#look at that wholly adorable baby boi. how could you not love himmm?

[rwprincess]

Fluff Piece: Part One (Stranger Things Fred Benson x Fem!Reader)

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Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: So, you might recall me complaining 'why isn't there any Fred content?' and like...I believe you should write the fic you wish to see in the world, so here it is. Also, I tagged folks who seemed to share the sentiment and are looking for Fred content.

Synopsis: You join Hawkins’ High’s Weekly Streak staff in order to save your grade, but you stick around because you find yourself falling for senior staff member and editor, Fred Benson.

CW: failing grades, slight anxiety and self-doubt/deprecation (next to Spooksville, this is probably the most wholesome thing I’ve written)

fluff piece

a news story or report which is unimportant, extra.

Your English teacher had roped you into working on the school newspaper, the Weekly Streak, for extra credit. A couple of chapters unread had led to a poor grade and she was always proselytizing the benefits of the newspaper, trying to recruit 'new blood,' usually to no avail. But you needed the boost to your GPA. You reasoned that at the very least, you could try it. And she had tried to sway you with some flattery by saying you could bring a 'new and unique voice' to the Tigers' publication.  You figured that most of the people on staff had wanted to be here, that this was one of their interests and they were serious about it. You, however, could appeal to the average student with your views.

“So, what is it exactly I’ll be doing here? Am I writing articles or reviews, or--” you trailed off, not really sure of the scope of the school paper.

"Well, I wouldn't just throw you to the wolves!" Your teacher cackled, as if it were an absurd suggestion. She led you forward and indicated a boy with large glasses and sweater vest over perfectly crisp, ironed khakis.  "No, I'll have you shadow one of our best, hardest working staff members, Fred Benson." It seemed like the guy had been volunteered for this task right now. He looked surprised and Mrs. Callahan was laying on the compliments thick, trying to butter him up and get him to agree.

You offered your hand forward to introduce yourself and he took it warily, but politely, and did the same. He eyed you up and down, unsure and possibly disappointed, it was hard to tell. "Well, I will leave you to it, I'm sure you'll show her the ropes!" your teacher encouraged as she turned to leave.

"Wait!" You called out to her, suddenly nervous. Maybe it was Fred's unwavering and serious gaze that made you feel like you were on fire, or maybe it was just the prospect of having to work to prove yourself to a stranger when neither of you seemed to really want you to be here. "You're not staying?" You asked, pleadingly and wide-eyed.

"Oh, no. I have a lot of essays to get through. But you're in good hands," she indicated Fred again and you glanced back up at his stone-serious expression. You had expected to do some articles and turn them in, but here you were being judged already, and by the look in his eyes, not lightly. As soon as your teacher had left, he rounded on you.

"What kind of experience do you have, exactly?" He asked, his withering stare making you feel like he could see right through you, as if he were some prophetic Greek god that could weigh and measure your internal worth, seeing all your faults and failings throughout the cosmos. You swallowed hard.

"I…I don't really know. She, I mean, Mrs. Callahan, just asked me to join and I thought, why not?" This was clearly not the answer he was looking for.

"You thought, 'why not'?" He punctuated every word dryly, tilting his head. "You really don't have a clue about the hard work and dedication it takes to run this paper, or to even contribute, do you?"

You gulped again, feeling small in his presence, which was ironic given his slight frame. "I guess not," you mumbled in return. There was a moment of palpable silence and it seemed as though he was waiting for you to fill it, so you continued, "but I'm willing to learn. I mean, I'd like to learn."

"Good," he replied in kind, "let's start by setting you up with the right materials, then." He took you to their stock-cupboard to gather notebooks and pens, then showed you about the working space and what items you would be using before whisking you away to your first assignment, to follow his lead and take notes for the interview he was conducting with one of the other club leaders.

As you reviewed your notes together to craft your article, Fred bluntly asked you, "Why did Mrs. Callahan ask you to join?"

"Honestly, I'm having doubts about it now but she said something about bringing a 'unique voice' to the paper?"

"And what do you get out of it?" His question caught you off-guard. What would be a 'normal' reason to join an extracurricular activity? "Usually people don't join our staff to see, 'why not.'" He echoed your term from earlier, but more in a mocking tone now.

"Look, I'll be straight with you. She offered me extra credit if I would join and submit some things. I've fallen a little behind lately and…I need it." You shrugged, shrinking further down in your seat, not wanting to be seen or even be present anymore. Fred scoffed in response.

"I can't believe her. She's always trying to get people to join but doesn't take one minute to think about the work that goes into this; not just anybody can do it, you know."

"I see that now," you acquiesced. "It's already way different than I expected."

"You know, you can just go."

"What?"

"I'll submit it under your name, you can get the credit, I can keep the paper how I like, everyone wins." It was an interesting proposition, and while it felt like disagreeing with him put more burden on both of you, you refused.

"No. I'm going to stick with this.Mrs. Callahan has her reasons to ask me to do this and even if I started to make up a grade, I want to stick with it. I want to earn it, okay? She put her trust in me and asked me to do something. I agreed, so I'm going to do it." He looked at you with that weighted gaze again, but somehow seemed to deem you worthy this time.

"All right then, let's get started." 

