I Absolutely Adore This Omg - Tumblr Posts

the way i would have the same exact reaction to the “followed you” notification is embarrassing 🧍🏾‍♀️😭

hallway crush

masterlist / navigation / @splinteredmercies

pairing: eddie munson x reader

contains: no spoilers for s4. modern au. reader is really into astrology and tarot. afab reader. an allusion to sex. not edited, we die like men.

wc: 1.73 k

author’s note: im not ashamed to say it: this is one of the most self-indulgent one-shots you’ll ever find because, quite literally, it’s a self-insert. i hereby announce my intentions of bringing forth the astrology!tarot!witch!reader x eddie munson—their aesthetics together, lord! although, we could just shorten it to spiritual!reader x eddie munson, can’t we? anyway, this might become my whole niche considering all the things i’m planning in my head right now… i’m a menace and all of you are now being dragged down with me.

Before you and Eddie Munson were in the same homeroom, he was your hallway crush.

You didn’t know his name, but what you did know was two things:

He was hot. Like extremely fucking hot. (The whole metalhead aesthetic really did things to you.)

You would give an arm and a leg to be able to run your fingers through his hair.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out his name, and his social media quickly followed.

His main Instagram account was public and filled with videos of him playing guitar—where you could see glimpses of a small, cluttered room and walls covered with band posters. You figured out that he ran the Hellfire Club’s Instagram, and that endeared you even more to him because you were sure he made the announcements himself and didn’t rely on Canva.

Then, you found his Twitter account, which was also public. (Twitter accounts were always telling of character, especially for men his age. You found out that he had a little over two hundred followers, published his band’s music on Bandcamp, and had a killer sense of humor.)

And that was how your life went for three years, occasionally stalking his social media and looking out for him in the hallways. Until you walked into Ms. Abernathy’s homeroom during your first day of senior year and found Eddie Munson talking to her animatedly. (You later found out that Ms. Abernathy was taking over as the sponsor of the Hellfire Club.)

Ms. Abernathy greeted you when you tried to walk past her unseen. “I’m so happy to see you! How was your summer break?”

You blinked owlishly and avoided staring at Eddie like an idiot. “It was great. Thanks for asking, Ms. A.”

You forced a bright smile at her and fled to your usual seat near the windows. Your friends would be here soon and they would help you avoid staring at the ridiculously hot two-timer senior.

⋆

It was late October; the weather was becoming chilly and you switched out your crop tops and shorts for jeans and zip-ups. (Your trusty Birkenstocks remained on your feet despite the changing weather.)

Homecoming week was taking place the week of Halloween this year. You and your group of friends were excited over the announced Spirit Days, coordinating who was matching with who for Character Day and when to go shopping for dresses. And you all had fallen back into old habits: doing natal charts and tarot readings instead of finishing homework and studying. (Ms. Abernathy didn’t mind though.)

“Strength!” It was one of your favorite tarot cards. On it, a woman was depicted calmly holding the jaws of a fully grown lion. It represented having control and discipline, especially during times of great adversities. In this case, you’d asked Spirit who was coming into your friend’s life—possible placements and the like. Placing the card with the others, you continued, “Whoever is reentering your life as a love interest before this year ends will have a Leo placement—sun, rising, moon, etcetera.”

“Reentering?” Leena asked, staring at the spread before her. “I really hope it’s not who I think it is.”

“Remember, tarot is based on current energy, and energies change as you make decisions.” You looked at Leena sternly. “If it is who we think it is: then, we rebuke his bad energy. You’ll redraw boundaries and tell him there’s no way in hell you’re getting back with his cheating ass.”

“The moment I saw Five of Swords come out I knew exactly who it was talking about.” To your left, Oneida cackled before taking a sip of her Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee. “He thought he was so sneaky. And now he’s coming back when he’s realized you’re the best he’ll ever have.”

Leena and Oneida continued speaking (i.e., arguing over Elena’s past decisions regarding your life) as you placed the cards back in the deck. Giving the deck a quick shuffle before putting them away in the box, you hadn’t realized your friends had fallen quiet, and someone was standing over you.

“Can I get a reading?”

You froze and looked up. Eddie Munson was in front of you. Beautiful brown eyes flickered between the deck in your hand and your face.

Leena and Oneida kicked your shin at the same time and you stumbled out a reply, “Sure!”

He grinned widely and sat down in front of you.

“I can give you a general reading, starting with three cards. Is that okay with you?” You held onto your deck like it was a lifeline as he seemingly stared right into your soul.

“Fine with me.”

You smiled and started shuffling after knocking three times on the deck. Spirit, a general reading for Eddie Munson.

The cards started popping out in quick succession. Knight of Wands, Seven of Wands, Six of Pentacles.

“I do my readings based on intuition—my gut feeling,” you explained, moving the cards so Eddie could see them. “I’m going to pull some more.”

Ten of Swords, the Hanged Man, Knight of Pentacles, the Empress, Nine of Swords, Two of Cups, Eight of Pentacles, Death, Justice.

You flipped over the deck, “Bottom of the deck: Four of Wands.”

You glanced at him; he was frowning, eyes focused on the Death card.

“The cards are scary if you take them literally,” you said. You started your interpretation, “You’ve been losing sleep, overthinking whether or not you should approach the person you’re interested in. And right now, you’re your own enemy, letting your anxieties rule you. You should approach them because it’s likely that your feelings are reciprocated. This connection has the potential to be life-changing, in a positive way.”

“That’s… a lot.”

You looked up from the cards; Eddie was already staring at you.

You shrugged sheepishly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I know. But Spirit had a lot to say about whatever has been bothering you.”

As he was about to say something else, the bell rang and you fled after putting away your deck into the abyss of your backpack.

⋆

Eddie Munson (edd1emuns0n) started following you.

The scream that came out of your mouth was high-pitched and embarrassing. Immediately, you screenshotted the notification and sent it to the group chat with Leena and Oneida.

Oneida

No fucking shot

WAS THE TAROT READING ABOUT YOU???

Leena

It might be a coincidence

You watched as more text messages came, mostly Oneida telling you to slide into his DMs. You were mortified at the suggestion and decided to put your phone on Do Not Disturb for the rest of the night.

As Leena said, it could be a coincidence but your intuition was saying otherwise.

You slipped your phone under your pillow and turned to your TV. An episode of The Sopranos was playing quietly, and you chose to focus on it instead of whatever notifications were hidden under Do Not Disturb.

That only lasted ten minutes. You grabbed your phone, put in the passcode, and opened your notifications.

edd1emuns0n liked your post.

You froze. You hadn’t posted anything new in months except—

You quickly opened Instagram and saw which post he liked.

It was a post from July when you’d been celebrating Leena’s seventeenth birthday by having a Pinterest-worthy picnic. In the post, you were wearing a floral mini dress. The angels of both pictures showed off your breasts and thighs in flattering angles. You looked hot, even months later.

And Eddie Munson liked that post.

Another scream left your mouth as you threw your phone across your bedroom. You immediately regretted the action and got up to grab your phone.

A notification came in.

edd1emuns0n

Hey, about that tarot reading

Should I actually do something about it?

You stared at the messages for a moment, thinking about what you should say. Finally, you sent your response.

Yes.

He replied quickly.

Okay, see you tomorrow.

Sad at his dry response, you turned off your phone and went back to watching The Sopranos.

⋆

Homeroom, again. And this time, you were the one nursing a Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee instead of Oneida.

You scrolled aimlessly on Pinterest, saving the occasional Whisper repost that was amusing when Eddie Munson stood in front of you.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Oh, shit, did he get rejected? You thought but nodded anyway. You motioned for him to follow you out to the hallway. Ms. Abernathy barely looked at you two.

“What is it?” You questioned, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

“Are you today after school? I’d like to take you out, get to know you.”

You blinked. Then a large smile grew on your face. “So, the reading was about me?”

“Yeah, it was.”

You laughed and beamed up at him. “Well, I am free after school today then. I’ll meet you in the parking lot?”

“Sounds good.”

⋆

Before you and Eddie Munson were in the same homeroom, he was your hallway crush. Now, he was your boyfriend, and you could boast that you had manifested it.

It was May, and the date of graduation and prom was coming up. You and Eddie were graduating, but Eddie had skipped so many periods that he wasn’t allowed to attend the ceremony.

You didn’t mind that Eddie wasn’t walking the stage. You understood that Eddie would prefer being in the audience, cheering for you as your name was called and you accepted your diploma from the principal. (It was a shame, though, because you were sure his uncle would have liked seeing Eddie walk the stage with you.)

It had taken you two months to convince Eddie it would be worth it to attend prom together. (You’d told him that you would spend the night with him—just him—instead of lugging him to attend the after party.)

So, now, you were pinning Eddie’s only pair of dress pants because it was too long. (You were sure that Eddie bought these hoping you would forget to make sure they fit them right.)

“Stop fidgeting,” you muttered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He stopped moving. He said your name softly. “Don’t do that.”

You smirked and looked away. “Stay still, and maybe I will give you what you want.”

And he listened. He stayed still as you finished pinning the dress pants (and you did give him what he wanted).

---

omg why was this the funniest but saddest but best thing i’ve ever read 😭 between one of them only speaking french and then fucking steve AND HE CALLED HER A WHORE 😭😭 short hair eddie was cracking me up at first but now i’m just sad 🫤🫤 and the reverse college eddie 🙇🏾‍♀️🙇🏾‍♀️🙇🏾‍♀️ reader playing matchmaker is crazyyy

The Eddies

Summary: You don’t know how it happens, but when you come through the portal, there's not one Eddie in the living room of Wayne’s trailer, but four. 6007wds

Rating: Fluff

Pairing: Eddies Munson/Female Reader

Warnings: Suggestion of violence and off screen minor character death

You don’t know how it happens, but when you come back through the portal, there is not one Eddie in the living room of Wayne’s trailer, but four. You hear voices outside the open living room door: Dustin shouting and Eddie - another Eddie - shouting back. That brings the grand talley of Eddies currently in Hawkins to… five. 

The one that helps you up from the mattress looks exactly like your Eddie, if your Eddie had short hair, a five day beard, and muscles. Lots of muscles. He doesn’t smile as he helps you to your feet, but his eyes take a long slow sweep over your body in a way that doesn’t altogether feel like friendly concern for your wellbeing. 

Eddie elbows him out of the way and grabs your arm, pulling you away from all the other Eddies over to the safety of the kitchen, blissfully Eddie free until you both arrive. 

You stare at the Eddie that’s gently, yet firmly, holding your arm, reach up and touch his face, his hair and sag with relief. This is your Eddie. You don’t know how you know, since the others are practically photostat copies, but it is. 

“So, there’s been a development,” he hisses, eyes cutting to the short haired Eddie, who is now leaning against the far wall watching you and picking his teeth with what looks like - is that a - yes, it’s flick knife.

That's when you notice he’s wearing worn out blue denim jeans, instead of the black denim 501s your Eddie prefers, and his Hellfire Club shirt is black, rather than white. He seems relaxed, but his stare is hard, calculating even.

“No shit, baby,” you say, totally unnerved. “Where the hell did they come from?”

Eddie lets you go and throws up his hand up in the air.  

“I don’t know, I just - I came through the portal and..." He gestures wildly to what looks like dried snot all over his clothes and hair. “And they were all here.” 

You do not have any of the fine powdery substance all over you. But each of the Eddies seems to.

Your Eddie is breathing hard through his nose, his lips white with tension.

“They were all here? All of them? At the same time?”

He nods sharply and covers his face with his hands, scrubbing furiously, which is when the door of the trailer bursts open and yet another Eddie comes bounding through the door, this one with a wild mane of long fluffy hair billowing around him. He appears to be dressed like an English teacher. 

“It’s like the most fucked up ‘collect a set’ idea Mattell ever came up with,” says your Eddie, turning away to lean over the sink, and make retching noises.

“Hello there!” Fluffy haired Eddie bellows. He looks you up and down before letting out the loudest honk of a laugh you’ve ever heard in your life. “Incredible!” 

You can feel a faintly hysterical laugh bubbling up from your chest. You can't let it out, you don't know if you'll be able to stop once you start. 

Fluffy Eddie is followed into the trailer by Dustin - thank God - who has the biggest smile plastered across his face - oh no.

“It’s real,“ he says, dazedly. “The multiverse. It’s real.” 

“Yep, I can see that, Dustin,” you say, grabbing him by the shirt sleeve and dragging him into the kitchen with you and Eddie. “But. What. Does. It. Mean?” 

He just grins and gazes at the Eddies, who have retreated to their corners and are now sizing each other up. 

“Dustin! Focus! What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” he says without taking his eyes off them. “But Edward here thinks it’s a side effect of the mucus. He’s fairly sure they'll all blip back home once the effects of the residue kind of dissipates.” 

Beside you, your Eddie starts frantically dusting himself down with one of Wayne’s old dish cloths.

"How long?" He bites out.

“It might take a couple of days,” says Dustin. “Maybe 24 hours? Maybe 48?

He points to the fluffy haired Eddie. “Edward’s been jumping from ‘verse to ‘verse for that last year. He’s pretty sure he knows how it works.” 

“How sure?” Eddies says, advancing on Dustin.

“Sure. He’s sure,” Dustin says, holding up his hands as if to ward him off.

"You, Dustin Henderson, are a butt head."  Eddie takes a deep breath, hands balled into fists on his hips. He lets the breath out slowly. 

You smooth your hand down his arm and thread your fingers into his. It’s a relief when he squeezes back. 

“It’s going to be OK, baby,” you say. “We’ve dealt with worse.” 

He turns to you, and you see him soften a little, the wild look in his eyes a little more controlled. 

He's still bleeding, by his eye where he got nicked by one of those damned bats, so you run a dish cloth under the faucet, and dab the wound gently. It's not too bad. In fact, none of you are too badly beaten up. It's a minor miracle.

“I just think we need to keep everyone here,” you say to Dustin and he readily agrees. 

"Eddie’s reputation around town is bad enough without one of these weirdos going out and saying something crazy about the multiverse."

It’ll be tight, but it’s for the best. Before you’d all decided to go back into the Upside Down, you’d hatched a plan to get Wayne somewhere safe. Eddie had sent him to a bowling tournament out of town, so he has the trailer to himself… himselves… all weekend.  

“Baby, it's gonna be OK,” you say, tugging Eddie's hand. "They're you."

“That’s what I’m worried about," he says, darkly.

Two of the Eddies look like twins in their matching 50s biker jackets, black jeans and Reeboks. The only difference is that one has a black and red plaid shirt on over his Hellfire Club shirt and the other doesn't.

It's when that one opens his mouth that things get really weird, because he doesn't speak English. He speaks French.

This really the final straw for your Eddie, who never met a language class he couldn’t flunk. He starts laughing almost giddily.

Between you, Robin and the sophomore Alliance Francaise elective you both took in 10th grade, you manage to figure out why he speaks French. In that Eddie’s universe, there is no United States.

There’s North Mexico, which extends all the way from Canada to San Diego; there his country, Louisiana, which takes up the middle of the country from the gulf of Mexico to the Great Lakes; and there is New Amsterdam, which spans the entire eastern seaboard.

Figuring this out isn’t easy and requires the use of Wayne's Reader's Digest Giant Atlas of the World, sign language and an etch-a-sketch.

"So, like... the Louisiana purchase never happened?" Your Eddie says, when you translate all this to him. Everyone in the room stops to stare at him.

"You know about the Louisiana purchase?" Dustin squeaks. Man that kid really is arrogant.

"I'm a slacker, Henderson, not an idiot," Eddie snaps back.

What's also weird is that as soon as he saw you, Frenchie had started rabbiting in patois, clearly expecting you to understand, but any relief he might have felt at recognizing you quickly turned to frustration when you could only reply with a shabby, “plus lentement s'il vous plaît, j'essaie de suivre”. 

Frustrated, he dismisses you with the wave of a hand and a half bitten, “Putain!”

“Hey!” Robin says, outraged, which brings your Eddie out from the kitchen area like a bullet.

“What did he say?" He says to Robin before getting up in Frenchie's face. "What did you say to her?”

After a second or two of posturing, Frenchie backs down. 

“Pardonnez-moi mademoiselle, j'ai juste peur,” he says to you.

You're Eddie may not speak French, but he knows what contrition looks like. As the tension goes out of the room, you're really proud of the way your Eddie steps back, clasps the guy on the shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Just, stay calm, OK?" Eddie says. "I know you’re frustrated… and you probably can’t understand a word I’m saying, but -”

He stands back and says to all the Eddies: “Dustin, here, has a brain the size of a planet, and apparently that guy does too, so we're gonna, you know, be OK probably. Jesus."

'That guy', is Edward, who comes right up to your Eddie while he's talking and peers at him less like one human being looking at another human being, than like geologist peering at rocks, before furiously writing notes in a battered looking note book he'd had in his back pocket. 

“Fascinating,” he says.

Your Eddie pats Frenchie awkwardly on the shoulder, before scurrying back to the kitchen, which seems to have become his de facto safe space. 

It’s a little unnerving to figure out who the Eddies know in their worlds - and who they’ve never so much as seen before. 

Frenchie's universe is so different, he's never seen any of the kids, or Steve, or Robin in his life before.

The one with the shirt knows Dustin and Mike, but not Robin and Steve. He knows "of you", but you're not an item, you're not even really friends. For some, that seems sadder than if he hadn't known you at all.

Turns out he lives two towns over, in Clerville - that's where you were born in this universe - or he used to. Now, he’s at college in Indianapolis, and he'd been packing to come home for spring break when he blipped here.

"That's what we're calling it? The blip?" Steve asks your Eddie. "'Blip'? Is it blip as in the sound, blip, or 'blip' like the word - Blip? Do we - are we capitalising it?"

"Its blip, I guess? You think it should be 'the blip'?" Eddie says. "Wait, what the fuck are we doing? "

He turns to you a helpless look on his face.

"I just want to know if I'm dealing with a verb or what," Steve pleads.

You roll you eyes at both of them and focus on Dustin who is trying to talk to the short haired Eddie, the one who helped you off the mattress.

He's is pretty non-committal about who he does and doesn’t know. You have to kind of guess, based on the way he looks at people - he's happy to see Robin, a lot less happy to see Steve and completely indifferent to the kids. Other than that his demeanor is, frankly, terrifying. 

At first, the way he was dressed is so much like your Eddie, you thought, hair aside, maybe they would be the most similar. 

The devil really is in the detail, however, because instead of the Dio patch you sewed on Eddie’s denim when the original tee shirt all but fell to pieces, there’s an embroidered Tomahawks gang patch on the back of his denim. He seems older than the others too, harder, less inclined to talk. His nails are black with grease, and he has a thin, white scar on his jawline, stretching from under his chin all the way up his cheek, so big even his patchy beard can’t hide it. 

There's also the switchblade, which you notice is now in the back pocket of his dirty blue jeans - not that you’re looking at his ass at all. Its just had to miss. The knife, not the ass. God, stop staring at his ass.

When he takes his jacket off, his arms are covered in tattoos - writhing snakes, half naked women, daggers dripping with blood. On his forearm, the word Tomahawk is etched in thick black Germanic script. He catches you staring at it and flexes his arm. The way he looks at you makes something dark and uncomfortable curl in your stomach. 

The only Eddie in the room that doesn’t look at you in a somewhat possessive way is Frenchie. 

When Steve first arrives at the trailer, however - nonchalantly taking in the scene before asking the one question no one seems to have thought to ask: “Why Eddie? Why not five Dustins? Or five mes, for that matter. We could do with a couple more grown ups round here.” - Frenchie sits up and takes notice. In fact, he hasn’t take his eyes off Steve since. Which is a fun fact you file away to tease your Eddie with later.

Even Edward, who you discover is the least like your Eddie out of all of them, has a twinkle in his eye when he looks at you, even if it makes you feel less like you’re being skeeved on than sized up for a petri dish.  

“You continue to be a great source of mystery,” he explains when you catch him staring again and give him a very pointed look.

“Every time I blip, you are there. No matter how many times I’ve passed through the portal, you are always the only one we all know.”

He gestures to the Eddies and they all turn their eyes on you. 

“It seems you are the one constant in all universes. A fixed point. For example, in my universe, you’re my lab tech… And you have a crush on me.”

In unison, all four of the other Eddies snort, which is faintly gratifying.  

“Sure she does, dick weed,” the short haired Eddie says under his breath. 

He's not wrong, from what little you’ve seen of him, Edward really is a bit of a dick weed. 

Your Eddie has his nerdy moments, he loves Tolkien and is weirdly passionate about dragons and his guitar, and spends way too long writing his D&D campaigns to pretend it’s just a casual hobby. He also reads a lot of weird books about the occult, which he says is so he can, “worship the dark lords of the abyss better”, but you know it is all about adding more flavor and texture to his DM campaigns. 

But your Eddie is also just a cool guy. Despite the way he’s treated by the town, he’s good with people, kind and compassionate. He listens and notices how others are feeling. And he really wooed you, like no other boy in that stupid school ever bothered to. Under that brash facade, he is a deep well of emotional intelligence and that’s why you love him. 

Edward, on the other hand, has none of that. He is just a massive, massive geek whose one true love appears to be collecting data. 

Of all the Eddies in the trailer he is the only one who seems to be enjoying the situation. Given how stressed and unhappy it’s making your Eddie, you start to kind of hate him for that a little bit. 

When it’s clear no one is going anywhere, and it’s starting to get late, Steve orders pizzas and goes outside to wait for them.  He doesn’t seem to notice Frenchie following him around like a lost puppy. 

College Eddie, asks if he can talk to you and you offer him a spot on the sofa next to you.

"I wanted to ask you about the band," College says.

"The band? Oh, you mean Robin? She's in band. I work on the school paper with Nancy Wheeler."

He looks confused.

"No Corroded Coffin," he says. "Your band? You play every Tuesday at the..."

"At the Hideout," you say in unison.

"Yeah!" He says, delighted.

At some point your Eddie, Robin and Steve drift over, and listen while he explains that in his Universe, he knows you because of Corroded Coffin, and that he often comes to see you play at the Hideout in Hawkins when he’s home from school. 

For the first time since this all started, your Eddie is delighted by something that’s come of this cracked situation. 

“See babe,” he says, pulling you into his lap. “I told you you should learn how to play.”

"Hmmm. You said live with your folks? Where do I live?" You ask College.

"Oh I don't - I mean I heard that you live here. With your aunt Wendy. You're kind of Hawkins famous."

You look at the Hellfire Club shirt he's wearing, and something twigs in your head.

"So you don't DM Dungeons's and Dragons?"

He looks down at his shirt. "What this? No, no you sold this to me at one of your shows. It's a joke, right? Because they call you The Witch, and you're into all that spooky weird stuff and holding seances and shit?"

"And we're not - we're not dating?" You ask. It's strangely charming when his cheeks go pink.

"Nooo, um, God. No."

"For someone that 'only kind of knows of her', you have a pretty thorough knowledge of her life, buddy," your Eddie says. You elbow him gently in the side, even though that's exactly what you'd just been thinking.   

Your Eddie wraps his hand around the meaty part of your bare thigh where it rests across his leg, and squeezes. College’s eyes dart away, his cheeks go even pinker.  

When the pizza comes, he he can't get off the sofa fast enough to go help.

