#eddie munson self insert
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Pretty Girl [ 2 ] — Eddie Munson x fem!reader
Summary — Eddie doesn't like when other guys talk about his girl. You think he's stupid because you're not his girl. He proves you wrong.
Word Count — 2.8k
Warnings — Graphic depictions of sexual activity, kinda mean!eddie, enemies to lovers banter, thigh riding, light face slapping, dirty talk
Part One
18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI
The old metal of the trailer creaked as the door slammed closed. With a wavering hand squeezing his blood-stained nostrils, Eddie glanced away from his reflection in his mirror and poked his head from the restroom doorway. His eyebrows furrowed as he recognized the quick and light footsteps approaching him.
He had practically pleaded with Dustin to not make any more phone calls. He was already embarrassed, more exasperated with the number of times he’s had to stuff his nose with clean tissues, and didn’t want to deal with the scolding and teasing from his friends. Thankfully, none of them had arrived, but, of course, you weren’t like any other person he’d ever met and drove over. If things were different and he wasn’t squeezing his nose with blood seeping beneath his fingernails, he would have paid more attention to the fact that you were there for him. But, stupidly of him, he didn’t think about that. “You came?” He asked, his voice nasally as he squeezed his nose firmly.
Your eyebrows furrowed together with obvious confusion as you neared him. “Of course, I came. Dustin said you needed me.” Now, that wasn’t something he could easily disregard. He wasn’t even sure you knew you had said those words, far too concerned with the pile of bloodied tissues in the corner of the room. You came because he needed you. You pushed his hand aside, carefully tilting his head back and he wordlessly complied. “What happened?”
Now, this was where things became awkward. Roughly an hour ago, Eddie saw something he definitely shouldn’t have. From across the hallway, he watched you. This wasn’t anything new, he could watch you for as long as he could if given the chance, but what was new was the guy across from you. He keeps telling himself he isn’t jealous, couldn’t possibly be. The words overspread his thoughts, suffusing every crevice and space of his head as he watched the spectacle. Maybe, just maybe, if he said the words enough, he’ll eventually believe them. He had to. There isn’t any reason for him to be internally seething with jealousy. You weren’t his. But, God, watching you smile like that because of some random guy was more than enough to have him become nauseous. Seriously, he could feel revulsion bubbling within him.
After you dismissed yourself with a small wave and watched with unfamiliar wrath as this prick motioned for his friends to check you out as you walked away and made a bet on who could fuck you first, he came to a final and startling conclusion. You were his. And that ass these dicks were checking out was definitely not theirs, only his. You ascended up the stairwell and he caught the faintest glance of beneath your skirt. Yeah, that ass and you were only his.
He explained some of what happened and he couldn’t restrain the pleased smile as the concerned softness on your expression deteriorated and was replaced with the familiar annoyance. “You can’t fight people just because they were talking to me.” You sneered.
He removed the small tissue from his nose. “Of course, I can,” He said casually, unbothered by the possessiveness he was displaying. Your glare hardened. “I know you’re mad at me, but you look so good right now.” You did. The sheen of your lipgloss was reflecting from his bedroom light and your hair was styled just how he liked it.
If you were nerved by his words, you didn’t show it. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.” Even though you were pissed with him, nothing new, your honey-laced words rejuvenated him like a gulp of fresh air. Those butterflies fluttered inside him, threatening to tear through his skin and fly amongst your aura.
He smiled boyishly. “You look really beautiful in this skirt, by the way. It really suits you.”
His bloodstained fingers gingerly plucked at the bottom of your skirt, lifting the fabric teasingly before dropping it. “You are infuriating.” You said through clenched teeth.
“And you are quite possibly the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
There was a flash of something in your gaze and he wouldn’t have even caught the change if he hadn’t been mesmerized by the color of your eyes. You blinked and it was gone. “What the hell were you even thinking?” You didn’t know why you even asked. This moron obviously wasn’t thinking.
Another lovesick smile. “You’re all I think about.” His finger caressed the skin above your knee. “You care about my well-being, gorgeous?”
You visibly swallowed. “No, not at all.” You said and you weren’t even convinced by the declaration.
He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced as well. “Oh, really?” He asked.
You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, really.”
Eddie’s dubious stare remained on you as he thought for a moment. “You might be able to lie to everyone else and have them fooled, but I can always tell and you’re lying right now.”
You crossed your arms across you chest and chuckled humorlessly. “So you think you know everything about me now?” You didn’t know how to feel about being seen so clearly.
He leaned further back against his bedframe and you despised that he behaved with such a casualness, an obvious nonchalance while you were straining to remain as stoic as you could manage. “No, I do know everything about you and I know deep down you like me.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t like anything about you.” You lied straight through your teeth, your glittering eyes glowing with a wave of irate anger reserved solely for him. You knew you were lying because there was a different layer of him you were discovering every day and you hated it. you hated that he wasn’t as terrible as you initially thought he was.
“Tell me more.” He demanded, slowly looming closer to you.
“I’m not flirting with you,” You clarified, “This isn’t some dirty talk.”
His face was disconcertingly close to you and even though you pretended the close proximity disgusted you, you didn’t move. “You’re right. This is better.” And for a moment, neither of you said something. “I never noticed your eyes were this pretty.” He could see you; the depths of your eyes illuminated beneath the light, each shadow accustomed to the shadows and darkness glistening on display for him. Small wrinkles creased by your eyes as you softly smiled, a tenderness reserved for him at that moment, and damn, he swore his breath was yanked from his lungs at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that.” He suddenly said.
You blinked, confused. “What?”
“The way you’re looking at me, it’s turning me on.”
Your expression transformed into disbelief before glancing down at his crotch, merely a few inches away. “Are you seriously hard right now?”
He grinned shamelessly. “Can you blame me?” He asked brazenly. “Look at you.” Truth be told, if it was regarding you, it didn’t take much at all for him to get hard.
You refrained from expressing how much you like this. “It’s been less than fifteen minutes and you already have a boner. Do I really have that much of an effect on you?”
There wasn’t any hesitation as he answered. “Absolutely.”
You rolled your eyes. “Stop distracting me.” You pushed his head back again, closely examining inside. The bleeding had stopped and there didn’t appear to be any visible fractures. He would be okay with some ice. “So what were they even saying?” You asked, referring to moment that apparently started everything.
Eddie stiffened, hardly noticeable. “Doesn’t matter. I took care of it.”
“If it’s about me, I deserve to know.”
A moment passed and then another, and he didn’t answer. You were going to ask again in a much more demanding and firmer way when he suddenly sighed heavily. “They were making bets on who could fuck you first.” You could the admission burn his tongue like acrid poison.
Your breathing hitched as you processed his admittance. “You were defending me?” You quietly asked. This definitely made things worse for you. The reason he was starting fights, bruising his knuckles with dark redness and scrapes and scratches, was because they were talking about you. Eddie Munson was defending you in his own perverse way.
“Obviously. You’re not up for grabs. You’re mine.” The way he spoke with careless possession shook you to the core. It was as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And you supposed to him, it was.
Your walls were slowly tumbling and crashing down. Fix it, your brain screamed. “I’m not yours.”
He smirked and it was almost devilish. “Not yet.”
“Not ever.” You corrected, choosing to ignore the fire coursing through you.
That insolent smirk never dwindled. “I see you’re still pretending you aren’t madly in love with me.” He said with sweet amusement.
Any and all snarky remarks were stolen from you as his hand gently touched your thigh. So soft. So tender. Fucking fix it, your brain screamed. “I hate you.” Was all you could pathetically manage.
His touch was so simple, feather-light, but it left fire trails on your skin. “If you hated me, you wouldn’t have let me cum for you.”
Another observation you couldn’t find a response for. “A mistake that’s never happening again.”
His hand moved upward, so slow you were restraining yourself from shoving his hand beneath your clothes. “You liked it. I know you did.” He said and you despised knowing this was nothing but the truth. He was confronting you, teasing you because you couldn’t deny it. If you really didn’t like watching him stain his clothes with cum, you wouldn’t have allowed it to happen. You would’ve punched him, reported him, done anything other than spread your legs and tease him. You didn’t like it, you loved it. “I bet you touched yourself when you got home.”
You did. You touched yourself with your fingers until they ached, came with muffled screams as you shoved your face into a pillow until your vibrator’s batteries died, and you even used your showerhead. Hearing him moan and whine like a pathetic boy was fucking filthy and you were soaking through your panties by the time you stepped inside your room.
He took your silence as admission. “Fuck, you really did, didn’t you?” He could feel the warmth radiating from beneath your skirt, teasing his fingertips. If he wasn’t hard enough earlier, he was now. He twitched beneath his jeans. “Sit on my lap.”
Don’t do it. “You’re delusional if you think I’m gonna—”
“Don’t be a fucking brat and sit on my lap.” Your brain was losing and you were thinking with your body—your body that was craving him like he was some addicting drug. Without another word, you slowly crawled to him and plopped down on his clothed thigh like you were always meant to be there. You could feel him throbbing against your clit. He was big and thick. His eyes closed for a second, processing what was happening. This was a slice of heaven served to him on a golden platter. “Get yourself off on my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess for me.”
And just like that, any delusion you might’ve had that you were capable of turning him down, was flushed down the drain. “What?” You asked breathlessly. In that moment, he could’ve demanded you kiss his sneakers and you would’ve fluttered your eyelashes at him as you did so.
He gripped your face with a firmness that might’ve made you whimper if you weren’t so shocked. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand, forcing your lips into a teasing pout. “Rub that pretty pussy on my thigh and make yourself cum.” He wasn’t asking. This was a demand he knew you were going to do for him.
You released a wavering breath as you began to move against him and you could hear your arousal clinging against his jeans. This was embarrassing. But not to him. He was probably sick enough to lick your juices from where you’d been rubbing. “Suck on my fingers and keep those pretty eyes open. Look at me, baby.” His fingers that weren’t tainted by his own blood were inside your mouth and you eagerly sucked, licking and kissing them as if they were his leaking cock. Your lips were flushed as you hollowed your cheeks and he watched you drooled on his fingers with heart eyes. “You are fucking beautiful. Let me see those pretty tits.”
There wasn’t any hesitation this time as you lifted your blouse, displaying your breasts and pinching yourself. Another twitch from his cock and he jerked his hips, earning a soft moan from you. “I could cum just by looking at them, pretty girl.”
You removed his fingers from your mouth. “Call me that again,” Your voice was soft, breathless, and laced with a vulnerability he’d never heard from you before. “Please.” Desperate. Needy.
The arrogant smirk on his pink lips was annoying and you wanted to sit on his face so you wouldn’t have to see it. “Aw, you like being called my pretty girl?” There wasn’t any thoughts floating within your mind. All you could think of was the liquid lava moving through your bloodstream as you rubbed your clit against his cock faster. You only nodded. “I thought you hated me? But look at you, drooling for my cock.”
It was pathetic because you were drooling. You were never going to hear the end of this. He slapped your cheek lightly, pleasantly stinging. His touch didn’t hurt, it never did, but it did get a message across. “Let me hear those pathetic sounds. You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you not make any noise.” He was going to memorize and repeat this moment for every time he spit in his hand and jerked himself off. He needed to hear you. He was losing his composure and there was another slap. “I’ve been wanting this for years so fucking moan and say my name.”
“O-Oh, my fucking God, this feels so fucking good.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, quickening your pace. Your facade of disgust and hatred disappeared. “Fuck yes, Eddie!” His hands gripped your waist, fingers dipping into the skin of your ass, and he pushed you down harder against him. “Just like that. Just like that.”
His warm and erratic breaths brushed against your jaw. The softness of his lips kissing and sucking as he moaned against your skin. “Come on, baby, make me cum. You can do it, just keep rubbing that pussy on me. Give it to me.”
His mouth moved against your breasts, kitten-licking your peaked nipples before sucking. Something inside you snapped and there was nothing but blinding pleasure, strong enough to steal the moans and air from your throat as you chased your pleasure. Your eyes closed before there were smaller and quick slaps against your cheek. “Look at me when you cum.” His calloused hand slowly drifted to your throat, a firm and shaky grip.
His body twitched and squirmed beneath you as he whimpered against your chest, tongue swirling against your nipple and his hand squeezing the other. Your movements slowly came to a stop and he released your breast with a playful pop.
His fingertips gently caressed the softness of your cheek, lingering a moment longer on each mark coloring her skin. You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand as you closed your eyes. You listened to the hard and quick patter of her heart, to each slow and deliberate breath of his, and the rustling of the leaves outside. And you swore if you listened closely enough, you would’ve heard the thumping beneath his chest. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” He whispered, a thought escaping his quivering mouth before he could even process his own voice. You ruined him, tore out his thumping heart with your manicured nails, and devastated him—a devastation he craved, needed like the blood coursing through his veins. He would’ve bruised his knees worshipping the floor you stepped on. You had undoubtedly ruined him and he couldn’t do anything about it but thank you.
