#joseph quinn eddie munson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-witty-pen-name · 2 months

Text

Love is Blind (Part 1)

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use, brief descriptions of masturbation, smut in later parts

A/N: I got this idea from watching the newest season of Love is Blind and getting genuinely annoyed that the show still doesn’t have a more size inclusive dating pool. I feel like the show could be so much more. There are many subjects the show could be featuring that it just doesn’t. Anyways, this is incredibly self-indulgent, Eddie Munson loves plus size women and I refuse to accept otherwise. Enjoy!

Please consider reblogging/commenting if you like it!

Day One:

Eddie’s palms are sweaty, and he nervously wipes his hands on his jeans repeatedly. He bounces his leg, twisting the rings on his fingers. Fuck, what the hell is he even doing here? He’s sitting on a couch, facing a blank wall, and he’s absolutely scared shitless that he’s finally doing this. Hell, if it bombs, he gets some cash for participating. Whatever, it’s not like he actually believes in this shit.

He’s up and pacing the room when he finally hears a door on the other side of the wall open and close. He literally jumps over from the back of the couch to get back in his seat. He can hear the faint patter of someone walking. Then it stops, he assumes the person on the other side has taken a seat.

“This is so weird,” the voice from the other side of the wall says, and Eddie feels immediately at ease. He chuckles, shaking his head, standing up to walk the pent up energy out.

“Batshit,” Eddie exclaims in agreement. “I don’t know what I’m even doing here.”

“I’m here for the $200,” the voice jokes. “But that’s just me.”

He’s instantly relaxed, and suddenly, it doesn’t feel like he’s sitting alone in a drafty room on a lumpy couch. He’s intrigued, and ready to play the game. At least, he’s open to this first conversation. He feels a little better knowing that he’s not alone. He sits down finally, rubbing his hands still.

“I’m here,” he begins, allowing himself to be a little vulnerable, “because I am sick of the way people look at me.”

“Fuck, amen to that,” the voice responds with a clap, and the reaction makes Eddie grin from ear to ear. “Guys are so shallow, no offense.” He laughs.

“I’m not usually this outgoing,” the voice shares, sounding a little more reserved, “There’s something about you not looking at me that's making me a little more brave.” Eddie thinks this girl sounds so incredibly sweet. He’s never been attracted to someone’s voice, but he’s feeling himself being pulled in. It’s gentle, and kind and not deserving of whatever the world did to you to lead you here.

“Well, I’m used to being the spectacle,” Eddie sighs, leaning back into the couch, slumping down. “I can’t help it,” he exhales, “I mean, people think the worst of me no matter what I do, so like, fuck it. I’m gonna have fun with it.”

“Is that all of it?” the voice asks, knowingly. Eddie scoffs at the perception. Is he that obvious?

“No,” he cringes, and he hears a giggle from the other side of the wall. It helps him feel more comfortable. “Um honestly,” he continues, a little shy, “Part of me keeps the act up cause if people are watching me, I’m not alone. I’d rather be the laughing stock than have no one acknowledge me at all.”

“I’m the opposite,” the voice shares, “I’d so much rather be out of sight out of mind.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” he asks softly.

“In my experience,” the voice continues, “it has always felt like people keep me around so they feel better about themselves. I know that’s not true- I know my friends love me. I just- being by myself is my comfort zone. I don’t need to worry about how I’m like being perceived. Or if, like, I'm being judged.”

Eddie nods understandingly, until he remembers you can’t see him.

“I get it,” he says, trying to be comforting. “I, uh, yeah.. People don’t like… they don’t like understand what it feels like when you just feel simultaneously so small and like you take up too much space- and how they’re the ones that make you feel that way.”

“Wow- I’ve never heard it put into words so well before. That’s just been my life, you know?”

“We’re really getting deep huh?” he jokes, chest swelling with pride when he hears the laugh.

“I really like your voice,” the voice admits, and Eddie feels his face heat and he’s sure his face is flushed red from the compliment. His ego has been very much stroked at this point, and he takes the opportunity to fully embrace this whole flirting thing. If he can at least leave this experiment making someone feel good, then he won’t consider this a waste of time.

“Well, I really like your voice,” he quips. “Actually, uh- I’ve been sitting over here, on a really shitty couch. And I was asking myself what the hell was I doing here? I am probably the worst person for this experiment- I don’t think I could take this seriously. Then, I heard your voice- and I instantly felt attracted to you- if you can believe it. Now, I’m over here, your voice bringing out thing I would never fucking say out loud. I’m pacing around, you’ve made a mess of me.”

It feels like only a short period of time goes by, but in actuality, Eddie and his mystery date get wrapped up in talking for over three hours. He talks to her about music, his favorite books, his Uncle Wayne… sharing more about himself to a total stranger than he’d ever volunteer to even his close friends. You swap childhood stories, commiserate over bullies, and before he knows it, he thinks you might know him better than anyone.

A timer buzzes and it’s time for Eddie to move on to his next first “date.” As the door opens and one of the technicians is ready to escort him to the next room. He desperately stares at the wall before he moves, hoping to hear the voice one more time.

“Please, if you’re still there,” he says standing up, “I want to talk with you again tomorrow.” He knocks on the wall, rings tapping. He receives a knock back, and he grins devilishly,

“It’s a date.”

The technician taps his shoulder and he nods, letting them lead him out to the next room. He wraps an arm around the mousy guy as he jots down something on his clipboard. “I have a date tomorrow,” Eddie beams, looking back at the blank wall like he’s looking back to get another glance at you.

Day Two:

You still tug anxiously at your shirt, making sure it’s not clinging to your belly. Even though none of your dates can see you, you can’t shake the self conscious feeling. Yesterday was draining, all of the dates you had fell so short after that first one. Nothing came as easy to you as that first one, and you’re hoping you’ll get to talk to him soon.

You take a sip of your water, and opt to move from the couch to the floor. You sit criss-crossed and stare at the wall in front of you. You really focus on your breathing and try to let yourself open up. You’re here because you’re hoping to find someone who likes you for you- but no matter what, you’re still incredibly anxious thinking about the big reveal. No matter how well the conversations go, you worry it will be null and void once they see you’re plus size.

“Please, please, please for the love of God that this is finally you?” you hear a familiar voice whine, and you can’t contain your smile. “Pretty girl, c’mon talk to me.”

“You don’t know what I look like,” you scoff, but still, you feel yourself still melting like putty.

“Fuck, finally,” mystery boy sighs, and you hear him collapse on the couch. You can only assume his set-up is the same as yours. “Baby, I have been dying to hear your voice again.”

“This experiment not working out for you?” you ask, sympathetically. You find it hard to believe he’s not chatting up everyone else and hitting on them the same way he does with you. It’s the only explanation. You can’t let yourself believe he genuinely feels differently towards you.

“No this sucks,” he says, and then you hear him blow a raspberry. You can’t help it but laugh in agreement. “I just want to talk to you.” He sounds so vulnerable, and you actually find yourself believing him.

“Again,” you retort, rolling your eyes, “You don’t really know anything about me.”

“I want to,” he sounds so sincere, and it makes your heart swell. “You are the least boring person here.”

“I’m touched,” you reply sarcastically, and you feel good hearing that you made him laugh.

“I wish I could take you out,” he says and he sounds closer, like he’s sitting up against the wall. “I’ve got like no fucking money,” he laughs.

“I hate going out,” you reassure him, “I want to just hangout with you.”

“No, no, no,” he says dramatically, “No safe zone. You deserve to go out and be shown off. I am not gonna lock you away from the world, I’m gonna show you off.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” You quip, letting yourself slip into a little bit of a fantasy. You let yourself feel wanted and feel desirable even if it’s contained to this room.

“Well, not to be like that guy,” he’s suddenly sounding a little shy and you find it very endearing. “But like, I’d want to bring you to one of my band’s shows. Like- don’t get me wrong, we play at like really shitty bars that take way too long to drive to. And we don’t even make back the money the gas costs to get there, but like, I really like it and um, that’s uh when I feel I’m at my best, and I’d want you to see that side of me.”

“So what does bringing girls to a show look like for you?” you ask nervously, feeling a little twinge of jealousy that he may have done this before with someone else.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, “if I was capable of getting girls out in the wild do you think I would’ve signed up for this?” You laugh a little. “Trust me,” he further explains, “This is not something I never imagined I could do before talking to you.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back,” you reply, and you're sure he can hear your smile through the wall. “Let me rephrase,” you say, taking a deep breath, “What does bringing me to a show look like?”

“Well,” he exhales, “I’d pick you up, in my really nice and not sketchy at all van that doesn’t make any questionable noises. I usually drive the guys too but honestly, fuck them, I want us to have time together. I don’t mind telling them to pound sand. And don’t feel bad for them, they’re also kind of assholes.”

You can’t help but giggle, noticing he tends to have that effect on you. He makes you nervous in a really good way, and you try hard to fight it, but you worry that it’s no use. As much as you find yourself really enjoying mystery boy’s company, you can’t help but let that fear creep in that all of this will go away if he ever sees you.

“But anyways,” he continues, “I’ll admit it, I’m a little bit of a show off. And I know if you were there watching me, I’d just like be putting my all into it. I would really try hard to impress you. I’d also want the pricks there to know you’re with me so no one bothers you, so as much as I know you’d hate it, I would point you out and tell the whole place you’re there with me.”

Your face is so warm, and you can’t hold back the cheesy smile that has expanded across your whole face. You can’t believe a guy would be genuinely that proud to have you there with him. You really do think that he’s being genuine, and it makes your heart soar.

“I’m really surprised you don’t have girls fawning over you, rockstar,” you smile, wanting to make him feel special too. Even if this crashes and burns, you can tell he’s a sweet guy. You can see that maybe he’ll let you down gently. You don’t know why your insecurities hold you down this much. You, more than anyone, get in the way of your own happiness. You’re determined to not let it affect you this deeply. You resolve to let yourself see how this goes, and to throw yourself into it- willing to get hurt.

“Trust me,” he scoffs, “I am not what you’re thinking I am. I’m not like that guy, I’m more awkward than anything. I think girls are more interested in the football star guys, the future suits, you know? Guys with a haircut and go to college- They don’t want to waste their time with a going nowhere punk.”

“I really don’t think that’s true,” you speculate, “There’s no one with a poster of Jack Welch on their wall- but every girl I know has a picture of Eddie VanHalen.”

“Is there like a peephole in here or something?” He says jokingly, knocking on the wall, like he’s looking for one. “Or are you just a psychic or something?”

“What are you even talking about?” You chuckle, raising an eyebrow, confused. You shake your head, but before you can’t get clarification, the buzzer sounds, marking the end of your time with him for today.

“NOOO,” you hear him dramatically exhale. A muffled voice, your assuming is one of the lab techs must be exhausted.

You press your hand to the wall, as your form of an intimate goodbye as the technician holds the door open for you. You get up from your spot and head out, excited to come back tomorrow for another round of dates.

Leaving Hawkins Lab, each test subject needs to stagger there exits as to not risk accidentally seeing the other candidates. You are in a small waiting room, doing your daily exit interview with one of the neuroscientists.

***

Under the agreement you signed when you volunteered for the experiment, you are not permitted to go to any locations where people socialize and congregate. You’re not permitted to go anywhere where you may accidentally see or meet one of the other subjects. You are required to only go out on necessary errands such as grocery shopping or appointments.

On the drive back to your apartment, your mind keeps overplaying the worst case scenarios your anxiety keeps conjuring. You know the whole point of the experiment is to see if love, or whatever trumps physical attraction. If hypothetically, someone does fall in love with you- your appearance shouldn’t be a factor. However, it’s not wrong for you to want your partner to be attracted to you. And you acknowledge physical attraction is a thing and if you aren’t someone’s type that isn’t bad either. Your past experiences and unresolved childhood traumas surrounding your appearance and self-esteem, makes it difficult to allow yourself to see that you are actually desirable.

