♥︎In which you cut yourself accidentally while cooking.
Ft. Habit!
CW: Blood + Slight Innuendo at the end
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Habit’s so fucking mean to you. He’s mean to everyone, really. But to you? Oh, he can play the protective, loving boyfriend, sure, but seeing your reactions when he pisses you off is so much better.
The issue comes in when you’re hurt. Then, suddenly, he’s right there. Worried as fuck, but he’d never show that, right? Wrong.
He’s so obvious. His facade cracks just enough for you to see the genuine worry in his eyes. He hates seeing you hurt. Bleeding.
It’s not even that the cut is big. It was a simple mistake. The knife slipped while you were cutting onions. Cut your finger just a tiny bit. You didn’t even notice the blood for the first minute, not until it started dripping onto the cutting board and you saw the suspicious red liquid among the white slices of onion. It really didn’t even hurt that much!
But Habit doesn’t accept that. He simply clicks his tongue, steers you towards the kitchen table, and makes you sit down.
“Stupid bunny,” he mutters, pulling the medkit closer and rifling through it, “You’re supposed to be careful cooking, idiot. Blood doesn’t belong in food.” It does, to him, but he’d never tell you that.
You pout, eyes big and shiny. “I didn’t mean too, Habs.” You mutter, flinching as he cleans the cut with an alcohol wipe.
“Obviously you didn’t mean it, idiot. But you have to be more fucking careful.”
“I’m plenty careful!”
He raises a brow.
You huff, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay.” You shrug your shoulders. “I could have been a bit more careful. But you also didn’t have to walk into the kitchen shirtless.”
Because that was the thing. He’d walked into the kitchen all too-cool, hair wet and dripping from a quick shower, sweatpants slung low on his hips. No shirt in sight. You simply couldn’t be blamed for the way your eyes wandered over him, tracing the old scars from fights he wouldn’t tell you about.
A smirk pulls at his lips, revealing a hint of too-sharp teeth. “It’s hot out, bunny.”
“It’s the middle of winter!”
“Yeah. Hot out.”
He finishes bandaging up the cut, but he doesn’t kiss it. Not even when you give him puppy eyes. He isn’t a fucking sap.
“Can we order in?”
The question catches him off guard for a second, but he supposes it makes sense. You did just get hurt, after all. And you’ve never liked to return to an activity until at least twenty minutes later if you got hurt. He mulls it over for a moment before nodding sharply. “Sure, bun.”
The smile you give him could light up cities.
“But.” He almost laughs when your smile falls. Almost. “You’re calling the place.”
You narrow your eyes at him. He just fixes you with his ‘You don’t have an option’ look, his eyes staring into yours intently.
You wilt. Sigh. Nod your head.
“Good bunny.” He drawls, leaving the medkit open on the kitchen table as he pulls you up and into his arms. He presses his lips to your forehead, just for a second. Enough to hear you sigh and feel you melt into him.
You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. Eyes big as you look up at him. Fingers pulling at the waistband of his sweats. “Habs..”
“No.”
“Habit..”
“No.”
A whimper works its way up and out of your throat, just loud enough to reach his ears and make him smile despite himself. His hands slide down your back, cupping your ass and pulling you closer to him. Until you’re pressed flush to him.
He leans down, and your eyes slide closed. He doesn’t kiss you, which is what you expect. What you crave. His breath ghosts the shell of your ear, his amusement evident in his voice.
“Go phone the pizza place.”
And then he pulls back, his eyes downright evil as he looks down at you, hands sliding into the pockets of his sweatpants.
You blink at him. But he only tilts his head, a practiced smile in place.
“Go on, bunny. Maybe if you’re fast enough, I’ll let you have a snack afterwards.” He says quietly.
That gives you more than enough incentive. His laugh follows you out of the kitchen as you bolt for your phone.
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Oh I need himmmmmm. I yearn for him, ya’ll have no idea.
I def didn’t get bullied by my friends while writing this, definitely not, no way… (I did)
This is my first time writing properly in months, guys, please excuse how bad it probably is🧍
If there was one thing Eddie Munson loved, it was his music. Everyone knew that. He loved it, and he loved it loud.
Loud enough to shake his van, loud enough to be heard a meter away from his headphones, and loud enough to shake the trailer’s windows until Wayne finally had enough.
And a good thing this was, because as he raked his fingers over his guitar strings he spotted an angel.
The poor boy had to blink a few times to make sure it was real and not some brain damaging- sound wave induced hallucination, he never did bother to wear earplugs during sets, and yet, there the angel stood. You.
