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honeymoonblues · 5 months ago

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The One Your Friends Don't Like

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everyone has something to say when a girl has fun with the local freak.

Word count: 2.6k

Warning: Some cursing.

A/N: I had this one on the drafts for a long time. Silly little thing. Incredibly self indulgent. I usually make my fics with a gender neutral reader, but I felt this one needed to be fem! for the sake of the plot. Please, let me know if there are any spelling errors, English is not my first language.

You had never expected it to end the way it ended.

In fact, you distinctively remember thinking no one would ever find out that you were passing notes in class. Why would anyone know?

Except Eddie Munson had a big fucking mouth. And you had a friend in common with him (sort of).

The thing was, you were bored. Badly. And the biology professor had this superpower of putting everyone to sleep with his monotonous voice. So it wasn’t intentional when your spaced out gaze landed on him. On Eddie Munson, of all people.

Your pencil fell to the floor because you got startled when he smirked at you. And then, came the little note.

His handwriting was hideous, but legible. The paper seemed torn from another class’ book. You didn’t write anything back. Instead, you made a little grotesque cartoon of the professor, which Eddie seemed to appreciate very much.

“You think Munson is cute?”

How the fuck had Vicki already found out about it by lunch, you had no idea. But you were about to find out.

“I don’t-”, you started, but she didn’t let you finish.

“He told me that you were staring at him,” she scoffed smugly.

God, you hated that expression on her. The smile forming on your lips was totally betraying you, but you weren’t about to give her the satisfaction.

“And since when are you friends with Eddie Munson?”

“He’s friends with Kate’s brother, you know Gareth,” she waved her hand around, “they’re in that, uh… club together, and a band. He’s always hanging out at Kate’s.”

Asking her not to make a big deal out of it was useless, you knew her mind was already scheming to set you two up.

“You’re dating this idiot?!”

There was nothing you appreciated more in your friendship with Robin than her honesty. Even if sometimes she was too honest.

“We’re not dating! We just, uh… hanged out once.”

“Yeah, well, be careful. I haven't heard too many kind things about him.”

Her tone softened, meaning she was trying her best to understand you.

The truth is, it had been a date, no matter how much Eddie and you acted like you were above all that sort of stuff.

His handwriting had been clearer on that one note, neater, with more thought behind it. You felt his big brown eyes on you while you read it, so you knew you had to act as cool as possible. As if him inviting you to a literal date wasn’t freaking you out. You didn’t even pass the note back, you just nodded in his direction, and he smiled while twirling his hair on his finger.

In the end, Vicki didn’t even had to set you up, Eddie asked you out himself, like a big boy (kind of).

The guys leaving the club session looked at you like you had grown a second head.

“Band practice is down the hall”, one of them snickered. That was Gareth, you assumed.

“I know”. You narrowed your eyes, holding your saxophone case a little tighter and breathing deeply. Gosh, and these were Eddie’s friends?

Immediately after, Eddie’s big eyes sparkled when he saw you outside the classroom.

“Hey, you made it”.

Like the other boys, he wore the club’s t-shirt but this one looked particularly clean. You saved your comments to yourself, though, and just smiled back.

The moments you were deciding where to go were the most awkward. You could tell that Eddie wasn’t used to talking to many girls. No matter how much of a peacock he acted like when he was in a ten-foot radius of a cheerleader.

If there was a contest for Weirdest Location for a First Date, Eddie and you would’ve won first place. You both agreed on going to the Hawkins’ graveyard. The place worked to ease your nerves, somehow.

Many graves had stories you’d heard over the years. And of course, the metalhead guy loved to hear about them, tagging on with his versions or additions to them.

The date went well and it definitely helped to fuel both of your delusions of being cool and oh, so edgy. In reality, you were just two nerds walking and laughing in an inappropriate place, while not having the guts to admit this was a date.