Although unknown to you, a lot of people in this experiment feel the exact same way. Not fitting into the box society wants to slot them in has made dating incredibly difficult for many. There’s a comfort knowing everyone there supposedly wants the same thing as you, just to be loved. You weren’t sure going in that you would even make connections with anyone. At first, it felt like low stakes- worst case scenario you walk away no better off than before. But, you didn’t anticipate actually hitting it off with someone like you have, and it’s opened a whole new set of fears.

***

At his trailer, Eddie just stares up at the vent in the ceiling above his bed. He blows out another puff of smoke and watches as it swirls and wafts up into the air around him. His thoughts are consumed entirely with you. He watches how the smoke from his blunt mixes with the smoke of his burning incense and his mind drifts, just completely fixated on how the minutes on the clock tick by until he can talk to you again.

He wonders if you’re thinking about him, the same way he’s thinking about you. He wonders if you’re trying to picture what he looks like the same way he’s making guesses about you. He thinks about if you smoke, and he imagines what it’d be like if he was sharing this with you. Thinking about what it would look like, your lips around the joint, blowing out smoke from what he imagines is just a sexy mouth. He can’t help but close his eyes and let a little frustrated groan escape at the thought.

He can’t picture the entirety of you, but more so he can imagine just your presence in his room. He imagines the feeling of someone laying beside him, smooth skin he can run his hands across, the warmth radiating off of another body in his bed. He has your voice in his head, wishing you were talking to him now.

With his eyes closed, joint put aside on his ashtray, he imagines it’s your hands tugging down his jeans, and it’s your hand wrapping around his hard cock that’s staining the band of his boxers now. He thinks about your laugh, and that adorable giggle of yours, and how much he can bask in the fact that it’s him who elicits those reactions from you. He thinks about the sweet voice, the flirty fluctuations of your tone when you warmed up to him. He imagines you using that same voice to tease him if you were here, seeing just how much of a mess you’ve made of him.

He’s never been able to get off without some kind of visual aid, so to speak, before. Now, he’s practically whimpering just thinking about the sound of your voice and thinking about your hands on him. He thinks about the feeling of your hands working his length up and down. He imagines how playful it would be, rolling around on this bed with you as the layers you're both wearing come off. He doesn’t even need to try to think about what you look like to feel aroused by you. He doesn’t even care in the slightest at this moment.

He’s so needy, twitching as he feels himself get closer, and he thinks about what you would be whispering in his ear to get him to finish. He imagines the praise, and the way you would be begging for his cum. He realizes he doesn’t even know your name, as he’s hit with the urge to call it out.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he moans instead, working himself up to his release. He keeps moaning out his little nickname for you until he’s made a mess of his shirt and he’s gasping to catch his breath as his orgasm extracted all the energy from his body.

Tomorrow, he resolves, he needs to learn your name.

PART TWO

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fan fic #eddie munson stranger things #plussize!reader #eddie munsons x F!reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn characters #joseph quinn stranger things #joseph quinn eddie munson #smut #mutal pining #eddie munson series

199 notes · View notes

helloheyhihowdyheya · 1 year

Text

Familiar Faces

Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Eddie's still getting used to life with you, especially once his dad shows up.

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of Eddie's bad childhood, Eddie's dad (yikes), swearing, angst, lots of fluff!!! Eddie's a sweetie and he loves you <3

A/n: I really loved writing this fic, it just felt so right for Eddie. Hope you enjoy it, I would love to hear what you think! Thank you for reading

Familiar, for Eddie, had never stayed the same – but at least it was consistent. No matter where they were, Eddie had gotten good at keeping quiet when his parents fought. Got even better at acting out when he could outrun them or had a locked door between them.

He’d learned how to pick up things fast, whether learning how to hotwire a car or pick a lock during their father–son bonding time. And he memorized the man’s schedule so Eddie could go to bed and wake up early so he never had to face his dad.

Familiar had been shoving down his honest thoughts and feelings, until he pushed away himself too.

But, those habits had now started to fade in your home with him. It was still there, embedded into his mind like any other piece of survival DNA, but Eddie was learning. He fought the urge to quiet himself all the time or fear someone’s anger, and though it took slow practice, you were there to show him a new familiar – one that comforted him and kept him safe.

Sometimes, he would tense at your touch, but Eddie couldn’t help softening into it when he realized it was you. When he focused really hard on something, with that scrunched-up face and tongue sticking out between his teeth, you would tuck his hair behind his ear so he could see better. Even when you were occupied with something else, if you walked past him or wrapped your arms around him from behind, you were there to walk your fingers up his neck and past his cheekbones to brush a loose curl from his face.

And every time you came home, you kept a soft hand on the door as it shut, keeping it from slamming closed. He noticed you do it after accidentally letting it close with a bang once – you were there next to him in an instant after his entire body shot up and panicked breaths fell from his lips. You hadn’t done it since, even closing the cupboards and drawers just as quietly.

You gave him kindness he wasn’t always sure he deserved. The heat that traveled up his arms when you held his hand still shocked him, as if he’d been unexpectedly burned, but he loved the warmth you gave. When you rubbed his back as he curled over the toilet bowl with a stomach bug, Eddie swore he didn’t feel as sick – as if you were some sort of cure for anything wrong in his life.

With you, he was slowly learning to stop wincing after apologizing or messing something up. He stopped preparing himself for yelling and anger every time something went wrong.

You let him talk on and on about his favorite books and his current D&D campaign without complaint, always squeezing his hand when he apologized for rambling too long. And when he made a joke at his expense for a cheap laugh and distraction from the truth, you reassured him then too. He loved and hated the way you saw through him – peeked through his carefully crafted wall at all of his tactics like it was the easiest thing you’d ever done.

Eddie, who hadn’t told anyone the details of his parents, opened up to you within a few months of dating. You held onto each other as his tears dripped onto your shoulder (and your tears onto his, though you had hoped he hadn’t noticed you were also crying) (he did). His breath turned shaky and body tired from holding onto it all for so long – the sadness, the anger, the guilt. He’d been ready for you to turn away, to take one look at his brokenness and finally learn that he wasn’t worth your love. But you did love him, as you told him over and over again throughout the night.

So, really, he shouldn’t have been surprised by your protectiveness the day you two went over to Uncle Wayne’s. You’d immediately agreed to go help him when he mentioned getting rid of a bunch of junk from the trailer. Eddie loved watching you laugh with his uncle, the way you just fit into their lives so naturally.

But while you were busy organizing what to give away and what to send to the garbage and Wayne left to grab more garbage bags, Eddie slowly made his way to his old room. Though Wayne now slept in here rather than on the couch, nearly everything Eddie had left here hadn’t been touched. “So you always have a home here, son,” Uncle Wayne had told him. Staring at the old posters and his miscellaneous knickknacks from childhood, Eddie tried not to get too nostalgic – not that he’d even been gone that long.

As he began to sort one of the junk drawers there, his finger caught on a small trinket he couldn’t believe he left there. Pulling it out, he held in his palm the paper clip ring you’d made him when the two of you first started dating. He hadn’t taken it off for months… except when he was afraid it’d get dirty or damaged in some way. Maybe he’d lost it then, but either way, he couldn’t contain his easy smile at slipping the ring back onto his finger.

Eddie let memories of the early months of your relationship play through his head when he heard you and a man speaking outside. He thought nothing of it – you were friendly with several of his old neighbors – except for impatience at wanting to show you the ring.

But it all fell away once your voice grew louder as you began shouting. In an instant, Eddie’s head whipped toward the sound before he started running through to the trailer’s door.

“Get the fuck out of here, douchebag,” you screamed as you stomped down the wooden steps. “I swear to god, I’ll bash your head in!”

Eddie stood in the doorway watching you seethe and only then did notice the baseball bat clutched between your fingers. He was about to call out to you when he saw who you were yelling at.

With a loose cigarette hanging from his lips, his father stood next to his rundown truck with that scowl Eddie knew so well – the grooves etched between the man’s eyebrows had carved themselves into the folds of Eddie’s memory.

Any words that Eddie wanted to say shriveled up in his throat, his lungs now finding it hard to breathe. He should’ve run after you, or in front of you to protect you somehow. He should’ve intervened – this was his fight after all. But his blood ran cold, paralyzed him as memories he’d tried to forget overtook his mind.

Eddie was no longer an adult, but a terrified boy hiding in his closet at hearing the rumble of his dad’s truck return home. He was helpless again, the corners of his eyes beginning to sting with tears. His knuckles began to ache as he clutched the side of the trailer.

Maybe he would’ve been broken from his trance and beat the shit out of his deadbeat dad if the man posed any danger toward you. But through the fog of his fear of memories, he saw the man he’d hated for years swearing and scrambling back to his truck.

Vaguely, on the periphery of Eddie’s awareness, he heard you still yelling.

“If you ever come back, you’ll need to call the cops to save your ass! I promise that I’ll fucking-”

Eddie’s eyes fought to look up from the ground as the rumbling of the truck’s engine cut off your words.

Even as the tires kicked up dirt while his dad threw the vehicle into reverse, Eddie’s chest still felt too tight. The image of Uncle Wayne coming back to the trailer and begin yelling at his dad too couldn’t break Eddie from his trance either

Beneath the noise of the engines and shouting, he could at least clearly see the middle finger Wayne threw into the air as his dad drove off.

Still, he hadn’t turned from the doorway – his eyes just trailing after the truck. So many days Eddie had wished for the sight of his dad leaving for good, and now he got to see it because of you.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, swaying with his heartbeat pounding throughout his body. It must’ve only been a few moments because you were right there asking him something, but all he felt was the warmth of your palms cupping around his cheeks.

Your touch brought his gaze to you, brushing along the curves of your face. You’d dropped the bat at some point, chest still rising and falling fast as your arms wrapped around him.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” you asked, forehead pressed against his. Your eyes traced all over his face, looking for any sign of distress.

He held onto you tight, letting out a long sigh. As he breathed, the scent of your shampoo and just you grounded him here, away from those memories.

“I love you so much, ” he whispered against you. It’s all he could say, the words brushing along your skin. His fingers curled tight into your shirt, just savoring the feeling of having you there with him.

As his breathing slowed, Uncle Wayne climbed the steps behind you, and though he wasn’t a hugging man, he wrapped the two of you in a hug.

“If that bastard ever steps a foot back here, it’ll be the last thing he ever does,” he said, the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his chest.

Maybe, on another day, Eddie would laugh at his uncle’s words. But here, he bit back tears standing with the people that showed him kindness and taught him that he deserved it too.

You held him extra tight that night, in your shared bed, surrounded by four walls that had never trapped him or heard him cry alone. Pressed against your body, he fell asleep easily knowing he’d wake up loved by you.

A/n: Thank you for reading <3 Please let me know what you thought, it really helps motivate authors :)

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie stranger things #joseph quinn eddie munson #eddie munson angst

731 notes · View notes

josephandjamiearg · 6 months

Text

J&J 🫶🏻

#jamie campbell bower #joseph quinn #jomie #friendship #stranger things #jamiebowermusic #joseph quinn eddie munson #vecna stranger things #josephquinnedit #jamie bower

215 notes · View notes

peterparkersnose · 2 years

Text

New

Eddie Munson x reader

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: {STRANGER THINGS SEASON 4 SPOILERS} anxiety, age gap (i do not promote minors dating adults), mentions of alcohol, mentions of divorce, erratic driving, new student in a new school, mentions of smoking, negative comments about reader’s looks, awkwardness, mostly a fluff piece if anything. IM WORKING ON A PART 2 DONT @ ME

a/n i love eddie with my whole heart. hands will be thrown if anything happens to him.

summary Y/N is a new student at Hawkins. She attends Hawkins high school with her cousin, Robin and meets a mysterious man her in her english class.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 11 mins 17 seconds

Part 2

A chill went down your spine as the cool Hawkins air blew past you. You picked at the chipped black nail polish on your fingers as you waited for your cousin Robin to come outside. Today was the first day of school, your first day as a senior at Hawkins High School. You had moved here over the summer after your parent’s divorce had uprooted your life.

