Picture commissioned from lovely @furrysphinxthrone
Eddie Munson x Reader • 80s Zombie Apocalypse AU
based on this request/idea
WC: 2700
Warnings: some gore and violence obviously, but it’s also funny, think classic zombie slasher, eventual smut, MDNI
You thought getting called into work hungover after a second-year high school reunion was a bad day.
Try surviving a local zombie outbreak with Eddie Munson and his crew.
The phone rang many times before you picked up, whoever it was, they were insistent.
“Hello,” you said in the voice you normally use for ‘fuck’.
“Sorry to bother you so early darling…”
Not him again. Your boss. The clock was showing 11:15, the button broke in winter, so after daylight savings it was really 10:15.
“I’m fine.” You looked at the bucket by the bed, empty.
“So there’s a basketball game at Hawkins High tonight, a short drive from me, everyone hungry for hotdogs, good cash…”
The voice on the other side was almost apologetic.
“Why are you calling me now for the 6pm event?” The blood was pounding in your temples, you carefully sat up in the bed, and looked around — at least this is my house. Good.
“I might have eaten most of the stuff from the truck. You will need to restock. Get breakfast on me. Or lunch. Or a hotdog.” He laughed at his own joke. Son of a bitch.
“I’ll get ready and come by. As quick as I can.” That probably meant a few hours, taking last night’s second year high school reunion into account.
You peeked through the blinds at the sunny day outside, squinted, swallowed a pill and went to shower.
6pm In the neighboring town of Hawkins:
Eddie bent over the campaign notes — the map of the dungeon, the encounter tables, dialogue notes. The Hellfire Club was going to walk into the Lair of the Crimson Lich and they were going to suffer, cry and beg and Eddie was going to enjoy every second of it.
He was waiting for the party, reading through the notes again, chewing on the rubber of the pencil, when the door of the drama room slammed open so hard that the window rattled.
Erica Sinclair stood in the doorway, chest heaving, looking like she’d run the entire length of Hawkins without stopping.
Eddie lowered his notes slowly.
“I saw a boy,” she gasped, “eating a girl.”
Eddie stared at her.
She stared back.
He sat up, set his notes aside, and folded his hands on the table preparing to give a sex ed lecture.
“Erica,” he said, in his most patient voice. “What you witnessed is actually a completely natural, if deeply personal—”
“Shut the dumpster.” She looked like she wanted to throw up. “Not like that, you absolute creep, he was eating her brain—”
“Wha—”
“Her actual brain, Eddie—”
“Okay, I hear you—”
“There was so much blood—”
“ERICA.” He was on his feet now. “I hear you. Okay? I hear you.” He crossed to the window and looked out, half expecting to see nothing, half expecting her to be pranking him, because she was absolutely capable of it and he wouldn’t put it past her.
Eddie saw Jason Carver on the sidewalk across the street.
He saw Jason sucking the brain out of some cheerleader’s skull with enthusiasm. Her body flat on the sidewalk, his face covered in fresh blood and brain mass.
He dropped the curtain. Contents of his stomach tried to come up, then again. Eddie put his hand on the windowsill to steady himself.
“Okay,” he said, very quietly, to the wall. “Okay. That’s. Yeah.” He turned around.
Erica was watching him with wide eyes. She was twelve years old and he had no answers for her.
“Lock the door,” he said.
She already had.
They waited for the others.
Mike and Dustin didn’t show. Gareth didn’t show. Jeff didn’t show.
Eddie sat at the head of the table, looking at his campaign notes and listening to the sounds outside getting worse and trying to think. Erica sat across from him eating the last of his chips.
“We have to go,” she said, around a mouthful of Doritos.
“I know.”
“My parents don’t know where I am.”
“I know.”
“Eddie.”
“I know, Erica, I’m thinking—”
“Think faster.”
He looked at her. She looked at him. Outside, something fell over with a wet crash and neither of them looked toward the window.
“Okay,” he said. “There’s an emergency stand at the end of the corridor. We need to make it there, grab the fire extinguisher and run downstairs to the parking lot. Stay next to me.”
Erica sipped her soda and nodded.
Eddie peeked outside the door. The corridor was empty, freshly washed and quiet like always when everyone except the outcasts were at the basketball game.
Halfway through the hall they saw Mrs. Braun, the history teacher Eddie frequently clashed with. Her eyes were whitish, face pale grey and she moved slowly but with the determination of a tank. The sleeve of her pink blouse was ripped off, exposing a deep bite on her arm.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” Eddie froze mid-step, considering running or redirecting.
“Munson.” Erica pulled on his hand.
“Yes, that’s me. Why the fuck is it always me in the middle of the shitstorm?”
“Analyze this later.”
“Okay, I’ll run to grab the fire extinguisher while you go back to the room—”
“Absolutely not. I will distract her while you run. She seems slow and wears those stupid shoes.” Erica didn’t lose her cool, or at least pretended better than Eddie, whose brain was short-circuiting.
“Fine, just don’t get caught, okay, kid?”
Eddie sprinted toward the fire stand while Erica started making noise and moving frantically, trying to distract Mrs. Braun without attracting more zombies. Eddie was almost at the stand when Mrs. Braun lurched toward him clumsily — and he made a sound he will never tell anyone about.
Thankfully, whether it was a zombie characteristic or just a history teacher attribute, she was slow enough for him to pass her and reach the fire stand, where Eddie desperately jerked on the handle before reading — pull the ring. He got to the fire extinguisher just in time to blow a spray of foam in her eyes, then hit her head with the bottom of the container. She fell down hard and splayed on the linoleum either dead or knocked out.
Just as he breathed out and felt the droplets of sweat run down his back, at the other end of the corridor a zombie basketball player emerged.
“Run, Erica!”
She did, but jocks even in zombie form were quick and better oriented. Erica barely made it to Eddie as he was spraying the zombie. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Eddie had to sacrifice his belt to tie the handles. The way to the van was clear.
Eddie drove with both hands on the wheel. His jaw set, taking turns he didn’t need to take, avoiding a few scenes of former citizens feasting on brains. I will take her home, then sit in the van and panic. Erica froze in the passenger seat with her arms crossed and her eyes tracking everything with pure horror.
The Sinclair house looked untouched from the outside, which was either a good sign or the cruelest possible joke. The porch light was on. The door opened before they made it up the front path — Mrs. Sinclair saw them through the window and pulled Erica immediately.
“She’s okay,” Eddie said from the porch. “She came to D&D, she was safe the whole time, I brought her straight here—”
“Lucas.” Mrs. Sinclair looked at him clutching Erica. “Lucas went to the basketball game. He hasn’t come home.”
Eddie’s stomach dropped. Lucas was there with Mrs. Braun roaming around, with Jason and whoever else is infected with he has no idea what. His brain was zoning out of the scale of the disaster, just focusing on the next step — getting Lucas out of danger.
Mr. Sinclair appeared in the hallway with a shotgun. Eddie had no idea the Sinclairs even had a gun. Everything shifted into a horror movie mode — elongated shadows, disturbing sounds from the street, and eerie TV static.
“I’ll find him, I have a machete,” Eddie heard himself say.
Everyone looked at him. Eddie wasn’t famous for being a hero.
“I’ll find him,” he said again, trying not to look terrified. “And I’ll bring him back.”
Mr. Sinclair looked Eddie over.
“I knew you were a satanist,” he said.
Eddie opened his mouth.
“But,” Mr. Sinclair added, with the gravity of a man rapidly reassessing his priorities, “given the circumstances, that’s an advantage.”
“Bring my son home.”
Eddie closed his mouth.
“Yes, sir,” he had no time and no desire to argue…
Erica finally cracked and cried in her mom’s arms, looking like a child she was and not a little smart brat she played usually.
“Stay inside, they are slow and dumb.” Eddie instructed no one specifically.
“I’ll watch them,” Mr. Sinclair promised, grasping the gun with an unsteady hand.
Eddie turned back to the van, thinking how the hell he was going to get Lucas out of a gym full of zombies, and lit a cigarette.
You should have gone home.
That was the thought blinking in his head as the van rattled down the empty Hawkins streets. Most cars were trying to get out of the town. Smart. Lucky.
Eddie had nowhere to go except his trailer. The trailer had walls. The trailer had a lock. It theoretically had safety. Wayne should come back in the morning, like he could sort out any of this mess.
Instead he was driving toward Hawkins High with a machete on the passenger seat and exactly one plan, which was:
1. Find Lucas.
2. Don’t die.
3. Bring him back home.
The school came into view. The parking lot looked very dead. The asphalt was streaked dark here and there. Eddie could hear distant screaming echoing somewhere inside the school.
And right in the middle of the parking lot—
Are you kidding me?
You were sprinting between cars while three zombies stumbled after you.
Not screaming. Not crying. Just running with exhausted determination. You vaulted over the hood of a Honda.
One of the zombies grabbed at your jacket and missed by inches. His jaws clicked with an unnatural sound. Your blood ran cold.
Eddie slammed his foot on the gas.
The van roared forward.
“OH SHIT—”
THUMP.
The first zombie disappeared under the tires.
THUMP.
The second spun sideways hard enough to bounce off a parked car. You screamed and covered your face with your hands as the blood splashed on you.
The third turned just in time to get obliterated by the front bumper with a crunch Eddie would absolutely never get over.
You stopped, breathing hard, eyes wide.
Eddie leaned across the passenger seat and shoved the door open.
“GET IN!”
You did instantly, slamming the door behind you.
Eddie peeled away across the parking lot while more figures began emerging near the school entrance.
For about five seconds neither of you spoke.
Then:
“See the hot dog truck there?”
Eddie glanced at you.
“What?”
“It’s mine.” You wiped bloody hands on your apron. “High school basketball game, my boss told me. Great cash. For fuck’s sake.”
Eddie stared.
“You’re taking this weirdly well. We are basically in the Night of the Creeps zombie slasher.”
You shrugged. “I work in food service.”
“— never thought making hotdogs was dangerous.”
“In the end of the shift when crackheads try to steal the cash.”
Eddie opened his mouth and shut it back. He pulled up next to the truck. The side read: DOG DAYS with a smiling cartoon dachshund wearing sunglasses.
“I’m Eddie, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know. Heard your band.” You gave him your name casually, as if it was not on your badge.
“Wait — you went to see Corroded Coffin?” The boy lit up like he didn’t kill four zombies today.
“I went to get a drink. But you were fast. I mean good.”
“Basically the same. Thank you, for real. If the world collapses at least I will be remembered.” Eddie chuckled grasping at the straw of normalcy.
You smiled and disappeared into the truck. A minute later your head reappeared at the service window.
“How do you like it?”
“What?”
“Your hot dog.”
