#I wanna read a book | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strangerstilinski · 1 month ago

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𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Person A falls first, Person B falls harder — With a slightly more literal approach. [ 5.7k ]

𝗰𝘄: fluff, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader (but pls lmk if i missed anything), eddie does call reader "pretty" & "gorgeous", possibly probably incorrect dnd references, minor head injury, i am not a medical professional so don't yell at me, reader is mentioned to have flyaways but no other hair descriptions. don't mess w eddie bcos he can & will prank you <3

𝗮/𝗻: initially based off of this post but, oops! somewhere along the line the og plot ran away from me. still might fuck around and write a version more similar to the original post in the future! :)

divider by @/hellfiremunsonn

Eddie's head throbs with the kind of strength that feels a little bit like he's been hit by a car. Or a semi-truck. Or a fucking train, maybe— Because holy shit, it fucking hurts.

His lips part on a strangled gasp. He manages to pry his eyes open just long enough for the sun to pierce his retinas like a goddamn knitting needle being stabbed straight through his skull and quickly pinches them shut again with a pained groan. He's cursing like a sailor through clenched teeth, dirt and grass rubbing into his clothes when he rolls to one side, feels a stupid dandelion tickling at his nose, and then promptly rolls onto his back again. Jesus, are his ears ringing? He can barely hear the sound of his own expletives over the rush of blood in his veins.

Jesus, he is such an idiot. He'd actually walked straight into a fucking lamppost. Like some bumbling imbesile in the Sunday Funnies. Eddie doesn't know where you are now — in any other situation he'd be desperately hoping that any bystanders somehow missed the painfully (ha) embarrassing blunder — But the only thing he can spare the brainpower to think about is the ache blooming sharply at the front of his skull.

Then he feels the stupid, scaldingly bright sun warm him until the back of his neck prickles with sweat, and for just a moment in his melodramatic heart—Eddie knows.

He knows he's a deadman. He's sure of it, in fact.

No point in driving himself to Hawkins Memorial to wait around in the ER, he was already a goner. As good as dead. His gravestone would read: Here lies Edward Munson, killed by his infatuation with the relative stranger who sits behind him in Economics and his own short attention span. (But in his humble defense, your smile is bright enough to rival the sun itself, and Holy hell you looked gorgeous today. Sue him if he'd wanted to stare at you just a little longer.)

Eddie is still rocking side to side in the grass when the sunlight over his body thins with a shadow. As if to add insult to injury, something knocks him in the ribs only a moment later. Eddie is still grumbling profanities when the fog in his ears clears enough to hear another voice, distantly familiar and so much nicer than the sound of his own.

He dares to open his eyes again, fighting against the pain in his head to squint against the harsh glare of the sun shining out from behind the–

Huh. He really must be dead.

Because Eddie is pretty sure there is an honest-to-god angel kneeling over him. Shit.

Five Minutes Earlier

You're sitting outside during your free period on one of the first few truly warm days of spring in Hawkins, trying to soak up as much fresh air as you can before the cold snap of 40 and 50 degree days the coming week has in store can wring out the final dregs of winter in the midwest.

The past weekend had been a beautiful respite. Friday it had been sunny and seventy-five by lunchtime. It was a tease of what's to come, so close you can practically taste it.

Finals, graduation, summer.

Today is much the same, so by the time the bell rings to signal the start of your free period, you’re already outside basking in the warm weather and attempting to make use of your good mood by finishing the reading for your English assignment, dull as the material may be.

You nearly drop the book cradled in your lap when the doors to the school suddenly burst open just ten feet from your sunshine-y spot in the grass outside the Hawkins High School science wing. The slam of metal hitting brick is jarringly loud. You flinch in surprise, gaze snapping toward the disruption as your heart rate works frantically to re-settle in your chest.

Your eyes find Eddie Munson.