“Is he running late?” Robin asked, throwing her backpack on her back as she met you standing by the driveway. You were waiting for Robin’s co-worker Steve who you had grown to know over the last summer. Especially after all of the events that occurred that summer, him and Robin were your closest friends. “No clue. Think he’s hung over?” you asked your cousin. “Wouldn’t doubt it.” she scoffed, bending down to tie the lace on her converse. As on cue, you heard the BMW take a sharp turn on to your street. “Finally!” Robin yells, throwing her hands in the air. “About time,” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

You opened the passenger door as Robin slid in the back. “The hell were you Harrington?” you asked Steve. He sighed, running a hand through his infamous hair. “Traffic this morning,” he yawned, looking at the time. Almost without warning, he hit the gas making a B-line for the school. Robin then hit the seat behind you with a thud. “Could have given me a warning?” she yelled, adjusting herself in the back. “Was there traffic or did you just forget?” you asked Steve, adjusting your backpack on your lap. “Traffic. I could never forget your pretty face,” Steve said, adjusting his hands on the wheel.

Steve was a flirty person. He had a flirty personality. He had a way with people. In all, he was charming. The hair, the personality, the looks. Steve was a gorgeous man. You knew he had a crush on you, it was very obvious. Maybe this started because you somewhat resemble Robin. Or the countless times you saved his life (and the countless times he saved yours). But deep down you didn’t have the same feelings as he did. You loved Steve, but just not in that way. Maybe some part of you did, but you felt like it would go nowhere. He was too obsessed with his next date, or the next time he’ll get some head. Gawking over the women who would come into the movie store. Witnessing all of that first hand was enough to feel like he’d never change.

Steve halted the car at the school, jerking Robin once again. “Watch the pedal, jesus.” she complained, fixing her hair in the rear view mirror. You began to exit the car when Steve grabbed your hand.

“Hey,” he said, his longing eyes staring up at you. “We still hanging after school?” he asked. “I dunno, ask Robin. You wanna hang after school?” you asked Robin. “Maybe. Depends,” she said. You could see the disappointment in Steve’s eyes. “Be here at 3!” you yelled to Steve, following Robin into your new school. You waved back at Steve and flashed him a smile. He gave you a tight lipped smile back, sighing once again.

“Always the chauffeur,” he muttered, putting his car into reverse and leaving the parking lot.

First days were always intimidating. At your old school, you knew everyone there pretty much since Kindergarten. This was a whole new ground. You stuck by Robin’s side as much as you could, trying to spot out a few potentially friendly faces. The bell rang for first hour and you reluctantly had to leave Robin and make your way to your first class. English.

The room was small and smelt of cigarette smoke. The teacher was an older woman with a bitter face. You sat at a desk the farthest in the back, trying not to draw attention to yourself. You traced the stick n poke Robin had given you a few weeks ago on your thumb as you tried to get a feel for the room. The tiny diamond printed on your thumb gave your anxiety a place to focus. You practiced in your head how you would say ‘here’ when the teacher called your name and was thinking it over and over in your head when someone slid into the desk next to yours. You glanced over briefly, staring back at the chalkboard when you saw the fluffy brown hair next to you. The feeling of eyes beat on the side of your head like an open wound.

The teacher made her way down the list, calling on each student. When she got to your name, everyone in the room turned to look at you. “Miss Buckley, I presume you know Robin?” she asked, staring at you from above your glasses. “Y-yes ma’am,” you stuttered, cursing to yourself. You heard the mutters of kids around the room, and you tried to keep your focus on the teacher, analyzing the stickers on the back of her clipboard.

“I didn’t know Robin had a sister,” “You dweeb, it’s probably her cousin.” “She’s kind of hot bro,” “Nah, she got that weird dark look going on.”

Your head began to spin as the teacher put an end to the lowered voices. “Welcome to the school,” she said in a monotone voice, moving on to the next students in the alphabet.

You kept your head down, staring at the empty notebook in front of you trying to re gain your emotions.

“Munson,” you heard the teacher sigh, expressing her dislike for the student.

“Pleasure to be back Mrs. K,” the boy next to you said, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Feet down, pay attention. I don’t want to have to be saying this again next year.” she scoffed, moving down the list once again.

“Kind of an ass, huh?” you heard the boy next to you whisper to you. Shocked, you turned to face him. He looked older than the other students, but not by much. His wild hair framed his face in a flattering way. You noticed the rings on his fingers and then the tattoos on his forearm. He smelt of heavy cologne with a scent of pine, masking the stench of cigarettes from his clothes. You met his brown eyes with yours and felt a spark in your stomach. You gave him a slight smile and a small puff of air from your nose, recognizing what he said.

“Wheeler,” said the teacher. Your head snapped to look around the classroom, finding Nancy in the front row. She had been apart of your summer… adventures. Thank god, someone you knew. A friendly face.

When lunch rolled around, you rushed to the lunch room in hopes to find Robin. She sat at a table with the other band kids and an empty seat next to her. “Ah, finally! Guys, this is my cousin Y/N,” she announced, introducing you to the table. Many just ignored it and continued eating your lunch. “This is Vickie,” Robin said to you, motioning to the girl to your right. Your eyes widened in understandment, Robin had not been able to shut up about her for the past few weeks. “Hi,” you shyly said, giving her a smile. “Nice to meet you,”

You told Robin about your first half of the day. How some mysterious man with tattoos spoke to you this morning, how an art example resembled Steve in your art class, how you could have sworn this other kid in your third hour looked like someone from your old school. You were about to tell her how in the lunchline three people cut you off when the lunchroom went silent.

Everyone’s eyes were on a certain table. You recognized Dustin and Mike sitting there, looking shocked and somewhat embarrassed. You recognized the guy now standing on his table, making a scene.

“As long as your into band…”

Robin’s head shot up, scoffing.

“...or, science,”

“That’s the kid from first hour,” you whispered to her, nudging her arm.

“Or parties,”

“Him?” Robin asked, confused. “Who is he?” you asked.

“Or a GAME where you toss balls into laundry baskets!”

“That,” Robin began to say “Is Eddie Munson.”

“Yeah, and he’s been here longer than we have, and will probably be here for a while,” Vickie laughed, mushing her mashed potatoes around with her fork.

“You want something freak?” you heard a jock say, pushing in his chair angrily. Eddie threw his hands up to his forehead making horns, and sticking his tongue out at the jock in a disturbing fashion.

You watched in awe as he moved back down his table, jumping off and startling a passing group of girls.

“Eddie Munson?” you asked, confirming the man to Robin. “Weird if you ask me. And that’s coming from me,”

You sat on the curb with Robin in the groggy air. She checked her watch. 3:12.

“I can’t believe he’s late again!” Robin complained, but your mind was elsewhere. About thirty seconds ago, the doors flung open and the screams of Eddie erupted from them with his friends. You once again saw Dustin with him with a few other kids. They made their way to a van, and all piled in. The second Eddie jumped into the drivers seat, loud music burst from the thing obnoxiously. He ran a hand through his hair, reminding you of Steve this morning. Robin noticed your puppy dog look, watching Eddie pull out of his parking spot and speed out of the parking lot.

“...Y/N!” Robin yelled, finally catching your attention. She looked you up and down with a suspicious look on her face. “Whatcha lookin at?” she asked with a huge smirk on her face. “Uhh,” you began to say, searching for an excuse. Again, perfect timing, Steve whipped into the parking lot.

“I’m sorry I’m late, this old lady wouldn’t leave the store and-” “Chill Steve,” you said, opening the passenger door once again. “How was it?” he asked, not leaving the parking lot. He was looking for an honest answer for you. This poor man.

“She’s got the hots for Munson,” Robin piped up from the back. “Munson?” Steve asked, with a half-disgusted half-disappointed face. “Shut up Robin, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” you scrambled to say. You figured liking this guy seemed like social suicide.

“Munson though? Y/N, you could do much better,” Steve suggestively said, but you ignored it. “I gotta pick up Max soon, I told her I would teach her some more driving tonight. Sorry to squash our plans, ladies.” Steve said, taking the exit towards the trailer park. “We’ll live Steve.” Robin laughed. “Can we come though? You know who lives next to Max?” Robin taunted. “Who?” you asked eagerly, making Steve laugh. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” she chuckled, an evil smile grew on her face.

Steve pulled into the eerie trailer park. The fog had seemed to grow thicker and thicker the closer you got. You could see Max’s red hair sitting on her porch. Steve halted the car on the gravel, making a scratching sound on the wheels. “Ready kid?” he asked, leaving the door open for her. “Mind if we stay for a bit Max?” Robin asked, leaning against the railing of her porch.

“Mom’s not home, go for it.” she shrugged, buckling in her seatbelt. “Good luck!” you waved to her as she slowly made her way out of the park. Halfway down the road, you could already hear Steve yelling.

“So,” you asked Robin. “What’s the surprise?”

“Just wait and see,” she laughed again, watching the highway. “You said that last time…” you muttered, fidgeting with your fingers. You felt Robin move from besides you when you heard a loud car start approaching. Your heart dropped when you saw the familiar van pull next to the trailer next to Max’s.

“You bitch,” you hissed through your teeth, slapping Robin on the arm. She laughed at you, relishing in your stress.

“Dusty!” Robin yelled, getting the attention of the boy hopping out of Eddie’s van. “Hey Robin, hey Y/N. Whatcha doing here?” he asked, walking over to the two of you. “Steve took Max driving, I just figured we could chill out here until they got back.” she said proudly.

“Dustin!” you heard Eddie yell from his doorway. “Let’s go!”

Dustin looked back at Eddie then back at the two of you. “You wanna join? Lucas isn’t here so we could use an extra player, I’m sure we can make some more room.” he offered. “Thank you but I think we’re-” you began to say “Sure!” Robin yelled, overriding you and heading straight into the trailer. Standing there mortified, you followed Dustin waving you in.

“Eddie! I got us some new players,” Dustin yelled, presumably into his bedroom. “Yeah but is he as good as Sinclair?” he yelled. You could hear rummaging coming from the room. “He? She. Well, more like she’s,” Dustin said. The rummaging stopped and Eddie poked his head out of the door. He looked at you, then Robin, then back at you. “No.” he said, moving back into his room. “What do you mean no?” Dustin yelled back, following Eddie into his room.

You and Robin stood there awkwardly. “You asshole,” you muttered under your breathe. The rejection to play a game you weren’t even sure of by Eddie was borderline heartbreaking. Arguing erupted from the bedroom and Robin went to investigate.

“No dude, absolutely not.” “Your being ridiculous, you said we needed more players.” “Not chicks. They don’t know what there doing.” “Me and Mike know ‘em. There cool, trust me. Can’t they team up with us?” “Team up- Henderson. Get your head out of your ass,” “But didn’t you say-” “You shut your mouth right there, do NOT say what I think your about to say.”

Dustin came into the view of the open door with his hands open. “Perfect chance, dude. Just saying,” he shrugged. You heard a growl come from Eddie as Dustin left the room.

