Stranger Things Fanwork Recs - on indefinte hiatus
@strangerthingsfanworkrecs
This is a place to celebrate all fanworks in the Stranger Things fandom! We rec all ships and art forms EXCEPT written Steddie Fics.
If you want to highlight a Steddie Fic, please send it along to: Steddie Underdog Fics
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Stranger Things Fan Art Highlights - On Indefinite Hiatus
Due to some real life stuff, this blog will be going into indefinite hiatus. Thank you so much for all your recs and thank you to the artists who participated so far. This was such a fun project and I'm glad I got to share it with all of you!
This is a place to celebrate all the great art that's been coming out of the stranger things fandom! That includes, but is not limited to:
written fics
graphics
digital art
book bindings
pod fics
commenters
gif edits
This blog is open to ALL romantic / platonic ships EXCEPT written Steddie Fics such as:
Eddie x Reader
Steve x Billy
Steve & Robin
Eddie x Jason
You can see our previously recommended artists here
summary: 'twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a — what the hell is that noise?
for @littlexdeaths 12 days of promptmas game!
prompt: whatever you do...don't feed it after midnight.
a/n - this is 2.1k words of pure silliness with sprinkles of horny. takes place somewhere in the ‘90s in whatever large city you want to imagine. shout out to my love @londonfog-chan for inspiring this fic! no major tags other than fluff, yearning, non-explicit smut, reader speaking a little bit of Spanish, and robin & reader being obsessed with each other. also i had to use that picture of the grinning kitten, but the cat in his fic is written as older and chonkier. as usual, my work is 18+/mdni. please reblog and comment if you enjoyed, thank you. 🫶🏽
divider by @strangergraphics
A faint beeping sound rouses you from your slumber.
Eyes crusted with sleep, your blurry gaze drifts to the digital clock on your nightstand. 2:38 am. Confusion settles over you for a moment when you look at the window and see grey, muted light instead of the usual nighttime darkness. When you squint harder, though, you make out the slow descent of fluffy snowflakes.
It’s definitely too early for your alarm to go off, but whatever you just heard, it’s not coming from the clock.
You sigh, frustrated that you’ve been dealt the curse of being a light sleeper. Even the smallest of noises will have you up and unable to drift back into the recesses of your dreams; unlike Robin, who could probably sleep through the apocalypse. And speaking of your beloved girlfriend, your hand runs over the left side of the bed in search of her warmth, craving the feeling of her lanky body curled into yours. A small frown pulls your brows together when all your palm meets is the smoothness of the sheets.
She’s wandered off, then, which typically means one thing: she’s had a nightmare.
Seldom does she talk about her past, but between her and the eccentric group of friends she has, you’ve gathered enough over the years to understand that whatever happened in Hawkins still rattles her sometimes. It’s with this information that you roll out of bed, intent on providing her some comfort in the form of a hug and a smattering of kisses. With your pajamas askew, you toe on your slippers and push open the bedroom door.
Living in an old two-flat means that your bedroom is connected to the dining room, so when you step out, you fully intend to find her seated at the slightly-wobbly table the two of you thrifted a few weeks ago (“The quality! The craftsmanship! The charm! Baby”—she pulled you to a stop and gripped your shoulders, blue eyes puppy-dog wide—“They don’t make ‘em like this anymore. We have to buy it right now.”), glasses sliding to the tip of her nose while she hunches over one of her latest library finds. Reading helps her chase away the monsters, she once told you. The ones hiding in the shadows of her memories, that taunt her in her dreams. So, it’s a bit of shock when you find the dining room dark and empty.
There is a light coming from the kitchen, though. And when you listen carefully, you catch the end of a whispered sentence.
“—have to be quiet.”
Equal parts curious and suspicious, you inch closer, trying your best to avoid the creaky parts of the wooden floor. When you round the corner, a snort of laughter and a drawn-out mewl punctuating the silence, you see a sight that has you muttering, “Esta tonta” under your breath, your lips curving into an incredulous grin.
“What’s going on here?”
Robin startles, head whipping up so fast that her messy hair flies around her face.
“Baby, I – uh, it’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, really?” you reply, hands perching on your hips. “Care to explain, then?”
“It’s actually a really funny story. Like, totally hilarious—"
“Rob.”
“—And when I’m done telling the story, you’re not gonna be upset with me at all because you’ll be so tickled that you won’t stop laughing—”
“Rob.”
“—And then we can laugh together and maybe make out a little? Or a lot. Definitely a lot, because I like you. Well, I love you, actually, in a maddening and sort-of-obsessed kind of way, but not like…creepy obsessed? ‘Cause I’m not a creep, I swear! I’ve only watched you sleep, like, twice. I’m just…very in love with you. I’d fall over and stop breathing and wither away into these sad, gross little flakes of dust if I didn’t have you—”
“Robin!” you exclaim, her nervous rambling coming to a halt. She falls silent, staring up at you with a sweet smile she hopes will communicate her innocence, all while the hefty orange cat in her lap continues to eat from the chopsticks she hovers above his mouth.
You take in the pair of them – Robin sitting crisscrossed on the checkered tile, clad in her reindeer-themed pajamas with cartons of last night’s Chinese takeout strewn around her; and Gremlin, the orange tabby that demanded housing, food, and belly rubs from you three Novembers ago, showing up on your doorstep as a small, sickly kitten; who is now happily overweight and nibbling on small pieces of sweet and sour pork when he shouldn’t be.
Your affection sweeps over you in seconds, warm and fuzzy as it flutters in your chest and swirls in your stomach. It’s impossible to feel any semblance of exasperation when the two of them are so goddamn adorable. Still, you keep up the ruse and say, “Babe, you know what the vet said.”
“I know!” she laments. “But I couldn’t help it! I mean, look at him! How could you say no to a face like that?”
You do as you’re told, staring down at Gremlin like you’re expecting an explanation from him. He gazes up at you and blinks in slow motion, not a single thought behind those bright amber eyes.
With a sigh, you shake your head. “He’s supposed to be on a diet. The vet said we had to have him on a strict feeding schedule. That means no grazing, no food after midnight, and certainly no takeout leftovers!”
“I…I just – here’s what happened! So, I was sleeping soundly, having this crazy dream that I was trapped in Jurassic Park and being chased by a Velociraptor, and I’m running and running, and I trip over a log that appears out of nowhere, and when I roll over, the Velociraptor puts its foot on my chest, then I literally feel a weight on my chest and think, ‘oh my god, it’s gonna eat me’, so I somehow manage to wake myself up, and sitting on my chest, breathing his funky breath in my face, is this little guy right here.” She pauses to take a deep breath, unaware that she’s still gripping the chopsticks between her fingers (and that Gremlin has been hungrily following every sweep and flourish of her hand). “And he reaches out and very gently paws at my face, and immediately, I know he’s asking for food. And like…how could I deny him when he asked so nicely?”
“Easy. You just say no.”
“But I’m weak!” she cries out. “When it comes to chunky cats and beautiful women, I’m spineless, I’m gutless, I’m putty.”
She knows what she’s doing, because any remaining tension in your body has melted away, and now you’re wearing that besotted smile of yours, the one that makes its appearance whenever she combines her chaos, theatrics, and charisma into one irresistible amalgamation – the Buckley Triple Whammy, she calls it.
“So, we climbed out of bed—careful not to wake you, of course—and snuck out to the kitchen. And when I opened the fridge, it was like we were connected in that moment, because I went for the leftovers just as he reached up to tap one of the cartons. And then—”
“You microwaved Chinese food for you and the cat to share,” you finish for her.
She nods, bashful and blushing as she strokes along Gremlin’s back with her unoccupied hand. “Guess I woke you up after all. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
But she trails off when you plop down next to her, leaning in to softly press your lips against hers.
“I’m not mad at you,” you tell her, leaning back and giggling when she chases you.
Her lips meet your cheek, then the tip of your nose, then the corner of your mouth, before they’re slotting against yours again. And you’d be content to stay here all night—especially when you nip at her bottom lip, and her tongue, warm and wet, slides slowly against yours; and in the back of her throat, she makes this needy little noise that has you itching to splay her out and coax it from her even louder—but the cat situated between the two of you, who makes his momentarily-forgotten presence known by screeching, has you pulling away from each other breathlessly.
“Sorry, Gremlin. I’m not mad at you either.” You gently tap his nose, chuckling when he hops out of Robin’s lap to go sniff the other unopened leftovers. “Still gonna make you diet, though.”
“Starting tomorrow, right?” says Robin, who’d somehow managed to hold onto her chopsticks whilst the two of you kissed. She’s digging into the sweet and sour pork again, pulling out a piece small enough for Gremlin to chew. When she looks at you—eyes dazed as they drink you in, freckled cheeks dusted the prettiest shade of pink, lips a little swollen and curved into a smile that makes you think, god, I fucking love her—you can’t deny her a single thing.
“Fine,” you concede. “Starting tomorrow.”
She cackles triumphantly, summoning Gremlin back into her lap with a whistle. There’s no way you’re going back to bed now, so you decide to join them in their late-night snacking, warming up a bowl of shrimp lo mein that you share with Robin (and, begrudgingly, Gremlin, who is a notorious shrimp fiend). Once the three of you have had your fill, you migrate to the living room, Gremlin perching in his cat tree to watch the snow blanket the ground outside. Robin plugs in the Christmas tree, then she pulls you into the lumpy couch with her, the two of you landing on top of the mismatched throw pillows as her arms wind around you from behind. Together, you bask in the incandescent glow of the lights, the radiator blowing out warm puffs of air. Robin holds you tighter, face buried in your neck.
“I really am sorry I woke you up earlier.”
“It’s fine, amorcito,” you murmur sleepily. “I already told you I wasn’t upset.”
“I know, but…I’m more than willing to make it up to you.”
You hear the playful mischief in her tone, but the way she rolls her hips against your ass, her fingers toying with the drawstring of your pajama pants, tells you that all it’ll take is a faintly whispered yes for her to move her fingers lower, lower, right where you always ache for her. You let out a regretful whine at your next answer.
“We’ve gotta be up in a few hours. The buñuelos aren’t gonna make themselves, plus my mom needs us to bring some more tomatillos for her pozole verde, and we have to make sure we arrive on time for the train, and—"
“We’re already up, amorcito. Why don’t we stay up a little longer?”
Her accent isn’t perfect, but with her lips at your ear and her hand slipping under your camisole (where it snakes up the soft flesh of your belly, fingertips stopping just beneath the naked curve of your breast), she sounds like heaven.
