#eddies just zooted

[nex-has-gender-envy]

Till Death Do They Part ???

What is this marriage vows ??

Yes.

[poughkeepsies]

the fact that buck has canonically tasted eddie's blood is still just so fucking mindboggling to me. like everything about the shooting is made 10x more insane by the fact that it's so exclusively a buckley diaz event, and no one other than them in their circle bore witness to 1/10th of it, including the will and buck breaking down in front of chris, but the blood in the mouth thing is just positively batshit. I imagine one time they're all hanging out drinking together and for some reason the conversation turns to the weirdest foods they've ever eaten and buck zooted out of his mind drops "eddie's blood" and everyone just

[shy-nightmare]

The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths

Chapter Seven: Judge Doom and the Toon Patrol

Summary: Eddie Valiant and Twisted Twyla Toonz meet Judge Doom, the sole jurist of Toontown, and his law enforcement group called the Toon Patrol. Twyla learns that they’re here to investigate, but they’re working on the other side of the law.

Credit for inspiration goes to @imaginarytoon1, author of “The Birchwood Twins: Toontown Investigators” and @its-metal-mistress, author of “Bendy and the Ink Machine: Learning How to Live”. Please check out their own wonderful content ^^!

Special Guests Tags ��: @marinerainbow, @slashingdisneypasta, @weaselnerd and @lastofautumn

WARNING: This chapter contains unlawful Toon execution, abuse of jurisdiction and authority, death of an innocent Toon shoe, Doom being an absolute terror, and a certain green zoot weasel trying to put the moves on Twyla

“Is this man removing evidence from the scene of a crime?” the man asked Twyla sharply. His voice was harsh like graphite, whetted sharp enough to cut leather.

Thankfully, Santino came to her rescue. “Uh, no, Judge Doom. Valiant here was just picking it up for you.” He pulled Eddie up, “Weren’t you, Eddie?”

The man, Judge Doom, extended his gloved hand. “Hand it over.”

“Sure,” Eddie said, taking the buzzer and slammed it on Doom’s hand, making the pale man shake and convulse from the effects. Twyla raised a brow; humans don’t shake exaggeratedly like that when they get shocked. Eddie took his hand away and smiled, “His number-one seller.”

Doom returned his smile, but it sent chills down Twyla’s spine. His smile was ominous and foreboding. Good thing she was in control of her composure, otherwise her tail would’ve frozen off. “I see working for a Toon has rubbed off on you.”

“I wasn’t working for a Toon,” Eddie replied harshly, “I was working for R.K. Maroon.”

“Yes, we talked to Mr. Maroon,” Doom agreed, “He told us he became quite agitated when you showed him the pictures. The rabbit said that one way or another, he and his wife were going to be happy. Is that true?”

“Hey, pal. Do I look like a stenographer?”

Eddie, I swear to God, Twyla rubbed her temple.

“Shut your yap, Eddie. The man’s a judge.” Santino said.

“That’s all right, Lieutenant. From the smell of him, I would say it was the booze talking,” he lightly sneered at the smaller man. “No matter, the rabbit won’t get far. My men will find him.”

Men? Twyla’s rose her brow.

As if on cue, the doors burst open with the blaring sound of a siren. A black 1937 Dodge Humpback panel truck, otherwise known as a paddy wagon, drove into the factory, nearly running the officers over. Twyla dodged it before it could hit her and ran her claws across the stone ground to ease her pose. The car swerved to the side and knocked a few boxes over. Twyla read the logo on the side of the car.

City of Los Angeles Toon Patrol.     

“‘Toon Patrol’?” she read, feeling uneasy.

“You all right, Twyla?” Eddie called out.

She responded with a thumbs-up and dusted off her suit.

“Weasels?” Eddie exclaimed.

“Yes. I find they have a special gift for the work.” Judge Doom answered.

“All right, you mugs! Fall out!” a familiar old-style Brooklyn voice barked.

Twyla’s eyes widened. It’s that voice from last night!

Five Toon weasels stepped out of the car. The first one, obviously the leader, was a lean mean-looking bastard. Like James Cagney kind of mean. He had tawny brown fur and tangerine painting his ears, muzzle and neck, palms and underbelly with a long scruffy tail tipped with black streaks. Although he was slender, his muscles were firm and solid and between proud, broad shoulders displayed a wide, masculine chest. His style of choice consisted of a light pink double-breasted James Cagney zoot suit sewn with four gold bronze buttons, and a matching fedora branded with a hot pink band. He also wore a hot pink bejeweled tie over a crisp white dress shirt and white spats adorned his clawed feet in an attempt to make him appear classy and sophisticated. A shining gold chain hung from his left breast pocket, matching the glint of his sharp golden eyes. His very presence sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

The second weasel, obviously the second-in-command, stood a head taller and almost towered over the whole group. He must have been some sort of Spanish descent. His eyes and fur were dark chocolate, accented with light mocha warming his ears and muzzle. Oiled black hair curled above his nape, slicked with greasy flamboyance. Unlike Cagney Weasel, whose muscle was apparent behind a lean form, the Latino weasel’s form was slender with a bit of a pot belly, though it looked natural and well in proportion to his size. He wore a zoot suit, too, referenceable to the Zoot Suit Riots. He was shrouded in a jade green trench coat trimmed with black lapels and baggy sleeve cuffs, high-waisted pants hiked up to his chest held with a narrow black belt and his head was hatted with a wide-brimmed fedora that matched his suit’s color. His fashion style was complimented with a white dress shirt and a hot-pink tie that stood out from his attire, and he wore pointed spectator shoes. Behind him, a long furry tail swayed, coated in ink and dark chocolate. His clawed hands tucked in his pockets as he followed his boss in a suave, near serpentlike saunter. Twyla took a whiff and recognized the strong, heavy cologne.

