But I'm Not Like Her
Pairing: Eddie Munson x female reader
word count: 4.9k
Summary: Insecurities after Eddie casually mentions the perfection that Chrissy Cunningham is. What if the unspoken feelings are mutual between the two?
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, smoking, insecurity, comparison, happy ending
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The furious scratching of your pen halted when Eddie's voice broke through the silence.
"Do you think I could ever do Mrs. Wheeler?" Your head snapped up, disbelief flashing across your face. Eddie leaned back, blunt dangling between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his grin. That grin always managed to look both reckless and stupid while remaining devastatingly charming.
"What." The word came out flat, sharp, your chest tightening at the audacity of his question.
He exhaled slowly, eyes glinting with mischief. “You heard me. I mean, do you think I could realistically bag Mrs. Wheeler?”
You licked your lips as you stared at the man in front of you. The old wooden table creaked as he shifted to face you fully, curls falling into his eyes. You stared at him, trying to find the right words, trying not to betray the fact that you were hopelessly and irreparably in love with him. No matter how stupid his questions could be.
"No."' you shrugged your shoulders a bit and looked at the now deflated smile on your best friend's face. A triumphant smile creeping up on your own. All this before looking down at your sheet of paper, going back to writing the essay you had been putting off, one that you would surely have to convince Eddie to do.
“Why not? Think about it- me and Mrs. Wheeler would be the hottest couple in Hawkins.” His voice carried that theatrical cadence, the voice that painfully screamed Eddie. The same one he used when narrating Hellfire campaigns, except now it was about Nancy Wheeler's mother not to mentions mikes mother.
You sighed, lips twitching despite yourself. “Okay, number one: she’s Mike’s mom. Two: she’s married. And three: she’s waiting for me to turn a respectable age so she can leave her husband and marry me.”
Eddies mouth a gap. Eddie Munson's theatrics came in full kick.
Eddie’s jaw dropped, hands flying wildly in protest. “You’re insane. She’d pick me over you any day. I’m her dream man.”
“You don’t have boobs, Eddie. Everyone likes boobs. Doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight- boobs are boobs.”
The argument spiraled, your essay forgotten, laughter and sharp words bouncing between you. Then, in a rare moment, Eddie passed you the joint.
A rare occurrence for Eddie Munson. When he first met you, he noticed you hated the smoking. He always noticed the way your nose scrunched when he smoked, the way your eyes lingered on the burning paper. He offered every time, and sometimes you accepted. Not because you liked it, but because it felt like sharing the blunt was sharing something deeper, something intimate. Like every inhale was a kiss you’d never get to have. You hated the idea and sight of him burning up his lungs and ruining them. You constantly joked about how he would die with his lung suddenly bursting and him blowing up.
It started when life got harder, and you needed comfort, that, and you just felt that it brought you closer to Eddie as if the high bonded your souls together.
Eddie rambled on, his theatrics pulling smiles from you despite the heaviness in your chest. But then his tone shifted.
“I’m gonna need you to write down Cunningham’s name in that list thing you keep.” His gaze landed on your face once again, scanning over you as he played with his rings, his untamable curls framing his face.
Your head snapped towards him. “Cunningham? As in Chrissy Cunningham?”
He nodded, lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “Yep. That one.”
Your brows furrowed. “She’s buying?” You had never heard of or imagined perfect little Chrissy Cunningham near Eddie, much less buying from him.
“Yeah. Shocked me too.” His grin widened, rings glinting as he toyed with them.
“And you’re selling to her?” Your voice was sharper now, suspicion lacing every word. Your eyes squinting at Eddie to see if it was one of his thoroughly played out jokes
“Yeah. We talked earlier. I was debating it, though. I wouldn’t want to ruin her.”
The words hit like a punch to your gut.
Wouldn’t want to ruin her.