He's standing tall in the doorway, his favorite leather jacket forgone with the warm weather, but he still has his seemingly very well-loved denim vest layered over a tshirt. His eyes are wild, his footing restless. His body seems to be thrumming with unsettled kinetic energy, leaving him wavering in place. He's searching for.. something — that much you can tell. His mouth presses anxiously against his knuckles as he spins in a jerky circle, cursing under his breath while the heavy doors slam shut once again behind him.

You watch as Eddie looks longingly to the edge of the student parking lot, just barely visible around the corner of the building. His face scrunches up in deliberation for a moment before his head jerks to the side, as if listening to some noise beyond the doors that doesn't quite reach you. He turns toward the line of bushes along the side of the building, just a few feet from where he still hovers at the side entrance. It seems as if he's debating something to himself before he gives an unsure shake of his head, and then suddenly Eddie is diving into the greenery headfirst.

The sight has you nearly choking on a gasp-turned-laugh. You watch the scene beginning to play out, feeling a bit like you must've been transported straight onto the set of I Love Lucy— like at any moment all color will fade from the world around you and leave behind only shades of gray. Cue the tinny laughter of a live studio audience.

The doors are slamming open once more before you can so much as blink. The jarring sound of metal colliding with the brick wall again meets your ears just as the last bit of Eddie's denim-clad leg disappears within the thicket of poorly tended branches and leaves. You take in the sudden barrage of green, white, and gold that emerges from the building. Letterman jackets hang loose over the shoulders of the two jocks who have stormed out after Eddie, deep scowls on their faces, expressions pinched and nostrils flared in annoyance.

“Damn it! We lost him-”

“Where the hell did he go?”

“How should I know? Shit, how's the freak so fucking fast?”

You huff a quiet laugh of amusement, shaking your head as you attempt to refocus on the book in your hands. You've barely finished re-reading the start of the paragraph you’d unwillingly abandoned during Eddie's dramatic exit when a voice slices through your focus.

“Hey!” One of the guys calls out.

You catch the way he relaxes his posture into something less intimidating the moment your gaze settles on him. One hand raises above his head in a halfhearted wave, a gentle smile on his face that you're familiar enough with to not fall for — It's dripping with the same faux-charm that you've seen rake in unprecedented extensions for late assignments or subservient smiles in the place of tardy slips. He fixes that same smile on you now, the kind of efficacy that could probably land the guy a leading role in the upcoming Drama Club production.

“–You, uh, you seen Munson around?”

Your own acting skills are put to the test when the bushes rustle just slightly at the mere mention of his name. It's an honest-to-God challenge to swallow down the laughter that threatens to spill from your lips. You do your best to paste on an look of confused nonchalance, taking a moment to school your expression while you slide your bookmark into place and valiantly fight the urge to flick your eyes toward the white, rubber soles poking out from beneath the shrubbery beside them.

“No, sorry.” The lie itself comes easy — The feigned apology etched into your expression, however, proves a little more difficult, “Haven't seen him.”

The guys look to one another with clear frustration. They begin to mutter back and forth, too quietly for you to make out their words, but from the obvious anger between them, you're able to put the pieces together fairly well. You've watched Eddie Munson piss off more than enough people from afar to make an educated guess as to the motive behind their current hunt.

The ever-magnetic Eddie Munson.

A majority of the time it's far more difficult for you to not get sucked into his tirades and rants than it is for you to simply allow your attention to be drawn straight toward him. The captivating boy with wild brown curls, and dimpled cheeks, and expressive eyes, and a laugh brighter than life itself.

You don't know Eddie, per say. You've never actually had a conversation longer than a few mundane interactions. During one of the more memorable ones, Eddie asked to borrow a pencil that he never actually returned — Instead he'd fixed you with an all-too-charming, lopsided grin at the end of the class and asked if he could use it for the rest of the day, seeing as he couldn't find his. Because apparently he owned only one pencil or something-

And Eddie had sauntered into class every day for the next few weeks with that very same pencil tucked behind his ear. His teeth carved little indents into the soft wood when he gently gnawed on it in thought. He'd drummed the eraser softly on his desk during quizzes, fidgeting with it teeter-tottering between his fingers while he pondered over multiple choice. The utensil whittled down more and more each time you saw him, until it was a mere stub shorter in length than Eddie's thumb — but still, he continued to use it even then. His dedication to keeping track of it for so long was endearing enough that you’d never once asked for it back.