Standing on the leader’s left was a tall, scrawny weasel skinny as a pencil. His arms were long and spare, but hard like stone. And they were packed with steely muscle. Unlike the pack, his fur was an ashy blue streaked with light blue and just reeked of cigarette smoke permeating his body all the way down to his unkempt tail. He wore a stained bowler hat, dress shirt with half-rolled sleeves, an undone black tie and an open black vest, decorated with cigarettes. Cigarettes, some fresh and some old, poked out from his lips, and he hacked, revealing rotten yellowed fangs. He left a massive, nasty cloud of smoke in his wake, and blinked against the smoke as if he didn’t care about the toxic plume burning his bloodshot cobalt eyes.

Jesus, it’s like looking at a walking roadkill that died from smoking, Twyla’s little nose twitched in concealed disgust.

The fourth weasel was small, scrawny, and kind of cute. He had caramel fur with a light tan muzzle and spiked hair like he had a headful of porcupine quills sharp, untamable and serrated without mercy, and his tail lashed out like a barbed whip. His vibrant blue eyes were wide and maniacal, yellow swirls wildly dancing around his pupils with demented glee. He only wore a straitjacket with open restraints, and large baggy sleeves covered his paws. The looney-looking weasel’s lips pulled into a creepy, yet derpy smile adorned with small razor-sharp fangs that can probably tear off your fucking face and chew on your cranium flesh. But still, he was kind of cute.

And the last of the boogle, who looked more like a potato than a weasel, was just absolutely adorable. No seriously, he was so damn cute! His fur was scrumptious gingerbread, though his apricot-painted snout wasn’t lean and a single fang popped out. Soft, fluffy gingerbread warmed his thick, meaty arms dominated with comically concealed muscle. He only wore a blue and white striped T-shirt which barely fit his teddy bear gut, and a red beanie decorated with a yellow propeller. His blue tennis shoes were untied on both feet, and he nearly tumbled over his tail layered in a coat of massive fluff. He held up a large baseball bat dented with a sharp nail. His hazel eyes shone bright with pure innocence, presenting him as more childlike than ignorant.

It was like looking at a McDonald’s chicken nugget that can bash your skull with a baseball bat. And only one thought came across Twyla’s mind upon seeing this adorable walking teddy bear.

She internally gasped.

BABY!!!!!! Twyla’s eyes sparkled as she took him in her sights, unable to hold back from digging out her phone and taking quick pictures of him.

“Did you find the rabbit?” Judge Doom called out.

“Don’t worry, Judge! We got ‘deformants’ all over tha’ city! We’ll find him.” the leader said, his lips pulled in an evil glimmering grin.

Don’t you mean ‘informants’? Twyla mentally corrected him, digging down her purse to pull out a black Cigaronne case.

“You there!” Judge Doom called out.

The female hybrid nearly dropped her tin. Then, she raised a brow and pointed at herself.

“Yes, you. Do you have any idea where the rabbit might be?”

Her gut on Roger was still strong, so she gently shook her head with a silent, feigned apology. She heard the Hispanic weasel in the jade-colored suit chuckle.

“Not much of a talker, is she, Boss?” he smirked. His voice was low and husky like bourbon-soaked velvet and sinister as poison-kissed knives with a strong Puerto Rican accent.

Twyla went back to her own business and pulled out a long sleek black cigarette. She placed it on her soft lips and reached down her pocket to grab a lighter.

“It would be a damn shame if the flames of a fire burnt the petals of a flower as beautiful and delicate as you~”

Startled, Twyla nearly jumped and whirled around. Only to see the green-clad gangster standing a bit too close to her comfort. He held his hands up nonchalantly.

“Heh-heh. Lo siento, hermosa. No quise asustarte.” He apologized.

Twyla raised a brow, tilting her head confusedly. She didn’t understand Spanish very well.

“He said,” the blue weasel stepped in, his voice hoarse and scratchy and hacking up a fit of smoke. “He didn’t mean to startle you.” 

She glanced at the Spaniard, then gave him a slow, grateful nod.

Then, the pink mobster shoved the two out of the way. “Lemme talk to tha’ broad.” He barked harshly and lit up a cigar. He faced Twyla, “What are you doin’ here anyway? And where are ya from? You dress funny.”

The taller Toon rose a brow, giving him the once-over. Says the guy dressed up in a fuckin’ pink zoot suit, she thought while addressing his attire with her eyes.

He didn’t probably like what she was gesturing at and blew a ring of smoke in her face. “Ain’t you gonna ‘slay’ somethin’? It’s rude ta’ ignore your superiors.”

Superiors? Oh, you wanna do this now? Bet. Twyla opened the lid of her diamond skull-encrusted lighter and ignited a small flame, creating a thin silver smoke. She took a soft inhale…and blew out a large puff of black smoke shaped like a skull at the three weasels.

They coughed against the plume heavily, and even the blue weasel who probably smokes his packs religiously, swatted off the smoke. “What da hell was that for?!” the Brooklyn weasel snapped, coughing.

Dominance and personal space, asshole, Twyla smirked and walked off towards the humans. She stopped when she heard a red-and-white Toon clown shoe squeaking. The little guy was snuggling against Doom’s shoe, as if he were looking up to him for protection. Twyla’s heart froze with a newfound sense of dread and fear for the shoe.

“Since I’ve had Toontown under my jurisdiction, my goal has been to rein in the insanity.” Doom explained, putting on a rubber glove. “And the only way to do that is to make Toons respect the law.”

Insanity? Twyla visibly flinched. Make Toons respect the law? 

Doom picked up the shoe, shaking his head before he walked over to the back of the Toon Patrol vehicle.

“How did that gargoyle get to be a judge?” Eddie whispered to Santino.

“Spread a bunch of simoleons around Toontown a couple of years back. Bought the election,” Santino replied.

