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erwinsvow · 2 years

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𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫.

summary: eddie munson is smitten and you're a little clueless.

notes: a little pining, smitten eddie munson to ease the nerves <3 it's just cute fluff. first time ever writing for st so don't laugh at my dialogue. i love eddie that's all.

wc: 2.7k

Sweet. A word that Eddie Munson thinks is perfectly suited to describe you.

He starts to notice the little things, things he never cared to pay much attention too before, but now can hardly escape his attention.

The way Dustin Henderson never shows up to a Hellfire Club meeting without a packed lunch. The way you fit four to five teenagers into your tiny, beaten Ford Fairmont every other weekend, splitting so-called babysitting duty with Steve Harrington.

He doesn’t miss the way you have a lot of affection—paired with concern—in your eyes when you wave hello to him, and watch the kids head out from the back of your car. Once or twice, you even call to him with a faint ‘Take care of them’ before you drive away.

Eddie is smitten. It’s not a state that he often finds himself in, since his interaction with people that he could potentially be smitten with is fairly limited. He’s sold to some, sat next to others in classes, but this might just be the first time that he’s smitten.

The writing love songs, playing guitar outside your window, spending his days and nights with you kind of smitten.

He’s not used to this, not at all.

A nagging feeling in the back of his head reminds him continually that if he was going to feel this way about anyone, it shouldn’t be Dustin Shithead Henderson’s older sister—but no, the heart wants what the heart wants. And for the first time in a long, long time, he knows exactly what his heart wants.

He wants mornings where he picks you up, evenings spent listening to the newest Metallica album that he’s trying to learn, and more unforgettable moments where his heart pounds in his chest and his hand twitches with the overwhelming desire to brush your hair behind your ear. Moments like this.

He stands in front of you, the kids disappearing into the background as they chatter amongst themselves. All Eddie can focus on is you, in front of him, looking lovely as always, if not a touch more concerned than usual.

Your eyes look a little tired—like you haven’t been sleeping enough. That’s strange since it’s the summertime and he would expect you to be more rested than usual. You should be well rested and content and happy—tan and maybe a little sunburned on your nose, doing the things you love and not being concerned about the little shithe-Dustin.

Eddie is suddenly so concerned with the idea of you worrying that he forgets to answer the question you’ve asked him, until you repeat it back.

“Eddie?” you ask, with a soft voice that feels hesitant. Almost as if you don’t want to bother him for the answer. “Do you know when you guys will finish today?”

“Oh-uh-” he stumbles over his words. He hasn’t done that in a long time. Damn it. “Not too late, I promise. I know the little shitheads make you come back here to get them.” You smile at that—mission accomplished. “Y’know, I can always drop them off, if you’re busy. With other plans, or something. I don’t mind.”

He’s lying. He does mind. Actually, it’s a white lie—he minds them, and at the same time, he wants to do anything he can to make your life a little easier.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to drive all the way there just to drive home again. But thank you,” you say, and he knows your words are genuine. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Ah, come on. Pretty girl like you? I can’t believe that.” Heat creeps over your face and you have to turn away for a second. Flustered. Another victory.

“No, no, I’m serious. Just me and maybe another rented movie from Family Video since Steve gives us a discount.” There’s a little smile teasing on your lips that Eddie thinks is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It’s a mix of sincerity and honesty—you’ll be watching a movie tonight, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Really thrilling. I might even go out of my usual genre range tonight.”

“You’d dare to be so bold? I underestimated you, Henderson,” he says, and another laugh from you draws the attention of the other Henderson.

“Eddie! Hey, Eddie! Can you get your grubby paws away from my sister and come help us set up?” Dustin’s voice calls from the doorway.

Damn kid.

“Well, duty calls,” Eddie says, taking a step back. You fiddle with your car keys for a moment.

“Yeah, it does. I hope you have fun tonight.” The sincerity in your voice is close to killing him. He’s never felt so much affection for someone over something so little as a sentence uttered in a tone that makes him feel like his heart is being squeezed by a hand inside his chest. “I hope they’re not too much of a bother.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Henderson. You have fun too, going crazy with your rented movie.”

