TEAR YOU APART (Eddie Munson X Reader)

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The one day Eddie doesn’t have a hellfire meeting, or band practice, or a gig at the Hideout, or a deal to make, is Sunday. Because he dedicates Sundays to you. You both love Sundays because it is a 24 hour period of pure domestic bliss… unless one of the kids comes to Eddie’s trailer to hang out. But they soon learned that Sundays are for the “gross” couple.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.8k and growing (wip)

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: will be mostly fluff but check each part for specific warnings/contents

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: multi-part fic (but each part can be read as an individual oneshot)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

more to come…

“Tireless, Talky Teen-agers Keep Telephone Lines Toiling”

Grey Villet, Life, Apr 2, 1956

Dolly Parton photographed by Ed Caraeff, 1979.

send me song recs and i'll respond with:

couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library

when you press me to your heart

dynamic: best friend!eddie munson x fem!reader

rating: G

contains: internalised mental health stigma, this one's for the readers with depression, shamelessly indulgent comfort and fluff, brief alcohol mentions, eddie being the only man allowed, reader being absolutely clueless about his feelings, two idiots yearning for each other

words: 1.9k

a/n: this is my first eddie fic and i am still a baby writer so pls be gentle! reader is a cheerleader, but not popular, but not not popular either. i’ve seen fics on here where reader is either the HBIC or an outsider who gets bullied, so here’s to all of us who aren’t really either of those. not proofread and no beta, we die like alexei

You wake up with a start, feeling like an invisible monster has taken residence sitting on your chest. Something weighs heavily in your stomach as you curl into the pillow, unwilling to acknowledge the waking world or the sunlight outside. A strange ache surges through your chest as unwelcome thoughts begin to gather in your mind, dark clouds warning of an incoming storm. It gets like this more than you’d like to admit. How are you supposed to be the sunshine-filled, happy girl that everyone knows like this? How are you going to plaster a winning smile across your face and shout about victory and team spirit at practice this afternoon? Not that you’ll even be visible from your spot at the back of the formation, you suppose. You’ll spend the parts of the routine you weren’t in watching Chrissy Cunningham, an angel if there ever was one, spinning effortlessly in and out of basket tosses and laughing with the other girls. It’s not like anyone has ever been mean to you, exactly. You still go to the squad sleepovers and the drunken post-game parties with the basketball team. You’ve just… never felt like you were meant to be there. Like any second, someone will look up and realise you’re some kind of impostor, just pretending to be a pretty little doll and saying the things that girls like you should say.

Three sharp knocks jolt you out of your thoughts. Throwing your fuzzy robe and slippers on, you peek around the door to see the smirking face of Eddie Munson on your front steps. His hair is as fluffy and out of control as always, his jeans perfectly ripped at the knees. You want to bury your face into his signature leather jacket and denim vest and inhale him, like the clean smell of his body wash could fill your head instead. “Eddie,” you breathe with relief, swinging the door open fully to allow him in. “Good morning, princess! Did the lady of the house sleep well?” he asks with only a hint of irony, sweeping his gaze over your cosy attire. Your brows wrinkle into a frown. “I’m gonna caffeinate. Do you want something?” you mumble, your comfy slippers shuffling against the kitchen tiles. “Black coffee pleaaaase,” he draws out, batting his eyelashes with mock coyness like you haven’t been buying coffee just for him the past few years. You roll your eyes at him affectionately, fixing your drinks as if on autopilot like you do everyday. The weight inside you seems to ease a little as he slides into his usual spot at the dining table, drumming his ring-laden fingers against it to a beat you don’t know. It seems insanely fast and chaotic, but his familiar tapping is strangely comforting in its own way.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Your mouth twists into a funny expression. You would never lie to him exactly, but what on earth could you possibly say? I don’t know, Eddie. I get really sad sometimes for no good reason and then have to go act like a normal person for hours so people don’t think I’m some kind of emo freak. “Didn’t sleep well,” you murmur eventually, sticking your face into the entrance of your mug to avoid his knowing gaze. Eddie ceases his tapping against the table suddenly. You look up curiously. He hesitates for a moment, hand twitching outwards as if fighting some internal battle with himself. Finally he reaches across the table and wraps his hand around yours, the cold metal of his rings soothing against the heat of his palm. “You don’t have to,” Eddie begins cautiously, “but I hope you know you can talk to me, mmkay? About anything that’s on your mind.” You attempt to assuage him with a little closed-lip smile, but his grip on your hand tightens a little. “I want you to feel like you can just exist around me, y’know? Like you don’t have to please anyone except you.”