“Yeah?” Eddie motioned to a large barrel in the backseat. “What’s that?”

Twyla watched Doom open the lid…and what she saw next made her fur stiffen. Green boiling liquid. Is that…Dip?

Her eyes darted back to the judge. Wait…no.

Oh God, please no.

“Remember how we always thought that there wasn’t a way to kill a Toon?” Santino asked, trying to keep his voice hushed but Twyla’s ears never failed her. “Well, Doom found a way. Turpentine, acetone, benzene. He calls it the Dip!”

The Lieutenant noticed Twyla and silently jerked his head back, as if he were motioning for her to get behind him. Unbeknownst to her, the Latino weasel had been standing next to her with a flirtatious grin. But his smile faltered when Santino caught Twyla’s attention, and he growled at the human official.

Twyla caught up with Santino and he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am, you might want to look away. And cover your ears.”

Oh God, she mentally whimpered as she did so. Santino shielded her, as if he were trying to protect her from the impending horror.

“I’ll catch the rabbit, Mr. Valiant.” Judge Doom spoke. “Then, I’ll try him, convict him…and execute him.”

Twyla pressed her palms hard against her eardrums as relentlessly as she could to muffle the shoe’s screams. But it wasn’t enough. She could feel the shoe’s excruciating pain as he was slowly dissolved, and her heart sobbed for his tragic end. Every nerve of her body winced and tensed as the shoe’s painful screams echoed the walls, haunting her to the core. It was agonizing, so painfully and unbelievably agonizing she felt herself dying with him. Eddie watched the horrific death with eyes shot wide and jaw-slacked frozen terror.

The silence was deafening, save for psychotic giggling. Doom lifted his gloved hand dripping with red blood of the shoe.

“That’s one dead shoe, eh, Boss?” the weasel in the jade zoot suit chuckled.

“They’re not kid gloves, Mr. Valiant,” the tall, dark-clad bastard smiled with a toothlike grin. “This is how we handle things down in Toontown. I’d think that you of all people would appreciate that.” He flexed his fingers, rubbing the leather as he were flexing his knuckles.

I’d think you’d appreciate the last moments of your life before I’m done with you, Twyla’s blood boiled with red-hot rage and vengeful murder as black as the void. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to KILL him!

The horror Toon rubbed her temple, inhaling as much nicotine as she could to sate her rage. But she had to leave now, before she loses control and destroys the goddamn factory with everyone in it.

However, the head weasel somehow got a hold of the rubber glove used for the execution and thought it would be really fucking hilarious to torment her even more. He slowly walked towards Twyla, curling his lips in a sadistic bloodcurdling grin. “And just where do ya think you’re goin’?” he snickered.

Twyla’s fist clenched. Her fangs pinched her gums.

“Hey! Lay off, will ya?!” Eddie barked.

“Sergeant, no!” Santino shouted, but his voice fell deaf on the pink-clad weasel’s ears. He continued his stagger, and each step only intensified Twyla’s wrath.

“Well? Ain’t you gonna answer me, broad?” he sneered.

The chain just fucking snapped.

Twyla whirled around, nearly hitting him with her whip-like locks. She bared her lips in a dark, resonant growl, and revealed rows of fearsome fangs as she lifted her right hand, extending massive claws far sharper than any blade in the world. And she swung down.

Slash.

The little bastard watched the fingers slip off the rubber glove with wide, shocked eyes before he resolved and tried to pull a move—

And then Twyla punched him in the face.

Everyone else watched him fly across the factory until he crashed onto three giant wooden crates containing other Toon shoes, and they all burst out of the cage and ran around the warehouse like pieces of splintered wood. Laughter erupted clamorously, even the other four weasels as they watched him break through the debris, his eyes swirling with dizziness as he coughed from the dust.

Twyla stormed out of the Acme Factory, growling curses under her breath as she smoked heavily. That little fucker!

“Still in shock?” Santino asked from her right, breaking her out of her furious trance.

“Oh, gee, I don’t know,” she snarled sarcastically. “What the hell do you think?!”

“So you do talk,” he replied incredulously.

Twyla gaped at him indignantly. “What is this, a shock to everyone? Of course I can talk! I’m like fuckin’ Wile E. Coyote in Operation Rabbit!”

Santino took pity in the young lady’s state. “Look, ma’am, I understand your case, but you need to be careful. That’s the leader of Toontown’s highest police department.”

“Fuck.” Twyla cursed, crunching her cigarette.

“Um, ah, call me if you need anything, Eddie.” Santino glanced at her boss nervously. Then his eyes steeled, “Stay out of trouble this time.”

“Can’t make no promises.”

Just as they were about to part ways, the Dodge drove up and immediately stopped near Twyla’s right. The window rolled, and the driver was the Hispanic weasel.

“Don’t mind the boss, querida.” He purred. “He thinks that business comes before pleasure, like yourself. Well, adios! We shall see each other again…” he reached out and gently grabbed her hand before giving a kiss. “…real soon.” He winked at her, rolled up the window and drove away.

Twyla watched the car, then looked at her hand. Dumbstruck. “What just happened?”

“Well, he’s got eyes on you.” Eddie remarked.

A long awkward silence was broken by a chirping Toon cricket. Two pairs of eyes stared at the smaller man.

“What?”      

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and a Basket Case: Eddie Munson x Hispanic!Fem!Reader

Chapter 4: Paranoid

Ooooh baby, this was a doozy that turned into a semi rant at the end… hold on tight lads, the mental illness is really coming in bad tonite.

Trigger warnings: MINORS DNI, homophobic comments (not from Eddie or reader, don’t worry), jealousy issues, insecurity, codependent attachment, trust issues, anxiety, implied/referenced drug use, brief mentions of intimate acts

[Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

***

“Mira, look who it is! The Queen of the Nerds!”

