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Baby It's Cold Outside >> Eddie "The Eagle" Edwards X Reader

Title: Baby It's Cold Outside

Paring: Eddie "The Eagle" Edwards X Reader

Warnings: some drug mentions, home abuse and other serious issues. If any of you Readers are in these circumstances, please speak up and go to people who can help you through it. You're all precious snowflakes and I love you all!

Spoilers: some, for the movie Eddie The Eagle

Author's Note: I'm not a fan of RPF but I was requested by a fellow Taron Egerton (@CustardCreamies on AO3) fan to write an Eddie The Eagle fanfic and well, I took one look at Taron and all thought processes collapsed because he's that cute. Anyways. I hope you like it!

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By the time you realise there's a new guy in the tavern, it's well into the night and you can't help but think that every time he pushes his glasses up his noses and stumbles over his German that you die a little inside. Whether or not it's a good dying, you're not sure, but he's taking most of your regulars, who you can win over with a large tip and a great smile along with the service. But, it's too late, and by the end of the night, this blonde Englishman that bumbles around seems to be quite good at bussing tables. He might even have it in his blood.

But that's when it's lock up time, and you've counted your pennies, or really, they're pfennig, but who's to argue when you're not a local person yourself, and donned the snow coat ready to hitch a ride home. 

"Where's he going?" you jerk a thumb toward the man, who, after all the work he's done, looks around the same age as you. "Is he travelling my way?" 

Petra shakes her head. "He sleeps in the back room." 

Your eyes widen, albeit, in your mind, and without another word, you nod, and wave them all good night until the next day, when you will be back to wait on more tables and wean tips from the cold-hearted local men and the foreign athletes. 

It's a Tuesday when he tells you his name. It's also the slowest night you'd ever seen since your second day on the job as Petra's waitress, and without anyone to really go over to and charm, you are left waiting at the bar, sitting beside the skier who drinks his milk diligently.  

"I'm _________," you offer him your hand. 

It's strange that you're doing this, the chummy thing; it was that reason you uprooted yourself from your old home and came to Germany in the first place. It was here where there was history, and good people stuck in shitty places, and maybe that resonated with you, but here you were, and you were offering your fellow busboy a hand to shake. 

He takes your hand in his. "I'm Eddie. Nice to meet you, ________." Even though you'd known each other a week by now, it sounded so sweet, so endearing from his lips. Even if those lips were surrounded by scruffy facial hair (which you weren't that much of a fan of) but it was so Eddie. It was charming. 

Christmas was roaring by the time you got to speak to him next. It wasn't until a few days ago you found out he was a skier, like the men and women who came in to practice their jumps on the slopes, and even then, it was barely brought up that he had a dream to appear and compete in the Winter Olympics. But it was busy on Christmas, and even if most of the people you served didn't celebrate the holiday, they still wanted a nice lunch or dinner, and nice service too. So you did your best, and that is what everyone got.