When the “hanging out” turned to actual dates, you knew it was going to be impossible to hide it from Robin. And you braced yourself for her reaction.

“How many times did you kiss him?”

If she'd asked a day before, you would confidently say ‘three times’. But after the makeout session the night before, it wasn’t like you could keep count of that.

Your skin crawled by imagining telling this to her, so of course, you omitted the question.

“No, wait wait! Don't answer that. I need a complete timeline: from the first date to the first kiss, to now.”

You scoffed.

“What are you waiting for? Start talking.”

Oh, she was serious about it.

So you talked, knowing there wasn’t any way of getting out of it.

She already knew about the graveyard, so there was little comment to make about it.

The words you chose were careful, though. Robin wasn’t too thrilled about Munson at all, so you had to put effort in making him look as good as possible while keeping it in the realm of possibility.

You spoke about how witty he was, but didn’t mention the fact that you held your breath the first time you walked into his room. Not that you were the picture of cleanliness, let’s be honest, but you had wondered just how long had it been since his sheets had seen the inside of a washing machine. (Not like that had stopped you from rolling around on his bed, anyway).

You talked of how he was actually a bookworm and really interesting to converse with, but kept quiet about how, just on your third date, he immediately asked you to stay the night after getting his hands under your shirt.

You told Robin about his encyclopedic knowledge of music, similar to Robin's, but carefully omitted the fact that he had bitten you despite you asking him not to. You had moaned at it, either way.

Trusting him was a hard task. Sure, maybe you were paranoid, but this guy made up stories as a hobby. And even if he didn’t, he seemed too eager to impress any girl in his vicinity to be a hundred percent trustful.

“Oh, I don't believe you.” That phrase came out of your mouth so often now, it was almost funny.

“I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die.” Dramatic as always, of course.

“Sure, whatever you say, man.”

But truths and lies weren’t that important when he kissed you so sweetly. As sweet as this brute could be. It was very endearing.

You didn’t give a fuck if that fight he was telling you about was real, or if his band was as awesome as he said, not when he pulled your hair and bit your lip in that way that made you shiver.

Let him talk, you thought, he had a cute mouth anyway.

Between nerdy conversations about Lord of the Rings or music, and heated makeout sessions on his bed, or yours (whichever was available at the time), there was always a debate that bubbled up between you two.

“Doesn’t that fuck up your brain or whatever?”

“princess, it’s 1986. Everyone smokes weed.” You had stopped fighting that nickname long ago, you even stopped cringing at it, somehow.

“Not everyone!”

“Yeah, well, it’s you and Vicki against the world, then.”

It’s not like you ever expected him to change his ways; that was stupid. But it was annoying when he expected you to just… be okay with it.

Still, he stopped smoking when he was with you —wow, what a gentleman!— and you ignored the fact that he may or may not sell pot. Closing your eyes and letting his hands wander was the best way to forget everything about it.

The sun was already setting on a beautiful Saturday afternoon when you brought it up.

“Remember how I told you Robin doesn’t like you much? Like, at all.” Your breath felt a bit shallow, you had kissed for what felt like hours at this point.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, uh… It’s mostly because she told me she saw you and Chrissy Cunningham together the other day… You know, alone and everything.” Your gaze was unblinking, boring into his eyes as if you were trying to read his mind.

His blush was a little more intense than before, reaching his ears, but he didn't hesitate in answering, “I never talked to her before, Robin must have mistaken me for another person.”

Your silence must have freaked him out a bit, because he croaked a tiny “I swear!” that sounded quite pathetic, even for him.

The intention of this whole afternoon was to talk to him about being exclusive. You hadn’t been mad about the Chrissy thing, really. It wasn’t like Eddie and you were official at all. Even if he liked to make it very obvious that you were together every time he crossed paths with you at school. But now that he was denying everything? Yeah, the exclusivity thing didn’t sound so appealing to you anymore.

Because you’d lied. It wasn’t just Robin that caught him, you were there, too.

