#eddie munson sick reader

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Heyyyy I got so sick last night for no reason like the kind of sick where you can fall asleep sitting up and all you wanna do is lay under a fan and tears just like fall from your eyes out of nowhere lmaooo could you possibly write a short little blurb of Eddie taking care of a sick weepy reader bc I neeeeeddd him no pressure at all tho plz ignore if you don't want too <3

I wrote this as soon as I could I am so sorry that you were so sick, I hope you feel better love <3 Thank you for requesting this I hope it helps

Eddie got a call when it all started, "Ed's...I need you" you beg softly and weakly. You've never felt this awful before and honestly, you don't know what is going on around you. For the past twenty minutes, you've just been laying still on the floor next to your standing floor fan.

Eddie has never been one to drive safely but by the grace of god, he is shocked that he didn't get pulled over or killed by how he was driving after getting that phone call from you. It's been only four months since the two of you have gotten together but the years of friendships before that make him know how you are as a person and you aren't one to beg for help. When he pulls up to your place he leaps to the front door and storms in. "Where are you? What's wrong?"

He is rushing around in a panic without even taking a breath, the only thing on his mind is trying to find you. A very pitiful whine comes from your room, his heart breaks hearing how sickly you are, he rushes to your room and he whimpers at the sight before him. "Oh my darling, come on let me get you into bed the floor can't be that comfy for you." You just moan in agreement and let him move you off the floor.

He gets you into the bed and you sink into the softness of your mattress, you feel Eddie's hands softly touching your face and neck and he feels the temperature you so clearly have. "I'm going to go get a nice cool rag for you, I'll be right back" He moves quickly but carefully just in case you have a headache and are sensitive to any sudden sounds. He returns shortly after leaving and with your eyes closed you don't notice his presence but he does notice more about you at this moment.

You seem so weak, your body is caving into itself and it's killing him to see. You are much paler and...is that tears? "Darling?" he softly whispers and he's shocked to see that you respond with how quiet he was. You open your eyes slightly and the tears are confirmed but it's like you're not even noticing them. "My darling what do you need me to do" He is begging to know how to make this all go away, if he could he would snap his fingers and take this all away from you, he would take your place in a heartbeat if he could. You reach out to him weakly and just moan his name so obviously sick.

He moves to the bed but before getting in next to you he turned on your fan on the highest setting. When he gets into the bed he softly moves you to be laying on his chest and he holds you as close as he can. "You just relax now, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere darling. Let me take care of it all" You nod against his chest before quickly falling asleep to the sound of his soft heartbeat. In your sleep you hear a soft whisper pass his lips, "I love you more than anything I'll always take care of you"

if you enjoyed please reblog

Tagging: @b-ritney @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @tiannasfanfic @zestychili @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @eiightysixbaby

#Requested #eddie munson #eddie imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson sick reader #eddie munson makes you feel better #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fluff

[mirkwoodmunson]

you get woken up by the calloused hand gently pressing onto your forehead, a thumb stroking your temple while warm breath puffs the shell of your ear, a soft voice murmuring to you and helping you gain back your consciousness. the further you wake, though, the more you’re aware of your discomfort — aching and groggy and… damp? you start to tremble.

“baby… your fever’s breaking.”

“mmnnnngg…”

“you’re sweating, honey — c’mere, your shirt is soaked.”

sure enough, as eddie gets up and starts to help you up as well, you grimace and whine as you feel the damp, heavy fabric stick to your clammy skin, hair clinging to your forehead that eddie swipes away before pecking a kiss.

you can tell by the darkness behind the curtains it’s not time to wake up yet, but eddie is determined, knows you’re really out of it but that you must be uncomfortable. and he would not be having that.

the sheets and even eddie’s own shirt are damp, he sees the grimace twist deeper as you fist his ratty black sabbath tee, bottom lip pushed out in perhaps the cutest guilty pout he’d seen. he chuckles softly and takes your hand from his shirt, lifts it to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

“hey hey hey, it’s okay. we’re gonna get changed, okay? get you feeling cozy again.”

he sets your hand back down, and gently begins to lift the hem of your shirt, encouraging you to lift your arms. when you do, he easily lifts it up and away, discarding it into the dirty pile. instantly you begin to shiver, and eddie scolds himself.

“shit i’m sorry baby i’m sorry,” he scrambles to yank a clean tee from the dresser and quickly, gently dresses it onto you, stroking your shoulders, and instantly you’re warm again. you hum a soft, gravely sound and he smiles before removing his shirt as well, not bothering to grab a new one.

eddie leaves the room for just a moment, and returns with a blanket that he opens and spreads over the sweat-damp sheets, helping you to lie back down. he settles in with you once you’re comfortable, face to face now rather than him spooning behind your back to give you room, your arms and legs tangled together as he nuzzles and kisses your fingers.

“comfy?” he whispers, and you murmur a soft, nasally reply in confirmation. eddie smiles wide and nudges forward to kiss the tip of your nose, settling in close to you.

he listens to your breathing — slightly ragged and low, but even and calm — the slowing of your breaths as you fall back asleep in a newfound state of comfort. he refuses to let himself doze off until he hears the little snores, a confirmation of your peace.

#is like half the fandom sick rn???? i think we’re all sick #not proofread i wrote this in like 20mins while lying in bed n just wanted to do some eddie comfort hkkgkgk #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson sickfic #mine #1k

[jaebeomsbitch]

There’s nothing you hated more than being sick. You felt helpless and useless, leaning against your partner for help when you despised relying on others. Nonetheless you sit quietly next to him feeling the heat of his arm radiating deep into your skin as you cough and sniffle.

You wipe your nose with your sleeve standing up and slowing, swaying with dizziness.

“Woah, hold on. What do you need baby?” He asks softly holding onto your wrist, thumb tracing your inner wrist comfortingly.

“Need a blanket” you murmur, wiping more snot against your sleeve. He pulls you down softly onto his lap.

“Got one here sweetheart, where it’s always at” he says, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch where it always hangs.

“Oh” you blink, as he spreads the soft fabric over the two of you, tucking in the edges under your thighs.

“Better?" he asks quietly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns onto your thigh.

When you nod sleepily, he leans in and whispers into your ear, "Good. Now let's try to enjoy this movie, yeah? No more coughing allowed - I want to hear those sweet little gasps of yours when the scary parts come on."

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x original character #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #gender neutral reader #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #comfort #sickness #sickfic

[taintedcigs]

eddie who takes care of you when you're sick :( making u a soup even though he has no idea what tf he's doing :(:( he hand feeds u :( doesn't let you get up for anything bc he can do it all for u !!!!!! he gives u kisses. everywhere. even when u tell him he shouldn't bc he could also catch a cold he doesn't care.

"eds, stop, you're gonna catch a cold!!" you whine, trying to dodge him but with a tut his hands wrap around your cheeks, making you look up at him. soft gaze matching yours. "i don't give a fuck sweetheart, c'mere. you really think i can spend a second without kissin' my pretty girl?" soft kisses plastered all over your face and your cold lips, warming :( you :( up :( instantly :((

and like four days later. ofc eddie gets sick bc he continuously kissed you. so now you're taking care of him as he's wrapped in a blanket, nose all runny and red, cheeks a pale color, and he takes a small sip from the soup you made him, that boy-ish grin sitting on his lips. "totally worth it," he murmurs with a coarse tone.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabbles #can u tell i was watching himym! idc act like its new pls #also can u tell im sick? #i need him to take care of me so bad #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson imagine

[emsgoodthinkin]

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Rafe Cameron

⤬ reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated ⤬

Multi-Fandom imagines / videos 💭 📺

Eddie watching his gf stim

Eddie said sit on it

Obx daddy issues

I watch Scream for the plot

Subby lil Eddie

Joe🤝Joe

Eddie and Steve? Nah, Ghost and Konig

Eddie in a ski mask

Cute stupid head Ed

I can take them both (not in a fight)

Steve’s predator stare

If Billy was in Queen of the Damned

We all wanna sit on Keerys lap

Daddy Steve vibes

Head? Head.

Hybrid puppy Ralph vibes

Joes an ass man

Billy loves Steve’s eye contact

Joe calls Dacre mommy

Cocky Keery

Let Quinn take you to a bad place too

Arthur can’t take the pressure

Arthur deserves a good ride

Sweaty Ed

Joseph’s BBC

Eddie and corrupted princess vibes

Eddie soundgasm

Rockstar Eddie’s f*ck song

Looks can be deceiving Mr. Keery

Oh yes Rio

Steve Harrington? No, Steve Gallagher

Dacres fine like wine

Twitter links

Put a knife in me Rory

Rafe can handle it

Mommy Nancy

Damon’s words get you wet

Big boy Hopper

Big boy Billy

Riding Steve’s thick limbs

Eddie whoppin yo ass

Eddie say please?

Steddie voices

Do it in the shower Billy

Spencer is a womanizer

Dacre can’t stop lookin at you

Eddie’s warning stare

You crawling to Eddie

Eddie being too calm during punishment

Steve grabbing Eddie’s ass

Eddie’s jeans..

Which Joe can you see

I need Billy and Eddie to wreck me

Joe reacting to a dirty text

Eddie loses V-card

Your beautiful goofball Ed

#multi fandom masterlist #stranger things masterlist #obx masterlist #eddie munson #steve harrington #joe keery #joseph quinn #the vampire diaries #steddie #robin buckley #argyle #billy hargrove #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #ralph penbury #dickensian #virgin reader #gn reader #sick!reader #autistic!reader #drew starkey #jj maybank #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #lgbtqia #stranger things fanfiction #ems mlist #black reader #disabled!reader

[hellgirlthings]

eddie had apparently perished, or at least that’s what he said when he had called you- sniffling as he whines about how dustin had given him a cold and how he swears he’s gonna kill him the second he gets better (he wont).

you know he’s upping the theatrics and at most has a stuffy nose and a headache, but your heart still clenches at how utterly upset he sounded, and how he begged you to come take care of him (as if you’d ever say no).

eddie currently has his face squished against your chest, he had insisted that ‘boob pillows’ were better, as the two of you lay curled up in his bed. you had been trying to convince him to take the stupid medicine that would make him feel better, but nooooooo he refuses

“honey you need to take the medicine so you’ll feel better” your voice is as soft as you feel, with him all mushy and needy on top of you. and eddie swears he’s never going to get used to this- you, caring about him and loving him in a way he never thought he would experience.

gently scratching his scalp, you feel him groan against your shirt, muffled by the material of it. a smile etches itself on your lips, feeling all sappy because he wanted *you* to take care of him, knowing that you’re the only one that could ever bring him any sort of comfort, no matter how big or small the issue is.

“ ‘s so dumb baby i don’t need it ‘m fine” he mumbles, getting even more upset at the fact that he can’t seem to be close enough to you, even though he’s laying right on top of you. eddie swears that if he could crawl under your skin, he would no questions asked (as weird as that might sound).

this coaxes a giggle out of you, pressing a kiss to the top of his head you tut “bub i just need you to take it so that you can get better, yeah? think you can do that for me?”

he isn’t sure whether he wants to hate you for sounding so sweet and caring or if he wants to smother you in kisses because you know that he’s gonna cave in. how is he supposed to deny you anything when he knows you have that soft, cute smile that’s specifically preserved for him on your face right now because he can hear it in your voice???

let’s just say that after some complaining, a now very grumpy eddie (he’s not actually grumpy, just wants you to baby him) finally took the fucking medicine- which obviously caused you to praise him and kiss him all over ‘cause he’s just sooooo brave!!

a/n: didn’t proofread this (once again cuz im lazy and should be sleeping rn LMFAOOOO)

#sick eddie i love u #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson concept #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson thoughts #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson st4 #stranger things fanfiction

[wheels-of-despair]

I Hate Mondays Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Like his beloved Garfield, Eddie hates Mondays. Evil Woman decides to give him a reason to look forward to them. Contains: Early relationship fluff, Garfield references, Eddie being loved and adored and showered in lavish gifts like he deserves. Words: 1.3k

"Hey," you beam at your boyfriend of approximately one month as he drags his feet through the door of your first period classroom.

Eddie gives you a sleepy smile, drops his stuff on the floor, and plops himself into his chair. He crosses his arms on the desk and leans his head on them, ready to go back to sleep.

"Rough morning?" you tease.

"I hate Mondays," he mumbles through his shaggy mane.

"That's very Garfield of you," you laugh.

He turns his head toward you, so you can see half of his pretty face. "You like Garfield?"

"Doesn't everyone?" He blinks so slowly, you wonder if he's going to keep his eyes closed. "What's so bad about Mondays?"

"Early. Sleepy." The first bell rings, and he drags himself off the desk and leans back in his chair. "Start of another long week in this hell."

"I kinda like Mondays," you shrug. He narrows his eyes like you've just insulted his favorite band. "It means another week where I get to spend at least eight hours with youuu," you grin, lightly poking his cheek and hoping to come off as patronizing instead of sappy.

"Really?" The corner of his mouth twitches.

"I mean, it's probably not exactly eight hours, but if you count this, and lunch…" your finger waves through the air as if you're doing the math on an imaginary chalkboard.

"Well I feel like an asshole."

"You are," you grin. He gives you a gentle shove to the shoulder as the morning announcements begin.

One week later, you waited for him in the parking lot. He even drove slower on Monday mornings. But everyone was still accustomed to getting out of his way when he came roaring through every other day of the week, so perhaps they hadn't noticed. Students scattered, and Eddie pulled into his usual space and hauled his body out of his warm van and into the cool morning air with a groan.

"Good morning, sunshine!" you chirped. You weren't really much of a morning person yourself, but he was so grumpy and adorable, you couldn't resist messing with him. He fixed you with a deathly glare, and you brandished a freshly baked muffin at him.

"What's this?"

"I believe it's called a muffin."

"Why?"

"I don't know why. But I know this one's got blueberries in it."

His glare is ruined when he raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

"It's for you, doofus."

"Why?"

"Because I made a batch and I wanted you to have one."

A smile slowly spreads across his sleepy face. He reaches for the muffin with one hand and wraps you in a hug with his free arm. You'd bring him something every damn day if it got you one of these.