One last smile and laugh from you before you head back into your car—a third glorious triumph for him today—and you’re taking off, and he’s heading inside. He can’t wait to see you next.

Eddie can’t remember the last time he acted like this—all clammy hands and anxious foot-tapping. He’s waiting at the counter of the Family Video, Steve and Robin discussing something or other in the background. His attention is fixed firmly on the entrance, since according to the two idiots behind the counter, you always come to rent a movie around this time on a Friday night.

“Come on, you guys, she’s still not here—what if she has a hot date or something, huh? And I’m just the chum waiting here like a-a stalker or something,” he said, meeting Steve’s blank expression.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Robin said, cocking her head slightly as if deep in thought.

“What—Robin, you’re not helping, okay? If this doesn’t work, you know he’s gonna come bother us every single Friday night, right?” Steve’s reply is met with a laugh from Robin and a disgruntled look on Eddie’s face.

“Gee, Harrington, thanks a lot. Loving the help here, it’s really great.”

“Listen, Munson, getting a girl is not as hard as you’re making it seem. You just gotta have charm, y’know, be funny. And the hair—that helps a lot. I mean, it’s not exactly on the same level as mine, but it’ll do the trick, probably-”

“Still not helping, Harrington,” Eddie said, shaking his head again.

How had he ended up here?

That was right—Dustin not shutting up about Steve’s expert advice on all topics related to women—pursuing them, acquiring them, keeping them. So here he was, seeking that very same advice, until he suddenly had a thought.

“Wait, why are you qualified to give me advice about getting Henderson’s sister when you don’t even have a girl yourself?”

“Hey!” Steve said sharply—offended at the mere idea of being labeled as such. “I can get a girl, if I wanted—I’m just picky. Robin, back me up here. How many dates have I been on in the last month, huh?”

“Well, how many second dates have you been on in the last month?” Robin replied, absentmindedly organizing a stack of movies.

“Still not helping, Robin, okay? And by the way, Munson, if you don’t believe in the effectiveness of my theory then why are you here wasting a Friday night on trying it, huh?”

Eddie didn’t have an answer to that. Steve’s three part plan consisted of some things that Eddie supposes wouldn’t necessarily hurt his chances with you. The first was accidentally—on purpose—run into somewhere you frequent, where he could strike up a conversation. That was his mission for today.

“Oh-oh, there she is! Eddie, get ready, act natural,” Robin spoke up, directing her attention to you. Eddie scrambled, taking off in the direction his feet led him in. His instinct told him to hide, for some reason, and so he did, behind a purple velvet curtain. He was gone so quick that he didn’t hear Robin and Steve whispering frantically after him—Not there!

“Hey, Henderson!” he hears Steve call to you. “Whatcha looking for today?” “Hey guys,” you say, and Eddie can almost hear the smile in your voice. “I’m not sure yet, I’m just gonna look around. I’m gonna be crazy, maybe, pick a new genre or something-” and now Eddie’s the one smiling wide, leaning against a shelf.

He doesn’t realize how he looks until a man walking by shoots him a strange glance. It takes about ten seconds for him to process which part of the Family Video he’s stumbled into—the 18+ section—before he’s running out.

“What the hell, Harrington, I thought this place was a Family Video!”

But Steve’s not in front of him. You are, with a slightly confused and surprised expression gracing your pretty face. The surprise seeps away as you take in that you’ve supposedly coincidentally run into Eddie at the movie store, but the confusion sets in as you notice which section he’s just come from.

“Eddie,” you say, mustering a smile and trying not to laugh.

Eddie nods nervously. This is not what he wanted.

“Henderson.”

You hold up the movie in your hands—A Nightmare on Elm Street II—and try your hardest to ignore the blush settling across Eddie’s face.

“I took your advice, I-I’m being a little more spontaneous than usual. Horror is not my usual genre.”

“I’m so proud of you, that-that is really something.” “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just grabbing Breakfast Club as a backup incase spontaneity doesn’t work out for me.”

“Can’t go wrong with that,” he says, and suddenly his usual wit and general sentence forming abilities have disappeared. He must have left those behind the curtain in the adult section.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Eddie.”

