#inmate!eddie munson x reader

[lesservillain]

inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

cw: drinking, explicit fantasies

September 16th,1994 

The idea to you was asinine from the moment Principal Williams brought you into her office to explain the program details to you. How no one else thought that the idea of thirteen-year-olds becoming “pen pals” with prisoners wasn’t insane baffled you. It was dangerous at worst and inappropriate at best, but,  despite your best efforts to reason with her, your opinion as a “newer” teacher was dismissed. 

Now here you are listening to the speech of the prison rep, Mr. Bridges, as he explained the program to your 7th grade class. Not like you had a lesson planned for them today.

Mr. Bridges stands a whole 5 feet and 6 inches with a short stack military fade and the most unsettling sunny disposition. He reads as incredibly fake, like a snake oil salesman, and his shiny, white, slightly too big for his mouth veneers not doing him any favors. It doesn’t surprise you that your newly divorced principal was able to be persuaded by this guy's charms, but thankfully you’re used to his kind of tactics from your own previous relationship. 

Before leaving, Mr.Bridges approaches you at your desk. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he starts, leaning too far into your space. One of his thick fingers points at a paper he had given you before he started his speech, “but is a student absent today? We have an unassigned inmate—”

“We had a student move,” you say shortly, keeping your voice monotone and not bothering to glance at his paper, “so I’m short one student in this class.”

Bridges nodded, clearly deep in thought. His brows furrowed for a moment before perking up. 

“Maybe you’d like to take on a pen pal?’” He proposes, his chipper disposition coxing on the migraine that wants to break through behind your eye.

The look on your face must have said it all as he tried to convince you further. “The inmates that signed up are all trying to better themselves before being re-released into society, ya’know?” His eye’s shift, landing on the floor with a solemn look. “We thought talking to kids that grew up while they were incarcerated would help them get in touch with the times, be able to cope with time they’ve lost. Give them something to look forward to when they get out.” 

The pads of your fingers dig into your temples, eyes rolling to the back of your head before finally giving him the eye contact he so desperately craved from you. 

“Fine, I’ll take whoever you have left, I guess. What’s his name?”

“Perfect!” Bridges hands clap together next to your ear, “The leftover inmate wants to go by The Banished One and he—”

“Banished what?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, The Banished One! It’s his nickname for the project. We have all the inmates disguise their names just in case the kids may be related to one of them.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your head in your hand, “Okay, fine, sure I guess that makes sense.” 

 Bridges continued to assure you that all the letters are anonymous and would be vetted both ways, adding that only ‘good behavior’ inmates were allowed to take part in the program as a last push for your participation, you reluctantly agreed. Mostly just to get him to leave your classroom before your head explodes, but not without the stipulation that if you thought it was too much for your kids that you would pull them out. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.  

October 7th, 1994 

The first writing session took place on a Friday, the soft sound of music from your mixtape playing for the kids to help them relax. It had been a long week of testing and you felt like an easy day was in order for both you and the kids, most of your other classes would just be doing free work. 

You grabbed the stack of letters from your desk, Pictures of You by The Cure filling the air as you hand each student their respective letter. 

“Don’t forget to keep personal information like names and where you live out of your letters. Once you’re done, bring them to my desk.”  

Once the kids were settled, you returned to your desk and grabbed your own letter. The envelope before you had “Teach” written across the front, the pen name you chose to go by. The handwriting was like chicken scratch. Not much different from the 13 year old boys whose papers you grade, though, so you were confident in your ability to decipher the rest of the letter. But still had a roughness, an edge to it.  

As you opened your letter, unfolding the paper to it’s full state, the first thing to catch your attention was the graffiti like drawings along the margins of the paper. It reminded you of a flash sheet at the tattoo shop your friends took you to for your 21st birthday, a permanent reminder of that day on your inner ankle in the form of a small butterfly that was already starting to fade. There was nothing too offensive; a rose, a sailor ship, a dove with an olive branch, all impressively done for just being pen on paper. 

Once you got past the artwork, you began to take in the letter's contents. The single page was filled from front to back, barely any room for the signature at the bottom.

“Hey there, “Teach”... if that is your real name…” the letter starts. The lame opener makes you crack a small smile that you quickly cover with your hand. You read on, taking in each sentence, and you start to get the idea that your pen pal doesn’t take this pen pal assignment too seriously. 

The letter is casual, a few puns here and there, with some Tolkien references that would have been missed if one wasn’t familiar with his work. It’s clear that this person is young, or at least young at heart, which saddens you to think about, but you try not to dwell on it. 

Getting into the meat of the letter, your pal explains that went to prison in 1989 for drug related charges, but is set to get out in about a year if he keeps up his good behavior.

 “I’m ready to get out of this place and get back to my hometown in Hawkins.” 

A shiver goes down your spine for a moment when you read that he’s from Hawkins. Bridges assured you that the inmates wouldn’t know what school the kids would be from, but you weren’t expecting to be talking to someone from this small town. You wonder if Bridges knows more than he’s letting on with his comment about the kids being related to the inmates.

Once the creepy feeling dissipates you continue to read on. The details your pal gives about himself tell you that he’s very different from the people you usually hang out with. His favorite genre of music is metal and he used to play guitar and do vocals for a band every week before he started working as a mechanic full time. They’d have a crowd of 20 or so some nights, but it was usually just the regulars at the place they would play at. 

The final paragraph of the letter consists of a seemingly scripted warning about the dangers of drugs and that no one should make the same mistake he did. You wondered if this was obligatory for the project. At the bottom of the page your pal signs with his chosen moniker “The Banished One.” When thinking about it, you find that it’s very fitting for an inmate.  

After taking a moment to check in on your class, Morrissey’s somber voice serenading them as  “I Know It’s Over” plays from the small radio’s speakers, you pull out your own pen and paper to start your response.

 As you ponder on where to start, a thought that crosses your mind; does your pen pal even know they’re talking to an adult? The pen name you chose might be on the nose but you didn’t want to assume. Granted, your handwriting itself may be a dead giveaway if you were to compare it to a teens.  

It took you a couple of tries to start your letter. Instinctively, you wanted to be formal, but the longer you thought about it the more you didn’t want to come off as a boring writing companion. You tried and failed to come up with something witty to match the vibe of your pal, but comedy wasn’t your strong point, though you’d argue that it wasn’t his either. Instead, you approached it as if you were writing to a friend.  

“Hello! Nice to meet you “Banished One." Though, it sounds like you won't be banished much longer.” 

Erring on the side of caution you chose to only respond directly to things he wrote, slipping in that you also enjoyed the works of Tolkien with your own reference. You mention that you listen to metal from time to time, more into radio rock at the moment, but you’d really listen to anything.

 It took you a minute to calculate how to respond to the reveal of his dealings in drugs, ultimately deciding to lightly say that you hoped he learned his lesson unless he saw himself returning to prison in the future. You shared that you were familiar with Hawkins, noting that you loved the milkshakes from the old diner in town, but left it at that. As you closed the letter you complimented his artwork, informing him that the rose was your favorite and that you looked forward to seeing his artwork on future letters.

You’d manage to write enough to cover the majority of the back of your lined paper, signing your pen name a few lines away from the bottom. Going over your letter again, you can't help feeling like it’s a bit dull. Safe, but that’s what it's supposed to be.

October 24th,1994 

It only took two weeks for Mr. Bridges to return with new letters for your class. Truthfully, you had almost forgotten about the letters entirely while trying to keep your students on track as the holiday season approaches. The emotional whiplash of seeing your ex out with his new, younger girlfriend while you were out looking for Halloween decor for your apartment wasn't helping either. It felt like no matter what you did, how much your friends tried to help, you just couldn’t catch a break. At least the manager of the local liquor store was nice to you. 

When your students seemed too preoccupied with the stack of letters on your desk to pay attention to your lecture, you decided to call it a day and give all of you a break. You click on your small stereo and let the tune of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah take over the room while you pass out letters. 

Once the letters were distributed, you settled at your desk where your eyes met with the same chicken scratch handwriting as before. It was tempting to reach for it… until you glanced at the pile of ungraded papers that sat next to it, taunting you. You desperately needed to go over them, the deadline to turn in grades fast approaching.

You deliberated on what to do. You had to admit you were curious about the letter. Part of you wondered if you’d even get one back. You didn’t want to give any personal information away, so you couldn’t blame the random man in prison for not responding if he thought he was talking to an old lady teacher. 

But the stack of papers is practically glaring at you.

A thought; you could always finish your papers later at home. But you did tell yourself you would be better at bringing so much work home with you this year…Your friends had an influence on that decision, making sure you took at least every other weekend to go out and do something — anything to keep you from shutting yourself in again. 

With a sigh, you tuck the letter into your work bag, grabbing your pen to start grading.

“Damn it, why can’t I find one stupid pen!” 

Slamming drawers and stomping around, the red liquid of your cup sloshing around in your glass as you grew more and more frustrated in your search for a pen to write out the checks for the coming month’s bills. 

After searching the kitchen, you make your way to the living room and spot your school bag on the coffee table. In your rage, you slam the glass on the table and begin haphazardly pulling the contents out of the bag, praying you still had a pen that hadn’t been “borrowed” to never be returned by one of your students. 

The feeling of plastic on the tips of your finger almost brought you to tears of joy. Pulling out a purple ink pen you decided that it would have to be good enough if your landlord wanted your rent on time. 

After finishing with the checks, you return to your bag to put the envelopes inside to drop off tomorrow at the post office. As you lift the bag, your eyes meet with chicken scratch again away. A burst of buzzed excitement runs through you at the sight, even if for just a moment before you shook it off. It was just an envelope from some random man sitting in a jail cell, why are you getting so excited? Is it because you’re at home and not feeling the pressure to be uptight and rigid? 

Or maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time you received a letter that wasn’t a bill. It sort of gave you a feeling of nostalgia, taking you back to a time when you wrote letters to your mom when you were at camp, or when you would write to your grandparents around the holidays. It even reminded you a bit of writing in your diary, if your diary could write back that is. It’s not like he would have room to judge you from his jail cell, right?

You snatch the letter from the bag and walk back into the kitchen, grabbing the dark bottle of wine to refill your glass and plopping down at the table. Ripping open the envelope, you pull out the letter and immediately notice that it is covered in artwork just as the last one was.

This time you notice a 20-sided dice with a banner that read “critical hit”, a very detailed dragon head, and a stylized version of the skeleton guy that you’ve seen on the cover of Iron Maiden albums. The biggest piece was of another rose, but in the fully bloomed center was an eye. It was…interesting. Well done, but not what you were expecting. Not that you were expecting anything anyway.  

Getting the artwork out of the way, you take a large sip of your drink and begin reading.

“Hello again, Teach,” the letter starts, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room before I can write anything else.” Your brow quirks up, a slight nervousness begins to creep in your mind. 

“I was already suspicious when I was told the person I was writing to wanted to go by Teach. And no seventh grader I’ve ever known can write as nicely as you. Not that I know a lot of seventh graders...Anyway, can I ask how I ended up being pen pals with the class teacher? I know I could ask Bridges, but I think it would be more fun to hear it from you.” 

Your lips tug into a smile, but this time you don’t feel the need to cover it. Why did it feel like a game he won or a riddle he solved? It wasn’t exactly like you were hiding it. But something about him figuring out something about you was…exciting.

As you get into the meat of the letter itself he goes on to ask you what subject you teach and how long you have been teaching. He asks if you like working with kids and if they ever made you want to pull your hair out. The phrasing of his words make you giggle. 

“I was never good in school,” he states. “It took me three tries of my senior year to graduate. I used to blame my teachers saying that they didn’t like the way I dressed or my taste in music. I guess now I have to admit that it was probably because I didn’t bother to show up to class or do any of my homework…” 

A full laugh shook you in your chair. Was he actually funnier in this letter? And why did it come off feeling so personal? The air about it was different, like you were talking to a long-distance friend rather than a felon, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling as you continue read his sketchy handwriting.

He went on to ask more about you, like what your favorite band was since you “liked rock so much more than metal,” with a little frowny face to punctuate his disagreement. He says the prison lets them watch MTV sometimes, which has been his main exposure to new music. Sometimes he gets a hold of new music every once and a while, but usually just listens to his old cassettes on his Walkman that his uncle gave him when he first entered the system.

“Some people have tried to steal it from me, but they learned pretty quickly that I have my ways to get things back, and that I'm not one to be messed with.”

That left you curious. A small glimpse into the inner workings of prison. You never really thought about what a person in prison could or couldn’t have. It was nice that he could have at least a small luxury, an item of value if it was under constant threat of being taken. You also couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by not being messed with.

Before you know it you’ve hit the end of the letter. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It felt like there could have been so much more to say, but his pen name barely fit at the bottom of the paper as it is. You take a piece of paper out of your notebook, pulling the frayed pieces off the edge and replacing the one in front of you with it.  Hopefully your pal won't mind the purple pen or the probable lack of coherence compared to your first letter as you feel the wine really start to kick in.

Referring back to the paper like a student answering a question in class, you make sure to answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.  

“Hello again, Mr. Banished. I see you have uncovered my secret that I am, in fact, a grown woman and not a 13-year-old. I hope that doesn’t bother you. I have been teaching English since I graduated college, coincidentally in 1989. It's like we traded places; I got to leave the prison of being a student in college and you went to prison for whatever drug related charges you acquired.” You laughed at your own joke as you continued. 

“As for why you are stuck with writing a late 20’s school teacher rather than one of my students, that would be because of the aforementioned Mr.Bridges. We had a student move a few weeks into the school year and Bridges practically got on his knees and begged me to take on a pen pal.” You left out the detail of not being totally comfortable with the program. Not that you weren’t still hesitant, but the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by insinuating anything about the type of person he was for being in jail. The wine had rationalized with you that sometimes good people do bad things when they’re in dark places.

Continuing on, you wrote that he was probably right in both his opinions on why his teachers failed him. The older teachers at your school were stuck in their ways and judged students before really trying to help them. You did your best not to be the same way, hoping to be a teacher that your students could trust and come to if they needed help. It was a passion of yours since you were small, wanting to help people learn and grow, so what better way to do that than to teach?

“I am interested in what you wore that would call for such harsh judgment. I try to be as unbiased as I can with all my kids. If you asked them, they would say that I’m stuffy or rigid most of the time, but it’s mostly because I care about their education. And partly because being a new teacher is…really freaking tough if I’m being honest. These older teachers don’t take half of the things I say seriously because their own kids are older than me. It’s kind of bullshit, actually, but I just deal with it until I can get more experience under my belt.” 

A sigh slips through your lips, pen tapping against the kitchen table as you feel the frustration bubbling. It’s not fair to dump these feelings on him, but the anonymity made it so easy to just put everything out there. He doesn’t know anything about you, and if you were to weird him out by getting a little real, then he could just not write back, right? 

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you decided to just move on to a different topic. 

“Sorry, that was a lot of feelings on my part. Is it too personal to ask what you do in prison? You mentioned getting to listen to music, but what else do you do? I’ve seen in movies that inmates work out a lot and play basketball outside. Is that real or made up for the audience? If it is real, does that mean you are super buff from working out all the time? Do you beat people up if they try and take your Walkman, or do you stab them? I’ve seen people do that in movies, too. I hope you don’t stab them, that would be scary.” 

You can feel yourself getting a bit rambley in your tired state, so you decide it’s time to call it a night. You wrap up the letter by telling him that you’re going to go to sleep and that you were looking forward to his next letter. You sign your name and draw a small doodle of a flower next to it.

November 18th,1994

It was 3 am when you woke up the first time. A nightmare had you shooting up from your pillow, cold sweat drenched the collar of your sleep shirt, chest heaving as you caught your breath. 

He had been knocking at your door, your pen pal. You never saw his face, but heard the anger in his voice as he yelled for you to let him in. You remember sitting in front of the door begging for him to leave you alone, telling him it was too soon. That you weren’t ready.  

The nightmare became reoccurring, waking you at least 2 or 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s your ex, but most of the time it’s your pen pal. Even though you have no inkling of what he looks like, you just know it’s him on the other side.

The disturbance in your sleep was starting to affect your daily life, one of your coworkers asking if you were okay after over pouring a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Are you okay?” Mr.Clarke asks, helping you mop up the spilled coffee with some paper towels.

“Yes, I’m sorry, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to reassure him.

“Hey, I know that midterms can be rough with the holidays coming up. But, try not to stress out about it too much. I’ve heard good things about you from the kids in my classes that have you this year. You’re doing a good job, so don't kill yourself, okay?”

It was damn near impossible not to burst into tears at your coworkers words, but you held it together until you could hide in the faculty restroom.

The dreams didn’t stop though. Even Mr.Bridges felt the need to comment.

  “Holidays stressing you out?” he asked with an energy that seemed inhuman to you, his sunny disposition could make the snow outside melt.

“No.” You stated shortly as you looked through your lesson plan for the day.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a nod, “This is the most wonderful time of the year after all. We try to stay busy at the prison, keep the morale high and what not.” 

He placed the stack of letters on your desk, along with a small box that read “Greeting Cards” with a wintery scene displayed on the front. 

“These are for the students to give to the inmates.” You look at him with “no shit” written on your face. He cleared his throat, “But, uh, I’m sure you could figure that out. I know this time of year can be hectic for everyone, but we all deserve some holiday cheer, right?” Your expression remains unchanged as he continues on.

“Right, well, I’ll be giving the inmates their own cards to send to the kids with their letters. It might be a bit difficult for me to come back before Christmas, family affairs to attend to and all that. So, I went ahead and wrote the address and stamped the envelopes for the cards. If I don’t come back by, oh, let's say the 15th? Just go ahead and stick those in the mail and I’ll make sure the inmates get them!” 

Before you could protest having to go out of your way to do his job, Mr.Bridges quickly made his exit as the warning bell rang, wishing you a happy holiday as he disappeared. 

With the lack of free class time as you all crammed for test week, you decided to let the kids take their letters and cards home for the weekend to work on. As you passed them out, keeping the addressed envelopes in the box, you told the kids to write something nice in their cards. 

“This may be the only card some of these men get, so think about that when you’re writing them this weekend.”

Getting to the last letter, you feel your stomach twist as you read your actual government first name in the familiar chicken scratch handwriting instead of your pen name. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks until the sound of the bell brought you back to your body. 

“U-uh, ge--get your letters done by the end of class Tuesday!” You yell over your class as they begin migrating out of the room.

Quickly, you return to your desk and rip open the letter. Unsurprisingly, it’s once again covered in artwork. The pumpkins and bats and other Halloween inspired art felt out of place, putting in perspective how long it had been since your last letter. But before you could look much further into the writing your next class began to file in, forcing you to set the letter aside for later. 

You’d felt nauseous the rest of your morning classes, You wracked your brain about how the hell your pen pal could have figured out your actual name. You may have been...a little tipsy when you wrote that letter a month ago, but you’re sure you didn’t say anything personal enough that he would know who you were. Could he have asked someone on the outside to look into you? No, Mr.Bridges assured you that the inmates don’t know what school they are writing to. Maybe Bridges said your name to someone at the jail and the inmate overheard?  

As soon as the bell rang for your lunch period, you practically rushed your students out the door and closed it. Throwing yourself into your chair, you grab the letter and begin reading. 

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to be getting more lore in your newest letter! You have a very cute name by the way…Sorry I hope that wasn’t weird. Anyway! I guess I can tell you my name, too. Call me Eddie.”

  Eddie. 

So you had included your own name in your letter somewhere. You sigh with relief, though it still makes you a little uncomfortable that this stranger knows something personal about you. Sure he’s been nice, but he was still a felon. Though knowing his name made you feel a little better. Made him feel a tad more human to not use silly nicknames.

“Can I start by saying I loved reading your last letter?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.“The purple pen was a nice touch. Something about a teacher complaining about other teachers is really funny to me, too. Nice to know the torment of some teachers isn’t just limited to students! And I doubt your kids think you’re stiff or whatever. You seem pretty cool to me. Even if I’ve only gotten to talk to you through a couple letters, you talk to me a lot nicer than I probably deserve.”

The smile that had made its home on your lips from his sentiments dropped into a frown. You felt yourself wanting to get defensive, wanting to tell him that he shouldn’t think that way about himself. That even if he was a felon, he still deserves respect.

“Being a younger teacher must be hard. You did all the college stuff to be a teacher so that should be enough to get their respect in my opinion. I don’t think I had a teacher who wasn’t at least in their 50s so they probably can’t see anyone under 30 as anything other than a kid I guess.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” you say to yourself with an airy chuckle. 

As you keep reading, he changes the subject to something you don’t remember asking in your previous letter.

“So you wanna know what I look like, huh? Well back before I was in here I would wear my band shirts, Metallica and Judas Priest and all the bands that make the old ladies cringe. My jeans had holes in them, too. And I have this battle vest that I’ve put together with some patches of my favorite bands on it. My uncle Wayne says he’s keeping it safe for me at home. It’s not much, but I learned how to stitch patches on by myself, so it means something to me. Gives me something to look forward to when I get out.” 

Your mind paints an image of a gangely teen trying to look cool to impress his friends or scare off the old ladies at the mall. Sounds like the kind of guy you had crushes on in high school. There may have been a picture or 2 of Kirk Hammit or Vince Neil or Eddie Van Halen tapped to the inside of your locker door in high school, but you’d never admit that now.

“I also had long hair when I was younger. Can’t call yourself a metal head without having long hair ya know. But I’ve had to cut it since I’ve been in here. I’ve got pretty curly hair and it was getting hard to keep up with it. It’s short enough to keep out of my face most of the time. I’m actually due for a haircut, so thanks for reminding me! Hair cuts are free in prison so I get it done way more than I ever did on the outside. You gotta tip your barber though or else they might “accidentally” shave all your hair off next time. Learned that one the hard way.”

He goes on to answer some of your questions about the inner workings of the jail. They do get to work out a lot, but says he’s not a “big meat head” like some of the other inmates. He doesn’t like basketball for “personal reasons” so he prefers to run laps. “When you’re trying to get out of a big fight it’s better to be faster than stronger.”

“I am also proud to admit that I have never stabbed someone. Almost been stabbed myself, but I used to get my shit rocked in high school so I’ve learned to dodge over the years.” Your hand comes to your face, almost forgetting that you asked such a stupid question. Of course he hasn’t stabbed anyone. You could excuse it if it was out of self defense maybe. But then you recall him saying before that he doesn’t get “messed with”, so what is he doing that people aren’t bothering him if not stabbing them? Your head spins with possibilities as you think about it more.

As you are about to read on, you are interrupted by a knock on your door, the sound causing you to jump in your seat. Quickly closing the letter and shoving it into your bag, you rush to the door to find a student from your 3rd period class, a shy one at that, needing clarification on the newest assignment. You let her in, forgetting the letter for the rest of the period. 

The rest of the period then turns into the rest of the day. It goes by like a blur as everyone seems to be getting last minute things turned in for the week. Grades for the upcoming report cards would be due by the end of next Tuesday, so you told your classes to get any missing work in by today and you would give them partial credit. It was setting yourself up for a busy weekend, but anything to keep your mind off the upcoming holiday was welcomed. 

It would be your first Thanksgiving single in almost 10 years, and your 4th since your mom passed. Your soon to be ex-husband, Henry, had convinced you to move to his hometown of Hawkins after your mother died to be closer to his family and to help his dad’s business as his accountant. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, and after looking back on the situation, you realized that he had used your vulnerability to get a lot of what he wanted. 

Things seemed fine at first. His parents bought your house and he had a good paying job. All you had to do was cling to his arm and keep quiet. You were kept well manicured, your appearance catered to his liking as he paraded you around at office parties.

The not so hushed whispers from the women in his office always talking about how lucky you were to bag an older man reached your ears. But you kept your tongue against your cheek. They could be jealous all they want, because if they knew what happened behind closed doors they wouldn’t be singing the same tune. 

Waking up early in the morning, way before he ever did, just to put on your face. God forbid you weren’t presentable to him always. Afterwards you’d iron his white button ups and khaki slacks, make him a huge breakfast, present his clothes to him, and be waiting by the door on your knees for him to use your mouth before he walked out the door. 

At the time, you felt like you had a purpose. That being a housewife was what you were meant to be. But the degree you had worked so hard on stared at you as you cleaned the house everyday. Your passion was just in reach, boring you every day.

That is, until fate, and the well timed retirement of your predecessor, gave you the opportunity to start teaching that year. When you got the call, you were over the moon. Henry even said he was proud of you. 

Until you forgot to iron his clothes. It was just a stern talking to the first time, an anger in his eyes like you’d never seen before had you on edge the entire first day of class. You made it up to him by waking up extra early, using your mouth to start his day since you couldn’t be at the door for him anymore.

But, then you started falling behind on chores during the week as grading papers took up most of your free time when you weren’t tending to his needs. It’s not that you didn’t clean, it just wasn't the only thing you had to do every day anymore. Passive comments about becoming lazy were brushed to the side until they collectively spilled over into your first big argument. You told him he could help, too. He smacked you across the face. 

Too busy juggling work and cleaning the house full time caused you to miss the signs that things were declining. It started when Henry had to start staying late for work, claiming that they had a “big project” that was going to require him to stay over longer. He made it seem like a temporary arrangement that ended up becoming a pattern for months. But, he assured you that a raise could come from his hard work. So you continued to sit at home, a cold, untouched plate sitting across from you as you finished another bottle of wine. At least he wasn’t there to put his hands on you.

Then it was the pair of panties that you didn’t recognize when you did his laundry. When you confronted him, he told you that it must be a pair you owned back in high school that was mixed in with his clothes somehow when you moved. When you pressed on, he gave you a black eye. 

Then it was the perfume you didn’t recognize on your pillow case when you came home from a weekend trip to see your new nephew. He told you it smelled like your perfume, you just hadn’t been home all weekend to smell it. You didn’t argue this time.

Then it was his father’s secretary, Missy, calling your home and telling you that she was sleeping with your husband. She had been nice at last year's Christmas party when you first met her. Nineteen, dumb as a box of rocks.

“Are you and Henry still married?” she had asked with her valley girl accent, “Because when I stayed over I saw that he still had pictures of you two at his house.”

Now you’re stuck in this tiny town, your closest relative being your brother who has his own family out in Chicago. Thankfully, you had made friends with the ever charming Steve Harrington, who’s father also worked with Henry. He came as a package deal with his roommate Robin Buckley, and the two of them quickly became your best friends. They were as blindsided as you about Henry’s affair and helped you move into your new apartment. Steve offered to let you live with him and Robin, but you didn’t want to live in the same house as your ex’s coworker, even if he was never there.

“We should make a grocery list for next week.” Robin called from the kitchen to where you and Steve were sat in the living room. “Do we want to bother making a turkey or should we do something easier?”

“Do you know how to make a turkey?” you asked looking over the top of your wine glass as she taps a pen to paper scowling.

“She can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, d’ya really think she can make a turkey?” You watch as a roll of paper towels is launched from the kitchen into the side of Steve’s head and your laugh erupts.

“Well, then were fucked,” you say between giggles, “because I can’t make a turkey, and I know Steve “grabs a pan without a mitt” Harrington also can’t cook one.”

“Oh, that was ONE TIME!” 

Steve goes to throw the paper towel roll at you, but you dodge, “One time is enough to never let you live it down, Steven. Maybe we should get some chicken instead.”

“Oh, I can make us some potato salad!”

After some back and forth about what to make for your “Friendsgiving” as Robin had been calling it, claiming inspiration from a new episode of Friends, Steve was begging to talk about anything else. 