Without a single ounce of hesitation, you surrender yourself to her. You let her drag you back to the bedroom where her lips find yours again, desperate and unrestrained, as she whispers I love you I love you I love you; where, bathed in the snow-white light spilling through the window, she lowers you onto the bed and takes her time undressing you, eager hands roaming and rubbing every expanse of skin she exposes; where she saves your panties for last, and in the kiss she presses to the wet spot you’ve left for her, you can feel her smirk; where she makes a home for herself between your thighs, drawing out the sweet cry of her name from your lips with hungry strokes and languid swirls of her tongue; where, after she has pushed you over the precipice of ecstasy, you straddle her and your fingers beckon that desperate little whimper she’d made earlier, over and over again, louder and breathier, until the two of you are slick with sweat, limbs tangled and trembling.
With your arms around her waist, pressed so close that she can feel the racing thump of your heart, you place a kiss to her bare shoulder. You whisper that you love her. “As long as time.” She doesn’t miss a beat. “Infinite, like the universe.” Te amo. Then, with heavy eyes, you follow her into the cozy embrace of sleep.
And after he’s done searching the kitchen floor for crumbs, Gremlin hops on the bed and takes his rightful spot beside you.
summary: you're trying to complete your nightly crossword puzzle in peace. it's too bad eddie doesn't know the definition of peace.
Eddie Munson x Black!reader, 3.2k words
Tags/warnings: 18+/minors begone, fem!reader, established relationship, reader and eddie in their 30s, reader wears a bonnet to bed, reader’s skin color is described, eddie is high but everything is consensual, husky!eddie, flirty banter, swearing, fluff, eddie being a pest, reader being (affectionately) annoyed with him, mention of past alcohol use, wrestling as foreplay, heavy petting, edging, smut (p in v, fingering, oral - r receiving), a little bit of spanking, & lots of pet names.
A/N: Took two months of agonizing over every single sentence, but I finally finished this fic! Not too plot heavy (but I am inspired to write something else for Eddie and this reader). This is the first time I’ve written smut 🫣, so go easy on me! Special thanks to my bestie @londonfog-chan for beta-ing! Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading.
title credit: weak for your love by thee sacred souls
“Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s another word for a group of crows?”
Eddie doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading—Dune, for the millionth time—nor does he need time to deliberate. “Murder.”
“A murder of crows, really?” you reply, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You made that up.”
This time, his pretty brown eyes flit in your direction. You can see the playful mischief in the upward curve of his lips. “It’s one-hundred percent true.”
“Better not be lying to me, Munson. I’m writing in pen. I can’t erase my answer once I’ve written it down.”
“You know I’d never lie to you,” he says, wearing a smile that tells you he’s up to no good. “But if I do end up leading you astray...feel free to punish me.”
You snort with laughter, muttering something under your breath about his horndog ways. After adjusting the satin bonnet protecting your hair—which, much to your annoyance, keeps sliding down your forehead—you write each letter into the appropriate box of your crossword puzzle. You note that it’s a perfect match, doing a poor job of hiding your incredulous grin as you grumble, “Huh...I guess you were right.”
“Told ya so. You’ve gotta have a little more faith in me, sweet cheeks.”
He smirks as you roll your eyes at the nickname, your nose doing that cute little scrunch-thing he loves so much. His book is long forgotten now, placed page-down on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. With his legs underneath the duvet, his inked torso on display, he flops over so that his body is facing you. One hand props up his chin, a loopy smile on his face as he admires you; the tapping of your pen against your lips, the determined frown between your brows, the soft illumination of your skin, a deep, rich brown, in the golden lamplight. The other hand settles on your bare knee, his touch feather light.
“Though I was looking forward to being spanked,” he smirks.
“I bet you were,” you fire back, your gaze still glued to the crossword puzzle in your lap.
You’ve got four more words to decipher, but it’s getting difficult to focus with Eddie’s fingers tracing tiny hearts onto your skin. Tenderly, he trails them down your shin and over your calf muscle, feeling the post-shave prickle of new hair growth beneath his touch. Higher he goes, stopping at your knee again—which he knows is ticklish—to give it a squeeze. This makes you jump and squeal involuntarily, both your pen and puzzle falling from your grasp as you kick your leg away from him. You eye him with a glare that lacks any real heat.
“You’re being a nuisance right now.”
“A nuisance?!” he gasps dramatically. “Is that one of your crossword puzzle words?”
You move to swat his chest with the back of your hand, but his fingers clamp around your wrist just before you can make contact with his skin. He looks at you in challenge, baiting you with a grin that grows more and more devilish at your attempts to pry yourself from his grip. Another tug from you, another pull from him in retaliation, and left with no other choice, you pounce on him like a cat with her hackles raised.
Your strength is no match for his, so—as usual—he gives you the upper hand. He pretends to struggle in the headlock you’ve wrapped him in, coughing and screaming while his arms and legs flail wildly. He looks like a squirming starfish, and coupled with the noises he’s making—“Uncle! Uncle!”—the visual pushes forth a wild burst of laughter from you. It’s loud and high-pitched, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your hands weak. Your hold on him loosens, and Eddie uses it to his advantage. Your world flips, then you find yourself underneath him, chest heaving as your laughter leaves you in breathless huffs. You eye his arms first—the wiry muscle, the winding patchwork of traditional and stick-and-poke tattoos—caged beneath him as he holds himself above you; then, his face, which is adorned with an expression so soft and warm it nearly melts you.
“Alright, alright,” you say, still a bit winded. “You win. What do you want?”
“C’mon, sweetheart...you know what I want.”
Once again, you try to maintain your composure, biting back the smile that threatens to spread across your face. It’s hard not to react, though, when he looks at you like that – half-lidded eyes, tinged slightly red from the joint he’d smoked right before crawling into bed with you, sweeping slowly across the planes of your face like he’s trying to memorize every fine line, every blemish, every single detail of you. You can see, in the trained focus of his gaze, in the repeated wetting of his lips, the desire simmering just beneath the surface.
“It’s almost eleven,” you tell him, goosebumps sprouting across your body when he leans down to kiss the underside of your jaw.
“So?” he breathes into your neck. “We’ve done crazier things at almost eleven.”
True, you think, your mind turning to mush when you feel his teeth nipping at your earlobe.
Together, your twenties had been a whirlwind of late nights at various dive bars around town, arms steadying each other as you cackled and stumbled your way down uneven sidewalks; liquor that sloshed in your stomach while you slurred your way through off-key karaoke; quickies on the sinks and in the stalls of the shittiest bathrooms; and greasy burgers and stale fries for breakfast in the back of his old van, the doors wrenched open so the two of you could watch the sky fade from indigo blue to creamsicle orange.
In your thirties, however, after a long week of sitting in a cubicle—and for Eddie, teaching prepubescent middle schoolers how to play the guitar—your Friday nights now consisted of eye creams and true crime shows and crossword puzzles in bed. Lights out before midnight so that your Saturday mornings could start bright and early.
Time, age, and the lows of mental health made your libido wane over the years, so while Eddie was turned on if you so much as blinked in his direction, the mood didn’t strike you as often as it used to. He had to get creative with his seduction methods, finding that the sillier he was, the more he made you laugh, or the more he got a rise out of you...the more enchanting you found him. And if you weren’t into it, it wasn’t a problem for him. He was patient, he was gentle, and he loved you. With every breath, with every beat of his heart, he loved you. So, if you wanted to lay your head on his chest while you re-watched one of the many scary movies in your shared VCR collection, or simply lay side-by-side while he read and you journaled, he was happy.
You are into this, though. The kisses on your neck, the warmth of his breath on your skin, the weight of his body as it drapes over yours...
He rests between your thighs, hard and twitching in his boxers. You want him to press himself closer to you, to feel his arousal pushing against the dampening cotton of your panties, but he won’t until you tell him to. He waits for your direction, moving forward on your command only.
“Eddie?”
He pauses, pulling away so that his face hovers too far above yours. Before you can tell him to please, please keep going, he begins to climb off of you. You pull him back by the nape of his neck, fingers weaving through his curls as you whisper, “I want you.”
“Yeah?”
You nod eagerly, reaching up to caress his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb. You tug it down a little, a shiver running down your spine when you glimpse the hunger in his eyes. “On one condition.”
“Anything,” he replies.
His body (and belly) has softened over the years, wider and filled out now, so when he settles his full weight upon you again, you’re happily pinned to the bed. Hips slotted between your legs, he finally grinds himself forward, earning a needy gasp from you when you feel the pressure of his cock against your clit.
“I get to be on top.”
That playful smile of his—framed by crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and deeper lines around his mouth—quickly morphs into something warmer, more tender. A sign of his unwavering adoration, of his yearning for you. He licks his lips again, one hand cradling your jaw as he dives down to kiss you.
He starts off slow and sweet, softly pressing his lips against yours. One after the other after the other, he lets his touch linger, savoring the shared breaths between you, the contented hums vibrating in the back of your throat. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and when you open your mouth a little wider, his tongue follows. There’s a charge in the air then, a desperation like no other as he licks into you with the fervor of a man starved.
The two of you are a mess of tongues and teeth, his kisses hot and wet as they trail over your cheek and down your neck. He doesn’t stop there, though, inching further down your torso, his hands gripping the frayed hem of your oversized T-shirt. His fingers are warm as they brush against your abdomen, pushing your shirt higher and higher until it sits above your naked chest. Then, his lips are on you again – between the valley of your breasts, closed around one of your nipples, sucking and biting and driving you wild. His name leaves your mouth as a whimper, and with your fingers still tangled in his hair, you pull at the root to get his attention.
Against the swell of your breast, he murmurs, “Yes, baby?”
“Touch me,” you plead, and Eddie, never one to deny you of your desires, obeys your request with an eagerness that leaves you dizzy. One more sloppy kiss is planted on your nipple before he’s kneeling between your parted legs, his fingers gliding over the wet spot on your underwear.
Unraveling you is easy. All it takes is the back and forth, back and forth slide of his thumb over your aching core, pushing a little deeper with each pass, a bit more pressure when he reaches your clit. He knows that if he kept at it, if he worked you deliriously slow—with your shirt hiked up to your neck and your panties still on—you would cum for him. The thought goes straight to his dick, which throbs and begs for even the slightest bit of attention, but this moment is about you. He knows how to play this game, knows that you like it dragged out, pleasure just beyond your grasp. Over and over again until you’re pouting and pleading, and then he’ll surrender, giving it to you exactly how you want it.