"That was mean," you say, elbowing your Eddie again.

"Ow! How was it mean? The poor guy is clearly repressed! I'm helping him. I can't have a universe where I'm repressed, baby. It's not right."

"I wish you were a little more repressed in this universe. You're a sex pest."

He bucks his hips lewdly. "I'm your sex pest, you little minx."

That makes you giggle.

"In his world I'm basically you, and you're me. That's - isn't that weird? You don't think that's - What are the chances of that?"

Eddie runs his hand up your thigh again, tot the edge of your cut offs and back down to your knee.

"What are the chances of any of this, of Vecna, of - of that guy, " he says, pointing to Edward who's poking at a slice of pizza like it's going to bite him before he can bite it.

“You should talk to College,” you say, watching where he's trying to help Robin dish out slices.

“Why?"

You roll your eyes and elbow him again. “Because he’s very sweet and innocent and nothing like you, you brute.”

“Ow, are you trying to finish what the bats started?” He laughs. “Jeez. Yeah, he really is kind of sweet. What should I say to him?” 

“Just tell him that he’ll get on better with the ‘me’ in his universe than he thinks.” 

"Naw... are you match making across the multiverse?"

"You bet your sweet ass, I am," you say, looking down at Your Eddie's upturned face.

He has a dopey, indulgent smile on his face, and you think, maybe College isn’t the only sweet Eddie in the room.

“We do get on pretty well, don't we?” 

“We do OK,” you say, kissing the end of his nose, and tucking your face into the warm space under his chin, where he smells a little of pot, and that sharp, spicy cologne he likes (you don’t mind it too much either).   

Dinner is a quiet affair, just the sound of 8 mouths making short work of five giant pies. 

The only one not tucking in is Short Hair. You're about two slices in when he announces he has never heard of pizza before.

This is more shocking than discovering the multiverse is a thing.

Turns out his universe doesn't have the Beatles, George Carlin or pop tarts, either, which just confirms to you that his is a universe where something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"What is it? Is it foreign food? I only ever American food before," he says, holding up a sagging slice of cheese. "Is it good?"

"Excuse you, " says Robin, mouth half full. "Nothing is more American than pizza, I mean it's Italian, but it's also American. Maybe hamburgers are more American - no wait, they're from Germany. Hot dogs! Hot dogs are our right?"

After some encouragement, Short Hair takes a mouthful and his entire face goes slack. He ends up eating about five slices. No one minds. You make a mental note to give the guy the recipe for pizza dough before he disappears. He scares the shit out of you, but he’s still an Eddie, and besides, his universe could probably do with a break. 

Somehow you discover that Star Wars doesn’t exist in any of their universes except yours, which is… well, it’s kind of a shock to discover you live in the best of all possible worlds. 

Eddie and Wayne have a VHS player and a decent TV, and Robin still has the keys to the video store so she hares off on Dustin’s bike to get a couple of “educational” movies for you all to watch.  

Dustin decides to take Edward back to his place, where he has a reel to reel recorder, so he can record as much information about Edward’s experiences in quantum what-the-hell-ever as he can. You are quietly relieved - he may be an Eddie, too, but he’s also just fucking weird. Dustin has no such scruples and the two of them have become practically fused at the hip.

“I cannot wait for that guy to…” Steve says, making a pop gesture. Behind him, Frenchie says, "Va te faire foutre. Le Bleep".

“Exactly,” Steve replies, without turning to look at him. 

Steve does not speak a word of French, for the record. 

One thing all the Eddies seem to have in common is their manic energy - although with Short Hair that energy feels more like violence - being in one small trailer with all of them at the same time is, it’s a lot. So when Dustin and Edward leave, the atmosphere is slightly more relaxed. 

Despite Short Hair initially sneering at the idea of watching “a fuckin’ science film”, he’d been the one leaping out of his seat and punching the air when the Millennium Falcon drops in on Luke’s Death Star run. The seconds the credit rolle, he’d yanked the tape out of the player and slammed The Empire Strikes Back in. He’d also been bummed when your Eddie explained there was no episode I - III, and that he had no idea why the films started at episode IV.

You start to feel antsy, so as the blast doors slam shut on the rebel’s icy hideaway, you start stacking up the pizza boxes and coke cans, and taking them into the kitchen. You fill the sink to washing the few glasses that have been used, and when you look up to see if there are any plates or cups to add to the washing, Short Hair is staring at you.

His eyes, glittering in the cathode ray light, are like lasers - you feel the weight of his stare on you like a touch. The way he’s sitting, legs spread, taking up as much room as he can, the machismo rolling off him in waves, his hand is resting on his thigh, it's unnerving.

As you watch, he slides his hand up his leg till he’s practically cupping his denim covered cock, like he doesn't even know he's doing it, like he can't help it. And you cannot fucking help it, but your entire body shivers.  

Short Hair may have the air of someone who once beat a guy to death with a tire iron, but apparently that's your thing now.

Something explodes on screen - the Wampa’s arm maybe? - and Short Hair’s eyes snap away from you back to the screen. All the air leaves your body in a whoosh, which is when you realize that your Eddie has slunk into the kitchen after you, and is leaning against the sink watching you. 

“Well, well, well, little Miss Magellan, that was quite a voyage of self discovery you just went on, wasn’t it?” Eddie says quietly.

“Did my little Columbus just discover something interesting?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, briskly, turning your back to him so he hopefully won’t notice how warm your face has gotten.  

You start furiously packing slices of leftover pizza into Wayne’s tupperware and stacking it in the fridge, pointedly not meeting his smirk. 

“Oh I think you do,” he says, in a sing-song voice. 

“Don’t,” you say, cutting your eyes to where Short Hair is just staring at you again.  

Eddie glances over his shoulder, too. “Jesus,” he says.  

“He’s not - it's just that he's you,” you say, trying to draw a line under the topic. “A terrifying, dangerous version of you, but you, nonetheless.”

“I love that you care about my ego, baby,” Eddie says, smoothing his hand over your ass, when you bend down to put more pizza in the fridge. “But unless that’s a pair of tube socks stuffed down his jeans, he is not me.” 

“I know exactly what’s in your jeans, Eddie Munson,” you say, slightly louder than you intended - loud enough to make Steve look up from the movie, a frown on his face - “And I don’t need or want anything else,” you finish in a hushed tone. 

Eddie, however, is like a dog with a bone, a very meaty, annoying bone. 

“So if it’s not the,” he glances over at Short Hair again, “the fucking anaconda in his pants. Is it the hair? Should I cut the locks, babe?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you say, turning on him sharply. He fluffs his shaggy curls, preening.

“Women would kill for this hair, Munson. Your hair is beautiful.”

You lean forward, pressing yourself along his front, the hard planes of his chest against your squishy breasts. 

“You are beautiful,” you say. Eddie smiles, and leans down to capture your mouth in a kiss. 

But just as you’re really starting to get into it, Eddie tears his lips away, and says, “so if it’s not the *shlong* and it’s not the hair…” 

“Gah!”  You push away from him and stomp out of the kitchen to the bathroom, the sound of Eddie's laughter in your wake. You take great delight in shutting the concertina door in this face. 

You don’t really need that bathroom, you just need a bit of space to process. This morning there was only one Universe, granted it was a terrifying nightmare universe that was trying to kill you all, but it was small, contained. Now, it's absolute chaos. 

Staring at yourself in the mirror the weirdness of the situation hits you like a photon torpedo. You’d just been in another dimension, where you defeated an ancient terror (OK, he was from the 40s, but Dustin keep calling Vecna and ancient terror and so it’s kind of stuck in your head), and now there are multiple versions of your boyfriend milling around the living room, making lewd gestures at you. 

You’re just about to really descend into your quiet freak out, when someone tries the door. 

“Just a minute,“ you say, mentally cursing Eddie for being a needy asshole. 

The door rattles again. 

“Can’t you give me five fucking…” You yank open the door, but it’s not your Eddie standing there, it’s Short Hair. It's Short Hair who grabs you, a hand over your mouth, pushing you back into the little bathroom and dragging the door shut behind him. 

“Shhhh," he says. “Shhhh, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

For a second he is pressed hard and hot all up along your body, his face, so close to yours you can count his eye lashes, his breath coming in fast pants, gust over your neck.

You should be screaming, you should be lashing out, the walls are so thin, there’s no way they won’t hear you, but you are completely frozen. You try to speak, but he squeezes you, and gives you a shake. 

“Don’t,” he says. 

You shake your head. He slowly lets go of your mouth, and your brain says scream, scream for your life, but you still can’t move. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “I’m sorry, I just - I didn’t know how -” He stops and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you. Alone.” 

“OK?” You whisper, still frozen in place. 

You could still scream, you think, but it’d take a second before anyone could get to you, and a guy like him could do a lot of damage to someone like you in a couple of seconds.

“I don’t know how they do that in your universe, Eddie, but here they say, ‘hi, I’d like a word,” you say, fighting to keep calm. “They don’t fucking kidnap people.” 

Short Hair laughs, humourlessly, his dark eyes search your face.

“Where I come from it’s best not to let anyone know what you want. It gets people killed.” 

“Oh.” Oh, no. 

He starts to reach into his back pocket and you suck in a lungful of screaming air.

"Wait," he says. “I don’t want… I just wanted to show you something.”

You hold up your hands. “Please, don’t,” you say, and you've never heard yourself sound so small.  

“I just want you to see,” he says, pulling out the flick knife and handing it to you. 

It's lighter than it looks. You turn it over in your hands. It’s a pretty thing, hand made, with flowers and vines carved all over the handle. In the midst of the wild tangle someone's carved the letters S-O-S. 

“You made me that,” he says, his voice rough, low.   

You look up from the knife to his haggard face, into eyes that are so much like your Eddie’s, but so alien at the same time.  

“You said it’d keep me safe. I just wanted you to know it has.” 

He holds out his hand for the knife, you give it to him and he slips it back into his pocket. 

“I didn’t - I’m not her,” you say, helpless. 

“I know, but I can’t tell her, not anymore,” his jaw clenches and unclenches and clenches again. “But I wanted to. I - I wanted.”

“Oh.”

You don't know what to say, because God, you do not want to know what happened to you in a world that could turn your Eddie into the steel ball of rage and sadness in front of you. So you don't ask, you reach out, slowly, so slowly, and cup his face in your hands. His eyes slip close and he turns his face into your touch. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, his voice so quiet. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are, Eddie,” you say, gathering him into your arms, his head against your chest. “She knows.” 

You stroke your hand through his hair and coo for him a little. He isn’t crying exactly, but you can feel a dampness at your neck and you figure it’s OK to give him this. You feel a little ashamed for misinterpreting the way he’d been looking at you as something heated, when it was really just yearning for what he’d lost; besides if it was your Eddie with some other you, you’d want him to have this. 

This time when the door open, it’s Steve and Frenchie. Steve and Frenchie unaware that there is anyone even in that bathroom. Steve and Frenchie fastened to each other’s faces, mid French, if you will. Well, how ’bout that? 

Short Hair pulls away from you sharply. Behind him Steve has just realised what's going on, and is staring at you with wide, concerned eyes. You shake your head at him and hope he’ll take the hint. 

Steve does and closes the door again.

“Does he take care of you?” Short Hair asks, still not looking at you.

“Like a goddamn princess,” you say, firmly. 

“Good, that’s… that’s good.”  He turns, opens the door and walks out of the room.

"What the hell was that?" Steve asks. "Are you OK?"

You nod. "I'll tell you everything later... And you can tell me everything later, can't you?" You say, staring pointedly at Frenchie.

Steve shrugs. "Eh, when in Rome."

You make your way back into the lounge, where Princess Leia is saying, “I love you,” and Han Solo is saying, “I know”.

Your Eddie is on the couch, somehow blissfully oblivious to what just went down. Short hair is next to him, and he moves so you can sit bewteen them.

"Feeling better?" Your Eddie asks.

"I'm OK, " you say. "Just needs a bit of space.

"I figured," he says, slipping his arm round your shoulders and giving you a squeeze.

As Han Solo gets encased in carbonite, you grab a piece of paper off the coffee table and write the recipe for pizza dough and a few toppings on it. You fold it up and hand it to Short Hair

“For when you get home,” you say. “A new start.”

Imagine being the guy who “invents” pizza, you think. Imagine that. 

He smiles then, the smallest hint of a smile, that just about breaks you in two and tucks your note into his back pocket without reading it.

You try to stay awake as long as you can. But you’ve been through so much already, even without the Eddies of the Multiverse converging on you, you'd be zonked. The last thing you remember is Short Hair saying, “wait, he’s whose fucking father?” and then it's lights out. 

It’s well after dawn when you wake, the sun is streaming in the window and your arms are full of Eddie - your Eddie, you are delighted to discover. 

There's no one else in the room.

You’re just about to panic that all the Eddies have broken out and are currently wreaking havoc on Hakwins, when Dustin bursts through the door. Eddie jerks awake and leaps off the sofa into a pretty comical karate stance, even though he only has one sleep-crusted eye open, and a bandana half hanging off his head. 

"The fuck!"

“They’re gone! Did you see that?” Dustin shouts, ignoring Eddie's Grasshopper impersonation. “They just sort of… blipped!”

Steve comes staggering down the hall from the direction of Eddie’s bedroom wearing nothing but boxers and a disgruntled look. 

“Yeah. I could have had a little more warning about that, to be honest,” he says, scratching at what looks suspiciously like stubble rash over his left pec. 

Eddie collapses back on the sofa, drags the bandana off his head and throws it at Dustin. “Did they really? Are they gone for Good?"

“I think so,” says Dustin, but he doesn't sound at all sure. 

“There’s cold pizza in the fridge,” you say, and both Dustin and Steve immediately turn and march into the kitchen.

Eddie scrubs his face and looks from Harrington to his bedroom and back at Harrington again, before collapsing back onto the sofa.

"Harrington, did you - did you do French me in my bedroom? In my Goddamned bed? No, you know what, I don't want to know. The fuck am I sitting on,” Eddie says, bouncing up from his seat. 

He picks something up from between the cushions. It's a little bone handled flick knife, covered in curving vines and flowers. On one side there are three little letters peeking out from the flowers, a message of love that spans not one, not two, but five universes. 

Eddie sits back down, the knife cradled in his hand, his brow furrowed. 

“Babe, was this… this is his knife.” 

“Yeah,” you say, the word catching in your throat. You take the knife out of his hand, flick it open and test the blade on your thumb. It’s sharp, but it doesn’t hurt you. You flick it closed again and press it back into Eddie’s hands. “I think he wanted you to have it.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t think he needs it anymore.” 

Eddie flicks it open himself and brandishes it a bit like a tiny sword. “Bitchin’,” he says.  

Then Eddie, your Eddie, your perfect, perfect Eddie, flicks his new toy closed and slides it into his back pocket. He cups your face in his hands and captures your mouth in a unique, one-of-a-kind, never-to-be-repeated - in any universe - kiss. 

---

a/n: just a soft little blurb i whipped up like five seconds ago, i wanted something with eddie trying to connect with the reader’s blackness so i found this cute!

paring: fem!black!reader x eddie munson

word count: 644

you’re laying on your boyfriend’s chest with his arms wrapped around your torso, his right hand palming your bottom sweetly. you’re relaxed, your eyes struggling to stay open when his hand moves from your bottom to your back, rubbing slow circles on it. his free hand is taking a drag of a blunt, in which he lowers and brings to your lips. you inhale sharply and he smiles when he sees your pink lip gloss stain on the tip of it.

“can i ask you something?” eddie asks, flipping you so that your stomachs are touching each other’s. he lifts your chin to look at him and you nearly pass out. 

“mhm,” you slur, giggling at how funny he looks. he’s got two cornrowed braids flowing down his head that you persuaded him to let you do earlier. 

“can i touch your hair? i-i mean, it just looks really soft and it’s so pretty, and if you don’t w-want me to touch it that’s fine, i mean no disrespect-”

you bring a finger lightly to his lips, and his eyes ogle at you from above as you smile. “yeah, yeah of course you can touch it. just don’t mess it up.” 

he giddly claps his hands and combs his thick fingers through your pressed hair. he kisses the top of your head, “so pretty ‘n soft, baby. gosh, you’re perfect.”

you swat his hand away jokingly, “you’re gonna mess it up!” 

“sorry.” 

“i’m just playin’, you dork.”

eddie nods his head fervently, “yup, right. i got that.”

he continues to play with your hair ever-so gently for a few moments, twirling it around his fingers. he’s careful not to trap any in his rings and you smile hard at his kind gesture. he plays around with it, feeling how soft and moisturized it is, forming it into tiny coils. you can tell he has more questions, so you urge him to ask them. he clears his throat,

“so, when you’ve got braids,” he starts, not taking his eyes off of you, “how’s it so long? i mean- ugh, shit, am i saying something wrong? ‘m sorry if i am, angel.” his hand cups your cheek and you shoot him a dopey smile, booping his nose.

“gosh, you’re such a cutie. and it’s not all my hair, of course. they take other hair- weave- and braid it in with my own.”

you can’t help but stare at your boyfriend. he looks so cute- his little nods of understanding, the way he’s eyeing you down, listening to every word you spit out and taking it in.

“mhm, got it,” he nods, “a-and the shower cap you wear to bed-”

you interrupt his statement with a laugh that bubbles up your throat loudly. you clap your hands in amusement and humor, but eddie’s serious. his shoulders bump down in embarrassment and his hands fly to his face to cover his blush. you bring them down and stare at him. 

“eds, you’re so clueless, it makes me wanna kiss you.”

“i’m sorry!” he puts his hands up in surrender, “i just wanna know about my girl, i’m sorry i don’t know much.”

“it’s okay, my handsome boy,” you smile, “it’s called a bonnet, by the way. why would i be sleeping with a shower cap on?” 

he laughs at that, and you lift yourself up and straddle him on his lap. his hands fly to your back, bringing you closer, allowing him to pepper kisses on your neck and cheek. “tell me more, princess.”

“well, it protects my hair. if i don’t wear it, my hair will break off, and it won’t be healthy.”

he smiles at you in genuine interest and brings his right hand up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “i love you and your shower cap.”

you giggle, “i love you. but baby, it’s still not a shower cap.”

---

oh, baby.

Summary: You and Eddie raise a baby… however, you’re not a couple and the baby isn’t real. Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader [WC: 7k ] Warnings: takes place at the beginning of season 2, language, maybe part 2? I’m so nervous to post this. Quick Links: Masterlist

"And this," Mr. Allen walked up and down each row with the most serious face. Everyone else, all the students, were plagued with potential trauma at the preface of the assignment; "this is your only priority for the next week—including this weekend and the next."

You felt a cool breeze waft as he walked past your desk, continuing on foward as Steve Harrington audibly protested his instruction. The supposed "King of Hawkins High" wasn't impressed with having to take care of a child… well, a plastic one at that.

"Mr. Allen," he began from his spot in the second row from the door. All you could see was the brown poof of hair that he had become notable for. "I don't see why we can't just start this on Monday. We've got plans… there's a football game tonight!"

There were a few agreeing hums, mostly from the said football players in the room, but it wasn't as though they would be taking part in the assignment when they were on the field. Their partners would be left alone to deal with an unpredictable toy while they tossed pigskin for three hours for fun.

"And besides," Steve continued as Mr. Allen walked back to the front of the room, setting the baby down on his desk and grabbing two plastic bowls he had scavenged from home, "Halloween is next weekend! I bet we all already have plans…"

Steve turned around in his seat and looked around the room. He saw his peers watching him carefully, some in support and others in vague concern that he would get them in further conflict by having the task take up the whole month instead of a week and a half. He glanced over you hoping that being Nancy's childhood friend would spur a call within you to support him but alas, you would not give him the satisfaction.

In the back of the room, Steve's eyes landed squarely on one sole person. He chewed on his lip before turning around.

"Hell, I bet even Munson's got plans. You know we're all busy when he's actually doing something."

At that same moment, Eddie Munson had been sitting with his legs extended through the empty chair in front of him and his arms crossed against his chest. Even if he didn't want to be there in the slightest, Steve Harrington going on a tangent in the middle of senior health class at intrigued him. And when his name slipped past the hair's lips, Eddie's face contorted. Eyes narrow and slightly offended. The new kid, Billy Hargove, laughed as he twirled his pencil. He had been there for two weeks and had swept Eddie’s weed supply clean in a matter of days.

Eddie actually didn't have plans other than Hellfire on Friday, but he couldn't say that out loud. In fact, he didn't say anything. He had an inkling someone would call him to deal at whatever party everyone was going to, but unless it happened, he was staying in and getting stoned himself.

Everyone's head turned toward him and he forgot the real reason he didn't skip that hour. They were all judgemental. He was an oddity to them. You even glanced over your own, three rows in front of him and to the right.

When he caught your gaze, you were the only one to look at him like a real human being, a person, not a freak. Just simple curiosity because everyone else had. You gave him a tiny, empathetic smile before turning back around and he found himself staring at the back of your head after it happened. It made his heart skip a beat.

"Mr. Harrington," Mr. Allen placed one of the bowls he was holding onto Steve's desk, "Nothing's changing. I've conducted this role-play for ten years and it is not changing because you, or anyone else in this class, has plans that don't fit the lifestyle of what it means to be a parent."

He pointed to the bowl before placing the other on a girl named Lisa's desk, "Steve, you pick the boys and Lisa here will pick the girls," he turned his attention back to the room as Steve ran a frustrated hand through his hair. A couple of the girls around you groaned, whispering to one another that the system was rigged because they knew they could no longer pick their partners.

"No picking partners. I'm letting the magic bowls choose them for me. No debating, no arguing. I don't care if you think your partner is bad or not, you will complete this task together. Who knows," he laughed at the looks of the students, "maybe you'll find a new friend through all of this."

“Go ahead, Steve,” he ordered, leaning against his desk with ankles crossed and an amused smile playing at his elderly lips. Glasses perched near the end of his nose, Steve huffed at him and tucked his hand away into the bowl and ruffled the slips of paper.

And like luck, Steve Harrington pulled his own name first. Eddie smiled in satisfaction at that–knowing that there was a chance Steve would most certainly be paired with someone he didn't want after he called him out in class. He hoped Billy would have the same fate too. Hell, everyone who looked at him like he was a fucking Martian from planet Mars.

The irony that Hargrove listened to the same music, smoked the same dope, and drove his car just as recklessly but remained at the top of the food chain at Hawkins High hadn’t escaped Eddie. Girls liked Billy; he played basketball, gave them cheeky smiles, and certainly did not play a fantasy game for fun. He was the antithesis of Eddie’s existence–but a bully and raging asshole too. Billy Hargrove was a piece of shit and it had taken Eddie two days in class to figure that out.

“And Steve will be paired with…” Mr. Allen waited for Lisa to mimic Steve’s draw and she unfolded the paper.

Lisa drew Tammy Thompson's name which could have been worse for Steve. It took 3 minutes for Steve to pull Billy Hargrove's name who was then paired with Kennedy Walker, the school's future valedictorian. The look on the poor girl’s face was sadly hilarious. Hargrove winked at her and she turned such a shade of red that she looked like a balloon. But before Eddie could ponder what an interesting pair that made, Steve sighed and pulled another name from the bowl.

Steve crinckled the thin strip of paper in his hand before tossing it onto his desk, "Munson," he looked at Mr. Allen who nodded as he did with each name.

