” he flirts, flashing a boyish grin, bumping against you gently. You look up, cheeks warm with a bashful smile, just as he cups your cheeks and leans down for another kiss…
“Give it a rest, boy, you're gonna make the hens yak,” Wayne cuts in, deadpan, now standing just next to you both as the shutter goes off again as he takes a picture of the little chicks.
“Mind your own business!” Eddie squawks, still holding your squished cheeks in his hands as he fires back at his uncle. “Go take pictures somewhere else!”
“Do you two want a picture together?” You manage to waffle out from your squished face. Eddie realises he's still got you in his hold and moves his hands to your shoulders.
Wayne grins, handing you the camera as you waltz out of Eddie’s hold. “Absolutely, C’mere boy,” he beckons, corralling Eddie to his side, hooking an arm around the boy’s neck and drawing him in with a playful jostle.
“Did you forget my name?” Eddie snarks, rolling his eyes as he loops his arm around Wayne’s shoulders.
“Course not, you know I love you, Andrew,” Wayne says, then turning to the camera with a placid smile.
Eddie whips his head to his uncle, crowing out an indignant, “WHO?!” Wayne just snorts, clapping his hand onto Eddie’s head and giving him a noogie. Eddie protests with yells and flailing arms.
“Smile!” you chirp, snapping a photo before anyone can protest, capturing Eddie’s ruffled scowl beside his uncle’s innocent grin.
After wandering a little longer, you stumble upon the flower gardens, and it’s beautiful, rows and rows of clustered flowers. You spot a pretty archway with flowers and leaves twining through the grates, and immediately you start gravitating towards it. “Oh, this is pretty! Ed, get your ass over here, I want a picture by these flowers!” You demand. That beautiful, excited grin back on your face as you frantically wave over your boyfriend to your side with eager excitement.
“Comin’ sweets,” He answers, ambling over with a lazy smile. Among the blossoms, you look like a forest nymph, an ethereal being wearing one of his band shirts, a grin mirroring your own as he settles beside you. Eddie wraps his arms around your waist and drops a kiss into your hair. You wrap your own arms around him, squeezing him to you, your head nestled against his chest, hearing the thrumming of his heart, just listening to the soothing sound. The world feels soft and safe, and you wish this moment could last forever.
The camera clicks once more, and once the picture prints, Wayne gives a fond grin to the sweet photo. “There’s the keeper,” he calls out to you both. You light up, tugging Eddie along to see the picture, your smile bright enough to rival the sun as you gently take it from Wayne. He wanders off to snap more shots of the flower fields, leaving you and Eddie in your own little world. Eddie leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both admire the photo. Wayne’s right, that’s the best one today.
“You want it?” You ask sweetly, bumping your head gently against his.
Eddie shakes his head softly, “You keep it. Add it to that corkboard by your mirror. I’m always at your place anyway,” he reasons, giving your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. You tuck the photo away, then turn to kiss his cheek, but he turns just in time so your lips meet his instead. You laugh into the kiss, melting into the softness of his lips as they meld against yours.
After wandering a little longer, you stumble upon the flower gardens, and it’s beautiful, rows and rows of clustered flowers. You spot a pretty archway with flowers and leaves twining through the grates, and immediately you start gravitating towards it. “Oh, this is pretty! Ed, get your ass over here, I want a picture by these flowers!” You demand. That beautiful, excited grin back on your face as you frantically wave over your boyfriend to your side with eager excitement.
“Comin’ sweets,” He answers, ambling over with a lazy smile. Among the blossoms, you look like a forest nymph, an ethereal being wearing one of his band shirts, a grin mirroring your own as he settles beside you. Eddie wraps his arms around your waist and drops a kiss into your hair. You wrap your own arms around him, squeezing him to you, your head nestled against his chest, hearing the thrumming of his heart, just listening to the soothing sound. The world feels soft and safe, and you wish this moment could last forever.
The camera clicks once more, and once the picture prints, Wayne gives a fond grin to the sweet photo. “There’s the keeper,” he calls out to you both. You light up, tugging Eddie along to see the picture, your smile bright enough to rival the sun as you gently take it from Wayne. He wanders off to snap more shots of the flower fields, leaving you and Eddie in your own little world. Eddie leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both admire the photo. Wayne’s right, that’s the best one today.
“You want it?” You ask sweetly, bumping your head gently against his.
Eddie shakes his head softly, “You keep it. Add it to that corkboard by your mirror. I’m always at your place anyway,” he reasons, giving your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. You tuck the photo away, then turn to kiss his cheek, but he turns just in time so your lips meet his instead. You laugh into the kiss, melting into the softness of his lips as they meld against yours.
“There are cows here,” Eddie mutters with the sternness of a ship's captain telling his swabbies of an oncoming storm. His hands rest on the wooden fence as he watches the grazing herd.
“Why’s he keep statin’ the obvious?” Wayne mutters around a mouthful of sandwich to you, who is standing next to him, munching on your own as the pair of you observe the weirdest creature at the farm.
“Think he’s just narrating to himself,” you reply fondly, watching your boyfriend startle as a few cows approach him. You can’t help but laugh softly at the weirded-out look on his face as a couple of cows come right up to him and just stare.
“They’re looking at me funny,” he proclaims. Eddie reaches down and grabs a big fistful of tall grass, tentatively holding it out for the cows. When they approach, he instantly drops the grass, and you all watch it flutter to the ground from your chickenshit boyfriend’s hand; both cows lean down to eat what he dropped. He dusts his hands off on his jeans, just watching the cows eat before calling back to you, “Hey, babe, would you still love me if I were a cow?”
You snort, as Wayne gulps down the rest of his sandwich and says, “You wanna tell ‘im he wouldn’t be a cow, or shall I?”
Shaking your head, you respond, “No, it’s ok, don’t want to kill his whimsy.” You make your way over to your boyfriend. Now standing at his side as you say, “Of course I would, Eds, I’d take care of you and hang out with you every day,” you pull an apple out of the cooler bag, handing it over to Eddie, “Here, give them a treat, just keep your hand flat, so it doesn't bite off your fingers.”
"So it doesn't what?" Eddie asks in alarm, your disarming smile is all he receives. "Why would you say that?" He grumbles to himself, hesitating to take the apple from your hand, cautiously looking at the fruit and then back to the cow whose attention is caught by the shiny red fruit, and then back to the fruit. Wayne cups his hands around his mouth and calls out, “Boy, you gonna feed it or what? Need me t’come over there and hold yer hand?”
Eddie’s face scrunches up as if he sucked on a lemon. He hisses back, “No, I got it.” He musters his courage and bravely holds the apple out in his palm and leans over the fence for the cow to reach. You see its massive tongue loll out and lick Eddie’s hand as it scoops up the apple. “EW!! FUCK!!” Eddie screeches shrilly, recoiling aggressively and so fast as he bolts away from the fence, “IT TOUCHED MY HAND!!” You hear the camera click followed by a loud guffaw and have to stifle a laugh of your own.
“C’mere, let me wipe it off,” You call out as you leisurely chase after your boyfriend, who has retreated to safety next to his uncle, who is busy smirking at the newest picture from today.
“Think that’s enough enrichment for him today,” Wayne drolls out with a satisfied look, graciously taking the cooler bag from you once you make it over to them. You rummage through the bag for the babywipes and take a few, gently taking Eddie’s hand and wiping his palm free of cow spit.
“Want to go home?” You croon sweetly to your brave soldier.
“I hate this place,” Eddie grumbles, lips jutting out in a dramatic pout. He doesn’t mean it, honestly. This has been the best day he’s had in a while. He just wants sympathy kisses from his girl, which he gets, as he leans down slightly for you to cup his cheeks and peck him all over his face. Pure bliss, a better buzz than anything he could ever sell.
“Did you at least have fun?” You ask sweetly, making sure he’s just pouting to be dramatic, and he didn’t actually hate this day.
Eddie caves at your cute worried pout as he mutters, “It was alright, I guess, not sure I dig the animal spit.” At least his hand is clean now, but he’ll remember that nasty feeling for the rest of his life. He gets a full-body shiver just thinking about it. His eyes are warm as he looks at you. “I had fun if you had fun,” he murmurs.
You beam up at him, and he practically melts at the sight. “I did. We made a bunch of good memories today,” you titter with delight. You smack another kiss to Eddie’s face and chirp, “Happy Birthday, Eddie.”
“I like this one,” Wayne cuts in with a grin, holding out the Polaroid he just took. Eddie’s never looked worse; he’s a big blur mid scream, and you and the cow are just staring at him.
With a horrified screech, Eddie reaches out to fight his uncle to burn that picture, “GIVE ME THAT!”
A/N: I hope you enjoyed, I love a little family outing nothing better <3 just some extra fluff after all the angst in the first one, I love me fluff I do :D
▹Up Next ▵ Maybe I'm Crazy, Maybe I'm Out Of My Mind
Series Masterlist▵ Eddie Munson Masterlist ▵ Tag List
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: They told you he died in the quake, that his body couldn’t be recovered, all you have left of him is his guitar and the noise coming from the walls.
Word Count: 12.0k
Tags: Established Relationship, Angst we getting sadddd, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, humor got to have a giggle sometimes </3 Upside Down business.
TW: 18+, canon typical violence, blood, peril, descriptions of grief, description of death (Not a character), colorful language.
A/N: I've made it, I've reached the finish line, I'm missing teeth and coughing blood but I can finally say I hope you enjoy!
Request for 🦋 anon!! <3 This ones for you babe! *sick guitar solo*
It's A Cow Farm, There's Gonna Be Cows Outside << prequel, can be read in any order <3 (I recommend this one first!)
Series Masterlist▵ Eddie Munson Masterlist ▵ Tag List
You feel like your head is about to split open, the searing distress making your eyes burn and your heart pound against your ribcage even though your chest feels hollow. You feel like you're suffocating, like someone took away your oxygen. You let out a shaky exhale, palms pressed to your eyes as your hunched-over form sits on the couch with a gentle hand steady on your back. Nausea twists inside your stomach, but nothing will come out other than your grief. You try your best to calm yourself, but it feels impossible; there are too many people in the room. None of them are him. The hand on your back gently rubs between your shoulder blades, the younger boy’s voice calls your name, dragging you back to the present. You’d rather be anywhere else, you squeeze your eyes shut, take a deep breath, and look up, only at the curly-haired boy next to you, his own eyes mirroring your devastation. When was the last time you saw Dustin without his hat?
The younger boy frowns, taking a second to think over his words before he asks, tentatively, “Are you-“
“Please don’t say okay.” Your voice warbles, corners of your lips tugging down as you try your best to hold back a sob. You can’t cry now, not with so many strangers watching, their pity makes you uncomfortable.
“Do you want us to stay?” Dustin asks, sensing your discomfort with the peanut gallery that followed him to your house. They assumed that their presence would be a good show of support. Dustin takes a soothing breath of his own. They mean well, he knows that.
“No thanks.” The words leave your mouth before you can think, another breath rattling through you as you try to let the news sink in. Nothing feels right.
“I don’t think-“ Robin Buckley, she’s in band, you think you two never really spoke on account of your worlds never really colliding, until now apparently. She looks at you with concern and tries to protest before she’s abruptly cut off.
“Please.” Your voice is a sharp whisper, eyes fixed only on your friend, the one familiar anchor in the room. “Dustin, please, I want to be alone…” You try to keep your voice firm, but your resolve is splintering. Dustin can see it, Dustin gets it. This was a mistake.
He nods, rises from the couch, and gives your shoulder a final, reassuring squeeze. “Ok, I’ll come back to see you later, is that alright?” His brows knit together in sympathy, hope flickering in his eyes that you’ll let him look out for you, for your sake, for Eddie’s.
You glance up at him, eyes glassy with oncoming tears, as you mutter a fragile, “Thank you,” before you drop your gaze back to the floor. Still, the trio that tagged along with him are a tad reluctant to leave you here like this. Dustin somehow manages to herd his friends out of the house, their mumbled, awkward goodbyes sound off, until finally, you are left back in the heavy silence of your home.
“Well, that went well,” Steve mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, discomfort smeared across his face as the group gathers by his burgundy beamer. He takes glances at the door, feeling like they all should have done more, more of what he’s not sure, but telling Munson’s girlfriend he died and then just leaving her all alone? It felt all kinds of wrong, and if you ask him, kind of heartless.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t have done more?” Robin asks, worry lacing her tone as she shifts from foot to foot. She rubs her arms in a form of self-comfort. The anxious girl shares her best friend's sentiment: it felt cruel to drop that bomb on you and not be there to comfort you. She turns to Dustin and says, “Should we bring her something when we come back later?” Steve nods quietly, although he’s entirely unsure what they should bring you, flowers maybe, he’s got no clue, not exactly every day you have to break that kind of news to someone.
Dustin exhales sharply, eyes squeezed shut to keep his patience. He knows their hearts are in the right place. “We aren’t coming back later. I’m coming back later,” he says, voice steady as he meets the confused stares of Steve and Robin.
Nancy stands back, arms crossed over her chest, silently thinking, and finds herself siding with Dustin. You were clearly put off by the three of them; you only spoke directly to Dustin the entire time. The only time you looked at them was at the very beginning when they told you Eddie had been with them during the ‘earthquake. Nancy recognized that look on your face; she’s had that same look, calculating denial, like you knew they weren’t telling you everything.
Steve scoffs, folding his arms across his chest as he says, “Yeah? Who's gonna drive you, Henderson?”
“I have a bike and legs,” Dustin replies, rolling his eyes at the older boy’s mother-henning.
“You’re limping!” Steve argues, brows furrowed in irritation, Dustin’s sudden need to do everything alone already starting to grate on him.
