Hi, I Saw That You Write For Avatar, Does It Include All The Characters? Spider For Example?

That's so cute I'm in love

What’s That Van Halen Song?…

Summary- An opportunity for some extra college credit lands you tutoring a few students from Hawkins High, and it seems like one of them has a little more trouble than the rest.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :)

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @esme-viridian @gvf23

(Tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤)

Word Count- 2.9k

You sighed sitting at your usual table in the library, waiting for the next student. Ever since you graduated and started your classes at the community college, you’ve found a little extra time to help out the other students at Hawkins High. It was always nice when you had the college tutors help you out with your classes and you figured it was best to keep up with the tradition. After all, with their help you were able to graduate.

You opened up one of your notebooks and started scribbling away, wanting to try and kill some time as you waited and waited. Usually you never had to wait this long for someone to show up. It was always maybe a 5, 10 minutes maximum wait, but there was only one student you knew always showed up late.

“Hey! Sorry I’m-“ Eddie said to you as he approached your table, not before being cut off by the librarian shushing him to keep his voice down, “Sorry i’m late.” He said quietly.

He pulled out the chair next to you and set a few notebooks and folders onto the table.

“It’s alright,” You gave him a smile, “were you able to get that last test back?”

Eddie nodded quickly and opened up the folder in front of him, flipping through the various papers that were stuffed into it. You watched as his fingers moved through the scattered quizzes and exercise sheets, and you even noticed a few doodles on them, little dragons and demons and swords. For someone the same age as you, it really seemed like he never grew out of the same things you saw from the freshmen you helped tutor. Still scribbling little doodles on his papers, still getting sidetracked and distracted when you were trying to teach him, he was just a big kid. As cute as it was, you knew something had to change if he wanted to graduate on time.

“Um… Alright, here it is-“ He finally found the test he had been searching for in his jam packed folder, “-and here’s a quiz we took beforehand.” He placed the two pieces of paper onto the table and you moved them closer to you to compare his work.

“Alright, so you got a 73% on the quiz, which is a lot better than last time! But you only got a 70% on this test Eds, did you look over it and figure out some things you did wrong?”

“Yeah,” He nodded and moved a bit closer to you, pulling the test towards him to show you his work, “I think for number 3 i just forgot to carry the 2? And for this one, number 7, i forgot which equation is used for this type of graph so i kind of just winged it…”

“Eddie…” You said to him in the same disappointed voice you’d heard nearly a million times beforehand from your own parents, “we spent the last few sessions studying for this test! I know you’re smarter than just a 70%. Did you ask if you can do anything to bring the grade up?”

“Yes! Mr. Jackson said that if i came back tomorrow with a full corrections sheet on the problems i missed then he’ll give me back half points for all of them.”

“That’s great! See, even he knows you’re smarter than a 70%.”

Eddie smiled to you. He hasn’t really gotten this kind of treatment from someone like you before. You were the same age and he didn’t feel any differently towards you than he did the other people his age. But you were different. You were someone who encouraged him to do his best, even when his best isn’t perfect. He had to admit he had a slight little schoolboy crush on you, but with you being so sweet to him how could he not?

You were smart, independent, someone who knew exactly what you wanted and that’s what he strived for. He wanted to be able to live his life the way you lived yours. Carefree.

The two of you had plenty of conversations that didn’t surround his classes, and from the few things he knew about you he knew you would be a pretty cool person. Hell, if you went to Hawkins with him he could’ve sworn he’d have done better just to be able to go off to college with you and not have to leave your friendship behind.

He liked you. And he was certain that if he knew a little more about you he may even love you.

“Eddie?” You asked him with a giggle, pulling him out of his trance.

“Hm? What?”

“I asked you to show me all the ones you got wrong so we can work on them.” You giggled again.

Situations like this weren’t uncommon with Eddie. Every time he lost his train of thought or get sidetracked you always figured he just had a difficult time paying attention, which is what led to his grades being how they were. But every time you caught him losing track of whatever it was you were saying he had the littlest twinkle in his eye when he was looking at you.

He moved his chair closer to you and flipped through the packet of papers to show you each question he had missed, and thankfully it was only a few.

“Alright, so i know that we’ve gone over a this stuff right before you took this test, i have a couple of things to look through from the other kids i tutor, do you think you can try to do your corrections without my help first?”

“I think i’ll be able to.”

“I think you will too,” You said to him with a smile, “do it yourself first, and when you’re finished i’ll look over it with you to see if you’re still struggling.”

Eddie nodded with a smile and took his papers back, opening up his notebook and turning to a blank page to start on his corrections. You opened up one of your folders and took out a few papers to look over as Eddie started fixing his work. Every now and then you’d glance over at Eddie to check on how things were going and he’d quickly adjust himself in his chair, turning his eyes back onto his paper and working on whatever problem he was stuck on.

You’d give him a little smile each time you looked up, and it was quite cute to see him get a bit flustered. For someone who looked like he did, it was a pleasant surprise for him to act this way.

When you first started tutoring him, you had to admit it was a little nerve wracking. He was older than any other high school student you’ve known, and thought it felt a little strange to be tutoring someone your own age, those feelings soon faded once you really sat and got to know him.

He was kind, passionate, he was someone who had been a lot nicer to you than some of your own peers at school. And you could see from helping him through his classes that he was smart. He had an amazing imagination and he excelled when it came to story building, and it showed in a few of his DnD campaigns he had told you about.

It was just math that he really struggled with.

When you glanced back over at him after looking through and editing another essay from one of the other students, you could see him staring off at the paper in front of him, making little doodles in the corner. He always had the worst attention span. You focused in on the little doodles he was doing in the corners of his paper and it seemed like the strangest thing for him to be drawing.

Hearts. Hearts of all different shapes and sizes, a few with arrows in them, a few big hearts filled with little ones. All of them surrounding one bigger heart, with something scribbled right there in the middle, but before you could get a good look at whatever he has scribbled in the center you went right back into tutor mode,

“Eddie.” You said to him in a stern tone, wii joy getting his attention as he looked over to you, his hand covering up his little doodles in the corner, “I thought you were doing your corrections?”

“I am! I’m just… taking a break.”

You looked over to his notes and saw that he had already worked through three of the questions he missed,

“Tell you what, you get five of those finished and we’ll take a break, ok? Just please try and focus on your work.”

“I will! I’m focusing, see,” He turned the page of his notebook and began working on another problem, “focused.”

You chuckled and went back to your work, looking over the other students papers as Eddie did his best to finish up the last two problems before your break. However, just as you put away one paper to grab the next, you could hear the eraser of Eddie’s pencil tapping onto the paper of his notebook.

You glanced over to him and saw him gently bobbing his head, his lips mouthing out a few words as his curls bounced back and forth, following the rhythm of the eraser against the paper. He had only one more problem to do, but his attention span was really affecting his work.

“Eddie.” You said to him again, stopping his motions as he looked to you once again, “We really have to fix that attention span of yours.” You said with a giggle, reaching over to grab his notebook to check his work, but he quickly snatched it back.

“Wait! I’m not finished yet, one more to go right?”

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna get distracted i can at least check what you have done so far. I’m sure you’re doing fine! Just let me look-“

“No.” He gripped it tightly in his hand.

“What do you mean no? I’m sure you did fine, just let me see.”

You reached your hand out for him to give you the notebook and he reluctantly handed it off to you, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at the desk as you flipped through the pages. You finally found the page with his corrections, the little hearts in the corner were a dead giveaway. It was when you saw what was scribbled in the middle of that big heart that you understood why Eddie was so reluctant to give you the notebook.

There, right in the middle of the heart in his notebook, were your initials. EM + (f/i)(l/i).

You looked over at him in his seat, not giving away any indication that you had spotted the initials, and saw the bright blush on his cheeks.

It was finally starting to click.

The way he had acted around you in the past, the way that he would hang on to every word you said as it left your lips. He had paid attention to every single thing you told him at every tutoring session, and even though he knew this stuff like the back of his hand, he was back every week. With you.

You smiled a bit and giggled to yourself, Eddie glanced over at you with a scared look in his eye. He was hoping it wasn’t him you were laughing at,

“What?”

You slowly closed the notebook and placed it onto the table between you, looking over to him with a smile on your lips,

“You never needed my help with your classes, did you?”

He got silent, his cheeks a bright red, knowing you had him all figured out. He gently shook his head as he looked back down at the table, too embarrassed to look up at you.

A little smile formed on your lips as you thought over all the past tutoring sessions you’d had with him. Each and every time you’d notice his little glances, the way he would pay such close attention to your voice and still have a hard time with his work, and no matter how long you had worked together to bring his grade up he always brought in something new he was struggling with. It all made so much sense, and you felt like an idiot for not being able to notice it before.

He had a crush on you.

He had a crush on his tutor.

You giggled, placing your hand over your lips to try and stifle it, not wanting to embarrass him any more than he already had been,

“I’m sorry, i don’t mean to laugh, i just…” Your mind kept wandering back to all the times you had heard Eddie humming and tapping along on his notebook, each and every time you had heard it, it was all the same melody. The same song. You knew exactly what it was, you just couldn’t put your finger on it,

“What’s that Van Halen song?”

He finally looked up to you, the corners of his lips curling into a gentle smile,

“Which one?”

“You know the one. The one you’ve been humming every time you come to see me?”

“Oh, yeah,” You finally got a laugh out of him, “Hot For Teacher?”

“Yes! That’s it, that’s the one!”

The librarian at the front desk looked over to the two of you and put her finger over her lips, signaling for you both to quiet down. You gave her a nod and a quick and quiet ‘Sorry’ before going back to Eddie,

“You must really like that song, hm?”

“Well…” Now he was getting bashful, “It’s not a favorite, but i always think of it whenever i come to see you.”

You smiled with one another, though Eddie was still unsure of your feelings towards him. You knew he liked you, and though it felt very strange to have one of your students have a crush on you, you knew it was innocent. Hell, if he wasn’t a student you’d go out with him in a heartbeat, but not now. Not like this.

“I think that’s sweet. But you didn’t have to have your grades suffer just to spend time with me, we could’ve always just hung out if you asked.”

He was taken back, eyes widening,

“Really? All i had to do was ask?”

You nod and giggle as he leans back in his chair,

“Well shit, if i knew that i wouldn’t have fucked my algebra grade up this bad.”

“How bad is it?” You asked him, though he gave you no answer, only looking back down at the table, “Eddie.” You said more sternly.

“…63% in the class.”

“Eddie!”

The librarian looked over at you two once more, this time her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. She didn’t even have to say a word for you to quiet down.

“Eddie,” You whispered to him, “you’re so close to graduating, why would you mess your grade up that bad?”

“I don’t know, i just like being able to spend time with you.”

You sighed and smiled to him. Though it was always nice to be able to see him and spend time with him after school in the library, you knew he was so much smarter than this.

“I’ll tell you what, because i know you’re smart enough to get at least an 80% by yourself wirh these corrections and the next few assignments, how about we make a deal?”

