Honey I'm Home / Eddie Munson x you (female reader)

volume: 14

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"Eddie."

Your throat was bruised and weak. The slow painful flick open of your swollen eyes have you paralyzed with doubt.

Deceiving sight of a beaten man sitting in front of you with a hard cast covering his right hand, the fingers are deeply swollen and bruised, the nails tinged with dried blood.

This wasn't a version of Eddie you had seen before.

His normal pale skin is purpling and raised around his cheek and left eye. His top lip is split and agitatedly red against black stitches, probably from him picking at it.

He was handsome, even with his face twisting into relief and sorrow. Tears flow down the colorful sunset painting of healing and broken skin on Eddie's face. He stands quickly, leaning over you carefully.

Quivering, timid hands reach for your cheeks, realizing the cast would probably scratch or scrape you, he settles for one hand laid dainty on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin like a ghost.

The dark pools of his eyes pull you in as his tears fall freely, and your heart begins to sew itself whole again. As his lips meet your hairline he whispers a cut off sob of his worries. Your tears flow with his. Merriment of grief and comfort as you cry into his shirt. Wishing you could live in this moment forever.

A dark wave full of emotions crash down on you  all at once. The joy of seeing Eddie mixing with shame and guilt over what he must have braved while defending you. Finally, confusion on what exactly had happened and how you both ended up here and alive?

"You're here," you choke, a tubing clustered hand strokes Eddie's face, "I was so scared," you mumble weakly, "I thought we were d—" your throat tightens on the word and won't release it, lost on a sobbing gasp that is muffled into his shirt as he pulls you into him.

The soft cotton of his shirt envelops you in a calming light state, the same smoky essence of Eddie washes over you, settling your hiccuping cries. His hand is stroking your hair, careful around the stitches. And if you listened close you could hear his heart breaking.

Eddie would find a way to melt the galaxies for you if you asked, hearing you crumble about the thought of him being dead is almost too much for him to handle.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," he says, strongly, firm toned to get his point across in as few words as possible, no need to go into detail about how it was done, you and the baby were safe and that's what mattered, "he's gone."

Gone? Did he get away?

"Wh—-" you try your best to make any sort of sense register and click in your brain, but it's not connecting, "Eddie?"

He took a deep weighty breath, the final swing of the wooden bat playing behind his eyes like a film in class, he watched Chad's lifeless body slump to the floor, the dirty and blood riddled nails wedged into his temple like a knife through soft butter. The horrified expression Mr. Derry gave as blood splattered on the walls, and coated Eddie's face.

He lowered his head and shook the image from his mind, "I took care of it," he whispered gravely, "he won't be bothering you again."

The muddied storm in his eyes thunders as you comprehend his words. Would you be afraid of him? The same hands that held you so tenderly were also capable of murdering a man who nearly took your life. The thought of you being terrified of him tingles his spine and makes his knees weak, he turns away from you before you can see him cry again. 

Chad is dead. And you want to scream at yourself when you feel remorse. He was terrifying. A real life in the flesh monster. Quite literally tried to kill you. All he brought to you was pain. And he was dead at Eddie's hand. The nightmare finally over.