Dustin groans, shoulders slumping as he shrugs. “Then I’ll bike slow! The fact of the matter is, she doesn’t know you guys. I told you I wanted to come alone.” Weariness settles over him, emotional exhaustion finally catching up.
“Eddie was our friend too,” Robin defends weakly, her voice barely above a whisper as she shrinks inward. Dustin’s eyes snap to hers, his brows knitting together in confused indignation.
“No, he wasn’t-“ Dustin says with an unintentional sharpness in his tone, which catches Robin off guard. Guilt twists in her chest because, deep down, she knows he’s not wrong. Eddie was easy to get along with in the short time she actually got to know him, surprisingly charismatic, and loved to yammer on about ‘his girl’, and if things had been different, Robin believes he would have fit in with the rest of the party like he’d been there all along. Things were not different.
Steve bristles at Dustin’s tone, wishing the kid could show a little gratitude instead of lashing out at friends who only want to help. “Dustin-“ Nancy cuts in with a warning, her patience worn thin by their constant bickering as of late. Her tone level, but her disapproval for how he’s speaking to everyone is evident.
Saving himself from the oncoming lecture Dustin says, “Listen to me, I’m not trying to be an asshole, but the reality is none of you ever spoke to Eddie before he got dragged into this.” the truth is uncomfortable as guilty faces look back at the youngest boy, he doesn’t mean to upset his friends but he’s doing this for your sake. “Be honest, how many times did any of you talk to Eddie before these last few days?” The heavy silence that follows is all the answer he needs.
Nancy sighs, glancing at the upset faces of the others next to her as she begins to defend them, “Dustin, you know that’s not fair-“ her brow twitches at being interrupted again, but she’ll let it slide just this once.
“You’re right, it’s not fair, but it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Dustin insists, letting out a heavy sigh. He feels bad for being harsh, but the truth stings. “I’m sorry. I know you all care, and I saw you starting to warm up to him, but she didn’t see that. All she saw were two strangers and her old high school bully standing in her living room, breaking the worst news imaginable.” He gestures helplessly at the group.
“Well, I never bullied her,” Steve mutters, shrinking under the weight of old mistakes. His back thumps against the beamer when he leans on it, hurt brown eyes looking away from the group.
Dustin sighs, more weary than annoyed now. “As if you weren’t calling her boyfriend Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson just a few days ago.” Steve’s guilt deepens, quietly berating himself for the things he said and for what he didn’t do. Dustin notices. It’s hard not to notice Steve Harrington’s kicked puppy look, especially when you're looking directly at it. “Look, I know you didn’t mean it like that, and I know you’re a good guy, we all do. But let me handle this. I think more people will just make things harder for her.”
A hush falls as the teens consider his words. Steve’s quiet, not liking Dustin pushing them out. Robin hesitates, feeling reluctant at being unable to help; she turns to Nancy, the unofficial leader of their group. Nancy pensively nods, agreeing with Dustin’s plan. She speaks for the group, “Ok, we’ll leave it to you.”
“Thank you,” Dustin breathes out, relief washing over him as his shoulders slump.
Steve huffs, clearly disagreeing with the decision but opting to keep his opinion to himself. His dissatisfaction lingers in his voice. “I’m still driving you here. I don’t want to find you face down in the dirt because you wiped out on your bike,” he compromises, giving Dustin a pointed look, quietly daring him to kick up another fuss.
Dustin lets out a long sigh but agrees, “Fine, but you’re not allowed to follow me in,” he says before Steve can get on him about sighing for so long.
“Fine,” Steve grumbles, rounding the beamer to the driver's seat, motioning everyone to get in before slumping into his seat, slamming the door shut and pulling away.
Eddie’s funeral arrived sooner than you thought it would, just a few days after Dustin’s visit with the others. It was over in a blink, a tiny gathering on a humid day, sun shining like it was all some cosmic joke. You buried an empty coffin. Only you, Wayne, Dustin, and a few Hellfire members stood witness. Gareth was absent; his mom didn’t want him associating with anything Hellfire anymore after everything that happened. Lucas was with his girlfriend, Max. Dustin told you she is in a coma, but never elaborated on the how, not that it was any of your business; you don’t blame Lucas, you’d do the same if the roles were reversed. You didn’t get a straight answer about Mike, some mumbly excuse about too many people at his house, his parents needing an extra pair of hands, you have no idea what he was talking about.
You just let it go, no point in being upset about something that can’t be helped. To your surprise, however, Steve Harrington had turned up, and you're not sure what shocked you more: him actually being there willingly, or the fact that he gave you the most sincere condolences out of everyone there, like he was personally apologizing for something. Dustin had made an offhand comment to you when he came back to visit you alone, about the older boy being practically attached to his hip, and clearly, he was not kidding.
You stare blankly at the headstone etched with a name that will be forever carved into your heart, mind working over everything that happened this week. An earthquake is what Dustin and Wheeler had told you, and yet they couldn’t find a body. None of the four people who claimed to be with your boyfriend at the time of the quake could tell you where he was, stumbling over each other to give you a reason. ‘They were all separated.’ ‘It all happened so quickly.’ ‘Too dangerous to go back.’ That last one earned Harrington a pointed look from Wheeler and Dustin. You didn’t pry at the time; you just filed it away for later.
It was the little things, slight hiccups, that made you question anything you were told by them. In what world would Eddie Munson die to an earthquake? You don’t believe he’s some kind of superhero, invulnerable to being trapped and killed by debris, but none of what’s been going on over the last week has made any sense.
Ever since the missed phone call Friday night after he finished his campaign, you felt something was off. Your heart plummeted to your stomach when the murder at Forest Hills was broadcast on the news; you thought the victim had been Eddie. Then the cops showed up at your door moments later, fueling your worst fears, but when they started grilling you about Chrissy Cunningham, it threw you off. Eddie had mentioned selling her some of the strong stuff. You had your qualms with him selling something like that to a first-time user, but he laughed it off and told you it’d be fine, that you worry too much.
You were evasive with your answers to the police, and they left soon after, no closer to finding your boyfriend. You stayed home by the phone, desperate for it to ring, to hear him tell you everything was ok and that it was just some weird misunderstanding, that he’d be home soon. All you got was radio silence and another news broadcast telling you Eddie Munson was a suspect in serial murders, and then Hawkins split into four.
You’re not stupid, as if you would believe that those massive fuck off rifts in the ground were the result of an earthquake, they’re fucking glowing red. The military broadcasts are trying to cover it up as ‘volcanic activity’. You live in Indiana, what the fuck are they talking about? Another thing that doesn’t make sense is that Dustin said he was with Eddie when he died in the quake; he had shown you and Wayne his guitar pick necklace to prove they were together, so where’s Eddie? He was close enough to take the necklace but not close enough to be able to point out Eddie’s body to a rescue team or anyone? To save you the heartache of standing here with an empty box in the ground.
You haven’t confronted Dustin yet, telling yourself you’re still piecing together all the inconsistencies in his story. But the main thing holding you back is that a small part of you doesn’t want to confirm your worst fear. You know he’s hiding something, obviously he’s hiding something, something about those rips in the ground, something about how Eddie died. Your Eddie is out there somewhere, you know it, dead, alive, you have no idea. Dustin can tearfully tell you a hundred times that Eddie spent his last moments with him, but you will never believe that he would have been with any of the others by choice and vice versa. Something’s wrong, and for your peace of mind, you have to know what, even if the truth tears you to shreds.
Grass crunches beside you, then a warm arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into the familiar comfort you know. Instinctively, you rest your head on his shoulder. Wayne’s gruff voice rumbles, “How you holdin’ up, buttercup?”
“Bad.” Your reply is barely a whisper, your voice rough from days of silence and the rawness of crying yourself to sleep, so far it’s been every night, you're going for a record. That routine only broken by brief talks with Dustin when he visits.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I hear ya…” His hand finds your shoulder, warm and steady, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Have somethin’ for you, thinkin’ he’d probably want you to have it.” You meet his gaze with red-rimmed eyes, his own exhausted look matching yours, as he nods in the direction of the jalopy. He leads you to the car, the comfort of his touch fading as he moves to open the passenger door. There sits Sweetheart, buckled in all her sleek glory, accompanied by a cardboard box full of whatever Wayne could salvage of Eddie from his destroyed trailer.
You peer into the box, finding a jumble of shirts, books, mixtapes, pictures, whatever Wayne could find. Tears threaten again as you glance up at him. “Are you sure?” you sniffle, picking through the box, hands tightening on a hellfire T-shirt. “You- You won’t have anything.” Wayne just smiles, exhaling softly through his nose.
“I got plenty. Managed to scrounge up the important stuff. Boy hoarded tapes like it was his job, an’ I got more pictures from holidays and birthdays than I know what to do with.” He reassures, giving your shoulder another squeeze. You bite your lip, fingers tracing Sweetheart’s neck as you lift her from the seat. Wayne adds, “It’ll be alright. I know it don’t feel like it, but it will.” You hold the guitar close, not caring how its edges dig into you.
“When are you leaving?” you mutter quietly, turning to face the older man. He looks tired, sick of this place. You are too.
“Soon. Not a whole lot to pack up,” Wayne answers. He looks apologetic, feeling guilty, like he’s just abandoning you in this town.
You sling Sweetheart over your shoulder, the cool surface pressing against your back. Stepping into Wayne’s arms, you cling to him, muttering, “I’ll miss you. Will you call?”
He rests his prickly chin on your head and hugs you close. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll call when I get there,” he promises, rubbing your back.
You soak in the comfort, a peaceful silence humming between you, until you crack. “I miss him,” you croak, hot tears bubbling up and spilling over.
“Me too, buttercup, me too,” Wayne answers, his own lip trembling as he fights his own tears. He squeezes you tighter, shielding you from the grief Hawkins has forced on you, if only for this brief moment.
You pull away, the warm moment slipping through your fingers far too quickly. You swipe your face with your jacket sleeve, trying to pull yourself together. Wayne gives your shoulder a final, gentle pat before climbing into his car. With Eddie’s box clutched tight in your arms and his guitar hanging from your back, you wave until Wayne’s old jalopy fades from sight. Soft, lighter footsteps crunch to a stop beside you.
“Need a ride?” Dustin asks, standing next to you in a black suit that looks a little big on him.
“You drive?” you ask, a confused, watery smile flickering across your face as you awkwardly brush residual tears away with your shoulder. Dustin looks sheepish, shaking his head and nodding toward Steve Harrington, who stands a little further back, looking painfully out of place and awkward. He’s pointedly looking at anything but the two of you, like someone told him not to look in your direction specifically. You huff a little laugh, asking incredulously, “You’re offering Harrington’s car?”
Dustin sighs heavily with a dramatic eyeroll. “Since he refuses to let me do anything myself, because apparently I need two mothers. Yes, if you want, Steve will chauffeur you anywhere, no questions asked.” The younger boy looks older than he is, more drained, more stressed. You smile softly at him. You're happy he has a friend that cares so much, that friend being Steve Harrington, mind-boggling, but you’re glad to see people can change. Dustin mistakes your silence for hesitation and quickly adds, “I can tell him to just drive and not say anything to you if you don’t like him. He’ll listen-“
You let out a surprised laugh, the light sound even startles Dustin, a smile breaking on to his face at the unintentional act of lifting your spirits. You reassure him, “Dustin, it’s fine. I don’t hate him. You don’t have to gag the guy, just never thought I’d see the day.” You mumble the last part, thoughtful, wondering if Eddie ever felt just as weird sharing space with Harrington. Knowing your boyfriend, he probably blabbed about how much of a douchebag he thought he was. Eddie was always the speak your mind type, which always got him into some sort of trouble.
“Oh, believe me, neither did I. Now he follows me wherever I go. He thinks with my limp I’m crippled for life,” Dustin says with another eye roll, but there’s no abrasiveness in his tone; in fact, a shy gratitude softens his face as he glances at the tall brunette.
You can’t help but smile, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “That’s actually kind of sweet,” you say, voice low. Dustin just rolls his eyes, but you catch the hint of a smile.
“Don’t let him hear you say that he’ll fall in love with you. He has a bad habit of assuming girls that are nice to him are the one,” Dustin mutters good-naturedly. You crack a little laugh, and he does too.
“Too bad, I’m taken,” you whisper, eyes turning back to the stone that holds the name of the one you love. The mood goes back to being somber. You glance at Dustin again and say, “Thanks, Dustin, but I’m ok, I’m gonna walk to clear my head.”
“You’re sure?” Dustin asks with uncertainty dancing in his eyes.
“Yeah, thank you.” You give your best reassuring smile, one that almost reaches your eyes.
Dustin nods and gives you a quick hug, which you return as best you can with the box in your arms. You stay with the grave a little longer. The moment you see ‘the hair’s’ car drive away, you begin your walk home, quietly lost in your own head.
You don't know how you ended up past the flimsy caution tape warding people off from the cracks. Maybe you just wanted to see what it was. Maybe you just wanted to see what ripped your boyfriend away from you, or maybe the weird pulsing energy radiating from it is what pulled you in. Now you find yourself standing at the edge of the rift, in an area not yet properly covered by the military. It’s not safe here. You could be spotted at any moment, but you can’t stop yourself from lowering to a crouch, placing your box to the side. You're illuminated by the intense fiery red glow, as you stare down into the rip, your brow furrowed as you study it. What kind of fucked up earthquake creates something like this?
You inch closer, bracing a hand on a jagged rock to lean in, using your other hand to brush through the tendons. Gross, it’s all soft, slimy, and fleshy. Pulling your hand back, you scrunch your face in disgust, and you try to shake off the goo. For something that looks like it should be hot, it’s ice cold. What the fuck is it? You should have worn gloves; you probably just touched something radioactive, because whatever it is, it’s not natural.