Eddie considered whether he even wanted to eat right now, but then — it might be the last hot dog in his life.
“Everything on it.”
“I’ll even make it double sausage.”
He had no plan and no strategy. Going through the main entrance was suicide. The fire ladder was next to the gym window — a good chance to assess what was going on inside, and possibly a way in through the roof or the window.
“Enjoy.” You interrupted his thoughts. He pulled closer to the window and grabbed a jumbo hot dog dripping with sauce, chips on the side and a can of Cherry Coke.
“Thanks. If this is my last meal, let it be.” Eddie chewed off a quarter of it in one bite.
“What do you mean last meal? Aren’t you driving the hell out of here?”
“I need to rescue a kid from the basketball game.”
You looked at him, questioning his sanity. You were in the high school parking lot, right next to the gym, potentially full of zombies. It was dark already and you swore you could smell the blood in the air.
“How do you know he’s even alive? It’s full of zombies.”
A flock of birds took off the wires making you both flinch. They cautiously approached the zombie bodies Eddie squashed. One of them was still moving.
“I don’t. I accidentally promised his mom and sister. There’s a ladder, I’ll take a peek.” Eddie didn’t sound sure. In fact, he looked lost and terrified.
“I’ll go with you.” You grabbed a crowbar from under the counter and climbed out of your truck without waiting for his response.
“You can’t risk it like that.” He let you in still. “You even know how to use it?”
“Want a demo?”
Eddie read your deadpan and didn’t press.
“Seriously, you barely know me, and you don’t know Lucas, and this is dangerous…”
“You just saved my life. I owe you one. Anyways I was just going to cover your back while you figure it out.”
“You made me a hotdog, we’re even.”
“If we survive, you follow me home and check if there are no zombies around, deal?”
You didn’t buckle up.
“Deal.”
“Drive to the ladder.”
“Bossy, I like that.” He smirked at you, but internally Eddie was grateful not to be alone on this mission.
A shape near the front entrance caught your eye.
“Wait.”
Eddie followed your stare.
A police cruiser sat crooked near the school steps. One of the doors hung open. A body lay beside it in a very unnatural pose. Police uniform. Not moving.
“He might have ammo,” you said quietly.
Eddie swallowed.
“Right. Cool. Awesome. We’re robbing a corpse now. A policeman’s corpse.”
“Welcome to survival.”
You crossed the parking lot carefully, scanning the exits of the building.
The policeman was definitely dead. Not turned, just dead. Eddie tried to look away from the bite marks and broken skull, but the metallic smell crept into his nose and mouth.
You crouched first, checking the holster.
“Got it.”
You pulled the handgun free with surprising confidence and started fiddling with it.
Eddie blinked.
“Have you done this before?”
“I watch a lot of action movies.” You checked the chamber. “Loaded.”
“Great. Fucking amazing…” Eddie groaned and reached for a cigarette.
A distant shriek echoed from somewhere inside the school. Both of you looked up.
The gym doors trembled.
Something slammed against them from the inside.
Eddie gripped the machete tighter. The fire ladder hung off the side just a few steps away.
Eddie took a breath.
“Okay,” he said. “Up we go.”
You cocked the handgun.
Eddie gave you an alarmed glance. “Please tell me you actually know how to use that.”
“Nope.”
“If I get out of this alive I swear I’ll stop dealing.”
You gave Eddie a side eye.
“Normally I would let the lady go first…”
He went up the ladder first as something inside the school began screaming.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, ladies?”
The girls stormed in without an invitation.
“We are here to see Wild Thing.”
“Oh, okay.”
Hearing the noise, you appeared in the living room, slightly sleepy and puzzled.
Nancy immediately assessed your clothing situation.
“She’s still wearing your stuff.”
“She likes it, right, baby?” Eddie walked over to you and draped his arm over your shoulder. “You like wearing my shirt?” He tapped the Metallica logo on the oversized tee that served as your dress.
“Eddie, does she even have underwear? Does she have shoes?” Robin leaned in, looking at you with compassion. “If she wants to see more than just your bedroom, she needs proper clothes.”
Nancy announced with Rambo determination: “We are taking you shopping, Wild Thing.”
“Where are we going?” Eddie asked. He didn’t have anything against the idea, but he fully intended to tag along.
“We are going,” Nancy clarified, pointing between herself and Robin. “You’re staying.”
“She might need—”
“She has us,” Robin cut in. “You got money?”
Defeated, Eddie resorted to pulling cash from that infamous wallet you had brought back from your hunting trip.
Moments later, you were already at the door, wearing a pair of flip-flops Robin had brought along.
“Shop,” Nancy said patiently, guiding you out.
You looked back at Eddie.
“Shop,” you told him, as though he might have missed it.
He held the door open for you all. “I’ll watch the bats.”
The thrift store on Route 4 was large, poorly lit, and smelled of that musty scent all thrift stores have. But to you, it was a Disneyland of shape and texture. Created in the Upside Down, anything soft or silky fascinated you. While Nancy and Robin picked out things for you to try, you simply explored the aisles of dresses, skirts, pants, and jackets, your eyes moving slowly across the room.
“Look,” you said surprised, discovering a rack of lace.
“Yes,” Nancy said gently. “Look as much as you want.”
You were entirely unimpressed by the jeans, the same with the blouses, the cardigans, and the sensible skirts. None of it was wrong, exactly. None of it was right.
Then you turned a corner and stopped.
The rack was pushed against the back wall, slightly apart from everything else—a collection of vintage dresses that someone had clearly gathered deliberately. Swing dresses, wrap dresses, shirtwaists, and tea-lengths. There were dark florals, polka dots, and solid jewel tones with nipped waists and full skirts.
You reached out and touched the nearest one. Then, you went through the entire rack.
Robin appeared beside you with a basket, wisely saying nothing. You transferred the growing pile of clothes into it without even looking up.
Nancy arrived from the sweater section and froze. “Oh,” she said quietly.
You turned around and held up a black dress with white polka dots and a sweetheart neckline. “Good?” you asked.
“Very good,” Nancy smiled.
You turned back to the rack and thoroughly touched every item. By the end of your raid, you had seven dresses. Nancy suggested that perhaps three would be enough. You looked at her with the exact expression you used on Eddie when you had already decided something and were just waiting for the humans to catch up. It worked perfectly.
You kept six.
The shoes took a bit longer. You had zero interest in heels—you tried one on, walked two clumsy steps, and put it right back. Flats you tolerated but didn’t love. Sandals got a flat no.
Nancy was rapidly running out of ideas when Robin appeared from the men’s section holding a pair of black combat boots, their laces undone and the toes a bit worn.
“Like Eddie’s,” Robin said.
You looked at the boots. You thought about Eddie waiting at home. Sitting straight down on the floor, you pulled them on and the girls helped you to lace them up.
You stood up, walked a small circle, and looked down at your feet. Seeing the heavy combat boots peeking out from under the hem of the vintage polka-dot dress, you smiled baring the fangs.
“Like Eddie's,” you confirmed.
“We're getting them,” Robin agreed.
Back at Wheeler’s house, Nancy sat you down in front of the bathroom mirror. She hadn’t originally planned this part, but seeing you in the dress with the full skirt and the combat boots had inspired her.
“Can I?” she asked, holding up a small makeup bag.
You nodded, staring intently at your reflection.
You sat incredibly still while Nancy worked with practiced care. Nothing heavy—just dark eyeliner, because your eyes didn’t need much help, then a bold red lipstick. You watched your own face transform in the glass with a mix of curiosity and childish joy.
After Nancy finished, she swept your hair up into a simple, elegant bun.
You stared at yourself in the reflection. “Beautiful,” you said quietly.
“Beautiful ,” Nancy agreed, smiling.
Nancy and Robin exchanged a look of pure satisfaction. Mission accomplished.
“You know what I think? She’s way too pretty to lock right back up in the trailer with Munson,” Robin joked, winking at Nancy.
“Well, she seems to like Munson for some reason,” Nancy laughed, but she was quickly catching onto the idea.
“Let’s go party!” Robin announced, not really making it a question.
Hours later and three margaritas deep, the girls finally brought you back.
Eddie was pacing and smoking on the porch, clearly waiting for some sort of disaster to happen. Instead, you climbed out of the car, swooshing your full skirt around with a grin.
“Wild Thing,” he breathed. His voice came out completely wrecked.
You smiled, walking up the steps and landing right on his lap.
“Sorry we took a little longer!” Robin called out, turning the car around before Eddie could even get a word in. “We just wanted to show her some fun!”
“Fun,” you confirmed to Eddie, leaning against him.
Part I and finished artwork here Night of the freaks
I got a little carried away and commissioned a piece from the wonderful @furrysphinxthrone for my upcoming series Night of the Freaks 🧟♂️
Suggested/requested by @judthatdud
80s zombie slasher. Short episodes, updated often — think Wild Thing vibes.
What do you all think? 👇
Let me know if you want to be tagged when it drops!
Eddie x Female Reader & the whole cast 🖤
Erica Sinclair stood in the doorway, chest heaving, looking like she’d run the entire length of Hawkins without stopping.
Eddie lowered his notes slowly.
“I saw a boy,” she gasped, “eating a girl.”
Eddie stared at her.
She stared back.
He sat up, set his notes down with great care, and folded his hands on the table like a man about to deliver very important information.
“Erica,” he said, in his most patient voice. “What you witnessed is actually a completely natural, if deeply personal—”
“Shut the dumpster” She looked like she wanted to throw up. “Not like that, you absolute creep, he was eating her brain—”
“Wha—”
“Her actual brain, Eddie—”
“Okay, I hear you—”
“There was so much blood—”
“ERICA.” He was on his feet now. “I hear you. Okay? I hear you.” He crossed to the window and looked out, half expecting to see nothing, half expecting her to be pranking him, because she was absolutely capable of it and he wouldn’t put it past her.
Eddie saw Jason Carver on the sidewalk across the street.
He saw Jason sucking the brain out of some cheerleader’s skull with enthusiasm.
He dropped the curtain.
“Okay,” he said, very quietly, to the wall. “Okay. That’s. Yeah.” He turned around.
Erica was watching him with wide eyes. She was twelve years old and he had no answers for her.
By Thursday afternoon, the low-grade anxiety had settled into your bones. You kept replaying everything Eddie said, together with the smell of his cigarettes, the weight of his gaze, and the sensation of his knuckles on your cheek. It was unbearable. You decided he was just playing with your crush — the one you’d had since last year. You thought it was over. Who knew he would come back to repeat senior year?
Eddie was also replaying Tuesday’s session. Girls liked him occasionally, but not like this. Not girls like her. She was not his usual type: those who were curious what it would be like to be with him, whether he had nipples pierced… She just seemed to actually like him, not the performance or rebellion of it.