In a daze, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pressed your glossed lips against his. He couldn’t breathe. You were kissing him, drunk from your orgasm, bare skin against his thick cock, and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He didn’t move. He didn’t kiss you back. At the lack of reciprocation, you pulled away.
The softness of your lips lingered on his, a ghostly remnant of a daydream he’s had for as long as he could remember. His eyes slowly fluttered open, shock swirling in the pools of darkness. His breathing hitched as he forced himself to breathe. Slow and steady. But he couldn’t because he swore he could almost still taste you. Outside, inside the community and neighborhoods of Hawkins, no one would’ve guessed Hawkin’s It-Girl kissed him, your sweet perfume entangled with his cheap cologne. That’s something nobody could’ve predicted, including himself. Well, and that you rode him until you made yourself and him cum.
Your hair cascaded across your skin as you tilted your head, trying to decipher the gleam in his eyes. Your lips were flushed as if you’d been gnawing on them, and you almost pouted at what you thought was rejection. Disappointment colored your expression and you scooted away from him, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence of the room. “I’m sorry I kissed you.” You stood from him and straightened your clothes, readjusting them. “Let’s just forget about it.”
And you were out the door before he could explain that he literally couldn’t talk or function because his dream girl made him cum so hard he was seeing stars.
Shit.
Taglist — @eddiesguitarskills @twihard08 @twilight-love-nochu-main @names-were-taken @definitelynotecho @sidthedollface2
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fics#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson series#eddie munson self insert#eddie munson x female character#eddie munson x female reader smut#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader
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18+ mdni
eddie munson x reader
Okay, but imagine this…
you and Eddie are making out in his bed and it's getting heavy, you're still clothed but grinding against one another, his hands are roaming under your shirt, you can feel your heart racing out of your chest, everything just feels so hot.
When you finally move your mouth off of him to catch your breath, he quickly just moves down to that sweet spot underneath your ear. Your hands are in his hair, saying his name to get his attention, but he's too lost in touching you, so you just say it and ask him if he has any condoms.
He completely freezes. The poor boy almost just came in his pants just from you asking him to have sex with you. 😫😫😫
#eddie munson#eddie#eddie munson fandom#eddie munson fanfic#eddie x reader#eddie x y/n#fanfic#stranger things#stranger things s4#eddie x you#eddie smut#eddie munson smut#smut#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson self insert
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It Was Just One Night Part 4: Kids
Masterlist: here
Tag List: @emma77645 @ietss
A/N: Let’s start having some fun shall we and add Harrington and the crew to the mix also as always enjoy the bickering😂✨
*You are always hungry and Eddie swears he doesn’t have any other kids*
#one night stand eddie#eddie munson series#eddie munson enemies to lovers#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson angst#eddie munson au#eddie munson social media au#eddie munson x pregnant!reader#dad to be eddie munson#dad!eddie munson#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader angst#eddie munson x you fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson self insert#Eddie Munson#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#my little dungeon master baby
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warnings: 18+ smut, mostly just teasing, handcuffs, masturbation, eddie being a cocky shithead
summary: eddie refuses to fuck you until you make yourself cum on your fingers while he watches and cheers you on. based on this tiktok
"here's what's gonna happen: i'm gonna watch. you're gonna play. i'm gonna speak. and you...you are going to be a good girl. a good girl."
[.5k]
The cool metal dug into one of your wrists as you wriggled around. Eddie's breath feathering your skin as he clicked the other handcuff to the headboard was driving you insane. A whine escaped you as he backed away, taking in the sight of you, naked and wanting him.
He finally removed his checkered boxers as you pleaded Eddie, please. His dick was painfully hard, tip red and leaking as he wrapped his hand of rings around the base. He groaned as he gave a few slow upstrokes, gazing at you handcuffed to the bed. Your neck and chest were littered with purple patches where he'd nipped and teased for hours.
"Here's what's gonna happen," Eddie spoke to you, voice thick with sensual rasp. He moved to meet you at the bed's edge.
"You're gonna play," he looked down to where the slim fingers of your free hand had already wandered between the folds, slick with arousal. He hummed on a pleasured groan.
"And I'm gonna watch you."
You bit down on your lower lip at the sight of him standing above you. His veined length was thick and pink, and you needed it to be stretching you out now. Pitiful little mewls arose from you as your glazed eyes trailed up his body. Dark curls pointed the way up to his toned stomach and chest. The black ink on his skin made you desperate for sinning.
When you caught his gaze, he was looking at you hungrily. The irises were dark beneath fanning lashes with pupils blown wide. The pink on his flushed cheeks was the same shade of his tongue, the tip of which washed over his plumped lower lip as he stroked his cock with a greedy hand. Holding his honey eyes, you dipped a finger inside your slit with a whine.
"Eddie, please," you begged with a gasp. "N-need it-fuck-please!"
"Ah, ah, ah. You have to make yourself cum," Eddie breathed. "Then I'll give you what you want."
The tall male moved closer to you and brought one knee to rest on the mattress. He braced himself on the headboard with one hand and took hold of your chin with the other. His calloused thumb brushed your lower lip until your mouth parted, then the digit slid inside for you to suck on.
"And you," he chuckled lowly from the depths of his chest. Your pupils were the size of dinner plates as you suckled mindlessly on his thumb. The handcuffs rattled as you pulled at them, trying to get closer. You were aching for him, your freed hand clawing at his chest in need. Eddie removed his finger from your kiss-bruised lips with a pop!
"You're gonna be a good girl."
He brought his hips forward until his bulging head nudged your swollen peak. A pathetically desperate whimper left you as you wriggled beneath his muscular body. He pressed in enough to slip between your sopping pussy lips, leading you to throw your head back and moan wantonly.
"Your good girl," you spilled, wrecked and writhing. Eddie pulled back and gestured with his head for you to start.
"Yes, that's right baby." His eyes were aflame with lust, stuck on your sex as your red fingernails landed on your puffy clit.
"My good girl."
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reblogs & feedback are appreciated! thanks for reading♡
#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie x reader#joseph quinn#stranger things#eddie munson smut#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie#eddie munson oneshot#eddie my beloved#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson self insert#angelmunson#angel-munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#edward munson#eddie munson headcanons#fic rec#eddie munson x afab reader#eddie the freak munson#eddie the banished#reader pov#pov#dom!eddie munson#female reader
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Skittish
Eddie didn’t think there was anyone outside of Hellfire in the school who liked D&D, and he’s okay with his little group of hyperactive teens. Then, he finds you, drawing what is undeniably a D&D monster. And he is hooked.
• Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader
• Tags: Fluff, Meet-Cuteish?, Drabble, She/her for reader
• WC: ~700
“Wait. Hold on. That’s not- is that? Are you drawing a beholder?” Eddie stops dead in his tracks, quick to lean over head of the girl he’s speaking to in order to get a better look at the sketchbook.
She flinches backwards, nearly ramming her head back into his chest. “No! Definitely not!” She slams the sketchbook shut and pulls it underneath her chin, wrapping her arms across it tightly and tugging her knees up to her chest to hide the leather-bound book from view as much as possible. “P-please don’t try to take it,” she squeaks.
Eddie is quick to pull back, realizing in his eagerness he has ended up towering over the poor girl. He puts his hands up in a show of surrender. “Woah woah, slow down, I have no intention of taking it! It was just really good, ya know? Could I look?” He lowers his voice to a much softer tone. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I may be a freak, but I’m not a monster sweetheart.”
There’s a gentle whine as she unfurls herself from her defensive stance, but she returns the book to its place on the table and opens it to the previous page. On it is an almost completed pencil sketch of a beholder, with miniature doodles of 20-sided dice, swords, and bows decorating the page border. With only a slight anxious glance at the curly-haired man next to her, she pulled the pencil from behind her ear and began adding to the shading. Internally, she sighs in relief at the excuse to look anywhere besides the sad puppy dog eyes Eddie gave her when he scared her. He’s adorable. That’s so unfair. Why do you get to be adorable and tall? People really should only get to pick one of those. Unfair.
“You drew this?! It looks out straight of the D&D manual, that’s awesome!” Eddie plops down in the seat next to her and sets down his lunch tray in favor of leaning in closer to the book, leaving their faces parallel to each other. “I’ve never seen you at Hellfire before, do you play with a friend group or something?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t actually play. My brother did though, and he left all the books to me when he left for college, so I started reading them after school.” She mutters as she continues to draw. The repetitive movement helps lull her anxiety a bit, and she feels her guard lowering with the release of her scrunched up shoulders. “I’ve seen you with the hellfire crowd, but-“ She sighs. “You know how vampires can’t come inside somewhere unless they’re invited in? I’m kind of like that. Groups are intimidating, and I get skittish.” He shifts impossibly closer to peek over her ever-moving pencil, and a strand of his hair brushes her cheek and sends a chill down her spine.
“You should join us sometime, skitty kitty, we don’t bite,” Eddie snickers. She feels him turning his head so more of his hair teases the side of her face, and she swears he’s so close she can feel his breath now. “You know, you’re blushing pretty hard there. Is it the compliments on your drawings, or is something else up? Hmmm?” Her hand freezes for the first time since she reopened the book.
“I- um…nothing,” She lifts her pencil to her mouth and begins to anxiously tap it against her lip. “Yeah, sure, I’ll join you all,” The tapping continues.
On instinct, Eddie’s hand reaches out and carefully removes the pencil from her hand, taking it in his own. He smirks when she looks up from the sketch to his eyes, shoots her a wink, and kisses the top of the pencil lightly. Her tucks it back behind her ear with a lingering touch. “Fridays, after school, in the drama room. Bring these drawings if you feel comfortable, the kids will love ‘em and I’d love to see more of them.” She gulps and fights the urge to nod with too much eagerness, and he slides out of his seat, gives her a wave, and returns to his usual table to eat his lunch.
To be honest, she isn’t sure she is capable of forming another coherent thought for the entirety of the lunch period.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson self insert#eddie munson x reader fluff
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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
tags: 18+ graphic smut, dirty talk, piv, oral sex, soft and rough sex, bartender!reader, musician!eddie, banter, slowburnish, one night stand with the classic feels, alcohol and bars, a lil angsty, corroded coffin tour cameo, romance, pining, crushing, eventual romance
summary: it was supposed to be a one night stand. now, eddie munson can’t stop thinking about the girl behind the bar.
chapters:
1. all night long
2. TO BE CONT.
EXTRAS
playlist ; pinterest
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x oc#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson series#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson self insert#one for the road#one for the road inspo
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THE EDGE
“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels
Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.
Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader
Word count: 3.4k
Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff, there will be a happy ending
AN: First of all, thank you so much to those who left lovely comments and reblogged. I’m blown away by the support over a little idea I had, based on my own difficulties with the inpatient system. This is a series I’m really looking forward to, and still planning as I go? This second part is the last like, ‘scripted’ part, so I’m gonna have to actually light a fire under my arse and open up a dreaded planning doc lmao. Hope you enjoy this part!! also massive shoutout to @mantorokk-writes for putting up with my rambles and making me an amazing header image, you’re my beloved 💕
Taglist: @edsforehead, @idkidknemore, @harrys-tittie, @gaysludge, @smileygoth
Nothing ever changed in this place. Waking up to stare at the same four walls until your door was opened. Same four walls that you showered and brushed your teeth in. Same four walls that you spent the majority of the day in, following a bullshit routine that was supposed to promote ‘positive mental changes’ and ‘the tools for a successful future’.
You were smart enough to know that it was all a load of bullshit. For the first six months of your committal, you believed in it. Practically bent over backwards to show the doctors that you were making progress, holding onto the slim chance that you might finally get the news of being released after the bi-annual panels that were akin to placing your heart on the scale. Balanced against the feather of your guilt, of the timeline of events that still haunted you every waking moment. It took you a year to realise the odds were stacked against you. Two years in, and you’d given up hope of ever walking back out the front doors. Two years of the same day, over and over, no end in sight.
Even the earthquake that had rocked the town of Hawkins didn’t really change things. It had meant lockdown for a couple of days until damage could be assessed, and it had spurned a lot of orderlies, nurses and doctors bouncing for a better life in another city. Leaving only the ones that were most likely too stubborn to leave, now more bitter and jaded for having to keep the job that made their lives that little bit more miserable. With less staff, it had meant a closer eye on behaviour, lest the patients got any bright ideas and decided an uprising was sorely needed. Any infraction could get you put in the hole, no matter how small and stupid it seemed. You’d seen one of the old timers be taken away for a couple of days when they decided to steal a pen from the nurses station. You knew it was because they wanted to write down their thoughts before they forgot. But you also knew that the staff got jumpy when a patient had something capable of being made into an improvised weapon.