“What are you—why did you stop?” you pant, whining in frustration at the sudden loss of his touch.
He smirks down at you. “‘Cause I’m a nuisance, remember?”
“Edward Munson, I swear—”
“What?” he says innocently, fingers hooking under the waistband of your soaked underwear. Your stomach swoops with anticipation as he tugs it down your legs, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. “What are you gonna do?”
He’s so smug and so pretty and so annoying, and normally, you’d respond with a taunt of your own, but it’s hard to find the words when he pushes your legs even further apart. Completely bare to him, calloused hands splayed across the backs of your thighs, he stares with a gaze full of hunger.
“My gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, leaning forward to place a kiss against the inside of your knee. His mouth drags lower, lower, but not where you want him, not where you need him.
“Eddie,” you whimper, hips bucking against the tight hold he has on you. His nose is nuzzled in your curls, his breath hot against your clit. He swipes a finger down your slick folds, marveling at how wet you are for him.
“You never answered my question,” he says, voice ragged with lust. “What are you gonna do?”
“I—fuck,” is all you can manage, your breath hitching when you feel the long, slow swipe of his tongue. He takes his time after that, mumbling, “That’s what I thought,” as he laps at you like you’re the only cure to his thirst. Your moans are the sweetest music, a rising symphony, and when his lips suction around your clit, his groans vibrating across your skin, your back arches off the bed.
“Eddie!” you cry out, clenching around the thick fingers he pushes inside of you. It’s a warning, to him and you, that you’re nearing that delicious edge. “I–I’m almost—” Your thighs tremble around his head as your ecstasy builds, too lost in the sinful slurps and squelches that fill the room.
“You close, baby?” he taunts you, fingers curling against the spot that’s always you’re undoing. “You gonna cum?”
Your response is barely coherent, a slurred yespleaseyes as you grab a fistful of his hair. Your other hand slides up to your breast, nipple taut and sensitive as you roll it between your fingertips. “Almost,” you pant desperately, breaths fast and heavy as he flicks his tongue against you. Almostalmostalmost. “I’m–I’m gonna—"
Your body tightens, your eyelids flutter, your heart beats so fast you can feel it thrashing in your ribcage, and just as that first euphoric wave begins to crest...Eddie pulls away from you.
You almost weep.
“I hate you,” you breathe out, faint aftershocks rolling through you. “I actually hate you.”
All he does is chuckle, and when you open your eyes, you see him lying beside you, a pillow under his back and his boxers abandoned on the floor. His gaze is on you as he strokes himself, a self-satisfied smile on his glistening lips. “Show me how much you hate me, then.”
He really is a vision—with his cock in his fist, pumping lazily as he waits for your retribution—which means that whatever quip you were about to make gets caught in the back of your throat. You can’t stand him sometimes, but even more, you love him. It’s an all-consuming kind of love, never wavering, holding you firmly in the warmth of its embrace. And you crave him. So desperately do you crave him. It’s the only thought on your mind as you straddle him.
“Let me get that for you,” he says, sugary-sweet as he pushes your falling bonnet above your eyebrows. He cradles your face with both of his hands, thumbs caressing your cheekbones. “Still hate me?
“Maybe,” you grin, your stomach fluttering as he leans forward to press a kiss to the column of your throat.
You maneuver a hand between your bodies, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth as you wrap your fingers around him. You tease him with a few languid tugs, thumb swiping over the sticky bead of his precum. He’s already gasping, hips bucking into your hand as you capture his mouth in a prolonged kiss; then, a strangled moan escapes him when he feels the wet heat of you enveloping him.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel so good.”
It’s your turn to smirk as your palms lay flat against his chest, your hips rolling against him at an easy pace. He smooths his hands over the rounded curve of your ass, a loud smack ringing in your ears.
“Thought I was supposed to be the one spanking you,” you gasp, the sting of his hit mixing with your budding pleasure.
“Couldn’t help myself,” he grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your hips. He guides you forward, spellbound as he gazes up at you. Your eyes are closed, mouth parted as you grind yourself against him. Already, you’re close to coming undone, quick bursts of breath and soft whimpers spilling from your lips. He can feel you squeezing around him, and he wants nothing more than to fuck you senseless, but he knows that if he moves now, your focus will falter. So, he lays beneath you instead, letting you chase your pleasure while he mutters words of love and praise.
“So good, baby,” he whispers. His hand is heavy on the back of your neck, his grip firm but gentle. “I love you so much. Keep going, keep going. I want—no, I need to feel you cum.”
Your heart is racing again, your moans rising in their pitch. The pace you’ve set is enough to make you breathless, and with the constant friction of your clit against his pelvis, with his cock filling you so perfectly, you find yourself teetering towards that steep edge of bliss once more.
“Eddie,” you choke out, a cry and a gasp all at once. He can hear the request in your voice, the frenzied desperation, and without any hesitation, his unoccupied hand disappears beneath your shirt. He grips your right breast, squeezing and kneading before his fingers find your nipple. He pinches with just the right amount of pressure, and with a final, hard drag of your hips, your orgasm finally rushes forward. It hits you hard, sucking the air from your lungs, your body shuddering as you clench and quiver around him. I love you tumbles from your mouth like a sacred prayer, your chest rising and falling as you collapse against him, face tucked into the crook of his neck while you bask in your afterglow.
You can hear the smile in his voice when he asks, “You done hating me?”
You chuckle against his sweat-slick skin. “For now.”
He hums appreciatively, an arm winding tightly around your lower back as he begins to thrust up into you. He moves slow at first, savoring the hitch of your breath at the overstimulation, feeling the beat of your heart against his chest. But he’s restrained himself for too long, and with you wet and tight around him, he can’t hold back any longer. He fucks you with reckless abandon, quick and sloppy as he chases his own high. The slap of his skin against yours, the searing press of your lips against his neck fuels him, faster and faster and faster.
“Fuck, babe, I—”
You kiss him, swallowing his broken moan as he spills himself inside of you, riding out his own orgasm with a few deep thrusts until he finally stills beneath you.
Breathing in tandem, bodies still connected, you’re the first to break the sleepy, post-sex haze. “I still think you’re a nuisance.”
Eddie’s chest rumbles with laughter. He holds onto you tight when you try to roll off of him, giggling at your playful pokes and prods.
Keeping you flush against him, he mumbles into your ear, “Keep talking dirty to me, sweetheart, and I’ll be ready to go again in no time.”
“Baby,” he murmurs, tail flicking at your waist as he kneels down beside you. He cups your bruised cheek in his hand, his elongated thumb smearing blood across your lips and down your chin. “I meant it when I said you’re the prettiest girl I ever saw. And now look at you…I could just eat you up.”
In the aftermath of your capture, you find out what Eddie is truly capable of.
part one
flayed!eddie munson x fem!reader, 5k words
Tags/warnings: 18+/absolutely no minors, dead dove: do not eat, non-explicit r*pe/non-con, blood, gore, graphic depictions of violence, sadism, torture, horror, body horror, fear, suffering, manipulation, coercion, spitting, bodily fluids, consumption of human flesh by a monster, demo-bats, mutilation & dismemberment, no use of y/n, reader called various pet names, not canon compliant, flayed!billy hargrove, henry creel/vecna/one, story title & italicized lyrics from ptolemaea by ethel cain.
A/N: I intended this to be finished by Halloween, but life had other plans, so I guess it's a very dark, very grim Christmas present? This is the second part of another fic (because flayed!eddie and his lore kept haunting me) titled heard you, saw you / need you, love you. Part two isn't meant to be a standalone, so I'd read the previous part first. Also please, please read the tags before you engage with this story. If you find any of these topics upsetting and/or uncomfortable, do not read. Eddie is a monster, his humanity is gone, so I repeat: don't like, don't read. Finally, I want to give a humongous shout out to @londonfog-chan for beta-ing and indulging in the madness with me! I wouldn't have finished this without you!!! 🫶🏽
Thank you for reading!
I am here now as you run from me still
Eddie loves to hear you scream.
The way you put your entire body into it—your mouth open so wide he can see the back of your pink, pulsing throat, your back arching off the slippery, blood-soaked ground beneath you—is a beautiful sight.
He thinks you look prettiest this way, all broken and bruised, your limbs bent and your skin sliced open. He’s had so many others in the same position, but you are the loveliest of them all.
Her, he’d told Billy at the drive-in, onyx eyes trailing you. I want her.
He knew you were his, had known it the moment your laughter carried across the parking lot, piercing him like the crack of a sharp whip. You were all bark and bite, cruel and cunning, and it roused in him that deep, insatiable hunger. When you rolled your eyes at his taunt—“Gonna get you, baby!”—sneering and sauntering away from him like he was shit beneath your dainty little heel...oh, hunting you would be so much fun.
So rare was it to get someone like you, mean with a mouth that wasn’t afraid to run. The last few had been meek, spineless, too easy to steal and kill.
But not you.
No, you wouldn’t open yourself up to his artful seduction. You wouldn’t fall at his feet if he demanded it. You would put up a fight until you couldn’t hold on any longer, and the thought of you resisting made his mouth water.
Stop playing with your fucking food was what Billy always told him, but the guy was apathetic, too simple. He preferred things quick and easy, a brute show of strength as he delivered a blow to the skull or a snap of the neck, but not Eddie.
He liked games. He liked it messy.
He wanted to smell your terror. He wanted it to permeate the cold, barren wasteland he now called home, thick and heady as it mixed with the sweet, metallic scent of your blood. The more you feared him, the more you struggled and begged and thrashed in agony, the better you would taste.
And you are absolutely delicious.
It takes every ounce of his willpower to take his time. His hunger tells him to feed, do it now, Eddie, fill yourself of her once and for all, but he resolves to savor every last drop of you.
So, he fills you first instead.
He’s gentle just like he promised he would be, his tongue tracing a slow path along your salty skin, his fingers wedging apart your quivering thighs. But your cries, the force that accompanies your fists as you strike any part of him you can reach, your stream of piece of shit fuck you I hate you I hate you fuck you makes him throb for you with the most ravenous desire. You spit in his face and he laughs, so painfully hard as he wipes it from his cheek and licks his palm clean, his restraint whittling away to nothing as he finally gets a taste of you.
He wants you, he needs you, and in both his human guise and his true form—the horned, tailed, winged beast that he is—he takes everything you refuse to give.
(You scream louder, harder when he climbs out of his skin and descends upon you as a monster, your face coated in sweat and tears as you inch away from the gnarled, ashen flesh that covers him. He grins, razor-sharp teeth dripping with saliva, because your fear stirs in him a voracious lust that will last for hours.