In the dark of the trailer he’d wondered if it landed the way he meant it. The teasing, the banter — why not just drop it and actually get to know her? See if the feeling was mutual. He knew why. And if he’d read it wrong, if she was just being friendly and he’d gone and done the cheek thing at her own front door—
He was an idiot. Just like his father. Always trying to outsmart something that didn’t need outsmarting, and fumbling every good thing in the process.
Eddie smoked another cigarette nervously before starting his van. When his van groaned in your driveway, your heart did a flip. Bolt was ready by the door. You slowly went down like you hadn’t been waiting.
There he was. Eddie was wearing the same scuffed leather jacket, Iron Maiden shirt, and his signature grin.
“Hey, Tinker,” he murmured, sitting down to get to eye level with the dog. Bolt gave him a sniff of approval.
“Munson,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “My mom isn’t home yet, and my brother is at track practice. So it’s quiet.”
Eddie paused in the entryway, his eyebrows arched upward. “Quiet, huh? No overprotective fourteen-year-olds to call me names? No legendary garlic sandwiches?” He tilted his head with a wicked glint in his eye. “Just you, me, and the laws of attraction… sorry, chemical attraction.”
Turn off Al Munson, you dork.
“Upstairs,” you said and turned your back to him to hide the pink. Once the bedroom door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. The playful banter from the porch evaporated, replaced by a suffocating tension that had been building since Tuesday.
He went straight to the desk, dropped his jacket over the back of the chair and settled into his seat. You pushed through the previous material review.
Get comfortable being uncomfortable, your sensei taught you.
Eddie Munson was constantly invading your personal space — his smell, his laughter, his hair falling over the notebook, his plush pink lips… wait, what am I thinking.
“Chapter eight,” you muttered, pulling your chair in. Your knee brushed against his denim-clad leg. Neither of you moved. “Ionic bonds. It’s about electrostatic attraction between oppositely charged ions.”
“Opposites attract,” Eddie repeated, his voice dropping into that low, seductive tone. He leaned his elbow on the desk, propping his chin in his hand so he was looking directly at your face. “Like a straight-A girl and a guy from the wrong side of the tracks?”
“Eddie,” you kept your eyes on the textbook page, but the text was blurring together. “Focus.”
“I am focusing,” he whispered. “I’m looking right at the most interesting thing in the room.”
You lifted your head to snap at him, but the words died in your throat. He was closer than you thought. His dark curls were framing his face, a few strands fell over his forehead, and his eyes were entirely serious. The teasing edge was gone. He was looking at your lips.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Your voice was barely there.
“The pink thing.” A tender smile touched his lips. He reached out and gently cupped the side of your jaw. His thumb brushed over your cheek. “It’s pretty. Drives me a little crazy, if you want the honest-to-God truth.”
Your pulse was hammering directly against his palm. You leaned into his touch just a fraction, your defiance melting away. “You’re making it hard to tutor you, Munson.”
“Probably,” his thumb moved down to brush your lower lip. “So… what are you going to do about it, pixie? Going to punch me in the abdomen?”
“I told you,” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his mouth. “I only punch people who deserve it.”
Eddie tilted his head and tangled his fingers in your hair. He leaned lower until his forehead was resting against yours, so close you could smell mint and cigarettes on his warm breath.
“Then tell me I deserve this,” very quietly, barely there. “Tell me, Tinker.”
You didn’t say it. Instead, you closed the last millimeter of space left between you and pulled him the rest of the way in.
When your lips finally met his, Eddie let out a ragged sound against your mouth — halfway between a sigh and a growl. The hand tangled in your hair tightened, anchoring you to him as he deepened the kiss.
His soft lips parted yours with confidence, and you let him. Your entire body went completely weak. You reached out and instinctively gripped his shoulders to ground yourself as the room spun around you.
His free hand slid down from your jaw, resting flat against your collarbone. His thumb pressed right over your pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heart hammering.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily. His dark eyes were blown out, looking down at you.
“Finally,” Eddie whispered, his voice rough and low.
You tried to find your calm, “We… we have half a chapter left.”
Eddie let out a short, delighted laugh and leaned back just a bit.
“Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you,” he murmured as he glanced at his chemistry book, “but I think we just completely ruined the learning session.”
He didn’t give you a chance to argue. Eddie’s mouth slammed back down onto yours, harder and more desperate this time.
He effortlessly lifted you from the chair and put you down onto the edge of the desk. Chemistry worksheets and loose pencils scattered onto the floor, but you didn’t care. Eddie stayed on the chair, leveling you almost even. You would think how embarrassing it was later. Now, pinned between him and the desk, you couldn’t .
His hands traveled up your spine, as his tongue tangled with yours in a lazy rhythm, making your toes tingle. You wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulled him close, and dug your hands into his soft, wild curls. Oh you've been dreaming about doing it.
Eddie dragged his lips from your mouth and kissed a burning trail down your neck. He nipped gently right above your collarbone, making you let out a trembling moan that seemed so loud in the quiet bedroom.
“Eddie,” you whimpered, your head falling against his shoulder.
“Yeah, Tinker,” he stroked your hair gently. “Right here.”
Suddenly, the front door clicked.
Your brother’s loud, obnoxious voice carried up the stairwell, complaining about his track coach.
You froze, snapped your eyes wide open.
Eddie stopped instantly, letting out a dissatisfied groan. He didn’t move, just holding you tight against him as he tried to think what’s next.
“Track practice is over,” you breathed, panic suddenly flaring in your chest as you realized you were sitting on your desk with your legs wrapped around Eddie.
Friday morning at Hawkins High felt completely different. The air was colder, the lights harsher, and the hallway chatter louder than yesterday. You walked through the crowded corridors, but your mind was entirely stuck on the ghost of Eddie’s hands on your waist and the taste of him on your lips.
You spotted him by the vending machines before the last period. He leaned against the glass, talking with Dustin and Mike, as he debated passionately about some campaign detail.
Without thinking, driven by a sudden, fierce need to be near him, you walked straight to them. Freshman boys, who cares. Your eyes were locked onto Eddie. You stepped directly into his space and reached down, your fingers sliding into his palm, seeking his hand.
Eddie froze mid-sentence. His eyes snapped down to your joined hands, then up to your face, not knowing what to do with it.
Before Dustin or Mike could even register what was happening, Eddie smoothly dropped your hand, letting your fingers slip away. He gave the boys a quick, forced grin. “Catch you later.”
He guided you down the hallway, navigating through the crowd until he pushed open the heavy double doors leading out to the quiet place he used to smoke between classes.
“What are you doing, Tinker?” he asked as the door clicked shut behind you. He ran a hand through his curls, pacing a small circle on the concrete.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out over the weekend,” you said, your voice steady despite the sudden chill in the air. “Go to movies or something.”
Eddie stopped pacing and looked at you, his dark eyes turned heavily serious.
“Outside. Meet me outside, or in the library, or the back of my van. Anywhere but the main hall.”
“Why?” You stepped closer, hurt pricking at the edges of your chest. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“Ashamed of you?” Eddie let out a sharp, breathless laugh that lacked any real humor.
“Baby, look at me. I’m the freak. I’m the resident drug dealer, the guy who flunked twice. You start holding my hand in front of the varsity dickheads, and you ruin your reputation. Just like that.”
“I don’t care about my reputation,” you said, lifting your chin.
“Yeah, well, I do,” Eddie countered, stepping in close, his voice dropping into a fierce whisper.
“You say that now because you’re brave, and you’re stubborn, and you punch people in the stomach. But you will care when people start looking at you sideways in the cafeteria. You’ll care when the whispers start. You’ll care when you walk up to your locker between classes and find disgusting things written in permanent marker.”
“Eddie—”
“Hey! Everything okay over here?”
The loud, aggressive voice cut through the courtyard. You both snapped your heads around to see Tommy H. and another varsity jock walking toward the gym doors, sports bags slung over their shoulders. Tommy was staring directly at Eddie with a sneer, his eyes flicking to you with a look of arrogant concern.
“Munson,” Tommy barked, taking a few steps closer, his chest puffed out. “The freak harassing you, tiny girl?” A cruel, mocking grin plastered across his face, waiting for Eddie to twitch, to snap, to do anything that would give the jocks an excuse to start a fight.
Your instincts kicked in before your brain could stop them. You took a sharp step forward, placing yourself directly between Eddie and the jocks.
“He isn’t harassing me, Tommy,” you said, your voice loud and sharp. “Leave him alone and keep walking.”
It was a mistake.
As soon as the words left your mouth, Tommy’s grin widened, shifting into something deeply ugly and satisfied. He looked over your shoulder at Eddie, letting out a loud laugh that echoed off the brick walls of the school.
“Oh, look at that,” Tommy pointed a finger at Eddie. “Munson’s got a little girl to protect him. What’s the matter, freak? Can’t fight your own battles? You gotta hide behind the tiny girl’s skirt?”
The other jock laughed, shaking his head. “Fucking pathetic. The King of the Freaks needs a babysitter.”
You snapped your head back to look at Eddie, and the sight of him made your breath catch in your throat. Eddie wasn’t looking at Tommy. He was looking at the ground, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were straining. His shoulders were hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his heavy silver rings hidden away. He looked small. He looked exactly like what he had just warned you about, completely crushed under the weight of the school’s hostility.
Worst of all, his dark eyes flicked up to yours for a split second, and they weren’t filled with anger—they were filled with a profound, agonizing humiliation. You had tried to protect him, but you had just proven every horrible thing he had said to you only moments before. You had made him a target, and you had stripped away the only shield he had left: his pride.
“See you around, Munson,” Tommy called out, throwing his sports bag over his shoulder as he turned toward the gym doors. “Make sure she holds your hand across the street, okay? Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”
Their heavy footsteps faded away, the double doors slamming shut behind them.
The silence that returned to the courtyard was suffocating. You turned fully to Eddie, your heart aching, reaching a hand out toward his leather sleeve. “Eddie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I told you,” Eddie whispered.
His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. It was completely hollow. He finally looked up at you, his curls falling over his face, his eyes entirely dull.
“I told you what they do,” he said softly, backing away from your touch. “I told you what happens when you get too close to me. You think you’re helping, but you’re just… you’re just dragging yourself down, and you’re making a joke out of both of us.”
The sheer weight of the situation—the cruelty of the jocks, the look of absolute defeat on Eddie’s face, and the devastating realization that your own stubbornness had caused him pain—finally broke through your defenses.
A hot, stinging tear spilled over your lower lash line, tracking down your cheek. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, tried to keep your chin up like a fighter, but another tear followed, your chest hitching as a quiet, broken sob escaped your lips. You covered your mouth with your hand, the pink color returning to your face, but this time it wasn’t from a crush. It was from pure, overwhelming humiliation and heartbreak.