The day had started just like any other. Your name being called out as the door to your room was unlocked, tone already weary of the shift ahead and none too gentle. An escort to the bathrooms to get washed up and ready for the day, government issued toothpaste bitter on your tongue and the smell of cheap soap lingering on your skin. Yet another escort to the day room, the doors slammed shut after the last patient passed the threshold. You were still barely awake when the tinny audio system kicked to life, the shrill voice of nurse Koehn calling everyone to line up in front of the glass window of the nurses’ station for medication. How you hated those paper cups with medication inside that you didn’t even know the names of and didn’t get a reply when you asked about, the shitty juice used to wash them down barely tolerable. It had become a Pavlovian response; each sip meant that little bit less freedom, a sluggish haze descending over you that made everything numb and fuzzy at the edges. But at least there were small victories, coming in the form of a pack of Marlboros as a reward for taking the fucking things without a fight. You tapped the pack against your palm as you made your way over to the table you usually sat at, taking one out and dangling the filter between your lips as you nodded your head towards an orderly for the use of a lighter. Because God forbid you were allowed to hold one for more than two seconds, lest you burn down the building. A thought that had admittedly crossed your mind once or twice.
By mid afternoon, you were six cigarettes down and in the middle of a game of solitaire when the door to the day room opened, and you turned your head on instinct to see what was happening. Miller’s hand on the door as she corralled a man you hadn’t seen before into the room, closing the door behind him and leaving him to fend for himself. He looked scared shitless; eyes frantically darting around the room, his hands curled into fists so tightly that it made his knuckles turn alabaster. Wild and frizzy curls that tumbled past his shoulders, failing to hide the red and angry scars that marred his neck and face. A little lost lamb in the den of poorly concealed wolves, the sight pulling at your heartstrings that you swore had been crystallised a long time ago. You never really believed in ghosts, but it was as if you were looking at a spectre. A shell of a man, barely holding on by a thread. He was a reflection of you, when you’d first got here.
Gathering up the playing cards, you puffed out an air of nicotine as you shook your head. “Are you just going to stand there? You’re making the place look untidy,” you muttered, already dealing out two piles of cards before he realised you were talking to him.
You glanced back over to him, his muscles tensed and a deer in the headlights expression staring back at you. It took a few heartbeats for him to catch on, and one glance back before his umber eyes settled on you again. “You talkin’ to me?”
His words were softly spoken, a hoarseness to them that you’d heard from other patients who seldom uttered a word. A slight tremor to his cadence, that you easily picked up on. You nodded as you gestured your head to the wooden chair opposite you, leaning back in your seat as you studied your cards. “Staff get a bit jumpy if you stand by the doors too long. Suggest you find yourself somewhere to be that’s away from them.”
The conversation seemed to hang in the balance; no doubt he was weighing up the pros and cons of talking to someone deemed a lunatic. You couldn’t blame him. A couple of residents here were like that. Would smile and make pleasant conversation, fooling you into thinking they were perfectly reasonable human beings. And perhaps they were. But you also knew their reason for being here, and one or two made you feel sick to your core. You heard the shuffling of rubber soles get closer, until he finally took a seat at the table. You kept your face neutral as you took another drag of your cigarette, settling the stick between pointer and middle finger. “You know how to play gin rummy?”
You lifted your eyes as he picked up the cards, a look of confusion evident as his other hand scratched the back of his neck. “Haven’t played for a long time,” he admitted, the volume of his tone still not rising above the level of when he first spoke.
You shrugged as he made the first move, noticing the way his eyes darted towards the carton of cigarettes in the middle of the table. You set your hand down for a moment, picking up the pack and pulling one out. “Doesn’t matter about winning, what matters is looking like you’re occupied,” you explained, using the cherry of the lit cigarette to ignite the other. Dropping the fresh one into the ashtray, you pushed it slightly towards him in offering as you picked the cards back up. “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools and all that shit.”
His body language seemed to change at your actions, eyes narrowed as they flickered from the ashtray to yours. It was a look of incredulity, if you were reading it right. You couldn’t blame him; if the roles were reversed, you’d think twice about accepting, just like he was. “And you’re telling me this because…?”
You held up your hands in mock surrender, offering a slight smile that didn’t show teeth. “Because you seem to have your shit together for the most part, and I’m sick of trying to have conversations with lunatics.” Technically the truth. He didn’t have to know about your burning curiosity just yet, but the thought of having someone around your age who still had his faculties to talk to was an offer that you couldn’t refuse.
You were greeted with a slight eyebrow raise as he scratched at his scarred cheek, something that you could now assume was a tell that he was nervous. The fear still evident, yet a spark of something only just alight in his eyes. “Aren’t we both technically lunatics?” There it was. A ghost of a smile, a blink and you’d miss it moment.
“Depends on who you listen to,” you offered with a slight grimace. “Some of us locked in here are innocent.”
“Are you one of them?”
Your stomach twisted at the ever so slight tone of disbelief you were sure you picked up on. How many times had you sworn on everything you ever loved that you never did what they accused you of, screamed your innocence at the top of your lungs to never be heard. It made that cage you kept your heart in that little bit stronger, the muscle decaying from lack of oxygen. “Depends who you ask.”
His body language seemed to change in small increments, the small shifts only recognisable if you were really paying attention. To see them meant hope; how many times had you spoken to another patient, to be met with a blank stare and slackened jaw? Under the surface, no matter how deep it was, there was life. No doubt beaten down so intensely that he’d locked it away for self preservation. But it was there, all the same. Another ghost of a smile as he finally picked up the cigarette, taking a deep, sharp pull and his eyes slightly fluttering with the relief that nicotine could bring. “I’m asking you.”
It felt like an impossible question. If answered truthfully, you could still be seen as a liar. He didn’t know you, hadn’t heard your side of the story, or even the story at all. All he had to go on was an offer of a cigarette, and an invitation to sit down.
But what did you have to lose?
“I am,” you finally murmured, bringing the cigarette filter to your lips to fill your lungs with smoke as acrid as you felt on the inside.
There was a nod of his head as he looked down towards the cards, letting the silence settle as you played a few turns. Both of you avoiding the subject as much as the situation allowed, neither one meeting the other’s gaze. But it was him to break it, a soft sigh just before his admission.
“I’m innocent too.”
So he wasn’t here voluntarily. The circumstances not being one of contemplating suicide, or having a nervous breakdown. An admission like that meant he was accused of something, just like you. Whether he was telling the truth or not, you had no idea. It was pushing your luck to ask for more, but you had nothing else to lose. “What did they say you did?”
You saw his whole body tense again, as if the question was a bullet through the chest. His grip on the flimsy playing cards tightening, jabbing the remnants of tobacco into the ashtray with a little more force than needed. “Doesn’t matter.” His voice had got impossibly quiet again, an edge of frustration to it. He was guarded again, no doubt starting to get lost in the negative memories that you guessed crowded his head every waking moment. Maybe similar to the ones that crowded yours.
You exhaled deeply through your nose as you chipped your own cigarette out. “Just as a heads up, you don’t have to tell me now. But around here, secrets don’t stay secrets for long. They’ll ask you about what you did in group therapy.”
You heard his sharp exhale, noticing his eyes getting glassy with unshed tears. His fingernails scratched the scars on his neck, near frantic as he shook his head. Over your time here, you could see what this was. It was a panic attack, in its infancy but rapidly devolving. It twisted your gut to see, knowing that it was technically your fault. But why bother lying about it, when he’d find out himself in the next few hours?
“Haven’t seen you around before,” you said softly, mind working overtime to try and head whatever he was going through off at the pass. Distraction seemed to be what instinct was telling you to do. “You get admitted today?”
He shook his head, unruly curls swaying as he did. “No, I uh… It’s been four months, I think.”
Your eyebrow raised as you shuffled the cards in your hand, deciding to avoid eye contact to give him a little breathing room. “You get upgraded from minimum, or downgraded from supermax?”
“It was uh… A downgrade, maybe? I haven’t seen much of the place.”
You let out the incredulous laugh that bubbled in your chest, clicking your teeth with your tongue. “Must have friends in high places. Rumour is you don’t get out of there unless it’s either a miracle or a body bag.”
There was a spark of something unreadable in his features, your best guess one of realisation. You didn’t have enough information, so you decided to ignore it for now. “Is it as bad as they say it is down there?” you asked, cocking your head to the side.
“Probably, don’t know what they say,” he answered with a slight shrug, his breathing slowing back down as he focused on the questions given to him.
“They say rats crawl over you when you’re sleeping, and the guards carry tasers.”
You got a slight smile in reply as he shook his head, focusing on the cards that you’d both long forgotten about. Becoming something more like a prop to dissuade the conversation being interrupted. “Not true. It’s just… Suffocating down there.”
“Well, sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but it’s not that much different here,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Anybody tell you the routine of the day? Where you gotta be at what time?”
He shook his head slowly, and you let out a long exhale. Of course nobody told him. But he’d be expected to follow the rules all the same, getting punished for something that wasn’t his fault. So, you laid it out to him. The whole routine that was the backbone of your life, and would probably be so until you either left this world or the Earth stopped revolving. Wake up, get washed up for the day. Breakfast, then community meeting. Recreation time. Lunch. Group therapy. More free time, though the option to go outside was there if it was a nice day and the staff were in a gracious mood. Some other form of bullshit therapy, depending on the day. Dinner. If you were deemed trustworthy enough, some form of manual labour was assigned to you to help run the hospital, totally not because they couldn’t afford the staff to do it, that would be absurd. Being guided to the bathrooms to clean up from the day and sent to your designated room for lights out and lock up. By the time you finished explaining, you’d managed to get a winning hand of cards, tossing them on the table as you reached for your cigarette pack. “Still jazzed about getting downgraded?” you asked with a wry smirk, raising your hand and getting the attention of one of the orderlies for the lighter.
“Trust me, it’s better than being down there,” he muttered, mindful to keep his voice low as the staff member approached. Now his hands were free of cards, you noticed how he fiddled with something on his left hand that wasn’t there, perhaps out of a learned behaviour that he’d had long before this place. You decided not to bring it up. It wasn’t your place.
“Guess beggars can’t be choosers,” you shrugged, grabbing another cigarette and lighting it with the cherry again. This time you handed it to him yourself, held out like an olive branch. One that he seemed hesitant to take, eyes flitting from your hand to your eyes in quick succession. “Never caught your name.”
The very tentative trust in a barely budding friendship, however small it was at that very moment, hung in the balance. It was likely that he’d either never had kindness before, or hadn’t in a very long time. It hurt to see, and it hurt even more to know that he was acting as a mirror. The last person who’d ever shown you mercy had long gone, and you were completely on your own. Trapped behind enemy lines, with no weapons to show for it. The only thing you could do was find allies wherever they may be, and pray to whoever was above you that they wouldn’t stab you in the back.
His hand reached out, mindful not to make any skin to skin contact as he accepted the token, bringing it to chapped lips as his eye contact dropped to the scratches on the table. “It’s Eddie.”
You nodded slowly as you mulled the name over, though nothing was coming back to you so far. You were pretty sure you’d have known of him if he was this distinct to look at back when you were out in the free world. Then again, you couldn’t remember much of that world at this point, so it was easy to lose background faces in a sea of other stronger, more horrific memories. You gave your own name in return, a small smile flickering over your features. “Guess you better get used to shitty card games and even shittier food, Eddie. Seems we’re in it for the long haul.”
As much as you tried for it to come out as a joke, it didn’t seem to land. You could see him wince a little at your words, as if they burned his ears, or perhaps it was the truth of them that smouldered. It had been a long time since you’d had a conversation that wasn’t around pills or therapy plans, and it showed. You cleared your throat as you tried again.
“I mean, if it helps, you’ll be stuck with me for a long ass time,” you said softly, trying to keep the tone light though the words stuck to your tongue. “You’ll probably be getting out far quicker than I will.”
His eyebrows came together, a crinkle between them as he gave you a slight expression of confusion. You could tell he was about to ask a question, mouth open and words forming on his tongue, but the buzz of the intercom being turned on made him jump out of his skin. It was a whole body reaction; tensed muscles and eyes darting about, no doubt an inbuilt mechanism formed from something in his past that let him survive something. You put a hand up slowly, a signal to wait a second, nodding your head towards the glass panel of the Nurses’ station as Sanford announced lunchtime.
“That sound will happen a lot around here,” you mumbled as you stood up, finishing off the last deep drag of your cigarette and stubbing it out in one fluid motion. “You get used to it after a while.”
When you noticed he wasn’t moving towards the doors as you stepped away, you turned back with a kind look, bowing your head a little to meet his lowered gaze. “C’mon, stick with me, alright? I’ll show you around.”
For a moment, you remembered being told that your first day. You could almost hear your voice morph into that person’s, the one who showed you initial kindness, and could see yourself in Eddie. You were yet to believe if he was innocent or not. All you had was his word. But all he had was yours, too. Truth and lies were a currency in this domain, with blind trust that the more valuable would be exchanged. But, if you were honest, you felt the need to tell the truth more and more these days, the bitter taste of them on your tongue and threatening to swallow you whole. But truth needed to be given to those who earned it, and wouldn’t run off screaming to the nearest orderly that you’d finally gone mad.