There, swaying in the crowd, you stood. Entranced by the band and glad your friend had convinced you to finally get out on a Saturday night. The group was composed of some ordinary looking guys, working in tandem to serenade their audience, but oh. Who was that?
Your attention was caught, eyes locked onto the guy on the side of the stage, guitar gripped, jacket stretching over shoulders, and the most gorgeous eyes you've ever seen.
Eyes that were on you.
You can't force yourself to look away, even as you feel the heat rush to your face, he was enticing.
Eddie cursed to himself in his head as he skipped a note, distracted, his mind solely focused on you. Even as the set finished and the boys started their bows, clapping each other on the back and cheering along with the crowd, his eyes stayed on you, trying to watch where you were going as you slithered out of the crowd towards the bar.
Eddie hurried to put his instrument away, hey angel or not his Baby deserves the best care, and rushed out from backstage to find you. Making his way to the place he saw you last, all while hoping you haven't left yet.
His eyes are scanning the crowd of bodies around him, hoping to catch a glance of you. Disappointment is quickly setting in, and he resigns himself to never catching the angelic mirage, when he feels a tap on his shoulder.
It could be a drunk groupie who has set her standards so low she’d settle for him, or it could be a dude about to punch him in the face, with his track record it could very easily be both. Instead, as he turns to look, he sees you.
You're even better up close.
Eddie can see the shimmer on your eyelids, see the smudges of gloss on your lips, and the frizz emanating from your crown.
That's it, he’s done for. Completely and hopelessly head over heels. Stick a fork in him he’s done.
“Hi, I just wanted to say good job. You did-you guys did really good.” The words are clumsy, falling out of your mouth, and a flush rises up. And Eddie? He won't look away. The two of you in some sort of staredown.
A smirk blooms across his face, corners of his lips creasing into his cheeks, “Thanks, Angel. Glad you liked it. I'm uh, I'm Eddie.” He decides against sticking his hand out for a shake, play it cool dude, play it cool.
You introduce yourself, laughing in an airy way and feeling just a tad uncomfortable. It seems Eddie has a radar for this because he offers to back off, but you assure him it’s just the loud and crowded environment, not him.
“No, I like talking to you it's just a lot in here, you know?”
Play it cool munson.
“Totally babe, I get it. How about we hang somewhere else?” Okay not bad Munson. But what are you going to do now? She’s a lady you can't stick her in the back of your van, or what, take her back to your uncle's trailer? Real grown up.
Your voice pulls the young man from his spiraling thoughts.
“Yeah? How about breakfast tomorrow? At the diner?”
Okay not what he was expecting but more time with you? Hell yeah.
The two of you set a time and say your goodbyes, Eddie watching you disappear back into the crowd.
Eddie gets to the diner late. Not terribly so, but enough that his palms sweat even more than they already were. He parks and rushes to get through the glass door of the building, hoping you haven't left.
You haven't.
There you are, sitting pretty in a booth, double water glasses already dripping onto the table, one half finished.
Eddie can't help the smile that comes to his face, knowing you liked him enough after only meeting once to wait.
He slides into the booth, “Hey, sorry,” He stutters over the rest of his apology, your eyes staring into his face way harder than he’d think. He assumed you’d be sort of shy, your demeanor would betray you to that, but he shakes the thought off.
After ordering your food the two of you continue to learn about each other.
Halfway done with his milkshake he asks, “So when did you move here? I don't remember you from Hawkins High.”
“Um, just a few weeks ago, I needed a fresh start, you know?”
His hair shakes as he nods his head, mumbling around his straw, “I get that.”
Your brows furrow, “What was that?”
He clears his throat, sitting up straighter, “Um, I said I get that. I understand wanting to start over.”
“Oh…yeah.”
Eddie doesn't understand what he’s done, the conversation lulling as you sort of melt into yourself. Needing to dig himself out of this hole he offers, “Hey do you want to come meet the rest of the band? We could even play something for you.” He knows the guys would kill him if they had to set all the equipment up the day after a performance but Eddie would just do it himself if it meant something to you.
His confusion grows as you blush more and more, “No! That’s okay really. I should probably head home anyway.”
Eddie doesn't hide his disappointment well, but accepts your answer with a promise to hang out again and the exchange of numbers, but you insist on giving him your address, nervously explaining you never answer the telephone.
A few days later, closer to an entire week than he’d have liked due to needing to pick up as many shifts as possible at work, Eddie gives you a call. He’s listening to the trill of the phone, waiting for you to pick up, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. He’s a man for god's sake he shouldn't have butterflies.
You don't answer.
Okay, you must not be at home. That's cool, he’ll just wait and try again.
