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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

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Angel and the Freak

Character/Fandom: Eddie Munson - Stranger Things

Requested: yes - anon!

Prompt: When you forget your prized jean jacket backstage after theatre rehearsals, you have no choice but to run back and get it. Finding yourself face-to-face with the school's resident freak, Eddie Munson, you learn just how charming you can be. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: none! this is ✨ wholesome ✨

Rating: Pg || Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: anon, you literally read my mind??? i've had a shred of an idea floating around in my brain for MONTHS of writing an eddie fic where the reader does musical theatre because the hellfire meeting in ep. 1 is so clearly on the HHS stage. so this was PERFECT

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🦋 mila

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As you grab the handle of the car door, you suddenly feel the missing weight of something that should be tied to your waist. You quickly search your body, but you don’t find what you’re looking for.

“Oh god, wait! I forgot my jacket. Hold on, I’ll be right back!” you shout to your friends, spinning on your heel before they have a chance to protest.

You rush away, back toward the theatre. You need that jacket; it’s your prized possession. You’ve put way too much work into it to leave it behind. As you swing the back door to the theatre open, your ears are flooded with loud, harsh music. You furrow your eyebrows and stalk quietly toward the sound. As you get closer, you realize that you’re listening to “Dreamer Deceiver” by Judas Priest. You’d know that song anywhere; it’s one of the songs you use to practice expanding your vocal range.

You wade through the backstage area, cluttered with racks of costumes and set pieces all painted and ready to be deployed for the first show tomorrow night. You peek your head around the corner of the wall. The stage is lit by the lights above, a mix of blue, yellow, and red which casts a muddy glow over the scene. Your eyes track across the stage and find a man, a student, you don’t recognize. He’s bent over a table, his arms moving wildly. Your eyes land on a small black cassette player stacked on top of a bunch of boxes. You can tell just by the sight of this student that he’s not a theatre kid. You’d recognize him if he were. With a shrug, you step out from behind the wall.

“Um, hi!” you say loudly.

You were hoping he’d be able to hear you over the loud music. But, after waiting patiently for a few minutes with no response, you forcefully clear your throat. Still nothing. You cup your hands around your mouth and prepare to shout.

“Hey!”

The boy’s head suddenly snaps back. He glances over his shoulder in your direction. With the low lighting, you can’t see his face, only a mane of uncouth, long, curly hair. You squint and raise your hand to wave. He lunges over the table in front of him and clicks off the cassette player. Once the room is encased in silence, you step forward awkwardly.

“Um, hi,” you say. His back is still turned away from you as he fiddles with something. “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“Hey, no problem. What, uh, can I do for you?” he asks.

Your eyes are too busy scanning the room to notice that he’s turned toward you. Your gaze continues to search and re-search the exact spot where you’re fairly certain you had left your jacket.

“I just forgot my jacket and was wondering if you happened to see it. I thought I left it over-”

“Oh, yeah, got it right here,” he interrupts you.

At the sound of his reply, your stare centers on him. Your eyebrows raise as you meet his deep brown eyes. Now that you can see him clearly, you would swear you know him from somewhere. His hair is wild and long, falling all the way down to his shoulders. His soft eyes are friendly; they remind you of a puppy’s. He's actually super cute, maybe even pretty. You can’t place a name to his face, but…maybe he’s in your history class with Mrs. O’Donnell? Yeah, that feels right.

Offering a smile, you step closer to him to take the jacket from his fingers. As you do, your fingertips gently brush against one another.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem. Cool pins.”

“Oh, thanks!”

You giggle nervously as heat creeps up through your ears. You quickly swipe your finger over the top of your favorite Lord of the Rings pin, which reads “Gamgee for President.” Can you say embarrassing?

“That’s actually why I came back for it,” you continue. “I’ve put a lot of work into this jacket with all the pins and patches and stuff.”