“School seems to be better this year,” he looks at you carefully, “You haven’t been talking about it as much lately. Not negatively at least.”

“Yeah the only thing you’ve complained about is that prison thing your class was supposed to be doing.” She looked at you with a look of curiosity, “How’s that going?”

You blink and suddenly remember the letter that you had gotten earlier. It was sitting in your bag back home where you had left it on your coffee table again. You were so busy getting ready to go to Steve’s that you had forgotten to finish it.

“It’s going okay. Hey, did you guys go to high school here?”

They both look at each other, then back to you. “Yep, graduated a year after dingus, though. Class of ‘86.”

Steve gave Robin an annoyed look at the nickname before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask?”

You pondered for a moment if it would be okay to tell them about Eddie. The program was supposed to be anonymous, but that was just to protect the kids. If he wasn’t allowed to give you his name they would have confiscated the letter, right? Bridges said the letters were vetted both ways, so if it was a problem he would have told you. But this seemed like a breach of privacy. You only had a first name to go off of and a vague description. He never said his age, so could be older than even you, or younger than Robin. 

“Um, do you guys know anyone that goes by Eddie?” 

They both perked up at the name, giving each other a look that you couldn’t read. You swore they could communicate telepathically.

Steve was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “Yeah, we know an Eddie. Why?” His tone was curious as he side eyed you.

“Oh, well my pen pal from the, uh, the prison thing. See his name is Eddie, and he told me that he’s from Hawkins. I don’t know much about him, but I think he may be close to my age and maybe he was in school with you guys-”

Robins laugh caught you off guard. “If it’s the same Eddie we know, then yes he was in school with us. Way longer than he was supposed to be, and we didn’t really get close until the end of my senior year.”

The look on your face prompted Steve to elaborate, “Eddie was -- is, a friend of ours that we got to know better through a mutual friend. He did go to prison a few years ago, but it was because he was scapegoated by a guy he bought weed from. We thought he was gonna go to jail for, like, the rest of his life or something. I had to convince my dad to get our lawyer that he keeps on retainer to represent him in court. The guy owed my dad a favor and he did it, Eddie only got five years.”

“There’s no way,” you said incredulously. Your jaw had to be on the floor. You knew this town was small, but was it really this small? Robin and Steve would be the type to forget to mention they had a friend in prison, too. 

“What’s his last name?”

“Munson. Eddie Munson. We still talk to him on the phone every once in a while. Usually his uncle gets a hold of us, tells us that he’s going to call at a certain time so we can stay by the phone. Oh!” Steve stands up from his spot on the couch, clapping his hands, “I have my senior year book up stairs. He should be in it as long as he showed up to picture day.” 

As Steve walks away, you turn to Robin, who has an amused look on her face.

“What?” You laugh, still in disbelief at the information that has been given to you. She shrugs, lips turned in a downward smile, “Nothing. So what do you and Eddie talk about?”

“What do we talk about? Not much really. We’ve only sent maybe two letters to each other. He always covers the letters in artwork though. They look like little tattoos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely our Eddie,” She shakes her head, “His notebooks that he would carry around with him are covered in art. He told us he’s given himself some tattoos while he’s been there. We keep telling him he’s going to look like a felon when he comes out.”

“Isn’t he a felon, though?” 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like it!”

“Found it!” Steve yells as he comes back into the living room, blowing the dust off the book. He plops down on the couch between you and Robin and starts to look through the pages. “See, the funny thing about Eddie, he was supposed to graduate in ‘84, but he kept fucking around and ended up repeating his senior year -- three times.” 

“Holy shit,” you were in absolute disbelief, “he told me that in one of his letters. He said he was because the teachers didn’t like him, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say,” Robin chuckles. 

“Ah-ha, He did show up! Here he is right here!”

Your eyes snapped to where Steve’s fingers pointed to the tiny black and white square. Eddie wasn’t kidding when he said his hair was super curly. The close up of his face makes his hair almost completely take the background out of the picture. You can barely see it but it looks like he’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt under a leather jacket and what you suspect to be the leather jacket he seems to treasure so much. When you finally let yourself focus on his face you’re met with a bright smile and dimples on either side. Dark eyes scrunched up from how high his cheeks were. You definitely would have had a crush on him if you had gone to the same school. 

“Soooo…what do you think?” Robin sing-songs with an expectant look on her face. 

You can feel yourself smiling and try to reign it in, “Well, he’s not a 40 year old biker looking guy with a beard so that makes me feel better. He looks nice, actually.” 

“He’s a good guy,” Steve starts flipping through the pages of the book, “but everyone gave him shit because…of…this.” Stopping on another page in the book, you see a picture of a group of students leaning up against a wall, all of them wearing matching shirts. 

“Hellfire Club?” You look between Steve and Robin. 

“He hasn’t mentioned Hellfire Club?” Robin was baffled. “That’s like, his whole thing!”

You shake your head, brows furrowed,“What is it?” 

“His D&D club? He’s seriously never brought it up?”

“No, not yet at least.” Taking the book from Steve, you get a better look at the picture. “Like I said, we've only sent a few letters back and forth. I wouldn’t say we’ve exhausted all of our topics for discussion yet.”

“You’ll never run out of things to talk about with Eddie,” Steve states sarcastically, “You’d think prison would have had an effect on his social skills, but that guy could talk for an hour about a crack he saw in the sidewalk.”

Hearing that made you wonder if he ever held back when writing to you. His letters were usually front and back all the way to the bottom of the pages. You wonder if they only allow him one page or if has to pay for the paper. Hopefully he wasn’t wasting his money to talk to you. 

“When was the last time you guys talked to him?” 

“Uh-“ Robin starts.

“It was still hot outside I think,” Steve interjects, “Like early September?”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, eyes wide, “September sounds about right.”

“Hmm, that’s around when we started writing to each other. I guess he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t know about me yet.” 

“If it’s been that long we’re definitely due for a call from him.” Robin looks to Steve, you miss the mischief in her eyes, nor do you see the look he gives her back. “Maybe you could talk to him next time he calls us?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide meeting Robin’s gaze. You saw the look now and immediately started shaking your head in protest. 

“No, no, Robin I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stand up from your spot on the couch, handing the yearbook back to Steve. Taking a few steps back to look at them, you bite one of your nails, thinking about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. “Actually, if he does call, I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t tell him you knew me either. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but…”

“Hey,” Steve stood up and placed a hand on your arm, “It’s cool. You didn’t know Eddie before, and you barely know him now. I think Robin just meant that you could get to know him more since he is our friend. He’s gonna get out of prison eventually and we promised him that we’d just continue on like how things were before.”

“But,” you look at Steve with worry in your expression, “being in prison that long can change a person.”

“Eddie is too stubborn to let anything break him of being himself. He didn’t repeat his senior year twice because he’s dumb. He did it because he was too busy with what he wanted to do to bother with his schoolwork.”

“Actually,” Robin says, “he said prison is easier because he gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to do math, so…”

“But,” Steve gets your attention again, “My point is that you don’t have to go out of your comfort zone to be his friend for our sake if you don’t want to. Just keep talking to him on your own and see how you feel.”

You swear these two really were the only good people in Hawkins. 

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded,” I’ll keep writing him, but I won’t mention that I know you two. Not yet at least.”

November 27th, 1994

Ever since your talk with Robin and Steve, your nightmares have changed. Now that you have a face to the name they’re not really nightmares anymore. Instead of a nameless, faceless voice at your door, you can see him through the peephole. He’s not knocking on your door with rage, but out of desperation. Still begging to be let in, but the lock is on his side. You hold the key in your hand, you just have to slide it under the door…

A sharp, grating ring wakes you from your sleep, eyes shooting open and taking in the room around you. The sun peaks from behind your bedroom curtains, the light just bright enough to pester the hangover migraine that’s already in full effect. You have to strain to get your eyes to focus on the numbers on your alarm clock that read just past noon. 

The continuous ringing of the phone finally throttles you out of bed and into your kitchen. When you pick up the phone you hear Steve on the other end. 

“Oh, good, you lived,” he exclaims, “Robin, she’s still alive!”

A muffled, “oh thank god” comes from the background in the receiver. You hadn’t anticipated being so emotional the night before, thinking you were past feeling sorry for yourself that you were alone on a holiday while your bastard ex had someone keeping your side of the bed warm every night.

All the emotions came up at Steve’s during dinner. It was just the three of you there, all with broken families. They had other friends who were home for the holidays, but they were doing their own thing this weekend. Robin and Steve insisted that you join in on the festivities but you declined, using not knowing them as an excuse.

Really you just wanted some alone time. Time to yourself, to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel without having to mask in front of strangers, brush off any awkwardness if the topic of your failed marriage were to arise. 

You think Robin and Steve could tell that you were in your own head. They suggested taking you out to the only dive bar in town still open on the holiday, and assuming the place would be pretty dead, you said fuck it and all piled into Steve’s car. Sharing drinks and playing pool while metal music that made you think of your pen pal. You wondered what he was doing as you stepped outside to smoke a cigarette you bummed off an older, balding guy sitting at the bar. 

After drinking so much that Robin had to drive your car home for you, their phone call really didn’t come as a surprise to you. 

“Yes, god, I’m alive. Don’t yell into the phone, please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve some of the tension. The phone call is brief, Steve just wanting to check in on you and confirm that you didn’t want to participate in their outing. 

“We’re going ice skating! And if you can’t skate, our friend Max would enjoy having someone sit on the sidelines with her.”

“Sorry, Steve,” you press your forehead against the cool wood of the door frame, “I’m sure everyone is very nice, but I’m just not feeling up to it.”

After a few cups of coffee and a long shower, you settle on your couch, flipping through the channels on the tv for something to watch and settling on a Beverly Hills: 90210 rerun marathon. It didn’t take you long to lose interest and you began fidgeting for something else to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your work bag on the floor at the end of your couch. The memory of tripping and knocking the bag over last night comes back to you, making you internally cringe at yourself. You grab the bag and see that the contents were an unorganized mess compared to how you normally keep it. The longer you looked the crazier it made you feel, so you carefully took the papers and folders out, laying them in front of you. 

When you picked up your first period folder, the familiar envelope that you had forgotten a week ago fell out, landing in your lap. You quickly pick it up and open it, remembering that you hadn't even had the chance to properly finish reading it. 

Something about seeing the letter again made you feel good. As you look at the artwork, you see the picture of the shirts his club members wore and smile as you realize he made the shirts himself. 

You reread the description of himself and can laugh because he must have worn the same thing every day, recalling the holes in his jeans and his battle vest from his pictures. It was hard to imagine the wild mane of hair he had being cut short. Do they get conditioner in prison? Because his hair must be a mess without it. 

Finally, you get to the part of the letter you hadn’t read. You felt your heart beating in your chest, an anxiousness building that you couldn’t explain. 

“I’m running low on space to write and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you again, but I just wanted to ask-“

You’re thrown off when you see two lines of the letter have been blacked out with a black marker or sharpie. There’s no way to make out what was written, and the last line is just him wishing you a “happy whatever holiday you celebrate,” his real signature greeting you at the very bottom of the page. “What the hell?” You asked the empty apartment. The first assumption that comes to mind is that Eddie must have messed up what he was going to write and decided to black it out since he wrote in pen. Or maybe he wanted to write more, but realized he was running out of space? That would go with your theory that they are limited in the paper they can get. 

There’s also the possibility he said something inappropriate and whoever checks the letters made him redact it. That was probably the least likely, but it makes you laugh to think about. Robin and Steve brought him up a few times while you were drinking and gave him the highest praises. But, you never know what someone would be willing to say or do when they’ve been touch starved for almost 5 years.

Butterflies invade your stomach when you think about it more. He’s probably had to take care of himself quite a bit while he’s been locked up. Where does one even do that in prison without prying eyes?

Your thighs clench together at the image you’ve conjured in your head. Steve had shown you some pictures of Eddie that he found from not too long before he went to prison. Sure, he resembled his yearbook picture, thin and lanky he once was. But the picture of him and Steve at a lake, both of them shirtless and clearly soaking wet, displayed muscles that he had likely gained from the mechanic job Robin mentioned he had. The tattoos that he had on his body were taking over, almost covering one of his arms completely. 

The image of soaked curly hairs clinging to his face as he’s leaning into a shower wall comes to the forefront of your mind. Toned arms flexing as he holds himself against the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. You imagined his hands were rough and calloused from playing guitar and working on cars. He was long and hard as he pumped himself, water dripping off the tip with each down stroke. God, you can only imagine his face as he cums, a loud groan falling from his lips as he spills onto the shower floor, calling your name…

You throw yourself into the couch cushion next to you and physically cringe. Where the hell did that come from? Was this the result of your dry spell since you left Henry? A guy that you’ve never even met before gives you a little attention and your brain automatically goes into the gutter. Sitting up, you rub your face in your hands in an attempt to keep the scenario from replaying in your mind. At least you had successfully distracted yourself from the self pity you were wallowing in. 

You roll onto your back, holding up the letter in your hand. You admire the artwork, the sloppy handwriting. A person wrote this letter. Someone who did something illegal and paid the price for it. Someone who is very loved and has an uncle waiting for him somewhere in this town, and friends who would do anything for him. And now, he’s writing you letters, and you wonder if he is feeling the same way that you are starting to feel…what are you feeling, exactly?

Sitting up from the couch, you grab a pen and paper from your bag.

“Hello Eddie” no.

“Hey, stranger” no.

“What’s up!” definitely not.

Another balled up paper tossed to the ground. 

“Dear Eddie,” sure why not, “I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season yourself. Hopefully your uncle can come and see you for whatever you celebrate. If not, at least a phone call would be nice. Does the prison give you anything special for the holidays? Like a turkey for Thanksgiving, ham for Christmas, the traditional stuff. I spent the holiday with-”

Steve and Robin. You know them! I know who you are, too. Totally not weird, right?

“-my friends. They called it “Friendsgiving,” I think it had something to do with a TV show. None of us like to cook, so we ended up just picking up stuff at the store and then going out to a local bar. I’m writing this letter the next day, a little hungover I have to admit. But, writing this letter has helped distract me from the migraine I’m trying to stave off. It’s been very busy at school lately with projects, exams, a choir…thing? All that means for me is that I have mountains of paperwork to grade, and I spent the last month trying to get kids to turn in anything missing. It’s like trying to get squirrels to stay in a basket.

Winter break is just around the corner, though. Which means two weeks of getting to sleep in late, watching terrible TV reruns, and using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside. Although, I think my friends will manage to get me out of my apartment one way or another. I feel like a cat who was adopted by two dogs who share the same brain cell. But, they have helped me a lot over the last couple of months so I owe it to them to be their voice of reason sometimes.”

You pause and have a laugh to yourself. You think about all the ridiculous adventures the two of them have taken you on in the last few months, doing things that you would never have done before Henry. They’ve taken the hard metal bones out of your binding and started loosening the strings. You wonder if you would have even said yes to doing this letter thing if you hadn’t already had your boundaries pushed a little.

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but do you have any big plans for when you get out? Places you want to go? Food you want to try? People you want to see?”

You smile when you dot the last question mark. It feels sneaky to ask when you know that your meeting is inevitable, and there is a small voice in your ear telling you that he wouldn’t want to meet you. You’re boring. Simple. Dull. Only shades of grey fill your wardrobe, your heart, where there was once colour. Broken.

The new bottle of wine you got at the gas station stares at you from the kitchen.

Anyway.

“Hopefully you’re able to get out in time for the summer. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk outside as a free man and get to feel the sun on your skin? I think Hawkins is having a Rose festival again next year. There could be some inspiration there for you for your art, and if not, the funnel cakes are worth the admission price. Everything else is overpriced, but what isn’t nowadays?”

Filling the last bit of the back of the page, you felt it only fair to give a few details about yourself. Just a general description, nothing too revealing. Not that there was much to give away since becoming a professional educator has taken any creative freedom from your sense of style. You did tell him that on the weekends you treated yourself by wearing comfy clothes all day. You didn’t tell him that you only felt okay to do that recently, since your ex husband always expected you to look your best.

As you reached the bottom, you remembered the redacted section of his last letter. Do should you ask about it? Would he even be able to tell you? You went ahead and brought it up.

“Before I close this letter, I am curious to know why the last bit of your letter had been marked out. I can only imagine what you could have asked that it had to be taken out. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate, Mr.Banished.” You added a little “ha ha” in parentheses so he knew you were just joking, careful once again not to offend.

“Looking forward to your next letter,”

You signed your name, fighting the urge to draw a heart next to it like the girls in your class writing notes to their crush. There was no way that feeling like this for someone that you’ve only had correspondence through letters and the bit of hype from your mutual friends can be healthy. Grabbing the box of greeting cards that you had sat on the coffee table, you wrote some well wishes and folded your letter to fit within the confines of the red envelope. You took a look at it for the first time since Bridges had handed them over and your heart dropped. 

In one of the ethics classes you took in college a classmate did a presentation on Pendleton Prison. It had just come out the year before that there had been an abuse of power and prisoners were basically being tortured. It was hard to observe but informative. You couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to Eddie. You wondered if the reason they were participating in this program to begin with was to help with their reputation. We’ll let them talk to some kids and it will seem like we’re not abusing our inmates.

You look at the wine bottle again.

It’s fine. If Eddie was going through something like that, surely he would have told Steve and Robin, his uncle. But you wanted to be sure. You walk into your kitchen.

December 25th, 1994

“…You can say hello when you see me. You don't have to be afraid. There's a lot of things going around about me, but none of it's true. Okay?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly close them when the harsh light of your tv playing Home Alone was too bright. Another dream about Eddie had taken over your mind in your sleep. You sit back to the door, the key in your hand. He doesn’t push you anymore, says to only give the key if you want to. That he enjoys your company no matter what. 

Sigh.

As you sit up from the couch where you had dozed off the night before, you decide to make a cup of coffee and ring your brother. 

“I could have come to get you. And brought you back. You know I don’t mind-“

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You have your own family now, I don’t want to dampen the mood,” you say as if you mean it. Coffee swishes around in your mug as you talk. It was true that your brother had a family of his own and was living the American dream. You liked that he invited you to be part of that, but you just couldn’t get past the notion that everyone would just look at you with pity. You’d rather be alone

Steve and Robin also invited you to Colorado with them. Steve’s parents had a house in Aspen where they were hosting Christmas this year. Steve insisted his parents wouldn’t care if you tagged along since they started to become fond of Robin. As much as seeing the beautiful snow covered mountains of Colorado sounds like a great reprieve for your mind, you still lied and told them you were going to your brothers. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

The sound of Kevin McCallister’s hijinks in New York got your attention. The movie distracted you for a while, until it didn’t. You watched the tv -- well, rather you looked at it for until you stood up, deciding to get out of the house, even if just to drive around.

The movie-esque scenery of small town Hawkins covered in snow was quiet and still, say for the few cars that you passed likely on the way to see family, traveling between houses. Something you and Henry did to make things fair for both of you. Your mom’s house first, then his parents.

Cars sat outside the Hideout, piquing your interest as you watched a man get out of a pick up truck and walk inside. It was close enough to five o'clock that you decided to pull into the lot, pulling into a spot by the door. Inside you were surprised to see it fairly occupied, mostly by men who looked like they worked at the factory in town or drove the big rig that was parked on the side of the building. The patrons seemed to talk amongst themselves, some semblance of holiday cheer keeping their spirits alive as their glasses clanked and boisterous laughs filled the air.

Sliding into an empty bar stool, you grabbed your purse to get your ID and some cash. 

“Ain’t ya little young to be sittin’ alone at a bar on Christmas?”

You looked up from your purse at the man sitting next to you at the bar. He sipped from his glass, cigarette smoke seeping from his lips, attention set on nothing in particular. He was an older man, bald on top and plenty of aging on his face, but you had the feeling he was younger than he looked. Some of his features felt familiar to you but you weren’t sure why.

“Um, well, I guess so,” you stutter as you set your purse down between your feet. “But, uh, I really didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

A hum and a nod, “I guess loneliness knows no age.” He huffed a laugh before getting the bartender's attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, no, please, you don’t-” you begin to protest, but he puts his hand up and waves you off.

“Trust me,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “I would be buying it for someone else if they could be here.”

Ah. You tell the bartender your order and the man tells him to put it on his tab. 

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile, turning towards him to speak as the bar patrons become louder. You paused for a beat before speaking again, “I’m sorry you’re alone today.”

“Makes no difference to me really, just another day to me,” he takes a sip of his beer. You almost miss it, but you see the flash of a smile on his face. 

“Just another day, huh,” you say smugly, dipping your head into his line of vision. He must have realized he was smiling because he covered his hand with his mouth shyly, the motion a contradiction to his hard exterior. Clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat, opening from his hunched position to talk with you properly.

“It’s just another day, always been to me, but,” He looks at you for a moment, then back down into his beer, “I used to celebrate, for my boy. Haven’t gotten to do that properly in a while. I’m hopin’ this year will be the last, that next year will be different.”

His endearment made your eyes misty. “That’s so sweet,” you coo, putting a hand on coat covered arm, “I’m sure things will work out.” You pull back when your drink is dropped off, quickly taking a few sips. 

The man watches you, his head shaking in your peripherals. “So, what’s really got ya out here celebrating with Hawkins finest? Besides the, uh,” he gestures vaguely, “cheerful atmosphere.”

You stay quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the straw floating in your drink. Deep breath in, and out. “Do you want the half truth or the full truth?”

His body bounces from a chuckle, “I got a little time.”

Pouring your heart out to a stranger over drinks felt therapeutic, and not in the same way as talking to Robin and Steve. He just listened, nodded his head, grunted in what you assume to be agreement. This man, who looks like he hasn’t taken a day off in his life, made you feel more valid with no words at all than anyone else has in your entire life besides your own mother.

“And now I’m, like, kinda into this guy, but he doesn’t know I exist,” your words are a little slurred as you take down another drink. “Sorry, no, he knows I exist, but he knows nothing about me. Like, he knows some things, but he doesn’t really know me, ya know?”

His head bobs up and down, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I feel weird feeling this way, because I would never have even considered a guy like him before. Henry, I told you about Henry, he was super uppity, snotty. A real tight ass. But, this guy is funny. Genuine, and his friends talk him up. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? Even if he is rough around the edges.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out with you and this guy, I outta introduce you to my nephew. He was always picked on in school for being different, but he’s a good kid. Just got into the wrong stuff,” the mans face sunk a bit, “My fault really.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “How so?”

“Heart attack. Had one while at work. Stayed in the hospital for a few, got the bill and almost had another one,” he chuckles at that. “I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘em, but he came over to visit and I forgot about it. Saw it sittin’ on the counter. Next thing I know he’s callin’ me sayin’ he’s booked on ‘possession with intent to distribute’. Buncha bull for some grass.” He put his cigarette out with a harsh stab. “But, he’ll be good soon. My deadbeat brother’s been keepin’ an eye on him in there and he’s been keeping his good behavior streak.”

“He sounds like a good kid,” you rest your cheek against the cool counter as you smile up at him.

“Yeah, he is.” His smile reaches his eyes, and so does yours.

“Well, gotta go, darlin’,” he slaps a couple bills on the counter and nods to the bartender, “Excpectin’ a call here soon. Get you some pretzels or somethin’ before ya take off.”

“Thank you,” your brows come together, “sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Names Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Wayne.”

thanks for reading.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson x yn #inmate!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson x reader #inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader #oto!eddie #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson st

[munsonsfairy]

this is who i see when i read on the outside by @lesservillain 🙈

#fairy speaks #less 💜 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #inmate!eddie munson #older!eddie munson

[eddieschains]

Maximum Security Vol. 2

credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the eddie edit 🫶🏽

Vol. 1

Word Count: 1.5k

TW// mentions of murder, brief use of y/n

The morning after is mostly a blur. You were still wrapping your head around everything that had happened just hours before. Getting out of bed was one of the hardest things you’d had to do in months. Harder than giving birth, you’d say. But you had a child to take care of, and now a husband to bail out of jail.

You got Leila changed and dressed for the day, sitting her in her highchair for breakfast while you made a quick phone call to Joyce. You asked her when Hopper’s shift started so that you could be there as soon as he came in.

Hopper had known both you and Eddie nearly your entire lives. For both good reasons, and some bad ones. But he always treated you both like his own children. Maybe it was because Wayne was one of his best friends in high school, or maybe it was because he just wanted you both to feel like you had someplace or someone to call home, since neither of you had that growing up. But, no matter what the circumstance was, he was always there to help and protect both of you.

Joyce told you he should be at the station in about 30 minutes and that he would be expecting you. She gave you her sympathy and told you if you needed anything you and Leila were always welcome at their home.

You hung up the phone, quickly getting dressed and looking somewhat presentable before loading Leila in the car and practically racing to the police station.

You see Hopper pull into the lot just seconds before you do. He clocks you as soon as he gets out of the van, standing and waiting for you as he lights a cigarette.

Putting the car in park, you load Leila into her stroller before walking to meet with Hopper.

“Hey kid.” He pulls you in for a hug, a little longer than his usual. “How you holding up?” He asks, blowing the smoke from his cigarette to the side.

You shake your head, trying not to let the tears that have been brewing all morning fall. “Been better.”

Hop just nods, stomping the cigarette out and leading you into the building. He greets everyone at the door and tells you to wait in his office as he makes you a cup of coffee. You’re sure he can tell you need it by the dark rings around your puffy eyes.

Sitting in his office for what feels like an eternity, all you can do is stare at your sleeping baby. Thinking about how the love of your life could do this to you, to your daughter, even to himself. He was supposed to be bettering himself. Walking down the right path, the path of a wholesome family man. Not the path of attempted murder.

You’re pulled away from your thoughts as you hear the door open, Hopper walking in with two coffee cups, setting one on the table in front of you before plopping down into his chair.

You both sit in silence for a moment, enjoying your fresh cups of coffee and the morning breeze. The slightest moment of peace you’ve been able to get in the last 12 hours.

“How old is she now?” Hopper asks, smiling at Leila.

“6 months.” You smile, combing her hair with your fingers. “It’s been hard… but I know it’ll be worth it one day.”

“It’s worth it now. You’ve got a beautiful baby.”

“And a husband in jail.” You respond, looking back to him. He sighs, a sympathetic look washing over his face.

“So how much is the bail?” You reach down for your purse, rummaging through your wallet. “I brought my checkbook and I know I don’t have much, but I could at least put somewhat of a down payment down if that would work.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” He breathes.

“Or if it’s too much I could look into a bondsman I guess.”

“Uh…”

“I could call my dad. He doesn’t like Eddie but I know he’d rather not have me raise a baby alone.” You continue to ramble, keeping your eyes on your purse as you finally pull out your wallet.

“No, that…” His volume gets a little louder, but you choose to ignore it.

“Or- or Steve! I feel bad asking him for so much but I know he’d help at the drop of a hat and-“

“Y/N!” Hopper shouts, stopping you dead in your tracks. “Eddie’s not getting bailed out.” He softens his voice again.

“Of course he is, that’s why i’m here Hopper.” You scoff.

“He is the prime suspect in a murder, kid.” He softly placed his hand on yours as you shake it away.

“No- no they said- they said he was okay. He got hurt but he was at the hospital and he was going to be okay.” Your chest starts to tighten, as your breathing become shallow.

Hopper takes your hand in his. “Jason died this morning. They tried their best but… he didn’t make it.”

Wait, What? Jason? As in Jason Carver?

“Jason… Jason who?” You ask Hopper, your breathing becoming shallow once again.