And you just hoped that with the arrival of another supposed innocent, those truths would finally be shared.
#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie x you#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things imagine#stranger things x you#eddie munson self insert#stranger things self insert
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Eddie taking Reader to a milkshake - french fry date, acting like complete fools, then taking them to an open field concert after, just having the time of their lifes, just to end up tangled together in Reader's bed in their trailer late at night/early in the morning. ♡
I hope I get the motivation to write this oneshot eventually, on my main account :')
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson stranger things#eddie stranger things#eddie st4#eddie munson self insert#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things self insert#stranger things imagine#stranger things one shot
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Garden of Eden - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: The unspoken events of your last night on earth, lead to something much bigger than either of you.
Words: 4.7 k
Warnings: Swearing, FLUFF, pregnancy, angst, any specifics lemme know!
A/N: This took me so long I began doubting myself so, have at it!!
Despite pregnancy, no smut! :)
feedback & reblogs most appreciated <3
___________________________
“Are you going to tell him?"
Somehow, offering to take Henderson home from school has resulted in an awkward and untimely revelation that you are pregnant. Pregnant with Eddie Munson’s baby, no less.
“Fuck.” You whisper as a few rouge tears fall. You wipe them away, quickly, with the back of your hand and blink hard in an attempt to clear your vision of the sparkling lights. “Sorry.” Dustin stays quiet, he doesn’t think you have anything to apologise for, but he waits till you’re ready, wise beyond his fifteen years on earth. "I have to tell him.” You croak. “I just don’t know how.” Your hands tighten around the steering wheel, the moisture from your sweaty palms making the movement easier.
The road seems to go on forever as you try to keep it in focus.
“He’s not a bad guy.” Dustin’s words come softly and unexpectedly.
“I know.” You sigh. “I know.” You’d never talked about kids, of course you hadn’t, you weren’t even in a relationship. It was just one night.
Pulling up outside Dustin’s house, he turns to you with his signature smile.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be great parents.” He speaks softly and you have to swallow back the tears that threaten to chase the sentimental moment.
“Thanks, kid.” Something reminiscent of a smile graces your lips before they start to wobble once more.
“You might wanna lay off the swearing though.” You chuckle at his sustained honesty as he unbuckles his belt. You take a quick breath in a move to make one final request. “I won’t say anything. Promise.” You thank him with watering eyes and a limp wave as he gets out of the car. You watch him enter the house before you relax back into your car seat and exhale until all the air leaves your lungs, fighting off nausea and more tears.
You decide you are craving a pizza, a pineapple one at that. You’ll blame the baby for that.
When you get home, you pick up the phone to dial Surfer Boy Pizza, you end up dialling an entirely other number. A number your heart desired, rather than your stomach.
“Edward Jimmy Munson, at your service." His voice is beautiful and his disposition even moreso but-
"Jimmy?!" You exclaim, forgoing the traditional greeting. He laughs.
“Hello to you, too.”
“Am I missing something? Do you normally answer the phone like that?”
“I had a feeling it would be you.” Your heart warms. Your fingers play with the cord of the phone, absentmindedly, willing yourself to speak up again.
“But really, Jimmy?”
"Yup.” His lips meet with a pop. “Names after the Led Zep guitarist.” You wonder why you didn’t know that.
"You know, you're much cooler than I thought."
"Oh wow, the name bestowed upon me by my deadbeat dad is the one thing that makes me cool. Gee, thanks." You can hear the smile in his voice as he puts a joint in his mouth, the flick of the lighter giving him away. Something about it is warm and familiar, makes you feel sleepy and safe.
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, yeah." He takes a drag. "My kid is going to have a much cooler name." You hold your breath. "Like Ozzy."
When the time is right, you will beg him to reconsider.
It was the night before you all entered the Upside Down. Everyone in your small circle of friends had piled into Wheeler's basement. Everyone except for Eddie Munson who, for obvious reasons, had to find somewhere a little less obvious to lay low. With less parental supervision.
You lived on your own, moving out at an early age to gain independence and forge your own path. It made sense for you to be the one to take him in.
“Thanks for this.” He said as he slumped down on the couch beside you, apprehension colouring his features, the creak of his leather jacket occupying the soundwaves.
“You’re welcome anytime.” You held his gaze only for a few seconds, the intensity of his bright brown eyes proving too much for you to bear. What if you never saw them again? What if you never saw him again?
You’d never really thought about what you might say if you knew you would die tomorrow. In all the events you’d lived through, none of it seemed so final as this. It felt like there was no going back. You’d seen enough to know that in this type of battle, lives would surely be lost. You wanted to save Hawkins but, more importantly, you needed to save Eddie.
When you looked back at him again, you found he was already looking at you. Perhaps never having looked away.
“I wonder if there will be another time.” The past few years were passing behind his eyes in a flash, with a filter of regret. He should have been around more, told you how much you made him laugh, how he admired your strength. Should have told you-
“There will be.” You reached out to touch his thigh in your greatest act of bravery yet. Forget slaying Demodogs and Mindflayers, instigating physical touch with Eddie Munson was your hardest task to date. “Even if it is in the Afterlife.” Your breathing wavered and your throat dried, the contact seemingly having more of an affect on you than him. “I’m counting on it.” Your forced smile had collected tears in the corners of your eyes and as you blink, they fall. Removing your hand from his leg, you turned away in a bid to hide the salty droplets. “I’m sorry, that was dumb.” You sniffed, patting your face dry with the sleeves of your sweater.
“No it wasn’t.” You felt his palm lay on your thigh now, earning a small semblance of a smile on your lips and a handprint on your heart. “Sweetheart.” He sighed. His words were laboured as he struggled with the reality of them. “If I’m not killed down there...” His hand almost moved but, before it could, you rested your own down on top of it. He looks down at your hands together and feels it too. “You know they’ll kill me. W-what they think I did…it won’t go unpunished.” You paused, as if considering your options.
“We’ll figure it out.” Your hands squeezed one another’s with unrelenting fear.
“I don’t know that we can.” His half hearted laugh kissed your ears.
“We have to.” The words were desperate. “Agh!” You covered your face with your hands as you allowed yourself a moment to cry. “You should have stayed with Steve.” You mumbled into your hands. “He would have been a lot less emotional.” You groaned.
“Are we talking about the same Harrington? He’d be crying like a baby.” He stroked his hand along your thigh, innocently enough, but your heart began to race. “But, regardless. I’d much rather spend the night looking at your face than his.” He lifts his hand to guide your hands away from your face. “Did you hear how fast I said yes to spending my last night alive with you? That shit itself should be punishable by death.” He smiled a silly smile, one that told you he meant it, as absurd as it was.
You laughed through a sob, through the ache in your chest that begged him to kiss you.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” You hadn’t failed to notice the new nickname.
“Please don’t let this be your last night alive. What a lame way to spend it.”
“Says who?!” He performed a little, just for you, a playful glint in his eye.
“Me.” He rubbed his thumbs over your hands. “You should be playing D&D with the boys. Or-or listening to Black Sabbath or…or the complete opposite! Jumping out of a plane or…” Your heart was beating too fast. Your head was pounding. Every moment that passed was a moment closer to death. The pressure to make every one of those moments count was burning at your insides.
“How about I mix it up then?” Your head tilted. His voice slowed. “For my last night on earth, with you, let me try something different.” He spoke with such gentleness that you couldn’t take your eyes from him. “For my last night on earth, I don’t want D&D, I don’t want Black Sabbath or jumping out of planes!” He chuckled. “I want this.” He slid his hand up your forearm and scooted closer. “Ready?” He hadn’t said what it was you were readying yourself for. But you knew. You’d felt it the minute he’d touched you.
“Ready, Eddie.” He laughed, a big laugh that made your heart rise and fall in one quick motion. His forehead lay on your shoulder as he continued his giggling. You idly lifted your hand to his hair, threading your fingers through it at the scalp, leaning your head against his unruly curls. The closeness was quiet and careful. “I don’t want you to die.” No strength in your words, tears falling, a mixture of happiness for the moment and fear for the future.
He takes his head off your shoulder.
“God, I should have done this sooner.” His own voice gave way before he leant in and kissed you.
Clothes fell away, fears were halted. You shared ‘your last night on earth’ in each other’s arms. Confessions of feelings conveyed only in kisses and light touches. There was no urgency, despite the circumstance. You wanted the moment to last forever so drew it out for as long as your eyes would stay open.
"Are you okay?" He disturbs the memory. "You’re not usually so quiet" Your runaway thoughts had stolen your attention. If he had been speaking, you hadn’t heard a word till now.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, anything you wanna share with the class?” He tries. His own mind wanders back to the night you thought you were going to die. There are things he wishes he could say but he doesn’t know where to start. Even when you talk on the phone every night, no time seems right. He wonders if you ever think about it.
You stumble over some excuse before you hang up. Eddie lets you go without much fuss, though he is positive something is up. He internally vows to drop by later in the week.
You feel a sense of deja vu when Eddie sits down beside you on the sofa a couple of days later. This time the fear and anticipation sits mostly with you. Eddie is less fearful but he’s certainly confused - your disposition so unlike anything he had ever experienced from you.
It occurs to you, in this moment, that you haven’t spent much time alone together in person since that night. You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, the emotions dredging up from the ground beneath you.
“Do you remember the last time you were here with me on this couch?” You know you are dancing around the facts for a moment but you don’t want to lose him, not yet. If you can keep him close for just a little while longer you will dance forever. Well, for as long as possible.
He clears his throat and moves back a bit on the couch.
“Yes.” His face reddens visibly.
“Do you regret it?” You don’t know why you’re asking, and his widening eyes and open mouth make you think it’s a bad idea. “Wait, no. Maybe don’t answer that.” You screw up your face. “Do you think about it?”
“What’s this about?” He asks, tiptoeing around his own truth that he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since it happened.
“I am pregnant.” You wince, looking at him through screwed up eyes.
It’s as though you’ve opened a valve on a very large pipe and water has come flooding into the room at your feet. It feels uncomfortable as the water rises and consumes you both with a deafening white noise and a chill to match.
It’s as though water is pushing in on your throat and inhabiting your ability to speak, beginning to suffocate you. It rises and rises and you feel like you might pass out from the pressure until suddenly Eddie pulls the plug, draining the room and leaving you both cold and heavy with hurt.
“Is this a joke?” He asks. You breathe for the first time in what feels like minutes.
Unable to speak, Eddie turns to face you directly. “Answer me.” You try to, you stutter, you fail. A singular beat of laughter is pushed from his lungs as he stands up abruptly. “A perfect opportunity to taunt The Freak, right?” As he walks towards the window, you stand up too.
“No.” You whine.
“Prove it.” You watch his silhouette rise and fall slowly with his breaths. His words hit you square in the stomach, winding you. It’s all too quiet again.
“Edd-”
“Are you really pregnant?”
“Yes.” You wail, willing him to look at you.
“We haven’t talked about that night at all.” He’s mumbling his words, lacking his familiar confidence.
“Well, sorry, what exactly did you want me to say?” You laugh in disbelief. “Did you want a rating?” Suddenly a little affronted you begin to walk away from him. “Ten out of ten would spend the night with you again?”
“I’m not asking for that.” You hear the floorboards creak as he turns. “It just would have been nice if you would have checked in afterwards.” You look back at him, he’s running his hands through his hair. “Something like that completely changes a relationship!” And it had. From the moment you both survived the Upside Down and Eddie was no longer a suspect, whenever you were together in the group, you gravitated to each other’s side. You shared fries and car rides. You talked almost every evening on the phone. But never once mentioned what it was that happened between you.
“Oh, just like you did?” You shout. You don’t mean to, the pressure building inside of you was too much. He balls his hands up into fists before pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.
“Fine, yes, I fucked up.” He admits. His jaw is tense, his brow is furrowed. You swore you wouldn’t cry, not anymore. Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s the look on his face. Maybe it’s the realisation that this is something you want. Your hands anxiously turn over and you will yourself not to blink. If you blink, the tears will fall.
“Edd-”
“I can’t be a dad.” The fear was almost tangible. “I can’t be my dad.”
“Eddie.” You move in closer to him. “That’s not the same thing. You can be a dad. A great dad.”
“You didn’t know my dad.” He looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your sad eyes.
“No, but I know you.” Your voice drones more than you would like it to. You don’t want Eddie to feel cornered into a family situation he never asked for. You step back from him and hope the space is enough to allow you both to breathe, though you feel like you can’t without him.
“I can’t risk it. What if I am exactly like him? A Munson through and through.” His distress is reaching the surface like a shaken up soda.
“Wayne is a Munson.” You remind him gently. “Munson and a bad parental figure do not go hand in hand, so help me, God.” You cry.