In a matter of weeks, Fred had won you over. His serious demeanor often dropped and you found him making stupid jokes and off-the-wall puns. Sometimes it seemed they were just to make you smile. You no longer felt intimidated by him, though you still aimed to please. You took all of his notes and meticulously worked to become a better writer and reporter. Mostly, though, you found that you oddly wanted to be there because of Fred. Other staff members were nice, sure, and you liked being able to attend different activities to report on, to get out of your bubble, but your favorite moments were those when you and Fred would spend time together, secluded after hours where he'd roll his eyes at your suggestions that maybe the basketball could win a game or you would laugh at one of those idiotic word-plays he'd toss out and he'd smile at you with those perfectly-straightened teeth as you tenderly set a hand on his forearm, only to jerk it away half a second later to tuck in your lap as you looked away. Fred wasn't your usual type; he wasn't the kind to be in a heartthrob magazine and then have his picture tacked to your wall, anyway. But he was real. He was real and sincere and didn't seem to hold back whether his passion or criticism were brutally honest or not.

Meanwhile, Fred appreciated how studious you were, your eagerness to learn, although he never told you that. He had high expectations for all of his staff and eventually, you seemed to pass the test, too. While he lamented that there wasn't really 'hard-hitting news' to be had at Hawkins High, he always wanted each of you researching, digging. However, your supervising teacher insisted on some 'lighter fare,' and you once caught her arguing with Fred about it.

"This is exactly why I asked Y/N to join, so there could be a different perspective and something that isn't so serious."

"What, you want her to waste her work and her…her talent on some fluff piece?" He countered. You were astonished that Fred would challenge an adult in this manner, but also that he was standing up for you and thought you had 'talent.' Again, something he had never expressed to your face. You felt a tight squeeze in your chest and a familiar heat creep up your neck, its flushing pink betraying your internal thoughts. You were flattered in general, but a compliment from Fred, any attention from him these days, really, had you reeling.

"Yes. We need to be a well-rounded publication.  I'd like to see something beyond pessimistic coverage of sports games and I'm sure our readers would, too." She left quickly after dealing that blow and you scrambled to make it look as though you hadn't heard the confrontation and busied yourself at a desk as she approached,  "Y/N, I'd like you to work on some sort of slice-of-life article this week. Think of a topic and run it by the editor, please." She emphasized the word loudly so that Fred would know it was an assignment for the both of you. You dared to glance up at him in the doorway to the smaller office where they had had their spat. He had a cold gaze and red face directed at her back. 

"Fred, I---" you started gently, treading lightly. His expression softened as he turned to you, the ire for Mrs. Callahan burning out almost immediately.

"Whatever topic you want to do is fine, I'm sure. Just…just go ahead." He walked away with balled fists, head hanging low in utter defeat. You were tempted to go after him but felt he would prefer to deal with this alone. The best thing you could do is get to work. Fred wordlessly submitted your work back to you a few days later. It wasn't marked up much, but you didn't take this as an inherently good sign. You approached him quietly as most of the other staff left on assignment or to go home. "Fred? There's not a lot of notes here. Does that mean you enjoyed it or?"

He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "No, I didn't like it. It was just well-written. Not many mistakes. But it's a banal topic that I didn't really care to write about." His words stung you. You were used to his critiques by now, but they'd never so bluntly been 'I didn't like it' or have an air of 'you've wasted my time' before.

"Oh. Well, I could do something else, but I thought you said any topic would be fine."

"I did. And it was. It's fine. I'm sure it's what other people want to read, 'normal' people as our faculty advisor so kindly put it. She's made it clear that a bunch of nerds can't be the only ones contributing to the paper anymore. We need 'other voices'," this time he did sarcastic air quotes, "to appeal to a broader base. So, write whatever you want, I guess. That's the direction we're taking now."

His crestfallen expression nagged at you the most. This newspaper, while small and humble, was his baby. All of his great effort and care went into it, that much was plain from day one. That fire, that passion to always make it better and not settle for less just because it was some rinky-dink small Midwestern town's high school newspaper was one of the things you admired most about Fred. And now you were taking an active part in tearing that down, without even meaning to. "I'm sorry that that's what you feel like it's come to, I mean, I know how much you---I wish I knew how to fix this. I could talk to her, maybe? Get us back on track?"

"What for? This is what she wants and what she keeps pushing for. Besides, you don't have to be sorry. It's not like you wanted to do this, anyway. You're just here to make up assignments, right? Well, then you'd better do what she tells you to. Make the grade and then get out, while you still can. Feels like a sinking ship at this point."

"Fred, I---"

"No, really." Another humorless laugh rose and caught in his throat, "What's keeping you here anyway? You gave it a try, that's all you wanted out of it, right?"

"No, no, I like working here, I--"

"It's okay. You don't have to lie anymore," he cut you off and you returned his abrupt answer with a confused look. Lie about what? you thought, then he continued, "I think…I think I'm just gonna go home."

"What?  But we're behind on the Chess Club piece and the preview interviews for the play."

"What does it matter anymore?" He shrugged and blinked away the wetness from his eyes before leaving the office, looking utterly heartbroken.

You stewed on possibilities to even try to cheer him up, to work on something that would satisfy Mrs. Callahan and also be good enough for Fred, but you kept coming up short. You let yourself get caught in the fatalistic spiral and found yourself thinking, 'well, if it's all coming to an end anyway, why not be risky? Why not tell him how you feel?' It was always a horrifying proposition before; You'd get tongue-tied trying to admit any hint of your feelings towards Fred, save the random compliments you had blurted out and then instantly regretted. But, you might not be working with him much longer, and then when would you have the chance? Alternatively, you could just write it, you were much better at that than speaking, anyway. A smile crept on your face as you decided to be both bold and sneaky at the same time:  'I'll give him a Fluff Piece.' It seemed like a ridiculously easy solution to all your previous pondering, so you began drafting, How To Tell If She's Really Into You, and laced it with your own real emotions, hoping he would read between the lines and see the parallels between your article and your interactions.

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