“You know which one. Carver.” You scoff, looking away. Sure, they never liked each other but for Eddie to kill him? You would’ve thought it would be the other way around. “What was their… relationship like?” He carefully asks.

You chuckle. Out of all people, Hopper should know the answer to that question. “They hated each other, Hop. You know that. But, I thought we all grew up and moved on…”

“So there wasn’t anything after school? No fights or anything like that?” He questions you further.

“No, no. Nothing like that. Trust me, if Ed would’ve run into him I would’ve been the first person to know.” You respond. “If either of them would’ve gotten hurt, I always thought it would be Eddie. He wouldn’t hurt a fly…”

The only reaction you can let out are a few tears. The information of your husband, the father of your child, being a murderer, becoming all too real at this moment.

“You know… when I first moved into the trailer with him and Wayne, there- there was this stray cat that would roam the park. She didn’t look like she was taken care of very well. But Eddie… Eddie always left food and water out for her. He took her inside when it would rain. He named her Star, cause she would only come out at night. He made her our unofficial child.” You laugh, remembering the way he treated that little kitten, Hopper's eyes soften as he listens to your story. But, you were soon brought back to reality. The tears formed once again as you remembered where Eddie was now. “Where is he? Can I see him?” You ask, wiping the stray tear off of your cheek.

Hopper nods, opening the door and leading you to the few holding cells in the back of the building. He looks at you, silently asking if you’re sure you want to do this, before you send a nod his way. Before he’s able to turn the door handle, you interrupt him.

“Wait.” Hopper stops, looking back at you. “Can I leave Leila with someone out here? I don’t want her to… see him… like that.” He looks back at one of the officers behind you, nodding for him to come over.

“Can you watch the little girl while we go talk to Eddie?” The officer agrees, grabbing hold of the stroller before Hopper ushers you into the holding room.

Walking in, your eyes go straight to Eddie. He’s sitting on the cold metal bench behind the metal bars, his eyes dark and heavy, he’s probably spent most of his time in there crying.

“Baby…” He lifts his head as he hears you walk in. His eyes light up slightly, taking in your presence. “Thank god you’re here baby, i’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for putting you and Leila through this, I- I just wanna go home. Can we go home now?” His voice comes out as a whine, his vocal chords probably tired from all the sobbing he did the previous night.

You fight the tears beginning to form before walking closer to the cell. “What… the fuck. Wha- what the actual fuck is wrong with you, Munson?” Eddie flinches slightly, knowing you only call him by his name when you’re angry. “We were in a good place. Everything was great and then- then you went and- and you… you killed someone, Eddie! And Jason of all people? What were you thinking?” He furrows his brows, and you realize that Hopper hadn’t told him the news yet. “You’re not getting out. Not any time soon. I don't know what the fuck was going through your head but… we can’t help you this time.”

You walk away, heading for the door as you hear Eddie mumble jesus christ, followed by a loud bang from his slapping the metal bars. You turn to look at him. He’s taken a seat on the cold bench, head in his hands as you hear soft cries leave his mouth.

“I love you, Eddie Munson. But you really did it this time.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #prison!eddie #inmate!eddie

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐳: 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝟔𝟔

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: A fleeting glimpse into your life in Paris reveals a tapestry woven with the threads of contentment. Amidst the quaint charm of your bustling bakery, you found solace in the artistry of your craft and the warmth of the friendships you cultivated. Yet, like an unyielding specter, the echoes of your past refuse to fade into obscurity.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, mentions of sad past, descriptions of panic attack, abusive husband (not with Reader), child loss, mentions of violence, let me know if I missed one

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,6K

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

As you stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Paris, the cold morning air greeted you like an old friend, its crisp touch sending shivers down your spine. The gentle breeze danced around you, carrying with it the delicate flakes of snow that twirled and pirouetted before gently settling on the ground. Each flake seemed to have a life of its own, weaving intricate patterns as they landed, transforming the city into a winter wonderland.

The frost had painted everything in sight with its delicate touch, leaving a shimmering coat on the streets and a soft blanket on the rooftops of cars parked along the curb. The world around you was draped in white, as if nature had decided to cast a spell of serenity over the bustling city.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of pastries from nearby bakeries. It was a tantalizing combination that teased your senses and stirred a pang of hunger in your stomach. Regret gnawed at you for not indulging in breakfast earlier, but there was a certain magic in the air that distracted you from your hunger.

Despite the chill in the air, there was a warmth in the atmosphere that came from the cozy cafes and bistros lining the streets. The soft glow of their lights spilled out onto the snow-covered sidewalks, inviting you to step inside and escape the cold. It was a scene straight out of a postcard, a picturesque moment frozen in time.

As you hurried through the streets of Paris, the weight of responsibility hung heavy on your shoulders. It wasn't your fault that the alarm clock had betrayed you, rudely jolting you awake much later than intended. In the frantic scramble to make it to the bakery on time, breakfast had become an afterthought, sacrificed in the race against the clock.

Despite the early hour, Paris was alive with a quiet energy, as if it were slowly awakening from its slumber. The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, accompanied by the occasional clang of a passing tram. It was a peaceful scene, a moment of stillness before the city burst into life with the hustle and bustle of the day.

As you continued your morning stroll through the quiet streets of Paris, the familiar sounds of bicycle bells and the whirring of wheels filled the air, signaling the arrival of the teenage boys on their delivery rounds. With deft skill, they navigated the narrow streets, balancing baskets filled with fresh milk, warm bread, and delectable cakes destined for those who had no time to prepare their own breakfast.

The sight brought a smile to your lips as you watched them zip past, their youthful energy adding a touch of vibrancy to the serene morning scene. It was a reminder of the simple joys of everyday life in Paris, where tradition and modernity seamlessly coexisted, shaping the rhythm of the city.

A few more minutes of leisurely walking brought you closer to your destination, and soon the beautiful facade of your bakery came into view, standing out amidst the row of charming buildings with its inviting allure.

As you approached your bakery, known as "The Raven's Nest," your heart swelled with pride and affection. The building stood proudly amidst the Parisian streets, a striking monument to your passion for baking and your love of the Gothic aesthetic.

The neoclassical facade had been transformed into a dramatic display of Gothic architecture, with dark gray stone walls rising high, adorned with intricate carvings of ravens and other macabre motifs. Instead of gold and silver, the decorations gleamed with accents of crimson red and midnight black, casting an aura of mystery and allure.

Gone were the delicate pink flowers; in their place were arrangements of deep red roses and black dahlias, their petals adding a touch of romanticism to the Gothic ambiance. The upstairs balconies were adorned with wrought iron railings, their designs reminiscent of Gothic cathedrals, adding to the dramatic silhouette of the building.

The large panes and windows remained, but now they were framed by heavy velvet curtains, allowing only slivers of light to filter through, adding to the mysterious atmosphere within. Outside, the blue and white striped canvas awnings had been replaced with elegant black ones, providing shade to the sidewalk and creating a sense of intimacy for customers who chose to linger outside.

As you gazed upon the transformed facade of your bakery, a sense of awe washed over you. It was more than just a place of business; it was a reflection of your personality and your deepest desires. The Raven's Nest had become a sanctuary for different people who longed for a place in the world, a place where they could indulge in decadent pastries and rich, dark coffee while surrounded by the beauty of the macabre.

You noticed a familiar figure standing patiently outside, his silhouette softened by the early morning light. Antoine, the sweet old man who had become not only a loyal customer but also a cherished friend, was already eagerly awaiting the opening of the bakery.

Your heart swelled with gratitude as you recalled the countless acts of kindness Antoine had bestowed upon you since the day you arrived in Paris, a stranger in a foreign city. It was he who had taken you under his wing, offering you shelter, sustenance, and employment at the factory he managed, when you had nowhere else to turn. His generosity and unwavering support had provided you with the stability and encouragement you needed to pursue your dream of owning a bakery.

From the humble beginnings of selling homemade pastries from your tiny apartment to the triumphant moment of purchasing the building that now housed The Raven's Nest, Antoine had been there every step of the way, cheering you on with his gentle smile and wise words of encouragement.

But it was not just his material support that had made Antoine invaluable to you; it was his unwavering belief in your abilities and his boundless faith in your dreams that had truly touched your heart. He had seen potential in you when you could barely see it in yourself, and his steadfast presence had been a guiding light through the darkest of times.

With a soft smile gracing your lips, you approached Antoine, the jangle of your keys punctuating the quiet morning air. His presence, steadfast and comforting, never failed to bring a sense of warmth to your heart.

"I hope you didn't wait too long for me," you greeted him, the concern evident in your voice.

Antoine turned towards you, his eyes twinkling with affection as his mustache arched gracefully with his smile. "My dear, the anticipation only makes the coffee taste sweeter," he replied, his voice carrying the gentle lilt of a cherished friend.

His words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. With a grateful nod, you took a moment to admire the way the morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the polished wooden floors.

"Lucky for you, you won't have to wait a whole day," you remarked playfully, gesturing towards the inviting doors. With practiced ease, you slipped into your apron, the familiar weight grounding you in the rhythm of the day.

As you set about your tasks, Antoine settled into his favorite corner, the morning newspaper cradled in his hands like an old friend. His presence brought a sense of calm to the bustling kitchen, his unwavering support a beacon of reassurance in the midst of the morning rush.

"Do you need help, ma chérie?" he offered, his tone filled with genuine concern.

You shook your head with a grateful smile, the warmth of his fatherly concern washing over you like a comforting embrace. "Not today, Monsieur," you reassured him, the sound of your voice mingling with the soft hum of the kitchen appliances. "But your coffee will be ready in just a moment."

With a contented nod, Antoine returned his attention to the newspaper, his weathered hands turning the pages with practiced ease. And as you worked side by side, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the scent of baking pastries, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the friendship you shared with Antoine, a friendship built on kindness, mutual respect, and the simple joy of sharing a quiet moment in the heart of your treasure.

The morning light filtered through the windows as the sound of footsteps echoed through the shop, signaling the arrival of your employees and co-workers. Among them, Florence was always the first to arrive, her punctuality a testament to her dedication and reliability.

With a warm smile, you greeted Florence as she entered, her presence bringing a sense of cheer to the bustling shop. Antoine, ever the gentleman, rose from his seat and removed his gray beret, a gesture of respect for the sweet woman who had captured his heart from the moment he met her.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Antoine! Good morning, Mon Cher!" Florence exclaimed sweetly, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she addressed both of you.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle! And I've already said you can call me Antoine," he replied with a gentle smile, his voice filled with affection.

You watched the interaction with a fond smile, knowing well the bond that had formed between Antoine and Florence. Theirs was a connection that went beyond mere friendship, a deep and abiding affection that was evident to anyone who spent even a moment in their company.

As Antoine returned to his seat, a soft blush coloring his cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness for the two of them. They were, without a doubt, the sweetest and kindest people you had ever known, and they deserved every ounce of happiness that life had to offer.

Encouraging their budding romance had been an easy decision for you. After all they had been through, the trials and tribulations they had faced with unwavering grace and resilience, it was only fitting that they find solace and joy in each other's company.

As Florence turned towards the kitchen, her eyes caught sight of you standing there, quietly observing the exchange between Antoine and herself. A warm smile graced her lips, and she made her way over to you, her steps light and graceful. It was part of her daily routine, her motherly affection spilling over to envelop everyone in her path.

With a gentle embrace, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close in her comforting hug. It was a gesture you had come to cherish, a moment of solace in the midst of the bustling bakery.

"Did you have a good night?" she inquired, her voice soft and caring. "The cold increased a little during midnight, did you remember to stay warm and cozy?"

You nodded, leaning into her touch as she stroked your hair with gentle affection. "Yeah, I was so tired that I barely noticed the cold," you replied honestly. "It was a surprise when I woke up this morning and saw all that snow."

As the two of you parted from the hug, you busied yourself with pouring Antoine's coffee, the rich aroma filling the air with warmth and comfort.

"Don’t even get me started," Florence chimed in, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I almost didn’t want to get out of bed today. You know how I love this cold weather. It’s perfect for staying at home, watching some movies while drinking hot chocolate and baking cinnamon rolls."

You couldn't help but smile at her words, the image of cozy winter days filling your mind with a sense of nostalgia and longing. Florence had a way of warming your heart with just a few simple words, her kindness and compassion shining through even on the coldest of days.

As you looked into her eyes, filled with that unique and kind essence that only she possessed, you felt a surge of gratitude wash over you. Despite everything life had thrown her way, Florence remained a beacon of light and love, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty and goodness to be found.

The coffee machine chimed merrily, its cheerful melody cutting through the serene atmosphere of the bakery kitchen like a symphony conductor signaling the start of a grand performance. You turned your attention from the conversation to the machine, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you attended to its beckoning call.

"When you say ‘movies,’ you mean watching Twilight, don’t you? Everyone knows it’s kind of a rule to watch all the movies when the mood gets like this," you quipped, your tone light and playful, the sparkle in your eyes reflecting the mischief dancing within.

Florence's laughter bubbled forth like a brook in springtime, filling the air with the sweet melody of her amusement. With a twinkle in her eye, she responded, "I’m talking about the classics: Ghost, Titanic, Pretty Woman… Not these vampire films that don’t have even a third of the romance they have."

The banter between you and Florence flowed effortlessly, a playful exchange of wit and humor that added a touch of levity to the morning routine. It was a dance you had perfected over countless mornings, each step choreographed with familiarity and ease.

As you poured the steaming coffee into Antoine's mug, you marveled at the unique blend of flavors that defined his morning ritual. With a spoonful of rum and a hint of vanilla essence, it was a concoction that defied convention yet somehow managed to tantalize the taste buds with its decadent allure.

"How dare you!" you laughed, shaking your head in mock indignation as you handed the steaming cup of coffee to Antoine. “Just know that Edward Cullen is a romantic.”

“I’m sure Edward Cullen has his own charm, but not as romantic as my old friend, Frank Sinatra,” Antoine interjected with a grin, his eyes twinkling with the memories of days gone by.

And then, with a flourish, he began to sing, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience and wisdom. The lyrics of a timeless love song spilled forth from his lips, each word dripping with emotion and longing.

"Keep that breathless charm, won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you," he sang, his voice a rich tapestry of passion and sentiment.

You watched in awe as Antoine's serenade filled the kitchen, infusing the space with a sense of timeless romance.

As the conversation about Frank Sinatra's timeless romance and Edward Cullen's brooding charm reached its peak, the familiar jingle of the bakery door announced the arrival of another member of your close-knit team.

Steve Harrington, your best friend and manager, sauntered into the bakery with his characteristic flair, his brown locks impeccably styled with a generous amount of hairspray. Dressed in a polo shirt and light wash mom jeans, he exuded effortless charm and confidence, a fact that was not lost on anyone who crossed paths with him.

"Good morning, Antoine, good morning Florence, and good morning, my sweetie," Steve greeted with his usual charm, his words accompanied by a playful wink that earned him an eye-roll from you.

As Florence enveloped Steve in her warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the easy affection between them. Steve had always been like a son to Florence, receiving the love and care that he had been deprived of from his own parents, who only seemed to remember his existence when they needed something from him or when they were in the midst of a fight.

"How was your night? Did you remember to turn on the heater? You know you get colds easily, and yesterday it was intensely cold," She asked, her concern genuine as the boy leaned into Florence's embrace.

"As soon as I saw the snow starting to fall, I turned it on," Steve reassured her, his voice warm with affection. "Robin, on the other hand, asked me to let you know that she’s not coming today. She caught a cold and is in bed."

A furrow of worry creased Florence's brow at the news, her maternal instincts kicking in immediately. "Oh, I’ll make some soup and bring it to her for lunch," she declared, her voice laced with concern.

"With this cold, we shouldn’t have that much movement, so it’s okay," you added, a reassuring smile on your lips.

But your optimism was short-lived. As the morning wore on, the bakery began to fill with customers seeking refuge from the biting cold outside. The scent of freshly baked pastries and steaming cups of coffee filled the air, drawing people in like moths to a flame.

The aroma of freshly baked croissants and brioches wafted through the air, weaving its irresistible spell over the bustling bakery. The streets of Paris hummed with the energy of the tourist season, drawing visitors from far and wide to the charming little establishment nestled on Saint-Dominique street. To them, it was more than just a bakery—it was a sanctuary of indulgence, a haven where the simple act of savoring a pastry felt like a glimpse of heaven.

Amidst the lively chatter of patrons and the tinkling of cutlery, you found yourself lost in the rhythm of your work. With practiced hands, you kneaded the dough for more delicious crepes, the anticipation of creating something truly exquisite fueling your movements.

Around you, the tables were filled with eager customers, their faces alight with excitement as they savored each delectable bite. Children jostled each other in their eagerness to catch a glimpse through the glass window that separated the kitchen from the main dining area. To them, the sight of the bustling kitchen was nothing short of magical—a glimpse behind the curtain into a world where dreams were made of sugar and flour.

As you worked, you couldn't help but admire the scene before you—the laughter of families, the animated conversations of friends, the quiet moments of solitude punctuated by the simple pleasure of a warm cup of coffee and a freshly baked treat. It was a tableau of life in all its vibrant hues, a reminder of the joy that could be found in the simplest of moments.

And as you glanced out at the sea of smiling faces, you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in your heart. For in this little bakery on Saint-Dominique, amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, you had created more than just a place to enjoy a pastry—you had created a haven, a sanctuary of sweetness and light where every bite carried with it a taste of pure joy.

As the bakers worked their magic in the kitchen, their antics and playful banter added an extra layer of entertainment to the bustling atmosphere of the bakery. With flour-dusted aprons and mischievous grins, they teased the audience with little tricks and pirouettes, their movements fluid and graceful, bringing a radiant sparkle to the eyes of those present.

Customers chuckled and applauded as the bakers showcased their skills, their laughter mingling with the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked pastries. It was a scene straight out of a charming French film, where the everyday hustle and bustle of a bakery transformed into a spectacle of joy and delight.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, you couldn't help but notice a group of people dressed in expensive suits and fedora hats sitting in the corner of the bakery. Their sharp attire stood out against the backdrop of casual elegance, and their demeanor hinted at an air of mystery and intrigue.

Curiosity piqued, you observed them discreetly as you went about serving other customers. Their eyes darted around the bakery, scanning the room with a sense of purpose as if they were searching for someone or something. There was an aura of secrecy about them, a silent tension that hung in the air like a veil.

Intrigued by their presence, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this group than met the eye. With a sense of caution tinged with curiosity, you made a mental note to keep an eye on them as the morning unfolded, wondering what secrets they might hold and what role they might play in the bustling drama of the bakery.

As you replaced the macarons in the display case, your mind couldn't shake off the presence of those mysterious customers in the corner of the bakery. With a sense of unease gnawing at your insides, you decided to seek out Steve for answers.

"Hey Steve, have you seen those people around here?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual as you glanced over at the group in question.

Steve glanced in their direction, his brow furrowing in thought. "Uh, I’m not sure… Maybe they’re the buyers from the building across the street," he suggested with a shrug, his attention quickly diverted by a customer approaching the counter.

As you continued your conversation with Steve, you felt a sudden chill run down your spine. Instinctively, you looked back at the mysterious group, only to find one of the men locking eyes with you. His gaze felt like a weight upon your soul, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you could react, the man said something to the others at the table, who turned to look at you with a strange intensity. Their eyes bore into yours, and for a brief moment, you felt a sense of recognition wash over you. It was as if you knew them from somewhere, but the memory remained elusive, just beyond the reach of your consciousness.

A wave of unease washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Sensing the danger, you quickly excused yourself from the conversation with Steve and retreated to the back of the bakery, seeking solace in the familiar surroundings as you tried to compose yourself.

But the feeling of dread lingered, like a shadow cast across your thoughts. Something told you that those people were not who they appeared to be, and that their presence spelled trouble. And as you struggled to calm your racing heart, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were about to be drawn into something far more sinister than a simple bakery business.

As you retreated to the safety of the storeroom, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum of warning. Leaning against the sturdy wooden door, you felt the cool surface against your back, grounding you in the present moment.

Your entire body trembled with fear, and cold sweat dampened your brow as you struggled to regain control of your racing thoughts. Behind closed eyelids, flashes of your painful past danced like ghosts, haunting you with memories you had long tried to bury. Tears welled up, tracing silent paths down your cheeks and onto your collar, a silent testament to the turmoil raging within.

"Pull yourself together, they're just customers, you're safe," you whispered to yourself, the words a mantra of reassurance that fell on deaf ears. The fear gripped you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath.

With trembling hands, you took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. You couldn't afford to let your fear consume you, not now, not when there were customers to attend to and a bakery to run. Steeling yourself, you pushed away from the door and opened your eyes, determined to face whatever awaited you on the other side.

To your surprise, you found Florence standing there, her expression a mix of concern and compassion. She must have sensed your distress and followed you to the storeroom, her motherly instincts kicking in to offer comfort and support.

Without a word, she reached out and enveloped you in a warm embrace, holding you close as if to shield you from the storm raging outside. In her arms, you found solace, a sanctuary from the chaos and uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm you.

And as you buried your face in her shoulder, allowing yourself to be held by the warmth of her embrace, you felt a glimmer of hope ignite within you. With Florence by your side, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, with courage and resilience.

For in the safety of her arms, you found not only comfort but also strength—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always light to be found in the embrace of those who cared for you.

"Oh Mon Cher, you’re so pale, I saw you running here and I was scared thinking something had happened," Florence murmured, her voice laced with concern as she held you tightly in her arms.

Florence was more than just a coworker or a friend—she was a pillar of strength, a survivor who had endured unimaginable hardships and emerged stronger than ever. Divorced from her abusive husband after years of suffering in silence, she had found refuge and purpose within the walls of Raven's Nest.

It had been a desperate plea for a job that had brought her to your doorstep, her eyes filled with determination and resilience even in the face of adversity. She had begged for the opportunity to work, even if it meant starting from the bottom and cleaning the bathrooms.

You had taken her in without hesitation, recognizing the fire that burned within her despite the scars of her past. And as she poured her heart and soul into her work, you had watched in awe as she blossomed before your eyes, her spirit unbroken despite the trials she had endured.

But behind her warm smile and gentle demeanor lay a pain that ran deep, a wound that refused to heal. It was a pain born from the loss of her son, a sweet angel whose life had been cut short by the senseless violence of his own father.

The memory of that tragic night haunted Florence like a specter, its ghostly presence a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of fate. She had fought tooth and nail to protect her son, but in the end, she had been powerless to save him from the hands of the man who was supposed to love and cherish them both.

As Florence held you in her arms, her embrace a lifeline in the midst of the storm, you couldn't help but feel a surge of compassion for the woman who had endured so much loss and pain. And as you stood together in the quiet sanctuary of the storeroom, surrounded by the comforting scent of flour and sugar, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand, drawing strength from each other's love and resilience.

“I just… I think I've been working too much, Florence. Don’t worry, I'm fine," you murmured, seeking solace in her comforting presence.

Florence's warm embrace enveloped you like a protective shield, her maternal instincts kicking in as she held you close. "You know you can count on me for anything, right? Take good care of yourself, my girl," she whispered, her words a gentle reminder of the unwavering support and love she offered freely to all who crossed her path.

With a grateful smile, you leaned into her embrace, finding solace in the familiar comfort of her arms. In that fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that only Florence could provide.

But as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and you reluctantly pulled away, knowing that there was work to be done and customers to attend to. With a shared glance, you and Florence returned to your respective tasks, diving back into the whirlwind of activity that filled the bakery.

Throughout the day, the bakery buzzed with a vibrant energy, the air alive with laughter and conversation. Children darted about excitedly, their faces lighting up with joy at the sight of the delectable treats on display. Tourists ventured inside, their broken French mingling with the melodic tones of the locals as they placed their orders with eager anticipation.

Meanwhile, the pastry chefs worked tirelessly behind the scenes, their hands moving with practiced precision as they crafted each confection with love and care.

The weight of the day's events hung heavy on your shoulders as you made your way home through the bustling streets of Paris. Despite the comforting glow of the streetlights and the steady stream of people passing by, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

With each glance over your shoulder, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if unseen eyes followed your every move. You quickened your pace, the click-clack of your shoes against the pavement echoing in the night air as you navigated the labyrinthine streets of the city.

Finally, you reached the safety of your home, the familiar sight of your doorstep a welcome relief. Fumbling for your keys, you hurriedly unlocked the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place a comforting reassurance of security.

Stepping inside, you felt the tension drain from your body as you closed the door behind you. The familiar warmth and coziness of your home enveloped you like a soft blanket, easing the knots of anxiety that had formed in your stomach.

With a sigh of relief, you set about your evening routine, the familiar rituals serving as a soothing balm for your frazzled nerves. Dinner was a simple affair, hastily prepared but satisfying nonetheless. You fed Edward, your faithful feline companion, his soft purrs a comforting backdrop to the quiet of the evening.

After dinner, you indulged in a long, relaxing bath, the warm water washing away the cares of the day and leaving you feeling rejuvenated and refreshed. As you soaked in the tub, the tension slowly melted away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility.

After drying off and slipping into your pajamas—a worn blouse, a pair of soft panties, and cozy socks—you settled into bed, the soft embrace of the blankets cocooning you in warmth. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes, letting the gentle rhythm of your breath lull you into a peaceful slumber, knowing that tomorrow was a new day, filled with endless possibilities.

As you prepared to settle into bed for the night, a familiar sense of unease washed over you, creeping like tendrils of fog into the corners of your mind. The sensation of danger prickled at your senses, setting your nerves on edge and sending a shiver down your spine.

Despite the comforting warmth of your cozy bedroom, a chill settled over you, wrapping you in its icy embrace. Your heart quickened its pace, pounding against your chest like a frantic drumbeat as adrenaline surged through your veins.

With a trembling hand, you reached for the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow across the room as you scanned the shadows for any sign of threat. But the darkness offered no answers, only deepening the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air.

Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the curtains seemed to echo with the ominous whisper of danger. Your breath caught in your throat, shallow and ragged as you struggled to calm the rising tide of panic within you.

You knew you should call the police, seek help, but fear held you captive, rendering you powerless to move. The weight of uncertainty pressed down upon you, suffocating and oppressive.

With a heavy heart and trembling limbs, you braced yourself for whatever darkness the night might bring, clinging to the flickering flame of hope that whispered softly in the recesses of your mind.

As you stood frozen in fear, your mind raced with a million thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. The sensation of danger loomed over you like a dark cloud, suffocating you with its oppressive weight.

Chills ran down your spine, sending shivers through your body as if you were caught in the grip of an icy vice. Your blood felt like it was freezing and burning simultaneously, a tumultuous storm raging within you.

Nervousness and anxiety consumed you, gnawing at your insides with relentless intensity. Every fiber of your being screamed for action, for escape, but your body remained paralyzed, held captive by fear's icy grip.

A knock on the door shattered the suffocating silence, jolting you out of your trance-like state. With trembling limbs, you made your way downstairs, each step feeling like an eternity as dread gnawed at your soul.

Approaching the peephole with hesitant fingers, you braced yourself for what lay beyond. And as you peered through the small opening, your heart plummeted into the depths of despair.

There, standing before you, was a man in a suit, his features obscured by the dim light of the night. But even in the darkness, you recognized him, his presence igniting a primal fear deep within you.

"It can't be..." you whispered to yourself, your voice barely above a breath.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you slowly opened the door, your hands trembling with fear. And as you looked into the man's eyes, all the blood drained from your face, leaving you pale and trembling.