And so he does, twice, before deciding it's too late to try again and he might be approaching creep status.
He won't let himself be deterred, so the next morning he tries again, and so what if he crosses his fingers for luck? Luck already led him to you.
The phone rings a concerning amount of times, and Eddie resigns himself to failure yet again, when suddenly the line is picked up.
Silence.
“Uh, Angel? You there sweetness?”
“H-hello?” your voice comes through a little warbled, and he hopes its a bad connection and not emotion because his stomach drops at the sound of it.
“Hey babe, it’s Eddie. Remember? Concert, breakfast, great hair?”
“Yes! Eddie!” You practically shout, Eddie has to move the phone away from his ear, grimacing, about to ask if you're okay when you say, “Eddie! Come over, I'll wait for you!” And promptly hang up. The dial tone punctuating his confusion.
Well what’s he supposed to do, not come over? Fat chance. He grabs his jacket and keys and hauls ass.
Once he finds your apartment, mentally thanking you for giving him your address, even if he thought it was a little odd at first, no matter how excited he was, he parks and heads to your door.
Eddie knocks, loudly, three times, because all of a sudden he's afraid you never actually asked him over, he's misconstrued the entire thing and he's going to be arrested for stalking.
He hears shuffling from the other side of the door, and knocks again, the door finally opening.
“Hi Eddie.” you smile at him like you aren't the most perplexing being on the planet and have caused him multiple conniptions.
“Hi Angel.” He says as he steps into your apartment. He stands in the threshold, taking in his surroundings while trying to gather his whirlwinding thoughts. It’s cozy, the curtains open and casting sunshine into the room, a mug of tea on the coffee table, photographs in frames along the walls. He liked it.
“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, peering up at him around his curtain of hair.
Glass of water downed, and jacket hung on a hook by the door, you give Eddie a tour of your apartment.
He sees the kitchen, a decent size for an apartment, the bathroom with a fluffy mat, and lastly your bedroom.
Eddie didn't think he’d find his way in here quite so soon but luck is on his side…maybe. He still can't make up his mind about you. He knows he likes you, a lot, and he thinks you like him. But sometimes…
“This is my room, it’s a little messy so don't judge.” You say as you open the door.
Eddie's eyes take the room in, the colors, the various ways your personal style bleeds into the decor, it's very you and he loves it. He also loves the tapes he finds beside your stereo. Dio, Black Sabbath, Metallica, the list goes on and he might be in heaven.
He turns to question where you've been his whole life, sentence dying on his lips as he sees you lying on your stomach, arm hanging off the bed, toying with the spiraling phone cord and looking far too forlorn for his liking.
“What’s up?” He mutters, hoping to keep the peaceful vibe that had settled over the two of you. You don't look up, so he takes a chance and hopes he isn't over stepping.
Finally, as you feel the bed dip under the weight of his knee do you look up at him.
“You okay? How come you never told me you were such a metalhead babe?” He decides against trapping you in his arms, not wanting to push it, and instead settles for laying on his back next to you.
“I thought you’d guess.” You tease, a smirk resting on your mouth that Eddie totally isn't staring at.
“So what’s up with your phone? Bad connection or something?” Maybe it's too forward but he really likes you and would like to know if you're avoiding his calls.
“No, the phone’s fine, it's just I haven't been able to get it, I mean they're sort of expensive and I…” You fumble over your reasoning, making Eddie frown. The last thing he wanted to do was upset you.
“Forget about it.” He easily says, wanting to sooth the line in between your brows, “So what’s your favorite Metallica song? I can shred Master of Puppets pretty sick.”
Alas, the line deepens into a furrow, frown taking over your features for a brief moment before dissolving into something Eddie can't name.
“Yeah I like that one. Eddie, I need to tell you something.”
Shit.
“Shoot Angel.”
The reason I didn't answer your calls, the thing I mentioned earlier, it’s um,” Eddie can tell you're nervous, voice soft and biting your lip, “It’s called a teletyper. I sort of need it for the phone.”
Eddie has literally no idea what you're talking about.
“Tele-what?”
“Teletyper. It connects to the phone and vibrates when I get a call. Then it prints about what the person says, like a fax machine kind of.”
“Oh, that's cool. What do you need that for though.” Eddie might be beginning to connect the dots but he doesn't want to make assumptions. He can feel a pit starting to form, not because he’s upset but because he isn't sure if he knows how to handle this sort of situation.
He doesn't think he's said the right thing because you begin to ramble about music, how you listen to the same metal bands he does you can feel the music due to its power, heaviness, and sheer volume. About how you didnt think the teletyper would be so out of budget for you, being so used to the one in your family home always being there.