While you're sure he'd be loath to hear it… Eddie Munson is cute. There's something real that sparkles in that easy charm he turns on the teachers when he wanders into the classroom ten minutes late, or on the lunch ladies when he's angling for an extra scoop of mac and cheese.

And sometime around December Eddie had begun leaving little doodles beside the red pen marking your grade on quizzes and assignments— Adorably disturbing animations of otherwise cute animals, a smiley face adorned with devil horns, a surprisingly detailed hand displaying a thumbs up, a stick figure with the same bald head and frizzy hair around his ears as your teacher. Whatever he could get away with scribbling in thirty seconds or so before continuing to pass the stack of day-old papers back.

There's a sweetly endearing boy threatening to sneak through the cracks in his facade — You'd noticed, and you've been quietly and embarrassingly smitten ever since.

Point is, Eddie is kind of a secret sweetheart. And you do feel confident in the assessment that even Eddie's craziest stunts are nearly always some sort of retaliation in defense of those he deems in need of his protection. The losers and the freaks and the outcasts. Those who would normally allow the abuse and ridicule from their classmates without putting up any real fight. Because if there is one thing you’re certain of, it's that under all of that bravado — hidden beneath layers of leather, ripped denim, and the illegal ink scratched into his skin — Eddie Munson is quite possibly the most genuine, well-meaning person you've ever encountered.

Which is to say, you're well-versed enough in his antics to know that while Eddie has surely gone out of his way and done something- He probably doesn't actually deserve the brutal ass-kicking that these two obviously have in store.

“But-” You call out suddenly when one of the guys teeters a small, unintentional step in the direction of the metalhead's current hiding spot, “I've heard he sometimes hides out from Principal Higgins in the track and field shed,” You fib easily. “Maybe you could check there?”

The guys seem to perk up at the suggestion, shooting you grateful smiles and waving as they bid you goodbye with a quick: “Yeah, we'll go give it a look! Thanks for the tip!”

It only takes approximately five seconds from the moment the heavy door slams shut behind them for Eddie to tumble out onto the grass just beyond the line of shrubbery. He curses up a storm all the while, letting out a little yelp when he has to kick one of his feet free from a tangle of low-hanging branches. You can just make out a few of his grumbled expletives along with the tinkling of the chain wallet clipped to his belt loop, the sound of metal on metal and twigs snapping making their way to you despite sitting at the far end of the grassy knoll.

He scrambles back to his feet in a rush, cheeks pink, wide-eyes flitting about in the distance until his gaze settles on you. Eddie's blush only darkens at the realization that you've seen his fall, but then his cheeks are dimpling with a wide, earnest grin, one hand coming up to shoot you a grateful wave as he takes just a few long strides in your direction.

“Hey, hi, it's you!” He calls out, kicking at the ground below him bashfully as his hands fall to his hips. “I mean. I, uh, thanks for the assist, there.��

“Oh, no problem,” You laugh, “Happy to help.”

“Well, ah… Just, let it be known that your gentle misdirection was greatly appreciated,” He finishes with a gracious little bow, and feels silly for about half a second before he hears you laugh softly at his theatrics and then any and all traces of insecurity immediately fly from his head to make room for the abundance of affection and puppy love that fills his chest.

As your laughter tapers out, a small beat of silence settles in the vast space between you.

“Right.” Eddie nods to himself as he speaks, waving once more when he begins to backpedal toward the parking lot a few yards behind him. “Well, don't tell anyone, but I'm cutting last period, so-”

You mime twisting a key to lock your lips, “Mum's the word.”

“Oh, mum, you say? Shit, here I thought you'd just send anyone else who asks after me on a futile side-quest to the track and field shed.” Eddie jokes, moving another two steps back toward the sidewalk. “My own personal mastermind rogue.”