Eddie froze, his eyes widening as he watched you cry. The defensive wall he had just built up cracked in an instant.
“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice harsh. “Don’t do the crying thing. I told you exactly how this would go.”
Eddie collected the teardrop with his thumb and licked it. You flinched, looking up at him through a blur of hot tears.
“You want to be part of my world, Tinker? This is it,” Eddie sneered, gesturing to the empty courtyard. “It’s ugly, it’s pathetic, and…”
“Stop right there.” You wiped the tears. “No one is going to bully me. How could they?” You put on the most innocent sweet look on your face.
“People will talk, yes, but I don’t care what jerks, I mean jocks say. My friends will understand. It will die off soon if we don’t bend in. If someone writes on my locker I’ll stand there sobbing, and they would feel like complete assholes. I’ll go to the principal all upset and he will give me a new one.”
Eddie set his jaw and continued: “…everyone will be telling you you’re wasting your life.”
“Come on, Munson, I just want to make out and go to movies, not move into your trailer.”
“Right, how could I assume that…”
“People will give you a harder time, but that’s what you tell them — that you don’t want to hurt my feelings and that I will get the rebellion out of my system and dump you.” Even Jason Carver would buy it.
Eddie watched you in awe.
“Tinkerbell is a vicious, manipulative…”
“Unless you just don’t want it, then I’ll focus on tutoring.”
“Oh I want it, but I tell you what — I will call you the silliest pet names for the small thing you are, and I will throw you over my shoulder, and…”
“Screw the lesson, throw me over your shoulder and take me to the van now.”
Eddie let out a small laugh and pinned you to the wall a comfortable height. His mouth found yours with a desperate, heavy urgency. His hands slid up to your waist, anchoring you to him as he deepened the kiss that made your knees go entirely weak. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until the rest of the world completely faded away. The school, the jocks, and the rumors could go to hell.
poll results are in and the winner is Riptide - Sanji x Mermaid! Reader 🧜♀️
I realized it wasn’t fair to offer one option to Sanji lovers and multiple choices for Eddie — that’s on me, I’m sorry!
On the bright side, I’ve got a lot cooking for Eddie already — Tinker part 2, Wild Thing finally goes shopping — so I’ll make it up to you, I promise 🤍
In the meantime I’ll be posting blurbs from my drafts and seeing what gets the most love. Also — comments are a huge decision factor for me right now, because I am very much being pulled toward a dark!Billy fic and I want to know if you’re with me 👀
Short blurb, tell me if this draft is worth editing and posting
You’re Eddie’s girl, but Billy has decided he knows better. Your defiance only makes it worse. Eddie does his canonical arc — I ran, then I didn’t, but no one dies. Yandere!Billy, forced proximity, non con to taste.
Between classes you seek quiet in the girls' bathroom that's been broken since the beginning of the year. You fix your hair and lipstick, blow a kiss to the mirror when you see Billy Hargrove appearing out of nowhere.
You almost jump, but don't scream, though you should. Just not your first reaction.
You turn around. "You can't be in here."
"Nobody knows." The door shuts behind him quietly. "Just you and me."
"Get out."
"In a minute." Billy closes the distance between you, in no hurry. You have to look up to hold his gaze. He's intimidatingly big, not actually taller than Eddie, but the bulk of muscle makes you feel so small. The light flickers and you start to notice the electric hum of the lamps. "I want to talk."
"I have class." You try to walk around him but he easily blocks you.
Billy lifts his hand and takes hold of your jaw, turning your head toward the light. "I've been thinking about you."
He's not rude, but you know he could easily tighten his grip.
Your hand shakes when you remove his. "Don't."
Billy lets you. Somehow it is still a demonstration that he allows you to do it.
"You're with Munson," he says, like you are not in a position to make choices about who you date. "Why?"
"Because I like him."
His pale blue eyes turn cold. "Haven't tried anything sweeter than a carrot?" He smiles at his own joke, mockingly. "He's not right for you."
"It's not for you to decide."
"No. But I decided it anyway." He steps closer, you can see his chest opened one button more than needed, and smell his intoxicating cologne. You step back and hit the sink, nowhere left to go. Billy cages you in with one hand and stares like he's assessing if it's worth ravishing you right there or wait till you give in.
Your heart is hammering and he notices. Your fear seems to please him, but you try hard to keep your face still.
"Back up or I'm going to scream."
"You're not." His voice is terrifyingly gentle. "You don't want to make a scene." His other hand comes to your waist, secure, careful not to hurt you. Billy dips his head and his lips brush your cheek, the corner of your jaw. "You smell so good," he says against your skin.
You push his chest away with both hands, hard. Billy is still as a rock but he takes a step back, his decision, not your action. His eyes gleam with satisfaction.
"I'll see you around," he says, and it lands as a threat.
"Get out of this bathroom," you say. Your voice sounds steady, one thing you are proud of.
He looks you all over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he pushes off the counter, walks back to the door and turns before leaving.
"Tell Munson I said hi."
You brace your hands on the sink and look at your reflection till you hear the bell.
Eddie is so hot, literally and figuratively, so you lure him to the girls-only pool party and play a trick on him.
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI (Minors Do Not Interact), smut, oral (f receiving), face-sitting, unprotected sex, drugs mentioned, teasing Eddie, he’s trying so hard to be good.
inspired by this post
WC 2100
“Hey Eddie,” you caught him after school.
It was so hot outside. You reduced your clothes to the skirt that was one inch away from suspension and shrugged off the denim vest that kept you borderline decent inside, and were left in a sleeveless wrap-top.
“Yes, sweetheart.” Eddie wasn’t much better; he stoically continued to wear jeans but had to swap his Hellfire shirt for a black tank top (wrong color choice) that clung to his torso. His neck was sweaty under all that hair, so he’d pulled it into a messy ponytail and you wanted to braid it so bad.
“I have a birthday this weekend,” you shook your hair in a sexy move you practiced in front of a mirror.
“Happy birthday, princess.” Eddie tried to keep his eyes from your breasts that begged to be free.
“Thanks, but there’s something I hope you can help me with.” You nervously looked around, but it seemed like everyone was too busy melting in the Midwest heat to care what on earth you could be talking to Munson about.
“I have a girls-only pool party and need some... party favors.”
Eddie finally understood that you just wanted drugs and put his professional smile on. “Anything I have is yours, princess. Bulk discount.”
“Maybe some pills to dance and have fun, you can help with that?” Eddie frowned; it was more dangerous than the weed he had in his lunchbox.
“It’s harder to get, but I can go an extra mile for your birthday. It will cost you, though; it’s high on the market.”
You kept being as seductive as you could in the heat, staring at a drop of sweat running down his neck. “I have a budget, but that’s not all I hope you can help with.”
You reached for your water bottle and drank a sip, letting him notice how your lips wrapped around the thick bottle neck.
“What can I do for you, my lady? Blow balloons, roll the red carpet?” He swallowed hard, running a hand through his damp hair.
You let your gaze drop to his hands fidgeting with the chain. “Many of us are doing it for the first time. I would feel much better if someone with experience was around, just to tell us what is normal, shit like that. Stay relatively sober, so you could drive if there’s an emergency.” You lifted your eyes to look at him through your lashes in the most innocent way.
“Oh, you want me to babysit your party?” He smirked, but you could tell the idea to be the only dick in a pool full of girls in bikinis excited him.
“Saturday 9pm, bring your trunks.”
“I didn’t say yes, baby.”
“I read your mind,” you murmured and wiped a drop of water from your chin.
Eddie stayed stunned, frying in the afternoon sun. Since when am I invited to babysit parties instead of crushing them? Guess I’m getting old for this. Good thing I’m graduating.
Dividers by @chateaubarnes
Hot summer night is filled with music and laughter. The stars are emerging in the twilight, and everything seems magical, you’re all young and pretty and everything is possible.
Eddie is tense though, he’s sitting by the cooler, nursing the same beer for an hour, still stubbornly wearing blue jeans and a tank top, at least white this time, his vest covered in a ridiculous amount of metal band pins slung on the chair back.
You and your friends are loose and happy splashing in the pool, some already topless.
Including you.
Your skin tingles from the excitement, you never dared to be this naughty. Perky breasts bounce with every move, nipples harden from the summer breeze and Eddie's dark gaze, that he tries to move away every time you look.
“Eddie,” you call sweetly, swimming closer and two of your friends follow. “Join us, you don’t have to guard the beer cooler like a gargoyle.”
He crosses his legs trying to hide the boner in his jeans. “I’m fine, birthday girl. Gotta think straight when you’re all rolling.”
You grin, and tell your friends: “He’s sweet, don’t you think? Suffering in the heat, trying to be good and watch out for us.” The girls laugh and blow him kisses, Sarah grabs his ankle and you join too. “C’mon, Munson. Have a little fun with us.”
He doesn’t take you seriously and loses his footing when you three yank his legs, sliding in with a splash. He emerges cursing, soaked like a very cute sea lion. “Fuck, okay, I’m in. Happy now?” Should’ve worn those damn trunks.
Your bare breasts press into his soaked top, and you both inhale sharply at the contact. “Very,” you whisper as your lips “accidentally” brush his jaw. “You’ve been staring at my tits all night.”
“You’re high as hell right now. This is the molly talking, sweetheart. You don’t want...” you don’t listen and drag the shirt over his head. Eddie is trying to steady himself and not grab for your waist or breast. His skin is pale with a few moles, the tattoos glisten and the happy trail disappears into his jeans. Now when the water plasters them tight, his straining cock is obvious to everyone.
The other girls lounge on floats or the deck, watching you all with amused interest but choosing not to join the fray.
Sarah, Jess and you surround him like playful sirens. They touch and tickle and lick as you kiss him enjoying the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours. Eddie gives up and anchors himself to your waist. His pupils are blown wide, making his gaze almost black, but there’s no fear. “Ladies, you are misbehaving,” he mutters when you put your hand on the bulge in his jeans and stroke once, then again, feeling his throbbing cock. Your friends drag him deeper.
Everything is muffled and surreal under the water, the bubbles rush up from his mouth. His eyes open wide when you cup his face, seal your lips to his and exhale slowly, giving him air together with a filthy deep kiss. He responds, his tongue slides inside your mouth as Sarah and Jess stroke and tickle his chest, his thighs, his cock. Eddie jerks desperately but it’s three against one.
You surface for air, then go back under, feeding him another breath while hands explore him everywhere. He is trembling with need by the time you finally haul him to the edge.
“I don’t bite, unless you ask for it,” you murmur in his ear, breathy and low. Your fingers slide down his chest and you feel his heart is hammering crazy. Sarah licks a drop of water off his neck and Jess runs her nails down his back scraping gently. Eddie groans, lost in sensation and not sure if he should focus on you or give attention to the other girls too.