You push yourself up, leaning too heavily on the rock, and the loose rock slips from beneath you, cutting your palm and sending a small cluster of the rocks skittering into the glowing abyss. You gasp, catching yourself with your other hand just in time to avoid plunging headfirst into the rift. You tuck your wounded hand close to your body with a pained hiss, blood dripping from your cut as you grab a bandanna from Eddie’s stash and quickly fasten it around your hand to curb the bleeding. You sit back on your haunches, taking a moment to calm your racing heart over doing something so stupidly dangerous. Gathering your things in a rush, you slip back under the caution tape. Getting caught is the last thing you want, but one thing you're certain of is that ‘the earthquake’ was bullshit. No natural disaster caused that.
Sitting on the edge of your bed in his hellfire shirt and some pyjama bottoms, your damp hair leaves little trails down your neck. You cradle your freshly bandaged hand, eyes lingering on the messy wrap. The cut could have been worse, but it was still pretty gnarly and hurts like hell. At the very least, you managed to clean it up well enough that you’re not bleeding through the bandage anymore. Eddie’s guitar lies next to you on your bed, and your eyes wander over its pattern, letting your fingertips ghost across the strings. With a heavy sigh, you scoot back, using your good hand, and let your head fall against the wall. Eyes closed, as you just let the day fall away from you.
Your eyes slowly flutter open, landing on the funeral clothes hanging neatly on your closet door. It rubs you the wrong way. It makes no goddamn sense. Hawkins isn’t a huge town. They haven’t found anyone in the wreckage for a while now. The majority has been cleared, and the military is almost done putting up its restricted area in the center of it all, and yet they still haven’t found Eddie. The media was content to write him off as dead, case closed, their murder story wrapped up in a neat bow. Not that you want them to potentially find and arrest your boyfriend, if he is alive somewhere. But for someone they painted as a malicious monster, you’d think they’d want a body just to be sure.
What if he’s just hiding? What if Dustin’s just covering for him so that he won’t get taken in for something he didn’t do? You heave out a heavy sigh. Deep down, you know that’s not it. Dustin’s grief when he told you Eddie was gone felt raw, too real to be fake. They all seemed genuinely distressed when they told you. Wheeler. Harrington. Buckley. You’re still not entirely sure what to make of them. Why was Eddie with them in the first place? You always believed if Eddie ever got himself into some serious shit, he’d come to you first. But he didn’t, and they seemed to gloss over the why when they told you what happened. All you know from them is that Eddie was a suspect, he hid at Reefer Rick’s, Dustin and the others found him that same day, and then the earthquake hit, and he died.
But that raises a new question. Why did those four go out of their way to find Eddie? Even you didn’t do that. The only reason you even knew he was involved was because the cops turned up at your door, and it wasn’t to ask you about the victim. Not long after, Wayne managed to call, telling you to stay put, stay safe, because someone was out there killing teens, and it sure as hell wasn’t Eddie Munson. You hug your knees to your chest, brow furrowed as you try to piece it all together. How did Dustin know to look for Eddie? How did he even know where to find him? The news only said someone in Forest Hills was murdered, and they didn’t reveal a suspect until much later. Yet they found Eddie that same day? Which leaves two or three days of what? What exactly was their plan to prove Eddie innocent? Did they even have one, or were they just going to keep him hidden forever? Who killed Chrissy or Fred or Patrick? They didn’t seem too worried about that part. Why? They all fit the demographic, aside from Harrington, all of them Hawkins High students. Unless something else connected Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick, something Dustin, Nancy, and Robin don’t have.
‘Too dangerous to go back.’ What did Harrington mean by that? What was so dangerous about Rick’s house? All you know is he lived out by Lover’s Lake. Was he talking about the lake itself? Maybe he meant Jason and his posse of assholes. You saw them lurking around your house, you never answered the door, and you slept with your bat close by, just in case, but you never got the chance to use it. Or maybe he meant the rifts, one of them tore right through Lover’s Lake, where Patrick was killed, but that was like a day later. You’re left with fragments of a story, pieces that don’t fit together. Something in between is missing, and Dustin has the answers, but something tells you that he’s a steel trap right now. Maybe if you apply the right pressure, you’ll get some honest answers.
You’re giving yourself a headache with all this thinking and endless questions. With another weary sigh, you glance down at Sweetheart, cheek pressed to your knees as your bandaged hand brushes her strings again. “I know you’re not here, but I really need to talk to someone, and it’s always been you, it always will be. Maybe by some miracle you’ll hear this…” You swallow the lump in your throat, pressing your palms into your eyes to cool the burning. A shaky breath escapes you, followed by a bitter laugh. “Probably not, but I can hope, right?” You drop your hands, wrapping them tightly around your knees.
You sniff, clearing your throat. “God, where do I even start? This week's been shitty, that’s an understatement, actually, it’s more like a nightmare. You’re gonna hate to hear this, but Hellfire disbanded. After everything that happened, it’s not safe for them to get together anymore. Everyone’s convinced you were some evil sacrificing cult leader.” You let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head. “You, Eddie Munson, who I’ve watched squeal when you fed that cow at the petting zoo we went to with Wayne,” you laugh, fond eyes catching on that picture you keep on your corkboard, the one where it’s just the two of you under the flower arch, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. “Do you remember that day? I loved it.” Your voice wavers, eyes locked on his face, a fragile smile tugging at your lips as the burn behind your eyes returns. “I know it wasn’t really your thing, but I’m glad we went. Just being with you meant everything to me.”
Your smile fades as you say, “He’s leaving… Wayne, I mean, it’s not good here for him. The trailer got ripped in half… but most of all it’s the people, still talking like they have any right,” bitterness slips into your tone at the end. You hate this town. There’s nothing much left here to love.
A tear slips down your cheek, and you wipe it away fast, voice trembling on the edge of a sob. “I miss you so much.” You draw in another shaky breath. “Dustin told me you died a hero… I don’t believe him.” You laugh at how that came out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable of being a hero. You’ve always been brave,” You snort a little, eyes catching on another picture on the corkboard, the one where he ran away so fast he became a blur, “Sometimes, but you are smart. Smarter than you give yourself credit for. I just can’t wrap my head around you actually being gone. Dustin’s hiding something from me. His story doesn’t add up, it’s all so vague.” You say brows furrowed, all those questions you had earlier clouding your mind, “I just don’t understand. Why didn’t you come to me?” You hug yourself, head knocking gently against the wall, fingers tracing the strings of Sweetheart.
“I just… I don’t know what to think. But I know something big is going on, something important. I think it’s connected to those rifts in the ground. After Hawkins split, I went to see one. I don’t even know why. I just felt pulled to it, I guess. It was weird. I touched it, and it felt slimy and cold. Wrong. Also fucking disgusting.” You say, wrinkling your nose, resting your chin back on your knees, a new kindling fire in your eyes as you think about those rifts. “I think I’m gonna go back tomorrow see-“
The lamp on your desk flickers frantically, its light swelling until the whole room feels electric. You snap your head toward it, brows knitted, and slide off your bed to investigate. Flipping the switch does nothing; the flickering pauses for a moment, then resumes. “What the fuck?” you mutter, jabbing the switch as the humming grows louder. Your frustration boils over, you've had enough of this week that last thing you need is a fucked up lamp. You yank the plug from the wall. Silence falls, the house suddenly stills. “Weird…” You huff, slumping back into your bed, just staring at your lamp. It doesn’t freak out again. You feel regret seep in. It’s never done that before, and that flickering wasn’t like the power was going out, it was like it was getting more energy. You’re tempted to plug it back in and see if it happens again. What if that pulsing wasn’t random? You rub your eyes. God, what the hell are you thinking? It’s been a long week. You just need to sleep it off. You’re starting to think the lights are talking to you. Not even bothering with the covers. You just curl up next to Sweetheart and murmur a soft, “Good night, Ed,” as your eyes droop shut and sleep pulls you under.
Sitting on your bed, back pressed against the cold wall, in his bloodied Hellfire shirt, with makeshift bandages clumsily wrapped around his torso, arm and neck. It’s hardly a professional job, but he’s just grateful to be alive enough to do such a shitty job. He can’t remember everything that happened. It all happened so fast. One moment, he was up drawing away those things, then he got swarmed, and that’s when it started to get hazy. His wounds burn, a dull agonizing pulse with every small movement, a constant reminder of teeth tearing into flesh. He remembers it went quiet, and then he remembers Dustin. They had a moment, he made the kid promise to take care of you when he was gone, told him he loved him, and then he died.
Apparently fucking not. Eddie’s not sure how long he was lying there in the street, but when he came to, he was alone. He woke up inches away from a massive gate that had been torn straight through his home. He hopes Wayne wasn’t inside. He managed to stagger his way to the wreckage. He stood there for a while just staring in disbelief. They really lost. Did the others even get out? Is everyone dead?
Are you ok?
As stupid as his next Idea was, he managed to pry open a window and crawl through, landing with a pained groan in the ruins of his room. Actually, maybe that's just how it’s always looked. He lies on the floor for a while, jaw clenched so tight his teeth could shatter, every bite mark burning, tears threatening to spill from the pain. He forces himself to breathe through it, fighting off another wave of panic. It hurts. That’s a good thing. He should worry when he starts to feel numb. He hauls himself up using his broken dresser as a crutch to stand, and he digs through the drawers, making the difficult choice of which T-shirt he’s gonna shred for bandaging, just like Wheeler did for Harrington. He picks a shirt and sets it aside.
He shrugs off his jacket with a wince, letting it fall in a bloody heap. Peeling off his shirt is agony, each bite mark flaring with pain as he peels the fabric free and flings it onto the pile on the floor with a wet slap. His eyes catch on his reflection in the shattered mirror. God, he looks awful. Huge gashes across his chest and arm, one bite so scarily close to his throat if it were any deeper... He shakes the thought away, grabs his sacrifice, and rips it into strips, hissing as he cinches the makeshift bandages tight around his wounds.
His first try at bandaging looks like shit, but at least he’s not just bleeding everywhere anymore. He slumps against the dresser, hands braced on the top, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut as the world spins. Please, God, don’t let it be rabies. Buckley better have been fucking joking. When the dizziness fades, Eddie grabs a new T-shirt from the drawer, slipping it on and immediately getting blood on it, fuck it, who cares. He clambers back out the window, just as graceless as before. At least this time he lands on his feet, though he whines at the pain in his side. He should leave. He just needs one more thing. Circling the house, he finds the ladder sprawled on the ground, props it against the trailer, and climbs carefully to the roof. There she is, untouched and waiting for him. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he rasps, furrowing his brow as he coughs at the scratchiness in his throat. He checks her over, not a single scratch. That makes one of them. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he heads back down. Now what.
Eddie’s eyes track to the massive gate rifts again, hard not to, they go on for miles. He edges closer, letting the red glow wash over him as he stares into it. Should he just jump in? Probably not. What if the cops are still around, or worse, they called for more extensive backup? He certainly would look at the size of these fucking things. He glances around, spots the trash can out front, and dumps its contents to lighten the load. With the empty can, he drags it to the gate and pushes it in.
CLANG
Well, that settles it. He’s not jumping in anytime soon. The trash can is wedged halfway in the portal, something blocking the other side. Perfect. He’ll just go fuck himself, then. Biting his lip, fists clenched, he wonders what the hell to do now. He can’t get through. He just wants to go home. So he does the next logical thing. He wanders for hours, staggering out of Forest Hills and just going wherever his feet take him.
Eventually, he finds himself at the safest place he knows, guided by muscle memory. The familiar house was shrouded in vines just like everywhere else. He bends down, lifts the doormat, and takes the key. The familiar sight welcomes him, and all his tension seems to just fade away as the front door closes behind him. He trudges up the stairs, pushing open the door to your room. He tries not to wail like a baby; everything looks how it always has, a few things missing from the room trapped in 1983. He brushes the tears from his eyes quickly, and he settles on your bed, fisting the soft sheets between his hands as he lets himself rest. That’s how he ends up here, on your bed.
He wonders if you're home right now. He wonders if you’re sitting next to him just a dimension away. He lets his eyes flutter shut. Eddie’s never liked silence, which is why his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he hears your voice. You’re talking to someone. You’re talking to him. Quietly, he listens to you, your voice being his only connection to real Hawkins, to home. He scoffs in irritation at the disbandment of Hellfire, but he’s glad they’re all ok. He’s unsurprised that the media continued the narrative that all those murders were his fault. The Hawkins police department wouldn’t be able to tell their heads from their ass. Of course, they couldn’t do any actual investigating and figure out that he doesn’t, in fact, suck people's eyes out of their heads. He rolls his eyes, then grins sheepishly at the memory of his 18th birthday. A cow licked his hand, anyone would have screamed. It was gross. Still, it was one of the best days of his life, just getting to be with you and your smile.
He absently plucks at the rips in his jeans, pausing momentarily as his heart sinks when you mention Wayne leaving. You sound so upset. He wishes he could be there, just to tell you it’s going to be okay, that he’s ok. You’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.
“I miss you so much.” Your trembling voice breaks his heart, as his eyes shine with tears again.
“I’m right here,” he mutters to you, even though he’s never felt further away. He laughs at your poor phrasing, feeling bashful when you call him brave and smart. Sweet talker. He doesn’t feel very smart. Would a smart person get himself trapped in another dimension?
“I just don’t understand. Why didn’t you come to me?” Your voice cracks with anguish, and guilt twists inside him. He left you in the dark, yet somehow, you still believed in him.
