Eddie Munson x final-girl reader fic - Coming Soon
I decided to make a little 1940’s-style movie title-card trailer for this fanfic; I’m very excited for this! Inspired by Halloween, Halloween Kills and Halloween Ends. Summary / warnings are below the cut off! thank you @spacejjunk for letting me be a part of Eddie Munson’s 31 nights of Halloween! <- check it out!
Summary: After decades locked away, the idea that Michael Myers could be killing again seems impossible. But reports of a serial killer making his way through Hawkins now has the town on edge. A horror movie marathon with Eddie takes a turn when Halloween gives him an idea for a scare of his own. After spending months accused of murders he didn’t commit, Eddie should probably know better than to tempt fate. His prank goes sour when the night ends with murder… and the realization that Eddie may not have been the only one wearing a Michael Myers’ mask. Your boyfriend is once again gaining suspicion, and you can’t deny something about him is stranger than usual. As the bodies pile up, one thing becomes clear: The killer is coming after you. And whatever is happening to Eddie seems to be getting worse.
Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, Halloween au, Halloween is a true story/past event in this fanfic, established relationship, no y/n, masked!Eddie, unprotected sex, Michael Meyers, brief knife play, blood and fake blood, stalking/chasing, serial killer, murder, violence, non-main character death, attempted murder, choking, stabbing, use of a shotgun, drug use, character injury. Cover up. Reader is targeted. Fem!reader. Eddie’s a little crazy too. Dead dove, do not eat.
Characters I have/will typically write for: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Gator Tillman, Mr. Wrench, Kurt Kunkle, Travis "Teacake" Meacham, Walter "Keys" McKey, Baron Lamram
✶⋆.˚ Writing events:
Steve Harrington Summer Sleepover 2026 // “Our Love Cactus”
Eddie Munson’s 31 Nights of Halloween 2026 // “The Exorcist”
Hahaha here is 11 sentences from my Eddie Munson’s 31 Night of Halloween fic because holy shit I am in the thick of it this is going to be so much fun!
He imagines himself gently pushing you off of him, telling you to get some sleep. He even nudges your shoulder a little to get the process started, but it turns into a caress somewhere along the way.
“I missed you every day you were gone. I know we couldn’t — we can’t. But I’m still really glad you came to me.”
The backs of his knuckles trail along the curve of your jaw, and when they reach your throat his hand splays open and lays tender and firm against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze — he just lets himself feel the life thrumming under his fingertips.
“Eddie…will you touch me?”
“I am touching you.” He replies matter-of-factly, smirking when your lower lip juts out a tad in frustration.
“What was the appeal of the priesthood again?” You ask dryly, throwing yourself back down against the mattress and crossing your arms over your chest in a huff.
✶⋆.˚ ✶⋆.˚ ✶⋆.˚
Thank you for the tags @keer-y & @thecreelhouse :* ilybsm
No pressure taggies: @gatorgirlie @cha0ticstranger @graywrenhart @larivervixen @djosnoopy @levanswrites @moonstoneandmoonlight @keeryhours @spacejjunk & ANYONE WHO WANTS TO SHARE
Note: So, this is the love child of me and @flashmountainn the little devil on my shoulder who slid into my inbox with a suggestion that had be instantly locked in. And because we all know Teacake is a MUNCH, it had to be done. Happy hump day bitches, Mimi <3
It’s Friday; regular mandated girl’s night. You’re all sprawled across the sectional, legs tangled, empty wine glasses dotted across the coffee table, the air filled with gossip and laughter.
“He was just so bad at it… imagine a cat drinking milk. Literally, no difference,” Jess groans, tipping her head back against the cushions.
“Beginning to think we all need to take a page out of Bella’s book and start playing for the other team.” Priya snorts, swirling the last of her wine.
“Believe it or not, there are still lesbians who are also terrible at it.” Bella smirks, lifting her glass.
