oceanofflavor

[oceanofflavor]

hey jade! i’m really going through it right now so was wondering if we could have something with eddie and roan? i love them

eddie and roan try to make you feel better after a strange day alone. (step) mom!reader, 1.5k

You don’t feel well, but you’re having a hard time articulating why that is. 

Maybe not having Eddie and Roan at home is throwing you off kilter. You don’t have reason anymore to be here without them. You wake up and leave while they’re still getting ready, and you get home after they're already home. If Roan is at her Uncle Wayne’s, Eddie’s begging for a date night or spending the weekend in your lap, and if Eddie’s with friends, Roan’s hanging off of you with a Barbie in hand. You’re used to having company. You love it. 

Your stomach aches at the thought of seeing them… You miss them, but it isn’t what’s making you feel so poorly. Life is just tough right now, it’s hard, and you’re tired. 

You curl up into the couch, the tight fabric of your work trousers stretched over the backs of your thighs. They aren’t used to this positioning. You’d change if you had the energy. 

“Watch the step,” Eddie says from outside. You scrunch up into yourself further, knowing you’ll have to explain why you’re home, and worse why you didn’t tell him you’ve been here all day. “Babe, every day! You come up these steps every day and you still don’t remember.” 

The babe in questions laughs at his light chastisement. “Well, sometimes it moves.” 

“Does not.”

“Does too.” Eddie turns his key in the door and tries to open it. “Oh, what? Did I forget to lock the door?” 

Now is the least awkward time to confess. You force yourself to sit on the couch on your knees and look over the back of it to catch his attention as he opens the door. “Sorry, just me,” you say. 

Eddie takes Roan by the shoulder to direct her to you. “Hey, mom!” he says, surprised. 

“Mommy,” Roan says, chubby cheeks rounding as she smiles and drops her school bag on the floor. “What are you home for?” 

You sit down properly as they both enter the living room, arms already open in anticipation of Roan’s hug. She climbs into your lap shoes and all, her purple coat wet with the drizzle outside. “You’re so cold,” you worry, hugging her close to your chest. Her nose is pinking, her lips chapped. “Oh no, princess. The weather got you.” 

She laughs easily and sinks into your embrace. “It’s cold outside.”

“I can feel it on you. You need some chapstick.” 

She puckers for a kiss. You laugh and kiss her cheek as she kisses yours. 

Eddie takes his coat off and folds it over his arm. He smells like diesel immediately, oil staining his wrists and the thigh of his work pants, but he’s handsome, so you barely notice. “What are you doing home, lovely girl?” he asks, meeting your eyes over her mess of damp curls. 

It catches you off guard. Eddie is a solid babe guy. Babe, baby, bub. Sweetheart and sweet thing when he’s feeling brazen, but ‘lovely girl’ is rare. Pretty girl when he’s flirting, but lovely? He says it so softly, it falls off of his tongue, with the sort of gentleness he’d give Roan when she’s hurting. You must look more wounded than you thought. 

Your voice turns tight. “Um– uh.” You clear your throat, eyes widening as Eddie approaches, as he leans down to touch your cheek. “I–” You look between him and Roan, not wanting to upset her, but not being able to handle it internally. “Eddie.” 

“What?” he asks in concern. “What, Y/N?” He puts his hand on Roan’s shoulder, thumb quick to rub a soothing line. 

“I just don’t feel very well,” you say weirdly. 

You sound like you’re going to burst, they both hear that. You frown at Roan as she frowns at you, trying hard to fight back tears. “Sorry,” you say, touching her cheek with the back of your pinky. “Sorry, Ro, I’m okay.”

Eddie scoops Roan gently off of your lap and puts her in the seat beside you. “I’m sorry I’m so filthy,” he says, kneeling down in front of you, hands on your legs, “I don’t want to ruin your nice shirt.” He looks you in the eye. 

You shake your head. 

“Hey. Tell me.” He waits, as he always waits. You could tell him anything in the world right now and he’d make it better, because he’s been taking care of you for a long time. 

“I couldn’t face it.” 

Eddie catches the tear in your lashes before it can fall. “Couldn’t face what, sweetheart? Work?”

“I just didn’t want to do anything today.” 

“That’s okay. God, I wish you’d told me, but that’s okay!” He leans up for you, taking your face into his hands. “Is something wrong? You can tell me anything, sweetheart.” 

You close your eyes and let your face fall forward into his hands. Your lips part, but in place of the apology you’d meant to give falls a whining breath of air, a sudden dispelled panic. Things feel so awful, but he’s going to take care of you; your relief is an immensity off of your shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your cheek, hands moving around to the back of your neck. He holds you in place. 

A small hand touches your back. “Yeah!” Roan says, patting you with a clumsiness that’s clearly meant to be gentle. “Don’t be sad, mom, please.” 

“I’m not,” you say uselessly. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says again. “Roro, she’s not sad, she’s tired. We cry all the time when we’re tired, don’t we? She needs to lie down.” 

You laugh through your tears. There’s a sludgy headache behind your eyes and your throat aches —you really do want to lie down. 

“Sorry if I’m freaking you out,” you say. 

“You always freak me out,” Eddie says, “that’s your thing. You’re amazing.” 

You laugh-sob and force him into a hug that gets oil all over the side of your shirt. Eddie holds you without argument, without a hint of complaint. He just sits up on his knees even though it must hurt and covers up as much of you as he can with his arms, his hair all over your face, your breath damp and warming your skin where you're tucked into his front. “I should have called you this morning,” you say with a little sob.

“Yeah, babe, you should have. But it’s fine. We’re here now.” 

Roan stands on the couch shoes and all to hug your heads. “‘Xactly!” 

Eddie asks Roan to go and get changed. You see him winking from the corner of your eye, and Roan kisses you with a smacking, “Mwah!” before she does as he’s asked. From there, Eddie turns investigative. “What’s wrong?” he asks between kisses, the daintiest, softest kisses he’s ever given you as he rubs your tacky cheek. “Please tell me. You can’t just be by yourself all day when you don’t feel like yourself. You gotta keep me in the loop.” 

“I really didn’t mean to. I thought you’d still be here ‘cos I got to work and I turned straight back around but you’d already left, and then I kept wanting to call you but I didn’t know what to say. I just feel sick and everything is stressing me out.” 

“Okay,” he says, kissing you super, super softly before climbing onto his feet. “I’m gonna get your notepad and we’ll make a list. We’ll write it all down, and we’ll see what we can fix.” He smiles hopefully. “It might even be fun.” 

You lift your head and look at him, his lovely eyes creased with concern, his hair falling into his face, the dirt on his arms. He’s worked all day and now he’s taking care of you, even though you don’t know what’s wrong. 

You stand before he can get away from you and thrust your face into his chest, arms thrown behind him. “I’m so glad you’re home,” you say. 

Eddie covers the back of your neck, a smile evident in his tone, “I wish you would’ve called me.” 

Eddie encourages your head back, the two of you smiling at one another without worry. Eddie’s gonna write a list. You’re probably gonna sit in his lap while he does it. Things will be okay. 

Roan bumps down the stairs. “Mom, I have brought your pa-jamas.” 

“What about me?” Eddie asks. 

Roan shrugs. “I couldn’t reach them.” She hugs you around the thighs, your pyjama shirt slipping out of her hands. You can see now where she’s put her shirt on backwards, and lost a pony tail holder in the process of getting changed. 

“Wow, my big girl! You did it all by yourself!” 

She cuddles into your leg. “I know.” 

#🥺 #fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

soooo eddie hears or reads somewhere that birthmarks are where your lover from a past life used to kiss you

and as soon as he gets home he wants to make sure that in this present life r still feel this love and that the birthmarks remain the same until their next life together (ugh so cute 🥺)

i changed this up a wee bit but i hope u like it!! — you and eddie kiss birthmarks on the other for the next life (established relationship, fluff, 0.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie traces shapes on your bare back, a post-sex ritual of sorts. It starts out innocent, usually — tiny hearts and flowers and planets that you try hard to guess. It almost always ends with him signing penises onto your spine and laughing out loud every time you realize.

He’s doing it mindlessly now. Touching you just to touch you. His finger trails up your back, circles over your shoulder blades, and then falls back down again. “Did you know you have a birthmark here?” he wonders, breaking the honeyed silence of his tiny bedroom.

Your brows furrow as he traces some sort of outline between your shoulder and spine. “Do I?” you murmur, muffled into the pillow.

“I think so. It’s really faint.”

“Maybe it’s just dirt,” you joke quietly. You don’t see Eddie pull his hand away to lick his finger, but you feel the wet touch of it when it swipes over your back. “Ew, Eddie!” you shout.

“It’s not dirt,” he confirms, choking back a laugh.

“I’ve ever noticed it, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever looked that hard back there. Like, ever.”