“We’ll leave you two alone,” Jess says with a wink. “Have fun, birthday girl,” Sarah adds and they both drift back with giggling, pleased with the tease. You wrap around him in the deep end.
Eddie tries to protest again, though his resolve is weak. “You’re rolling. I’m not gonna take advantage of...” You lean to kiss him, Eddie moans in your mouth and your tongue slides in.
When you pull back, you coo against his neck, “Then don’t. Let me take advantage of you.”
Eddie cracks. You can feel it in the way his hands finally grip your ass, how he is pulling you tighter so his hard cock presses against your bikini bottoms through the jeans. Your body feels weightless in the water. You grind on him with need, nails glide over wet skin, trace tattoos and scrape his sensitive nipples.
“Eddie, you’re so fucking hard it must hurt,” you whisper, palming him through the denim. “All that just from a little tease?”
“Princess,” he groans, his hips jerk into your touch. “You’re killing me. This is a bad idea... you’re gonna regret it when you come down.”
“Why do you think I invited you?” You nip his bottom lip and stroke him firmer. “I want you. Planned it crystal sober.”
You guide his hand between your legs. Eddie slips two fingers under the fabric and touches your hot center.
“Fuck… so slick,” he murmurs, circling your clit with gentle pressure. Eddie cups your breast with his other hand, thumb brushing your nipple until you moan softly. “You feel so good. I shouldn’t...”
You simply unbuckle his jeans and free his cock; it springs free, heavy and flushed against your stomach.
“You should. C’mhere.” His cock throbs in your hand underwater, you stroke and he groans against your lips. Eddie is shaking with need, almost losing it while you tease and explore his lanky body.
“I’m gonna come if you don’t stop now,” he’s panting.
“Upstairs,” you whisper against his ear with urgency. You pull him inside, his wet jeans drop across the floor. You find a guest bedroom and push him on the bed. Eddie sits on the edge, staring speechless at you stripping your bikini bottoms and standing naked between his spread thighs.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. He can’t help his hands that wrap over you. “But you’re high, baby. We should slow down...”
You hover over his face. “Talk less, do more,” and lower your soaked pussy.
Eddie is done being responsible. He grips your ass and pulls you down. He licks a long, slow stripe through your folds, the tip of his tongue circles your clit with dedication. He sucks gently at first, then firmer, moaning against your skin as if you're the one doing him a favor. With every flick and swirl the pleasure in your stomach tightens.
“Fuck... Eddie, just like that,” you whimper, grinding against his face. He devours you eagerly, long tongue pushing inside you, nose rubbing your clit. Your thighs start to shake. You come hard on his face with a muffled cry; waves of intense pleasure crash through you. Eddie keeps licking you through it, drawing it out until you are trembling.
You straddle him, and guide his cock to your entrance. “How can you be so hot and not even know it? I want you inside me.” You sink down inch by inch, gasping at the stretch. Eddie’s head falls back with a deep, guttural moan.
“Shit... tight. So warm,” he groans, hands gripping your hips hard. “You feel incredible. I’m trying to be good here…”
You roll your hips, ride him in long, paced strokes. Every sensation blooms: the drag of his cock inside you, the way your clit rubs against his pelvis, the heat of his mouth when you lean down to kiss him.
“Tell me how it feels,” you whisper, nipping his neck.
“Like heaven. Like I’m losing my mind.” He thrusts up to meet you, one hand kneading your breast, pinching your nipple just right.
“You’re dripping down my cock, sweetheart. You really want me that much?”
“Yes,” you moan, grinding deeper. “Want you to fuck me full. Want to feel you come inside me.” Eddie flips you, pinning your hands.
“Such a good girl... taking it so well.” He thrusts rough and deep. “Tell me if it hurts.”
“I won’t,” you gasp and wrap your legs around him. “Harder, Eddie.”
He drops all restraint and fucks you with long, powerful strokes that build steadily. The room fills with wet sounds, balls slap your ass, and you can’t tell who moans louder. Eddie kisses you messily, licks down your throat, sucks marks onto your breasts and whispers filthy praise.
“Look at you... spread open for me... gonna make you come first, baby.”
His praise, his husky voice pushes you over the edge. You fall apart, clenching tight around him, and Eddie follows, pushes somehow even harder and deeper and fills you with his hot release.
You suddenly tune back into the world around you, the distant thump of music, voices downstairs, and how you both try to catch your breath. Eddie doesn’t pull out right away; he wraps you in his arms tighter instead and your head rests on his chest.
“I promised to watch over you,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, his voice still rough. “But fuck... I couldn’t say no.”
You smile drowsily against his skin, stroking the dragon on his chest. For a moment you are quiet. Then you whisper, “I should probably tell you…”
Eddie cracks one eye open. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t actually take any of the molly.” Your lips curve into a mischievous little smile. “I just had a couple of shots.”
He stares at you, his eyes wide and deep, then lets out a short laugh that turns into a groan.
“You little shit. I’ve been losing my mind trying not to be a creep, and you were mostly sober the whole time?”
“Mhm.” You nip his collarbone. “The party favors, the ‘babysitter’ excuse, the topless swimming... all of it to get you right here with me. Even if I'm a little drunk, it's you here melting me.”
@munsonsbunni you didn’t ask for it but I couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie melting
PS: let me know in comments, if you would share Eddie with a friend or keep him all to yourself.
After about a week of noticing stranger and stranger things, Wayne finally asked:
“Kid, I know a lot was going on lately, but these weird bats, and dead animals in the fridge and the girl that goes through the window — are they connected?”
“Wait, you knew about her?”
“Eddie, don’t take me for an idiot.”
Of course he knew. Wayne had heard the noises you made, saw two glasses, saw Eddie looking like he’d been hit by a very pleasant train, and one morning he peeked through the cracked door after Eddie left for school. He didn’t make much of it, except your shape on the bed, clutching the pillow, loosely covered with a soft blanket — and the demobats on the door frame made a warning sound, protecting your sleep.
“Yeah, about her… so she’s a bit unusual, but she’s fine, really. The bats are hers. And she’s trying to help out by bringing animals for dinner.”
Wayne carefully looked Eddie over, who appeared happy but clearly bitten in various places.
Something hit the window. Then again. Then a rapid enthusiastic series of impacts like something very excited that had not yet grasped the concept of knocking.
“That’ll be her,” Eddie said, already getting up.
“Tell her to use the door next time,” Wayne said.
Eddie let you in and a dark swarm coalesced into your form, dressed in his flannel and cutoffs, with leaves and twigs in your hair and mud on your feet. He gave you a gentle kiss.
Eddie’s favorite demobats approached and gave him a little nuzzle.
“There, there.” He fed them a piece of jerky each.
“Wild Thing, good that you’re back. My uncle Wayne wants to meet you. He is family, we talked…”
“Eddiiee…”
Somehow that made him understand you didn’t feel ready. He picked the stuff out of your hair and put his socks on your dirty feet. Eddie looked you over, bent down and cuffed the socks.
“You look beautiful. Just don’t hiss, I’ll do the talking.”
He pulled you out of the room by the hand. His cheeks flushed just a bit when he introduced you:
“Uncle Wayne, this is Wild Thing. I met her… there. And… we are together.”
You shuffled your feet in Eddie’s white socks.
“Wild, that’s my Uncle Wayne. He’s family. He took care of me when my father left me. And again.”
You didn’t get the father part, but the concept of family was already familiar.
Wayne was ready for Eddie’s girlfriend who’d been sneaking through the window for a week to be anything, but life hadn’t prepared him for the warrior princess, fiercely beautiful, with gleaming eyes and sharp claws, and worst of all, fangs that shone through your best attempt at a polite smile.
He also knew Eddie was in it till the brim.
“Welcome, young lady.” Wayne gestured to the kitchen table. “Do you want coffee?”
You tilted your head at Eddie.
“She doesn’t drink coffee,” Eddie said. “But she likes red wine.”
“We don’t have red wine,” Wayne said.
“We do, I got plenty.” Eddie reached into the cupboard and showed his stash.
Wayne just pulled out the glasses and opened the bottle, silently accepting the fact that Eddie was fully committed to making you comfortable.
“So she lives on what? Wine and animals?”
“And protein shakes. And…” Eddie hesitated, then added quieter: “blood. Mostly animal blood.”
“Mostly.”
“She’s very careful about it.”
“Yes,” you said affirmatively, nodding.
Wayne poured the wine for all three of you even though it was morning.
as a treat — i’m opening up my frozen drafts for a vote. whatever gets the most notes/reblogs with a vote in the tags (minimum 10) i’ll clean up and post. most of them are basically finished, just need to be polished. they’re all a bit longer than my usual one-shots… probably why they got frozen lol
Eddie babysitting a kid and falling for his single mom (PG)
Eddie and a music store girl — some angst, then smut
slightly older Eddie x sad singer girl (lana del rey coded) — light smut
Eddie x racer girl drive to Daytona, he sees the ocean for the first time (PG)
you date Eddie but dark!Billy takes you away (forced dating) smut with Billy
Sanji and a mermaid 🐚 smut and fluff
skip the drafts, write a brand new CNC
continue current WIP (cinderella / zombie slasher / tinkerbell)
Voting ended onMay 30
Oh, I see it’s not a fair game because Sanji lovers only have one option. I'll do one for Sanji and one for Eddie, or post blurbs from the Eddie fic readers if it’s very close.
have questions about any of the fics? comment below — a coherent comment is worth 2 votes 🍒
Warning: smoking adoration, but this is Munson, sexual tension, Eddie is a tease.
The thing about Eddie Munson was that he took up more space than his actual dimensions. You easily spotted him across the cafeteria. You knew his schedule better than your own.
You’d waited a long time until he was alone, because Eddie Munson was rarely alone. He collected people. There was always someone orbiting him, always an audience. You knew if there was an audience, you’d go pink.
You were going to go pink anyway. But without witnesses, it would only be his problem.
You caught him at his locker after fifth period. Just Eddie, the hallway thinning out around him. You stared at his familiar rings as he spun the combination, then looked up. He was taller than you’d accounted for standing this close. It was frankly rude given the situation.
“Hi,” you said.
He looked down, doing the thing people always did—the recalibration. You tried to be normal about it.
“Hey.” Polite. Not unkind.
You felt warmth creeping up your neck and bulldozed through it with sheer determination.
“So.” You tucked your hair behind your ear, looking up at him through your lashes. It was not intentional; it was just the angle. It was simply physics. “I need community service hours. Twenty more. And the school said you need a chemistry tutor, so I was wondering if maybe—” a breath “—I could be yours? Tuesdays and Thursdays? If that works for you.”