Down the hall, behind his closed bedroom door, Travis stares blankly at his television. He’d come in here on purpose, specifically to give you space, determined not to be that annoying roommate hovering where he wasn’t invited. But you’d all gotten louder as the night went on. He knew you weren’t drinking, you had work in the morning; you’d been complaining about the early opening shift to him most of the afternoon. But the others definitely were, and with every glass their voices rose another decibel. He found himself reaching for the remote, turning the volume down lower and lower until the TV was little more than a quiet murmur, and leaning closer to the wall to listen.
Back in the living room, you lean forward to grab a chip from the bowl, shaking your head as you speak.
“I’d take terrible at this point. Luke wouldn’t do it at all.”
“Ugh, I’m so glad you broke up with that dickhead,” Jess sighs.
“At all? Like not once?” Priya asks.
You crunch the chip slowly, nodding grimly.
“Two years together and he didn’t go down on me once.”
Bella makes a face, “that’s just depressing.”
“Tell me about it.”
Travis freezes, staring at the wall like it just told him something impossible. He knows he absolutely was not supposed to hear that. Panic spikes hot in his chest and he fumbles for the remote, turning the TV volume up a little higher to try and drown your voices out, but it does nothing. The words are already burned into his brain. Two whole years?
He’d met Luke plenty of times. Never liked the guy, but he’d always been civil, for your sake. Luke was constantly giving you grief about having a male roommate, making snide comments, acting like Travis was the problem. But Travis was sat there thinking Luke sounded like the fucking problem: he had you, for two years, and never touched you like that? The idea sits heavy and hot in his chest. If you were his? You’d have to physically pry him off you. Okay, maybe that sounds a little intense. Maybe a little weird. But Travis knows, he’s thought about it enough, imagined it enough, he’d be more than happy to make up for every single second of that neglect.
A little later, the wine runs dry and the girls are tipsy enough to be swaying on their feet. You see them out to the Uber, hugging them goodbye, then shut the door and turn back into the quiet living room. You start gathering up glasses and bowls, calling out toward the hallway as you work.
“You can come out now, they’ve gone.”
Travis emerges from his room a moment later, looking sheepish. His dyed blonde hair is all messy and tousled like he’s been running his hands through it, wearing loose grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that fits him just a little too well. He gives you that soft, lopsided smile. You lean against the arm of the sofa, watching him.
“You know you don’t have to hide in your room, right? I tell you all the time; the girls love you. You’re more than welcome to join us.”
He scratches the back of his neck, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just… it’s girl night, right? Sanctity of girl night and all that.”
You laugh, shaking your head. He looks nervous, embarrassed, and you realise you might be pushing too hard. You decide to ease off, changing the subject gently.
“Were you watching anything good?”
Travis blinks, and suddenly his mind goes completely blank. He has no idea what he was watching. All he can think about is Luke, and what a waste of space he was, and exactly how much better he could treat you, how you’d feel against his tongue, how you’d smell, how you’d sound. He stands there frozen for a beat too long, staring at you, until you tilt your head.
“Trav? You okay?”
“Huh? Yeah, sorry, just… documentary about… um. Starfish. Or seahorses. Or… seals.” He flounders, rubbing his forehead. “Can’t remember now. Just stuff in the ocean, you know, that British guy. With the… the voice.”
You smile, warmth curling soft and quiet in your chest, and turn to carry the stack of glasses through to the kitchen. You turn back from the kitchen and find Travis exactly where you left him, rooted to the spot, gaze fixed on nothing in particular, so quiet you can practically hear the gears spinning fast in his head.
“Trav?”
Nothing.
“Travis?”
He blinks hard, like he’s surfacing from a daze, and finally looks at you.
“Sorry.”
“You’re being weird. What’s up?”
He wrings his hands together, nervous energy rolling off him in waves, then jerks a thumb back toward his bedroom door.
“I wasn’t trying to, like… eavesdrop or nothing. But… were you serious? About what you said? About your ex and how he never…” He gestures vaguely, hand bobbing in the general direction of your hips, and the sheer awkwardness of it makes you laugh.
“Oh. So, you do take part in girl night. Just from the comfort of your own bed?”
You smirk and his face flushes bright pink, ears burning, and your smile softens.
“It’s fine. We’re loud. I get it. But… yeah. Yeah, I was serious.”