Eddie scoffs, almost in disbelief. “That’s a shame…” he murmurs. 

His finger is gentle and featherlight as it trails down your bare back, leaving chill bumps in its wake. His hand dips below the sheets covering the bottom half of you. His palm spreads unabashedly over your ass, wide and warm. 

“…��Cause there’s a real nice view back here.”

You lift a heavy hand to swat at the boy beside you. It collides halfheartedly with his shoulder. He laughs again. “What?! I’m talking about the birthmark, babe! It’s cute— I love noticing new things about you.”

“Don’t people say that’s how you died in a past life? Wherever your birthmark is?”

Your tired eyes open to find Eddie’s screwed-up face. “Does that mean someone stabbed me in the ass? In, like, the middle ages or some shit? ‘Cause that’s a fucking gnarly way to go.”

“Better than being stabbed in the back… Literally.”

Eddie settles next to you with a huff. He lays on his stomach and shoves half his face into the pillow next to yours, all but melting into the mattress. He keeps tracing the mark on your back with an absentminded touch, never anything but gentle with you.

“Wanna know what I heard?” he mumbles.

“Hm?”

“I heard that birthmarks are where your lover used to kiss you— you know, in a past life or whatever,” he confesses, like it’s a deeply held secret. Then he shrugs his milky white shoulders. “That’s what my mom used to say, anyway. And that woman was never wrong.”

You smile quietly to yourself. Eddie doesn’t talk about his mom very often. You feel a special privilege to be hearing about her now.

“I believe it,” you hum.

His contented grin blooms into something wider and more boyish. “That means someone might’ve been kissing my ass in a past life.”

“That’s awful,” you grumble with a scrunched nose. “Now, I have to give you a new one.”

“Choose wisely, princess,” Eddie lilts and turns onto his back. He spreads his arms out wide and beams when you lean over him. “My future depends on it.”

You don’t think very long. Maybe a moment or more. You press your lips to his chest, just below the faded tattoo on his pec and right over his beating heart. You smile when you pull away, all giddy like a teenage girl, and lay back down again.

Eddie’s chest sparkles with so much adoration it hurts. He laughs it off anyway. “Alright, cheeseball— It’s my turn.”

“You have to do it in the same place!” you argue in a tiny voice when the boy lays over you. He props his weight on his elbows and entwines his legs with yours. The heavy closeness feels like heaven.

“Why?”

“So we’ll have matching birthmarks! And then, when we’re in the next life or whatever, and we look like totally different people, we’ll know we loved each other.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’ll know.”

“How?”

“How will I know that I loved you?” he repeats, like the answer’s obvious and far too silly to ponder. You nod, and he shrugs. “‘Cause I have to. I can’t help it.”

Something warm blooms behind your ribcage. “And I’m the cheesy one?” you tease with a big, girlish grin.

“It’s your fault. You bring the worst outta me, honey.”

You laugh when he drops his head to your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart and lingering there. You pray it stains forever.

#🥺 #fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

The narrative that Eddie Munson is at peace now because he’s dead is so deeply insulting and stupid. God. I’ve had enough.

#i’ll elaborate on this more at some point #those set pictures pissed me off #it's not like i was looking forward to season 5 anyway #but still #stupid stuff will always annoy me #anyway #eddie munson #stranger things

[oceanofflavor]

Hiii!!! Love your Eddie and Roan ficlets! I was wondering if you could write one about the first days of Eddie taking care of Roan, maybe you could do like Eddie having like a flashback or something like that while he's with Roan, and he remembers the first days he had Roan with him (and Wayne) That could be super cute!!

eddie and roan — eddie remembers the early days

“She doesn't want her.”  

“What do you mean, she doesn't want her?”   

“That's all she said, Wayne. She doesn't want her. I can have her. Can I have her?” 

Eddie thinks you're sleeping until you stroke his arm gently. “What are you thinking about?” you whisper. 

Roan doesn't stir. She falls asleep in his arms less and less now, but there were days where it was the only place she'd rest. The curve of his arm is deformed, he says, fit to her body. Or, reformed. Made how it was meant to be, to hold her near.

“Nothing,” he whispers back. 

“Liar. I know you're thinking about something, Munson. Is it the campaign?” 

He shakes his head. 

Wayne just looks at him. Really looks at him, the longest they've ever been in silence with one another since Eddie's dad dumped him and left. “Kid…” Wayne shakes his head. “Eddie. This is your life.” 

“But I can't just–”

Wayne holds up his hand. Not high, but enough to make Eddie stop. “You have to live with every decision you make…” 

Eddie squirms. Doesn't know what to say, or do, all he can think about is his baby in a bassinet waiting for someone to pick her up. “She's mine, right?” he asks. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

Eddie shifts the weight of his girl off of his chest and offers you a smile he knows from experience will reassure you, one parts living, three parts teasing. “What're you worrying about?” 

“Yeah. She's yours.” Wayne isn't a man of many words, but he's certainly a loving one. He hasn't hid that. He probably never will. “If you want her or not, let's go get her.”

“Of course I want her.” 

“Do you?” 

“You're quiet tonight,” you say. You worry at the inside of your lip, eyebrows lifting delicately at their beginnings as you bring your hand to his cheek. Slowly, like a soft drag, you pull your knuckle down his face. “If something’s wrong, I want to know.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. M'just thinking…” 

If Eddie didn't want Roan, it didn't really matter to Wayne. As far as he was concerned, Roan was a Munson the second she was born, and if Eddie didn't want her he would've taken her himself. Too old for a baby, he would've begged to have her rather than let her fall into the system. 

But Eddie did want her. He wasn't sure of everything, didn't know if he would be a father worth having or if he were even capable of raising a baby, but he wanted her. Lonely and stupid, dumb and broke, he wanted his girl. 

“Her mother was nice.” 

You tuck his hair behind his ear. “Who's?” 

“Roan's.” Eddie doesn't remember much about her beyond that. “But she didn't want to be a mom.” 

“It's just not what I pictured, Eddie. I'm sorry. This is me leaving her on your doorstep. Take her or leave her, do what you want, but I don't want her.” 

These days, Eddie doesn't want an apology. He didn't really want one then, but he wants one for Roan. His big girl, her dark head of hair pressed to his side and her dribble wetting a patch on his shirt, Eddie thinks of all the stuff that makes her her and he can't believe anyone could walk away from that, but he supposes she didn't know a thing about Roan or what she was going to be. 

Amazing, and brilliant, and beautiful. 

How could she not know that? 

Eddie only had to see Roan through plexiglass to guess how much he was going to love her. He didn't even need to hold her, but when he did, there wasn't any doubt. Not a lick of it. This was it for them, he wanted her and he chose her, and if he needed to, he'd fight for her. Badly, with poor coordination. He'd get mean if he needed to. 

“Well… I guess it's her loss.” You speak tentatively; this is unfamiliar territory between you. “It is, I mean. Her loss. I… oh, Eddie, I'm sorry.” 

“I'm sorry,” he says, holding the tiny bundle of his brand new daughter in terrified hands. “I'm sorry, babe, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do with you, are you hungry? God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” 

“It's alright, Eds,” Wayne says. “You got it. When you panic, she panics. So calm down.” 

Wayne explains himself better later on. It wasn't that he didn't want Eddie to take her, the opposite, he thought it was Eddie's duty as a father. As family. And Wayne would know about duty, looking after his brother's kid for no reason other than blood. He barely knew Eddie when he got ditched on his stoop, but that didn't stop him from bringing him in, getting him changed, and giving him the trailer's only bedroom. So Eddie doesn't know a thing about this baby in his arms, but she's sure as hell his to look after. A crop of dark, soft curls sprouting through the cradle cap and eyes swelled with newness, he'd joked that he can see the resemblance and Wayne tsked. He can't tell if his uncle is happy or mad lately —it's the same with the baby. Everybody's always glaring at him. 

“I'm calm.” 

“You look like you're gonna pass out.” 

“Why is she crying like she's in agony?” he asks. 

“‘Cos she knows you're worried!” Wayne laughs and slides in next to Eddie, snug in the corner of the kitchen beside a tower of formula and all the new baby bottles. What Eddie had for savings is well and truly gone. “You can do this, Eddie, I promise. Lift her head a bit and try again. She's hungry. She'll latch.” 

“I can't–” 

“Come on.” Wayne stands at his side, unflinching. “Deep breath.” 

Roan latches. (Crazy to have named her, weirder to have been allowed to bring her home, no questions asked. He showed his ID and she was his to love forever.) She stops crying, eyes barely open but watching him with the most innate kind of curiosity. 

She won't remember this moment, but Eddie will. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “That's better. That's better, huh?” He lifts his eyes to Wayne's. “She's cute.”

“She's beautiful, Eds.” 

