#i cant blame him either i love Eddie sm

[frizz-bee-2]

Umm... EDDIE WHAT THE FUCK-??????

[iliaclwrites]

Lemme know if this is out of character lol I’m in love with your cheerleader/reader series 🫶🏽 but I was wondering if you would be willing to write something about them getting into an serious argument and are giving each other the silent treatment? Like maybe hellfire gets fed up with how they’re both acting since it’s affecting their campaigns (somehow) and so maybe they lock both of them in the room together to work it out and barricade the door so they cant get out? lol if you write this then thank you sm in advance and if not then I completely understand 😊🫶🏽

this got so long wtf lmao.

warnings: fighting, swearing, angsty-ish? not really lmao it's fluff

Mike screeched to a halt into Hellfire, almost slamming into the table. "Sorry I'm--" His voice died in his throat, staring at the scene. Dustin, Lucas, Jeff and Gareth were sitting on the floor, rolling dice into a mat dully and reading, while Eddie and you were huddled behind the screen, whispering furtively, as though no one else was there. "They're still fighting? How long've they been like this?"

"As in the rest of this week, or just today?" Lucas asked flatly, looking up at Mike. "They've been fighting since I got here."

"Since lunch," Gareth corrected.

"Since Monday," Dustin complained, dropping his head into his knees. "Do they ever take a break? How do they eat?"

Lucas leaned back on his palms, staring up at the ceiling. "He was fighting with her before and after cheer," he muttered. "I saw him waiting on the bleachers. They argued in sign language." He mimed something with his hands, and Dustin swallowed a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "Like, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, so I'm the unreasonable one?" you snapped, standing up to put your hands on your hips. "This is all my fault, then? Sure, Eddie. Real mature."

"You're the one playing the blame game," he countered, wagging a finger at her. "Don't go all 'woe is me,' you knew what you signed up for when you started dating me."

"Yeah!" you huffed. "Dating! Participle gerundive form! Active! As in, something I am doing!"

("Wait, lemme get this down," Dustin muttered. "We're doing participles in Latin. Did she say gerundive or ablative?")

"Oh, don't get all grammar on me, princess," Eddie hissed. "You know it's suicide for me if I go with you."

"Right!" Mike yelled, and your heads snapped up at him. "Okay. I'm sick of this. We're sick of this." He looked behind him at everyone else, who were nodding quickly. "Can you guys please sort this shit out so we can get on with living our lives?"

"Without yelling," Dustin added.

"Or threats?" Gareth said.

"Or passing notes between you two on the days you refuse to talk?" Lucas said.

"Dude, they made you do that?" Jeff asked, and Lucas sighed, nodding. "Real mature."

"You two," Mike continued, pointing at both of you. "Are not coming out of this room until you get this all sorted." He put his hands on his hips, seemingly possessed by the spirit of his older sister Nancy. "Either kiss and make up, or starve to death in Hellfire. Come on," he said to everyone else. "Barricade the door."

Eddie's mouth opened and closed, fishlike, as the kids stormed out of the room. Outside, Dustin and Lucas slammed themselves against the door, pressing their ears to it as Mike peered through the keyhole.

"I didn't realise it was getting that bad," you said weakly, moving to sit on the table. Eddie pursed his lips, not looking at you. "They probably think mommy and daddy are divorcing."

He sighed. "I don't understand why you care so much," he admitted quietly. "It's just a stupid dress up party. With stupid popular kids. Chrissy's gonna win prom queen, Jason's gonna win prom king, I'll get blamed for spiking the punch. It's boring highschool bullshit."

You glared at him. "It's my boring highschool bullshit," you snapped. "It's my prom. They're my friends. I want to go."

"Then go!" Eddie said, sweeping his hands. "I'm not stopping you. It's just stupid fucking promnight."

("God," Dustin muttered. "Eddie really sucks at this."

"I'm on his side," Mike murmured back. "He shouldn't have to go to prom if he doesn't want to."

"Wait," Gareth said, pressing his ear to the door. "They're fighting about prom? That's it? I thought he'd murdered someone, or something.")

"I want to go with my boyfriend," you hissed, pressing a finger into his chest. "You're my boyfriend, and I want my boyfriend to be at my 'stupid fucking prom night'!"

He barked a laugh. "What, with the corsage, and the matching tie, and pulling up in a rusty ol' van, and some girl crying in the bathroom, and your mom forcing us to take photos? No tha--" Eddie stopped, watching as you blushed under his gaze. "Holy shit. You actually want that, don't you?"

"Sue me!" you cried, not meeting his eyes. "Yes! I want you to pull up in your stupid van, and I want to get spun around with you to, I don't know, Duran Duran, and I want Chrissy to take a group photo with us on her new Polaroid, and I want you to step on my feet while we're dancing. Is that wrong? Is that stupid?"

Eddie swallowed thickly. "And we'll get drunk on the punch that I definitely didn't spike," he added softly. "And I'll get a matching corsage for you."

You smiled, pressing your hand to his cheek. "And we'll blow it all off halfway to smoke behind the bikeshed," you murmured, smiling up at him hopefully. "Come on, Eds. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

He sighed. "Princess, it'd be social suicide for you," he said, tucking a hank of your hair behind your ear. "Your friends hate me enough as it is. I don't wanna give them more reasons to push you away, alright? I've seen how they fight with you. About me."

You rolled your eyes. "They're stupid," you said drily. "I don't care. All I care about is my boyfriend watching me walk down the staircase of my house--"

"You live in a one-storey."

"And going, whoa, when he sees me in my prom dress for the first time. Maybe even a choked up, 'you look nice!', or something."

"You watch way too many John Hughes movies," he snorted, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Do I have to wear a suit?"

"Please."

He chewed on his lower lip. "...And you'll be in a dress?"

"The prettiest."

"And no one is gonna say anything that the top flyer is dancing with Eddie the Freak?"

You took one of his hands in your good one, pressing your mouth to the warm metal of his ring. "If they do, I won't hear it. And if they say anything, anything at all," she added darkly, "they'll see just how much training I put into my high kicks."

He smiled, pressing his face into your hair, before growing sombre. "I don't like the fact they treat you badly because of me."

You shrugged. "Then you're gonna have to get used to it, Munson. I'm sticking around." You pursed your lips at him, closing your eyes. "Make up kiss? Pwease?"

He laughed, and pressed his mouth to yours for the first time this week, groaning at the contact. Your good arm flew around his head, pulling him between your legs as you made up for lost time. You hissed as he nudged your bad wrist, and he stroked your cheek as an apology, refusing to pull away.

"Eddie!" you gasped, arching in surprise as he hauled your body closer to him, pressing you right up against his chest as he planted both hands either side of you, caging you in. "God, fuck, I missed this," you mumbled, hooking your legs around his waist as he dug his teeth into your neck, biting down. "Shit, god, fuck, please."

"Right!" Mike said, slamming the door open, face bright red. "Glad that's all sorted out then. Glad you two could. Uh. Kiss and make up."

You laughed weakly, resting your head against Eddie's chest, and flipped them off in tandem.