Eddie sits up, deciding to be bold and bringing you with him, pulling you up by the shoulders.
“Babe, angel, sweetheart.” He tries to interrupt your panicked ramblings, truly worrying for you now. So what does he do? He kisses you.
Right there, in your bedroom, on your bed, a week after meeting. It's chaste, give him that, and as he pulls away he halfway expects your hand to come flying to his cheek, but is instead met with giggles.
“So does this mean you want to come to band practice tomorrow? I'll get the guys to play extra loud, not that we need the excuse, and you can sit on an amp.”
There's far too much fondness in your gaze as you agree, the two of you ending the night on your couch, a movie with subtitles playing and Eddie planning out how many shifts he’s going to need to cover the cost of your teletyper.
@fairyrites / random asks sent to leon ( always accepting )
a sadistic laugh escapes leon’s lips as he watches another useless b.o.w. agent of the BSAA fail to survive the change. weak. pathetic. he watches the other coughing up blood, just watching intently. the agent’s fingers digging into it’s own skin ripping it apart. his own realm, the place where he watches the advances of the united nations quietly while picking them apart one by one.
when the woman’s voice comes into his place, he looks confused, alarmed. he has precautions and someone actually just walked in here without setting any of his traps up? this woman had to be good. he registers his own name, of course he’s never lost it. his name is leon. but the woman he’s standing directly in front of is someone he recognizes-- but it’s a venmous cycle of memories. this woman betraying him, trying to steal things that wasn’t hers, she worked for someone good in his newly brainwashed mind.
the lord grins, raising an eyebrow at her. “ ada wong, the first and last person i would expect to see here. what took you so long? “
Eddie might be bordering on creep status at this point. He has visited the dry cleaning shop daily for ‘updates’ on his jacket, totally not just to see you.
Well, he does care about the jacket but there’s something about seeing you crouched over the material like gollum that really does something for him. Even if he’s the one that fills the silence.
He’s there so often in fact that your mother has taken to chatting with him as well, she often being in the sewing room with the two of you, ironing the items of customers, and flittering out whenever your father needed help with a customer out front.
He had gotten so used to her presence that one evening when you muttered out, “She’s chaperoning”, while watching the doorway to make sure your parents didn't overhear, he was quite taken by surprise.
“Chaperoning? What for? Us?” He can't hide his confusion very well, and he can feel a hot flush spreading up from his neck at the inclination that your parents felt a need to guard you around him. Did his town freak status reach you guys finally?
You mercifully interrupt his spiraling thoughts, “It’s cause you're a boy Eddie.”
Oh.
Ohh.
Yeah that doesn't help the blush at all, “So what, they think we’re like dating or something?” Somehow he manages to get the question out without stuttering around the words. But then your eyes cut to his and you start to flush,
“What, no! Of course not.” Eddie hardly hears the last word as your face descends down into the fabric of some lady’s dress. He had given you the leeway to work on other projects without rushing his, due to the fact that it was part of your parent’s business. Plus if you finished too quickly he wouldn't have an excuse to see you all the time.
A silence falls between the two of you, at first awkward but it sizzles into a sort of peacefulness, one where the two of you know there’s more to say but neither wants to begin, so instead of blabbering he watches you work. Fingers expertly sticking pins, measuring, and chalking in lines. It's only once you start up the sewing machine, the electric buzz piercing the air, that your mother returns to the room.
“Eddie, come help.” She says simply but kindly, accent softening the vowels. Without thinking Eddie rises from his seat, following her out of the room, owing her after all the cut up fruit she’s brought the two of you, but he does look back, and notices how you turn your head down before he can catch your stare.
Eddie never liked being stared at, it happened a lot at school, resulting in most of his fights, and would still happen around town from time to time.
But with you? He liked it. It made him feel seen, but in a warm and grossly fuzzy way. He’d never admit it though so don't even bother to ask. He liked when you watched him, because he liked to watch you just as much. Probably more.
Definitely more.
God you’re pretty.
Eddie follows your mother past the rows of washing machines and dryers, walks past your father in the back, large pressing machine billowing steam around the man, and suddenly Eddie has an idea for a new D&D character. The cigarette hanging from your fathers mouth coupled with the steam is just screaming dragon warlord.
Dragon warlord with a fairy princess that needs rescuing. Yeah, he could play that out.
He’s ripped from the fantasy when your father lifts a basket of clothing that easily weighs more than Eddie does.
Your mother leads him to the supply closet, instructing him to hold out his arms, and begins piling on layers of fabric, followed by a bin of something that rattles, a jug of bleach, and a small bag of buttons that she promptly shoves between his teeth.