“Enjoy-enjoy your movie. Movies, I guess.”

You smile back at him one time before walking towards the desk. Technically, he had talked to you, and you had smiled, so he had partially done what Steve told him to do.

You walk out shortly after, and he turns to see Steve and Robin doubled over with laughter, nearly in tears.

…

“What the hell am I supposed to do next? How do I ever recover from that whole-” he gestures wildly in the air, “fiasco?”

“You don’t,” Robin says.

“Thanks, Buckley. Real helpful.”

“It’s time for the second step, Munson, okay, using the resources you have available,” Steve says, tone as if he was directing his lead general in battle.

“What resources?”

“Okay, what does Henderson love?” Eddie stares blankly at him. “Her brother, you idiot. It’s time to make the little shithead do his part—y’know, some payback for free rides and shit.”

“I don’t think Dustin is going to be interested in setting me up with his sister, Steve-”

“No, no, we aren’t gonna tell him. We’re gonna play the kid like a fiddle, okay, he’s not even gonna realize that he’s helping us—”

“Us?” Robin questions, to which Steve stares back at her.

“You, okay. Helping you get the girl and maintaining my reputation, so here’s what we’re gonna do—”

In hindsight, Steve’s plan was a lot simpler than it seemed. For some reason—a reason Eddie could not grasp for the life of him—he could not maintain being a normal person around you. His words got jumbled, his hands got sweaty, and he managed to look like an idiot every time he was within ten feet of you.

The less than foolproof plan involved bringing Eddie to the Henderson household for dinner and using Dustin to sing his praises. Again, in hindsight, Eddie should have known it wouldn’t go as planned.

“Uh, why?” were the exact words Dustin uttered when Eddie asked if he could hang around for dinner. Damned kid.

“So I can, uh, y’know. Spend some more quality time with my favorite freshman. It’ll be fun.”

Dustin stared quizzically at Eddie.

“Al-right, I guess. I’ll be back.”

Dustin takes off before Eddie can say something—yelling after his mom and you.

Eddie faintly overhears a snippet.

“What do you mean mom’s not here?”

“She went out, so it’s just me and you for dinner. What do you want?”

“Eddie’s staying for dinner too.”

“Oh.” Is that a good or bad ‘oh’? God I hope it’s a good one. “Well, what do you two want to eat then?”

“I don’t know, whatever’s fine, just call us when it’s done—” and before Eddie can pull his ear back from the door that he had pressed up against, Dustin’s back. He stares once again at Eddie.

“What are you doing?” “Me? Nothing. Listen, why don’t we go help your sister make dinner, y’know, so she’s not alone.” “She doesn’t need our help—besides, I thought we had stuff to work on for the campaign-”

“Shouldn’t we help, though?”

“If you want to help, go help, no one’s stopping you—” The attitude on this kid.

And that’s how Eddie ended up in the Henderson kitchen.

He’s pouring pasta into a pot while you cut up something on the counter. The silence is awkward, though not entirely uncomfortable. You both have the bright idea to start a conversation at the same time.

“You really don’t have to help-” meets “So how was your movie?” and you both fall silent.

You let out a laugh. Eddie’s blushing already. He feels his grip on the pasta box slip.

“I just—you don’t have to help with this. Really, it’s no trouble at all.” Your remarks have this quality about them—he believes every word you say, instantly. He doesn’t feel like an intrusion in the slightest. You make him feel like he’s exactly where he should be.

“Oh, well, what kind of a guest would I be if I didn’t try to help. And I mean, with these pasta-boiling skills, it’s a shame to let my craft go to waste.” You laugh again. Music to his ears.

“Unfortunately it’s nothing special when it’s just Dustin and me. I wish he had invited you when we were making something better.”

“Whaddya mean? This is plenty special. I’m a big fan of-” he picks up the jar of pasta sauce. “Off-label, unnamed red sauce.” Another laugh. Either he’s America’s next big comedian or you might feel about him how he feels about you.

You reach over and take the jar from his hands, fingers brushing for a second. He wishes seconds lasted longer.

“I’m not used to company in the kitchen, okay, usually I’m just making grilled cheese or something.”

