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rehfan · 2 months

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The Boy Is Mine (Amy’s edition)

From @carolmunson ‘s prompt found HERE

The scene: a romantic night at the trailer

Props included/mentioned: a throw pillow; vanilla frosting; a small notebook

Dialogue included:

“I ran out of like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

”Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true.”

”And you like that?”

”If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Tags/Warnings: Rated PG; reader has self-image issues; light spanking (Eddie receiving - nothing harsh); fluff and then more fluff

Words: 1.2K

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“So uh… we ran out of nice cups,” said Eddie, “Is this okay?” He held up two glass jam jars without lids, clearly part of the hodge-podge of cups in the back of the cupboard at the Munson trailer.

You snickered. “Sure thing, handsome. Just bring the liter of pop over here to the coffee table with you.” As he came around the kitchen counter toward you, you couldn’t help but ask: “What’s a matter? Did you fire the dishwasher again?”

He sighed as he set the glasses down and poured pop in each one. “What can I say? Can’t find good help these days. You know how it is. You fired that maid of yours last week, didn’t you?”

”Yep. She had to go. Caught her helping herself to the sherry.”

“Shame,” he said, passing you a slice of pizza before heading to the television to start the movie. He affected a posh British accent saying: “I daresay, darling, we shan’t have much to look forward to in the coming weeks and months without decent help around the mansion.” He drew himself up and lowered his eyelids, contorting his face into an exaggerated overbite.

You grabbed behind you and threw a throw pillow at his chest, laughing. “Sit down and eat before the pizza gets cold.”

He scooted next to you on the floor, your backs up against the couch, sitting on the pillow you just shied at him. The pizza was good, the movie was great, the kisses during the cleanup were the best.

But, as it always was, you began to doubt your place in this relationship. You had been together for a month now and you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that Eddie was as gone on you as he apparently was. Something inside you kept eating away at your confidence, never letting it truly build and allow you a solid enough foundation to build your relationship on. Instead, there was always a niggling voice telling you that he was too good for you. Too kind. Too nice. Far too handsome. Soon he would figure out how boring and ugly you were.

Which was probably why you hadn’t had sex yet.

Not that Eddie was pushing. He never would. He wanted to have sex — of course he did! He had a pulse, didn’t he? But he would never ever push you to do something you weren’t comfortable doing. He never wanted to see you cry, much less be the cause of your tears. He had told you that a long time ago now.

So it was kisses and soft touching and stopping when you said so. And you were convinced it was because he would think you were ugly. Uncoordinated. What if you kissed him so passionately there was too much spit? What if your teeth clacked together? What if you raised your knee and caught him right in the nuts accidentally? It was all too embarrassing to contemplate.

So here you stayed: a comfortable swim in warm romantic waters without losing sight of shore and with every imaginable flotation device attached to your body.

You watched his profile as he was telling you about the engine rebuild he was doing at work while you idly dried the dishes and he washed. He had the best mouth. You could still feel it on you the day you had the guts enough to go swimming with him last week at Lover’s Lake. His touch had been so tight, so warm. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you up in the water, keeping your toes out of the muck of the bottom. And then he was kissing you. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first one that left you dizzy. And you had wanted more. But on the shore, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the van’s window looking like a drowned rat and you couldn’t.

Just one of many disappointments for you both.

”Hey. Where’d you go?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your face. “You with me, sweetheart?”

”Yeah,” you said, laughing it off and drying yet another cup, “just went down the rabbit hole again.”

”Still thinking you don’t belong here with me?” His warm arms were around your waist again. Safe. Comforting. The long line of him a buffer against the evils of your own brain. He planted a gentle kiss on your nodding head. “Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true.” He wrapped you up even tighter and swayed back and forth. He hummed an idle tune and slow-danced you around the kitchen.

Slowly, the tight hold your doubts had on you drifted off and away, out of the trailer and high up over Indiana off with the stars in their revolutions around the galaxy. Your hands flat against his back, your ear against his heart, he rested his head on yours and you let your mind go blank.

He stopped humming and pulled you away to look at you. “Better?” His evaluating gaze saw clean into your soul.

You couldn’t help but be honest with him. The alternative would be to see doubt - or worse, hurt - in those eyes. “A bit better. So kind of you to dance with me, darling. Journeys to the ballroom always soothe me.” He huffed a laugh. “But I feel we need a better orchestra.” You moved to the transistor radio on the kitchen table and turned the light rock station. As if on cue, a perfect slow song started playing.

His forehead creased. “And you like that? This… schmaltz?”

”Oh shut up and dance with me, Edward,” you said, holding out your arms.

As if he could turn you down. He scooped you up and swung you, pulling you off the floor with a giggle and a shriek. Setting you down gently, he nuzzled his nose into your hair and you into his neck. “Happy, baby?” he asked.

”Ecstatic,” you replied. And it was true. He had this gift for quieting the loud parts of you that grated against your peace. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was utterly gorgeous and eternally patient.

”Good,” he said. “And now, if you don’t mind, my lovely, I beg of you a favor.”

”Hmm?”

”Keep talking to me because this saccharine sweet song is killing my soul by degrees.”

You slapped him on the ass and laughed at him.

”E-e-easy, you,” he said with an extra squeeze.

”What? You like that?” you asked and smacked his plump ass again.

”Uh,” he started and you stared at him. “If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”

”Whoa. You really do like that?”