He looked to you strangely,

“What kind of a deal?”

You smiled and tore a little piece out of his notebook, grabbing your pen and scribbling down your phone number on it,

“When you graduate, if you get higher than an 80% in this class, i’ll take you out on a date. Sound good?”

He perked up immediately, not expecting you to be so upfront. He nodded quickly, still not being able to say much. He was still a little embarrassed.

“Good. Here,” You handed him the little slip of paper, “if you actually need help with something, go ahead and call me. And make sure you let me know when you graduate ok?” You smiled to him as you saw the pink on his cheeks, he mouthed the number in his hand to himself as you stood up and started collecting your things.

“Wait, are you going?” He asked you as you placed your few notebooks and folders into your bag.

“Eddie, you and i both know you’re smart enough to get all those corrections done on your own.” You stood up from your chair and pushed it in as you slug your bag over your shoulder, “And remember, if you do need help, you have my number.”

He nodded again and straightened himself in his seat, opening up his notebook to the next blank page and starting his corrections once more. All he really needed was a push in the right direction, and he was glad you were the one to help him get there.

You gave each other a smile and a quiet wave as you made your walk out of the library, only to quickly turn back. You approached Eddie once more, pushing his bangs back and giving him a kiss onto his temple,

“You’re gonna do great. This is your year, remember?”

He looked up to you and you could see just how much that meant to him.

After all this time, after everything you’ve heard about him, after all the times you’ve had to get him back on track after getting distracted or showing him the same problem solving methods nearly a hundred times, you still didn’t give up on him. You made him want to work his hardest.

He wanted to finish this year, finally, all for you.

Nighttime Nostalgia (Tim Klitz)

Pairing: Tim Klitz x GN!Reader (romantic)

Word count: 1016

Description: Klitz brings Y/N out to a park for a nighttime hangout. Y/N soon questions why Klitz chose this park specifically.

Tags: slight fluff, first kiss, embarrassed Klitz, Klitz's first name, confession, light language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had set a couple of hours ago. Darkness covered the park in a blanket of obscurity. Sitting on top of the play structure, you and Klitz said nothing. You didn’t feel the need to say anything and neither did he. Comfortable silences were not uncommon between you two, you liked that about your friendship. 

You would steal occasional glances over to Klitz, but each time you looked, he was just staring into the dark sky, not looking at anything in particular. For a reason you knew very well, this troubled you. You didn’t want Klitz to look at the sky, you wanted him to look at you. 

“Is there any reason you wanted to come here in particular, Klitzy? I know it’s close, but so are, like, five other parks,” you said, trying to break the quiet as gently as you could. Klitz had suggested you come here to watch the sunset, not just to a park, but this one. 

Klitz looked at you, eyebrows raised calmly. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he responded. “Yeah, I guess it’s just close.” You could tell he was lying. Klitz had a tell that you had quickly learned to identify. He would look down at his hands and slightly clench his fists before he lied to you. His lying about something so small bothered you.

“Is that so,” you replied, a slight questioning tone in your voice.

He did it again. “Yep, it’s just close.” You took a deep breath. If he doubled down, you knew it had to be juicy, but you also could tell he was a little embarrassed. You and Klitz had been friends since you were in diapers, so the fact he was doing this was weird. A small idea tickled the back of your brain, it was stupid, but you were also shit out of ideas.

You stood up from your sitting position and hopped off the play structure. Klitz looked a little surprised at your sudden movement but didn’t say anything. You then started to slowly walk around the playground, keeping a close eye on Klitz’s face. Your steps were long, but they were slow. You kept an eye on Klitz’s reactions as you moved around the park. 

As you made your way towards the monkey bars, Klitz’s expression changed slightly. He looked down at his face and, even though you couldn’t see the color, his posture gave away his blush. You then walked up to them and sat next to the ladder. You motioned your head to beckon over Klitz. He visibly sighed but got up to join you. He walked a little reluctantly and sat on the opposite side of the monkey bars. 

You smiled at him, an air of mischief on your face. 

“So, Klitz, why this park?” You looked at Klitz expectantly, and he huffed at you. He now knew how easily you had read him, just how quickly you had picked up what he was desperately trying to hide. 

“It’s kinda embarrassing,” he muttered, his arms crossed over his chest. You stood slightly and then sat directly across from him. 

“Now you can whisper,” you whispered to him, a big smile on your face. Klitz couldn’t hold back his laughter at the sight of you. 

“Ok, ok,” he surrendered. “You asked for it.” He adjusted his glasses nervously, and you could now see the blush in his cheeks. He looked up at the monkey bars with nostalgia in his eyes. 

“One time, when we were five, our parents brought us here.” You looked at him, expectant curiosity on your face. You tried to conjure up a memory like that, but nothing appeared.

“We were sitting and talking under the monkey bars, and our moms ran back to the car to get a bottle of water, or something, I can’t remember.” He laughed a little. “As soon as they had gone far enough away, you turned to me, and…you kissed me.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. Klitz had brought you to a park where you had kissed him when you were five. That sentence was all you needed to piece things together. 

“I guess some stupid part of me thought bringing you here would,” Klitz sighed a little. “That it would make you wanna kiss me again.” As that last part entered your brain, you leaned towards Klitz and closed the gap between you.

It was a small kiss, your lips met him and you sat there for a second. He leaned back in surprise but you followed him. Before long, he leaned forward again, into you. After a couple of seconds, you pulled away. 

“Something like that,” you asked. Klitz’s face was bright red and his glasses had slid down his nose. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you, it was a stupid thing to-” You put your finger to Klitz’s lips to silence him. 

“You didn’t pressure me, doofus. It just wasn’t a bad idea is all,” you said confidently, it felt nice to look like the cool one in this situation.

Inside though, you were screaming. You had wanted your first kiss with Klitz to be a little more special than in the middle of a park. You had liked Klitz since middle school, and this is how you showed it? However, the more you thought about it, the more special it felt. A park from your childhood under the stars, and Klitz, who looked just as flustered as you felt. 

The blushing boy before you had never looked more beautiful. The light of the moon lit up his face as he looked at you with such intense emotion burning in his eyes. He smiled slightly as he parted his lips to speak. 

“I really like you, Y/N,” he said, shrinking the gap between your faces as he got closer to you. The way he looked at your lips expectantly screamed at you that he wanted you to kiss him again. 

“I think I feel the same way, Tim,” you smiled, resting your lips on his once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I was so excited to write for Klitz! I'm in the middle of my Paul Dano phase right now, so I'm simping hard rn. Also, if you can't tell by this fic and the last one, I'm enamored with dates under the stars, nighttime is just so nice :)

Of course Ghostface wants you!

Gf!Ethan X GN!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

‼️CW/TW‼️: scar; manipulative E; yandere!Ethan

If there's others tell me.

Not satisfied with this one, like really not. I fell like this is pure shit. Sorry.

"I'm scared, E. I'm actually terrified."

Ethan tightens his hold around you and kiss your forehead. The both of you lying down on your bed after a movie and an argument with the group.

"Ghostface wants us, he probably wants me, too! I don't wanna die, not like this. And the group... They want to separate you from me. You're my only support. Don't leave."

"I won't leave you." He whispers in your ear. "I'd never leave you. Nobody'll ever separate you from me. We'll be together forever. I'll protect you from everything."

According to Mindy, Ethan was the main suspect. When the first attack occurred, he wasn't here. Everyone got hurt, and Anika...

A wave of sadness overcome you and you feel your eyes water again.

"Love..." Ethan whispers, concern in his voice.

His thumbs caress your cheek while a weak smile makes his way to your face. The first attack was so unexpected, nobody was ready.

You even got hurt, too. Ghostface plunged his knife into your thigh. The hit was directed towards Sam but, trying to push her away, you fell and got hurt instead of her. Badly. You'll never regret it though.

Ethan's hand goes down your shoulders, to your hips to finally settle on your thigh. Where your stitches remains. He does not put his palms directly on it since the scar is really fresh and not healed yet. But his hand was still close to it. He was feeling guilty ever since he saw you with Chad near the ambulance. He was blaming himself.

"It's not your fault, E." You say.

-Yes, it is. I should have been here.

-But you weren't. It's useless to think of what you could have done. I'm alive. That's what matters."

You feel water running down your head. A single drop. A tear. Ethan is crying. You take Ethan's hand which is on your thigh and move it to your hip. Your good leg sneak its way in between his. While the hurt one goes above them to frame him. But not too far in case you worsen your stitches by stretching it. Both of your arms go under his. Your chest is glued to his.

"It's my fault.

-It's Ghostface's fault. He's the one who attacked me. Not you."

Ethan stays silent. His hand caress your back slowly and you do the same for him. Both of you comforting each other in the almost religious silence of the room. Some cars could faintly be heard outside but you were not paying attention to them.

In this hug, you were protecting each other. You were telling him how much you loved him, how much you were grateful. While Ethan was telling you that everything would be fine. He was so worried... You were happy he had econ. You don't know what you would have done if you saw him get hurt. He's the only one who understands you. The last thing you want is to see him in danger.

"You're risking your live by staying with me, you know ?" You talk with a shaky voice. You were getting emotional again just by thinking of what could happen.

"I'm sure Ghostface won't hurt you. How could he kill someone as pretty as you?"

"That's not funny, E. I'm really scared.

"I know but I swear to you, from now on, I'll always be by your side."

You nod, burying your face in his chest. Your arms tighten around him. You feel him tense for a second. Worried, you look up at him to just see him smiling, all softened, at you. He was so pretty. How could the others ever think of him as a criminal ? He was the one massaging your back when you were tired. He was the one cuddling you when you were sad. He was the one litteraly apologizing to chairs when he bumped into them. He was the one crying watching romantics movies ! How could he kill someone?

"Did I hurt you?" You ask.

-No, love. Why?" He whispers back.

You took time to respond, chilling in the pretty silence of the room where all you could hear were your two breath. It was hot but a nice hotness. A calming one. It made you sleepy, you who had sleep issue.

"Your body contracted when I touched you.

-It's nothing..."

Still worried, you move in the bed. Your back now facing him. He's whining, missing your body close already. You grab your phone and quicky return under the blanket. This time though, your head goes underneath. With the flashlight of your phone, you move up his shirt and look at where you touched moment prior. Ethan sighs.

"I told you it's nothing."

But you ignore him and go back to the surface. Meeting his accustomed yet loving gaze.

"Did your hurt yourself? You have a bruise on your hip."

He laughs nervously, as if embarrassed. His big hands takes a good hold of your hips before moving you up until you're face to face. He then hides his face in your neck. He loved doing that, manhandling you. You never understood why. He sighs once in the comfort of your body.

"I bumped into the corner of the table yesterday."

You had doubts.

"You're not hiding something from me, right ?"

But Ethan never doubted himself.

"What ? You think I'm Ghostface, too?" He said in a ironical tone, knowing damn well he won already.