“Why?”
“Um… he never did. From the beginning. It wasn’t like he just stopped, he never started. I never really asked. Didn’t like it, I guess?”
You fluff the cushions as you speak, picking up the blanket and folding it neatly, rolling it tight to tuck away. All the while, Travis just stands there, staring at you like you’ve just told him the most outrageous thing he’s ever heard.
“That is the dumbest shit I have ever heard in my life. What an idiot. The guy was a complete dickhead, no offence. I mean… who does that? You don’t skip the best part.”
You set the blanket in the basket and look at him. He’s wide-eyed, genuinely aghast, hands moving as fast as his mouth, gaze darting everywhere except at you, too invested to hide how ridiculous he thinks it is.
“Like, if I had the chance? If it were me? I’d be down there every chance I got. I mean… shoot. I’d love to get my lips on yours. Either set, honestly. I’m just saying, like, if you need someone to fix that ratio? I’m available. I’d consider it a favour to both of us.”
The words hang in the air as Travis freezes mid-gesture, brain catching up with his mouth. Did he actually just say that out loud? To his roommate? Who he’s been pining over for months? He scrambles, panic rising fast.
“Wait, shit. No. I didn’t mean… okay, I did mean it, but I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like some weirdo. I’m not trying to be a creep. I just meant he’s an idiot, and you deserve… well, not that I’m saying I’m the guy. But I could be. If you… fuck. Let me start over…”
He doesn’t get to finish. You step forward in two quick strides, fist curling tight in the front of his t-shirt, and yank him down to meet you. Your mouth crashes onto his, and for a split-second Travis short-circuits entirely; his brain goes completely static, every coherent thought vanishing. This is happening. This is actually happening. Hang on, is this happening? He pulls back just an inch, chest heaving, eyes blown wide and dark.
“Yeah?” he asks.
You smile at that quiet, stunned little question, unfurl your fist from his shirt, and rest your palm flat over his chest, feeling his heart hammering wild and fast beneath your fingers.
“If you’re half as good at it as you are at talking? Then yeah.”
A slow, dark, devastating grin spreads across Travis’ face. His eyes sparkle, bright and hungry, and every trace of flustered ramble vanishes.
“Bet,” he says with a smirk.
This time he kisses you hard, deep and claiming. His hands drop straight to your waist, fingers bunching in the fabric to tug your top upward, then fumbling with the waistband of your sweatpants, pushing you backward toward the sofa like he can’t decide where he wants you first. You laugh breathlessly against his mouth, lifting your arms to help him pull your top over your head, while he shoves your sweats down over your hips. You fall back onto the cushions together, and he yanks your sweats all the way off in one smooth, frantic motion, barely breaking the kiss even for a second.
You reach for him, curling your fingers into the back of his neck to pull his t-shirt over his head and he lets you, but he barely even seems to notice, doesn’t care about himself at all, every scrap of his focus locked entirely on you. His mouth leaves yours only to blaze a trail down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone; kisses that are just as deep, just as thorough, just as hungry as the way he kisses your mouth. Then he’s back, stealing your breath all over again, before his hands are working at the clasp of your bra, deft and suspiciously capable, the second it comes undone he’s kissing his way back down, hot open-mouthed presses over your chest, closing his lips around your nipples and sucking deep and warm until you’re arching up, already gasping and lightheaded.
He keeps going, descending lower, trailing heavy, wet kisses, soft nips, slow broad licks over every inch of skin he passes; thorough, unhurried, like he intends to memorise every reaction he pulls from you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them free, tossing them aside, then settles between your legs and looks.
Travis’ breath catches hard in his throat the second he sees you; the soft, glistening sheen coating your folds, how you already pulse and wait for him. His mouth literally waters, and he shakes his head, like he can barely believe what he’s looking at.
“Jesus Christ.” The words come out low and rough, dropping an octave like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “I’m being deadly serious; your ex needs his head checked. He is a fucking idiot. Certifiable moron. This is the best thing I have ever seen in my life. The best thing I’ve ever… shit, I haven’t even touched it yet.”