Fuck…! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

You were trying to be subtle, to come in without a trace. Busting a mission to make it into the house without your family smelling you or seeing your tiny eyes. You didn’t want to deal with anyone’s bullshit tonight either. Too many overwhelming feelings and intrusive thoughts were scrambling all coherence out of your already zooted out mind. And yet fate was against you from the get go. Scruffy and Tiffany blew your cover the moment they heard the key turn in the lock of the doorknob. The dogs both came barking down the hallway to the door, and of course if the dogs were back inside and not in the dog run at four PM on a Tuesday, that meant only one thing:

Your brother Jamie hadn’t yet left for his shift working security at the Hawkins Water Utility Building…

“Shut up, huevon.” You snapped quickly. “Don’t you got work?”

“I do, smartass. I got an hour before my shift starts.”

Your brother, Jaime Luiz, anglicized for the people of Hawkins as “James” (and thence forth Jamie), was seated on your ratty mustard yellow couch in the living room. You could smell the clove cigarettes he’d been chain smoking, and you hoped the stench would drown out the smell of the pot on you. He turned away from the television to look up at you, evidently your homecoming held a little more interest than Tina Turner currently did on MTV.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“School.” You immediately replied, looking away from him.

You booked it past him and heard your brother sniff.

FUCK!

You quickly made your way to your bedroom and shut the door, intending to shower off the smell of Eddie’s deodorant and the reefer before Jamie had any further suspicions. You took off your Carhartt jacket and tossed it in an inconspicuous corner of the room with your backpack, narrowly missing your milk crate of vinyls in the process. After smoothing out your hair and unlacing your chucks clumsily, you were just about to go into your connected bathroom to turn on the hot water when you heard a knock and then the creak of your door opening.

“So how was school?”

As usual. No boundaries in your own fucking house. The white kids got a polite knock and gave permission for anyone to enter. In your Hispanic house, knocking was a courtesy that only your brother adhered to, albeit briefly before he eventually just decided to walk in because he felt like he owned the place as the “man” of the house.

“Shit.” You said honestly, not looking at him. “Pure shit. Tired of dealing with people.”

“Yeah? What’re they saying?”

Jamie sat down on your bedspread, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you gather your pajamas. It was the same bullshit you always wore: a black shirt with fading patches of gray that used to be purple before you got a hold of it, and bright pink dolphin shorts.

“The usual. You know how the gringos are.” You said.

“You gotta be careful when you’re dealing with that shit.” Jamie said immediately. “You know how it is; they don’t like us here, but if you keep it cool you can coast on by. Just keep it straight and don’t make waves, esa.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping it could change though.” You said.

“I got a strong feeling that it won’t…” Jamie sighed. “Anyways, that’s not why I’m here. Whose cologne you wearing?”

“Excuse me?!”

“What? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he sniffed. “You smell like Old Spice, and mota. And you’re walking around all tirado.”

“Who the hell has you smelling me, you cochino!” You said, avoiding turning around so he wouldn’t see your red rimmed eyes.

“Ay, don’t get mad at me! You’re the one all coming home smelling like a skunk’s ass. A la ve, your eyes are redder than the devil’s pecker too!”

Jamie was so close to your face you could have slapped the grin right off of his. He had his hands on your shoulders, shaking them slightly as he tried to get you to turn around. You covered your burning cheeks.

“Get the fuck away from me, bro!” you couldn’t help the nervous pot giggles. Too high to even try and deny it.

“Come on, vieja. Whose cologne are you wearing?” He laughed.

“Oh my god…” You sighed, “If I tell you, will you leave me the fuck alone?!”

“Yes, I’ll stop bothering you.”

“… I kinda, maybe, just a little bit… might have a boyfriend now.”

“Enserio?” Jamie’s face dropped, his mouth hanging open as he searched your face for the ‘gotcha’ moment that would never come, “This isn’t like a prank, is it?”

“Nah uh, serio bro.” You laughed.

It was so worth it seeing Jamie’s smug demeanor drop into one of pure shock, almost awe.

“Oowee, and who’s the poor torcido you managed to convince?” Jamie asked.

“Not anyone you know, entrementido!” You yelled, “Jesus, you’re all fucking nosey!”

Jamie dodged the sock you threw weakly at him, laughing at your poor aim and at the way you teetered unsteadily on your feet.

“Calmase, mami! A la… Just trying to look out for you.” He laughed, “So… what… is he like a big nerd like you or what?”

How could you even deny it at this point? Eddie could pull more fantasy facts out of his ass high than you ever could sober.

“Yeah… Yeah he is. He’s into fantasy.” You replied.

“Of course he is… What’s the nerd’s name?”

“Eddie. His Name is Eddie.”

Jamie frowned slightly.

“Eddie? He’s a little gringito or what?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah. He likes Dungeons and Dragons, and the Lord of the Rings, and Dune, and music…”

“Ay dios… So my sister’s gonna turn into a nerdy pothead…”

“That’s rich coming from my marihuano ass brother!” You shot back.

“Hey, I don’t smoke pot that often!” He cried.

He wouldn’t ever admit it. Never owning up to his own mistakes like a man. Your brother could strut his shit around everyone like he was a king, but admitting his own shortcomings was not his strong suit. But that was life in your family. That was life in la raza too whether or not you wanted to admit it too. You hid the weakest points of your life under a mask of bravado whether or not you were a man or a woman, because the insults and judgement from the white community were nothing in comparison to the dressing down you got from within the confines of your own safe circle.

It pissed you off and made you angry that everyone just always wanted to hide shit to be normal.

“Bullshit! I could smell it in your room the first week we came to Hawkins, goddamn liar. I know you didn’t have any on you when we left New Mexico. So you had to have gotten it here.” You said.

“Okay, so I made a few connections here and there…” he admitted. “At least I don’t walk around the damn house reeking of it along with some dude’s cologne all mas puta like you!”