Eddie leaned one shoulder against the locker, looking at you, his expression shifting from lazy politeness to something more curious.
“You need community service hours?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
You’d prepared for this. You kept your chin up. “I punched someone.”
A pause. Something shifted in his face. “Who?”
“Steve Harrington.”
He was very still for a moment. “Steve Harrington.”
“In the abdomen.”
“In the—” He stopped. “Why?”
“He called me Tinkerbell.” You felt the warmth in your cheeks burning hotter and pushed through it. “He meant it as a compliment, which I—” a small pause “—may have pointed out to the principal was not actually a compliment, because Tinkerbell is—”
You caught yourself.
His eyes were very dark, framed with ridiculously long lashes… “Tinkerbell is,” he prompted, very quietly, like he didn’t want to startle you out of finishing the sentence.
You shook off the spell of his eyes. “A bitch,” you said, precise and clear.
Eddie Munson said nothing for three full seconds. Then the corner of his mouth went up. Slow. And then he broke into laughter.
“Tuesdays and Thursdays. Library or your place? Mine is a shithole,” he said.
“Mine.” You were definitely pink now and aware of it. Still, it was not your biggest problem. “Four o’clock.” You gave him your address.
“Sure,” he said.
You nodded, turning to leave with complete composure.
“Hey.”
You stopped.
“What’s your name?”
You told him and walked around the corner before you pressed your back against the wall, closed your eyes, and stood there for a moment breathing and smiling.
He showed up exactly on time, to your surprise. You’d half expected late. Your Doberman, Bolt, alerted you as soon as Eddie's van parked on your street.
You answered the door and there he was—textbook under one arm, started by the low growl of Bolt. “He’s ok”, you said to the dog.
“Hi,” you said to Eddie.
“Hey.” That slow smile returned. “Tinker.”
You gave him a look that could destroy stars. The smile didn’t move.
Your brother suddenly appeared at your elbow, looking Eddie up and down. “Mom!” he bellowed, not taking his eyes off Eddie. “She brought the city freak home!”
“You’re so dead later,” you told him quietly.
“Worth it,” he said, and disappeared.
Eddie watched him go, a bit amused. “How old is he?”
“Fourteen,” you said. “Come in.”
Your mother came out of the kitchen, looked up at Eddie, and tilted her head back slightly. “Oh my. You’re tall.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mom, this is Eddie. He’s my—I’m tutoring him, you know, for the chemistry thing. Eddie, this is my mom.”
Your mother smiled at him, then looked at you.
“Lunch was terrible today,” you said before she could even ask. “Could you make us grilled cheese?”
“Of course, honey.” She was already heading back to the kitchen.
You took him upstairs, trembling with the low-grade anxiety of having Eddie Munson in your bedroom. Your room was relatively neat; you didn’t want it to look like you’d cleaned up just for this. Your desk was cleared, two chairs pulled up, everything ready.
Eddie came in and did what people did in new rooms—looked around, taking inventory.
You sat down and opened the textbook to chapter seven. Molecular bonding. The school had said it was where Eddie was struggling most. “Okay, so—”
“Are those yours?”
You looked up. He was standing at your wall, looking at the photographs pinned there—competition photos mostly, a few from the dojo. You in your gi, mid-technique, showing various stages of putting people significantly larger than yourself on the floor with focused, unhurried efficiency.
You felt the warmth climbing your neck again. “Yes,” you said.
“Jiu-jitsu?”
“Yes.”
He turned and looked at you, his expression a mix of genuine interest and awe. “So Harrington could have had it worse.”
“Much worse,” you offered, keeping your voice even.
“Remind me of that when I piss you off,” he said, flashing a grin. “Please.”
He sat down across from you—closer than strictly necessary given the available space. You kept your eyes locked on the textbook.
Your mom brought up the sandwiches a few minutes later. Her special recipe included garlic and shredded salami, and they came out golden, the cheese pulling apart in long strings. Eddie took one bite and closed his eyes.
“Good?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said, entirely genuine. “Best thing I’ve eaten all week. Quite a bit of garlic, though. Not great for kissing.”
“So what? Mine has garlic too.”
Eddie leaned in just a fraction, his eyes dropping to your lips before lifting back to yours. “Didn’t say I was going to kiss you.”
Before you could fight the sudden drop in your stomach, your brother smelled the food and appeared in the doorway. “How come he gets the good ones?”
You were actually relieved by the interruption, but you killed him with your glare out of pure habit. “Leave.”
He left, albeit very slowly.
“Chapter seven,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Molecular bonding.”
“Right.” He didn’t open his textbook immediately.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
You looked up. Mistake. He was sitting way too close, watching you intently, and you were fully aware of being approximately the same shade as the red blocks on your periodic table poster.
“What thing?” you asked precisely.
“The pink thing.” His voice was low, not unkind—almost gentle, really. His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. “It’s okay. I can be a lot.”
The absolute audacity of this person.
“Open your textbook, Munson,” you said.
He opened it, still smiling, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. You stared down at chapter seven and absolutely, under no circumstances, smiled back.
“Molecular bonding,” you said again, mostly to yourself.
“Chemistry,” Eddie agreed, his tone having absolutely nothing to do with the textbook.
You kept your eyes down, your neck completely on fire.
They actually managed to make it through forty-five minutes of solid work before Eddie’s foot started tapping a frantic, irregular rhythm against the floorboards. He’d been staring at a diagram of a covalent bond like it was written in ancient Aramaic, his fingers drumming relentlessly against his thighs.
“Alright, Tinker,” Eddie groaned, tossing his pencil onto the open textbook and running both hands through his wild mass of hair. “My brain is officially short-circuiting. I need a smoke break or I’m going to start eating the eraser. Show me where I can smoke?”
You hesitated, looking at the neat stacks of flashcards, but the air in your bedroom suddenly felt incredibly small. “Yeah. Okay.”
You led him down the back stairs and out through the kitchen, slipping past the quiet house and onto the small, shaded back deck. The late afternoon air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth that had been building between the two of you over the periodic table.
Eddie wasted no time. He leaned his hips back against the wooden railing, fished a slightly crushed pack of Camels from his denim vest, and struck a match. The flame flared, illuminating the sharp angles of his face, and he cupped his hands to shield the tiny light, deeply inhaling.
You stood a few feet away, your back pressed against the vinyl siding of the house, and immediately lost the ability to look anywhere else.
You stared at his hands. They were large, rough-looking, and constantly in motion—index and middle finger clamping the white filter, the heavy silver rings catching the last sunlight as he flicked a stray bit of ash into the grass. Then your eyes drifted up to his lips. They were parted just slightly, wrapped around the cigarette before he pulled it away.
He exhaled, a thick, gray plume of smoke rolling past his lips and curling into the air. It caught the breeze, tracing a path over his jawline, and you found yourself completely mesmerized by the sheer, effortless rhythm of it. It was hypnotic. It was entirely unfair.
Eddie took another drag, but this time, he didn’t look away. His dark eyes caught you staring, tracking the exact path your gaze was taking from his knuckles, to his mouth, to the smoke dissolving between you.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, trapping a tiny wisp of smoke inside his mouth before he let it spill out.
“You know,” Eddie hummed, his voice dropping into that low tone that always made your chest tighten. “I’ve heard passive smoking is bad for you, Tinker.”
The teasing tone hit your ears, but you didn’t look down. You didn’t go pink this time. Instead, you took two deliberate steps forward, closing the distance between you until you were standing right in his space, smelling the sharp scent of tobacco and leather.
You held out your hand, palm up, your eyes locked onto his.
“Then give me a cigarette,” you said.
Eddie looked down at your open palm, then up at your face. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a genuine flicker of surprise.
“Oh, is that how it is?” he murmured, his voice getting rough.
He didn’t pull another cigarette from the pack. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate drag from the one already clamped between his fingers. The cherry glowed a bright, angry orange. He held the smoke in his lungs for a beat, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, before pulling the cigarette from his lips.
He didn’t hand it to you. He held it out between his index and middle finger, right in front of your face, letting the thin trail of gray smoke drift up between you.
“You ever even smoked before, pixie?” he asked, a challenge dancing in his dark eyes. “Or are you just trying to prove to me how dangerous you are?”
You didn’t answer. You stepped closer, your sneakers practically brushing the toes of his heavy combat boots. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cold silver rings as you took the filter from his hand. Your fingers lingered just a second too long against his knuckles.
You brought the cigarette to your lips. It was still warm from his mouth.
You took a breath, pulling the smoke in. You’d expected to choke, or at least cough and ruin the entire cool facade you were trying so hard to maintain. But you managed to keep your chest still, swallowing down the harsh, burning bite of the tobacco before exhaling a shaky, uneven cloud.
Eddie watched the entire performance, his jaw slightly slack. He leaned his head back against the house siding, a low, appreciative hum vibrating in his throat.
“Look at you,” he said softly, a wicked little smile stretching across his face. “A jiu-jitsu champion, a Steve-Harrington-puncher, and a secret smoker. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
You held the cigarette between your fingers, trying to copy the effortless way he held his. “And you don’t even know me, Munson.”
“But I will.” He took a step forward, completely erasing whatever personal space you had left. He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your face and tucking it behind your ear. His calloused finger brushed against your cheek, and you felt the heat immediately rush to your skin.
He looked down at your cheeks, his smile widening.
“And there it is,” he whispered, his eyes dark and intensely focused on yours. “The pink thing. Right on schedule.”
Your heart was hammering against your ribs so loud you were certain he could hear it. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” he countered smoothly, tilting his head. “You could always try punching me in the abdomen to get me lower.”
You took another drag of the cigarette just to give yourself something to do other than stare at his lips. When you exhaled, the smoke billowed directly between your faces, blurring his features for a split second.
“I only punch people who deserve it,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.
“Good to know.” Eddie reached out and took the cigarette back from your fingers, his hand brushing yours again. He took one final pull, dropped the butt onto the wooden deck, and crushed it thoroughly beneath the heel of his boot. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “We should probably get back inside before your brother comes back to check on the city freak.”
He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a heavy, agonizing second.
He didn’t kiss you. Not yet.
Instead he stretched out that agonizing, delicious torture for the rest of the tutoring session. He spent the next hour leaning over your desk, purposely brushing his shoulder against yours every time he pointed to a chemistry equation, looking up at you through his curls with a smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing to your pulse.
When six o’clock finally rolled around, he slowly packed his textbook into his backpack, lingering by your bedroom door like he was waiting for you to stop him.
You walked him down the stairs and to the front porch. The sun was almost down, casting long, dramatic shadows across the yard.
Eddie stepped out onto the porch, then turned around to face you. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, looking down at you with a soft, waiting expression. The playful, theatrical shield he usually wore dropped for just a fraction of a second.
