Mutuals Im Manifesting The Softest And Most Tender August For All Of You

from Tiny Beautiful Things, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos. 

wish i had a friend in this town

This is a public call: does anyone know of any good George Harrison fics?? I have read so many but I need more!! Can be any type of George; teddy, beatle, dilf, gardener, au, ANYTHING😭 any recommendations are appreciated

Blackpool Railings, 1951. Bert Hardy. Silver gelatin fibre print.

“Sweet, sweet burn of sun and summer wind, and you my friend, my new fun thing, my summer fling.” ~ K.D. Lang

- 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.

safe - e.m.

summary: you and eddie see eachother for the first time after you broke the friendship to protect him from the upside down

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader

word count: 4.7k

tags: mentions of drugs, strong language, no s4 spoilers, friends to enemies to lovers-ish, angst

a/n: fellas! i have written about 6 eddie fics bc nothing could satisfy me n im still iffy abt it so u gotta tell me if this sucks, alright? we’re cousins here, its ur duty. BUT I HOPE ITS ENJOYABLE ITS ANGSTY BUT THATS HOW I COPE <3

Eddie Munson sat on a lounge chair by the pool, unlit cigarette hanging by the corner of his mouth. His metal lunchbox stood by his boots, on the stoned ground. His right leg bounced up and down with quickness, his fingers fiddled with the rings on his right hand.

Keep reading

Porter Wagoner amuses/terrifies everyone at his birthday party:

Lord, you should’ve seen their frantic faces They screamed and cried, please put away that knife

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. 

getting that august feeling (things that have ended endlessly are ending again)