"Hello, Sunny. Did you miss me?" His voice sent shivers down your spine, a sinister whisper that echoed in the depths of your soul.

Everything had been perfect that day, until it wasn't anymore. And now, faced with the embodiment of your darkest nightmares, you knew that the horrors of the past had come back to haunt you once again.

#darknesseddiemfics #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddiemunson #dark!eddie munson #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie x reader #older!eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #inmate!eddie munson

[corroded-hellfire]

Sniffles and Snuggles - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with my dear @munson-blurbs 💕

Older!eddie edit by the lovely @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Summary: When your baby girl wakes up sick, her daddy is there to take care of her

Note: The thought of Eliza being all clingy to Eddie because she doesn’t feel well and just wants her daddy inspired this so I hope you enjoy the thoughts that just pop into my head

Words: 4k

[As You Wish Masterlist]

A familiar cry wakes you from your slumber. It’s muffled—coming from down the hall. Your eyes open in the darkness of your bedroom. Glancing over at the window you see the slightest gray creeping into the blackness of night. Morning must be rolling around you surmise as you stretch your arms out above your head. The cry sounds again and you stare up at your ceiling while you wait to see if it’s going to continue or not. There have been times where Eliza has woken up, cried out a few times simply because she wanted attention, then let it go. 

Eddie’s fast asleep next to you, turned your way, giving you a clear view of the drool dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. A soft chuckle falls out of you as you trail your gaze down to see your husband’s bare chest slowly moving up and down with his steady breaths. Another cry from your daughter breaks your focus on your sexy man though, and you push yourself out of bed to go see what’s bothering her. 

The closer you get to Eliza’s room, you can hear the different noises she’s making. These aren’t just the typical cries she sometimes has in the middle of the night. There’s whining and a whimpering that’s breaking your heart. 

“Hey, what’s going on in here?” 

As soon as you see your one-year-old you know something is up. Her cheeks are flushed and her brown curls are matted to her forehead in sweat. She’s holding onto the bars of her crib like she’s an inmate begging to be freed from their jail cell. The moment her eyes land on you, the whining picks up and she’s scrambling for your attention. 

“What’s wrong, Sweet Pea?” you ask.

Not even making an attempt at the few words she knows how to say, Eliza simply raises her arms for you to pick her up. The heat radiating off of her little body in its pink onesie is evident the moment your hands are on her. Frowning, you hold her against your chest and gently press your lips to her forehead. 

“Oh, you’re burning up, baby. Is someone not feeling well?” Eliza buries her head in your neck, and you have your answer. “Come on, you. Let’s take some medicine that’ll help you feel better.”

Intermittent sniffles come from the baby as you walk with her into the kitchen. The medicines are kept on a high shelf and there’s no way you’ll be able to rummage for what you’re looking for with your daughter in your arms. Luckily, her Disney Princess highchair is only a few feet away and you move to set her down in it. This elicits an immediate negative reaction from Eliza. 

“It’s just for a second, sweetheart. Give Mommy one moment to find your medicine.” She clings to you as you try to place her in the chair, but a couple of kisses to the head and whispered assurances that you’re not going anywhere have her finally releasing her vice grip on you. As you watch her slump to the side in her seat, eyes glazed over and staring somewhere in the distance, you think her lack of strength or energy also contributed to her finally letting you go. 

The children’s Tylenol is easily findable, and you pour some of the thick berry flavored syrup into a small dosage cup. Eliza eyes it warily, as if already knowing that she’s not going to like it. She wrinkles her nose up as the blue medicine comes closer to her and her whines start up again. 

“This is going to help you feel better, my love. I promise.” You can’t blame Eliza for her cranky attitude, but you just wish she’d believe you and take the medicine without issue. But since when do children behave that way? Especially the children of Eddie Munson. 

“Come on,” you say as you set the little cup on the tray of her highchair. “It’ll be over really quick. You might even like how it tastes.” 

After a few more whiny protests and some cranky writhing in her seat, Eliza stares down at the liquid that might give her some relief. You’re pretty sure you can see the resignation in her brown eyes as gazes at the medicine.

“Here we go.” You lift the small cup up to her lips—which she begrudgingly opens—and tilt it up so the Tylenol pours into her mouth. The moment it’s all swallowed and Eliza closes her mouth, her face scrunches up in revulsion and she shakes her head. It doesn’t seem right to laugh when your daughter is feeling so lousy, but you can’t help but let out a chuckle at her visceral reaction to the taste. “Why don’t we watch a movie, huh? One of your favorites.”

Eliza’s body heat takes you by surprise again as you lift her from her chair. Her head lolls onto your shoulder as you walk into the living room and snatch up the movie on the top of the pile. The Little Mermaid disc isn’t in the case, and it doesn’t shock you at all. It’s probably already in the player, all ready to go. 

You scoop up the remote on the way to the couch and click on the television. Eliza’s curls tickle your chin as you hit the buttons that will lead you to the DVD screen. As suspected, The Little Mermaid is in there and ready to be watched for the thousandth time. 

“Here we go,” you say, snuggling into the couch with her. “Let’s watch Ariel, yeah?” You’re hoping that the medicine will allow her to get some more sleep. The way she holds herself to your body lets you know she wants to be cuddled. Adjusting yourself so that it’s comfortable for the both of you, you lean back and kick your feet up on the coffee table, allowing Eliza to use your torso as her bed. Her big eyes turn towards the television at the familiar sounds of her favorite movie. One of your hands goes to her tiny back, rubbing reassuring and calming circles, while the other gently strokes her soft downy hair. 

You’re fighting sleep when you hear the heavy-footed sound of Eddie padding out to the living room. His hair is a mess, curls askew, and he scratches at his stubble as he yawns. 

“What’re my sweet girls doing up at this hour?” he asks softly, re-tying the strings of his plaid pajama pants. 

You return his yawn with a weary smile. “Someone is sick and spiked a fever, so I’m just laying with her until the Tylenol kicks in,” you explain, kissing your baby’s sweaty curls. 

Eddie looks at you, kindness and empathy still radiating from his tired eyes. “Babe, you look exhausted.” He leans down to try and take Eliza from your embrace, frowning when you pull back. “Let me help.”

“S’okay, Eds. I got it.” 

“But you need to sleep so you can go to work tomorrow,” he protests. 

Noting that you’re distracted by the conversation at hand, Eliza takes advantage and wriggles from your grasp. She plops her head down on a nearby pillow and almost immediately falls asleep, congested snores emanating from her tiny nostrils. 

You furrow your brow, lowering your voice so you don’t disturb your daughter’s slumber. “No, I’m staying home with her. You go into work.”

“I have more vacation days saved up,” he points out, holding out his arms. “Hand me the child and go back to bed.”

You give in, too tired to argue further, kissing him and Eliza before trudging back to bed. You look over your shoulder before you head down the hall, back to your bedroom. Eddie has made himself comfortable on one side of the couch, placing a throw pillow on his lap. He carefully maneuvers Eliza so she can curl up in the same position, rubbing gentle circles on her back to try and break up some of the congestion. It’s not his first rodeo with a sick kid, and based on his older children’s experiences, it won’t be his last. 

When your alarm goes off an hour later, you feel anything but rested. Your muscles ache as your body all but begs for more sleep, but you try to shove away the discomfort with a warm shower. It helps somewhat, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t almost fall asleep standing up. 

The family room is quiet; the only sound is the soft hum of the DVD player whirring, the movie long over. Eddie is sprawled out on the couch, his long limbs flung in every direction over the furniture like an overgrown starfish. Eliza, always one to copy her daddy, is spread out on top of his chest.  They’re both snoring, though you truly can’t be sure which one of them is louder. 

Trying to make the least amount of noise possible, you head into the kitchen and prepare breakfast for yourself and the boys. You know the drill by now: cereal for Ryan, Eggos for Luke. This particular morning though, you don’t think you’ll be able to ingest anything other than a large cup of coffee. 

The ringing of two alarm clocks faintly reaches you in the kitchen. Knowing it takes both of them a minute—or a few in Luke’s case—to get out of bed, you know you have time to finish prepping the food before you head down the hall to intercept them. You have to inform them that on this side of the house there are two sleeping beauties currently sawing wood. 

“Hey,” you say in a hushed tone as you meet up with the boys in front of their rooms. “Daddy and Eliza are sleeping on the couch. You have to be quiet, okay?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Ryan grumbles, rubbing his left eye with the heel of his hand. Sometimes his preteen moments popped up when you were least able to handle them. 

“Why are they on the couch?” Luke asks, voice lower for him, but still a bit loud. 

“Eliza isn’t feeling well, and they must’ve fallen asleep waiting for her medicine to kick in,” you explain. 

“Is she okay?” Ryan asks.

“She’s fine, sweetie. Just some sniffles,” you tell him. “Now come on, your breakfasts are ready.”

Most of breakfast manages to go smoothly and quietly, until Luke drops his fork on the ground, and it lands on the linoleum with a definitive clang. Your second oldest winces as he turns to you. “Sorry,” he silently mouths. Honestly, you had expected him to make a bigger noise than that at some point, so this is nothing. 

Once they finish their breakfast, you usher the boys down the hall and tell them to get ready for school. You finish getting ready for work as well. It’s hard to focus on doing your hair or finding a pair of shoes when you know your baby girl is sick in the other room. But you know she’ll be fine; she’s with Eddie. Super Dad. Being a mom came with a boatload of anxieties, but Eddie always managed to make everything better and less stressful. You joke to him all the time that some magic must’ve rubbed off on him after all the times he’s played D&D throughout his life. 

You finish getting ready the same time the boys do, and you see them slipping on their backpacks in the family room. They make no noise, yet their presence in the room must have been enough because both Eddie and Eliza stir from their nap. 

“How are you feeling, Eliza?” Ryan asks, tone still soft and low. 

His baby sister’s only response is to heave an overdramatic sigh, very reminiscent of her father. 

“Feel better!” Luke chirps with far too much enthusiasm. 

With an irritated whine, Eliza puts her hands over her tiny ears at her brother’s loud volume. She buries her face in Eddie’s chest, signaling that the conversation with her siblings is over. Eddie uses one hand to caress his daughter's brown locks, hoping it will calm and relax her, and waves to his sons with the other. 

“Have a good day at school, guys,” he tells them. The two of them wave back and say their goodbyes before they head out the front door to get to their bus stop down on the corner of the street. 

It’s your turn to leave now and you really don’t want to. This is the hardest you’ve ever had to push yourself to get out of the house and go to work. A restless night’s sleep or a massive headache making you not want to go in is nothing compared to knowing your child is home sick. 

Once you have everything ready to go, you walk over and lean down to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“I gotta go now, baby. But I don’t wanna.” You give him the most adorable pout that has a smile lighting up his tired face. 

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he tells you. “Have a good day at work. Though it won’t be as amazing as Eliza-Daddy Day.”

“I’m very jealous that I don’t get to be a part of it.” You smile down at your daughter, who has fallen back asleep, and admire the adorable features that she’s inherited from the both of you. “I’ll see you guys later. I love you.”

“We love you too, baby. I love you more, though. But don’t tell Eliza I said that; she’s a very territorial little girl.” 

Chuckling, you lean down and press one more kiss to your husband’s lips. “Bye, baby.”

Eddie dozes on and off as he stays as still as possible on the couch so as not to wake the baby. It’s certainly not the most comfortable position, but he’ll be damned if his daughter is awake because of him. He keeps one hand on her back; she’s so little underneath it, and he’s suddenly overcome with a fierce urge to protect her. 

Eliza eventually wakes up around lunchtime, tears immediately springing to her eyes. Her face crumples when she tries to breathe in through her nose and realizes that she can’t. 

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, keeping his daughter close to his chest. “How ya feeling, baby girl?”

“Uck,” she grunts out, swiping messily at her runny nose. 

“Are you hungry?” Eddie asks before deciding for her. “You need to eat something.”

He picks her up and starts to set her in a flowery pink baby walker—surprisingly, Luke had been the one to pick it out at Babies R Us—but Eliza is in no mood to be put down. She lets out a whine that sounds more like a shriek. 

Eddie winces at the piercing noise, instinctively bringing her against his chest again. “Hey, hey, what is it?” he softly asks, but she just whimpers and hides her face in his neck. 

“Dada.”

“Sweet pea, I was just gonna go into the kitchen to get us some lunch,” he tries to explain, knowing full well that it’s next to useless. “You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”

Eliza shakes her head against his body and sniffles pathetically. “Nooooo. Dada!”

Eddie sighs, giving in to the prospect that the two of them will be attached at the hip all day. “Okay, Lize, you can come with me,” he acquiesces. “We can make a mess of the kitchen together.” He lowers his voice before adding, “just don’t tell Mommy.”

He makes two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with one hand, the other holding on to Eliza’s diapered butt while he works “And they said I had no talent. Ha.”

“Goo Dada.”

Eddie’s glad he understands her normal baby talk enough, because interpretation is even harder now that she’s congested. 

“I did good? Why, thank you.” He hands her a piece of sandwich and she immediately drops it on the ground. 

“Eliza!”

She crosses her tiny arms and twists her whole body back and forth in protest. “Ucky.”

“Lize, you love peanut butter—”

“UCKY!”

“Okay, no peanut butter for you today,” Eddie mutters, shoving half a sandwich in his mouth. “Let’s see what else we got.”

There isn’t a whole lot in the freezer, but Eddie spots a box of frozen Italian ice cups and pulls it out. He flips the lid open and purses his lips when he only sees a few yellow cups inside. 

“Guess your brothers ate all the cherry ones,” he grumbles as he rummages through the box, just to make sure he didn’t miss a red one. “Looks like we just have lemon left.” He makes an unamused face, but Eliza reaches out and grabs it anyway. “You want—y’know what? Sure.”

Eddie grabs a spoon from the utensil drawer and uses his foot to pull Eliza’s high chair over to the kitchen table—lest they be too far apart from each other and Eliza gets all fussy again. She willingly complies since she sees her Daddy will be sitting right in front of her. He pops open the lid of the frozen treat and sets it on the tray in front of her.

“All right, this is gonna be sour,” he warns, but she still eagerly accepts the bite. 

Her lips pucker immediately, her nose scrunching up like a bunny at the strange sensation on her tongue. 

Eddie lets out a laugh at the adorable and hilarious expression on her little face. “I told you! You want that sandwich now?”

Face still pinched up, Eliza vehemently shakes her head. 

“Mo!” Eliza stretches out her hand towards the cup.

“I’ll be damned,” Eddie muses, but he obliges. She makes the same expression with each bite, but she eats nearly half of the serving before declaring, “no mo!”

Eddie gets Eliza cleaned up, not worrying about the mess in the kitchen right now. He’ll take care of it later, as he’s sure the sick girl will take many naps today.  

He picks his daughter up out of her highchair and holds her on his hip. “Whatcha wanna do now?”

Eliza lets out a wet little baby cough and gives a shake of her head. 

“You don’t know?” Eddie asks. “Hmm. Ah, I’ve got it.”

He stands up, balancing Eliza on his side. She lays her head on his shoulder while he walks into her princess-themed room, using his elbow to flick on the overhead light. 

“Okay,” he says, kissing her temple, “let’s see what we’ve got.” He quickly scans the little bookshelf next to her bed to find her favorite story. With a triumphant grin, he plucks The Poky Little Puppy from its spot. 

He tucks himself into the rocking chair, settling in and shifting his daughter into his lap. Reaching behind him, he grabs the bright pink throw blanket and drapes it over her, digging his toes into the carpet to gently sway back and forth. 

Eliza is enraptured by her dad reading her favorite book to her, eyes wide as she clings to every syllable. She usually falls asleep to it, conditioned from countless nights where it’s been used as a bedtime story, but she’s still fresh from her nap. Besides, she’s having too much fun with this daddy-daughter bonding to be sleepy. 

She only gets fussy again once Eddie closes the book, her symptoms more prominent without the distraction of Eddie’s story-telling skills. 

“I think it’s time for another dose of medicine, baby girl,” Eddie whispers, trying to appear enthusiastic despite his own waning energy levels.

She downs the syrup easily, so out of sorts that she doesn’t even process its rancid taste until after it’s done. Eddie laughs at her contorted face, plopping down on the couch. “All right, my brave little girl,” he says as he grabs the remote, “what should we watch?”

The mere question brings a tiny spark to Eliza’s eyes, giving her just enough energy to bounce in her dad’s lap and point at the TV. “Mermah!”

“The Little Mermaid again?”

Eliza nods and Eddie internally groans. It’s a cute movie, but he’s pretty sure he could recite it line for line at this point. 

“Okay, let’s go under the sea,” he says as he starts the movie from the beginning, settling in to listen to Sebastian belt out “Under the Sea” for the umpteenth time. 

Still curled up into his chest, no indication of moving anytime soon, Eliza wipes her runny nose on her dad’s t-shirt. She doesn’t take her eyes off of the screen as she rubs her nose against the soft cotton with a sniffle. 

“Thanks, kid.”

“Welcuh.”

Eliza settles her head on the middle of her father’s chest and watches the different colored fish and sea life all gather together at the concert for King Triton. Eddie doesn’t really pay attention, mostly just focusing on how the little girl’s breathing is sounding and trying to keep her body supported up against his. 

But Eddie’s ears perk up when a familiar little voice joins in with the singing on screen. Ariel is singing “Part of Your World” and there’s a small, congested mumble singing alongside her. Eddie grins to himself as he listens to his daughter’s rendition. 

“Schingamabobs? Gots twenny. Bu’ who cawes? No bih deal. I wan’ mooooooo.”

All the times Eddie insisted on singing to Eliza while she was in your womb have seemed to pay off. She’s a little musical prodigy after his own heart. 

“You wanna be a mermaid, Lize?” Eddie asks her softly. She nods in response, never taking her eyes off of the television screen. 

Eddie half-heartedly watches the movie with her from that point forward. When it comes to the scene of Ariel using a fork as a comb for her hair at the dinner table, Eliza reaches up and begins to play with her own hair. Silky brown curls slip through her little fingers as she absentmindedly strokes her locks. Eddie would love to know what’s going on inside her head right now. Is she thinking of trying to use a fork as a comb? When Eliza brings a few pieces of her hair in front of her face to study, Eddie has another thought. He wonders if she wants to have the same red hair as her favorite Disney princess. To show her that he loves her hair just the way it is, Eddie presses a few soft kisses to the top of her head. 

As the movie progresses, Eliza becomes stiller on Eddie’s chest, and she’s not made a peep in a while. Her father watches her tiny back move up and down and sees it’s going in a slow, steady rhythm. As if to further prove his suspicion that she’s asleep, the sounds of her stuffy snores reach Eddie’s ears, making him smile. 

Eliza stirs a bit, wiggling around in an attempt to get comfortable in a new position. Eddie gently wraps his arm around her to rub her little back in calming circles. Within seconds, she’s out like a light again. 

“Daddy’s always gonna be here for you, Liza Bean,” he murmurs against her scalp, sweaty from fever. He takes a deep breath and settles in. 

Neither he nor Eliza wake when you return home, both of them sound asleep on the couch. The kitchen is a mess; there’s a random piece of sandwich on the floor and a melted lemon Italian ice on the table, but clean-up can wait for a moment. 

You watch the two of them breathe in tandem, heart soaring at the way your daughter curls up into her dad with all the love and trust in the world. 

Fatherhood looks perfect on him, you think, but wrinkle your nose upon further inspection, but the booger stains on his shirt definitely do not. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #AYW #AYWS

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Dolly’s Fic Recs 🖤💭

✨Just wanted to show some of my fav fics from my fav writers some appreciation✨

All blogs are 18+MDNI

Eddie Munson:

By @bettyfrommars:

I’m On Fire (Older!Biker!Eddie x reader) - Series

Death Becomes Us (Vampire!Eddie x Supernatural!Reader) - Series

My Friend Goyle (Gargoyle!Eddie x Reader) - Series

By @andvys:

We’ll Burn The Sky (Rockstar!Eddie x Rocketar!Reader) - Series

For Me It’s Always You (Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!Reader) - Mini Series

(Also just any of her work is amazing)

By @storiesbyrhi:

Burning Yarrow (Bat/Vampire!Eddie x Witch!Reader) - series

By @corroded-hellfire:

As You Wish (Dad!Eddie x Babysitter!Reader) - series

By @strangelysupernatural

Corruption And Sin (Priest!Eddie x Reader)

By @munsonology:

Praise Him (Biker!Eddie x Nun!Reader)

By @lesservillain:

On The Outside (Inmate!Eddie x Teacher!Reader) - series

Strange Lights (Vampire!Eddie x Reader x Werewolf!Steve)-series

By @bimbobaggins69:

Heavy Metal Parking Lot (Eddie X MetalHead!Reader)

Dial A Thrill -(Part 2) (PhoneSex!Operator!Eddie x Reader)

Stave Harrington:

By: @katyswrites:

Don’t Call me Baby (SugarDaddy!Steve x Reader) - Series

By: @dr-aculaaa:

Sunday Morning Series (Dad!Steve x Mom!Reader)

Werewolf!Steve x Reader

By: @loveshotzz

Colors (Older!Steve x Reader) - Series

Whatta Man- Steve’s Night (Bouncer!Steve x Reader)

By: @andvys

It’s Just Us (Steve x Reader) Part 2 (Steddie x Reader)

By: @bettyfrommars

Candy Necklace- Breed (Biker!Steve x Reader)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic recs #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson smut #fic rec #eddie munson x fem!reader #steve harrington fic rec #steve harrington x reader smut

[trashmouth-richie]

CONFESSION

eddie x fem! reader

TW: no minors, heavy degrading themes of the Catholic Church, smut, corruption kink, virginity loss, Eddie posing as a priest. Slight daddy kink, rosaries not used properly. Umm yeah it’s smut p in v, cum eating. Etc

a/n: I have no words, I’ll see you in the crimsoned room of hell, or purgatory— in that case, please pray me out.

Trudging with untied boots the thud of his clunky soles echo loud in the steeped ceiling of St. Mary’s. He stubs the lit end of his joint out in the holy water, sizzling and emitting one last pathetic puff of smoke. Dipping a tattooed middle finger into the holy water he makes a lame excuse for the sign of the cross, flicking whatever remnants of moisture left into the open air. Keeping his middle finger high for the man on the cross. 

  Every Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday nights at 7 o'clock on the dot, he had come to the brick built and heavily waxed wooden floored church to repent. 

  Father Hopper had gone easy on Eddie when he found him trying to hot wire his car. Punishing him to thirty confessions stretched over two months time.

Father knew Wayne Munson was on the verge of a thin line of patience, and Eddie was on his last strike with Hawkins PD, next step was prison. A shared cell with the other Munson and ex resident of Hawkins currently known as inmate #89432. 

  Fuck it, I’ll go to jail what the hell do I care? Eddie spat at the rickety table in Father Hopper’s poorly lit kitchen.

  “Son,” Father began, sipping a bitter cup of coffee, thumb nails scratching against the ceramic mug, “you don’t want to end up like him.” 

  “Well. I sure as hell ain’t gonna end up like you. White robes and that cardboard dog collar you wear— yeah fuckin’ right.” 

  That was back in May. What started as a desperate plea to steal a car and possibly sell it to get enough money to  skip the prying eyes and whispering licks of gossip tongues about how he hadn’t graduated, again, — ended with him getting assigned the confessions. 

  A stuffy little closet with Hopper’s coffee breath stenching through a grated screen. The dark walls seems to close in on him as he confessed to petty crimes and sex on Sundays. 

  Leaning against the desk that held glass orbs of candles, he spits in the nearest one. The flame sizzling out. And that’s when he hears it. 

  A small giggle from the pew nearest him. 

  He had seen you around school. Clutching your school books to your chest as you were shoved into walls and lockers. A ghost among the popular chicks and dicks. But never to him. 

  He himself was an outcast and truth be told he didn’t remember the time he hawked a lougie into Jason’s milk carton and stubbed a cigarette into his hamburger after Jason had purposefully knocked your lunch tray out of your hands. The cheap plastic tray hitting the tiled floor with a clank. 

  He might remember but you remembered the way his smile pearled big and pretty, his long lashes dusting the tops of his cheeks as he winked your way, and the way your panties clung with wetness at your heated lips. 

  His whiskey dark eyes bore into your head as he says your name slow, like reciting a prayer. His long legs swing as he struts cockily towards you. Middle of the summer and he’d shed his leather armor. Red flannel open revealing a tanned tattooed chest. Sleeves cut off showcasing muscly trailer park strong arms.  Jeans hacked off above the knee. 

  His smirk danced across his lips, tongue poking out to wet his lips. He had trouble written all over him. And damn did he wear it well.

  “Don’t tell me you’re here to confess the sins committed against our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?” 

  Your legs cross and thighs rub together. A pulse awakening between your legs. 

  “Amen,” you giggle nervously, hiding behind heated cheeks. 

  Leaning his long frame against the edge of the pew, he throws a worn heavy boot over onto the seat, next to your clenched thighs under the white sundress. 

  He leans down, over his knee, his long curls dancing with his gesturing head, he’s leaning close and you can see the reds fading his eyes and the skunked smell of weed. Still that smile has you melting. 

  “So what are you in for? Forget to genuflect before sitting down last Sunday?” 

  His joke earns a smile from you and seeing your lips pull your cheeks up has him twitching in his jeans. 

  “No,” you roll your eyes in a girlish way, batting your lashes, “it’s not that.” 

  “Ah!” Eddie says jumping up, “no bother, I don’t think Father Hopper isn’t gonna show anyway.” 

  You don’t mean to frown and Eddie almost laughs out loud at your pout. 

  Strict as your parents were, they were demanding that you needed to confess for your sins. They were already pissed you skipped out on college, might as well take 10 years off school, you’ll never go, they hated your job, hated even more that you didn’t really have friends outside of the “weird Buckley girl.” 

  By the end of this month you’d have enough money saved up to move out, and oh how you couldn’t wait. 

  The dirty word slips before you catch it. Hands covering your mouth quickly, the heat on your cheeks burning deeper. You peer at Eddie with big eyes.  

  He cracks a slow smile and leans forward. Licking his chapped lips again. He’s so close to you you can see every eyelash in high definition. 

  “That’s another sin, one more and the floor will open and we’ll both be engulfed into the fiery pits of hell.” 

  “Actually I think it’s purgat—” 

  A ringed finger is placed vertically to your lips, shushing you from finishing. The satin feel of your lips on his rugged finger makes him ache against the teeth of his zipper. 

  Tracing your face with his eyes they dip down the slope of your nose and past the curve of your lips, the delicate pink rosary is hung on your neck with such daintiness it’s almost in open invitation. 

  He about chokes when the goosebumps rise on your throat from his stare, a bead of sweat trickling in between your tits. 

  Dark eyes swim into yours, and his smile is impish, full of wicked delight, “Let’s go.” 

  His hand snakes down your shoulder and he grabs your wrist in a light but thick grip. Beckoning you with a sinful smirk. 

  “To where?” You manage after peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

  “Time to confess for that dirty mouth.” Eddie says matter of fact, turning his head and dragging you to the confessional booth. “C’mon I’ll act as Father.” 

  Eddie pulls you into the small wooden door in the back of the church opening it for you in a gentlemanly manner ending in a bow. 

  He rushes you in with snapping fingers and a growl making you squeal. 

  Sitting behind the screen where Hopper usually sat Eddie beckons you to sit in his usual assigned seat. 

  He makes a backwards sign of the cross with his left hand and folds his fingers, clearly his throat and using a deep baritone voice, “tell me your sins, sweet girl.” 