The reference goes over your head, but the grin Eddie shoots you as he says it is enough of a thrill to have your stomach erupting with a small swarm of butterflies.

“I'm practically aiding and abetting,” You tease, rewarded with a sharp laugh that has Eddie's eyes glittering even from a distance. “Better be careful. Too many people come looking for you and I just might have to start keeping a tally.”

A hand flies up to his own chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, “Oh, but of course!” Eddie grins. “Merely name the time and place and I'd be more than happy to repay any and all debts owed.”

“I’ll keep you updated.”

You find yourself smiling back— can't seem to stop smiling, actually. You sort of wish he'd invite you to skip class with him, English assignment be damned. He won't, of course, it's not as if you're friends, but… The longing is there all the same.

“Right. I, uh.. Thanks again. I'll.. see you around?”

Does he look reluctant to leave or is your mind playing tricks?

“Yeah,” You pause for just a beat, “See you.”

Reluctant to look away from you just yet Eddie keeps moving backwards, his sneaker catching on cement for half a second before he steps up onto the curb behind him with only a small stumble.

He laughs good-naturedly at his own clumsiness, hands joined at his lower back as he breaks the lingering eye contact with an embarrassed bow of his head.

You watch with bated breath as Eddie nears a lamppost at the edge of the lot. Your lips part on a warning that proves to be about half a second too late.

Because Eddie has already turned on his heel and suddenly finds himself too close and moving far too fast to avoid walking into it— facefirst, at full-speed. Your entire body jolts just watching the impact from afar, your own yelp in your ears nearly drowning out the awful sound of his head colliding with metal.

You're scrambling to your feet as Eddie staggers back a step on wobbly legs, and you're abandoning your things to rush in his direction as his knees give out and he lands on his backside in the grass with a choked-off gasp of pain and surprise.

By the time you drop to your knees beside him, Eddie's already cursing up a storm. He's rolling side to side in the grass, long legs kicking out as if the constant movement might actually be able to siphon some of the pain from his head. Your knee catches him in the ribs in all of his thrashing, but Eddie seems too caught up in his hurt and his own dramatics to have even noticed.

“Fucking–” Eddie cuts off with a groan, long and drawn out as it rumbles in his throat. “Stupid piece of– What a stupid fucking place to put a god damn pole. Jesus H. Fucking Christ! Ouch–!”

“Oh god! Are.. Are You okay?” You manage to get in over the sound of his breathy expletives.

All of Eddie's writhing and flailing comes to a halt as he casts a look up in your direction, big brown eyes settling just long enough to be blinded by the sun behind you. He squints hard against the sheer brightness, his gaze instantly gone a little hazy. He looks at you for about half a second, empty gaze flitting over your face like he’s never seen you a day in his life.

“Ah.. Oh, damn it, you're pretty.” He manages before his eyes pinch shut against the onslaught of light penetrating his corneas with another curse, “Real pretty. Ah shit, did I fuckin’.. Am I honestly dead right now? Fuck.”

At least, you're mostly sure that's what he says. He's grumbling under his breath more than speaking, really. Regardless, you're going to reassure him, lips already parting to do just that, but Eddie hardly gives a moment of pause before babbling on faintly, words coming out worryingly garbled to your untrained ears.

“I-I mean, don't get me wrong, angel, alright?” Eddie’s words slur together, “I am, uh, pleasantly surprised if it's you welcoming me to eternity.” It sounds as if each word is heavy on his tongue, or perhaps, like each one is being forcibly dragged from the depths of his chest and they've lost some of their clarity by the time they reach his lips. “‘m sure you know I'm not exactly in a place to turn away a free pass into heaven, but, uh, Jesus- Or, sorry- Ow.” He finishes inarticulately.