You were not laughing. You would never dare doubt your boyfriend like that. The only reason you asked that was because you were scared he got into a fight or simply hurt himself bad. It happens, after all. Never would the thought he was a murderer even cross your mind. So you push him away from you a little to see his face. Not even a shadow of a smile on your face.

"Don't say that. Even for a joke. You know it makes me angry. I don't like them saying that. You're not Ghostface. I think I'd knew it well if you were a damn serial killer." You said, gritting your teeth, your hands clenching around his shirt.

-Well, I don't like them saying that either. Plus, they imply that you'd be stupid enough to be in a relationship with someone you barely know. But you're not stupid. And we know each other. You're the cleverest person in the damn world.

The subject changed and you didn't even notice.

-I am stupid sometimes, though. There is lot of things that I don't notice. Like when that guy was following me home. If it weren't for you I'd be dead.

-And that's why I'm here.

It was his duty, after all. To protect you.

-But Ghostface is not just a creepy guy in an alley. He's much more dangerous Ethan. And he wants me dead. He wants me.

-Of course he wants you my love, you're so pretty. Everyone want you.

You move away from his embrace and stare at him angrily. You had already told him not to joke like that and he was still doing it. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were dry. Contradictory with the long minutes you spent wetting them.

-Seriously Ethan, don't joke on that subject. It's making me uncomfortable. Anika is dead because of that guy. I don't want to laugh.

You cringed internally mentioning your friend. Fuck, she wasn't even related to the group that much. She was new, like Ethan. Why was she targeted ?

-I'm joking on it because I know nothing will happen to you. You're safe with me." He was smiling. A reassuring smile. One you could pour all your trust in.

You could never stay mad at Ethan anyway. Less in a situation like this. You needed support. And your friends didn't want him around. You only had him to dry your tears.

"I don't want you to get hurt." You said, entering back your safe place: his arms.

"I already told you. I won't. I'm staying here until you are safe.

-And the group? Chad, Mindy, Sam and Tara ? What about them?

-I'm sure they'll be fine. Even if they threw you out of their house...

-They didn't throw me out of the house, Ethan. I know you don't like them but they're my friends. They're scared too, you have to understand that.

-Okay, I understand. But if I wasn't here, you would have been all alone. They shouldn't have kicked you out in a situation like this."

You found nothing to answer this time. Because it was true. If he wasn't here, you'd be alone. They didn't kick you out, you left with Ethan because you were angry with their accusatory remarks towards him. But still, no one tried to call you. To know how you were doing. To even check if you were alive. And realizing that, you start crying again. You were so sensitive since Anika's death. You were truly in edge. You were happy Ethan was here.

"I'm alone E. I'm so fucking alone..." You realized.

-No, of course not. You're not alone. I'm here. I'd die for you. I'll protect you. Nothing will ever harm you as long as I'm here. You'll always be seen with me by your side. I'll marry you one day. You know that?"

You weren't listening anymore. You were remembering every memory you had with your friends. Searching a way to come back to them, to regain their trust. You needed them, they were your dear friends. Maybe you were dramatic but you had every right to be. And Ethan was right. They had left you alone to die by Ghostface. They had left you knowing you were a target. But you loved them, you couldn't resent them.

"We'll live a life where you won't need anyone but me. And I won't need anyone but you. A house secluded where no one can come. After all of this is done, we'll be together."

Ethan was smiling. But you couldn't see it.

That's adorable

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie asks you out on your very first date, indulging you in huge philly cheesesteaks, a vanilla milkshake (with two straws), a largely neglected bucket of popcorn, and a sugary first kiss. requested here. shy fem!reader, 3.2k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

I'm actually going to die here, you think morosely. 

This was a very bad idea on your part, and perhaps a worse one on his. What possessed Eddie —ripped jeaned, silver-chained, aspiring heavy metal rockstar Eddie— to ask you on a date? Perhaps you'd appeared more formidable outside of Hawkins library than you usually did.

You were in a particularly bad mood after a chilly fall afternoon spent checking the quality of the returns, and the prospect of walking home in the cold was a dismal one. You'd been glaring at nothing when a big, hulking bucket of a van slowed to a crawl beside you, thumping bass leaking from the closed window. It rolled down, the music quieting with it, and out came a head of inky dark curls. 

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie said, pet name rolling around in his mouth, "you heading home? Do you want a ride? It's a long walk." 

Somewhere between the library and your driveway, Eddie asked you on a date. You genuinely can't remember what you talked about or how it happened, your adrenaline high enough you could've used it to climb Everest. You do remember the quiet way he'd asked, as though he was waiting for an impending rejection, and his smile bordering goofy when you breathed out, "Yeah, okay." 

You rub at the seam of your cream sweater over and over, the pad of your thumb numb. The wind runs through you, ruffling the skirt of your black dress against your thighs. I'm an idiot, you think. Hypothermia might kill you if your racing heart doesn't. 

Eddie holds a similar sentiment, "What the fuck are you doing out here?" 

You flinch embarrassingly hard. He wasn't there a moment ago. Eddie cusses and holds his hands out to you before you can slip backward off of the low brick wall you'd been waiting on, his fingers shooting tingles down into the epidermis of your skin like wild golden sparks where they grab you, hoisting you up into a more secure standing position. 

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. Like, really really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, just– it's like, minus ten out here? What are you doing?" 

"I–" You give him a more petrified look than you mean to. "You said to meet you here?" 

Does he not want you here? Was it a joke?

Eddie laughs out of the side of his mouth like he's holding a cigarette between his lips. "Well, yeah, but I meant inside. I've been waiting for you at the table." His amusement dissipates as he feels the chill emanating from your clothes. "Jesus, I'm sorry. Are you ready to come in?" 

Minus ten was dramatic. It's a solid 30 Fahrenheit, but the cold wind makes it feel colder. As soon as you enter the diner you're warm, heat nibbling at your fingers as the blood starts to pump. Eddie takes you to the side of the restaurant away from the noise of the games machines and the bathrooms, slipping into a booth where a worn paperback book is waiting. 

"I left that in case someone decided to steal our table." 

"What if they stole your book?" you ask, sliding into the booth seat opposite. 

"They'd love it," Eddie says. He leans forward with a mischievous air about him. "It's about a bullied teenage girl who loses her shit and gets psychic powers. I think she's gonna kill someone." He blinks. "Not that that's cool." 

"It's just a book, right? You're not a murderer."

You wonder why the fuck you'd say something like that, but he nods his agreement breezily. "Exactly." 

"Plus," you add, eager to say something he'll like, "it's hard not to root for the underdog." 

His smile twitches with an emotion you can't name. "Exactly," he says again. 

A waitress with thick rings of eyeliner comes to take your order. She has a sunny attitude, like Eddie in that way, an exterior some might say was intimidating and a bright smile. You're nervous from the get go and you have a cliche worry, watching Eddie interact with her from the corner of your eye. 

"For you?" she asks you. 

You stammer. What you'd thought about on the walk here this evening can be pinpointed into two simple lines of inquiry —what should you say to Eddie, and what should you say to the waitress. Shy to the point of aching, you'd rehearsed your order ten times, but all that comes out is hot air. 

"Um," you say, wishing you'd paid more attention to what Eddie said rather than how he looked at the waitress, "could I have, uh. Just the same? As he had, please." 

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks, nothing but patience in his tone. "Do you like pink lemonade?" 

You don't want anything carbonated tonight, nauseous enough. "Um, the same but with water instead, please." 

The waitress writes a short sentence with a big flourish. "Water," she reads, giving you and Eddie each a glowing smile. "No worries, I'll bring your drinks right out, food in twenty at most."

"Thank you," you and Eddie say together, in starkly different tones. 

Eddie waits for her to leave before he shucks off his jacket. He puts his elbows on the table and runs his knuckles up and down the length of the opposite forearm, smudging the whorls of his inky tattoos, the skinny silver chain around his wrist catching the light. "You know, I don't mind doing the talking, if you don't want to." 

You can't describe the embarrassment that bites at you, then. "It's– I'm sorry, I just couldn't think of what I wanted–" 

"I'm sorry," Eddie interrupts. "I should've told her to come back in a minute, I didn't give you chance to read the menu. I swear that's the only time I'll make a dick move tonight." 

You cough. He grimaces, teeth sinking into the pink of his bottom lip as he laughs it off. "Not like that. Or, not not like that. No dick moves," he says, "I just wanted to talk to you over a table rather than that pillar of a desk in the library." 

"It's a really tall desk." 

"It's so tall! I get that they want us to have somewhere to put the books but they have to go down to you guys anyways when you stamp 'em." 

"I don't know what the idea was behind them," you say. 

"Maybe they hired a bunch or very small librarians initially," Eddie says. He spies the waitress approaching with your drinks and leans back to accommodate her. He thanks her, but as soon as she leaves he's staring at your tap water with critical eyes. "It looks a little cloudy. You want my lemonade, instead?" 

"No, it's okay," you say, though drinking it feels like a bad idea. There's a whirlpool of scum at the top like clouds circling a mountain peak, ice cubes drifting in slow laps beneath. 

"I can take it back–" 

"Please don't," you say, "I'd be so embarrassed, it's only water." 

"I get you. Maybe I can get you something else, then. I'd say we should get hot cocoa but it's weird having hot cocoa with cheesesteaks." Eddie knocks the table. "I'm really sorry I asked you here." 

Your heart could be likened to a balloon popped by a sharp pin. You knew he'd regret asking you, knew it was too good to be true–

"We should've gone somewhere nice. Like Enzo's or Bullock's. Hey, we even could've gone into Indianapolis. And I have to say sorry double 'cos I should've asked you if I could give you a ride, I really messed it up." 

"It's not messed up," you say. "It's not." 

Eddie smiles at you, his most stripped back to date. 

Things are awkward and you theorise that it's your fault, but Eddie doesn't let you flounder in it. He asks questions, he says kind things. You have no choice but to relax and laugh at his ill-conceived jokes. You almost choke on your sub and he goes as far as to say, "Hey, you even make choking look good," having leapt up to pat your back. It's too much but it's weirdly nice at the same time. It's almost worth dying if it means Eddie's gonna rub your back with a big, unflinching hand. 

He wanders off when he's sure you're alive and you catastrophize: choking is far from attractive. He saw the way your nose wrinkled and your jaw went soft in your coughing and jumped ship. You dab the tears (from choking, though they could change at any moment) away with a napkin, sniffling. Your throat hurts and your sandwich doesn't look as appetising now. 

"Here," Eddie says, placing a tall glass in front of you grandly. 

"What is it?" you ask, though it could only be one thing. 

"Vanilla milkshake. Benny uses full fat cream, it's basically ice cream and nothing else. Is that okay?" 

You take a sip through a red and white striped straw without answering, the cold soothing your raw throat. A second straw stabs you in the cheek. 

"That ones for me," Eddie jokes. 

You swear you're gonna catch fire, putting the milkshake down with a thunk. "Oh," you say. 

"I'm kidding," he says. 