”You have no idea what you do to me, sugar,” he said. “Not that I’m pushing for anything! Don’t think that!”

”I don’t,” you said. “Only you have waited for a while now and I’ve barely let you—“

”Shh,” he said. “Shut up about that. I don’t want to talk about that tonight. I just want to eat pizza with you, watch movies with you, and dance to schmaltzy music with you in our ballroom. Okay?” He brushed your hair away from your face.

“How are you real?”

”Sweetheart, that’s what I’ve been asking myself about you this whole time.”

#fanfic #writing #joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #my eddie #blurb

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911bts · 1 year

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6x17 "Love Is In The Air" Synopsis

Athena and the 118 race to rescue when a wedding proposal tragically intersects with a bank robbery, and then when a princess bride is literally stuck on her way to the altar. Athena talks a victim thru her grief; Maddie takes matters into her own hands as Buck finds a surprise visitor on his doorstep in the all-new “Love Is In The Air”episode of 9-1-1 airing Monday, May 8 (8:00-9:01 PM ET/PT) on FOX. (NIN-617) (TV-14 D, L, S, V)

Cast: Angela Bassett as Athena Grant; Peter Krause as Bobby Nash; Jennifer Love Hewitt as Maddie Buckley; Oliver Stark as Evan “Buck” Buckley; Kenneth Choi as Howie “Chimney” Han; Aisha Hinds as Henrietta “Hen” Wilson; Ryan Guzman as Eddie Diaz; Corinne Massiah as May Grant; Gavin McHugh as Christopher Diaz

Guest Cast: Tracie Thoms as Karen Wilson; Anirudh Pisharody as Ravi Panikkar; Bryan Safi as Josh Russo; Debra Christofferson as Sue Blevins; Chiquita Fuller as Linda Bates; Annelise Capero as Natalia Dollenmeyer; Chelsea Kane as Kameron; Edy Ganem as Marisol; Adrienne Barbeau as Luisa Falcon; Ben Lewis as Griffin Hodges; Kayla Ewell as Marina Dunning

#911 fox #911 spoilers #s6 #6x17

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staceymcgillicuddy · 1 year

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Day 14: Cookies

@hellcheerxmas

December 1986 Hawkins, Indiana

“I’m not staying long, but I wanted to drop these off,” Chrissy says as she deposits a red Tupperware container on the table littered with character sheets, sodas, and a liberal sprinkling of candy canes. Hellfire doesn’t have much of a budget, but they’re a school club, so Eddie gets, like, twenty dollars a semester, and he’d felt like spreading some holiday cheer for their Xmas Xtravaganza. Granted, he has plans to rip it all away with a mini-campaign focused on a Krampus-like menace with a vengeance, but hey. He can be nice. He even has an all-black Santa hat to prove it. (Chrissy’d helped him dye it, and it’s mostly a splotchy disaster, but it works.)

“Oh, shit, cookies!” says Henderson when she opens the lid, revealing a hodge-podge of sugar cookies decorated with red and green icing.

That causes a general stampede as the party falls on the treats with the grace of a pack of zombies sinking their fingers into some fresh, squishy brains.

“Hey!” Eddie says sharply, slapping the table. “Animals!”

The collective freezes—Henderson with a cookie millimeters from his lips—and Eddie narrows his eyes at them. “What do you say?”

A chorus of mumbled ‘thanks, Chrissy’ rings out from the group, and only when Eddie’s satisfied that they’ve abased themselves appropriately—and picked out a cookie for himself—does he give the all clear.

Everyone dives in, and when Eddie takes a bite, he realizes two things:

Number one, Chrissy is the best girlfriend, and anyone who disagrees is liable to have their insides become their outsides.

Number two, Chrissy has mixed up the salt and the sugar in the recipe, and she has no clue, because she wouldn't have done anything insane like, say, taste her work.

Of course, she’s not going to hear about the latter from him, or any of his little sheepies, lest they want their guts pulled out through their eyeballs.

Wheeler—that little shit—is the first to make a face. Eddie meets his eye and gives the tersest of head shakes. The rest of the guys catch on quickly, and every single one chews, swallows, and takes a second bite.

Yeah, Eddie can see why dictators become dictators. Probably they just didn’t want anyone being a dick to their girlfriend.

“So good, Chris,” he says after swallowing.

“Really?” She looks thrilled.

“So, so good,” and “oh yeah, awesome,” and “dude, give me back my drink,” resound from the group, and Eddie takes that as his cue to throw an arm around Chrissy’s shoulders and lead her out.

They say goodbye in the hallway, and she kisses him twice before leaving. Usually, Eddie’d slip her some tongue, but he’s honestly afraid she’ll taste the salt on it.

Once she’s gone, he heads back in to find the guys guzzling sodas to wash the taste out of their mouths. Eddie settles on his throne and reaches for his goblet like his mouth isn’t as dry as the Sahara.

“Gentlemen,” he says, then takes a sip, “shall we?”

(If he goes a little easier on them for their valiant subterfuge, well, that’s between him and fake Krampus.)

#hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #edissy #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #fanfic #hellcheerxmas #hellcheercountdown

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willowcollects · 2 months

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Today while shopping at the Antique Center of La Crosse and I found a little piece of Florida history and had to take it home. Kinda shocked at the fact I found this all the way in Wisconsin.