Tears suddenly flood your eyes and you blink them away angrily, swiping at your cheeks with embarrassment. He rises quickly from his chair and wraps his arms around you wordlessly, swaying you both from side to side comfortingly. You begin to cry in earnest against his shoulder. One of his hands comes up to rub soothing circles against the curve of your spine. You expect him to launch into some kind of funny monologue, or tell you everything will be okay, but he doesn’t. He just stands with you in the silence, holding you through your pain. In a way, you think this might be better than anything he could’ve said. After a few minutes of sniffling and wiping tears, your eyes begin to clear. Eddie releases you from the hug and presses his forehead into yours, clasping your tear-soaked hands with his between your bodies. “Thanks for letting me cry on you,” you chuckle with a watery voice. “Pfft,” he scoffs, waving a hand like it’s no big deal. “Better out than in.”

“What?!” you burst in surprised laughter. “That makes no sense.”

“Exactly.”

Eddie grins at you, his big brown eyes crinkled with mirth. “Now do you need a few minutes, or do you want to get going? I hear pajama chic is really hot right now.”

A smile spreads across your face, a real one this time. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just get changed and get ready really quick.” You press a soft kiss against his cheek and he collapses against the table, hand pressed dramatically against his face where you kissed him. Today he follows you up the stairs instead of waiting, skipping three at a time before face-planting like a starfish into your bed, rumpling your sheets like nobody’s business. You can’t find it in yourself to even pretend to be mad, so you wash your face and change quickly into your cheer uniform in the bathroom before coming to sit in front of your vanity. Your hand hovers over your makeup and hair products, suddenly unsure. He’s never watched you get ready before, and you can feel his curious gaze lighting up the back of your head. Comfortable silence hangs between you as you begin a minimal routine, only doing as much as your little energy allows. You spritz perfume and go to grab your backpack as you notice Eddie running a hand tenderly over your shelves. His eyes dart from an old trophy to a stack of birthday cards, seemingly committing the mundane of your myriad belongings to memory. “I like your room. It’s real pretty,” he muses softly, staring right at you. You smile at him again as he takes your hand and leads you back down the stairs.

As you shut the passenger door of his van and move to buckle your seatbelt, you pause for a moment, turning to face him.

“What’s on your mind, princess?”

You hum thoughtfully in response.

“I was thinking… can you walk me to class today?”

A grin spreads across his face as he shifts the gear stick and begins to reverse out of your driveway, arm thrown casually across the back of your seat.

“You sure about that? You wanna be associated with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” he warns dryly, drumming a new beat into the back of your headrest with his fingertips. He’s always been more concerned with your reputation than you are.

“I really don’t think anyone will care. Besides, it’s not like I’m Chrissy or Heather and people actually give a shit.”

“Alright,” he agrees eventually, a skeptical expression on his face. “Just don’t be surprised if your party invites start getting lost in the mail.”

You know he’s being silly, but something about that doesn’t sit right with you. A few moments pass as you stare out the window at the familiar trees and footpaths whizzing past.  “I don’t care if they do,” you blurt angrily all of a sudden. “It’s all bullshit anyway. We’ll all forget each other when we get to college.” Eddie’s eyebrows raise up and disappear behind his little fringe of frizzy hair.

“I see someone’s been paying attention to my cafeteria monologues. Biting social commentary is usually my thing.”

You tilt your head back against the seat and turn to face him. “Yeah, but… I just mean you’re the only one who actually, like, cares about me. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst and you’re still here. It’s easy to be friends with people when all you do is tumbling and getting drunk. What we have is – well it’s different.” He brakes a little harder than intended in his usual parking spot outside school. “It’s definitely… special,” Eddie replies tentatively, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Listen, do you wanna come see me after the show on Saturday night? I know you’re not super into the shithole bar scene, but I think it could be nice to hang out.”

You nod quickly, trying not to read anything into it. “Yeah, sounds nice. Who else is coming?”

He grabs your hand suddenly and places it over his heart. “I’m dying here, angel. Help a guy out.”

You huff with laughter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, y’know. Us. Hanging out. After the show.”

You side-eye him strangely. “Okay, yeah, I mean, we hang out every morning. I don’t see why not-”

“Like a date!” he bursts suddenly. Oh.