"And the lucky partner?" Mr. Allen had to have been joking except there wasn't an ounce of teasing in his words. Lisa picked the name out of the bucket and unfolded it with her candy red nails. Then, she laughed. Her eyes crinkled at the side from what you could see as she sat in the first seat beside the door. She looked over her shoulder, directly at you in her line of sight and smiled like a wicked wench.

"Y/n L/n." Shit.

A few of the girls giggled, a couple of the guys whistled which had bristled the compass within you south. You didn't care that you had been paired with Eddie because of what people thought of him–the primary reason they were all bemused with the pairing–but rather at the possibility that he couldn't give two-shits about the assignment. It may have only been October but you had already caught him before two different classes being chastised by teachers for not doing his work. If he kept it up, they said, he wouldn’t graduate with his class.

"Off the hook, ladies," one of the girls on the cheer squad laughed, "Y/n's got him."

Lunch could not have arrived fast enough.

You rushed to the front of the line, grabbed your tray, and made a straight shot for the table you had taken an unassigned assigned seat at. Nancy wasn't there when you arrived so you just picked at your food, rolling the grapes in the small section they had been dumped into and watched the entrance like a hawk. Your leg bounced under the table with a tinge of nervousness, but the aggravation of failure was starting to eat you alive and it had only been an hour since Mr. Allen screwed over your grade. Slowly, the lunch room came to life and Nancy held her calculus book in one hand and purple lunch bag in the other.

Even she had a sour look on her face. Lips pursed and brow furrowed, her hand tightly clenched around the bag as the small gold promise ring from Steve shined in the harsh lighting of the room.

"You'll never believe who Mike gave my number to," Nancy huffed as she sat down; her lunch bag filled scarcely with a peanut butter and jelly and a bag of cheetos. She had four sticks of cut up celery that you gagged at, not understanding how she could enjoy the stringy vegetable for fun.

"You'll never believe who I was partnered with for Allen's baby project," You stopped pushing around your food and she looked at you with heeded interest, her eyebrows drawn together and her wide eyes concerned.

"You first," you pointed a finger at her as she shifted in her seat. The others at the table started to sit down and engage in their own conversations–you had totally forgotten about watching the doorway to the lunchroom. "Keith?"

"From the arcade! The one who always," she scrambled her hands in front of her in frustration before letting out a groan, "he's always got his dirty fingers on the buttons and offers the kids soda way past a normal time."

There was not a day that went by where you did not think that Nancy Wheeler lived with the silver spoon, nay, stick, up her ass.

"All because of someone who broke Dustin's record of Dig Dug. Who does that!?" Nancy unzipped her bag and sure enough, a PB and J with a bag of cheetos as a side with sticks of celery tucked in a plastic baggie.

"Maybe he's just playing matchmaker…" You stabbed a grape and popped into your mouth with a smile. "Steve was being an annoying shit in class today, so maybe, just maybe, you should be searching for someone else."

"When isn't he like that?" She laughed, "He's Steve Harrington for God's sake."

"Well, I think he's to blame for the luck I had in class today."

"Luck? You were just on the verge of complaining," she glanced quizzically at you, looking over your shoulder when a paper ball went flying in the direction of the table. "left," she said and you tilted to the left as the wad went flying past both your heads and ended up by the science club's table. It was a daily occurance. "So, who's your partner?"

"Eddie Munson."

Nancy stopped trying to open the bag of cheetos. "What?"

"Be glad you're not a senior yet, Nance… this project is going to be the death of me, I swear," your head found a home in your hands as you pushed the tray away from you.

"I'm going to fail it! There is no way I can get an A without a capable partner and then what? Will I have to repeat senior year because I failed health? HEALTH?" You exclaimed.

"You won't fail," she conceeded. Placing the snack onto the table, she reached out and patted the side of your arm. "If it really gets bad you can always ask Steve."

"He's partnered with Tammy Thompson. There is no way he'd help me with what Allen said about these babies."

"What did he say? Where is the doll anyway?"

"Eddie's got it. Maybe I'll never see it again if I'm lucky," you removed your hands from the table and folded them in your lap as you told her the assignment requirments and what Mr. Allen had said to expect about the baby. As you talked, she picked at her food and the fruit off your tray as some of the girls from newspaper filled the seats around you.

"At least it doesn't actually, you know, pee or anything."

"But the sensor doesn't know that it isn't real. I don't even know how he got dolls so advanced… I had a flour baby when I was a kid and this is as close to a real baby as possible except it doesn't blink."

"Creepy," she mumbled before picking the bag back up.

"Very," you agreed and took a second to glance around the room. Some of the partners were already facing their first challenges. A few were trying to quell the crying, a couple sat together planning their week out so they could work together and have equal time, but when you looked at the table that normally held Hellfire, Eddie wasn't there.

"They all laughed when my name was called," Nancy's head quirked back up at you, "I don't care that he's my partner; that's not why I'm complaining, but this isn't going to be an easy week."

That was the truth—you didn’t care that Eddie was your partner because as a person, Eddie was not as bad as everyone labeled him to be. He was actually, in an admission that you’d take to your grave instead of tell Nancy, fairly handsome and interested the hell out of you. It was the work ethic and motivation that concerned you.

"People are just mean, Y/n," you nodded in agreement, "you just need to focus on the assignment and if you're lucky, like you always are," she peered into your soul with that jealousy, "everything will go swimmingly."

Nancy Wheeler knew she spoke too soon when the doors to the lunchroom flug open with flair. She jumped and turned around in her seat when she saw your soul escape from your eyes.

"Hey! Mama!"

Jesus Fucking Christ.

He was holding the doll by its back leg, letting it dangle from his hand as if it were that black, metal lunchbox you convinced yourself had drugs tucked away in it. Eddie was looking directly at your table as though he had been searching for you for hours.

“Did he just—“ Nancy cut herself off as she watched him make his way toward the table. A group of preps flipped him off on the way and he gladly returned the bird with glee.

“He just called me ‘mama.’”

You put an arm defensively covering your face, shielding your eyes away from him as the Hellfire table furthered his amusement by cackling at him. Nancy whipped her head back around to you and felt the embarrassment roll off.

“It’s only a week,” she reminded you, “only about a week.”

Eddie’s feet landed at the end of the table and the girls at the end went silent. He was standing there, holding the doll by its hind leg, and quirked his head to the side. His eyes were entertained at the way you had blocked yourself away from him. The call of ‘mama’ making your skin crawl and elating him from far away. He could push a few buttons without feeling bad about it.

“You embarrassed of me, L/n?” He feigned hurt, “what’s our kid gonna think when he learns his parents don’t get along?”

“It’s a doll, Munson,” your hand that had been blocking your face hit the table hard. “It has no memories and will certainly, never, ever, grow up.”

“If Allen heard you say that he’d give us an F,” he walked around the table and took a seat beside you, legs spread as they caged you in from the side and he plopped the baby on the table with a thud. It’s head face down on the table as its poorly drawn on strands of hair faced the ceiling. He was wearing double denim. A jacket filled with pins and patches, a chain hung from one loop of his pants to another and the red flannel he wore underneath it was left open to reveal a t-shirt for a band you had never heard of—holes littered the neckline that sat beneath a silver chain.

Across from you, Nancy sat rigid as she watched the way Eddie’s eyes watched you. A small smile playing on his face as one of his hands found themselves in his lap and the other elbow perched on the table beside the doll.

“We should probably talk about this, huh?” He asked, surprising you by actually wanting to talk about the assignment. You turned your head and looked at him, eyes bemused by his willingness to do so. Eddie recognized that, scoffing and reaching inside of his jean jacket to grab a pack of cigarettes before tapping one out. He slipped them back in and stuck the one he plucked from the pack between his lips.

“You know,” he glanced at you, then Nancy, then back at you, “when a teacher tells us we have to work together, I don’t expect to do all the talking.” He lit the cigarette with a puff and the girls at the end of the table began to complain. No one was allowed to smoke in the cafeteria—only the teachers lounge and well, that was reserved for teachers.

“How do I know you actually want to talk about this?” You countered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn in an assignment before.”

“You been takin’ notice of me, L/n?” He smiled wide, grabbing the cig with two fingers and tapping it onto the floor. “If you wanted to talk to me you could just do it, ya know? Don’t need to stare at me.”

“Wheeler,” he looked at Nancy who drew her brows together, the tight contortion of her face judging him without words. “You know your friend has been watching me? Should I put an add in the paper for a bodyguard to protect me from my stalker?” Nancy didn’t reply because she had never held a conversation with Eddie before. She didn’t understand his humor, let alone the levity of his words as he blew smoke in her face and sat next to her best friend like a suave Casanova.

“Eddie,” you sighed, letting your gaze drift around the cafeteria and caught a few interested stares along with way. One teacher, Ms. Kirch–the freshman biology teacher with a hard-on for students willing to press her buttons—was walking around the perimeter on the other side. If she saw Eddie smoking, they’d both make a scene.

“I know you think school’s a joke but I’m not failing this just because you don’t want to do it.”

“Who said I don’t want to do this?” He furrowed his brows, shaking his head at you as he put the cigarette back to his lips. The red burning as he breathed in.

“Oh I don’t know… you’re attendance record, report cards, all previous group projects that I’ve never seen you show up for.”

“Those are all Ms. O’Donnell’s,” he defended, pointing a finger at you, “She’s a bitch and has it out for me.”

“I just want to know for sure that if we do this together, I won’t be left to do all the work at the end.”

Eddie saw the honesty in your eyes as you admitted it. He never truly understood what it meant to be an academic because it felt superficial. The attachment to good grades and praise that he never got, so, naturally, he never comprehended. You were a good student—a good person, rather. When he heard your name called after his and the snickers that followed, Eddie was reminded of the fact that you didn’t treat him like a ‘freak’ but a person. And hell, there was a first time for everything when he wanted to try something new. Completing a project because his partner didn’t treat him like dirt? Eddie could at least try it out.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He tapped the cigarette and the ash fell to the floor again. “If I’m going to graduate, I’ve gotta get this done too.”

You nodded slowly in observation. Eddie did not appear to be lying. That blasé attitude he had walked in with gradually decreasing the more you talked. Glancing again at Ms. Kirch who was directly across the room from you beside the table of jocks, the details of the week would be limited to a few seconds before she came charging over and causing a scene. You turned to the small stack of one notebook and history textbook that laid next to your tray. Ripping a paper out of it, you stole the pencil from Nancy’s stack and wrote down your address on it.

“Here,” you handed it to him and he looked over it with a smirk, “that’s my address and phone number. Kirch is going to bite your head off in a minute and we don’t have time to go over all the details so if you’re free later, stop over after school and we can divide everything out.” He knew where you lived. Three doors down from Gareth—his friend and band mate and also, another one of Hawkins’ finest on their way to repeating their final year of school and he was only a sophomore.

“Your parents aren’t gonna beat my ass or anything when I get there? I know I have a bit of a…” he clicked his tongue, tipping his head to the side, “reputation.”

The shrug you gave did not ease his concerns right away. However, the comment that followed made him realize that actually attempting to complete this project with you was a good thing. Maybe luck was finally giving him a chance.

“Not everyone in this town thinks you’re a freak, Munson,” you gave him a small smile, pointing your own finger to one of the buttons on his jacket, “besides, my dad’s favorite band is WASP. I think he’d like someone to talk about it with—even if just for a second.”

He smiled and Nancy Wheeler was taken aback by the scene in front of her. Seven minutes ago, you were in distress with the idea that Eddie Munson was going to be the worst partner imaginable and the cause of failure in senior health class. Now, you were offering him kind smiles and an invitation to your home with so much as his own words being enough to convince you that he wouldn’t leave you high and dry with an unpredictable doll.

Eddie grabbed the doll by its leg again, ready to escape before Kirch made her way but you could already hear her footsteps coming barreling your direction.

“I’ll take it now and bring it over later,” he nodded, sticking the cigarette between his lips again and letting it dangle there, “we should probably give it name instead of referring it as an ‘it.’”

“Mr. Munson!” That shrill voice made him cringe.

“Think about it. We’ll talk about it later, yeah?” He rose his eyebrows at you as if asking you to agree. You nodded, giving a small ‘yeah’ in response before he shot out of the seat.

“Mr. Munson, smoke outside if you must! Do you not understand the rules of this school?”

Behind you as he stood, Eddie turned toward Ms. Kirch. He let out a puff of smoke between his lips as her hand batted the fumes away from her face. The doll hanging on its one limb and swinging left to right as Eddie taunted her.

“Ms. Kirch,” he swooned, a few amused giggles sound from the tables around you as your head tipped over your shoulder, Eddie’s eyes flashed to yours as he played into her hand. “If you wanted to compliment my ability to break those so-called rules, you could at least sound excited to say it.”

“You put that out right now or you’ll be spending after school in detention and it’s going straight onto your record!”

“On my record!?” He laid his free hand on his chest, slowly backing up from where he was standing. Eddie was going to bolt because the old woman wouldn’t run after him. “Ms. Kirch, you know how much I respect my record,” he shook his head dramatically, hair vibrating with the shake as the bud sizzled again. “But, I have plans tonight so…”

The cigarette fell to the floor from his lips, cooling against the white tile as she went to protest. Eddie’s shoe squished it, extinguishing it, and once his foot lifted from the flattened cig, he ran. Ms. Kirch walked no more than two feet as brief laughter erupted in the area—sure they all made fun of Eddie and ostracized him from normal high school life but hell, if he didn’t bring a bit of joy to them when he pissed off the old lady that watched them all like a hawk in their most free period. A chuckle slipped out of you and she turned to you with a glare.

“Do you find this funny, Ms. L/n?”

She smelt like stale flowers and her lipstick was pearled in some spaces on her lips. Kirch was haggard and growing older every day.

“No, ma’am,” you shook your head at her and turned back around. Nancy was sitting with wide eyes, scared of the woman who lingered for a moment behind you before running off to find a janitor to clean up.

“Shit,” Nancy muttered quietly.

“What?”

“He’s deranged, Y/n. Deranged.”

“It’s only about a week, right, Nance? Only about a week.”

And that week would be the most interesting week of your life.

Eddie came over as he said that afternoon after school. At your kitchen table before your parents got home from work, you both devised a plan on how to go about taking care of the doll—and as Eddie had asked, you tried to think of a name but that was harder than it proved to be. He said the first thing that popped into his head and that was unfortunately, Bilbo.

Bilbo. A doll named after Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit was the baby you had to take care of together.

It did not even matter that the doll was plastically formed with female anatomy because he said: “What’s in a name, anyway? It’s just a doll.”

So, Bilbo it was.

And Eddie offered to take it for the night because he had Hellfire on Friday’s when you had nothing, therefore you could swap in the morning and you’d go about the plan when the weekend arrived. The plan, however, was more than what you had originally believed needed to take place for the assignment. Nancy called you Thursday evening after Eddie had left to complain that Steve would be spending all of his free time helping Tammy with the doll and was blowing her off until Halloween—a whole week later. You hadn’t fully realized that what you and Eddie had planned to ensure that you’d both pass health this semester was essentially spending all of your time together [sans Tuesday when his band played at The Hideout and Friday when he had Hellfire].

You slept well Thursday with those thoughts lingering in the back of your mind. Nancy’s concerns were her concerns. She had confided in you that she and Steve were having issues anyway, so one more nail in the coffin did not appear to be as detrimental as she complained it was. If Steve and Nancy were on their final string, the end was imminent. When you woke on Friday, the first thing on your mind was how the night had gone for Eddie and if what Mr. Allen said was true about the babies, had he had an absolutely awful night being a ‘parent’ for the first time?

That question was answered rather quickly as you entered the hallway at seven-thirty.

“Mary! You can’t just leave me with the thing!”

“I am not taking it tonight!”

“It wants food and there’s no way to feed it!”

There were ‘couples’ fighting at every turn. As you passed Tammy Thompson’s locker, Steve looked like he wanted to pull his hair out.

“I can’t do it! I can’t do it!” He complained to her as he held the baby on his hip. It was a sight. Steve in his tight jeans and blue jacket, striped polo, to have a doll perched on his hip like it was real. Everyone was taking it seriously which made the entire situation feel less awkward and daunting.

You reached your own locker, twisting the combination while trying to snoop on Steve’s conversation five lockers down on your left.

“This thing never shuts up! I got no sleep last night and I don’t think I’ll even be able to go to the game tonight because I’m dragging ass!”

“Steve, come on…” Tammy trailed off because she had to sing the national anthem and could not bring the doll with her. But she should have—the doll could probably sing better than her.

“It’s not fair, Tammy!” Steve’s voice began to dwindle as he looked around and noticed people staring at him. He locked eyes with you over Tammy’s shoulder and sighed heavily.

Suddenly, the textbooks and folders in your locker became interesting—far more interesting than all the arguing going on in the hallway. Mr. Allen had made everything difficult intentionally. Splitting up groups so one person cared for the doll at a time before each group realized they couldn’t do it alone. The tactic was good, great even. The responsibilities of childcare and parenting obvious to those who had terrible nights and to those who hadn’t had realized it yet, the feelings were inbound.

As was Eddie. Charging down the hallway after barely hitting a gaggle of kids heading to the middle school in the parking lot and the doll, Bilbo, once again hanging from its hind leg as it swung. He called out your name so loud that even Steve had shut his mouth and stopped talking to Tammy. Eddie had one of those bad nights too. He strode right up to the side of your locker and had a crazed look on his face.

“What the fuck!?” He exclaimed, bags under his eyes. You couldn’t answer the question because you weren’t sure what had gone on.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’!? This thing,” he held it up like a captured possum, “kept me up all night with its relentless screaming and I couldn’t figure out how to turn it off!”

“I don’t think you can turn it off,” you commented, grabbing your science book and folder as your bag hung from the hook. “That’s not the point of the project. The point is to learn how to care for it, not turn it off.”

“Well,” he laughed cynically, “we were given a devil child. Literally the spawn of goddamn satan because it doesn’t want to be cared for.”

“I thought we weren’t calling it ‘it’ anymore. Bilbo, remember?”

“Bilbo is too kind of name for this thing. It’s Lucifer… fucking… Sauron!”

“I can’t get on-board with Sauron,” you bit back a smile at his suffering, “But your duty is over now, right? Just leave Bilbo with me and we can meet up tomorrow and swap.”

“You’re not going to be able to do it alone,” he said it honestly, like he was terrified of the watermelon sized piece of plastic. You glanced around the hallway and saw all the partners having conversations similar, but all the same different, like the one you were having with Eddie. He was having an internal battle with himself—realizing that he actually had to do this and that when looking back on his own life, if this is what having a child was like, he could not imagine how his parents got through high school having him at sixteen. He had just turned eighteen and could barely keep it together and it was a doll named after a character from a children’s book.

“Do you not believe I can?” You questioned him yet he shook his head, taking note of the things in your locker instead of looking at you.

“That thing is a monster and if it’s not waking you up, it’s eating away all your free time. If it’s not eating away at your free time, it’s taking up all the time spent doing things that matter. It sucks the joy out of life without even taking a real breath.”

“Those are harsh words, Munson,” a sigh left your lips as you gripped your locker door. He was looking at the two Polaroids that were stuck on the door with tape. You and Nancy on the Fourth of July and then you with a group of little kids a few Halloween’s back dressed as character’s from Star Wars. You were hugging a curly haired Han Solo that had no teeth. “But maybe you just don’t have the parental touch that it needs.”

“What are you saying?” He narrowed his eyes, “That I’m neglecting Bilbo’s needs?”

“Maybe,” you shut your locker, “But either way, you have Hellfire and I agreed to take ‘em off your hands today so,” you grabbed Bilbo from him and perched him like Steve had perched his doll. Something stuck inside Eddie in that moment. It was a goddamn doll and he was sleep deprived, so he conflated his bubbling feelings of whatever the hell spurred inside of him to that. You looked cute holding the doll like that.

“We can talk about it tomorrow, alright? If anything needs to change, we have time to discuss it. Don’t get all worried.”

Eddie shook his head, running both of his hands through his hair and over his bangs before bringing them back down.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, mama.”

And then he walked away. You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, but, certainly it couldn’t be as bad as he was making it because sometimes, people could be dramatic—and Eddie Munson was the dictionary definition of the word. Always had been, always would be, and maybe, he was playing with the truth.

For three hours it had gone swimmingly. Bilbo made no noise.

But the minute Mr. Grosso put the Spanish test on your desk, the doll wailed so loud it made a girl scream from the other side of the room and you missed the test because it cried for thirty minutes in the bathroom before you could calm it down.

You swore you could hear the popping of his muffler three miles away. The blinds on the living room window comically split into two by your fingers, you peered out in anticipation you had gone to sleep feeling. Not quite butterflies but a nervous, anxious energy that kept you tossing and turning through the night. Along with Bilbo—the baby had kept you tossing and turning to the point where you felt crazy.

When you got home, you realized that the doll had smelt like weed and cigarettes but the distinct smell of Eddie’s cologne tried to cover it up. He had sprayed that doll with so much liquid that it had become ingrained into its clothes and soft body. You ripped off the onesie it was wearing and dunked it in the laundry immediately. And again, for the first few hours you managed to get your homework done for the weekend without much interruption until your parents got home.

They were utterly amused with the project and kept repeating that it was good for “skill building and responsibility.” You rolled your eyes and told them what Eddie had said about his night, expecting the same for your own and sure enough, it was like walking through the pits of hell.

Bilbo’s journey, Frodo’s journey… neither of them had the same horror of the screaming baby doll sitting on your comforter at two in the morning. Hour after hour, all you wanted to do was cry because it wasn’t responding to any of the tactics you had used when you would babysit. No rocking, no shushing, no gentle strokes, and just as the others complained in the hall, you couldn’t change its diaper or feed it. The solutions to ease it’s complications were non-existent.

Eddie rung you at eleven thirty saying he’d be over ‘in a bit’ and you stood at the window in your living room while your dad watched TV and your mom cooked lunch. The doll laying quietly on the sofa beside him for the first time in a half hour.

“So,” your dad cleared his throat as the program changed at noon, “what’s Eddie Munson like as a partner? I know his uncle Wayne from the plant.”

“He’s fine thus far,” you muttered, not tearing your eyes away from the window.

“You know this doll smells like a skunk.”

“It’s weed, dad,” you said so casually his eyebrows rose, “and it’s Eddie’s, not mine. And no, I don’t smoke.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he laughed but he would have. Not that he cared in the slightest if you did, that was all mom. Mom cared about reputation and manners and whether or not you’d have yellow teeth by the time you’re fifty. “But is he treating you alright?”

“What do you mean?” You looked away from the window and back at him, “We’re not really a couple, you know. It’s just a project,”

“I know, I know,” he clarified, waving you off like you had taken the comment too seriously, “as a partner. Not making you feel uncomfortable or anything?”

He might know Wayne, but the label of ‘freak’ extended beyond school. Eddie Munson flew around town in his beat up van playing his metal music at the highest level, smoked and loitered outside of stores, and very frequently, jested with the people of Hawkins to amuse his merry band of oddities.

“Eddie’s a good guy, dad,” you lamented, “so what if he likes metal and plays D&D.”

“D&D?”

“Yeah,” you furrowed your brows at him, “what did you think he did? He literally named the doll after Bilbo Baggins.”