“No, you just walk around smelling like fucking Tres Flores and Tecate. Only the best for El Mas Chingon.”

Jamie’s easygoing demeanor only served to piss you off. It was like you were a tiny poodle barking at a Doberman. Immediately Jamie tried redirecting your anger.

“It could be worse, pendeja. I could smell like that weird kid on our street back in Albuquerque, remember the weird one? He always smelled like sovaco…” he put a finger to his lips, trying to remember the name that escaped him.

You knew immediately the face but not the name of who he was talking about, even high you wouldn’t forget the people back home.

“Oh fuck!” you laughed. “What the hell was his name… FUCKING RAYMOND!”

“Raymundo!” Jamie laughed. “Fucking Raymond, man… Can we at least agree that we both smell better than that torcido?”

“Whatever, bitch…” You laughed. “What the fuck made you think of him?”

“The Old Spice your vato got all over you. Raymond tried using it once to cover up the pit smell when he caught some putasos from the homegirls in Hernandez.” Jaime laughed. “Goddamn, I hope Eddie isn’t as lame as Raymond?”

“Oh hell no, bro.” You grinned, taking your clothes into the bathroom and dropping them on the countertop over your Gillette Supermax hairdryer, “Eddie’s the real deal, vato. He’s a metalhead... Puro chingon.”

Jamie mock whistled, clearly unimpressed. While your brother appreciated metal music, he still had the typical machismo mentality that long hair and tight pants were for girls, and any metathead he saw in public was branded cruelly for life by your brother. You could already hear the homophobic insults he was thinking about Eddie in his head just by the tone of voice alone.

“Eeee… So if he’s a metalhead, does he have like all the long hair like a girl, and the leather jackets and shit?” Jamie asked.

“He’s not gonna wear a fucking leather jacket in this heat you idiot.” You said, “But he does have a battle vest he made himself. And he’s got the ripped skinny jeans, the rings… He even plays in a band!”

“What’s the name of the band?” He asked.

“Corroded Coffin.”

“… Corroded Coffin?” Jamie looked genuinely confused, before he burst out laughing. “Corroded Coffin?! The hell kind of name is that joto shit?”

“Shut up asshole!” You hiss, “You just don’t get the genius behind the name; it’s metal as fuck! Dare I say gothic as hell too! Just perfect for me, you know how I’ve always wanted to be all goth.”

Jamie laughs even harder. It’s just like him. Typical bullshit sibling banter, but the way he’s so dismissive of you and of Eddie… it makes you angry and defensive.

“Dios mio… you’re probably his wet dream then, all dressed in your black clothes like you’re going to a fucking funeral.” He laughs.

“Simón! He’s my Paul, I’m his Chani. I’m his Leia, he’s my Han. He’s my Alan, I’m his Madison…” you rattled off names of every couple you could think of in the media you consumed.

After a while, when the reefer made you forget what you were even saying, you turned to see Jamie with his cheeks puffed out. Clearly trying not to just burst out again laughing in your face.

“… You’re such a fucking weirdo, esa.” He said, voice strained.

“Oh shut up and leave me alone!”

He did laugh at that, and it took everything in you not to beat the crap out of him.

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry.” He wheezed.

There was silence for a beat. You didn’t know what to say anymore, and neither did he. You were about to just kick him out of your room when he finally spoke up again.

“You sure you’re not rushing into this?” He asked gently. “Because if you’re already comparing yourself to stupid ass movie relationships, it sounds like you’re already falling for the guy…”

“Hey, I can go as fast or slow as I want.” You snapped, “Eddie said relationships don’t have rules. We can go at our own pace. Whatever feels right to us. And it feels right to jump on the chance before someone else gets to him.”

“Just so long as you promise me that you won’t rush to do anything stupid. I don’t want you getting hurt, and I don’t want you getting pregnant either.” He said.

“A la maquinas bro! What the hell do you think? I know I sound desperate, but I’m not that goddamn desperate to get knocked up to keep him.” You whined.

“You’re already jumping into this way too fast. You’ve known him what, like a day or two? I don’t know how many times I’ve seen this shit happen: girls meeting guys and falling in love, then the next thing, sas, she’s popping out a kid in nine months. Don’t think you’re any different from other girls, mami.”

“I know I’m different.” You growled, the irritation coming back full force. “I know it… Eddie said I was, and everyone else knows I’m different too...”

“Yeah but… You’re still just as vulnerable as any other girl. You’re already falling for it now. If you fall so easily, you’ll end up all fucked up in the end. I’m just trying to look out for you, just be careful with this Eddie guy, okay? He’s some virgin nerd. You don’t know what he’s after-…”

“… he’s not a virgin…” you said softly.

Jamie paused his rant, looking up at you wide eyed.

“What?! You… how the hell do you know that?!” He demanded.

“He told me…” you mumbled.

“… how many girls has he been with?”

He leaned forward, waiting for an answer.

“He said he had an ex that he did it with all the time in his van…” you admitted, “And that there were a couple girls at the high school that wanted to do it with him on a dare.”

“Chingao…” he breathed, “Have you guys…”

“NO! No… no he…”

You two had hit at least third base at Lover’s Lake through two layers of nylon tights, and denim, grinding in the van until there was an embarrassing wet spot on the fly of his ripped up Wrangler jeans. He came, you came, and it had been the first time you had been so goddamned careless. You’d opened your legs to him, and he’d stopped you short.

“Sorry sweetheart. Normally I would, but not this time…”

“He said he didn’t wanna do it like that in the van while we were too high out of our minds…” you replied, recalling the way he’d almost withdrawn completely away, “He said… He said he wanted us to be sober, for it to be special…”

“Well… at least he wanted it to be different… Just watch it with him, don’t fall too hard for it, entiendes?” Jamie said.