“Are you sure, Eddie? I’m not… I’m not mad about it.” But you were starting to be.

“Yes, yes! It’s funny, actually… I, uh, had like, the biggest crush on her in middle school, you know? But not anymore, princess! I don’t even look in her direction, I promise.”

You felt like you hadn’t blinked in the last five minutes.

Fuck this! You didn’t want to be his girlfriend. That was never the intention with this whole thing. You just wanted to have some damn fun for once.

“Okay…” You said carefully, “just… don’t expect Robin to talk nicely to you, okay?”

“I’m used to people not liking me, princess, nothing new.”

Your smile was tight, and the way he twirled his hair had never bothered you this much before.

“So, I heard there’s this party next Saturday...” You said.

The mirror smiled back at you after you applied your lipstick. You were already a little tipsy after the pregame at Vicki’s, but you did your makeup flawlessly in front of her bathroom mirror.

’Hot’ was the right word to describe you that Saturday, you felt confident, you looked cool, and you were definitely ready for some kissing and smooching. If you ended up in Eddie’s van? Even better.

Your friends were not so thrilled about seeing Eddie, not after the Chrissy thing, but they knew they couldn’t do much to stop you. Those were your bad decisions to make.

The party was flooding with people, and it took an absurd amount of time to find Eddie, even when he was the flashiest thing in the room.

By the time you got to him, you were way too drunk. No longer just tipsy. The unknown substance in your red cup was doing its job, and you could barely keep steady on your feet when you found yourself in his arms.

Your friends were cringing hard when you kissed him in front of them, staining his face with lipstick. He was very, very pleased with it, though. Even if he felt heavily judged by everyone in your circle.

In the end, he ended up taking you home, but not in the way you’d have liked. Because the moment you stepped outside and started to walk to his van, heavy nausea hit you with the cold air of the night,

Your vomit stained his sneakers a bit, but he didn’t complain. In fact, he had never been this gentlemanly before. Even your friends, usually very unimpressed with him, were surprised.

He made sure you drank water, wrapping you in his jacket and then drove you home, making sure you made it up the stairs without falling and tucking you in like a good, responsible boy,

“I’m sorry I ruined the night.” You murmured sleepily before he left.

“Are you kidding? You throwing up was so metal! I’m honored I got to witness it.”

He was such a freak.

You were tugging at your hair, frustrated. After just finishing it, you accidentally tipped your glass of water over all your homework, so you had to redo it. Then, your friends who were supposed to hang out at your house didn’t show up, and you had cooked for them. And while you tried to calm down with a nice hot coffee, your favourite mug slipped from your hands and shattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You needed to call Eddie. Maybe he’d help you laugh about it a little.

The phone call had been 30 minutes long at this point. You sighed, feeling a little better, but still guilty for talking about yourself and your own problems nonstop.

“I feel like I complain too much sometimes,” you chuckled.

“Princess, I know the female population, okay? They are always complaining about everything, all the time. I’m used to it, don’t worry.”

He knows the what, now?

“Eddie, what the fuck?” But the idiot kept on talking.

“Yeah, princess, it’s fine. I mean, we guys don’t give a shit about most things. But that’s just natural, you know? It’s like, biological.”

Hanging up on him had never felt so good. No goodbye, no nothing. Seriously, who does he think he is?

You needed to call Robin. Maybe she’d help you laugh about it a little.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

This conversation wasn’t meant to be had over the phone, but the winter break had just started, and you were leaving on vacation the next day. Leaving this matter to stretch over time would just make it worse. You wanted to enjoy your holidays without anything weighting on your mind.

Not that he could ever convince you to stay with him, anyway. There had been a long talk with your friends about all this. And the jury had decided he should be executed out of your life. You agreed, of course.

There was only so many things one could ignore in the name of fun. And when your frustration started to surpass the enjoyment, what was the point?