“Oh believe me, I get it,” he replies, leaning back to grab something behind him

As he does so, the hem of his shirt rides up just enough to give you the slightest peek at his stomach. Your eyes can’t help but drop down to take it in. You bite your lip as you feel butterflies in your stomach, fluttering softly. You’re all but positive now that Mrs. O’Donnell’s class is where you know him from. But his name…what is it?

He presents a jean vest to you. You take it from him, nodding as you examine it. Judging by the frayed hems, it looks like he’s cut or ripped off the sleeves. There are pins and patches placed haphazardly across the fabric. Each piece of decoration is merchandise for a different metal band: Motorhead, W.A.S.P., Judas Priest, etcetera. You flip the jacket over and smile at the massive Dio patch sewn onto the back flap.

“Kind of a metalhead, aren’t you? Very impressive, though,” you say, handing the jacket back. “You don’t have as many as I do, but I have the exact same Judas Priest one, actually.”

“No shit.”

You pull your jacket up, maneuvering to the exact spot where you know that very same Judas Priest pin has been secured for the last eight months. He steps forward, leaning closer to examine it. He chuckles, his fingers swiping over the glossy surface of the metal pin. You bite away the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. He smells like a mixture of smoke, musk, and something mildly sweet that you can’t quite identify. It’s a nice smell, natural and not chemical like some colognes. After a moment, he pulls away, glancing down at you with furrowed eyebrows. His eyes flick up and down your figure. You cross your arms over your chest defensively.

“What?” you ask.

“You just don’t seem like the kind of person who would have a heavy metal band pinned on your jacket, that’s all.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” you quip, narrowing your eyes. “I happen to dabble in metal so I can work on my vocal range. Judas Preist, in particular, and that song,” you gesture to the player, “specifically.”

“Really? You in a band or something?”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Not exactly. I do musical theatre. Hence the jacket being left over there. We’re doing Grease for the spring production and I'm playing Sandy.”

You wince as the words leave your lips and wonder why you feel pressured to impress him so much. Why did you think telling him you’re playing little miss Sandra Dee herself would impress him, anyway? Silence has settled between you, his head nodding slowly. You don’t have to justify yourself to him, to the likes of E-! His name suddenly clicks in your head. Your pleasure in remembering it moves you to break the awkward tension.

“Hey, I do know you. It’s Eddie, right? You have Mrs. O’Donnell’s history class for fourth period. I knew you looked familiar! I’m in that class, too. I’m-”

“Y/N,” he says, a smile spreading across his handsome features. “I know who you are.”

“Right,” you nod, dropping your embarrassed gaze. “Well, I know you're not in theatre, so what are you doing back here?”

He uncrosses his arms, pulling his shirt taut. Your eyes move down to take in the logo printed on it: a satanic red face with horns jutting out from its skull, haunting yellow eyes, and jagged teeth. To the sides of the figure, you recognize a sword and a mace with oddly shaped dice. The words HELLFIRE CLUB are printed in bold, black letters across the top of the shirt.

“Just setting up for a club meeting,

“Hellfire Club? What’s that?”

“Only the most badass club this school has ever had.”

“Okay,” you chuckle. “Well, what do you do?”

“Asking what we don’t do would be a better question,” he answers, flicking his pointer finger matter-of-factly. “We battle evil vampires, drink ales at the local pub, discover treasure, and go on long adventures to defeat evil and save the world as we know it.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“You…what?”

He sighs, his smile fading quickly. His lips flatten as his cheeks heat up into a soft pink.

“We play a fantasy game called Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Ohhh, yeah…” you squint your eyes and lean close, jokingly whispering, “isn’t that the game that promotes Satanic worship or whatever?”

He chuckles deeply, the sound tinged with an almost sinister tone.

“According to adults who don’t know any better. According to the fried brains of intellectually weak and easily persuaded teenagers who are slaves to popular customs. According to the school that forces conformity on every student who goes here.”

“Forced conformity?” you repeat, nodding slowly. You shrug. “Sounds like a drag.”

His eyes flick up to catch yours. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. His gaze momentarily drops down to your lips before returning to your eyes. You ignore the temptation to move closer to him and, instead, lean around his body to see what’s behind him. You gesture toward the table on which tiny figurines and sets are meticulously placed.