  When you giggle, Eddie flicks the screen, “this is serious shit— confess to me.” 

  You begin the way your parents had you rehearse at home. 

  “Bless me Father— wait, should I call you that?”

  “Daddy works best,” Eddie says without missing a beat. And your pussy clenches around nothing. 

  “Bless me,” you hesitate on the word, but Eddie raises his eyebrows to encourage you so you start again, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. 

  “B- Bless me, Daddy, for I have sinned, my last confession was 10 weeks ago.” 

  “That’s a long time ago,” he tsks, berating you, “have you not sinned in these last 10 weeks?” 

  Fingers threading the hem of your dress you answer, “I- I have.” 

  Eddie palms himself at your innocence. “Well?” 

  “I— Eddie—” 

  “Excuse me? My title in this confessional is Daddy please do not make me correct you again,”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” 

  “Good girl,” Eddie purrs. Sending shocks to your clit. “Continue.” 

  Clearing your throat you stroke the beads of the rosary hung against your neck. Counting ten, a small skip, another bead, then ten more. 

  “I was.. experimenting.” 

  “Drugs?” Eddie asks, chuckling in genuine shock, he didn’t think a girl like you would smoke, “yes the devils lettuce is tempting.” 

  He flicks his lighter open and lights another joint he had tucked in his pocket for the ride home. 

  “But we must stop these temptations before they start, plus who are you buying from because I need to know if I have competition.” 

  You move your head to the side and continue thumbing the pink pearly beads in your fingers. The clack of your nails against the beads fill the quiet smoke hung room. 

  “No… it wasn’t drugs.” 

  Eddie’s mind flips like a magazine. 

  “Oh yes the alcohol, another temp—”

  “Wrong again.” 

  Eddie’s frustration peaks, “well I’m not a fucking mind reader so do you wanna explain yourself?” 

  “I— I was.. I was touching myself.” 

  “Oh fuckin, Christ..” it’s mumbled and breathy but you hear it all the same, sending a slick to your pussy from your admission and Eddie’s shock. 

  He’s rock hard. The zipper on his jeans scream, begging for any sort of release. He needs to know more. 

  “Do explain,” he says intrigued, leaning forward, his hands folded under his chin. 

  Adjusting yourself in the wooden chair you cross your legs, and Eddie barely witnesses the white cotton snug between your thighs, the sneak peek having him swallow hard. 

  Taking a breath you go into detail about the videotape you had gotten from the adult section of Family Video. How you had only watched it once and the volume was muted, but you couldn’t get it out of your mind. 

  The way the woman’s mouth curved into an “O” when the man was pleasuring her. The size of the man’s penis and the way it slapped against his stomach when released from his jeans. How the woman’s perked nipples were firm but looked soft against the man’s tongue.  

  Eddie’s drool is wiped from his mouth at your explicit confession, and he starts to palm himself over his jeans when you explain how you had started rubbing yourself over your underwear at night. 

  Thinking you were about to have your first ever orgasm but weren’t able to finish because your mother had walked in on you, legs spread wide on your comforter, toes curling. As you were using the barrel of a curling iron to rub at your clothed clit. 

  The embarrassment from repeating the story to Eddie made your cheeks heat, and you hid behind your hair. 

  The silence is speaking volumes. The only noise is the cream of the wooden seat as you shift again, a flutter in your stomach as Eddie thinks of his punishment for you. 

  “Sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, a hiss on his tongue as he moves from behind the screen, wedging himself between you and the wall, his long frame leaning against the mahogany. 

  Ringed fingers tapping along the plump of his lips, his hard cock outlined through his jeans, “You are a filthy, naughty girl.”

  You scoff, “I am not!” 

  “Oh baby, you are,” Eddie says, boxing you in, “but, I know just the thing to…cleanse you of your sins.” He licks his lips again and stares you down. And you're certain you're looking into Satan’s eyes. 

  “Wh—” you stutter, having to clear your throat, swallowing thickly and dabbing at the sweat on your neck, “what do you have in mind?” 

  Eddie’s wayward curls skim the top of your chest as his lips curve around the shell of your ear, he smells like cigarettes and laundry soap, “bad girls get spanked.” 

  Gasping, he laughs at your shocked face. “I don’t make the rules babe, ok I made that one up, but this is for you swearing in the house of the Lord, now,” he gestures a thumb over his shoulder, “get up, you’re gonna need to be on my lap.” 

  You do as you're told, standing chest to chest with Eddie. Only this time it’s you licking your lips. One stretch up on tipped toes and your lips could connect with his. The faint mark of a nicotine stain paints his bottom lip. You wonder if it would taste like it. 

  He grabs your hips and swivels you around, his rings dig into the soft cotton on your dress, his nails scratching the fabric as he takes his seat. The wooden chair groaning on the sudden weight. 

  Leaning back in the chair he smiles wickedly, legs spread wide, he rubs his lap, tapping for you to come closer. 

  When your body is laid flat against him, you pull at the hem of your skirt to keep your modesty. 

  “This punishment is just for the dirty words,” Eddie explains. His ringed fingers walk along your spine, trailing down your back and up the fat of your ass. 

  He lays a warm hand on your cheeks and rubs it gently. Squeezing every so often. 

  Eddie's cock is hard under your ribs and your pussy flutters at the size of him. He hums and jiggles your ass before explaining his rules for your indiscretion, “you are going to recite The Lord’s Prayer while I spank you. Understand?”  

  You nod dumbly and whimper when his left hand tickles up your thighs. 

  “Start.” He grunts. 

  You begin the Lord's Prayer just like you were taught, standing before joyful cheeked families in a similar white dress on your First Communion day. 

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be th—”

  A large hand comes down hard with a thwap! on your ass cheek, sending you forward and hitting your head on the wall. 

  “Oh,” Eddie whispers, not hiding the smile in his voice, “if you mess up— we start over. So don’t. Unless this naughty girl enjoys being spanked by daddy? Hmm?” 

  You nod again and continue. Trying hard to remember where you were. Hallowed be…

  “.. Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done. On Eart—”

  Two hands smack your ass at once like sticks beating a drum. The hem of your skirt is lifted past the sheer white panties you are wearing. Reaching for the end of your dress to pull it down Eddie grabs your wrist, putting your hand back where it belongs he issued another spanking. 

  This time he lifts your dress fully and groans at the sight in front of him. Your plump ass has all but swallowed the see thru fabric of your panties. Eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth and places his left hand in the thick of your thighs, warmed by the heat of your arousal, his thumb rubbing small circles. 

  Thy Kingdom… shit. 

  “Thy Kingdom c—” the hardest slap yet has rained down on your nearly bare skin, and it springs tears from your eyes. 

  Eddie smooths over the red mark left on your skin and his tone is irate when he spits, “you already said that sweetheart, start again.” 

  His fingers snake further up your legs and he groans at the feel of your soaked panties on his fingertips. 

  You start again. And the spankings Eddie delivers are swift and merciless. The harder he spanks the more you cry out. 

  Sweat pools between your thighs where Eddie’s hot hand is wedged, his thumb teasing the outline of your panties and pressing soft circles into the fabric. 

  Tears cling to your eyelashes as your punishment comes to an end, welts forming where his rings stung and clipped you. 

  Words of reassurance fall from his lips after every slap and harsh whack of his hands. When Eddie leans over to catch a rogue tear from your cheek before it hits the carpet, your thighs slam together tight with a snap. 

  The groan he lets out is guttural and low. His cock twitches underneath you again. 

  “..and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil Am—- ow!” 

  Quick, hot tears sting your eyes. A jerk of your head reveals a sight you would never imagine seeing… let alone in a church. 

  Pearly, and oddly straight. The calcified and slightly sharp teeth pull out from the red, irritated skin on your ass.  

  “If you want to repent for your sins, you need to put your trust in me, can you do that baby… hmm? Can you listen and give yourself to me? It’s the only way you’ll be forgiven.”

  A perfect dental record sunken in deep, small droplets of blood weep from the pierced flesh from his canines. 

His lips are pulled back in a snarl, dark eyes gleam with a feral intensity so ferocious you’re instantly terrified. He looks like a wolf fighting for a meal. 

  Paralyzed with fear, your lungs spasm in shock as he flicks out his tongue, running the wet tip of the muscle along the pattern of his teeth grooved into your skin. 

  Each pass of his slicked tongue deepens the arousal in your lower stomach. His lips curve around the mark, kissing it better, his hooded eyes never leave yours. 

  You moan when the purpling bruise he’s sucking into your skin is greeted with the same poked teeth that bit you earlier. 

  His thick middle finger had your panties pulled to the side and your arousal is coated thick on his finger as he pushes past your puffy lips. A blunt fingernail sharp against your inner walls. 

  “Fuck,” he groans, dipping his finger into the impossibly tight well of your sweet pussy. 

  Eyes rolling into the back of your head, you mimic his moans and bite into your cheek. Hungry for the look of a broken gasp as your walls flutter and tighten around him. 

  World spinning and head rushing, Eddie has you upright and straddling his waist. when you start to question him he shushes you. 

  Taking the same finger he had plunged into your molten slicked pussy, he rubs the pad of it around your lips. Like a tube of chapstick during a cold winter, he coats them again and again, licking his own, his other hand is tight on your knee and gently skirting closer to your hip under your dress. 

  When he's satisfied with his art on your plump lips, he finally dives in, his breath hot on your skin and you part your mouth in a welcome for him. 

  But he only laughs. 

  A throaty chuckle that mocks you, as you wait for him to kiss you, wait for him to press his pinked lips to yours. Waiting for his tongue to devilishly lap at the corner of your mouth. 

  But all of his attention is zeroing down on the rosary around your neck. 

  Each bead is slick with sweat, warm to the touch against his thumb, as he counts them in his head, your throat gasping on each inhale. Whimpering and moving your hips against him.

  Grabbing the rosary in his fist he pulls you closer to him, biting the fleshy lobe around the small gold hoops in your ears, his dick aches when you whine his name. 

  Huffed whispers tickle your ear and send shivers down your spine and flood your panties, “Such a dirty fucking girl, practically begging for me to fuck you.” 

  Another whine from your mouth and he’s bucking his hips into you, strained denim against wet lace. 

  “Is that what you want?” Eddie demands. His snake-like tongue tickling behind your ear, “all you have to do, is ask.” 

  “Please,” you beg, fingers curling into the flannel of his shirt, head thrown back as he circles your neck and paints hickies with his tongue.

  “Not good enough, baby. Tell me how bad you want this little virgin hole filled.” 

  His hand finds it way under your skirt to the desperate slick of your panties, his fingers sliding around and making slow figure eights against your clit.

  Tits bouncing as you move against his hand, hopelessly with no words you beg him with your body to give you relief. You whine again embarrassed to ask for what you craved, the sin that brought you here to begin with.

  When you don’t say anything he retreats his hand. And you try to chase it as it slips away, you whimper pitifully again, and finally succumb to his demands. 

  All embarrassment gone as you beg him, plead for his cock, “Eddie, please.. please.. I’ve been so good,” you oughta be ashamed of yourself but you couldn’t care less— if he could make you feel this good by barely touching you, you’d be on your way to that glorified “O” in no time, and you can practically hear the Hallelujah chorus.  

  He chuckled cockily at your pleas, but shushes you as he unthreads his belt, and almost chokes when you gasp in awe at his thick veiny cock, slapping up to his belly with a thump and the pearling bead of cum seeping from the slit. 

  His thick ringed hand pumps himself as he lines himself up with your swollen pussy. And when you sink down he slams himself home and you clench around him, a scream escaping your slack mouth.

  He groans low,  trying to even out his breathing around your pretty gasps and breathy moans. 

  “You’re gonna keep my cock warm before I fuck you like the slut you wanna be for me,” he chides, concentrating hard on on anything other than the tight walls of your pussy gripping him. “This is the rest of your punishment… you pray a Hail Mary and warm my cock, no whining, no moaning.” 

  You whimper as his cock stretches you out, practically biting a hole in your bottom lip as you taste yourself from where he painted them with your own arousal earlier. 

  A loud slap to your ass and you’re jolting forward, your rosary tight in Eddie’s fist as he brings you down to his lips, “start praying or I’ll go home.”

  “Hail Mary,” you begin, the same way you started before, only this time the pressure was never lifted, your pussy full of him, and his tongue hot and feverish on your neck, teeth grazing your skin ever so lightly. 

  He’s teasing you and trying to get you to break, he thumbs over your nipples until they’re peaked and sore in his pinched grip. 

  When you get halfway through the sacred prayer, your pussy aches and drips down to his balls. His tongue is lazily working a red and purple ‘E’ into the fat of your tit, one hand still holding the rosary tight against your neck. 

  You’re on the verge of breaking when you suck him in deeper, pushing your walls around him and kegeling him in a death trap. He mins and curses the lord’s name, and he finally snaps. 

  Bangs slicked with sweat and stuck heavy against forehead, he grunts, “Holy Mary Mother of God.” And you’re hiked upwards. 

  The screen you confessed your sins to with Eddie on the other side only a half hour ago, is now pressed tight against your ass as Eddie hammers his cock into your slicked and aching pussy. 

  The moan you elicit is toe curling, borderlining pornographic as the thick head of his clock slams into a spot you were unaware of reaching again and again. 

  “Pray for us sinners… fuck this pussy is so tight… now and at the hour of our death,” Eddie whimpers into your shoulder before biting down hard. 

  And when you yell out an amen your fluttering gummy walls spasm with joyful relief. Coating you and Eddie both with hot arousal as it seeps from you. 

  And the lips you’ve been staring at all night finally touch yours. 

  A bruisingly, sore puncture of lust filled kisses that would have your lips resembling a baboon’s ass for days. 

  He’s babbling now as your feet are wrapped right around his waist, his hands wiggling into his curls and yanking harder sends him over the edge. 

  He drops you onto your knees and opens your mouth with a press of his thumb on your bottom lip, when your tongue is out, and waiting for his cum, he jerks his cock once more and shudders when the hot ropes leave him and drip on your tongue and lips. 

  “Body of Christ,” Eddie says with a smirk, shutting your mouth for you and watching you swallow his load. He expects you to gag, possibly spit it out at him like the other girls would. 

  But when you lick your lips and utter a seductive, “Amen.” Eddie knows he’d never get out of confession for the rest of his life. 

😅hmmm yeah ily there will be a part 2

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie smut #corruption kink! #daddy!eddie munson

[writethrough]

OOH

What if the group (or just reader and Eddie) go to Lover's Lake, and Jason and his goons show up and try to steal reader's clothes and Eddie gets super protective?👀 I even had a thought about both Eddie and Billy ganging up to protect reader but idk how you'd feel about that 🫣

By the Lakeside

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader x Eddie Munson)

Warnings: Language, Jason Carver & Co., slut-shaming, suggestive situation (I think that's it. Please let me know if you see anything else.)

Word Count: 2881

A/N: Thank you for requesting this, my love! I'm a little iffy about how I wrote Billy in this one. Not sure if he comes off as too AU. I tried to keep him in character. As soon as I saw "both Eddie and Billy," I knew there was no other way to write this. I hope you enjoy!

Finally, after weeks of extra shifts, sick days, after-school activities, and classes: everyone could hang out.

Eddie had gotten the key to Rick’s place after the dealer had been locked up longer than anticipated. Rick said something about if that ever happened again, he needed someone to water his plants—actual house plants, to your surprise.

And since it did happen again, Eddie suggested a day at Lover’s Lake with accommodations courtesy of the inmate. Everyone quickly agreed.

You had all arrived around the same time. Eddie opened your door before dragging out the cooler Wayne had lent you.

El and Max were already in the lake with Mike and Will running to join them. Nancy and Jonathan were setting up their blanket, and Robin was tugging inner tubes out of Steve’s car.

“How many of those did you bring,” you asked as she hooked two on her arm after hanging Steve four.

“They were having a sale, and Steve had some, so,” she did some mental calculations, “ten? Yeah, ten.”

You shook your head in amusement, closed the door for her, and made your way to the rest of the group. Only one person was missing.

Billy said he would meet you after he got off work, then muttered something about “little shits” and “fucking swimming lessons.” He was all bark and no bite when teaching the kids. He guided them through each movement and reassured them when they were scared to try something new.

You remembered the first time you saw him with them. You had to pick him up because his car was in the shop. He had ushered the rest of the kids to get changed but was still talking to a little boy. You didn’t know what they were saying, but whatever Billy had told the kid had been the right thing. The boy had beamed up at Billy and threw his tiny arms around his neck before rushing into the locker room.

Billy crouched there, eyes wide, then a little smile appeared, and he looked up to find you.

“Good day?” you had asked when you were close enough to him.

He shrugged, trying to fight back the smile. “Alright, I guess.”

You kissed his cheek and whispered, “Hurry up, and I’ll make it better.”

Eddie broke you out of your thoughts by wrapping his arms around your waist.

“All set, sweetheart,” he mumbled, kissing the back of your neck.

You hummed and watched as Steve, Dustin, and Lucas rowed into the lake with their fishing rods.

Grabbing Eddie’s arm, you pulled it to look at his watch. Billy would be here soon.

“Wanna sit?” Eddie asked.

You nodded, and he led you to the blanket, pressing against your side once you were both settled. He leaned toward you, his arm behind your back, so he was as close as possible.

“You think about them tipping the boat, too?” A smirk played on his lips.

You snorted. “The second I saw it.”

Eddie let out a laugh and nudged your shoulder. “Great minds, babe. Great minds.”

Your relationship with Eddie and Billy was unique. It had taken some deep conversations between the three of you to work.

You were good for Billy—everyone could see that. Though you and he weren’t together, there was something unspoken that made you off limits—to everyone but Eddie, that was.

He had been your friend for a while before Billy moved to Hawkins. So, when you developed a friendship with Billy, he had to come to terms with the fact that Eddie was more or less part of the package.

You had all been hanging out at your place, the TV on low, Billy’s arm thrown around your shoulders, and Eddie’s head in your lap. And you couldn’t have imagined being anywhere else.

And maybe it was Eddie's brownies or the darkness that made you say, “You both make me happy.”

They must have heard the hidden meaning in your tone because they looked at you in confusion but had the smallest of smiles on their faces. Then, they shared a glance with one another.

“You make me happy, too, sweetheart,” Eddie said.

Billy brushed a thumb along your shoulder. “Only one I give a shit about, baby.”

Their soft words and intense gazes made your cheeks heat up.

“What does…What does this mean? For us?” you asked, fiddling with your fingers.

Eddie tilted your chin up. “Means we should probably talk in the morning. When we’re all more…ourselves.”

You chuckled and nodded. “Good idea.”

Billy pulled you into him more and planted a kiss on the side of your head.

“My answer’ll be the same. Ya know, before you start overthinking,” he said.

Eddie settled back on your lap. “Mine will be, too. Just so you know.”

They were calling you their girlfriend when you woke up.

“Ew!” Robin screeched. “I think a fish slipped between my toes!”

Eddie laughed, making you grin as well.

He offered you a hand, bowing low. “Care for a swim, my lady?”

Instead of taking his hand, you flung your t-shirt over your head and pulled your shorts off.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked when you saw him standing there, eyes wide.

He hurriedly rid himself of his shirt, intertwined your fingers, and tugged you to the lake.

However, neither of you noticed who had just emerged with his two friends as they got closer to where you were set up to get to their car.

“That was the freak, wasn’t it?” Andy asked, turning to the others.

Patrick nodded. “And his little girlfriend, if that’s even the word for her.”

Jason glanced at you and Eddie, then at the blanket on the grass. A slow smirk spread across his face.

He gestured toward it. “Maybe someone should teach her not to be such a slut.”

They snickered when they caught on to what Jason had in mind.

He snatched your clothes, then rummaged through your bag to find the bra and underwear you stashed for later.

The hum of an engine stopped as they continued to their vehicle.

Billy closed his car door, scanning the area for you or Eddie.

He spotted Jason, and his stomach twisted at the familiar shade of green Billy had seen on you this morning. It couldn’t be.

“She acts like a whore, so why does she need these?” Jason laughed, waving the garments around. He was met with a chorus of laughter.

Billy ground his teeth, rushing toward Jason before he could think, and clocked him across the jaw.

Billy grabbed your clothes before they hit the ground and twisted Jason’s arm behind his back.

Jason let out a pained cry.

“You wanna say that again, Carver?” Billy bit out.

“I didn’t say anything!” Jason let out another sharp yell as Billy pushed further.

“You ever do something like this again—you ever call her that again—you’ll be in the ground.” He applied more pressure to Jason’s arm. “Understand?”

“I—I understand! I understand!” Jason promised frantically.

Billy shoved Jason away from him. He wanted to push him back into the dirt as he scrambled to his feet and rushed to the parking lot with his friends.

He turned toward the lake but stopped when he saw you and Eddie walking up to him.

Billy could tell you were shivering after being in the water. Even though Eddie’s arm was thrown around your shoulders.

“Did what I think just happened actually happen?” Eddie asked, nodding to your clothes.

Billy responded by pulling you into his chest and tucking your head into his neck.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Keeping your hands on his sides, you met his eyes. “I think so…I mean, you stopped him, but…why would he take my clothes? What was the point?” The spike in adrenaline muddled your thoughts.

“Carver’s an asshole. Does he need a reason to do anything?” Eddie rubbed your back, throwing Billy a look.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

They were both silent for a moment before Billy spoke. “He did it ‘cause of us.”

“Us?” You tilted your head. “I know we’re not the most conventional couple, but stealing my clothes? Really?” You bit the inside of your cheek, then shook your head. “He needs to mind his own damn business.”

Billy squeezed your hip. “He ever bothers you again, you tell me.” He glanced at Eddie. “Same for you.”

Eddie saluted, breaking the remaining seriousness. “Aye, aye, Captain!”

You breathed a laugh, and Billy rolled his eyes, but the barest of smirks graced his lips.

“You still wanna stay?” Billy asked, gripping your hand.

You looked over your shoulder at the rest of your friends, laughing and splashing each other. It felt like forever since you’d all been able to hang out, and you weren’t going to let Jason Carver, of all people, ruin your day with the ones you loved.

“I really do,” you said.

Eddie tugged on your other hand. “Then, let’s get going!”

Billy set your clothes on the blanket, stripping his shirt and shoes as Eddie didn’t stop until you were in the lake.

Billy joined you, wrapping his arms around your waist and chuckling as Eddie dunked Dustin. The boys probably realized they wouldn’t catch anything with the rest of you there.

You vaguely heard the shutter of Jonathan’s camera, him giving a thumbs up when he noticed you looking.

Eddie slowly made his way over to you, soaked after Max pulled him under by his ankles.

“Your sister’s brutal,” Eddie said, though his grin contradicted his complaint.

Billy shrugged. “She plays to win.”

“At least it was her and not El.” You nodded toward the girl as she dunked Mike with her powers. “You had a fighting chance.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

He put his hands on your waist above Billy’s on your hips. And you had to remind yourself that you were surrounded by your friends—no privacy to be found.

However, neither of them seemed to care as they stepped impossibly closer, their chests pressed against you, and you were sure they felt your breath quicken.

Billy’s lips grazed along your shoulder and neck, letting you feel their softness without kissing you outright. Eddie did the same but trailed from your jaw to your collarbone.

Your breath hitched when they hit soft spots simultaneously, and their smirks on your skin nearly made your knees buckle.

“You’re both terrible,” you whispered, barely finding your voice.

They chuckled.

“You love it.” Billy’s words rumbled against your back.

“She definitely does.” Eddie nipped the juncture of your neck, his thumbs moving to graze the underside of your breasts to let you know he felt your body’s reaction through your swimsuit.

One hand rested on Eddie’s stomach as your other slipped into Billy’s hair.

“Hey! Just a reminder that I can see you guys!” Robin shouted, her hands cupped around her mouth. “And children! There are children present!”

All three of you laughed, and you sent her a shy smile.

Billy buried his head in your neck while Eddie took your cheeks and kissed you sweetly—a temporary ceasefire.

“The food’s gonna get cold if you guys don’t move it!” she shouted again.

You bit your lip, grabbing both of their hands and pulling them out of the water.

Eddie wrapped a towel around your shoulders.

“You sit. I’ll get you some food,” he said before walking to Steve at the grill.

When Eddie returned, the three of you settled onto the blanket, surrounded by your friends. Jonathan snapped pictures of everyone, and El insisted that she get one with each person. Once developed, she’d have a particularly funny one of her giving Billy bunny ears.

After you finished eating, there were still some blueberries on your plate.

“You all done, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pointing to the fruit.

You nodded, pushing your plate toward him.

The little smirk on Eddie’s face should’ve told you what he was planning.

He gingerly picked one up and threw it right at Steve.

“What the hell?” Steve’s brow furrowed, and in the midst of facing Eddie, he was hit in the forehead with another.

You couldn’t help your giggle as you leaned back into Billy.

Steve stood with a handful of his own berries and retaliated. Both of them ran around until they were out of ammo, and by that point, they were close enough to the water for Steve to tackle Eddie into it.

There were boos and shouts of victory amongst your friends, and you felt Billy’s chest shake as he laughed.

The sun began to set as they walked back.

Eddie flopped down, grinning. “I think I won.”

Billy scoffed. “In what world did you win?”

“In the one where I get to kiss a pretty girl ‘cause she takes pity on me.” Eddie’s grin only widened.

You rolled your eyes fondly and gave him a quick kiss.

“Better?” you asked.

“Much.”

You all sat watching the sky shift from navy to orange and pink. Eddie had pulled his hair back before laying his head in your lap. Your hand moved up and down as it rested on his chest.

“You ready to call it a night, baby?” Billy whispered in your ear, catching Eddie’s attention.

“I know we said about staying here, but would you wanna head home?” Eddie asked. “I know Billy stopped anything from happening, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it to be just us tonight.”

“Was thinking the same,” Billy said, kissing your temple. “Wanna love on you in private.”

You hummed. “I think I’d be okay with that.”

You turned, your forehead touching Billy’s lips, smiling softly.

After saying goodbye to everyone and Eddie handing Steve the van keys. You were on your way home in Billy’s car.

Eddie unlocked the apartment door, a hand on your back for you to enter first.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” you said.

“Movie?” Eddie asked.

“Definitely.”

The shower gave you time to think about what had happened.

Jason was prepared to steal your clothes, and not only that, he had gone through your bag to find your bra and underwear. And even though Billy told you why Jason did it, you only started to internalize it at this moment.

Your relationship with Billy and Eddie wasn’t what others expected. You knew when they had seen you walking around with one or the other, they assumed you were cheating. Then, the gossip really ignited when you were first seen with both of them, your hand on Billy’s elbow and the other holding Eddie's.

You had eyes on you in the grocery store and caught parts of conversations between people trying to be quiet.

Isn’t that…?

She’s with both of those guys?

Do you think they’re making her do it?

Those were bad enough, but then there were the people who took things too far.

You think she takes them both?

Wonder if I can be the fourth.

Fucking skank.

It didn’t get to you much anymore. You had boyfriends in the past, but nothing could compare to the trust and communication with Billy and Eddie. You loved them with everything you had, and they loved you.

They drowned out everyone’s comments with their reassurances. And soon enough, you rarely notice it.

The novelty of your relationship died down, most people not even batting an eye. But Jason and his friends could never let it go. It was like they were…offended by it—like it was so unnatural, so dirty, so foul, that it was up to him to cleanse it. He wanted to fit everything into a little box, and when it didn’t, there was no telling what he’d do.

You dried off, threw on a pair of shorts, and swiped one of Billy’s shirts.