Your stomach dropped. The sudden spiral of thoughts going through your head overwhelming every sense of your being. Did Eddie think you were ruined? Damaged goods because you occasionally smoked with him, always laughed with him, and lived in his chaotic orbit? Was Chrissy untouchable, pure, while you were already a damaged good? Were you a lost cause for not being an untouchable being that Eddie couldn't obtain?
You swallowed hard, his voice fading into background noise as he rambled about Hellfire.
I wouldn't want to ruin her.
wouldn't.
want.
to.
ruin.
her.
Sure, the comment was made with no malice behind it, but you knew about Eddie's middle school crush on Chrissy Cunningham. You had met Eddie in 8th grade. Well, his 8th grade your sixth. You only realized your crush on Eddie in the 8th and his sophomore year.
But the words hung in the air. You swallowed.
Did Eddie think he ruined you? Were you damaged goods now that you indulged and hung around him? Was Chrissy this untouchable being pure of sin or whatever made you ruined? Did the smoking make you broken or ruined? Did he mean to say that Chrisy was worth more to a degree, or was she held to a higher pedestal than you because she was Chrisy?
"They have no idea what's coming, I mean, I have been working on this for weeks-" Eddie, being caught off guard by the look on your face.
"Ruin her?" the slight hurt and pit in your stomach fighting hard to be masked and hidden away, or at least attempted to be hidden from Eddie.
"You think you will ruin her with weed?"' confusion took over, rather than that overbearing feeling in your chest.
Eddie froze, wincing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean… she’s Chrissy. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing this. Not that it’s bad. It’s just… she’s Chrissy.”
He gave a half smile, still wincing as he heard his own response leaving his mouth.
"Oh." you swallowed hard trying to shake the sinking feeling in your gut.
Shes Chrissy.
You felt yourself slipping into your head and rubbed your fingers against the table. Eddie opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed.
The name echoed in your head, heavy and cruel. You weren’t Chrissy.
You smiled up at him with a tight line.
"So, at what time is your next campaign I need to know what Henderson has to say about it."
Eddie hesitated, guilt flickering across his face, but then he launched back into his rant, words tumbling out with his usual flare. You nodded, pretending to listen, eyes drifting back to your paper.
But the essay blurred, meaningless. All you could hear was the echo.
She’s Chrissy.
its Chrissy.
She's Chrissy, its different.
You aren't Chrissy.
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A week had passed since you had become hyperaware of Chrissy Cunningham's existence, your eyes would linger as she passed by the halls. Chrissy Cunningham’s name had become a ghost that haunted every hallway, every classroom. Your eyes lingered on her without meaning to, tracing the way she laughed with her friends, the way she seemed untouchable. Even when Eddie’s arm draped casually around your shoulders, the warmth that used to feel protective now burned with doubt. It wasn’t the same flare of happiness it once sparked it felt hollow, like a reminder of what you weren’t. You told yourself Eddie didn’t think of you as ruined, that he loved you in his own way, maybe not the romantic kind you dreamed of, but something deeper, something platonic and safe. And wasn’t that better than nothing? Better to be loved in fragments than not at all. Still, the words hung in the air. I wouldn’t want to ruin her, echoing like a curse, twisting every smile into a question you couldn’t answer.
Movie nights with Eddie were your sanctuary, the one place where the world blurred into laughter and comfort. You couldn’t always afford the tapes, but somehow Eddie always managed to pull one out of thin air, grinning like he’d just robbed the universe.
“Alright, sweetheart, tonight’s feature presentation: low-budget horror with questionable acting and even worse wallpaper choices,” Eddie announced, throwing his arms wide as if he were on stage.
You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous. Who paints their kitchen lime green?”
“The true horror isn’t the killer, it’s the interior design, blind, I tell you. All of them blind,” Eddie quipped, leaning forward with mock seriousness.
The movie played, but Eddie was louder than the actors. He imitated the protagonist’s screams, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh no! I’ve been stabbed! Tell my story, Y/N!”
You shoved him, laughing. “You’re such a dork, Munson.”