But for now, you'd stick to Mondays.

It took him a month to realize what you were doing.

"You don't have to keep buying me stuff, you know," he said shyly one day after school. He was resting between your legs, his back against your chest, in the back of his van. Sometimes you hid out here for a few minutes of alone time. He was using your knees as armrests and holding his hands out in front of him, fiddling with the black plastic spider ring you'd given him that morning. It was so small, it settled just below the nail on the tip of his finger, but he wore it all day and played with it anyway.

"I like giving you something to look forward to on Mondays." You try not to panic about making him uncomfortable. Since the muffin, you'd also given him an alien-shaped eraser, a bag of cookies, a quarter-sized bouncy ball, and his spider ring.

"I have you to look forward to on Mondays," he mumbles. His hair is hiding his face, but you know he's blushing.

"Awwwww," you coo, pushing his hair aside to give him a kiss on his burning, tomato-colored cheek. "I know you're gonna find this hard to believe, but I didn't have to blow my life savings on that."

"I know," he chuckles. "But you still don't have to."

"What if I want to?"

He doesn't answer.

"Is that okay? I mean, I'll quit if you think it's weird."

"It's not weird," he says slowly, "it's just… new."

"What, you've never had a girl shower you with random gifts before?"

"Nope."

"Does it make you feel like a kept woman?" You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and feel him chuckle.

"No."

"What if I told you," you whisper scandalously near his ear, "that I found the spider ring in the parking lot at the grocery store, on my way to drop a whole dime on the bouncy ball?"

He laughs.

"I mean, I washed it before I gave it to you, obviously. Who knows how many diseased children might've drooled on it."

You can feel him shake with silent laughter, but you're still waiting on him to tell you to stop. You're getting impatient. You knock him with your knee. "Let me nice to you, dammit!"

"Fine, fine, keep spoiling me with baked goods and priceless trinkets."

"Victory!" you shout, lifting your arms in a triumphant V.

"But I'll warn you now," he rumbles in a low voice you've often heard in Hellfire, "you keep this up, and you might never get rid of me."

"That's the goal, Munson." You wrap your arms around his shoulders again and pull him close. "Can't tell anybody I'm nice to you, though. I've got a reputation to maintain."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, relaxing into you and walking his fingers up your leg, making it look like the little plastic spider is being chased by the metal rings that actually fit him.

Eddie learned to love Mondays. Not just because of the gifts you gave him - which were quite badass, by the way - but because you always demanded a kiss as payment.

Sometimes it was food you'd baked or picked up on sale. (You always kept a bag of gummy worms in a secret compartment of your backpack for emergencies.) Sometimes it was something he needed, like a new pencil. (With "Corroded Coffin" carved into the wood, completed during a thrilling afternoon in detention.) Sometimes it was something fun, like one of the sticky little slappy hands from the gumball machines at the grocery store. (You two are the reason those are now banned in Hawkins High.) And sometimes, you went the hand-made route, like with the flip book of Principal Higgins and Miss Click that would probably get you both suspended if it were discovered. (It was not.)

This went on for the rest of the year.

On the last Monday before summer vacation, after all the exams had been taken and all the teachers were phoning it in, you gave Eddie what was probably his favorite Monday Gift of all.

You waited 'til the last few minutes of your last class together, asked for the bathroom pass, and came back with an envelope shoved into the waistband of your jeans, hidden under your shirt.

You pulled it out when you sat back down and handed it to him under the table, keeping your eyes to the front of the room.

You hear the paper crinkle as he opens the envelope, and then he lets out a sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp.

When you can't resist the temptation any longer, you look over at him. He's so red, you're worried his face is going to start bleeding.

Eddie "The Freak" Munson is holding a pair of warm panties in his hand, in the middle of a school day, in a Hawkins High classroom.

When the bell rings, he springs into action. He shoves them into his pocket, grabs your hand, and bolts.

Sorry, Garfield. Eddie Munson no longer agrees with you about Mondays.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #am i happy with it? no. am i sick of looking at it? yup.

[mimixmunson]

I don't want to bother you, but can you please do one for Eddie where reader is really clumsy? Like, she trips on her on foot, loses balance and falls even when just standing still, always has bruises all over her body because she is simply an air-head and ends up hitting her face on a closed door, her knee on the corner of the table and falling in all the stupidest ways possible.

Bambi. Clumsy!Reader x Eddie Munson. Fluff. Blurb.

(You’re never bothering me. I love writing your requests! I hope this is okay!<3)

“You okay there Bambi? You’re walking like you’re on wheels, need a hand?” Eddie teases, chuckling as you clasp your arm around his. He’s not the strongest of guys but his arm does offer you support. You’re clumsy, always have been. Your dad used to say you ran before you learnt how to walk, that you’d never really been able to stand upright on your own two feet without wobbling. He wasn’t wrong. Your parents had gotten you tested for dyspraxia, but the test results came back negative. Put simply, you were just a klutz, in medical terms? You’re just a little unbalanced.

“I know, I know.” You sigh, lifting your pants up to your thighs, letting the air brush against your shins. “Look at my legs Teddy, three new ones and a grazed knee” Muttering the last of your words under your breath, ‘three new ones’ refers to the three bruises scattered across your right shin. Eddie has a tendency to draw lines around your bruised skin and make the blue-yellowish stains look like Saturn, sometimes drawing smiley faces of the Nirvana logo.

He peered down, analysing the new shiners. “Seriously, you gotta be more careful. We’ve spoken about this before, eyes where you’re going, not where you were.” He exaggerated, speaking in a sing-song tone as he chuckles again. “Remember that time you ran face first into the glass door when we were kids? You split your lip and I cried because you were bleeding. Wayne had to deal with you bleeding on carpet and I was in hysterics because I was so sure you were gonna die. From a split lip no less.” Eddie’s mouth twitches up into a smirk as he begins to let out a full belly laugh. He screws his face up, as bubbly giggles escape him lips from reminiscing, “yeah, Wayne said you felt the pain for me cus I didn’t shed a single tear.” You confessed, joining Eddie in the melody of laughter.

“What can I say? I’m weak for a damsel in distress.” Eddie tilts his head and bows theatrically, standing up and opening the top cupboard. He places his box full of first aid supplies from the medicine cupboard onto the floor, opening up the first aid kit. “Let’s get this graze cleaned up shall we? Can’t leave it, will get infected and puss will spurt out. Will be so gross.” He speaks, pouring antiseptic liquid onto a clean rag. “Okay! Okay, I know.” You chime in, clearly disturbed by the imagery. “Just be gentle Eds, please.” You pout a little, hiding behind your hands.

“You know me Bambi, I have magic hands. I’m practically your personal nurse.” Eddie joked, gently patting the rag over your grazed skin being sure to wipe out any dirt and debris. “Hands of an old woman more like.” You tease, stifling your giggles from behind your hands, not wanting to see your wound.

“If you say so, but so you know. I’ll always be here to patch you up. Our little klutz.” He smiles, beaming from ear to ear. Choosing to ignore your cheeky comment, because “you’ve been in the wars.” He gently slaps a band aid over your kneecap and rubs his palm over it to make sure it sticks to you properly. Eddie leans over and pries your hands apart so he can see your face properly. “All done. You’re all fixed up.” He sighs, rubbing his hand over your cheek.

“Thanks Eds, good time to mention I’ve decided to take up ice skating?” You giggle, watching his face drop into the most shocked expression you’ve ever seen. “Kidding!” You tease, throwing yourself at his chest and starting to wrestle each other on Wayne’s living room floor. You are always gonna be looked after by Eddie, your chosen big brother.

#mine #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie blurb #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie x fem reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #clumsy reader #requests #blurbs #fluff fic #Eddie Munson fluff fic #eddie fic #Eddie Munson x reader fluff #fix it fic #sick fic #best friend!eddie munson #angst

[roanniom]

Eddie would totally make you soup when you're sick.

He'd open the can, pour it in a mug, stick it in the microwave, even stick a spoon in it and bring it to you. The works! 😂

Eddie Munson x Reader

I feel like the poor man would have the self awareness to be a little sheepish about it. Rubbing the back of his neck with a little smile as he hands it to you.

“The Munson special, m’lady. Only the finest, as Uncle Wayne used to say.”

You look up at him with warm, teary eyes.

“It’s perfect, Eds, thanks.”

You say it earnestly. Not like you’re playing along with him or agreeing with his sarcasm. Your lover made you something to make you feel better. It’s something you genuinely appreciate. Eddie sits down next to you, a bit pinker around the cheeks, and watches you swallow your first spoonful.

“I promise I’ll learn how to…actually, you know, make soup so that next time…” he shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with himself. “I can ask Nancy for a recipe or something—,”

“Eddie,” you say quietly, hushing him with the sound of his name and with your hand placed lightly on his knee. “All I need is for you to be here with me. Nothing else.”

It seems like it’s his turn for tears to cloud his vision, and suddenly you’re doing your best to hold the mug full of soup aloft as Eddie envelopes your body in a hug.

“Baby, you’re gonna get sick,” you try to admonish, but he just holds you tighter.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles into your neck, almost childishly.

You hum and hug him back, not sure you care either.

#Issa’s Sick Day #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader

[me-gongoga]

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪ ᴇᴠᴇʀ | ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: back home in Hawkins for spring break, you get roped into a game of 'never have i ever' by your friends. but the night takes a turn when eddie accidentally stumbles upon a secret you've been keeping for months

Pairing: eddie munson x reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: aged-up characters (early 20s). fluff/angst, friends to lovers, alcohol use/drug ref, happy ending, no use of y/n

It’s tradition. Every break from college, you head home to Hawkins and meet up with your old crew. Not everyone always makes it, but whatever rag-tag group gets scrounged together is usually more than enough. With graduation on the horizon, you’re happy to see anyone in Hawkins these days.

Tonight, it’s almost a full house, schedules and school breaks aligning. Seven of you are cramped around the old coffee table in Nancy’s basement, laughter abundant and drinks in hand.

Steve proposes ‘Never Have I Ever’ after getting absolutely tossed at darts three times in a row by Robin. And Nancy—three deep in the same room with two of her exes—more than hastily produces a handle of vodka to reward each round’s ‘winner’.

Jonathon and Steve sit at opposite ends of the table, while three girls pile onto the couch—Vickie getting sandwiched between Nancy and Robin. Across from them, you’re sunk happily into an old bean bag while Eddie sits beside you, already asserting he’ll be the champion of the game.

You snort at his proclamation and try to disguise it with a sip of your drink. Eddie catches you anyhow and delivers a swift shove to your shoulder that’s enough to slosh your beer. You glare at him as you wipe up the mess on your mouth, but Eddie only grins back and soon you find yourself smiling too.   

He’s the one person who makes you promises and always delivers.

Eddie picks you up from the train station every time you come home, your favorite from the Hawkins Diner in hand. And while you stuff your face, he regales you with the latest drama from his tattoo apprenticeship and shares weird anecdotes about the more questionable pieces he’s worked on. Sometimes you burn whole days of break just sitting in his trailer and catching up, cross-legged on the floor of his room while he aimlessly plucks chords on his guitar. And sure, you call him while away at school, but nothing compares to actually being at his side and seeing the crinkle in his eyes when he laughs at your jokes. It reignites the warmth that you work so hard to keep contained while away. A heat that’s burning in your chest as you sit beside him tonight.

The first couple rounds of the game are quick and dirty—everyone getting their bottom-of-the-barrel pulls out. The third round is where things actually start to pick up and the admittances get odd.

“You gotta be kidding me, Vickie,” Eddie exclaims, putting down another finger. “You’ve never smoked a cigarette?”

She only shrugs, freckles dotting her dimpled expression. "I don’t like tobacco. Weed on the other hand…”

“Cheers to that,” Jonathon says, raising his beer can.

Eddie hurriedly grabs his own to join.

“Everyone still in?” Robin checks, eyes darting across the group.

Eddie clicks his tongue, voice all too smug as he speaks. “Already down to two again.”

“Yeah, well I’m right there with ‘ya, Munson,” Steve counters, waving his peace-sign count at Eddie.

You settle nice and low in your bean bag, flaunting your index finger. “Better hurry it up, boys. I’m already at one. I can pretty much hear that room-temperature Smirnoff calling my name.”

“You guys know it’s not exactly impressive to win, right?” Robin asks, looking skeptically between the three of you.

Nancy shrugs and crosses her legs with a flourish. “Let them duke it out if they want. I’m still sitting pretty with four fingers.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Nancy,” you say with a nod. “Because, never have I ever, shot a gun.”

The curly-haired woman scowls at you, putting down a finger. “That was uncalled for.”

“Oh, I think it was called for,” Steve argues, down to a single finger now as well. “I mean really, Nance, you should probably put down your whole hand for that one.”

Nancy only waves him off and takes another sip of her drink.

“You’ve tied us all up,” Eddie says to you, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Unfortunately, doesn’t look like I’ll get to win this round.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Vickie mutters, her eyes narrowing at Eddie.  

“Never have I ever,” Eddie says, pausing to give the room a good, long look. “Kissed anyone who’s here tonight.”

And for an amazingly elongated moment, the room stills into a stunned silence—eyes wide and mouths agape. But when the discourse descends, you can only sit in shock.

At first, it’s just a rabble of frustration that breaks out—Eddie still looking smug as hell with himself in his old folding chair as Nancy shakes her head and Robin shares a pointed look with Vickie. But then Steve’s voice cuts above the din, everyone else falling in line.

“He still doesn’t know?” The brunette asks, looking directly at you. “I thought you were going to tell him!”

“What the hell are you on about, Harrington?” Eddie complains, eyes darting between you and Steve. 

Jonathon groans and runs his hands over his face. “This is painful.”   

“I told you he just didn’t remember,” Robin whisper-yells all-too-loudly from the couch as she waggles her eyebrows in your direction. “I told you!”

Eddie shakes his head, looking incredulously around the table, before settling back on you. “Remember what? What the fuck are we talking about?”

You’d give anything in this instant for the bean bag to suck you up whole and eject you into nothingness. Hell, you’d even stick it out in the Upside Down if it meant you could avoid this conversation. There’s a reason you haven’t brought it up before. Of course, you’ve thought about it—tried even, to tell Eddie. But that was easier said than done. And now your own cowardice had backed you into a corner.

