You Set The Scene So Well I Imagined Myself In The Lake With Him - Blog Posts

hello, mi amor. "barefoot" from the June prompts, with señor Munson

please and thank you 🥰

Living on a Prayer (Eddie Munson x reader)

(A/N: Tori, thank you so, so SO MUCH for being my first request EVER, this means a lot to me because I was terrified when I decided to do this that I wouldn't get any. I had been toying with this idea already but your prompt was what pulled everything together in my mind. This is based on the song, 'Living on a Prayer' by Bon Jovi. Shoutout to @hersweetrevenge for also requesting 'barefoot' though I have another thing in the works for that <3) Hope this isn't too angsty! lots of hurt and comfort ahead.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” 

“Huh?” 

You’d barely heard Eddie, gaze adrift as the Hawkins streets flash by in a blur and the early afternoon wind fans your face. 

“Got something on your mind?” He lowers the volume of the radio, glancing at you while he drives. 

“I’m okay, Eds.” You smile at him briefly before your sight is pulled back to the passing sights outside the window once more. Better to fix on the progressions of streets and locals and trees than Eddie’s knowing brown eyes, or else a wayward tear might escape you beyond your will. 

“No you’re not. What is it?” 

“It’s nothing, promise.”  

His silence is louder than words and from your peripheral view you could still see him staring intently, pleading for you to give him an opening. He never pushed you for anything and you appreciated his patience, for life had shaped a hard shell around you that was tough to crack at times, even after having been dating Eddie for as long as you had. 

“It’s silly.” You shrug. 

“Try me.” 

“I just have a lot on my mind.” You cannot let your voice waver, not now. “I guess I’m just tired.” 

You try to convince yourself that the itch beneath your eyes was merely exhaustion, lack of sleep – instead of the urge to cry you’d been fighting since the moment you woke up to another day of having to face the same shit as always. 

On the weekends, you worked the morning shift at a small diner downtown, and every Saturday, Eddie would pick you up from your shift and from then the whole day was entirely yours to do whatever you desired. Sometimes you’d accompany him to one of his dealings, spend all that money on lunch and beer and head out to the lake to smoke and listen to music. On occasion you’d just head straight to his home to watch TV or read as he practiced his guitar solos. 

You treasured your Saturday evenings more than anything in your life and you pretty much lived your days waiting for that 6th day of the week to come. 

But that first stretch of the day, it was hell. 

You’d been feeling like you’d been running on fumes since the semester began, with your routine beginning to take a toll on you as the endless days of repetitiveness dragged on. School all morning, work all evening, managing to do your homework in between breaks or late at night, leaving you no time for a proper sleep. 

By the time Saturday rolled around you were just dead tired and getting up in the morning for that one shift was an entire task on its own, when you wanted nothing more than to just sleep uninterrupted and actually wake up when your body felt rested, not by the shrill of an alarm. On the other hand, since Starcourt had opened its doors and the disaster that came afterwards, it left the little diner completely deserted. They might as well just close it already, but the owners kept holding on to hope that their luck might change. 

Not a soul visited downtown anymore – life in Hawkins in general just wasn’t what it used to be – which further enraged you because despite that, you still had to be there on your feet with a fake smile plastered on your face, serving the ghosts of the customers that used to come. 

You just wanted to be done with it already. With everything. 

You had no strength left to keep pushing through – burning on both ends of the stick. 

At least graduation was right there at the cusp of this semester, you just had to endure a couple of more weeks and you’d be free from the prison that was high school, unless– 

“--babe? We’re here.”  

You hadn’t even realized you had gotten lost in your mental ramblings and had tuned Eddie out again. 

By the time you regain consciousness of your surroundings you realize that Eddie had parked in the same spot as always, right by the Lakeside. “Oh! Sorry, Eddie. I’m feeling really out of it today.” 

“We can always head back home if you’re not feeling well.” 

“No, no, no, it’s fine, don’t worry about me.” 

He keeps staring, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the root of your sadness projected on your eyes, but you’re grateful that he doesn’t bring it to the light if he does find it. 

“Well let’s get some food in you then, sweetheart.” 

He sets up a blanket right by the edge of the water and cranks up the volume of his van’s stereo. The mood today wasn’t for a specific album so he just left the radio playing while you settled down with a warm combo from Benny’s Burgers and a couple of milkshakes.  

The evening passed by peacefully, with Eddie’s head on your lap, stealing your fries – which, at that point you’d given up on playfully scolding him and just fed them to him; talking about everything and nothing and enjoying the element of surprise as to which song was going to begin playing on the radio. 

Eddie didn’t breach the subject, though he never took his hands from you, softly caressing your sides, holding your hand, or turning his head into your tummy as his way of signaling that he wanted you to play with his hair. 

Feeling the weight of his body in yours grounds you. 

And as the air turns cooler and the colors in the sky transform into this great watercolor painting of pinks blending into light blues, you gradually start to feel lighter in your heart – at least for this moment, here and now. 