“Good boy, useful.” She smiles, patting his cheek.
Hell yeah, he thinks.
Your mother, arms conveniently empty, leads him back towards your sewing room, pressing a hand against the middle of your father’s back as she passes him, the man raising his eyebrows and smiling at her in response. Eddie is a little embarrassed to hear your mother giggle, but decides the oddity of seeing your father flirt takes the cake.
Back in the alterations room your mother relieves the load from his arms, showing you each bolt of fabric she pulled from the stash, naming customers for each pattern as you nod along, humming with a pin between your teeth.
Eddie watches the two of you, feeling your father watching him, and frankly doesn't know what to do. Should he make some excuse and bail? If he said he hasn't been genuinely enjoying his time here he’d be lying.
His attention is peaked when you and your mother’s conversation gets a notch louder, your brows meeting in the middle again. Your mother isn't even speaking English anymore, your own answers a mixture of English and something else. Your mother seems worried, and Eddie is about to ask what’s going on when he feels a horrendously large hand clasp his shoulder.
Using all of his will power not to buckle under the leathery palm, he twists to meet your father’s gaze, giving him a grimacing smile to placate the man long enough to not want to kill him for breathing the same air as his daughter.
“You stay for dinner.” The man gruffs out, cigarette smoke clinging to him, making Eddie ache for one. Eddie opens his mouth to reason himself out of it when your father repeats himself, eyes drilling into Eddie’s, and the argument dies on his tongue. He's so focused on not pissing his pants on your dad that he doesn't see the way your head snaps up when you hear the exchange, eyes wide with surprise.
Which is how Eddie finds himself now, seated across from you at your dinner table, your parents on either side. Your mother wouldn't let him help prepare anything or even set the table, when he looked at you for help you just shook your head at him, so he resigned to sit in front of the television with your dad, some sort of foreign soap opera on. The apartment conveniently situated above the shop was quiet, apart from the bustling kitchen of course.
He had to admit, whatever the various dishes you and your mother made smelled absolutely delicious, and he honestly had never seen any of them before, except the one that looks like it's probably chicken, just never the way he’s had it before.
He’s broken from his thoughts for the umpteenth time today when he sees you fold your hands, looking hard at him to get him to do the same, your father starting to say something he can't understand, “Baba” you say, kicking the man under the table, to which he clears his throat and restarts in english this time. Eddie can't remember the last time he sat down to a hot dinner, at a family's table, and heard a blessing. But when he sees your face, eyes shut and everything soft, he closes his own and decides maybe it's time for a change.
After dinner he finally convinces your mom to let him help, literally having to beg her and hold a dish towel hostage until she relented. Now your parents sat on the patio sipping tea, door open to remind him that the two of you are never alone, while you washed and he dried, questioning you on the names of the dishes he had eaten, stumbling over the words, having already sung (literally) his praises to your mom.
“Thanks for staying, you didn't have to.” You say quality once his questioning dies down. The smile appearing on his face is genuine, “I had a good time. I like, I like spending time here with you guys. With you.” You get shy at that, looking down at the soapy sponge in your hand.
Eddie takes a step away from you when he hears your parents coming back in, everyone gathering back towards the table. He turned down dessert, feeling entirely too domesticated, when your father tells you to ask him something.
Eyes skirting around nervously, you begin telling Eddie about how your fabric stash is running low, and your parents supply of special chemicals for dry cleaning is running out, and how you don't have a matching leather to patch his jacket, and…
You're rambling is panicked at best, and you wont hold eye contact with Eddie for more than half a second, worrying him more than tearing his jacket in the first place did. What the heck has your feathers so ruffled?
“And the best place to get everything is this big store in Indianapolis, they have everything plus they have a big leather work section so I'd be able to find a match.” You finish. That’s it? A store in the city? That's the big deal? “We can't afford to close the shop for a day.” It’s true, Eddie’s learned that your parents keep the dry cleaners open seven days a week.
Your dad cuts in, saying something that sends your mother to the kitchen and you downstairs, leaving the two men alone. He leans closer to Eddie, “You can take her?” he questions.
“Oh um, yeah sure. No problem.” And it really isn't, Indianapolis isn't crazy far, he’s gone further for concerts, plus he’d get to spend more time with you. Wait, with just you?
It's like the man can ready his thoughts, your dad leaning in closer in a completely threatening way, “I trust you to take her, okay? Drive to store, drive home, nothing else, yes?”
“Yeah, yeah, it's really no problem sir.” The man is scaring propriety into him for Christ’s sake.