“We made out on New Year’s Eve,” you spit out, before anyone else can describe it more… creatively.

Eddie’s face goes pale, dark eyes blinking down at you. “W-what? No we didn’t. Why would we—"

“Dude, we all saw it,” Steve cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “You had your tongue shoved so far down their throat that even I was impressed.”

“Gross, Steve,” Robin and Nancy chide in unison.

“What? We were all thinking it!”

You clear your throat. “You were blackout, Eddie. I mean, we were all sloshed.”

He looks at you, mouth agape as his eyes trail down to your lips. The beer can in his hand crinkles under his grip as you see his Adam’s apple bob against his throat.

You still remember Eddie’s lips colliding against your own—the memory locked away in your mind like an a painting in a vault. Midnight. It was dim lights and streamers and loud music and unbridled joy and warmth and happiness. It was Eddie picking you up and swinging you around, pinning you up against a wall, and kissing you like his life depended on it. It was you holding onto him with all the fervor you’d bottled up since high school and giggling like a teenager as he whispered things in your ear.

Like all beautiful moments—it was fleeting. An hour later, you were holding back his hair in the bathroom as he threw up every Jell-O shot Nance had handed him. And, when you woke up beside each other on the floor of Steve’s living room the next day, Eddie didn’t even remember the clock striking 12. No, he didn’t remember any of it at all.

Or maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to.

And that was not something you could handle confronting.

So, you asked the others to drop it—to pretend it didn’t happen. Told them you’d take care of it eventually. Took the photo Jonathon developed of you two and buried it in a box in your bedroom.

You wonder what exactly Eddie sees as he looks at you now. Disappointment? Disgust? You tear your gaze away with a nervous smile, not wanting to dive any deeper.

“Welp, guess, we’re gonna need more glasses,” Nancy thankfully announces, digging herself out of the couch and skuttling over to an old cupboard.

“Are we counting that? Really?” Jonathon complains.

“I mean, why not?” Robin asks with a shrug. “Guy clearly doesn’t remember kissing this hottie, so he’s not exactly lying. I say his bad memory earns him and everyone else a reward from the Wheeler’s liquor cabinet.”

Steve laughs at that, leaning over to slap Eddie on the thigh. “Looks like you get to ‘win’ after all, Munson.”  

“Shit,” Eddie finally mumbles, still sounding a bit dumbstruck. “Guess it’s only fair.”  

Nancy dumps an eclectic collection of glasses on the table, quickly pouring alcohol into each one and handing them out.

“Here, here,” Eddie says, raising his shot to the other ‘winners’. “To making out with your friends.”

You raise your own, catching his eyes again as you clink glasses. “Here, here.”

And then, like a weight off your chest, the night just… keeps going. More drinks, more games, more laughter. And Eddie—seemingly—isn’t even acting differently towards you. Things are normal. And normal is good.

Eventually, the evening starts to draw to a close. Vickie and Robin are passed out, tangled together on the couch, while Nancy sits on the floor between Steve and Jonathon—the beginnings of what has to be a ‘will they, won’t they’ saga playing out.

When you announce your departure, Eddie is quick to join you.

The cool night air feels good in your lungs after sitting for so long in a musty basement. Eddie marches past you down the driveway, taking a dramatic stretch and revealing a dark trail of hair down his midriff. You avert your eyes, trying to take casual interest in the gardening equipment scattered in the lawn.

“So,” he begins. “Did you still wanna come over? Watch a movie or something?”

You rattle the backpack slung over your shoulder; polyester material plastered with patches he’s given you over the years. “Didn’t bring a bag for nothing, Eds.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Eddie mutters as you approach him, all too casually snatching the backpack from you. “Let’s go, smart ass.”

You smile and begin the tipsy trek towards Eddie’s trailer. He pulls out his cigarettes, offering them to you first as he always does.

You click your tongue and slip one from the pack. “Vickie would be appalled.”

Eddie chuckles, closing the gap between the two of you to lend a light, his hand cupping the flame in the breeze. You’ve always found him handsome, but when he’s up close and personal like this, fire in his eyes, it feels like you could drown in his good looks, and it would be a welcome death.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a long drag, as he pulls away.

“You got it,” Eddie mutters through his teeth, lighting his own.

The two of you walk in comfortable silence down the usual route, enjoying the soft crunch of concrete and gravel beneath your boots. Even with the full moon hanging overhead in a clear night sky, you’re thankful not to be stumbling home alone in the dark. Since experiencing the Upside Down together, Eddie always went out of his way to get you home safe or offer you a place to stay. At first you thought maybe it was just safety in solidarity. But now it was familiar. Comforting.

“So,” he says, voice raspy and sudden. “Can we talk about the five-ton Oliphaunt in the room?”

You swallow hard and decide to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that we, uh,” Eddie clears his throat. “Kissed, and I don’t even remember?”  

You chuckle, trying to ease the tension in his voice despite your own discomfort. “Sure, if you want. But there’s not much else to say. We were just trashed.”

“Yeah, but how did we even get there? Us?” He says motioning between the two of you. “I mean, come on, we’re— we’re just—"

“Friends,” you say, finishing the sentiment for him, the word bitter on your tongue.

“Right,” he mutters back, smoke billowing from pursed lips.

“I dunno,” you admit honestly. “Too much to drink, probably. Besides, Eddie, if I had known how gone you were, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

“Agreed?” Eddie says, attention piqued. “So, what—I asked you to kiss me? And you said yes?”

You chew your lip, shoving your hands into the too-tight pockets of your worn-out jeans. “I mean, it was New Years, y’know? You probably just wanted someone to kiss at midnight. Everyone does it.”

Eddie scoffs. “Right, because if there’s one thing about me, it’s that I love to follow the crowd.”

You only shrug, clueless on how to respond when you barely have answers yourself.  

Silence falls between the two of you, relief slumping into your shoulders as Eddie’s barrage of questions seems to subside. You kick yourself for admitting you chose to kiss him—but at least it wasn’t entirely strange.

You and Eddie had admitted to finding each other attractive on more than one occasion in the past. Why deny such obvious truths? You had both simply agreed that you were most definitely not romantically compatible.

Though you never hashed out the details on why that was.

“So,” Eddie grumbles, voice like sand paper in the quiet. “Was it bad or something then?”

“Huh?”

“The kiss, idiot,” he says, swinging the bag into your shoulder. “Is that why you never told me about it?”

You shake your head, heart palpitating at the memory of Eddie pressed against you. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then why hide it from me?” Eddie asks, rasp edging into his voice again. You can feel his dark eyes on your profile. “Seems like you went through a lot of effort to keep it under wraps.”

His words sound almost accusatory. Suddenly you’re scrambling for something to offer him—anything other than the truth, really.

You drop your cigarette and stomp it out, watching as the bud smolders to nothing on the ground. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

It takes a second, but laughter erupts from his chest, carrying into the night with an ominous echo. “Right, like you’d ever pass up the chance to hold something over my head.”

That’s true enough—it was part of how your friendship operated. One time he admitted to having a wet dream about the bartender at the Hideout, and you had used it to blackmail him into free drinks for half a year. Eddie gave as good as he got, of course. He knew you had used the Arcade’s backroom to hook up with more than a few people—some more questionable than others—and he had Keith on speed dial should you ever not supply him with free tokens during his visits. All of that was good fun. Platonic.

But New Year’s Eve… the kiss… that mean too much to you just to be played as a gag.

Exasperation grips your voice. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

You really don’t. And maybe Eddie senses that because he doesn’t respond.

It’s quiet as you pace on together, only the soft buzz of Hawkins’ electrical lines filling the empty void, unsettling and cerebral in your ears. It almost makes your body itch.

You’re thankful when Eddie speaks again, even if his tone is surprisingly somber.

“I think I get it.”

Your heart sinks into the depths of your chest. “You… get it?”

You watch the mass of brunette curls bob as he nods slowly.  “You’re ashamed that you made out with me, right?”

His voice is so serious it ties your stomach in knots and stops you in your tracks. He was so painfully, awfully wrong.

“I mean, I can’t say I blame you,” he continues. “Poor, directionless, loser that I am. Just good-for-nothing Eddie Munson. Who would wanna be caught dead kissing me?”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss at him, hands balling into fists. “It’s not true. Not fucking true at all.”

He pauses his stride and turns, chest rising and falling steadily as he stares at you in the night. “I’m just kidding.”

“Are you?”

Eddie runs both hands through his hair and shakes his head before flicking his cig to the ground. “Forget I said anything, okay? Let’s just hurry up and get back to my place.”

“No,” you reply, marching up and attempting to rend your bag from his shoulder. “I’m going home.”

But he only tightens his grip on your backpack, eyes meeting as you pull against him. “Please don’t.”

You scowl at him and give the bag another strong tug.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie stutters, grabbing your wrist. “Now will you please stop trying to rip my shoulder off?”

You want to bottle up the frustration and anger at his careless words and hurl it back at him. But the stubble on his jaw, the scent of his aftershave, the look in his eyes—it’s too intoxicating. Whether he’s acting insufferable or not.

“Fine.” You let go of the bag and Eddie releases his grip in turn though the heat of his hand lingers unwarrantedly on your skin.

You’re supposed to move—supposed keep stomping back to his trailer. But instead, you just find yourself tethered to the asphalt, unable to tear yourself away.

Eddie stares back at you, still and expectant in the night.

Then words are tumbling so quickly from your lips, you hardly hear yourself speak.

“I was too scared.”

He blinks at you, dark eyelashes fluttering beneath loose curls. “Scared?”

“That’s why I never brought it up, Eddie,” you mutter, heart pounding in your ears. “I thought maybe you did remember kissing me and just... didn’t want to.”

His eyes widen, plush lips parting. “Why would I ever want to forget that?”

You shrug, boozy uncertainty welling in your eyes despite your efforts to fight it off. “Because it was me, Eddie. It was me, and not some hot bombshell you could brag about making out with. It was just me. And I’m—” 

“Perfect?”

Your face scrunches at the word. “Don’t make fun of me.”

But he seems to only find humor in your disgruntled expression, his face alit with laughter in the dark. “For someone so smart, you really are damn dense sometimes.”

Before you can protest his comment, Eddie’s pulling you against his chest, your face colliding with the denim of his jacket, musky scent of cologne and shampoo flooding any sense of reasonable thought from your mind. Strong arms slide over your shoulders and snake around your neck as you feel him rest his head atop your own.

“What I said earlier—I’m scared too.” Eddie confesses, a rasp to his voice. “Scared that once you graduate from that fancy-pants college, you’ll get some cool big-kid job that’ll take you far away from Indiana and you’ll forget all about little shithole Hawkins. And... forget about me.”

His admission hits you like a bolt of lightning.

Eddie is the only consistent in your life. Rain or shine, hell or highwater—he’s always there. So how could he think himself anything close to a footnote in your story?

“Never,” you mumble, relaxing into Eddie’s chest. You wrap your arms snug around his waist, trying to impart every bit of your heart with one embrace. “How could I ever forget such a sloppy kisser?”

Eddie cackles unexpectedly, his chest reverberating pitched tones against your head. “Oh, come on. You’ve gotta give me another shot.”

Your heart flutters at his words. “Yeah?”

He relaxes his grip, creating just enough space to greet you with his deep, chocolate eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as he stares down at you. “I mean, I can’t say I’m totally sober, and it’s not New Years, so I really have no excuse…”

“But?”

“But,” he repeats back. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wanna kiss you right now.”

Your eyes wander to his lips—the very same that you’ve fantasized about so frequently and experienced only once. And now, standing under the flickering, orange streetlamps of Hawkins, he was offering them to you again.

“You’re sure?” You ask.

Eddie nods. “Listen, I don’t know what exactly got into me that night—”

“Wheeler’s Jell-O shots.”  

He cringes at the word, sticking out his tongue in mock disgust. “Ugh, that’s right. I still can’t even look at anything close to Jell-O.”

You giggle at his perturbed expression. “I know. You nearly fainted when Dustin made us fight a gelatinous cube in that one-shot yesterday.”

He shakes out his head like a wet dog, wringing more laughter from your chest.

“What I was trying to say—before you so rudely reminded me of my gelatin-aversion,” Eddie says with a pointed glance. “Is that I’m glad that some part of me worked up the nerve to do what I’ve spent years contemplating.”  

“You mean throwing up in Steve’s pool?”

“Okay, come on,” Eddie complains, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to do this whole, romantic-ish situation here and you are just fucking t-boning it at every turn.” 

You’re smiling like a maniac now, starry-eyed and hopeful. “Sorry, sorry—go ahead.”

But Eddie just shakes his head, planting a warm, calloused hand under your jaw. “Nope. I’m just gonna kiss you before you say anything else to ruin it.”

And though you try to retort one final time, Eddie’s reflexes are too fast for you to counter. In a split-second, his mouth is pressed up against your own. He pulls you flush against his hips, encouraging collision as your fingers wind through his hair. His lips are as soft as you remember, but this time they seem intent on savoring every inch of your flesh, dangerously disarming as they elicit moans from your throat.

Your sounds only entice him further. He nibbles at your lower lip and hums with satisfaction as your mouth parts for him, vodka and tobacco crashing across your tongue as he eagerly explores you. The taste of him conceives a delirium in your mind like no drug you’ve ever consumed, thoughts drifting away one by one. He’s warm and perfect and good—so fucking good.

There’s purpose as Eddie holds you—kisses you­­—for the first real time. The happiness is overwhelming, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as Eddie brands you with the heat of each kiss. Your knees quiver under the elation, all of it nearly too much to handle.

As if sensing your imminent collapse, Eddie lifts you up into his arms, your legs wrapping naturally around his waist. You squeal out of sheer surprise, his lips curving into a smile against your own. He gives you a gentle spin to provoke more laughter-hiccupped kisses, his mouth trailing to your jaw and down your neck, his stubble tickling your skin with each peck.

You open your eyes as he starts to slow, watching him intently as he draws back, hunger still hanging in his eyes. He carefully returns you to the ground.

For a moment, you just stare at each other in silence, the buzz of the power cables now but a peaceful ambiance.