The Parliament House Resort in Orlando, Florida, traces its roots to a modest lakeside motor inn inaugurated on February 11, 1962, at 410 North Orange Blossom Trail. Initially, boasting 120 rooms and a burgeoning reputation as a premier event venue, it quickly gained traction under the management of Ned Eddy, Jr., and his brother, James (Jimmy) Eddy. Despite early success, by 1975, the property faced financial turmoil, prompting its acquisition by Bill Miller and Michael Hodge for $648,000. Their stewardship heralded a transformative era, culminating in the emergence of the Parliament House Resort as a celebrated LGBTQ+ destination, renowned for its vibrant nightlife and inclusive atmosphere.

Since its rebirth, the Parliament House has served as a cornerstone of Orlando’s LGBTQ+ community, offering a sanctuary for self-expression and camaraderie. Evolving from a modest motor inn to a sprawling entertainment complex, it not only provided a platform for cultural events but also fostered a sense of unity and pride within the LGBTQ+ community. Over the years P-house featured such acts as Charo, Macy Gray, Jennifer Holiday, Chaka Khan, Eartha Kitt, Cyndi Lauper, RuPaul, Salt-N-Pepa , The Weather Girls, and even Gloria Gaynor. Personally, I remember sitting and enjoying drag shows hosted by Darcel Stevens and the Footlight Players, and dancing to music played by DJ Brianna Lee. Despite its closure in 2020, the Parliament House’s legacy endures as a reflection of its pivotal role in shaping LGBTQ+ rights and culture, leaving an indelible mark on Orlando’s vibrant social fabric.

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throwthisawayplease · 2 years

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RIP billy hargrove and eddie munson. you guys would’ve loved obergefell vs hodges…

#billy hargrove #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things spoilers #harringrove #steddie #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #steve x eddie

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renegadesfics · 2 years

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𝐓𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐭. 𝟓

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Issues with your ex boyfriend doesn’t mean the world stops turning. The following morning greets you with the arrival of family and a trip to the car repair shop. Shenanigans, as one might expect, ensue. [4.1k words]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: anxious reader, pre-s4, some mild fluff, lots of kids, family doing the inquisitive thing families do, a bit of introspection (but not nearly enough), there’s a decent bit of world-expansion in this chapter, slight clumsy!reader mention?, smoking mention, there’s a brief joke about stalking, i think that’s it but if you see anything else pls just let me know and i’ll add it!!

𝐏𝐭. 𝟏 | 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐 | 𝐏𝐭. 𝟑 | 𝐏𝐭. 𝟒 | 𝐏𝐭. 𝟓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

The following morning kicks off with a headache bad enough to be considered an emotional hangover and the sound of your cousins’ heavy footsteps as they pile into the house. There’s no room for the former and too much permission for the latter and the combination has you curled up in bed with a pillow over your head for at least five minutes before you manage to worm your way out from under the comfort of your sheets. Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and lukewarm water from the faucet are the beginning of the end of your troubles and you trod, momentarily pacified, down the stairs for coffee.

You’re enveloped before you even hit the bottom step, a wave of excitable cousins throwing arms around you in a wild mistake of a group hug. Giggles rip up through you like bubbles through champagne and for a few seconds, you feel warm. Giddy, even, despite the caffeine you will still so desperately need and the not-so-distant cloud from the night before.

Rosie, a whole 8 years old to your 19, pokes at your cheek with a grin. “Did you just wake up?”

“What gave you that impression?” You hum, probably a bit too snarky for the situation, but loving all the same. Slowly, the kids detach from you and let you through the hall, trailing behind like scraggly ducklings after their mother.

“We’ve been up since 5:30.” Henry, a whopping 11 years old and the only boy, announces as he brings up the rear.

“Congratulations–”

You’re cut off before you can finish as your Aunt rounds the corner and levels all four of her children with a loving but exasperated expression. “Would you leave Y/n alone? We just got here–none of that face, Donna, I swear to God.”

The kids whine, at least one set of small feet stomping out a combination of frustration and restless energy, but they seem to disperse, threading through the doorway past their mother and you. For her part, she smiles, a little tired in the face but genuinely happy as ever, and opens her arms. “I know it’s a little early, but can I get a hug?” You comply without hesitation, arms slipping around her and holding on tight. She does the same, chuckling into your shoulder as you get an extra maternal squeeze. And when the two of you separate, there’s nothing but love on her face as she looks at you. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get you something warm.”

A small horde of suitcases takes up a corner of the living room, surely set aside to be dealt with after hugs and hot drinks have been handed out, and your parents take up space in the kitchen. There’s a row of mugs set out on the island, four large and four smaller, a hodge-podge collection you’ve spent your whole life getting to know. Looking at them makes your heart hurt and your stomach drop, an entirely different mug collection coming to mind.

“Coffee?” You mumble by way of greeting, scooting out of your aunt’s reach and past your parents into the deeper recesses of the kitchen and the safety of the coffee maker.

The familiar sound of your father’s laughter hums under the children’s loud conversations. “Just finished brewing. Help yourself.”

And you do, trying not to think too hard about the fact that just a few days prior, Eddie had made yours exactly how you’ve always liked it without even having to be reminded. The mug your father hands you is white with a sprawling field of flowers, paint chipped just so near the top of the handle from where it’d been bumped against the counter a few years ago. You try not to think about that, either.

You don’t succeed.

Generously, your aunt waits until everyone’s got something hot in their hands and finds their way into the living room before she starts asking questions. You’ve settled into the you-shaped spot on your parents’ couch, knees pulled up to your chest, coffee cooling by the second atop a coaster on the table next to you. At least a teensy bit more awake, you field off the questions pretty easily.