“Sorry guys, he’s not budging. It’s stupid, maybe if you want we can play with just Mike later-” Dustin went on, but was interrupted by Eddie bursting out of his bedroom.

“We’d love to have you!” he yelled, somewhat sarcastically. “Really?” you, Dustin, and Robin all said in synch. “Oh yeah. Henderson’s right, we need more players.” he said with a whole demeanor change. “Get out the table Dust, I’ll go get Wheeler.” he announced, pulling a bottle of soda out of the fridge along with a 12-pack.

“Funny. Do you even know where Mike lives?” Dustin asked, getting the box out from Eddie’s closet. “Uh, I know the general area,” he shrugged.

“Let Y/N go with you, she’s over there all the time!” Robin said perkily. You shot her a death glare. “Yeah, uh, sure.” Eddie responded nonchilantly, grabbing his keys from the counter. You swore at Robin under your breathe, not noticing Eddie left.

“You coming?” he asked, swinging his head back into the door for a moment. You gave Robin one last dirty look and followed him into his van.

The floor was covered with crushed up beer cans and candy wrappers. The second he turned on the car, the cassette began to play and made you jump at the volume.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning the volume down. You sat in silence as he exited the trailer park. His quality of driving had seemed to improve from what you saw of him leaving the parking lot. A lot more calm. You were staring at the trees, trying to focus on that and not your pounding heart.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Eddie asked, finally breaking the silence. “Um, sometimes.” you awkwardly responded. More awkward silence.

You glanced over at him, his eyes were glued to the road.

“How do you like Hawkins-”

“So you like Metallica-” referring to the song quietly playing

The two of you had began to start a conversation. You both awkwardly laughed, offering for each other to go first.

“Okay okay, how do you like Hawkins?” Eddie asked, caving into your insistence. “It’s okay. Many nice people,” you said, laughing to yourself internally. You started Hawkins with defeating a huge spider demon just a few months ago, to now plainly sitting in school.

“Everyone treating you alright at school?” he asked. You began to get the vibes of a protective father figure from him, something you craved ever since your parent’s messy divorce. “I mean your legitimately the only person who spoke to me today other than my cousin,” you said quietly. “Really?” Eddie asked, looking at you when you came to a stop sigh. “Left,” you replied.

“You seem like- super cool.” he said also quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. You blushed and looked down at your shoes. He came to another stop, and noticed the clanking of cans in his car. “I-I would have cleaned if I knew someone would be in here,” he stuttered. You felt the same spark ignite again, knowing he was just driving around Dustin. “No, it’s okay. You should see my room,” you laughed, not realizing how suggestive that sounded.

More silence.

“I like your tat,” he said. “My tat?” you asked. “On your finger. I saw it this morning.” “Oh, the stick n poke,” you smiled, tracing the small diamond again. “I like yours,” you blushed, staring at the one on his arm. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him driving with one hand straight out on the wheel, his veins present with his tattoos.

“Ah, yeah, I got the bats when I was 16.” he said, smirking to himself. “Got this when I was 17,” you said, following up to his comment. “Your, how old…?” he asked, hesitantly. He didn’t want to come off as creepy. “18 in a few weeks,” He let out a sigh. “Nice,”

“I’m 19. You heard Mrs. K’s comment this morning, didn’t you?” “She sounds like an ass anyways,” you scoffed, referencing his comment from this morning.

You entered Mike’s neighborhood and he started to slow down, searching for houses. “A little more down, the brick split white one on the left,” you said, pointing to the house. Eddie pulled up into the driveway and honked his horn loudly.

“Wheeler!” he yelled from the open window. “Coming!” Mike yelled, making his way to the van.

“Oh, before I forget-” he said, turning to you. “You wanna be my partner tonight?”

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0

PART 2

4K notes · View notes

lovejosephquinn · 1 year

Text

MUST WATCH. ✨

Okay this is without a doubt the greatest Eddie edit I’ve ever seen. It’s 3 minutes long but it’s so worth it.

Holy shit when I say I got goosebumps. The last 90 seconds are intense 🤌🏻

Credit: @jessejr on YouTube

#joseph quinn fan fiction #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn x y/n #Joseph quinn edit #eddie munson edit #joseph quinn stranger things #joseph quinn character #eddie the freak munson #josephquinn #Joe quinn #joe quinn edit #joseph quinn eddie munson

891 notes · View notes

bizaar · 8 months

Text

Endless Summer ✧

Part 1: Our Lips Are Sealed

Cruel Summer Masterlist

- Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), virgin!reader, mentions of drug usage, swearing, bullying, self-deprecation, masturbation (f)

word count: 10k

a/n: so I may or may not have been writing a few chapters of a semi-raunchy little prequel to Cruel Summer, this is the same babysitter!reader at the beginning of her relationship w/ Eddie - reader is hopelessly obsessed in a totally uncool, sweaty palms sort of way and Carol Perkins is the meanest girl in school.

Carol Perkins has been talking endlessly about … something, for the better part of the ten minutes it’s been since you sat down with your lunch tray.

You aren’t exactly sure what about, because you’re not listening, you’re just sitting there watching her lips flap.

You might have felt bad about that even as recently as last week, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the feeling today.

Maybe it has to do with the recent events that have more or less soured your opinion of your so-called friend, or maybe it’s just that her conversations these days are not exactly the stuff of edge-of-your-seat intrigue, especially considering you can be fairly certain in the knowledge that whatever she is saying probably has something to do with her stupid boyfriend, Tommy Hagan.

Tommy said this, Tommy did that, oh my god Tommy is so funny, Tommy Tommy Tommy, who has been Carol’s singular topic of conversation for going on two years now, much to your agonizing boredom.

Tommy is fine, if you like snot nosed bullies who never matured past age twelve and whose idea of trying to divert attention away from the fact that he’s more into Steve Harrington than he is his own girlfriend is by feigning some kind of bullshit interest in you — decidedly not your type, especially when his idea of flirting is giving you a hard shove in the back and calling you Princess while Carol is sitting there in the crook of his arm.

Yeah… so not your type.

Then again, you never would have thought that was Carol’s type, considering her interests have always swayed more Han Solo than anything else — (read: The Empire Strikes Back poster she has secretly taped to the inside of her closet door) — but you know she would deny that to her dying breath if you dared to remind her of it, so you keep your mouth shut and do your best to focus on moving the watery canned green beans around your tray with a plastic spork while she talks and talks and endlessly talks.

You’re on probation with Carol after last week’s debacle in the quad, anyway, so you’re not sure she would even allow you to speak if you tried. You’re supposed to just sit there and listen to whatever it is she has to say and nod along dutifully without interrupting.

That’s your whole job here, nothing more, nothing less.

You wonder idly if she would even notice if you slipped away, whether she would keep on talking until someone worth noticing, like Tina or Nicole, arrived at the table and finally implored her to shut the fuck up. Once upon a time you might have done so yourself, but you haven’t been brave enough to speak so directly to Carol since the eighth grade.

One too many times getting your head bitten off has conditioned you to wire your jaw shut and tune it out, for the sake of self-preservation, which is exactly why you’d just stood there and took every bit of vitriol Carol had to give you that morning last week.

Rumors spread like a disease in this town.

Nicole said something about hearing Tommy talking big in homeroom about something that happened over the weekend at a party you didn’t attend, which Carol knows because she gave you such shit over it, but facts aren’t important to her when it comes to things like this.

Someone suggested that you’d tried to grab his dick or something, and worst still, that he was into it, and Carol went nuclear.

Never mind that Tommy was the one spreading the rumor around, all that mattered to Carol was that it was you he was trying so desperately to incriminate.

Literally anyone else, and it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. If somebody had said that it was Vicki Carmichael or Tammy Thompson, Carol wouldn’t give a shit. She’d throw her weight around, make a show of girlie dominance, and that would be that. But no, it had to be you.

Why oh why did it have to be you? You imagine she’s asking herself the same question.

You’re fairly certain she would be less angry if she thought Tommy liked boys than she is at the mere suggestion that he might be interested in you and you’re not sure if your ears are ever going to stop ringing after the way she’d shouted at you, in front of God and practically everyone in school.

Tommy just stood there, smirking, of course, everyone just stood there, even you stood helplessly staring at your sneakers, just waiting for it to end until you noticed another pair of dingy reeboks appear beside your own.

“Good God!” A voice as familiar as childhood rang out, loud enough to cut the air and silence her mid-stream, startling you into snapping your head to attention.

Suddenly, there stood Eddie Munson, like a knight in leather and denim, sidled up beside you like you were old friends or something and it was the most natural thing in the world, like this wasn’t the first time something like this had ever happened in the history of cool kids and losers interacting at Hawkins High.

Tommy and Carol were speechless, you were speechless — Eddie was not.

“What on God’s green Earth is making that awful racket?” He said loudly – theatrically – and then he turned his blinding attention to you, “Sounds like someone’s skinning a cat out here,” he mused, giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, like it was some kind of an inside joke between you, as if you were supposed to have any idea what that meant.

You stared back at him, wide-eyed and still too stunned to speak — you don’t know what you said following that if you even said anything at all.

You can’t remember, you don’t even remember what Carol said, what kind of vicious back and forth was volleyed between them before a staff member eventually arrived to break up the huddle and cart Eddie off.

Carol was pissed that you didn’t defend her, of course, and you’re still paying for that imagined slight with a concentrated cold shoulder from most everyone you know, but you can hardly make yourself care about being so summarily iced out like that.

Because Eddie Munson stood up for you.

You still can’t wrap your head around that. Nobody’s ever stood up for you like that before, nobody over the age of twelve, that is, but Eddie did.

That’s twice now he’s stepped in and saved you like that, and you have to resist the urge to shake the thought loose before it can take root in your mind – you can’t think about that right now, not with Carol sitting right there, but thankfully, she has not noticed the way your attention has begun to stray.

She’s too busy talking.

Deep down, somewhere in your subconscious, you know you ought to try and put a little more effort into listening to her, because she’s your best friend, even though she regularly puts you on probation like this for imagined slights.

Even though your friendship has conditions and stipulations that only seem to apply to you.

Even though you have nothing in common anymore except for the fact that you’ve been best friends since you were eight years old.

So, perhaps the better phrasing is you know you ought to try and put a little more effort into listening to her, because you used to be best friends.

Nostalgia is the ancient, flaking paste keeping the walls of your friendship standing, but the wallpaper has long since begun to peel to reveal the rot beneath.

Carol is still going on about who said what and who is dating who and all the latest gossip, talking at you more than talking to you, talking just to fill the air and you’re doing your best to at least try to pretend to look interested – really, you are – but there’s not much you can do to stop the way your gaze has begun to wander…

Because Eddie Munson has entered your periphery, Eddie Munson has suddenly jumped up onto his lunch table, Eddie Munson stood up for you.

Good God, indeed.

He’s standing on his table and violently demanding your undivided attention – not yours specifically, but rather the attention of anyone who just so happens to be bored enough to get caught watching his frenetic display … which is to say, you.

But you’re happy enough to let him have your attention, whatever he’s up to is bound to be vastly more enticing than anything Carol has to say. You’re not sure you’d be able to resist giving it to him even if you didn’t feel that way, if you were being honest – because you’ve had your eye on him from the moment you’d stepped in the lunchroom.

Not because you’re minorly obsessed with him or anything as uncool as that. Certainly not because you’re harboring a bizarre gargantuan little crush on him or that when you tune everything else out and let your brain switch tracks, it’s him your mind shifts to.

No, nothing so embarrassing as that.

He’s a rebel with entirely too much cause, standing tall on the flattop, talking big and proselytizing to his minions about something with all the fire and charisma of a bible belt preacher – you’re hopelessly lost on context, but you’re all but ready to convert to the church of Eddie Munson.