“Don’t you worry, angel,” he coos, his voice deep and demonic as he presses a kiss to your chapped lips. One hand wraps around your throat, the other ripping away the tattered remnants of your tank top. “I’m gonna take care of you.”)
When he’s done with you, panting while you lay beneath him a crumpled, broken thing, he drags a hooked nail along your cheek, the pointed tip sinking into your delicate skin. Ruby red blood springs from the gash, and he leans forward, sucking up every last drop. Your blood is divine, the sweetest ambrosia, and he shivers when he thinks about your flesh and what it’ll taste like when he peels it from your bones.
Face buried in the crook of your neck, he inhales, delighted that your scent now tangles with his own. You could deny it all you wanted, but the truth is irrefutable – you are his.
Desperate to hear that high-pitched cry of yours again, he frowns when he sees that you’ve slipped away from him. You’ve gone still, silent, but a palm against your cheek is enough to jolt you awake. The fear in your eyes is illuminated by a flash of red lightening, and when you notice him still hovering above you, rows of sharpened teeth exposed by the unnatural wideness of his smile, you scream once more.
He leans down again, his breath hot and wet in your ear. “Let me hear you.”
Eddie hadn’t always been a monster.
He can’t recall every intricate detail of his former life—some memories have been forgotten, replaced by the ever-present hunger he is bound to, the blood and viscera that he gorges himself on—but he does know that he had a family once.
Wayne, his uncle, who took him in without a second thought after the death of his mother and the imprisonment of his father. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant, his oldest and closest friends. Dustin, Lucas, and Max, the fresh-faced, wide-eyed group of kids who tried their hardest to clear his name. Even Steve, Robin, and Nancy, who stood by his side as the world crumbled beneath their feet.
He remembers the town that loathed him, forcing him to cower in caves and shadows to escape their vengeance.
And he remembers his sacrifice.
There had been nothing left for him in Hawkins, no life for him to go back to in which he’d be free to live as he wanted. He was a killer, they said, a sadistic murderer who deserved a swift and cruel punishment. Had he returned with Dustin, he’d have lived a life behind bars, waiting for the day he was strapped into the electric chair.
There was only one choice, a choice born out of love and courage, hope and despair, and he paid for it with his flesh and blood.
The bats—those beastly little creatures who forget their place and try to steal his own prey now—had circled and swarmed him. The first bite had been lethal, and the rest had eaten away at what little valor he had left. He endured it—the gnawing, the ripping, the blood clogging his throat—all to give his friends a fighting chance. And when they found him, when they came upon his mangled, immobile form and he saw their fear, he knew there would be no escaping this place.
“Eddie, no,” Dustin had whimpered, kicking away the winged carcasses that surrounded him.
Eddie hadn’t understood why they fell away from him, screeching and clawing at the ground before dropping dead. He was thankful, though, that his last moments wouldn’t be spent with those creatures chewing a hole through his body. He stared up at Dustin, his vision wet and blurring at the edges.
“I didn’t run away this time.”
Dustin’s smile, the quivering of his lips, the tears and the searing pain in his eyes as Steve, Nancy, and Robin pried him from his body would be the last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered closed.
“Let me – let me go!” Dustin cried. “We can’t leave him! We can’t!”
“Dustin, look at him!” Steve shouted. “He’s gone, alright? He’s gone. We can’t take him with us.”
“No! NO—”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but we can’t stay here. We have to go.”
He heard their scuffle as he drifted away, Dustin’s wails and Steve’s grunts as he hoisted him over his shoulder the last sounds he would hear. The warmth of his friend’s embrace was replaced by a cold so glacial that it sunk past his broken skin and chilled even his bones.
There was no white light to greet him, no life flashing before his eyes. There was only darkness; there was only that murky, limitless expanse encroaching upon him like a snake poised to strike, snapping forward and swallowing him whole.
He was falling,
falling,
falling,
and in that empty, liminal space, where there was no gravity and no time and no sound and no air, a disembodied voice materialized from the shadows.
Eddie.
It rang loud and deep, slow and ominous. The bass of it echoed around him, inside of him. He tried to call out, “Who are you?” but his tongue was too heavy and his mouth wouldn’t open.
The voice didn’t need words, though. Not in this void.
You know who I am, Eddie. You saw what I did. You were credited for it.
Fear struck him hot like lightening, the sting of it coursing through every vein in his body.
Vecna.
What a miserable sight to behold, watching your friends leave you here to die alone.
He was dead the moment he decided to turn around. They couldn’t have saved him. They couldn’t—
They didn’t care about you. They would have stayed with you until your last breath, but they ran. They ran, and they left you here to rot.
No, that wasn’t true. They loved him. Dustin wanted to stay. Dustin loved him.
And the others? Steve, Robin, Nancy…did they love you? Did they love you when they pulled Dustin away from you? When they told him they had to leave you behind?
There was nothing they could do. There was nothing—
Your poor uncle. He will stand over an empty casket, wishing he could’ve done more, wishing he could see you one last time before saying goodbye. But your body will be trapped here for eternity, decaying alongside the creatures that destroyed you.
No! It’s not his fault! It was never his fault—
They abandoned you. Just like your mother. Just like your father. Just like the town that drove you to this place.
You did this, Eddie thought desperately. Whatever you are, all of this…everything is fucked because of you!
Yes, but only because I needed them. Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, Max…they died for a greater purpose. A noble sacrifice. And I carry them with me, still. But you, Eddie…this town witnessed the crumbling of their rose-tinted façade, and they chose you to blame. One weak, human boy somehow capable of splitting their entire world apart.
He tried to shake his head, tried to move, tried to run, but his body, once airy and weightless, was now anchored to the darkness.
You died for them, and when Wayne erects a tombstone in your honor, they will piss on your grave. They will wish for you to burn in hell.
Please. Get out. Get out get out get out get out—
The town pariah. The satanist. The cultist. The murderer. You were good, Eddie, but they saw the worst in you. They hunted you, and now here you are. Forsaken and bleeding and alone. Do you feel it? Do you feel that behemoth weight on your chest, the spasming of your leaden limbs, the fire in your skin? Does it hurt, Eddie? Does it hurt?
It crept forward slowly, an invisible vapor with undulating tendrils slithering up his arms and toward his face, into his nostrils and down his throat. There had been no pain, no feeling in whatever darkened realm this was…and then every nerve in his body roared to life at once. The pain was everywhere, everywhere – his face, his neck, his abdomen, his ribs. In the tips of his fingers and the backs of his eye sockets. In his gums and his twisting organs. In the slow, torturous cleaving of his heart. He was screaming, writhing in the fire enveloping him.
This is how they wish for you to suffer. I’ve seen it in their sleepiest daydreams, in their deepest thoughts. This is what they want. They think you deserve this, Eddie.
The pain crashed against him, and in its gaping maw, with its nails plunged into his eyeballs and its teeth tearing him open, it ate him alive.
Do you deserve this?
No, no, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t fucking deserve this.
Don’t you want them to feel it? Shouldn’t they hurt the way you hurt? Don’t you want to punish them for everything they stole from you?
No—
Don’t lie to me, Eddie. I’ve seen the inside of your mind. I know of the power you desire. It’s small, smaller than a seed, but it has already taken root. You want respect, reverence. For so long, they’ve been afraid of you. Isn’t it time to give them something to truly be afraid of?
No, no—
But his refusal sprang forth another wave of blistering agony.
Another lie. Why deny what you know to be true? There is no shame here. I know what it’s like to be judged for being different. I know rejection and abandonment. And I don’t blame you, Eddie, for feeling the way you do. I empathize with you, and I can help you. I can give you back the life that was so wrongly snatched from you.
He wanted to deny it again, the flames licking at his skin as the thought passed through his mind, but deep down, in the furthest, most secret parts of himself, he knew it was true. For too long, he’d been the punching bag of this godforsaken town. For too long, he endured their contempt and their spit and all the vitriol-filled lies they spouted about him. He did long for power. He did long for acceptance. And if he could go back and relive his life, if he could do it all over again…he wanted people to tremble when they said his name.
See? I know your inmost desires, and I can make them happen. I can take your pain, Eddie, and I can give it those who deserve it. We can give it to those who deserve it. All you have to do is say yes.
After everything—the brutality, the horror, the bloodshed—could he give himself up to the entity responsible for all of this destruction? Could he become what everyone believed him to be? It felt like ages in which he questioned every word, every racing thought. He questioned his doubts, his fears, the values he clung to so tightly…
But in the end, there was only one answer. He’d already lost everything; there was nothing else to lose now.
A low, guttural chuckle sounded through the abyss.
It’s time for your suffering to end.
The transformation was instant.
No longer was he in a hazy dreamscape, but splayed on the cold, hard ground beneath him. He was back in his body, gasping for air when he realized the bleeding had stopped. His wounds, once painful and oozing, had stitched themselves back together. He scrambled to his feet, lifting his torn shirt and examining his smooth skin. He ran his fingers up his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, and felt nothing besides a little stubble.
Eddie threw his head back with bewildered laughter, shoulders shaking as he clutched his stomach. This was unbelievable! He’d been granted what others only dreamed of – a second chance. He had a second chance to make things right, a second chance to live the life he always wanted, a second chance to—
A frown split down his face, his laughter fizzling out and fading into the bleak silence surrounding him.
Something wasn’t right.
Something was wiggling around. Inside of him. Just beneath the hands still placed on his abdomen. He froze, noticing that his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it should have. It wasn’t beating at all.
And then…a small kick.
He shrieked, jumping back as if something had suddenly appeared in front of him. Then, another forceful kick, one that had him doubling over, breathless. His trembling fingers gripped the hem of his shirt, and when he lifted it, he could see somethingrolling around beneath his swelling skin. Another scream threatened to spill out of him, but the hand pushing forward stole all of his sound. It protruded from him grotesquely, pale skin stretched around a palm, five long fingers fanned out like they were searching for something. He could feel its nails, the way they raked up and down his stomach lining. And his breathing grew faster, shorter, as it inched its way up, pushing his organs out of the way as it scaled higher and higher.
It wasn’t a tiny thing after all. It was large, and it was forcing its way out of him.
He fell to his knees, eyes filling with tears, gurgling and choking as he clutched at his rapidly-expanding throat.
And he couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe as a long, grey arm shot out of him. He fell backward, eyes tilted to the tumultuous sky above before they rolled into the back of his head.