How are classes?

What’s your roommate like?

Do you like living on campus?

“So have you met anyone noteworthy yet?”

It’s casual at worst, but the intent of the question is clear: are you seeing anyone? Something in your throat catches, jagged and ugly with guilt, and you have to clench your jaw to keep from saying something stupid and curse-heavy. The silence is telling, though, and both your aunt and mother’s eyes bore into you. It’s not an admission, your silence, but it’s not a denial either.

Offering a crutch–or at least trying to–she continues. “You broke up with that Munson boy at the end of summer, right?”

Eddie, you want to correct. His name’s Eddie. But your mother beats you to it, supplying his name without much by way of emotion in her voice and watching your face curiously. You know what she’s looking for, and worse, you know she’ll find it.

It’s pretty damn obvious when she does and there’s a torturous shift towards understanding in her face. Desperately, you wish you’d been able to fake it better, that you could lie about things that matter. But that’s already gotten you in trouble this week.

“Eddie,” your aunt repeats, eyes dragging from you to your mother and back again. Not for the first time, you’re glad for the fact that the women in your family are good at reading faces, at reading people, and that the dialogue that follows is made up of eyebrow shifts and folding hands rather than words. The kids remain none the wiser and your father’s still thumbing through the newspaper.

For now, you’re safe.

From that, at least. As the silent communication continues, Rosie lets out a squeal and topples backwards into her sisters, sending a cacophony of laughter out into the room. There’s a decided hunch to your father’s shoulders at the uproar and the newspaper slowly starts to lower. He loves his nieces and nephew–really, he does–but there’s a level of volume control that they haven’t mastered yet and you and your siblings have had for years now and the tolerance that he’d once built up just doesn’t exist anymore. His eyes catch yours over the top of the newspaper, and when your smile is visibly strained, he raises his brows.

A glance at your aunt and mother, engaged in a wordless conversation, gives him all he needs to know. There’s a pause as he considers, eyes dragging from the already rambunctious kids to the other women and back to you.

“Y/n,” he starts slowly, beginning the process of folding up the newspaper meticulously. The silent exchange between sisters stops, your aunt and mother’s eyes panning towards him. “You said when you first got home that the heat in your car was finicky?”

It’s fucked, you go to say, then remind yourself of the presence of your cousins and pivot sharply. “Yeah, um, it just isn’t running quite right.”

He nods slowly and sets the paper to the side. “Wanna get changed and come look at it with me?”

“Sure, yeah.” He’s saving you and you both know it. Not that he knows enough about cars to really be able to fix it, but it at least gets you a second to breathe. You reach for your coffee and find it cooler than you’d like. A problem for another version of yourself somewhere else. You take a sip anyway. “I’ll meet you in five?”

By the time you trip your way back down the stairs and out to the driveway, bundled up against the encroaching chill of winter, your dad’s already got the hood popped and is leaning into it with a sort of intensity that certainly hasn’t been earned. Neither of you expect to find the answer on your own, but the gesture’s nice all the same. Both parts of it.

“Thanks for this,” you murmur as you come up behind him, tugging at the cuff of your sweatshirt with the other hand. “I was kinda getting eaten alive in there.”

Your father looks up from the car and offers you a smile. “Susie’ll do that.”

“It’s not really her fault,” you start, wrapping the cuff tighter around your fingers in thought. “She was just asking questions, and that’s totally fair. I just, um…”

He just nods, not pushing for any further information and giving you the space to exist. It’s a grace you don’t remember him having before you left for college, but maybe things are different now that they’re officially empty nesters. Maybe he’s finally seeing you for the grown up you’re trying to be. Or at least as something other than his youngest child.

It’s better than you can say for your mom, really, though she’s trying too. It’s hard, you think, for either of them to let go of the fact that you’re their baby, their youngest, the last fruit of that season of their lives. Harder still to reconcile the fact that you don’t tell them everything. That maybe you never did. That, at least, explains the look on your mother’s face.

“I’m gonna be honest,” your father says after a prolonged period of fairly comfortable quiet. He’s staring down into the open front of your car thoughtfully, hands and cuffs devoid of the grease that would prove he’d touched any of it at all. “I haven’t the fucking foggiest what’s wrong with your car.”

Laughter barks its way out of you, equal parts amused and surprised. The twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you says that was the plan all along, and he’s smug with it. Just a little bit, in the kind of way that says I love you, kiddo in dad language.

“What? Think your old man can’t curse?”

“No, no–” you manage to splutter, choking on your laughter and waving your hands emphatically. “Just have never heard it before.”

“And if your mother asks, you haven’t yet.”

“Fair enough.”

And that’s how you end up at Murph’s, which is not the only car repair shop in Hawkins, but certainly the most efficient. Run, as one might suspect, by a middle aged man who you’re quite sure has a non-monosyllabic name but have only ever been introduced to as Murph. Not the most original option by far, but maybe here, originality is a bit much to ask for.

Your father’s car rolls into the lot close behind you so he can give you a lift back while they look into the heating situation. It occurs to you, as you park and start towards the workshop with your keys in hand, that this effectively eliminates your ability to get around Hawkins on your own–unless you want to bike. It’s possible that one of your siblings will let you borrow their car tomorrow to get to the Hideout, but they may also ask for an explanation. And that… well, you may just have to beg for their silence on that one. Another bullet point on your mental checklist: check in with them each when they get into town.