A shock of chills wracks your body as he raises his voice as the passion of whatever it is that’s got him going today seemingly overtakes him, and it’s almost enough to draw Carol’s attention, but considering this is not new behavior, most people tend to tune it out.

Normally you would lie to yourself and say you did too … normally, if it hadn’t been for the way you’d spent the night previous tossing and turning, restlessly caught in the throes of a decidedly raunchy REM cycle, the subject of which just so happens to be standing on a table across the room.

So what if you had a sex dream about him last night? So what if your skin is buzzing where you can still feel his hands pulling at you, the gentle fanning of his breath on the nape of your neck where it had felt so real...

“Sweet Girl,” he’d whispered to you in your dreams, on a wracked, heady exhale, voice thick and shot full of holes in a way you can only imagine it would sound – it sends a bolt of heat lancing through your core and forces you to shift in your seat and avert your gaze.

You are an island to your own fantasies, sitting there, feeling your heart throbbing between your legs, and trying to be subtle about the way you’re pinching your thighs together as you become a little hotter under the collar than you were a moment ago.

You wish you were still close enough with Carol to divulge the specificities of your dream in bowed heads and hushed sordid tones, but lately, you’ve started to feel like little more than an out-of-trend accessory, kept around simply for nostalgia’s sake.

Once upon a time, you might have been free to share, but you are entirely certain that were you to try that now, to lean across the table and whisper conspiratorially:

“Holy shit, you’ll never guess who I had the filthiest dream about last night,” you’d be immediately crucified, socially speaking.

Carol doesn’t care about the yearnings of your most secret self. Not anymore. Now she only cares about Tommy and who did what at Tina’s party and how embarrassing it was, and quietly sidling up to Steve Harrington.

She doesn’t have much use for you these days besides using you as a buffer to avoid submitting herself to the humiliation of doing things on her own.

You’re not friends, and your secrets are positively unsafe with her. You would cut ties if you had a little more self-respect, but high school is hard enough with bad friends, you know it would be that much worse with no friends.

The concept of starting fresh and trying to make new ones halfway through your sophomore year is a Sisyphean Hurdle you have no idea how to even begin to tackle, so you grin and bear it, and swallow any biblical yearnings you happen to harbor for the town pariah — besides, if you told her, all she would do is ask you what it is you think you know about anything raunchy before dutifully reminding you that you’re a virgin.

Actually, the technical term would be “still a virgin” and would be followed up with the demand to know “when you’re going to do something about it” — like somehow the untouched state of your being is a bad thing and that you are on a ticking clock.

You suppose it’s just one more patently uncool thing about you hampering her — her loser best friend doesn’t put out, has never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed.

You would remind her that it’s hard to put out when nobody knows you exist, but it would only be an exercise in her rattling off an endless list of names you’d so much rather eat glass than accompany anywhere socially.

So, you watch, fixated on the way Eddie stalks down the length of the table like a catwalk, very carefully picking his long-legged steps as he goes, and you might feel a little embarrassed about how poor a job you’re doing masking the blatant way you’re gawping at him, if it weren’t for the fact that you know you aren’t the only one watching.

Not that he would notice even if you were.

Who are you but Carol Perkins’s excessively boring beige shadow? Nobody notices you, because you’re not a real person. You're invisible. You don’t exist.

You don’t know when your stupid little crush began. Eddie’s always been there if you really think about it, a fixture in the background of the swirling miasma that is your social circle, suddenly much larger than it has ever been now that High School has become your habitat.

Hawkins is a small town, and Eddie’s lived here his whole life, same as you. He’s a year older, but that wouldn’t be enough distance to remove someone from your orbit under normal circumstances, let alone someone like him in a town like this.

Some part of you has always been mildly obsessed with him from a purely academic standpoint — forbidden knowledge is perhaps the most tantalizing thing to a young mind, and the mystery of Eddie Munson has always been completely off-limits to the likes of you.

You’ve known the Munson name since you were old enough to listen in on your parents’ conversations, same as anyone who has spent long enough in Hawkins to learn a thing or two about the local population.

Al Munson has always been something closer to a Universal Movie Monster than a real person in your mind, like Dracula or the Wolfman — the local boogeyman. Sure, he didn’t have a haunting playground nursery rhyme like Freddy Krueger, but the man was to be just as feared by schoolchildren and good Americans alike.

He was “bad news” — that’s what your parents always said — even now, you can still hear your father’s lecturing voice warning you that if you so much as spoke to a Munson you’d get instantly hooked on drugs, knocked up, and end up living out of a cardboard box by the time you are twenty.

Which is stupid, of course, because you’ve gone to school with Eddie since first grade and you’d seen him talk to plenty of people over the course of that time, none of whom had gone on to suffer such a dismal fate.

Still, there’s nothing so tempting as forbidden fruit – you’ve known that since you were old enough to recognize there was a difference between boys and girls.

Life went on as the notorious Munson patriarch finally went to prison, and with the streets safe again from the likes of the car-jacking drug-dealing town drunk, everyone was happy enough to force his son into the void he’d left in the zeitgeist.

People start to get bored when there are no local pariahs to blame all their misfortunes on. As far as the locals believe, Hawkins is not cursed by anything other than the Munsons.

You remember a time when it wasn’t like that, when your parents spoke about Eddie with a heavy dose of sympathy.

When you were little, it was “that poor kid,” but as you got older and Eddie started getting into more and more trouble, it became “stay away from that boy – he’s no good,” as if he was banging down the door for your attention.

You’re fairly certain he doesn’t even know you exist.

There wasn’t much danger in becoming corrupted by someone like Eddie Munson before Carol got popular, and that hasn’t changed just because you’ve won a golden ticket to the cool kid’s table… by proxy — you're more of an unwanted plus-one than anything else.

Not Charlie Bucket so much as Grandpa Joe.

But of course, you’ve never personally subscribed to the generalization that Eddie is evil or something.

He isn’t the boogeyman or Dracula or any of those things that go bump in the night, no matter what your raunchy little dreams might dictate.

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie isn’t even all that mean or scary, and maybe that’s just because he’d treated you so sweetly last autumn at Tina Burton’s Not-Quite-Halloween party….

You’re not supposed to be thinking about that, the first time Eddie came to your rescue. That memory is not safe within Carol’s proximity, but it is the ambrosia that has been singularly sustaining you for the better part of a year now. It is a shining jewel that you keep tucked safely in the spot behind your lungs, and you just can’t help but pull the curtain back to take a peek at it.

It was your first high school party.

You’d never partaken in anything before that night, never even been offered, but suddenly and unceremoniously finding yourself shoved up against Eddie in a game of puff-puff-pass, you let yourself be pressured into playing.

He must have realized you were nervous — maybe your fingers were trembling when he passed you the blunt, but suddenly, and for perhaps the first time in your life, he was speaking directly to you.

“Have you ever done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly, a heavy dose of concern shadowing the wry quirk of his brow.

It was startling, to realize the curse of your invisibility had so unceremoniously been lifted, leaving you suddenly exposed to a person you were never meant to speak to. You had to resist the urge to whip around and ask, “Who me?”.

Yes, you.

Eddie Munson was staring at you, asking you if you knew what you were doing.

Like something out of one of those anti-drug campaigns, you suddenly felt like you were caught in a situation you’d been preparing for your whole life: if Eddie Munson offers you drugs at a party, just say no kids.

Only you could not help but notice that he wasn’t nearly as scary or dangerous as McGruff the Crime Dog had led you to believe. In fact, he was entirely too enticing, and you were suddenly desperate to make a good impression.

You opened your mouth in the fanatical hope of saying something cool and casual — yeah, of course. You’ve done all kinds of shit — and were naturally horrified to hear the truth squeak out.

“No.”

Eddie’s brows crept toward one another forming a deep crease of concern between them, and suddenly you could read his mind - yeah, that’s what I thought, he seemed to say.

You watched as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, and then licked his lips before leaning in, almost conspiratorially. Your heart was beating so aggressively in your chest that you were convinced he must have been able to hear it.

You still remember the way his lips brushed the shell of your ear when he whispered to you, how the fanning of his breath made you shiver with the tantalizing suggestion of nicotine and spearmint secrets.

“You don’t have to breathe it in if you don’t want to.” He mumbled, “Just puff it and pass — you’ll be fine.”

It was the last little bit that really did you in.

Not the overwhelming pressure of your peers insisting that just one hit won’t kill you, but the kind assurance from the person who provided the drugs that you didn’t have to partake if you didn’t want to.

It was the suggestion of a choice in your fate that ultimately lured you out of your field and into the underworld — sickly sweet pomegranate promises, dripping from his tongue to yours.

Just like your father and McGruff the Crime Dog and all those insufferable after-school specials had warned you, Eddie Munson turned his gaze upon you, and you were instantly hooked.

He passed you the blunt, and you tried not to get too stuck on the way his fingers brushed yours when you took it. You curled your lips in as you brought it to your mouth, and you puff puff puffed, holding your throat closed against any swirling wisps of smoke, subtly giving the impression that you knew how to handle your shit before you quickly handed it off to the next person.

It still burned in a funny sort of way, but nothing happened. You didn’t slip down the rabbit hole, and you didn’t burst into flames, though most importantly no one seemed to notice the wool being pulled over their eyes, and you dared to steal another cautious glance at Eddie.

His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a satisfied smile, and you bloomed under the approval of someone whose attention you never realized you so desperately craved.

Before you could think of something to say to extend that moment, even just a little bit, you watched your hopes get dashed to oblivion as he turned away from you, taking with him the bright light of his attention and leaving you shrouded in darkness.

Tragically, invisible again, just like that.

If only you could have been so lucky — trust Carol to call you out on faking it when you remained sober after three rounds of puffing and passing.

“You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy!” She shrieked, causing everyone in the circle to laugh at your blatant inexperience.

Everyone but Eddie, you would have noticed had you been able to look, but shame-faced as you were, you kept your gaze fixed firmly to the floor and you inhaled deeply on your next turn.

You coughed, of course, and choked on the musky smoke as it filled your lungs and seared them medium rare. It only took a handful of minutes before you quickly faded out of the room to the soundtrack of everyone laughing again.

The rest of that night remains a mystery to you to this day.

You don’t remember what happened after the game or how much longer the party lasted or even how you got home — you do remember how being under the influence set your mind to spinning, and how you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how long Eddie’s eyelashes were. How he wet his lips with a smooth pass of his pink tongue before he spoke and how good he smelled when he leaned in to whisper to you.

You also remember the way he looked at you every time he passed you the joint when your turn came around again, like he was actually seeing you instead of the person-shaped placeholder you’d become since bridging the gap from adolescence to adulthood, but you chalk that up to nothing more than a potent cocktail of narcotics and your ever-present desire to be perceived.

That’s not what stands out most about that night, however, because it’s not all you remember.

Somewhere, hidden back in the furthest reaches of your subconscious, you swear you can still feel the press of his body as he held you caged in the crook of his arm, with your head resting on his collarbone, tucked neatly beneath his chin.

You don’t know how, but you swear you know what his lips feel like, brushing the highest point of your cheekbone, and the long line of his nose bridge pressed flat against your temple with his breath gently fanning the side of your face.

You’re sure you can feel the deep rumble of his voice filling you with warmth, a low timber in his chest calling you Sweet Girl as he smoothes your hair back.

He told you everything was going to be okay, and you believe him to this day.

You don’t know how you know all that, but you do. You feel it with every fiber of your being in a way that is so goddamn real it can’t just be an effect of your stupid little crush and unchecked libido.

The things you remember from that night, and the things you don’t combined with a handful of particularly banal run-ins with him over the course of the last few weeks has left you itchy and starving for a fix, though not from anything he might be able to sell you.