He leans in just an inch closer, inhales deep, lungs pulling in your scent, throat bobbing hard as he flickers a quick, burning glance up to your eyes before dropping right back down.
“You smell so good. Fuck. I bet you taste even better. God, I’m just… I’m just gonna…”
Before you can even part your lips to speak, he leans in and his mouth covers you completely. No hesitation, no light little flicks, no tentative testing. His lips part wide and he presses full, wet, heavy warmth flush against you, then his tongue sweeps slow and broad from the very bottom all the way up, one long, heavy, rolling drag that makes your hips jerk upward off the cushions. He’s kissing you exactly the way he kissed your mouth; hungry and thorough, like he’s been dying for this, like he intends to consume every last drop.
Travis takes his time, savouring every second. He’s already rock hard just from the taste, just from the soft, slick warmth against his tongue. He pays attention to everything; every gasp that hitches in your throat, every twitch of your thighs, every sound you make. He’s learning you in real time, adjusting the angle, varying the pressure, figuring out exactly what makes your breath catch. He alternates: long, slow, sweeping drags that cover every inch of you, broad and lazy and deep; then he closes his lips and sucks, warm, firm suction that pulls a sharper cry from you, messier, more urgent, the way a kiss deepens when someone gets carried away and forgets to be careful. His hands never stay still; they grip your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you, fingers digging in just enough; they drift up and down your thighs, warm and rough and reverent; they pull you closer, tighter, right into his mouth like he can’t get enough, like he wants you pressed so close you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.
It’s overwhelming, it feels like he’s everywhere at once. His mouth covers you fully, completely, lips sealed hot and heavy over your sensitive flesh, no part of you left untouched. He works a deliberate rhythm, varying the pressure until he finds the right spot, then leaning into it, breathing hot and damp against you, every heavy exhale vibrating right through your skin. It feels thorough, devout, like he’s pouring every ounce of focus he has into making you fall apart.
Your back arches hard off the cushions, hips jerking but Travis’ grip locks tight around you, holding you exactly where he wants you, keeping you pinned right to his mouth, not letting you pull away even an inch.
“Fuck, Travis… right there, fuck---”
You can feel it coiling tight and hot deep in your gut, building faster and harder than anything you’ve ever felt before. Sweat beads at your hairline, your fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sofa cushion beneath you and still he doesn’t come up for air. It’s like he can breathe right through you, devouring every twitch and gasp. When your hips start rolling, chasing the peak, he meets every single movement with the same rhythm, matching you stroke for stroke, like he’s kissing you back; following your lead, letting you set the pace then taking it deeper.
“Fuck--- Travis--- I’m gonna---”
The words dissolve into a broken groan, too far gone to finish the sentence. You reach blindly, grab a throw cushion, and yank it over your face to muffle the screaming, but Travis feels the movement instantly. He reaches up without even lifting his head, tugs the cushion away and tosses it aside, refusing to let you hide a single sound. He’s buried so deep between your thighs you have no idea how he even saw you do it, but his eyes are dark and locked on yours for half a second before he dives back in.
You’re panting, babbling nothing but broken, incoherent noises, your whole body winding tight and then you snap. It crashes over you all at once, white-hot and endless, your back bowing, your hands fisting deep into the cushions as you practically scream his name. Travis doesn’t stop. He stays locked right there, mouth sealed to you, riding you through every shuddering aftershock, tongue working you gently through the spasms until you’re gasping, chest heaving, limbs trembling.
You assume he’s done. Your hips twitch, trying to lift away, overstimulated and sensitive but Travis wraps both arms around your thighs, pulls you right back, and buries his face deeper than before. He doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t ease up. And instantly, you feel it, that hot, tight pull building all over again, too soon, too intense, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you rock helplessly into his mouth.
His tongue is everywhere; circling slow and firm over your clit, swirling tight and precise, then dipping lower, sweeping broad through your slick heat, pressing into your entrance and lapping slow and deep. The sounds are obscene; loud, wet, slurping drags, heavy suction, the slick friction of his mouth moving through your arousal echoing in the quiet room. Travis is moaning right into you, low throaty vibrations rumbling against your skin, lost in the taste of you, and you can’t hold anything back. Your own cries are raw, broken, spilling freely, loud and unhinged. Before you can even catch your breath, the second wave hits, harder than the first, snapping through you and leaving you shaking, limp, and screaming his name into the empty living room.