-
When you walk into Family Video, you find yourself interrupting an argument over who was the last person to put back all the misplaced tapes. The bell rings over their final words.
“Steve, it was me. You were too busy doing your hair in the bathroom just in case Donna walked in.”
“I resent that.” He raises his finger, as though he is going to bolster his argument, but he doesn’t, tucking his finger back into his fist before itching the back of his neck as he turns to the door, ready to do his job. He relaxes as he sees it's you.
“Hey.” Robin grins. You nod a silent greeting and place your elbows on the counter, leaning over slightly. It somewhat eases the sickness sitting at the bottom of your stomach, whether it’s anxiety or morning sickness is yet to be discovered.
“Is everything okay?” Steve asks, but before even a lie can pass your lips, the bell sounds once more, signalling the arrival of another patron. Relief sweeps over you.
“Hi guys, don’t mind me, just here to get a tape.” Dustin shouts over the shelves.
“Hey kid.” Robin answers, beginning to stack some of the recently returned tapes, unbothered by his presence.
“What are you doing here, Henderson? Shouldn’t you be at Hellfire?” Steve looks at his watch, confirming his suspicions. It’s cute how he keeps tabs on them.
“No Hellfire. Eddie cancelled.” Dustin answers nonchalantly as he browses the store. Your body gives you away as you still at the news. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Robin.
"How come?" Steve asks and Dustin shrugs as he approaches the counter. It’s safe to assume he knows, but he won’t let on. Not with Steve and Robin there.
"Do you have The Shining, hidden under there somewhere?." He asks sweetly. Robin laughs as she reaches down to retrieve the tape she saw not long ago.
"You old enough for that?" Steve prods, shrugging when Robin reminds him of the birthday party you went to not long ago. "There's too many of them."
"Heaven help your own kids." Robin hands Dustin the tape and Steve frowns. He taps a few keys on his computer keyboard before shooing him away.
“Don’t blame me if you have nightmares, Henderson.”
“I will!” He calls back as he runs out the store.
“So, spill.” Robin’s eyes are fixed on you. Steve looks between you both before settling to look at you. He hasn’t clued in to what’s going on but has opted to adjust to the feeling in the room, rather than open his mouth.
“I’m pregnant.” You forgo the preamble, if you can’t be upfront with them, who can you be upfront with?
“Eddie’s, huh?” What Robin lacked in social navigation, she made up for in a sixth sense. Steve’s eyes move to her again, watching carefully for any trace of jest. “And you think that Hellfire being cancelled was your fault.”
“Okay, Rob, please get out of my head.” You throw your hands up to your face to cover your eyes and relieve the headache. “Yes, I’m pregnant. Yes, it’s Eddies. Yes, I can’t help but feel like Hellfire being cancelled is my fault.” You look back up again and sigh. “He hates me. He so, totally, hates me.”
“That can’t be true.” Steve tries to ease your worry as he skirts along the counter side to embrace you in a hug. “Besides the small detail of how you got in this situation…”
“Steve!” Robin cringes.
“Sorry, trying to lighten the mood.” He pulls away from you, keeping his hands on the tops of your shoulders. “He won’t hate you. He’s probably just confused.”
“Confused enough to cancel Hellfire.” Robin highlights.
“Robin!”
“Sorry, trying to put it in perspective.”
“I appreciate what you guys are trying to say…I think…but this is all a bit of a mess.”
“We’re here for you whatever happens.” Steve says.
“And if Steve has to kick Munson’s ass, so be it.” You laugh at Robin volunteering Steve for her own battle and shake your head.
“No ass kicking. Not yet.”
“How did you leave it?” She uncrosses and recrosses her arms, the anxiety of it all transferring between you.
“We’re going to talk again soon.”
“Just soon?” Steve asks. “What is he up to?”
Eddie had asked if you wanted to keep the baby and assured you he stood by your decision either way. In your panic you couldn’t confess that you wanted the whole package and so was born the idea for a few days away from one another to think.
The silent landline haunts you and makes you cry on more than one occasion. This was starting to feel a whole lot worse than you imagined. Some of that could possibly be attributed to the small human growing inside you.
When the phone rings just one day later, you don’t imagine it to be Eddie.
“Would you come over tonight?”
-
Eddie watches out his bedroom for any sign of you. So before you can knock, he opens the door up, wide, standing in front of you with a small smile. Your eyes roam his body, assessing for damage or change. He’s dressed more casual than usual, just a black t-shirt and red plaid pyjama pants, hair tied back in a bun.
He looks down at himself, following your eyes. “Sorry, I should have gotten dressed.” He laughs lightly. He seems brighter than when you saw him last, for which you are thankful, if a little confused.
“No, no, don’t apologise you look…” You stop yourself from laying on all the compliments you can think of. Dreamy. Delightful. Welcoming. Handsome. You clear your throat and he takes the hint, leaving the doorway for you to enter.
“Want a drink of anything?”
“Been craving hot chocolate.” You confess as you step in. Your mouth wrinkles with amusement and fear as he looks at you, but he obliges.
“Coming right up.”
You shut the door and take a seat in the kitchen as he pads about, making two cups of hot chocolate quietly. The way he moves has you transfixed. He suits this domesticated scene, stripped down of constructs and the outside world, just you and him in homely bliss. His hair is slightly falling out of its bun and his sleeves are rolled up just a fraction.
You could get used to Eddie as a dad if it meant moments like this. Especially as he sits the hot chocolates on the table in front of you with a flourish and a bow, as though he had prepared a feast.
You don’t want him to bring up the reason you’re here and to pop the peaceful bubble.
You take a few safety sips to steady yourself before he speaks.
“I’ve got a job lined up.” Your mouth hangs open slightly. “Given the circumstances, I want this baby to have the best start they can. I don’t want to be a disappointment.”
“You would n-”
“The auto repair shop in town offers on the job training so the rates won’t be great to start but, it’s uh, yeah, a start.” You nod in agreement. You’re a little shell shocked that Eddie would go to such lengths but on the other hand, not a bone in your body is surprised. “I don’t know how you wanna work the sleeping arrangements and what days you want me to have them but I can…” The rest of the words in his sentence muffle together as you realise he is talking about parenting separately.
A hole opens in your chest, agonisingly slow. You cling onto the hot mug like a lifeline, hoping the warmth in your hands might reach the space inside you. The thought makes you feel more disconnected than ever. Separate Holidays. Separate birthdays. Shared custody? “Wayne says it’s more common than you think these days.” He finishes quietly, sipping at his drink, not sure where to look as he registers the discomfort in your body language.
The shared heartache was unapparent.
“I-..If that’s what you want.” Your words fall away to nothing as you feel yourself shrink.
“What do you want?” He asks tentatively, your feelings are more important to him than his own. He needs to hear you say what you want and he will give it to you.
“I want you.” You whisper. “Us. All of us.”
“Fuck.” The word leaves his mouth with the deepest sigh. He rubs at his face as your heart pounds ferociously. “I- God I should have asked you that first.” He laughs as he reaches out his hands to cup yours around your mug. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
You sit in silence for a few blissful moments as the words fill the hole in your chest your fear had created. He brings your hands to his lips and kisses softly, his eyes closing. Your heart flutters at the feeling.
-
Your daughter is due in a matter of days when Eddie wakes you up with a kiss on your forehead and a hot chocolate in his hand.
“For my lady.” He whispers and you flush with fondness.
“Thank you.” You shuffle up in bed, resting against your headboard as he hands you the drink. Not typically a traditional morning drink, but the one that your daughter insists on. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such a wake up call?” You ask as he positions himself at the foot of the bed.
“I wanted to show you something.” Out from under your bed, he produces an acoustic guitar. You gasp theatrically and he laughs, loving that you indulge him. “Hang on.” He takes a pick out of his pyjama pocket and settles it on his lap. “I bought this…” He starts, tuning the guitar as he sets the scene. “The day you told me.”
“The day you cancelled Hellfire?” A thought that still lingered on your mind. It was the first of many sessions that were cancelled and it riddled you with guilt.
“I knew that whatever happened with us, I wanted to learn this for the baby. For her.” He smiles at your belly, reaching out and pressing his palm to its side.
Your heart melts as he takes the pick in his right hand and begins softly playing Stairway to Heaven. He looks so dreamlike, his hair tucked behind his ear, showing the concentration as he plays, raising his eyes to meet yours every so often, your eyes glassy and pupils blown.
You watch him play the whole song before you place down your mug and lean over to him for a kiss. “You get the gist.” He smiles shyly against your lips.
“That was beautiful, Eddie.”
“Anything for my girls.”
-
“Eden Arwen Munson.” He whispers. “It’s perfect.” He closes his eyes as he inhales so deeply he could have stolen all the air from the room. The smell of a newborn baby is a dangerous drug. “You’re perfect.”
“Of course you would say that, she’s guaranteed to be your double.” The joy bubbling through you is stronger than any painkiller you’ve been given that day. You worry that the crash will be astronomical but for now, you have your family, brought together in a moment of quiet amongst all the bustle.
You’re not sure that any moment could ever be more lovely than the sight of this man, dark features and pale skin, cradling his miniature (with his shirt off, which makes it all the greater sight to behold). Somehow, he looks a perfect blend of uncertain and never more certain of anything in his life.
“You’re perfect too, by the way.” His eyes meet yours for the first time in approximately 12 minutes. You smile back with a love you can hardly contain, feeling it in your toes.
“I think she’s more like her mother.” He says wistfully. You watch as Eden settles against his skin, making herself comfortable.
“She cries a lot, that’s why.” You both laugh, the closed eyes, head back laugh that hurts your stomach - or maybe that’s the adrenaline wearing off. When Eddie stops laughing, he looks back at his daughter, lamenting the seconds he missed seeing her face. “I can already tell you two will be trouble.” A trouble you will welcome to the day you die. “Eddie and Eden.”
“Eddie and Edie.” He corrects, the nickname obviously brewing for some time.
“I’m just glad it wasn’t Ozzy.”
“We’ll just have to keep trying till we have a boy.” He gently strokes his thumb across Eden’s skin. He is every bit as sincere as he sounds.
Maybe you will.
#eddie munsonx you#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson self insert
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Heavenly Body (Eddie Munson x Fem!reader)
Summary: A fellow high school failure managed to delve below Eddie Munson’s radar, but once he sets eyes on y/n he’s absolutely consumed.
Warnings: Implied steamy content?
A/N: HEY! It’ been a minute since I’ve posted, let alone write...I’m so sorry if this seems a bit rusty. I hope there aren’t too many mistakes.I can’t wait to get back into posting...Enjoy!
~~~~~
Half an hour was all you really needed to finish your book. Though you had practically memorized verse by verse like a sacred text, it didn’t matter. Not in the slightest. Something new could be found, something profound something beautiful. There was a comfort in familiarity. A safety you held onto for dear life.
“Room’s taken.” A voice so sure of itself declared.
Eddie hadn’t paid much mind to the figure hidden in the back of the room, curled into itself like a stray caught in the rain. Far more focused on cramming as much of last weeks readings into his thick skull - at least that’s what he had convinced himself, it was the only probable way he could rationalize failing senior year twice.
“Ah, a fellow victory lapper.” You smiled softly, showing your face for what felt like the first time ever. Cheeks darkened by the rush of blood to your hanging head - the price you paid for what felt like days, but truthfully had been maybe an hour or so of reading.
It was a face that pulled all the light and lustre in that stuffy storage room and solely zeroed in on you. A black hole, that’s what Eddie had convinced himself you were, a big black hole in a yellow knit jumper, chipped pink polish peppering your nails, and a tired lull to your eyes. All focus from his mind, body, soul had been consumed by you in an instant.
“A what?” He asked dumbfounded, nearly gawking at you. He was still as stone where he stood. Maybe if he didn’t move you could no longer see him. Most likely not, but hell, he could pretend.
“Victory lapper. You know, doing a victory lap of your senior year?” You asked, unsure whether to move or die. “Have you never…never heard of that before?”
“Ohhhh, see where I’m from, we call that a failure.” He chided, folding his arms across his chest, suddenly ashamed of his hellfire shirt. He was so matter ‘o fact you felt small in his presence.
“Gee, thanks.” You uttered dryly, dropping your gaze to the pages of your book. It didn’t take long for life to throw you a line, just for it to tangle and disappoint.
In that instant gravity weighed down on his chest like a thousand dying suns. So quickly your all consuming pull shut him out with a force that made him dizzy. He couldn’t even prepare for the shift that sent him plummeting into the stratosphere.
“No, shit,” he exclaimed, suddenly his hands fell from his chest, nearly raised, reaching for you, desperate to feel that rush of your pull. “That’s not what I meant. Christ, that came out so much worse than It sounded in my head.”
Fingers pinched at the papers of your novel, the words no longer coherent as you couldn’t seem to drag yourself away from his presence. Eddie Munson? Grovelling? God, this must’ve been how cavemen felt when they created fire from flint.