“I thought Hellfire was…”

“What the mothers at the grocery store say it is?” You scoffed and turned back to the window, Eddie’s van turning the corner at the end of the block. “It’s a D&D club. I told him he’d probably get along with you too so try not to accuse him of worshiping the Devil, ‘Kay? That’s like… the furthest thing from the truth.”

He just nodded as you defended Eddie, a little smile on his face because he knew you so well. You were a good kid, a smart kid, but oblivious sometimes. If Steve Harrington had been your partner and he inquired about Steve’s role as a partner, you would have rolled your eyes and ended the conversation there. Eddie pulled into the driveway and you grabbed the baby off the couch, marching to the door. Opening it wide, he hadn’t even exited the van before you were standing there. Split between the wooden door and the glass one, pumpkins littered the small deck and a wreath rested on the door behind your head.

You had a cute house. It was simple and friendly, something his trailer was not. Eddie saw you standing there with a flat face and Bilbo in your hands and he laughed in his car. You could see his elated face burst with laughter; it irritated you but you couldn’t help thinking the sight was special. How often he had been smiling and laughing in your presence and a little butterfly sprouted in the pit of your stomach.

Eddie tossed the keys between his palms as he lazily approached the door, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Looks like someone had a rough night,” he commented a few feet from you as you unlocked the glass door and propped it open. “Didn’t believe me when I said it was Satan?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, putting on a face for him to prove you could handle the stress of taking care of a plastic doll. “Bilbo was a saint. Slept through the night.”

Eddie reached the door, holding onto the silver handle so you could let go.

“Yeah?” He questioned, “tell that to your face, sweetheart. You got no sleep and you look like you walked through Mordor.”

“Do you always reference Lord of the Rings or is it just to prove you read?” You squinted your eyes at him.

“One, I do read,” Eddie entered your house and stood across from you in the small doorway. The doll separating you, he looked down, you looked up. “And two, Bilbo likes it when I talk about familiar things,” He gave a wide, toothy smile before grabbing the doll out of your hands and moving into the entryway.

“You know, this kind of feels like how I’d imagine kids of divorce feel.”

“Like being pawned off by their parents every other day because rules told them to?” You shut the door behind you, pressing it closed with the thud. You pointed to his shoes and directed him to take them off to where a mat sat beside the wooden table with a mirror hanging above it.

“Mhm,” he hummed as he slipped them off. He was wearing matching socks. “Poor ‘lil Bilbo Munson-L/n… separated by the rules written on the back of Mr. Richard’s history test.”

You scoffed, walking past him and down the hallway as he struggled with his right shoe. In a matter of seconds, his socked feet patted against the wood flooring and caught up with you.

“My parents are home so don’t be weird or anything,” you muttered and he caught himself nodding at the direction instead of responding with the sarcastic remark because of the way you said it. ‘Don’t be weird or anything,’ as if he was not already labeled that way or saw himself as ‘weird.’ Yes, Eddie was unique and full of a million things you weren’t sure fit a narrative of ‘normal,’ but it didn’t mean he was weird. He was just Eddie.

You rounded a small archway that revealed a living room and an older man sitting on the couch watching the tv. His eyes left the screen and met Eddie’s—who was immediately more reserved than he had thought he’d be. He was nervous, suddenly. Standing in your home, with your father in one room and mother in another, with the task of caring for a baby together looming over his head like a cloud. It was ridiculous and confusing but all the same exciting and challenging for him.

“This is, um,” you glanced at Eddie to put him on the spot. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out at first. He was holding the baby like a real baby and moved it to extend his hand to your dad.

“Eddie. Eddie Munson. Thanks for letting us use your house,” he said as cool as he could. Your dad looked at his hand, taking not a second later to grip it strongly and shake it.

You noticed the way Eddie’s eyes lit up at being welcomed. His hesitancy dissipating as your dad asked him a question, yet all you could do was watch him. The feeling was odd. Watching Eddie interact with your father was like watching a significant other be terrified to meet the parents for the first time. It was terrifiying how quickly that idea not only came to your mind, but felt normal.

Conversations between the two of you before being assigned partners had been totaled at three.

And now Eddie Munson was talking to your dad about their shared connection to Wayne Munson in the middle of your living room.

And for some reason, the sight of it was something you wouldn’t be mad about becoming a normal occurrence.

“I hear you play D&D?” He asked Eddie who glanced at you, already looking at him, before nodding and turning back to your dad. He hadn’t expected you to have talked about him at all.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“You know,” Rising from the couch, “She babysits some kids that play it. They’re quite the rambunctious bunch but have nothing on that… what did you say its name was?” He asked you, but Eddie answered at the same time you did.

“Bilbo.”

He laughed, repeating the name as he turned toward another archway that led to the kitchen and tipped his head in that direction.

“We never had to do a project like that but I think it’ll do you both good.”

Your mom was standing in the kitchen making grilled cheeses and stirring tomato soup on the stove. She turned her head over her shoulder and gave Eddie a smile. He returned it as his eyes flicked all over the space. He took in the pictures on the wall, the types of plates your family used, the way the sink had a window overlooking the backyard and there was a dog outside on a leash laying on the brick patio. Eddie didn’t have this life. He walked to the patio door and looked out at the yard.

“You gotta pretty nice house here, L/n,” he mumbled as you came to stand beside him. His fingers digging into the plush body of Bilbo as a bit of his hardened shell began to tell him he was out of place.

“It’s nice, yeah,” you admitted, “but it’s a carbon copy of all the houses in this neighborhood.”

He hadn’t put two and two together and noticed the layout was similar to Gareth’s down the street.

“You con your parents to be nice to me too?” He glanced at you as if looking for a conspiracy. That somehow, nothing in his life was this easy. That there was a superficial reason talking to you came easy; that there was a mysterious reason your parents accepted him even if he wore a leather jacket and Motörhead t-shirt and a spattering of rings on his fingers. You weren’t necessarily friends in any way, but he felt comfortable. He looked into your eyes and felt secure because of what? Kindness? The noticeable attention of a girl finally making him soft?

“No,” you said honestly, “just told them a bit about who you were. That’s all. Are you going to stay?”

“Stay?”

“I just thought,” you felt your mouth go dry with his question. Perhaps you were being too forward or not thinking clearly because the sight of him being domestic with a doll had awakened a sleeping giant inside of you. His big, brown, cow-like eyes scanned over your face as you stuttered. “I just thought it’d be easier for both of us the longer we did it together.”

“Oh,” was the sound that escaped between his lips and you immediately began retracting you words. Your parents watched the two of you from the other side of the counter with knowing looks in their eyes.

“It’s fine!” You laughed nervously. “You don’t have to stay. I was just shooting the shit, you know? I’m not trying to keep you from your plans or anything… my mom makes a real mean gc and—“

“—I’ll stay.” Eddie cut in and you stopped rambling, letting the words fall from your lips as he nodded. “I want to stay.”

“O-Okay, um,” you looked into those brown eyes a second longer than you should have before peaking past him and to your parents who tried to appear occupied with cooking. “Eddie’s gonna stay for a bit, if that’s fine.”

“Yeah, hun,” your mom kept her back turned to you and stirred the pot. “He’s always welcome.”

Always welcome.

He had to have hit the lottery with this one. A good, pretty partner and a space to escape to that welcomed him without judgement? He was either in the first circle of Hell or ascending to peace yet his feet were planted on the ground—not a foot from your own.

Eddie spent the entire afternoon there. When the sun fell and the moon rose high, you yawned on the floor of your basement and he knew that it was far past a normal time to spend sitting around, laughing and trying to sooth the inexplainable outbursts of Bilbo. His face hurt from the stupid smile that he couldn’t wipe from his face once the two of you had figured out that the doll had sensors under its arms and swaddling helped stop the crying until another unexplained outburst required attention.

When he walked to his van with the doll swaddled in his arms like a real baby, he turned back as he opened the door and shot one last look to the house where you were still standing to bid him goodbye. Eddie didn’t want to leave. He felt his heart squeeze when you gave him a small wave, illuminated by the yellow lighting of the hallway behind you. Shit. He got into the van and sped off before pulling into Gareth’s driveway and pounded on the door.

You shut the front door and with a lock, your dad turned off the tv in the living room before walking into the hallway to meet you there. Both headed to bed, he put an arm around your shoulders and squeezed.

“We gonna talk about that or no?” He asked.

“About what?”

“That!” He laughed as you felt your face heat up. Rising on the Kelvin scale, you felt a spotlight shrink itself onto you. “You gotta little crush there, darlin’ and to be frank, I think he might too.”

“Dad!” You complained, jostling out of his grip and walking more quickly toward your bedroom. “I don’t like Eddie!”

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” he chuckled as you pushed opened your bedroom door and slammed it closed in embarrassment. “But really, you do.”

Eddie pounded on Gareth’s door for three minutes but no one was coming to the door. Desperate, he put his ear to the wood and heard the distinct thumping of drums echoing throughout the house and contemplated for a moment. He could keep knocking and draw the attention of the neighbors and get the cops called on him for suspicious behavior, or, he could go around to the back and knock on Gareth’s window in hopes that it was closer and louder.

He jumped off the stoop and made for the window. Inside, Gareth was head banging as he played Iron Maiden on his drums and had a literal lava lamp reflecting off the symbols. Eddie put his fist to the glass and waited for a break in the beats to thump. Gareth jumped, a scream emitting from his mouth as his sticks went flying across his room and Eddie waved a hand at him from the other side.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth opened the window and nearly shivered at the cool, October air. “Why are you here? The cops after you?”

“I just spent eight hours in Y/n L/n’s basement taking care of a goddamn baby and eating her mother’s food.”

“Shit,” Gareth laughed, “that sounds like a fuckin’ dream if you ask me.”

“It’s a nightmare, Gareth. A fucking nightmare.”

“Why?” The floppy hair Gareth had been sporting fell into his eyes as they contorted in confusion. “She’s a nice girl. Her old man helps mine when the cars busted.”

“Of course he does!” Eddie pushed off the windowsill and put his hands above his head, breathing in deeply.

“What? He threaten you or something?”

“No, they were,” Eddie’s face scrunched as if it pained him to say the word, “perfect.”

“Then…” Gareth motioned with his hand for Eddie to continue.

“That’s it! They were perfect! She’s perfect, man!” Then, he let a slew of curses leave his mouth and disappear into the night sky. Gareth laughed, letting a long ‘ahhhhh’ direct itself toward the guitarist.

“Eddie Munson,” he leaned into the beside table by the window, “in love with the girl next door.”

“FUCK!” Eddie yelled with his hands in his hair.

And he still had a week left to take care of Bilbo with you.

---

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors [15k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie ends up being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general loneliness, mentions of a shitty/traumatic pregnancy, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, you wash eddie's hair!!!! this was low-key requested by anon

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie opens the door and finds a little girl on the steps of his house. Little girl feels generous – she's barely more than a baby. In a set of tiny matching pajamas and white socks stained green from the morning grass, she looks up at him with wide, sad eyes. 

"Hey," he says carefully. "Hey, sweetheart." 

"Good morning," she says, though it comes out blurry.

"Good morning," he repeats with a breathless laugh, instantly endeared.

He curls his hand around the railing and squats down. She really is very cute and obviously well looked after, although he realises upon closer inspection that she's been crying. 

"Where's your mommy?" Eddie feels silly as he asks, but what else do you say when you find kids by themselves? 

He's not really expecting her to know the answer. She pouts her small mouth and Eddie freezes up. 

"Mommy.” Her breath quivers. 

"Don't cry," he says very gently.

It doesn't work, obviously, and she starts whimpering in a way that turns Eddie's heart entirely. 

"Let's find mommy, okay? Do you wanna do that? Wanna come and find mommy with me?" 

"Yes," she says, though it quickly draws up into a sharp cry. 

Eddie treks down the stairs and turns back, waiting. The little girl looks down at the steps and her eyebrows furrow as she places one foot after the other, looking like her socks are stuck to a fly trap. 

He holds his hand out. "You got it," he says encouragingly, wiggling his fingers. 

Her relief is palpable. Her brows smooth as she takes his hand, so small he can cover her entire palm with the meat of his thumb. She wobbles down the steps and then hesitates at the damp ground awaiting. 

Eddie drops his gaze to her wet feet.

She looks up at him. Eddie doesn't think she means to but her eyes are pleading,and he's already moving to pick her up when she lifts her arms into the air.

She's heavier than he anticipates. He quickly gets used to the weight, shifting her against his side with his arm under her butt, her damp foot digging into his abdomen. She rests one hand on his shoulder and the other reaches for his hair. He can't help smiling at her as she pets the dark mess, hand clumsy but well-intentioned. 

He walks down past the van and onto dark asphalt, looking up and down the road to see if anyone's around. He figures she has to be a trailer park kid – she can't have walked very far, and she'd been waiting outside. She must've gotten mixed up and thought his trailer was her own, which hopefully means her mom lives close. 

The steps up into his trailer are on the right side. Eddie guesses she's come from the right. It's not a great assumption — he's grasping at straws. 

"What's your name?" he asks. 

She's taken a lock of his hair into her hands. Eddie worries for a second that she's going to try eating it but she only waves it around, looking pleased. 

"I'm Eddie." 

"Dee," she says. 

"Almost. Eh-dee," he spells out, again not actually expecting her to understand what he's saying. He's unsure about kids her age – he's unsure what age she even is. 

She babbles something unintelligible and Eddie hikes her higher up his chest. He strides out of the cool shadow and blinks, shielding his eyes against the yellow-white glare of sunshine. The little girl hides her face in his hair. 

He hasn't walked very far when he sees you behind the trailer three doors down, pinning clothes that look the same size as the girl's pajamas to a clothesline with unhurried hands. The front door is wide open. 

"Your poor mommy," he murmurs as he approaches, "out here doing the laundry by herself and you're halfway to Indianapolis. Musta got turned around, huh?"

You drop a small light blue dress on the floor and cuss just loud enough for Eddie to hear it. You pick it up fast and brush it down, looking over the fabric worriedly. 

Eddie cuts over soft grass, giving the baby's waist a pat and holding her ears away from his mouth as he raises his voice. "Hey, is this your kid?" he asks. 

You flinch toward him and your eyes go wide – wide, your lips parting and your brows jumping down like you might start yelling. 

You're really fucking pretty. 

Eddie’s quick to placate you. "She was sitting on my front steps." 

You still don't look very happy though your suspicion melds to confusion and then a stab of too-late worry. You rush towards them and Eddie turns his body to encourage the girl's gaze to you. His chest warms when she perks up. 

She wriggles in his arms impatiently and Eddie's surprised by how quickly she starts to cry, reaching out for you with insistent grabbing hands as he passes her over.

"It's okay," you say softly, tucking her into your chest. 

The difference in body language is unmissable. Where she'd been restless (though more than pleasant) in Eddie's arms, she completely melts into yours. Her little face presses into your neck and her legs curl up. You pat her butt soothingly. "It's okay, baby. Where have you been?" You look up at him for an answer with concern lining your pretty features. 

"I'm only three down," he says. 

 "Oh… Thank you," you say roughly.

Your gratitude is unnecessary. "That's okay. She's real sweet. I opened the door and the first thing she said was, 'good morning,'" he recalls with an easy smile. 

Joy lightens your entire face. He feels his breath catch in his throat. 

"She did? She said that?" 

"Yeah, she did.” He tries not to sound as confused as he feels.

Your eyes close with the force of your smile. You encourages your toddler’s face back and drop your chin to plant kisses all over her tiny cheeks. Eddie feels something foreign yawning in his chest as she starts to laugh, a tinkling sound that's sugar sweet. 

He scratches his neck and pretends to look over his shoulder, tamping his smile back into a neutral expression. 

"She's having trouble talking," you say, lifting your head as the baby's giggles taper off. "She can talk, she says 'mommy' all the time, but she's s'posed to be saying more 'cos she's almost two and I know she can do it, she's so smart, but-" You cut yourself off and laugh all breathless and sheepish. "Sugar, I'm sorry. I mean- Sorry. Thank you," it almost bursts from you, "for bringing her back. I don't know…" 

"You just moved in, right?" You nod. "The lock on the front door- they're all exactly the same, you just gotta shake it and it unlocks. Even someone small as her can could get it open with enough determination." 

"She can be very determined," you say ruefully, voice hushed. You're still patting her butt, swaying her from side to side. Eddie's in awe at how quickly she's settled, her button features crumpled by a big yawn. "Always gets what she wants."

"I bet she does, she's a total heartbreaker." 

You take a step towards him, your beat up sneakers half a foot from his converse. "She can't help it, she was born this pretty," you say. He loves how braggy you sound. 

"I can see where she gets it." 

As soon as he says it he wishes he could take it back. Not because he doesn't think it's true – you're really something else – but because he doesn't want to creep you out. 

Luckily, he's rewarded for his bravery by another beaming smile, your words warm as you tell him, "They said she was the prettiest baby they'd seen in twenty years up in Eskenazi general." 

The name pricks his ears. "You're from Indianapolis?" 

"Kind of." You tilt your head to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name." 

"Eddie." He could applaud himself on how normal he sounds and how not normal he feels. 

"Eddie, I'm Y/N. D'you wanna come in for coffee? Or I can make you some breakfast? To say thank you for taking care of my Junie."

"Junie," he repeats, surprised. 

You shift from foot to foot. "She's a June baby. And she's getting kind of heavy these days, so. Breakfast?" 

He follows you up the steps and through the back door. 

"You can leave it open," you say over your shoulder. 

He catches an eyeful of your bathroom, an organised chaos that smells intoxicating, the rich scent of jasmine heavy in the humidity chased by something softer. Talcum powder, he thinks. 

You murmur something to Junie too quiet to hear and she rouses from her dozing, grizzling weakly. 

"It's breakfast time! Is that what you tried to come and find me for, some breakfast? So impatient," you scold her lightly, smiling all the while as you set her into a bright blue high chair with a big yellow duck with orange flippers printed on the cushioning.

You squeeze one of her feet and frown. "Your socks are wet. Did you go swimming in the grass?" 

Eddie leans against the doorway leading into the kitchen. He doesn't have any experience with kids. You make it look easy, pulling off her stained socks while she wiggles her protest and tickling the soles of her feet with the tip of your finger until she's happy again. 

You turn back to him, socks clutched in your hand. "I'm gonna make oatmeal. Is that something you…" 

"I'm an oatmeal fiend." 

You grin and do a lap to close the front door. "Sit down. I'll get you some coffee? I got milk and brown sugar." 

He throws himself into the seat next to the high chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Brown sugar? Sweetness, you're spoiling me." 

Junie laughs. Eddie pulls himself up into a proper sitting position and gawps at her exaggeratedly. "What's funny, little lady?" 

She giggles some more. Eddie leans his elbow on the tray of the high chair and pretends to glare at her. "I can already tell you're trouble." 

"She likes you." 

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at you over his shoulder. 

You're half obscured by cabinets as you poke your head out, an open sack of rolled oats in one hand and a small pan in the other. You nod happily and move to the sink. He can hear the sound of the faucet and the burner clicking on, the saucepan sliding over the stovetop. 

"I like you," he says to Junie quietly, rapping his knuckles on the tray. "But don't tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation." 

"So, uh, how long have you lived here?" you call, almost smothered by the rushing sound of oats tipping into hot water. 

Junie makes a funny face like she might sneeze. Eddie watches. "Since I was a kid." He's smiling as he talks, amazed when Junie starts to smile back. He nods his head gently up and down to encourage her. "Too long. Not that it's not nice here."

Junie looks like she agrees. 

"For sure, but..  not always where you picture yourself," you say tentatively. 

He hums his agreement. "Whatever though, right? A roof is a roof. Even when the roof is made of cardboard and corrugated metal. I mean, all things considered, this is a well kept vessel." 

He's not just trying to make you feel better – you really are making a go of it. There's not nearly as much clutter or decoration as his own home but it's twice as clean and every surface brags a clear affection – you fucking love your daughter. There's a framed photo of her as she looks now at the mantle without a single fingerprint on the glass, baby photos in smaller frames hang on the wall. 

Smallest of all, a photo of the two of you together. Your hands on her shoulders, your lips and nose pressed to her forehead. You're not looking at the camera, but Junie is, and she's exuberant. 

Toys, though few, are arranged neatly under the TV. It's really the type of clean that takes hours. He wonders how you'd ever make time for it. 

"You got a job?"  

"Yeah, I'm waitressing at Benny's?" You say it like a question. "The burger place?"

"Yeah, I know the one. Randolph Lane, near the laundromat. Does Junie go with you?" he asks. He cooes Junie's name and feels very happy when the girl in question smiles some more, reaching out with her hands. Eddie offers up the same palm she'd taken before and lets her squeeze his fingers in a surprisingly tight grip. "She looks like a working girl." 

"Benny said I could bring her with me until she starts daycare next week, so she really is a working girl." You giggle madly and Junie loves the sound, her chubby cheeks rounding as she smiles. 

"I knew it," Eddie whispers conspiringly. "You have the face for it." 

Junie laughs like something is truly hysterical and Eddie can't believe it, squeezing the small girl's smaller fingers in his and waving their joined hands together.

"She really likes you," you say, closer now. 

You set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He pulls his hand from Junie's and moves the hot mug away from the high chair though she'd never be able to reach it as you set your own mug and a pint of milk half-full across from him, the brown sugar you'd promised in a pink and orange ceramic dish with a lid that clinks as he pulls it off. 

You double back into the kitchen. This time you bring a baby bottle full of what he guesses is diluted juice and two teaspoons, handing him one with a quiet, "For you." 

"Why thank you," he drawls. 

He spoons a generous hill of crumbly brown sugar into his cup and swirls. 

"The oatmeal needs to soften. Is there anything you want with it? I've got lots of options," you tell him, pouring milk into your own mug. When you're done you and Eddie swap.

He thinks maybe you sound a little nervous and wonders if he's the first neighbour you've met. Or maybe you're still freaked out about Junie. 

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't look at you as he splashes milk into the dark recesses of his coffee, watching as it bursts back up to the surface and turns the drink a more acceptable brown. "What do you usually have?" 

"Junie gets peanut butter and blueberries." 

He tilts his head toward his shoulder just slightly and plants his elbows on the table, the rim of his mug held in tenuous fingertips. 

"What do you get?" he asks, thinking that if the baby gets such a sweet treat you must get something equally impressive. He thinks of raspberries and chia seeds, flakey sea salt and bitter dark chocolate. 

You blink. "What?" 

"What do you have, on your oatmeal?" He punctuates his question with a sip. 

"Salt. Sometimes raisins." 

You make a nice cup of coffee. Eddie holds it in both hands and leans into the table. "That's it?" 

You shrug. Junie starts to whimper about something Eddie doesn't understand. You reach out to hold her hand. "She loves blueberries. Don't you, Junie?"

"Blue," Junie says. 

You're smiling as you take another small spoonful of brown sugar. You lick the tip of your finger and dip it into the well of the spoon until a few grains are sticking to you and hold it up to Junie's lips. "She loves sugar, too, but toddlers aren't s'posed to have it. Or so they say." You smile as she sucks the sugar off before wiping your spit wet finger in your pants. 

Daughter appeased for a moment, you hold your chin in your palm and turn your attention to him. "Where do you work?" 