“Oh yeah, that kid’s a handful.”

“Yeah but he’s a freshman. Everyone’s like that when they’re fifteen.” A brief pause. “Thank you, by the way.”

Eddie is confused.

“For… what?”

“Y’know. All that stuff with your club and Dusty’s new friends and stuff. I know it wasn’t easy for him. I’m glad he has you as a friend. I think it’s helped a lot more than he lets on. And there’s only so much I can relate too, so, thank you.”

It takes every muscle in Eddie Munson’s body not to kiss you right then and there.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

You smile at him before turning back to your chopping board.

“The movie was good, by the way. I’m a real risk-taker now.” “Is that so?” Suddenly the food cooking for dinner and Steve’s three-step plan doesn’t matter anymore.

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“How would you feel about taking another risk?” He’s turned towards you, facing your back. You keep chopping as you reply.

“I’m not sure I've rebounded from this one yet, it might be a few days to make a full recovery. Why, what do you have in mind-?” you turn, just for a second, to see Eddie. He’s looking at you with big eyes, and a smile that you’re not certain you’ve ever seen on Eddie before.

“Go on a date with me, Henderson.”

You smile brightly at him, almost beaming—mission accomplished—and just as you begin to say yes, another voice interjects.

“Dude, gross. Wait—is this why you wanted to stay for dinner?”

#wrote this for no reason i just love him your honor #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader

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singlesablog · 8 months

Text

Singles

Forward

The Worst Taste in Music

There was a time when I believed my whole emotional life was wrapped up inside the sleeves of a 45 inch record: a pop song, a single. This was a time, starting in the early 70s, when FM was still new, and not having any actual money to buy a record, I was constantly absorbing the songs they played on the radio, Top 40, which meant these where the mainstream records, with little snatches of a counter culture, and race, slipping in here and there, and the subtle winds of change that blew in from California, or Nashville, or Detroit, or England. Having virgin ears is a beautiful, unacknowledged gift; because the radio was free, and for everyone, few people around me discussed music with any kind of seriousness. If the Bee-Gee’s appeared with a brand-new format in “Jive Talkin’”, no one really remarked upon the fact that they had brazenly entered into soul music so successfully; instead, they danced to the record because it was so good. Hearing these songs everyday kept me on a very dreamy wavelength; some of my deepest memories are the feelings surrounding a tune which will then open up to the place, and then the people in my life at that juncture. Once I was driving in my Ford Fairmont at around age 21 with my older sister Diane (who will feature later in these essays) and Anita Baker’s “Sweet Love” came on. That Ford had awesome speakers (even with one of the 4 of the 5 crackling in and out) and I turned it up, completely enthused. “Isn’t this song beautiful?”, I said, to which she grimaced. “Oh, Mark,” she said, “you’re just like Momma—you have the worst taste in music!”. I looked at her in astonishment. Anita’s was a really important new voice in radio, I knew, because she was charting with real soul music on both the R and B and Pop charts simultaneously. Instead of telling her so, I simply slipped back into my emotional world, the one that had served me so well all of these years, and silently asked myself the question do I have the worst taste in music? My life on AM and FM radio had always been so rich it had never occurred to me. The truth is I just moved on—everyone’s favorite pop songs are sly, masterful tricks of the novelty business, and I am sure some of her very favorites could be challenged just as easily. The difference between us at that moment in my ugly brown four-door was the fact that I was still deep inside my most impressionable age span, which I believe ends in your early 30s. These are the years where songs really inform how you are living, and, like the trend for album covers in the 80s, wash over crisp black and white photographs with the subtlest patinas of color, superimposing a bright faraway fantasy element to the reality of the time. I still think of that moment in the car, and my taste in music, but I don’t believe I am any closer to knowing if what she said was true. Music for all of us represents a certain time, a certain place, a certain way of growing away from or toward something, and like those subtle patinas on the albums of the 80s, the constant among all of us for a favorite song is that it has colored you forever, and the merest snatch of a piece of music will forever be a conduit, a dream tunnel, a quicksilver path to this part of your life: mysterious, yet permanent.

#radio #music #top 40 music #memoir

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