“Whatcha reading there anyways?” He asked, curious as to what held your attention in a vise. Quiet. Still. You were outer space. You were the whole fucking galaxy.
“Swear you won’t make fun?”
He pursed his lips, searching the ceiling for a moment before offering a shrug. “Alright,” he sighed, laying the theatrics on thick. “I guess, since you and I both are part of the ‘I can’t graduate to save my life’ club, I’ll let let it slide. A members only perk.”
“Uh, it’s probably not your style.” a shaky breath escaped your lungs, before holding up the cover to Eddie. The book was your only shield to hide you from his stare. “It’s more of a romance I guess.”
Your teeth clenched as a scoff sounded from his mouth. Here we go. You braced yourself for impact.
“Beren and Lúthien is not a romance.” Eddie began, plucking the book from your grasp, pushing himself up on the makeshift stage built from storage bins covered by linen sheets. The grip on your thundering heart loosened, the words melting into your skin like honey. “It’s some of Tolkien’s finest. The bridge between steady plot and evolving style. It’s an epic romance. Epic.”
The loud clap of his sneakers meeting the worn linoleum made jumpstarted your heart. “This doom she chose, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and putting aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that thus whatever grief might lie in wait,” Eddie stood striking a pose that mimicked that of the pledge of allegiance. “-the fates of Beren and Lúthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world.” kneeling before you like a knight bowing a princess, he extended his ring clad hand out to you like an offering to a god.
“Wow,” you couldn’t help but allow your lips to pull into a toothy grin. “I’m impressed, Munson. I think any guy who knows Beren and Lúthien word for word can have my hand in marriage.” you admitted before biting down on your lip. His big brown eyes were hypnotic, merely looking into them could make you astral project.
“Are you proposing marriage? At least tell me your name, and maaaaaybe I’ll consider being your blushing bride.” he teased, pushing himself off the ground, standing before you, eye to eye batting his lashes.
The urge to let your smile to fall was hard, but none the less you fought. “You don’t remember my name?”
He pulled a piece of hair in front of his face, hiding away from the kicked puppy look that washed over your face. You had shared twelfth grade history with Eddie Munson twice now. You had wanted to talk to him more than the summer breeze wanted to blow through a field of tall grass. The least he could offer was remembering your name when called during attendance.
“No.” He winced, praying the ground would split beneath his feet and swallow him whole then and there. “Do you hate me now?”
It was impossible to be put off by him, absolutely impossible. Your lips sucked to your teeth as you tried not to simper. Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, you feigned devastation. The back of your hand pressed to your forehead, leaning back a bit to truly sell the 1960’s starlet act. “This is truly the worst revelation I have faced in my entire life. How will I crawl myself out of this hole of peril.”
In love. Eddie Munson was hopelessly in love and he hadn’t even known your name.
“Let me make it up to you.” he blurted out. Your ears burned like the sun on a hot summer’s day. The room felt small suddenly, you felt so close to him. Had he been standing that close this entire time? Your brain felt like liquid, a hot static fuzz filling your chest.
“Y/n.” you breathed.
~~~~~
Just off the side of the main road, hidden behind the tree line, tucked amongst the forests cover, sat Eddie’s beloved van. The windows frosted, born from your heat battling the unforgiving cold desperate to invade the vehicle. This was ritual for the two of you - parking somewhere secluded, laying out a few blankets and talking for hours, illuminated by the camping lanterns light.
Tonight was different. Tonight was astronomically different.
The first kiss had been quick, a foreign feeling to your lips that rendered your body stiff - too afraid to move, for the fear of crumbling in his grasp was far too real to risk. Stunned silence followed for a few seconds, it took some coaxing, reassurance really until you could look him in the eye again.
The second kiss was smoother, far smoother than the first. Gentle guidance from Eddie helped ease your nerves. He wasn’t to be fooled, as you were a fast and eager learner after all. Teeth met teeth, gentle tugs on hair, soft sounds that sounded so foreign to your ears filled the back of the van. Planets aligned when he touched you, Stars danced across your eyelids when the cool metal of his rings met the heat of your skin.
“We can slow down.” he would whisper, hear and there, his lips ghosting across the shell of your ear. “We don’t need to go further than this. Not yet.” He would remind. “Not if you aren’t ready.”
Shaky breathes escaped you, the more he spoke the more you were sure. The more you were certain. Hesitant fingers grazed the leather of his belt, before settling on the hem of his shirt.
“I love you.” was all you could muster, lifting, tugging and pulling at the fabric of his shirt.
Again his lips found yours, deeper, heavier now. Eddie was consumed, lost in your touch.
A black hole. No he had been so wrong that day in the drama room.
He knew now the name. It was so clear now, so unbelievably clear. You were an anomaly. A heavenly body.
You were a heavenly body and you loved him.
You loved Eddie Munson.
#eddie munson#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson fan fic#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fan fic#stranger things reader insert#SSATEddie#eddie munson x y/n#one shot#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson self insert
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eddie my love
Summary: following the events in the upside down, the reader channels her grief into a letter to her beloved Eddie Munson. The first of possibly many.
Warnings: grief, language, nothing else really.
Dear Eds,
It's been a couple days since everything really went to shit. If we're completely honest, I don't remember much of the past few days. Maybe it's a trauma response, or maybe this is just how I'm processing everything, and eventually, I'll be able to look back, and it won't all be covered in such heavy fog. I haven't really been able to leave the house. But the gang doesn't really love the idea of me staying cooped up in my bed, in the dark, crying all day... so. Steve dragged me to the Wheeler's house this morning, trying to get me out into the world, around people. I think he just wanted me to be around Dustin, honestly. I think Steve thinks we can just grieve together, which in theory is great, except I'm right now, I'm crying about 22 out of the 24 hours in a day? It would be the full 24, but ya know, gotta cry myself two sleep for at least two hours? So, I really just suck the life out of literally everyone, and no one deserves to have to deal with that, especially not the kid.
But, I guess Dustin saw Wayne the other day at the school, the government, or the red cross, or I don't know, but someone has turned the gym into a help center for anyone in need after the "earthquake." There are missing posters, and gods bless Wayne. He's been switching yours out every chance he gets. Even when you're not around, the monsters of this town are still on the attack. Hunt the freak, right? Apparently, Dustin had your pick. That little shit didn't even tell me he had it, but he gave it to Wayne, and I'm not going to be a brat about it or cry about it... okay, that's a lie, I have been crying about it, but I know he deserved it. I know he shaped you into the man I called my best friend, that I fell in love with, and who loved me absolutely and irrecoverably. As absolutely fucked up as it is, I got to say goodbye; I got to see you one last time. He didn't. Wayne should have the silly little guitar pick. Sorry, I'm just being dramatic.
But um, anyway, Steve and Robin have been volunteering every chance they get; I don't know, maybe it helps soothe their damaged consciousness? Maybe helping those affected by our mistakes makes up for the fact that we failed in their minds. I know if you were here, you'd probably drag me out to the school. You'd be poking and prodding at my sides, trying to get me to smile even though things have quite literally gone to hell in a handbasket. We could've cleared your name. Jason really did a number on your image, babe. But according to Lucas, when the upside down split Hawkins in half like a god damn kit kat, it also fully consumed and ripped that pompous asshole in half, soooo... I know it's shitty...but yay? one less arrogant dick wandering the streets. That was really fucked up, my bad. I know if you were here, you'd be looking at me with those big stupid doe eyes, your mouth just barely open, trying to justify or maybe understand how I could say something so incredibly terrible and then shrug it off like it was nothing.
You know, I'm really mad at you. You didn't have to be the hero. We were so close. So so close to being out of there. I've been replaying that moment in my head. Watching you cut that sheet over and over and over again, watching you run like hell back into that hellscape. It was supposed to be your year, 86' baby. Your stupid heart of gold, paying the ultimate price, sacrificing yourself for a stupid town of judgmental assholes who hated you. You could've run, I wish you would've, but I know that is just me being painfully selfish.
I understand. I may not agree, but I know you did what was best. You were protecting Dustin and Steve and Robs and Nance...and me. I love you. I don't know if you heard me say it in those last moments, but I do. Edward Munson, I'm not sure what I'm going to do without you. You were my rock, the crazy spastic man who kept me on my toes, reminded me of my worth and made me feel loved and important every day. I don't know where I go from here. I'll check on Wayne, though; the thought of... I was going to say the thought of going by the trailer makes me ill, but I don't think there's much of it left. I think the "earthquake" consumed most of it, which means I really don't know how much of you is left for me and Wayne here. And we are at hour 23 for tears today. That is a new record, Munson. Thank you very much. Um, but I'll check on Wayne; maybe we can cry about life together. I know this is silly; I'm writing letters, yes, letters, plural, to a man who will never get to read them, but it's almost like you're still here, if only for a minute or two. Let me pretend.
all my love you,
y/n
p.s. I'll look after your sheep; I haven't talked to Gareth, but Jeff came to check on me yesterday morning. He said Corroded Coffin was meeting in your honor, asked if I wanted to stop by. I think they've assumed the worst, but little do they know just how bad it really is. I think I'll go; I might bring Dustin, might drag Wayne out. Who knows? I'll keep you posted, I guess. I love you.
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x girly!reader#dustin henderson#steve harrington#wayne munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson slow burn#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson self insert#eddie munson sad
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steddie blurbs
one where being deadnamed ruins your day but the boys are there to make you feel better (trans male!reader)
#steddie#steddie x reader#steddie imagine#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steddie self insert#steddie blurbs#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington self insert#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson blurbs#eddie munson self insert#stranger things
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hi mae !! im currently in love with eddie, so i was wondering if you could write an eddie x fem!reader drabble, where they're in a long distance relationship and are finally getting to see each other in person again after a while of being apart? if isnt something youre interested in, i understand :))
Hi gorgeous, thank you for requesting!!
cw: mention of weed (Eddie deals but they're not smoking)
Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 708 words
Eddie likes to think of himself as erring on the wild side, but you know he sticks to his routines the same as a crotchety old man. And even though he’s graduated from high school, he still deals to a few of the kids he knew when he was there. You’re lucky; you step into the woods behind the school right as the buyer is leaving, a scraggly kid whose head bobs as he walks and who looks at you like you might go tattle to his parents. You’re too excited to take offense.
Eddie’s still sitting at his picnic table, one leg hiked up on the bench like he’s thinking of climbing up, closing the clasps of the tin lunchbox he keeps his stash in. He doesn’t startle as you come up behind him, just turns with a half interested look in his eyes.
A laugh bubbles out of you when they widen comically.
“Hey,” you say, picking up your pace to cross the distance to him.
“Holy fuck.” Eddie nearly trips getting out of his seat. He leaves the lunchbox behind. “Jesus, what the fuck?”
“Glad to see you too,” you laugh, putting your arms around him.
And you know from experience that Eddie’s a fantastic hugger, but this one is a bit of a scramble. He’s rushed, greedy, hands starting at your sides and then wriggling their way across your back until he’s got you where he wants you. Pulled tight against him with his arms banded across the high and low points of your back, face pressed into your shoulder, your feet still touching the ground but just barely. The whole production makes your chest hurt, a gratifying ache.
“What are you doing here?” It sounds almost like an accusation, muffled affectionately into the material of your shirt.
You can’t stop giggling. Eddie’s hair tickles your nose. “Crazy thing,” you reply, “they actually let us have summers off.”
Eddie’s funny in that he almost never asks the right questions. The last time you’d seen him had been during winter break, and when you’d gone back to school and been calling every night, he only asked about your life there. Always what you were doing and how much fun you were having, infinitely sweet in his support of your college experience even if he couldn’t share in it, and in his curiosity he’d somehow forgotten to wonder when you might be coming home again.
“Okay, smartass.” He gives you a happy little squeeze. “How long do I get you for?”
“Until August.”
Eddie makes a delighted moaning sound that sets your giggles off all over again.
“Yes.” His tone evokes the feeling of a fist-pump without the follow-through of the actual motion, but his hands slip from around you. He grabs your face and kisses you hard. “Fuck yeah!”
You’re grinning massively as you meet him kiss for kiss, arms crawling up around his shoulders.
“Best. Surprise. Ever.” He holds you still for a series of quick pecks, deviating from your lips to kiss your cheek, your nose. “Shit, is it, like, super unromantic if I start taking your clothes off?”
“Kinda,” you say, though you don’t deny him when one of his hands slips down to paw at your ass. “We’re maybe fifty feet from a high school right now.”
“Mhm, mhm, but hear me out.” Eddie’s words are interspersed with little suctioning sounds, his lips planting themselves eagerly upon any bit of you they can find. “Back when we went here, that would have been the hottest thing, you know? We can even go under the bleachers if you want.”
You don’t open your eyes, but they’re rolling. “My ovaries are quaking.”
Eddie groans low in his throat and squeezes your ass teasingly. “So stubborn.”