Eddie takes one of Roan's hands to knead her fingers. “I'm not sorry,” he confides to you. “I wish Ro could've had everything, but I think she's doing just fine now.” 

“Fine? Baby, she's had everything she ever needed right from the beginning.” You lean up to press a smacking kiss Munson style against his temple. “She's got you.” 

“I've got you,” he says, quiet and sweet as he meets her curious gaze. “Got you, sweetheart. Everything's gonna be okay.” 

He strokes a big tangle of curls away from Roan's face and smiles like he did then, as though he's seeing her properly for the first time all over again. 

#screaming #crying #fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4

[oceanofflavor]

Omg what about reader talking to Eddie and she just starts crying bc she's just loves him so so much and Eddie is so confused what's happening and for a sec he thinks it's bc the joke he made hurt her feelings and he's just like "baby sorry no I'm sorry ur not too chatty" and like "ur crying bc u love him? Why is that making u cry??"

“And we went back to her place and slept four to a bed. I'm surprised I had it in me, but I guess I was, you know, sixteen.” You stab a particularly nice looking roasted potato with your fork and put it on his plate. “It's kind of crazy. I couldn't do that now, I'm too old. My back would hurt too much. I can only sleep in my bed or your bed.” 

“Mine, please.” 

You laugh and give him another potato off of your plate. He already has potatoes, but this is how you are. You won't accept them back —he's tried to stop you before, with less than optimal results. “Yours for sure. I'm too full to drive.” 

“That's what I like to hear.” He pushes his plate away in case a third potato is on its way, gesturing to your food with his knife. “Is yours warm enough?”

“Sure.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and take the sip of your shared drink with a refreshed smile. “Ah, and that's really cold.” 

“We could still do stuff like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“You know, like you and your friends did. I know we're not sixteen anymore but we can still have fun.” 

“I do have fun.” 

He shrugs and stands, picking up your empty glass to refill for you. “And we'd get to sleep in our own bed at the end,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “We'll go out this weekend and do all that fun stuff. But with fewer felonies.” 

“They weren't felonies,” you say. 

Eddie laughs as he makes his way to the sink. He loves this, having dinner with you, letting you talk his ear off. “You're nonstop tonight, baby, somebody put a quarter in you or what?” 

“Two quarters,” you say. 

He makes a drink. It can't take long. He rinses out the glass, fills it with coke, grabs a handful of ice cubes from the fridge and wipes the counter when he's done. He sits across from you as he had been, waiting to hear more of your story or maybe whatever plans you'd like to make this weekend, but he stops cold, because you're crying in your seat all quiet and secretive, looking down at your lap. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, panic shooting through him, quick and unapologetic, “Hey. Hey, what's wrong? You're crying.” 

He reaches across the table for your hand. “I wasn't trying to be mean,” he says hurriedly. “You're chatty, but you're my chatty– uh, thing, you know? Not that you're a thing. You're not a thing.” Eddie squeezes your hand, swapping panic for a more serious demand. “What's wrong?” 

“Eddie, stop,” you say. 

“You stop. What's wrong, sweetheart? You gotta tell me.” His voice fries with pleading. 

“I just love you.” 

He stares at you. “What?” 

“I love you, Eddie…” You sniff and wipe your cheek. “Sorry, I'm not trying to be a loser,” —you laugh, and his racing heart starts to settle— “just you're the only person I know who'd sit here listening to me babble and figure out what I'm trying to say. I'm so lucky. I love you so much.” 

Eddie feels a heat growing along his waterline. “Well, hey, I love you too. You're the only person I'd wanna sit and listen to. You get that?” 

“I know.” You laugh wetly. “I don't know why it made me cry, I was just thinking, you kissed me and I was thinking hey, he really loves me.” 

“I really do.” 

He gets up out of his seat to hug you. While he holds you, you thankfully ride out the short lived bubble of tears, though you do turn into his chest and splutter another I love you. 

He's shocked that someone would feel that way about him, to love him to tears, especially you. So after he's hugged you close, he peels your face away from his neck to cradle your face, locking your eyes, ensuring that what he's about to say will stick. 

“I love you,” he says, nodding, “but you're not lucky. I like listening to you talk. It's the best.” He wipes your cheeks dry tenderly. “Don't waste your tears on me.” 

“Wasn't trying to.” 

He leans down for a gentle kiss. He knows you weren't upset, but he figures you deserve a soft touch anyhow. A very, very soft touch. 

#fic rec #<3

[oceanofflavor]

all is calm, all is bright

dad!Eddie Munson x mom!Reader 

Your baby’s first Christmas, a silent moment in the festive glow.

Word count: 1.2k

Content/Warnings: Pure fluff. Short and sweet. Eddie and Reader are parents. Childbirth mention. Reader referred to as 'Mama'. No physical description of Reader - insert yourself, my loves!

Author’s note: Something small and seasonal as I try to get back into some sort of creative flow again. Much grá to you all, my lovelies ❤️

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 

Cherry Lane glowed in the dusky winter light that fell over Hawkins. The entire town dazzled with a warm holiday glow from Christmas lights and the bright excitement of the littlest townsfolk all riled up for a visit from the Big Man later that night. 

Your little home was no different - in fact, it might have been the cosiest home in the whole county. Coloured lights twinkled around the window frames, a handmade wreath hung on the door, and plastic candy canes diligently lined the snow-dusted path to guide Santa’s sleigh. It was a picture-perfect holiday card, inside and out.

Maeve Munson was too young to comprehend the very concept of Christmas, or Santa Claus for that matter. Too shiny and new to recognise the stocking with her name on it hanging above the small fireplace, or the presents wrapped in glossy printed paper beneath the tree.

Just a few weeks old, she arrived as an early gift for you and Eddie. The best one you had ever received. In true Munson fashion, her entrance to the world had been a little dramatic, but Eddie had held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed until Maeve made her debut with a head of dark hair and a loud set of lungs. 

From your cosy nesting place on the sofa, you watch her big brown eyes gazing at the twinkling coloured lights and baubles on the tree. With her cheek resting against her father’s shoulder, Maeve blinks, slow and sleepy,  as she listens to his voice.

“I know you’re really into the boob right now, kid, but you’re going to love Christmas dinner once you’re big enough.” Eddie’s voice is a low murmur as he rocks slowly from side to side, chest to chest with his daughter. 

His hand looks huge on her back, patting a slow and gentle rhythm that just exists for the two of them. 

You can’t take your eyes off of them, despite how tired you feel. It would be so easy to just close them, a quick few minutes rest, but you would miss them too much. 

You wish that your camera was closer so you could snap and savour this moment as one you can hold in your hands. 

It is peaceful bliss bathed in colourful light; you soak it in, savour it. 

There have been no tears for an hour, though you feel like you are right on the precipice of breaking that streak with how much love and joy you feel, swelling like pride in your chest. 

The house is warm, the old window frames are fixed with double-glazed glass that keeps the chilly winter air out. It’s rough around the edges, but there is food in the fridge and the cupboards are full. There’s a tree and lights, a few presents beneath it. 

It’s not much but it’s enough. All you need is right in front of you. 

Eddie catches you watching them, smiles as he nuzzles against chestnut brown hair that will curl and coil like his own in time. 

He pauses his murmured monologue, his waxing lyrical about everything he will pile on his plate tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing something to family Christmas at Harrington’s - you managed to make two desserts while Eddie introduced Maeve to A Charlie Brown Christmas, one eye on you the whole time to make sure you weren’t doing too much. Bringing the Littlest Party Member is the real treat for your friends and family, who will take turns holding her and squabble when one of them hogs the baby for too long.

“Hi Mama,” he says, his voice so soft as he crosses the room slowly on socked feet.

“Hi,” you whisper back, the thick feeling in your throat stalling you from speaking any louder. Part of it is fear, fear that you will undo Eddie’s magic touch at lulling Maeve to sleep. Her eyes are almost closed, almost. 

Slowly, so slowly, he lowers down to sit by you. His gentle sway keeps up, like a lazy metronome, as he takes a load off. His sigh is carried from the tips of his toes, feeling like an almost burnt-out bulb.

“You’re really good at that,” you murmur, smiling through the tiredness.

“Hmm? Don’t count on it, she’s going to be wide awake again in a sec when she realises we’re not standing up.” 

“Mm, maybe. This whole Dad thing suits you, Munson.”

When he smiles, you can still see the shadows beneath his eyes - you have a set to match, his and hers. There’s spit-up on his sleeve and his hair needs a wash. But he is beautiful.  

Being parents wasn’t easy, you didn’t think it would be but some days you didn’t think it would be so hard either. You think that maybe if Eddie let his eyes slip closed, he would fall asleep too from his own gentle rocking rhythm. 

“I can take a turn,” you say, bringing your hand to rub his back in wide smooth circles, mirroring him and Maeve. 

You know his scowl is coming, and still, it makes you smile. 