You’re shoving the thought down, tamping down any impending anxiety over it, as you open the door and step into the customer-facing part of the operation. It’s nothing fancy, but it never has been. As long as your parents have been coming here–which, notably, has been for at least as long as your entire working memory–it’s looked like this. The kind of liminal space that’s taken up by a counter with chipped vinyl on the sides and a small water cooler that’s never been more than half-full and a faint layer of grease on… well, everything.

That’s not the problem, though. The problem is that for as long as you’ve been driving, the front desk has been manned by Murph’s sister’s kids–a pair of fraternal twins in the same grade as you and their older brother Donovan–but seeing as they’ve all graduated now, there’s gotta be some new blood in the joint. There’s no Kim sitting at the desk repainting her nails or Charlie absently fiddling with spare parts, no Donovan half-asleep with the radio on. In fact, there’s no one at the front desk at all.

But there is a shockingly familiar bunch of messy curls darting just around the corner with a call of “Just a minute–”. Your stomach turns into a pit. Hands clench into fists at your sides, keys digging sharply into the skin of your palm. This cannot fucking be happening.

But it is.

He rounds the corner with a cup in hand, hair pulled back by a red bandana you’ve never seen in your entire life, eyes lifting from the counter to you. Eddie stops dead in his tracks, expression pulling a thousand different kinds of complicated until it settles on just surprised.

“You stalking me or something?”

What escapes you is a funny little sound that’s definitely not a laugh but also definitely the closest you’ll get in this moment. The corners of his lips almost quirk up in a smile. Almost. Eyebrows raise expectantly.

You haven’t said anything.

Shit, shit shit.

“No–” You manage finally, a little hurried and a lot breathless. The cup in his hand twitches a bit and the sharp sound of metal rattling against each other follows. Grateful for the distraction, you look at it for a moment and are surprised to find his fingers colored in telltale grease and grime. Maybe you shouldn’t be. “I didn’t um–I didn’t know you work here.”

One short nod. “Wayne pulled some strings with Murph–they’re old drinking buddies–and got me a weekend position. Don’t uh,” he pauses, trailing off as his eyes seem momentarily stuck on your lips. He manages to drag them away after a few beats and shakes his head. “Don’t usually work up here but Kim’s on a smoke break.”

It’s hard to pull words for a moment, where all you can think is The stars really lined up to fuck me on this one, didn’t they? “Sure, I um. I can wait, y’know, until she gets… gets back.” Your hand jerks reflexively to gesture to the line of uncomfortable chairs that equates to a lobby. More, you think, than have ever been filled in this space at one time.

For a moment, Eddie just looks at you. You can’t decide if he thinks you’re an idiot or if he’s looking for something. It’s probably the former, but you’re hoping for the latter. Eventually, he shrugs, setting the cup down on his side of the counter and bracing his hands against it. He leans forward a bit and you trip through the next few steps to meet him as close as you can.

It’s not your fault. He’s like a fucking magnet.

“Nah, it’s fine. What brings you in today, ma’am?” It’s hard to tell if he’s being playful or putting on some kind of forced professionalism. Both hurt for different reasons. You try not to look at his lips as you answer.

“The heat’s kinda gone to shit.” Which is an explanation, sure, but devoid of the details that might actually be helpful. His eyebrows quirk up in a gesture that’s equal parts amused and concerned but it prompts you on all the same. “Sorry, unhelpful, um–I guess it started, like, three weeks ago? I tried to run it like I usually do and it just… didn’t work.”

Eyebrows jump again, higher this time, and you can’t quite convince yourself that you’re imagining the way his eyes drag across your hands for a moment. A theory confirmed by the way he leans forward a little more and murmurs, “You drove almost three hours home with no heat in November?”

Well when you put it like that…

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.” He whistles, quarter-turning for a moment as he glances back at the shop behind him. A moment to breathe unwatched, and you grab at it desperately. When he looks back at you, his brow has furrowed. “Wait, you drove my place without heat, too?”

This time you do manage a laugh, though he seems dead serious. “Fifteen minutes to Forest Hills has nothing on three hours from campus.”

Eddie does not, in any capacity, seem comforted by this fact. It’s enough to make you avert your gaze, looking down at the sign-in clipboard on the desk. Customer name, car make and model, reason for visit. The keys are warm as you set them on the counter and start filling out the information, leaving a gap of tenuous quiet.

“Could’ve told me,” he says finally, voice soft. “I would’ve looked at it for you, at least. I’m no Murph, but–”

“Didn’t occur to me.” You offer, half-placating and half honest. “And I was too… I don’t know, caught up in wanting to see you to really think about it.”

The truth, even the parts that go unspoken, hurt.

“Right.”

The tension is back and you hate it more than anything in the whole fucking world. More so in fact when both the door behind you and the door behind him swing open damn near simultaneously, dragging in cold from both directions that does nothing to help the tension of the current situation.

“You about ready? Mom’s got big plans after lunch and your sister’s due in around one.” Eddie’s eyes pan up to your father as yours move to behind him and catch Kim watching you with a curious expression.

“Yeah, Dad. Just a few more minutes. I’ll meet you in the car.”

Kim’s eyes are now on your father, then on Eddie, back to you. They widen a bit and she looks very suddenly unsure of herself. What a fucking shit show.