When you finished, the movie was ready, and popcorn sat on the coffee table.

You took your spot between them, leaning your back into Eddie once he threw his arm across the couch and placing your legs on Billy’s lap. His hand drew patterns from your toes to your knees.

The movie was halfway over when your earlier thoughts returned. And you looked at Billy, the light from the TV illuminating him.

He must have felt it because he glanced your way, then gave you a small smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Thank you,” you said, reaching a hand out for him to take.

“For what?”

Eddie paused the movie.

“For stopping Jason,” you said.

Eddie shifted, making you move so you could see both of them.

“You don’t need to thank me, baby,” Billy said, glancing at Eddie.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we’ll always have your back. We’ll always protect you,” Eddie said.

“I know.” You kissed Eddie. “I know.” Then Billy. “I just needed you both to know how grateful I am for you two.”

“Trust me. We know,” Eddie said.

Billy nodded. “And we feel the same about you.”

You smiled, looking down, then back.

“Love you both,” you mumbled shyly.

“Love you, too,” Eddie said, kissing your shoulder.

“Love you.” Billy brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

You snuggled further into them, letting their warmth sink into you as Eddie pressed play.

Taglist: @phenomenal-bird @moonlightfountain

If you'd like to be notified when I post fics, please message me or comment with the character of your preference. You can find the characters I write for under Masterlist or Requests in my bio.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove fanfic #Eddie munson #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x female reader #Eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson fanfic

[manicformunson]

Omfg can you PLEASE do something where the reader is absolutely spent after a few round sim bed and wants to cockhold with Eddie??? Pls like this has been on my mind😩

shook me all night long

master list

pairing eddie munson x fem!reader

summary after a long night of bumping like rabbits, eddie is spent but reader can't help but need more

note i was so excited to write this you have no idEA also I suck at endings don't be mad

It happened almost everytime, everytime Y/N went with Eddie to watch his band at the Hideout; something about seeing him just so in his element made Y/N go absolutely mad with desire and she was on him the second he walked off stage.

They would usually always rushed to the van for a quickie before the band started putting their equipment up. Sometimes she couldn't even wait that long and they'd fuck in the bathroom.

It was honestly a little ridiculous how horny Y/N got, and tonight was so much worst because Eddie had decided to play shirtless. Needless to say Y/N was drooling the whole set, just waiting to just Eddie's bones -- which she did the second he was running up to her.

They fucked in the van, then fucked once they got to Eddie's trailer, and then in the shower and then one last time during a random movie he had put on. Eddie was absolutely fucked out, stretching his arm over Y/N's bare shoulders and grabbing his pack of cigarettes from the side table.

As he lit it, Y/N slid down between his legs. Eddie was used to this by now too, sometimes Y/N just liked having his dick in her mouth and who was he to deny her? Not to mention it was so cute? Eddie petted her head and spread his legs a little wider so she could be comfortable.

When Y/N slid his dick in her mouth he hummed, breathing in the cigarette smoke -- tilting his head back and blowing it out his nose. It wasn't sexual anymore; sometimes Y/N just needed to feel in control and Eddie totally respected that. A lot of times she'd be down on him for almost an hour, or until she needed to be in his arms.

Eddie focused his attention back on the movie that was playing and massaging his fingers in Y/N's scalp. He really loved it too, it felt like such an inmate moment for both of them especially after they've had sex -- it was like aftercare for both of them.

"You okay baby?" He spoke softly, continuing to rub her scalp as he looked down at her. She hummed, sending shivers up his spine and nodded as best she could.

They stayed like that, peaceful silence until the ending movie credits rolled. "Come here." Eddie muttered tapping his cigarette out in the ashtray. He held out his arms, welcoming Y/N in his chest and kissing her forehead before tossing a blanket over their naked frames.

"You looked really good tonight, if you didn't already know." Y/N giggled, tracing her fingernail over one of his chest tattoos. Y/N look up at him and couldn't help but smile as he cupped her cheek. Eddie just smirked and kissed her.

Y/N broke it to yawn, all of the excitement had really tired her out. Eddie rubbed her shoulder, "If you're getting sleepy sweetheart then we should at least put on our clothes? Hm?" She whined. "Come on, then we can go to sleep."

Eddie helped Y/N up, holding both her hands and leading her to his room before he laid a pair of her pj shorts that she'd left last time she spent the night, along with one of his Dio shirts. "Here." He turned to let her get dressed as he slipped on a pair of boxers and sweatpants.

When Eddie turned back around Y/N was already in his bed with her eyes closed. He couldn't help but slide in behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, resting his face between her neck and shoulder.

"G'night babe." Eddie whispered, kissing her cheek. Y/N was already almost asleep but managed to mumble a soft, "Love you."

"Love you too sweetheart."

#eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

[cha0ticspacebi]

You're An Image Caught in Time: Chapter 27

You got your soulmark when you were very young. You knew who you hoped had left their mark but since they never said anything to you, you resigned yourself to a life of bitter unrequited love. As much as you wanted to meet your soulmate you knew after all these years they must not want to meet you. Though the mark never faded some days you wished it would. Especially after meeting Billy.

☆ You can find me over on A03 as Cha0ticBi ☆ Master list link!

Childhood Friends! Eddie Munson X Reader

Tags: 18+ NSFW MDNI, slowish burn soulmate AU, reader is in an abusive relationship with Billy Hargrove, Dark! Billy, Eddie is a sweetheart but bad at feelings, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, eventual happy ending

Warnings: rape/non con elements, emotional and physical abuse, graphic depictions of violence, suicidal thoughts

Chapter 27/28 Previous chapter → Next chapter

Ring. Ring. 

The street lights come on outside the Hawkins Police Department. Where all but the police chief have already gone home for the night. Ring. Ring. 

“Shit,” an exasperated sigh fills the room, “Did some punk teenager already get drunk and get behind the wheel? I hate prom night,” he thought to himself out loud as he answered the phone at his desk, “Hopper.”

“Hello sir, I’m calling from the Roane County corrections facility. You had submitted a request to be notified when inmate Billy Hargrove was released. This call is to inform you of his status change.” His eyes widened as he listened. The receiver pressed hard between his ear and shoulder as he immediately started grabbing his coat and hat. He cut the woman on the phone off, offering her a rushed thank you before hanging up and running out the door. Sirens echoing in the night air, lights flashing as he raced off towards Hawkins High. 

The music presumably still playing from the gym was inaudible as you stood in that bathroom.

Billy stepped towards you letting the door close with a heavy, heart wrenching thud behind him. His boots hit hard against the ground, echoing in your ears as you watched him mouth agape in the mirror. The water from the faucet still running down your hands that had been fixed in mid washing motion, praying that when you turned around your eyes would be playing tricks on you. He continued his approach. On reflex you turned the water off and whipped around, bracing your palms on the edge of the sink. Nope. Despite what you knew to be true and what you knew shouldn’t be possible, somehow, someway Billy was walking towards you.

“Why do you look so nervous sugar? Aren’t you happy to see me? I’ve missed you so much. You’re all I could think about these past few months. The thought of getting out and coming to see you kept me going,” he was getting closer. Only a few feet separated you now, “You look so beautiful in that dress. That color really brings out your eyes.”

Words evaded you as you listened to him try and sweet talk you. Your mind was consumed with a frantic attempt to answer the question of how he was even here right now. He smiled at you as if your thoughts had been broadcasted to the world, “I’m sure you're just so happy to see me that you’re speechless. Well,” he was right in front of you, mere inches separating your body from his. Your spine bending far back against the porcelain sink, “You see. I was so well behaved that they said I had learned my lesson and let me out early.” His head tilted to the side and grinned down at you, “And you know I just had to come right over and see my best girl.”

Your eyes followed every movement of his hand as it lifted and effortlessly swiped some hair from his eyes before landing right beside yours on the edge of the sink, “I looked everywhere for you. Imagine my surprise when I found out from your junkie mom that you were here– with him.”

His irises shifted position as he eyed the daffodil tucked into your hair from within the mirror behind you. He reaches over and makes a move to touch it, possibly rip it out you’re not entirely sure. Either way his hand never makes contact. Your fist reaches up and snatches his wrist in mid air, halting the movement. “Don’t you dare touch me,” the first words you say to him are slow, deliberate, and filled with as much animosity as you can muster.

He rips from your grasp with ease, “Feisty aren’t we. I gotta say, I was a little disappointed to see that you came to prom with a date, let alone with the freak.”

Rage swelled from deep inside your very consciousness, “Don’t call Eddie a freak!”

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em sugar,” he leaned closer to you, “You ready to go?”

Your eyes widened with an incredulous stare up at him, “You can’t possibly think I’d leave with you Billy. I don’t want anything to do with you!”

The smile that had been gracing his lips cracked and twisted and you’re pretty sure his eye twitched, “I told you, I learned my lesson. Things will be different from now on, I promise I’ll never do those things again.”

The muscles in your hands felt emboldened by the fact that you were getting to him. You let go of your choke hold on the sink and shoved him back away from you as hard as you could!  

He shook his head. You could see the veins in his hands pulsing as he shrugged his denim jacket back into place, “Damn girl, you’ve got some power behind those arms. Did you finally take my advice and start lifting weights?” 

Billy wasn’t wrong. You definitely had power now, but it wasn’t from lifting weights, “Leave Billy. You and I are through.”

He started stepping towards you again, “See that’s where you’re wrong, sure we had a couple bumps in the road, but you’re still my girl and I forgive you.” 

His sheer audacity had you stunned, “You. Forgive. Me ?”

He nodded with a smile, “See I know that he got in your head. He turned you against me and I don’t blame you for that, I know you never would have done any of those things if not for him. Even now, I can see it in your eyes, you still want me. So if you come with me without any more fuss, we can forget that any of this ever happened.” He lowered his head, now right in front of you again, “Understand– sweetheart?”

You felt your fingers and toes curl. The muscles in your face tightened. Building tension threatened to explode from your fists as you felt your temper rising, “Don’t call me that.”

He leaned in, placing his hands on the sink behind you, trapping you between his arms. You felt your spine crack as you bent further back in a desperate attempt to get away from him. “What should I call you then hm?” His hand lifted towards your cheek, fingers ever so slightly grazing the surface of your skin, “Maybe prin–” He didn’t get to finish the word when the wind was knocked from his lungs as you shoved him back again, harder this time.

“I told you not to touch me!” You grabbed the skirt of your dress and began walking towards the door without turning your back to him. Watching his every move like a hawk circling a mouse. Your hand wrapped around the door handle as you prepared to leave, “Let me make this perfectly clear to you sugar. We are done! You’re a monster and I wouldn’t go anywhere with you if you were the last man on earth. Go to hell Billy!” You turned your back to him and pushed into the hallway. A hand grabbed your wrist as soon as you looked away.

“You’re starting to piss me off,” he gritted his teeth and squeezed harder. “Now I have been nothing but nice to you so far and here you are calling me a monster? Clearly you didn’t learn your lesson last time.” You tried to break his grip but he was stronger. That smug smile turned your stomach. You tried again, summoning all the strength you had. Successfully breaking his hold on you this time. You looked down the empty hallway assessing how long it would take you to get back to your friends. In your momentary lapse in concentration, he grabbed you again and turned your back towards the door you’d just stepped through. His hands clawed into your biceps just below where the delicate fabric of your sleeve sat off your shoulders.

You tightened every muscle in your arms. Your eyes looked right up into his, venom spewing from your mouth as you yelled, “Let go of me! I told you we are through!” You used the limited movement in your hands to lift your skirt and get a perfect shot as you dug your heel into his foot. He cursed and recoiled back as you prepared to run down the hallway. You’d only taken a few steps away from him when he spoke again.

“I see that hideous mark is still on your back.”

You stopped. In that one sentence just now he showed you that despite what the courts might think, Billy had in fact, learned nothing. You turned back to face him and for the first time since your complicated relationship with Billy began, you laughed at him. 

“You know, I’ve always loved the fact that you hate my soulmark so much. Considering I gave it to Eddie first, really I’m the reason it looks like this. Assuming that’s how this all works, not that you’d know anything about it. You’re selfish Billy. You’re arrogant and you blame all your problems on the actions of other people,” you stepped closer to him, “Take some responsibility and own up to your mistakes!”

He tried to interrupt you, “No Billy! This time it’s my turn to tell you to shut the hell up. Eddie might not be perfect but he owned up to his mistakes! He and I share a connection that someone like you couldn’t possibly understand. See you’ll never have a soulmate because that would require caring about someone besides yourself. Eddie listens to me when I talk and I listen to him. He helps me when I’m down and I help him. He cares for me in a way you never could and he never lays a hand on me without permission. You raped me Billy! So many times it makes me sick. I was never anything but an object for you to take your anger out on. Eddie loves me and I love him. His love has shown me what a horrible person you really are.”

All that could be heard in that hallway was the click of your heels as you approached him but still maintaining distance, “He’s twice the man you’ll ever be,” you couldn’t help but smirk, “In more ways than one.”

A dark chuckle rose from his throat as he closed the gap between the two of you. You swallowed hard trying not to let your confidence slip away. Following his movements carefully as he tried to grab you again. You didn’t let it happen a second time. You reached up and grabbed the open front edges of his jacket and used them as leverage to shove him back with so much force he stumbled and lost his balance before crashing into the glass display case behind him.

The glass shattered with a loud crunch, shards scattered and danced all across the floor. In the blink of an eye creating a minefield mixed with the various trophies and ribbons that had also fallen. Billy’s head had crashed through the protective case, weakening all the shelving within it. The last one to give way and come tumbling from the wall was the baseball bat that sat atop the altar to commemorate a time before you were born when the baseball team had won the regional championship. Time seemed to move in slow motion as you watched the wooden bat fall right atop Billy’s skull where he now sat unmoving on the ground. The bat rattled and rolled against glass shards before coming to a stop a few feet from where you stood, paralyzed by what had just happened.

***

Eddie knew something was off. Even apart he felt a rollercoaster of emotions coming from you. He checked his watch and looked around anxiously, “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Steve waved off his concerns, wrapping his arm around the girl he’d been dancing with all night, “You worry too much! She’s fine. We’re in a school with a bunch of people all over the place, what could possibly happen?”

Robin looked up at Eddie, “It has been a while. Although women do usually all have to pee at the same time so there’s probably just a really long line? Maybe we should go check.” From beside her Vickie couldn’t help but giggle.

Steve grimaced at her crude comment while simultaneously stopping her from standing up, “Then again you’re right. It has been a while and someone should go check on her. I’ll go with you Munson,” he looked at Robin, “Stay here with Vickie.”

“Thanks man,” they both headed out the door into the hallway when they heard a police siren from the parking lot. Without a word they booked it outside.

Tires grinding against the dirt as he twisted into the parking lot at top speeds, the door to Hopper’s car flew open, “Where is she?”

“She said she was going to the bathroom,” Eddie started to panic, “Why what’s going on?”

“I just found out that a few hours ago Billy was released early,” he could read their horrified expressions like a book, “Unfortunately it’s not uncommon. Guys like him sometimes serve a fraction of their sentence and then, assuming they didn’t cause any problems, get out early on good behavior. ”

“Well you don’t think he’d come here do you?” Steve tried to sound hopeful. 

“Like I said he was released a few hours ago which gives him plenty of time to get back into town. Even if he’s not here, I still need to speak with her. We have to find her,” the three of them hurried back inside and headed for the ladies room.

“I’ll go get Robin,” Steve turned to go back to the gym. They nodded and continued their search but came up empty, even asking the first girl that came out of the bathroom to go back in and look.

“Is there anywhere else she might be?” Hopper asked.

“There’s another bathroom down this way,” Eddie pointed, “It’s right next to the drama room where I hold my hellfire sessions.”

Hopper shook his head, “I don’t even want to know what that means,” Crash! A deafening noise echoed through the hall, “Come on, let’s go!”

   ***

Billy still hadn’t moved and neither had you when you heard footsteps. You heard Eddie call your name. You turned to see him and Chief Hopper coming towards you. Hopper grabbed the radio from his hip and called for an ambulance. Eddie ran as fast as he could to get to you. His warm arms wrapped around you, melting away the frozen feeling. You looked up at him and tried to explain what happened.

The words sounded better in your head though, “He was- I didn’t mean to-” a thousand thoughts stammered together when you opened your mouth. 

“Shh,” Eddie consoled as he rubbed your back, “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Hopper tended to Billy. Your face was buried in Eddie’s chest but you could hear him trying to wake him up. After a brief moment you heard a groggy moan. You turned your head to see Billy looking dizzy and confused. Hopper told him that an ambulance was on its way to get him checked out but he didn’t seem too concerned about that. Panic grew in your mind when those dark eyes looked back at you.

“You–” he tried to get up but Hopper’s hand on his shoulder pressed him back down.

“Oh we’ll get to all that in a moment,” he pressed his thumb into Billy’s collar, “You most likely suffered a minor concussion, you’re not going anywhere.”

Commotion arose all around you. By now word had reached the gym. During the chaos Hopper must have also called for backup because a few officers arrived and taped off the area but that didn’t stop a crowd of nosy students from building just behind the line. Rumors being created on the fly that you punched him and broke his nose or that you picked up the baseball bat and whacked him in the head. Typical that the truth wasn’t among them. Paramedics rushed in and carried Billy away on a stretcher. He was clearly feeling better because he started yelling again as they took him out, “Screw you crazy bitch! Fuck you and your freak boyfriend,” His voice faded away. Hopper spoke to a few of the paramedics and then walked over to where you still stood locked in Eddie’s arms.

An audible gulp nearly got stuck in your throat, “I– I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him. He tried to grab me so I shoved him back and he fell into the glass.”

He nodded and assessed the scene now that Billy was gone, “Don’t worry kid. This was self defense. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. As soon as I found out I got here as fast as I could.” He looked up at the sound of a voice yelling. Principal Higgins was calling for him from behind the yellow tape.

“Just a moment, I’ll be right back.”

Eddie’s finger caressed your cheek and titled your head up to look at him, “Hey pretty girl. You alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” His demeanor hardened a bit as he asked, “Did he touch you?”  

“I’m ok,” Nuzzling into his chest, you shake your head, “No, actually I shoved him three times and told him to go to hell.“

“That’s my girl,” Eddie kissed your forehead, “Damn, I wish I was here to see that.” 

Hopper came back quickly, “Hate to be the bearer of bad news but Principal Higgins is sending everyone home.” He turned to you, “Would you feel up to going back to the station with me to file a restraining order against him? Shouldn’t take too long.”

Eddie spoke up after seeing you agree, “Can you take her in your car and I’ll meet you there? There’s something I need to do first.” You were confused by Eddie’s request but let yourself be led away from the disappointed crowd of students and into the police cruiser. 

Your mind felt like mush as you got lost in the glow of the street lights whizzing by out the window. At some point Hopper asked you if you needed help getting out of the car. You walked into the desolate police department and sat down in a chair. Hopper quickly explained the paperwork you were signing and tried to give you some comfort knowing that if Billy ever came near you again he would be arrested. You said very little. Mostly nodding and simply signing your name when needed. 

“There,” he collected the papers. Both of you turned your heads when you heard a pounding on the door that Hopper must have locked. It was Eddie. With his arrival came the return of your smile. 

You turned in the chair, “Thank you so much. For everything.”

He smiled, “You’re welcome.” Before you could get up and leave he lowered his voice, “Don’t go telling everyone I said this but, that punk had it coming.”

Moving around the other side of the desk you surprised him with a hug, “I’m proud of you kid. Now go try to enjoy the rest of your prom night.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You ran to Eddie who scooped you right up and carried you to his van, “I have a surprise for you sweetheart.”

He drove you along a familiar road, towards the outskirts of town. He surprised you when he drove the van right up on the grass of a clearing. Shortly after another car pulled up behind you. It was Steve, Robin, Vickie, and some girl that you’d seen around but most recently saw dancing with Steve before you headed off alone.

“Eddie what is this?”

“Well princess,” he opened the back doors of the van and set up a cassette player, “I’m not letting that prick take the ending of your prom away.” 

Quiet music played into the night air. The gym had felt like a garden but this, with the smell of grass, the surrounding wall of trees, and the occasional dancing firefly felt like a dream. 

Eddie made several comments about how there was finally some good music on. In between songs you spent some time answering their questions about what happened in that bathroom. Robin was mad she didn’t get to see Billy’s head get hit with that baseball bat. Eddie must have told you a dozen times how damn beautiful you looked and how proud he was of you for standing up for yourself. 

“I didn’t do it by myself Eddie,” you insisted as the two of you danced, “I felt stronger when I was talking about you.”

Eddie turned you with his hand, spinning you around to the music, “Don’t discount your own strength. I could feel all of your emotions and I felt a surge of confidence shortly before I found you.”

“That’s because I was telling him what a better man you are. I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He’s not worth it,” You kicked your heels off and found it surprisingly easy to forget all about Billy as the six of you danced for hours in the grass under the stars.

You sat on the tailgate of Eddie’s van and covered a yawn with your hand. Just as he sat next to you, his watch beeped indicating the midnight hour. You turned your head to him, the look on his face set your heart on fire. Without breaking contact with his loving brown eyes, you watch as he bends down to the ground and kneels at your feet. He picks up your heels and slips them back on for you.

“Come on Cinderella, time to go.”

Once home, Eddie hurried around the front of the van to help you out. The trailer was dark and Wayne’s car was gone. Inside you find a note from him expressing that he hopes you had a good time and that he got called in to cover part of a shift. 

You felt Eddie’s hands running up and down your waist as they had most of the night while you were dancing. He stood behind you as he leaned in and whispered, “Are you up for some more fun sweetheart?”

Your head titled, giving him better access to your neck, “Why as a matter of fact I am Eddie.”

“Good, because tonight I want to worship you. Let me show you just how lucky I am to have you,” he sucked on your neck, leaving a few kisses in between.

Your knees buckled at his words, whimpers leaving your throat, “Take me to the bed Eddie.”

“As you wish,” he lifted you up bridal style and carried you through the short hallway and into the bedroom as you clung to his neck. He set you gently on the edge of the bed and shrugged off his jacket. You watched his fingers intently as they rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his forearms before he fell to his knees in front of you again. He lifted your feet to take your heels and placed them carefully to the side. His palms flattened and fingers spread wide beneath your long skirt as he massaged up your calves, onto your thighs and back down again.

“You are incredible, you know that?” his eyes never left yours, “I’ll never be able to say it enough but I love you.” Your name escaped his lips more than once as he continued massaging your legs. After a moment, he pulled his arms out from under the skirt, adjusted himself on his knees and laid his head on your thigh. Your fingers ran thought his soft curls.

“I love you too Eddie,” you reached for his hands and moved them to rest on your hips, his head still resting comfortably on your thigh. Leaning as far over as possible you whispered, “I want you to fuck me Eddie. Make me feel good.”

His breath hitched, “Anything you want.”

Your position shifted as you spread your legs for him, “First I want you to eat my pussy. Make me scream your name with your mouth.”

“Yes princess. Lay on your back for me,” effortlessly crawling under the fabric of your dress and pulling off your panties. Kissing your legs, he lifted them over his shoulders. He stayed on the ground as he brought his mouth down to your pussy, working you open expertly with his tongue. You cried out immediately. Your hands gripping tightly into the blankets beneath you. The flicks of his tongue against your clit, the gentle yet strong grip of his hands into the backs of your thighs already had you on edge. Minimal effort is all it took to have you whining his name and begging him to keep going. You could feel his mouth curl into a smile around you.

“Shit, Eddie I’m gonna come already.” your back arched as you approached the edge.

“Come on my face, I want to taste more of you.”

“Oh fuck!” Your eyes rolled back, pussy tightening. A familiar yet new feeling surged through you. 

Eddie chuckled, lifting his head back up, his mouth glistening in the dim lighting, “You really must have been all worked up. You squirted on my face,” his hands returned to rubbing your legs. A wicked grin flashed up at you, “I can’t wait to feel you tighten like that around my cock.”

“Then get up here handsome,” even breathless and in post orgasmic bliss, you knew what you wanted from him in this moment. 

“Of course princess,” His hand slithered behind your back and adjusted your position to accommodate him kneeling between your legs on the bed. He pulled a condom from his back pocket and you couldn’t help but tease him a little. You pressed yourself up on your elbows and watched as he pulled his cock from his pants and rolled the condom on.

“Confident you were getting lucky tonight?”

His longing smile shut you up real quick, “I’m lucky everyday I get to spend with you sweetheart.”

Every nerve in your body became overstimulated with the amount of want coming from the two of you, “You said you wanted to worship my body right?”

He nodded, one hand on your raised knee and the other on his length, “Yes I did.”

You sat up all the way up and touched his cheek, “Before you can fuck me I want you to touch every inch of my skin. Show me how much you want me.”

“With pleasure,” he worked you over slowly as you allowed him to unzip your dress and carefully slide it up and over your head. Rather than toss it aside he got up and hung it back on the hanger. Before joining you again on the bed he gestured to himself, “Should I undress too?”

You licked your lips, “No I want to keep looking at you in that outfit.”

He simply nodded and got back to work, removing your bra, leaving you completely naked before him. His hands tracked over every inch of your skin. His mouth peppering kisses wherever he went, “Christ your noises make me so hard. Please keep going,” his eyes were closed as he continued touching you and listening to your moans and whimpers.

You had asked for this and boy did he deliver. He was driving you absolutely crazy with his touches. Juxtaposing soft kisses with firm grabs to your waist and hips. He was going to bring you to release again just with his hands and mouth, “I love the way your back arches into my touch, like you can’t get enough of me. I love your sharp exhales when I hold you tight. I love the sound of my name coming from those pretty lips.” Just as you almost reached your breaking point and had to ask him to stop because it was too much, he already sensed it and pulled back.

“How did that feel?”

Heavy breaths pushed the words from your mouth, “So good Eddie. I love feeling your hands on my skin. I love feeling your lips when they kiss me,” you laughed in your throat, “Most of all I love your mouth when it’s whispering sweet nothings in my ear.”

He never once stopped touching you but slowed his movements a bit giving you a chance to catch your breath, “I know how much you like it when I praise you princess. Can I have your dripping wet pussy now?” He hovered over you, “I’ve been so good.”

Something in you snapped. More. You wanted to hear him beg for you more, “Tell me much much you want it Eddie.”

He practically collapsed on you, propping himself up on a single elbow he reached over and ran his wide spread fingers through his hair, “Fuck, I want to feel you so badly. I want to make you feel good with my cock. Been wanting you all night, from the moment I stepped in that door and saw you in that dress. Haven’t stopped thinking about how badly I need you.”

You reached up and rubbed his chest, “Me too. You look so handsome in that suit.”

Desperation clawed at his voice as he kept begging unprompted, “Please let me fuck you princess. My cock is aching for you, I need to feel you around me.”

“You sound so good Eddie, I see the appeal now,” you pulled him close, “Go ahead, fuck my pussy. Make me feel good.”