“I didn’t want it to follow me to you.” Everything he did was to keep you safe. That’s all he wanted, that’s all that matters. He didn’t mean to break your heart in the process. He hopes that if he gets back to you, you can forgive him.
A foreboding chill prickles his skin when you mention the rift. You went near one alone? Dustin had one job, and Eddie stews quietly. He can’t completely blame the kid. He’s got a lot on his plate with all this Vecna shit. And technically, he made him promise to look after you when he was gone, and he’s still alive, so. He sighs heavily, picking at the skin on his lips nervously. You’re always too smart. You’ll get yourself hurt if you go back to the gate. He can’t let you go back. He needs to warn you. He sees the wispy glow of your lamp. Inspiration strikes. He scrambles off the bed and tries to communicate with you, Morse code, random flickering, whatever, he just wants you to know he’s here, he can hear you, and your plan sucks. He hears your confused frustration with the furniture. Come on, you’re so smart. This is weird, right? An unnatural flickering light making a weird whirring noise, definitely weir- You unplugged it, the glow fades, and Eddie’s shoulders slump as he sinks back onto the bed in defeat.
“Good night, Ed.”
“Good night, sweets.” He sighs, hoping you’ll plug the lamp back in so he can try again. Maybe next time, he’ll finally be able to reach you.
Eddie sits in the silence. He feels like he hasn’t slept right in days, seriously, how long was he out? His eyelids droop, and then he hears it. The upside-down has been eerily silent for as long as he’s been walking around it. A low guttural growl was unmistakable, something heavy creeping up the stairs. He’s instantly on high alert, he grabs his guitar, slinging it on his back in case of a need for a quick escape, and hides in your closet peaking out through the slats, and then he sees it for the first time, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! Dustin didn’t tell him there were huge, gangly, pale NAKED DUDES in the Upside Down. Eddie watches with bated breath, heart hammering, as the creature prowls toward your bed, moving like it’s tracking something. Oh God, did he lead that thing here?
What the fuck is it doing to the wall above your bed?
IT’S TEARING THROUGH THE FUCKING WALL OH SHIT. Eddie panics as he watches the creature. The thing is huge, 9 feet of pure limb, all mouth. OH GOD, IT'S GONNA EAT HIS GIRLFRIEND. ONLY HE’S ALLOWED TO KNOW HOW GOOD YOU TASTE. With whatever courage he can scrape together, an angered yell that probably came off as a squeaky scream, and the athleticism of a gnat, Eddie bursts out of your closet and swings the metal bat as hard as he can, doming the stupid fucking thing so hard it crashes to the ground next to your alternate world bed.
Eddie pants heavily, his arms now catching up with his brain, and they feel like wet spaghetti. He teeters closer to the definitely not demobat and- OH GOD ITS GETTING UP. Eddie thwacks it again, and the creature practically eats the hit. “Nope!” Eddie bolts out of the room with a loose plan to lure the creature far, far away from your room. He’s not sure where he’s going, but away from you is ideal. With some luck, he could have used way earlier, the monster chases him. Leaving your room empty, apart from the small dull rift in your wall.
PING
You blink awake, groggy, muttering a confused “Fuck?” You shield your eyes from the lights in your bedroom, going nuts. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to reorient yourself as you swing your legs out of bed. Suddenly, a piercing, unnatural shriek from behind you jolts you fully awake. You whip around to see nothing but your bedroom wall. Did someone just yell nope? Or are you so sleep-deprived you’re getting auditory hallucinations? The room light sputters out, and the hallway bulbs start flickering in a frantic rhythm. Bewildered, you trail the erratic lights through your house, down the stairs, and out onto the porch. The cold bites at your skin as you watch a streetlight buzz, flare, and then die. What the fuck was that about? Your brow furrows in thought, your lamp acting up could’ve been chalked up to fucked wiring, but your entire house and then a street lamp? Maybe you should plug that lamp back in.
That night wasn’t the last time the lights in your house started acting weird. The intense freak-out of all your main house lights never happened again, but strange little things kept happening. The lamp you unplugged before started pulsing again in weird patterns, usually whenever you were in your room, specifically when you talked out loud. Almost like it was trying to communicate with you, but whatever was on the other side was only ever available at night, maybe it slept through the day? You started asking yes-or-no questions: two for 'no', one for 'yes'. Whatever you were talking to or whoever you were talking to told you they were real, not a ghost, they were human, and that they couldn’t see you. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask the question you really wanted to ask, because if the answer was no, you knew your little flame of hope would be snuffed out.
Something else began feeding your desperate hope. It’s a new thing. At night, you think you hear humming, not the electrical hum from the lights, but like someone’s vocalizing a song, it’s not your neighbours because as soon as you leave your room, it disappears, and, as insane as you already sound, thinking the lights are talking to you, you swear to God you can hear Sweetheart accompany it. You had pressed your ear against the wall one night, and it was like the sound was in the walls. It only ever starts as you drift off to sleep, so faint you wonder if maybe you had been dreaming it. But what if it’s real?
You prowl your room, restless as a caged animal. Dustin’s eyes track your every move, worry etched across his face as you ramble, “I can hear her, I swear to god I can, I just can’t tell where it’s coming from.” You glare at the blank wall just above your bed, searching for something off, but it’s the same wall as always.
“You miss him. Sometimes, I see people who look like him and I double-take, but… he’s gone…” Dustin says, his brows knit with concern. He hates seeing you unravel like this, worn thin by exhaustion and sorrow. He worries you might actually be losing your mind in your grief.
“I don’t think he is,” you reply, halting your restless pacing to meet Dustin’s eyes. It only happens late at night. Guitars don’t strum themselves, and it’s not Sweetheart in your room making noise, and there’s a person in your lamp that is literally talking to you. So obviously something’s going on. And maybe Dustin doesn’t know about it, but he knows something.
Dustin swallows the lump in his throat as he pleads with you to just listen, “I was-”
You huff, tired of hearing the same story. You can’t take it anymore. “I know, you’ve told me a hundred times. You, Harrington, Wheeler, and Buckley were with him.” You shake your head and resume your pacing. “But it doesn’t make sense, Dustin. There are too many holes in your story.” You watch his composure falter, his mask slipping for the first time. You never had the heart to challenge him before, but now you feel close to the truth. The rift, the flickering lights, the strange noises at night. Something is trying to reach you, and Dustin knows more than he lets on. “How did you find Eddie so fast? What were you all doing before the earthquake hit? What did Harrington mean by ‘It was too dangerous to go back’?” Dustin shrinks under your barrage of questions. His words caught in his throat. You press harder. “What happened to Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick? I know Eddie didn’t kill them, so who did?” You cross your arms, your voice sharp with accusation.
Dustin flinches, tense, his eyes darting away from you, unable to look you in the eye as he reiterates, “The earth-“
You let out a harsh sigh, shaking your head as frustration boils over. “If you say it was the earthquake one more time, I swear.” Your hands cut through the air as you speak. “That didn’t kill them. They died before that.” Planting your hands on your hips, glowering at the younger boy, “It wasn’t the earthquake, and it wasn’t Eddie. So what did kill them? Eddie’s not stupid. He knew running would make him look guilty, so something happened that he couldn’t explain to the police. Does it have to do with those massive rifts the ‘earthquake’ left behind? Because I know that’s not just cracked ground. There’s something in there, something weird, glowy, fleshy shit-”
Dustin freezes, his face going pale as he asks in horror. “Y-You went near the gate?”
You fix him with a hard stare. “You know what it is?” you whisper, disbelief twisting your words. A gate? A gate to where? To Eddie? Is that why Harrington said it was too dangerous to go back? Too dangerous to go back through the gate? “You lied to me. I want the truth. You said you were with Eddie when he died, so where’s his body? Why did we bury an empty coffin, Dustin? Where is my boyfriend?” Your happiness from finally getting somewhere mixing with your anger for being left in the dark for so long, made your words come out harsher than you intended.
And then Dustin breaks, tears welling up until they spill over, and you falter, your hands falling uselessly to your sides as the kid you just berated crumbles under the pressure. You ease down beside him, wrapping him in a tight hug as he tells you everything that he’s kept bottled up for years, beginning on November 6th, 1983, and finally what happened to Eddie. He tells you that Chrissy was killed by Vecna in Eddie’s trailer when he was doing a deal, and how he hid in Reefer Rick’s boat house, because he was scared Vecna would follow him to your house. He told you how Eddie followed the others to the Upside Down after Harrington got dragged into Lover’s Lake. He describes the legendary guitar solo and finally, Eddie’s sacrifice. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, we- we couldn’t bring him back, everything just started collapsing in on itself, and I wanted to, but-“
“Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.” Your eyes soften, your voice gentle as you apologize, arms tightening around him as you squeeze him.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” He croaks out, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his sleeve, his head resting on your shoulder.
You let out a sigh. “Honestly, I can’t blame you. You’ve had a pretty wild childhood,” you tease, flashing a crooked smile and nudging his shoulder.
Dustin snorts, a sarcastic “Yeah” escaping him, but his voice shrinks when he asks, “You really still think he’s out there?”
“Yeah,” you reply, resting your chin on the top of his head as you stare at the lamp on your desk. “Someone’s talking to me through my lights. Maybe it’s not him, and it’s all a weird coincidence, but if it isn’t, I need to find out. I want to bring him home.” You pull back, determination burning in your eyes, and Dustin’s worry grows. He promised Eddie he’d keep you safe; he can’t do that if you go to the Upside Down and get yourself killed.
Dustin’s voice trembles with worry. “You shouldn’t go there by yourself, it’s dangerous.” You can tell, Demogorgons, Demodogs, Demobats, Vecna? The Upside Down sounds like it’s riddled with monsters. A frown pulls to your lips. After all this time, could Eddie really still be there?
You sigh, there’s no time for doubt now, “Don’t worry, I’m not that crazy just yet.” You flash a reassuring smile. “When the party comes up with a plan, will you let me in on it?” You ask tentatively, not entirely sure Dustin is allowed to call the shots, but he agrees anyway. You guess he can do whatever the hell he wants. Good for him.
Dustin holds out his pinkie to you, “As long as you promise to tell me if you plan to do anything dangerous so I can help.”
You let out a soft laugh. “Promise.” You smile, linking your pinkie with his.
Night finally settles in. Dustin left a few hours ago, probably to break the news that he just spilled every bean he ever had to you, and now you’re a part of this mess too. You were a little worried he’d get into trouble, but he reassured you he had it all totally under control. So you got to work, writing down everything you could recall from what Dustin told you about the Upside Down. You wrote pages and pages of information that could be useful to navigate the Upside Down, stuff about the monsters, about the gates, anything. It’s very late at night when you finally succumb to your exhaustion. Shadows deepen the circles beneath your eyes as you drift into a heavy sleep, soft snores escaping your lips. You are oblivious to the way your wall begins to warp, stretching into the silhouette of a monster as razor-sharp claws tear through the wallpaper.
“Hey!” The Demogorgon’s focus snaps away from following the faint scent of blood. The gangly creature locks its attention on Eddie. tired, wild-haired, determined Eddie, wielding a can of hairspray and a lighter. Turns out, you weren’t the only one listening to Dustin’s confession. Eddie flicks the lighter and sends a burst of flame at the Demogorgon. It shrieks in pain, its flesh bubbling, leaving a nasty burn, and it retaliates with a furious swipe of its massive claws. Eddie narrowly ducks under the incoming swipe, squawking a “Jesus Christ!” under his breath, scrambling out of the room before bolting downstairs, sliding down the handrail because there is simply no time for steps.
While you were busy brainstorming, well-thought-out plans to find him, Eddie was improvising a reckless scheme to take down the monster about to devour you. He vaults over the bear trap nailed in the hallway, plants himself by the half wall near the kitchen, grabs a fistful of cherry bombs he’d scavenged and tied together, whipping around to get eyes of the beast.
The Demogorgon barrels after him, stepping straight into the trap. The rusted metal jaws snap shut on its bony ankle, drawing a guttural shriek from the monster. It thrashes, roaring at Eddie, who steps back, jaw set, lighting the fuse. He hopes this works. He hurls the cherry bombs with a desperate yell. The monster lunges at him with another loud roar, pulling the shoddily nailed bear trap out of the floorboards. Eddie staggers back in panic. What was plan B? The Demogorgon instinctively snaps its maw around the fast-approaching objects.
BOOM
Eddie covers his face with his arms curling in on himself as a dark, viscous liquid splatters everywhere. He unfurls from his brace position staring at the corpse of the Demogorgon. its body crashing to the ground as its blood pools from its neck stump. Fragments of its head plastered to the walls, floor, and Eddie. Fuckin’ disgusting dude.
He stares on in disgust, lifting his blood-smeared hand to brush off bits of monster. “I’m gonna yak,” he mutters dryly, and he would yak if he weren’t starving and so drained he can’t even bring himself to give one of his usually over dramatic reactions. He closes his eyes and quietly stands among the carnage. He did it, you’re safe.
Stepping over the body, he drags himself back to your room, swiping more blood off his face, flicking it off his hands as it hits the floor with a wet splat. “So fucking gross, what the fuck man,” he grumbles, using the last of his water to scrub his hands clean.
Collapsing onto your bed, still a mess, he picks up the alternate world Sweetheart. He plucks at her strings and then quietly strums your favorite song, mumbling the lyrics to himself. After everything, he just needs a moment to process what happened, blissfully unaware of the patch of wall big enough to crawl through, covered by a layer of thick membrane, separating him from home.
BOOM
You were deep asleep but not completely dead to the world yet, jolting awake to the sound of someone blowing something up. It sounds close, as if it came from inside your house. You scramble out of bed, quickly creep down your stairs, trying to pinpoint exactly where you heard the noise, only to find nothing. The house is silent, as it always is; the only sound now is the rainwater pattering heavily against the windows.