What difference did it make if it was the right thing to do? You were already bitter and moody about it, feeling rejected and all types of ways about how this night had gone down. And that wasn’t the only thing you were bitter about…

“I won’t fall for it. I won’t because… ugh… I’m so fucking pissed, bro…” you growled.

“Why?” Jamie asked.

“Because he didn’t fucking wait!”

You kicked your wicker laundry hamper, pouting and stomping like a petulant child.

“Fucking cochino ass vatos, bro! Just going along with whoever showed a passing fancy, instead of waiting for someone to show up who really cared… Why… why didn’t…”

The feelings were bubbling and frothing in your stomach, hurting you physically from the shock in taking in his revelations in the van. At first, you’d been too high to understand what Eddie was saying. And then the more he rambled on about his previous little sticky fumblings with sex, the angrier you got. What the fuck, you’d thought. Feelings of possessiveness and jealously had plagued you and made your heart hurt, and you had to pretend that his rambling about how you were special and different and how he wanted things to be better quelled the jealous fury.

“Why didn’t that dumbass wait for me?!” You finally sobbed.

Jamie began to laugh.

It was ugly. It was unchecked. It totally invalidated everything you felt. But he began to howl.

“Serious?!” He exclaimed, “You don’t own this guy, he had a life before you. You’re just being all celosas!”

“Shut the fuck up, cabron! No I’m not!” You cried.

“You are!” He laughed, “You’re jealous of girls that ain’t even in the picture anymore!”

Hold it back… hold it in… don’t go for him unchecked… because if you did it now you’d fall flat on your ass and only make your brother laugh harder.

“It’s not fucking funny!” You whined, “It’s not funny, you ass… Eddie’s… he’s the only guy that’s ever paid any attention to me… He’s perfect for me… Why couldn’t he just wait and hope that there was someone out there, that I was out there…?”

“Because that ain’t how shit works, mensa.”

Jamie suddenly looked serious, as if attempting to speak to your jealousy to quell its fury.

“Eddie’s his own man, he’s a person. He’s got his own needs and wants outside of you. You can’t expect someone to just sit on their thumbs waiting just because it’s what you want them to do. This is why I’m worried about you getting so attached. You’re already hurting yourself getting hung up on the what ifs…”

Jamie paused, but because he usually just said shit, he continued.

“And for real, your way of thinking is pretty selfish.”

“But…”

He held up a hand to you.

“Do you even hear yourself when you’re talking?” He asked, “I know you’re high right now, but goddamn dude. You’re basically reducing Eddie to nothing more than an object, like he’s a possession. That ain’t how real love works. You can’t get all worked up because he’s got a past that didn’t revolve around you.”

“But… but’s not fair, because I wouldn’t have treated him like the other girls did…” you tried to defend yourself.

“Mami, who cares? You ain’t above them just because you would have been nicer to him, regardless if they were shitty or not. You don’t know them, nor do you know what went down. I’m not saying it’s wrong to wait for the right person, but just because you made that choice to stay ‘pure’ or whatever doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re all bad and so better than everyone else-…”

“BUT I DIDN’T GET THAT CHOICE!”

You were at the breaking point. Fuck him. Fuck him! He didn’t know you. You realized then and there, Jamie didn’t even want to understand how you felt about all this.

“That’s a fucking crock of shit…” you hissed. “I didn’t get that choice to save myself for someone! Everyone else made it for me because no one fucking… Those girls he was with got a choice to do it with someone, Eddie got a choice to do it with someone… I didn’t get no fucking choice! No one… no one even wanted to…”

It’s too goddamned much. It’s too fucking much to think about. Your mind is a whirlpool, Charybdis incarnate as you’re pulled in twenty different emotional directions. No one gave you a choice to decide who you wanted to give yourself to, and god knows there were plenty of guys back in New Mexico who you would have shared everything with. You weren’t as prudish as everyone believed you to be. Frankly the thought of having sex thrilled and excited you, it was special attention that was exclusive to the individual, and Jesus Christ you wanted special attention. Any kind of attention really. So in those vulnerable moments of awkwardly awakening your thoughts and feelings, you began your hunt to find someone to share this love with. There were a lot of guys you projected a fantasy into. Each was a clone of some Prince Charming who didn’t exist. Comprised of qualities you naively believed a lover should have, a smattering of this and that: someone who could share your passion in music, someone you related to culturally, a lover of books, someone who lived with their head in the clouds as you did, those who had a zest for life and living that you had lost… They all had some amazing quality you’d projected onto them, and yet not a one gave you the fucking time of day.

The results were the same: they’d look you up and down, and then make the decision. A resounding no. They looked at you, with your baggy black clothes and oversized jacket, and they all thought the same thing: not a fucking chance in hell. No matter how hard you tried to understand why there was so much resounding rejection, you never could quite figure it out. All you knew was you were nothing to them. You were furniture. And if you went scrambling after them, trying to be what they wanted you to be, they spoke down to you. As if you were a child. As if you were stupid. Everyone did…

But not Eddie…

You think you’re the only one in this van that does weird out there shit?

Eddie had grabbed you by the backpack. Staked his claim on you. Stolen you from Hawkins High like a bundle of contraband…

We’re both weird.

The two of you could throw Dune references at one another, and he’d listen eagerly to you talk about the other books you’d read… not once did he ever judge or call you a fucking child. Only one other person in the world didn’t judge you either, and he was nowhere to be found…

We’re both freaks…

Eddie said he would lend you his copy of The Lord of the Rings, because you’d never read it before. Then he said something about how you were prettier than the Lady Galadriel… You wanted to get to that part of the book to confirm if that was a good thing or not. You wanted to know everything about him and share things with him, to fit in, to feel affection…

I don't care if you're weird. I like it.