“Okay.” And he says it like he understands what’s happening, but surely–surely–he doesn’t. Being swallowed up by a sudden crater in the earth doesn’t seem so bad right now. The door opens again, but you hear him pause halfway out. “Good t’see you, Eddie, Kimmy.”

Kim just waves, but your ex’s eyes are on you, like he’s asking how he should handle it. Fuck if you know, honestly. You’d say as much if your dad weren’t right in the doorway. Shoulders pinch in a shrug you hope is subtle enough to be missed by anyone other than him.

“You too, sir.” Nothing comes after, just the rush of cold again as the door closes and leaves the three of you in awkward silence.

“Do you uh, need me t…” Kim trails off, looking for all the world like she wishes this were one of her brothers’ shifts. Like she’d rather be anywhere else. It’s enough to tell you that the tension isn’t all in your head and honestly that might be worse. Finally, she settles on “You got it, Munson?”

“Yeah, Kim, I got her.”

There’s an absolute revolt of your senses as the words register, brain lighting up like a firework show. It’s not fair in the least, but it’s the reaction you’re given, and you have to make do with it. Unfortunately. Teeth sink into your bottom lip as you nudge the keys closer to him with one finger and watch Kim’s back as she turns around the corner and disappears from view.

And then there were two.

“Listen, Eddie–” you start just as he kicks off with “So does this–”

And you’re both stuck staring at each other for a moment, unsure who should go first, playing a game of chicken that seems damn near unwinnable. You flinch at the same things. Wind up at the same moment. Both of you go to start again and end up dissolving into laughter as your sounds cross.

“Just take the keys, please,” you manage through giggles, bracing your forearms against the counter to keep yourself steady.

He glances at the keys and then his hands, grimacing at the grease stains and wipes them on the side of his workshop-grade jumpsuit. Finger-shaped smudges are left in their wake, but somehow they’re still dirty when he grabs them up. A not insignificant part of you wants to reach out, train your fingers down his sleeve to his wrist, just to brush skin against skin for a fraction of a second. But you have to practice restraint so you keep your hands on the countertop as his drift out of reach.

“This mean you’re out of a ride?” He asks, maybe to fill the silence, maybe because he actually wants to know.

“Um,” you start brilliantly. “Maybe? I was gonna ask to borrow someone’s car for the show tomorrow. Y’know, since I said I’d come and I meant it.”

Eddie nods understandingly and looks down at your keys. “Sucks to be without wheels in Hawkins.”

It’s not so bad, you start to respond before thinking better of it. And really, he’s right. The last time you were without a solid ride in town, you were fifteen. Well, fourteen if you counted when Christine had gotten her license. That freedom had gotten mighty comfortable over the years. Maybe it would suck a little bit.

“Let me know if you can’t borrow a ride.” It must’ve been clear you weren’t going to say anything soon, but it’s hard to fight off the shock of what he’s actually saying. Is this an offer to…? “I’ll see if I can work something out for you.”

Not the clearest offer of help he’s ever given you, but there’s certainly been worse. The fact that he’s offering at all is kind of insane. “Sure, I’ll uh… I’ll check with Vince and John when they get in tomorrow morning if Christine says no.”

Surely someone will let you borrow their car for a few hours.

But maybe…

“I’ll call you around one to let you know?”

“Sounds good.”

And it does. He shouldn’t be putting in effort to get you to his show, especially after last night, but it seems like he’s just going to keep being the guy you’ve always thought him to be. It’s charming, really, and also a little frustrating. If he was an asshole, even for a second, maybe all of this would be easier.

“I should probably…” Again, you jerk a thumb behind you towards the door. “Y’know, Dad’s got the car running and Mom’s got some big plans and, y’know, family.”

Articulate. The urge to kick yourself is so fucking real.

There’s the faintest hints of a smile on his lips as Eddie says, “Guess I’ll hear from you tomorrow.”

“Guess you will.” A beat of quiet. “Bye Eddie.”

“Bye, Y/n.”

The wind is blowing when you get outside, biting at the skin under your sweatshirt as it cuts through every layer you have on. It’s a sprint to the warmth of your dad’s car, ducking into the passenger’s seat and closing the door behind you a little harder than you mean to. Whatever station he’s got on is playing softly in the near-quiet of the car, the chattering of your teeth probably the loudest thing in here.

“Sorry I took so long.” Cold fingers press towards the working heaters for a few seconds before they’re limber enough to work out your seatbelt.

Your dad just shrugs, putting the car in gear and glancing behind you as he backs out of his spot. There’s a comfortable quiet for a while as he gets back onto the main road, just the two of you breathing and the crescendo and fade of the radio. In the whole twenty minutes to the house, he says nothing and neither do you, comfortable to exist in the same place without having to fill it with dialogue.

It’s nice, honestly, but broken all too quickly as he pulls into the driveway and parks, making no fanfare of pulling the keys out of the ignition and pocketing them.

“You should tell him how you feel.”

Almost incredulous, your gaze drags from the house to your father. Your hands continue their job of undoing the seatbelt, and the click of its release feels too loud now. “What?”

“It’s your call, kiddo,” his hands fall off the steering wheel and he fidgets with the band of his watch. “But I think he deserves to know the truth.”

“What if I don’t know what the truth is?”

When he laughs, it isn’t cruel but it isn’t amused either. It sounds like maybe he doesn’t believe you. Your thoughts turn to last night, to the emphatic screaming of your brain as you drove out of Forest Hills.

I’d go with him anywhere.