“Mm-mm, my turn,” he said, brows pulled in as his mouth pouts prettily. Much like your friends, it was easy to fall into a parental squabble of taking turns for the shitty nappies and the baby cuddles. 

“Baby hogger,” you whisper without malice, pushing yourself closer to kiss his stubbly cheek. 

“Yep, my baby now. You get to cuddle her all day when m’workin’.” 

Eddie turns his head, lets his nose bump yours. His chin juts forward just a little to beg a kiss. You don’t even need to think about it, loving him is as easy as breathing.

There’s a pause, like bracing for impact, when Maeve makes a noise against his shoulder. The pause in his swaying did not go unnoticed. 

“Can’t get anything past her, huh?” you murmur, leaving one last smiley kiss to his full lower lip. 

“Nah, m’done for with you two.” His face cracks into a smile, he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

You watch as he sits back a little, resting his head against the back of the second-hand sofa. You peel yourself up just enough to drag the coffee table close enough so he can put his feet up. 

“Only ‘coz it’s Christmas,” you murmur, seeing his grin. 

“You spoil me, baby.” 

You spoil him more by dragging your blanket over his lap, sharing its fleecy warmth as Maeve slowly, so slowly, drifts off. 

There are still gifts to wrap for Wayne and for your friends, laundry to be tossed in the dryer, but for now, you sit together as your baby sleeps, basking in the glow of Christmas. 

Maeve’s breath is deep and steady; she makes these tiny noises that have brought tears to your eyes and Eddie’s on more than one occasion. Partly because she is finally asleep, but mostly because they are the sweetest thing you have ever heard. 

Scooting closer, you press another kiss to Eddie’s cheek and close your eyes for just a moment, breathing in his warm spice, a hint of tobacco from his one cigarette - he wants to be around for Maeve, for you. 

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.” 

Your voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. Your words warm him, settle deep in his bones and set his heart aglow. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” 

His lips press yours in a single kiss, sweeter than any hot cocoa, any candy cane. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

#fic rec #<3

[oceanofflavor]

could you please write an early!roan fic where maybe she thinks Y/N is actually just coming around to spend time with her and then she finds out that it’s actually cause of her eddie, and gets all grumpy like “i thought you loved me” and Y/N comforts her “i do love you, but i also love your dad!”

thank u for requesting!! eddie and roan 1k, fem

There's a distinct smell of burned toast coming from the trailer. You trust Eddie but you rush up the steps anyhow, alarmed to find him coughing in the kitchen, window thrown open. 

"Will you take her?" he asks you immediately. 

You spy Roan sitting at the kitchen table and swap her for your bag of groceries. She gasps and giggles at your sudden appearance, quick to wrap her arms around your neck when you offer your embrace. You walk her to the open door and stand there sucking in clean breaths as Eddie fans a dish towel around under the smoke alarm. "What's dad burning?" you ask. 

"Um. Bagels?" 

You rub her shoulder. "Hey, I missed you, huh? It's been a long time since I saw you." 

"I missed you too!" Roan says quickly, eager, wrapping her arms tighter around your neck to squish your cheeks together. 

You smile into her hug. You and Eddie have been busy once again, and when you did manage to steal a date night, Ro was at Wayne's. You really have missed the little girl and you intend to show it, stroking your fingers through her hair gently. She dissolves like always. 

"Shit," Eddie says, throwing two blackened bagels into the sink and running the water. "Shit, fuck. I'm sorry, girls, I don't know where my head's at." 

"Cream cheese can't fix that." 

"It's okay, dad," Roan says. "We can get burgers." 

"I can't always feed you burgers, babe, it's not good for you." Eddie rubs his hair out of his face. "And Y/N just got here from work, she doesn't wanna go out again." You're dying to flop on their couch, but if she wants a burger for dinner, who are you to stop her? Still, Eddie puts his foot down. "No, bub. I'll make some more bagels. It'll be yummy. We have salami and everything." 

"Uh," she whines, laying back in your arms. You nearly drop her. You laugh at her dramatics as she slowly drags herself back up, her eyes practically sparkling with an idea. "Me and you can go get burgers," she whispers. 

"I really am tired. Let's get burgers on the weekend, maybe." You don't like letting her down but you have to be a united front with Eddie. Usurping his authority helps no one, especially when she wants something she isn't going to get today. "And I'd miss dad." 

"Who cares about dad?" she says. 

You laugh. "I do! He's my boyfriend." 

"He's your what?" 

Eddie looks up from where he's cleaning. The burned bagels have been disposed of, the kitchen sink washed out and the toaster cleared of scorched crumbs. "You knew that, Ro." He sounds puzzled. 

"He's my prince," you say. "You know? The prince to my princess Polly." 

"What?" Roan stares at you with an extremely amusing expression, her eyebrows tugged in betrayal. 

"Sweetheart, you know me and daddy are together, don't you?" you ask, hosting her higher on your hip. "That's why we go on dates and stuff. And why he brings me flowers, why we had that anniversary dinner, remember, with the melted chocolate?" 

"I thought you loved me." 

"I love you so much," you say, looking to Eddie for assistance. He seems as lost as you feel. "Like, so much. But I love dad too. He's hard not to love, isn't he? He's handsome and funny, and he makes great grilled cheese–" 

Roan does not look happy. She pushes at your chest to be put down and sprints out of the kitchen to her bedroom, where you hear a clattering of things being pushed over and a whine filled to the brim with attitude. 

"Should I…" 

Eddie shakes his head. "In a minute. Let her be angry for a bit. This is her first heartbreak." 

You meander into him and pinch his waist. "Don't say that to me, that's awful. Poor baby, did she really not know we were dating?" 

"Of course she knows. She just forgets, 'cos she loves you and she thinks you're best friends" He wraps an arm over your shoulders. "Wow. I wonder if she thinks of me as the third wheel when we hang out." 

You take the bread knife out of his hand. "Don't bother with that. We're getting burgers." 

Eddie's laugh is more of a girly, cute giggle, like he's just had a shot. You elbow him in the stomach until he cuts it out, and beg forgiveness for being grouchy with a hug. You press your face into his neck and huff. "I missed you before you got me in trouble," you mumble. 

"Nuh-uh, that had nothing to do with me." He kisses your temple. "She loves you. It's nice. It's… You're awesome. It's great that she thinks you love her more than you love me, even if she's wrong." 

"I do love her more than I love you." 

"Are you trying to piss us both off? You can go get burgers by yourself." 

Roan is face down in her bed when you knock on her door a couple of minutes later, completely still. You pick up the plushies she's flung off her bed and sit them up in pride of place against the wall. "Princess, you know I love you," you say. "Don't you?" 

"Yeah." 

"But you know I love daddy too?" 

"Ugh." She shakes her head in disgust. 

"Ugh," you say agreeably. "You're my favourite, though." 

She turns very slightly to peek at you. "I am?" 

"Obviously. That's why I just told dad we were going for burgers whether he wanted to or not." You tickle her side until she laughs and turns on her back to escape you. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, I wasn't trying to. We're still friends, right?" 

"We're best friends." 

"That's what daddy said." You scoop her up into your side for a squish. "We're best friends forever," you whisper. 

She leans up to rub her nose against yours. 

#fic rec #<3

[oceanofflavor]

😴

#joseph quinn #eddie munson #maya hawke #robin buckley #bts #behind the scenes #stranger things #stranger things 4

[oceanofflavor]

i dont hate you guys i swear i just have really shitty memory

[oceanofflavor]

JOSEPH QUINN as EDDIE MUNSON

Stranger Things: Season 4 Episode 1

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #i miss him so much #sweet angel

[oceanofflavor]

#joseph quinn #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #a doomed guy having a good time #he’s a silly little guy #who enjoys entertainment and entertaining

[oceanofflavor]

hiii!! i saw that you wanted some roan & eddie & reader requests sooo,, becuase barbie is trending so muchh i was wondering if you could write reader watching roan play with her barbies and instantly taken back to her childhood and getting very emotional ??

i mean its whats happening to me being reminded how much ive grown and how much effect those dolls had on me soo yeah 😭

tysm ♡ eddie and roan

A long, creaking squeal sounds from Roan when you come home. Eddie plugs his ears, knowing exactly what it is you have in the huge plastic bag at your waist —Roan's special treats, as previously discussed, for being such a lovely girl lately. 

It might be a silly thing to treat her for, but she deserves toys before any amazing behaviour, and you have the extra money to buy them. Why shouldn't she get them? You and Eddie chatted some while you were at work that morning, trying to choose what toys to get. 

"I haven't bought her toys by myself since we first met, what if I pick something crappy?" you'd worried. 

Eddie gave it a little bit of thought, hand twined in the curling wire of the telephone, slouched as he usually does against the back wall of the shop. "Hey, she hasn't had any new dolls since Christmas. They'd go over nicely. Or she always likes a new dress. I'm sure you'll find something when you're there. You can get me something fun at the same time if you want." 