He was not the type of guy you could introduce to your parents. He was not even the type of guy you could see with a steady relationship. You realized you wanted a little bit more romance than he could get you.

So you mentally prepared yourself for this phone call, for his insistence, for his endless questions, even for some anger.

“I didn’t mean to tell you this over the phone, I’m sorry.” Your voice was steady, clear, no sign of doubt.

“Oh…” Silence. And then, a moment after: “It’s okay, I get it. Thank you for these last few months.”

“Uh, Eddie-”

“Goodbye.”

You stuttered a goodbye, but it was too late, he had already hung up.

Shortest phone call of your life.

“Honey, he sells drugs. You didn’t know that?”

“Not until very recently…” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Your friend laughed, shaking her head.

Now, your friends would have something to tease you about for the rest of your life. And you’d have all that time to pretend you didn’t enjoy his company or act like you didn’t notice what a mess he was.

And maybe he’d try to contact you again, try to get close. But you’d ignore him, walking awkwardly past him in the school hallway.

Still, he’d live forever in your mind as the one your friends didn’t like.

#my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #stranger things #oneshot

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honeymoonblues · 8 months ago

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do better — gregory house x f!reader

a/n: I got a little carried away, per usual, and now I’m late with day 04 of the angstober challenge (still a wyp), but I plan on finishing it and posting later today. but, omg, I can’t believe I'm posting day 05 — do better on time! this is also part of @angstober‘s challenge, which I'm having a blast writing. I do love some angsty vibes. please, feel free to comment or dm me!

summary: a relationship between the boss and his employee has a million ways to go wrong. one, in particular, hurt them the most.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst. House is an asshole. mentions of family death. mentions of cancer. struggles with immigration. inappropriate relationship. mentions of smut.

Let medicine be thy food.

That's the quote, or at least you think it is. After a particularly long shift, words in English seemed to scramble together a bit, with it being your second language and all. Usually, you’re a natural, perfect, fluent speaker. There are moments, however, when understanding what your peers are saying or formulating cohesive sentences becomes a herculean task. You didn’t make yourself unintelligible, but it was a little awkward to be with a patient who clearly had no idea how globalized the world was and how many doctors in the United States were not native English speakers, and who looked at you like you had just robbed the white coat from a “proper doctor”.

Sure, dealing with people was shitty sometimes. “Doctors don’t treat people, they treat illnesses”, your boss had once said. But in your mind, people weren’t that bad. The long hours, the sleep deprivation, the lack of a social life — that was the really bad part. And there were, of course, the very short lunch breaks.

Medicine was fun, but it had nothing on a full plate of pasta with those weird looking meatballs. What once was disgusting, now seemed appetizing as hell. Not eating once while working for the whole night could do that to a person. Medicine was not food, at least not literally.

You had taken off your sweater and your white coat a while before going to the cafeteria, where the rest of the team was. As of right now, you and Chase had spent thirty-six hours working. Cameron and Foreman had taken the long straws and gone home last night while you and the prettiest doctor around worked on some lab tests.

That man who, right now, was not really trying to hide how he lustfully eyed you up and down, stopping on your cleavage. You didn’t blame him for looking, though. Firstly, you did spend the night working together and you mentioned that you did not have sex for the last six months, and secondly, you had nice boobs, which was both a blessing and a curse. Also, he was very much exhausted. Thinking about your coworkers in an unfashionable manner to keep awake was better than falling asleep atop of a patient during a lumbar puncture — you had done both, so you could tell, oops.

“I’ll die if I have to do any more thinking”, the pretty doctor said, accent even more prominent, letting his head drop to the headrest of his seat behind him.

“Yes, thinking just doesn’t come naturally to some people”, you laughingly replied, sitting down next to Foreman. He scooched over, making more room for you and your tray. There was enough pasta on your plate to feed two, not to mention the salad, the dessert, the can of Coke and the can of energy drink.