You reach out cautiously, making for the area of skin hidden away beneath his fluffy bangs. Eddie startles the moment your fingers brush the welt forming on his forehead, despite how deliberately gentle you are with the movement. There's a bump, swollen under your fingertips and warm to the touch already, the injured skin flushed with heat — If the poor guy comes out of this with lasting brain damage, you're going to be seriously riddled with guilt for just existing to distract him in the first place.

“Fuck.” Eddie grumbles again in discomfort, halfheartedly swatting at your hand until it retreats from beneath his bangs.

His warm knuckles are such a stark contrast to your own, his fingers curling around the edge of your palm before you can fully retreat back into your own space. You ignore the way the metal of the ring on his middle finger pinches your skin when he squeezes your hand. You return his grip just as solidly while Eddie's head falls back to the ground with a dull thunk, your thumb swiping anxiously over the jut of his knuckle as he begins another round of disconcerting grumbling.

“Ohh, if I die, my– My uncle is gonna be pissed, man.”

He sure is babbling a lot for someone with a head injury. You wonder if that's normal — If it's a good sign or a horribly bad one.

You pull in a shaky breath, “You're not dy–”

Eddie doesn't seem to hear you over the light ringing in his ears. Rather, he's continuing on before you can finish, “Shit, he's gonna move ’imself back into my room ‘nd.. ‘N he'll see the state of my mattress. God. He's gonna see the shit stuffed under my mattress–”

You bypass the more obvious implications of his second statement (read: porno mags, drugs) despite your piqued interest, but you're far too stumped and curious to bite back a question regarding the prior.

“What's wrong with your mattress?”

It comes out quiet, but still, this time your voice works like magic at pulling Eddie's attention back on you lightning fast, as if he's noticing your presence for the first time all over again.

Like some sort of divine intervention, a thin cloud passes over the sky then. The filtered sunlight allows Eddie's gaze to fully catch yours, wide brown eyes meeting your open, blissfully honest expression of curiosity.

You're momentarily stunned by the way the molten chocolate of his eyes goes honeyed in the light, his irises glowing with an enchanting mosaic of brown and gold.

Eddie, himself, is still squinting against the light, but this time the brightness doesn't hit him with the immediate need to pinch his eyes shut again. Instead, his brain goes blissfully blank, distracted by the way the sky seems to cast a halo around your head. A few of your flyaways sway in the breeze, sparkling so pretty in the sunlight. He murmurs as much, the words nearly incomprehensible aside from the quiet utterance of ‘pretty’ that you catch slip from his lips for a second time.

“Eddie?”

You cut through his tumultuous inner monologue with a soft voice, worry etched into your expression. You can't help the way you scrunch the denim lapel at his neck in your anxious fist. You pull, just a little. His shoulder lifts an inch or so off the ground before you’re releasing him again, smoothing the fabric out over his clavicle with gentle fingers.

He still hasn't responded by the time you’re finished, so you try again.

“Hey, Eddie..”

His eyes drop from where they've been stuck somewhere just above your own, trailing slow down the length of your torso. You watch him finally take in the extent of your proximity bit by bit; your hand in his own, your knees in the grass beside him, the way your folded legs brush his hip, the fingers you have resting where his shoulder meets his neck, the little flap of denim at the collar of his battle vest caught between your fingers.

“What?” Eddie croaks after a few seconds of silence, the sound of your name falling from his lips immediately afterward fills you with a sense of relief the strength of which you've never quite experienced. “You.. Sorry. Uh, what’d you say?”

Still recovering from Eddie saying your name in that low, grumbly tone, your mouth quirks up at the corners of its own accord, a soft smile gracing your lips.

“You said something about the state of your m-” The words trail off, hand not currently trapped in his grip finding their way to the space between his brows. The pads of your fingertips brush featherlight over the microscopic hairs above the bridge of his nose, ever cautious in their ascent upward. “Nevermind. I just- Eddie.. Seriously. Are you okay?”

“I, uh.. Honestly, angel?” He cracks open just one eye, shooting you a playful grin, “Think I might be concussed.”

You laugh but it’s more in relief at his cognizance than genuine amusement.