“Correction: I’m a loser and a dork. I'm a double threat, sweetheart. We have to get my title right.” He lunged at you, and suddenly, you were wrestling on the couch, laughter spilling out of both of you. His fingers dug into your sides, tickling mercilessly, and you squealed, begging him to stop.
"Eddie Munson i mean it, stop it right-" your breathless laughs and heavy breaths being pushed out of your chest without your permission.
You flipped him, breathless, hair falling into your face, and Eddie grinned up at you, curls wild, eyes shining. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.” His voice dipped, teasing, but there was something in his gaze that made your stomach twist with butterflies.
You tickled him back, Eddie yelled and screeched, telling you to cut it out.
Both of you breathlessly lay there, you on top of Eddie. The floor of his trailer digging into his back. Your hair falling into your face, tickling at eddies cheek from the proximity.
For a moment, the world stilled. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you leaned down, heart pounding, breaths mingling. His lips brushed yours, soft, hesitant, electric, and you felt yourself melt into the warmth of him. The kiss lingered, the feeling electric despite your lips not connecting yet, the feelings you bottled up for so long making their way up, ready to be released with a kiss.
Then the phone rang.
You both jolted apart, hearts racing. Eddie gave you an apologetic smile, exaggeratedly groaning as he dragged himself to the wall phone. Your chest still buzzed with childlike excitement, the thought screaming in your head: you almost kissed Eddie Munson. A breathless laugh leaving your chest.
Eddie picked up the phone, his smile and frizzy hair making him look all the more breathtaking, the moment still fresh and new to both of you. You watched him smile brightly on your face, still feeling the proximity both of you shared. But then his smile faltered, voice dropping. “Wait… Chrissy, slow down. What happened?”
And just like that, the butterflies died. The pit in your stomach returned, heavier than before. Chrissy’s name hung in the air, and the comfort of Eddie’s laughter dissolved into something sharp, something that reminded you....
She’s Chrissy. You’re not.
You sat on the couch, chest heavy, the movie flickering across the screen like it was mocking you. Every scream, every chase scene blurred into background noise against the sound of Eddie’s voice on the phone. You tried not to listen, tried to let the static drown it out, but Chrissy’s crying bled through, sharp and undeniable. Each word Eddie spoke carved deeper into you.
“It’s going to be okay, Chrissy, I promise I-”
“Wait, no. Don’t apologize. You needed someone to hear you. There’s no need to-”
“Chrissy, you aren’t a burden. I promise.”
Your stomach twisted, sinking into itself as you stared blankly at the screen. The protagonist was running toward safety, the last survivor, her blonde hair catching the light, her delicate smile untouched by the horrors she lived around her. She looked like Chrissy. She looked like everything you weren’t.
“No need to thank me. Bye, Chrissy. I’ll talk to you soon. Good night.”
Eddie sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up. His mood was dampened by Chrissy's situation, but he couldn't help the giddy feeling in him. He turned, eyes finding you on the couch, hair tangled, face half-lit by the glow of the TV. For a moment, he just stared, like he was memorizing you, before he let out a dramatic groan and flopped across the couch, sprawling until his head landed in your lap.
“Jason’s a real prick, holy crap,” he muttered, looking up at you with a grin that carried a glint of something unspoken. His eyes lingered, analyzing you, searching for a reaction you refused to give. You kept your gaze locked on the TV, pretending the movie mattered more than the ache in your chest.
“Sooooo… about that thing earlier, I think it was-”
“It’s getting late, Eds. I should head home.” Your voice was steady, but the words cut through him. His smile faltered.
“What? Why?”
“It sounded like Chrissy needed you. And we finished our movie. Besides, I need to brush my hair.”
His brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to argue. “You can always spend the night. I mean-”
“No, it’s okay, Eds.” You stood, brushing off your shorts, forcing a smile. “Thank you for the movie night. See you tomorrow. I hope Chrissy’s okay.”
“Wait-” His voice cracked slightly, softer than usual, but you didn’t let yourself turn back.
