From Tiny Beautiful Things, Adapted For The Stage By Nia Vardalos. 

#sure jan

Holier Than Thou [E. Munson]

Summary: The preacher’s daughter has always been pure and unmistakably good, but meeting the leader of the Hellfire Club may change her ways.

Warnings: Swearing, religious manipulation

-

Y/n was unlike many of the girls her age. She didn’t fool around with guys or do anything so daring as cheat on a quiz. She had never been on a date with a guy due to her father watching her like a hawk and speaking against dating. Each time Y/n would ask her father about the dating rule, he would still insist she was too young, even at the age of seventeen. Despite how simple it may seem, being the preacher’s child was difficult. Church twice a week, nightly prayers, rants fueled by fire and brimstone, and daily bible reading made life exhausting. 

Y/n set her book bag down by her chair, prepared to listen intently to the class lecture just like she listened to her father’s sermons every Sunday. Today; however, the teacher did not begin a lecture but instead began writing names on the board. Two by two, names were written next to each other. Students gossiped amongst each other about what the names meant. Perhaps they were in trouble? Or perhaps they were going to receive a new seating chart. 

Y/n was perfectly happy with where she sat; the left side of the classroom in the second row. Next to her sat Ramona Andrews, a girl with a mediocre personality but enough kindness to leave Y/n alone. Y/n didn’t want to sit next to someone who would make fun of her or try to cheat off her homework.

“These are your assigned partners for the upcoming project. I will hand out the rubric for the project at the end of class, but right now I want to explain it to you.” Mrs. Weatherall spoke, her hair done in a bun which was beginning to unravel. 

As the teacher droned on, Y/n scanned the board for her name, praying she would have a good partner. 

Darn it, She thought as she read the name next to hers.

Eddie Munson. 

Just then, a body plopped down in the seat next to hers. Eddie himself sat to face Y/n, a smug smirk on his face. 

“Looks like we’re partners.” He smiled mischievously. 

“Looks like it.” Y/n forced a small smile, trying to hide her despair.

“I had to take this class last year and I still have my project leftover from that, so we could take a look at it if you want. Use it for inspiration.” He suggested in a surprisingly helpful manner.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great. What did you get on it?” Y/n responded.

“I got an F, but it was a high F! Right on the cusp of being a D.” Eddie announced proudly.

“Yeah, we can look at it. Maybe use it as a guide for what not to do.” Y/n mumbled under her breath, eyes fixating on the rings he wore. 

“Was that sass? Coming from the preacher’s kid?” Eddie grinned, teasing her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I just-” Y/n sputtered, afraid she had been unkind.

“It’s okay, Y/n. I was just teasing you. I thought it was funny.” 

“Okay.” Y/n said softly, still feeling guilty for being rude.

“Lighten up. I’m not gonna bite your head off.” Eddie twirled a pencil between his fingers, doodling a little smiley face on their rubric. 

Y/n decided to start working, and to her surprise, Eddie wanted to help. Their project required them to create a presentation on one of the scientists of the 17th century, and their contribution to the scientific community. After flipping through the textbook Y/n made the decision to present on Robert Boyle, as Eddie insisted he didn’t care who they presented on. 

Eddie would write facts and snippets of information then slide the notecards to Y/n, who would subtly correct them while he wasn’t looking. By the time the bell rang they had a stack of notecards with incorrect information on some which Y/n could not fix in time. 

“Wicked work. We make a great team.” Eddie commented as he handed her the stack of notecards.

“See you tomorrow, Eddie.” Y/n murmured as she exited the room. 

Y/n was still a bit scared of Eddie, or rather, she was scared of how enchanting he was. The little jokes he made throughout the class had her resting the urge to giggle. His hair framed his face perfectly, even if it was horrendously frizzy. His round eyes seemed to see her far better than even the eyes of god had, and she couldn’t tell if she loved it or hated it.

Eddie was quite entranced with Y/n. He had always seen her walking through the hallways, quiet as a mouse. He thought she was the most gorgeous girl he had set eyes on, but refrained from speaking to her all these years because of her father. Eddie knew the pastor disapproved of people like him; heavy metal listeners and DND players with long hair. He knew she would never go for him, but he still felt his heart beat a little faster when he thought of her.

-

Y/n shivered as she walked through the parking lot, the brisk air nipping at her skin. She got frustrated with herself for not bringing a warm jacket. Her house was a ten minute walk from the school, and she began to walk begrudgingly when a large van pulled up beside her. Loud music rang out from inside and in the driver’s seat sat the one and only Eddie Munson. 

“Do you need a ride?” He offered.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I don’t want to inconvenience you. It’s only a ten minute walk.” Y/n replied, despite truly wanting to get in. The cold air still stirred around her, penetrating her cardigan.

“It’s not an inconvenience, and you’re shivering. Come on, I don’t want to be responsible for you getting hypothermia.”

Y/n contemplated her options for a few seconds, then opened the door and hopped into the passengers seat. It was warm in the van and Eddie turned down the music as she entered. 

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’re the one helping me get a good grade on this project.”

“You’re helping. You’re doing a good part of the work.” Y/n replied, admiring the way his rings glinted in the light.

“You’re the one correcting my work.” 

“You saw that?” Y/n cringed internally, wishing he hadn’t seen it.

“Yep. You write pretty fast, but you’re not as discreet as you think you are.” Eddie smirked.

“What’s this song?” Y/n asked after a moment of silence. 

“This song, my dear, is Highway to Hell by ACDC.” Eddie tapped the radio.

“Oh.” Y/n was clearly taken aback by the name, not expecting to hear a song with such a name.

“Why do you ask?” Eddie wondered.

“I don’t know. Kinda catchy I guess.” Y/n mumbled the last part, ashamed to admit that she enjoyed the song. Songs like that were never allowed in her house. When they did play music, it was gospel music and light-hearted tunes from years ago. 

“What was that last part?” Eddie questioned.

“I said it was kinda catchy.” Y/n repeated, her head hung abashedly.

“No way. No fucking way! The preacher’s kid likes Highway to Hell?” Eddie laughed in disbelief.

“I never said I liked it.” Y/n protested, but Eddie wouldn’t have it.

“You didn’t have to say that. You said it was catchy, which means you like it.” Eddie smiled widely. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, Eddie.” Y/n pleaded, horrified that her father would find out.

“Oh, I’m gonna tell everyone, princess.” Eddie leaned closer to her as he smirked evilly. He noticed her eyes getting wide with anxiety, her eyebrows furrowed in distress at his words. “I’m kidding, Y/n. No one will know. Our secret, okay?” Eddie soothed Y/n, holding out his pinky to her.

“Promise?” Y/n looked up at him with big doe eyes, still rattled from the image of her father finding out that she liked such a vulgar song.

“Promise.” Eddie spoke. With that, Y/n took his pinky in hers, holding it there for a few seconds before releasing it. 

“Thanks again for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/n said as she got out of the van which was parked haphazardly in front of her house.

“If I decide to come to class tomorrow.” Eddie spoke, making Y/n give him a slightly agitated look. “I’ll be there tomorrow, Y/n.” Eddie sighed, detesting the idea of going to school. 

-

Y/n quietly shut the door to her house, setting her book bag down by the coat rack which stood next to the door. 