“Fuckkkk, Travis, shit, yes, fuck.”
Travis feels your thighs trembling either side of his head but still has no intention of stopping. He braces his forearms firm around your hips, presses a flat palm light and steady against your lower stomach to keep you anchored to the sofa, and just keeps going; deeper, harder, louder. The sound is filthy, wet slurping and sucking. You’re a dripping mess, and he’s completely lost in it. You taste incredible and you smell like heaven, feel like heaven, soaked and slick and trembling for him. You’re so wet, so ready, and he would happily drown in every single drop.
Above him you’re bucking, twisting, spilling nonsense cries, and it only spurs him on. He tightens his grip, holds you still, and points his tongue, diving sharp and precise right into your fluttering entrance, dragging slow and deliberate through your spasms. He’s so painfully hard it aches, straining against his sweats, throbbing and desperate. He shifts his weight higher up the sofa, dragging himself closer, and presses his hips down hard into the cushion, grinding slow and heavy against the fabric, seeking any friction he can get while he stays right there, mouth locked to you, refusing to pull away. You’re heaving, chest rising and falling fast, lungs burning as you claw for air.
“Trav… fuck… I can’t…”
It’s true. You don’t think you have anything left to give, every nerve frayed raw and screaming. You reach down, fingers tangling tight into his messy blonde hair, and try to yank his head up, but he doesn’t budge. His arms are locked firm around your thighs, his heavy palm pressing steady, unyielding weight low on your belly, refusing to let you pull away. A broken sob tears from your throat, overstimulated and overwhelmed and completely at his mercy.
Travis is drunk on you; lost in the taste, the smell, the way you tremble and unravel for him. Every drag of his tongue makes his own cock throb so painfully it aches, straining hard and heavy behind the fabric of his sweats. He can’t bring himself to pull away from you, not even for a second, so he just grinds his hips down hard into the plush sofa cushions, rolling and gyrating, seeking any friction he can get while his mouth stays sealed hot and tight to your core. The pressure drives him wild, makes him work harder, hungrier and it’s exactly what pushes you right back over the edge before you can even catch your breath.
This third orgasm shatters you completely. No words, no scream, just a deep, guttural groan wrenched from somewhere deep in your chest as you convulse, walls fluttering and gushing hot and hard against his tongue. He rides you right through the peak, lapping it all up, letting your slick spread across his mouth, his chin, his nose, his cheeks; shiny and messy and marked by you. Fuck, he thinks, half-dazed and delirious. He could die right here and die happy.
At last, he pulls back just an inch, lifting his head. His face is flushed pink, glistening wet and shiny, lips swollen and dark. You let out a ragged, shaky breath, chest heaving. Thank God, he’s done. You blink hard, fighting the weight of your eyelids, tilting your head to look down at him. He rests his chin heavy on your trembling thigh and looks up at you, eyes blown wide and dark, pupils swallowing the light, voice soft and wrecked and thick with need.
“Please. Just… give me one more? Can you do that for me? Just one more. Please?”
He says it like you’re doing him the biggest favour in the world, like he’s begging for something precious. You can barely string two thoughts together, can barely remember your own name, you just give him a dumb, dazed, overwhelmed nod.
He doesn’t waste a second. He slides his hands beneath your hips, lifts you just enough to tilt you upward and then he dives back down. This time he doubles everything. Harder, faster, deeper and his tongue pushes past your entrance, slips inside you fully, burying itself deep and sweeping slow and deliberate through your fluttering walls. He feels you clamp down tight around him, hears the broken little cry you make, and the sheer sight and sound and feel of it all hits him so hard his hips stutter. He stiffens momentarily, spilling right there in his sweats, just from tasting you, just from watching you come apart entirely for him.