You left, practically running from Eddie’s trailer, the night air biting at your skin. Only when you were far enough away did you let out a tired sigh, clutching at the stitch in your side. “Shit, I really have to work on my cardio.” The words came out bitter, half a laugh, half a sob.
And still, the thought gnawed at you: did Chrissy ever feel this way? Did she ever have to wonder if Eddie Munson would choose her over the rest of the world?
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You hadn’t really heard from Eddie all weekend. The silence gnawed at you, every hour replaying that almost-kiss until it drove you insane. By Monday, when he waved at you in the hallway, his small smile felt like a knife twisting in your chest.
“I didn’t hear much from you this weekend, Eds.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I was busy.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “Chrissy really needed to talk. We kinda smoked, I showed her around town. I was gonna call, but… I needed her advice. Then Jason didn’t drive her to practice, it was this whole thing.”
Your chest caved in. That moment between you and Eddie hadn’t stopped replaying in your brain, the proximity, the way your thoughts short-circuited. And now it was all overshadowed by Chrissy Cunningham. Again.
He kept talking, voice casual. “Then the cheerleaders are having these tryouts since one of them broke her leg. They’re looking for a replacement and…”
That was when the idea hit you. If Eddie liked Chrissy so much, if he cared about her practices, maybe he could care about yours. Maybe if you were more like her, he’d look at you differently.
“I’m actually trying out.”
His head snapped toward you. “What?”
“I’m trying out to be a cheerleader.” The words felt foreign, heavy, like they didn’t belong to you. Your stomach turned, but the thought of Eddie caring about your practices the way he cared about Chrissy’s made it worth saying.
“Since when do you like cheerleading?” His tone wasn’t cruel, nor was it meant to mock you, but it stung.
“What, you don’t think I can make it?” The defensiveness hit before you could stop it, insecurity clawing at your chest.
He shook his head. “No, it’s just… I didn’t think the whole prep thing, skirts, pompoms, makeup, was your thing.”
Maybe the issue was that you weren’t feminine enough. You liked who you were, you thought Eddie did too. But in that moment, you realized he liked those things in a friend, not in a partner.
So for the next two weeks, you worked. Stretching, practicing, forcing yourself into routines that didn’t feel like yours. Eddie asked if you were sure, more than once, his voice carrying doubt you couldn’t shake. The pit in your chest grew. The feeling in your stomach continuously sank as anxiety and insecurity crept up.
Tryouts came. Everything was going well, you felt your palms sweating, your heart beating ringing in your ears. Everything was fine everything was perfectly fine, the anxiety you felt was nothing, or so you told yourself.
That was until you slipped, crashing hard onto the gym floor. Eddie was in the bleachers, you hadn’t known he’d be there. He wasn't supposed to be there. Your heart dropped when you realized he was there for Chrissy. His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he almost jumped from the bleachers.
Chrissy ran forward, concern etched across her features. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine kindness in her voice a panic rising behind her. genuine concern was all that her features showed. And you understood why Eddie liked her. She was light, effortless.
But Eddie’s voice cut through, frantic. “Oh my god, are you okay? Hey, look at me.” His eyes locked on yours, wide and terrified.
Your pride burned hotter than your knee. “Yeah, I’m fine."
They continued asking, especially about your knee, the pain throbbing from it almost distracting you from the humiliation that you were currently facing. Tears burned in your eyes, you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away, anxiety making its way back up.
"That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” Your voice shook your heart beat overwhelming you.
Chrissy shook her head. “Don’t apologise. Don’t stand on it, you’ll hurt yourself more.”
Eddie reached out to steady you, but you pulled back. “I promise I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he insisted, voice breaking, eyes pleading.
Both Eddie and Chrissy crowded in too close, their voices overlapping, Chrissy’s soft, careful questions and Eddie’s frantic insistence that you weren’t fine. Their concern pressed down like a weight, suffocating, leaving no room to breathe. Every word felt like pity, every touch like proof of how small and fragile you must have looked sprawled on the gym floor. Your pride burned hotter than the pain in your knee, humiliation clawing at your chest until it spilled out sharp and raw.