“Who drove you home?” Her father asked harshly as he rounded the corner.

“Just someone from school.” Y/n murmured, eyes looking at the floor to avoid her father’s iron gaze. 

“Who from school? I want a name.”

“Melissa. Melissa Hart.” Y/n felt bad for lying, but she knew he would never approve of someone like Eddie driving her home. “She’s in my English class.”

“Very well then. I’ve heard she’s a kind girl. Her mother comes in to pray on Sundays.” He commented, his eyes still boring into her.

“She is very nice.” Y/n desperately tried to end the conversation, wanting nothing more than to escape upstairs. At last, her father left the room and she darted to her bedroom. Y/n slumped down on her bed, her conscience beginning to gnaw at her for lying to her father. She had to, she told herself. She had to or her father would have gone berserk for no reason. Still, despite her guilt she could not shake the interest that she had in Eddie Munson. 

Pinterest always knows what’s good for me

did that elvis fic called tempt by the hour just completely disappear? i wanted to reread it and i can’t find it anywhere

Part 2 of this Eddie fic :)

Uh duh. Thanks to everyone who loved it so much!! Slow burn🤪

I never realized how boring my life is without Eddie constantly bugging me- and flirting with me- nearly every single day.

Since the minute we both hit puberty and had the “birds and the bees” talk- awkwardly- with his uncle, we’d always looked at each other in a different way and we’ve always been bashful and flirty. Always.

But weeks have passed since I've seen Eddie, since I've spoken to him in any way other than quick glances shared in the hallway. This wasn’t us being bashful and giddy around each other, this was genuine fear on both sides to talk about what had happened.

Maybe it was because I implied that I wanted to kiss him- to feel his lips against me in more ways than one- and maybe he got nervous after his uncle came home almost immediately after I openly commented about his talented mouth.

But this is possibly the longest we've gone without talking to one another, even in the midst of the rest of our friend group and at Hellfire.

The group has definitely picked up on the added tension between the two of us, realizing that something must've happened between us but I'm sure they don't realize the extent of what happened. That Eddie openly dirty talked me into a pool of submission and arousal- that he made me want to rip his clothes off then and there, to draw noises out of him that I’ve only dreamed about. I can only imagine that they would never understand the way Eddie spoke to me and how it made me feel- the words he said to me that had my mind turning to mush, the words that play on an instant repeat in my mind.

"I wonder how wet I can get you just by talking to you like this."

"Do you think about my fingers, my rings?"

"So needy, pining for your best friend."

I shiver and turn in my seat to look back at Eddie as he stares down at his history textbook, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He's been trying to do better in all of his classes lately, wanting nothing more than to graduate with me this year, but it's now me who struggles to pay attention in class. My mind is in the gutter and swimming with thoughts of talking to him- fucking him, to be frank.

Suddenly, he looks up and freezes, his lips parting in quiet shock at the sight of my eyes locked on him. I send him a small wave, pulling a soft smile out of him as he shifts in his seat, sending me back a tight lipped smile. I nod towards the door, watching his brows pull together in gentle, boyish confusion. Raising my hand without giving him another moment to ponder, the teacher sighs and she calls on me.

"May I go to the bathroom?"

By the time Eddie finally frees himself of the confines of class and stumbles out of the school, spotting me leaning against his van, he looks frustrated. His hands are shoved in his pocket and his breath reflects in the cold air.

"Are you kidding- get your ass in the van, you're gonna freeze your ass off, kid." He mutters unlocking the van and pushing me into the slightly warmer vehicle. I immediately crawl under the blankets that he has folded in the back, watching him shut the door tightly and relax against the wall. His eyes are demanding yet soft, his gaze trailing over me, almost asking 'well?'.

"I know we've been avoiding each other since, uh..." I trail off, flashbacks riddling my brain as his cheeks flush. He looks away from me quickly, clearing his throat and he pulls a blanket over his lap. "I miss you and I'm sorry if I ruined anything by being pesky." I huff, feeling better after apologizing but feeling even more confused when he looks physically pained at the thought of me feeling guilty for all of this.

"Fuck- you didn't ruin anything, babe- I just didn't know you felt that way about me." My heart leaps at the pet name, my tongue slipping out to wet my lips as they continue to dry. "I didn't know you wanted to know me like that." I crave you like that. There's a soft, bashful smile on his lips and I scoff, shaking my head incredulously.

"You genuinely didn't realize that I wanted you like that?" My question seems to take him off guard, his brows lifting in shock at my forwardness.

"Is that really how you feel?" He asks, moving towards me as he scoots to sit between my legs. His voice comes out breathless, as if he's been holding onto that question for years, a weight lifting from his shoulder as his hand reaches out to rest on my knee.

"I wouldn't have put myself out there if I didn't want you." I whisper, lowering my gaze from his. "I was just too embarrassed to make a move o-or ask you if you felt a similar way-"

"I do- fuck, I always have." He laughs, reaching out towards me to place a hand on my knee. "I've wanted to talk to you, the last few weeks, I mean. But I was terrified that you just closed up on me and would never want to look at me again." He huffs exasperatedly, with a shy smile, his brows twitching anxiously. I bite my tongue for a few moments, looking over his nervous frame wondering where my confident best friend went. Did I seriously turn him into an anxious, boyish bundle of stress?

"I've been looking at you." I whisper, my voice quivering as his eyes lift, gazing up at me through his dark lashes. He waits for a moment, waiting for me to go on and the comfortable silence he offers me only makes me want to go on. "Thinking about you."

"Thinking about what?" He asks, barely giving me a chance to add onto my statement. I just clear my throat and push the blanket off of me, stalking across the van to slide down into his lap. He doesn't argue, just wraps his arms around my waist. He looks up at me with a teasing look but there's a sense of sincerity behind his dark hues.

"Being close to you again." I let out a brief sigh of relief, playing with the ends of his curls.

"What else?" He asks, leaning down to gently press a kiss to my exposed collarbone, a shiver running down my spine but not from the cold- no, I couldn't be more warm.

"You kissing me." I grin, my head tipping back to allow his lips to venture further up the column of my throat. He chuckles against my skin and grips at my waist, my head spinning from arousal.

"Where?"

"Everywhere." I giggle, loving the laugh that rumbles in his chest. He pulls back to look up at me, brows pulled together, feigning confusion with a shit-eating grin.

"Is that an offer?" He gasps, pulling me even more flush against him with a wicked look in his eyes. I just groan, my hands gripping onto his shoulders as words escape me.

"Please."

"Oh so it's not an offer, it's you begging." He teases, his lips skimming against mine ever-so slightly with no intent of kissing me until I tell him what I want- which is him. So simple and so plain but I can't seem to vocalize it, the words getting stuck on the tip of my tongue. Instead, one word comes out.

"Eddie..." He shushes me mockingly, reaching up to takes my cheeks in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth between mine.

"Patience, sweetheart. You know I'd never leave you hanging."

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- devil's advocate -

pairing: eddie munson x reader (no prns)

word count: 3.9k

content: spoiler free, sex but no smut (i'm struggling to commit to smut), tutor troupe, swearing, smoking, drinking, my rusty writing and horrible attempt to write from the r-r-r-readers perspective 🤢 also tw the reader is good at math

summary: after hooking up with eddie munson 3 seperate times in a month and never talking about it, you somehow get stuck tutoring him.

a/n: im alive i promise. are any of my followers alive? no. but i am.