You sigh wearily, padding your way back up to your room, eyes drooping as you slump back down onto your bed. The faint, tinny notes of Sweetheart and your boyfriend’s dulcet tone drift through the air, lulling you. He sounds impossibly sweet when he sings.
Sings?
BOYFRIEND?
You jerk yourself awake, twisting and turning to pinpoint the noise. You’re not crazy, it’s real, it’s not hard to hear anymore. It gets faint when you're near the door and louder when you’re on your bed. Pressing your ear to the wall, you follow the melody until you lean your head against a patch of the wall that’s softer than the rest. You pat it with your hands, pushing against it, seeing the wall dip in, that’s not drywall.
With a frustrated growl, you dig your nails into your wallpaper and shred it apart, coming face to face with a leathery, soft, flesh colored thing in your wall. You squint through the murky translucent layer, seeing the silhouette of someone you can’t quite make out.
You swallow hard, eyes wide and breath shallow, as you take a chance. “Eddie?” You croak, the silhouette pauses their solo show, their head tilting towards where they hear your voice coming from. It wasn’t overhead like a goddess was talking to him; it came from behind him.
“Babe?” He questions, slinging Sweetheart over his shoulder, now fully turned around and seeing the faint outline of you from behind a gate. His eyes light up; this is his chance.
“Eddie?!” you call again, voice trembling as tears prick your eyes. Your boyfriend scrambles up onto your bed, pressing his hands to yours against the strange, fleshy barrier.
“Babe!” he crows, joy bursting from him as you sob with relief. He’s alive, he’s here, almost within reach. Eddie frowns at your sobbing and does the only logical thing to make you smile again, smushes his face against the grotesque wall, giving you a clearer look. “Can you see me?!” he asks, grinning.
A shaky laugh escapes you as you pat his squished cheek. “Yeah, I can see you shoving your fat head against the- uh- the thingy!”
Eddie puts on a mock-offended face, gaping at you, his face still squished against the barrier between you. You can’t help but snort with laughter at the sight. “Ok, first of all, rude, second, THANK GOD, GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEASE!” he pleads, clawing desperately at the thin film that keeps you apart.
You nod frantically, eyes skimming around your room for anything remotely useful. “Ok! Ok! Uh, um,” God, fuck, why don’t you have scissors or knives, why can’t you be cool. Come on, something sharp, strong enough to break through. You pause, eyes settling on something that might just work. “Eds, stand back!” you shout, hope lighting up your face.
“‘Kay!” he calls back, hopping off your bed and taking a step back. He sees your silhouette hoist something above your head. What is that? “SWEETHEART?!” Eddie yelps as you ram his guitar through the gate, ripping it open, getting gross shit all in her strings and scratches when you accidentally scrape her against the wall.
Your eyes widen as you drop Sweetheart onto your bed, hand braced on the portal. You can’t believe that worked. “Eddie! Give me your hand, hurry!” you call again, reaching out for him. He snaps out of his daze and scrambles over, gripping your hand as you haul him through the ragged hole. It’s a mess. His jeans get snagged on the jagged edges, and he bumps his bites against the wall, making him hiss in pain, but finally you both tumble onto the bed in a tangled heap. You clutch him tight, not caring about the grime, only that he’s here. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you… I- I’ve got you,” you mutter like a mantra, your voice cracking as you bury your face in his neck. Eddie squeezes you in his arms, unstrapping Sweetheart from his back so he can hold you properly, then rolls onto his back with you sprawled across him, just breathing you in. He’s home.
You both lie there in stunned silence, the gate in your wall gone, closed up the moment Eddie tumbled through. Your fingers tangle with his, his thumb tracing calming circles on your skin while he plants gentle kisses on your knuckles. His heartbeat thrums beneath your cheek, grounding you in the moment. “M’sorry I scratched her,” You murmur softly, soft eyes staring into his, as a grin cracks on his face.
He shrugs, “S’okay, I’ll just patch her up, it’s a reminder of when my sweethearts saved me from literal hell,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, settling your hand on his chest as he squeezes your fingers in his hand. Your eyes flutter closed, memorizing his warmth and sinking into it. “‘Sides, I got otherworld sweetheart with no scratches. Rad as fuck,” he adds, squeezing you again in reassurance.
“I missed you,” You whisper, a frown painted on your pretty lips.
“I’m right here, you don’t have to miss me anymore,” Eddie says, showering your face with kisses. He glances around your room. This is more like it, more pictures of you and him around the room, though he’s noticing a distinct lack of candles, what, no moonlight vigil? A mischievous grin pulls at his lips. “I see you didn’t make a shrine to me post mortem, do you even love me?” he teases, a stupid smile on his face.
You huff, rolling your eyes. “Post mortem implies you had an autopsy, which you didn’t because there was no body because you’re not dead.” You mutter, eyes opening to give your boyfriend the stink eye for making a joke like that so soon.
“Love when you talk dorky to me,” Eddie croons, giddily grinning at you, pressing another kiss to your cheek. You sigh sweetly as he peppers more kisses down your neck, your lashes fluttering at the pleasant sensation. Only for him to open his stupid, dumb mouth again. “Wanna go visit my grave, leave me some flowers?”
“Shut up,” You missed this.
“Yeah, okay,” he snorts, his grin pressed against your neck as he holds himself back from giggling. You nestle yourself back into his arms, making yourself comfortable on top of him, until something pokes your thigh.
“Can you not get a boner right now?” you mumble, making no effort to move away.
Eddie scoffs. This time, it’s him rolling his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my penis bothering you, babe? My hot, beautiful girlfriend who just saved my life is lying on top of me right now, and it has the audacity to get hard. It’s got a mind of its own, shall I rip it off for you, babe?”
“God, shut up, you’re impossible,” you say, burying your face in his neck to hide your laughter. He feels your smile against his skin and lets out a cackle.
“Can’t, I haven’t given you a headache in days. Gotta make up for it somehow,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, linking his fingers with yours again.
“How about you make it up to me by letting me check your wounds?” you murmur, gently fiddling with the grimy bandages wrapped around him. In fact, he’s covered in... what is that?
“Yeah, that’s probably smart,” he says, distracted. The mention of his injuries makes his stomach rumble so loudly that you both hear it. He grins sheepishly. “Can I eat first? I think I’m dying.”
Your gaze softens as you sit up and press a quick kiss to his forehead. “I’ll make you something to eat. Go shower, you stink,” you say, affection coloring your words.
“I thought you dug my musk,” He pouts, batting his lashes at you.
“That’s not musk, that’s straight ass go bathe,” you retort, giving his thigh a playful slap that makes him sit up with a yelp as you get up to head to the kitchen.
“Hey, babe,” He calls to you before you can leave his sight.
“Yeah?” you reply, turning back to him with a questioning look.
“You might want to wash up, too. You’ve got a little something... everywhere,” Eddie says, gesturing at you. You look down and let out a long groan. Whatever he was covered in, you are now covered in it. You give him a pointed look, and he gives you an innocent grin. “I love you!” He calls as you stomp off to the bathroom to wash up first.
Your gaze flickers between street signs, hunting for the turnoff to WSQK. “Should I yell surprise when we get there?” Eddie quips, grinning at you, he’s buzzing with excitement, he can’t wait to see the look on Dustin’s face.
You shoot him a knowing look. “You’ll be bawling too hard to say anything,” you tease, eyebrow arched.
“I don’t cry,” Eddie insists, puffing up with wounded pride. Your side eye is relentless. “I don’t!” he repeats, arms crossed. He wilts under your stare, whining, “Quit it.” Now he’s full-on pouting.
“Sorry, sorry,” You snort, and finally pull to a stop. You look around, seeing the huge WSQK sign, “Come on, we’re here,” you say, stepping out and looking around the place, talk about the middle of fucking nowhere, you guess that makes sense for a home base.
You walk with Eddie towards the radio station. He hustles ahead to open the door for you, bowing deeply as he says, “M’lady,” in a posh tone. You snicker at him, thanking him with a kiss on the cheek as you pass, the pair of you hiking up the stairs into the main meeting room.
You push open the door. Four familiar faces cluster around a table. Dustin glances up, feigning annoyance. “Finally, you’re here, you were taking-” He freezes mid-step, eyes wide as Eddie steps in behind you. The room goes silent, disbelief hanging thick in the air.
The silence stretches, unbearable. You blurt out an awkward, “Surprise?”
“Nice one, babe,” Eddie says, giving you a thumbs up, then raising his hand for a high five. You leave him hanging, and he just keeps his hand there.
“Eddie?” Dustin croaks, he can’t believe his eyes, there's no way.
Eddie’s hand drops to his side as he gives Dustin his signature grin, “Hey, Henderson.” His grin falters as he sees Dustin ball up his fists, lip wobbling and eyes glazing over, “Bring ‘er in?” he says, a little concerned. The younger boy barrels into him, slamming against his chest as Eddie yelps in pain, “OW!”
You place a gentle hand on Dustin’s shoulder as he flinches back from Eddie, apologies blubbering from him, “Maybe bring it a little back, his bites were pretty nasty, but we got them patched up the best we could, but there's still a little…”
“They fucking hurt,” Eddie grumbles, but he still drags Dustin back into a hug. The sting is worth it. Being here is worth it.
“I thought you died, you did die, you stopped breathing, I-I thought you did, what? Oh God, we just left you in there. I’m sorry,” Dustin rambles, clinging to the back of Eddie’s hoodie. The older boy pats him reassuringly on the back.
“It was more like I kinda sort of passed out? In your defence, I thought I died too, we had that touching moment for nothing, so lame, I’m not mad, Henderson. Besides, it worked out, didn’t it? My mega babe girlfriend dug me out of her wall through one of those gates,” Eddie brags. The other teens in the room turn to you, worried.
“There’s a gate in your house?” Nancy asks tentatively, concerned for your safety.
You shake your head, “Not anymore, it closed up the second I pulled Eddie through,” You explain. Nancy nods, slipping back to being deep in thought. She’s going to ask you and Eddie about all the details later, but for now, she’ll let everyone enjoy the reunion. She’s relieved Munson made it.
“I’m sorry we lied to you.” Robin blurts, she hopes you don’t hate them, she’s so happy Eddie’s alive and not dead in the Upside Down, they needed a win.
You offer Robin a warm smile. “Hey, I get it. End of the world and all that. You just didn’t want me getting hurt. It’s alright.”
“Taking this pretty well,” Steve comments, hands resting on his hips as he glances over at Dustin and Eddie as Dustin shows him the record shelf.
You let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly, I’m running on fumes. Just yanked my boyfriend out of an interdimensional portal in my bedroom wall that vanished right after. Once I sleep, I’ll have my meltdown,” you say. Sounds like a plan.
“That’s the way to do it,” Steve snorts, the two girls humming in agreement.
“Welcome to the club,” Robin says with an awkward, sheepish smile, shrugging her shoulders.
“This club sucks,” You state, arms folded over your chest as you look at the three next to you in concern. They all give varying degrees of agreement, and you huff a laugh at the three of them shaking your head. Your fond gaze lands back on your boyfriend as he paws through all the records with Dustin. You smirk as you watch him slide a Metallica record into his hoodie.
“Hey Munson, put that back!” Steve scolds, stomping over to your boyfriend, who pretends he has no idea what the hair is talking about. Eddie points to himself innocently, then places a hand on his chest in offense that he could ever be accused of anything. You shake your head, a grin on your face. Good, back to normal.
A/N: I love Eddie Man <3333, I hope you enjoyed my longest fic so far lmaooo I really enjoyed writing it!!
Next week is the snippet, and after will be another Eddie oneshot!!
▹Up Next ▵ It's A Cow Farm, There's Gonna Be Cows Outside
Series Masterlist▵ Eddie Munson Masterlist ▵ Tag List
Pleasantly surprised they were all so close, I’ll start the next snippet soon, I’m still working on the one shots but they should be up in a couple days. Won’t lie I have been playing a lot of Elden Ring and it’s making me want to start writing my High Fantasy series even though my other series aren’t done yet ;-; bare with me I swear I’ll get it together and focus <3
hiii! i’m in love with your fics, the way you write is amazing!! the format is just great, i feel like not many people do multifandom posts like that anymore. i especially like your kurt fics, he’s such a little freak lmao.
i was wondering if you’ve seen hoard? or if you’d ever consider writing for michael (another joesph quinn character). i feel like he’d fit in well with your little cast lol. i’d love to hear your thoughts! <3
hello!! thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoy reading them! it’s very self indulgent I have joe fever (no idea which one I’m referring to) and I thought fuck it I love a good scenario lineup why not. Thank you Kurt’s a lot more popular than I thought he was I’m so glad so many other people like his freak so much because it’s fun for me to write!
I still have yet to see hoard, I got to the title card and then turned it off because I had read the plot summary and gave myself the ick before the movie could lol. at some point I just need to suck it up and watch because Michael is someone I’ve thought about writing for, I’ve read a few fics for him and they were so good. I have like a 2nd line up i’ve got planned to drop on april fools instead of the normal snippet, unfortunately Michael’s not apart of it but he could definitely replace one of the character’s that’s in there only because I thought it’s was funny to include this certain individual.
NFMD is next on my tbr! I'm really excited to start it. is Tomorrow going to be a series rewrite or just season 1? I can't wait to read it because I love a slow burn romance
AHHHH!!!! I'm so excited for the Eddie fic(s)!!! are you kidding!? I'm so happy it inspired you to write even more. honestly I wasn't sure if the idea even made sense so this is awesome. love the titles! the it's a cow farm one is so funny. I have no idea what to expect from that lmao
fun fact: did you know that Eddie Munson is scared of ducks?
