the guitarist | eddie munson x reader

part one: little miss calamity

AN: (readsbyrileyy on ig!)

 "Just think it over, will you (y/n)?" Mr. Clarke shouted, albeit tentatively, down the hall as you made a beeline for your locker.

You gave a weak smile over your shoulder as you hurried, worrying that it probably ended up as more a grimace than anything.

You had aced every math test and quiz of the semester, speeding through assignments like nothing, burrowing your looming anxiety under pages of equations.

After Clarke had transferred to the Hawkins High staff, he was keen on looking for bright young minds to recruit into the Mathletes, or, Nerd Club, as the general student population so poetically put it. With the stress of the past few years in town, not to mention the nightmares that had been plaguing you recently, you didn't need to loop in any unwanted negative attention from your peers.

So, Nerd Club was a definite 'no.'

You fumbled for the combination dial with your bag slung over your shoulder, resting it on your hip to trade the not-so-light trigonometry textbook for a much more preferable copy of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

As you turned your head to place the textbook haphazardly amongst your things,

BAM!

the locker beside your slammed shut, loud enough to startle anyone in the near vicinity.

You jumped, managing to drop the heavy book, the play and your bag to the ground as you stepped back in shock, quickly crouching to gather them before the bell rang.

Huffing a strand of hair out of your eyes, you glared up from the floor at none other than the school pariah, Eddie Munson. A.K.A Freakshow. Great.

"Woah there, Little Miss Calamity. Don't take me down with you," he smirked, sending an inexplicable jolt of rage through you as you gathered your books and shoved them back in your bag.

You stood to slam your own door shut, much to the older boy's surprise, leaving his brows high and mouth agape in an irritating smile.

"What do you even need a locker for?" you snapped. "It's not like you've ever even opened a textbook."

Though you were both seniors, he had one year on you from a hold-back due to academic probation.

"Astute observation, Einstein," he glanced down at the glaring red 'A+' peeking out from your trig textbook.

You only sighed, your jaw fixed and brow set as you waited for him to walk away.

His stare lingered a moment too long, but you refused to break your own, instead registering the rest of him through your peripheral.

A silver chain hung from the hip of his jeans, canopied by a black and white baseball tee with an admittedly interesting logo.

Hellfire.

You'd never tell him, but the shirts he and his Mathlete-rivaling nerd club wore were actually kind of cool.

Still pinned with your glare, Eddie finally rolled his eyes and snorted, making to turn away at last. His feet swiveled, turning on his toes as he began to make way down the hall.

"Oh," he added, "you're right by the way." Munson carelessly lifted a small metal lunchbox from his side, shaking it in the air like a toy. "This certainly ain't a book."

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you opted to just carry all of your things and get the hell out of the halfway before missing English.

As you turned, your back to him and vice versa, you couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on yours, staring down at you as you glared up in anger.

Your face was hot with rage as you worried that your look around the hallway was not to check for witnesses to your clumsiness, but to the obvious, treacherous blush blooming on your face.

Anger, you reassured yourself. That's all it was.

Eddie Munson was infuriating.