He pushed your legs back and with a few pumps to his cock he pressed inside you with a moan, “Oh shit, goddamn princess you feel so good. Thank you,” he thrusted into your wetness and you let yourself fall back as he took over. Your mind drifted into a state of pure pleasure as you focused on the feeling of his cock pumping in and out. The rhythmic motions of your bodies as they rocked back and forth. Getting lost in the sound of his breath as you both reached release together, “Can I come princess? You're so wet for me, it feels so good I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Come Eddie! Please fill me up,” you both knew that the condom still presented that barrier but the fantasy of it excited you nonetheless. And who knows? One day, far in the future, maybe you’ll be uttering those same words for a very– very different reason.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #soulmate au #soulmate identifying marks #childhood friend eddie munson #high school sweethearts #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut #18+ content

[sunflowerharrington]

stitches: chapter 4

004: magical thinking

STITCHES MASTERLIST

fandom - stranger things (2016-)

rating - mature, for now

pairing(s) - eddie munson x reader, steve harrington x reader, billy hargrove x reader

stitches taglist - @vingtetunmars @dallysnecklace @preciousbabypeter @eddiebillysteve @taecube @quickiesgirl @will-byers-is-my-boyfriend dm or comment to let me know if you would like to be added or taken off!

stranger things taglist - @eddies-bat @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @sympathyforher dm or comment to let me know if you would like to be added or taken off!

word count - 3.4k

warnings and tags for this chapter - threats, trauma, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), billy’s past is mentioned, papa is mentioned, billy being an asshole, the mind flayer, mention of what happened to chrissy in chapter two/three, vecna, implied death, vecna’s curse, telekinesis, my shitty latin.

author’s notes - i tried a hand at latin in this chapter, it’s really fucking terrible, i’m so sorry. translations at the end of the chapter! and sorry for like, disappearing for two weeks, i promise i have a good reason why!!

can also be found on my AO3, @/sunflowerharrington

“Y/N?” Billy called, stopping to catch his own breath for a second before taking off in the opposite direction of which he was running, back in the direction he thought the trailer was. “Y/N? Where are you?!”

“Billy! Billy, I can't see you! I can’t—”

“Y/N, stay put, I’m coming— Shit!” He shrieked, tripping over a tendril on the ground that had wrapped around his ankle, pulling him deep into the shadows as he cried out for help, for mercy, anything. He was desperate.

It reminded you of the times when you ‘misbehaved’ in the hospital; when they would drag you into your own special room, keeping you hidden for days on end. No windows, 107.6 square feet of space in total, enclosing you in the white-painted walls, one crack on the floor from when you tried to free yourself from the shackles before.

And one inmate. You. In your very own prison; your mind, stopping you from performing acts that the human race shouldn’t be capable of, as did the metal that had been released from your neck moments ago. You didn’t expect much of your new life in the underworld, in fact, you thought your corpse would be burning in a pyre right about now, or buried six feet under next to your friends from the ‘hospital.’ But that wasn’t how this world worked.

But one doesn’t simply become an immortal when they die. You were supposed to be in Hell, but maybe you already were; even though nothing could be worse than being sat in the electric chair awaiting your death, silently pleading for Peter or one of your friends to come save you since you were unable to scream; the makeshift gag in your mouth making it almost impossible to make any sounds other than short little whimpers. It was torture like nothing else imaginable, barely even fathomable. And what they did behind those closed doors in the lab… that was a sin like no other. Unforgivable, unforgettable. Pure and utter evil—

“Shit, Y/N! Why the fuck did you not follow me?” A familiar voice called, out of breath and panting from running, it seemed. “You told me that we’ve gotta stick together and you didn’t listen to yourself! You scared the shit out of me! I was all alone when it happened!”

You didn’t want this. You hated when people yelled at you for something out of your control. You had no idea where he had gone, and you wanted to stick with him but your separation was not your fault. Was he throwing the fact that he was in the wrong onto you because he didn’t want to admit that you were right and he was wrong?

Both of your deaths were unlucky in the fact that you both had received eternal life, or so it seemed. And it made you want to grab a pillow and scream into it for that eternity until there was no more air in your lungs, just heaviness and despair.

You couldn’t even die like a normal person. Instead you were thrown into your second chance at life on a lifeline; you just didn’t know it yet. You didn’t know what that lifeline was yet either.

And you still felt that weight of the world you had on your shoulders to become the new version of Hawkins’ residents, just as you did two mornings ago, a week ago, a month ago, a year ago. Almost two decades ago.

“Y/N? Did I do something wrong?”

“Billy… You’re scaring me.”

He walked over to you, running his hand through his curly hair, before pressing his body against yours. Tightly wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your head against his rapidly rising and falling chest, you could hear his heart beating at a rapid pace. “Jesus, I’m so fucking sorry! I thought I’d lost you for good. I was so worried, Four.”

You took in his embrace carefully, burying your face in his neck, your tears staining his skin like acrylic enamel paint to a windowpane, hoping he wouldn’t notice your reddening eyes. Your breath stuttered as you felt Billy’s fingers caressing the nape of your neck, repetitive hushes leaving his plush lips.

As you looked up, you felt his breath ghosting your lips, sending even more goosebumps prickling over your skin. He took his time studying your face in the silence, the only sound being your heartbeats beating in sync with one another.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” He whispered, caressing the side of your face with his thumb.

Blue stared into (e/c), a fusion of bright colors, and four pupils began to dilate more than they already had, both yours and Billy’s eyes almost fully black like the midnight sky on a summer night.

His tanned skin radiated warmth between you, and Billy went to pinch himself, dreaming about you. But this was no dream, and he was really in the Upside Down with the most beautiful person he had ever seen. You wrapped one of your arms tighter around his waist, bringing your other hand to mirror his actions, cupping his strong jawline.

He leant into your touch, smiling down at you, taking a gentle hold of your waist this time. “You mean that?” You asked, a small blush of peach creeping onto your cheeks. Hair prickled on the back of his neck as you stood on your tip-toes, bringing your face even closer to his. He gulped loudly when these next words left your soft, kissable lips;

“Can I kiss you, Billy?” You asked, voice low with want. This new feeling felt… weird. Anticipating what could potentially come next.

Billy couldn’t look at you the way you were; lips parted ever so slightly, pupils fully blown. He couldn’t look at you like that. You were a stranger he met only two days ago, and even though he felt attraction, he couldn’t let himself get lost in your sparkling (e/c) eyes.

Not yet.

His heart was beating so fast he couldn’t get a decent breath in. His head was pounding. He felt your breath on his cheeks. And he felt something stirring in his stomach; a feeling he hated like no other.

Butterflies.

You watched as his eyelids began to flutter, then close, letting the sounds and visuals in his mind carry him to what he could potentially call his euphoria. And then you leaned in, cautiously brushing your lips against his, catching him in a slow, sweet kiss.

His breath stuttered in the process, flinching at the contact you made, your movements so caring and kind it hurt like hell.

“You need to go,” he said, mentally kicking himself into Hell for ruining the moment. “Go. Without me. There’s something I need to take care of.” He took your shoulders in his oddly strong grip, pushing you away from him. “Find a way out and come back to me.”

“Billy, I—” You began, but as you did, he started walking away.

You blinked once, twice, three times, and as you did he vanished into the darkness, black veins running up his legs and arms as he did. You tried to come up with a rational explanation as to why that happened, but every reason you thought of was impossible. The mind flayer vanished into thin air when it threw you onto the trailer, appearing as a shadow in the purple and red sky, surrounded by harmonious screeches from the bats that had circled around you and Billy earlier.

You let out a short sigh before the breath in your chest hitched, leaving you to choke on the toxic air as a voice began to boom through your surrounding area. It was a lot lower and authoritative than Billy’s, if that was even possible, speaking to somebody. Probably Billy.

And you began to repeat three words in your mind over and over:

Just.

Keep.

Breathing.

Billy shuddered as he begrudgingly trudged away against his own will, trying to stop his feet from moving him, trying to hold himself back, but it was no use. When he opened his eyes wider, his heartbeat began to slowly pick up in pace as he averted his strong gaze towards the red and navy blue skies, a giant spider-like creature emerging from the shadows.

As the creature set its gaze on Billy, the latter’s irises glazed over, their color morphing into that of glacial icebergs, almost white with a tinge of cobalt blue. The color of the flames of a bunsen burner, fluttering around like the wings of a butterfly.

From then on, were you to roam around this world alone? Were you meant to be alone forever, trying desperately to get Billy to come back to you?

That’s what it felt like.

As fresh tears pricked your eyes, you felt a body barrelling into you, a strong hand grabbing you by the wrist before you could even comprehend what had happened.

“Y/N, we have to go. Now.”

“What—? Billy, you’re not making any sense! What is going on?” You fumbled through your words, stopping when you felt a strong hand clasp your shoulder, almost breaking it in its almost superhuman grip.

“I’m so glad you followed me, because now we might be able to make it.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, following his movements with your eyes until he turned to directly look at you, grazing his lower lip between his teeth in thought. Or what you thought was thinking, when in reality it was the complete opposite of that.

But you didn’t need to know that. Not just yet. It would take time for him to come around and realize what had happened to him too.

And you didn’t even follow him.

Something felt… wrong.

You began walking alongside him, through the depths of the underworld surrounded by floating clocks and ancient-looking buildings that, in your mind, should have crumbled into miniscule little particles centuries ago. You walked and walked, subconsciously taking a hold of Billy’s hand as you did, your eyes finally falling upon a stairwell leading to… somewhere.

You started climbing the stairs when Billy finally spoke again. “How fast do you think time flies in here?”

You blinked at him. Of all things to say at that moment.

“You want to know what time it is?” You asked slowly, and he nodded. Unbelievable.

“Are you serious right now? Of all things you’d want to know right now, you chose the time?”

Billy’s face changed into a deep frown immediately. “Of course I want to know what fucking time it is. I’m bored as shit and I just wanna go home! So shut the fuck up, yeah?”

“I feel like… Something’s wrong,” you said, ignoring him. “That— That time has stopped here. Did you see those floating clocks earlier?”

“Of course I saw the fucking clocks, Y/N. They’re everywhere! Did your ‘Papa’ erase your stupid memory too? Or were you just this dense to begin with?” He asked, his voice seething as he pushed you backwards off the stairwell with both hands, your back hitting the ground. “Hm, yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“What happened to you?” You asked, slowly getting back to your feet, as they almost slipped out from beneath you on the wet, slimy ground.

He didn’t reply with words, instead choosing to take a few steps away from you up the stairs. You grabbed his wrist, pinning him with an unmistakable glare. “Who hurt you?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Who the hell hurt you?” You demanded to know through your gritted teeth, each word coming out of your mouth crystal clear as day.

“I said it doesn’t fucking matter, alright?” He shouted back, releasing himself from your grip, pushing you away from him again.

You smiled internally. It seemed like the real Billy had returned. Anywho, you bit hard on the inner side of your cheek, almost drawing blood, holding back from snapping at him. But that didn’t work. You won’t let him tell you what to do.

You grabbed his waist with all the strength you had in one arm, pinning him against the door with his wrists in the grip of your other hand. You stared him down, smiling as you saw a hint of a peachy blush creep onto his cheeks, giving his tough-guy act away.

“Listen here, Hargrove. I keep telling you we’re all each other has in here, so you gotta start listening to me and quit acting like a five year old who isn’t getting their Mommy’s attention,” you said, your voice seething with venom. “We have no other option than to ascend these stairs, Billy. Stay in line and don’t cross me like that ever again, or what happened to Chrissy will happen to you in the hands of myself. Got it?”

You let go of Billy’s wrists with a forceful shove and he gulped, concealing it by rolling his eyes, though not fully angry as he kept a hold of your hand, beginning to ascend the stairwell closely behind you.

“We’re all each other has and if we lose our heads now there’s no way we’re ever getting out of here. Keep your head straight. I don’t need you going insane, okay?” This time your voice had softened, like fluffy clouds, like the tears of an angel.

When you finally reached the top, a door stood on its own before you. Billy tried to tug on your arm but you didn’t move, too captivated by the stained glass rose in the centre of the door.

“There’s nothing here, Four, we have to keep moving.”

“You can’t see this door?” You asked, trying the door handle before pushing the door open, and you walked inside, pulling Billy in with you.

You also tried to ignore how much he sounded like Peter when he said your number at the same time. Pushing that to the back of your mind in the only safe place left in your head. Something about the way Billy moved reminded you so much of him.

“See? There was a door here,” you chuckled. “Silly Billy.”

Saying the inside of this room was small would be the understatement of the millennium. It was tiny. With four white painted concrete walls, an equally as uncomfortable looking floor and a metal framed bed with the thinnest mattress known to man. Two pairs of handcuffs that looked the same as those in that trailer hung from the bedpost’s metal backboard.

There was no bathroom. Just a sink next to the bed and a small hole in the floor.

Billy’s disgusted gaze averted towards you, pale faced like you’d just seen a ghost. He bumped your shoulder with his, causing you to gasp and turn to him and he could practically hear the whiplash.

“What’s wrong, sweets?” He asked, the sudden softness in his voice confusing you. One moment he was the most angry, mean person you had ever met, other than Two and Three, the next moment he was the most caring.

“This… looks like my room. My old room, from the lab,” you revealed quietly, anxiously knotting your fingers together, not looking up at him, avoiding all eye and body contact.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” He suddenly felt grateful for everything he ever had in his life when he inhabited the overworld, and regretted being violent towards you. This looked like a worse hell than you were both in right now. His mouth had dropped open in sudden shock.

He rested his hand on your shoulder, this time his grip soft, not trying to break your collarbone this time. Billy gave your arm another little squeeze of reassurance, though he was just as, if not more terrified than you.

“Where are you from, Billy?” You asked out of the blue, causing him to do a double take. How were you so calm?

“California,” he sighed, running his fingertips along one of the walls. “I miss the beach.”

“Cal…ifor…nia? California,” you sounded out. “There is a beach there? What is at the beach?”

“The beach reminds me of someone who I used to be close with. There’s seagulls and all the ice cream you could ever want nearby. Much better than that Scoops Ahoy shit at the mall.” He pressed his full body weight against you as he engulfed you in an embrace, kissing the top of your forehead in another act of reassurance.

“Billy, what are all these words? What do they mean?”

You didn’t know these words:

Seagulls.

Ice cream.

Scoops Ahoy.

Mall.

Billy wondered how you didn’t know these words; one minute he thought you were speaking like Shakespeare, the next a toddler who was just starting to learn how to speak. He didn’t know how this was possible.

“I’ll tell you later. Now, come on, doll. Let’s go somewhere safer than here,” he whispered softly in your ear, his breath leaving goosebumps on your skin in its wake, placing his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. “It’s not good to stay here any longer.”

“You’re right, California. Let’s go.” You watched as Billy smiled at the nickname, lacing his fingers in with yours, his others curling around the door handle.

The door opened with ease, and Billy took a deep breath as he looked into the darkness before you both. And even after all things had been considered, he felt happy, for once in his fucked up life he felt that euphoria circling his being, the same feeling that would be felt when doves are released at weddings, because that is one of the most beautiful things on Planet Earth. And he felt that same feeling when he looked at you.

“After you, Y/N,” he said as he looked at you with those doe eyes you grew to appreciate more and more each day that passed, taking your hand in his.

Until one of you slipped, breaking that bond forever.

*

“Billy?” You called out. “I lost you again? Goddamn it!” You tried looking around for those beautiful doe eyes, to no avail.

Panic set in immediately, and you couldn’t help but let a little laugh of desperation out.

And you couldn’t stop laughing, because if you did you would start crying. And you weren’t going to cry. You weren’t going to spend your days here just the way you had spent your life in the overworld, choking on your own tears in your room that felt more like a jail cell. The only difference was that now you were choking on the spores in the air and the fingers that had started to wrap tightly around your neck, metaphorically, squeezing the last of your life out of you.

You opened your eyes, and then it hit you, like a tonne of bricks being swung from a crane as you were by the Mind Flayer only a few days ago. You were awake at your own funeral.

Peering down into the coffin shaped box in front of you, horror washed over you like a seven foot tall wave as you saw your own body laying in the casket, faceless entities surrounding it. A low chant emitted from the backs of their throats in a language that wasn’t English.

“Ave umbra monstrum**,” they repeatedly chanted in unison in Latin. “Debemus simul venire ad finem vitae Four.**”

You circled around the casket to look into your own eyes, which were being forcefully kept open by hooks, the strings of the hooks had been sewn into the skin beneath the hair of your eyebrows. As you looked down you felt the very same sensation in your eyelids and brows, and you stumbled backwards, your chest heaving. This couldn’t be the end… Could it?

After all you had done, all you had worked for, all you had planned for the future. It didn’t feel like your time was up. No, this was just the beginning for you.

You felt your body getting lighter as your feet left the ground, slowly being turned around to face something before you. A half-human-looking creature with tendrils all over its body, staring at you with a creepy glare.

“It’s time, Four. Time to end your never ending suffering. Once. And. For. All.”

LATIN TRANSLATIONS

- Ave Umbra Monstrum: Hail the Shadow Monster

- Debemus simul venire ad finem vitae Four: We must end the life of Four

sorry if it’s shit, i don’t speak latin but i wanted to add it anyway to challenge myself

#stranger things #billy hargrove #stranger things angst #vecna #vecna’s curse #001 #henry creel #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things spoilers #stranger things 4 rewrite #st rewrite #stranger things rewrite #stitches #back on my clown shit #the heartfelt scene sparked bc i was listening to french love songs iwl lol #st fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy #hargrove #fanfic #angst #kisses

[lesservillain]

inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

When your 7th grade class is selected to participate in a prison pen pal program, you're unexpectedly thrust into the mix when the number of inmates is more than students in your class. After a bit of persuading, you take on a pen pal yourself. Little did you know that accepting that offer would change your life...for the better.

series cw: FLUFF, ANGST, SMUT. eddie and reader are implied to be around 28/29, implied drinking problem (reader), descriptions of domestic abuse towards reader, reader is divorced, reader was in an age gap relationship, talks of miscarriages and infertility, protected and unprotected sex, blood is mentioned at times. each year has it's own content warnings.

1994

1995

1996

1997 (coming soon...)

One Shots and Blurbs

coming soon...

#eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson x reader #inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson st

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐳: 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝟔𝟔

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: In the desolate confines of death row, the sinister presence of Eddie Munson casts a shadow over the world, a malevolent enigma shrouded in darkness and dread. Throughout the annals of time, he has remained an elusive specter, concealing the ghastly depths of his depravity beneath layers of impenetrable silence, his nefarious past a labyrinth of unspeakable horrors that have captivated the collective consciousness of humanity.

As the clamor of the world clamors for answers, a legion of investigators and agents converge upon the fortress-like walls of Alcatraz, their futile attempts to extract the truth from the reticent killer echoing like whispers in the abyss. How could one individual orchestrate such a chilling vanishing act, erasing themselves from the annals of history with chilling precision?

With each passing moment, the insidious tendrils of Eddie's enigma tighten their grip, ensnaring the unwitting in a web of intrigue and terror. As the world police organization exhausts every avenue in their pursuit of justice, their efforts are met with naught but silence and defiance from their elusive quarry.

Yet, amidst the chaos and cruelty that enshrouds his existence, Eddie's cryptic revelation sends shockwaves rippling through the corridors of power. For he, the harbinger of death and despair, yearns to immortalize his ghastly tale, to etch his legacy upon the annals of human history with blood-soaked ink.

In a world where shadows dance with sinister intent and the line between truth and fiction blurs into oblivion, Eddie Munson navigates a treacherous labyrinth of deceit and betrayal. As the fabric of reality unravels before his eyes, he learns the chilling truth that in a world gripped by darkness, trust is but a fragile illusion, and history itself is a tapestry woven with the threads of old and dark secrets, concealed from the prying eyes of the world.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, gore, mentions of blood; violence, descriptions of torture and death, Eddie is a serial killer, cannibalism, cruelty, mistery, Eddie is on the death row. More will be added with each chapter.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: So, those who have followed me for a while have probably already read the first version of this fanfic, and have probably noticed how my way of writing has changed to this day. After a lot of study of creative writing, I decided to rewrite this story and post it again for you, I hope you enjoy following the trajectory of our favorite criminal.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐,𝟒𝐤

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

If you like my works, feel free to support me with a small 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢!!

𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: In the shadowy annals of crime, a figure emerges, casting a chilling pall over the world. Eddie Munson, infamous for his macabre deeds as a serial killer, now stirs fear with an unprecedented proposal. Like a sinister weaver, Eddie prepares to embroider a fabric saturated with long-held vengeance. Whispers of his scheme cloak his intentions in darkness, leaving observers to ponder the depths of his depravity.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐭: A fleeting glimpse into your life in Paris reveals a tapestry woven with the threads of contentment. Amidst the quaint charm of your bustling bakery, you found solace in the artistry of your craft and the warmth of the friendships you cultivated. Yet, like an unyielding specter, the echoes of your past refuse to fade into obscurity.

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬: At midnight's stroke, a phantom returns, unraveling a web of secrets. With each revelation, old scars bleed anew, casting shadows on the present.

Pretty edit by @birdysaturne.

#darknesseddiemfics #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddiemunson #dark!eddie munson #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie x reader #inmate!eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #older!eddie munson #bestfriend!eddie munson

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐳: 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝟔𝟔

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: At midnight's stroke, a phantom returns, unraveling a web of secrets. With each revelation, old scars bleed anew, casting shadows on the present.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Blood, violence, first heartbroken, mentions of death, Eddie is a little mean with Jason, jealousy.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7,6k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Reader has "Sunny" and "Raven" as nicknames

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time I laid eyes on Sunny, we were just wide-eyed kindergartners, navigating the chaotic playground like tiny sailors in a storm. And there she was, standing apart from the colorful swirl of children, in a strange white outfit that seemed completely out of place amidst the sea of vibrant attire. It almost resembled a prison jumpsuit, stark and out of sync with the innocence of childhood, and there, right on her chest, was a bold number: 65.

Sunny was a small, delicate creature, with an aura of timidity that seemed to envelop her like a protective cloak. She moved through the playground like a wisp of wind, darting between bushes and seeking solace behind the sturdy trunk of the grand tree that housed a wooden sanctuary in its branches. Her steps were quick, as if she feared drawing attention to herself, and her head remained bowed, as though she carried the weight of the world upon her tiny shoulders.

I often found her nestled amidst the foliage, her doe-like eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and longing. It was as if she sought refuge in the shadows, fearing the harshness of the world beyond. Yet, despite her attempts to blend into the background, her presence was a beacon to my curious gaze.

In the midst of our playful chaos, Sunny stood as a solitary figure, an enigma wrapped in innocence. And though she may have seemed fragile and elusive, there was a quiet strength that emanated from her, a resilience that belied her tender years. From that moment on, I felt drawn to unravel the mystery of the girl in the white jumpsuit, to uncover the secrets that lay hidden beneath her shy demeanor.

I found myself captivated by Sunny's presence every time we ventured outside to play, even though she belonged to a different class. There was an air of curiosity about her that drew me in, like a moth to a flame. From a distance, I observed her with a mixture of awe and fascination, admiring the delicate way she navigated the playground with her small, tentative steps.

One thing that always intrigued me was the way she interacted with the toys scattered across the playground. Her tiny hands would reach out tentatively, hesitating before making contact with the unfamiliar objects. It was as if she was encountering them for the first time, unsure of what to make of these colorful, mysterious treasures.

I watched with rapt attention as her fingers explored each toy, her expression a mixture of wonder and puzzlement. There was a certain innocence in the way she approached the world, as if every encounter was a new adventure waiting to be discovered.

Despite the distance between us, I felt a kinship with Sunny, as if we were kindred spirits navigating the vast expanse of childhood together. And though I admired her from afar, there was a part of me that longed to bridge the gap between us, to reach out and share in the enchantment of her world.

As I watched Sunny, entranced by her innocent discoveries, I found myself drawn deeper into her world. Nothing else compared to the sheer joy I felt when witnessing her eyes widen in amazement, her little mouth forming a perfect "O" of wonder as she unraveled the mysteries of the playground. It was as if each new revelation was a symphony playing out before my eyes, and I was privileged to be an audience of one.

Football, basketball, even video games—all faded into insignificance compared to the simple pleasure of observing Sunny's exploration of the world around us. The rush of euphoria that swept through me whenever I caught sight of her, the strange fluttering sensation in the pit of my stomach—it was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

And then there was her hair, a cascade of soft curls tied up in playful pigtails, adorned with vibrant red ribbons that danced in the breeze. They seemed to beckon me closer, tempting me to reach out and touch the silky strands, despite knowing that such an act might startle her into flight.

Yet, even as I yearned to bridge the gap between us, I hesitated, afraid to shatter the fragile bubble of her innocence. So instead, I contented myself with watching from afar, cherishing every moment spent in her presence, and etching the memory of her beautiful hair and enchanting discoveries into the deepest recesses of my heart.

Sunny's laughter—it was a melody that echoed in the chambers of my soul, a symphony of joy that resonated within me like nothing else. Each peal of laughter was like a gift, wrapping me in warmth and sweetness, filling me with a sense of bliss that I couldn't quite put into words. I could have listened to her laughter for eternity and still hunger for more, so intoxicating was its effect on me.

The first time I heard her laugh, it was as if the world around me faded into oblivion, leaving only her and the sound of her pure, unadulterated joy. My heart raced in my chest, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of my emotions, while my cheeks ached from the force of my smile. I watched her, spellbound, as her entire being seemed to radiate happiness, her shoulders shaking with mirth, her lips curved into a smile that lit up the entire playground. In that moment, time stood still, and it was just her and me, cocooned in our own little world of laughter and smiles.

It was then that I realized the depth of my feelings for Sunny—a love that blossomed silently within me, unfurling like the petals of a delicate flower. Though we had never exchanged a single word, she occupied every corner of my thoughts, her presence a constant source of fascination and longing. It was a love both pure and true, one that would accompany me through the passage of time, shaping the course of my life in ways I could never have imagined.

Little did I know then that this love, so innocent and all-encompassing, would eventually lead me down a path fraught with sorrow and madness. But in that moment, as I stood enraptured by the sound of Sunny's laughter, all I knew was the overwhelming joy of loving her, and the bittersweet ache of longing for something beyond my reach.

The decision to finally approach Sunny filled me with a mix of excitement and apprehension. I had seen how others' attempts to befriend her often ended in disappointment, with Sunny retreating further into her shell. But something inside me urged me to try, to break through the barrier that separated us and forge a connection with the girl who occupied my thoughts day and night.

So, on that fateful Friday morning of August 15, 2003, I made a conscious effort to prepare myself for the encounter. I rose from my bed an hour earlier than usual, determined to present myself in the best possible light. I had even enlisted the help of my mother, who carefully selected my finest attire for the occasion.

As I stood before my wardrobe, I deliberated over my choice of clothing, wanting to make the perfect impression on Sunny. In the end, I settled on my favorite t-shirt—a black masterpiece adorned with a cheerful blue dinosaur, its toothy grin stretching from ear to ear. Paired with cream-colored cargo shorts and my trusty black all-star sneakers, I felt ready to face the day ahead.

My parents observed me with bemused expressions as I paced back and forth, my excitement palpable in the air. Though they didn't fully understand the significance of my actions, their silent support buoyed my spirits, giving me the courage I needed to take that crucial step towards Sunny.

"What's going on with our little adventurer?" My father lowered the newspaper, his eyes filled with curiosity as he sipped from his mug of steaming coffee.

My mother glanced up from her morning tasks, her brow furrowed in concern. "I'm not sure, dear. He asked me to lay out his best clothes this morning, but he didn't give me any further explanation. Perhaps it's school picture day? Although, I feel like we would have received a notice about that."

My father nodded thoughtfully, setting aside his coffee mug as he folded the newspaper neatly. "You may be right, but something tells me it's more than just picture day. Our boy has been acting rather... determined lately."

With a reassuring pat on my mother's shoulder, he rose from his chair and made his way towards my room. His steps were measured, his mind undoubtedly racing with questions and speculations about my sudden burst of initiative.