Happy Valentine’s Day 🦋 anon 💕💕!!
Thank you for the tiktoks love to see Eddie on valentine’s <3
I hope you enjoy NFMD!! Tomorrow is going to be a full series rewrite I keep getting ideas for the later series that after catching up on reqs as much as I can I focus my series and get them done :) they’re clogging up my drafts so bad lmao.
I’m so excited to share the Eddie fics, I’m actually very proud of how they’re coming out so far, I didn’t know he was scared of ducks but that is so useful for the second fic lol
Impeccable timing by the way I’ve just finished the snippet.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader ▵ Eddie Munson x Reader ▵ Gator Tillman x Reader ▵ Kurt Kunkle x Reader ▵ Travis Meacham x Reader ▵ Johnny Storm x Reader
Summary: Maybe you said it because you thought it'd be funny, or you just wanted to get a reaction but at the end of the day you still believe he's husband material.
Word Count: 1000+ each
Tags: Established relationship, Fluff , Coach!Stevie love him <3 (snippets collecting all his occupations), Another Dustin cameo this time for Eddie (I love my son), a little Angst in Gator's (Roy Tillman Hate Club), Travis a little out of it more so than he usually is
Warnings: 18+, Explicit Language, Kurt Kunkle lol also vague description of injury (broken arm), a twinge of spice in like some of these, Johnny makes a dirty joke <3
Main Masterlist ▵ Tag List
The hot sun beats down on the baseball field, where a sea of eager faces gathers together for the final game of the season before summer break begins. You watch Coach Harrington standing tall in all his light blue and beige glory, with his hands planted firmly on his hips, delivering what you assume to be the utmost inspiring pep talk those kids have ever heard and probably will ever hear. A soft, contented smile tugs at your lips as you admire him in his element from under a spare pair of his sunglasses perched on your nose. A little gutted that his hair is squished under the blue cap with a ‘C’ embroidered on it, you're sure he’s just as peeved. Tipping down the frames just slightly as you sip your drink through the straw, your gaze shamelessly roams over his form, lingering on the way those beige shorts hug him just right. Your man has a cute butt, and you can’t help but sigh, part fondness, part exasperation, once your gaze trails back up and lands at the sunburn blooming on the back of his neck. He’ll be whining about that later, no doubt, not like you reminded him a million times before he left this morning to put on some damn sunscreen.
“Which one's yours?” The question, delivered in a bright, nasally tone, slices through your peaceful observation of your favorite subject to look at. You turn to see one of the mom’s has opted to abduct you into their group pow-wow. You think you recognize her and a few of the others, all watching you with curious eyes, but you can’t really put your finger on it. A little weirded out, they only just now decided to talk to you when the game is finally coming to an end, you shrug it off and indulge them.
You flash a quick little grin and point at Steve. “The big one in the baseball cap, chewing gum with the whistle around his neck,” you joke, your voice light, friendly. May as well get along with the moms of the kids on your boyfriend’s baseball team. You have to see them anytime you come to a match. Even though the season’s over, you’ll see them again in a couple of months. Best not make things weird.
Suddenly, you feel the mood shift, and their curiosity becomes slightly more judgmental, their stares prickling your skin as they dissect you under the summer sun. “Oh, so you’re his little… friend, are you?” One of them prods, voice edged with something sharp. Oh dear, you think you recognise them now, this may or may not be the group of women who have a thing for your boyfriend. You can’t blame them. Steve Harrington has always been a catch, to you anyway, and now he’s really become the dreamy teacher fantasy that mothers yearn for. You remember overhearing this group giggling in the parking lot after the kids drenched Steve with the water cooler. He was a spectacle, soaked to the bone, looking like someone on Baywatch, and by golly, were those ladies not holding back with the comments, porn is more prude than what you heard.
Steve wraps up his pep talk and catches sight of you mingling with the other moms, a wave of warmth washing over him. He heads your way after the kids scatter for a quick water break, eager to see how you’re faring with the parent crowd; he hopes you’ve made friends. A giddy smile pulls at his lips. He thinks about the day you’ll be standing there watching him and your own kids, if they wish to play baseball, or maybe they’ll be with you in the bleachers, and he’ll get to look over and see his family.
So much for friends. Your brow twitches, annoyance prickling beneath your skin. Being called little at your age makes you want to headbutt the lady beside you. A petty spark flares up in you, one you haven’t felt in a long time, as you reply with a snide smile, “Mmm, he’s my husband, actually.” Steve’s head snaps up like a dog that just heard the word Treat. He rushes over, a little breathless, and you rise to greet him. His hands are planted on the fence as he recovers, his gaze gentle as he watches your fingers toy with his whistle. You purr, “Right, Honey?” and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
Steve’s nodding before he even knows what he’s agreeing to; he hasn’t heard anything other than you calling him Husband and Honey since he made it to the stands. You really are something else, he’s at your mercy. His pulse races as you tug the red string around his neck, making him stammer, “Uh-huh, yeah, we- we’re so, so very married.” He can’t look away, his mind a haze, words tumbling out unchecked: “Gonna have six kids.” Maybe it’s heatstroke. Are you glowing today, or is he actually just dying, and this is him seeing the light? Thank god angels look like you, heaven would suck otherwise.
“You hear that? Six kids,” you announce with a helpless shrug, lips pressed into a mischievous line. If you stay any longer, you might just devolve into raspberry-blowing territory.
“Oh.” The flat reply lands, and honestly, it’s the highlight of your week. So much for getting along with them, you suppose next season’s gonna fucking suck for you.
“Yep, well, better get started then, wasting daylight and all that,” you say, popping the P with a grin. Turning to your pretty boy still in your grasp, you hum sweetly, “Would my husband mind helping me? I think I missed a spot with my sun lotion.” That last bit is just for him, and you savor the way his blush blooms up from his sunburned neck as you twirl his whistle’s string around your finger; you revel in the way he swallows, breathing shallowly.
“Yes,” he breathes, voice low like he’s hypnotized. When you release his whistle, he blinks, as if waking from a dream, and watches you slip away toward a secluded bench in the cool shade. He wastes no time, vaulting the fence to close the gap between you. “Coming, Honey!” He calls eagerly, the pet name rolling off his tongue like it’s meant to be. Now, with only the hush of the breeze and distant chatter, it is just the two of you. “Where’d you miss? Should we take this somewhere private?” he murmurs, hands settling on your hips, his forehead resting against yours, thumbs tracing gentle circles, keeping things PG enough for the families nearby, though he’s dying to show you what being called Husband does to him.
“Here’s fine,” you tease, hands gliding up his chest, an endeared smirk quirking to your lips as you feel him flex under your touch. He looks at you, completely innocent, making you huff a small laugh, your lashes fluttering with practiced sweetness. He’s convinced, in this moment, this is how he meets his end. Good, he can’t think of a better way.
“Ow!” Steve yelps, recoiling a little from you, the sexy mood frizbeed straight into the sun as you lightly press a finger to the sunburn on his neck.
“I told you to put some sunscreen on before you left,” you chide, lips pouting and brows furrowed in your best mock-scold. He matches your pout, just as dramatic.
“I forgot,” he whines, nudging closer for sympathy, which you offer with a fleeting kiss that leaves him wanting more. He follows as you guide him to the bench, settling between your thighs. You rummage through your bag for aloe vera gel, always ready to play nurse for him.
“I can see that,” you sigh, smoothing the cool gel over his burn. He melts under your touch and the cool relief. “You did great today,” you add, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.
“Did your husband impress you?” He grins, turning his head to look at you, smug and teasing, his hand sliding to your thigh for a gentle squeeze, just needing to feel you close.
“He did, but I think we need to negotiate the six kids part,” you quip, giving him a pointed look. You know his dream, and you’re on board, mostly. But six? That’s a lot of fucking kids, man, holy shit.
“He’s reasonable. I’m sure you can negotiate with him,” he hums, peppering your nose and cheeks with kisses before reaching around with one hand to cup your face and planting one on your forehead.
“Good. Though I suppose he should propose first,” you say, hope flickering in your eyes.
“He will.” Steve hums, turning to face you properly, pulling you close, his lips on yours in an instant. Oh, he absolutely will, if the ring box burning a hole in his pocket has anything to say about it.
You’re squeezed into a shiny new diner booth, your curly-haired boyfriend cozied up by the window, his arm brushing yours as he scans the menu. The scent of fresh leather and sizzling food fills the air, making your stomach flutter with anticipation. You take in the neon lights and chrome details, already charmed by the place. Across from you, your boyfriend’s cap-wearing protégé, browses the menu with a vague interest. You smile when you notice his brows raise at something he sees on the menu. The place just recently opened up and piqued your interest, so you invited Eddie, who was hanging out with Dustin at the time, and you were more than happy to turn your dinner for two into a party of three, the more the merrier.
“Hey, check this out,” you say, eyes catching on a tiny promo in the menu as you nudge Eddie in the ribs. He lets out a theatrical ‘Ack!’ and clutches his ‘wounded’ side, then collapses onto your shoulder dramatically, closing his eyes and pretending to be dead.
“Oh, did you die?” you ask with a little smile. Dustin glances at both of you in confusion at your conversation, then, with an eye roll, as he sees Eddie pretending to be dead and puckering his lips to be awoken from his eternal slumber, again. You snort softly at your boyfriend’s theatrics and, as always, oblige to be his prince charming, pecking his lips as his pretty, dark eyes flutter open and a dopey grin spreads across his face as he just takes you in.
His menu lies abandoned somewhere else, his cheek pressed warmly to your shoulder as he finally manages to tear his gaze from yours to scan your menu instead. You both ignore the fact that you had identical sheets of laminated plastic; your one is probably better anyway. He scootches even closer; personal space hasn’t existed between the two of you for a long time, his eyes following your finger as you highlight a special. “Kids 12 and under eat free, huh?” Eddie teases, eyebrows lifting in curiosity. He quickly spots another offer just below and pokes at it with his ring-clad finger. “Ooh, look at that, a free birthday cake on your kid’s birthday!” His grin is all mischief and delight. By now, he is practically draped over you, one arm looped around your shoulder, the other now clasping your hand in his as he plays with your fingers. His head is nestled against yours, chin resting on your shoulder, his soft hair brushing your neck, his own menu forgotten on Dustin’s side as he chooses to read from yours instead.
“Like a whole cake? That’s crazy,” you mutter, re-reading the advertisement, wanting to make sure there's no fine print; it actually seems legit. Your brows raise in interest, pretty generous for a small town diner, you’re glad you decided to come now. You feel Eddie lace your fingers with his. He’s quiet as he thinks. Maybe if he tries really hard, he can regress in age and get you that cake just so he can see you smile, but then he’d be twelve again, and that would suck for him, never mind a bad idea.
“Too bad you guys don’t have a kid,” Dustin says off-handedly, eyes glued to his menu. Oh, they do waffle fries here, hell yeah. The sudden eerie hush makes him look up, catching you and Eddie staring at him, silent schemes brewing in your heads. Matching grins spread across your faces. Dustin scowls, already regretting his words, as he vehemently shoots down any forming ideas, “I’m not doing it.”
You tilt your head, eyes wide and pleading. “Dustin-” you begin. Eddie looks between you both, puzzled, until it clicks: Dustin could pretend to be your kid. That’s way better and quicker than Eddie’s idea, which involved actually giving you a baby and waiting till it could eat solid foods to come back here. That would have definitely taken too long.
“No way, I don’t look twelve,” Dustin responds curtly, shutting you down before the words can even leave your lips. He drops his menu, slamming it flat to the table with his palms with a dramatic huff before he folds his arms across his chest in defiance. He fixes you with a steely, unimpressed frown. He will not endure public humiliation, not even for you, and rejecting you would be a lot harder were it not for Eddie fawning over you on your shoulder.
“Dusty bun-” you plead, unleashing your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Unfortunately, the person most affected by them is your boyfriend, who squeezes you in his arms with a little coo. God, you're cute. That pout looks so sweet; he just wants to kiss it off your face.
“No. Way.” Dustin hisses out curtly. Listen, he loves you guys, you're the best friends he could ever ask for, but he would rather eat real, actual dirt off the ground and be called ‘dirt boy’ for the rest of his life than pretend to be a child for a plan that might not even work.
“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” Eddie chides teasingly, letting go of you to lean across the table to waggle his finger irritatingly close to Dustin’s face, a mischievous grin lighting up on his own.
“They’re not my mom,” Dustin snaps, grumbling as he bats at Eddie’s finger. “Get your hand out of my face, dude!” He swipes, but Eddie is too quick, dodging back with a burst of laughter, slumping back in the booth seat next to you, curling his arm around yours.
“Come on, free cake! It’ll be so worth it,” you plead, exaggerating your pout and clasping your hands like a poor Victorian child.
“No!” Dustin repeats, arms locked tight across his chest as he pointedly looks away. You will not crack him, siren.
“Dustin, for me, please!” you beg again. He turns to look at you, only to see both you and Eddie giving him the puppy eyes, god damnit.
He starts, “I’m not-“
Just as Dustin starts to retort again, a happy-go-lucky waiter swoops in with a cheery, “Heya folks, what can I get started for ya?” his over the top presence silences the earlier bickering as he glances around the table. You throw Dustin a final, desperate look before pasting on your brightest, most innocent smile.
Eddie slides his arm around your waist, and you nestle closer. He takes your hand in his hand on the table in perfect view, you chirp, “Hi! My husband and I were just perusing your menu and noticed you offer free cakes for kids’ birthdays. Is that true?” Behind your back, Eddie arches his brows at Dustin, mouthing the word ‘perusing’ with a sly grin, earning raised brows back before he remembers what he’s about to do for you both, and his irritated expression returns.