"No, I mean, if you want to share–" 

You're offering in the interest of being polite, but the look on Eddie's face reminds you of the more romantic connotations. "You sure?" he asks. 

You could say no. "Yeah. Of course." 

Between sips, you talk. Your conversation begins to feel like the unwinding a tight knot, unravelling defences you were unaware of, like a tapestry you never agreed to shaken out. Sure, you're shy, but you're interesting, and you have things to say. Eddie's eager to hear them; he won't stop pulling on the thread. 

Your throat tickles intermittently with scratchy pain. Eddie tucks a rather lustrous curl behind his ear, exposing a small stud earring and a hoop behind it. 

"I never noticed you have your ears pierced," you say, leaning forward to take another sip. 

Eddie pulls his straw from the glass to hit at yours teasingly, the slope of his eyebrows arching steeper. "Then you should look at me more often," he says. He stabs his straw into the glass and meets your eyes. To the outside observer, you're sure you look like partners getting gooey. "Notice anything else new?" 

Your pulse tangles in on itself, a snag in the thread. "Um, well…" You glance over his pale cheeks, their gentle caress of freckles. "You have freckles… and," —there, nestled between his lashes like a tiny dotted star— "a beauty mark under your eye." 

He doesn't smile, but some sweet softness plays in his eyes, his lashes kissing as they close ever so slightly. "You're prettier up close," he says quietly. "I didn't think you could get much prettier, but I've never been this close before, I guess." 

You take another sip to avoid further mortifying yourself with a stammering answer, but Eddie has a similar idea, leaning in. More awkward to pull apart, you share your drink and try not to bump his nose. The drink slurps and crackles as you finish it off together. Sitting back with twin smiles, awkward and flushed and not knowing what else to say, you fluster. There's a lot of stuff you want to ask him, but now he's finished his food and the milkshake is empty, you might not have time.

"Did you, like, wanna catch a movie or something?" Eddie asks, sounding for a second not quite as confident as he appears. 

You like metalhead Eddie, but you're starting to love this earnest version of him too. 

"Yeah, I'll see a movie with you," you say quickly. 

"Yeah? I know that's weird to plan more date in the middle of the date, I'm not trying to pressure you." 

"I've never been on a date before, so. This is setting the precedent." 

"The precedent," he says. "For future dates?" 

Is he hopeful? You open your mouth without thinking. "With you." 

His lips purse to one side, tamping down a big smile. Your cheeks hurt from how much you've smiled tonight. Is it always like this? Being with someone, dating, is it always unnervingly pleasant? You're eager to find out, and Eddie's eager to show you. 

"Let me go track down our waitress and we can probably get to the Hawk before the seven thirty," he says, clambering sideways out of the booth. 

You and Eddie are fifteen minutes late for a slasher movie, but you get there. Dark, two lone seats at the back are your only options, and you cram into them together with a frankly ridiculously huge bucket of popcorn to share. Eddie keeps whispering even when it's quiet and ticking off your rowmates, but he's being so sweet on you that you forget where you are. You forget to worry about what people are thinking. 

It's bliss. 

"Look at that," Eddie says, a handful of popcorn to his lips. "Ew, that's bloody. Shit, sweetheart, don't look at that." 

Sweetheart. "What do you think that is?" you whisper. 

"The fake blood? Isn't it pig's blood?"

"Is that legal?" 

Eddie almost drops the popcorn as something super gross happens, a silver flash and a spray of sticky orange movie blood coating the protagonist. "Holy fuck," he says, much too loudly as he puts the popcorn in your lap and covers your eyes. 

You laugh in surprise, "Woah, wait a second!" 

Someone shushes you loudly (and deservedly) from the row in front. 

"Sh, we're at the movies!" Eddie whisper-shouts. "Don't be inconsiderate." 

You peel his hand from your eyes. It doesn't drop entirely, long fingers slipping slowly down your cheek, turning your face to his. He's close, the nature of the small seats and your low conversation, his skin glowing with a red-pink and dappled white as the movie plays to your left. 

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers. 

On the walk to Benny's, your mind had drifted to the fantasy of a kiss. Eddie and his hands, the small silver bands of his rings and their heavier signets, how he'd offer to drive you home, walk you to your door, and peck you chastely in goodbye. He'd smell like his cologne that you tend to notice when he returns his borrowed books on Saturday mornings, chamomile and something deeper you've never been able to identify, no matter how long he stood there chatting. His lips would feel solid and cold from the weather, and here's where you stopped yourself from thinking any further, blood rushing to your wind-bitten cheeks. 

It's not so simply condensed, here. 

"I've never kissed anyone before," you whisper. 

"I'll have to set a good precedent, then," he says, rubbing the hollow of your under eye tenderly. "Or you can say no. That's okay, too."

You shake your head, "I want you to." 

The eagerness that's been simmering behind his eyes all night rears as he ducks in for a kiss. It's not what you're expecting, but it isn't bad; it's lots of things, his hand on your face and your elbow, your hands vying for him in startled delight, the popcorn between your knees tipping dangerously to the side as your lips give under his. 

He doesn't smell like chamomile at first, but hairspray. He presses against the seam of your lips and only as they part, forcing you to suck in a breath through your nose, do you smell it on him, close now. The cologne must linger on his shirt. 

He pulls away to shush you gently but urgently, Don't get us kicked out, it seems to say. 

And he's kissing you again. Nothing heavy, charged all the same, the barest taste of sweet popcorn shared between you. His hand does half the work, the tracing of his fingertips and the soft line they draw as he slots them behind your ear puttyifying you, like jelly in his warm palm. You make an unsure sound and he pulls away a second time, sugary brown eyes widened in concern.

"Bad?" he whispers. 

"Am I doing it right?" you ask. 

The concern becomes adoring. You feel like you've been injected with manic butterflies, having a guy like Eddie looking at you like that. "You're doing it super right," he says, so quietly you can barely hear him. "I'd tell you practise makes perfect 'cos I'm dying to do it again, but it was already perfect. You lying to me?" 

"No, of course I'm–" 

"I was kidding," he says, his side pressed heavily to the back of his chair as he drops his hand to your elbow casually.

"Oh. I knew that." 

He pats your arm, sympathetic, a tad condescending but he's hot enough to get away with it like this, lips kissed rosy and a glossy black curl falling into his eyes. 

You look down at his lips. Eddie doesn't make you beg, but he does gesture you forward, your hand landing atop his thigh as you angle up for another kiss. It's unlike you, but it's such a rush of feeling, you don't give your hokey-pokey brain time to consider the things you'd usually worry about. 

That being said, you pause just before your lips connect. You close your eyes too hard, head listing to the side self-consciously. 

Eddie must see it, whispering reassurances with a rough scratch, "Hey, it's okay. You can kiss me. You worry a lot for such a pretty girl, you know that?" He takes your hand. "Don't overthink it." 

"I can't," you say. 

"Take the night off. Let me worry…" His breath fans over your lips. "I'll take the lead," he suggests, closing the short gap between you. 

Your hand goes limp in his. 

—

The flowers are delivered to your desk sometime in the mid-afternoon. Pearly white lilies with green spots creeping toward the soft edges. Your chest yawns open and your lips curl into a smile like you've been hooked, rubbing a thick petal between your thumb and your forefinger. 

There's a long note folded and tied to one of the stems. 

Y/N, 

I am so, so sorry. So sorry. I am the sorriest boy who has ever lived, and I would love to make it up to you. Please call me when you get the flowers and tell me if they're a sufficient apology, or don't call me and I'll send you more. I know you said it was fine, but still.

Yours, Eddie Munson. 

P.S. did the flashlight guy have to be that mean? He pretty much blinded us with that thing. And did he have to make fun of my jacket? 

P.P.S I promise I will get you unbanned from the Hawk. Best date ever, yeah? 

You'll call him. Getting kicked out was a joint effort, after all, and you really want him to kiss you dizzy again, even if you found it hard to look at him on the drive home.

Maybe if he kisses you enough, you'll forget how it felt to be shepherded out of the movie theatre like a common criminal. 

You drop the note between the pages of your current read with a sigh. "Best date ever," you say. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading! i really hope you enjoyed ♡ if you did, please considering reblogging, it means the world and makes a difference :D 

Calling up the 80s ☎

loml

Beautiful

Soft as Clouds

Neteyam x F!Reader

Summary: You weren't well known in the clan, and when you become friends with Tuk, no one believes her.

Warning: Straight up Flufff

When you were growing up, you found yourself wanting to linger in the background more than insert yourself into the everyday activities of those your age. Like now, you were currently lounging in a tree, eyes facing up at the clouds as they moved by at their own pace.

You were a gatherer for the clan, not that anyone knew. You would rise before the sun to go out and gather the sweetest, most bountiful food your clan had ever tasted, leaving it in the baskets by the main fire circle. The fruits were always plump and juicy, herbs and spices nicely placed in pouches for easy access.

You wanted to begin early to end early, opting to stay out of sight of others. Now, some knew of you, the elders for example always took a small notice on how you were much more reserved than others your age. Your parents of course knew you, but you were a failure of a child in their eyes. At your age you should've been chosen for a mate, or made a mark on the clan in some positive way, but you didn't, so they turned their attention to your more 'promising' younger siblings.

You never cared, preferring your more modest lifestyle of peaceful serenity.

"Whoa! What are you doing up there?"

But Great Mother had other plans for you.

You gazed over the side of the branch you were currently laying on, brushing your hair that had fallen into your eyes away, spotting a young girl in the forest floor below you.

This was not just any girl, oh no, this was Tuktirey, Toruk Maktos youngest child.

You let a small smile slip on your face as you slowly began a decent, swift and agile, like that of a cat.

You knelt infront of her, your eyes meeting hers that were still so full of child like wonder, "what are you doing here small one?" Tuk giggled, looking side to side as if looking for something, or someone.

"I was following my brothers, but I guess I got lost," Extending a hand to Tuk, "Well, let us get you home then," her small fingers wrapped around yours and you both began your walk, going back down the path you had made from the times you ventured out here.

Tuk couldn't help but wonder why she had never seen you before, yet she thought you were very beautiful. The aura that surrounded you was so soft and peaceful, it made her feel instantly safe.

"Why do you come out here, it's very far from home? Are you a hunter or a gatherer? Your hair is very pretty, can you do mine like that? Wait! What's your name?" Tuk rambled out, skipping beside you. A chuckle escaped your lips, you liked Tuk, she was very silly.

You stopped and knelt down beside her, her yellow eyes stared into your soft green eyes and she couldn't help but think you held the forest in your eyes, "My name is (Y/n), I much prefer to gather, and I think your hair is fine just the way it is, simply because it's yours,"

You couldn't help but boop her nose, her nose scrunched as she let out a laugh. You smiled, "now, what is your name?" Tuk felt like you already knew, but she puffed out her chest proud, "My name is Tuktirey, but you can call me Tuk!"