“So how do you play this fantasy game?”

“It’s pretty simple, really. You create a character and then you make decisions as if you were that character. You roll dice with each decision and, depending on the stats of your character, your rolls determine whether you’re successful or not.”

As he explains, you step around him to approach the table. You lower yourself down so that you’re at eye-level with the surface. Each figurine is delicately and painstakingly painted. The attention to detail is incredible. You snatch one up, a tall green figure holding a giant axe between his hands. The figurine’s face is drawn into an angry frown, the long, pointed teeth gnashed together.

“Sounds a bit like theatre, actually,” you muse.

Eddie steps up beside you, placing his palms on the table. He leans over the surface, mimicking your position.

“In a lot of ways, it is theatre. In fact, there’s actually a class that would be perfect for you,” he says, reaching to grab one of the figures.

When his arm gently brushes against yours, you gulp down your nerves. The butterflies in your stomach are flipping over each other.

“Class? What does that mean?” you ask.

“Your class is like the type of player you are. Different classes have different abilities. For example, that,” he points to the green man you’re holding, “would be a barbarian. Barbarians are super strong but not very intelligent. They can inflict a lot of damage but they’re shit when trying to solve puzzles. This, however-”

He holds his palm out flat and, nestled in it, is a woman clad in a bright orange dress with a purple crown adorning her head. She holds some kind of musical instrument in her arms; it looks like some type of medieval harp. You move a little closer to him, peering down at the figure.

“This is a bard,” he continues. You glance up into his eyes for clarification. “Bards are magic users. They weave magic through words and music to inspire allies, demoralize foes, manipulate objects and minds, and even heal wounds.”

“Wow,” you nod. "She's so beautiful and elegant."

"Mhm," Eddie hums in agreement. "She looks a lot like you, actually."

You glance up at him with a teasing smile.

“So what is, like, their most powerful spell?” you ask, trying to distract yourself from the pounding of your heart.

“Bards have a ton of great spells. While not the most powerful, one particularly awesome one is Charm Person. That spell allows the bard to charm an enemy within their range. If the target fails to roll a certain number, called a saving throw, that creature is charmed by the bard until the spell ends. Super useful and very compatible with bards, since they’re extremely charismatic.”

“Oh? So…you think I’m beautiful, elegant, and charismatic?”

You allow the smirk on your face to grow across your cheeks. Eddie lifts his eyes, wide and round. He stares at you in surprise. You think you notice that blush returning to his cheeks. His eyes once again flick down to your lips. Yours do the same to his and you gently lean forward, anxiously waiting for him to make a move. For a moment, it seems like he’s giving in. But he suddenly jerks backward and clears his throat loudly. You heave a shaky breath and continue talking to dispel the awkwardness that’s festering between you.

“So, let’s say I am a bar..?”

“A bard.”

“A bard, right. How would I…cast this spell?”

“Through your instrument, whatever your character has. For a bard, their instrument is like a weapon. So instead of channeling your spells through a staff like other magic users, you would use an instrument.”

“Any kind of instrument?”

“Sure. Guitars, flutes, harps, drums-”

“What about a voice?”

“Sure, that, too. But you’d still have to have something like a microphone to channel it through.”

“Okay. And what kinds of creatures would the spell work on?”

“Oh, it could work on any. Doesn’t matter what type of creature you’re attacking. What matters is whether their stats are high enough to prevent you from succeeding. For example, in this case, creatures with low wisdom would be more likely to fail their saving throw, but a character of any class could easily fall under your spell.”

“And what class do you usually play as?”

“Well, I’m the DM, the dungeon master, so I run the game. I'm all the extra characters, the villains and anyone else the party runs into along their journey. But when I do play, I always go for a ranger or a bard.”

“Really? Wait, you don’t sing, too, do you?”

“God no. I think that’d be torture for everyone. I do play guitar, though. I’m in a band, actually.”