The song that had been playing on the radio dies down, and the crackling grain of the transmission fades into a mystical synth in crescendo giving way to the recognizable baseline of Bon Jovi’s newest single, Living on a Prayer, making Eddie spring to his feet. 

“Ughh I fucking hate Bon Jovi, man!”  

“Noooo, no, Eddie, don't change the station! I like that song!” 

He stops in the way to his van and looks absolutely baffled but he’s never been one to deny you anything, so he reluctantly complies and comes back to his sitting position beside you – looking like a scolded puppy, nonetheless. “Okay, for you, (Y/N), just for you.” 

“Ohh come on, what do you have against it?” 

“Jon Bon Jovi’s just a pretty boy, people only like that band because they have a crush on him. Who names a band after their own last name anyway? A super douche, that’s who.” 

“Oh my god, Eddie, that’s not true! Besides, you practically have the same hairstyle!” 

Your belly hurts from laughing at Eddie’s bulging eyes and dramatic gasp the moment you say that – the harder you keep laughing the goofier he gets, pretending to be stabbed in the heart and grunting exaggeratedly as he throws himself on his back.  

“Oh please don’t say that, (Y/N), you killed me.”  

“Like you don't have your fair share of questionable preferences, Munson! I know you have a Rod Stewart tape in your car, I’ve seen it.” 

Now he really looked like a deer-in-headlights, lying on the ground gaping at you. 

“...No I don’t” 

“Ohh yes you do! You want me to go get it?” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he sits up and pulls you to him, “there’s no need for that kind of aggression, babe.” 

“You’re something else, Munson,” you lovingly shake your head before leaning on his embrace and turning to look at the horizon. The sky was now changing into deeper hues of blue as the evening got colder, and you couldn’t help but feel melancholic over your time here with Eddie coming to an end soon. 

Of having to go back to the dim lights and suffocating walls of your house. 

We've got to hold on to what we've got

It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not

We've got each other and that's a lot for love

We'll give it a shot

“He’s right though,” Eddie murmurs. 

“Bon Jovi? About what?” 

Eddie replies by getting to his feet and extending a palm out to you, as an exact representation of the lyrics currently being sung. “Take off your shoes,” 

“Just what kind of freakish thing you’re gonna have me do, Munson.” 

He merely chuckles and rolls his eyes, “Just do it.” 

He removes his reeboks and socks before rolling his jeans to his knees, prompting you to do the same. 

When you’re both bare footed, Eddie interlocks your fingers with his and gently leads you until you’re both ankle deep in the lake, carefully threading on the surface until you’re able to have your full calves bathed in the cooling water, with the song now playing from a distance, mixed with the crickets coming out to sing from their hideout and the sound of the waves lapping at your feet. 

Gina dreams of running away

When she cries in the night, Tommy whispers

Baby, it's okay, someday 

He envelopes himself around you, letting you rest your head on the side of his neck while you cling your palms to his shoulder blades, tightening the hold and concentrating on his scent in order to contain the dam of tears that had been threatening to come flooding out all day. You knew that it wouldn’t take much for it to break and spill out, but you wanted to hold on until you were all alone in your room at night, with no one to see. 

You didn’t want to soak Eddie’s denim vest with your tears. 

Didn’t want to burden Eddie with your feelings, although deep down inside you knew he would never back out on you like that. 

He started to sway to the music despite his earlier complaints about the song (and you’d definitely tease him for it later when the opportunity arises). 

…we're halfway there

Woah, livin' on a prayer

Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

You were so focused on trying to keep it together that when you feel the feather-light press of his lips on your forehead, all the whitenoise inside your brain shuts and all you could do was nuzzle your cheek to his chest and pray this moment lasts a lifetime. 

“Listen, I know you’re tired,” Eddie mutters against your hairline, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I get the feeling I know what’s been stressing you these days. We’re so close to the finish line, sweetheart. It always gets rougher before we start to see the light at the end of the tunnel.” 

Your heart constricts with his words. 

“But what if nothing changes after we graduate? What if things don't get better, what if this is it? All I see in my future is work and the dullness of this town. And what if you don’t graduate, what am I gonna do then? What’s gonna happen to us?” 

“Nothing is gonna happen to us, and don’t worry about me not graduating. Don’t worry about any of that right now. Right now we’re listening to a shitty song – ” 

You lift your head with a playful leer – 

“-- We’re listening to Bon Jovi,” he chuckles, “in the middle of nowhere, our feet deep in the Lake. I’m not worried about anything other than my feet getting cold and you shaming me for liking Rod Stewart.” 

…Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not

You live for the fight when it's all that you've got

You wrap your arms around his neck and truly look at him then – at his bright eyes filled with enough hope for the two of you. 

If all else in your life spiraled out of order, you could always come back to this. 

To this moment on a summer’s eve, on this safe haven that is Eddie’s embrace and the music that transports you away to an idyllic place where it’s not 1986. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” 

He’s got a tender grin as he clears a lone tear trailing down your cheek with his thumb and cradles your face with his palms. 

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for, baby.” 

…Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

Woah, livin' on a prayer