He imagines this is how a plant feels when the sun comes out. "The Hideout, for now. I'm a very essential and irreplaceable bus boy." He nods very seriously.

"What's after?" 

"Music." 

Your lips curl into an interested smile. "Music? You a singer?" 

"I have a great set of windpipes," he says agreeably, grinning. "But I'm a guitarist." 

"And you're in a band?" 

"I- I was. Yeah, we were good, too, but everybody graduated and our drummer skipped town. I just sub rhythm guitar for whoever wants me to." 

"At the Hideout?" 

"At the Hideout." He decides on his next words carefully. You could come see me play. Weak. You're welcome to come see it for yourself. Too strong? You're welcome to come by one night. Bring Junie. 

He's not asking you on a date; he's a new acquaintance extending an invitation for you to get out and see a new place. That's all it is. 

He opens his mouth to try and suddenly there's a loud clattering. Eddie flinches, blinks, finds that Junie has thrown her bottle of juice across the room. 

Eddie waits for you to maybe tell her off like some of the mom's he's seen at Bradley's. A glare, a hissing remark to be good. 

You reach over and your shirt rides up your back. Eddie averts his gaze guiltily.

You put the bottle back on the tray, giving him an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Junie has recently discovered that every time she drops something I'll pick it up for her." 

"Smart Junie." 

The bottle falls to the floor again. "She's a genius." You don’t sound entirely pleased, picking the bottle up again and holding it just out of Junie's reach. You shake it up and down. "S'juice. You like juice," you try to reason with her.

Junie reaches for it. You purse your lips. "Be good," you say softly. 

Junie takes the bottle and shakes it. 

It's a small victory and still softens every feature. Your eyes squint, your bottom lip juts out a touch, your nostrils flare with a pleased inhale. 

"Thanks, junebug."

"Tanks," Junie says. 

"Thanks," you repeat, bubbly baby talk. "Thanks. Say thanks, Junie." 

Eddie watches you encourage her over his coffee. It's quiet, peaceful here in a way nowhere else in his life has ever been besides quiet Sunday mornings with his Uncle. There's only the sound of the gas stovetop burning and your happy, patient voice. 

Junie says "Tanks," a couple more times. You don't give up. When she finally says something that sounds almost like a "Thanks," you whip your gaze to his. 

"Did you hear that?" you ask. Your pride is evident. 

He puts down his half empty mug. "She said it." 

"She said it," you repeat, your shoulders moving in the tiniest happy dance he's ever seen. You stand up and take her face into delicate hands. "She's my smarty pants. Aren't you, baby?" 

You dot a kiss over her head and head back into the kitchenette. 

"Tanks," Junie says animatedly, running on an affection high. She accidentally knocks her bottle over.

"Thanks, Junie," Eddie corrects, righting it. 

He finds it easier to baby talk than he imagined. Being nice to little kids – that's easy. Especially as he gets older. When they hit the pre-teen mark is when he starts to steer clear, but even then he can't help doting on them sometimes. Like his club – idiots, annoying idiots, but his annoying idiots. He doesn't hold back with them. He doesn't feel like he's holding back now, either, it's just different. 

Baby's want love. Care and affection. 

And to pull Eddie's hair, apparently. 

Junie's reaching over the gap with a fierce look on her face. Eddie pulls his chair closer and decides to let her try it out. She hadn't given him any reason to worry before, and she doesn't now as she takes a chunk of his hair into her hand. She pulls very gently, likely more that her fingers have gotten caught in his messy curls than any maliciousness. 

"What's your fascination with my hair?" he asks her. 

In her own home Junie's very noisy. When he'd found her outside she hadn't done much besides whimper weakly. Now, she's a riot of gurgling and humming. 

"Are you a singer, Junie?" he asks. 

"She sings all the time! She loves the Muppet Babies on TV, but I- uh, I haven't been able to actually get cable, yet. But when I get paid next week…" You come back into view with two bowls in hand. "She'll be in her oils." 

Eddie says thanks as you put a bowl down in front of him. There's a smiley face there made up of berries with banana slices for eyes. He feels something crawling up his throat and has no idea what it is, and then something completely different when he sees your own bowl, a stretch of plain oatmeal with no delicious adornment. 

You leave and quickly return with a smaller bowl, a baby spoon and a jar of peanut butter.

"Do you want some?" you ask, opening the jar to push the baby spoon inside. "I would've just put it in anyway but then I worried you were allergic." 

You hand it off to Junie and she licks at it happily. 

"Sure, I'll have some. Where's your smiley face?" he asks. 

Your eyes widen slightly. Eddie's not academically inclined but he's never been stupid, and he sees it for what it is, something he's seen in himself and in every other poor kid who didn't bring lunch to school.

"I don't really like bananas," you say. 

Whether you're lying or not isn't something he needs to know.

"Well, you're gonna have to share the blueberries with me, I can't eat this much fruit. I got a hearty diet of chips and microwave oven dinners to uphold." 

Eddie shovels half of the smile into your bowl. You clutch your spoon in your hand like you want to protest, but no way is he gonna watch you miss out on nice things in your own home. 

You smile and don't say anything for a while, rubbing the edge of the bowl with your spoon, your thoughts somewhere else. 

Junie's food sits billowing steam in the middle of the table, which annoys the poor girl endlessly. She wiggles and murmurs and sucks at her empty spoon with a growing line between her brows. 

Eddie eats and feels much better when you finally start to eat your own meal, leaning back in his chair heavily to loll his head towards Junie. "Your mom makes amazing oatmeal. You're really missing out." 

You choke on a laugh and grab her spoon to load up with another small heap of peanut butter. "That is so cruel to lord over her,” you say. “I can't give it to her yet! It's scorching. She has a fragile mouth." 

"I'm sure." 

He picks one of his blueberries out of the bowl and offers it to Junie, who takes it slowly despite her previously rabid hunger 

More oatmeal eating. Eddie ends up giving the rest of his fruit to Junie, your generous dollops of peanut butter more than enough to enjoy the oatmeal. He might argue it doesn't need any adornment at all.

You stir peanut butter into Junie's bowl and wrestle the baby spoon out of her tight grip.

It's a process to watch. You scoop up oatmeal, blow on it until you're sure it's cool, and push it into Junie's mouth efficiently. There's a method to it, the way you lift the handle of the spoon so oatmeal doesn't drip straight back out of her mouth. When it does you scrape the lip gently against her chin to catch it before it ruins her shirt. 

It starts to rain. Hard not to notice, a light drizzle opens and sprays down against the windows and for a moment there's no reaction. Then, gasping, you drop Junie's bowl back onto the table in stress. 

"Shit, the laundry. Are you okay to watch her please? Sorry. I'll be five seconds," you say, already heading for the back door. 

"Sure.” He sounds about as startled as he feels. 

The back door shushes open and your feet dip down the steps. Junie is not very pleased with her breakfast getting put on pause, her face growing as unpleasant as the weather outside.

"Mommy," she says, unhappy and loud.

Eddie doesn't think about it as he picks up her bowl. It's more a pulse of feeling than a thought. Feed her and she won't cry. 

He blows on a spoonful of oatmeal with likely too much vigour. 

Junie's still complaining as he holds it in front of her face. If she's surprised to be fed by somebody who isn't her mom she doesn't show it, her sticky face growing suddenly slack as she realises her oatmeal is back in play. Her lips part.

He feeds her oatmeal, does a very bad job, and tries to gather what's escaped with the spoon as Junie waves her hands around and pokes at spilled food on the white tray in front of her. By the time you come back damp and breathless with the cold chasing your heels he's successfully managed to feed her what was left of her breakfast. He's embarrassed to be caught but tries not to show it. 

"You okay?" he asks, looking you up and down amicably.

"S'only a little rain." You push the laundry basket onto the sofa and smile sheepishly. "You didn't have to do that." 

"And have the precious little lady starve?" 

"Starve!" you repeat, a feigned incredulousness to your tone. 

"She was giving me the puppy dog's," he says, shrugging as he takes the spoon out of Junie's wet fingers. 

She whines for a second at his robbery but seems to realise she's full, picking her juice back up to shake some more. 

You exhale through an open-mouthed smile.

"Thank you. She's gonna love you now, she loves anyone who gives her food. She's a real cadge at the diner. Never seen so much free cherry pie in my life," you remark, turning to what looks like your diaper station. You wade through a mess of things he doesn't recognise and pull out a packet of baby wipes. 

"And her mom? Is her affection so easily garnered?" 

"Takes more than a cherry pie to win me over," you joke, sitting down in your chair in front of the high chair with a soft sigh. You pull out one of the wipes and take Junie's wrists into your hand, wiping her fingers clean methodically. "I need at least a squirt of whipped cream on top before I consider any fondness." 

He chuckles and you laugh too. It's short-lived, your lips pursed as you wipe Junie's face clean. She hates every second of it, writhing in her chair like she's being tortured as you clean a mess of brown and blue from her round chin. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry. Done, done," you say, holding your hands up in surrender. 

She pouts. 

"Don't be like that," you scold her mildly. "Look how lovely and clean you are now! Eddie can see how pretty you look again." 

You slide your hands under her armpits and pull her out of the highchair, groaning. 

"Oh, there you go. Where's Mr. Bear gone, baby? You can play sticky bricks with him so I can get ready for work." 

Work. Work. Where Eddie was going. Where Eddie is very likely supposed to be. He checks the time and his eyes flare, standing up abruptly. You turn  toward him with Junie anchored on your hip, both wearing matching expressions of curiosity.

"Sh-“ Don’t swear around babies. “I'm sorry, I got somewhere to be that I totally spaced on."

You blink. "That's okay." 

"It was sick to meet you," he says. 

You blink some more and walk to the front door, pulling it open as an understanding smile curls your lips. "Super 'sick,'" you say, bemused. "Thank you so much for bringing Junie back. Really, I mean, if anything ever happened to her." You don't finish because it's obvious, your bright tone underlain with a burning fear.

He walks sideways out of the door and down one step, knowing he's super fucking late but not caring too much as he says, "Listen, I can bring you a deadbolt." 

"You could?" 

"Sure thing. Make sure this little lady," and he says it chidingly, directing his gaze at Junie who goes all shy and smiley from the attention, "doesn't go on anymore morning adventures. Especially without her shoes." 

"That would be… that would be awesome, Eddie. Thank you." 

He waves his hand and descends the last of the steps. "I'll come around tomorrow?" 

It's a Saturday today. He's not surprised that you're both working the weekend, but he is surprised that you're working Sunday too when you say, "Would after five be okay?" 

"That's more than okay. Bye, trouble," he says to Junie, bringing a hand up to shield his hair from the drizzling rain. 

You look lovely on the stoop, fresh-faced and in your lounge clothes. You tug Junie up your chest and take her hand into yours. "Say 'bye', Junie," you tell her, waving her hand. "Bye! Bye-bye, Eddie." 

"Bye Junie!" he calls, waving at the little girl with great fervour.

"Bye!" Junie calls back. 

You both grin. 

-

You're super tired from work and exhausted from an upset daughter. Even now Junie fusses. She hasn't been getting her naps because you can't set her down anywhere that isn't the wooden high chair in Benny's restaurant, which is months of a routine disrupted. 

You're not mad at her – the opposite, you feel awful to mess her up like this, awful that she's so upset. Trying your very best to calm her down, you're swaying her from side to side in the middle of your messy living room with your hand patting a steady rhythm into the narrow breadth of her back. 

"I know, baby, I know. I'm sorry. You'll get your nap tomorrow, I promise," you say, trying for softness and missing, desperation eating at your tone.

You try not to have a heart attack at the thought of her first day at the new daycare. I can't think about it, you tell yourself, moving your thoughts onto the Sunday checklist. 

Junie's been fed. Unfortunately, she's the kind of wound up where the only solution you can think of is to get her in bed. If you can get her down soon she'll sleep until maybe 4AM. Not ideal; you'd prefer she slept later tonight and woke up at a healthier 6AM with you. When she does wake, no matter the time, you'll have her eat something substantial for breakfast and take a much needed bath. 

Laundry, bills, cleaning, it all runs through your head. Junie's hair, her snacks for daycare, her clothes. Does she have clean socks for the week? Does she have a vest top for tomorrow? 

Her crying grows loud and you can't think of anything except how overwhelmed you feel. 

"It's okay, baby, just go to sleep." You shush her softly.

Somebody knocks the door. 

You and Junie are similarly nonplussed. Her crying ceases for a second and her head turns in tandem with yours. 

"Oh. Oh, you know who that is, huh?" you ask her, making for the door while her cries are still on pause. "That's our new friend Eddie. You remember Eddie?" 

You pull open the door. There he is on the porch with a bag and a plastic case, wearing a shirt with short sleeves. You realise for the first time that he has tattoos. 

"Hi," you say. 

"Hi. Hi, Junie," he adds, looking at her tear-stained face. "Have I come at a bad time?" 

"No, you're good. You're great, thank you for doing this." You lean back against the door and Eddie skirts past you. That close, you can smell the heavy sage and sandalwood of his cologne and see the beauty mark under his ear, dark hair tucked behind the shell. 

He stops in the middle of the room and puts down the plastic case. "I'm gonna try to do it. Try being the essential word, and I make absolutely no promises." He makes a small cross with his hands leading out and the bag falls from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. 

It sounds like more than a deadbolt. Eddie sees your gaze and jumps into theatrics that hook Junie's attention straight away, ruffling through the bag. He pulls out a VHS tape and then a second, one old and one newer. 

"For your consideration." He presents them grandly against his check, his eyes flitting from your daughter to the tapes in wait of her reaction. 

Junie has no clue what a VHS is. She thinks the TV is magic. 

You swoop in and gasp loudly for Junie's sake, having identified his proffered tapes immediately. 

"You know what that is?" you ask her, pointing at the slipcover. "Muppet Babies! There's Kermit and Fozzy and Rowlf and Gonzo." You touch your finger to each puppet in turn as you reel off their names. 

Junie looks up at you like maybe she remembers, so you start to sing the theme tune for her. "Muppet Babies, they make their dreams come true. Muppet Babies, they'll do the same for you!"

The song jogs her memory. She starts her nonsense singing in a valiant but juvenile effort to recreate the music, dancing in your arms. 

You sing it again for her as you lower her to the floor. She doesn't whine to be picked back up, a great sign that her mood has turned, instead walking to the TV, a small silver combi with a bubble screen. She raises her arms up high and starts hitting the TV stand with her palms flat. 

Eddie looks to you as if he's checking that it's alright before crossing the small space and turning on the TV, your relieved smile more than enough encouragement. He's careful not to step on Junie's feet, surprised when she walks into his leg. She grabs onto his jeans and looks up at him with wide eyes. 

Eddie visibly softens. 

It's kind of crazy to see him, this metalhead dude covered in dark tattoos and wearing safety pinned jeans looking down at a toddler with nothing but patience in his eyes.

He drops his hand very lightly to her tiny back and pushes in the tape. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," Junie says. 

She doesn't let him touch her for very long, falling to her knees to pull out the bin of stickle bricks hiding underneath as Eddie fast forwards through the adverts and then turns up the volume until the Muppet Babies theme is echoing against the wood panelled walls.. 

Junie's eyes dart up the screen, two bricks held in her hands and a great smile on her face. 

"Where did you find that?" you ask, in awe. 

He steps over her and comes back to your side, crossing his arms over his stomach with a smug smile. "Not telling. Ruins the magic. Got The Bugs Bunny Show for when she gets bored of Miss Piggy." 

You smooth down your rumpled black work skirt and smile shyly. "I can pay you back… Next week." 

He looks lost for words for a split-second. It clears fast, and he says, "Tell you a secret. I have a friend down at good old Family Video that let me have 'em for nothing." 

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. You worry he's lying to make you feel better. 

"Uh-huh. Friends in high places," he brags sarcastically. 

You turn to watch Junie smile for the first time in hours and have to scrub your face to hide how shattered you feel. It's been a really long week. Your relief is a physical thing, a hand on your shoulder. You feel yourself deflate. 

"You okay?" Eddie asks. 

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks. "Thank you. Really. You saved me." 

"Yeah?" he asks, dialling up the drama. He lifts his chin high. "Would you say, oh, I don't know, that I'm your hero?" 

It's his clear joking tone that saves him. If you'd detected even a smidge of genuine expectancy from him you likely would've shoved him out the door. 

"Mm-hm. My hero," you croon, both of you grinning. 

He turns back to the grocery bag and pulls out a bottle of juice. "I was gonna bring coke but I didn't want Junie to feel left out." 

You move to the cabinets and can't believe how nice he is. You get a little warning stab, that feeling of if it's too good to be true… and shake it off. Maybe it'll turn out that way and you're not gonna do anything stupid to chance it, but he seems like a normal guy. A good neighbour who wants to be your friend.

You're in dire need of one of those. 

"What was wrong with the little lady?" 

You pour juice into a glass for him, less into a glass for you, and a half-inch into a clean baby bottle. "I can't get her down for a nap when she's with me at work and it really caught up to her today. She-" You yawn so wide it hurts your cheeks, covering your face with your arm. 

Eddie looks up from where he's kneeling in front of the open plastic case he'd brought with him. "Caught up to you too, I think." 

"A little." You smile ruefully. 

He holds something red and black in the air. "This'll wake you up," he says. 

It's a small hand drill. He presses down on the trigger twice in quick succession and Junie lies down on the floor to look backwards at him. 

“Woah,” you say.

Junie rolls onto her knees and then stands. She's in that stage of walking where she can mostly do it but has a great tendency to trip over anything that might be in her way, and she stumbles as she approaches. Eddie moves the drill away from her and opens the case wide to show her his array of drill bits. 

"How'd you like them, Junie?" he asks. "Pretty cool, huh?" 

"What do they all do?" you ask. 

"I don't have the foggiest," he says, grinning up at you. "And I really wanted to be cool and pretend that I did. I was going to, but you asked me that and now we're sunk." 

Junie pokes at all the silver metal and turns away, bored, to return to her cartoons. 

"I'm sorry," you say, not sorry at all. 

"You should be." He shakes his hair out. "Can't say woodshop was something I ever paid much attention to in school." 

You squat down beside him where he's counting the screws out for the deadbolt he'd acquired for you, your small cup of juice in hand. The deadbolt isn't new but it's clean of rust and that's all you care about. It doesn't need to do anything besides work. 

"It can't be too hard though, right?" you ask quietly. There isn't any need to talk loudly this close to him and your head is starting to hurt from a long day. 

"I hope not." He passes you the drill. "Hold onto that?" 

He stands and you follow, the deadbolt frame in hand. He turns to your front door and holds it up to the frame, far from the door knob. "Where'd you want this thing?" 

"Wherever you think is best," you say quickly. 

"Got a pencil?" 

You don't. You're ashamed to offer him a cyan blue crayon from Junie's arts and crafts. He takes it with a gleeful smile and uses it to draw a line under the deadbolt's two parts to make sure they fit together once they've been drilled in. 

Junie starts fussing and you squint at her, trying to guess what's wrong. You leave the drill on the small table by the door.

"Junie, you want some dinner?" you ask, walking up behind her where she's stood watching TV. You rub her shoulder and lean over her, your face upside down in front of the TV. "I don't think you're hungry. Let's change that diaper." 

She certainly doesn't want you to. You turn to Eddie where he's making clumsy crosses on the door in place of the screws, his brows furrowed. 

"I'm gonna go get her some jammies," you say, and then wince. "Pajamas." 

"Jammies," he repeats. You hate how happy he looks. 

A hot flush washes over you. "She's the only one I talk to." 

Again, that awful softening of his features. He's got the biggest, brownest eyes you've ever seen. "Why don't you get changed, too? I'm gonna start drilling." He waves the drill and you don't like how loosely he holds it. 

"Please don't ruin the door." 

A wolfish smile. "No promises." 

You leave all the doors open. Eddie's nice but you're not stupid – if he plans on kidnapping her or something evil this is the perfect time. Though, you suppose, he could’ve abducted her when he found her outside.

You shed your uniform and pull on a pair of loose fitting pants. You can't find a clean t-shirt, probably because you own a grand total of three, and you get distracted when the drill starts whirring and Junie screams. 

You know in your heart that it's just a baby scream rather than a sign that she's in pain and you still can't let it lie, rushing down the hall. You can see her, see that she's uninjured, only looking at the drill.

She's excited. 

"You like that?" Eddie asks her. "Is that funny?" 

Junie claps her hands together and reaches for the drill. 

Eddie frowns. "Sorry, you can't have it. I gotta finish the door for your mommy. Why don't you build me something with your bricks, yeah? Something big." 

Junie reaches up for the drill again. 

"I can't, Junie, it's too dangerous. Don't want you to get all mutilated." You wrinkle your nose at what he's saying. He turns the drill towards his chest and touches the drill bit to his collar. "Look, see this? It's not for little hands." 

Junie steps over the case of things on the ground and leans against Eddie's legs, insistent. 

Your mouth drops open as he starts the drill and puts on some fake anguished screams. "Ah! Oh my god, it's eating me!" 

Junie starts laughing at his fake screaming. Her eyes widen, her hands clinging to a rip in his jeans. 

"Think that's funny, do you? Heartless girl. Where's your juice gone, hmm?" He holds the drill behind his back and points to her bottle on the side of the couch where you'd left it. "You want that?" 

He goes over her head to grab it and encourage it into her hands. "Yummy," he says, his eyes moving to where you stand in the door past the kitchen, eyebrows jumping up. "Everything okay?" 

"Screaming," you say, awkward in your breathlessness. 

Eddie's eyes stay resolutely on your face. "She's okay. The drill is exciting. You're shirtless, you know." 

You spin on your heel and back into your room. Your heart a jack hammer, you sieve through clothes until a rumpled t-shirt that smells of deodorant but not sweat appears and shrug into it. 

Junie has a much better selection of clothes. You pick out some matching pajamas for her and a thick pair of socks and tuck them under your arm with her changing matt.

When you return this time, Eddie's drilling a third and fourth hole into the wall next to the door and Junie's watching with the teat of her bottle in her mouth, chewing but not drinking. You lay her mat down on the floor and grab her with a big sigh. 

"Alright, Junie, let's get you all fresh for bed." 

You change her diaper and she doesn't misbehave too much, Eddie's general presence a distraction. Soon she's sitting in your lap, dressed in new pajamas and smelling of talcum powder and baby creams, her wool socks soft as you rub your thumbs into the instep of her feet. 

You sit on the floor watching Eddie drill the screws into the deadbolt frame. Junie slouches against you, her head digging into your chest and her tired arms struggling to hold up her bottle. You hold it up for her, watching Eddie's hands and his arms, how they move. Muscle and ligament tense under the skin, tattoos warping, his bats propelled into flight. 

"I like your tattoos," you say. 

Eddie stops drilling to look over his shoulder. "What?" 

"I- I like your tattoos." 

He lights up. His back straightens out and he turns back to the lock, giving the last screw a final good twist. The door makes a groaning protest and then it's quiet. Just Muppet Babies, Junie's soft suckling and the compliment you'd given adrift in the room. 

"They're pretty sweet," he allows. You can hear how pleased he is though he won't look at you. 

"They're cool. Have you had them long?" 

Eddie starts to tell you all about them, fiddling with something you can't see on the door. 