You'd laughed at his joke and, if the light in your eyes now is anything to go off of, managed to find some presents you're happy with.

"Naddy's Toy Emporium!?" Roan shouts, rocketing off of the couch where she'd been standing waiting for you. 

You've a nightly routine, hugging her when you come home like your life depends on it, but clearly Roan has decided the hug can wait. For once, Eddie's finished dinner before you're return, so he has a good seat on the couch to watch everything unfold. 

You let her grab the bag's sides but lift it a touch when she tries to take it. "Hey, they're for you, I promise, but let's come inside and put them on the table!" 

Roan squeals and knocks into Eddie's knees. He sits up and grabs her gently by the waist, hoisting her onto his lap. You sit on the couch cushion trampled flat by Roan's feet, pulling the play table where she likes to eat her snacks closer. 

"Are you doing the speech?" you ask Eddie, putting down the bag. 

He grins. "Ro," he begins, turning skewiff, her back to the couch to allow you both a great view of her face, "you've been a really good girl, lately. Do you know that? You've been eating all your dinner, no tantrums before school, and now you're even starting to help clean up around the house. So me and Y/N just want you to know how proud we are and how awesome we think you are." 

"And we think all this awesome deserves some presents because we love you," you say. "Do you want the smallest or the biggest one first?" 

There's lots of nice presents. You've stayed within the confines of the agreed budget, which is a feat for you (as you love to spoil her). There's five new barbies, one of which comes with a car, and the other a puppy dog. They have clothes, accessories, and an abundance of plastic he needs to cut away with scissors. His hand is welted red by the time he's through. 

You also bought her a glittery lip gloss to replace the one she lost a few weeks ago. The proof of it sparkles on your cheek and Eddie's, twin thank yous. 

You go quiet as Roan retreats to her satin princess tent, driving the pink corvette back and forth as she makes the barbies talk to one another. 

"You okay?" he asks. You'd been wearing this huge smile for the last twenty minutes and now it's gone, he hates it. "I've been thinking maybe you deserve something nice, too." 

You smile weakly. Okay, so you're not wanting anything. 

"Dinner should be ready soon." 

"Thanks, Eddie." 

He gives up. He's about as subtle as a feather boa and you love him that way, drifting down toward your arm, his face smashing into your shoulder. "What's wrong?" 

You put your head atop his. "Well, I'm just thinking." 

"I may not look like it, but I think too, occasionally. Share with me." 

You push his arm until he sits up and sinks down into his side instead. Eddie supposes you're allowed, even if usually he'd call it sexist or selfish. "I had a lot of fun picking those out today, and I kept thinking about the look on her face…"

Eddie hums to show he's listening. Kisses the top of your head 'cos he can. "Yeah?" 

"I just remembered being her age. Do you remember wanting something really badly? There was something so nice about getting to grab a kart and– and to just stand there debating which ones to get." 

Eddie toys with your pinky finger. "That's not everything, is it?" 

Your smile presses against his arm, a deep emotion in your voice that's hard to pin. "Watching her makes me remember. Being a kid, playing make believe. I'll never be that young ever again, and there's no way to go back. But I," —you take in a steadying breath— "don't mind. I love seeing her so happy." 

He intertwines your fingers between his, shorter and a little bit softer than his. He soaks in your presence for a moment, the smell of you, your tiny sounds, the secret you've shared with him. You're a mixture of sad and happy. He's not sure which one overpowers which, only that they're hitting you hard. 

"There's lots of cool shit that comes with being a parent. You know the best one?" he asks you, raising his eyebrows at you with a fondness lining his lips. 

"No?" 

"You can play games without anyone judging you. I know it's not the same as being a kid again, but it's close." 

"Yeah?" you ask, sitting up. "You'll come play too, right?" 

Eddie casts his gaze to his daughter where she chit chats on the floor. "Hey, Roanie? Can we come play with you?" 

Roan is almost as pleased as when she first laid eyes on her treasure trove of dolls. 

#fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

hi my love! i have a little request if that’s alright with you <3

so eddie is taking reader on a date. reader dresses fem (skirts, dress, pinks, whites) so eddie rents some cassettes from family video such as madonna, cyndi lauper, the bangles etc. however, once eddie lets them know they have free range of the music, they move all the rented cassettes out of the way and pick up eddie’s own casettes such as metallica, iron maiden, dio etc and get super excited over them. just some super cute fluffy stuff about eddie falling so much more in love with reader?

thanks if you do darling 🫶🏻 x

hi my love! thank you for another lovely lovely request, this was fun! hope you like it

contains fem!reader, fluff [1.9k]

-

If he's completely honest, Eddie has no idea how he got here.

There's a black spot in his memory, hours and days of lost time wherein he must have done something to end up in this diner, across the table from you. He knows that there were two more dates before this, but even those are beyond his belief, and the fact you said yes to a third is entirely unreasonable. 

He can't believe his luck. He's struck silly, your pretty face looking at him softly from the other side of the booth. You're all sparkly and he's convinced you're glowing. There's no light in here really, just the neons on the walls and a couple spotlights over the counter, but he thinks you look divine.

"Eds?"

His eyes meet yours and finds them wide and expectant.

"Huh?"

You smile. Pretty.

"Lost you for a minute there."

If he told you the truth, it'd be that he can't possibly concentrate on what you're saying and the cherry you've got between your finger and thumb. You keep dipping it in the whipped cream, bringing it back to your lips and licking it clean, and there's no way he can't watch.

"Sorry, sorry," he breathes, shaking himself loose. "What were you saying?" 

The giggle he gets from you is holy, tinkling like windchimes, silver on silver.

"I said, we should go see a movie some time," you repeat, smiling.

"Right, yeah," Eddie responds, grateful you haven't lingered on his lack of focus. He rests an elbow on the table, beside his half-eaten burger, and holds his chin in his palm. You shuffle, leaning your own elbow just like his, holding your chin the way he is. You smile at him, your expression turning silly with your eyes fluttering closed. He watches your lashes kiss your cheek and the way your lips curl up, the cherry still dangling from between your fingers. You bring it to your lips again and stick it between your teeth, eyes still closed, pulling it off the stem. His eyes linger on your mouth, the sugary red of the cherry stuck to them. There may as well not be another soul in the diner, because all he can focus on is you, lit up with a wash of pink light and soft like nothing he's ever seen before.

Soon enough the waitress appears, lacquered fingers reaching over to take plates and your glass. As you leave he drops twenty dollars with the lady at the register, and you loop your arm with his to pull him out of the door.

Your palm smooths down his jacket sleeve, reaching his hand just as you get to his van. Opening your door, he helps you inside, the sound of your laugh and baseless objections ringing in his ears while he jogs round to his side.

As his hand curls round the handle he stands for just a second. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment he's prepared for. You're going home with him, three dates in and smitten with one another; he gets to drive you there, show you around like it's not a two-room trailer and let you kiss him as much as you want because there's not a soul around to see.

Pulling the door, he jumps into the seat and turns to you.

"Seatbelt?"

"Check," you respond with two fingers to your forehead in a salute. "The goods are safe."

He laughs a breathy sound that he doesn't know is making your head spin. Starting the engine he stretches his arm over your seat, around your back, looking over his shoulder to reverse. It's driving you wild, though he doesn't know it, how your spaces are slowly seeping into one another. The distance is closing, boundaries blurring; he moves into yours without so much as thinking about it anymore.

Gravel crunches as he floors the accelerator and screeches through the lot and onto the street. Town is quiet, it's late, and there's only one place he wants to be.

His radio's playing an Indiana metal station. It's soft, the volume kept low so he can hear you chatting to him about which movies are playing next week, but he gives in to the urge to change the station anyway. You stop speaking when he does, watching his fingers fiddle with the frequency dial, but you pick up where you left off when he settles on a random charts station.

-

"Here she is," he says flatly as he holds his front door open for you. You pass him, looking around the room.

"My shoes okay here?"

Eddie's home isn't exactly very conventional. If anything, it's a little frowned upon, even though Forest Hills stretches so far back it's nearly half the size of Hawkins itself. In any case, he's not used to people being worried about the thredbare carpet.

"Uh," he drones, lost at your question. "Yeah, sure, wherever."

You crouch down to undo your laces and pull your shoes off, lining them up neatly, toes by the wall. As you stand he closes the door behind himself and kicks his own boots off. Taking your hand, he pulls you through the untidy kitchen, hoping you're not paying too much attention, into the sanctuary of his own room.

It's tidier than usual, though you don't need to know that. You follow quickly behind him and release his warm grip to show yourself around.