“Shit,” is all he manages to say, lips still plump from your attention. His arms are immovably hooked onto your hips.

“That bad?” You tease, struggling to catch your breath, heat still consuming your chest.

Eddie shakes his head, disheveled hair bouncing as he beams at you. “Seriously not sure how I could ever forget something like that. Wow, babe.”

“Yeah well,” you mutter, thoughts dazed by his affectionate words. “Don’t jinx it. I… can’t handle going through that again.”  

Eddie’s expression falters as he studies you, brow creasing. “I’m sorry. God, if I had remembered—well, I would have done a lot of stuff different.”

“I should have just told you—I should have known that you wouldn’t… it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re here now.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, squeezing your waist.

“You better remember in the morning this time, Eds,” you threaten, poking him in the chest.

Eddie smiles and drops dramatically to one knee, crossing an arm over his chest with all the ceremony of a squire about to be knighted at the Ren Faire. He clears his throat before reciting what seems like a well-rehearsed proclamation.  “I, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, hereby pledge that from this moment forward, I will never—fucking ever—forget anything when it comes to us. So help me, Lolth.”

In return, you raise your arms up to the sky. “Praise be to our Demon Queen of the Abyss!”

Eddie laughs and stands back up, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around once more. “God, I fucking love you.”  

“Yeah?” You ask, starry-eyed in his arms.

He nods, folding ring-adorned fingers around your hand and planting a kiss just inside your wrist. “Yeah. And you?”

You smile at him. “Never have I ever loved anyone more than you, Eddie Munson.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #stranger things fix it #eddie munson #eddie my beloved #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #joseph quinn #eddie munson fluff #dungeons and dragons #i should have dited this more but i was getting so sick of looking at it rip

[eddieandbird]

Eddie visits you even when you're sick

#sorry guys im at home sick today and i needed this #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie pov #eddie notes

[grimmbunniee]

Can y’all yt stranger things fans stop paint Patrick as creep in y’all’s fanfics use Andy instead

Like look at Andy and tell me he doesn’t give creepy vibes(he literally made a gross comment about Chrissy also tell me he wouldn’t be a sleaze ball)

But look at how nice Patrick is (also Rip my nigga Patrick you didn’t deserve to die like that😔 and so quick too we never saw his Vecna vision🤨)

Like yeah Patrick was apart of the basketball team but he was defending Chrissy when Andy made a gross comment about her.

#stranger things season 4 #Patrick McKinney #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddiemunson #stranger things #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #but it’s fiction 🥺🥺I’m sick and tired of black men in media being painted as creeps and harasser’s

[powderblueblood]

got thinking about my monkeys paw edlacy au where they become successful professionals in new york (eddie, the founder of necromancer records; lacy, a fran lebowitz-type social commentator and sometimes new yorker columnist) but call off their engagement and end up acting like bitter divorcees (hate fucking and jealousy lmao)

and ended up banging this out idk

pairing: eddie munson x f!oc, written in second person immersive (you/yours)

wc: actually cba to check. it’s short

warnings: p in v, unprotected, office sex, hate fucking sort of, spit kink (m receiving)

eddie has your legs butterflied on a desk you’d wasted no time in insulting the second you walked through the door.

‘where’d you find this? a beer hall? this looks like it has about as much structural integrity as that piece of shit driftwood throne you used to sit on in high school—‘

but he’d swallowed your words with a hurried, ‘pipe down and open up, doevski,’ insisting on his tongue down your throat. a rendezvous like this (that shouldn’t be happening—you’d given the ring back, why are they still happening) require an awareness of his peripherals, so out of the corner of his eye, he can see where you’d neatly hung your skirt over the arm of his office sofa. it’s custom YSL, gifted from the last mucky magazine to-do you’d done, and it was too good to let him tear it off you. your panties were a different story, the shredded remnants of them now rucked up around your waist.

“why don’t you ever come by anymore?” eddie asks between breathless thrusts, mesmerised by your tits bouncing out of your unbuttoned blouse. god, he loves you like this. smart-rail me-casual. he should have asked you to bring a ruler to spank him with, but you would’ve liked that too much and he can’t acquiesce to you completely.

what with you being exes.

“i don’t come,” you gasp, entertaining his bullshit line of thinking, “by anymore because this is hostile territory. one of your little record company groupies called me a prep cunt the last time i was here. and she spat on me.”

a guttural sound gets coaxed out of eddie, and the flash of offense across your face is just too good. the thought of you getting verbally assaulted by some necromancer records acolyte isn’t a jolt to the balls (his fans are rabid and learned and hate you, vocally)—thinking of how angry that must’ve made you is. your cunt reflexively tightens around him and his jaw tightens back.

“if the stupid red bottom shoe fits—“

“—yes, but i could live without the spitting, eddie—“

“fuck, don’t say my name. yet.”

it’d be punishment if he didn’t live to have you choking him out like this.

“hol—hold on, this you sayin’ you’re not into spitting anymore?” he grits out, throbbing like a fucking injury inside of you. eddie’s hoping he leaves handprints where those flimsy webbed panties used to sit on your hips.

a blowback of a laugh leaves your mouth, and eddie wants to shove it back in with his tongue, but you grab the back of his head. “that you saying please?”

you tug; he tilts. he whines before he can stop it. god, he hates you—god, he needs this before he’s got to spend the rest of the day listening to shitty demo tapes.

“please,” he breathes.

you grin like the viper you are—so he promises himself to fuck you so hard that you’ll feel it from the time you struggle to walk out of his office to the time you sit on letterman’s guest chair later. social commentator. cultural critic. know-it-all bitch. love of his life.

“please, lace.” his poor, ragged mouth—the way you grab at his chin almost looks sympathetic, how raptured you are by his desperation. you can’t deny it, he knows that. he appeals to your fragile ego, you box his boisterous one down…

and say things like, “open wide, eddie.”

#eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder #edlacy #I don’t have a tag for this au but it might be my absolute sick freak fantasy where lacy becomes a rhony #anyway #just dickin around on here

[mirkwoodmunson]

pt1 pt2

eddie munson x f!reader

tw: cursing, feeling sick

oh, you’re sick?

that’s okay!

eddie’s coming over anyway, despite your protesting over the phone, and he claims to bring with him a treasure trove of cures and feel-goods. you had rolled your eyes, ‘cause what was more of a cure, more of a feel-good than the presence of a particular metalhead? you just didn’t wanna risk getting him sick, too — i’d feel so fucking bad eds!

“babygirl i’ll risk it if it means i can help you feel good for just a little while. okay?”

you’d retreated back into your room following the call, back into your cavern of blankets, ending up in and out of a heavy, clouded doze that fogged your already foggy mind. you didn’t even hear the tires squeal up outside, your front door opening and closing of its own accord (ohh he’d be scolding you for that later — leaving your door unlocked while you’re sick outta your mind, y/n, are you crazy, babe??), the gentle click of the knob of your bedroom door and a rustling of a plastic bag being set down.

you don’t start coming to till a calloused hand so so gently pushes hair away from your face and then cups your cheek, swipes over your forehead, tickles at your chin to stir your consciousness. you respond with a nasal-y, deeply tired moan, eyelids cracked but not open fully, unable to comprehend the figure in front of you and its comforting touch but it was comforting nonetheless, leaning into the pets and strokes and snuffling a noisy snuffle.

above you, eddie is just, racked with a desperate combination of being taken aback by how fucking cute you are right now and how loudly his heart is breaking with the consequences of why you look so fucking cute right now. doe eyes regard you sweetly, wide and adoring, and eddie keeps your chin aloft for just a moment as he very carefully sits beside your form and rests your head in his lap, into which you lean heavily — groaning softly and pushing your cheek into his warm thigh. oh his heart is fucking bouncing off the walls…

a hand moves to your back, slid beneath the blankets wrapped around you, and at first you whine and shiver at the chill in his palm but very quickly it warms to meet your high body temperature, and eddie begins these slow, deeply soothing rubs; up the middle and massaging your achy spine, then over your shoulder blades to rub and squeeze your shoulders, resting at the space between where most of your heat is lost and returning it to you as you shiver in drowsy delight. his other hand is at your hair, petting it back and away from your face, tucking it behind the shell of your ear so he can lean down and press the lightest of kisses to your temple, hovering there for a moment.

“y/n?” another light kiss, and you murmur softly. “you with me, honey?” his voice is low, gravely, but soft for you all the same.

“mmmnnnnnn…. mmm’ddiee..?” you shuffle into him, fussing and whining with your efforts, eddie accepting this gratefully with an adoring, breathy laugh.

“i’m here… i’m here…” he reassures.

#i Made myself sad i want this so bad rn????? #sickfic #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson x sick!reader #eddie munson sickfic #mine

[thornsnvultures]

cw: self-indulgent fluff, injection medication, taking unspecified medication, unspecified chronic illness, needles, chronic pain, Eddie being a wonderful soft supportive bf, 632 wc

"You're amazing."

The plunk of your used injector hitting the bottom of the plastic container you store them in to be disposed of safely is a satisfying sound. It means you're done. The 15 seconds of torture between taking off the cap and finally pulling the needle from your thigh is over.

"How am I amazing?" You store the container away, back in its place where it can be easily ignored until the next dose is due. Eddie pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist. The kitchen chair is old and creaky and can barely support one full grown adult let alone two. But that's what you get for ten bucks at an estate sale.

Your leg is sore around the injection site, throbbing dully as the medicine pumps through your bloodstream. Eddie's thick fingers massage the area, rubbing gently along the outside of your thigh, occasionally brushing under the edge of your sleep shorts.

"I don't know how you do that all the time. I'm such a wimp with needles. And I hate seeing you in pain like this."

It does hurt. You try not to show it for just that reason but sometimes you can't hold back a pained "fuck!" that bubbles past your lips. It makes you and Eddie cringe but you're more accustomed to it than he is.

"What did they have to knock you out with a baseball bat when you got your tattoos?"

"No," he drops his head and chuckles into your arm, still massaging your leg. It doesn't hurt much anymore but it feels so good you're not about to tell him to stop. "I was so baked. Wasn't thinking about the needle at all. The one on my chest was the hardest. I almost blacked out twice."

"You're so cool."

"I know, right?"

Eddie squeezes you with the arm around your tummy and presses a kiss to your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. He stops massaging your leg to cup your cheek and pull you towards him so he can reach your lips. You melt into his touch, his lips, and scaly kiss him back.

"Come lay down with me?"

Eddie strokes your cheek and narrows his eyes.

"Not until you take something for the pain. C'mon," he pats your butt and you stand, dutifully taking the pain relief meds he gives you with a big glass of water.

"Jeez you're turning into my mom. No! You're turning into Steve."

Eddie gasps and grabs his chest like he's been shot. "How dare you! You will pay for those words, my dear."

You stick your tongue out at him only to squeal in surprise a second later when Eddie grabs your waist and tickles you. He spins you around, trapping you with your back against your chest, and you fold as he assaults your sides. His ringed fingers dig into your ribs as tears spring from your eyes and you beg for mercy.

"I give, I give! You're nothing like Steve. Please!"

"That's what I thought," Eddie chuckles by your ear. He doesn't let you go. He holds on tight to you and waddles you back to your bedroom so you can lay down and rest.

Once you're tucked in, Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you into his chest.

"You're so brave, so amazing for taking care of yourself, baby. I know it's hard, I know it hurts, but I'm here for you. I'm here."

You nod your head against Eddie's chest, breathing in his scent through his well worn band tee. His hand finds your thigh again, rubbing in soothing circles. The pain is still there but all you can feel, all you can think of in this moment is Eddie. And it feels amazing.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x chronically ill!reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson sick fic #sick fic #eddie munson fluff #tw needles #tw chronic illness #tw chronic pain #my fics

[punk-in-docs]

🕷Was it Love or Nicotine?🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader, one shot.

12k words

Summary: Eddie brings you comfort when you’re sick-

You’re two seconds from bolting out to grab the baseball bat your mom kept in the upstairs closet.

But a familiar voice slithers on in. You catch onto snippets.

“Shit. Motherfucking,sonofa- betch.” Comes unsmothered curses from the underside of your window. There’s another hiss, shaking of a shrub, and a knock. A growl. A stab of a foot hooking onto wood.

That would be Eddie.

Or;

The one where you’re sick, and who should show up at your window, with a can of Campbell’s stuffed in his pocket? That’s right. Eddie Munson.

In case you wanted an Eddie MASTERLIST to peruse-

It starts out along the lines of this; Eddie does keep an eye out for you at school. Of course he does.

His cool chick with the choppy-flicky hair. Self proclaimed music snob with one hell of a sense of humour. His pencils. The one with the magic lips. With that taste of sugar-strawberry lip smacker skated on them.

He couldn’t get over it.

Mind flicked back to thoughts of you over and over. Faded film reel in his head bleached to sepia ghost tones the amount it played out. The way your hands tugged in his lapels for more. That flash white of your smile in the half dark that turned his knees to quivering water.

That gorgeous way you’d pressed an Alice Cooper tape in his hands and told him sternly what tracks to listen too. How hungrily you’d kissed him back like he was your new kind of air-

Remembering the soft press of your fruit sweet lips has all the blood in him racing south. Fuck.

And he can’t help it and he’s more than aware that it might be overstepping the mark. Him looking out.

Fuckin’ Christ. He feels like the Norman Bates character from that movie. Like some perverted creep combing crowds, just hoping to see you dotted among them.

He thinks about you, laying, chainsmoking in his bed with a cigarette wonky to his lips. He stubs it out and lights another. There’s no removing you. You’re like another rush of nicotine in him right now.

You are running bond deep and he can’t reach in and pull out your influence. He lets it stay cause it’s fucking magic. Better than weed and he doesn’t say that lightly-

He thinks about you on the drive to school. He stops to pick up Gareth and Jeff. They chat on the way about the new issue of Daredevil.

Eddie, hard as he tries, has one ear tuned to them, and the other to the stereo in his van. Teeth grit, bumping it with a clenched fist to get it to behave. Metal rings clacking on the dash.