Junie decides that she doesn't want to be sitting anymore and turns in your arms, hands coveting your neck. You lift her into your chest and rub circles in her back, the weight of her emptying bottle on your shoulder. Soon, her small arms go lax. There's a rush of air as her lips open from the teat and the bottle tumbles to the rug with a dull thud. 

He pulls open the door.  Cool air rushes in. He closes it, slides the deadlock into place, and then pulls hard to make sure it won’t come free. 

It’s solid. 

He laughs triumphantly and Junie stirs. You pat her back and make some quiet shushing sounds and Eddie turns around, a slip of his teeth on show as he grimaces. 

"Sorry," he whispers. 

You shake your head. "You're amazing. Thank you." 

If his cheeks weren't pink they are now. He leans into it, hiding one cheek behind his hair. "Stop," he says, exaggerated. 

"I'll make it good, I swear," you whisper, covering Junie's ear with your hand. "I'll make you the best dinner ever. I'm the best at Kraft's mac and cheese, or-" You flush hot, realising that mac and cheese might not be the treat you think it is to him. "Or we can order in," you say, doing the maths in your head. You can't afford it, but maybe Benny-

"Kraft's mac and cheese? You're spoiling me." 

You beam. 

Eddie cleans up the small mess he's made. You're afraid to move quite yet in case Junie's not really sleeping, though she's a dead weight in your arms, and you watch Eddie walk through the room with both caution and ease. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that,” you say. 

He folds the baby blanket in his hands and puts it back on the armrest of the couch before moving on to the stickle bricks, not looking at you as he says, "Just earning my wage, doll." 

You can't watch him clean your home. You wrap a tight arm around Junie and rise to your feet. Eddie sees your approach and his movements grow faster, rushing to clean up the mess before you can stop him. You don't know who starts first but you're both laughing as you grab his wrist. 

"Stop!" you whisper, mock-furious. "Stop cleaning." 

"Sh, you'll wake the baby." 

You shake your head in bemusement. "I'm gonna go set her down. Then mac and cheese." 

"Take your time. Lots of things for me to clean up out here," he says with a mock sincerity. 

You drift down the hall and turn back to sneak a glance at him. He's pulled Muppet Babies out of the TV and is rewinding it around his thumb, a small smile on his lips as he hums the theme tune to himself. 

With Junie finally in bed for the night you take a quick peek at yourself in the mirror on your nightstand and cringe. You look tired. You give yourself a big smile and feel better; a smile makes even your most exhausted features look pretty. 

You slap on some chapstick. You know, to counter your dry lips. It shines. 

Slipping out of the bedroom, you close the door as quietly as you can manage. 

Eddie's standing at the end of the hallway. You expect to feel scared. Instead, you’re perplexed.

"Hi?" you whisper.

"Can I use the bathroom?" 

You laugh. "Yeah. Course you can." 

You have to pass each other in the hallway. His hip bumps your hip, a short rub of fabric. 

You're still thinking about it when he finds you behind the stove, half asleep with your face in your hand. It's the kind of tired where your eyes keep slipping shut, not aching so much as blurry with a heavy head. 

"You okay?" he asks quietly, sitting down at your cramped table. 

You hum. "Hm. Just tired." You give him a guilty smile as you tip the bigger portion into his bowl.  "Sorry. Mac and cheese with bacon bits for you, my hero." 

"Thanks, sweetheart." 

The fatigue ebbs a little. 

Eddie’s easy to talk to. He makes you laugh. When you say goodnight, he looks back over his shoulder twice.

-

It's a funny coincidence that Eddie sees you Friday night. He never grocery shops on a Friday but he knowd when his uncle gets home in the morning there won’t be anything for him to eat after his shift. He takes a sharp turn towards the TV dinners and there you are at the bottom of the aisle with Junie in the seat of the cart. You're talking to her like you'd talk to anyone, though you didn't sound so saccharine sweet over mac and cheese. Close, but not quite. 

"What do you want?" you're asking. "Ham and pineapple or mini pepperoni?" 

Junie holds her hands out for both boxes. You let her take them and the two of you puzzle over the pizzas, heads bent together. 

"Pepperoni, right?" you ask her, quietly enough that he almost misses it. 

"Peroni," Junie agrees. You let her keep the box and put the other one back in the freezer. 

"Pepperoni," you correct, absentminded. 

"Peroni." 

"Pepper-roni." You sound it out slow, looking at a scrap of paper in your hand. 

"Pepper."

"You'll get there. Do you think we need shampoo this week?" You start jovial, but quickly lose your sprightliness. "Maybe I can put some water in the bottle and just… shake it up. No, we definitely need it." 

Eddie watches you look over the cart. He knows exactly what you're thinking, What can I put back?

"Hey!" he calls, walking a little faster to try and hide how he'd been listening. 

You turn on the spot and smile as soon as you see him. Junie, to his delight, is even more excited. 

"Hi," she says, hands thudding along the cart's handlebar. 

"Hi, Junie. How's my favourite neighbour?" 

She babbles. 

"I'm psyched to hear it. How about you, sweetheart?" he asks, parking his cart next to yours. 

You're looking very tired. Still in your work uniform with a hoodie thrown over the top and your smart flats swapped for a pair of converse with the laces undone. You pinch your cheeks up into a big smile. He guesses that with a baby you've gotten very used to hiding how you feel.

You don't hesitate to lay it down thickly. "I'm really good." 

"Yeah? How's Junie liking daycare?" 

You cover your hands with your sleeves. "She loves it. Loves napping again. She-" You frown. "She doesn't like the mornings. Dropping her off. But after." You nod with a tentative smile "Yeah, it's nice to pick her up." 

"Uh-huh. How's work?" 

"What?" 

"How's work for you? How's Benny's?" he prods. 

"You're asking me about work?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Nobody ever asks about work," you say. 

You can't look at him as soon as you've said it, your eyes moving back to the grocery list in hand. It's an old envelope, and it crinkles under your squeezing fingers. 

"Sorry," you mutter. 

Eddie bites back a frown. "Well, I'm asking." 

He holds out his hand for the list and you give it without thinking. He adores your handwriting the second he sees it, scanning the list for anything in this aisle.

"Hey, tell me about it," he prompts at your silence, pushing his cart. It takes you a millisecond to catch up, but when you do you're near frenetic. 

"Well, I messed up like, five different orders today. And when I had Junie it was like they didn't care 'cos she's cute, but now she's not there they get pretty angry pretty quickly." 

"She's like a magic item." 

"Right," you say, sounding like you have no idea what he's talking about. "She was my lucky charm. 'N now when I mess up I gotta practically beg some of those guys to leave Benny alone. He's too nice to me already."

"Are they all terrible?"

"No, the regulars, guys in there everyday, they're all great. They're too generous. Benny's too generous. I know he's fluffing up my tip jar. I hate that. I don't want him-" You flinch. It's strange. Eddie takes a small step closer to you and waits for you to continue, but you've lost all steam. "Sorry, I don't mean to weigh you down with all of this." 

"I asked. And I get it." 

"I don't want him to feel sorry for me." 

"Hey," he says, reaching out for a box of cereal on your list. He presents it to Junie and shakes it around, "who said anything about all that?" 

"No, I know, I just-" 

Junie smiles her approval and he chucks the cereal in your cart with a rattle of metal. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I swear. I get it. I- You said he's a nice guy, right? So maybe he doesn't feel sorry for you at all. Maybe he just likes you. He owns that place. I don't think it hurts him to put an extra twenty in your tips." 

Junie reaches up. You turn to her and lean down until your face is a few inches from hers. "I wish I didn't need it," you say quietly. 

"I know." 

Junie puts her hand on your cheek. 

You sniff, not crying or anything like that, only breathing. "Thanks, Junie," you murmur. 

"Mommy," she says. She sounds a little concerned. 

"Let's go get something yummy, baby." You stroke her face lightly. "I'm thinking canned peaches. Or pears, um. Fruit cocktail. And condensed milk," you add, sounding unsure.

"I got a can or two of that laying around," Eddie says, because he knows that shit is expensive. "Wayne hates sweet stuff." 

"I couldn't-" 

"You let me come over for one of those mini pizzas and I'll bring the dessert," he says, like he knows you'll say yes. He doesn't know. Eddie Munson’s an expert in pushing his luck. 

Junie starts clapping her hands together. 

"I think she's decided," you say. 

-

You're terrible with a can opener. You whine to yourself as you struggle to get open the second can. Eddie had insisted on peaches and pears and fruit cocktail, because he wanted to try them all apparently. And then some dramatic speech about little kids getting spoiled.

You can hear him now in the living room with Junie. They're laughing in a way that you're worried about, that guilty, hushed giggling that raises your hackles. 

"Shush," Eddie says, faux-angry, "your mom's gonna hear." 

"Shush," she repeats with much more enthusiasm. 

"You shush! Look, don't do that, Junie, you're gonna get it tangled in your hair," he says. 

You carry the can and can opener with you into the living room. Something about tangled hair gets your heart racing. 

"Eddie, please don't let her get stickies in her hair," you say quickly. 

"They're called stickles," he says, dropping back onto his hands, head over his shoulder to give you a bright-eyed smile. 

"I know what they're called. Junie can't say stickles." 

"Stickles," she says. 

"She couldn't when I got them," you amend. 

He's up quicker than you can really take in, hands extended. "Let me do it," he says. 

He works the can out of your fingers. It's more contact than you've had with somebody who wasn't your daughter in a very long time and it leaves you shell-shocked. Eyes on his nice hands, bigger than yours with thicker fingers and his riot of rings. He presses the can to his chest and hooks the opener, peeking between it and you intermittently. 

"Go see what we made for you," he encourages. "I'll do it." 

His arm brushes yours as he moves to the kitchen and that's worse than his fingers. You rub where he'd touched and drop down on your knees next to Junie, looking over the stickle bricks with a smile. It's a heart, poorly construed and of tens of colours. It falls apart when she tries to pick it up so you help her remake it, cooing. 

"Thanks, baby. This is for me, huh? You're so sweet." Your voice drops to a murmur. "My sweet girl. Wanna cuddle?" 

You open your arms out and she doesn't seem very interested. "Please?" you ask, vying for her waist. 

She lets you pull her into your lap. When you actually start to hug her she does her lovely melting thing that she always does, a floppy fish in your arms but with tiny squeezing hands. You giggle at her antics and lift her up so her face falls into your neck. 

"Thanks for my heart, Junebug." She snuggles her head into your neck, hair squished to your skin. "I love you," you whisper, rubbing her back. 

"The works," Eddie announces grandly as he appears, two bowls in hand.

"Eddie, that's too much for her." 

"She's a growing girl." 

"A growing girl with a tiny tummy," you say turning her around in your arms. "Tell you what, you have that one," you point to the biggest one, "and we'll share that one." 

"How about you share the big one?" he asks, though it hardly sounds like a question. He sits down and places the bowl in her lap. 

You grab the spoon before she can and stir up some of the fruits. "Wow, look at this! You gonna say thanks? Thanks Eddie.”

She doesn’t say thanks — her mouth is too far open to form words. You make quick work of shovelling fruit and condensed milk inside, chilled enough that she shivers in your arms. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” you say agreeably.

She gets enthusiastic enough to take the spoon and you let her, even when she totally mauls the food, eating so loudly that Muppet Babies becomes inaudible. 

Eddie eats slowly. You can feel his gaze. “You’re not gonna have any?” he asks. 

You’d felt it coming. Your answer is clumsy anyways. “No, I will. I just… I always have her leftovers,” you say, sheepish. 

He stands up. 

You’re gonna ask why when Junie tips fruit down your legs, cold on the naked skin of your ankle. You dab at your pajamas with a small sigh. There’s no point in getting upset. She’s a messy eater but they all are at this age. Honestly, it’s nice to see her attempting to use a spoon rather than her hands. 

“You’re doing a good job,” you say. You’re not totally sure who you’re talking to. 

“Tada!” Eddie cheers, wielding a third bowl of fruit. “Swap with me?”

“What?”

“You think Junie’ll come sit in my lap?” he asks. He doesn’t wait, really. He holds out the bowl and you take it on impulse as he sits down heavily. 

He takes her into his lap with a cheerful groan. “Oh, c’mere, sweetheart. There’s enough milk on your chin to bake a cake.” He wipes it with his hand. He doesn’t so much as wince at the mess. 

You stare. He eases the spoon out of her grip and scrapes up a half-spoonful of what looks like pear and feeds it to her with the same kind of deftness of hand that’d taken you months to learn. 

He can feel your gaze, evidently, because he looks up. There, you catch it, that slither of insecurity he hides well. 

You pick up your bowl and start eating. It’s the nicest thing you’ve eaten in almost two years. You’d die for Junie. You’d do worse. But to eat, to know she’s fed — gorged — to know you can sit here and eat this whole bowl of fruit all to yourself and you won’t have to put it down, that’s heaven. It’s better, because you never let yourself have anything nice if you can help it. 

The fruit turns to a lump in your throat and you swallow it, sniffling. Your lashes grow heavy with unshed tears and you keep your gaze resolutely on your dessert. When was the last time you had something this nice all to yourself? When was the last time somebody ever went out of their way to be this nice?

It’s a small gesture and a huge one. A tear dribbles down your cheek. You lick it away and keep on eating. 

-

Eddie starts to come around every Friday. It’s a good deal; you make dinner and he makes dessert. After that first time he makes it his mission to give you heaping bowls too much to eat most of the time. Soon, he’s coming a few days a week, not always long, sometimes until the late hours, though you tell him desserts are a Friday only occasion. He complies grudgingly. 

You make your first friend in years, and it’s so sweet you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

Or what possesses you to offer to cut his hair. 

Eddie's sitting on the couch with Junie, his big thigh to her little one and a picture book spread between them whilst you clean the kitchen. He's not reading to her – she's trying to read to him. She can't read, of course, but she can remember some of the words in relation to the pictures. She pokes at the blue cat and says blue. She pokes at the blue dog and says blue. She also points at the red cat and says blue. It's a learning curve. 

Eddie gives corrections and encouragements just as you would. You smile at him from behind your cup of water. 

"He's red, sweetheart," he murmurs, arm around her shoulder to hold the book's edges. "Red cat." 

"Red cat," she repeats with enough accuracy to make you choke on your water. 

Eddie gasps almost as loud as you do. "Right! Red cat! You're so smart, junebug, I can't believe it," he praises, squeezing her shoulder. His gaze meets yours and he smiles. 

You send him back your sweetest smile. If he wasn't always so nice to you you'd like him anyway because of how he treats Junie, like she's the fucking sun. 

She gets so excited when other people are happy that she starts laughing, standing up and trampling all over his legs to give him a hug. She's given him half hugs, she's fallen asleep by his side and loves to pet his hair, but this is a proper, tactile hug. Her arms wind around his neck with purpose and as soon as his surprise has faded he brings his arms up to hug her in turn, laughing delightedly. 

"You're such a smarty-pants," he praises, rubbing her back with a boyish brashness. 

She squeals as he squeezes her, his fingers digging into her ribs. Never cruel, only tickling her. She eats up every second of it and buries her face in his neck, laughing her wound up baby laugh that always brings a smile to your face. 

"Ooh, she's so smart. First blue, then red. Next you'll be saying indigo, and vermillion, and-" 

He cuts off when Junie gets one of her nails caught in his hair. She jolts and whines like it hurts and he goes rigid. You move forward to play mediator but he's already pulling her away gently and making small shushing sounds. "Chill out," he chides lightly, "I got it. Here." He pulls the hair from under her fingernail and rubs the pad of his thumb over her hand. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he apologises, pouting at her scowl. He envelops her hand in his and waves it around. "Forgive me?" 

She doesn't learn her lesson, pushing her hands back into his hair, probably less kind than what’s ideal. Eddie doesn't flinch. 

You sit on the armrest gingerly. "Can I ask you something?"

Eddie looks over Junie’s head. "What's that?" 

"Have you always had long hair?" 

He doesn't balk. "No, of course not. I fu-" He clears his throat. "My mom was the best, and I fit in just like everybody else growing up. When I ended up with Wayne I was-" He smiles. It's the kind of rueful grimace that says, You didn't ask for this.

You smile encouragingly.

He drops his gaze to Junie, worming his arms around her in a loose hug as she continues to play with his hair. "I was mad about everything, and I remember him asking when I wanted to get my hair trimmed and I said ‘never’. Took a few years for it to grow past the awkward stage," he bares his teeth and nods toward his shoulder, as if allowing his past misdemeanour. "But now I'd say it looks pretty sweet." 

"I love your hair," you say. 

Eddie beams. "You don't think it's too long?" 

Emboldened by his reaction, you slip off of the armrest to sit next to him, turning in until your knees touch. Junie, loyal as she is, climbs straight into your lap with a babble. 

You pat her back with one hand and raise the other cautiously for permission. Eddie flares his eyes wide, as if to say, You want to? Go on. 

You take a lock of his hair between your fingers like Junie had moments before. "I like it like this." 

"But?" 

You look at the ends, an inch of limpness where the rest curls. "You haven't had it cut since you were a kid?" 

"Maybe not that long, but it's been a while. I do it myself sometimes." He gestures to his bangs. He speaks quietly. A rarity though not unknown for him to be so hushed. 

You tuck the curl you'd been examining behind his ear carefully. 

"Do you think my hair looks good?" you ask. 

"Sh- Sorry, of course I do. I swear I was gonna-"

You shake your head, laughing. "Not like that. What I mean is, I cut my own hair. I cut Junie's, too, and I could do yours if you wanted me to." 

He goes quiet. 

"Only if you wanted. I know it's a lot of trust, so-" 

"Would you do it now?" 

You hold Junie's head away from yours to prevent a loving headbut. "Right now?" 

"I'm in dire need." 

He throws his big brown puppy dog eyes your way and you couldn't say no if you wanted to. 

You explain how he needs to get it wet first and how the shower head in the bathroom doesn't detach. "It's, like, built into the wall." 

"I could go home, come back?" he suggests. 

"I can do it over the sink?" 

-

Eddie can't remember the last time somebody washed his hair for him. He knows there must've been a time, some place in his life where his mom or dad had done it for him. He thinks that, if he'd asked, Wayne would've tried it once or twice growing up, but now Eddie's most definitely at the age where having his hair washed is a foreign luxury. 

And it does feel luxurious.

It shouldn't; the sink basin is very small as they tend to be in the trailer kitchenettes – small sink, small stove, small small small – and Eddie has to crane his neck. Already the space between his shoulder blades aches from being bent over, and he can't breathe well, smothered by steam. 

But your hands. One shields his eyes from run off, a gesture unnecessary and far from lost on him, while the other massages shampoo into his scalp. He'd been surprised when you started because you hadn't mentioned washing his hair, and he'd said, "You don't have to do that." 

You'd hummed. "Well, it's kind of a waste not to." 

That was that. 

Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp and if his eyes weren't already closed they would've fluttered shut. He nibbles his lip and tries very hard not to show outwardly how nice it feels. Your left upper arm rubs against his back as you scrub at his roots, your right soaking wet beside his face, covering his eyes uselessly. He doesn't mention it. All this touching, he doesn't want it to end.

Your proximity honest-to-God sets him on fire. Your body pressed to his is a flame over his ribs. 

"Maybe we shouldn't cut it at all," you say, stroking wet bangs away from his forehead. "It's soooo long." 

"Can’t do it?" he teases.

"Keep your eyes closed, okay? I'm gonna rinse." 

It's a comforting process. You dip your cup into the water. It fills with a wet glug, the rim shushing against the basin's bottom. You hold it over his head and pour carefully, heat caressing his scalp as the soap is washed away. 

It's over too soon. You grab the towel you'd procured and tuck it around his shoulders, wringing all the excess water from his curls back into the sink. You encourage his head up wordlessly and he stands there, arms useless against the countertops edge, water sloughing down his face as you press the ends flat between your hands. 

You lift his head and push his hair back with your hands, raking your fingers through it and laughing as soon as his face appears. "Eddie! I'm sorry, you're totally drowning." 

He chuckles. They fade away as you pinch the corner of the towel and start to dab his face dry, dragging the rough material over his cheeks with an expression he can't read on your pretty features. Almost pensive, not quite. 

"There," you say under your breath. "Saved you." 

"My hero." 

You smile at him softly before spinning on your heel. "I gotta find the hairbrush. And the good scissors." You look into the living room quickly and then turn to the hall leading to your bedroom. 

Eddie looks into the living room too. Junie's not upto much, only watching TV, unusually subdued. He doesn't disturb her despite the itch to go over and play.

One of the muppets starts laughing about something and she laughs too. 

"What are you smiling about?" you whisper from behind him. 

"Nothing," he says quickly.

You raise your eyebrows. "She has a nice laugh, right? Doesn't matter how bad I feel, she laughs and everything's okay for a little while." 

He feels a fond stab in his chest. "Her laugh's like yours." 

"I guess we do sound the same." 

You do, but it's not really what he'd meant. 

The metal sound of scissors snapping. You wield them at him faux-threateningly and shepherd him into a chair you've dragged to the middle of the kitchen. 

Eddie fights goosebumps as you pull a brush through his hair, loses when you take a lock at the front between two fingers and stop about an inch and a half from the end. 

"I'm gonna do that much, okay?" 

You're a quiet hairdresser. Eddie doesn't care, he can talk for Indiana, but there's something so sweetly simple about the quietude, just your hands in his hair, the snipping of your scissors and Junie's occasional excited chattering. You start to hum a song Eddie doesn't recognise about halfway through. It's melancholy. He doubts you realise what you're doing. 

You draw silent as you round to the front. Eddie watches your hands work for what feels like hours. You have really pretty hands, not perfect, burnt fingertips and neat little nails. They smell like honey hand soap.

You pull two locks from the front together to make sure they're the same length. His curls will hide any discrepancy, he knows from experience, but he doesn't want to tell you that. Selfishly, he wants that extra time with you this close. 

You work your way between his legs to comb his half-dried bangs. Eddie looks up at you with wide eyes.

"You want me to trim these, too?" you ask quietly. 

"If you please." 

You huff a laugh through your nose and start to trim his bangs carefully. He closes his eyes, and maybe it's the fact that he can't see you that gives him the confidence to reach out for your hip, a touch that can't be defined as amicable. He curls his fingers into the soft material of your shirt and feels the heat of your skin underneath. 

You draw closer, as close as you can be. 

"What made you decide on bangs?" you ask. 

"Zits, mostly." 

He can feel your laugh under his hand. 

"I used to… I used to powder my face," you confide, a murmur, "like, an inch thick to try and hide everything. Being pregnant makes you so-" You pause to snip some hair, comb it away. It tickles his face. "Well, it makes you spotty. Or it made me spotty. It actually made me really sick." 

"That's must've sucked," he says earnestly. 

"It- Yeah. I guess it did. I don't know." 

He hadn't meant to bring up something unhappy, but he's hungry to know. "Were you on your own?" 

"Mostly." 

"What was the worst part?" 

"Being scared all the time."

He'd been expecting morning sickness or aching feet. "You were scared?" 

"I honestly thought I was gonna die, Eddie." 

He opens his eyes and leans back in his chair, hand flexing over your hip, as he tries to tamp down his surprise. 

"It was," you mess with his bangs with the tip of your ring finger, "hard. I felt sick all the time, and when I didn't I would make myself sick worrying about her. What if I eat something or I catch something and it hurts her? What if- what if it all works out perfectly and then I can't look after her?" 