“Yes, we do. Is it your son’s birthday?” The waiter beams, then turns to your alleged son and says, “How old are you turnin’, champ?” Eddie puckers his lips to hold in his laugh as you grip his thigh, trying to make sure he doesn’t blow this for you. You're getting that free cake.
“Twelve,” Dustin responds through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at you and Eddie. He is so going to make you both pay him for this.
“Wow, he’s a big one.” Eddie has to close his eyes and find inner peace because, oh god, he doesn’t know if he can do this. This shit’s too much.
You give his thigh a sharp squeeze, jolting his eyes open and pulling his focus back to you. With your most exaggerated laugh, you chime in, “Yes, he is, isn’t he, dear?”
Eddie flashes a lazy grin, pulling you closer. “You should see his brother, his head is the size of a house. Our sweet little Stevie.” His lip quivers as he battles laughter. Dustin pulls the brim of his cap down to hide his face. If Eddie wants this to work, he needs to shut the fuck up.
“Aww, that’s sweet, how old's he?” The waiter asks with interest, and you freeze for a split second.
“T-Twenty?” You stutter out awkwardly, not making eye contact and smiling sheepishly.
“Our eldest,” Eddie chimes in, voice wavering just a little, he’s gonna cry.
“Wow, you two look incredibly young,” the waiter comments, brows raised in awe.
“Thank you, we moisturize,” You say, pinching Eddie’s thigh when he snorts. You're quick to tell the waiter your table’s order after and breathe a sigh of relief as he walks away to the kitchen.
“There’s no way he believed that,” Dustin comments, the two of you turning to watch the waiter ring in your order as Eddie presses his face against your back to quiet his laugh.
Eddie emerges, cheeks flushed, and wraps his arm around you again. With a playful shrug, he says, “Why not? I think we make a pretty convincing married couple. Maybe we should try for real?” The last part comes out softer, almost shy, his eyes warm as he nudges his forehead to yours.
“Maybe,” you reply, bashful heat creeping up your neck as the thought lingers, your gaze tangled with his.
“Aww, you guys. Do you mind? You're making my stomach queasy,” Dustin groans, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust. You bite back a laugh as Eddie turns to flip him off, Dustin bats his hand, and the two start kicking each other under the table.
Quietly perched at the diner’s bar, you savor the last sip of your coffee just the way you like it, the warmth chasing away the biting chill of winter outside. Brenda, the sweet older waitress who’s become your confidante since you moved here, chatters about her looming, and frankly, nightmarish-sounding upcoming family reunion. “Sounds like a lot of work,” you tease, fingers rubbing against the porcelain mug, your voice laced with amusement. You can’t help but grin and snort as she rolls her eyes at your comment, slapping her dish towel over her shoulder as she turns to face you with a look.
“Oh, just you wait. Now that you and the deputy are shacked up, won’t be too long till you’re in my position,” Brenda quips, her salt-and-pepper hair catching the light as she nudges the arm that's holding up your head on your fist. You roll your eyes good-naturedly as she leans in with a conspiratorial wink. She asks curiously, “So, how’d that dinner go?”
Your smile fades into a grimace. “It was… definitely a dinner,” you mutter, letting out a dry scoff, shaking your head in disbelief, your blood pressure rising just thinking about what had happened.
“Not good then?” she asks, her smile soft with understanding as she turns to start a fresh pot of coffee. While it brews, she props herself against the counter, ready to soak in your frustrations. Brenda’s good like that, god if she weren’t here, you’d probably go insane by now.
You grit your teeth and lean in, voice low and bristling. “His dad is an asshole. Spent the whole dinner picking Gator apart, and when he wasn’t destroying his son’s self-esteem, he was bragging about himself and talking about some election, something about him being the sheriff, I don’t know, I was just trying not to bash my wine glass over his head.” You huff, trying to cool off, but the man grates on your last nerve. You’re calmer behind the wheel than you are around him. Shaking your head, you press on, “Nobody said a damn thing, not even his step-mom. Don’t get me started on how he treats her. Everyone just stared at their plates, like it was all normal. Not that I expected his little sisters to say anything but Christ, if Gator hadn’t told me not to start anythin’, I’d have put his dad’s head right through the table.” You let out a low, frustrated growl, burying your face in your hands for a second before glancing up and meeting Brenda’s sympathetic gaze.
“Oh, sweetheart, he’ll come around, you’ll see,” Brenda soothes, crossing the small space behind the bar to lean over and rub your arm as you sigh. “Sheriff’s one of those hardass tough love men, I’m sure he means well.” Brenda likes you; you’ve got a fire inside that she doesn’t see too much around here, especially with Roy running the show; she hopes he doesn’t snuff out that bright flame, him or his son.
You shake your head softly at her optimism, unable to pretend like you didn’t see the obvious dislike Roy seemed to have for his son, “I just hope Gator doesn’t end up getting himself hurting himself trying to appease him,” Brenda gives you one more reassuring squeeze before settling herself back next to the coffee pot to polish some cutlery, your attention is drawn to the window as you watch the little snow flurries dance around before settling. You spot a familiar darkly clad figure approaching the cozy little diner, green vape in hand, and you watch him bring it to his lips, smoke curling around him after his exhale. You sigh softly, “Speaking of, here he comes, our town’s deputy,” your tone jokingly flat, but the fondness in your eyes gives you away.
Brenda turns her attention to the glass door, taking one look at your beau. “Got a face like a smacked ass,” she comments with a snort and a sly smirk. You cock a brow, your own smirk mirroring hers as a small snicker slips from your lips.
“Surprisingly, he looks happier in that case,” You quip with a shit-eating grin, earning a surprised guffaw from your friend as she swats you with her dish towel. You flinch at the swat, raising your hands in surrender, a full laugh of your own bubbling over as the bell rings, signaling the arrival of your prince charming, finally.
The cap-wearing brunette sidles up to you. He acknowledges Brenda with a quiet nod and not much more, before pressing a kiss to your hairline in greeting as he sits on the stool next to you, “you talkin’ shit again,” He mutters to you, keeping an arm wrapped snug around your waist.
You slip the sunglasses off his hat and put them on yourself. “Always,” you grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He scoffs out a quiet huff of a laugh, which could be mistaken for a cough, and rolls his eyes before pressing a kiss to your lips for a proper hello. You cup his frost-nipped cheeks in your warm hands as you melt against him, warming him up as his hands squeeze your waist.
Brenda smiles warmly at the two of you, pair of love-sick youngins, as much as she’s weary of the Tillmans, she’s never quite seen the son so gooey before; it’s certainly preferred. “Want anythin’ else, sweetpea?” Brenda calls over her shoulder to you, after she turns to give the pair of you a moment to yourselves, taking the fresh coffee pot from the machine.
You perk up, pulling away from Gator and moving the sunglasses to the top of your head. You then move to nudge your mug forwards a little, “‘Nother coffee? and one for the hubs, he gets nippy if he’s uncaffinated for too long,” You quip with a little grin, patting Gator’s thigh affectionately, you feel him tense up briefly, then draw you in closer to himself.
“I hear that,” Your friend comments with a dry laugh, pouring out a mug for Gator and then topping up your empty one. “There you are, hun,” You thank her with a pleased smile as she bustles off to serve someone else who walked in. Gator’s hand on your waist squeezes tightly, making you look at him. He’s quiet as he takes the hand you rested on his thigh in his, linking your fingers together.
“Feeling clingy today, Tillman?” you tease, flashing him a smile before sipping your coffee. Indignant, he tries to pull his hand away, but you don’t let him go; in fact, bringing his hand to your lips to smack a kiss on his knuckles.
Gator rolls his eyes, pretending you didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest, and lets out a quiet huff, his voice a low drawl as he asks, “You ever nice?”
“All the time. You look very handsome today,” you reply with a gentle smile, your hand brushing his cheek. He lets himself sink into your touch for a brief moment before remembering he’s in public and straightening himself out. You dim a little, wishing he didn’t think he had to do that.
“I look like this every day,” He huffs, snatching up his coffee and taking a sip, attempting to hide his fluster behind the mug, but you can see it, you know it well. He’s quiet for a moment, staring at the black liquid as he thinks quietly to himself. Then, in a low voice and with eyes averted, he asks, “You tell people that often?”
“What? That you look handsome today?” You ask, knowing exactly what he was referring to, but dancing around the topic, feeling a little embarrassed, at your earlier slip of the tongue, you weren’t even thinking it just felt natural.
“No, that I’m your husband,” he murmurs, forcing himself to say it, finally meeting your gaze with those pretty, honey-brown eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you try to look away from his prying eyes, but his gentle squeeze at your hip pulls you right back to him. He wants to know; he needs to know if you meant it or if this is just you messing with him like you do, and he’s just reading too much into it.
“At the minute, it’s just Brenda. I don’t exactly have friends piling out the door to brag about you to,” you say with a casual shrug, though nerves flutter in your stomach. You’re second-guessing yourself now. Did you go too far? Are you weirding him out? You swallow and ask, “Why? does it bother you, I can st-“
Gator cuts you off immediately, “No, don’t, it’s fine,” He clears his throat, a rosy pink rising to his cheeks as he swipes his hand over his mouth to try and disguise it, “You really want that, to be tied to me?” It’s a fragile ask from him; you feel the buzz of the diner around you fade as you purely focus on the man in front of you.
And you answer him honestly, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
You rush into the hospital, worry plastered all over your face, Kurt hot on your heels, his slightly clammy hand gripping yours as you practically drag him through the entrance. “Did you get the fall though, babe? Was- Do you think it’ll be good for those big fail compilations?” he asks eagerly, craning his head to catch a glimpse of his phone in your other hand, desperate to get a peek at the screen to see the video.
“Kurtie Bear, not right now, please,” you manage to say as sweetly as you can with your voice trembling with panic. The horrible snapping noise his arm made earlier still rings in your ears as you scan the signs on the walls frantically for the reception. At least there’s no bone poking out, which you guess is lucky, at least you think it’s lucky, you have no fucking idea, you’ve never broken your arm before. You tried to Google it on his phone, but somehow ended up reading about rare bone diseases, and half the drive was spent assuring Kurt he didn’t have brittle bones. You also had to convince him to let you drive, and every half an hour, he had to remind you how weird it was that you were driving while he wasn’t. You love your boyfriend, but he stresses you the fuck out sometimes, and part of you believes this is penance for your first meeting.
“Okay, I’ll wait,” he says, rocking on his feet next to you, surprisingly doing a whole lot better with this whole broken arm thing than you are. His eyes track to his phone in your hand again, and this time he reaches for it, “Can I- ow!” He immediately recoils, scrunching his face in pain and a little distress as his broken arm twinges from being used to reach for his phone.
You snap your head to his yelp of pain, so fast you almost get whiplash. “Kurt, don’t move it,” you scold lightly, readjusting the makeshift sling you made for him with your cardigan. You gently guide him over to the check-in counter. “Hi, excuse me, uh, my, um, Kurt broke his arm, we need to see a doctor,” you stammer, trying to keep your cool. It’s not working.
“Oh, what happened?” The nurse asks sympathetically, looking over at your unbothered boyfriend, who’s just got an idle smile on his face.
“Um-“ You start only to be cut off.
“Show her the video, babe!” Kurt bursts out, his voice as chipper as ever, although in all honesty, it feels like he just wants to see the video so he can post it. He swivels to the nurse, nearly vibrating with excitement. “I’m- It’s so epic, we think it’s gonna go viral and be added to one of those popular fail comps,” he blurts, tripping over his own enthusiasm.
“He fell from very high,” You say quickly, tucking his phone in your back pocket, not wanting to subject this nurse to your collective stupidity. The events of today will never see the light of day until Kurt gets his hands on his phone again. Kurt’s eyes track the movement of you putting his phone away.
Kurt jerks his head away from staring at your ass so he can plug himself to the nurse, “Follow me on Kurtsworld96 I don’t- I no longer follow back but,” he raises his brow as if anything he just said would be enticing to a woman who has more important things to do than watch a clip of your boyfriend falling off the roof whilst trying to plank, fucking planking man. You’re gonna cry, because your boyfriend is Kurt Kunkle and you let him convince you to film him on the roof, and then he fell off of it, and now you have to pay for healthcare. FUCK.
“Relation to the patient,” The nurse asks you with an incredibly patient smile. You could curl up in her arms and die; she’s an angel.
You sigh, raking your fingers through your hair as your mouth takes over, “He’s my husband- BOYFRIEND! He’s my boyfriend! sorry I’m a little all over the place at the moment, he’s very squirmy,” you feel Kurt’s hand freeze against your back pocket as you correct yourself.
“Fill this out for me,” The nurse says with a reassuring smile, handing you a form on a clipboard and a pen.
You graciously accept the clipboard and pen, thanking the woman in blue scrubs, “Ok, thank you so much.” You're pretty sure Kurt now has his phone, since after the brief pause in his frisk, you felt him take it. You're quick to lead him to a place to sit in the waiting room, a few other patients scattered around, but it’s surprisingly quiet. Too quiet, as you look up at your boyfriend just watching you with a disgruntled look on his face, his eyes burning into you with something that you think is upset, “Kurtie, what’s the matter, you’re being quiet, does it hurt a lot?” You move a careful hand near him, allowing him to engage in contact if he wants.
“I wanna be your husband,” he says, voice steady, but his furrowed brows make it sound more like a demand as he watches your face for any sign of a negative reaction to that statement.