Hooking up with Eddie Munson was a one time thing. 

Ok, maybe, a two time thing.

Well, if you were being honest with yourself, it was a three time thing. Three times in one month.  

It was supposed to happen once. 

Never once did you anticipate ever speaking to Eddie ever again after walking up to him at Vicki Carmicheal’s party. When he stepped closer, his alcohol-tainted breath fanning on you, you guessed he thought the same. You didn’t even think you would remember the night when you closed the gap.

—

“Eddie Munson, stay after class.” 

Thankful that you weren't in Eddie’s shoes, you gathered your stuff to leave school for the day with the rest of the class. 

“Oh,” your teacher’s eyes left his laptop to scan over the room, “And Y/n L/n.” 

—

At the bonfire, when your blurred vision picked up the brown curls of Eddie Munson, you attempted to ignore heat that surged across your body. You blamed it on the alcohol. You blamed the way his chest wavered as he locked his eyes with you on the alcohol. Alcohol is what guided your hands under his shirt and what pushed his body flush to yours. You would blame a lot of what you did that night on the alcohol.

—

A tense silence stuffed the classroom as you, Eddie, and your teacher sat awkwardly across from each other. Eddie was intensely avoiding eye contact and you tried to keep your leg from bouncing as you all waited for somebody to speak.

“Mr. Munson,” your teacher started, “You, my boy, have the lowest grade out of any student of Hawkens High enrolled in Algebra 2.” He let his statement linger in the air, allowing the both of you to absorb his words, then, he continued.

“But, since I really do believe in you, I’ve taken it upon myself to get you a tutor until your grade has improved.” 

You could practically see Eddie's face curl up in anguish. 

“Am I not allowed to pick my own?”

Your teacher shook his head slowly, “No. I have picked out the perfect candidate.” 

—

When you heard Eddie Munson was coming to Hagan’s new years party, you couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement that had danced around your chest. His being tainted your head as you got ready, your eyes trained to how he would see you. A flash of him interrupted every blink. His voice whispered in your ear. Ghosts of touch lingered on your skin. 

When you finally got to the party, your eyes dodged every other person there, since they were desperately darting around. Music pumped through your veins as you grabbed a cup of whatever was in the punch bowl, eyes still scanning the room. Downing it as fast as you could, you let the buzz of the booze wash over you and resumed your search. A glimpse of leather, a black and white baseball tee, a flash of red. Finally, he was in frame. 

Your breath caught as his eyes slowly moved over your form, shyly meeting your own. Multi-colored lights glided across his body, his white shirt so shear the ink of his tattoos could be seen through it. Music drowned out your heartbeat. You could feel the blush that crawled up your cheeks, Eddie's own color reflected back. Carefully, you let one foot float in front of the other and walked over to Eddie. Alcohol already fusing with your body, you let your hand casually hook around his belt loop. Using your new connection, you guided him out of the house, a smirk pulling on the corner of Eddie’s lip as he let you lead.  

“Not even gonna say hi first,” he scoffed, hands raised. 

“We can talk when I’m high,” you countered, sitting down behind Mr. Hagan’s shed, and desperately attempting to cover up your flustered expression from the adrenalin. 

Eddie dawned a faux-concerned expression. “I think this drug problem is getting really serious.” 

“Shut up Munson.” 

His smirk reformed as he pulled out that stupid rusty box, and rummaged through it until he found a pre and a lighter. After straightening it out a bit, he gently placed the joint between his teeth. Each satisfying swipe of the lighter dragged your eyes down to his lips. The flame that danced over the sides of the joint lured your gaze to stray from Eddie’s deep eyes to focus on his mouth as he exhaled a puff of smoke, letting some stream into his nose.

After a couple more hits, he held the joint out to you between two fingers, glazed eyes watching the stars. You gratefully accepted it, attempting to clear your mind of the vision of the moonlight cascading down his face, sculpting each dip and grove. You breathed deep when your lips were sealed around the filter, letting the smoke fill your lungs. Each hit brought you back to him. Back to how close you were seated, how his leg felt against yours, how he'd begun to slide his hand closer to you.

His hand lingered above your exposed thigh, just grazing it with the skin of his palm. Chills swept down your legs as the cool metal of his rings brushed across your skin, and you could feel the curve of his satisfied smile at your reaction as he leaned into your shoulder. His hand carefully curled around your leg, slowly gliding its way up. 

“What are you doing Eddie,” you whispered. 

He replied lowly, so close you could feel each syllable against your skin as they left his lips, “Whatever you want me to.” 

—

The sound of yours and Eddie's shoes against the deserted linoleum of the school hallways was unnerving. Binders and spiral notebooks dug into your skin as you gripped them, hands white knuckled and clammy. You could just barely feel the denim of his jacket brush against your arm, and you half wished he would move further away as you walked. 

You had to tutor Eddie fucking Munson. Your teacher hadn’t spared either of you a moment before sending you off to the library, giving you just enough time to overthink the next hour. 

It wasn’t easy being near Eddie. You two had never interacted outside of sex, and it was difficult to interact normally, acting as if nothing had happened. But what were you supposed to say? How do you approach a conversation about that? Not even just that though, how do you approach any conversation with somebody you’ve never even spoken to outside of sex? You’ve never even had a conversation with him sober. Was he even going to listen to you teach? Would his whole view and respect for you be skewed? And how on earth were you supposed to talk to him when such a striking mix of weed and cologne permanently emanated from him. Your brain probably wouldn’t even work well enough to teach him math. 

He seemed fine. That familiar stupid smirk hung on his face as he held the library door open for you with a flourish.

The thank you said in return probably counted more as mouthing than speaking. 

Acutely aware of his intense gaze on you, you awkwardly led him to one of the old chipped tables in the corner of the library, far away from any remaining students. Your chair creaked as you pulled it out, breaking the silence you and Eddie had been drowned in since you left class. You finally unclamped your hands from around your notebooks and began to lay them out on the table busily while Eddie fished around in his pocket for something. 

Turns out it was a singular dull pencil without an eraser. 

“Alright,” you said uncertainly, sitting down and trying to organize your brain, “Um… where do you want to start?” 

“You’re the teacher here, where should we start?” 

Of course he was gonna make this difficult. 

“Ok. Fine.” You shuffled your papers around, not really for any reason, just to bide yourself some time. “Do you have any questions about today’s lesson?” 

His face instantly slipped into a deep troubled pondering expression. One that was much too dramatic for Eddie to be serious. “What did we learn?” 

“Matrices and transition graphs,” you almost deadpanned.

Gears began to visibly turn in his head, and he muttered, “Matrices and transition graphs… ahh…”

“You have no clue what those are, do you?” 

“Not one.” 

You sighed, not even shocked, not even angry. It was honestly sort of tough to conceal your smile. 

“I'm going to be your tutor for a while, aren't I." 

He shot you a grin, “Only if I have it my way.” 

—

Tutoring Eddie Munson was alright. 

That’s what you told to anybody who asked.

In reality, tutoring Eddie Munson was much more than alright. 