“I trust you? You know the rules, yes?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
He’ll ask you to run the rules by him when he sees you, maybe even write them down for him in a little list so he can study and not be steampressed flat to death by your father.
Said man suddenly shouts something, to Eddie it's more of a sound than a word but it gets you and your mom back into the room. You come more slowly, seemingly embarrassed about the secret exchange between your two favorite boys.
Thanking your parents for dinner, and promising to be on time to pick you up tomorrow morning, Eddie says his goodnights. Waving back at you in lieu of even a fistbump, even though what he really wants is to kiss you.
You each say your goodbyes back, your father shaking his hand not too firmly, and your mother kissing both of his cheeks and shoving a grocery bag full of tupperware into his hand, “For you and uncle.” Yeah for a week at least judging by the weight of the bag. He thanks her nonetheless.
When Eddie gets home he makes sure to double check he set his alarm early enough to shower before picking you up. Sure it won't be your first meeting but it'll be the first time the two of you are actually alone, and he's terrified. He also knows this is a big deal, bigger than he understands.
He gets out of bed to shove dinner leftovers into his mouth but don't tell anyone.
a/n: here is part 2 my dears! I was originally planning on putting the trip in this chapter but I want it to be its own part. please enjoy! if you want to be added to the taglist (or removed) please let me know, my ask box is always open for requests or just to say hi!
Eddie sleeps through his alarm. It takes Wayne asking if he wanted oatmeal for breakfast for him to realize his mistake. Snatching the alarm clock off the nightstand, Eddie reads the time, 8:30, an hour and a half past his alarm.
Breaking out into a sweat he wastes no time, shooting out of bed and shoving a brushing Wayne out of the bathroom, yelping a quick “sorry!” and taking a freezing cold shower, the pipes not having had time to wake up yet.
He skips washing his hair, opting to not show up looking like a wet rat, remembers deodorant, and wishes he had time to stop for flowers. He’s in his van by 8:50, rushing out to your family’s shop, and skipping Wayne’s lumpy oatmeal.
Eddie gets there at 9:05, palm smacking his forehead at the last stoplight before the entrance, van rolling to a stop in front of the shop. Your dad is out there, smoking a cigarette, and Eddie has a foresight to get out of the van and approach the door.
He mumbles out a good morning, feeling ashamed of his tardiness, and watches your father shake his head and yell something into the open doorway. He shuts the door quickly after, not wanting to let the cold air into the shop. Eddie stands there, huddled in his old leather jacket, hoping that Wayne didn't notice the lack of the new one, and is about to attempt small talk with your father when he hears your telltale skittering footsteps.
The door is yanked open, you're on the other side of it, and before he can catch his breath at how pretty you look, you are at Eddie's side. Posture straight and staring ahead. Eddie realizes it's to prove something to your father as he watches him size you up. Finally he nods, and Eddie watches your denim clad shoulders sag the slightest bit in relief.
Your father tells you something he can't understand, then turns to him and gives him another run down. Straight to the store, straight home, no messing around, no speeding, yada yada yada. Except, the man's eyes were staring straight into Eddie's soul as he said this, not like yours, with something soft and debilitating, but as though he was trying to shoot laser beams into Eddie like Superman.
Finally, finally! The two of you are on the road.
It's fifteen minutes into the silent ride that Eddie hazards a glance towards you, eyes widening when he realizes you're still sitting stick straight, tense as anything, and looking like you might not be breathing.
“You, um, you okay over there? Cold?” He says it like he’s afraid you might jump from the window, and he doesn't doubt that you might try given that the two of you haven't reached the highway yet.
“No.” Your answer comes out so soft he has to strain to hear it, body leaning towards your side of the van unconsciously.
He makes an incredulous noise in response, totally not believing you but also not wanting to bark questions at you.
“It’s just, I uh.” You take a breath, “I’ve never been in a car with just a guy before.” Your voice shakes a bit as you say it.
So, he’s making you nervous, huh. Normally Eddie lives for making people uneasy with his presence, a coping mechanism to his ostracization he won't admit to, but making you nervous is the last thing he wants to do. And you know what, it’s kind of making him feel shitty.
“We can turn around if you're uncomfortable, we haven't gone that far.” He offers, but almost jerks the wheel with how fast your torso spins towards him.
Seatbelt taut against the baggy jean jacket you wear, eyes horribly wide, you practically shout, “No!” It's the loudest Eddies has ever heard you.
He huffs something between a gasp and a laugh, and your voice softens to a more you volume,
“No, I don't want to turn around. We need the stuff.” Your lap is suddenly very interesting, "I'm not nervous about you Eddie." It feels more like an admission than you'd intended, and Eddie is as happy as a clam.