Alice sneers his venomous vocals to a shredding guitar, it just tugs a smile out of him that threads back to you, entirely. Jeff comments on the new tape that wasn’t the same thrashing Metallica or thundering Motörhead.

Nice music man. This new?

His resulting grin is silky smooth.

Yeah. Just picked it up.

They arrive at school and collectively brace themselves, for classes and the picky snide words of their peers. Another day of not fitting in, shouldering the hassle of being an underdog, in Hellfire clad armour.

Instead of a chip on his shoulder, Eddie may aswell have a grating two tonne boulder on there, at this point.

They pile out of the van and split ways for their classes. They say goodbye and he only just finds his tongue to answer.

Simply because he’s half invested. He’s scanning the school parking lot a little more studiously than usual.

He knew you drove a capri. He knows it’s kinda a muddy-mustard colour with a few rust marks eating away at the passenger door.

He recalls that he saw you arrive yesterday with thunder faced Malibu Barbie in the next seat.

She checked her nails whilst you unloaded an armful of sketchbooks and heavy textbooks from the back seat. He wanted to hot foot it over to help you, but the crowds of people milling around made his courage shrink down.

He actually started to step to you- that’s how much he wanted to eat up that distance. But then his brain just hammered into his skull like a fist on a car roof, that he should stop.

 Not yet. Not here. Too early. Too keen, you lunatic.

He vaguely recalls hearing Linda bitching at you about the fact you played Billy Idol all the way there on the drive. Makes his smile crawl across until teeth show. Sounds about right. Atta girl.

He couldn’t hang around. He couldn’t. But he wanted too. It’s a saw tooth edge all mean and scraping into his belly how much he wants too. But he can’t bring himself to act.

He wants to possess the bravery to scamper over there, push Linda out the way on her teetering heels, grab your goddamn face with ring clad hands and kiss you, hard.

Push you up against the side of your car to do it. Like he is the is the picture perfect, shiny haired golden boy in some sappy John Hughes movie.

Feel you squeak against the cup of his mouth in surprise. Kiss you with his tongue flicking at your teeth. Cupping the back of your head. Get the smell of your hair in his nose again. The juicy fruit taste of your lips.

Make out with you, devour you, right here with the whole damn school able to see, and every filthy as sin intention of letting his hands wander over all of you.

Wrap leather arms around you like vines and never, ever let go. Pull you into his chest like he wants you under his skin. He wants to pull a Judd Nelson and punch the fucking sky.

But he’d caught your eye. Just a flash. The sunny gold skate of your resulting smile when you saw it was him makes his insides warmer. Feels better than any pill.

You lock eyes, and it’s like someone has struck cupids red fucking arrow through the meat of his heart. Thud-thud-thudding like it’s climbed up the back of his mouth and clung to his tonsils.

He waves. You wave back. It’s that easy.

For now, just that smile and wave of acknowledgement was enough.

A gorgeous burst of you for just a second across the lot. That was yesterday.

He looks around today, as he jiggles his van keys in his hands. Keychains scraping together all jagged in his palm. Scanning for anything that resembled you or the Capri. Or, heaven forfend, the poofy cloud of blonde curls that belonged to your greek harpy of a friend.

He can’t see either.

He chews the inside of his lower lip. Eyes flick to the lot entrance. Nothing there still spilling in resembled you, either.

A grainy brown station wagon lumbers into park not far from him. Lurching clumsily onto a space. He watches a beefy letterman jock climb out and scrape his ridiculous golden Rob Lowe mullet back on his head.

The other side, the passenger door opens and a poodle bouffant of spilling blonde starts bouncing out.

He watches your friend get out. Join hands with her ape of a boyfriend, and flounce on into school. All legs and those maraschino-red heels, in another one of her short denim skirts. Hot pink jewellery hanging off her ears and wrists.

And you’re nowhere to be seen. That doesn’t square well on him. It sticks like something lumpy in his throat.

He hot foots it to class cause the last thing he needs is another tardy mark against his already pretty dashed reputation. But you cycle on loop through his head way more than any of his schoolwork probably should.

He’s never really been any good at staying still, or paying attention to much in his life. He is too erratic. Too lost to fantasy at times. Busy elsewhere.

He bounced his knees. He fiddled with his rings, doodled DND character concepts, or horned skulls on the margins of his schoolbooks, rather than actually turning his eyes to the board at any point. Some things really have to hook his flighty interest to warrant earning it full time.

He’s always had half his head stuck somewhere else. Even worse now you’d snatched up the rest of his already limited attention span.

It might be that you’ve hitched a ride to school. Car troubles? Maybe you overslept? Some shit like that. Some circumstance that had delayed you.

He drifts through his day. Decided to shake up his usual route after the bell rings for lunch. He doesn’t drift straight to the canteen, probably in time to hear a braindead slur aimed his way from Jason and his goons. Or he’d have to listen for the tenth time as Jeff argued with Sinclair about armour classes.

He swings by the clay scented halls of the school art department. A place - it had to be said - he never really had a lot of cause to go. It’s definitely new territory to embark on.

The walls are pinned with cork boards full of charcoal drawings and art history posters. Seurat, Poussin and Van Gogh’s twisting almond branches on midnight blue. Sad pot plants droop on a low table by a sun drenched window. The scent here is all stale paint and dried claggy clay.

He idles past a couple classrooms. Armies of easels in one where students are happily settled. Drawing a bowl of plump fruit on a goddamn podium. The room at the end is dusty and he’s guessing that’s where the potters wheels and reeking scent of clay is coming from.

He dodged a wall of students armed with wide flat sketchbooks and charcoal stained fingers. They frown at him in bewilderment like he doesn’t belong. A cat amongst the pigeons.

They’re not wrong-

He shoulders past them and ignores the way they turn to gawp at him. Wondering why he was in the Art Department, rather than his habitual canteen table soap box, or his weed stoop in the woods where people rarely dare to tread.

More rooms crammed with easels and painters and you’re not one of them. He weaves past even more classrooms. Collects more stares. He feels them land on his back as he walks past. Burning into his DIO patch like bleach.

He’s used to stares. Always been cool with not caring what other people’s problems are with him. And it always falls into the category of instant dislike. He’s sure they have a list at this point.

His hair is too crazy curls and straggly. He’s a super senior who lives in a trailer park. Out of fashion the way he dresses, in his Judas Priest pins and his beloved band tees and his ripped denim knees. He doesn’t listen to Abba, or give a shit about Madonna. So what?

He quickly came to realise during his misspent youth and at the height of his not so brilliant rollercoaster through puberty, that it was their issue. Not his.

He cut himself plenty of slack long ago. He won’t be crammed into stifling neat little moulds, expected to fit, like so many others just fall into. His denim and leather shield against the small small world of Hawkins remained spiky.

Because he doesn’t come from that well classed upbringing of stuffy family dinners, posed holiday photos, minivans, and mom and pop curfew.

He isn’t destined to go on and smile, and be a good shiny haired little athlete boy, off to make good grades, at an Ivy-smothered, brownstone college.

It’s dangerous for the kids to conform, you know? Toxic man.

Besides he’s on a more urgent mission here, than the craggy in’s-and-out’s of squalid pissy disapproval.

Every classroom in this building comes up empty. He sighs and proverbially kicks himself in the shin for being nosy and creepy.

Let’s that feeling eat away a while at his belly as he heads to join his usual crowd. Where he belonged. On a sticky plastic table as they squabbled about shit and kept to their geek corner.

He tucked tail. Chided himself all the way back to the canteen. Smacked his hand on the doorframe coming out the department. A harsh rap to his knuckles that flared with pain.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Munson.

Sat down with a sour face at the head of his table, picked idly at his food. A bag of half eaten chips and a probably out of date Twinkie. Not even the tater tots on Dustin’s plate break him out his funk like they usually do. He’d normally snatch a few. Not today.

Dustin seems to be eyeing him like he would try and snaffle them up. He’s watching for the sudden dart and silver-flash of his ring clad hand. It doesn’t come.

Jeff chucks him a juice box. Like he’s a fucking stray pigeon in the park they’ve all grown used to feeding.

Eddie stares at it too much, as he punches the straw in and repeats the motion. Twiddling with the chilli red plastic as he kept to himself. Fiddling. Fidgeting.

Also something he rarely did. Keep to his own crazy scarecrow head.

Stab and lift. Stab and lift.

Lost his appetite anyhow. Somewhere along the line.

He was being a moron. Presumptuous. Wouldn’t be the first time and on all his metal gods, it certainly won’t be the last.

He feels fully pathetic. One morsel scrap of attention and off he goes like some lonely pervert. Trailing after you like a rabid dog. Frothing at the mouth for the crumb of affection he thought could turn into something more.

Something hopeful that started to unfurl, blooming open in his chest. A delicate rare flower he’d never have the brains to know the full name of.

He’s just dumped a load of choking weed killer over that frail bloom. Because when should a freak’s dreams ever come true

Maybe you didn’t want to be found. Not by him. Maybe you’d come to your senses-

Maybe you realised what he truly was; not some stud athlete on path to play football for a fraternity in the big leagues and make his parents proud.

He is a scrawny loser. A jagged little freak. And as this school reminds him on a daily basis; he’s a nonconforming creep who won’t amount to so much as a piss stain in his life. And now you know that.

That snake bite of a realisation stings way, way, more than he thought it would.

 ~

 Day two. Hour 48. Eddie still finds himself looking.

Maybe he’s a sadomasochist after all. The harder the hit, the sweeter the pain. And it burns so good he can’t tear away from it.

He waits by his trusty van. Others drift off for class. Frowning at the time when they realise how ridiculously fucking early he’d picked them up this morning.

Also something else Eddie doesn’t gel with; punctuality.

Gareth shook his watch hand and lifted it to his ear to check it was still ticking. Henderson seemed to be looking at him the whole ride here, waiting for some rational sort of explanation to announce itself out the metalhead’s mouth, with his usual dramatic fanfare.

It definitely wasn’t anything to do with schoolwork. No final, or test paper could intimidate or worry him. Maybe it was a deal he was anxious to speed too.

Eddie, was your bed on fire this morning or what?

Huh?

You owe someone money or something-

Are you tripping out on me, Henderson? Seriously man. Making zero sense here, y’know.

Eddie didn’t miss the way Dustin slumped back into his seat, tugged at his science baseball cap and muttered something like “Well, that makes two of us.”

Shut the hell up, and let me so graciously drive you to school, you little shrimp.

He says it with thinning patience. But the thing is, Eddie doesn’t really get ever mad or mean with his insults. Never nasty. He doesn’t have a nasty bone in him.

The only thing that works him into being revved up, is the thought of postponing Hellfire. Heaven forfend.

When he parks up, he’s still keeping his mysterious reasons clutched close to his denim chest. He tells them to scram. Beat it.

Get lost, you losers, as he ruffles Dustin’s hair.

His bemused flock wanders away from the parking lot, and wonder how they’re gonna kill some extra time.

He leans against the side of his van, and lights up a cigarette. And there he stays. His skin itches with paranoia. Pushing needles under his veins. Bouncing back from if this is a good idea, or still just him being a creep. Back and forth.

Really he talks himself in and out of it. He jumps out of negative thoughts. Banishes them. And then dives right back in not five minutes later.

He sees Barbie arrive at school in her clunky dream car. (Not pink, shocker) On her own this time. No meathead to speak off. But she is wearing his letterman jacket. It hangs off her.

Today’s heels are sapphire blue. Lilac eyeshadow packed heavy on her lids. She stops and chit-chats to a couple of cheerleaders, all three with standard issue bouncy scrunchie ponytails, that he’s sure is a requirement to get in the squad. Linda lugs a very thin looking binder into class with her.

He hates that he’s taking notice of her footwear. Of all fucking things in this place to notice. But she’s garbed in so much neon brightness, in the full sunshine, she’s a hard one to miss.

He skims his eyes across crowds and pulls on his cigarette. One hand in his pocket. His sneaker toes tap on the loose gravel.

She sashays off to class with the cheerleaders. He’s taking note of an awfully you shaped absence at her side. The negative space unfilled where you should be. Garbed in your paint flecked jeans, with that look of cynical boredom on your face when Linda says something bitchy.

It’s preying on him all the more. The bell goes and he must tear himself away, yet again. Drudging through more classes til lunch comes rolling around, way too slowly.

It’s a nice day - buttery sunshine spliced with a cold stab of spring. Hellfire club convenes outside. They run through character sheets in readiness for Friday night’s campaign. Eddie in his usual spot as king of the heap. Sat table top. As per.

Hands folded from his elbows resting on his knees. Eyes speared across the crowds. Little frown kinking his dark brows in the middle. He looks more intense than usual.

Going this long without glimpsing even one sight of you? Something’s gotta to be up.

He really doesn’t want to look, and he’s not really. It’s quite a repulsive sight happening across the way.

Blondie and her golden haired ape are stood making out, leaning against the brick wall opposite. All wandering hands and tonguing each other’s tonsils. Swapping spit and lusty grins. Not giving a shit.

He’s waiting for his moment. For the opportunity to strike out, like a ready coiled viper.

His knee jiggles and it bounces the bench seat. He barely notices. Too preoccupied. His bracelet jingles on his wrist. Blondie breaks away and the ape goes off in another direction. She walks into the shade of the hallway.

His moment sails right on into his hands. He snatches it.

He bolts up and bounded off the table like it had gone up in flames. Eyes dead ahead. Feet stomping the table top and then down to the bench with precise heavy steps.

The guys around him were fairly used to his outbursting displays of movement. It seemed all Eddie ever did was burst out of control and be unpredictable. Scamper around with that odd sort of scurrying way he moves. Other people walked: Eddie frolicked.

“Hey, where you goin?” Wheeler asks.

“To do battle with a fire breathing dragon.” He calls over his shoulder with a wry little grin.

That typical Munson wild-boy look he gives that’s all big bourbon eyes the size of dinner plates; grin dipped in craziness. Usually the expression that proceeded a whole shit tonne of poor decisions.

As he scurried off the lot after tweedle-dumb, he did feel like he should have armed himself. A sword maybe. A heavy duty shield. Something to bat the curling tongues of flames away when they rise- and oh, they will rise.