“Damn, kid, do you not have food at home?” You eyed Foreman, a little annoyed at the comment. Why did men think they had the right to comment on women’s food choices and bodies all the damn time? “Don’t give me that look, you know that’s a lot, especially for a girl who skips lunch every other day”.

“Not by choice” you said, taking a lot of pasta into your mouth. “Nof ba chos”, you replied, mouth full, making everyone at the table let out a tired laugh.

It was an uneventful meal. The team was really tired, especially Chase, who almost dropped his head on his plate twice. The four of you rushed upstairs when lunch was over, after being paged by your boss.

The man himself was pacing back and forth in the conference room, brows furrowed and looking extremely aggravated. Nothing new, then, you think, sitting down across from Cameron.

Allison Cameron and you had been friends since med school, and getting to work together was pretty nice. Women in STEM need each other, of that you were sure. The thing is, she was in a weird place romantically, which made you feel weird about getting along with the people about whom she was confused — which hardly makes sense, but it is what it is. She had a crush on your boss for the longest time, and that didn’t work out at all. And then there was Chase, who she had slept with, but had no interest in further pursuing.

Hanging out with Chase knowing he’d seen her naked was a little weird, but the fact they’d slept together wasn’t the problem. He liked her, and that was her problem. Your boss, well, he was everybody’s problem.

Particularly yours, considering… you know. The one-night-that-became-every-night. The HR-nightmare. The doing-the-devil’s-tango. The seeing-each-other-scars. The kissing-and-absolutely-not-telling.

It was fairly easy sneaking around. He was inappropriate, sure, but not big on PDA. He treated you like any other dumbass employee with boobs. If anyone saw the two of you leaving the hospital together? You worked together. If you were seen going towards the same place? You’re neighbors, duh. And if anyone happened to see the two of you having breakfast together in the little café a block around his place? Well, it was a coincidence meeting him there!

If they saw you giving him head while he tried to play the piano, well… There’s no explanation for that.

You looked at him coming and going, and you knew his leg must be killing him. Yesterday when you left his home in the morning to pick up your stuff for the day (which turned out to be the day, the night and the next day), he was popping more pills than usual. Shit.

“New case?”, Cameron asked, looking at the limping man with worry and care in her eyes. You liked her a lot, but she had to stop thinking about your limping man with such care.

Sure, she liked him first. And she probably worried for him just as she would anyone else. And it was ridiculous to be annoyed at your long-time friend for caring for her boss. Still, there was a sting of jealousy that made you want to bitch-slap her.

He finally stopped and looked at all of you. When his eyes finally met you, he looked right at your low cut top and let out a “Yowza!”. When you blushed and stood up to pick your white coat, he called your last name, and said, nonchalantly: “Nice boobs”.

You raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you sat down. It might seem like sexual harassment — and at first, it was a little bit —, but now it was just him being as inappropriate as always. Hiding from his feelings, keeping his distance with pathetic remarks and cold attitudes. It made you sad when you started working for him, but right now, you pinched your nose to stop you from giggling like a sixteen year old cheerleader being noticed by the boy on the football team. Or rather, the boy on the bench cursing at the stupid players.

Dr. Gregory House had a massive crush on you, and that made all the shit he did go away.

You realized Chase started updating House on the patient you spent all night testing and monitoring. Truth is, that guy didn’t stand a chance for a normal life here on forward. At best, he had a benign hereditary chorea. Worst case scenario, it was Huntington manifesting earlier than it should, as you’d been saying from the beginning.

“Shut up”, House said to Chase, making those blue Australian eyes widen. Poor guy, he looked beyond exhausted. “I understand how DNA testing works. I went to med school too, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was seven hundred years ago”, you let out before you could think twice. You teased House a little for being older. Scratch that, you gave him a lot of crap for being older. You just didn’t do it in front of the team, which was why they all looked at you horrified.

Horrified, but Foreman was holding in a laugh.