"Did it work out perfect?" 

You rub your lips together. "Uh, I guess so. It took a long time, and it hurt," you sound especially unhappy with that part. 

He strokes up your waist, wanting to soothe the small crease between your eyebrows. "By yourself?" 

"Yeah, by myself." 

"I'm sorry." 

You tuck his hair behind his ear and grin at him. "Now what are you sorry for?" Your hand lingers near his cheek. Slowly, you turn it, pressing the knuckle of your index finger into the skin under his eye and rubbing a small line. He worries he’s in love with you right then and there. "Not like you're the one who knocked me up." 

You drop your hand and Eddie really doesn't want you to go anywhere, his grip kind but steadfast, bringing the other arm behind your back in a loose hug. "Who was it?" 

"Just some guy. Nobody. Nobody worth thinking about." 

"How old were you?" he asks. 

"Why are you asking me all this stuff?"

"I wanna know about you." 

You bring your hands to the towel around his neck and pull on it mildly. "I was sixteen. Seventeen when I had her." 

He drags his fingertips up and down the small of your back lightly, almost like he's playing guitar. "I'm sorry you were all by yourself. That young. When I was sixteen I was still watching The Bugs Bunny Show."

You giggle and your hands move up to the side of his neck. He can hardly breathe, afraid to dispel whatever enchantment it is that he's under. 

"Could be worse, huh? I'm nineteen and I still watch Muppet Babies," you joke. 

"Why wouldn't you? It's the pinnacle of modern television." 

"Yeah?" 

Your beaming smile hits him straight in the chest. He thinks about how beautiful you look and can't stop, hiding his face in your stomach to stop from saying something stupid, laughing loud. You laugh in tandem, hugging the back of his head until your giggles peter out. 

A small hand on his arm. You both turn at the same time and find a very unhappy Junie.

"What?" you ask her. Then, teasing, "Are you jealous?" 

You lean down to pick her up. Eddie's gutted to lose your touch and then quickly exuberant when Junie ducks out of your arms to grab at his legs. 

"Oh my god, yes," he says, holding out his hands. 

Junie tries to take them and he slips them under his arm, pulling her onto his thigh with a big sigh. The sigh is half the fun, a theatrical reluctance when really he's always happy to have her climbing on him. 

As soon as she's in his lap she's pleased, turning her head so she can watch the TV across the room. 

You roll your eyes at his smug smile. "Shut up. She just wants what other people have." 

"And you had me?" 

"Shut up, Munson, seriously," you say. You don't sound half as mad as you're trying to. 

Eddie takes a drying curl between his fingers and pokes at the side of Junie's face. "Whatever you want, sweetheart," he says, grinning when your daughter starts to squirm on his thigh. 

He grins at her and tickles her until she's curling in with her chin dropped to her chest, smiling despite herself. 

His fondness colours every word as he croons, "I got you." 

Junie sounds about as outraged as a toddler can be when he tickles her nose and then drags the tip of the freshly trimmed curl under her eye. He draws a big circle around one of her cheeks until it's kissing her chin. She dissolves into giggles while squirming to get away from him and so he stops, only for her to blink and tug at his wrist. 

He tickles her until she's screaming. 

You pause on your knees where you'd been sweeping up his trimmed hair to look up at her and he's struck with guilt. "Y/N, you don't have to do that. I'll do it." 

"No, you're okay." 

Eddie finds his gaze drawn to your thighs, spread out as they are in your kneeling position, and then stolen by Junie as she almost topples off of his lap. 

"I think…" he begins quietly, speaking to Junie though it's just as much for you, "that your mom deserves something nice for my haircut. What do you think?" 

"I don't think that," you say. 

"Wasn't asking you," he says seriously. Back in baby mode he continues,  "What's mommy like, huh? What's her favourite thing in the whole world, besides you?" 

"Sleep," you say. 

"Well, I can't help you there." 

"You help me there all the time. Junie sleeps like a log every Friday." 

"Food coma," he says knowledgeably. 

"You really don't have to get me anything, Eddie. My services were administered charitably." 

He pushes his hands behind Junie's back and pulls her to his chest before standing. When he has her secure in one arm he pulls the chair back to your small table and tucks it in.

"Get up," he says to you. "I'll do it, alright? Swap with me." 

You ignore him until he starts kicking you in the leg. "You're ridiculous!"

"You're ridiculous. Seriously, get up. You're not a serf." He returns your glare. "I'm a big boy, I can clean up after myself." 

"It's my house." 

"If you don't let me-" 

"Christ! Okay." You drop the dustpan and brush sullenly, wiping your hands together as you stand before taking Junie out of his arms. "I'll make dinner." 

"No you won't! I'm gonna order takeout," he says factually, already on his knees and sweeping. 

"No you're not." 

"I am. Me and June already talked about it. She's craving Marino's pizza." 

"I'm not gonna let you use the phone." 

"I'll walk to my place and order the pizza to here." 

"Eddie-" 

"Why are you being a hardass?" he asks. 

"Fine! God, clean up your gross hair and order your stupid pizza. You're making me crazy," you say, collapsing onto the sofa with a little oomf, Junie's weight hitting you hard in the chest. She moves into a sitting position and pulls your shirt up, hands moving across the space under your chest. 

Eddie throws himself into cleaning all the mess you'd made for him, the hair and the towel and the sopping wet draining board. He washes the dirty baby bowl on the side and fills up one of Junie's bottles with water, then a glass for you. He hasn't seen either of you drinking a thing since he's been here, likely his fault for distracting you. 

He's about to call for pizza when he peers past the cabinets and sees you dozing on the couch. He decides pizza can wait until tomorrow; it's later than he realised. 

Junie's halfway across the room with Mr. Bear playing make believe. She talks and talks and talks, gibberish to him but what's likely an unending, complicated storyline, no doubt. 

Eddie approaches with the bottle already outstretched. "Junie," he says, and when she doesn't answer, "Junebug. Junie. Junie." Each iteration of her name softer and sweeter than the first, hoping to entice her in. 

He holds the bottle in front of her face.

She finally looks up with a pout. 

"For you," he says, offering the water. 

She seems mildly interested as she takes it, turning back to her teddy and talking around the teat like it's not there. 

You're struggling to keep your eyes open. Eddie gives the room a quick once over before kneeling down in front of you, tugging your shirt down to cover your exposed tummy as he says, "I should head home." 

You blink at him and turn onto your side, cheek squishing into the couch cushion. 

"Okay? Why don't you and Junebug head to bed?" he asks, using a tone not far from what he'd use with your daughter. 

"You know, her full name's Juniper," you whisper. 

He didn't know. "Really? I love that." 

You wrinkle your nose, sounding very tired as you continue, "But someone told me it sounded like a name for a cat. So I've called her Junie ever since."

"It doesn't sound like a cat's name," he placates. "It's beautiful. You chose well." 

"Yeah?" 

Eddie smiles at you fondly, eyes tracing down your nose to your lips, shiny with balm. He tilts his head to the side to mimic yours. He could kiss you. 

"Sounds like the name of an elf. Juniper Lightfoot, or… Goldwind. She could even be a mage. Juniper the Brave." 

"Juniper the Loveliest," you say, and then grin. "Juniper the Hungriest." 

"Juniper the All Great and Hungriest," Eddie says decidedly. 

"Would you make her a hero, in your game?" you ask. 

"Of course I would. She wouldn't even need to divide, she'd just conquer." 

"What about me?" 

"What, would you be a hero?" 

You nod. He doesn't know why, but he thinks his answer is going to hold a lot of weight with you. 

"You would be," he starts quietly, words painted slowly as he raises a hand to rest on your wrist, pinky finger spread over the hill of your thumb, "a fighter. With insight and survival." 

"I don't know what that means," you say. 

He leans in. "It means yes, you'd be a hero. You'd save kingdoms. Slay dragons." He squeezes your wrist. 

"I think I better leave all that stuff for Junie. I'll just cheer you guys on from the sidelines." 

"You're her mom, she can't do it without you. And even if she could I bet she wouldn't want to. Where's all the fun in guts and glory if you can't share it?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

Your eyes shut. Eddie doesn't know if it's from fatigue or a want to end this conversation. He feels marginally embarrassed for descending into nerd metaphor with you, but he thinks it's the kind of thing you needed to hear. He thinks if Junie could understand how often her mom prioritises her and misses out for her she'd want to fix that. Eddie doesn't know you half as well as she does and it breaks his heart sometimes to watch you insist on a smaller portion, to watch you put things back at the grocery store because she wants a box of milk duds, even to watch you wear yourself out ironing baby clothes in the only pair of pajamas you own. 

"Make sure you lock the deadbolt behind me," he says carefully. You hum. He gives your wrist one last squeeze. 

Junie looks tired in that she's getting agitated, whimpering under her breath. Eddie ducks down to give her upper arm a good rub. "Why don't you go cuddle with your mom?" he asks her, turning her by the shoulder so that you're in her eye-line. "Go have a lie down." 

He doesn't know whether what he says makes any difference but you extend your arms out and Junie walks towards you, big staggered steps that make him laugh to himself as he pushes into his unlaced converse. 

"Don't forget to lock up," he says in place of a farewell. 

"Goodnight, Eddie," you say. 

He waves. You're both too tired to wave back. 

He's surprised to find his Uncle Wayne still home when he gets in, shoving into his work boots with a grunted hello.

"Hey." 

"Did you cut your hair?" Wayne asks, perplexed, a little gruff. 

"Junie's mom did it for me." 

"'Junie's mom,'" Wayne quotes dryly, slugging his bag over his shoulder. He's heard all about Junie's mom.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and splutters when a big hand claps his back, a demonstration of Wayne's pity as he passes through the open door. 

Eddie spins to watch him jog down the steps. "We're friends," Eddie calls. 

"Don't be dumb," his uncle says without turning back. 

"I'm not exactly known for being smart," Eddie says to himself, cheeks heated by a furious blush. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter

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---

Menace | e.m.

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Telling a guy at a party that you have a boyfriend doesn't seem to deter him. Probably because that guy is your boyfriend and you're too drunk to realize.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking, Major Fluff, Established Relationship, Cute pet names

A/N: Don't ever settle for a relationship if they wouldn't do your night routine for you.

The music was starting to give Steve a headache. Gone were the days of being the keg king and beer pong master, first to have a drink and last to stumble his way home. Now suddenly he was more worried about drunk Robin asking people far too personal questions and even drunker you deciding to play another drinking game because you liked that it had cards in it.

"Please, I'm sincerely begging you, Y/N, just sit down–" you interjected with a whine, staring up at him with heartbroken eyes.

"Steve, the game just started. I didn't even break the circle–" a loud hiccup cut off your slurred protests making Robin let out a squeaking laugh from the seat next to you.

Steve let out a tired sigh, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute before zeroing in on the two of you.

"Well, we're gonna play a new game. It's called sit here while Steve makes a phone call," he said, eyes flickering from yours, wide and disgruntled, to Robin's, half lidded from the joint he had found in her hand, not a clue where she got it from.

"It sounds awful," you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and sinking back into the couch.

"Yeah the name sucks," Robin said, picking up an unfinished drink from the side table next to the couch. Steve snatched it from her before she could press it to her lips because it wasn't her drink and she had thrown in her half smoked joint not even thirty seconds before, the rolled blunt floating around in the dark liquid.

"Rob, stop trying to drink everything you see. You're not aquatic," he hissed, harshly dropping the drink on a table out of her reach.

"Well maybe I'm dehydrated, Steve. You gonna let me die of thirst?" she quipped back, eyes blinking slowly revealing red rimmed irises.

"Then I'll get you a water, Robin," he hissed back, eyes narrowing at her. "But first let me make one single phone call, okay? You're not gonna die of thirst in three minutes."

"I might! I feel my cells disintegrating as we speak!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. You turned to look at her, mouth dropping open slight in horror.

"Disintegrating?" you repeated.

"Every moment that passes–POOF. Another mitochondria bites the dust," she confirmed, giving you a sad smile and a shrug.

"No–" Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's terrible," you expressed, lips pouting and looking to Steve with an expression of alarm. "That's so sad."

"The saddest," she nodded again as Steve muttered an incredulous "Oh my god."

"We need to do something, Steve! Her mitochondria!"

"My mitochondria, Steve!" Robin echoed you, tone mocking as she smirked at him. Steve felt his headache growing steadily.

"Fine! Fine! I'll go get you a drink! Just stay on this fucking couch. Got it?" When neither of you protested, eyes flickering back and forth between your faces he added a strict Stay like you would a disobedient dog.

He hurried to find the house phone, knowing his timeframe was limited before the two of you wandered off in opposite directions, giving him another wild good chase to corral you together. It was late and he was tired and he desperately needed to call in some back up.

Punching in the numbers, Steve cast distasteful looks at the not so innocent sounds emanating from the bathroom adjacent from the landline. The phone rang for a while, making him fear no one was going to answer until finally the receiver picked up.

"Munson residence," the chirpy voice of Eddie Munson had Steve releasing a short-lived sigh of relief.

"Eddie, it's Steve," he said, pressing close to the wall to avoid two girls swaying dangerously and stumbling past him with mirroring green faces.

"Stevie! To what do I owe this pleasure?" Eddie seemed to be eating something as his words were slightly muffled.

"I need you to come get your girlfriend." He tried not to sound like he was begging even though that's exactly what he was doing.

There was shuffling on the line before Eddie's voice rang out clear, "She okay?"

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. "She's fine just plastered," he thought for a moment before adding with exasperation, "and like obsessed with card games. And really bad at them so she keeps losing and drinking more."

Eddie's charmed laugh sounded over the static of the receiver. Steve wanted to pull his hair out. Of course Eddie found anything you did endearing. You could insult Black Sabbath and he would still look at you like you put the stars in the sky. You had him completely under your enchantment.

"Just make sure she's not taking any," Eddie replied, his smile drenching his tone.

"Taking any what?"

"Card decks. She likes to collect them."

Steve was quiet. Eddie was quiet. Then Eddie laughed again and Steve had to resist banging his head against the wall.

"Eddie. I'm begging you. Please, just, come pick her up," he said through clenched teeth.

It didn't take Eddie long to reach the house party. You had mentioned where you were going earlier that night, commenting that it wasn't too far from where Corroded Coffin was playing and that maybe he could stop by after. He had agreed under the impression that you would probably be home by the time he was finished because it was far later than you were usually out. So he had headed home thinking you were in bed until Steve had called.

And now he was weaving through a legion of drunk high schoolers, on his way to relieve a very stressed sounding Steve from his never-ending babysitter duties. You were sat on a couch, arms crossed as you glared at Steve and Robin endlessly bickering about something. When Steve saw him he called him over.

"I'm taking Robin home. Good luck with that one because she snuck another drink in when I wasn't looking," Steve grumbled, hooking his arm through Robin's as she whined at him.

"What if I don't want to go home," Robin shot at him, eye brows raising.

"I don't care. It's late and I'm tired so we're leaving," he stated, tugging her towards the door.

"You're not the governor of the universe, Steve."

Eddie watched their retreating forms before turning his attention back on you. Your gaze seemed far away as you looked forward, not seeming to have even noticed his presence. He took few steps towards you before sinking into the seat next to you.

"Hey, trouble," he said, reaching out a hand to brush softly against your cheek.

You pulled away like you had been burned and turned to give him a glare. He lost his breath for a moment, confused by the sudden hostility.

"Can you leave me alone?" Your voice was slurred but it didn't conceal the overt bite to your tone. He felt a bubble of hurt grow in his chest, hand dropping to his lap.

"You want me to leave you alone?" he echoed, slightly bewildered. Hours before coming here you were pouting at him for not being able to join, acting as though it would physically hurt you to be away from him for a night. And now, suddenly, you didn't want him here? Were you mad at him for abandoning you?"

"Yeah. I have a boyfriend, so, you can leave," you bit back. He blinked at you, digesting your words, before relaxing. Your glassy eyes gave no indication that you realized it was him. You weren't mad at him, you were mad at the thought of a random guy bothering you at this party. He couldn't conceal his grin.

"Oh, yeah? What's his name?" he asked, playing along as the tension eased from his body. He wanted to reach out and push your hair behind your ear but restrained himself.

"Eddie. Eddie Munson. And he'll beat you up if he finds out you're bothering me," you proclaimed, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you glared at him, or however many versions of him you were seeing with your blurred vision.

"He will, will he?" he felt giddy at your admission.

He had had moments in your year long relationship where he let his insecurity eat away at him. You were beautiful and kind and alluring. You unconsciously had people gravitating towards you and sometimes he worried that one day someone would turn your head and steal you away from him. But seeing you be so cold to someone even attempting to have a conversation with you, bringing him up immediately, had his heart selfishly warming.

"Yeah and he's on his way to come get me. So try your luck with someone else," you concluded, words slightly garbled as you gave him your best glare.

"How many drinks have you had, trouble?" he asked, laughing incredulously. Your steely glare hardened. You unfolded your arms to poke him harshly in the shoulder.

"You don't get to call me that. Only my boyfriend can call me that," you stated, poking him again for good measure. It didn't hurt him but he feigned pain anyway, hand flying to his shoulder as he sunk back like he was shot.

He opened his mouth to respond but suddenly you were clambering your way off the couch, form swaying as the alcohol in your system made your vision spin. Eddie was up next to you in an instant, gripping your elbows to steady you.

"Easy, sugar. Don't want you face planting," he murmured, trying to bit back his laugh. You halfheartedly swatted him away, making him remove his hands from you only to hover them behind you in case you started swaying again.

"I just told you not to touch me. I'll beat you up myself if I have to," you said, giving his shoulder a light shove that had you stumbling instead of it's intended affect. Eddie ghosted his hands behind your back as you righted yourself, eyes dancing over your flushed face and glazed eyes.

You marched away from him, dead set on avoiding him and finding something to do until your actual boyfriend showed up. Eddie followed behind you like a shadow, eyes alight in amusement as he waited for you to finally realize it was him. You were nearly oblivious to your surroundings, bumping into people, stumbling over loose cans littering the floor. He followed behind, one hand floating to press your back lightly when you wobbled and the other pressing bodies away so you could move easier through the crowd.

When you found the front door and burst out into the cool air of the autumn night, you whirled around to give your stalker a piece of your mind only to freeze when you noticed his wiry curls and amused smirk.

"Eddie!" you breathed, voice airy and light as you tumbled towards him, arms flying to wrap around his neck. He let out a boisterous laugh, arms snaking around your midsection as he squeezed you tight, lifting you slightly from the ground.

"Hi, pretty," he breathed, face nuzzling into your neck to leave a few searing kisses. You molded into him, body relaxing and contented sigh seeping through your smiling lips.

"Eddie, what took you so long! There was this annoying creep who wouldn't leave me alone," you whined, breathing in his cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes. His chuckle vibrated into your neck making chills run up your spine. You pressed in tighter, addicted to his touch.

"Did you tell him to fuck off?" he asked, playing along, smirk widening as he pulled back, finally allowing himself to brush wild pieces of hair behind your ears.

"Told him I'd fight him," you replied and he gave you a bright grin.

"Good girl," he said, pinching your cheek lightly, before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You preened at the praise, stepping on tip toes to deepen the kiss that was making your head fuzzy. He smoothed both his hands on the sides of your face, thumbs resting on the apples of your cheeks, pecking your lips a few more times for good measure before he was reluctantly pulling back.

"Let's get you home, yeah, trouble?" You nodded, eager to go anywhere with him. He took your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before tugging you in the direction of his truck.

The drive to your house was filled with you animatedly recounting the party to Eddie, who listened with a soft smile on his face. There were moments where your slightly slurred speech and foggy memory made your stories hard to follow but anytime you laughed he did too, your glee contagious and endearing. He had to scold himself to pay attention to the road a few times when he felt his gaze being reeled in like sailor to a siren.

When you arrived at your home, you handed him your bag claiming your keys were somewhere in its depth. He turned the ignition off, the both of you sitting in the car as the heat slowly seeped into the chill of the night. He opened your bag and let out an incredulous laugh. At least three decks of cards were shoved into your small purse, stolen from a fair few disgruntled partygoers who probably wouldn't have suspected you as the thief in the slightest.

"You're a menace, you know that?" he commented, pushing the decks to the side so he could reach for the set of keys glinting at the bottom of the bag. You pouted at him, no clue what he was referring to. He chuckled, leaning over the inner consul to press a sweet kiss to your lips. "A cute one, but a menace."

"C'mon. Let get you inside," he said, unlocking the doors. You were nearly putting all of your weight on him as you headed to the front door of your house, body slung around him like a backpack. He had one arm wrapped around your back, pressing kisses to the top of your head every few steps, your bag looped over his shoulder.

As he fumbled with the lock, keys rattling against the metal of the doorknob, you mumbled something about your family being away when he winced at the noise he was making. And once you were inside, door shut behind you, he flicked on a few switches, lighting up the empty house. He dropped your bag and keys on the small table by the door before turning towards you.

With both arms wrapping around you, he bent slightly, his hands moving to cradle the backs of your thighs.

"Up," he commanded. You jumped, letting him hoist you into his arms as you wrapped yours around his neck, legs hooking his waist.

"'M, tired," you mumbled into his shoulder. His chest vibrated as he chuckled, taking cautious steps up towards the second floor.

"I bet. It's nearly two," he replied and you humphed in response. When he made it to your room, he slowly released his hold on you, letting you slide down until your feet touched the ground. You whined against him, not liking the idea of not being completely wrapped up in him.

"Need to get you ready for bed, sugar," he said, reaching around behind his neck to pry your arms away. You whined again but had little strength to resist him. He nudged you forward until the backs of your legs met your bed, causing you to reluctantly sit down, the mattress dipping slightly.

He crouched down so he could rest his weight on his knees, the carpet of your floor cushioning them. You were blinking slowly down at him like you were fighting against sleep. Hand wrapping around your ankle, he undid the laces and slipped off your sneaker, dropping it to the side. He repeated the action with your other shoe.

"I'm gonna get you something to change into, okay?" he said, pushing up from the floor. He kicked off his own shoes next to yours, pulling off his vest and then his jacket, draping them over your desk chair.

Your room was yards cleaner than his own and starkly different. Remnants of your childhood were woven together with band and movie posters, shelves of books, and colorful post-its and polaroids taped to your mirror. He spotted his face in many of them, heart warming each time he noticed yet another one of him you managed to find room for.

He headed for your dresser, pulling drawers open at random trying to find something for you to sleep in. His cheeks warmed at the drawer of underwear he yanked open, the pretty pastels and swirling lace making him swallow harshly. He wasn't here to be creepy he was here to be a doting boyfriend. He opened a few more until he found one of his shirts he thought he had misplaced. Menace, he thought.

When he turned around you had already begun slipping off your pants, kicking around until they flew off your ankles. He walked over to you as you were pulling your shirt over your head. His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes trailed down the straps of your bra to the curves of your chest, heat rising on the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he chided himself. Now was not the time for that. He heard you undo your bra and kept his gaze on your sleepy eyes as he handed you the black T-shirt. You slipped it on without protest.

"Alright, now to the bathroom," he said, patting the side of your bare thigh.

"But I'm tired," you groaned, wrinkling your nose at the idea of exerting more energy.