He steps slowly over to the bed, sitting in his usual spot against the headboard to watch you flit around the room, eyes darting everywhere and hands even worse. You're pawing at his magazines, staring wide-eyed at the posters, strumming his guitars gently. He can't help but look at you, bewildered that someone so pretty, in a dainty pale blue sundress and white cardigan, is here, in his room. Your pristine tennis socks look so out of place against his grubby carpet.

"You can, uh, stick some music on," he says, nodding to the tape deck on a table in the corner, "if you want."

Beaming, you look at him and then to the deck, bouncing softly across the room on the balls of your feet. His eyes follow you, heart thrumming with anticipation. Its steady rhythm falters, though, when you move the small, intentional pile of tapes to one side and pick up something from underneath. This one's worn down, plastic case cracked and littered with smudged fingerprints.

"You can play whatever you want, sweets," he calls. With your back to him he can't see your expression, but he can see that you're sorting through his tapes, the ones he likes. And he sees when you settle on one of his favourites: Metallica's Kill 'Em All.

The steady crescendo of drums begins, ebbing as you toy with the volume dial, but he's not really listening, worried instead that you're doing this for him. When you turn around you're grinning, bobbing your head lightly, treading over to him slowly.

"You didn't have to put this on," he tells you.

"What d'ya mean?" Your eyes are wide with confusion, expression malleable as you settle beside him, seated on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in yours.

"This is my music," he says. "You don't have to listen to it just 'cause you're in my room."

"I like this album," you tell him honestly, face plain, and your naïve intonation makes him choke a laugh.

"What?!" you ask through the beginnings of a smile.

"I just-" He's laughing, rubbing his free hand up and down his face, pinching his nose. "I bought you all those tapes, I just assumed, I-"

"So that's why you have Cyndi Lauper over there!"

"I just assumed that's what you listen to, y'know-"

"I did think, wow, Eddie Munson, Cyndi Lauper, unexpected-"

"-a pretty girl like you, must listen to prettier music than me-"

"-imagined you holed up in your room, 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' on blast when no-one's home-"

"-hey!"

His fingers at your sides cut you both off, pulling a screeching laugh from you, your giggles blending with his as he wrestles you onto your back.

"Eddie, Eddie! Stop it, I-"

"I cannot believe you'd think I listen to Cyndi Lauper!" he yells over you, his assault unrelenting until you bring your knees up under him to kick him in the stomach. He huffs out an umph and stills, flopping down beside you.

As you finish giggling and catch your breath, you turn on your side to face him. He's lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling and hand splayed across his chest, feeling the drum of his heart beneath. Turning his head to look at you, he finds you looking back at him, your hair more tangled than before and face flushed pink.

"You did that for me?" you ask him, voice quiet like you're uttering obscenities.

"Did what?"

"Bought all those tapes. There's even Madonna over there."

He laughs, his warm breath on your face making you scrunch your nose. Though he wants so badly to kiss it, he holds off.

"Yeah," he finally admits. "I guess I just- I dunno, I never pegged you as a metal girl."

"How judgemental of you, Munson," you tease.

"Can you blame me?"

"I like being unpredictable," you tell him.

"That's one word for it," he says with a laugh, sitting up. He twists and holds his hand to you, pulling you up with him when you take it. He likes the way the rush of air lifts your hair. "You really like this?"

You hum, nodding, and sing along playfully. Standing quickly, you turn to him and scrunch your face, hands out in front of you as though you've got a guitar in them. The sight of you, in your pretty clothes, all rosy and smiley, playing air guitar to Metallica, fills him with that funny, fizzy feeling that's been pestering him since your first date. It's like firecrackers in his bloodstream, or static down his nerves, and it makes his fingers tingle.

He reaches his hands out to take your waist. As he pulls you in you stop the air guitar and let him move you as he wants: his palms smooth down your hips and to your thighs, where they urge you onto his lap. Your arms wind around his neck as you find your balance.

With his hands back on your waist, he looks up at you.

"You," he whispers, "are so pretty."

He relishes in the way your face warms at his words, the coy expression that flashes over your face, and reaches up to kiss your cheek. Your thighs are warm as his hands roam up and down, and he begins to litter kisses across your other cheek and onto your jaw.

"Eddie," you breath over him, eyes fluttering closed.

"So pretty," he repeats. "I'm so fucking lucky."

"You're pretty too," you giggle.

"Why, thank you," he says, smiling into your throat.

"So," you begin, "will you play me some Iron Maiden?"

"Christ."

"What?"

"It's like you're trying to kill me."

"What do you mean?!" you ask with another laugh, one so light it feels like there's a breeze in his brain.

He emerges from the crook of your neck and looks at you. Your face is still warm, your eyes sparkly and wide, and he wants to commit every square inch to memory.

"You're perfect," he tells you.

-

#fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

hello, lovely! so so happy to see you writing again, you're really one of my fave writers here 🥹 if you want, would you mind writing a fluffy best friends to lovers one with eddie where he accidentally overhears nancy and robin talking about reader's feelings for him, and how the reader feels like she should just give up on her feelings towards eddie because it seems like a hopeless case lmao i'm sorry if it's too specific! ily ❤️

hi! I love you!!! I'm so sorry this took so long, I got stuck in the middle of it with no way out, so I scrapped it and started again. I hope you love it. thank you for the kindest message, you're a star xxx

contains some dubious eavesdropping and lots of fluff. somethin' suggestive towards the end but nothing huge. :-)

[3k (ish)]

-

“Hey, handsome.”

Eddie turns to the door. There you are, between the edge of it and the doorframe, socked feet on the step. You’ve got your hands behind your back and you want something.

He smiles at you softly and reaches his hand out without a word. He watches you return the smile and step down onto the porch and towards him. You lift your hand, take the lit cigarette from between his two fingers and lean on the post opposite him.

His eyes linger as you pull it between your lips and inhale, eyes fluttering shut and cheeks hollowing.

“You look nice today,” he tells you.

Your eyes open slowly as you turn your head to look at him. You bring the cigarette down and hold it out to him, twisting back towards the road to blow the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

As he takes it from you, you say, “Thanks.”

“New top?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“‘S’pretty. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you say through another smile. This one’s sly, coy, a wall because he’s complimented you twice and that’s at least one time too many for you. He likes the way he can see how your cheeks warm and how you shift your weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting to stop yourself swooning.

You watch cars go by and listen to the distant sound of Robin’s laugh inside the house, passing the cigarette between the two of you until it’s nothing more than a butt. Eddie throws it onto the gravel at the foot of the porch steps, being gracious enough to save the Wheelers’ nicely varnished wood from being ruined by ash and a filter, and does his best to stomp it out without shoes on.

“Your sock’s gonna get wet,” you tell him.

“‘S’okay,” he says, hopping back up onto the porch and swaying about until he reaches the front door. “C’mon. There’s a mean game of Irish snap waiting for us in there.”

You hum again, only this time it’s a sadder sound. He feels the skip of his heart and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“‘M’gonna stay out here a minute. Need some air.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He takes half a step back towards you. “Okay. You want company?”

You shake your head and it rips something within him. It aches. “I’ll only be a second.”

The ache yawns open somewhere in his chest but he surrenders, returning to the door and leaving it ajar for you as he goes back inside. His mind stays with you as he moves through the house, eyes on his feet and the damp spot on the side of his left sock.

He passes the stairs and as he rounds the corner, he stops dead at the sound of your name.

His ears perk up like an animal and he moves, without thinking, so his back is against the wall.

“-And I get why she feels like that, you know?”

Robin’s pacing. He hears the soft thump of her fluffy slippers each time she takes another step on the carpet.

“She just…” Nancy sighs. “Surely she should try to tell him?”

“Nance, c’mon. You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

“I just…”

“Nance.”

“He’s just… They’re so close, there’s probably so much we don’t see.”

“She tells us everything.”

Eddie catches his breathing getting heavier and stops, holding it at the hilt with lungs full of air. His hands are splayed across the wall behind him and he’s leaning with all his might, willing the floorboards beneath his feet to stay quiet just for a few moments more. His ears strain because to his right, Steve, Argyle and Jonathan are having some kind of cruelly-timed debate about pizza crusts in the kitchen.

“We can’t know that,” Nancy says. Eddie thinks she sounds sad; he can hear her mouth turning down in the shape of her words, and her fingers are drumming across the glass-topped coffee table, her anxious tell.

“We’ve known her long enough. And we’ve known him long enough. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“She just seemed so sad. I wish she’d try.”

“It’s not worth it,” Robin tells her, words short and frank. Her repetitive footsteps stop. “Clearly.”

Nancy hums.

“He’s hopeless,” Robin continues. “She’s been pining after him for what? A year?”

“More than that,” Nancy says quietly.

“Exactly! She deserves to be happy, we want her to be happy. So she has to-”

“Move on,” Nancy offers.

“Right.”

“But… We see him all the time. He’s our friend.”