Oh.

Bravery rises up within you. You move your hand from his chest to cup his cheek where you’d kissed it earlier this morning. “That sounds really nice, Eddie,” you tell him softly. His big brown eyes meet yours and you think you might dissolve on the spot like sugar into tea. You make a point of hooking your arm around his as the two of you navigate the main hallway, attracting a couple of odd looks, but no one says anything about it. “See, I told you,” you point out, nudging him with your shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.” You both come to a stop outside your first class of the day.

“Well it’s a pretty big deal to me,” he responds with a toothy smile, guiding you backwards against a nearby locker and placing his hand by your head. Something deep within flutters delightfully at the way he cages you in. More of your classmates stream past the two of you, giving you a few more strange looks before greeting their friends like normal. You pull him into a hug suddenly. “You have a good day now,” you tell him sternly, smooshing your cheek into his chest. Eddie places a small kiss to the top of your head.

“Yes ma’am, I promise. Give Jason my love.”

You swat at him playfully, your heart considerably fuller than it had been when you woke up. The storm inside you might not ever really disappear forever, but you know that each one will pass eventually. And with each one, you know Eddie will be there.

November 14, 1956:

Elvis was on vacation in Las Vegas, Nevada, from November 10 to 18, 1956.

From the Long Beach Press Telegram, November 15, 1956:

“Liberace and Elvis Presley, two of the world´s highest paid entertainers, staged an impromptu act for nothing early today after Liberace’s night club appearance.

Presley was in the audience at the Riviera Hotel as the piano-playing television idol went through his performance, and after the last show ended he went back to Liberace´s dressing room.

With only a slight amount of urging from photographers and publicists, Liberace exchanged his gold sequined jacket for Presley´s striped sports coat, and from there it was only a short step to an exchange of musical instruments.

Elvis sat down at the piano, and Liberace picked up a guitar, and in no time at all a rock´n´roll session was under way. It lasted about 30 minutes with some 200 persons jammed around the pair as they performed.

Said one observer: ‘Elvis played a mean piano, but Liberace said he was an amateur on the guitar - and he sounded like one.’

Said Liberace: ‘Elvis and I may be characters - he with his sideburns and me with my gold jackets - but we can afford to be.’”

me forced to come into this capitalist world and trying to live

sometimes it physically pains me to hold back my sarcastic comments 

wish i had a friend in this town

𝗧𝗢𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 ✿  𝗲. 𝗺𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗻

(creds to original gif owner. thank you!) ▸ sum. you and eddie were childhood sweethearts from the ages of 5, broken apart as you moved away at 12 years old. now back in hawkins, eddie is thrilled to have you back. ▸ cw. fluff, hair pulling (mild), swearing, jason being jason ▸ wc. 2.1k ▸ a/n. eddie is 19 in this imagine, his presumed age in season 4. based on the song ‘total eclipse of the heart’ - bonnie tyler. might write a potential part 2 to this who knows.

“i missed you too.”

Eddie Munson surely would not still be going to Hawkins High to this day, right? It had been 7 years since you moved away, right after moving into 6th grade together and seemingly having an inseperable bond at the time. You had known eachother from the ages of 5, all starting when Eddie had knocked over the tower of dominos you were precariously stacking and had then helped you build an even bigger and better tower to make up for it. From that moment onwards, you were both described by your parents as, “moths to a flame for eachother.”

Eddie, as your memory aided you, was a big bright eyed kid with so much kindness in his heart and equally as many knots in his hair. You recall on sleepovers, late at night, dragging hairbrushes through the matts in his hair as he’d yelp and whine, “Heyyy, watch it!” 

You’d always playfully roll your eyes, “Stop being such a baby, Ed.” 

Particularly coming into 6th grade together, you were deemed ‘popular’ within the middle school hierarchy. Eddie even said one night to you, “I mean, you fit all the criteria, y/n. Pretty, funny, smart. If you want to sit with them at lunch instead of me that’s fine I get it, I dont wan’t to drag your reputation down.” His usual bright, brown eyes were downcasted into his lap, his words a jumbled mess of mumbling with a tone of hurt laced into them.

You nudged him, a silent order for him to look at you, and he did. “I don’t care about the popular kids, they’re total losers anyway. You’re much funner to hang out with than them. All they talk about is sports and their crushes,” You smiled and elbowed him slightly, “Besides, who else would I play D&D with and kick monster ass with?”

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