He scampers away. Leaves his friends stunned as to what the hell he means. They all share crumpled and vacant looks behind his back as he leaves them crashing about in his rushed wake.

W-was that weird guys?

When is he ever not weird?

Fair.

Eddie rounds the corner and catches her alone. In a partially empty hallway. Lockers sit gleaming either side. Fierce metal red in the lowlight as sun slanted its angry gold across the dull lino. The grey breeze block walls that he really really hates, lining the dour hallways of this freedom crushing institute, of conformity and misery.

He catches up with Linda as she’s slamming stuff in her locker without care, and pouting, to touch up her waxy pink lipstick in a little mirror on her door. Wiping ape drool off her chin and checking her permed hair still bounced and shone. Scrunching the back of it with those pink talons she calls nails.

Claws. Eddie noted. They were definitely claws.

She pushes her locker door closed. Actually recoils back when she sees him walking towards her.

She grimaces like some flea ridden stray has bounded up to her. Covered in mange, and with matted fur. Eddie grits his teeth. Steels his resolve.

“You gotta sec, Blondie?” He asks all casual. Actually tried to keep his voice in neutral territory.

“I have a boyfriend.” She sneers out.

“Yeah. Well. He’s really not my type. You’re safe.”

“Too much product in his hair for my liking.” He adds with a sickly grin that he hopes turns her stomach.

Off the bat with his fists raised for this. Poised. Ready to block side swipes and hurl back a few of his own.

He stands there with his hands on his pockets a safe distance away. He doesn’t risk getting too close.

She’s likely to spray pepper in his face. Or screech and shout that the school freak was harassing her. Eddie keeps distance because he knows full well what people like her, think and say about him.

And if it goes sideways he’s the first one knee deep in the shit.

No matter who throws the first punch, it always sticks to Eddie. That’s where the trouble lands. Cause why fucking not- easy target. He may aswell pin a bullseye on his back. He can’t decry innocence. No one would believe him.

Her frown shifts into something fully venomous. Those baby blues of hers turn Nordic-chilly with icy rage. Gaze packed with frost. Hatred and annoyance blasted his way. What’s new.

“Why are you even talking to me, freak?” She asks. Voice unimpressed, and very much revealing her lack of patience. Scrunched her nose up she was stood near a foul smell. Like he hasn’t showered this morning, or put on deodorant.

That little word he detests stabs into him. Pin pricks on a wiry bed of exposed nerves. He clenched his teeth so as not to open his jaw and retaliate.

Oh, but its right there on the tip of his tongue. It was tempting. He swallows it down.

“Pure desperate dumbassery on my part. But I did wanna ask you something...” Eddie explains.

“Nice.” She spits out at his dig. Making a face that encouraged him to get the hell on with it.

She stands and kinks out a hip. Raps her nails in a slow rap-tap-tap on her locker door. Bag slung off her other shoulder. She looked bored of him already. Had her laser eyes set to bitch-

“I uh, noticed that your friend isn’t around. Something up with her, or what?” He asks in as casual a way as he can allow.

She frowns. “What the hell is it to you?”

 Here’s where thinking on his ever shuffling fearful feet comes in handy.

“Was supposed to drop her some stuff yesterday in the woods. She never showed.” He shrugged like it was easy. Kept his voice a tad quieter for obvious reasons, as he explained.

Somehow his cowardly little heart can’t tell her it’s because he has this huge boiling, raging crush on you.

He has a feeling she’d make a huge show of that. For both your sakes, he pads out the truth for now with a little harmless lie. Packs it around the truth like bubble wrap.

Linda looks like she buys it. Her brow quirks. He was the best route to good stuff around here. Whether she liked to admit it or not.

There were several far creepier guys out of school in town who could hook kids up with weed - for a price if girls were pretty or rip them off for way too much money and inferior stuff. Eddie was almost preferable in the vein of supply compared to those letchers.

Yeah, Munson is a total psycho. But his shits good. Strong. And he doesn’t ask you to flash your tits, or give him a handjob, like the others.

“She didn’t tell me she was buying shit from you.” She narrowed her eyes like it was his fault. Flicking her long lashes and blue doll eyes up and down him in blatant distaste.

“Honey, I sell reefer. I don’t to ask too many questions about how or why it’s used.” He charms.

“All I know is, she wanted some of my product.” He comes completely clean and hope he’s selling this lie. Big brown puppy eyes giving off what he hopes comes across as honesty.

It works.

“She usually scores Mexican stuff off the guy she works with.” She added. “Sal.”

“Who?” Eddie asks. Confused like he hadn’t just met the guy just two days ago.

“Why would she start buying off you?” She frowns. She says it like his name is worse than mud.

He feels like he’s having to sneak past Cerberus into the gates of hell. And those three heads with slobering teeth, and talons just keep coming back round to bite him in the ass.

“My stuff is primo. And plus I don’t know if you heard, but I’m easy on the eyes, and give discounts to pretty chicks.” He shoots her a playful wink. Clicks his tongue at her.

She scoffs. “Whatever, Munson.” She picks at her nails. Done with him.

“Look. I don’t have enough time to stand here through all the centuries of the Spanish Inquisition, Blondie. I just wanted to know why I lost out on making fifteen bucks yesterday. S’all. Kay? Thought you might know. You look tight. I see you guys hanging around with each other.” He offers.

Hands in his jacket pockets jerking up as he spoke. Playing the disinterested weed dealer. Like he’s nothing more to you. When really he wants to be so much more it’s an aching cavernous pit in his stomach, suspended in hope.

He twirls like he’s gonna step away. Mission failed.

“Forget it.” Shaking his head. Making his curly hair fly. Turning his DIO patch back to this and wondering what the hell he’s going to do now.

He smiles like it’s nothing, but something deep down inside is all twisted and mangled sad. Hitting rock bottom. Scraping razors down the blunt edge of his hope.

“She called in sick.”

Eddie turned back and looked over his shoulder.

Sick? What?

That little warm golden beam of hope starts to fizz in his stomach again. You weren’t avoiding him? Holy shit.

The sunny sense of giddiness comes slamming into his gut so hard he has to remember to try and breathe normally. His lungs feel too small.

It was spliced with curiosity now. He was happy as fuck, but now he knew the truth, he couldn’t put aside that you might’ve been on your own. Being sick.

With this skinny slutty drill sergeant as your lone pillar of emotional support with your mom away, now he worried about you suffering on your own, without any sort of kindness, or help.

“Said she had stomach flu, or cramps. I don’t know. I had to borrow my dad’s car to come to school.” She said like it was the biggest travesty of the 21st century for her with, you being out of action. Rolled those eyes over.

“Sick. Right.” Eddie nods. “Well, that explains it.” He grins.

And back out comes the school jester slash freak-

“Bless you for your time, your majesty. I am most obliged. I will let you go back to your embroidery, and having the peasants flogged.” He mock bows and rolls his hand as he does. Hair flipping over his neck. Chain hitting his leg as he moved.

“Creep.”

“Only the finest, sweet cheeks.” Shooting a blasting finger gun at her. Cocking his thumb as the trigger.

She gave him a look that was half venom, and all hatred.

“I have mace in my purse, Munson.” She warns. Popping a stick of juicy fruit in her mouth. Not that it would make her sour words any more bubble-gum sweeter.

“Man if I had a nickel-“ He quipped.

“Tell your friend to get well soon, alright? I gotta look after my prettiest newest customer.” He smirks like anything.

“Babe?” Comes a way too gruff voice. Mr. Blonde Ape lumbers up behind Linda and scrunches his big neanderthal forehead up at Eddie. Placing his huge mitt on her hip. Knuckles dragging along the ground.

He had a sad little George Michael earring dangling off one ear. Behind that, the ridiculous lion gold mullet, shiny with whatever celebrity endorsed product spray he caked on his perm.

The jokes floating into Eddie’s head right now are just too rich. He’s gonna burst-

“Uh oh. The cavalry?” Eddie asks. Smirking as he walks backwards, backing off. He knows its a jab. It’s a goading comment that’s meant to invite retaliation.

He’s never been very good at keeping his mouth out of wandering him recklessly into trouble.

“He bothering you?” Her boyfriend grunts. Looking like he wants to crack his beefy knuckles and slam Eddie’s curly head into the nearest wall of lockers, till his brains spilled out his ears.

“What do you want freak? Quit harassing her.”

“Wow. Sharp as a brick.” Eddie smiles in mocking as his eyes flick back to Linda. Ribbing her for being so stuck up to him, when she was going out with a guy who looked dumber than an actual box of rocks. Dry sponge for a brain.

Ironically, Eddie would trust a box of rocks more than any brain dead amoeba wearing a letterman. Bring on the box.

He points at the ape with his hand still in his pockets. “Really? IQ of 2, and it takes three for him to grunt right?” He goads.

“Fuck off.” Linda barks at him. There’s that mouth again.

Eddie remembered how you’d both cracked jokes about it. Her big mouth. Lifted his spirits a little. Facing down the dragon when entwined with memories of you? Suddenly not so scary.

“Gladly, Mi’lady.” He spins on his heel and bolts away.

He makes it back outside and it isn’t lost on the guys how freaking wide his smile is. Renewed whirling sort of energy to him again. Less antsy. More Eddie.

He stomps his feet heavily back up onto the bench and then the table top. Back to his rightful place.

On the way up he pinches the moon pie right out of Dustin’s grasp. Doesn’t even break his stride.

At least he says ‘thank you’ when he tears the food out of his young friends hand.

Henderson protests all squeaky, but then he had another one stashed in his backpack. Well learned by now. Eddie was like a scrounging feral coyote with stealing his food.

A feral coyote always chewing on a cigarette. That may well have been Eddie’s spirit animal.

They had all learnt that Eddie existed on seemingly nothing. Gas station burritos, cigarettes, and a few cold ones.

He doesn’t know where he draws the energy from to be so hyper for Hellfire. For thrashing and head-banging his crazy hair to deafening rock in his van. Rings clacking hard on his worn steering wheel as he drove and drummed along a beat. Spouted hardcore rock lyrics and made a face with that curling tongue hanging out his mouth.

Eddie chews noisily and splits his maniacal grin at Henderson as he eats. Waving off Dustin’s protests. That grumpy little frown coming forth from under his curls and hat brim.

Now Eddie needed to break even more bad news-

“By the way, you little shits are gonna have to make your own way home tonight.” Eddie says through chewing as he peers down at his Casio.

The table descends into pissy uproar. Eddie rolls those brown eyes over. Gareth throws a balled up piece of paper at his back. Eddie tosses it back, harder, with a leer. It bounces off his head.

“What are we being ditched for this time?” Wheeler asks.

A damsel in distress caught in her tower. Is what Eddie wants to say.

Eddie the brave has dared face the fire breathing dragon, and the meathead ogre. All that remains is seeing to the fair maiden in her hour of need.

“House call.” He tells them.

“Find your own wheels, folks.” Patting his pockets and calculating how much he had left over from his last couple of deals. It was a fair chunk. He liked to kid himself he was saving it for a rainy day.

He puts a cigarette between his lips. Maybe it’s to hide his grin.

He has a definite feeling he’ll be literally skipping out his last class.

~

You felt like hell.

Mind, hell was supposed to be considerably warm. Licking brimstone and red hot flames and all that. You were flipping between corpse cold clammy, and blazing hot. All the blankets pulled tight over your shoulder, and then the next minute, kicking them free.

You’d woken up two days ago with awful pains all squirming nausea in your belly, and a pounding head.

The glories of stomach flu. You spent the entire rest of the day hugging the toilet and hurling your guts out til there was nothing left to give. Retching til you were empty and your stomach cramping.

You then laid in bed shivering with fever for a whole day. Having to drag yourself down the kitchen wrapped in a blanket and fetch yourself a glass of water and something with a little sugar in.

Out of date orange sour juice was your lot. There wasn’t much else in. A few scraps of leftovers, 4 old eggs and a wilting bag of salad.

You weren’t in any kind of mood to stand and cook. You’d nibbled on a few graham crackers. Something dry. You’d kill for a ginger ale to kill the lingering nausea right now.

You rang your sister at the Diner and told her you weren’t so great. She promised to check in after her night shift with supplies. She’d be back around 6am. Mom was supposed to be back in three days’ time too. You’d be back to normalcy by then. With any luck-

You struggled with all your energy to get your miserable carcass in the shower and freshen up. Raking product through your ratty lank hair. You’d been sweating so much with it. The cool water sluicing over your skin felt so reviving.

You got out and pulled on snoopy sleep shorts and a faded Billy Idol tour tee. You’d plucked it out from the dollar store rack for three bucks. It was huge but your favourite shirt to sleep in. You vividly recall Linda going gaga over buying a pink faux leather skirt at the same time. You couldn’t be more opposites if you tried.

You twisted your hair in a towel and managed to scrape together the energy to drag your sheets and pillowcases into the basement to wash them.

By the time you schlepped your way back up the stairs with gargantuan effort, your bones rang with ache for the energy you’d expended.

You flopped back into your remade bed and shoved the small TV in your room on for some soothing noise. The tape you rented from Family Video was still in there from the other day. John Carpenters The Fog. One of your all time favourites. You could happily tune in and out you’d seen it so many times.

You watch the Poe quote about dreams, and the old sailor dangling the pocket watch to some kids around a campfire, before he claps it in his hands and says with that gravelly voice of storytelling doom, “11:55.”

You let it play in the background as you lazed there and in your freshly remade bed. Dragging a thin blanket over your legs. Settling in and feeling drowsy as a milky blue began to wash over the room.

Your small bedside lamp was on, staining your room gold. Window open and your white and pink striped curtains pulled back. They sway gentle on the meagre breeze. Spilling in scents of your garden at a dewy periwinkle sunset. The little white flowers climbing up the trellis smelled so sweet. All rolled in the flavour of cooling night air.

You finally let yourself sag down and drift in and out of sleep. Blanket tangled between your legs. When you blearily stumble out of sleeps cosy swallow again, the film is halfway through. Nick and Elizabeth trying to haul ass and get Andy to safety.

You woke hearing a slamming car door down the street. One of your neighbours coming and going. The sound drifting through your open windows and batting at your curtains. The Anderson’s’ chunky pit bull started barking it’s head off at the noise too.