Your knuckles are white where you claw and grip the cushions, tears spilling freely now as your hips buck wildly off the sofa and Travis meets every sharp, desperate roll with his mouth sealed to you, inhaling you completely. His tongue drives deep inside you one last time, slow and sure, and that’s what breaks you. You choke on a sob as your whole body seizes and convulses around him. Travis doesn’t pull away. He holds you there, soft steady licks and gentle sucks guiding you all the way down until your hips stop trembling and your breath finally starts to return. Only then does he begin to move.
He climbs slow, dragging his mouth up the length of you. Wet, heavy, claiming kisses pressed hot to your trembling stomach, your ribs, the swell of your chest, all the way up your throat until he reaches your jaw. Then he kisses your mouth, deep and unashamed. His face is still shiny and damp with you, and you taste yourself on his lips as he steals the breath right out of your lungs.
Your hands drift down, fumbling with the waistband of his sweats, desperate to touch him, to give back even a fraction of what he just gave you but Travis catches your wrists instantly, pins them firm above your head, and kisses you deeper until the words dissolve in your throat.
“Trav… let me…”
He pulls back just an inch, forehead resting light against yours, chest heaving.
“Gonna need to give me a few minutes for that.”
“Huh? Why?”
You blink up at him, dazed and confused. A devastatingly satisfied grin tugs at his mouth.
“I told you. This is the best part.”
Realisation hits you slow, “Travis… did you…”
“Cum in my pants?” He says it so casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah.”
He chuckles soft and warm against your skin, completely unbothered, and drops his mouth to kiss slow open-mouthed lines down the side of your neck.
“Listen. I’ll be good in like… two minutes. Tops. But until then? I’m more than happy right here. I ain’t going anywhere.”
He kisses your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and you lie there beneath him, wrecked and glowing, staring up at him through heavy, soft lashes.
“I wish you’d offered this months ago,” you murmur, breathless and quiet, “and saved me all that drama with Luke.”
Travis stops. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye and the look on his face makes your chest ache. Dark, intense, completely sincere.
“I’ll make it up to you. Every. Fucking. Day.”
You sink back into the cushions, thoroughly ruined in the most wonderful way, and think if he actually keeps that promise, you might not survive it. But as you pull him down to kiss you again, slow and sweet and tasting of you both; you decide you’re more than willing to try.
Gobby!Keys helps with research in his father's lab on MIT campus, developing revolutionary AI. One highly sensitive project they’re working on is intended to put AI inside the human body to make us stronger, push us past our physical/mental limits, help people with mobility issues.
Gobby!Keys watches helplessly as his father works day and night, no sleep, no food — his desperation for this to work stemming from his own struggle with Parkinson's. Ultimately he uses himself as his own test subject, creating the first horrific Green Goblin persona.
Gobby!Keys works frantically to deprogram the AI now embedding itself into his father’s system, but he is too far gone. Gobby Sr. escapes on a glider, the AI frying his brain and making him hellbent on wreaking havoc on the city. Keys, donning various prototypes and protective gear from around the lab, goes after him.
Spidey!Steve defeats Gobby Sr., but when he sees Gobby!Keys fly up on his glider he assumes it’s another baddie because of the similarities of their equipment. Despite Keys’ pleas of “I’m on your side!”, Steve knocks him around pretty good.
Gobby!Keys manages to evade capture, but his father isn’t so lucky, being taken to a high-security prison for complex criminals.
Spidey!Steve is lauded as a local hero. Even in the article you write for the paper, you give him the title of the city’s “Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman”.
At home, Gobby!Keys tries to hide how annoyed he is with your increasing fascination with this new “hero”, Spiderman. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were actually crushing on the jerk. Steve doesn’t seem nearly as affected by it, even gushes about how much he loves the webbed crusader himself, but it really rubs Keys the wrong way.
Gobby!Keys decides that this Spiderman isn't all he's cracked up to be. I mean come on, he beat the shit out of someone who was only trying to trying to help! He decides to become the Hobgoblin, a rival hero to Spiderman.
Now, as the newest reporter (intern) for your paper, you’re following these two budding heroes closer than anyone — and you have them wrapped around your little finger…