That night at Tina’s party, academic fascination bloomed into something new, fueled entirely by teenage hormones and the need to be seen.

Like a door that once opened cannot be shut again, you find yourself more or less always thinking about Eddie.

Attention is the high you crave like nothing else, and you desperately want Eddie’s attention, his undivided, unfiltered, unwavering attention, fixed solely on you.

Selfishly, you want him to be as obsessed with you as you are with him, and it makes you feel like at any moment you’re going to implode on yourself like a dying star.

Your parents would be appalled.

Carol is still talking, and you’re still not listening, because Eddie is still going. And going. And going.

Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Your stomach does a cartoon flip-flop, and you hold a wheezy breath in your lungs when he vaults down from the end of his table furthest from his seat and closest to yours. Your eyes meet as he straightens up, and you avert your gaze immediately, feeling your face flush hot enough that you’re half surprised it doesn’t melt right off of your skull as you shift your focus back over to Carol.

Suddenly, Tommy Hagan is the most interesting person in the world, and you desperately want her to tell you everything about Tommy and Tina and who said what and how embarrassing it was.

You’ve changed your mind. Eddie’s attention is blinding – it makes you feel exposed, like he’s a spotlight shining straight through to your innermost self — your secret self, the one that thinks about him in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes you and deft fingers creep their way down your body, edging toward the wanting apex of your spread thighs and slipping past creamy slick barriers to pull soft, lilting breaths from your parted lips as Eddie calls you Sweet Girl … Sweet Girl...Sweet Girl until you’re going hot and cold, body wracked, seizing, and trembling and you have to clamp your jaw shut to stop the sordid sounds of your orgasm from escaping your lips…

Jesus Christ –

No, actually, you’re much more comfortable remaining a wallflower, letting someone else get wrapped up in that undivided, unwavering, fixed-solely-on-you attention.

Better to stand aside for someone made to withstand that kind of heat from someone like Eddie, someone edgy and cool, who gives the middle finger to the world and dresses the part — not some midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of.

He’s from that town that no one has ever heard of, too, you think watching Carol’s lips move and hearing nothing but your own heartbeat. You’re looking at him again before you’ve even realized your attention has begun to stray – your guts seize, because he’s looking too.

Your heart spasms in your chest and scrambles up into your throat, punching an airy breath out of you and flattening your lungs. Suddenly, you’re winded and desperately trying to catch your breath in a way that you hope is at least subtle.

Fuck.

There’s that blinding light, that feeling of indecent exposure — it’s like looking into the sun, and somehow you can’t bring yourself to look away.

You’re painfully aware of how you’re staring at him again, though this time it is because he has your eyes and he absolutely refuses to let go.

Somehow it doesn’t feel even the slightest bit aggressive, more like an understanding – he sees you.

He sees you.

Eddie Munson sees you, so that means you must be real, right?

You’re blushing, you know you’ve got to be bright crimson — beet red even. You’ve got no idea how Carol hasn’t already clocked your hormonal distress but thank God she’s too busy looking at her nails to look at you.

You dare to steal another glance, and when you do Eddie flashes you a brief, goofy smile, all crooked lips twisted up to one side, the faintest suggestion of teeth poking out. It’s contagious, that smile, and suddenly you feel the corners of your mouth twitching in response, daring you to try to resist.

“Hello? Ground control to Major Tom—”

Carol snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in your face, breaking the spell and bringing the quiet din of the lunchroom rushing back in on you.

It feels like getting swamped at the beach, swept off of your feet by the tide, and rolled in the undercurrent. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Are you even listening to me?” She snipes, scrunching her nose in aggravation.

You blink stupidly at her as she comes back into focus, but you don’t answer.

You very clearly hadn’t, and it feels foolish to try and lie about it because Carol loves to remind you that she always knows when you’re lying, and Eddie is still standing there.

You can’t stop yourself from looking, because of course you can’t, and he rewards you with that same big smile when you do. It makes your insides go tight and squirmy, and you have to clench your teeth to keep a straight face.

The change in your demeanor is unfortunately not lost on Carol.

She narrows her eyes, and you feel your heart seize with panic as she slowly begins to turn to see what could possibly be so important to hold your rapt attention. You have to grip the edges of your seat to stop yourself from reaching out across the table and pulling her back to face you.

And when she sees Eddie standing there, you brace yourself for the sky to come crashing down on your head.

Carol physically recoils - dramatically so - like she’s been suddenly doused in ice water.

It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does, she has nothing but vitriol for him, much to your chagrin.

“Take a picture, Freak, it’ll last longer.” She snaps.

Something indiscernible crosses Eddie’s features as his gaze flicks over to her from you and back again. His brows marry in the middle and he pulls a face that is tinged ever so slightly with something that looks a little too much like hurt than you're comfortable with and you’re suddenly possessed with a violent and desperate need to make him understand that you are not with her, despite how stridently untrue that is.

The flash of vulnerability makes your stomach go tight, especially when Carol continues.

“Seriously, what the fuck are you looking at?”

The hurt look is gone before it has time to even settle, and Eddie wrinkles his nose, quirking a disdainful brow as he stares poison daggers down at your friend.

She hates him and he hates her right back — circle of life. All you can do is desperately hope beyond hope that you’re not lumped into that circle by association.

“Nothing,” Eddie drolls, “Just wondering what Bulimia Barbie is doing wandering around without her Ken doll.”

Had she been facing you, you’re sure you would have seen her blanch.

He turns to make the stilted walk back to his seat at the head of his table, electing to take the floor rather than the table top this time.

Eddie gives you one last parting glance, and you pull a face that you hope looks at least halfway as apologetic as it feels.

It was a mean thing to say, if not entirely deserved.

There are a lot of ways to get under Carol’s skin, she’s never been exactly easygoing, but perhaps the quickest way to cut her deep is to do so by mentioning the eating disorder she’s been not-so-privately struggling with since the eighth grade.

She’d been devastated when word of it got out, and thoroughly convinced you were the snitch — you didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Tommy who’d let that information slip. Not that she would have believed you.

Carol makes a harsh sound of indignation in the back of her throat.

“Asshole!” She shouts, then twists back around just in time to see you watching Eddie go. “—and what the fuck are you looking at?” Carol bites.

You snap back to attention and do your best to curl in on yourself.

“Nothing.” You say quickly, only you don’t fool her for a moment.

“…Oh, gross —” she scoffs, “What, are you swapping eyes with the Freak?”

The adrenaline of being caught bursts in your midsection and fires lightning down to the tips of your fingers as she gapes at you, eyes as big as dinner plates and practically bugging out on stalks. She admonishes you with a disappointed utterance of your name, and your cheeks burn with shame.

“I was just being friendly.” You stress, averting your gaze and picking idly at your lunch despite how you’ve since lost your appetite.

“With Eddie Munson? Ugh — gag me!”

The unchecked disdain in her tone doesn’t sit right with you, because it’s not like she’s ever even said two words to Eddie that weren’t hurled as insults, and you can’t help yourself clicking your tongue.

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” you say.

Carol snorts out an undainty sound of disgust.

“He’s a freak.” She says flatly — so you keep saying, you think — “He worships the Devil or whatever — everybody knows that.”

There is nothing you can do to stifle the bitter snort of laughter from bubbling up out of you, a harsh sardonic sound that escapes before you can reign it in.

Carol gives you a hard look, almost like she’s daring you to disagree, and much to your own surprise, you evidently dare.

“No, he doesn’t,” you press, wrinkling your nose in a quiet defiance.

A brief flash of hatred colors her features, and you can’t help but feel that the curtain has been pulled back and you’re suddenly looking at her true self.

Suddenly, Carol is all but shouting at you as her eyes go bright and her skin flushes a blotchy crimson.

“Oh please, like you know any better, Little Miss Babysitter!”

She hurls it at you like a slur and you flinch as the intention strikes you.

You don’t know precisely when Carol became so mean, only that it happened sometime between the transition from seventh to eighth grade, right around the time she’d gotten her first training bra and started to notice how boys were noticing her — right around the time Tommy showed up.

Since that day, everything between the two of you has been a competition that she is determined to win, despite how clearly uninterested you are in participating.

Still, you feel the strangest sense of righteous indignation rising in you – she doesn’t know Eddie, never even bothered to try, and here she is condemning him right alongside everyone else just because it’s what’s currently on trend.

You want to ask her how that’s fair, how she would feel if the shoe were on the other foot, but you swallow the urge as you can suddenly hear the condescending tone of your mother asking you if you’d jump off of a cliff the same as everyone.

Because at the end of the day, you don’t know Eddie any better than she does, not with all your wishing and hoping and fantasizing, and certainly not after the way he’d looked at you at Tina’s party – Sweet Girl…

“Yeah okay, whatever,” You mumble, because there’s no point in arguing with Carol when she gets like this.

Only your submission doesn’t apparently sit right with Carol - her face twists into a displeased scowl as she snatches up the can of coke that is the entirety of her lunch and begins to raise it to her bubblegum pink lips before thinking better of it and setting it back down with a harsh sigh.

You don’t know what’s got her so flustered, or what you did to embarrass her so badly. All you did was smile at Eddie, it’s not like you invited him to come and sit at the table with you.

“Why do you care anyway?” She demands then, clearly not done fighting.

By now, you know the telltale signs of this game: she’s probing for a flaw, something you’re sensitive about that she can pick at until it’s raw and oozing and she feels better for having taken you down a notch.

All she needs is a scrap, something she can run with until it snowballs out of control.

But you won’t give her the satisfaction, not after the way she’d screamed at you so publicly last week.

“I don’t,” You say flatly, sitting up a little straighter.

“Then how come you’re defending him?” She posits.

You cross your arms.

“I’m not.”

“You are though.” She insists, like she’s caught the scent of something, and is trying her best to sniff it out. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face like you’re about to get all self-righteous or something. What’s the deal? Do you like him or something?”

Your heart seizes and suddenly you can feel color bleeding into your cheeks as your armor creaks under the stress of her accusation. How could she possibly know that?

Because she’s your best friend, she knows everything about you…

“No…” you say, though even you are not convinced by the quavering tone of your voice.

Carol stares at you, briefly uncomprehending before it dawns on her, and suddenly her eyes are blazing with malicious delight.

Shit.

“Oh, nasty!” She shouts, then gasps, mouth falling open in scandal, “You do! You totally do!”

“I don’t – I mean, I don’t even know him.” You stammer, kicking yourself for how your resolve has begun to waver.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not into him! Oh, that’s so gross!” Carol sneers, she is loving this all too much, “Oh, my God, look at you – you’re blushing!”

Your hands fly reflexively up to bracket your face, and you hate yourself for the heat you can feel billowing off of you, betraying you.

Carol squeals with malevolent glee and you know you must be sweating for the way she is looking at you, eyes bright, teeth bared, wet, and shining in a hungry grin like a predator getting ready to make a meal out of you.

“Oh-kay, that’s enough.” You say, trying and failing to be firm as you are suddenly unable to keep your voice from shaking as you speak.

She doesn’t hear you – that or she just plain ignores you because she is getting too much of a rise out of your misery.

“Jesus Christ, what are you, like, in love with him?”

“Carol – stop.”

“You are! You totally are!” She cackles, “Jesus Christ, you want to marry him and have a hundred of his freak babies!”

She is practically shouting and you are this close to panicking about it, glancing anxiously across the room to the table where Eddie is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, talking and laughing with his friends about something.

You have to force yourself to believe that they aren’t laughing at you because there’s no way they could possibly be clued into your conversation with Carol … who has started play-acting that she is you, moaning loud and wantonly.