You yawned and shoved the pillow under your tilted head to watch the film through hooded lids. You were damn hungry, but not hungry enough to move to rectify it. You’d survive til morning on water. Despite the way your belly gripes and growls for something more substantial than crackers.

You turn the film up and get lost in it. Laying back, until you hear a scuffle outside. Knocking up against the wall of your house.

You sit right up to listen better. Ears tuned for more. There’s definitely the telltale rustle and shake of the shrubs below your window. The scrape of something hitting the trellis.

You pause the video with a hurried click.

Some idiot was climbing up the side of your house.

You’re two seconds from bolting out to grab the baseball bat your mom kept in the upstairs closet.

But a familiar voice slithers on in. You catch onto snippets.

“Shit. Motherfucking,sonofa- betch.” Comes unsmothered curses from the underside of your window. There’s another hiss, shaking of a shrub, and a knock. A growl. A stab of a foot hooking onto wood.

That would be Eddie.

Who just fell ass first into a long neglected rose bush. Hissing and cursing at the scrape on his back.

Risking thorns, undeterred, he’s back up. Trying again on the trellis, with more success. Graze burning mean at his back where his t-shirt had ridden up.

You twist around in bed to see leathered elbows knock ungracefully into your room. Bracelet rattling around a skinny wrist. Faded sharpie phone number scrawled on his hand.

Waterfall of hair cupping that face and framing those bourbon-black eyes, and the wicked bright grin. A brown paper bag dangling from between his teeth.

When he sees you on your bed his brows raise in greeting. Muffled smile and sounds coming out his mouth. Spit soaking dark into the brown paper.

He thinks nothing of unfolding his lanky limbs into your bedroom. Shoving the window open wider and clumsily throwing himself inside. Tumbling in so his long legs kicked out. Stomach crawling onto the cushioned window seat. Zips and chains clinking from his jacket and jeans.

He dumped the bag onto the floor to free his mouth. Shiny teeth smiling blinding white right at you. This boy shines brighter than a blazing Indiana summer.

“Heard you were sick, Pencils.”

You blink and laugh cause it’s just so absurd.

You could just kiss that grin off him- sickness bug aside. You had to hold back your itching palms from reaching out for him. He was here. Come to see you.

You stand at the edge of your bed and struggle to know what to say to this sudden and bewildering sight.

Eddie Munson crashing into your room in an explosion of curse words and his on brand maniacal grin. Scaling the side of your house with his bare hands like a spider monkey. Grocery store bag clamped between his teeth.

“What the hell?” You ask him laughing. Shaking your head. Your chest bounces with it.

He stops dead in his tracks. Face falling. “Shit. This a bad time?”

The boy was really hanging there, dangling his legs out your window, asking permission to climb aboard.

You help him by pushing your curtains out his way. “God. No. No bad time. I just- wasn’t expecting a house caller at this hour.”

He finishes hauling himself fully inside.

He slipped into a deep southern Belle voice. Grinning. “Ah do declare ma-self a gentleman caller.”

“How did you know I was sick?”

“Little mean birdie with a blonde perm.” He rasps as he army crawls rest of the way inside.

“You talked to Linda?” You asked him, impressed. Your belly all buttery and mushy. Flipping over like it was trying to qualify for gymnastics Olympic gold.

“Jesus. How in the world did that go?” You asked.

“Goddamnit. That girl scary as hell.” He tells you as he hauls himself upright and snatches the paper bag off your floor. Groaning as he stood tall.

“John Houston in slutty red heels.” He describes her. Makes you chuckle. Appt description.

As he talks, he jerks an arm across his forehead to disturb the dewy sweat and the leaves caught in his shaggy mane he can feel itching at his forehead. Panting to get his breath back.

“Thank god you don’t have a three story house. Don’t think I would’a made it.” He says, winded. Smokers lungs you imagine.

You smile more just seeing the bits of leaf and broken twig he brought in. Like a stray cat. Coming in with parts of garden trailing after him.

You stand close and reach across to pluck them out. Teasing the little white petals out his fluffy strands of hair.

“Hang on now. I just have to check something…” He reaches for your hand and his warm, over-accessorised fingers seek your pulse. He darts his eyes off to the side and listens a moment.

“Yep. I definitely diagnose you, as not dead.” He laughs. You do too.

Then you wince.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get in touch. You had my number but I didn’t know how to reach you. Couldn’t see a Munson in the phone book.” You said.

He scuffs his toes against your carpet. Holding the grocery bag against his thigh looking sheepish.

“I uh, I did call your number. Couple times. Rung out. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.” He goes all twirly, and fidgets.

Eyes not meeting yours all vulnerable for a second. He instead takes in the state of his scuffed thorn scraped shoes. The moment overwhelming him.

Your heart sputters pathetically at the thought he’d been hurt and left doubting you. That’s perhaps the last thing on this earth you wanted.

You’d heard the house phone go yesterday. But you couldn’t risk taking your head out the toilet bowl to run and answer.

You put your hand on his elbow where he stands. Step closer. His eyes raise to meet yours. Peeking unsure out under that choppy fringe.

“I’d never ignore you.” You say so honestly it makes a grin burst onto his face. He couldn’t help it.

He believed you.

“Fucking stomach flu. If I knew who it was calling I would have run to it if I could. Sans vomiting down the phone to you.” You joke.

“Sexy.” He quips. Then he looks you over. Cute PJ’s. Your hair is all smushed. “How you doing now?”

You melt as he reaches across and runs his thumb slowly across your chin and your jaw. So tentative. So sweet.

“Better. Just tired I guess.” You fiddle with the hem of your Billy shirt. His eyes don’t dare drift from yours. You really don’t want him to stop touching you.

“That’s good. Good to know I won’t have to suddenly side step to avoid you puking on my feet. I’m not ready for a 360 exorcist move here.”

You laugh bitterly cause that’s not the most flattering image you wanted him to have of you.

“No projectiles. I promise.” You cross the space over your heart with a fingertip.

His hand is still stroking your jaw softly. Hair still a little damp and soaked in the fresh fake coconut scent of your shampoo. You stand there near each other and Eddie’s heart is just growing wings of its own.

 He’s smitten.

You look as cute as ever. A little drained maybe. Eyes a touch glassy, bags under them dark, splotchy neck like you’d been asleep.

“I wouldn’t get too close. I might still be contagious or something.” You warn him.

“And I look like shit right now.” You add. Putting your hand flat on the front of his jacket.

He doesn’t think you do. He unsticks a curl of hair off your cheek. You don’t even breathe too loud in fear it might spook him away.

“I’m willing to risk it. But we may wanna shelve the intensely hot making out tonight. Much as it pains me to say it. Wouldn’t want you to keel over on me, now.” He flirts.

God, that tone of his sets something in your knees quivering.

“Keel over?” You raise a brow.

“Uh-huh. I’m just that good babe.” He winks. But he gets his desired goal. Which is to see you smile and laugh at him.

He switches up the subject before you notice how much your proximity could make him blush.

“Now. Snoopy shorts. Get back into bed pronto. You’re not well.”

He snaps his fingers and points at your bed with a stern smirk. The bag rustles in his other hand.

“Bossy.” You remark as you turn and climb back into your sheets. A little wary and feeling girlish that suddenly, you’re noticing that he’s in your room.

Your room. He’s going to see your Bauhaus, Billy idol, and Bowie posters. He’s gonna see the pile of dirty washing shoved in your hamper and your messy artists desk, stuffed with pencils and paint smeared onto your sketchbooks.

Your walls that are still skated in pretty lilac paint from your childhood. Your pinned up life drawings and your lumpy arm chair with your blue bra and dirty jeans strewn on the arm of it. And you’d not shaved your legs or anything. Oh Jesus Christ. You should’ve tided up a bit.

He’s stood near your bed. He’s gonna be able to see the ratty old dog toy guarding the shelf over your desk. He’s already remarked on your snoopy shorts for heaven’s sake. You try not to let your mind go there with that last one-

He lets you settle in. Flips the blanket over your legs and smooths it over your knees. “There you go.” As he tucks you in like you are actually a patient.

Then he drops down onto his knees, on your carpet, crouching at the side of your bed.

“Now. Call me Florence fucking Nightingale, but I bought you a few things…“ He explains. Hands shuffling for his pockets. Which you suddenly notice are hugely bulkier than normal.

He fishes through his jacket pockets and all the compartments in his leathers. And those ring clad hands are bringing out goods for you.

A can of Sprite on one denim pocket. “Good for healing anything so I hear. Particularly hangovers.” He tells you with a grin.

“I won’t ask how you know that.” You simper.

“I’m such a paragon of virtue.” He insists all salacious and sugary.

A Canada Dry ginger ale is withdrawn from his other pocket. He puts them both on your nightstand. Pats the tops of both of them after he sets them down. Then he’s back to fishing in his pockets.

He brings out two twinkies, a three musketeers, and a single Reece’s cup.

“We can fight over that one later pencils.” He says with a grin.

“Patients’ bill of rights. Shouldn’t I get dibs you know- I am sick.” You stick out your bottom lip and bat your lashes at him.

“That’s playing dirty and you know it.” He shakes his head at you as he dives into more zipped pockets. His tongue tipped out between his teeth as he looks.

He produced a cereal box toy, one of those sticky gummy Alien things. Two DND dice “Huh, been looking for those.”

Along with a handful of some peanut butter crackers, and a mini bag of chips ahoy, and a DND figurine of a Hydra. Followed by a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup.

“Should have a tin of Campbell’s when you’re sick, you know, It’s the law. Cure for the soul.” He insists.

You smile wider.

This crazy metal head who half your school hated and swore was dangerous, here he was climbing through your window with a can of soup stuffed in his pocket, just for you.

He’s not some satanic devil freak. You’ve decided he’s actually a ray of pure fucking sunshine. A human ball of kinetic energy.

“I think that’s about it…” He says as a red sharpie, an eraser, a couple pennies, and a seven eleven receipt end up crumpled on the bed next to you. He did manage to find a fruit roll up too. He adds it to the ever growing pile.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask. Nodding to where he dumped it by your bedside table.

“Aha!” He turns and snatched it up with a huge grin and a flourish. “Flaming hot Cheetos and Funyuns.”

He brings them out and lays them on the bed, along with a marlboro packet.

“And a pack of reds, buuut, truth be told those are for me.” He smiles and stuffs them in his jacket pocket.

You wouldn’t fight him for those anyway.

You’d stolen a Newport gold out moms purse once, and smoked it in the girls bathroom at school with Linda, and that was enough. Never again.

Horrible taste of tobacco burning richly as you gagged for breath. Acrid taste on your tongue all day. You’d rubbed it away drinking way too much Pepsi.

“This is a lovely display of domesticity. Munson. Thank you.” You beam at him. Picking through the packets of candy and the crackers. And you meant it too. He noticed you do this curled little half smile when you’re being sincere.

“Gotta look after one of my top ten favourite people.” He winks.

Now he’s done unloading, he shrugs off his jacket by shimmying his shoulders, and toes off his sneakers. Your garden was dry as a bone. But he didn’t wanna be tracking too much dusty mud into your house.

He leaves his jacket and vest behind him on the bench seat. White socked feet squishing into your thick green carpet. Hellfire shirt on his skinny torso. What else?

He comes back to kneeling by your bed. Looking ridiculously cute as he hooks his hands over the edge of your mattress.

It’s pathetic how much it woos you.

“Top ten? I am touched.” You wisecrack, as he pats your knee over the covers. Before he reaches off for the can of soup. Clutched it in his hand. Twirled it up into the air.

“After Lemmy from Motörhead, but you’re definitely before Slash.” He says. After catching the tin in his other hand like he was juggling with it. His dimples come up where he smiles.

“Good. I like to know where I stand.” You nod along.

“Now. You stay there. I’ll go and heat this.” He scrambled up not at all elegantly and whirled away, loping to your bedroom door.

Oh christ. You sit up straighter. “Please try not to set fire to my kitchen.” You call after him.

“No guarantees.” Gets called cheekily up your stairs as he clatters down them. Leaping down the last few.

You can picture him bouncing around down there. Human pinball. Opening drawers, faffing with the cupboard doors trying to find your pots and pans.

No smell of smoke you can detect so that was a positive. He returns promptly and without fanfare, carrying a steaming mug in one hand, a spoon in the other.

“Couldn’t find your bowls. I improvised.” He speaks before he’s even in the room.

Treading carefully on white socked feet into your room. He crouches and hands you the piping hot mug and the spoon. You sit up and balance it on your knees. Thanking him again.

Your cheeks warm. You don’t think it’s from the soup though.

“What we watchin pencils?” He asks as he snaffles the packet of Cheetos onto his hands as he slumps down onto your carpet, and crosses his legs to sit there quite happily.

“You seen the Fog?” You ask as you start to slurp a mouthful of hot soup. Blowing on it first cause it was lava-hot.

He crunches Cheetos so loudly. speaks with his mouth full.

“Lock your doors. Bolt your windows.” He leers in a gravelly voice. Throws another Cheeto into his mouth. “Absolutely. A damn classic.”

“Wanna watch from the beginning?”

“Go for it. I got all night man.” He beams up at you. Wiggles his toes like he’s an excited little kid. You rewind it. Watch the screen slice to monochrome ribbons over the jerky picture as it does.

He seems content to stay there. On the floor. Knees up and hands clasping his kneecaps, as he plucks at the Cheetos and opens one of the peanut butter cracker packets.

You swirl your spoon into the soup. “You can come up here y’know. I mean. If, if you wanted. It’s much comfier than the floor.” You tell him.

“You missing me already?” He smiles all wide. Flashing his straight teeth. Tipping on his ass to lean right up against the bed. Beaming at you. Dimples on that mouth and wrinkles around those eyes.

“You hand delivered me soup. Doesn’t seem right you should sit on the floor.” You scoot over without jostling your dinner, and pat the space next to you.

Your bed was a spacious double. Plenty of room to be had on your blue and pink faded rosebud sheets. Couple of flowery throw pillows against the headboard. You could gladly make space for a little black leather and a splash of Hellfire on those prim sheets of yours.