"Such a pretty name," you gasped, standing up and resuming your walk to the village. Tuk swung your intertwined hands back and forth, both of you finding comfort in eachother.

When you had finally happened upon the village, you could hear everyone in a state of panic. Tuk groaned, her ears pinned back, "I think they realized I was gone," you knelt beside her, both of you hidden just out of sight with the plants, "then maybe you should appear,"

Tuk hugged you, you wrapped your arms around her to return the embrace. "Will I see you again?" She asked, pulling away enough to see your face.

"Of course, I quite like you," you smiled, slowly giving her a nudge to the panicked clan members.

When Tuk had emerged out of the brush, the panicked cries turned into one's of relief and joy. Many ran over to embrace her, but by this point you had already vanished without a trace.

"Tuk! Where were you, we were worried sick!" Jake exclaimed, sweeping his youngest into his arms and giving her a extra tight hug. "I tried to follow Neteyam and Lo'ak but I got lost, but it's okay!" Tuk laughed, "I found (Y/n) and she helped me get home!"

Jake and Neytiri exchanged a look, as did some of the other clan members. Your name was no familiar, almost positive there was no one in the village who has that name.

"Tuk, what are you talking about?" Neytiri wondered, taking her child from her mate and settling her on the ground in front of her, "There is no one named (Y/n) in the village," Neytiri began to examine Tuk for a head injury, but Tuk pulled her head away in annoyance, "I know what happened, (Y/n) helped me, she's right,"

But when Tuk turned around to where you had been, you were gone, "she was right here," Tuk cried, but her parents chalked it up to fatigue from being lost all day.

"Come, you must eat and rest," Neytiri pulled Tuk along by the hand, which Tuk did almost sulkly, glancing back one more time to see you emerge and give her a wink before disappearing behind everyone's backs. Tuk grinned, now happily walking with her Mom.

~.~

Weeks had passed and Tuk now snuck off any chance she had to find you, sometimes waking up early to join you on your gathering. You were like another big sister to her, you were so soft and gentle with her, it almost reminded her of her own mother. You would show her the best places to gather fruit and herbs, show her how to move silently through the forest so not to disturb it.

In return, Tuk gave you simple companionship. You always thought it was fun being alone, but Tuk gave you a shining light of what having someone around could be like.

When Tuk would return from wherever you two had disappeared to, she would tell her family all about it, now causing Jake and Neytiri to worry that she was making up stories to make herself feel important like her siblings.

"Ma Jake, I'm beginning to worry about Tuk," Neytiri spoke one day when she watched her youngest venture off into the brush before she could stop her, "it is not safe out there but yet she continues to go, we must stop her," Jake could only hum in agreement.

"What's the name of the person she speaks of? (Y/n)? Are we sure she's not a person in the clan?" Jake questioned, Neytiri feeling her shoulders sag in exhaustion cause she had asked any gatherer, hunter or healer she could think of and no one knew about you.

"Maybe we should send Neteyam with her one day? Make sure she's really safe? See what he can find out?" Neytiri fired off question after question, Jake taking her hands into his as he calmed her down, "That's sounds like a great idea, if there's anyone who can find out it's him, come, let's find him,"

They both set off to find their eldest, who they were sure was going to throw a fit hearing about their plan.

~.~

Tuk panted, running up to a clearing where she saw you relaxing by a small pond, toes and feet floating in the clear water. "I'm here! What are we going to do today?" Tuk skipped over, taking a seat next to you as your turned your gaze to her, a smile coating your face.

"What would you like to do?" You asked, Tuks face scrunched up in thought before asking you, "Could we go for a swim next to the waterfall?" You thought about it, before nodding. It was very close to the village, but you were looking forward to spending time with Tuk.

"Awesome!" She cheered, pulling you up off the ground and began the walk, with you giggling behind her.

The water had been very liberating of any stress or thoughts that plagued you. You sighed in bliss, leaning back to float in the water as your eyes gazed up at the clouds, the soft white making you forget everything.

Tuk had jumped in, splashing you and causing a laugh to erupt from your stomach as you flipped over, watching the young girl giggle and continue to splash you with water.

You began a water assault back, both of you not even paying attention to how loud you were being which caught the attention of Neteyam nearby who had been searching for Tuk under the instructions of their parents.

"Tuk!" He called, walking into the rocky terrain that held the waterfall where he saw Tuk soaked and wading waist deep in the water, her breath heavy as though she ran for miles, yet a smile plastered her lips.

You were no where to be seen, ducking under the water to find a rock that had caught your eye.

"Tuk, it's time to come home, let's go," he helped her out of the water, not noticing you surface up to your shoulders in the shade of a tree that grew on the nearby bank.

Your hair had rested on your face a little and your shoulders, the shade making your eyes almost glow as you analyzed Neteyam. He was your age, currently training to be the next clan leader and yet here he was, fetching his sister.

Tuk through a glance over her shoulder to see you in the shade, throwing up a quick wave goodbye and taking off in front of her brother.

Neteyam had caught her look and couldn't help but turn back, catching a quick sight of you.

A beautiful, young woman who was lounging in the water covered by shade. Your eyes are what caught his attention the most, but just as quick as he'd seen you, the next second he blinked in shock before opening them to find you gone, the water only rippling from where he saw you, well, where he thought he saw you.

Neteyam was now becoming a quick believer of Tuk's stories.

~.~

Now that Neteyam had caught a glimpse of you, he started to see you everywhere. Although, it was out of the corner of his eyes, because when he would turn to see you, your figure was gone, the place he had seen you now empty or void of anyone or anything.

He had told his parents that he didn't see anyone with Tuk, but that was only because he feared how crazy he would sound. Seeing someone who wasn't entirely there and then them being gone the next second. They'd send him straight to the Sky People for evaluation.

Neteyam had followed Tuk out of the hut one late afternoon, Tuk turning to him confused since he has never followed her before, "What are you doing?" Neteyam just smiled, playing an act to follow his parents instructions, "Well, I've missed hanging out with my favorite littlest sister," he roughed up Tuks hair, causing her to hiss and push his hand away, "so I figured we could spend the rest of the day together,"

Tuk glanced sideways towards the path, a bit unsure about how you'd reac to Neteyam coming along, "I don't know, you probably wouldn't be up for it," Neteyam raised an eyebrow, his thoughts consumed on what a child would be doing that he himself couldn't or wouldn't wanna do, especially so late in the afternoon.

"Well, if you're sure," Tuk grinned, taking off down the path faster than Neteyam had expected, "Tuk! Wait for me!"

~.~

You had been lounging in a tree again, this time basking in the setting sun's glow. You felt so warm, the lights rays bringing a sense of belonging to your being.

"(Y/n)!" Tuk exclaimed, running into sight as you glanced down at her, your lips showing your usual soft smile that you saved for her.

"Neteyam is following me, come on let's hurry!" Tuk tried to rush you, but you only laughed, "Why are we hiding from your brother?" Tuk felt her cheeks puff up in annoyance, "Come on (Y/n)! I don't want him to find you!" It wasn't often Tuk would throw a childish fit with you, so you knew this must be important to her.

You quickly climbed down, taking her hand and pulling her out of sight just in time for Neteyam to come around the corner. He stopped and took a quick look around, running a hand through his braids aggravated. "Come on Tuk! Mom and Dad don't want you out here by yourself,"

Neteyam continued on through, running right past where you two hid in a flower bush before emerging a minute after he disappeared.

Tuk laughed but quickly stopped when she saw your disappointed face, "I'm sorry," she mumbled, kicking the dirt with her ears pinned down.

"Let's walk and talk," you took her by the shoulder softly, "Is there a reason you keep running away from your family? I understand you want to be friends, but surely I'm not worth worrying your family over?"

You led her down a path as Eclipse began to set in, the forest coming to life with lights and sounds. "Well, I thought you might want to be kept alone, like how you were before we became friends," Tuk answered, but you knew better, "but?" You pushed, Tuk groaning before replying.

"Well, Neteyam has his hunting parties and future clan leader responsibilities, Kiri has healing and grandma, Lo'ak and Spuder go on treks through the forest, I just wanted something that was mine for a while," while a bit childish, you could see what she meant. It was nice to have something all your own, even if it wasn't necessarily yours to keep or own.

Tuk kept her eyes trained on the ground in front of her, hands rubbing together embarrassed. Tuk thought that you would be upset with her, but she was shocked when she felt your hand rub soothing circles on her back as you continued to walk together.

"Do not feel bad, sometimes we wish for things that cannot always be, but if it makes you feel better, you will always be my first and best friend," Tuk felt giddy knowing that you felt the same as she did. You truly were a big sister to her.

"I think it's time we returned for the night," you told her, Tuk nodded, feeling a little tired. "Come," you picked her up, her arms wrapped around your neck and head rested on her shoulder.

You smelled of flowers and mist, a calming scent that soon had Tuk drift off to sleep. Which means she couldn't return to her parents on her own, meaning you had to face the leaders of the clan.

Entering the village, you took notice that many had already gone to dinner, leaving a clear path straight to the leaders tent, where you could hear inside Jake Sully, the Olo'eyktan and Neytri, his mate and Tuks mother frantically asking Neteyam where Tuk was.

You held Tuk up with one arm, softly clearing your throat to make your presence known as you lift the drape, all three coming to a freeze as they saw you, a stranger, with Tuk fast asleep in your arms.

You dipped your head in greeting, eyes over looking the two males and straight to the female who quickly walked to you with fear and concern for her baby. "She is alright, just sleeping," you whispered, not wanting to wake up Tuk as Neytiri gently slipped her from you.

Neytiri nodded a head in thanks, though her eyes held confusion. Your eyes slipped over Jake Sullys form, a small gesture of hello from another head nod before you allowed your eyes to stay trained on Neteyams shocked yellow.

'She is real,' is all Neteyam could think as you both played a stare game, you breaking it off with a soft smile before disappearing. He found the sudden ability to move, dashing to the drape only to pull it back and find you gone, like a phantom.

"I think, that's (Y/n)" Jake mumbled, his mind wracking to find any sense of familiarity of you, but found none. Neytiri felt a small rumble from Tuk, glancing down at the small girl to find her awake and giggling softly, "Told you she was real,"

~.~

Neteyam couldn't get you out of his head, now actively looking for you, but you weren't anywhere to be found. Tuk had told him all about you, and this time he listened, but she wouldn't tell him where you go.

"(Y/n) doesn't like to be sought after, you can only find her when she wants you to find her," Tuk laughed like it was the most simplest thing in the world, but it just made Neteyam frustrated.

He knew so little about you but felt a strange need to be near you, hear your soft voice again and find out more. Call it a crush, infatuation or even obsession, he just wanted to see you again, even if for a last time.

It was only when he took a stroll through the brush on a warm afternoon, that he found you. Only you were laying patch off soft moss, eye shut as you looked at piece with the world.

The world itself seemed to be happening around you, each breath you took was like a breeze from Eywa herself. Insects and small animals passed you by, as if you were just one with them.