Eddie taught you to do the tongue thing… With the promise of teaching so much more…

I like you…

“Get out of my room.” You said lowly to your brother.

“Hey, wait a minute-…”

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer…

“Get. Out. Of. My. Room.” You hissed.

“Hermana-…”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

You didn’t wait to hear his sputtering protests. With a strength you didn’t know you possessed, you shoved Jamie as hard as you could out of your room, slamming the door behind him and locking it deftly before turning on your record player so loud it set off the barking of your dogs.

Jamie didn’t know shit from fuck. No one did… They didn’t get it. They were all just fine, going through their mundane lives like nothing was wrong, when everything in the entire world was wrong. The world wasn’t like in books. The world was messy and complicated and stupid… And it just wasn’t goddamned fair.

But deep down, you knew you deserved the pain. The world had your hand in a box, a poisoned needle at your throat. To move away, to flinch even the slightest bit, was to forfeit to death.

You weren’t going to let that happen. So you decided to go with what you knew: keep your mouth shut, your head down, and give Eddie Munson whatever in the hell he wanted. Even if you had to pretend like certain things didn’t hurt you.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer…

[trashogram]

Ok the NSFW Toon Patrol thing, bc I’m not a coward. But I am courteous, so it’s also under the cut:

So the deleted scene for WFRR has the weasels taking Eddie to Toontown and they paint a moving, blinking pig’s head on him. It’s a very weird scene buuuuuuuut it also makes me think a cartoon could def draw/paint genitalia that works on…

So… ya know. I mean Greasy would definitely do it. Unless he’s already packing something under that zoot suit (a lot of cartoonists are pervs, I would never discount such a thing UNLESS Judge Doom didn’t just figure out a way to erase toons but also how to create them and he somehow created the Toon Patrol for his nefarious needs once he figured out how to do it).

This does make me wonder how humans and toons interact with each other physically. Like when Eddie grabs Jessica’s upper arm, does it feel like a human woman’s arm? Does Roger feel like he has fur? And toons can interact with the real world so are clearly able to pick things up and touch things, so what do they feel? I’m thinking way too hard about it, I know. But it’s also kinda worth discussing in a bubble.

But anyway the idea of human-toon romantic and sexual relationships could be another comparison to race relations within the WFRR world, similar to the overtures we get in the film like segregation and gentrification. I’ve def seen the idea float around as a way of explaining 3D characters after the events of the film.

What would one call such a thing? Inter-texturing? Coloring between the lines?

Unrelated but if Greasy saw an actually fully nude lady he’d probably die, no laughter required. What do we call a cartoon weasel gangbang? A boogle bang? Okay I’m done.

[cranberrymoons]

Maybe someone calls buck a puppy and the rest of the group starts teasing him and Buck laughs it off but he trails off his laughter and Eddie’s like hm hm hm 🤔 - hi it’s Liam I love you and I’m a little zooted currently

Liam SCREAM I love you too and I love that for you 😭 and yes god buck being like ha. haha. ha :) but actually super Not laughing about it. eddie later saying hi! hey that was weird right? are you okay? what happened back there. and buck has to say oh nothing. i'm fine! i'm normal <3 and he is just the absolute least normal he has ever been about anything and eddie can see right through him forever and ever

[deceptive-daydreams]

Control

Eddie x fem reader, 18+ ONLY

3K Words

Warnings - smut, bondage, slight dom/sub, kinda in public not really tho?, daddy kink (it’s mentioned like one time), edging, I think that’s it

A/N - this is filthy and it’s been living in my mind the last few days so here. I didn’t edit it or anything, I just went for it 🥴 also wrote this while kinda zooted so I hope it makes sense

Masterlist

You were seeking relief to put it simply.  It was that time in your cycle just after your period where you would get huffy and needy, constantly needing to get off otherwise the sexual frustration would build up and put you in a bad mood.  You needed to be fucked senseless but there was no time.  Eddie was getting ready in to your shared apartment bathroom as the two of you were soon heading over to Steve’s for a barbecue where you would catch up with the gang and just have a night to not think.  All dolled up and ready to go, you sat on the edge of the bed, sensitive as ever, the slightest rub of your panties against your clit almost had you mewling.  

Eddie would probably be another fifteen minutes or so, you could still hear the shower running.  Now was as good a time as ever to blow some steam so you reached for your nightstand drawer and pulled out the trusty rose toy, the second best thing next to Eddie himself.  Leaning back against the pillows, you threw one of the decorative blankets over yourself and started getting to work.  The toy was shoved into your pants and underneath your panties to latch onto your swollen clit.  Relief was already felt as you rolled your hips and grinded into the toy, little moans escaping you.  The pleasure built up, up, up as you desperately chased release.  Hips wiggling in anticipation, you tilted your head back the closer you got.  Burning hot pleasure coursed through your veins, every nerve ending of your body on fire while you encouraged your own orgasm.  Your breathing got heavier, almost on the verge of cumming when—“What do we have here?”

Your eyes flutter open and Eddie is standing at the end of the bed, a cocky grin plastered to his face.  Quickly, you shut the toy off and sit up, feeling robbed of release.  Sometimes you and Eddie played this game where if he caught you playing with yourself he would tease you for what felt like hours and remind you that only he could make you feel this way.  And you only hoped he would initiate this little game right now although there wasn’t a lot of hope seeing as you were now supposed to be heading to Steve’s.  Clenching your thighs, you pull the toy out and toss it back into the drawer before shutting it.  “Playing with yourself again are we, baby?” Eddie says lowly, hunger in his eyes.  You were like his prey being dangled in front of him.  Thighs clenching even harder, you sheepishly nod while looking up at him.  All he does is look you up and down, eyes snaking down your body before returning to his normal demeanor completely.  “We should get going, Steve was mad we were late last time.” He shows off his dimples while reaching his hand out to assist you in getting up.  Almost like he didn’t catch you in the act.  