"I know, trouble, but you still have your makeup on," he said, leaning over to take your hand in his. He held his other one out and you reluctantly grabbed it, letting him pull you up. He maneuvered the both of you into the bathroom. You wobbled against him, eyes squinting shut at the harshness of the overhead light. He let go of your hands to slide them to the sides of your ribcage. Then he lifted you so you were sat on the counter besides the sink.

“Okay, sleepyhead, I need you to direct me through your night routine,” he said, rubbing his hand on the side of your neck. You looked at him through bleary eyes before looking down at the counter. An assortment of bottles and serums and tubs of cream littered the expanse of the white laminate. You blinked heavily before pointing at one.

“That’s makeup remover,” you said as a yawn over took you. He picked it up, unscrewing the top and then staring blankly at you.

“Do I . . . use my hand?” he asked innocently. You giggled softly, leaning back to rest against the wall.

“No, silly. A cotton pad,” you replied, waving your hand in the direction of the cabinet. He found them, dropping a few as he struggled with the zip lock, before pulling one out. He tipped the clear liquid from the bottle, soaking the cotton pad before turning back to you.

“Eyes shut,” he ordered, stepping closer so your legs parted for his thighs. You followed his instructions, eyes fluttering shut as he brought the pad to your face.

Eddie was nothing if not gently when it came to you. The damp cotton brushed softly over your eyelids, over your eyebrows, down your temples, trailing your jaw, over your lips, and in circles on your cheeks. He could tell you were dozing, needing to move his other hand to frame your jaw so your head wouldn’t lull to the side.

Dropping the dirtied cotton pad in the trash, he grabbed a hand towel and soaked it under the tap. It was warm when he brought it to your face, the stitched loops of the towel swirling around as he wet the skin. Dropping it down, he scanned the array of bottles until he found one clearly labelled face wash. He squeezed probably too much onto his palms before moving to massage it around your face. The gel foaming as he circulated his fingers, tender movements nearly putting you to sleep. Your eyes blinked open, finding his focused on his movements, tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration. A balloon of affection blossomed in your chest.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” you mumbled, blinking slowly at him like cat. His movements slowed as heat rushed to his cheeks at your words.

“Well you’re my favorite person in the whole universe,” he said back, moving to rinse the face wash from his hands. He re-wet the small towel and moved to wipe your face down. You pouted at him.

“That’s not fair. I can’t go any bigger than the universe,” you grumbled, unhappy that he outdid you so quickly. He let out an endeared laugh, hand moving to cup the back of your neck as he wiped the foam from your face.

“I don’t play fair, baby. Not when it comes to professing my undying love to you,” he said making you wrinkle your nose. He leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“I missed you tonight,” you confessed as he finished cleaning your face. He rinsed the towel in the sink before turning to look at you. Your head was resting against the wall, eyes half lidded in fatigue but glinting prettily under your lashes. He felt his chest tighten at the sight, his breath stalling for a moment at your effortless beauty.

“I always miss you when you’re not around,” you added. He moved to face you, chest coiling in unbridled affection, hands moving to cage your face in. He swiped his thumbs under your eyes, the soft skin glittering from the water.

“Wish I could be with you 24/7 but I don’t want you to get sick of me,” you continued, eyes fluttering up at him. He thought you might really kill him.

“Not even in an alternate dimension could I get sick of you. Not even in a hypothetical scenario. Not even if my life depended on it,” he replied, moving closer until your noses were almost touching. Your hands snaked around his torso, tugging him closer, bunching up the back of his shirt.

“If you’ll have me I’ll probably be up your ass until the end of time,” he added, making a peel of giggles erupt from you. His eyes squinted as he smiled, leaning in to press his lips to yours, your giggles dissolving into his affection.

“Now, no more being cute until we’re done with this,” he said after pressing yet another kiss to your lips. Your swollen lips chased his to steel another, then another before he was squeezing your sides, making you squirm and laugh as he pulled away.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes drooping as he continued, grabbing your moisturizer and spinning open the cap. He repeated his gentle motions over your face, swiping softly around your eyes and smoothing any tension from your face.

“Brush,” you blinked your eyes open noticing him holding out your toothbrush, toothpaste already sitting on the bristles. Your movements were sluggish but you managed, leaning over to spit in the sink before he was handing you a cup of water to rinse.

You were both quiet for a moment. He watched as you leaned your head back, eyes shut. His hands trailed the sides of your thighs, brushing the skin, squeezing slightly, warming them and making goosebumps appear. His eyes danced around your face, taking in your peaceful features. You were breathtaking even when on the edge of sleep. He was completely enamored with you. He never thought someone could have him so enchanted that he would be taking their makeup off before bed and making sure they brushed their teeth but you had sent him one dazzling smile and he was lost in a sea of desire to take care of you for as long as he lived.

“Alright, ready for bed?” he asked, affectionately brushing his thumbs on the tops of your thighs. You nodded, slumping forward to wrap your arms around his neck. He tugged you forward, hands slinking under your thighs to pull you up into his arms.

He laid you gently on your bed, pulling the covers down so you could slip your legs in until he was moving the duvet up over you. He wandered back over to your dresser, digging back into the bottom drawer where he knew a treasure trove of his clothes was hidden, never to be seen in his closet again. He slipped off his pants and then shirt, pulling on an old Van Halen T-shirt, the ratty edges brushing against the waistline of his boxers. 

"You're staying, right?" your sleepy voice rang out from the bed. He kicked his pile of clothes to the side, knowing you were going to chide him for it tomorrow.

"Wouldn't dream of leaving," he answered, pulling off his rings, the silver clanking as he dropped them on your desk. 

He hurried to shut the lights off before he was crawling in beside you, finding your sleepy body in the dark and pulling you into him. You let out a contented sigh, warm breath tickling his neck, making him pull you in even tighter.

He wasn’t sure how he had gotten so lucky. Nothing seemed to compare to finally being in your arms, breathing in the smell of your perfume and feeling the smoothness of your skin. His lips traced your hairline, leaving soft honeyed kisses around your forehead and down over your eyelids. You smiled into the darkness, tilting your face up in a silent beg for more. He kissed your nose, his eyelashes dusting the tops of your cheeks.

"Love you," you whispered, melting against him and his warm lips. You felt him smile against your cheek.

"Love you more," he whispered back, a kiss following his admiration.

“Love you times a million,” you added, hoping finally to win a battle of affection.

“Love you times infinity,” he replied. You let out a whine at him one-upping you yet again but he just chuckled in fondness, teeth nipping at the plumpness of your cheek until he was seeking out your lips again, to press a dozen more kisses until you inevitably fell under the spell of sleep, dreaming about him and his big brown eyes and warm kisses and how very very lucky you were.

---

What do the Stranger Things characters think of you, Robin’s super femme cheerleader girlfriend? 

Note: this is assuming it’s a timeline where Robin has come out to most of the group/the entire group, and it was safe for her to come out and everything went well. Also don’t ask me when the hell in the timeline this takes place because the Byers would have been in Hawkins and Chrissy is still alive, because I don’t know if I care to figure that out <3

Robin: Well obviously I think she’s amazing. 

Keep reading

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the parent trap is one of my favorite movies 😭 i love your brain for this 😽🤍

Parent Trap: Part 4

Warnings: ex-husband!Eddie, fluff

Summary: You had the perfect life. A perfect daughter. A perfect career. You never expected that sending your daughter to summer camp would cause everything to spiral out of control. And your ex-husband… yeah you never saw that coming.

This part is purely from the twins’ perspectives so no Eddie or Y/n in this part!

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | 

“It’s cool that you have something of your dad’s. I don’t have anything from my Mom.” Hallie said as she helped Annie place the pictures back on the wall. “Well, actually, I have a photograph of what she looks like. But it’s not even a full photo.” 

Keep reading

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omfg this concept ?!?!?!? i absolutely love it !!!

The Nightmare Begins

Steve Harrington x Reader; The gang and Freddy Krueger

Word Count: 3163

Prompt: Storm

Warnings: My blog is 18+ regardless so minor DNI. Mentions of murder, child murders, cutting into skin, mental torment, arson, demonic deals, murder by arson, shady dealings, nightmares, light fluff and angst, the gang being the gang, established relationship between reader and Steve.

A/N: This is my first piece for Screamtober 2022. A big thank you to @cuddlykillers and @bride-of-jason-voorhees for the prompt list, it’s a great set for inspiration. I have toyed with theories around Freddy Krueger and Stranger Things for a while and wanted to link the two, so I hope I’ve done it justice. Freddy is probably my favourite horror character so doing this was a lot of fun.

As always, my work is not beta read and all my mistakes are my own. I do not give permission for this to be posted elsewhere either. Please feel free to like, comment and/or share. Feedback is always welcomed especially as this is a newer type of fan fiction for me. Who knows, if it works well I may use Screamtober to add some of Freddy’s battles against the gang. Enjoy!

Large intimidating flames danced against the backdrop of the indigo velvet sky. Seeping through the walls as it overtook the building, the fiery arms climbed, engulfing the building fully. Screams filled the air, painful ghastly shrieks that ripped at the core of those stood outside witnessing the horror. The sickly scent of burning flesh invaded the nostrils of orderlies and patients alike. Pennhurst Mental Hospital’s secure wing for the criminally insane was alight. It was as though Hell was claiming the building, with Satan on a mission to take the souls of those damned patients and the staff who mistreated them.

Senior warden Anthony Hatch stood in stoic observation. He knew that tensions were high between the orderlies and senior staff. Talks of strikes over pay deals that were pittance for the job they did. Especially in that section of the hospital. Some of the most dangerous people in the state of Indiana were kept in the high security wing. Now it was up in flames, orderlies and patients trapped in the concrete and iron structure. He knew that this would result in fatalities, the exits hitting auto lock once the alarm was triggered. Hatch closed his eyes listening to the symphony of horror, his smirk almost undetectable. He promised the board that this nonsense with the orderlies would be taken care of, even if it meant there were casualties. He didn’t let on that there would be a ‘tragedy’ leading to the death of so many people. They were just mere details to him. It cleared the way for progress; he would highlight flaws in the building and the government would happily pay towards a more modern development to prevent such an event from occurring again. This was progress for Hatch, even if it meant stepping over people to get there.

Victor sat, backed up, against the wall, he could feel the heat intensifying. He knew what was happening and that his time was coming. Others had been set free from their ‘prisons’ to try and help get the doors open but it was all for nothing as, one-by-one, they succumbed to their blazing murderer. The screams and smells all heightened by Victor’s blindness meant he could tell how close he was getting to his end. Known for curling up or rocking and singing to himself, Victor displayed none of that and rose to his feet, standing tall.

“We made a deal, a promise. Yet you went back on it!” he shouted out. His head moved swiftly from side to side, hoping to sense the presence. “We gave you our word, we did what you asked, and you took her from me!” he paused again. His mind cast back to when he was working as a school janitor in a suburban town in Springwood, Ohio. He and Virginia were struggling to live on his salary with a young child and one on the way. That’s when the dreams started, something dark offering him financial stability and a good life in exchange for the souls of the young. When he confided in Virginia, she told him to take the chance. It began shortly after. She made him the glove with knives, he fine-tuned it and every two weeks a child was lured in by Virginia offering cookies and milk. That’s when Victor would strike. Killing swiftly and then burning the bodies in the school incinerator, blood offered to the menace in his dreams.

The tally of children missing was causing distress and anger among the residents of Springwood. The police began to take the case more seriously and Victor was arrested after being seen talking to one of his last victims. However, there was not enough evidence to convict him. The parents threatened mob justice and Victor fled with his family to Hawkins, Indiana. Virginia had come into money, left to her by her uncle. They changed their names from Krueger to Creel. Virginia had always been known as Veronica Krueger but now she was Virginia Creel, Victor cast off the dark baggage he carried under the name Freddy Krueger as he became Victor Creel and young Harry Krueger became Henry Creel. This led to a series of events that landed Victor in Pennhurst.

A shadow emerged from the flames. Victor menacingly grinned as he sensed the shadow.

“My side of the bargain was not met, I will accept that, but I offer you eternal revenge with the power to hurt others where they cannot be saved – inflict mental pain on them and take them in their sleep. It’s time for Freddy to return and cast off the weak shell known as Victor Creel. Will you take this offer?” A sinister white line resembling a smile spread on the face of the shadow. Victor simply nodded as the flames ravaged his skin, his body almost melting in the fire. The deal was done.

Lightning tore through the night sky in Hawkins, thunder bellowing as rain fell heavily. Everyone was rushing from Steve’s car and Eddie’s van into Steve’s house to avoid getting wetter than they already were. Steve put the lights and heating on as the gang filed in. Y/N was about to enter the house and threw her hood back as she stood on the porch, her hair dripping at the ends. She felt an eerie motion in her gut, one that you get when something isn’t right. She turned to look around wondering if there was someone watching them. The sky was illuminated by a lengthy flash of lightning, its long pattern etched in the darkness – she shielded her eyes from the glare and sighed feeling relief seeing no one around.

“You ok Y/N?” Steve asked coming out and startling her. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady and comfort her. The panic in Y/N’s eyes was completely out of character, Steve’s concern heightened at the expression she held.

“I… erm,” she looked around again before glancing back up at Steve, “it’s nothing” she conceded not convincing Steve and stepping away from him to enter his house. He placed his hands on his hips quickly scanning the surroundings trying to gain some clues as to why Y/N was so unnerved. Not seeing anything suspicious, he shrugged to himself and went inside.

Sitting in the living room, everyone was eating pizza and conversing while the television was on in the background. Robin’s eyes widened as the breaking news interrupted the sitcom nobody was really watching. Following her line of sight, Max sat up properly and turned up the sound. Silence fell upon the group as the reporter spoke.

‘As we stand here at Pennhurst Mental Hospital, you can see the chaos ensuing behind us. The high security wing is engulfed in flames. Firefighters have been struggling for the last hour to try and contain it, but their efforts have been futile so far. Senior Warden Anthony Hatch has issued an immediate statement expressing ‘deep horror’ as there are orderlies and patients trapped in there with little chance of survival. One of the patients in this wing is psychotic murderer Victor Creel, who horrifically killed his family, in 1959’…

The sound was turned down, the realisation that this couldn’t be good if a Creel was involved hit them. Their silence was such that you could hear a pin drop and it was making Eddie feel uncomfortable because the quiet had never been his friend – not when it meant he was alone with his thoughts.

“Are we going to talk about this? I mean this is serious shit” he voiced. Robin pressed her lips into a thin line; this was bad for them especially knowing that Vecna was regrouping somewhere.

“We need to stay vigilant” Robin’s voice was timid as she directed her look at Dustin. He nodded and pulled out his walkie talkie to contact Mike, El and Will. Max slid down from the sofa to the floor next to Lucas and Erica. They were due home in an hour, but she didn’t want to leave the cocoon of safety this surrogate family had all built between them.

“We’re back to being on high alert vigilance then” Eddie sighed.

“Do we never get a reprieve? When do we get to be normal kids?” Lucas complained. Feeling uneasy, Y/N hunched forward lightly to disguise her emotions, but Steve knew her body language too well and sat next her pulling her into a hug.

“So what’s the plan?” Erica quizzed not wanting to be a sitting duck.

“Get as much information on Creel as possible to piece together why Vecna has gone down this route” Dustin aired casually as he continued to view the silent report.

“You think he is sending a message?” Max asked.

“He’s playing games, he hated his father” Robin mused.

“So he’s saying what? – ‘I killed my father, now all bets are off and I’m coming for you’” Steve asked keeping his arms wrapped around Y/N who was yet to speak.

“What if it’s something else? Something darker? Every time it’s a new thing we are dealing with” Lucas asked.

“Vecna said he created it all” Max reminded; it prompted them all to think on unsuccessfully.

An hour later Steve left with the younger ones to drop them home. While Eddie was teaching Robin how to play Dungeons and Dragons, Y/N started cleaning the dishes in the sink. She still couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced out of the window absentmindedly and nearly dropped the plate in shock. In the driveway, a man stood there (if you could call him that), his skin was all shrivelled, bubbled and burnt. The whites of his eyes were a contrast to his skin and the shadows that his dark fedora cast upon his face making his grin more menacing. His tattered red and green jumper hung quite loosely on his frame adding to his creepy appearance. He was staring directly at her and waving mockingly, the purposeful movement of the finger blades on his gloved hand filled her with absolute dread – it was almost like Vecna’s hand (more reminiscent of a claw). Y/N wanted to step back and look away, but it felt like her feet were glued to the spot she was in. A haunting sound of girls singing began to permeate the air.

1, 2 Freddy’s coming for you,

3, 4 better lock your door

5, 6 grab your crucifix

7, 8 better stay up late

9, 10 never sleep again

Y/N screamed as a hand landed on her shoulder, she turned around to see Robin and Eddie there. Both showing concern for her.

“Jesus Y/N, you gave us a fright” Eddie chuckled.

“Me – you snuck up on me” she replied.

“We called you several times, so we came in her. Eddie thought Vecna was striking again as you didn’t respond” Robin explained.

“I…” Y/N looked out of the window, but he was gone. “There was this… thing, man. I don’t know, he was just there. He had blades for fingers. It looked like Vecna’s hand”

“Was it Vecna?” Eddie quizzed with worry.

“No, he… he wasn’t Vecna” Y/N sighed. “It sounds stupid, I know” she conceded. Robin put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder comfortingly.

“After what we’ve all seen, nothing is stupid. Was there anything else that you saw or noticed about him?” Robin tried to coax.

“There was this sound of girls singing, little girls like they were playing in a schoolyard. I can’t quite remember but it was something like 1, 2… erm… Freddy’s coming for you, I think” she tried to recall. They all jumped as Steve opened the front door. He stopped in the kitchen doorway confused as to why all 3 of them were so jittery and waiting to be filled in.

The clock struck midnight; Y/N cuddled up to Steve in bed. He had been trying to calm her since he’d gotten home. He pressed his lips to her forehead softly in a supportive kiss. They didn’t need words to explain how they felt, their connection ran much deeper than that. The quietened actions, ashen look on her face, constant need for hugs and nervousness at every sound told Steve all he needed to know. He pulled her closer to him and let her melt into his hold. Quietly, he began to sing their song to her:

Babe I'm leaving I must be on my way The time is drawing near My train is going I see it in your eyes The love beneath your tears But I'll be lonely without you And I'll need your love to see me through So please believe me, my heart is in your hands And I'll be missing you

You know it's you, babe Whenever I get weary and I've had enough Feel like giving up You know it's you, babe Giving me the courage and the strength I need Please, believe that it's true Babe, I love you

For the first time that night, a genuine smile bloomed across her face as her boyfriend sang with a goofy grin on his face. He kissed her softly and promised her that he was there no matter what and it was the reassurance she needed in order to try and sleep.

Eddie tossed and turned as he slept on the couch, Robin turned over on the other couch as Eddie mumbled something incoherent.

“Eddie I’m trying to sleep” she complained as she tried to get comfortable yet again.

The fog seemed to deliberately obscure Eddie’s vision. Despite this, his other senses were heightened. The footsteps grew louder, hair stood on the nape of his neck. That feeling of complete dread filled him. The shrill sound of metal grating against metal was met with a wince by Eddie, he swallowed a gulp as a silhouette appeared in the fog – a figure of what could be described as a man in a fedora and with a claw for a hand – he called Eddie’s name ominously, his tone eerily dark and foreboding.

“Who are you?” Eddie called out bravely despite his brain telling him to turn and run. The figure laughed in response as he showed off his razor fingers, moving them slowly. The steps towards Eddie were deliberate.

“Introductions later Mr Munson. I hear you’ve been a busy boy” he taunted. Eddie remained wordless, not sure how to respond and Freddy picked up on this. “I mean my son already terrified you. Don’t you remember?” he asked pausing and pointing over to Eddie’s right. Chrissy Cunningham stood there looking worse than a zombie in Romero’s Dawn of the Dead. She was pointing to Eddie, accusing him of letting her die. He turned to run and hit the wall of chest of his unknown assailant.

“Here’s Freddy!!” he grinned parodying The Shining. Eddie used all his might to shove Freddy back as he swiped at him. The razored glove tore through the Hellfire t-shirt like a hot knife through butter, the tips nicking at his stomach in the process and drawing droplets of blood. Screaming out for help and in pain, Eddie tried to run and escape his attacker to no avail as he tripped over some vines on the ground. Freddy was over him in an instant, holding him in place by his throat. Eddie was begging for him to let him go while trying to fight him off.

“Oh I’m not going to kill you… yet. The chase hasn’t been as much fun as I hoped” his laugh was almost a deep cackle, “Or maybe I will. But let me leave a message for your friends” his features turned more sinister as he started scratching on Eddie’s chest using the blades to write. The pain was excruciating as Eddie cried out to anyone and everyone for help.

He was woken up by Robin, Y/N and Steve, all shaking him. He looked pale and frightened. Worse than when he was hiding after watching Chrissy and Patrick die. His breathing was ragged as he tried to make sense of the dream. It felt real, too real. He looked under the blanket at his chest and coiled into himself in horror – the shirt was hacked to pieces. It was real.

“Eddie… Eddie, what happened?” Steve’s calming tone helped Eddie settle down a little.

“This… this… this thing – he attacked me. He had a glove with knives for fingers” he explained looking directly at Y/N who would understand what he was saying.

“A red and green jumper and a fedora, his face all mangled” she spoke, and he nodded. Steve’s brow furrowed.

“Is this what you’ve been scared of all evening sweetheart?” Steve asked Y/N. She confirmed it with a quiet nod and Steve moved to wrap his arms around her, feeling the sudden urge to protect her.

“There’s more” Eddie announced revealing his shredded shirt and the cuts on his abdomen and chest as he removed his top. The name Freddy Krueger etched in Eddie’s chest in crimson drying liquid had them all gasping in fear. “He told me that Vecna is his son”

“How is that possible?” Robin asked, “Victor Creel was Vecna’s father – Nancy and I visited him” They were about to speak when the heard Dustin calling a code red on the walkie talkie. None of them felt they could move as they just listened to him.

“Guys this is a code red, I repeat a code red. I had a nightmare about this creepy dude with knives for fingers and I woke up with my bedding slashed. I got a message from Suzie too and it’s disturbing. Vecna’s father was a serial killer called Freddy Krueger. He changed his identity to Victor Creel and moved to Hawkins. It seems he’s back and working with his son. Max has been taken to hospital. Lucas said she had a nightmare and was left bleeding heavily from what looked like five knives across her back and side. We’ve got trouble on our hands” he confirmed breathless. Robin took the walkie talkie to speak with Dustin while Y/N sat next to Eddie with Steve hugging her from behind. Eddie ran his fingers over the cuts.

“It looks like we’re in for another fight, I was kinda bored anyway” Eddie joked. Steve chuckled but could feel how tense Y/N was. She knew he was different; they knew very little about him and he didn’t look like he belonged in the upside down either.

“I guess we had better gear up for another fight” Steve sighed. The sound of tormented laughter filled the room scaring them all. They heard a scratching sound and Robin tapped Steve’s shoulder frantically to get him to look at the wall. Words were rapidly being scratched into it:

You think you’ve got what it takes? I’m nothing like my son.

I AM ETERNAL!

His haunting message left them unnerved. This was going to be a fight like something they’d never faced before…

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