You had never really ever been around somebody like him. He exuded a disconcerting aire of cocky but comforting, cool but offbeat. At every moment when you thought that he would finally upset you, he would wheel in the exact opposite direction, driving your emotions through a startlingly enjoyable route. 

Shockingly, he was pretty easy to talk to. Never once did your past encounters get brought up, which you were endlessly grateful for, and he treated you just like any of his friends, with respect and kindness, which could not be said for some of your other past hookups. He said hi to you in the halls and smiled at you from across classes, he learned your favorite music and what food you hated, he made an effort to know you. Tutoring him barely felt like work. Most of the time that you spent teaching him math was overlaid with chatting mindlessly and giggling as he tried to secretly count on his fingers. Sometimes you could waste whole tutoring sessions listening to some grand dramatic story he told as he bounded around your table, morphing into different characters and voices, putting on a full one-man show before you. 

He was also, completely and utterly, gorgeous. 

The way his hair draped delicately over his shoulder, how his necklaces dangled from his skin as he leaned over the table, when he would tilt his head to the side as he listened, the glimpses of his tattoos. Every word you spoke and every syllable you uttered had his undivided attention as you talked, big brown eyes gazing at you, taking in every feature. 

On cloud-free days, the sun would beam down through the tall library windows onto the dark oak of the table you had both claimed and would reflect off of the silver of his rings. They would glint distractingly as Eddie wrote, catching your eye at every shift. It happened so often you had now memorized his usual jewelry selections. A great ugly boar rested on his middle finger, accompanied by one skull ring on either side. On his other hand, an ornate ring with patterns that curled up the side and cradled a deep blue stone in the center.

He knew you were staring at his hands, but you didn’t care.

His unflinching reaction towards your gaze gave you just enough of a push to one day ask, “Could I… try on one of your rings?” 

His eyebrows raised in shock, “You want to wear my jewelry? This is quite out of character…”  He flashed a toothy grin at you from across the table, “I love it.”

“Thanks for reminding me how much you love the real me,” you deadpanned, ignoring the excitement that was bubbling up your chest. 

“Forever and always,” another shining grin, “Now…” he said dramatically, face suddenly darkening, “Which one will you choose… your whole reputation depends on this one decision.” He waved his hands around with a flourish. “Will you still have your student’s respect after this? Will anybody ever talk to you again? We will see..” His hands stilled in front of you, and he held them out to give you a clear view of each band.

You put one hand up to your chin, miming contemplating the choice, and let your other hand drop down to his own, taking one finger and guiding it across his knuckles. His chest completely stilled.

“Hmmm…”

Your finger came to a halt over the intricate ring with the blue jewel. Eddie’s smile reformed and he faintly exhaled as your finger lost contact with his skin. 

“Good choice,” he said, not looking up at you. His eyes were trained at his own hand, slowly twisting the band off of his ring finger. They continued to avoid yours as, to your surprise, he didn’t give you the ring after he had freed it from his own finger. 

He took your right hand in his, his skin gently curving around your own, and brought his thumb beneath your ring finger, lifting it above the others. Your chest began to heat up at the delicacy with which he delivered this, and you urgently tried to blot out the earlier instances when Eddie had held you with the same touch. It felt like he was barely grazing your skin, and yet you could feel, with a searing intensity, each joint of each of his fingers shifting under your flesh, curling and stilling around you. 

Chills shot up your spine as the cool metal of the chosen ring finally met your skin, and at last, Eddie raised his eyes to meet your own. They remained riveted on yours as his fingers guided the band down your finger and, though the ring was fully fastened, his fingers remained resting against your skin. He let them stray up, delicately brushing against you as he cradled your hand.

The raw air chilled your skin when he drew away. 

You’re grateful he didn't say anything when you left that session with the ring still fixed around your finger, because you don’t think you could’ve gone through that again anytime soon. 

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s touch.

—

The issue with Eddie was, despite your best efforts, he would never leave your thoughts. Every sense was occupied non stop by his smell, his voice, his gaze. Intoxicatingly, you overdosed on every part of him, eventually giving up on blocking his presence and allowing him to consume each and every thought you produced.

He seemed to know that even after you left him, he remained a permanent fixture in your mind. It was written in his smug smile and his playful jabs, the knowing. 

His presence was so constant that it must’ve been on purpose. 

Each little thing. Him using your pencil casually during school, knowing you could see. Never mentioning the ring that still lay on your finger, allowing you the chance to keep it. The glances down your being as you passed, catching him staring across the class, touches that lasted far too long. He wanted you to be thinking of him.

There were nights when you, under the golden light of your desk lamp, would open your notebook to doodles dotted around the edges of your paper, snuck in while you were focused on something else. The pages of anything you brought to tutoring were lined with cartoonish devils and creatures with many legs and sharp teeth that lined their roaring mouths that Eddie had thought up. Vines curled around the lining of the page, and a little mix-matched group of elvis and wizards dashed across the top margin. In the very bottom corner, tucked between a crude drawing of a smiling clown and an ornate sword, was a drawing he seemed to have put a bit more time into. 

The more you examined it, the stronger that recognizable heat radiated across your chest. It was a bust's profile, with the head tilted slightly down and brows furrowed in concentration, pen carefully structuring the swooping bridge of a nose and curvature of lips. 

It wasn't flawless, but there was no mistaking that it was you.

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s thoughts. 

—

Eddie’s math grades had actually begun to improve, and in class you watched with pride as he started to listen to your teacher, sometimes even taking notes. He would show you his math tests with a huge smile, genuinely excited to see how you would react at his new shiny high score. 

Mid-way through April, he sauntered into the library, horribly concealing the giddy expression that was forming on his face and a hand behind his back. 

You inquired, your face beginning to reflect his smile, "Something terrible happen to you, Ed?"

“Oh it’s nothing,” he said, drifting around the table as if he was wandering through a lush garden, “just… this!” and the hand that had been hidden behind his back whipped out to reveal a paper with a great red “93%” scrawled on it. 

“Eddie!” you sprung out of your chair and ran over to where he was to snatch the paper out of his hand. “This is fucking g-” 

But before you could finish your sentence, he flung his arms around you and drew you into a hug. “I’m a genius now, thanks to you,” he whispered into your ear, as you brought your arms up to loop around his back. 

“You don't even need me anymore,” you whispered back, trying to fight the urge to bury your head into the crook of his neck. 

Eddie pulled away abruptly, looking at you as if you had just slid a knife into his chest. “Don’t you try and get rid of me.” His face was inches from yours, hands dropping to rest against your hips instead of fully pulling away. You let your head tilt to the side gently.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He shook his head with a faux-anxious aire, “I’m gonna have to start failing my tests again so that you can’t escape, aren’t I?” 

You could barely even focus on what he was saying because of how vividly you were aware of how his hands rested against your jeans, how you could smell the weed in his hair and the leather of his jacket, how he hadn’t broken eye contact since he pulled from the hug. 

His smile had finally returned to his face, he had gone off on some tangent and was animatedly talking, clearly still giddy from his test score. That smile had become a very important part in your life as of late. They weren’t rare or extreme, but they were somehow better every time. 

That night, you slept thinking of Eddie’s being. 

—

Liking Eddie Munson was hard. 

