Stranger Things Oneshots

Rainbow Lights | Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: A bad trip at your local bar has you seeking out Eddie Munson for help. And he'll be damned if he can't make you feel better.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Drinking, Drug Use, Slight Angst, Hurt Comfort

A/N: Drugs are bad because D.A.R.E. told me so xoxo

Your head was spinning. The cold glass in your hand suddenly felt five times heavier and you felt your grip slipping. Your eyes stared down, blinking heavily as the image of your rum and coke suddenly turned into three. You stumbled forward, feeling the world sway around you. The loud blaring of the music made your head pound and the flashing of the overhead lasers disoriented you enough to have you stumble again until the drink from your hand shattered to the floor creating a dangerous puddle of liquor and glass.

You were not okay. Each step felt like a thousand pounds and you could barely keep your eyes open at the dizzying atmosphere. You desperately needed to find the bathroom. You had gone once before, your friend making a beeline for it the minute you stepped foot in the bar. And now, with a head full of tar and mouth scorched like the surface of the sun, you staggered your way in what you hoped was the right direction.

It felt like a millennia before you burst through the doors into the painful fluorescent lighting of the women's room. Shaking hands gripped the steel door of a stall, pulling yourself inside and fumbling with the latch. You dropped to your knees, hands clutching the rim of the toilet, too far gone to worry about the cleanliness. You blinked away a wave of moisture in your water line, wracking your brain to recall the blank expanse of time before dropping your drink.

Your friend's face flashed in your mind. A back room. A small plastic baggy. Something that looked like a miniature postage stamp nestled inside. A cold dread sunk into your stomach at the memory of taking it from her, putting it in your mouth, and letting it dissolve on your tongue at her encouragement. She took one too, at the insistence of her boyfriend. And so did a few others. You didn't want to be the only one who didn't. You didn't want to ruin the fun.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a few tears leaking through and leaned forward with your mouth open.

Please. Please. Please. You repeated it like mantra, trying to visualize the bile moving up your throat. You had to get whatever it was out of your system. A small thought in the back of your head figured it might've been too late, whatever was affecting you already running its course but you needed something to focus on otherwise you were scared you would faint. You weren't sure how long you sat there. The coolness of the porcelain toilet the unlikely saving grace keeping you grounded as you begged the universe to let you puke.

You hoped someone was looking for you. You didn't even remember the last time you had seen your friends. A good chunk of time before dropping your glass was missing like it had been wiped away on a dry erase board. But you had to have been gone for a while at this point. Surely someone would have noticed.

A few people came and went from the bathroom, either chatting up a storm or releasing their demons into the stalls next to you. You coughed a few times and tried to touch the back of your throat but all you got was gagging. Knees shook as you pulled yourself up slowly from the ground. You made your way to the sink, latching onto the counter tightly fearing you could fall if you weren't careful.

The cold water running on your hands felt nice at first until a sudden chill ran down your spine. Suddenly you were freezing. Your hands started shaking and you quickly fumbled with the tap to turn on the hot water, struggling as the world swayed in front of you. You pumped an ungodly amount of soap onto your palms and weakly rubbed your hands together as if it would clean away your intoxication. And when your hands were raw and stinging from the steaming water, you shut it off.