Jaw cracking and dislocating, cheeks hollowing and stretching paper-thin, a body covered in mucus and saliva climbed out of him. First the arm, then the shoulder, and finally, a head. It used its nails for purchase, sinking them into the muddy ground so that it could drag the rest of itself from his wide, cavernous mouth. The barbed tail was the last part to free itself, and when the creature crumpled on the ground beside Eddie’s husk of flattened skin, staring into his empty eye sockets, it realized its own consciousness.
Because it wasn’t an it after all – it was him.
It was Eddie.
He stood tall, gargantuan, sharp claws reaching up to feel his curved horns. He gave an exploratory flick of his tail, marveling at the way it sliced through the air. And with a sharp-toothed grin, he unfurled the wings on his back, their span stretching far and wide. This new body, the vitality and the raw, unadulterated strength that came with it were exhilarating. His wings carried him up, up, and up, until he was hovering high above the dilapidated trailer park.
From within the swirling clouds, a thunderous voice bellowed, “Welcome home, Eddie.”
In the aftermath of the earthquake, Hawkins tried to mend what was broken. More people left town, and the ones who stayed behind began to rebuild. Our new normal, they’d said. All we can do is make the best of it.
Henry began to rebuild, too.
On the other side, just below their feet, he remained hidden in the shadows, silent and stagnant while Eddie joined Billy in the hunt above ground. The missing persons list grew every day, which meant no one noticed when a body went missing from the makeshift infirmaries around town.
It was souls he needed, and in exchange for their subservience, he promised them flesh.
And Eddie was starved for it.
Hunger was all he knew, now, driven by his lechery and his unquenchable need to feed. And oh, how they screamed. How they cried and begged for mercy as he dragged them through the vined, webbed portals connecting their home to his.
There were no second thoughts, no qualms about his ruthlessness as he cracked them open. All that mattered was meat and blood. All that mattered were the entrails he slurped from gaping stomachs, the layers of skin he stripped from muscle and fat, the bones he crushed into a fine powder between his teeth.
His humanity was signed away, and in its place was a chasm he’d never fill.
In the end, the Party lost.
The girl—Eleven—was no match for Henry’s reinvigorated strength, and when she fell, so did the steadfast hope that humanity would prevail. Eddie’s former friends—his family—lost, and all that was left to do was obey Henry’s demands.
“One soul a year, chosen by my attendants. That’s all I want. Don’t fight it, don’t intervene, and I will leave the town unscathed. I will let you all live, so long as you agree to my terms.”
He’d projected the words into the minds of Joyce and Hopper, Nancy and Jonathan, Steve and Robin. He’d shown them the consequences of breaking the deal—Hawkins, collapsed and in ruins; petal-faced monsters and winged beasts climbing through the fiery rifts in the ground; the rivers of blood that would flow through the streets—and when they all came to, a tormenting decision had been made.
One soul a year.
They had no way of knowing, of course, that he would break his word one day; that he was simply biding his time, amassing more power until he could set loose hell not only in Hawkins, but across the entire world. And so, with a false sense of security, they left in droves – down south, out west, far, far away from the town they once called home. They rebuilt their lives elsewhere, and in the process, they pushed to the backs of their minds everyone they lost.
In the ripple of space-time between their world and his, Eddie followed them, and he could see—as they aged, as they settled down and moved on—that he’d become less than an afterthought. He was a ghost of a memory now, doomed to wander between worlds as a conduit of destruction, led only by his fathomless bloodlust.
He felt no trepidation about what would happen to them eventually. No alarm, no regret. He only felt pleasure now, derived from torture, from brutality and the mutilation of others. And someday, he would consume this whole town.
Someday.
Eddie has grown to like you.
He thinks your spirit is admirable, that you’ve still got some fight left in you despite the cruelty he has shown you. You’re shattered and spent, seeping wounds spattered across your entire body, but when he looks into your eyes, he can see that your fury isn’t a smoldering ember. It’s a fire that burns hot and bright, and it makes him shiver.
“You just don’t wanna die, do you?” He laughs, a rumbling, derisive laugh that carries into the sky and through the bare-limbed trees when you raise your right hand—your unbroken hand—and flip him your middle finger.
“Baby,” he murmurs, tail flicking at your waist as he kneels down beside you. He cups your bruised cheek in his hand, his elongated thumb smearing blood across your lips and down your chin. “I meant it when I said you’re the prettiest girl I ever saw. And now look at you…I could just eat you up.”
You scowl at him, your teeth stained red. “Eat shit and choke on it.”
He hums appreciatively and grips your chin harder, leaning in so close that his putrid breath washes over your entire face. “Unless you plan on finishing what you started, I’d be careful, angel. That dirty mouth of yours really revs me up.”
You wear your disgust proudly, wielding it like the sharpest of swords. He wants you to be afraid of him. You can see it in the twisting of his mouth, in the minute tick of his jaw. And hours ago—or has it been days, years, lifetimes?—you would have flinched away from him, your eyes snapping shut while you shuddered and folded into yourself. Now, though, you meet his gaze head-on, his obsidian irises dark and swirling with a malevolent promise. He’s taken everything from you, and now there’s nothing left to fear.
Not anymore.
“You don’t scare me,” you sneer up at him, brazen and condescending. “You’ve done your worst, and all I want to do is laugh at how pathetic you are.”
“Oh, honey…you haven’t seen me at my worst.”
His lips pull back like that of a shark, moving so fast that you don’t register what’s happening until he’s already leaning back. Caught between his pointed teeth, you see your own skin. He chews on a chunk of your shoulder, licking his fingers clean of your blood as he gulps down a piece of you, and the scream that erupts from you is unlike any noise you’ve ever heard before. It comes from some place so primal, so visceral, that it shakes through your entire body. And while you gasp for air, convulsing as the vessels in your eyes pop from the sheer force of your cries, Eddie marvels at the mess he’s made of you.
See, he hasn’t had this much fun in a long time. And it would be a shame to let it all go to waste now. As hot as his desire burns to devour you, he can’t help but think of your potential. There’s darkness inside of you, trapped in that soft, feeble vessel of yours. You can’t see it, but he can, and if you gave into it, if he helped you harness it…you would be unstoppable. You could be just like him, better than him, and together, you could hunt and feed and fuck to your hearts’ desire. He salivates just thinking about it, and when your screams have lessened to anguished little whimpers, he makes you an offer you won’t be able to refuse.
“You won’t be going home, you know. You belong here, with me, because I chose you. Because I love you. I’m supposed to kill you soon, but I’ve gotta be honest”—he pauses, knobby fingers stroking tenderly along your arm—“I can’t bring myself to part from you. As much as I wanna taste your insides, I want you by my side even more. You could have it all, sweetheart, anything you want. Anything we want. You just have to say yes.”
You gaze up at him, eyes wide and shimmering with tears he’s desperate to lick away. “And I’ll become what you are?”
He nods, and when he sees that contemplative look on your face, something deep within him stirs. It’s a foreign sensation—hope—and as it swells up inside of him, he remembers himself in a life that has long since passed. Through a blurry filter, he remembers the soft warmth of his friends’ laughter, the weight of his uncle’s hands on his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, he isn’t weighed down by his crushing loneliness. He isn’t weighed down by the desolation of his existence. He feels, but as quickly as it comes, it sours, withered and rotting away when your expression twists with malice.
“I’d rather die than be like you.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to take back your words, because when he claws open your throat, all that leaves you is a thick, wet sputter. Your blood flows swiftly, pooling around your head while you spasm and choke. And he watches, face just above yours, fury in his eyes and loathing in yours, as you fade with your last whisper of breath.
As you fade into nothing.
He makes slow work of you after that, ripping your head from your shoulders, your limbs from your body. He swallows whole your organs and intestines, your eyes and your brain. He strips you of your flesh and picks the meat clean off your bones. And he saves your heart for last, fingers rooting around in your open ribcage until he’s grasping the frozen muscle in his fist. It bursts in his mouth from the ferocity of his bite, soft and spongy as it slides down his throat, and only then is he finally full.
Full, but never sated.
The sun is hot and bright, beaming through the windshield of the idling Camaro.
Eddie sits in the passenger seat, bare arm dangling from the window while a lit cigarette hangs from his lips. He can hear the splash of water, the high-pitched screech of a lifeguard’s whistle, children’s laughter, and the low hum of mothers’ gossip. It’s another scorcher of a day, families gathered at Hawkins Community Pool to relieve themselves of the oppressive summer heat.
It's also the perfect place to hunt, but it’s not his turn this time.
He and Billy are situated at the very end of the parking lot, far away from the various mini-vans littering the asphalt. From this distance, they remain unseen, but the same can’t be said for the group of girls lounging in bikinis. Billy is perched on the hood of the car, pitch-black eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as he leers at them. He’s been watching them for an hour now, listening as they groused about being home for the summer, recalling wild nights at college parties and the boys they regretted waking up to. There’s one in particular who has caught his attention, a brunette with a soft voice and a lazy smile. And as his gaze sweeps across the valleys of her exposed skin, following every curve, every blemish and dimple, the gluttonous pit inside of him demands to be filled.
“That one,” is all he says, and though his voice is too low for the human ear, Eddie hears him loud and clear.
So, they wait, and when the girls saunter out together a few hours later, Billy pulls the car up beside them. Very rarely does hunting present him with a challenge; the golden curls, the muscles, his husky voice, and that teasing, goading smile of his beckon forward his prey with ease. When he picks the brunette out of the group—“Wanna go for a ride, princess?”—she squeals with delight as Eddie steps out to let her climb into the backseat, not once looking back at her gawking friends.
(She’ll let out that same high-pitched squeal later when Billy guts her.)
They race down the empty road together, warm air blowing through the open windows, sunlight peeking through the green stretch of forest racing past them. And when they arrive at the abandoned trailer park, the girl crying and struggling as Billy drags her through the glowing hole in the ground, Eddie lingers behind for a moment, listening to the buzz of cicadas and the wind rushing through the trees.
He will feed again next year, and in the years to come, he will search tirelessly, but he will never have another like you.
Summary: After surviving the Upside Down, all Eddie wants to do is leave Hawkins behind and start a new life elsewhere. Working as a full-time bartender at The Hideout is his way to freedom, but after a late-night shift ends with him encountering a girl only he can see, he becomes entangled in the world of the supernatural once more.