Eddie Munson sticks to what he knows. Eddie Munson gets bored easily. Eddie Munson won’t ask you out. 

You knew he was going to Steve Harington’s birthday party. You didn’t know how he even managed to get invited but you knew he was going. And he knew that you were going too. 

But when you got to Steve’s house, he was nowhere to be found. You had spent the first 30 minutes, walking around and making brief conversation with people as you half-searched for Eddie. As you made your way around the house, still unable to find him, you began asking people off-handedly if they had seen the freak (under the pretext of giving him his math homework back). The few answers that you received that weren’t weird looks got you nowhere, and eventually you found yourself finally just aimlessly roaming through the upper floors of the Harringtons' house. 

It was useless. The top level was completely empty, save for a rather awkward encounter with Nancy and Steve as they were leaving his bedroom, and you knew it was time to leave. At the very least, you needed some fresh air if you weren't going to entirely go, so you returned to the first floor and into the foyer.

You flung the front door open with a huff and your eyes landed on a figure that was standing on the porch of the house across the street. Cigarette haze clouded around him, catching the moonlight in its smoke and giving him an almost dreamlike glow as he let his head hang back. Despite yourself, you let his name fall from your lips, shouting across the empty street, “Eddie?” 

He casually swung himself around to face you, eyes foggily making their way to meet your own, lighting up as they cleared. A smile had begun to spread across his face and he lifted up his hand to beckon you to him. Slowly, you floated across the abandoned road and up the few stairs to the neighbors porch, leaning over the balcony railing and basking in the cool spring night that you both found yourself in. Eddie gently leaned his back against it, taking a drag from his half finished cigarette as he did so. 

“Do you wanna go on a walk with me?” 

You didn’t try to hide the grin that tugged at your lips. “Where to?” 

“Just around,” he said with a shrug and a smile, and he set off, one hand deep in his pocket and smoke billowing from his lips. Following behind him, you quickly caught up and paced beside Eddie, melting into the mix of collonge and cigarettes that exuded from him. 

The faint murmur of music could still be heard coming from the street, pumping adrenaline and impulse through your bones as if it was the cold itself. You, again, could feel the leather of Eddie's jacket brushing against your bare arm, static branching from the skin. Lonely street lamp’s glow glinted on the shining leather and in the brown of his averted eyes. 

Eddie broke the silence first, eyes trained at the stars.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” He let out some smoke with a puff. 

It took you a while to recover enough words to form a sentence in reply and, thankful for Eddie's avoidance of eye contact, you let yourself breath before giving an answer. 

“What… about me?” You tried to come off as nonchalant but you could tell he could hear the tenseness dripping off your voice. 

“About” and it was his turn to waver now, sucking in an uneven breath that you could only just hear, “your… whole being.”

He pushed his head into his hands and let out a laugh. An actual, honest, almost desperate, laugh. “Every waking moment I’ve ever spent with you,” he continued, “Every word you’ve ever spoken, every time you’ve ever looked in my direction.” With each word he spoke he seemed to be in less and less control of what he was saying, more and more frenzied.

You hadn’t moved. You stood stagnant, in the middle of the empty street, streetlights spotlighting you and him, blacking out the rest of the world into dark expanse, and stared at Eddie Munson as he said words you couldn’t dream of and looked at you like he never had before. 

As Eddie stood just inches before you, a lock of hair caught between his teeth, looking at you for a response with worry etched deep in his features. You knew what you wanted to say, and when you breathed in and readied to reply, you just hoped it would come out how you wanted it to. 

“Eddie,” you reached out and took his hand, “Would you go on a date with me?” 

The worry that had felt so ingrained in his face dropped at all at once, and he gazed at you, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. 

“Did you mean that?” he whispered, so softly it was barely audible.

You let your forehead meet his, “Of course.”

When he spoke again his voice came out almost strained, as if he was trying to stay calm, "Then yes, yes, yes-" and, finally, he closed the gap between your lips, cupping your face and pressing against you like it was the last thing he would ever do.

And in that glorious moment it became very clear to you, hooking up with Eddie Munson was definitely not a one time thing.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy #1

Hey! I'm fully committing to the Eddie Munson sin bin. Read chapter 1 right here or on Ao3!!

Chapter One: Killer Queen

Summary:

Eddie just wants some new damn strings for his Fender.

You just want a relaxing shift at Greene's Bookstore.

Looks like no one is getting what they want today.

Eddie was having a shit day. First, he had used up the last of his stash without even realising (and his next drop wasn’t until next Wednesday), then he’d managed to snap his D string while practicing some fucking solo for Corroded Coffin, and then the damn guitar shop had been shut when he’d got there. At 2pm. On a Saturday.

What the fuck kind of guitar shop is shut on a Saturday??

Sure, usually he isn’t even awake at 2pm on a Saturday – and if he is, he sure as shit isn’t functional. But he’d promised the Hellfire kids that he’d have tonight’s session planned and ready to go and – though he knew exactly where he wanted to get them to – he sure as shit didn’t have any of it written down. Not to mention needing to plan backup plans B through Z just in case the little shits decided to go off on a frolic of their own instead of the very neatly laid out and obvious plot in front of them. There was really no telling how any given session would go.

What was he doing again?

Right. Music shop shut. What now? His feet just seemed to keep going, despite having no real destination. The chains on his denim jacket clink aesthetically as he saunters down the busy high-street. It’s really too hot to be wearing the jacket, but he’d be damned if he gave it up. Fuck it. Cold six pack from the corner shop and he’d go back home and knuckle down on planning this damn session. He had big plans for this campaign. His last quest before graduating (or getting kicked out).

His swaggered walk is interrupted rather abruptly when a young woman in a light chequered dress suddenly hops from a doorway in front of him. She stops and blushes profusely, a small stack of dime novels clutched to her chest. She manages to eek out an apology while he sweeps his arm out in an exaggerated motion to let her past. He catches the names Linda Howard and Jude Deveraux on the spine of the books she carries as she scurries away.

Curiosity piqued, he leans forward to see into the mystery doorway. The door is painted an emerald green, peeling at the edges, and is held open by a stack of ancient-looking hardback books. The equally ancient-looking wooden shelves that line the walls of the store are nearly bowing under the weight of stacks upon stacks of books. What wall space is not covered by the truly obscene number of books this store contains is plastered with framed pictures – portraits, landscapes, a taxidermied butterfly or two. There’s a heavy-looking, round table in the middle of the room, stacked high with dozens of paperbacks and hardcovers alike. The windows at the front of the store are partially covered by heavy swathes of a dark fabric. The store is cool, but warmly lit, and smells strongly of incense.  A few thick carpets cushion his trademark white sneakers as he walks in. There’s a beanbag in the corner.

Behind an almost comically large and antiquated cash register sits a woman. She sits with her legs crossed on a bar stool, her floating foot bouncing rhythmically to a Queen song playing on a turntable in the corner. Killer queen, he thinks.

Eventually she looks up at him with a polite smile, “Can I help you, sir?”

You eye the guy who’s walked into your quaint little store. He looks thoroughly out of place. The dude is probably wearing more chains than fabric. He doesn’t say anything – yet – just stands and looks around with wide eyes. You collect the small stack of dime novels the young lady (Tanya, her name was. Lovely girl.) hadn’t bought from the front desk, and busy yourself with slipping them onto one of the higher shelves – away from any young kids’ prying eyes.