It's shockingly apropos in the worst possible way, almost like somehow she’d found the time to steal away, slip back into your bedroom where she knows you keep your diary tucked safely beneath your mattress, and read the mad scribblings you’d left smeared across the pages that morning.

“Oh, God–!” She cries, igniting a burst of cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach like a firework going off. “Oh, Eddie! Don’t stop! Right there – Yes! YES! YES!”

You could die. You could literally die.

People have started to look over at you, stare at you, and all of that would almost be fine if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently imploding like that dying star.

You can’t be certain if its a result of your friend’s whorish display or just the nagging feeling of someone staring at him (because if you weren't watching him like a hawk before, you certainly are now) but you watch in horror as Eddie’s attention snaps back over to your table, to you.

Your heart spasms in a bright bolt of panic, and you’re on your feet with a loud squeak of chair legs on linoleum – much louder than anything Carol had just kicked up. If people weren’t staring before, they’re certainly staring now, watching you frantically attempt to gather your things and make a break for it before your brain can catch up with you.

"Seriously? You're leaving?"

“I gotta go,” you say quickly.

“Oh, come on, I was just kidding.” Carol sighs, still sitting there wrought with mean giggles, “Where are you going?”

You can hardly hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. Your heart is hammering so violently against your ribcage that you can barely catch your breath to try and stammer out an excuse.

“I just remembered,” You begin, aimlessly, “I have this… thing I have to do for class, I gotta go work on it.”

You shove the last of your belongings haphazardly into your backpack and slide your lunch tray into the nearest trashcan – the entire tray, hitting the bottom of the bin with a loud thump that has the lunch lady shouting indignantly at you from the other side of the room.

You don’t linger to rectify your mistake or apologize or do anything of the sort, because your frantic attempts to escape the lunchroom have drawn more attention.

One cursory glance reveals to you that, devastatingly, Eddie’s entire lunch table has turned to watch you go.

You nearly stumble over your feet.

“Liar.” Carol shouts after you, “Where are you really going?”

“I’ll see you later!”

You twist at the waist and wave when she calls your name again, and you can’t help but get stuck on the way you notice Eddie leaning back dangerously in his chair, craning his neck back to watch you go in a way that makes your heart seize against your ribs.

His eyes go wide when he sees you looking, and he lurches forward to right himself again, briefly losing his balance and just about toppling out of the chair as he does.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You twist back around and pick up your pace, desperate to get out of there before anyone gets the bright idea to follow you.

You move through the halls without really knowing where you intend to go, but before you realize it, you’re in the gymnasium, stalking across the empty floor to tuck yourself back beneath the bleachers.

It’s not the most covert hiding spot, plenty of people come down here to make out and the braver, hornier couples around campus have been known to steal away and engage in the odd session of heavy petting or dry humping back here where they can get their rocks off more or less removed from prying eyes.

You’ve got no such plans to follow suit, despite the ruined state of your panties, as you scramble to slip out of sight with a gentle squeak of Chucks on clear coat.

Your heart is pounding as you pull your knees up to your chest, face absolutely burning over the way Carol’s stupid play acting has left you slick and throbbing with the memory of your stupid, stupid dream, but you bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts and violently will yourself to get a grip.

You pull your bag into your lap and begin rifling through its haphazard contents, desperately searching for some kind of a distraction – something to take your mind off of the lingering sensation of full lips and scarred fingertips and hot fanning breath – Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself.

You need your book, you need to lose yourself in thick text, hard science fiction, and worlds and histories and glossaries of outlandish names… only your book is not here.

Your well-loved, annotated copy of Dune, whose cover is hanging on by a thread with how many times it has been bent backward as you pour over the familiar text, whose pages are creased and dog-eared and littered with notes and doodles and all the little lines and themes you never want to forget.

It’s not here, even after you dig and dig and dig, even after you dump your bag on the gymnasium floor and spread all your things out in a neat fan in front of you. Your book is still missing.

Where the hell is your book?

You hardly get the time to stress about it much further than that before the school bell rings with a shrill, metallic clanging cry, startling your brain back into working action and sending you scrambling to shove all your things back into your bag.

You’re almost relieved. You’d been sitting there, just biding your time until Carol eventually sniffed you out and you would have to brace yourself for round two, but your schedules are thankfully far removed from one another.

She’s got Mrs. O’Donnell for fifth period, whose classroom lies mercifully on the other side of the school from your fifth-period chemistry class, and the ringing of the end of lunch bell is a Godsend, solidifying your escape and requisite safety from another bout of humiliation.

Your lab partner is a freshman, Gareth Emerson, who just so happens to be a newer addition to Eddie’s roving gang of minions. Somehow, that is much less terrifying than you’d half expected it to be when you first noticed him in the lunchroom, sitting tucked neatly into the chair at Eddie’s side and hanging on his every word.

It had just been nice to know that you’re not the only one so affected by him.

Still, you’d often wondered how Gareth was lucky enough to win such a coveted spot so early on in his tenure, considering Eddie Munson tends to be a particularly terrifying entity to the newest additions to the Hawkins High student body, but as you’d gotten to know him, you stopped wondering about that.

Gareth’s a sweetheart. He’s nice, funny, and reminds you a lot of your neighbor, Dustin Henderson, if he were a little older and just a little bit cooler, that is. It’s no wonder he’s so quickly found himself at a place of honor at Eddie’s side, how could anyone resist him?

You wish you could hang out with Gareth instead of Carol and the others.

You wish you could sit comfortably at lunch and talk about the things that actually held your interest, that you could make afterschool and weekend plans without a hint of dread, safe in the knowledge that a trip to the movies or to the arcade was simply that, with no ulterior motives or hidden agendas, no fear of being humiliated or abused for the amusement of the people who were supposed to be your friends.

You wish you could be real friends with Gareth, but Gareth hangs out with Eddie, and the thought of joining them at their lunch table is enough to send your insides twisting into acrobatics, so at the end of the day, you just have to settle with the friendship you have, limited to the confines of the classroom.

“Hey,” Gareth says, frowning quizzically at you as you unpack your things and hop up onto the metal stool beside him, “What happened to you at lunch? You looked like you were about to pop.”

Your insides clench with shame.

“You saw that, huh?” You mumble.

“Everybody saw that.” He scoffs, pulling a face.

Everybody. The word clangs around your ribs and you have to blink back the image of Eddie leaning so far back in his chair, watching you run from the lunchroom. Literally run, like some kind of scared little kid fleeing the monster that lives under their bed.

Great.

“What does she think you did this time? Sell her firstborn child for concert tickets or something?”

You sigh, slumping forward to prop your head up on your elbow and level Gareth with an unimpressed look.

“Nothing – I don’t want to talk about it.”

He takes the hint and offers you his hands in a show of surrender before turning back to the blackboard, where Mr. Kapz has stepped up and begun scribbling formulas with a hard squeak of chalk.

You watch without really seeing, trying to keep your mind from drifting too far with all your classmates sitting around you.

There is a cold lump in the pit of your stomach as a hundred different things whisk around your mind, all fighting tooth and nail for the limited real estate left in your brain with so much of Eddie stuffed up in there.

It’s always like that though, and it leaves you feeling particularly pathetic, thinking about yourself, sitting beneath the bleachers on your own, like the loser you are, hiding from your friends, wishing things were different, wishing you could be the person they wanted you to be, wishing you could be free of them.

You suck greedily on a sharp intake of air and shake your head to dislodge that line of thinking before it can take root and pivot to a much more pressing matter, for the sake of your own self-preservation.

“Hey, weird question,” You start, tilting your head down toward your shoulder and speaking in a loud whisper, “But have you seen my copy of Dune?”

Gareth’s brows are pulled tight over his eyes when you glance at him, and you are quick to elaborate,

“It’s all beat up and annotated…?”

“Yeah, no— I mean, sure I’ve seen it—”

You hardly let him finish.

“That’s great! Where is it?”

“...Eddie’s got it.”

It hits you like a fist to the gut, punching your lungs flat and forcing the air out. Your heart thumps a heavy beat like it always does when someone mentions Eddie and you feel your tongue go fat in your mouth.

“Ed-Eddie Munson?” You splutter, voice an embarrassing octave higher than normal, and barely manage to get the sound out over the way your throat is closing up.

You can feel your cheeks heating just from the sordid act of speaking his name aloud.

If Gareth takes any sort of hint from your bizarre reaction, he doesn’t let on.

“Yeah.” He says.

You blink back at him, waiting for him to elaborate and feeling your chest go tight when he doesn’t.

“…Why does he have my book?”

“He said you left it in the parking lot after you dumped your stuff last week—”

Oh, right…

In the wake of everything else that happened that day, you’d almost completely forgotten about that…

You’d been running late for school, having spectacularly slept through your alarm and been so rudely awakened by the thunderous hammering of two little fists, doing their best to bang down your bedroom door – Dustin, shouting at you to get your ass up out of bed.

You’d forgotten you were supposed to be carpooling that morning, and you're sure you must have broken some kind of a land speed record with how you burnt rubber to get the both of you to school on time. Gas pedal to the floor, you made the distance in five minutes flat.

You’d been too caught up in your sudden prospective future as a Formula One driver to notice how you were headed for disaster, jogging across the parking lot and trying to stuff your Walkman into your backpack as a wall of denim, patches, and studs stumbled haphazardly out of the open door of a semi-shitty beat-up panel van and directly into your path.

You barely had time to look up, let alone pivot to try and avoid the sudden six-foot obstacle before you, so naturally you collided, shoulder checking broad, leather-clad shoulder and knocking you sideways.

You managed to keep your feet and even catch your Walkman with an incredible feat of feline grace, but it came at the expense of your bag, which went tumbling topsy turvy, upchucking its contents all over the pavement at your feet.

Fantastic.

They stepped into your path, whoever they were, they crashed into you, but you still stammered out an apology, because how could they have been expected to look out for you when you’re running around under a cloak of invisibility.

Then, you dropped to your knees in an attempt to catch your pens and pencils before they could roll away. You fully expected to be ignored, to watch whoever it was that had just knocked your shit into the dirt skip off to class like you didn’t even exist, but when you looked up, there was Eddie Munson, crouched on the asphalt right alongside you with his head bowed toward yours, stacking your books and muttering his own apology.

It just about damn near knocked the wind out of you, suddenly finding yourself so close to him again after spending so long quietly yearning for his proximity.

You couldn’t help but breathe deep, trying to get a sense of him, refresh the waning memory you clung to – he still smelled the way you remember, like camels and spearmint gum standing out over the notes of whatever cheap cologne he’d obviously dusted himself in, and Old Spice.

It made your mouth water, and then go completely dry when he looked up at you, turning that honey-warm gaze on you and bathing you in his spotlight.

You weren’t invisible anymore, you were blushing, and you’d missed whatever it was he’d said to you – fuck.

You weren’t listening, you were staring into his eyes, at the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, at the plush spread of his lips, and the pink tip of his tongue darting out to swipe a slick sheen of moisture across them.

Somewhere, distantly, you could hear your Walkman still playing, Ann Wilson imploring you to get a little more lost in him than is rightly wise…

Oh, he’s a magic man, Mama…

And he was waiting for you to answer him.

Fuck. What the fuck did he just say?

“My fault…" Eddie mumbled thickly, "Didn’t see you there,”

Oh, thank God for that.

“Oh – God, are you kidding? It happens all the time.” You scoffed, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave.

It was almost a cool, collected thing to say, but then you just kept talking,

“Like. Way more than you would think,”

And talking.

“It’s actually kind of ridiculous how often people bump into me like that–”

And talking,

“Honestly, at this point, I feel like I should start wearing a bell.”