♪♫♪ With the eyes of an angel / I like what I see, too / I know I'm making a mistake / What can I do? / When eyes as sweet as yours look at me the way you do ♪♫♪
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Black!vampire OC
Tags: bisexual vampires, vampire lore from various movies, shows, & books, romance, humor, racism, misogyny, some angst, blood/blood drinking, power imbalance, mind control, violence, murder, swearing, recreational drug use, drinking (lots of it), past substance abuse, mental health struggles, morally-grey characters, a whole lot of silliness, sexual tension, eventual smut (I think? if I can pull it off?), mildly-dubious consent, & whatever else I add later on! 18+/mdni.
A/N: I'm super excited to share this with all of you! It’s been a work in progress since the summer of ‘22. This story is very special to me, so I hope you'll consider reading it. I know that, for whatever reason, OC stories aren't popular in this fandom — however, I do want to ask that even if this isn't your cup of tea, you'll reblog it so that it might reach others who are interested in OCs. Thank you and enjoy!
Title credit: "Devil in Me" by Pretty Sick | Divider credit: strangergraphics
"The first story is a mix of comedy and the supernatural, with a Black vampire OC as Eddie Munson's love interest. It was inspired by the TV show "What We Do in the Shadows" and the song "Sister of Night" by Depeche Mode. Really, I just wanted to write something for Eddie that wasn't as depressing as his ending in season 4; and I wanted to write an OC that I could relate to!" - writhingg
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Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you.
More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”
Eddie wants you, and he won't stop until he has you.
part two
Word count: 4,857
Tags/warnings: 18+/minors dni, Flayed!Eddie Munson x fem reader, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove (Billy is more of a side character), college-aged reader, post-season 4, no use of y/n, Eddie and Billy live (sort of...), Eddie hints at SA-ing reader (nothing physical, but he does talk about it), horror, suspense, dread, blood and gore, coercion, emotional manipulation, swearing, creepy older men, the Upside Down, background Shadow Monster/Mind Flayer, literary references and allusions, this is not romance.
A/N: I posted this on ao3 back in April, but since we're about a day away from October (spooky season!!!), I figured it would be the perfect piece to debut on here. This was heavily inspired by "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates and Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. Reblogs are the best! Likes and comments are appreciated as well! Thanks for reading!
sweet, mourning lamb
there’s nothing you can do
it’s already been done
Your life is perfect.
You have a father who gives you money whenever you ask for it and a mother who dotes on you even though she secretly covets your youth and your beauty. When she looks at you, you can see the wistful look in her eyes, gaze lingering on the smooth skin between your manicured brows, the barely-there smile lines from late nights of laughter around a bonfire at Lover’s Lake, surrounded by your best friends and girls who pretend to be your friend and boys who want to be more than your friend.
At Hawkins High, everyone knows your name, always calling after you or grinning your way, trying to get a seat at the lunch table where you and all your friends gossip about the latest rumor—“Did you hear that Tracy Anderson got knocked up?” “Is she the next Virgin Mary or something? ‘Cause no away anyone’s touching her.”—while sipping on cans of Diet Coke.
It fills you with a triumphant sense of joy to get whatever you want; all you have to do is flutter your lashes or flash a coy smile and people are like putty in your hands, bending and twisting in whatever way you wish.
When you tell your parents you’re going out and don’t know what time you’ll be home, your dad grumbles a response, not bothering to look up from the TV dinner he’s shoving into his mouth while your mom asks if you really need to show that much skin, her uneasy grin falling into a grimace as you strut through the front door without a single glance back.
Crystal, your third-favorite best friend, is waiting for you at the end of your driveway. She’s perched in the driver’s seat of her dad’s new car, a sporty red convertible with leather seats and a top that goes all the way down. She greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and after the two of you complain about the humidity and gush over each other’s outfits—“God, that top is to die for!” “Baby blue is so your color!”—she tears off down the road, the both of you hollering the entire way.
A girl on the cusp of womanhood, you’re no stranger to stares that follow your every move.
Boys are always looking at you, but men want more than a small piece. Men want to swallow you whole.
You notice the way they watch you, with leering eyes and bottom lips tucked between teeth stained yellow from tobacco dip. You simper and wiggle your fingers in their direction, you and your friends giggling behind your hands when they stumble over themselves in their attempt to approach you. And when you see them up close—the crow’s feet, the nose hair, the greying mustaches—you no longer hide your laughter, doubling over with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“As if!” you always shout, unfazed as they grunt out stupid little bitch and fuckin’ tease. The words hang in the air as the men give you one last acidic look, scampering away with bowed heads and clenched jaws.
When you and Crystal pull up to the drive-in theater, it’s a familiar scenario. She finds a spot in the middle of the packed lot, and before the two of you even slip out of your seatbelts, the cars on either side of you are loud with boys you know from school and boys you’ve never seen before, all of them asking for your names and if you want to go for a drive to somewhere secret. The two of you share a smirk, Crystal busying herself with tuning the radio while you watch the intermission ad on the screen. You giggle at the dancing bars of ice cream, a jaunty tune crackling from the speakers as she finally finds the theater’s station.
They’re like hungry wolves, you observe, snarling and salivating at the sight of you reapplying your lipstick. When you climb out of the car, Crystal handing you a few bucks for her funnel cake and root beer, you pretend not to hear their desperate howls. It feels good to ignore them, just like it feels good to ignore the men who whistle at you on your way to the snack bar. Their idiocy amuses you, deluded enough to believe that cries of “Over here, honey!” will have you bounding over to them like a lost puppy.
You keep your head held high, eyes forward and hips swaying as you follow the oily scent of fried dough. You walk no further than a foot or two before the revving of an engine breaks your stride. Startled, your head whips to your left, and that’s when you notice him.
Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you.
More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”
You roll your eyes in response, thinking only of how stupid it is that he’s wearing sunglasses at night before flitting your gaze back to the growing snack bar line.
Later, after Crystal’s food and your corn dog are paid for by Robbie, a sweet-talking sophomore over at Purdue, you’re settled in the backseat of the convertible watching an old movie about a baby and some lady named Rosemary. You let Robbie put his arm around you, but when it’s clear that his insistent lips won’t be met with an eager, open mouth, he climbs out of the car in a clumsy hurry, huffing insults under his breath you’ve heard time and time again.
You sport a smirk as you help yourself to the pretzel he’s left behind, and in the distance, in the dark, you don’t see the man with the sunglasses watching you.
“You sure you don’t want to come?”
You heave a dramatic sigh up at your mom, muttering, “Yes, I’m sure,” for what feels like the thousandth time that morning.
Attending a barbecue at your great-uncle’s house—where you’ll be surrounded by your sticky cousins and all of your catty aunts who will make snide comments about your “hooker makeup”—is not your idea of fun. With the end of summer looming over you like a dark cloud, the promise of college and responsibilities and having to fend for yourself edging dangerously close, you plan to enjoy your last days of freedom by lazing about instead, sprawling out on a thin blanket in the backyard while the sweltering sun beams down on you.
“Alright,” your mom finally concedes. “Your father and I will see you later then. There’s some money on the fridge so you can order yourself a pizza. Call if you need anything, okay?”
You give a barely-audible hum in return, listening to the slap of her sandals as she shuffles to the awaiting station wagon. When you hear it disappear down the street, you exhale a relieved breath. After your whirlwind of a week—the drive-in, a shoplifting spree with your second-favorite best friend Amy, and a two-day rager at an abandoned lake house that once belonged to some guy named Reefer Rick—you’re in desperate need of solitude.
Situated on the grass, you switch on the radio, flipping through a few stations until you hear a song you don’t completely hate. Though the air is muggy, you find yourself lulled into a quiet comfort. Eyes soon slipping closed, your mind fills with shiny daydreams of white-sand beaches, roiling blue waves, and sweaty, muscled surfers. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the incessant buzzing of a fly near your nose brings you back to reality. When you rise from your blanket with a yawn and a joint-popping stretch, you feel a hot, simmering ache across your face and chest.
“Shit!” you shout, scrambling toward the side door of your house. You take the stairs two at a time, out of breath as you rush past your frilly bedroom and into the bathroom. Twisting the faucet on, you splash your face with cold water, your warm skin immediately soothed by the icy temperature. A sunburn was so not on your agenda. Now you’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon slathering yourself in one of your mom’s expensive moisturizers, which means you’ll have only a short window of time to primp yourself for tonight’s party over in Loch Nora.
You swear again, frowning as you gaze into the mirror and catch sight of your frizzy hair. With a scowl, you reach for your flat iron, a second away from plugging it in and dialing up the heat to the highest setting when you hear the loud blaring of a car horn.
“No way,” you mutter in disbelief, stunned as the horn beeps again only a few seconds later.
You cannot believe your parents are already home! They’d only been gone for an hour or two and weren’t supposed to be back until tonight! When you hear the horn a third time, though, a tell-tale signal of your dad’s impatience, you grit your teeth. You already told them you weren’t going to that stupid barbeque! What makes them think that you would change your mind, that you would want to hang out with all those gross kids and old people always going on about life a hundred years ago?
The horn sounds again, prompting you to forcefully stomp your foot against the tiled floor. Your parents are not going to ruin your plans. They’ll have to drag you out of the house kicking and screaming.
You barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen, bolting towards the side door once more. Your hands are on the screen, ready to push it open and unleash your frustration, but you stop at the last second.
It’s not your parents in the driveway.
The car is blue, sharp, and loud, with a set of words on the hood in an intricate, looping cursive. You can hardly read it, squinting as you try to decipher the sentence—“abandon all hope, ye who enter here”—before your face contorts into a disapproving frown. You think the car would look much better without all that mess written on the front of it.
Someone clears their throat, and your gaze then travels to the lone figure leaning up against the driver-side door. Your frown deepens when you see a man with a head of shaggy hair and sunglasses perched atop his nose.
“I was starting to worry you were ignoring me,” he says.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, honey. It hurts my feelings.”
He smiles at you, wide and toothy, and a look of recognition flashes across your face when you realize that he’s the same man from the drive-in.
“See? You know me.”
“No, I don’t,” you tell him, your voice sharp.
“You’ll get to me know me.”
He’s still smiling at you, a small dimple peeking through, and it occurs to you that he thinks he’s being cute. You study him, noting that he’s more of a boy than a man. You eye the black polish on his nails and his slightly cropped t-shirt, the sinewy muscle of his tattooed arms and his self-assured stance. He’s not your type, and you definitely don’t think he’s kind of cute.
“What do you want?” you ask him, arms crossing over your chest.
“Wanna go for a ride?”
“Uh, no.”
“Why not?”