“Eddie, stop it! Just stop already — I get it, okay? !” The words tore from you before you could stop them, tears blurring your vision as both of them froze, their kindness suddenly unbearable.
Tears spilled down your cheeks. Eddie froze, startled. “What do you mean? Hey, hey, look at me. You’re okay.”
“Just stop.”
You turned, limping out of the gym, leaving Eddie and Chrissy behind. The parking lot was empty except for his van and a few teachers’ cars. You sat on the sidewalk, knee throbbing, tears burning. You hated being seen like this. You hated that you’d snapped at Eddie when all he’d done was care. You hated that Chrissy was everything you weren’t.
The gym doors slammed behind you, and Eddie stood frozen, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to spiral like that. He hadn’t meant for you to think Chrissy mattered more. Hell, he hadn’t even come for Chrissy, he came because he knew you’d be here, because he wanted to see you try, wanted to be the one cheering you on.
But then you fell. And the look on your face when you pulled away from him, that hurt worse than anything.
He grabbed the ice pack from the nurse’s office, snagged some painkillers, and pushed through the doors into the parking lot. The night air was heavy, and there you were, sitting on the curb, shoulders shaking. Eddie’s chest tightened.
He walked over, slow, uncertain, holding the ice pack out like it was some kind of peace offering. You didn’t look at him, but you didn’t push him away either. He sat down beside you, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.
You sighed, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”
Eddie shook his head, eyes locked on you. “Don’t be. You think I came here for Chrissy?” His voice was quiet, raw, stripped of its usual theatrics. He winced slightly as he asked.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curls falling into his face. “ I don’t care about cheerleading, or pompoms, or whatever. I care about you. I wanted to see you out there because it mattered to you. Because you matter to me. I wasn't there for Chrissy. I was there for you”
His words hung in the air, heavy and trembling. He wanted to reach out, to steady you, to make you believe him. But he stayed still, afraid you’d pull away again.
“I know you think Chrissy’s perfect. And yeah, she’s kind, she’s sweet. But she’s not you. She’s not the one I spend every night with, laughing at dumb horror movies, wrestling on the couch, and always wondering if it's the right time to kiss you or hold you close. I mean we almost-” He stopped himself, biting his lip, heart racing.
Eddie glanced at you, eyes soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. “I don’t want you to change. Not for me, not for anyone. You’re already… you’re already everything.”
The silence pressed down again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was charged, aching, full of everything Eddie couldn’t quite say.
"I'm sorry", your voice small.
Eddie’s eyes softened, his voice quiet but steady. “Don’t be. I was there for you, not Chrissy. And I’ll always be there for you.”
He swallowed hard, curls falling into his face as he leaned closer. “And you aren’t ruined. That came out so wrong. You’re the most perfect person I know, and it scared me half to death. I love you. I’m so, so, so sorry.”
Your breath caught, eyes burning as the insecurities that had weighed you down seemed to lift, replaced by something warmer, lighter. Tears welled fresh, but this time they carried relief. You smiled through them, voice trembling. “I love you, you big loser.”
You leaned in, lips brushing his, and Eddie met you halfway. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were afraid it might shatter. But then it deepened, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, the taste of smoke and sweetness lingering as your lips moved together. It wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that felt like home. Every second carried unspoken promises, every breath shared like it was something sacred.
When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you smiling through the tears. “I think I fucked my knee up. We might have to go to the doctor. And I hate cardio.”
Eddie laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, breaking the heaviness in the air. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to a doctor before you start running laps out here.”
He helped you up carefully, his arm steady around your waist, and for once the pain in your knee didn’t matter. Because Eddie Munson was holding you, and he wasn’t letting go.
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a/n: As always, comments and suggestions are always welcomed I hope you enjoyed.
LOTS OF LOVE, YALL
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