Honey I'm Home / Eddie Munson x you (female reader)

Volume: 8

"Do you think it's enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I'm just hoping there is enough for everyone."

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She's walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper's gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

"Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister."

"Nope! Haven't theen 'em," he answers all too quickly, "you thur you bought 'em?"

"Yes I'm su—,"

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, "oh Eddie?"

"Mhmm?" He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, 'please don't eat these they're for the Rice Krispie bars,' would you?"

Rose colors his cheeks, "what? Me? Not listening? Ok O'Donnell," he says with a scoff.

"Eddie," you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

"Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I'm dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!"

"Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly."

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, "I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am."

Type A, that's how she was.

"It'll be perfect, Nancy," Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, "just like you."

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. "Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet," she says, peeling herself from Jonathan's arms, "can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?"