You roll your eyes at the playful pout he gives you, and when he shifts to the side a little, you see through the window that there’s a second person in the car. Another boy, muscular with blond hair styled into a curly mullet. He sits behind the wheel and jams a tape into the cassette deck, the car filling with pounding drums and heavy guitars. Like the boy standing before you, he’s also wearing sunglasses.
“Hey,” the shaggy-haired guy says, snapping your attention back to him. “You’re pretty.”
“What?”
“You’re pretty. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”
You ignore the rush of warmth that blooms in your cheeks, gazing at him through a glare that takes more effort than usual to maintain. “I don’t even know you.”
“Eddie Munson,” he tells you. He jerks a thumb behind him. “And this is Billy Hargrove. Doesn’t say much, though. He’s shy.”
For whatever reason, in the furthest part of your mind, the names unlock a small inkling of familiarity. You brush away the thought, though, your glare fixed and sharp.
“Well, Eddie, it’s nice to meet you or whatever, but I think—”
“You should come outside and take a look at the Camaro. Decent stereo and it goes fast.” He leans forward, hands gripping the window frame behind him. “You like it when cars go fast, don’t you?”
There’s something in his words that makes you flustered again. You busy yourself by tugging at the frayed hem of your denim shorts, eyes darting away from him. He’s too forward and too inviting and too much trouble.
“So? What do you think?”
“What do I think about what?”
He chuckles, amused at your attempt to sound nonchalant. “Going for a ride. You know you want to.”
You exhale an exasperated huff, both hands on your hips now. Boys are always thinking that they can boss you around, that you’ll obey like some mindless servant. You don’t care that your stomach flutters a little at his words – it’s both insulting and annoying.
“No, I don’t.”
“You can sit in the front,” he continues. “Billy doesn’t mind moving to the back. We’ll turn on the radio and listen to some music. I bet I know what your favorite song is.” Then he does the most peculiar thing...he starts singing the song you dozed off to earlier. It’s an odd coincidence, especially when his voice starts to sound like the voice on the radio, gravelly and kind of breathy at the same time.
“That’s not my favorite song,” you interrupt him.
Again, all he does is laugh. “Fine, we don’t have to listen to music. We can do something else.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart. We could get pizza, go to the arcade.” One corner of his lips curves into a sly grin, as if he's privy to a secret only he knows. “We could even go to the beach.”
Another strange coincidence, you think, one that makes your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. “There aren’t any beaches around here.”
“I’ll take you to one.”
“No, thanks.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve got plans.”
“Plans?” he questions, both eyebrows raising in what looks like feigned surprise. He places a hand over his heart, clutching the fabric as if you’ve dealt him a fatal wound. “How could you have plans when you’re supposed to spend the day with me?”
You roll your eyes at him, having already grown sick of whatever game this is. You take a breath, ready to tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of, but then he says your name, and you flinch as if you’ve been slapped.
You never told him your name.
“How did you know that?” you ask him, a mix of suspicion and fear swelling inside of you.
“How did I know what?” he replies, mimicking your earlier line of questioning.
“My name...I didn’t tell you what my name was.”
“You didn’t have to,” he shrugs, quiet for a moment as he plays with a silver ring on his middle finger. Then, an insidious smirk spreads across his face. “I know everything about you.”
It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you, the air knocked from your lungs while your limbs lock in place. He seems close, too close now, and with a clarity that makes your heart thrash painfully, you realize that the only barrier between the two of you is a flimsy screen. With trembling fingers, you touch the lock on the side door, ensuring that it’s hooked in place.
“You d-don’t know me,” you stammer, trying your hardest to keep a straight face.
“‘Course, I do, baby. I know you and I know Amy and Crystal. I know sweet-talking Robbie and all those high school boys always running after you. I know those men and what they wish they could do to you.” He pauses, then his voice gets lower, taunting. “And I know your parents aren’t home right now, that they’re at your Great-Uncle Walter’s house for a barbecue. I know they won’t be home till later tonight.”
Your eyes are wide, your skin feeling too warm and too tight. You try to respond, but all that comes out is a shuddering breath.
Eddie isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring up at the sky, as if he’s trying to see past the sunshine and clouds. “Your dad...he’s sipping on a beer and tearing into a slab of ribs. And your mom is chatting away with your Aunt Belinda. She’s got a drink in her hand, something tart and sweet and mixed with vodka. Yeah...with the buzz the two of them are working on, they definitely won’t be home for a while.”
“How could you...you don’t know that!” you shout at him, breaking your composure. “You don’t know anything!”
He angles his head toward you again, still smiling, but there’s no longer any mirth. It’s what you see on all those other men, sharp and threatening.
Like he wants to consume you.
“You’re my girl. It’d be a shame if I knew nothing about you.”
“I’m not your girl!”
“Oh, but you are. You were made for me, honey, and I was made for you. And you can try, but you can’t run me off. I told you I’d be here, and I’m not leaving until you come with me.”
“Want me to grab her?”
Billy’s words petrify you, just as it petrifies you to see the shift in Eddie’s temperament. When he rounds on Billy, gone is the playful lilt of his voice. His skin flushes red, knuckles turning white as his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove? Huh? No, I don’t want you to grab her! She’ll come out here on her own, alright? Stay the fuck out of it.”
Eddie whirls around to face you again, a hand pushing back the hairs sticking to his forehead. He grins, and there’s not a single trace of his previous anger. “Sorry about that. Billy’s a little crazy, that’s all. Don’t pay him any mind. It’s just you and me, yeah? You and me.”
You nod because you don’t know how else to respond. Your fingers are still glued to the screen door’s lock, the metal latch warm and damp from your touch. Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying you.
“You’re scared of me.”
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being correct, but you have no rebuttal, no scathing comeback. You stare at him, blinking back tears, trying not to crumble. You are scared of him.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice soft and warm. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you the first time. I’ll hold you in my arms real tight and I’ll kiss you and I’ll touch you better than any of those scumbags ever could. You’ll cry my name so sweetly, and you’ll be wet and aching and you’ll beg me, you’ll beg me to keep going. You won’t ever want to leave me.”
A wave of nausea mixes with your fear, your stomach churning violently when his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. “You – you’re sick! You’re disgusting! Go away or I’ll – I’ll call the police!”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter. The police can’t keep me from you, just like that door between us, and that lock you haven’t let go of. They’re just barriers, and barriers can be torn down. Nothing can keep us apart.”
“Shut up! Just shut up! You’re insane!”
“Baby, listen,” he says, flashing you a placating grin. “As long as you come out here, I won’t go in there, but if you touch that phone, if you call the cops or your parents or anyone else, deal’s off and I can step foot in that house. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to stop me, and I can tell you this much...you won’t like it if I have to come after you.”
“Just let me grab her,” Billy says flatly. “I’ll make it quick.”
Eddie’s jaw seems tight enough to crack his teeth as he whips around again. “Are you fucking stupid, Hargrove? Are you deaf? You got a few bolts knocked loose? Your daddy shove you around too hard? Your mommy drop you on your head too many times? She’s mine! She’s mine and I don’t need your slimy fingers all over her. She’s mine and she’s gonna come out here because she loves me and I love her, got it? Mind your business and shut the fuck up!”
You want to run. You want to hide beneath the covers of your bed and fold yourself up and wish and hope and pray that you’ll wake up from whatever awful nightmare this is, but you catch something in your peripheral vision, something that keeps you anchored to your spot.
In the chaos of his outburst, the sun had changed its position in the sky, his shadow slanting tall and wide along the concrete driveway. It shouldn’t be something you notice, just as insignificant as the blowing of the wind, but you stare anyway, eyes wide with horror when you see a non-human figure sprouting from his body. Broad shouldered, the shadow’s wings are outstretched, with pointed horns curling from its head and long, sharp claws where the fingers should be.
It’s only the light playing tricks on you. It’s not real, okay? It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not—
A shrill cry tears its way out of you as you watch the shadow mirror each of Eddie’s movements.
He turns around, no longer shouting at Billy. His mouth is pulled into a knowing smile as he reaches up to remove his sunglasses, and when you see his eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream. There’s no iris, no pupil, no white. Both eyes are dark, fully encompassed in an abyss of black.
Your body moves of its own accord, drifting backward and falling onto the stairs leading up to the kitchen. Eddie moves with you, a hand over his forehead as he peers hungrily through the screen. He calls your name again and again and again.
“You with me, sweetheart? You’re not gonna touch that phone, right?”
“Why are you doing this?” you whimper.
“Because I want you.”
“Why – why me?”
“I saw you at the drive-in and knew I had to have you. Such a pretty little thing, I thought, needs someone like me to take care of her, to her protect from all those creeps. They’re rotten, all of them. They only want to hurt you. They wouldn’t love you like I love you.”
“Stop!” you shriek, nearly out of breath. “Just stop!”
“Don’t you realize we belong together? All this time, you’ve been saving yourself for me. Don’t you know that?”
Billy is standing beside him now, watching you with the same bottomless eyes. Like a blackhole, their gazes suck you in, pulling and stretching and tearing you to pieces.
And suddenly, seeing the two of them side by side stirs another rush of buried recognition.
You recall fuzzy, childhood memories, images blurred around the edges of news reports on the Starcourt Mall fire. You remember sitting on the couch, a teddy bear in your lap as dozens of names and faces are plastered across the screen, your mom in the background murmuring something to your dad about Susan and her poor stepson.
You remember your dad and a few angry neighbors huddled around the dining room table, all of them whispering about something called “cults” and “sacrifices” and “you think Wayne’s nephew actually did it?” while you colored in a picture of butterflies.
You remember the earthquake, the ground splitting open, strange, grey snowflakes falling from the darkening sky as your parents packed up the car and rushed you out of town.
You remember coming home after almost two years of sheltering out west, flyers of missing persons still hung up around Hawkins.
And when you think hard enough, when you think long enough, you finally realize why Eddie and Billy look familiar to you.
“No,” you shake your head too quickly. “No, no, no, no. It’s not—you can’t—”
“Use your words,” Eddie coaxes gently.
“You can’t. You can’t because…because you’re supposed to be…”
“Say it.”
Heart pounding, blood rushing, stomach whirling, the word falls quietly from your lips. “Dead.”
“See? Didn’t I tell you she was smart, Hargrove? Not like the last one. What was her name again?”
“Jessica, right?” Billy drawls out. “Or Jamie? Or was it Jacqueline?”
Eddie snaps his fingers excitedly. “Wait! I got it. It was Julie. Julie Thompson.”