“Oh…” you say, perking up.

Your heart flutters. Everyone knows that guys in bands are way hot. Your gaze falls onto Eddie’s long, slender digits. Your mind momentarily drifts into a daydream of those fingers dancing across the strings of a guitar. You shake your head to snap yourself back into the present.

“Yeah, Corroded Coffin," he continues. "We play at The Hideout on Tuesdays. We get a crowd…of about five drunks.”

You laugh, shaking your head. He’s funny, too? You’re starting to think you should get out of there before he charms his way right into your life. Silence settles for a few minutes as you both waver awkwardly in the space between you. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to get out of there, and you probably should since your friends are waiting for you. But you can’t bring yourself to end this moment with Eddie. Something about him is drawing you in, begging you to stay a little longer.

“So would this charm spell…" you start, "would it work on say…another bard, perhaps?”

The hint of a smile tugs at his lips. He turns toward you, leaning against his elbow on the table. His head flops to the side, his jawline pulled tightly and sharply against his skin, the muscles in his neck taut. Your eyes snap over to appreciate his bone structure for just a second.

“Depends,” he says, his voice dropping to a low tone.

“On what?” you answer, embarrassed by the breathy undertone of your voice.

“Just how good of a singer are you?”

You haven’t really noticed, but you’re suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you’re standing so close to each other. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your fingers on the table. Your fingertips are just millimeters away from touching Eddie’s. Your eyes are locked in a trance.

“I’m unmatched,” you reply teasingly.

“Oh yeah?”

“I can prove it. If I have to.”

“Please, my lady,” he gestures to the space in between you, “the floor’s yours.”

You straighten up and clear your throat. You take a deep breath and center yourself, just as your voice teacher had taught you to do. Once you open your mouth, you forget where you are and who you are. Whenever you sing, you’re transported to another place and time, where everything in the world is right and safe and happy. You almost feel like you’re flying, like your soul has sprouted wings.

Over the years, you’ve been told that you have a nice, clear, strong voice. You’re no Whitney Houston by any means. But as you belt out the lyrics to Sandy’s melancholy “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” you can feel the way your voice moves through your throat. You know when you’ve hit a note confidently. After a few bars, you allow your voice to fade out, holding the last note for a few seconds longer than usual.

Once finished, you open your eyes. Eddie’s eyebrows are raised, eyes wide. He’s looking up at you like you’re a piece of art, like you’re a beautiful landscape painting. You feel heat immediately gathering in your neck and face. You chuckle nervously and drop back onto the table, hunching your shoulders over. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and you gulp, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. His silence is making you second-guess your talent. Maybe you’re not as impressive as you thought you were…

“You sound like an angel,” he finally says, in a tone just above a hushed whisper.

You look up at him, your heart beating erratically against your chest. Your palms are growing clammy with every second. Your eyes drop down to his mouth. You can’t tear your gaze away when his lips part. He’s even closer now than you realized and his head is tilted down toward yours. His gentle brown eyes are focused hard on your face, trained on your lips. The veins in his neck are pulsing with his heartbeat. You can just barely see his collarbone peeking out from underneath his shirt. Your eyes start to flutter closed as he leans a smidge closer.

“I take it the spell worked, then?” you whisper, finally tearing your eyes up to his.

He doesn’t respond, his eyes still sewn to your lips. He dips down. You raise your head up to meet his lowering one. The moment your lips connect, you know you’re a goner. Your fingers curl into a fist on the table, your fingertips tingling to feel his skin. His lips are soft and warm, encapsulating yours comfortably. He pushes against you firmly and you love the feeling of the pressure. When your lips part, you both waver in the space between, the heat of your bodies mixing. Wasting no time, Eddie’s head juts forward and he kisses you again, a little harder this time. His hand finds its way to your waist and he grasps onto you, pulling you a step closer to him. Your hands slide onto his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt to hold his lips on yours. You tilt your heads to reach each other better and-

“Y/N, are you coming? I-ope!”