“I- Ok,” you say, a little surprised and confused. You didn’t think Kurt was interested in marriage; he’s never really brought it up to you, and you’re ok with that. You're happy with how things are with Kurt, but apparently, you've awakened something in him. You tilt your head a little, confused, and ask, “Are you mad about that?” For the first time in a while, you’re actually struggling to read Kurt.
Kurt lets out a frustrated whimper, clutching your hand in his good one. “No, I- I don't under- Do you want me to be your husband?” His eyes focus on his thumb, which traces anxious circles over your knuckles as he shrinks into himself, bracing for something bad.
Your gaze softens, warmth blooming in your eyes. “Well, yeah, I do. Even when you drive me crazy, I still love you a lot.” Your sweet smile and reassurance seem to have quelled most of his doubts as he still asks.
“Why’d you change your answer when you were talking to the nurse?” He asks with a pout, still a little hung up on that.
“Well, we’re not married yet, right?” You remind gently, bringing a hand up to cradle his cheek and let him flop his weight onto it.
“Right, not yet,” He mutters, deep in thought, thumb still brushing over your knuckles. You manage to get him to let go for the time being so you can finish the form, promising he can hold your hand after.
You turn back to the form in your lap, but catch Kurt out of the corner of your eye, phone balanced on his knees as he types away intently into the search bar. “Kurt, are you googling rings?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.
He jerks his knees away from you, in panic, wanting to hide the surprise. “Don’t look- AH-“ he knocks his broken arm against the arm of the chair, making him crow out in pain, again.
“Stop moving!” You say worried, immediately going to gently cradle his arm and get him comfortable again.
With one hand steady on the wheel, you tap out a restless rhythm, eyes flicking over the drive-thru menu as you debate between your usual order or trying something new today. A quiet snore pulls you from your indecision, and your heart softens as it lands on your passenger princess. Travis, your sweet boyfriend, is still in his bright orange overshirt from work, arms folded over his chest, all bundled up and cozy under your coat. He’s slumped in the seat, a little drool glistening on his chin from his deep sleep. A gentle smile tugs at your lips. You reach over to smooth his hair, the sudden touch accidentally rousing him from his slumber. He startles awake with a snort, blinking in bleary confusion. You can’t help but laugh softly, cupping his warm cheek and wiping his face with your thumb as he instinctively leans into your touch.
“Hey, we’re up next. What do you want to eat?” you whisper, your thumb drawing lazy circles along his cheek. He exhales a quiet, blissful sigh, melting into your touch before pressing a sleepy kiss into your palm. Your coat slips onto his lap as his fingers seek out yours, cradling your hand against his face and inhaling your perfume, his body sinking back into relaxation with every breath of your comforting scent.
“Nothin’. M’okay,” the weary blonde mumbles, slumping his head against your shoulder with a small yawn. He nestles closer to your neck, and you feel his gentle breaths warming your skin. You lower your hand from his cheek, guiding his with it, settling both in his lap as you glance over, concern flickering in your eyes. He threads his fingers through yours, holding you close, as if anchoring himself to you.
“Travvy? Are you sure? Did you eat anything at work?” you ask, watching your drowsy boyfriend melt into your side, his eyelids drooping heavily like he’s struggling to keep them open. You nudge him softly, his lashes fluttering, and try again, “You wanna hashbrown? Coffee?” Your thumb traces slow circles over his knuckles, squeezing his hand to keep him with you.
“Nah,” Travis groans, squeezing your hand in return as he rubs his eyes, fighting off the fog of sleep. When he shivers, you swiftly drape your coat back over him and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Is he getting warmer?
“Okay,” you reply, uncertainty creeping into your voice. Now you're getting a little worried; no matter how tired he is, Travis is still chatty; this behavior is abnormal. Not that Travis can’t be quiet, you just like to listen to him, and he likes to talk. So his being so out of it worries you. “If you’re sure,” you murmur softly, eyes searching his face for any sign of something wrong.
“M’sure,” he mutters, eyes squeezed shut as he nestles deeper into your neck. Is it really bright today, or is it just him?
Still uncertain, you hesitantly turn away and lean slightly out the open window to order, feeling Travis, still leaning against you, slip down your shoulder. “Hi, can I get two breakfast sandwiches, also a hashbrown, and a coffee for my husband, please?” You let the words tumble out, still ordering something for Travis just in case he changes his mind when he actually sees the food. Maybe he’s just extra tired today and just needs a quick pick-me-up. After a near unintelligible reciting of your order and total, you chirp a quick “Thank you!” and readjust your boyfriend before pulling forward to pay and wait at the pickup window.
Travis shifts, trying to get comfortable again, but he misses your warmth. He glances over at you, bleary-eyed and adoring, mind foggy as he replays your words. Wait. Husband? Oh god, are you married? Well, who could blame anyone for falling for you? You’re the most breathtaking angel he's ever seen, but more than that you're kind and patient, and you love so beautifully. So, of course, you have a husband. Man, that sucks for him. Does that make him the secret other man, or does your husband know and just not see him as a threat because he’s a major douchebag? Travis hates that fucking guy. Actually, you know what fuck him. Your husband's an asshole who doesn’t know how to treat you right; Travis’ gonna kick his ass right here right now, as soon as the car stops spinning. “Is your husband around? M’gonna kick his ass,” Travis says, squinting at you through double vision.
“What?” you blurt, caught off guard by his question, snapping your gaze to your blondie in a mix of confusion and delight. That was the most coherent words he’s said to you since you got him in the car. Travis slumps in his seat as if his head feels too heavy for him to hold up, his honey-brown puppy eyes locked on you, a pitiful little pout on his face.
Travis has re-evaluated and decided that your husband is probably huge, buff, and hot, and could probably turn him into butter. So he’s decided to take the diplomatic approach; he’s always been better at words, or at the very least, using a lot of them. “Is your husband cool with me bein’ your boyfriend? I really love you a lot. I’m not totally cool with like sharin’, but like I guess I am the other man, so he would have the most say, you like me more than him though, right? I don’t think my heart could take it if you liked him more. I’ll kick his ass,” He’s gone right back to violence. He hopes you like him the most, or he might just go lay in a busy road, getting hit by a car would hurt less than having to hear that you like your hypothetical husband more than him.
“Travis, I was talking about you,” you say, bewildered. When did he start spiraling? Usually, he vocalises his thoughts out loud to you like a podcast, which gives you the opportunity to talk him down from, well, this exact situation.
“Oh,” he whispers, his voice barely there, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. Your heart lurches as a tear wells up in his eye. “I missed our wedding? Aw man…” and now he’s pouting again.
You rush to catch his tear, hands cradling his cheeks. “No, no, Trav- Lovebug, we haven’t gotten married yet. You haven’t even asked me to marry you yet! Oh baby, you're burning up, I should’ve taken you straight home to sleep.” You’re literally watching your boyfriend’s brain melt in real time; you'd better get him home in bed with a cool towel on his head.
“I wanna be awake with you,” Travis whines, moving his hand to cling to your wrist. Your hands feel so good on his face, nice and cool.
“I think you're getting sick,” you murmur, concern flickering in your eyes as you rest your hand on his forehead. “You’re really warm…” You mumble softly, moving your palm back to his cheek and silently reminding yourself to grab cold medicine later. Travis leans into your touch, soaking up the cool comfort your hands offer his feverish skin.
A sleepy, delirious smile tugs at Travis’ lips as he slurs, “Sick in love with you, gimme kiss.” He puckers up, and you burst into laughter at his adorable, muddled expression. His feverish charm is oddly endearing. Dodging his lips, you shower his face with kisses instead, much to his disappointment but he will settle for any attention from you. As much as you want to kiss him, you know that both of you being sick would help no one.
“I don’t think your brain can take it anymore,” you say sweetly, brushing his hair away from his face.
“M’brain’s fine, I only need it to breathe and love you, that’s it,” Travis insists, his eyes burning with affection. The heat in his gaze sends a flush through you, but the dazed confusion clouding his features draws a soft sigh from your lips.
You huff a laugh through your nose, “You need it to do a little more than that, but thank you, that's very sweet,” you murmur with a gentle smile that puts Travis in a love-dazed trance.
“I’ll marry you right now,” Travis claims boldly, “Where’s your other hand at?” He mumbles, patting around for your hand before finally finding it and linking your fingers with his.
“What am I gonna do with you?” You ask quietly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Love me,” He pleads.
“I already do.” You promise.
“This brings back memories,” the blonde grins, holding the door for you and perching his shades on the top of his head. You smile softly at him, shaking your head at his antics, and offer a quiet thanks as you step into the familiar coziness of the cafe.
“We were just here yesterday. You say that every single time,” you tease, rolling your eyes, but leaning into his side as his arm slips around your waist, his hand giving your hip a playful squeeze while you wait in the short queue.
“I’m sentimental, sue me,” Johnny coos down at you, nuzzling his nose against yours before pecking a kiss to it, making you wrinkle it up at the ticklish feeling. He pulls back with a soft grin.
You smirk, “Oh, I will. I’ll win big, cash out, and move to Bali,” you declare, tapping his chest. He catches your hand before you can pull back, lacing his fingers through yours, keeping you in his warm grip.
“You always whine about being too hot. Why would you go to Bali?” Johnny says with an incredulous smile, stealing a quick kiss from you, then hooking his thumb into your belt loop to keep you close.
You cross your arms and huff defiantly. “I’m only ‘too hot’ because you’re basically a walking furnace,” you retort, staying pressed close to his side, refusing to give up his warmth. Look, just because you're complaining doesn’t mean you don’t like it; it’s really only on hot days that you keep your distance, and even then, you can’t bring yourself to stray too far from Johnny.
“Awe don’t put yourself down like that, babe. You're a total hottie,”Johnny croons, grinning as you swat his chest. He catches your hand, peppering kisses across your fingertips, his eyes alight with his affection for you as he teases you by saying, “and it’s Human torch actually,” shooting you a wink.
You shake your head, eyes rolling back so far you can literally see your brain telling him to shut the fuck up. Johnny snickers, “Haven’t seen your eyes roll back like that since last night.” His crude comment makes your own heat rise to your cheeks as you pinch his side, making him fold and yelp. “Owie, m’sorry,” he says, wearing the most unconvincing pout as he puckers his lips at you and asks, “Kiss?” With a sigh, you indulge him, letting him have what he wants. You finally pull away as it’s your turn to order, and Johnny reluctantly lets you go, his finger still hooked possessively in your belt loop.
“Hi, can I get an iced coffee and then an espresso for my husband, please?” You order your usual, nothing out of the ordinary, your brain not even processing the slip of the tongue.
The barista with that trained chipper attitude goes to ring you up only to freeze at the sight of your boyfriend, but it’s not like the starstruck looks that are more than common now. It’s concern as she stutters out, weakly pointing to the blue-eyed hero behind you, “Ye- umm, is he…”
Is it getting hotter in here, or is it just you? Cocking your head to the side, you turn toward the heat. “Hmm? Jo- Johnny! Jesus Christ!” Your boyfriend is on fire, literally, thankfully not all of him, just some of his hair and a minor flame on his shoulder that you're quick to blow out and pat down. You give a nervous laugh to the barista, trying to be reassuring as you say, “He’s fine, he does that sometimes.”
You shoot the buffering man a concerned look as you give another weary smile to the barista, putting your hands on Johnny’s shoulders to guide him to your regular booth, “Thank you, we’ll just be at our table.” As you usher Johnny to the table, you hastily and worriedly ask him, “Are you ok? What was that? You almost torched the only cafe that we like.”
A blush blooms across Johnny’s cheeks, a rare sight on the usually smooth-talking blonde. For once, he’s the one at a loss. “You- I-“ His tongue feels like it’s been tied into a knot, your sweet voice calling him your ‘husband’ just seems to be on repeat in his head. He slumps into the booth and lets his head drop onto the table as he lets out a defeated, “Johnny can’t talk right now.” He hears you laugh softly at him, and that just makes his fluster worse; even your laugh is an earworm he’d love to hear for the rest of his life.
“Aw, you're so cute when you’re flustered,” You tease, feeling vindicated finally. He’s the one being overwhelmed for once. Sitting across from him, you lean forward on the table on your forearms to get closer to him. You ask in a quiet voice, “Does being my husband bother you?”
“No!” Johnny blurts, his head shooting up from where he tried to merge with the table. His hands shoot to grab yours in his, your hands encased in the safety of his hands, “I want- You’re- I’m,” He lets out an exasperated groan, why can’t he talk!
“I’ve never seen you so flustered,” you laugh airily, flipping your hands over so you can squeeze his. He’s quick to reciprocate.
“That’s a lie,” He snorts with a small smirk. He was pretty flustered the last time he came back from a mission to see you and a wad of silk rope waiting for him on his bed. He goes quiet for a minute, really taking you in. How long have you just been here? It feels like forever now that you’ve been by his side. “Did you mean it or were you just messing around?” His voice was vulnerable, timid, and less direct than he usually is.
Your eyes soften, a loving smile pulling to your lips as you move a hand to his cheek, “I meant it, I’ve been here this long, haven’t I? But more than that, I love you more than anything,” You say, and it makes his heart beat into his throat at how genuine you are.
“I love you too,” he says, with a reverence that feels just like the very first time, as he holds your hand to his cheek and pulls you in for a sweet kiss.
A/N: Happy Valentine's day!! Hope you all enjoyed this snippet!! I had a lot of fun writing it, what did we think about the voting system? because if everyone liked it I'll keep using it and just replace what was already done. <3 if you find any grammatical errors I'm so sorry English is the only language I know and I'm still bad at it lmao.
Next post will be more One Shots :D, for those of you who have already sent in reqs thank you I have seen them, I am just an incredibly slow writer and get distracted by new ideas a little too much but I will get to all the reqs eventually promise <3