The ‘old-man’ hit his cane on the desk, turning the attention back to him. “Ouch”.

You smiled, playing it off like a remark made by an exhausted overworked young woman who disliked her boss. House half-screamed some orders to all of you, even though he already knew you had clinic duty.

The hours left to finish on the clinic were manageable, so you could finish it after you did some of the tests House asked.

Time passed by too quickly, and as your day went by, you remembered you had to talk to Wilson as soon as possible. It wasn’t a life or death matter, but a peace of mind kind of thing. You decided to stop by his office before you It was then that you overheard something you shouldn’t have.

Well, that brought the high school memories right back.

It was the middle of the afternoon, also known as the beginning of your third shift in a row, and you were stopping by Wilson’s office to discuss a private matter. A family member of yours had cancer, and then another one. By the time your fourth relative came down with the diagnosis, you decided to check your genetic predisposition. Although the tests came back clean, meaning you were safe for oncology purposes, you still wanted to know his opinion on how you could be even safer.

You looked cancer in the eyes many times. You didn’t want to look at it in the mirror too.

For some godly reason, you stopped before knocking. That’s when you recognized your boss’s voice, complaining about something, per usual.

“She’s a baby! She had never watched Grease, for crying out loud”, the voice and the footsteps made their sounds in harmony. You leaned in closer to the door, to try and listen better.

“Well, you two barely know each other, now it’s the time to know if there’s a future in this relationship or not. And would you ever marry her?”, Wilson’s voice, and the words made you freeze.

“Not everyone has marriage on the brain 24/7, Wilson”, House replied. Even from behind the door, you could almost hear the engines in his brain turning. “And God, no. I could never marry her. I can do better than a gullible third-world princess”.

You froze.

Of course he’d say that. Of course. Even if he didn’t mean it.

The realization came like an electrical shock flowing through your body. You felt it, and it made the hairs on the nape of your neck rise.

You meant nothing to him.

As an immigrant, the feeling of never belonging is constant. You don’t belong in the place you now live, but you don’t really belong in the place you were born.

You had felt for a fraction of a second that you could find your place here. In House's department. Perhaps, even with House. God, you were stupid. You were a device for him to finish his puzzles, and an object to finish… Well, to finish himself off.

As you left your transe and heard the voices again, you ran as fast as you could back to the clinic, where you had a couple hours left to finish. There was something you needed to arrange with Cuddy, too.

Hours later, you were in the department’s room reading some exams when House walked in.

He eyed you up and down again, eyes lingering on your breasts a little longer than a boss’ eyes normally would. “So”, he took his bootle from his jacket and opened it, popping a couple of pills, “your place or mine?”

“You suck”, you murmured, angrily, but pouting a little. He’d never admit it, but he loved seeing you a little aggravated, crossing your arms in front of your body in a way that made your already eye-catching torso irresistible.

He smiled a little, putting the medicine back in his pocket. “No, sweetheart”, he now fully grinned, “that’s you.”

You rolled your eyes, but let your arms fall and a cold smile creeped into your face.

“Yes, I do, actually”, you rose up from the chair and walked all the way towards him, hitting your hand towards his chest and pressing the paper you were holding against him. “I’m a full on sucker, and ass-kisser, as you like to point out. That’s why your so called mortal enemy offered me a job in New York”.

He took the paper, blue eyes never leaving yours.

“Consider this my two weeks notice”. It was hard to say, but it felt a little good, too. Logically, there were no downsides in this opportunity. Then, why did it hurt so much? “I guess everyone was right. I can do better”.

The double meaning was not lost on House.

Your hand finally left his chest, and he didn’t look back as you left.

Looking at it now, it all seems so simple. It never is, though, is it? Especially with House. And you, an intelligent, kind, talented and ambitious young woman, could definitely do better than attach yourself to a crippled, bitter, odious older man.

You were doing better now. So, why, pray tell, why did this still hurt so much?

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