“Thanks for the chemistry lesson, Tinker,” he said, his voice quiet against the evening air. “And tell your mom the sandwich was legendary.”
“I will,” you said, your hands tucked into your pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. “See you Thursday, Munson.”
“Thursday,” he repeated.
He stepped closer, invading your space one last time. You held your breath, your heart leaping into your throat, certain this was the moment he finally leaned down. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and the tension was so thick you could practically taste it.
But Eddie just smiled with that devastating, lopsided grin. He reached out, ran the back of his knuckles gently down your flushed cheek, and whispered, “For the record, I didn’t think Tinkerbell is a bitch.”
He winked, turned on his heel, and jogged down your porch steps. You stood in the doorway, your cheek tingling where his skin touched yours, watching him walk down the driveway. Right before he got to his van, he threw a hand up in a backward wave without looking.
He didn’t kiss you, but as you closed the front door and leaned your back against it, your chest heaving, you realized something much worse: he was going to make you beg for it first.
PS: this has potential to become a series if you like it, let me know in comments.
Warnings: NSFW | MDNI | Explicit | Established relationship | Phone sex| Oral sex mentioned (F & M receiving) | Sibling rivalry | PIV sex mentioned
For this request "talking you through it"
The clock struck midnight. Not that you'd been watching it—you simply couldn't relax. Finally everyone was asleep for good and you crept downstairs, quiet as a ninja. You lifted the phone and dialed Eddie's number. He never went to bed this early.
"Hey," you whisper the moment he answers.
"I was staring at the damn phone waiting for you to call. Are you okay?" Relief and excitement tangle in his voice.
"I'm fine. Grounded for a month, no pocket money… but I robbed the little shit's piggy bank."
Eddie lets out that warm, familiar chuckle that ends in a snort. You can practically see his dimples and the way his messy curls fall into his eyes.
"That's my girl. He'll think twice before tattling on his big sister again."
"Yeah… I don't know what we're going to do now. We can't do "the tutoring" anymore."
"Right…" His voice dips, playful and low. "I could always sneak in through your window like a sitcom boyfriend."
You laugh quietly, imagining Eddie halfway through your window only for your doberman to rip the ass out of his jeans as he scrambles back out.
"Can't risk you getting caught again," you murmur.
That was exactly how everything had started—your dad storming into your room to find a shirtless Eddie Munson hovering over you. It could've been so much worse honestly. Minutes later Eddie was down the stairs, his shirt and jacket followed, and you were left enduring the most serious talk of your life.
"I miss you already, pixie," he whines softly, breath catching. "Can't wait till school."
"You're so needy," you tease, smiling in the dark. "I'll sneak out to your van after the second period."
You hear him exhale, then the faint clink of him taking a sip of something.
"And what are we gonna do in my van, little one?" His tone drops into that rough, velvet register that always makes your stomach flip.
You know that voice.
"Don't make me blush. You know what."
"No, I need you to tell me." A short pause. "Wait—is the little rat listening?"
"I ripped the cord out of his phone."
"You what?!" Eddie laughs, surprised and proud. "That's a new level, baby. He's gonna strike back."
"Can't wait," you say with a wicked little grin. You know plenty of dirty secrets to keep your brother grounded until graduation if needed.
"Mmm… where were we?" His voice turns molten. "What are you gonna do to me in my van…?"
"Are you touching yourself already, you horny toad?"
"Guilty as charged. C'mon, sweetheart. Tell me."
"I'm still angry," you purr, "so first I'm going to grab a fistful of your hair, yank your head back, and bite that throat."
"Go ahead," he breathes, already husky. "I deserve it."
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah… and I'd slide my hands under that skirt while you do."
"Wait—are we really doing this? I've never…"
"What? You've never had phone sex?" He sounds both surprised and delighted, a grin clear in his voice.
"Yes… I was a virgin before you corrupted me," you admit, cheeks burning even though he can't see you.
"Do I hear regret?" Eddie teases, but his voice has gone darker, thicker with want.
"Regret you didn't do it earlier," you shoot back, smiling.
A low, appreciative groan rumbles through the line. "Oh yeah, baby, me too. Where are you now?"
"I'm in the living room on a couch."
"Pull something over just in case. What are you wearing?"
"A long white sleeping dress… high collar, delicate lace, everything covered up like a proper lady."
"Damn it." Silence is tense then you hear a broken moan and a zipper open.
"You okay, Eddie?"
"No, it's doing things to me it shouldn't."
You shiver at his words. "What are you wearing?"
"Uh…same, still jeans, well partially, and a tank top."
"Lose the top."
"Keep the nightgown."
"Okay, so I will pull your shirt and kiss your lips."
"Yeah, and I kiss you back and get that Victorian night…"
"We are in the van, remember?"
"Fuck the van, want to kiss everything I can reach over the dress and then bunch it up and get my head underneath…"
"Damn it Eddie, who would know…"
"Touch your thighs for me. Nice and slow. Run your nails up from your knees like I would."
You obey, breath catching as your fingertips trace higher under the hem of the dress.
"Eddie…"
"Cup your breast, baby. Roll that nipple between your fingers—pinch it harder, the way I do with my teeth."
A soft moan slips out as you follow his command, pleasure sparking hot through your body.
"Don't hold back your little noises. Put two fingers in your mouth. Suck them slow and wet, exactly like you'd take my cock."
You slide your fingers past your lips, swirling your tongue, letting him hear every filthy, slick sound. Eddie's breathing grows ragged.
"That's my good girl… fuck, I'm so hard for you it hurts. I'm leaking all over my hand just listening to you." He's stroking faster now, but still trying to hold back. "Trail those wet fingers down… push that pretty nightgown up and touch your pussy for me. Tell me how soaked you are."
You whimper as your fingers find your center. "Eddie… I'm dripping."
He groans deeply. "Push your panties aside."
"What panties?"
"Fuck you're gonna kill me. Circle that swollen little clit for me. Imagine my tongue instead—licking you wild and messy under that dress while you try not to scream."
You do, gasping at the first direct contact. Your clit throbs under your slick fingertips, and you rub tight, teasing circles just like he would with that wicked tongue of his.
"Eddie… I wish it was you. Your mouth. Your fingers. I miss you inside me."
"Yeah? You want my cock stretching you open, don't you? Filling you up while I bite that pretty neck." His voice is pure gravel now, rough with lust. "Slide two fingers inside that tight little pussy."
You push one finger in, then another, curling them the way he does. The wet sound is unmistakable, and Eddie curses colorfully.
"So fucking wet I can hear it. Goddamn. Pump them slow… yeah, just like that. Imagine it's me thrusting into you, your legs wrapped around my waist while I fuck you deep."
Your hips start rocking against your hand, the nightdress bunching up around your thighs. Every stroke, every filthy word from Eddie pushes you higher. His breathing is frantic now, matching yours.
"Add another finger, baby. Stretch yourself. Pretend it's my cock. I'm so close—fuck—but I'm not coming until you do."
"Eddie, please—" Your voice cracks as you push a third finger in, the fullness making you moan loudly. Your thumb finds your clit again, rubbing faster.
"That's it. Louder, sweetheart. Let me hear you. I'm jerking my cock so hard thinking about burying my face between your thighs under that dress. Licking up every drop while you pull my hair and grind on my tongue." He keeps pumping himself steadily, edging so he can stay with you longer.
Your orgasm builds fast—tight, coiling heat low in your belly. Your thighs shake, toes curling against the couch cushions.
"I'm gonna—Eddie, I'm so close—"
"Come for me, baby. Come all over your fingers and pretend it's my mouth. Let me hear you say my name."
The wave crashes over you hard. You breathe out his name, worked up and broken, body arching as your pussy clenches rhythmically around your fingers. The pleasure rolls through you in pulsing waves, leaving you trembling and breathless.
Eddie follows with a guttural, shameless groan, stroking himself through it hard and fast. You can hear the messy, pulsing sounds of him spilling over his fist, his breath hitching in shaky gasps.
For a long moment, there's only heavy breathing on both ends of the line.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he finally rasps, voice hoarse and satisfied. "That Victorian dress is gonna haunt me now. Next time I see you, I'm not gonna be gentle."
You smile, still catching your breath, fingers lazily tracing through your wetness. "Good. Because I'm not planning on being quiet either."
"Fuck… I love you, you know that?"
"Yeah," you whisper back, heart still racing. "I love you too, Munson."
@doomdabss for your request
@alicemarie730 this is Tinkerbell, full story coming soon
As I work on Hotline Desire - Phone sex operator!Eddie x Reader
I got some headcanons
Eddie thinks it’s a form of art and he is an artist.
He thinks it’s therapy too, because it makes people feel better.
He has a "work outfit"
He warms up his voice by singing a song or two with an acoustic guitar
He has props: big matches, leather pants to slap, wine glasses...
He creates sound effects: watermelon eaten close to the receiver, jello punched with conviction, whatever is in the fridge pressed into service. A leather belt pulled slowly through belt loops. Ice cubes dropped into a glass one at a time. A lighter flicked open and shut — the specific clink of a Zippo.
He goes off script a lot, sometimes incorporating goblins. He’s had complaints. The happy clients outnumber them significantly.
Occasionally he breaks into what is technically a monologue.
Sometimes the dungeon master bleeds through and he’s narrating a scene without quite realizing it.
You always hated Eddie Munson. Until you two spent seven minutes in a dark closet together
WC 1500
Warnings: suggestive themes, enemies to lovers.
A/N: I read a great fic on the same topic and was challenged to write my own by @bslcry
The bottle of Jack was three-quarters gone and Eddie Munson was responsible for at least half of that.
He was also, currently, perched on the back of Tina’s couch like some kind of gargoyle — one boot on the cushion, one elbow on his knee, chin in his palm. Eddie enjoyed watching the party below, he came to ruin everyone’s good time simply by existing and it was going well.
It was an art form.
“He’s doing the stare again,” someone whispered.
“Don’t make eye contact.”
Eddie smiled. Tilted his head. Made direct, unblinking eye contact with a sophomore who immediately turned away and walked into a wall.
Oh yeah, Eddie loved parties.
He pulled the rings from his fingers one by one and put them back on in a different order. Took a swig of warm Jack. Watched a cheerleader explain to her boyfriend why Eddie Munson was “literally dangerous” and “probably in a cult.”
He raised his bottle in a toast to her. She squeaked. Boyfriend puffed his chest.
Eddie flicked his tongue.
Art. Form.
The bass from some terrible pop song thumped through the walls of the fancy house. Munson was already halfway to orbit—weed and various alcohol combined in his bloodstream creating a soft haze. Mission accomplished: jocks kept side-eyeing him, cheerleaders whispered: “freak show,” “Satan’s roadie,” and “the guy who fucks his guitar.”