Maybe he shouldn’t believe you.

“Then you should probably figure that out.”

With that, he opens the door and climbs out.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tag list: @ajokeformur-ray and @wyverntatty!! If you’d like to be added, just shoot me a message!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #caro fics #tis the damn season

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lostinaustenland · 2 years

Text

son in law - E.M. College AU!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: after living in the middle-of-nowhere Nebraska for your whole life, you can't wait to graduate from high school and move to California for college. but life as a college student isn't quite what you expect, and you find yourself becoming unlikely friends with your sworn enemy/dorm neighbor. based on the 1993 movie by the same name (which i am not proud to have watched lmao)

Warnings: none atm, but will update accordingly :)

Word Count: 2k

Notes: slightly out-of-character eddie. also, this is my first published fic, so apologies for any spelling/grammar errors!

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Chapter 1: Old Endings, New Beginnings

4 years ago, I stood on this stage and welcomed you all in as young seeds; fresh-eyed, hopeful, and excited for the continuation of your academic journey. Now as I look out on the students of McKinley High School , I see a group of beautiful flowers that have blossomed into adults - ready for their next adventure: “life.”

You nervously fidgeted with your hands as Principal Hodges continued his droning speech, dreading the next words that were just about to come out of his mouth.

And without further ado, I’m proud to present your valedictorian for the 1989 class of McKinley High…

You felt your breath hitch in the back of your throat.

Y/N!

Your classmates cheered your name as you got up from your seat, smoothing out the itchy polyester fabric of the blue graduation robe and straightening the cap resting on the back of your head.

“Yeah Y/N! Woohoo!” A voice screamed from somewhere in the crowd. You recognized the voice instantly: your boyfriend of 3 years, John. A small smile crept onto your face as you finally reached the stairs of the stage, and walked up to the podium. You looked out into the faces of people you had known your whole life - people you loved, and ones you hated - and began to panic.

The sun was characteristically hot for May in the small town of Hemingford, Nebraska, and it only made your nerves skyrocket.

Think, Y/N. You’ve practiced this a hundred times. Just breathe.

A deep sigh escaped your lips. One speech. One, tiny little speech stood between you and freedom. Freedom from this small town you once loved but had grown to resent for its monotony, freedom from your overbearing but well-intentioned parents, and most importantly, the freedom to do whatever you wanted.

Your whole life, you had been Little Miss Perfect. Straight A’s since kindergarten, Student Council President and Valedictorian of your graduating class, and future Pre Med student at UCLA. Your parents never explicitly said they expected perfection from you, but there was an unspoken expectation of flawlessness that constantly gnawed at you. And not only were you academically perfect, but you were the "It Girl” of Hemingford. You always had plenty of friends, a star football-player boyfriend, and led the McKinley cheer squad for 3 full years as its Captain. Everything perfect. Just perfectly perfect. You wondered if you could keep that standard of perfection up in college, or if you even wanted to.

“Today,” your voice rang out into the expansive corn field your graduation ceremony was held, “I would like to talk about change.”

The crowd was still silent, some kids yawning. You waited for a sign to continue, but none came. You continued,

“It’s all around us. Change. It happens whether we want it,”

You thought of how much you simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to that drive to California.

“Or not.”

Your eyes darted to your family in the crowd. Your mom, dad, brother, and grandpa. Rose, your mom, looked on the verge of tears while your dad, Adam, comforted her.

Your focus shifted to John, who was still beaming in the crowd. As much as you cared for him, you knew he had no desire of leaving Hemingford. He’d be perfectly content to stay here for the rest of his life: become a farmer like his father, marry some poor soul who’d pop out a half-dozen babies, and die here. The thought of rotting away here made your skin crawl.

“Change. Are we ready for it?”

You knew you were.

“I think so. We are poised and prepared for our future, ready to embrace new people, places and ideas. In short, we are ready for the challenge of life.”

A student let out a loud snore in the audience, garnering a pause from you and a nudge from another graduate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at us. This student body - we are the future. We are the McKinley Tigers!” You shouted, taking the cap from your head and throwing it into the air above you.

The students all clamored at once to get up, celebrating their graduation and following suit with their own caps.

It was official. You had graduated from Small-Town High and were leaving for good.

Your words echoed in your head.

Change… are we ready for it?

Ready or not, change was coming faster than you could ever imagine.

______________________________________________________________

Clothes were strewn over your floor as you shoved as many t-shirts as you could into your suitcase. After much struggle, you finally were able to zip the suitcase shut, tiredly tossing it onto the floor and trying to clean up the mess you had left.

“Y/N! Come downstairs, it’s almost time to leave!” Your mom bellowed up the bannister.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you muttered, throwing the remainder of dirty clothes into your large walk-in closet and forcing the door shut.

You began to do a mental check of everything you packed:

Makeup, check. Summer clothes, check. Jeans and jackets, check. Shoes, accessories, and jewelry, check.

This continued on for some time until you knew for sure everything was in one of the many mismatched and over-filled bags that were laying on your bedroom floor.

Just as you were about to grab your luggage and meet your mom at the foot of the stairs, you were startled by the sound of a knock at your second-floor window. Whipping around with your heart nearly beating out of your chest, you were only slightly relieved when you saw it was your boyfriend, John.