As I sat on the bench in front of the bathroom mirror, my father entered, his presence filling the room with warmth and reassurance. He watched me with a bemused expression as I carefully applied a dab of his aftershave to my cheeks, a gesture meant to make me feel grown-up and confident.

"Isn't that aftershave a bit too mature for you?" he quipped, leaning casually against the door frame.

I shook my head emphatically. "No, Dad. I need to be perfect today. Nothing can go wrong."

He chuckled at my earnestness. "And what's so important today? Are you meeting the president or something?"

I grinned at his joke, but my mind was already consumed with thoughts of Sunny. "No, Dad. It's someone much more important than the president."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, really? And who might that be?"

I beamed at him, unable to contain my excitement. "Sunny, Dad!"

Understanding dawned in his eyes as he remembered my infatuation with the mysterious girl from school. "Ah, of course. How could I forget?"

With renewed determination, I finished combing my hair and bounded off the bench, eager to face the day ahead. As I hurried past my father, he smiled at my enthusiasm, a silent source of encouragement in my quest to finally speak to Sunny.

In the kitchen, my mother had transitioned from her morning coffee to washing dishes, her melodic humming filling the room. I stopped beside her, striking my best pose in an attempt to impress.

"Wow, Jace! You look absolutely handsome," she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with maternal pride.

I couldn't help but voice my concerns about my choice of attire. "Do you think Sunny will like my t-shirt? Isn't it too scary for her?"

Her gentle touch and reassuring words melted away my worries. "I think she'll love it, sweetheart."

With a quick glance at the clock, I realized that time was slipping away. Hastily grabbing my backpack, I dashed upstairs, calling out to my father that we were running late. Racing back downstairs, I passed him at the door, his laughter following me out into the bright morning sunlight. Today was the day—nothing could dampen my spirits as I embarked on my mission to finally speak to Sunny.

As we drove to school in my father's BMW, the atmosphere in the car was serene, save for the soft background music playing on the radio. My father hummed along to the familiar tune, the lyrics weaving a subtle irony into the fabric of the day.

"Get up, come on, why're you scared? You'll never change what's been and gone…" The words of the song seemed to echo in the confines of the car, their meaning lingering in the air like a premonition of things to come.

Little did I know that this day would mark not only my first attempt at reaching out to Sunny but also the unveiling of two profound truths: the sting of heartbreak and an unexpected aversion to blue dinosaurs.

As we pulled up to the school gates, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the momentous encounter that awaited me. Despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach, I couldn't help but feel a surge of determination coursing through my veins.

Disappointment weighed heavily on my shoulders as I entered the familiar hallway, scanning the faces of the children bustling around me, but finding no sign of Sunny. With a heavy heart, I bid farewell to my father, masking my disappointment with a forced smile, just as I did every morning.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to my classroom and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar sight of the light blue walls adorned with colorful decorations. Alphabet letters danced across the walls, while oversized pencils and whimsical drawings added a touch of whimsy to the room.

I quickly made my way to my usual seat near the door, positioning myself strategically to have the best view of the entrance. My heart raced with anticipation, each passing moment stretching into eternity as I waited anxiously for Sunny's arrival.

"Psi, Jason!" The soft voice, like a gentle breeze, drew my attention from the swirl of thoughts in my mind. I turned, my eyes widening slightly, curiosity piqued by the unexpected interruption.

It was Chrissy, her blonde locks cascading in gentle waves around her delicate features, her blue eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity. From the very first day of school, she had been a beacon of kindness and friendship in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

"Yes? You called me?" My voice carried a note of curiosity as I met her gaze, my eyebrows raised in anticipation of her words.

Chrissy's cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink as she nervously twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her gaze momentarily dropping to the floor. "I just... I just wanted to say that I really liked your shirt. I love dinosaurs." Her words tumbled out in a soft rush, tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

A grin spread across my face at her compliment, excitement bubbling within me like a fizzy soda. "You think? It's my favorite outfit! My mom gave it to me for my fifth birthday. It’s a limited edition from the triceratops family collection!" I exclaimed eagerly, thrilled to discover a shared passion for dinosaurs with Chrissy.

"Yes! I have the same shirt but in the pink version. It’s my favorite too!" Chrissy's voice rose in enthusiasm, the two of us now engrossed in animated conversation, our words echoing through the hallway for all to hear.

But amidst our laughter and chatter, a familiar sound pierced through the air like a beacon in the night—an unmistakable laugh that sent shivers down my spine.

I paused mid-sentence, my heart skipping a beat as I recognized that laugh, a melody etched into the deepest recesses of my memory. That laugh...

As I turned towards the door, my heart sank like a stone plummeting into the depths of the ocean. There she was—Sunny, my elusive muse, entering her classroom. But this time, she wasn't alone. My heart clenched painfully as I watched her hand entwined with that of a stranger—a boy I had never seen before.

A surge of emotions washed over me, the bitterness of disappointment mingling with the sting of jealousy. My eyebrows furrowed involuntarily, my mouth twisting into a sad grimace as I struggled to make sense of the scene unfolding before me.

The boy by Sunny's side was a stark contrast to her delicate frame. Taller, slender, with a shaven head reminiscent of army soldiers, he exuded an aura of mystery that unsettled me. His pale skin seemed to glow against the backdrop of his all-black attire, a stark contrast to Sunny's innocence and vibrancy.

Who was he? Why was he here, holding Sunny's hand as if he had every right to be by her side? These questions gnawed at the edges of my mind, fueling the flames of resentment that threatened to consume me.

In that moment, I realized with a pang of despair that my hopes of approaching Sunny had been dashed. The presence of this unknown boy cast a shadow over my aspirations, leaving me feeling powerless and insignificant in his wake.

I didn't know who he was, and frankly, I didn't care. All I knew was that I didn't like him—not one bit.

As the mysterious boy turned to leave, my gaze lingered on him, fixating on the Jurassic Park logo emblazoned boldly across his shirt. The sight of the iconic dinosaur figure rendered with such realism sent a shiver down my spine, but it seemed to captivate Sunny rather than repel her. I watched in fascination as she poked the boy and engaged him in conversation about his shirt, her curiosity shining through despite the presence of the intimidating dinosaur imagery.

Lost in contemplation, I followed the boy's departure with a mixture of confusion and intrigue, my mind swirling with unanswered questions. Who was he? What was his connection to Sunny? And why did his presence evoke such conflicting emotions within me?

But as he vanished from sight, my attention was abruptly drawn back to the doorway where Sunny stood, her gaze fixed on me with a startling intensity. Caught off guard by her unwavering stare, I felt a jolt of nervousness shoot through me, my pulse quickening in response.

Summoning all the courage I could muster, I took a deep breath and offered her my best smile, hoping to convey the warmth and sincerity of my feelings. To my surprise and delight, Sunny returned the gesture, her own smile lighting up her face in a way I had never seen before.

In that fleeting moment, the world around us faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of us locked in a silent exchange of understanding and connection. It was the first time she had smiled at me, and in that precious instant, all thoughts of the mysterious boy vanished from my mind, replaced by the overwhelming joy of her acceptance.

Unbeknownst to me, Chrissy's expression had shifted, her features contorted into a mask of sadness as she observed the exchange between Sunny and me. But in the blissful oblivion of that moment, I remained oblivious to her silent turmoil, my focus consumed entirely by the radiant presence of the girl who had captured my heart.

With my smile firmly plastered on my face, I navigated through the remaining classes, the anticipation of snack time and playground adventures propelling me forward with a sense of eager anticipation. Time seemed to both crawl and fly simultaneously, each passing moment bringing me closer to the opportunity I had been waiting for.

As the bell rang signaling snack time, my heart raced with nervous excitement. This was it—the moment I had been preparing for, the chance to finally speak to Sunny without the distractions of the classroom.

With trembling hands, I discreetly wiped away the sweat that had gathered on my palms, my nerves betraying the calm facade I tried to maintain. I made a conscious effort to eat quickly, barely chewing my food in my eagerness to make the most of our time at the playground.

As I rose from my seat and deposited my tray in the metal dispenser, my mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions. I was so focused on my goal that I barely registered the familiar surroundings of the cafeteria, my senses honed in on the singular objective of reaching Sunny.

With determined strides, I made my way towards the playground, my heart pounding in my chest as I scanned the area for her familiar figure. And then, like a beacon in the distance, I spotted her—a solitary figure crouched in the sandbox, lost in her own world of play.

My breath caught in my throat as I approached, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on my shoulders. This was it—the moment of truth. With each step closer to Sunny, my resolve strengthened, fueled by the unshakeable belief that this encounter would mark the beginning of something extraordinary.

As I approached Sunny with hesitant steps, my heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the magnitude of the moment. This was my chance to finally bridge the gap between us, to break through the barriers that had kept us apart for so long.

"Hey…" I began, my voice trembling with nervousness. "Hey!"

But my attempt at initiating conversation seemed to startle her, her eyes widening in fear as she recoiled, darting away from me like a frightened deer. Panic surged through me as I watched her retreat, my heart sinking with each step she took.

"No, no, it's okay!" I called after her, desperation lacing my words as I reached out in a futile attempt to reassure her. "I just want to be your friend!"

But my words fell on deaf ears as Sunny continued to move away, her pace quickening with each passing moment. Without thinking, I found myself following after her, driven by a sense of determination to make her understand.

"Wait!" I cried out, my voice carrying with it a note of urgency that only seemed to further alarm her. "I just want to talk to you! Stop running from me!"

But my efforts were in vain, for as I closed in on her, a sudden impact rocked me to my core, sending me crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. Pain radiated through my chest as my head collided with something hard, the world spinning in a dizzying blur as I struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Slowly, the fog of confusion lifted, and I realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that someone—or something—had knocked me to the ground. As I blinked away the disorientation, I found myself face to face with the unexpected assailant, their presence looming over me like a shadow in the dim light of the playground.

"Teddy!" Sunny's voice reached me, trembling with concern, but it sounded distant, as if coming from another world. I struggled to focus through the haze of pain that enveloped me.

"Hey Raven, did he hurt you?" Another voice, unfamiliar yet boyish, pierced the fog, adding to the disorienting cacophony that surrounded me.

Gingerly, I lowered myself to the ground, cradling the back of my head where the pain throbbed relentlessly. As my hand came away wet with blood, panic surged within me, mingling with the ache of betrayal that gnawed at my heart.

With trembling hands, I wiped away the dirt, sand, and mud that clung to my clothes, my gaze flickering anxiously towards Sunny. But my heart sank as I witnessed her seeking solace in the arms of the mysterious boy, his pale arms wrapped protectively around her as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

A wave of despair washed over me as I realized the depth of my mistake. I had frightened Sunny so much that this boy felt compelled to intervene, his presence a stark reminder of my failure to connect with her. What had I done to deserve such rejection?

Tears welled in my eyes as I turned away, the weight of disappointment heavy upon my shoulders. With a heavy heart, I made to retreat back inside, to nurse my wounds in solitude and lick my wounds in private.

But before I could take a single step, his voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and angry. It was a voice that brooked no argument, demanding my attention and holding me in place with its forceful command.

"Hey you!" His voice boomed, cutting through the air like a thunderclap. My heart pounded in my chest, fear coursing through my veins like a river in flood. The boy, towering over me with a presence that seemed to dwarf the playground itself, strode purposefully towards me, his expression twisted with anger.

My throat tightened as he stood before me, his gaze piercing through me like a dagger. I felt small and insignificant in his presence, a mere speck compared to his imposing stature.

“What do you think you’re doing? Do you think it’s funny to scare others like that?” His words were sharp, his tone laced with venom as he glared at me with undisguised hostility.

"I was just—" I began, but my words faltered as his hand shot out, wrapping around my neck with a vice-like grip. Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat as I struggled against his grasp.

“Listen here you little shit,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. "If I see you near Raven again, I swear I will beat you until you turn inside out." With a forceful shove, he released me, sending me stumbling backwards, my head swimming with a whirlwind of emotions.

As he turned to walk away, a final taunt laced with cruelty cut through the air like a knife. "And one more thing…" he sneered, his words dripping with disdain. "She thought your shirt was ridiculous. See if you grow up a little and stop being such a big baby."

With that, he disappeared into the distance, leaving me standing alone in the playground, tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked. In that moment of solitude, I allowed myself to surrender to the overwhelming tide of sadness and despair that threatened to consume me.

I cried for scaring Sunny, for the humiliation of being confronted by the boy, and for the crushing realization that I could never be the person she needed. But most of all, I cried for the painful truth that I would never be able to erase the image of her in his arms, finding solace and protection in the embrace of another.

"Jason!" The voice pierced through the fog of my despair, but I brushed it aside, too lost in my own misery to respond. Yet, the hands that gently lifted my tear-stained face demanded my attention, and when I looked up, I found Chrissy's concerned gaze fixed upon me.

"My God, what happened to you?" Her voice was filled with worry, her blue eyes reflecting the concern that tugged at my heartstrings.

"I fell, that's all," I murmured quietly, my voice barely audible above the tumult of emotions swirling within me.

Without hesitation, Chrissy took charge, her small hands guiding me with gentle determination towards the infirmary. With each step, her presence offered a glimmer of solace amidst the chaos of my thoughts.

As we entered the infirmary, Chrissy explained the situation to the old lady who worked there, her voice steady and reassuring. The nurse's diagnosis was grim, her words a sobering reminder of the extent of my injuries.

"You hurt yourself badly, darling," she murmured as she tended to my wound, her touch gentle yet firm. "We'll have to call your parents to come pick you up."

Alone once more, Chrissy's presence was a beacon of comfort in the midst of my turmoil. But when her fingers brushed against the tender spot above the shirt where I had received the impact, a surge of anger flared within me, fueled by the pain of rejection and humiliation.

"It's just a stupid shirt!" I snapped, my words laced with bitterness and frustration. "Why don't you grow up and stop being a big baby?"

The hurt in Chrissy's eyes mirrored the pain in my own heart as tears welled up, threatening to spill over. In that moment of recklessness, I lashed out, heedless of the damage my words inflicted upon her fragile spirit.

With a heavy heart, I turned away and stormed out of the infirmary, leaving Chrissy alone with her tears and my cruel words echoing in the silence. It was a moment of regret and remorse, a harsh reminder of the consequences of my own shortcomings.

As my father's car pulled up, I felt a mix of relief and resignation wash over me. Climbing into the passenger seat, I settled in with a heavy heart, the weight of the day's events pressing down upon me like a suffocating blanket.

As we drove home, my father attempted to breach the silence with words of comfort and reassurance, but I shut him down before he could even begin.

"Son—"

"No!" I interjected, my voice sharp with emotion. "I don't want to talk about it, Dad. Just take me home... Please."

With that, I retreated into myself, curling up in the car seat and staring out of the window with vacant eyes. The passing houses and buildings blurred into a monotonous stream of scenery, each one a reminder of the world I longed to escape.

In the background, the radio played softly, tuned to my father's favorite station. A familiar song drifted through the speakers, its melancholic melody weaving through the air like a bittersweet lament.

"Take what you need, and be on your way," the lyrics crooned, their haunting refrain echoing the ache in my heart. "And stop crying your heart out…"

The words resonated within me, their poignant message a poignant reminder that sometimes, in the face of adversity, all we can do is pick ourselves up and move forward. But in that moment, as tears threatened to spill from my eyes once more, it felt like an impossible task.

As the words cut through the air, your world seemed to halt. "Hello, Sunny. Did you miss me?" The voice, once familiar yet now a haunting echo from the past, pierced through your every defense, leaving you frozen in place.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a wave of unease washed over you, threatening to pull you under. It couldn't be him, could it? But as you turned to face the source of the voice, there he stood, Jason, resolute and unchanged despite the passage of time.

His presence was like a specter from a bygone era, stirring up memories you had long tried to suppress. His blonde hair impeccably styled, his sharp suit a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. And those piercing blue eyes, once a source of comfort, now sent shivers down your spine.

Clouded by a flood of emotions, you struggled to find your voice. "What... what are you doing here?" Your words wavered, barely audible over the rushing of blood in your ears. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as the weight of the past bore down upon you once more, a heavy burden you had hoped to escape.

Jason's words hung heavy in the air, each syllable laden with a weight you couldn't bear. "You are more beautiful than the day I thought I lost you…" His gaze bore into you, filled with a mixture of sadness and longing that mirrored the turmoil within your own soul.

Your throat tightened at his words, a flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you. The pain of your past, the secrets you carried like burdens in your heart, all came rushing back with a force that left you reeling.

Hawkins. The mere mention of the town sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of all that you had lost and all that you had left behind. You had fled Hawkins for a reason, a reason buried deep within the recesses of your mind, locked away like a forbidden treasure.

But even as you tried to push the memories away, they clawed at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to break free and consume you whole. The darkness of your secret weighed heavy on your soul, a constant reminder of the pain and suffering you had endured.

And yet, despite it all, Jason stood before you, unaware of the true reason for your departure. His words were a painful reminder of all that you had lost, and all that you had left behind. But even as his gaze searched yours for answers, you knew that some secrets were better left buried in the depths of the abyss, forever hidden from prying eyes.

"And to think that I stood against an entire city for you, so that in the end you did what? Stab me in the back and disappear into the world, leaving me in that hell of a city wondering if I would ever find you or… Or your remains." His words hit you like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs and leaving you reeling.

The accusation in his voice was like a dagger to your heart, each word dripping with resentment and betrayal. You could feel the weight of his anger bearing down on you, suffocating you with its intensity.

Memories flooded back with a vengeance, each one more painful than the last. The choices you had made, the lies you had told, all of it coming back to haunt you in this moment of reckoning.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to find the words to respond, to explain the inexplicable. But what could you say? How could you justify your actions when even you couldn't make sense of them?

His words echoed in your mind, a relentless refrain that tore at your very soul. You had hurt him, betrayed him, and now you were faced with the consequences of your actions.

As his voice trailed off, the silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the echoes of your own regrets.

"Why are you here?" Your words cut through the tension like a knife, each syllable dripping with the weight of your pain and disillusionment. You made no effort to hide the raw emotion that simmered beneath the surface, letting it spill forth unchecked.

Jason's gaze hardened at the coldness in your tone, his expression a mask of resentment and hurt. The question seemed to strike a nerve, dredging up memories and emotions that neither of you were prepared to confront.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, thick with the weight of unspoken words and forgotten moments. The air crackled with tension, each heartbeat echoing the ache of betrayal and abandonment that lingered between you.

In that fleeting moment, you were both prisoners of your own pain, trapped in a web of unresolved feelings and unspoken truths. One heart stabbed by betrayal, the other burdened by the weight of secrets and unvoiced emotions.

As you locked eyes with Jason, the silence stretched on, a testament to the gulf that had formed between you. And in that silent exchange, you both knew that some wounds ran too deep to ever truly heal.

"Why are you here, Jason?" Your voice trembled with a mixture of disbelief and desperation, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

Jason's gaze faltered, his eyes dropping to his shoes as if unable to meet your accusing stare. Despite the facade of indifference he tried to maintain, the pain etched into the lines of his face betrayed the turmoil within.

"Don't you know? He asked for you." His voice was tinged with bitterness, a hint of disgust lacing his words.

The weight of his revelation crashed over you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf you in its icy embrace. Your knees buckled beneath you, sending you crashing to the ground, but Carver's strong arms caught you before you could fully succumb to the cold, unforgiving floor.

As he held you close, murmuring words of comfort that fell on deaf ears, you felt as if the world around you had faded into nothingness, leaving only the echoes of Jason's words ringing in your ears.

"No... He-he no... dead, I saw... I saw him..." Your voice was barely a whisper, choked with tears and the weight of memories too painful to bear.

In that moment, the horrors of the past came crashing back with a vengeance, the flames of the hospital fire licking at the edges of your consciousness. You could still feel the heat against your skin, smell the acrid smoke as it filled your lungs, and hear the screams of those trapped within.

But amidst the chaos and despair, there was one face burned into your memory, one name etched into your soul. And as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks, you realized that some wounds never truly heal, and some losses are too great to ever be forgotten.

As you lay cradled in Jason's arms, the memories of that fateful day flooded back with a vengeance, each detail etched into your mind with painful clarity. The chaos of the hospital engulfed in flames, the scent of smoke choking the air, the anguished cries of those trapped within.

But amidst the devastation, there was one image that burned brighter than all the rest. The sight of him, lying motionless amidst the wreckage, his life snuffed out in an instant, his presence now just a ghost haunting your memories. The fire took away the sweetest human you knew.

Jason's embrace offered a fleeting sense of solace amidst the storm of emotions raging within you. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if to shield you from the pain that threatened to consume you whole.

Yet, even as you sought refuge in his embrace, you knew that things could never be the same again. The bond that once held you together had been shattered by the cruel hand of fate, leaving only the bitter taste of loss in its wake.

As Jason looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and regret, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow deep within your heart. For in that moment, you both knew that the love you once shared could never be reclaimed, lost forever to the ashes of the past.

"He was never dead…" Jason's words hung heavy in the air, a revelation that sent shockwaves through your already shattered world. The disbelief in your eyes mirrored the tumultuous storm raging within your heart.

As he continued, explaining the unthinkable truth, you felt a wave of anger and betrayal wash over you. How could they have kept such a secret from you? How could they have allowed him to escape justice, to evade the consequences of his actions?

"How? How did they do this without telling anyone?" Your voice trembled with fury, your fists clenched at your sides as you struggled to contain the rising tide of emotion threatening to consume you.

"It was supposed to be a secret operation, we didn't want to—" Jason's words faltered as you abruptly rose from his lap, unable to bear the weight of his revelation any longer. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, and the knowledge that he had been complicit in keeping it from you only fueled the fire burning within.

In that moment, the bond that had once held you together seemed to splinter and fracture irreparably, leaving only a gaping chasm of betrayal in its wake. As you turned away from him, your heart heavy with the weight of his words, you knew that things could never be the same again.

"We? What do you mean 'we'? Don't tell me that you are now one of them." Your words were laced with accusation and disbelief, each syllable a sharp arrow piercing through the fragile remnants of trust that still lingered between you.

Jason's expression darkened at your accusations, his features contorted with a mixture of frustration and anger. "Don't you dare judge me," he shot back, his voice rising in defiance. "You think you know everything, but you have no idea what I've been through, what I've had to do."

But your anger was relentless, fueled by years of pent-up resentment and betrayal. "You're so hypocritical, Jason," you spat, your voice dripping with contempt. "Always criticized your father and his work, and look at what you've become! One of those disgusting pigs."

The words hung heavy in the air between you, a testament to the rift that had formed between you. And as Jason's anger boiled over, he lashed out with words of his own, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your fractured relationship.

The exchange was heated, emotions running high as the wounds of the past were reopened with a vengeance. And in that moment of bitter confrontation, you both realized that the bond that once held you together had been irrevocably shattered, leaving only the bitter taste of regret in its wake.

"Don't act like you can judge me after what you did to me!" His voice reverberated with raw emotion, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of fury and sorrow. You watched helplessly as tears welled up in his eyes, mirroring the torrent of emotions raging within your own soul.

The intensity of Jason's words hit you like a freight train, each syllable a painful reminder of the agony and despair he had endured in your absence. As he lashed out in anger and anguish, you felt a pang of guilt pierce your heart, realizing the depth of the pain you had inflicted upon him.

In that moment, the weight of his suffering bore down upon you like a crushing weight, the realization of the pain you had caused him leaving you utterly devastated. The memory of the countless nights he had spent alone, mourning the loss of his beloved Sunny, haunted you like a ghost from the past.

"How I wish it was me in your place..." His words hung in the air, heavy with regret and longing. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces as he spoke of the depth of his despair, his anguish etched into every line of his face.

And then, as he pointed a trembling finger at your face, you felt the sting of his accusation pierce your soul. The weight of his gaze bore down upon you, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that threatened to consume you whole.

"You left me, made me believe that you were dead, and when I get here you treat me so coldly, and you still cry for that criminal?" Jason's voice was eerily calm, belying the storm of emotions raging within him. His words cut through the air like a knife, each syllable laden with accusation and betrayal.

You felt the weight of his words pressing down upon you, the guilt of your actions threatening to suffocate you. How could you explain to him the years of torment and suffering you had endured in his absence? How could you make him understand the depths of your grief and the tangled web of emotions that still bound you to the past?

As he questioned your loyalty and your identity, you felt a surge of anger and defiance rise within you. "Who the hell are you and what did you do to my Sunny?" His words echoed in your mind, a haunting reminder of the shattered pieces of your past that lay scattered at your feet.

"By the way, how did you find me here?" Your voice carried a mix of disbelief and curiosity, punctuated by the sharp edges of your words. "I cleared all the records with my name, made a new identity. It would have taken you at least ten years to find me without any information about me.”

As the silence stretched between you, Jason's laughter shattered the fragile calm. It rang out in the room, a discordant symphony of amusement and anguish, echoing off the walls and reverberating in your ears. His shoulders shook with the force of his mirth, his head thrown back in unrestrained laughter.

You watched him, your heart heavy with confusion and concern. His laughter seemed to carry a weight of its own, a burden too heavy for him to bear alone. And when his laughter finally subsided, you saw the tears glistening in his eyes, a silent testament to the pain that lay beneath the surface.

When he looked at you again, his gaze was intense, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. It was a look you had never seen on him before, a vulnerability that pierced through the facade of strength he had always projected.

"He always knew where you were, that bastard always knew you were alive and where you were hiding all this time." His words were laced with bitterness, his smile broken and fragile.

All the blood in your body seemed to freeze at that moment, and your vision became fuzzy. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew... The words echoed in your mind like a sinister bell tolling a terrible truth. You looked at the blonde boy in front of you as if he were insane, shaking your head in denial.

It couldn't be true. It couldn't be possible. But still, the sense of panic began to spread through you like a raging fire, consuming all your certainties and leaving only agonizing doubt.

Your eyes widened as the boy continued to stare at you, his gaze piercing like a sharp blade cutting through your defenses. You wanted to scream, to deny everything, but the words were caught in your throat, suffocated by the crushing weight of the truth that threatened to shatter your existence.

"No... It can't be," you whispered, your voice trembling and desperate.

"You have to come with me, by order of the F.B.I.," he declared, flashing his badge. "Eddie Munson wishes to see you before his final trial and as a witness for his heinous crimes."

At that moment, you felt your secret slipping through your fingers like sand. There was no other way around it. You would have to confront the ghosts of the past, welcome them with open arms, and pray that they wouldn't stab you in the back. The weight of your past actions bore down on you like a leaden burden, threatening to crush you under its unforgiving weight. But you knew there was no escaping it now. With a heavy heart and a resigned sigh, you nodded silently, steeling yourself for the tumultuous journey ahead.

Tagging some mutuals: @ali-r3n @munsonology @birdysaturne

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddiemunson #eddie munson x f!reader #dark!eddie munson #bestfriend!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson

[lesservillain]

I'm not gonna lie to you. I was super sad to see that you weren't writing anymore and now I'm beyond ecstatic that you are writing again.

But if I don't get anymore inmate eddie now that you're back I'm going to literally cry. I crave it.

(Love you)

Thats felt like the most wholesome threat 😂 I will at least post the other two parts soon. I have i think a fourth of part 4 done so if i could just power through it then i can get it out!

I also need to figure out if i have any of the other small parts i wrote saved anywhere on my computer.

Especially my hot for teacher fic i miss that one so much 😭

#bunnie’s inbox 💌 #inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader #on the outside