He eventually tilts his head towards you from where he’s scanning one of your bookshelves, scruffy long hair following his movement like a paid actor, “Yeah. You sell any real books or is it just the uh… smut?” Oh, you already don’t like him. He looks far too pleased with himself. Stupid smug look pulling his lips into a lopsided grin. It’s almost familiar – that smile, and those eyes.

“We cater to all tastes and interests here at Greene’s, sir,” you respond dryly, slotting the last of the paperbacks into the, frankly, stuffed shelf and turn to face your new customer with your best customer service grin, “Are you looking for something more romantic, perhaps? Or will the smut do?”

Your goading only serves to broaden that boyish grin, it meets his round eyes and—

Oh.

You totally knew this guy. This royal pain in your ass. This motherfucker. With his stupid brown eyes and, honestly, ridiculous band shirts.

“Eddie.”

It’s not a question – it doesn’t need to be. You definitely know him. This dick would beg you for answers in English and science, then – then!! – have the sheer audacity to commandeer whatever classroom, drama studio or back office you had booked for your writing club just to move his god damn Dungeons and Dragons game in.

He-

He’s even wearing the dumb fucking shirt.

He… looks puzzled.

“Have we… met?”

Lord help you not commit murder in this bookstore today.

You stare at him blankly, half expecting this to be some joke. Nope? Great. Fine. You turn back to your shelves and pretend to be busy organising the mess of paperbacks, “Something like that.”

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans (how he has the space to even fit them in there with the way the denim clings to his legs like a second skin – you have no idea) and takes a few slow, meandering steps towards you, “So I don’t even get a name? A hint maybe?”

“A… hint.” You try not to sound slightly pissed. You fail. You blame it on this book that simply refuses to go in its place.

“Sure. You clearly know who I am - yet I have no idea who you are. A tragedy if I may say so. One that I would very much like to rectify.” He leans one shoulder against the shelf to your right, hands still wedged into his pockets, all charm and wit. When had he gotten so confident?

And is… is he trying to flirt with you? Hell no. Hell. No. Absolutely not – not Eddie fucking Munson. The guy who once nearly choked on a fucking plectrum after carrying it around in the corner of his mouth all day to try and seem all cool and metal in eighth grade. You spent near a goddamn hour with him at the damn nurse’s office and missed a whole class on tectonic plates.

“Clearly not tragic enough for you to remember my damn name the first time around, Munson,” you snip back, “Shouldn’t you be playing knights and monsters somewhere?”

He almost rises to the bait. Almost. It was always a sure-fire way to derail him – misquote some lore or spout some nonsense about his fantasy game and he’d sit and prattle away at you, spilling facts and anecdotes like a broken faucet. Instead, he watches you walk stiffly back to your high stool behind the cash register and leans his elbows on some books stacked precariously high on the centre table. He leans his chin on one hand, continuing to watch you in that infuriating way.

“No. No I’d definitely remember you, so how…” he squints, deep in thought for a second, then something seems to click:

“You been stalking me, pretty girl?”

This time it’s your turn to choke.

You splutter at his jab – you’re not sure which you’re more offended by, the stalking accusation, his use of ‘pretty girl’, or the fact he still can’t remember your damn name. He’s got that glint in his eye. That one where he’s pulled off some clown act just for laughs – you saw it often in middle school.

“I- Of course not, Munson,” you glare back at him. God, you hope you aren’t red right now. Your face sure feels hot enough for it, “If you aren’t going to buy something, then leave.”

“Hey now, hey. I’m sorry, was that too far?” He backtracks softly, hands raised in front of him placatingly. The asshole even seems sincere about it. Weirdo.

Then, something clicks again – you can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind – and he cuts you off before you even get a chance to respond.

“Oh! Oh, shit, it’s you! The uh- the um… the book club girl!”

Great.

He has one hand pressed to his forehead, the other outstretched, alternating between frantic clicking and pointing as he desperately tries to remember your damn name. It’s almost painful to watch. He struggles for another few seconds, even starting to bounce on his heels amidst all the hmm’s and uh’s. You decide to put him out of his misery, biting your own name out from behind clenched teeth and crossed arms.

He throws both hands up dramatically, “Of course! God! How could I forget. Y’know, I think you single-handedly got me through ninth grade by letting me copy off you in all of Ms Davis’ quizzes.”

You arch a brow at him, “No shit Eddie. I don’t think I ever saw you write anything down. Ever.”

He laughs boisterously, “Yeah! I still don’t.” His laugh simmers down to that ever-present grin, “So hey, what are you doing here? I thought you’d have gone out of state for college the second you graduated.”

You fight off a wince, “Well. Plans change.”

He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t.

“Very cryptic! I like it!” He carries on grinning, unperturbed by your loaded response, “So hey, got any recommendations? I’m thinking fantasy, but nothing too heavy or, y’know, smutty, can’t be blushing like a fair maiden in chemistry.”

Damn. Damn. Your one weakness. You love giving book recommendations – and he even seems sincere about wanting your opinion – even if he is making a joke out of it.

Fuck it. “Wasn’t aware that you could even read, Munson.”

He looks giddy as you get to your feet – despite your jab at his ability.

“Well, I thought you could teach me Beauty-and-the-Beast-style sometime. Until then at least I can look at the pictures.” He quips back, undeterred. He even throws in a wink at you (which you steadfastly roll your eyes at) when you make eye contact with him.

“Didn’t know you’d become a wit either.” You snipe dryly – though there’s no real venom behind it anymore. You’re tracing the shelves, looking for a familiar spine.

“You know me, pretty girl. Always full of surprises.”

You shoot him another withering stare before you crouch down to check the lower shelves – you swear that book was around here somewhere - “Use my damn name, Munson.”

“Only when you use mine, pretty girl.” You can see him rocking from his heels to his toes out of the corner of your eye. Oh he’s enjoying himself far too much.

“Ha! Found it,” you spring back to your feet, dusting your knees off and wielding a small but thick paperback in Eddie’s direction, “The first instalment of one Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series: The Colour of Magic.”

“Terry… Pratchett?” He takes the book from your hands gently, turning it over after inspecting the front cover.

“Yep. Wrote Strata? Dark Side of the Sun? God, Munson, you been living under a rock? Fantastic Sci-fi books, if that’s your thing. This one is more fantasy-comic. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He nods slowly while you talk at him, appraising the blurb on the back.

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

If you’re being totally honest, you expected him to put up at least some kind of complaint. Maybe a jab or two at your expense. But no, he’s already rifling through his pockets for his beat-up leather wallet.

“… Really?”

“Yeah. You sold me,” He slaps a crumpled note into your hand, “You read a lot of fantasy, pretty girl?”

You’re still reeling as you round the cash register again, enough to not comment on the ‘pretty girl’ thing, “Yeah- yes, I do. I loved the Silmarillion – really, all of Tolkien’s work.”

You’re so busy with the rusty old register that you miss the way his eyes practically glow. He sidles up to the other side of the front desk, smoothly sliding his hands onto the weathered wood.