“We can go back to your place,” you offer.
“No, no.” He sighs, heavy and dramatic. “We’d have to drive, and I’m not ready to be across a console from you yet.” Eddie backs you up until your backside hits the picnic table, helping you up and positioning himself between your legs. His arms wrap around you again, half makeout and half hug. “Let’s stay here for a while. Wouldn’t be able to focus on the road anyway.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x self insert#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson one shot#stranger things#stranger things 4#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fandom#stranger things x reader
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THE EDGE
“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels
Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.
Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader
Word count: 3.9k
Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff, there will be a happy ending
AN: Chapter three is finally here! Many thanks to my lovely boyfriend @mantorokk-writes for test reading and making the header, I'm forever in love with you <3 This series is gonna be a slow work in progress, but thank you for reading so far! Really excited to see where it's gonna go, and how we're gonna get these two out of this pickle. Enjoy!
Taglist: @edsforehead, @idkidknemore, @harrys-tittie, @gaysludge, @smileygoth
A congealed lump of what was apparently mac and cheese, boiled to death vegetables and bitter orange juice. Eddie had become used to shit food long ago, thanks to a lifetime of only buying the cheapest non-brand groceries to try and save costs. But this… This was something else. Fuck, he was surprised it even passed the mark for being fit for human consumption. It reminded him of the stories his old man used to tell about prison food, about how the trick was to eat it without thinking too much, barely savouring the taste before you swallowed. The similarity getting stuck in his throat.
But at least he wasn’t eating his meals in silence anymore. With you sitting opposite him, filling any dead air with talking about the hospital gossip, though he’d given up on trying to follow along after the first apparent affair taking place. But the content didn’t matter. For the first time in so long, maybe even longer than he realised, you had offered him a seat to get out of trouble with no motive behind the action. Had given him his own pack of cigarettes after swindling one from an orderly just before lunch started, the one that seemed to stare at your chest more than your eyes, putting yourself at risk for no gain of your own. It was exceedingly rare to find people that would do something out of the goodness of their hearts, and the question was rattling around his head with such a velocity that it tumbled from his lips before he even realised.
“Why are you doing this?”
Even he internally winced at the lack of warmth in his tone, making it sound more like an accusation than a question. But if it offended you, you didn’t act as if it bothered you. Instead, the corners of your lips twitched upwards, eyes drifting from your tray to his own as you tilted your head.
“What’dya mean?”
Giving himself a few needed seconds to reframe the words in his head with taking a sip of his drink, he swirled the contents of the paper cup, deciding to stare down into it rather than look up. “I mean, why are you helping me? You don’t know me.”
From the very quick glance upwards he chanced, there seemed to be something there that was bittersweet. Eyes slightly widened, mouth downturned, yet an ever so slight huff of a laugh as you balled up a serviette in your hands. “Trust me, I know how it feels to be the new guy on the wing. The way the others look at you like you’re a fuckin’ chew toy?”
He’d noticed the way the other patients stared, when the steel door behind him slammed shut. Some didn’t even look over, too caught up in their own internal world. But there’s a certain feeling that can overcome a person when they’re accustomed to having to be on high alert at all times. A certain flash of the eyes that makes your stomach churn, blood pooling to your feet and your mind telling you to run. You studied his face for a moment, a sympathetic smile briefly twitching at your lips.
“I had someone look out for me too, when I first got here,” you explained, the paper in your hand now being twisted and toyed with as you spoke. “She uh… Her name was Patty. She was this take no shit kinda woman. Taught me the best way to curb the hunger was smoking cigarettes, which orderlies would give pretty girls special treatment, which patients to never go near. That sorta useful shit.”
Though you smiled, it didn’t reach your downcast eyes. “She got sick last year. Didn’t say much about it, but it took a toll on her. It finally got her a couple of months back. And you know what the worst thing was about it?”
Plenty of what you were saying was ‘the worst thing’. Being caught on the wrong side of a power dynamic, having to go hungry because nobody cared, patients having to be caregivers because God forbid those that actually got paid to do it actually did their fucking jobs for once. All of those answers dying on his tongue, replaced with a slow shake of his head.
“Nobody came to see her in the end,” you muttered, brows furrowing as your voice cracked. “She told me she had a son, told me the doctors called him and told him, but he never came. I get it, I mean, not many of us have the luxury of seeing people from the outside… But she was on her fucking deathbed, y’know?”
When your eyes finally met his, glossy with unshed tears that you seemed so determined to never let overspill, there was a look to you that made all the pieces click together. Made the parts of him that he’d kept buried away for self preservation start to rise back to the surface. Taking a firm grasp of his heart and squeezing for good measure.
The look of pure fear.
The fear that one day, both of you would end up like Patty. Untethered to the world outside, cast adrift with the other lost souls. Taking the last few rattled breaths with nobody around to hear them, looking up to the sky and the view still blocked with bars. Nobody with spare change for the ferryman, forever stuck.
“I’m sorry.” It was all he could think to say, no other words seeming quite right. The tone as hollow as he felt, as shaky as the tremors in his hands that never quite seemed to go away. All he could think to say, but the truth. He was sorry you were here, if your proclaimed innocence was to be believed. He was sorry for himself too, deep down.
“It’s whatever,” you replied, clearing your throat as you tried and failed to staple the look of nonchalance back on your face with a half decent result. “Anyway, don’t worry about your first therapy session, alright? I got it covered.”
He shot you a small look of incredulity, head tilted to the side as he followed your lead in piling used napkins and cutlery onto his meal tray. “What’dya mean?”
The smile you gave him next was finally a genuine one, a glimmer in your eye that could only mean mischief.
“You’ll see.”
~
You could see the stress levels that you tried so desperately to lower over lunch to begin raising as you and Eddie filed into the day room for group therapy. How his jaw clenched so hard you were surprised he didn’t break enamel, a shortening fuse near a naked flame as he took his seat next to you. Leg bouncing with beats akin to a hummingbird’s heart, chewing at the skin around his ruined nails with eyesight dancing around the room to end up on the tile right in front of him. You couldn’t blame him; he was walking into the unknown, with no idea where the hell he would end up. You remembered the feeling well.
Others clad in the same off white uniform as you took their respective seats around you, the energy in the room a palpable, frantic buzz. Nerves, apathy, distaste and mocking. You could feel it all, see it in the faces around you that you’d come to know in the years that you’d been imprisoned. Small naked flames, that could be as harmless as a match or as intense as thermite. The day could go either way. And it would depend on the questions posed to them.
Dr. Madden made his way through the doors, adjusting the thick horned rimmed glasses that permanently perched on his beak-like nose as he took his seat. You’d never liked him; he was nosy, even for a psychiatrist, always putting two and two together to end up with an equation that made no fucking sense. Nothing could ever be simple, in his eyes. Someone’s violent outburst had some convoluted reasoning to do with Daddy issues and not being hugged enough as a child, rather than someone just needing a fucking cigarette and not being given one. It took everything within you not to roll your eyes into the back of your skull as he cleared his throat to begin.
“Good afternoon everyone,” he began, eyes settling over each patient for a brief second before focusing on Eddie. “We’re welcoming a new person into the wing today. Have you had any sort of therapy like this before, Mr. Munson?”
Eddie’s reply was a brief shake of his head, glance not leaving the cracks of the floor as he fiddled with the split ends of his hair. Madden’s bushy eyebrow raised a fraction as he sat himself slightly forward. “Well, we start with a brief check in. How we’re feeling, what we’d like to talk about in today’s session. Perhaps you could start us off? You seem nervous today.”
You couldn’t hold back a scoff, the psychiatrist’s beady eyes narrowing on you as you fished through your pockets for your pack of cigarettes. The look on his face evident that he wasn’t amused at your perceived insolence to his ‘therapeutic process’. He could shove that process where the sun didn’t shine, as far as you were concerned.
“He’s a newbie, of course he’s gonna be nervous,” you shrugged, waving over an orderly with a lighter, who seemed to be watching you with ever so slight trepidation as he ignited the flame that you used to puff life into your cigarette. Huffing out an exhale of smoke that was aimed in his direction. “Bit of a redundant question, isn’t it?”
Madden was a tough nut to crack, but you’d managed to get the veins in his neck bulging a couple of times. You just needed to know which buttons to press, and it seemed you hit one with a jab to his reasoning. “I don’t find it redundant at all,” he answered with a smile slightly too smug for your liking. “But if you think that an example of a check in could help, maybe you could go first instead?”
You took a sharp inhale as you gave a grimace of indifference, face scrunched up as you jerked your head towards an older lady that seemed on the edge of her seat to talk. “Why don’t you get Miriam to do it? From what I remember, she was just starting to open up about her fucker of an ex husband.”
Was using another patient’s anger, something you knew got them started into an hour long tangent until they were red in the face unethical? Maybe. But it was every man for himself out here, and you didn’t have anything akin to backup in the process. As expected, the woman launched into a tirade, screechings which contained the words “useless bastard” and “should have divorced him before he did it to me!” melding into the background as you shot a smug smirk in Madden’s direction. To his credit, he was hiding his distaste well, his only giveaway the slight flush creeping above his collar.
For most of the session, you managed to evade the heat from coming towards you and Eddie. A few more prods to Miriam, staying silent when the psychiatrist asked if anyone else had anything to add. A question to old man Hardy about the house he got kicked out from before being transferred, each person being used like a shield to hide from the questions you knew Madden had for you. You knew you were fucked from the moment he put his hand up to cut off Duane about his teenage trauma prematurely, eyes fixed on you as he sat back in his chair.
“Does Duane’s story resonate with you?” he asked with a heightened pitch of voice, head slightly tilted as his lips twitched upwards. It caused your back to straighten, knowing full well where he was going with this. Somewhere you swore never to go back to, ever since the nightmares ever so slightly decreased and the flashing images weren’t permanently burned into the back of your eyelids.
“No.”
The words reverberated around clenched teeth, knuckles turned white as you gripped the cracked pleather of the cushion you sat on. Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Eddie staring at you with a slight questioning to his glance, and it made your gut twist even more. You hated how suddenly the tentative power dynamic had switched. How your already lacking control was going to spiral even further, if Madden willed it.
“I think it might, though,” the good doctor continued, the slight smirk being poorly hidden as his head tilted to the side. “You had a lot happen when you were eighteen, didn’t you? When you made the choice to-”
“I’m not going to talk about it,” you snapped back, folding your arms as a poorly constructed buffer between you and the man opposite. Your eyes glanced at the clock on the wall, a slight ease of tension as you realised the time. “Not with only five minutes left of the session.”
“But you’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later,” he countered, daring to look slightly sympathetic as he regarded you. “You’ve been here two years, and you’ve never talked about that night. It doesn’t show much progress, now does it?”
You wanted to stand up, pick up your chair, and crash it over the top of his head. How the fuck would he know what ‘progress’ you’d been making? How much work you’d had to put into yourself, rationalising and justifying everything about the night that changed the path of your life, so much that you probably could never step foot on the original trail if you tried. How you still tortured yourself with what you could have done differently, the actions that you did take haunting you like spectres? Madden knew nothing of how often you’d dragged yourself off the precipice time and time again, nothing but bloody fingernails and a quickly ebbing will to live, as you weighed up the decisions of falling asleep to never wake up again against staying alive to do everything in your power to clear the stain on your name.
To Madden’s credit, he didn’t push further. Letting the silence hang in the air, perhaps a non-verbal push that might get you talking. It might have worked, once upon a time. When you had no secrets to hide, too worried about what others thought, wanting to please people so much that it deprived you of happiness. But that was before you were branded a psycho, tossed into this place with the key thrown away. Now, you couldn’t give a shit about what others thought.
Except, there was a way your stomach dropped when you looked over to see the way Eddie looked at you. Not with disgust or horror, which you were used to by now. There was slight concern in his eyes, mixed with empathy, the combination making you want to squirm in your seat. You didn’t even know each other, yet his humanity seemed to still be intact for now, seeing another person clearly struggling and not being able to do anything about it.
You decided to stare at the clock on the wall for the rest of the session, filtering out all other noises and focusing on watching the minute hand strike closer and closer until time was up.
As you put away chairs, you expected Eddie to ask you about it. Maybe try to pry, or get answers for questions that could be in his own mind. But he didn’t. He stayed silent as you both wandered back to the table you met at, sitting down with him wordlessly reaching for the deck of cards in the middle and starting to shuffle. And silent you stayed. Going through the motions of a routine you knew too well; free time, ‘music’ therapy - as if listening to the same vinyl of Bach twice a week for two years would do anything other than make you want to smash your head against the chipped white walls. Dinner consisting of a brick of so-called ‘meatloaf’ that you knew well enough to avoid even attempting to eat, settling for tasteless vegetables and vaguely lime flavoured Jell-o instead.