Shut up shut up shut up already! You screamed at yourself, but before you could well and truly condemn yourself for being such a goddamn awkward weirdo, Eddie’s face twisted up in amusement and he laughed out loud.

A little too loud for something that wasn’t even halfway to being a joke – he was obviously high, the whites of his eyes were tinged an angry swollen pink, hooded and nearly closed as he peered over at you with his face split up in that crooked smile of his, but it was still so wildly endearing you couldn’t help but giggle yourself.

You can’t believe you’d nearly forgotten that, that wonderful almost perfect moment of brushing fingers and traded looks and semi-meaningful silences.

If you really think about it, it makes perfect sense that he has your book. You haven’t seen your book since that day, haven’t even thought about it. It had been all but washed away under the bell clanging effect of what happened later that morning between classes, with Carol jumping down your throat and Eddie riding in to pull you out of her line of fire.

Good God! He shouts in your memory, and you can’t help but agree with him.

“Didn’t he give it back to you?” Gareth asks, brows marrying over his eyes.

You give your lab partner an incredulous look because never mind how this new information is ever so subtly breaking your brain, but why on Earth would you be asking after your copy of Dune if Eddie had already given it back to you?

The lack of logic there seems to dawn on Gareth just a tad too late to save face.

“Guess not, never mind,” he hums, twisting back in his seat to face the blackboard.

You sit, staring at nothing in particular as you try and fail to wrap your head around the concept of Eddie Munson carrying around your book.

There’s something incredibly personal about an annotated book, and you can’t decide if you ought to be embarrassed about that, hoping that he didn’t stop to take the time to read any of the inane things you’d written there.

Suddenly you’re wracking your brain to try and remember if you’d gone and scribbled anything too incriminating in the margins, whether you’d absently scribbled out a dopey “Mrs. – Munson” alongside all your little love notes to Paul Atreides. You imagine it written out in loopy script, replete with doodles of hearts and clouds and all the stupid cupid bullshit that is typically kept strictly within the pages of your diary.

You’re suddenly burning with hot, whorish shame as you think back to the pages you’d frantically scribbled on in the aftermath of the wet dream you’d woken from that morning, fingers trembling as you fought to get it down on paper before the vivid images and sensations slipped from your grasp and left you with nothing more than faint memories of calloused hands and full lips, burning your skin with the suggestion of phantom touches.

Yeah, you’re going to have to go back and revisit that when you get home this afternoon, thank God you’re not babysitting tonight.

You realize after a moment that in staring off into space, trying simultaneously to banish the feeling and relieve it, that you’ve actually been sitting, staring at Gareth, watching him wrestle with something like he’s trying to decide whether or not to let more information slip.

Truly, you’re not sure how much more truth you can stomach here in fifth period chemistry, sitting perched on your metal stool and trying oh-so-subtly to shift over to the edge and give yourself a little relief from the way that your heart is throbbing in your panties again.

Your guts seize like you’ve been caught red handed when Gareth twists back around to face you and ducks his head conspiratorially.

For lack of anything better to do, you mirror his movements and hope beyond hope that, if you’re blushing, he doesn’t notice.

“Okay, so…” he begins softly, “You didn’t hear it from me, but... he likes you,”

You do your best not to react as your heart leaps into your throat – you don’t dare to hope to know who he means.

“Who does?” You ask, playing dumb for the sake of your poor, nervous heart, because what if you’re wrong?

You’re probably wrong.

“Eddie does.”

Then again, maybe not… oh, shit.

Gareth continues.

“Like… a lot.”

OH SHIT.

Oh shit oh fuck oh sHIT be cool be cool be fucking cool!

It takes every fiber of your limited willpower not to react, because honestly, you could scream. This is what it feels like to have your wildest dreams come true.

Eddie Munson likes you, Gareth said, like a lot, he said.

Maybe it’s just the wrecked state you’ve been existing in from the moment you snapped into consciousness that morning, but suddenly you’re desperate, giddy, feeling the hard push of the urge to run and go find Eddie.

Find him and seize him by the shoulders and shake him and scream and shout and cheer and... and and and... and do what?

Confess your feelings?

Make some sort of grand declaration then drag him off somewhere to hop on his dick?

That’s what your ovaries are currently imploring you to do. Finally do something about that goddamn virginity of yours so Carol will climb down out of your ass.

But that’s ridiculous, right? And not at all practical, fantasizing about running off and trying to consummate what, as far as you can tell, is only a rumor before it can slip from your grasp.

Where would you even go?

Under the bleachers, where the braver, hornier couples go to rub up against each other and get their rocks off.

No, no that’s stupid… and yet?

You’ve heard the talk about Eddie, how he’s supposed to be easy or something — some part of you is pretty sure he’d be game to take you out to the back of his van if you went over and asked him nicely... just ask him nicely to lift your skirt and help you out with that pesky little virginal problem of yours, Christ, how embarrassing.

He’d probably laugh in your face if you did. How do you know for sure that he even really likes you? What makes you think that there’s even the slightest chance that your stupid crush on him could ever be reciprocated?

You’re not a real person, remember? You don’t put out because you don’t exist.

No, Eddie doesn’t like you, you decide in an instant, how could he? He doesn’t even know you.

Gareth is wrong, and worse still, he’s teasing you – he has to be. It is, after all, the opening line to the oldest joke in the Hawkins High popular kid book: so, Eddie Munson wants to take you to prom…what do you do?

It makes your chest hurt, and you have to pull your lips into a tight line to keep them from wobbling.

Ha-ha, real funny joke, tease the loser virgin for the big stupid crush she has on the local Freak.

“That’s mean, Gareth.” You say quietly.

“What is?”

You shake your head because you almost can’t bear to say it.

“Teasing like that. That’s not nice...”

He gives you a horrified look, like you’ve suddenly got bugs crawling out of your ears.

“What? No, Dude, it’s not like that at all!” Gareth stresses, “I promise I’m being so serious right now. Eddie likes you. He really likes you.”

It feels risky, but you can’t help yourself. Gareth’s a sweetheart, why would he lie to you?

“…Really?” You ask, ever so slightly embarrassed at how small and hopeful your voice suddenly sounds and trying so, so hard to play it cool.

“Yes… and it’s super goddamn annoying — no offense,”

You shake your head, because in the absence of the ability to form rational thought you rely on deep-seeded pleasantries.

“Oh, no, of course.” You say, “None taken … I think.”

You suddenly can’t make your brain work, it just sits there like a fat grey lumpy pile of worms in your skull. Part of you is suddenly so sure that you can smell the smoke wafting up off of it as it overheats in your attempt to jumpstart it again.

Eddie likes you. This is all really happening.

It takes you a moment too long to realize that Gareth is still talking, and a moment even longer to clue yourself back in to what he’s saying.

“— he’s been going around in circles trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but he’s chicken shit, so he won’t do it unless he has some bullshit excuse to make it all casual — giving you your book back was supposed to be his excuse, but that was clearly a bust,”

And then, “Also, he basically threatened to kill me if I said anything so just do me a favor and be cool, alright? Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“…So why tell me?” you ask, almost startled by the sound of your own voice and how far away it sounds.

You’re having an out-of-body experience, that’s what this has got to be, sitting there, floating, watching yourself have this conversation with Gareth.

Eddie Munson has your book, Eddie Munson stood up for you, Eddie Munson likes you...

“Because he freaked when he found out we were lab partners and he’s being a huge creep pressing me for information about you, like he expects me to spy on you or something... Anyway, I figured with how fucking weird he always acts around you that you probably already knew.”

You shake your head and hope to God the movement doesn’t cause your eyeballs to fall out of your sockets. You can’t remember if you’ve blinked over the course of the last five minutes.

“I didn’t.” You squeak.

His eyes go wide and you watch the color drain from his face.

“Oh. Shit,” He says, “— well, like I said, you didn’t hear it from me.”

You didn’t hear it from anybody. As far as you’re concerned, this conversation isn’t actually happening. Any moment now you’re going to snap out of whatever fugue state you’ve obviously just slipped into, and you’re going to find that this is all a dream – only your thigh is going raw from where you’ve been subtly pinching yourself.

Still, you still don’t completely believe Gareth isn’t teasing you – this feels like dangerous ground and suddenly your guts are churning because you don’t know what to do with this information.

You don’t know how to make yourself understand that the one person who has always been wholly off-limits to you could suddenly be within your grasp.

Possibility makes you ravenous and you have to fight to resist the urge to seize Gareth by the front of his torn flannel shirt and shake him, demanding more more more, that he tell you everything there is to know about Eddie and everything he’s ever said about you among the safety of friends.

With a sharp pang, you realize that you’re suddenly violently jealous about the confidence he has to freely speak about the objects of his affections – evidently, you.

The thought has warmth bleeding through your abdomen and filling up your chest cavity. You’re floating again, and you’re suddenly so, wickedly pleased.

Carol would shit her pants if she found out.

The rest of class comes and goes without incident, and you don’t hear a word of the lesson.

You’re far too busy fantasizing about all your wildest dreams coming true, planning your future with Eddie, picturing your wedding and your first home together, growing old together, and all the road trips and holidays and milestones you’ll hit in between.

By the last twenty minutes of the lesson, you’re even toying with naming your children.

You’re disgusting and pathetic and so far gone for him in such a stupid, irresponsible way. Only there’s one tiny little obstacle standing in the way of all of that.

Gareth says he’s not brave enough to talk to you, not without good reason, which is so painfully endearing, but a real problem because that makes two of you – you can barely even look at Eddie, let alone fathom trying to strike up a conversation.

So, therein lies the problem. How on Earth are you supposed to marry him and have a hundred of his babies, as Carol had so eloquently put it, if neither of you can manage to buck up the courage to have a normal conversation?

The bell is ringing before you can decide how to become a human being again, you’re still more cloud than girl when you catch Gareth as he begins packing up.

“Listen, tell Eddie…” You start, feeling suddenly too shy to have his name in your mouth – it feels heavy on your tongue, forbidden, and you chicken out, “Tell him… that I don’t bite. If he wants to talk to me … then he should just come talk to me, right?”

Gareth rolls his eyes,

“I told him that, like, a hundred times… but I’ll tell him again. I’ll say you said so this time.”

The promise pleases you immensely, only there is one glaring issue with that plan. He was never meant to tell you how Eddie supposedly feels about you. You’re not supposed to know he likes you.

You bite your lip and feel your brows creep toward one another, forming a deep crease of worry between them.

“Is that gonna get you in trouble?” You ask.

Gareth opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again as the words fail to come, like he too had very conveniently forgotten that the information he’d just passed to you was decidedly not for you.

He hums thoughtfully, brows furrowed, and face pulled tight into a mask of displeased concentration.

What to do, what to do.

Finally, after a moment that feels like eternity, one you spend fidgeting with your fingers twisting them to the point of pain, holding a breath in your lungs almost like you’re afraid if you breathe he’ll take it all back.

Gareth shrugs.

“...well, I don’t see why he needs to know that I’m the one who told you… people talk.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

A hundred years and a short lifetime ago, you and Carol spent an evening trading secrets and the deepest desires of your heart, and you jumped up and down on her springy mattress, screaming along to the Go-Go's and promising one another that, just like the song said, your lips were sealed.

You can’t help but wonder if she ever really meant it, if she would have laughed and recoiled and teased you mercilessly if you trusted her with your secret feelings about Eddie Munson. Only you had made the same decision and elected not to tell her even back then, even when your secrets were still safe with her.

Can you hear them? They talk about us, telling lies, well, that’s no surprise.

People talk, Gareth said.

“They certainly do.” You hum, shouldering your bag and following him out the door.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn eddie munson #stranger things fic #endless summer fic #cruel summer prequel

128 notes · View notes