“Here, let me-” You reach out a hand and Eddie allows you to slowly help him to his feet with minimal resistance. He sways precariously for only a moment in a struggle to regain his balance, but your hands are right there on his chest to help hold him aloft.

You carefully usher him back toward where you'd been reading in solitude earlier. Slowly, lest the metalhead suddenly collapse to the ground. You guide him by the hand, eyes flitting between Eddie's pain etched face and where his calloused palm is pressed firmly to your own.

As the two of you reach your abandoned belongings, you release his hand to drop to the ground and unzip your bookbag. It only takes a moment of rifling through your things, you find what you’d been looking for: a half-frozen ice pack, tattered kitchen towel still wrapped around it to protect your sandwich from going soggy.

You remove the towel now, turning to face Eddie right as he plops down in the grass beside you. He stretches out, long legs extended in front of him, leaning back on his hands with a casual coolness that makes your head spin. He's lounging next to you as if this is a totally normal occurrence. Like he skipped class and actually chose to come spend that time with you, of all people. Like he's not currently pretending there isn't a sharp ache in his head.

“For you.” You hold the ice pack out in offering, the plastic already beading with condensation in the warm air. “It's not frozen-frozen, but it's still pretty cold. I could run to the nurses office real quick, though, if you-”

“Nah. No need, sweetheart. No, this is great-” He takes the proffered item, fingers brushing yours again, “A Mastermind Rogue and a Healer. How lucky I am to have stumbled into your path this morning.”

He flashes you that entirely too charming smile again, cheeks dimpling in a way that sends your heartbeat into overdrive. You can't quite believe that before today you'd never really looked at him this close. Plenty of class periods have been spent staring at the back of his head studying the pattern of his frizzy curls — Far more time than you've ever spent actually looking at the blackboard at the front of the room. But now you've gotten close enough to notice the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, the long lines of his eyebrows usually hidden away beneath his bangs, the short, clean stubs of his fingernails and the green tint staining the skin underneath the ring on his index finger.

You doubt you'll ever be able to overlook him again after this.

Eddie must take your momentary silence for confusion, because he immediately delves into an explanation into DnD classifications. He uses simple terms, laying it out in a way that would make sense even if you had no prior knowledge of the game. It's no wonder he's in charge of the after school club, because while he’s boisterous and loud and sometimes a little bit wild and scary on purpose — He can also be so gentle and patient when the situation calls for it, especially when he thinks no one of consequence is paying attention.

But you're paying attention. You're watching the way his full lips move. The way his one free hand gesticulates while he talks. You're watching a bead of water from the ice pack drip down the soft line of his nose. You're listening as his rambling explanation bleeds seamlessly into the concept for the summer campaign he's planning. You find yourself caught up in the whirlwind of his attention and his excitement and the sound of his fucking voice.

Eddie's rambling pauses suddenly, and when he begins speaking again, his words come with a deliberate slowness. “Sorry, I- Sometimes I get going and I don't really know when to stop.” He smiles again but this one is more of a bashful grimace as he scratches at his head awkwardly. “You can just tell me to shut up and I won't even be offended. Promise. I, uh-”

A little bit of the light has dimmed from his eyes, and you can't fucking stand it. You don't want to tell him to shut up. Actually, you'd be far more inclined to sit right here listening to him talk about anything and everything until the final bell of the day rings out, hell until the sun dips below the horizon-

There's so much more nuance to Eddie than you'd expected when he mosied into Economics on that first day at the start of the school year and dropped unceremoniously into the desk in front of you. He is so much more than just a seemingly lacksadasal indifference to his education, or the wild storm of the constant chaos that seems to erupt in his wake.

And speaking of that chaos…

“Hey, um. Can I ask…” You hesitate for only half a second before he’s urging you to continue.

“Yeah, ‘course, anything. Go on.”

“What did you do? To piss those guys off earlier, I mean.”