Even silent when the orderly Nguyen told you to haul ass to the laundry room for work placement, and to take your new ‘friend’ with you. You were brought out of the routine of folding sheets when you heard Eddie clear his throat, looking up to see him slightly rattled as he sorted various clothing into separate piles.
“Hey uh… You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wanna, but… Thanks. For today.” You saw the corners of his lips twitch upwards, a ghost of a smile as his eyeline landed on the messy stack of undershirts. “Didn’t have to stick your neck out of me, but you did. Appreciate it.”
You mustered the leftover social energy you had to lift your shoulders into a slight shrug, rubbing the back of your head whilst the other hand took your weight as you leaned slightly on the table. “It’s nothing. Sorry for not being so talkative I just… Still don’t wanna talk about why I’m here, y’know?”
A curt nod was his reply at first, lips a narrow line and eyes darting around as if he was thinking hard about something. Finally glancing towards the door, then around the room, as if to make double sure that what he was about to say wouldn’t be overheard. He looked panicked; either a deer in the headlights or a lion ready to defend itself, you weren’t sure.
“They said I killed people.”
It was so quiet you barely picked up on it, and you had to admit, it took you aback. There was an initial flight or flight reaction that doused your autonomic system, as if his words set off a red light in your head and you had to start looking for an improvised weapon. However, that was pure instinct, only for a second before logic took over. For someone who was apparently a killer, he certainly did look hollow about it all. Besides. Those in glass houses…
“Did you do it?” you mumbled back, eyes leaving his to take the pressure of both of you, hands busying themselves with folding the now grey sheet in front of you, toying with the frayed corner to try and conceal it in the fold somehow.
“No.”
You found yourself at a precipice. He had stuck his neck out to tell you his charge, not knowing if you’d stick around or bolt and leave him on his own again. It was a sign of trust; an olive branch, that you could either accept or leave hanging between you. You had only known Eddie a day. Less than that, maybe seven hours, tops. But so far, he seemed to have his wits about him. He didn’t strike you as the judgemental type. He didn’t pry, and he tried to distract you when you were at your lowest, instead of offering useless advice or forcing you to open up. When you looked up at him, there was no hint of deceit that you could tell. He was staring at you with those intense eyes of his, an expression reading both ‘I’m telling the truth’ and ‘dear God, I hope you fucking believe me’.
For so long, you had wanted reinforcements in this place so badly. To not fight alone, to have backup. In the outside world, no way would you trust someone this fast. But this was Pennhearst. A place with different rule sets. You needed to take the help wherever it came from, and hope it didn’t blow back in your face later.
You needed to give him something in return.
You didn’t falter with eye contact as you said the words you thought you’d never say. The words that made your stomach churn, made you want to flinch as you said them. “They said I killed people, too.”
You saw the look on his face to be one of bewilderment, eyes scanning you up and down as if he’d never seen you before. You wondered if that’s what you’d looked like not five seconds ago, mirroring each other as you confessed your sins. “Did you do it?”
“No.”
The crease between his eyebrows seemed to smooth, after what felt like hours of staring at each other, the only other sounds the rhythmic knocking of the decrepit industrial dryers. It was you who finally broke the silence, busying yourself again with grabbing the pile of undershirts near you by the bottom and pulling it towards you to begin folding. “I don’t expect you to believe me. And if you don’t want me to know about what happened, I’m not gonna push it.” You shook your head as you frowned at the fabric in your hands.
“Why do you believe me? When I say I didn’t do it?”
You glanced back up at him to find a worried expression on his face, staring at you like he couldn’t quite believe you. As if it was too good to be true, to finally be believed. You wracked your brain for an answer, only to shrug and say the first thing on your mind. “Because guilty people don’t look so frightened of their consequences. I suppose on a subconscious level, they know they deserve the hell they created for themselves.”
You heard a sound which you figured to be a sharp exhale of air through his nose, most likely an attempt at a wry laugh. “You don’t look frightened.”
Your lips turned downward as you frowned again. “You get good at hiding it after a while, I guess.”
You heard your name being called, so softly that your heart nearly shattered. Not your last name being barked out with disdain, or in a patronising tone like a shrink would. It was said like somebody actually gave a shit. You looked up to be met with a look that was one of genuine concern, his eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted as if he was wondering what to say.
It was getting too intense for your liking.
Shaking your head as you cleared your throat, you flashed a tight smile as your folding became hurried. “Finish that pile quick, yeah? Orderlies hit the roof when you don’t finish your chores on time.”
To his credit, Eddie didn’t push it. The rest of the time being filled with small talk and comfortable silences, until your names were called to be taken back to your room for the night. The motions of getting ready to bed had become mechanical a long time ago, on autopilot as you brushed your teeth and changed clothes. Hearing the call for lights out, and getting plunged into darkness against your will. You knew that first checks were in an hour.
You had sixty minutes to cry to yourself about finally being seen, about not being treated like a criminal that deserved the way you were being treated. Hugging the pillow to your face and willing yourself not to be making a sound, clutching the cheap cotton between your fingers as if your life depended on it. Sixty minutes until you needed to shove the emotions back down, and face tomorrow, same as you always did.
Same as you always did, but at least you had someone on your side.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things imagine#stranger things x you#eddie munson self insert#stranger things self insert
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Stuck
~1.5k words || rating: teen || cws: dissociation; unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illnesses
He’s never quite sure how it happens, seeming to always sneak up on him. One minute he’s up and moving around, usually cleaning, organizing, or just meandering around the house. The next, he’s lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He tries to move but can’t. Not because he’s physically restrained, like when the rope from the Russians cut into his wrists or how the vines constricted his neck.
No, Steve’s just lying here on the floor, trapped in his own mind. His eyes are raw, stinging with dryness. Painful tingles pop throughout his right arm from where his head rests heavy on his bicep. His hip and shoulder ache. He can’t move or talk or blink. Can barely think. He’s not in his body.
He’s lost. Stuck.
Getting stuck means losing time, chunks of days lost to a void. It means missing meals and unanswered phone calls. Growing up, it felt like an escape. A safe way to pass the time between eating and sleeping. He’d come back to himself, sometimes hours later, sore and hungry, mustering up energy he didn’t have. Once, his parents discovered him frozen on the ground. Mom’s yelling and Dad’s foot shoving his side brought him jolting back into his body. Like waking from a nightmare, rising from the dead chased by panic.
It happens less now, but still catches up to him when he’s exhausted. He thinks today it was the kids– they were particularly obnoxious. Yelling excitedly about Eddie’s new campaign ideas, trucking in snow from outside after building a demo-snowman. Cooking for them, cleaning after them, getting them home safe.
Yeah, he gets how he maybe overdid it a bit.
But with Eddie here, it’s easier. His sweetheart always knows how to help, usually checking up on him after stressful days. Hopefully he comes to check on him soon.
Because Steve can’t move. Or talk. Or even blink.
The sun is starting to set.
~~~
The Party were extra chaotic today, pushing him to the fringes of patience. He’s thrilled they’re excited about his newest campaign ideas, but god, did they have to be so unbearably loud about it? Dustin’s screeches are still rattling between his ears. Not to mention the soreness he feels from helping the kids build a snowman demo-thing and the ensuing snowball fight.
The idea of an occult campaign has been percolating in Eddie’s brain for weeks, and after the day he’s had, he’s lost to the research. Perched on a chair upstairs in their bedroom, books are scattered across the desk and onto their bed next to him. Typically, creative deep-dives restore his energy after a long day. But when he’s well and truly exhausted, he’ll lose hours at a time to the work. Getting stuck, according to Steve. And yeah, Eddie can see how that fits.
Growing up, Eddie would lose hours throwing himself into his latest and greatest project, whether it be drawing, playing guitar, writing campaigns, reading or even the time he tried juggling. Entranced by his newest obsession, his surroundings would fade into the background. He’d forget to do his homework, to eat or drink. Hell, sometimes he’d forget to pee. Wayne’d drop a gentle hand to his shoulder– pulling him back to reality– and he’d take off like a shot to the bathroom. Every sensation hitting all at once: bladder about to burst, stomach rumbling, dry mouth, headache, body stiff and achy.
As he gets older, it’s still a frequent occurrence. So Robin had given him the idea of setting alarms, saying it helps her remember to take breaks while studying. And he’s thankful, because it works like a charm when he actually remembers. But when he forgets, his Stevie takes care of him.
He’ll find Eddie crouched awkwardly by the desk, eyes manic, only seeing what’s in front of him. Eddie will eat or drink anything Steve gives him, barely tasting whatever it is, just as long as he can see it. And Steve lets him be for at least a few hours so he can burn energy into whatever project he's lost himself in. All Steve cares is that he’s fed and hydrated. Usually, Eddie comes to slowly, with Steve’s fingers gently carding through his hair, or soft strokes up and down his spine.
Now Eddie breaks his own musings, eyes strained, hungry, and needing to stretch. He can’t help but wonder why his sweetheart hasn’t checked on him.
Moonlight is shining through the window.
~~~
It’s eerily quiet as Eddie makes his way down the stairs. He half expects to find Steve stress-baking, but the kitchen is dark.
So he checks the garage– the car is still here. And the backyard– he never sits by the pool alone. Then the front porch– maybe he went out for a smoke.
Guilt eats at Eddie as he finds his beautiful boy on the living room floor, curled into himself.
Stuck.
He hates finding Steve like this– stuck and lost like Eddie’s engrossed fantasies. Yet so, so different.
The first time Eddie found him, unresponsive and immovable, he spiraled into a panic so strong Steve had broken free of his own melancholy, finding Eddie hyperventilating and sobbing in the midst of a flashback. Too much like Chrissy. Like Patrick and Nancy.
They'd talked about it. And Eddie had appreciated afterwards how Steve struggled to describe what being stuck feels like, why it happens, what to do about it. It'd helped.
So on grey days, long nights, the holidays, or when the kids are extra rowdy, Eddie looks for the signs. He's been good about getting Steve to slow down before it's too late.
But on rare occasions, there will be a day like today. When it’s too much for both of them.
Eddie doesn't know how long his baby’s been lying here. Doesn't know when he ate or drank or even blinked. Because he’d holed himself up, desperate for time alone to just think. To be with himself after spending all day surrounded by people. But he forgot to set an alarm, assuming Steve would be there.
He focuses on his sweetheart, slowly kneeling down next to him so as not to startle him. Remembers all of the tips and tricks Steve needs.
"Hey honey," Eddie whispers, close enough to be present but not overwhelming. "Don't worry baby we'll get you unstuck I promise. I'm going to reach out and grab your hand now ok?"
He continues to whisper gentle praises and reassurances as he holds Steve's hand. It's limp for a time, and Eddie is hungry, but he doesn't stop. Time is lost to them both again, until he feels a slight squeeze on his fingers. Steve finally blinks, slow and hard.
"Hey big boy, love to see those pretty, long eyelashes.” He smiles down at his baby, honeyed hazel eyes slowly refocusing. “Alright, once for no and two for yes: do you want me to help you onto the couch?"
A full minute passes before Eddie feels two gentle squeezes to his fingers.
"That's great sweetheart. I'm gonna tilt you to sit up and we'll get you settled. Then I'm going to ask if you want anything. Ready?" Two squeezes.
They finally get to the couch, and Eddie can already feel a strong sense of relief at just seeing his baby move off the floor. He hears Steve's back pop as they stand, decides he'll give him a massage later.
It goes on. And on and on. Eddie follows the process of squeezes until Steve is unstuck and back in his body.
"Water?" Two squeezes.
"Food?" One squeeze.
"Blanket?" Two squeezes.
Eddie's patience always pays off. He's got Steve set up on the couch, hydrated and relaxed, with his favorite movie playing softly. He’s managed to grab a bowl of cereal for himself. They're cuddled and warm with Steve’s head in his lap. Eddie glides his fingers up and down the sore side of Steve’s body, gently squeezing as he goes.
~~~
Steve comes back to himself surrounded by love.
His eyes sting and his mouth is dry. He doesn't know what time it is, but notices the sun has long set, moonlight shining through the curtains. The bones in his neck crack and his joints pop as he stretches.
But he's warm under the blankets, tucked into his boyfriend's chest as they watch the teddy bear Star Wars. Eddie's loosely twirling the hairs at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging and sending tingles down his spine. There's a glass of water and crackers on the table in front of him.
Getting stuck inside his head terrifies him, something he dreads as much as the night terrors.
But with Eddie, it's easier, happens less often. And when it does, he always wakes up to love.
~~
This was a pure self-indulgence fic. An exact recreation of my relationship with my partner. It fits my headcanon for the boys perfectly (though I'm obviously biased haha)
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#steve harrington whump#hurt/comfort#steve harrington does not feel his feelings it's practically canon#steve harrington is my favorite self insert and i will continue to do so until i get so sick of writing myself i go back to canon#rinse and repeat#eddie munson#eddie munson is the personification of adhd#have you seen that man's bedroom? it's definitely canon#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things ficlet#QueenieWritesStories
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