“You know…” you pause, midway through digging his change from the register. That was a very dangerous tone he just picked up. He continues, a sly drawl to his delivery; “D&D is like a fantasy book that you get to be in—"

“I’m not joining your damn goon squad, Munson.”

“Come on, you’d love it! It’s totally fantasy, you can be whoever- whatever you want, there’s romance, and action – and magic!” He’s leaning towards you now, hands still planted on the worktop, voice equal parts enthusiastic and whining.

You regard him dubiously.

He begins to try and sweeten the deal, “I’ll buy the beer?”

You arch your eyebrow.

“Donuts?”

Your lips begin to quirk.

“Fine. I’ll throw a joint in too. You’re really taking me for all I’m worth here.”

You continue your silence. You tell yourself you just want to see how far he’ll go just to get you to join his little game.

He tilts his head down, looking up at you with warm, doey eyes and dark lashes, “C’mon, pretty girl. I’m begging here.”

Oh no. You really don’t like the way that look made your stomach drop, like someone pulled that gaudy, patterned rug from the shop floor from right under your feet.

You consider it hard, “Just one session? And you’ll stop being weird about it?”

He breaks out into the most dazzling smile, “Fuck yeah. You busy tonight?”

...Shit.

July 1967 Interview between Paul, George and two American Schoolgirls

Found out about this interview when reading a comment section. The interview itself is adorable all-round with both Paul and George being very sweet and open to the girls (Paul even shows them his kittens!). The girls too are so obviously teenagers and so sweet and earnest in their excitement.

Lots of interesting little insights in this one like George’s uncomfortable relationship with fame and Paul not thinking that the Beatles could ever stop being the Beatles. Quite tellingly, he also goes on a brief tangent about parents giving children liberties when one of the girls tells him that her mother is going to be angry at her sneaking off. His tangent ends up with him saying he wanted to present a ‘’view of the people that don’t want to be spanked anymore, thank you, Daddy.’’ The girls fathers had not been mentioned. 😬

wish i had a friend in this town

Take You Home | Part Two

Eddie x Fem reader.

Summary: After an argument, you’re determined to prove Eddie is wrong about you. You decided you’re going to Jason Carver’s party alone. Eddie is set on finding you, worried what kind of situation you might find yourself in. He quickly realizes how right he was to worry and convinces you to leave with him. (Mentions of drinking and potentially violent situations.)

Shit! Shit! Shit! Eddie forcefully smacked his hand against the steering wheel. How the fuck am I supposed to find her? Roll down the windows and call her name like goddamn Lassy? Eddie’s van tore down the pavement, Dio at top volume as he wracked his brain on where you might be. She wouldn’t really be at Jason’s would she? The two of you made fun of Jason all the time. In fact, Eddie loved to climb onto tables, giving his best impression and interpretations of Jason’s speeches. Your favorite being his ‘where is the clitoris?’ speech. He’d mimic the hand gestures and all, his shaggy hair shaking wildly. ‘WE CAN FIND IT! If it exists. EITHER WAY WE’RE NOT GIVING UP!’ He literally had you laughing so hard you were in tears. That was a proud moment for Eddie. No way she’d go….but if she wanted to get back at me she would.

Given all the popular hangout spots were closed for the night, Jason’s house was the best lead. Problem was, Eddie had no idea where Jason lived. He was perfectly happy with that guy taking up as little space in his brain as possible. He wasn’t sure if it was his disdain for him and his basketball buddies or Holy Diver rattling the interior of the van, but he was now a man on a mission. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and laid on the gas. He’d drive all over Hawkins if he had to. Has she even drank before? Ugh, she’s probably a light weight too. He was certain if he didn’t find you soon enough, you’d be throwing your guts up in a bush somewhere. Which to Eddie, seemed like more fun than studying for biology. But it wasn’t something he wanted for you.

He found himself somewhere he wasn’t too familiar with. White two story houses with paved driveways and well maintained lawns. It’s gotta be around here. He cut the music and began scanning the area. It didn’t take too long to find. He came upon a modestly immaculate home. Through the trees he could see plastic cups littering the yard and teens smoking in the driveway. The thump of music could be heard coming from inside the house. Yep, this is definitely it. Eddie switched off the engine and began making his way to the house. He assumed there would be a few people there less than happy to see him. He just prayed you weren’t one of them.

The closer he got to the house, the more familiar the faces in the driveway became. Clients. One was a regular, Tate. Tate was a stand-up guy. Very punctual and genuinely pleasant during their transactions. Eddie was a little shocked to see him there. As he looked around, he noticed the crowd wasn’t entirely what he expected. He imagined testosterone filled, wannabe frat-boys everywhere. This seemed way less hostile. Band geeks, science nerds. And now, Eddie the Freak.

“EDDIE? NO WAY! You’re here?! NOW it’s a party!” Tate exclaimed, the light from the house driving the shadows away from Eddie’s clean, shaven face. His brown eyes darted from one group to another. He could feel their heads turning in his direction. It was so nice of Tate to alert everyone of his arrival, but he would’ve much preferred to be in and out without notice.

Eddie took a slight bow. “Don’t get too excited. I’m off the clock. No goody bags.”

“…Well that sucks. BUT it’s still gooda see you, man.” Tate swayed as he slurred. Sweet kid. Eddie was glad he was having a good time.

“Hey, you know y/n, right? Is she uh- is she here?” He questioned Tate hopefully.

“Oh yea, shesin the house. But if you’re looking to spend some quality time with her, you’re prolly gonna have to wait in line. Andy has been barking up that tree aaall night.”

That son of a bitch. Eddie patted Tate on the back as if to thank him for his service before storming towards the door. He just knew that basketball prick was up to something. The closer he got, the harder his heart pounded. Through the door, he encountered a sea of people. Some happily surprised to see him. Others snickering and undoubtedly whispering to their friends about him or cracking jokes. Not that he cared. He was only there for you. He began pushing and weaving through the hoards trying to find you. He tried to call your name but it was instantly lost in the pulsating music and endless chatter.

“Watch where the hell you’re going!” An all too friendly party-goer sounded as he was accidentally nudged. Eddie offered up his hands to show no offense. This was impossible! The house was sizable to say the least and there were too many people. He struggled to think of where to start. If I were a drunk girl at a party…where would I be? Eddie pondered this for a second, someone’s elbow digging into his side as he squeezed through. Kitchen. Always the kitchen. He could see the white glow of light reflecting off tile and into the hall from where he was standing. Not much further.

————

“Let me pour you another.” Andy was way too close to you for Eddie’s comfort. From the doorway he could see the two of you.

“A-another? I feel like I’ve had a lot. Things are getting a little spinny.” An involuntary chuckle escaped your lips. At first you liked the way the alcohol made you feel. Your muscles loosened. Your body felt warm. So warm in fact, Andy took the liberty of helping you out of your jacket. But after about the third or fourth drink, things started feeling too surreal. Almost dreamy. You felt the cold envelope you hands as Andy filled your cup once more. You weren’t entirely sure what you had been drinking, but it was sweet, pink and citrusy.