Eddie drops the ice pack to his lap and twists his body toward you in a rush of excitement, leaning his shoulder against the trunk of the tree and grinning at you until you turn slightly to match him. His cheeks dimple again, eyes filled with a giddy mischief that tells you whatever tale of hijinks he’s about to bestow upon you is going to be good. Or, maybe, bad?

Eddie makes a show of dropping his voice into a low murmur, “You ever smelled a hard boiled egg after it's been sitting in a hot car?”

Your lips quirk, “Can't say I have.”

“Nah, ‘course not,” Eddie replies easily. “Well, you're not the only one, apparently. Swear to God. I, for one, cannot imagine how bad those idiots’ jock-straps must reek… I don't think they even bothered looking for the source of the damn smell ‘til yesterday afternoon.”

You try to hold back your laughter, but you don't quite manage it, and Eddie's own grin melts into something all-too pleased at the sound.

“So, how long was the egg in his car then?” You ask in a hushed voice.

Eddie matches your tone, leans in like he's revealing some great secret. His cheeks dimple, the freckles on his nose standing out in his proximity.

“Remember that real hot day we had? Cracked 80 or so?”

You nod, eyes wide. “That was Friday… Right?” Three days ago, your mind supplies.

Eddie’s still grinning, “Yep. Stuffed it into the pocket on the back of his driver’s seat Thursday during lunch.” He says it proudly.

“You broke into his car before the weekend-” Another laugh, but you can't help it, not when Eddie's looking at you like that. “And you just… hid a hard boiled egg?”

“Well, see, it wasn’t locked, is the thing-” He divulges, “So… The way I see it, anyone could’ve done it. Could’a been one of the guys on the math team, or drama club, maybe a spurned cheerleader-”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” You laugh at the unlikeliness of such a thing. An angry cheerleader, maybe, but the other two suggestions are outright preposterous. “Hell, maybe Mrs. O'Donnell did it.”

Eddie throws his head back with a cackle, clapping his hands together in excitement.

“Fucking O'Donnell!” He laughs, “Shit, Yes! Absolutely. You are absolutely right! Yep, O'Donnell’s behind it. Nothing more than a mean old woman's revenge.”

You try not to get too caught up in the heady fog of approval that rolls over you with every peel of Eddie’s laughter, the joy in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes.

“Lucky for you, I happened to witness the whole thing, so-”

“Oh, so you've got my back, is what you're saying?” Eddie teases, bumping your shoulder with his own. “I can count on you to plead my innocence?”

“I'll insist on your innocence,” You promise slyly. “Someone comes asking questions and I'll throw O'Donnell right under the bus. And anyone looking for you specifically will be sent straight to the track and field shed with the rest of the Munson manhunt. Obviously.”

Eddie clutches a hand over his heart, “Damn, sweetheart. I'm not sure I can afford the interest rates on a favor like that.”

You take a deep breath to steel yourself. “I guess you'll just have to think of another way to pay me back.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie leans back a touch, his eyes assessing, unsure.

He looks almost… Nervous?

“Yeah.” You swallow around the lump of anxiety building in your own throat before speaking again. “I, uh, well. I'm not busy Friday night.” You offer over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

“No shit?” Eddie laughs quietly, mostly to himself. “You know what? It looks like I do happen to have plans on Friday.”

“Oh?” Oh. You try to smile despite your heart plummeting to your stomach. It’s fine. It’s fine, you’re fine-

“Yeah, uh… Dinner and a movie?”

Your lips part in confusion, and Eddie seems to mentally replay his own words before shaking his head. His curls whip around wildly with the movement, one hand coming up to press the ice pack to his forehead once more.

“Jesus, sorry, I- Shit, I'm fucking this up.” Eddie curses. “What I meant was uh, you wanna to go to dinner and a movie? …With me!” He adds after a moment. The embarrassment on his face looks almost pained. “Fuck. Would you like to-”

“Eddie?” You interrupt.

“I… Yeah?”

“Yes.”

#i don't know if anyone is even online rn but i have a new library book i wanna read soooo #here it is!!! 🤗#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #a little misdirection #*

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