Your lips slip from Eddie’s and you whirl around with wide eyes. Your friend, Caroline, is standing offstage, her hands wrapped around her mouth.

“Caroline!” you shout. “Oh my god! I-I forgot you were waiting for me. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no,” Caroline responds. When she drops her hands, a wide smile is pulled across her lips. “No, that’s totally fine. I didn’t mean to…interrupt here. We were just wondering what happened to you.”

“What? Nothing happened. I…” you stutter, glancing back at Eddie.

He’s leaning against the table, his head dropped so that you can’t see his eyes. You’re feeling frazzled, totally caught off-guard. You shake your head. You can’t stop the goofy smile that raises to your lips. You can feel yourself growing hot again, the embarrassment of a teenage crush raging through your entire body.

“Eddie was just helping me find my jacket, and we were…uh…”

“I’ll tell them to wait up for a few more minutes,” Caroline replies. “But we can’t wait forever. We’re late as it is.”

“Thanks,” you reply, shooting her a grateful expression. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

Caroline just laughs, throwing up a dismissive hand as she spins on her heel and disappears into the shadows. Releasing a breath, you turn back toward Eddie. He lifts his head. His cheeks are definitely a bright pink now. His bangs are hanging in his face, covering part of his eyes. He looks adorable, like a bashful puppy, and you almost laugh at how strange his softness looks draped all in black and red.

“Well, I guess I’d better get going. Thank you for this,” you say, gesturing toward the jacket.

“Anytime. I think, uh, you’re missing a spot, though,” he says.

“What?”

You furrow your eyebrows, holding the jacket up to examine it. You peer closer at the fabric as you discover the awkward empty space he’s referring to. The pin that belonged there must have come unfastened and gotten knocked off. You groan, your fingertip running over the vacant holes where the pin used to be secured.

“If you wanted, you could, uh…you can have this one,” he continues, stretching his hand out.

On his palm is a pin. You swipe it from his grasp and smile when you see what’s printed on it. It’s a Judas Priest pin. You smile and hurriedly clip it onto the jacket.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He just nods. You waver awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether you should do something besides just saying goodbye. A thought suddenly occurs to you.

“Oh hey, you should come see the musical. Our first show is tomorrow night. And I am the lead, so I can promise a charismatic show.”

“Yeah...listen, um, musical theatre isn’t really my thing,” he answers.

You nod, your face falling, your heart crashing onto the floor. You feel stupid. Of course, it’s not his thing. Why did you even ask?

“But..” he continues. Your eyes widen in hope. “If you’re in it, maybe you’ll change my mind, Angel.”

You can’t do anything this time to stop the smile from overtaking you. His use of a pet name for you only makes you smile harder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. As long as you don’t use Charm Person on me.”

“I’ll try my best not to. But no promises.”

You both share a mischievous smirk, your heart fluttering with every breath you take. You clutch hard onto your jacket.

“Well, I guess, I’ll see you around,” you say.

You wiggle your fingers coquettishly, shooting him a flirty smile. As soon as you turn your back on him, you bite your lip hard, silently cheering to yourself. You only make it a few steps before his voice stops you.

“Hey, uh, Y/N?”

You pause and turn to glance over your shoulder.

“You should maybe come see the band, too. We cover a lot of Judas Priest, so maybe you’d have a good time. As it happens, we're actually in the market for a lead singer, too. If you're interested. I don’t know…”

You giggle softly and bite your lip.

“I tell you what, Eddie. If you come see me tomorrow night, I’ll drop by a show. You said Tuesdays at The Hideout, right?”

“Yep,” Eddie nods. “Corroded Coffin.”

“We don’t have rehearsals on Tuesdays,” you say. “Looks like you’re in luck. I’ll think about it.”

Eddie catches his lip between his teeth. There your heart goes, fluttering away again. Too nervous for a kiss and too excited for a hug, you settle on giving him a small peck. You quickly kiss his cheek and then dash away. You feel like a silly teenage girl but you love every second of it. You giggle as he shouts after you.

“See you tomorrow, Angel!”

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