“Why do I never see you at any of the games?” Andy brushed a piece of hair behind your ear before letting his hand rest on your upper arm. His palm run up to your shoulder and slyly, he slid a finger under the strap of your dress. If you had your wits about you, you probably would’ve slapped him or at least told him off. But you weren’t even sure if what was happening was real. How could it be? Andy coming onto you at Jason’s Carver’s house. That was some alternate reality shit. You shyly tried to pull your shoulder to your ear to break the contact, but lost your balance as your head swiveled. “Whoa, careful.” Andy laughed, moving his hands to your hips to steady you. He kept them there. It didn’t feel right, but your inebriated brain lacked the coherency to understand why or protest it.

You were visibly drunk. Your cheeks flushed pink and head heavy. Eddie knew with one look. Your body language was entirely different than your usual. Even so, he could see your discomfort towards Andy’s advances. His blood boiled under his skin as he watched him put his hands on you. He didn’t look half as drunk as you were. How fucking dare he think he can take advantage. No way that was happening. Eddie unapologetically shoved through the remainder of the crowd to get to you.

“Eddie?” You were so confused. You weren’t sure if it was really him or some girl with a similar haircut. It took a second for your vision to settle. Wait- Nope, definitely Eddie. “Wh-why are you-“

“Get your fucking hands off her, man.” His voice was low and gravely. Quick and biting. In one forceful motion, he grabbed The arm of Andy’s letterman jacket and ripped his hand off your waist. His sweaty palm leaving a wrinkle on your delicate dress.

“You got a problem, Freak?” Andy stiffened his posture. He turned away from you, giving Eddie his full attention. “Is this your girl?”

As quick as the flick of a lighter, Eddie’s eyes shot to you. There was something there, but you couldn’t read him in your state. “N-No, she-“

“Then I suggest you back off, Freak.” He punctuated the sentence with a shove to Eddie’s leather clad shoulder. But Eddie didn’t flinch. He barely budged. His eyes grew wild and dark. You’d never seen him like this. His nostrils flared and jaw clenched. Andy stepped closer and puffed his chest as if trying to instigate a reaction. You looked down and saw Eddie’s ringed hand curling into a tight fist. He was volatile. You felt like he could take him honestly, but one swing and Eddie would be jumped. Andy would definitely have backup nearby. You weakly placed your hand over his fist.

“Eddie, don’t.”

“Get your jacket. I’m taking you home.” You didn’t protest. He continued staring daggers into Andy, refusing to break eye contact.

“You really leaving with this guy, y/n?”

You ignored the question, allowing Eddie to drape your jacket over your exposed shoulders, eyes still locked on Andy. You’d never seen him look so intense or intimidating. It was kinda scary. Andy shook his head in disbelief. Munson had swooped in and stole you right out of his hands. “Whatever.” He huffed. Surprisingly, he let it go and skulked away. It was a relief. Things could’ve gotten messy. As you tried to walk away with your friend, you struggled to keep even footing. Why was it suddenly so hard to walk like a normal person? You nearly tripped over your own feet.

“I got you.” His voice was almost a whisper. He leaned down to drape your arm over his shoulder, his other arm around your waist. Maybe it was because he was familiar or maybe you could feel the difference of intentions, but his touch felt way more comfortable than Andy’s. You could smell his cologne mixed with the smoke of his last cigarette. Weirdly pleasant. “Let’s get you the hell out of here.” You leaned into your friend, the leather of his jacked sticking to your cheek. With closed eyes, you let him guide you back to the van.

————

For a while you drove in silence. You thought maybe he was pissed at you. Every so often you could feel him look at you, but you were too embarrassed to meet his eyes. You imagined the looks he gave you would either rack you with guilt or tear through you like paper. Such an idiot. The alcohol in your system felt amplified in the dark of the van. The road ahead you felt winding and barely recognizable.

“…You okay?” He finally spoke.

“Myeah, I’m fine. Woozy is’all.” You spoke quietly to conserve what energy you felt you had left. The silence overtook the two of you again. You could feel there was something else he wanted to ask, but he almost seemed afraid to.

“…..he didn't….he didn’t like-“ Eddie bit at his thumb and nervously shifted his focus between the road and you.

“No…no, that was as far as it went.” You looked down at the wrinkle on your dress. You wondered what might’ve happened if Eddie hadn’t have shown up when he did. “But I’m glad you were there.”

The air felt heavy with a tension you may have even struggled to grasp while sober. “You were that mad at me?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinched together as he spoke.

“I just wanted to prove you wrong. But I guess I fucked up. Probably ruined your night.”

”Ruined my night? Are you kidding? I got to crash Jason Carver’s house party and leave with the hottest girl there.” His toned lifted to it’s natural state, clearing away some of the edge you felt. He couldn’t have meant that. You smirked and rolled your eyes. “….you do look nice though.” His face softened as he eyed you up and down in your party dress. He had never seen you in something like that. His gaze lingered momentarily on the hem of the skirt, slightly raised, resting against your skin. It wasn’t a hungry look. Still, he quickly pulled his eyes back up to the road as if he was committing sin. “So is this a new look for you?”

“No. After tonight it returns to the back of the closet.” You preferred your jeans and T-shirts. “So…where are we going exactly?”

“Um, I’m taking you back home?”

“Nononono. I can’t do that. I told my parents I was staying with a friend. My dad has a nose like a bloodhound, okay. If-If he catches me sneaking back in, he’ll know right away. I-I can’t.” You we’re in full protest of the idea.

“Well is there somewhere else you can go?”

You thought about his question for a second. The first thing that came to your mind was Maddy. You always thought you’d be attending your first big party together. The two of you crashing at her place afterward. “No.” You admitted, voice sullen and small.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Eddie may not have know the nature of it, but he knew the word was laden. “Tell you what, I gotta stop of for gas. It was a bit of an adventure finding your ass tonight.” He grinned, begrudgingly. “I’ll run in, grab you something to sober you up a little then you can come stay with me. You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor. And as soon as you wake up, I’ll run you back home. ‘Kay?” He’d really do all that? It seemed like such a grand gesture, but he was so casual about it. He was probably still feeling guilty about what happened in the woods.

All at once the heat radiating from the vents changed from pleasant to smothering and sickening.

“Eh-Eddie I don’t feel-“ A slight tremble at the end. His head snapped to you so quick he could’ve got whiplash. The color completely drained from your face. He looked at you in horror. He knew what was coming.

“JESUS CHRIST! Don’t you do it, y/n! DON’T!” He frantically bounced in his seat. The van bounced with him adding to the queasy, fun-house effect stationed on your insides. “D-D-D UHHHH” he stammered. “ROLL THE WINDOW DOWN OR SOMETHING! I am NOT cleaning up after you!”

You clumsily grabbed the window crank on the side of the door. Just as quickly as you let the window done, you shoved your head out. The chilly fall air filled your noise and eased you back from the verge of sweat. The feeling in your stomach slowly began to subside. You breathed in the relief. It smelled like wet leaves and asphalt. You took a moment to appreciate it. Beyond the sound of wind fluttering past your ears, you could hear music. Eye’s Without A Face by Billy Idol played with Eddie inside the van. A bubbly smile found it’s way to you. Maybe it was the alcohol, but life seemed to lose all its heaviness in that moment. You were carefree. Is this what Eddie was trying to get through to you? He watched you from the corner of his eye, smiling to yourself. Hair blowing in the breeze, singing into the wind. He sang along with you.

‘I’m thinking of you. You’re out there, so say your prayers’