Eddie heard you before he clocked you — that voice, bright and mean.
“Oh good, the freak’s here. Like we don’t have enough of him at school”
He turned.
You were standing with a cluster of your friends — he knew your name, knew your type, had been enduring your commentary since sophomore year in the hallway, in the cafeteria, once in the parking lot when you’d called him a quote, “walking dispensary”. You were wearing a short white dress, arms crossed, cup in hand, looking at him the way people look at gum on a shoe.
Eddie looked you over and flicked his tongue between V fingers.
“C'mere, poisoned rose.”
You made a throwing up gesture and your friends laughed. The group moved to another room like a flock of sheep. Party went on. Munson leaned out of the window and lit a cigarette.
The 7 Minutes in Heaven game was Tina’s idea, which meant it was inevitable, cause she hosted.
A bottle. A closet. Timed on someone’s Casio. The usual theater of high school desperation.
Eddie had zero intention of participating until approximately the moment you rolled your eyes and said, loud enough for the circle to hear: “Can someone make sure Munson doesn’t play? I don’t want to die of whatever he has.”
He sat down in the circle and smiled at you across it.
You looked like you’d bitten into something sour.
The bottle spun. Dark green glass reflected the light. Slowing, slowing —then stopping, neck pointing at Eddie.
He spread his hands. Well.
It spun again.
It stopped at you.
The silence was beautiful.
“Absolutely not,” you said.
“Game’s a game,” Tina said, already herding people back and opening the closet door ready to enjoy giggling and guessing that will start as soon as the door closes behind you two.
“I’m not going in a closet with him.”
“Seven minutes,” Eddie said pleasantly, unfolding from the floor, “or you forfeit. Those are the terms. I didn’t make the rules.”
He gestured graciously toward the open closet door.
You looked at him. At the door. At your friends, who were completely failing to hide their delight at this development.
You walked into the closet.
Eddie followed.
The door clicked shut. The Casio beeped. Darkness swallowed you both, the air was warm, cramped, and smelled like lavender and Eddie’s leather jacket.
You told him immediately. “If you think I’m touching you, Munson, you’re even more delusional than everyone thinks.”
Eddie’s voice came low, amused, a little slurred. “Relax, princess. I’m not here for your virtue. Though word on the street is goats are scarce this time of year. Gotta make do with what’s available for a proper virgin sacrifice.”
You scoffed. “Keep dreaming. I’m not a virgin. Why does it have to be a virgin anyway?”
“You know,” he said, “I heard someone once say — and I thought this was kind of profound — that if you offer someone a sandwich, it’s better if nobody’s already—” he paused, and his voice was perfectly, infuriatingly pleasant — “you know. Messed with the sandwich before.”
You shoot him a glance that could kill.
He felt it even in the dark.
“Did you just compare me to a sandwich?”
Then a small, thin beam of light clicked on. You flinched. “What is that—”
“Keychain.” He angled it down, away from your eyes, so it threw a dim glow between you. A little skull-shaped flashlight, dangling off his house key. “I go to a lot of dark places.”
“Literally or figuratively?”
“Yes,” he said and hung the light on the coat hanger.
You stared at it. Then at him — half-lit from one side, sharp jawline with stubble, hair messy, completely at ease in the absurdity of the situation that was deeply annoying to you.
You opened your mouth for another cutting remark, but Eddie moved faster than a guy that stoned should’ve been able to. He caught your wrists, lifted them above your head, and pinned them gently but firmly against the shelves. The wood creaked. Your breath hitched.
“Shh,” he murmured, voice dropping into that velvet-dungeon-master register, warm hand gently covering your mouth for a second. “The ritual demands it. Arms up. Offer yourself to the dark powers.”
Those damn rings dragged against your skin, slowly down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, tracing the neckline of your white mini dress. Just gliding. In some order, like he was drawing infernal sigils on you.
You hated how your body reacted. The pulse pumping up, your nipples getting hard and sensitive, the goosebumps on the back of your arm.
“I’m stretching you on the altar in a pure white dress,” he murmured, “I paint unholy symbols on your body and raise the obsidian blade over your heart.” He traced the sharp edge of his ring over the swell of your breast, barely covered by the revealing neckline.
His breath hovered over your ear and deep voice demanded:
“Surrender”
You felt the heat of his body, his hardness touching your lower belly, pressing in. His lips ghosted down your neck, barely touching.
“Offer yourself to my Master through me” Eddie traced the hem of your dress waiting for your verbal or nonverbal permission. You wanted it. You hated how much.
The ring traced your throat. “The blade is breaking the skin on your neck, surrender your body or your life.”
A stupid, traitorous tear slipped down your cheek.
Eddie noticed immediately. He leaned in, and licked the tear off your cheek with one slow, slick swipe of his tongue.
“Delicious,” he whispered. “Bratty girls cry the sweetest.”
Your knees actually buckled. The air felt too thick. Your mouth went dry. For once in your life, you had nothing smart to say.
“I surrender,” you whispered, parting your lips as you breathed out.
He kissed you so gently it demolished the last wall standing — and then his hand bunched the fabric of your dress at your hip, and your leg lifted almost involuntarily, and Eddie took over your mouth properly, with his teeth and his tongue, angling to get deeper, and you let him, you let him.
A fist pounded on the door. “Time’s up, freaks!”
Eddie released your wrists but didn’t step back right away. He gave you that signature smug, dimpled grin in the dim light.
You stumbled out first. The hallway felt blinding. Your legs were shaking so badly you had to brace a hand on the wall. The circle of partygoers went dead silent at the sight of you—flushed, quiet, white dress slightly rumpled, another tear track still glistening on your cheek.
Eddie stepped out easy, hands in his pockets, looking unbearably pleased with himself.
Someone whistled. “Damn, Munson. What’d you do to her?”
Eddie just winked, voice loud enough for the whole hallway. “Gave her a cathartic experience.”
You shot him a glare that was supposed to be withering but landed somewhere closer to dazed.
Your friends surged toward you. What happened? Are you okay? What did he DO?
“Nothing,” you said. “He was weird. It was disgusting.”You sat down on the couch holding your cup with both hands.
They believed you instantly.
You were, statistically, a very good liar.
The next pair got shoved into the closet. The party resumed its noise. And then, just under the music, close enough that only you could hear it:
“Until next time.” A pause. “Or are we doing this properly?”
You didn’t answer. You looked at the stairs.
Just once. Just briefly. A flicker of a glance that lasted half a second and said everything.
Behind you, you heard him push off the wall.
“Don’t keep me waiting, princess”
If you need more D&D sex I have it here (stories are not connected)
AN: Can't believe I wanted Wild Thing to collapse in Eddie's arms ten blurbs ago.
Three days after the grand battle you brought two rabbits. You laid them out on the table, hands blood-smeared, and said sweet and melodic:
“Dinner.”
Eddie almost threw up looking at their glassy eyes and managed to thank you. He packed the rabbits in a plastic bag and shoved them in the fridge. Hopefully Wayne knew how to clean and cook rabbits.
You settled into a routine with him. Slept during the day when he was at school, and woke up when he came back, which usually included drinking blood from his inner thigh to keep things secret, sex and expanding your vocabulary, sometimes all at once.
Two days later you presented Eddie with a chain. Attached to a wallet, with money and documents.
He stopped breathing and sat.
You had a long conversation about not drinking people’s blood. The next day Eddie got children’s books from the library and elaborated:
“Listen, besides people there are certain animals you should not eat. Like dogs and cats, see. They say meow.”
“Why?”
“Some animals are family. Like your demobats to you.”
You nodded.
“And no cows, no horses, no chickens, no domestic rabbits…”
And so on. You pouted.
“Hey, Fangs, I know it’s confusing. Let’s say for now you just get what you can find in the forest. But no people. Never people.”
“Wild thing go.”
Eddie froze. “No.” He exhaled heavily.
“You can go. But there are bad people out there. They will take you away, lock you up.” He realized he had exactly no power to protect you, besides the strategy of keeping a low profile.
You started rounding up your bats.
“No, please.” Eddie got in front of you. “Wild Thing, you are mine.” He stretched his wrist toward you. “And I am yours.”
You cocked your head, considering it. Then accepted his wrist and bit into the vein. Eddie exhaled slowly — not quite a moan, but close. He was smiling.
After just a few sips you closed his wounds and bit your own wrist.
“Eddie — mine. Drink.”
His pupils blew wide. “Oh. We are doing this.”
Eddie took your wrist and sealed his lips to the bleeding openings. A few sips and his head fell back with a groan, the narcotic warmth hitting his core, spreading from his throat outward, his whole body going loose and warm and happy in a way that had nothing to do with anything chemical and everything to do with the fact that it was yours.
He dropped onto the couch and pulled you with him. His head rolled back exposing his throat.
“What is this… I need you close, baby.”
You straddled his lap and gently scratched his jawbone with your claw, then traced down his artery. You should have felt the urge to drink from him, drain him, but instead you got the same feeling of desperate need to be as close as possible. You wore nothing underneath his shirt but he was still fully dressed and the rough edge of his belt touched your core and sent electric jolts through your whole body.
Eddie jerked his shirt off and pulled you into his embrace. His skin felt raw and vulnerable, and the contact was like a soothing balm.
“Closer, please.”
You started to peel the shirt off, grinding over the growing bulge in his jeans. Your bare body glued to Eddie seeking connection, closer, deeper, his tongue in your mouth, your claws digging into his biceps.
“Need to be inside you, now.”
Shaking fingers unbuckled the belt impatiently. You lifted, moaning at the loss, just enough for him to shove everything down and guide himself inside with a deep sound of relief. You took it all, hissing at the stretch but craving him as deep as he could get.
Eddie didn’t move. He stayed, drowning in the sensation of becoming one with you.
You squeezed him and rolled your hips involuntarily and he moaned and closed his eyes.
You stayed like this for what felt like hours until Eddie was spent and you were full of his release, and then finally made your way to his tiny shower together.
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PS: chronologically this is soon after the battle with Vecna
I have an idea, and you can totally have it if you want it. It'd be an apocalypse au where Eddie gets picked up by a reader who is running a traveling library out of a food truck she's completely refurbished.
Thoughts?
This is such a rich idea, and I’m so glad you shared it with me! First of all, what kind of apocalypse are we talking? Eddie would 100% love a zombie apocalypse slasher. Just think — zombie cheerleaders and teachers, some of his friends in the van… I’m not sure a library would be the most necessary thing during such an event; an actual food truck would probably be better, but I can certainly make her well read and not great at cooking just for fun. Let’s brainstorm! Are you thinking romance + humor, or something darker — actual survival?