Eventually, the two of you relax. Eddie plays some of his favorite tapes for you, you regale him with the story of how your mother once beat up a would-be burglar in your old town, and before you know it the two hour drive is complete.
Luckily, having been there before, you are able to guide Eddie through the city, leading him into the store’s parking lot.
Exiting the van, Eddie rounds the corner to meet you at the passenger side door, holding it open and offering you his hand with a, “My lady.” You sputter and grin but don't take it. Eddie finds your reaction cute enough to not take it as a rejection.
Walking towards the entrance, you run through the list of supplies with Eddie again, listing the different products and solutions, fabrics, specialty threads and tools, and of course, the leather for his jacket.
Eddie mentally prepares himself to guide you away from that aisle, sorry Wayne but if that jacket gets fixed Eddie's life will be over.
Dramatic much?
A few yards away from the door, a car suddenly backfires, startling the two of you. Eddie would normally laugh it off or make some sort of ‘the orcs are attacking!’ joke but his mouth is incredibly dry when he feels it. In your fright, you had grabbed his hand.
Smaller one clutching his, callused from his guitar playing, yours strong from your work. He gives you a reassuring squeeze, your wide eyed gaze locking onto his.
He does his best to come off suave and at ease, though it’s false because his heart is going a thousand miles per hour and he’s pretty sure you can feel it in his palm.
You let go, his hand left depressingly cold, yet clammy, to grab a large flat cart. He offers to push it and you don't argue.
Does Eddie internally cringe at how freaking happy he is at the domesticity of the whole thing? Maybe. Is that feeling quickly drowned out by how happy you look surrounded by mountains of fabric? Yes.
You guide the metalhead through the aisles, Eddie’s never seen anything like this. You're knocking the breath out of him with how gleeful you look, and he imagines he’d feel the same way at a huge music store.
An hour or so into the shopping trip, your eyebrows are furrowed as you read the packing on something, Eddie is trying to ignore the grumbling in his stomach.
And the two of you continue, Eddie pushing the cart dutifully, following you through the unending aisles, grateful he has his van to be able to fit everything you're picking out. It takes a lot longer than he thought it would, many of the things for your parents are so large an employee had to take them to the register for you.
Hours later, Eddie has a killer headache as you guide him towards your last stop. Eddue turns his head up to read the sign above the aisle, squinting against the fluorescent lights, “Leather Work”. Great…
It doesn't take you long to find the leather fabric, but finding the correct color and thickness took a while longer. Eddie didn't want to push or rush you, and God knows there is literally nothing he’d rather do than spend time with you, but he’s pretty sure if he doesn't eat soon he’s gonna puke.
Finally, finally, you announce that your shopping is complete, looking up at him with a grin. The grin falters when you take in his appearance, “Eddie, are you okay? You look sick.” Existential fear floods him as your hand approaches his face, aiming to check his temperature. And hell, if he's gonna die might as well be right now, with the feeling of your touch on his skin.
Your hand lingers a moment, claiming he doesn't feel hot, and he thinks really, really hard about the old lady that lives in the trailer across from Wayne that walks around without a bra in order to not get a hard on in the middle of this store.
Plus you might never talk to him again.
He ushers you towards the register with your remaining items, “I’m fine Angel, just skipped breakfast is all.” Your frown deepens, oops, as you set yourself in front of the cashier. Pleasantries exchanged, you hand over your parents membership card, and quickly pay, not without wincing at the total, with your father’s card.
The stock worker is nice enough to professionally load eddies van, making sure everything is secure like a game of dry cleaning tetris.
Back in the van, Eddie digs out an old bottle of coke, it’s flat and warm but it helps perk him up. You watch him from your seat, worry eating away at your expression. “Don’t you have any crackers or anything in here?” you ask. “No, I’m lucky Dustin left this in here.” He gestures towards the soda, you don't know who Dustin is, but that’s a discussion for another time.
Working up the courage Eddie asks, “Why don't we grab dinner or something? By the time we get home everything will be closed, plus I'm sure you're hungry by now too.” The question is rushed out, exposing his nervousness.
You pause at that, mind working, and look towards the sky. The sun has begun to set, clouds turning dark blue, and the air cool enough that you're glad you wore a heavier jacket.
You sigh, it’s true that everything will be closed, but you know your mother will have something prepared for you. But you also know that Eddie will insist he doesn't need to be fed, and then will be stuck hungry until the next morning. The thought of that churns your stomach…
“I’ll need to call my parents first.”
It takes another ten minutes of driving to find a payphone, Eddie digging the change out of his glovebox, face flaming impossibly red at the condom he finds lodged in there, and thanking everything in heaven that you didn't notice it.