Neteyam had approached you slowly, footsteps light as he observed your face. It was beautiful in his eyes, your soft lashes caressing your cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly with each breath you took in. Your hair seemed to flow around you in the vast green foliage.

He was too lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice you open your eyes and look back at him. Your green eyes traced his features as well, taking in the rough yet handsome face he was gifted with. He truly was his mother's child.

When he saw your green eyes staring back at him, he fell back from his squat in shock. You softly hummed, a smile so small but just for him.

"What are you looking at?" He coughed, his face feeling warm from your stare.

You sat up slowly, his eyes glancing at how your body was bending, hair falling over your cheeks to frame your face.

Eywa help his sinful thoughts.

"Oh you know," you drawled, "The clouds,"

~.~

I loved it, they're so creepy and cute together

Hello, Stranger

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader, Eddie Munson x you, Eddie Munson x reader

For @lesservillain’s excellent Strange and Spooky Stories Halloween writing event for the prompt: ‘Stranger’

Summary: A stranger comes in to buy weird stuff at odd times, and as the cashier at the local hardware store you’re not quite sure what to make of it…

CW: 18+ (MDNI), fluff, maybe SFW though caution for mature and dark themes and allusions to crime and violence. Flirting, li’l bit of awkwardness, some swearing. Both Eddie and reader are in their 20s. Reader’s gender and appearance are not described, they can be whatever you want. No use of y/n. Time period is not mentioned, and any inaccuracies/inconsistencies about history, equipment, American schooling (I’m not from around these parts) or science are deliberate and artistic oh yes they are. No smut, I thought I’d better assess whether I could string a semi-coherent story together before attempting to add that 😆

WC: ~6.2k

A/N: I love gore, revenge movies, murder shows, true crime, science/biology/forensics and DIY (sort of), so this prompt seemed like a perfect fit. There are tiny Easter eggs from The Equalizer, Breaking Bad, 80s crime TV, The Blacklist and John Wick in here - let me know if you spot any! This is the first ‘proper’ fic I’ve posted so I’d love to know what you think. Comments, reblogs and feedback are hugely appreciated and very welcome!

(Also this is my first attempt at dividers too, I hope they worked, I literally have no idea what I’m doing!)

Yep, you were ‘that’ weird kid. Your friends in Middle School had called you a freak because you brought squirrel tails and chicken feet to show’n’tell.

“But look! If you pull this tendon it makes the claw close! Isn’t that cool?!”

No, apparently that was not cool. Especially when demonstrated against your teacher’s finger...

You’d visit a friend whose father was a doctor, begging to read his medical and pathology text books, and preferring to look at pictures of dissected and diseased organs and spontaneous human combustion over braiding your friend’s hair or talking about boys.

And, apparently, scoring a class-topping 9.5/10 for your rat dissection also wasn’t the social merit badge you thought it might be, even amongst your science-abreast academic peers.

So what if you had a strong constitution. And a love of anatomy and pathology. And then compounded it with a love of true crime, particularly serial killers and forensic methods. Surely there were worse things to be interested in?

By the time you’d finished High School you’d learned to mask your enthusiasm, covering your (apparently, socially unacceptable) fascination for all things ‘gross’ and ‘murderous’ (your friends’ words) by choosing science majors like human anatomy and pathology, criminal behaviour and forensics.

People just thought you were clever, nerdy, a scientist. You never let on that you were itching to actually experience some of these things for yourself, in real time, with your own hands…

You work the evening shift at the sprawling out-of-town homewares store on the road running out of Indianapolis towards a tiny town you’ve never been to (Hawksville? Hawking?). You work a few evenings a week plus alternate Sundays, currently in the gardening, kitchen and hardware department. It wouldn’t be your chosen section of the store (in the short time you’ve been there you’ve had to amass a lot of knowledge about tools. Also, how to politely deflect the regulars’ offers to share details of their new projects, lest you get drawn in to a half-hour discussion about u-bends or rawl plugs), but the hours suit you and fit around your college classes, and the employee discount comes in handy when things in your shitty apartment break down or your roommate carelessly breaks something, again.

The final few hours of your shifts were usually pretty quiet, barring the occasional domestic plumbing emergency, or a bored Hawkins housewife coming in looking for batteries.

You don’t mind spending your evenings amongst the tools and machinery, it gives you a chance to flick through the latest copy of forensic magazine or True Crime, or work on your college assignments.

One thing that does make the slow evenings more entertaining is the unusual clientele. A nerdy-looking guy with a moustache needing releasable cable ties, cooking oil and a large plastic sheet at 9.30pm must have an interesting backstory, right?

You find yourself concocting fantastical vignettes about the oddballs that pass through, giving them the most amusing or disturbing story you can think of as they glide by in the night.

The guy with the cable ties? Too easy. Clearly he’s got a ‘special friend’ and an interesting evening planned. TBH, that’s probably not even fictional. You call him Salacious Scott.

The friendly, rotund lady who regularly comes in for for buckets and sawdust? You know it’s Mrs Henderson, who is trying to go self-sufficient and has recently installed a composting toilet, but you prefer to imagine she’s actually a madam with a ‘specialist interest’ playroom, who you brand Madame Urolagnia.

The paranoid guy with a beard and thick glasses who won’t tell you his name, buys a lot of vodka from the liquor store nearby and comes in for plastic pipe, cladding and those slot-together foam mats for kids? He tells you he’s into martial arts and these make safe weapon facsimiles for training, but you reckon he’s actually some kind of government agent. Your imaginary name for him is Mysterious Murray.

One oddball in particular has caught your attention, and not just because he’s easily the handsomest customer you’ve had in a while.

Wait, no, you didn’t just admit that; you just find him interesting, that’s all.

It was his speed and demeanour that had struck you first, rushing in, hand atop the bandana on his head, gangly legs in ripped jeans looking like they were trying to run in two different directions at once, large, dark eyes wide as he’d frantically looked around the store.

“Uh, rope, I need rope, where’d you keep the rope?”

You’d blurted some instructions and he’d headed off, not looking in your direction.

His leather jacket and swinging chains certainly commanded attention amongst the flannel and blue denim that was usually in your line of sight, and you’d found your eyes following him, catching sight of him moving between the aisles from your position behind the counter.

He’d moved towards you with a sturdy knife, a shovel and 3 rolls of duct tape that he’d collected on his way to the checkout, arms full (he didn’t pick up a basket), when you’d ventured,

“I’d recommend the next brand up, if you want something stronger with better sticking power? It costs a little more, but it’s better quality, so overall you’ll use less”, (silently thanking Mr Wheeler’s recent diatribe on the merits and pitfalls of various brands of adhesive tape, remembering the detail because he’d gone so far as to demonstrate by sticking small pieces of it to your skin. It was a weird interaction for sure, but also oddly informative).

He’d lifted his head to look at you and your eyes had connected for the first time. Your eyes widened, and you think you spotted a slight twitch of a smile at one side of his mouth.

Oh, he’s actually really cute.

“Uh, okay, if you think that’s best”.

He dropped his eyes from yours and, after unceremoniously dumping everything else onto your counter, he’d exchanged the rolls and returned.

You’d both paused, you don’t know for how long, and you’d wondered how someone buying rope could be so captivating. But the spell was broken as you’d both spoke simultaneously:

“Did you find everything you need?”

“I’m kinda in a rush, so…”

You’d both chuckled nervously, and you’d set about ringing up his purchases, noticing that a small smile definitely now graced those previously harried features.

He’d paid with a handful of old, crumpled bills pulled from his jacket, politely declining your offer of a bag, and then he was gone as quick as he came, hurrying out into the night with the swish of the automatic doors and a breeze of parking lot-scented night air.

You didn’t know why anyone would need rope and a shovel at that time on a weeknight, but with this particular guy, who you dubbed The Stranger, you found yourself thinking that you wouldn’t mind finding out.

You’d unintentionally spent the rest of that evening coming up with fantasies about that particular customer, although, unusually for you, quite a few of them hadn’t actually involved what was on his receipt…

When The Stranger next comes in he’s after heavyweight garbage bags, more tape and a saw, but seems in slightly less of a rush.

He pauses at your counter for a few moments, making polite conversation, asking how long you’d been working here, whether you were working late tonight.

Is he trying to… flirt? Surely not…

“Thanks for the tape recommendation by the way, it was a real lifesaver. That stuff’s really good, I definitely have a new favourite!”, gracing you with a broad grin (oh fuck, that was a sight) before he was on his way again.

Another time he bought shears, tarp and a large quantity of painting coveralls.

The next trip involved wire cutters, buckets and a wet’n’dry vacuum.

You begin to enjoy The Stranger coming in buying random shit at odd hours. You can’t quite make him out. He buys a lot of gardening and decorating-type equipment (plus he’s almost single-handedly keeping the cleaning product aisle in business), but he dresses like neither - always in tight, ripped jeans, shredded band tees and his signature leather jacket. You’ve never seen him covered in leaves or dirt, and his clothes have zero paint on them. Those coveralls must do a really good job…

You build up a rapport of sorts with him. There’s always a polite, verging on friendly greeting between you, and you let him know when there’s special offers on tarp and garbage bags, and what days there are deliveries of latex gloves and those painting coveralls he seems to like so much. (Sometimes you’ll even stash a few of the latter for him under the counter if there’s a holiday weekend coming up, knowing Hawkins’ husbands will be out in force and not wanting him to miss out.)

But the ‘fantasy vignette’ and forensically-inclined parts of your brain begin to overlap, and start to tickle your imagination. It’s almost as if each selection of items he buys could be used to either dispatch someone, or dispose of a body. But that’s crazy, right? He seems way too nice to be a serial killer. And mob activity in this part of Indiana? Nah. That wouldn’t happen around here.

Would it?

It’s a quiet Friday night when you next see The Stranger. He’s picked up bolt cutters, pliers, some metal trays, a sledgehammer, a mop, and, most bizarrely of all because you’ve noticed he’s not usually one for personal safety equipment, ear defenders.

Again, he’s basket-less, barely able to contain the items piled up in his arms. They topple as he arrives at your counter, and some end up partially covering your open magazine.

“Shit, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Oh, no problem, honestly. I probably shouldn’t be reading on the clock anyway”, you say, slightly bashful, as you move the crumpled magazine out from underneath his items, smoothing it down. The Stranger’s eyes are locked on your hands, and as they move across the page they reveal a headline about a recently apprehended serial murderer and some photographs of a variety of grisly-looking, bloody weapons.

“That looks… interesting, watcha reading there?”, he remarks, leaning in.

“Oh, this? It’s about a new guy they’ve just caught over in Europe. He’s fascinating, he used such a variety of tools and methods that at first the police didn’t even think to link the crimes. Ingenious, really, when you think about it. So creative!”

You look up, and The Stranger is regarding you with an unreadable expression. Does he think you’re weird, babbling on about this murderer like you admire him? Or is he actually impressed with your enthusiasm?