“Alright, Pencils. But you gotta keep your hands to yourself. Alright?” He leers. “I know you’re at deaths door, and I’m irresistible and all…” He spreads those long guitar strumming fingers across his chest.

His rings gleam in the low gold light from your cheap yellow lamp. Limning him in gilded gold. Creeps across his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. The curls that wave down his shoulders.

Does something particularly stunning to those deep dark eyes. Like a gold shooting star is bursting across them glittering, as he looks at you.

He’s utterly gorgeous. And it turns you inside out all over again how much you like him.

He pauses as he’s got his knees on the bed. Leaning over to ever-so-slightly invade your personal space. Because when around Eddie, not even your own personal space remained fully yours. Truth be told, you kinda liked that about him. He somehow made it the least obnoxious thing. Invading your space.

His hair hangs over his shoulders. As he stays on his knees at your feet. Grinning like a joker.

“Never fear. My hands shall remain on this mug at all times.” You promise. Cupping the warm sides of it.

He crawls past with a nod to prop himself up against the pillows next to you. Shuffling around to get comfy.

Your stomach goes all wooed and sentimental, cause that amalgamation of drugstore apple shampoo, powdery laundry detergent, cigarettes, and old leather is drifting over your bed as he clambered past on his hands and knees. His guitar pick on that ball chain necklace sways into his chest.

The scent of him and the closeness is chucking you back to memories. Living back through the yesterdays 

That sensation of being wrapped around him the record store closet. Your cheeks heat again and you take another sip of your soup to have something to blame it on.

It’s not two seconds of silence and he piped up again. Unable to leave gaps so it seems. “I like your room, by the way.”

You look at him and he’s got this smile on as he’s scanning around at your posters, and your books. Your messy clothes, your shelf unit stuffed with cassette tapes. The assorted minutia of your life crammed all around.

It’s real. It’s cool, it’s somehow intimate. Seeing this inner space all splashed in influence of you. It’s like pulling out wires and cogs from something cause you just want to see how it functions. How all the stacked things that build you, take shape.

Your little habits. Quirks, pinned and hand painted on the walls. History and childhood, all thumbtacked and hanging off picture pins. Your adolescence tucked into drawers, shelves stacked with it.

Wooden paintbrushes stuffed into an old enamel jug that the cream paint is flaking off. Your crinkly cornered art posters above the desk, ticket stubs faded on the far wall, pinned to a busy cork board. Pencil shavings scattered across your open sketchbook that he definitely peeked at when crossed the room. A deep sea blue stroke of an Indie State pennant flag.

“Thanks, it’s uh, not much but-“ You shrug. Modest.

“It looks like you.” He says softly.

“Disorganised?” You laugh.

“Cosy. Artful.” He decides. And he makes a mental note to check out your collection of cassette tapes before he leaves. You had quality taste and he wanted to unwrap more about it. Spool it out and study it.

“I see you’ve ultimately customised the bed space.” He swivels around and catches the scowling slashing red and black of a Billy Idol poster above your headboard. Shirtless and moody, Rebel Yell.

You smile as you dig your spoon into the broth. Swirling it around. You definitely felt your cheeks glow with that one.

“What can I say. I’m a fan.” You tell him openly. Twisting to meet his eyes.

Nods at your poster. “I can see that. He sure is one lucky dude.”

You frown. Confused. Lucky?

He gestures to your band tee.

“Listen I’m getting jealous. He gets to be close to your tits, and above your bed.” He winks.

You laugh. A loud laugh and you try not to snort.

“Maybe so. But you’re the one currently in my bed, Munson.“ Your tone dipping into lovely silky flirt.

You side eye a look at him and he tilts his head all quirky. Dimples in his cheeks rise again. “I guess so.”

He turns and makes a big show of twisting over and flipping the bird at the poster. I win you loser.

“I actually think he’s kinda cute-“

“He is a pretty hot dude. I’ll give you that.”

“You’re cuter though.” You tell him.

His brain stutters through the fact you paid him a compliment.

“You’re only trying to butter me up so you can steal the Reece’s cup. I see right through that facade, sweetheart.” He nudged your knee with his socked foot. Sprawled out on the bed with his hair fanned out crazy over one of your pillows.

You lock eyes. It feels like an electricity pulse. Stinging and sweet. He’d lean in and seal a kiss on your lips if he could.

“Yeah. You got me.” You play. And you’re not even playing at all.

You smile and eat more soup as the movie clicks back to the beginning. You point the remote and hit play.

When you finish your very satisfying mug dinner, you set the mug aside and curl down in your bed. Sliding under the blanket.

This move brings you closer to where Eddie is laid out. Brown eyes fixed on your small glowing tv screen. But his attention is screaming and shrieking and so tugged to you and the way you’re moving next to him.

You fold both hands up under your face and rest down on a pillow near his shoulder.

He swallows when your head sinks close to him. Flicks his eyes down and across to you. He sits with one arm folded behind his head. Legs kicked out every which way. His knee brushed into yours. You don’t shrink away. You stay put.

In fact, where you relax down, your cheek brushed against his shoulder and still you stay. Eddies smile curls a little at that.

There’s a rustle and when you look he’s shaking the Cheeto packet at you. You smile and reach in for some.

The silence is comfy somehow. The film blares on. He opens things and offers them to you. Crackers. The chips. He slurps the sprite. You hog the ginger ale. It’s nice.

You feel in on his chest when he speaks when he laughs it rolls through him in the shake of his steady bowed ribs. The way you smile makes the walls of his heart go all warm, gooey and slippy.

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to celebrate with his fists punched in the air like a roaring frat champion, when you throw a cookie that he catches in his mouth. Crunches crumbs all down his shirt front as he grins.

Your sides hurt with laughing, you nearly snort and send fiery ginger ale out your nose. How is he more amusing than the film you’re both pretending to watch? He just is.

He gossips to you about school. Of all mad things. He tells you about what happened in the canteen when Tammy. H on the cheer squad found out that Debbie C kissed her boyfriend after the basketball game. Tammy apparently dumped a carton of milk over her head. A slapping fight ensued. It was a mess.

You chuckle at the fact he doesn’t give a shit about any of the popular assholes. Except when something funny happens in the lunchroom in front of everyone. Then, it’s worth a chuckle over. They were both catty girls anyway, fighting over some boring ass jock. There was no love lost there from you guys.

He tells you he got a D on his Spanish paper which no one could understand how.

Dustin told him to stop eating his body weight in plastic wrapped jerky from the gas station. Chucked a syrupy yellow fruit cup at him and told him about a balanced diet so he wouldn’t end up getting scurvy.

“Honey, honestly I swear that kid is like the voice of my conscience. If that voice was like, an annoying little gnat yammering on, buzzing in my ear.”

“It’s sweet. He cares about you so much.” You defend.

“So sweet.” He mocks. “Little shrimp.”

But he can’t hide the clasp of affection that settles in his voice. Even in his mocking. The kid worships him. Looks up to him. You just know that puffs up some part of Eddie’s chest. This genuinely sweet and weirdo kid had found his hero in the freak. Always grinning up at the metal head with great gleaming stars in his eyes.

Eddie who was always unapologetically himself and hurled away anyone else’s distaste in him, with the contempt it deserved. Eddie who always told Dustin to be himself and like what he likes without shame.

You hit Eddie upside the head with some hardcore truth. See if it doesn’t sink in that crazy scarecrow head of his. That hard skull and his impenetrable skin, that both grew over double thick to keep out unwanted opinions. Wrapped his vulnerabilities up in razor wire and didn’t let anybody trespass on it.

He’d let you trespass though. Just a little.

“I think Henderson seriously looks up to you Eddie. You’re who he wants to be when he grows up. You’re a literal rockstar to him.”

He blows a raspberry.

“Nah man. He’s got Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington for that. He’s who kids look up too. And more importantly, he’s who their parents want them to be. Straight laced. Shiny hair. Chicks dig him. Prom King. Going to college like a good little boy and will have your daughter home by 9.” He rolls his eyes.

He doesn’t say it to get mean at you. But he’s twisted all the jagged edges around and pointed them in at himself.

You know this is coming from the well of his insecurities. And it plunged down so deep it didn’t see the light of day anymore. You peel off a few of those self deprecating cynical layers, and you hurl some honesty at him.

People aren’t usually… honest, with Eddie. Not really. They don’t get close enough. They don’t care enough. When it seems all be gets is bad press and horrible hard spitting truths. You wipe that away and decide to dare put something else there instead.

“I’ll bet you that Reece’s cup your scrawny ass is so wrong on that. Munson.”

His hair flicks out when he turns to look at you. Sat there and those inscrutable brown eyes looking all melty and puppyish.

“You think it’s scrawny?”

You bite a cracker and grin. Shoulder to shoulder with him.

You’re slumped on each other as the film progresses. Drifting on. Eddie lifts his arm up to stretch out his shoulder, purely by chance, this leaves you curled up. Practically pasted onto his ribs. Hearing the full whump-whump of his heart push through his warm Hellfire clad side.

Underneath all that stiff denim and cold leather, he’s all softness. Mush. You’d never have suspected that. You end up resting your palm flat to his stomach.

He has to blink and revel in the way that touch of yours makes his stomach fizz with squirmy awareness. He begs begs begs his dick not to react cause that would just really shallow and cheapen this moment. He doesn’t want that.

He’s eating the gummy fruit roll up. He bites down on it, maybe too hard. Because he just tested, resting his palm down across your shoulder and stroking the dry ends of your hair. The raised bone of your shoulder blade through the washed black of your shirt. You smell like coconut and so do your pillows and he wants to bury his head in that sweet tropical smell. Wants to take a chunky bite out of it.

You nuzzle into him and make this soft noise at the back of your throat that has his body transcending on through this bed.

Flipping around in giddy idiot joy. It makes him bite his lip. He has to pull himself back to the ground from bumping the ceiling with every touch that you lean for- you fucking lean in for touch of him.

You fill his belly with warm fluffy pride. Euphoria. You stud his angry rocker heart full and silly with red cupids arrows.

And you sat there tonight with rose pink cheeks and didn’t pussyfoot about. No games. Straight laced honesty. Pure and unfiltered. Something hard and punchy like a vodka shot or a stick of dynamite.

Look at him with those eyes that just beckon him to taste your lips again, so he can chase the flavour of his name coming out your mouth.

And best of all, the pièce de résistance, you certainly don’t mince your words about what you think of him-

You admire him. Laughed and joked with him. Chucked Cheetos, cookies and crackers for him to catch with his mouth and laughed so crazy, like it’s insanity and it’s catching.

You tell him his friends love him, and somehow you heal over that ragged wound in his heart, that tells him he isn’t lovable. That little rift in his body that had been there since the day mommy abandoned him, and daddy got thrown in jail again.

It stitched up that little gaping hole. He felt it soothe and heal over. Closed a bit and it felt good.

When his head tips forwards, his eyes burn when he blinks them. Cause apparently you’d both fallen asleep. Lulled by the movie and the snuggly warmth from each other’s bodies all rolled up in the blankets.

The films credits are rolling on and on. His mouth is dry with peanut cracker dust and the sourness of sleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out. He rubs a dry knuckle onto his eyes until his world slants and bursts into popping static. He blinks and registers where his limbs are splayed.

Would you believe they’re curled around the shape of you. He doesn’t find that hard to discover.

His arm slung over your belly. Your hips are nestled back into the cradle of his pelvis cause you’d twisted and he didn’t even feel it.

His shoulder tingles, pins scrape to the bone, your hands are curled around his arm that’s over your pillow and down by your side.

His chest was crushed to your back and he’d wondered why his dreams smelt so good- He’d been nuzzling in to chase that sweet coconut smell entwined into your hair. Some added warmth of your skin and the feel of your body making him all dozy.

“Pencils?” He whispers. His voice is shrouded and raspy. He flicks out his free arm and reads his watch. The blinking square numbers tell him it’s 2:04 in the morning.

It feels wrong and mean, peeling the blanket off the corner of his thigh that he doesn’t remember pulling over himself. The new air that rushes over him is cold.

He slips his arms out carefully so as not to disturb your sleep. You looked serene, the way you breathed deep and even, had him leaning in and tucking a hair away from your warm cheek.

He carefully scoops the used packets of food as noiselessly as he can, into the waste paper basket under your desk that’s filled with scattered pencil shavings and crumpled up paper. He leaves the pile of food he gathered stacked neatly on your bedside. Nestled around the pool of gold still being cast around by your lamp.

He shoves his shoes on. Pulls on his jacket. Tiptoes across your squishy carpet and scribbled a note on an empty page of your sketchbook with his red sharpie. The soft skate of pen on paper as he wrote.

He did sneak a glimpse at your sketches. Some of the pen and ink ones you’d do that were better than some comic books he’s read (talented, brilliantly amazing and so nuanced)

Took one very quick spurring survey of your cassettes too. Colour him curious. (Really pencils? Kool and the gang?) Reminds himself to tease the shit out of you for that later.

He pulled your blanket up to your chin. switched your light off. Threw the room into darkness save for the steady sleepy burn of orange that flowed in via the street. Slanted across your carpet. He closes the curtains for the window across from your bed. Let you get your sleep.

He can’t resist brushing a thumb across your cheek before he leaves. Nestled a tentative kiss on top of your head. Takes a lungful of you. You are better than nicotine.

“Goodnight Pencils.”

Before he climbs out your window, and probably falls face first in that fucking prickly bush again, he leaves a note slotted on your bedside table. Your nickname unmissable in scrawled red slashing letters. A squiggly funky little doodle of him in a nurses costume. And another one of him, Eddie the Brave, battling with a sword against a permed and very cross dragon in high heels and lipstick.

He signs it with his phone number. And love, and a whole row of wobbly kisses. from, Florence fucking Nightingale.

He grows all warm with the thought of you waking up tomorrow and smiling at his dumbass note. That was the best feeling. He wishes he could bottle that and get drunk on it. Sip it like a pocket flask of whiskey or gin and he’s got DT’s like an alcoholic. High on the nearness of you.

It was worth the scrape and dig of rose thorns. That damn bush below your window that he falls into - again. It’s so worth it.

~

🕷Don’t wanna brag or nothin, but the next part is just sat here🕷

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