Eddie doesn't get why you need to call them if he’s being honest. You're both adults, sure, still young, but adults nonetheless. And it irks him that he knows if your dad says no, you truly will not stop to get dinner. He takes a deep breath to cool down, knowing that he doesn't have the right to question you or your family’s dynamic, no matter how different it is.
You insist he comes with you to the phone booth in case your parents want to talk to him. Standing next to you, the conversation doesn't seem to be going very well, your voice is hushed and rapid, eyes blinking a notch too fast. “Wanna talk to you” you mumble, pressing the phone against his head. He scrambles to secure the plastic, “Hello?” It’s your father of course.
“She is hungry?”
“I think so sir.”
“You are hungry?”
“Yes sir.”
“Where you will go?”
“Uhhhh, there's a diner around the block, probably there if she wants.”
“Okay. Go eat then right home you understand? Right home.”
“Yes sir!”
He hands the phone back to you so you can say goodbye, and has a sinking feeling he’s just gotten you into trouble. Damnit, he should've just had the oatmeal.
Not that he isn't pleased to keep spending time alone with you.
The diner you two find yourselves in is fun, very modern, but nothing like the comfort of Benny’s for Eddie. You sit across from Eddie, the cushiony booth a welcome relief after hours of walking around the store.
After a brief argument about who was going to pay, you saying you should because he’s doing your family a favor, and him insisting he should because he's a gentleman and your total at the store wasn't something to scoff at.
“That was my parent’s money, I have my own.” you say, crossing your arms.
He squints at you, “Sure but, you work for your parents? The money just comes from them.”
You open your mouth to continue arguing, poking your straw into the two sodas the waitress brought to the table, and Eddie cuts you off.
“Plus, if I pay we can say this counts as a date.”
He regrets it as soon as he says it, though he means it, he can't help but feel guilty at the way you visibly clam up.
“It's not, we’re not, i can’t-” you stutter and stumble your way through, and Eddie can't help but change the subject.
After ordering burgers, fries, and pancakes, and lengthy conversations about dungeons and dragons and Twisted Sisters newest release, the two of you walk back to the van, full and ready for your journey. Oh, and Eddie paid.
The ride home is quiet, darkness sweeping over the roads, Eddie focusing much more on safe driving than he would if he was alone, ‘precious cargo’ he thinks.
At a stoplight he looks towards you, checking to see if you're alright, you seem to be dozing off, a good walk and a meal will do that you know.
Eddie can't help the smile that comes across his face, something warm and gooey blooming in his chest at the look of you.
You mumble something into the collar of your jacket,
“What was that?”
Your impossibly slumped down, melting into a tired pile in the seat, but you lift your chin, eyes still shut, and say,
“I’m glad it was a date.”
You promptly fall asleep, and Eddie feels like he’s going to explode.
“Me too sweetheart, me too.”
a/n
Sorry this one took so long guys! Everytime i sat down to write i got interrupted. I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you have any ideas for future parts let me know 🙂
♡Hey, hey! Call me Fairy! Or Creep, either works! I use she/her pronouns, and I’m pansexual~
♡I’m just about obsessed with Creepypasta!
♥︎My wonderful amazing friend @mr-mewmew dragged me back into it. And I’m so glad they did<3
♡I write mainly x female reader but I can write x gn reader or x male reader if requested. I prefer writing female reader because those are the parts I have and am most familiar with…
♡I’m also happy to do OC x Canon on request only! But I need to be provided with a full, detailed description of how the character acts, their backstory, and such.
♡The rules for requests are available here!
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
THE MASTERLISTS:
♡The Men~
♡The Women~
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
♡The Men I Write For:
Eyeless Jack
Masky (Tim Wright)
Hoodie (Brian Thomas)
Ticci Toby (Tobias Rogers)
Ben Drowned
Habit EverymanHybrid
X-Virus (Cody)
Jeff the Killer
♡The Women I Write For:
Jane Richardson
Nina the Killer
Clockwork (Natalie Ouellette)
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
♥︎Smut/NSFW (I’m happy to write most kinks as long as I find them interesting, but I will NOT write anything to do with Scat, Piss, Ageplay, Feet, Non-con, Abuse, or any shit like that.)
♥︎Death
♥︎Murder
♥︎Violence
♥︎Gore
♥︎Horror
More to be added…
⋆.ೃ𐦍*:･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･
⋆.ೃ𐦍*:･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･
Anons!!
Bibi, actually anon, 🐏,
TBA…
⋆.ೃ𐦍*:･⋆𐦍.ೃ࿔*:･
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