“Sorry, I’m a true crime buff, it’s a bit of a pet topic of mine. And I’m studying forensics at college, so it’s kind of like schoolwork too.” You chuckle nervously, arms moving in front of your body and shoulders subtly curling in on yourself in embarrassment.

The Stranger seems to sense your discomfort, and shakes his head, making his curls bounce, smiling and chuckling along with you.

“No, yeah, uh, me too with the crime thing, actually. Well, not so much the reading, I’m more of a hear-it-through-the grapevine, hands on kinda guy.”

‘Hands on’? WTF does that mean?

“Oh, cool, coolcoolcool”. Smooth…

As you scan his items your fantasy vignette tickles your brain again.

No, don’t be silly…

You bag everything up this time, insisting it’ll be easier to carry, handing them to him and taking his crumpled bills.

Your curiosity is more than piqued and you can’t hold it in any longer. Feeling bold, you ask, “So, what’s all this for?”

“Huh?”

“The- the stuff. What’re you doin’ with it?”

The Stranger looks at you through his lashes, not speaking.

Shit, you’ve overstepped, he’s gonna leave, find a different store and you’ll never see him again.

“Uh, well, some people I know out near the big city are, er, planning a, uh, party, with a few of their, um, associates, and I think it’s gonna get pretty loud, hence the earphones. I, uh, don’t usually get involved in stuff until later in the evening, y’know, after all the main fun’s over.”

You look a little quizzical.

He thinks for a moment.

“I tidy up, but I sorta make it a bit more fun for everyone. Bring a bit of pizazz to a usually mundane part of the evening. Kinda thing.”

You process for a few moments. The ‘Mob Cleaner’ vignette you’d fantasised about screams loud and long into your cerebrum.

Nerves give way to curiosity, and you brashly ask, “So, what exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m kind of a cleaner, I guess? If someone has a problem that they’ve had dealt with and they wanna make the cleanup more, um, interesting, I’m the guy they call.”

Probing further, you clarify, “So you don’t make the, uh, mess, you just clean it up. Creatively?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

He explains he’s still quite new to the job, and kinda fell into it. His boss and his mentor are both encouraging, saying his USP is truly original (Unique Selling Point, he explains when you look confused), and that he definitely ‘has potential’. He’s learning a lot as he goes, but his enthusiasm seems to be appreciated and he wants to do well.

“All you really need is a strong stomach, imagination and a flair for the dramatic!”

He illustrates his last point by making jazz hands by the sides of his head, offering you a generous smile. Yeah, you can see how that particular part of the job comes easy to him.

“Oh, well, it sounds like fun. I hope you have a very successful evening!”

“Okay, well, thanks again! I’ll see you.”

You watch him leave, noticing in particular how well his jeans fit tonight.

What’s that saying again - I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave…?

You shake your head to rid yourself of the lewd - and crazy, yeah, totally crazy - thoughts you’re having about The Stranger and encourage yourself back into work mode.

As you busy yourself and tidy your counter you notice something small and white on the floor in front, about the size of a credit card. It must’ve fallen out of his jacket as he fumbled for cash.

Cash. Always cash. Never credit card, never cheque, never — anything traceable…

You round the counter and pick it up, thinking you’d save it and return it to him the next time he comes in. It’s a business card. The text is unfussy and clear, but glossy, bold and slightly gothic. It’s a company name above some text and a pager number, but it may well be the most intriguing piece of writing that you’ve ever come across:

E.M. Creative Disposal Services, Apprentice to Mr Kaplan & Associates, For dinner reservations call: (555)-666-6969

It’s another quiet night, but there’s already a couple of people at the counter when The Stranger arrives. Mr Sinclair needs a pipe wrench and a plunger (you don’t envy him his evening), and Mrs Wheeler has come in to buy double-As for the second time this month (although this time she also added gardening gloves and secateurs to pad out her basket. Not that you’d judge either way).

You spot The Stranger’s curls before anything else, bobbing in the fluorescent lights as he comes through the entrance doors. He spots the queue and immediately joins it, glancing towards the counter and visibly brightening when he sees you behind it. He’s carrying the sledgehammer he bought last time. As you start to ring up Mrs Wheeler’s batteries you see him examining the head of the hammer. Frowning slightly, he moistens his thumb with his tongue and rubs at one corner, then polishes the same spot on the front of his jeans.

He reaches the counter, receipt retrieved from a bundle pulled from inside his jacket.

You greet each other with a quiet ‘hey’. He continues, “I, uh, wanted to return this. Can I do that?”

“Yeah, sure, lemme ring it through the till. Can I ask why? Company policy,” you shrug, almost apologetically.

“Sure, uh, well you know that phase ‘using a sledgehammer to crack a nut‘? Turns out a sledgehammer does indeed obliterate the, uh, nuts… Let’s just say it wasn’t really suitable for the project I had in mind. I think I need something…”

Lighter? Easier to aim?

“With a little more finesse?” You venture, eyebrows raised, hoping you haven’t completely misread things.

“Yeah, finesse! I like that”. He beams widely at you tilting his head slightly, revealing the most gorgeous dimples you’ve ever seen, and it’s all you can do to hold on to the edge of the counter while your knees gently fail beneath you.

“Umm, you want some help choosing?”

He readily agrees and you direct him to the hammer section, both of you discussing the merits and disadvantages of various models as you choose ones from the display and encourage him to feel their weight and balance. He seems impressed, clearly not expecting you to be so well-versed in the finer aspects of hardware.

“Y’know, you really know your tools!”

You squeak out a bashful, “Thanks.”

You slip into self-deprecating mode and brush off his compliment, saying, “It comes with the territory I guess. I’ve picked up a lot working here. Plus I just sometimes browse the shelves, thinking of nefarious uses for random household objects.” Hurriedly adding, “For school, of course!”

You cringe a bit, thinking this must make you look like some kind of weirdo, but The Stranger takes it easily in his stride, commenting, “You know, you’d be surprised to learn just how much of a marketable skill that can be.”

You chat some more and he eventually chooses a smaller, less unwieldy hammer, and after he pays you part ways again.

You still desperately want to ask him exactly what he used that other hammer for, what ‘Creative Disposal Services’ actually means, and what the hell have dinner reservations got to do with any of this?

The next night you see The Stranger he saunters in at about 8:30. He has a different energy about him this evening, seeming both more relaxed but also somewhat on edge. He’s not in his usual ratty band tee tonight, you notice, and no leather jacket either. Instead he’s wearing a what looks to be a clean, maybe even pressed, electric blue raglan shirt with black half length sleeves. You spot a crimson guitar pick necklace that you’ve not seen before dangling from a twinkling silver ball chain, resting against his sternum and resplendent against the blue.

Observing his forearms for the first time you notice how attractive - and (oh!) tattooed - they are. Toned and veined, their shape and his mix of tattoos are shown off to perfection by that sleeve length, and a leather and chain bracelet that adorns one powerful-looking wrist. The glint of his chunky silver rings accentuates his large hands that peek out of his jeans pockets as he wanders over to you. He’s still in tight black jeans, but they seem a little… neater than usual. And he’s not in a rush. It’s almost like he’s not working, maybe even making an effort.

You feel a frisson of excitement - could it be that he’s come in just to see you?

Exhibit A, m’lud: Scrubbing up well.

He heads straight for your counter, and you greet each other with your characteristic friendliness.

He spies the hefty text books you’ve spread before you, and leans onto the counter to get a closer look.

“Watcha workin’ on tonight, Doctor Quincy?”

You swallow at the cute nickname, voice cracking slightly as you start to tell him about the assignment you’ve got. It’s about evidential tool marks, and how pathologists can identify what’s been used as a weapon or tool of dismemberment.

The Stranger tries to play down his interest, but his demeanour betrays him as he presses for more details, even asking if he could maybe read the finished piece.

That’s weird, right? People don’t read other people’s science essays for fun. Do they?

But you agree, promising to bring him a copy when it’s done.

The conversation lulls, and The Stranger twists the pad of one of his thumbs against the counter, seemingly a little nervous, though you can’t imagine what about.

To break the silence you slip into work mode, but for some reason drop your voice a couple of octaves and murmur,

“So anyway, what is it that can I help you with, sir?”

Wait, is he blushing?

“Um, oh, uh, I actually don’t have a shopping list today, I was, uh, just gonna browse, I guess.”

He backs away from your counter, giving it a few rhythmic slaps with his fingertips before turning away from you and ambling off into the store. He returns a few moments later with a small hatchet and mid-range fold-out knife, plus two rolls of his now-favourite tape.

“You can never have too many of these, amirite?”

He gives you that dimpled smile again, and you feel your stomach do a full (though anatomically impossible) 360° flip.

Observing his lack of focus and comparatively small selection of items, you wonder if he really needs those things, or whether he’s just picking them up as an excuse to come in to the store. Your chest heats up a little at the thought.

Exhibit B: Small, possibly unnecessary purchase. The evidence is mounting up.

Seeing the hatchet, your eyes light up with enthusiasm as you remember something.

“Hey, we just got some new stock in that I think you might like, y’know, if I’m not overstepping or anything.” You finish with a nervous chuckle.

You smile at him nervously through your lashes, skin heating even more in case this is suddenly all a bit too familiar.

He grins, responding, “Sure, go ahead!”

Your smile broadens and relaxes as you turn away from him and walk to the back shelves, crouching down and retrieving something in your arms.

Standing quickly and turning, you notice his eyes widen and immediately flick up to yours, a slightly alarmed expression on his face.

Exhibit C: Was he checking you out when he thought you wouldn’t notice? (Also, is it getting hot in here?)

With a loud thunk you lay two (frankly, terrifying-looking) multi-tools out on the counter in front of him. One looks like an oversized, overspec-ed Swiss Army knife, and the other could easily pass as a prop from an exorcism-themed horror movie. You over-excitedly explain the features of each, saying, “This one has a hammer and an axe, plus screwdrivers, pliers, a saw, wire cutters, a magnesium rod”, you look up at him quickly and ask, “do you ever need to start fires? Plus, it has…”, you wave your hand dramatically over your favourite part of the item, like you were showing it off on a shopping channel, and stretch out the syllables of the final two words for emphasis, “…a bottle opener…”. You raise your eyebrows and grin widely, like this must surely be the deal breaker.

The Stranger laughs, throwing his head back with deep-throated barks from the centre of his chest, and then he chuckles a little, bringing a strand of hair over his cheek and a curled finger to his lips. You’re slightly distracted by that glimpse of his extended neck (god, you want to gnaw at it), and that laugh? You wish you could’ve recorded it somehow.

You quickly compose yourself and continue, switching to the ’horror prop’ product, “And this one has fewer features, but I like it for its simplicity, robustness and practical charm. It’s an axe, hammer, nail puller and pry bar. And it even has a rubber coated handle, so you can still use it safely even if your hands are wet. For, y’know, whatever reason…” you finish, slightly abashed.

“Aw, Pumpkin, this is the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in a while, thank you.”