Letting out a huff and rolling your eyes, you moved to unlatch and open the window. He crawled in with a smirk on his face, and immediately went to kiss you. On any other day, you would have relished at the feeling of his lips on yours, but now it only made you upset. You knew his sudden appearance would make your departure late - and that would make your mom angry, which was infinitely worse. Still, you kissed him back with force, and broke the kiss after a moment.

“C’mon John, you kissed me like I’m going to be gone for 3 years, not 3 months,” you giggled, wrapping him in a hug.

He broke eye contact with you, a flourish of red creeping onto his cheeks. “Yeah, I know. I’m just going to miss you. You know that, babe.”

“And I’m going to miss you too. But Thanksgiving break will come sooner than you think,” you said, motioning to the suitcases on the floor. “Oh, while you’re here, can you help me bring these out to the van?” You asked, batting your eyelashes.

He laughed, giving a slight bow,

“Anything for you, m’lady.”

You two made quick work of the luggage in your room, and soon everything was packed haphazardly into the back of your parents’ van. Just as you were about to take your seat in the car, John enveloped you in a hug.

“Promise me,” he started, “that you’ll come back to me in one piece.”

You chuckled, kissing him on the cheek, “Seriously, John. How much can really change in just 3 months?”

More than you could ever imagine.

______________________________________________________________

Your eyes flitted open and you did a double take as you saw the sign outside the window of your car:

‘Welcome to UCLA!’

Your heart began to palpitate as you realized you were here. All the months you sat in your room back in Nebraska daydreaming about college, and you were finally here. Your mom and dad shouted at each other about where parking was for family-move-in and your brother was poking you in the arm, but you didn’t pay attention to any of it. You only woke up from your panicked trance when your dad called your name and shook your arm.

“Y/N, honey, it’s time to unload the car.”

Now awake, you were acutely aware of the pure chaos around you. A loudspeaker somewhere nearby blasted out unintelligible words as droves of students with their families pushed through your own.

“Lord have mercy, we’re never gonna get through here, Adam.” Your mom huffed out, picking up a few pieces of luggage and motioning for the rest of your family to do the same.

Your dad tried to calm her down, “Don’t worry, Rose, it’ll all work out. Once we’re in her actual building, everything will be more quiet and organized, you’ll see.”

Tired of your family shouting insults at each other and embarrassing you on the first day, you walked ahead to find your dorm room and hopefully meet your roommate.

______________________________________________________________

Inside, the situation was even more chaotic. Parents were barking at each other, students were yelling to be heard over the droning sound of move-in-day. Worst of all though, you heard metal music blaring from one of the countless doors in the hallway. You despised heavy metal bands, and wanted nothing more than to find your room, throw the covers over your head, and stay there for the rest of the semester if at all possible.

This is nothing like what I thought college was, you thought to yourself. All the movies you had seen portrayed college as a picturesque utopia for the average teenager. Every student on the dorm floor knew the others’ names, everyone got along, and there was absolutely NO heavy metal music. You looked down at the printed map in front of you, searching for your dorm amid the sea of students. Distracted, you didn’t even notice when another student was directly in your path, causing you both to collide and fall to the floor in a sea of scattered paper.

You thought your mood couldn’t get any worse. You were wrong.

You angrily brushed off your plaid skirt and picked up the sheets you dropped as a hand reached out to help you up.

“Woah, you gotta watch where you’re going. Don’t want to be running into people like that on your first day of college,” a male voice chuckled.

Your eyes darted up in annoyance to view who so rudely knocked you over as you tentatively grabbed his hand for leverage. He was somewhere around 6’ with curly brown hair and a stupid grin on his face. As he helped you up, his shirt - from some shitty rock group you had never heard of - rode up a bit past his wrist and you noticed several tattoos on his arm.

If only my parents could see this. I think they’d pull me out right now and send me on a one-way-trip back to Nebraska, you noted in your head. And to be quite frank, you wouldn’t be too upset with that scenario.

He looked at you expectantly for a moment, until you realized you were still holding onto his hand. You quickly pulled it back, wiping your palm onto your skirt. This is absolutely humiliating.

“Don’t worry,” you said cooly. “I can take care of myself just fine on my own.”

This time, he laughed out loud. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, putting his hand out once more towards you, but this time to shake.

“The name’s Eddie Munson. UCLA Junior and RA on duty in Wilson Hall. If you ever need help in the rare case that you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I’m just down the hall in room 213,” he pointed to the room the metal music you noticed earlier was coming from.

You stifled a laugh. That explains a lot.

“Tempting offer, but I have to be going now. You know, luggage to unpack and such,” you began to walk down the hallway to find your room again, leaving Eddie alone.

Let’s see… 204, 206, 208, 210, 21…

An immense feeling of dread fell upon you as you landed at the front of your door. You frantically checked the information sheet in your hand to see if you had just made a mistake:

‘Y/LN, Y/N… Wilson Hall… Room 212’

As you felt like the entire world was crushing in on you, a hand came up to rest on your shoulder.

“Welcome to Wilson Hall…”

You turned around, ready to throw up.

Eddie Munson stood there, a shit-eating smug grin on his face.

“Neighbor.”

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A/N: and that's the end of Chapter 1! I honestly don't know if I'm going to write more chapters, It kind of depends on if this does well lmao. but if i do, i promise there will be more eddie in future chapters. i appreciate any feedback you have and comments!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie x reader #eddie the freak munson #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things volume 4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie muson fic #eddie munson stranger things #this movie is a warning in of its self #i beg of you dont watch the original movie its so bad #college au #fake engagement #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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