Your face is buried in your quivering hands, but when you hear the name, everything becomes still and silent.
Julie Thompson. She’d gone missing last year, assumed by police and her parents to have run away with one of the many college boys she was sneaking around with. No one believed you when you said she wouldn’t just run off. And she was your best friend. Your first-favorite best friend.
You lift your head, reluctantly meeting Eddie’s pitch-black eyes. “What did you do? Where’s Julie?”
“Get in the car and I’ll tell you.”
“No!” you shriek, despair and hot anger coursing through you. “No! Fuck you! You – you’re fucking dead and you’re nothing and you can’t be here! You just – you can’t!”
“But I am here,” Eddie replies, all traces of his softness gone.
He sees every part of you—the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe too hard and too fast; the trembling of your shoulders as you hold back an anguished sob; the delicious throbbing of the pulse in your neck—like a predator tracking every movement of its prey.
A predator that has won the hunt.
“I’m here because this town owes me and I’ve come to collect what’s mine. And you, sweetheart, belong to me.”
You’re screaming again, your head whipping back and forth so rapidly that your world starts to tilt. You clamp your eyes shut, but your mind offers no solace, because behind your lids, there is only red – a red sky, red lightning, a red pool of something thick and warm and murky that your feet are quickly sinking beneath. And out of the pool comes slippery, snaking vines that wrap around your ankles and up your calves, tightening and binding as they rise higher and higher. And something is diving toward you, the beat of its wings growing louder as it swoops beneath the red clouds. And you feel the ground rumbling, shaking, falling apart as lightening cracks and illuminates a monster in the distance. Massive and spider-like, its roar cuts into you so deeply that you feel it in your bones.
It's coming after you.
You struggle and cry until your throat is raw and aching, and you beg for your parents, for someone, anyone, to hear you, to save you, but there is no one, there is nothing except red and screams and fear and blood. You can’t breathe and you can’t move and you sink further into the depths of this hell, and you swear and you plead that you’ll do anything, you’ll do anything, so please please pleasepleaseplease—
The distorted chimes of a grandfather clock reverberate across the cold, blazing landscape, and then someone laughs, cruel and deep and echoing. It grows louder, and it stretches on forever and ever, and you can't do anything because you are decaying flesh, you are crumbled bone, you are dust.
You are nothing.
After an eternity of depravity and suffering, of drowning beneath the weight of wailing souls and fetid corpses, your eyes are open again.
You claw at the lock on the screen door with shaking hands and push yourself over the threshold. And when you tumble outside, desperately gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, your face streaked with snot and warm tears, the world is bright and burning again.
Eddie stands before you, his mouth twisted into a malicious smile, his arms wide and open.
“I told you, honey. I told you I was gonna get you.”
"The second story, which is a reader-insert, is just straight up horror. That one was inspired by "Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates. I read that story over a decade ago, and it had a profound impact on my reading interests. I love stories that unsettle me, that haunt me for days or weeks or even months at a time. Flayed!Eddie was born out of that desire to be horrified. It's probably my favorite thing that I've ever written."
- writhingg
This rec is for our Artist Highlights.
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A Freak and A Basket Case (Seven Inches of Satanic Panic Edition) Masterlist
An Eddie Munson x OC Fanfiction
A note from the weirdo: This is just something I’ve been working on for funsies. Life is painful, often violently so. Sometimes, when this sad life of mine gets overwhelming, I like to run away to the Hawkins, Indiana that exists in my mind and hide there for a few hours.
This story isn’t meant to be some big thing. At the end of the day, it’s just a story about a mixed Latina who like me is very painfully lonely. I’d be much obliged if you stayed and sat a while with us at our lonely corner of the lunch table. Thank you. ❤️
The Main Fic
Chapter One - Don’t Talk to Strangers
In which Alejandra Perea becomes one of maybe three Latinos in all of Hawkins.
Chapter Two - Made In Heaven
The Eddie POV chapter, wherein he meets his little lamb chop.
Chapter Three - Here Comes The Feeling
Alejandra and Eddie share a little longbottom leaf, and a kiss.
The Omake Episodes
An Alternative Meet-Cute: Love Walks In
They evidently shared the same brain cell if they’re comparing themselves to Eddie Van Halen and Valerie Bertinelli.
The Camping Episode [Part One] [Part Two]
I mean, she couldn’t just leave Dustin all alone on a Labor Day weekend…
Tales From the Party
A collection of friend’s works featuring Allie and various other OC characters.
Allie Perea x Jay Mocking - The Bitch, The Witch, and The Star by my wife @mothmans-left-buttcheek
The first installment of the witch bitch duo for whom Eddie Munson third wheels for. Iconic. Stupendous, I’ll take 20 more please. Thank you.
"So, I've beta-ed a few pieces for my bestie @londonfog-chan, and it's always fun because we have similar interests and we take the time to really think about who the characters are and what we're trying to communicate through them. Her story "A Freak and a Basket Case" was initially a reader-insert story, but it's being re-written as an OC fic (with Eddie Munson as the love interest) which was the original intention.
Something that I like about this story is that the OC is a Latina, so there's an added layer to the storytelling in that it's through the perspective of someone who could be considered an outcast in Indiana in the '80s. For me, it's easy to step into the character's shoes and envision her thought process/reactions because I can see myself in her. I think it also helps that we both like to write Eddie a little unhinged and not suave but still charismatic in his own way, so when we work through his dialogue, we usually have the same vision. Overall, I think it helps to work with someone who gets your characters, and whose characters you can understand, too."
- writhingg
This rec is for our Artist Highlights.
Our featured artist is writhingg
Know a stranger things artist that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks!
Best beta reader in the world is @writhingg 🥺❤️ ride or die ❤️ beautiful insight into works, and we have had awesome fun times encouraging one another to write content we personally want to see.
Introducing @writhingg
We're highlighting Wri for her beta-reading and and written fics! All recs tagged #writhingg will be for her works or works she betaed. Wri answered some questions about her process below.
What's a fandom interaction that made you really happy?
To be honest, all fandom interactions make me happy! I love when someone comments and/or reblogs something I wrote, just like I love reading someone else's writing and say something nice about it. As fans, it's up to us to support each other. I think it also sustains the joy of being in fandom! Like, "Oh, you like the same character as me? Let's scream with each other about the millions of scenarios we've thought up for that character, and then give each other even more insane ideas about the character."
What's your favorite character or aspect of Stranger Things to create for?
No surprise here that I love Eddie Munson. There's just something about him that makes me want to put him through situations. 😅 I'm also a big fan of horror, so when I can combine my love of both, I'm a happy camper. I also find that writing for Robin is fun! I love silly, chaotic characters, and I can channel that love through her and Eddie.
What's your artistic process like? Any tools you favor?
My artistic process is...not that exciting lol. I get an idea, I daydream about it for a long time, I get the urge to write so I start writing, then the words/inspiration abandon me for a bit. Then, a few weeks or months later, inspiration strikes again, and I go back to the project. Rarely do I use an outline; usually, everything is in my head (which can sometimes be overwhelming when there are so many details floating around up there!) but it works for me.
It does help now that I have some close fandom friends (lookin' at you @londonfog-chan! 🖤) that I can rely on to help me brainstorm or work through fic ideas. It helps hold me accountable when I want to write, and again, it's just nice to be excited with another person about creating something! The same goes for when I am beta-reading a story. Encouragement goes a long way, but of course, it's important to sit down together and think about what you want to accomplish, what kind of story you want to tell. Communication is important in the beta process because you want to make sure that you understand the author's vision; and once you do, you can make suggestions or help them plot out a fic that keeps in mind that vision.
What was it like to work on A Freak and a Basket Case?
So, I've beta-ed a few pieces for my bestie @londonfog-chan, and it's always fun because we have similar interests and we take the time to really think about who the characters are and what we're trying to communicate through them. Her story "A Freak and a Basket Case" was initially a reader-insert story, but it's being re-written as an OC fic (with Eddie Munson as the love interest) which was the original intention.
Something that I like about this story is that the OC is a Latina, so there's an added layer to the storytelling in that it's through the perspective of someone who could be considered an outcast in Indiana in the '80s. For me, it's easy to step into the character's shoes and envision her thought process/reactions because I can see myself in her. I think it also helps that we both like to write Eddie a little unhinged and not suave but still charismatic in his own way, so when we work through his dialogue, we usually have the same vision. Overall, I think it helps to work with someone who gets your characters, and whose characters you can understand, too.
What was it like to work on "the devil in me (likes a devil in you)" and "heard you, saw you / need you, love you."?
As for my own work, I have two stories I'm most proud of. The first is "the devil in me (likes a devil in you" and the second is "heard you, saw you / need you, love you."
The first story is a mix of comedy and the supernatural, with a Black vampire OC as Eddie Munson's love interest. It was inspired by the TV show "What We Do in the Shadows" and the song "Sister of Night" by Depeche Mode. Really, I just wanted to write something for Eddie that wasn't as depressing as his ending in season 4; and I wanted to write an OC that I could relate to!
The second story, which is a reader-insert, is just straight up horror. That one was inspired by "Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates. I read that story over a decade ago, and it had a profound impact on my reading interests. I love stories that unsettle me, that haunt me for days or weeks or even months at a time. Flayed!Eddie was born out of that desire to be horrified. It's probably my favorite thing that I've ever written.
"This was an early piece I did when I I was first dipping my toes into the Ronance fandom. Basically just wanted to make something that felt true to the show’s characters and locations. If Nancy and Robin were in a relationship during the events of the show, I can totally see Nancy sneaking over to the video store after hours to help Robin close up shop…and more XD. Wanted to really lean into the signature blues, pinks and purples of the 80s, so this piece was a lot of experimenting with lighting and atmosphere." - maggierosestudio
This rec is for our Artist Highlights.
Our featured artist maggierosestudio
Know a stranger things artist that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks!
wish i knew you wanted me [stranger things, ronance]
The result of an art exchange with the lovely and talented Maggie Rose! She also created the art below after we exchanged. Go give her ALL the love. It was a fun challenge to create for a new fandom/ship on the fly!
Stranger Things, ~1.5K words, rated T, complete
Robin leans in and kisses her.
It’s firmly on the clumsier side of sudden—all impulsive, all headlong—catching Nancy off-guard and mid-sentence. The hasty angle of it is far from perfect, and their noses get in the way, and it’s definitely not the first time Nancy Wheeler has been kissed.
But it is the first time being kissed has made her feel like this.
Nancy, and Robin, and the tension breaking
See notes/tags and read the rest on AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