“I guess we just… Help her through it,” Robin says. “Get Steve to set her up or something. Surely we know someone who’s far removed enough from Eddie?”

The colour has drained from Eddie’s face, seeping down his body and through his damp socks and into the floor. The hands keeping him steady on the wall are rendered useless, because he can feel them clamming up and slipping down the tasteless wallpaper the Wheelers have covered their hallway in. He slowly pushes himself up to stand and his head spins, the gaudy florals on the walls blurring to crisp bursts of colour.

What the fuck?

What the fuck did he just listen to?

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have listened; it was a private conversation, a private conversation about you. And yet he can’t bring himself to move, ears trained solely on the now-quieter mumblings between Nancy and Robin about how to cheer you up, and…

Andy.

Eddie’s stomach turns at the four letters as he hears Robin say them, louder than she’d been before, bright like a lightbulb.

Andy.

He lives down the street from Nancy, in a big house with a wrap-around porch and a mailbox Eddie probably knocked over at some point in his early teens. He has a good car - better than Steve’s, even - and wears ugly, pasty polo-neck sweaters and pristine tennis shoes. He probably plays tennis, Eddie thinks.

He’s everything Eddie knows your parents would love. Hell, he’s heard you complain more times than you should ever have had to about the sly comments your mother makes, the garden parties and barbecues you’re dragged to on hot Saturdays with the sole purpose of setting the two of you up.

“She hates him,” Eddie hears Nancy tell Robin flatly, their voices hushed again but just loud enough for him to do exactly what he knows he should not be doing.

“But he’s interested,” Robin whines.

“Only ‘cause her parents try so hard. He’s awful, Rob.”

“At least he’d try! I bet he’d take her to Enzo’s if we asked him to.”

“Rob,” Nancy hisses. “You can’t be serious.”

Eddie thought his stomach had dropped out of him a while ago, at the first mention of your name, but he’d been wrong, because he gets that awful sinking feeling once more when he hears the front door close.

In the seconds that follow, everything happens both incredibly quickly and painfully slowly, the way a car crash does, or watching someone fall. You round the corner, footsteps softening as you tread over the rug. Nancy and Robin’s hushed voices stop. Steve throws something at the bin in the kitchen. He misses. Argyle and Jonathan shout. You look up from watching your feet, and your eyes find him, wide and unsure. Eddie dies.

Well, whatever he’s feeling is what he imagines dying is like. There’s a cacophony of sensations and emotions bursting from within his body: firstly, there’s nerves, taking the form of butterflies the way they always do when he looks at you. They’re followed by a wave, though, of shame and, later, dread. He shouldn’t be here. He thinks you have worked out that he shouldn’t be here. He can hear Robin’s slippers again, only they’re getting closer this time, and then she’s at the door, right by his left ear. He can’t tear his eyes off you.

She calls your name, once in a tone so soft Eddie’s surprised it came from her mouth, and then again, only more confused.

He sees her in his peripheral vision as she leans her head around the doorframe and finds him with his back against the wall. She gasps, a quiet, wobbly noise, and then Nancy’s there, too.

You’re still standing a few paces from him, damp socks on the rug, looking at him with an expression that he cannot read.

“Eddie?” you call and he wants to die, he seriously wants to die. The world should swallow him whole for this, spit him out in the pits of Tartarus, let Cerberus have his way with him.

“Oh, god,” he hears Nancy say slowly from her spot beside Robin.

“Eddie,” you say again. “What’s wrong?”

Your face has crumpled into something between concern and remorse. Something unspoken hangs in the stuffy air of the hallway, broken only by the sounds of trash can basketball happening in the next room.

“Uh,” Robin drones, “We’ll, uh… We’re just gonna-” She slides out of the room, past Eddie, pulling Nancy with her by the wrist. “We’ll be in here,” she says, more to you than to him, an unspoken declaration that says come find us if you need us, before disappearing into the kitchen and closing the door.

He’s still looking at you, and you’re still looking at him. You’re about as pale as he feels as he stands upright again.

“What happened?” you ask him.

“I, uh… Fuck,” he stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the top of his nose. He catches your wince at the curse and the aggravated edge it comes out with. “Uh… Nance and Rob, they were… They mentioned you, I might have… Overheard a couple things.”

He looks away from you as he admits this, that wave of shame more akin to a tsunami now. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t have listened.

But he did.

“I don’t…” You’re fiddling, fingers winding around fingers, standing before him looking more lost than ever. He chances a glance at you and your face is twisted in confusion. And then it relaxes, mouth agape, as realisation dawns.

“Oh.”

Warmth crawls up your neck. It spreads like wildfire behind your ears, across your scalp, over your cheeks. Everything is hot, the room’s too small, the air’s too close; more than anything, Eddie is too close.

He watches you fidget. You step forward, and your face drops again, wincing like you’re standing too close to a flame, so you step back and turn, moving away from him quicker than he can process. His call of your name falls on deaf ears and ends just as the front door shuts again.

He hears the shuffling of many feet behind the kitchen door but ignores it, pushing himself off the wall and through the hallway. The space is like water, the pressure pushing him down, keeping him from the fresh air - and you.

When he wrenches the front door open he’s hit first with the smell of rain, that hollow, metallic scent. And then it mixes with something like sorrow, and he feels it burrow into his bones, a deep-set melancholy he wants so desperately to fix.

You’re sitting on the porch steps, your back to him, hunched over with your head in your hands. The way your shoulders move gives you away; Eddie’s at your side quicker than he can think to breathe, touching you before really checking that you want that from him right now. It doesn’t seem to matter; you lean into him like always. You hiccup and sniffle, face pressed into his t-shirt without thought, and his arm sits around your shoulder and his fingers press into your shoulder.

“I’m here,” he says, unsteady. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say into his chest. You lean back and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I didn’t… You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

Eddie’s brain is working too quickly for him to keep up with, but he manages to tell you it’s okay. “I’m not mad,” he says, thumb pressing into your jaw, the pads of his fingers on your neck, checking you over.

“I’m mad,” you choke. There’s the hint of a laugh there and he can’t help but return it.

“That’s allowed,” he says. He’s surprising himself with how quickly he’s turned into something solid and reassuring. “Want a do-over?”

You look at him and he aches again, his nose burning. You’re flushed and your eyes are pinker than usual, and as his eyes dance over your lips he sees they’re wet from crying and ripe for kisses.

They twist into a smile and he decides that, for now, that’s better.

“Eddie,” you breathe, coy. You nudge him softly in the stomach with your elbow. “Fuck off.”

“What?” he laughs. “I can leave you out here, if you want. Maybe Andy will come save you from m-”

Your elbow hits his lowest rib this time, with far more force than before, and the gasp he pulls from you is almost comical.

“Eddie,” you hiss, “they did not-”

“Oh, Rob would set you up in a heartbeat.”

You groan and let your forehead fall to his shoulder. And it’s here, where he’s enveloped in the smell of rain and the feeling of you, that he feels something open in his chest, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“He’s better than me, anyway,” he says quietly, fingers carding through the ends of your hair. “You’re too good for me. Some other boy would be better.”

“Other boys are boring,” you tell him, leaning back. Your voice is small and you can’t meet his eye but it’s the truth; he’s blind to it, apparently, but Eddie Munson is the only boy who has ever interested you. He is the only boy who listens, the only boy who sees you, the only boy you have any desire to know inside and out. You’re not sure you ever will know him completely, but if you spend the rest of your life trying, you’ll be happy doing it.

His fingers dance through the space between the two of you until they find yours, toying with the loose threads of denim at the frayed hem of your jeans. His bigger hand takes yours and you still can’t look him in the damn eye. You’d find a smile if you did, though.

He squeezes your hand and touches your chin lightly with the other, pressing the side of his index finger to the underneath of it to bring your face level with his own.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You obey, because it’s Eddie, and he’s so close and you can smell his uncle’s washing powder and the stubborn stain of pot and you love him.

“We could go for pizza,” he says, just as soft. “How’s Enzo’s?”

“You don’t have t’go fancy on me,” you whisper back. “I like Benny’s more.”

A grin splits his face and you match it, giggling.

“My girl likes burgers, huh?”

“Y’know I do,” you say, squeezing back. “Your girl?”

“Gotta take you on a date first,” he says. “Do it properly.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like a gentleman.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Your breaths are one and the same by now, your mouths so close together that your vacant space has become his. Your eyes move between his eyes and his lips and you catch his doing the same, and there’s an ache somewhere between your legs that makes you pull your thighs together.

He dips his head just enough, thumb pushing into your chin to pull you closer. You let your eyes shut and feel his lips over yours, slow and distant, before you lean into him. He kisses you sweet, his hand smoothing over your jaw to hold your face like it’s made of gold, and he moves against you with certainty.