Pumpkin. PumpkinPumpkinPumpkin. Exhibit D: A term of endearment!

He takes some time to examine both articles, testing out their various features, hefting them in his (large, strong) hands (stop it!).

“I love them. Y’know what, I can’t decide. I’ll take both. What’s the damage?”

You visibly brighten, a squeak of delight that you hope he didn’t hear inadvertently leaving you as you puff up with both his term of endearment and your ever-growing customer service confidence.

You check whether he’d still like the other items he’d brought to the counter, and apart from the duct tape (“You really can’t have too much of this stuff!”), he allows you to reshelve the rest.

He watches, enthralled, as you wrap his new tools in the store-issue brown paper reverently and carefully, as though you were wrapping an expensive gift in a fancy department store, the pair of you sharing bashful looks and half smiles as you work.

As he hands over the now-unsurprising crumpled bills and takes his change his hand drifts closer to yours, glancing his fingers over your palm and lingering for just a moment. There’s a little hitch in your inhale, and you think you see his ears redden a little.

He gathers up his purchases in his arms carefully and gently, and he backs away from your counter slowly.

“I guess I’ll head out then. Uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, I guess you will, uhh-”

“Eddie. My name’s Eddie.”

“Okay, I guess so, Eddie.” You say his name slowly, like you’re testing out the syllables in your mouth.

You continue speaking, offering your name in reciprocation.

“Yeah, yeah I know your name, it’s kinda on your little badge there.” A tiny nod indicates the plastic rectangle pinned on your apron strap near your left shoulder.

Your cheeks heat again. “Right, of course. Ha!” You inwardly cringe. Well, that could’ve gone better.

He’s still backing away, getting dangerously close to an intricately balanced display of colourful children’s watering cans. You’re about to say something, but he turns just in time, ambling towards the illuminated exit with a mumbled, “Okay, bye then. Thanks again for these…” lifting the packages in his arms, and turning to look over his shoulder a couple more times before he finally reaches the door and disappears into the parking lot.

“Hey, d’you know anything about wood chippers?”

It’s been a week since you’ve seen The Stranger Eddie, and you turn abruptly to find him walking towards your counter.

His question throws you out of your stocktaking zone (you’d been focussing on ordering enough plastic pumpkin-shaped buckets for all of Hawkins’ kids this Halloween), but you quickly slip into customer service mode and ask for more details.

Eddie explains, using mostly his arms, that he needs one that, “throws everything everywhere”. You finally work out that he means the type where you feed stuff into a hopper on one side and the shredded debris is forced out of a raised chute on the other (as opposed to the more gravity-based ones where stuff is fed into the top and simply falls out the bottom).

He’s passing it off as being involved in some avant garde student art project, a performance piece involving feeding a load of wood and, uh, paint, yeah, paint into a wood chipper and having it spray out the other side. He blusters that the students are trying to make a point about climate change, or maybe it’s deforestation, he can’t seem to decide.

He explains that the piece is to be performed indoors, that there’ll be quite a few people present, and that he also needs a large quantity of tarp and coveralls because it was likely to make a huge mess.

This is the clincher. You’re absolutely convinced there is no art project, and what’s go through that chipper is more likely to be a human body. Or, given the amount of effort being gone to, and Eddie’s flair for theatrics, probably more than one.

“What size branches?”

He looks at you, confused. “Huh?”

“The, uh, limbs. What size will you be shredding? Some of the smaller models won’t cope with thick trunks.”

He swallows. His eyes meet yours, and he licks his lips. You can’t help but stare at those full, pink… Look away! Just look away!!

He subtly smirks, slowly moves his hands across the counter, and, gently taking hold of one of your hands in his, loops his other finger and thumb around your wrist.

“Um, definitely thicker than this…” - he extends your arm towards him, and moves his other hand slowly up your skin until he gets to your upper arm - “…and maybe a little thicker than this, too.”

You hope he can’t feel the burning sensation that’s erupted up your arm. You know he can’t possibly hear your racing heartbeat or detect the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins, but you’re acutely aware of both just the same. You briefly ponder whether you’ll need to get a fire extinguisher from aisle 7.

“Umm, how about I show you what we’ve got?”

Composing yourself, barely, you take him to the large garden implements section, explaining that for larger trunks and limbs he may need something towable.

Under the guise of working out whether various models would be suitable, you take the opportunity to dig a little and find out what kind of vehicle he drives. It’s a van, so roomy, practical for carrying a lot of equipment that needs to be kept out of sight. Well, this all tracks.

Also, your brain helpfully suggests, it could potentially be romantic, a private little hideaway where you and he could… No! Stay on topic, you’re at work for god’s sake!

As you debate the various choices you find you’re occasionally leaning into each other, shoulders and elbows lightly bumping, you stealing glances at his chiselled jawline when you think he isn’t looking.

Eddie eventually decides on a mid-size towable model, and as you arrange for it to be delivered to the collection bay he bids you goodnight and disappears out to his van.

‘Art project’, huh? I don’t think so…

You don’t see Eddie for a couple of weeks after that, and you begin to wonder whether he doesn’t like you. Maybe you went too far, did you bore him? Did you frighten him off? Did he feel pressured into buying those gadgets or the expensive wood chipper?

Maybe he’s finally realised you’re a weirdo, like everyone at school eventually did?

Trying to get out of your funk you steel yourself and ask your department manager, Keith, whether he’d seen an odd, metal-looking guy in the store at all.

“Nah, not recently, but someone like that did come in a few weeks back, asking about when you’d be working. Something about your product knowledge helping him with a job, or whatever. I told him your schedule, I hope that’s ok.”

So you haven’t missed him, and maybe he’s not avoiding you. Good, that’s good. Exhibit E: He’s been asking about you?? Oh fu-

You’re startled out of your reverie by the sound of someone slapping two plastic packets down onto the counter.

“Oh, hi Mrs Wheeler, let me ring those up for you…”

On his next visit it’s clear Eddie is restocking his cleaning supplies, and he’s even deigned to use a small trolley this time to transport the heavy and bulky items.

As well as multi-surface cleaner, mops, cloths and some heavy duty gloves, you notice his trolley also contains numerous bottles of chlorine bleach.

“Big clean-up job tonight, huh?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I guess so. I need to leave the place without any trace of the, uh, performance this time.”

“Depends what you need to clean up, I guess. Y’know, chlorine bleach doesn’t necessarily get rid of everything.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, common misconception by the way. Chlorine bleach gets rid of visible stains, so that’s great if your main concern is aesthetics. But you can still detect haemoglobin, if you have access to the right tools and solutions.”

Eddie looks bath engaged and confused.

“A-heema-whatnow?”

You snicker.

“Haemo-, y’know what, never mind. Blood, basically. So actually, oxygen bleach is your best bet if your biggest concern removing all traces of, let’s say, blood and DNA. Whilst it doesn’t necessarily remove all the marks, it does degrade everything biological to the point where it’s undetectable. At least, with the tests we currently have.”

Eddie leans his elbows on the counter, giving you his full attention, resting his cheeks on his knuckles and pushing his dimpled grin up even further. Emboldened, you talk at length about haemoglobin, DNA degradation, specialist chemical solutions and alternative light sources.

He stays there, rapt, until you come to a natural stop. Just before he straightens up he quietly mumbles, still smiling, “Fucking incredible”.

With a deep breath he returns to the aisles to procure both types of bleach, pays and heads out into the night with a cheery, “Wish me luck!”

The cleanup must’ve gone well, because Eddie’s back a few days later and is making conversation.

“Hey, um, I remember reading once about some guy in England, years ago, who, like, melted people. You ever heard of that?”

You contemplate for a moment.

“Oh, d’you mean the Acid Bath Murderer, John Haigh?”

“Acid bath? Yeah, that sounds familiar.”

“Y’know, that’s actually one of my favourite case studies! It was one of the stories that first got me interested in true crime. 1940s England, dude thought he could get away with it if there was no body. Nope, sorry! When I first heard about it I thought it was really inventive, though he actually took the idea from a French guy who’d already done similar. Makes you wonder how many undiscovered dissolved bodies there might’ve been before and since, huh?”

You wax lyrical for a little while on the relative merits and disadvantages of the dissolving of human bodies in acid, even relating an anecdote about how your lab partner once chose the wrong combination of acid and beaker type, finishing with, “Hoo-boy, that was a mess!”

You become a little awkward, aware of how long you’ve been talking and the possibly-disturbingly-creepy level of detail you’ve gone into, though Eddie doesn’t seem to mind and presents somewhat like he’s paying attention in a chem class. Regardless, you decide to change the subject.

“I meant to ask last time, how did that wood chipping project go?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, really good, thanks. Y’know that advice you gave me about the chipper came in real handy. It was quite the show!” He looks gleefully at you, flashing that brilliant smile. A few small fireworks quietly explode in your innards.

“I’m so glad! Did the client like it?”

“Oh yeah, baby, they were thrilled!”

Baby. That’s new. You like it, and you add it to your growing mental filing system labelled ‘Evidence that Eddie might like me’. You can’t even remember what letter you’re up to now, you’re just enjoying stuffing it fuller every time he graces you with another morsel.

“They even gave me a nice bonus, for my ‘theatricality’.” He begins to lift his arms, but stops himself, resisting doing the jazz hands things again, reasoning there’s only so many times he can do an impersonation of a court jester before it puts someone off. “Said they’re gonna recommend me to their buddies too.”

More softly, and a little bashful, looking through his lashes he adds, “Kinda wish you could’ve been there, actually.”

Oh my, is he blushing again?

“Yeah, me too. I’d love to see you work sometime…”

“You would?”

Okay, he’s definitely blushing.

He leans in over your counter, close, so he can say in a low voice,

“Uh, just so we’re on the same page, you know what I do has nothing to do with art projects, right?”

Holding his gaze, and with your voice surprisingly steady, you swallow before confirming, “Yes, Eddie. I know.”

He huffs out a stuttering breath, and the air between you seems to heat.

He lifts one hand and rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“Hey listen, uh, I dunno if this is a little too forward, or weird, or y’know, whatever,” He’s rambling now. It’s adorable.

“I was kinda gonna ask you if you wanted to get milkshakes sometime, but, uh, maybe you’d actually wanna come out on a job with me? I’ve got one coming up on Sunday that I could really use an extra pair of hands on. I could pay you of course, y’know, for your time.”

You want to blurt out that, for him, you’d willingly burn the world and everyone in it for free. Instead, you smile wide, and settle for,

“Well, my tutors are always encouraging us to get real world experience…”

“Great, so I’ll pick you up at the end of your shift?”

“Sure, Eddie. I’ll look forward to it.”

You’re both grinning, stuttering messes.

“Great! Great. Uh, okay then, I guess I’ll see you Sunday?”

As he turns to leave, you stop him with one final question.

“Just one more thing Eddie. Should I bring my own coveralls..?”

If you got this far, thanks so much for reading!!

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cause i'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby

yeah i'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby

listen to iron maiden, baby, with me 🎸🎶