He’s determined and as his tongue meets yours you bend into it, relenting. It’s magic, just as you’d imagined all these years.

He releases your hand and grabs your waist in his firm grip. It starts to get slovenly, your hips against his thigh, his tongue everywhere, and your head’s starting to spin.

“You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself,” you say, panting, smiling, pulling back from him to look him in the eye again. He’s all browns, dark lashes and darker irises, never wavering from your sight. “Thought you had to take me on a date first.”

“You’re too pretty,” he says, kissing you gently at the corner of your mouth. His breath blooms across your skin as he speaks. “Got years of not kissin’ you to make up for.”

His fingers dig gently into your sides and you suck in a breath that’s half a giggle.

“Gotta get back at Rob and Nance,” you say as his mouth moves over your jaw and leaves a mark somewhere beneath your earlobe.

He hums and leans back, saying his goodbyes to your skin with one last peck to your cheek, just below your eye.

“I think we owe them,” he says. “I do, anyway. Was never gonna get my ass in gear. Coulda lost you to Andy.”

“Never,” you say without a beat.

“Never,” he says back.

-

#fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

Hi jade! I’ve been so enjoying your shy!reader fridays. if you are down for another req- Eddie and reader are at a party and she gets overstimulated/overwhelmed from the noise and he takes care of her someplace quiet? 🥺

hi, thank you for requesting!! I really think Eddie would give the best hugs when you're feeling down ♡ —Eddie reassures you after things get too much at a party. fluff, hurt/comfort. fem!reader, 1.6k

Sticky floor, cigarette smoke in the air. Every step you take pulls and every breath is sharp. Eddie smokes a cigarette by the open back door but there's no need, tens of hands hosting cigarettes held aloft across the room. The music is loud enough to cover the sound of dragging inhales, embers burning like little red lanterns in the dim light. 

Someone smashes a bottle across the room. There's a raucous round of applause, to which the smashee bends at the waist for a low rolling bow. You want to smile at the joke but your ears are ringing, this odd feeling like a humming between your ears too much to deal with. You wore shoes that were tight at the toes because you wanted to wear the jeans Eddie likes and they were the only shoes that looked good, and that thought process alone had been exhausting, the hot stress of taking off and putting on in a rush. 

When Eddie picked you up, he said, Hey, you look frazzled, babe. Which wasn't really the reaction you wanted. Not his fault. Not great either way. 

Eddie meets your eye over the shoulder of some Jean jacket talking to him and gives you a send help sort of look. You laugh for show, awkward being so far away from him, probably on the brink of a mini meltdown. You need to not be in this room for a minute. 

Your shoes hurt and stick to the floor as you stand. You cringe across the living room through a game of poker with Magic cards for chips, taking a right down the hall away from the noise to the front door. Morose, you pass it and climb the stairs. There's a blissfully empty bathroom waiting for you at the top. 

You close the door and breathe a sigh of relief. You feel nauseous, like you need to lay down, but you settle for resting your weight on the cold porcelain of the sink basin, hands braced, flinching as the sink touches the small of your back. You're fed up with hot and cold and loud and sticky and messy. 

Tracing the nooks and crannies of the bathroom, you wonder if it would be rude to smell their shower gels or rifle through the medicine cabinet. Definitely rude, you decide, but perhaps a necessary evil. You need a distraction or something. What you really want is to open the window and bail out now before you catch fire, but you don't trust your legs to not break. 

A knock sounds against the door. 

You cover your face in your hands, allowing yourself the drama of it as your favourite voice speaks, "Y/N? You in there?" 

Eddie's voice is rough tonight from the smokes, and it tends to hover low when he's relaxed. There's a gritty quality to it that gives you shivers when he uses it against your skin, similar in a way to his hands. Callused, bitten nails, hard ridges of bones, but always gentle when they touch you. Or, usually. He's a stickler for rough-housing. 

You wait too long to answer and panic. You could flush the toilet and feign calm, but then it drags too long, and Eddie says, "Hello?" 

"Yeah," you say, hating yourself desperately for sounding strangled. You push down the handle and open the door. 

Eddie stands in the slit of the door with a smile. He's always smiling when he sees you like you're something worth smiling about. It doesn't make much sense, but Eddie Munson doesn't make sense. Black clothes with rips and chains and beads, on his torso a bleach stained mess that was once a Metallica tour shirt, his legs a pair of jeans he had to sew back together when the side seam on his thigh split. You professed to liking that look, to his delight, and he promised to show you his thighs more often after that. One of the bracelets you made him months ago hangs from his wrist, too big, the embroidery thread you'd twisted into wonky hearts a sodden grey colour from his refusal to take it off in the shower. 

"What are we doing in here?" he asks, raising a dark eyebrow. 

"Wouldn't you like to know." 

Eddie gives a performative look behind you and, upon seeing no suitors nor snacks, shrugs. "Whole lot of nothing, by the look. Where's your boyfriend?" 

You squint at him playfully, "Off bothering some poor lark, I'm sure." 

Eddie eases the door open to step into the bathroom with you. He sniffs unhappily at the strong bleach smell but quickly loses whatever qualm he has when his hands find your waist. "Don't call my girl a lark. What's that even mean?"

He kisses you with little fanfare in place of Hello. "You okay?" he asks, his hand sliding between the layers of your shirt and your jacket. It moves like it has a mind of its own, roving and rolling against the slope of your back. "I looked away for five seconds to stub out my smoke and you were gone. Kind of sick." 

"Sorry," you say, "wanted to loot Ben's grandma. She has a treasure trove of pound cream in there that's gotta be worth like, sixty dollars." 

"I don't believe for a second you looked in their medicine cabinet," Eddie says, though he untangles his arms from your waist to look anyway. The only thing in the cabinet is an extra tube of toothpaste under a layer of dust.  "You liar." 

"I know. I just wanted some quiet." 

Eddie closes the cabinet, arm braced against the side of it as he sets his concern on you. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just… it was loud, and the smoke was getting in my eyes, and… Sorry, I know that's dumb." 

His head dips slightly toward one shoulder. "That's not dumb. You get overwhelmed a lot." He gestures to you with his hand, the flat surface of a silver ring skating across the back of your arm where you've brought them to your stomach. "I don't care. Like, it doesn't matter, I didn't mean it like that." 

"I don't mean to," you say quietly. 

"Baby. Baby, I know," he says. 

He opens his hands and offers them, giving you the option of more or less touch. You give him your hand, and while you aren't sure at first that you want it, his squeezing hold helps release some of the cruel tension twisted between your shoulders. 

"It's loud, huh?" you ask, the floor beneath your feet vibrating in time to the drums. 

"It's really loud. It's a lot." His thumb smooths over the back of your hand, more love in that one touch than some people have shown you your whole life. Eddie's always been like this, even when you weren't dating, dropping love at your feet like it didn't cost a thing. "You can come over, you know? Even if I look like I'm doing something I'm just waiting for you to come over. If you're not feeling it, I wanna be the first to know." 

"I don't think I'm feeling it," you admit. 

"You want a hug?" he asks. 

You hug in the same way, hands vying for the other's waist, though his arms go over yours. You rest your cheek in the curve of his neck and breathe in a relieved sigh, his smell washing over you in a rosemary wave. He wears this rosemary and patchouli cologne religiously like Hendrix did. If it's good enough for him, he says. Eddie likes to spritz you with it if you're standing close enough to share the magic. 

"You smell nice," you murmur.

"It's not too much, is it?" he asks, putting his head on yours.

"No. It's nice." 

"Try to relax," he says, fingers massaging gently into the dip of your back like he can feel the tension. "We'll leave in a bit. I don't wanna drag you back into the pit if you're not feeling up to it today." 

"I wore my bad shoes." 

"I thought you did," he says. He rubs his nose into your forehead. "Why would you do that? You know they don't fit." 

"Look nice with the jeans." 

"I do love the jeans," Eddie confesses. 

"I know you do." 

"Oh, yeah? Don't tell me you wore your nice jeans for lil ole me. Sweetheart, I'm flattered." 

You pinch him in warning. 

He drops the salacious act in favour of a softer hug, holding his breath for a handful of long, languid seconds. "Aw, I love you," he says on the exhale. "You'll feel better in a minute, I promise. Soon as we get out of here, you can take your shoes off in the van and we'll go get dive bar curly fries to eat in silence." 

"That sounds amazing," you say sheepishly. 

Eddie encourages your head back to kiss the tip of your nose. "I know. I know you, babe. But I can't read your mind, so you need to tell me when you're overwhelmed. I can help you deal with it." 

"Love you," you murmur. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb before both hands move down. He dusts off your shoulders, straightening your jacket. 

"Ready to get out of here?" he asks.

You mirror his genial smile as he takes your hand to lead you back downstairs. 

#fic rec

[oceanofflavor]

#fidgety baby

#joseph quinn #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4