Disappointed, you oblige and take his hand, him leading you to the front door before stopping abruptly.  “I forgot something, here—go start the van and I’ll be right there.” He pats his back pockets as if he’s searching for something as he hands you the keys.  Shrugging it off as Eddie being Eddie, you make your way to the passenger side of the van and start it up.  Shortly after, Eddie jogs out and plops down in the driver's seat and you're off to Steve’s.  

Or so you thought.  Around five minutes into the drive he pulls off to the side where there’s nothing but forest, not a soul around as he parks the van behind some trees.  “Eddie, what are we doing?  Are you trying to get me to hotbox the van with you again-cause last time—“ he interrupts you by tsking, his eyes currently focused ahead of him out of the front windshield.  Raising a brow at him, you push further.  “Eds, what are we doing?!” You demand.  Eddie turns his head to look at you, eyes burning into yours as he crosses his arms.  “You have no idea what you do to me when you play with yourself like that.”  His tone is devoid of emotion, making it difficult to predict what direction he would take this.  

Sighing, you start to explain.  “Ed, I’ve been so pent up, I just needed something.”  He can see the way you shuffle in your seat and he can guarantee that there is a wet spot seeping through your pants.  “So why didn’t you come to me?” He asks nonchalantly, still keeping his stare on you, he looked like he was about to pounce but was holding himself back.  Shuffling around some more, rubbing your thighs in frustration, you search for an answer but find it hard in your flustered state.  “I-I um, you were—you were getting ready a-and I just, I dunno…” you trail off unable to come up with anything, you just wanted him to touch you already, give you what you wanted—what you needed.

“Were you going to cum without my permission?” He questions, his hand now grazing your knee in the slightest way possible, the touch making you shutter.  You’re silent, eyes averting his gaze as his hand as slowly as possible travels up from your knee to your inner thigh, rings trailing along a coolness with them.  You’re throbbing, you swear any movement you make that would cause any friction would make you whine out in desire.  Biting your lip, you finally look at him and nod shyly.  

He shifts his body toward you a little more, hand stopping in its place on your inner thigh.  “Baby, you know better than that.” He coos, now bringing his hand up to trail his knuckles along your cheekbone and then down to your neck to brush a strand of hair away, the cold rings against your neck causing you to shiver.  You involuntarily tilt your head back at the sensation.  “Don’t you?” He demands softly, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him, the pad of his thumb running along your bottom lip.  

“Mmhmm.” You whimper back helplessly, pressing your lips to his thumb in a feather light kiss.  “I think…” he begins while trailing his thumb from your lip to your jaw.  “…You need to be taught a lesson.”  There’s a devilish grin on his face.  This is what you had been waiting for, for Eddie to give into your desire and just ruin you.  “Please.” You whisper, sounding a little more desperate than you’d like.

Patting his lap, he whispers a ‘come here’ as he assists you in grabbing your thighs and helps you straddle him.  From the moment you’re on top of him you’re grinding your clothed head into his bulge, the friction of his jeans and your pants making you hum in satisfaction.  Large hands grab at the back of your thighs, halting any movements.  He grabs your chin yet again in his hand, cradling your jaw.  “Not so fast, angel.  Wouldn’t be a lesson if I just made you come right away would it?” A small kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth as he moves to shove your pants down your legs and off into the passenger seat.

You let out a whine as he cups your heat, finger sliding delicately along your slit over the fabric, wetness pooling in your panties.  Stroking over and over again, he teases you and brushes his finger just barely over your clit, applying no pressure as he just barely passes over it each time, leaving you squirming in his lap.  “That feel good, angel?  Just like that, huh?” He mocks while your hips stutter, searching for more pressure, more friction.  “M-more, Eddie, please more.” You beg, running your hands down his chest over his tshirt.  “No touching, baby.  Wanna see how well you can do for me, make sure you learn your lesson, yeah?”  You remove your hands from him, propping them on the steering wheel behind you as he continues his torture on you.  “Good girl.” He praises,  not once applying any pressure, ghosting his finger over you.  

You’re holding your own while he looks up at you with lust filled irises.  Until he brings his other hand up and under your shirt, sneaking under your bra and toying with your pebbled nipple, the sensation causing you to grip at his shoulders as you moan.  He looks at you sternly, still rolling your nipple between his fingers while his other hand still teases you over your panties.   “Keep ‘em to yourself.” He whispers, removing his hand from your breast, he plants a kiss to your knuckles on each hand.  Nodding, you continue gripping the steering wheel behind you tightly.  

Eddie’s lips begin sloppily kissing at your neck, fingers once again working on your sensitive nipple.  This time your hand fly into his curls, gripping them in want.  You begin pulling away but it’s too late, he’s looking at you with that dark stare, eyes almost black as he drinks you in.  “Take this off, love.” He speaks quietly but dominant, tugging at the hem of your shirt.  So you do, working the fabric over your head and into the passenger's seat, now only in your bra and panties.  It’s like a wet dream come true, you in his lap, panting pathetically at the slightest touches.  “And this.” He thumbs at the strap of your bra, letting it snap back into place gently.  You scramble to unclasp the back, finally succeeding and tossing it aside, breasts now on full display for him.  “Atta girl.” He gives your ass a brief spank, causing you to run your hands down his chest, fingers gripping the cotton fabric tightly before you realize your second mistake, you’ve touched him again.  

His lips move to graze across your collarbone, hands smoothing their way up your torso and onto your shoulders, fingers lightly making their way down your arms before grabbing your wrists in his larger palms behind your back.  “You okay?” He asks, eyes now sincere as he checks in with you.  You give him a nod but it’s not enough.  “Use your words, baby.” He requests while planting a kiss right where your shoulder and your neck meet.  “Yes, please keep going.” You say breathily, leaning your forehead against his, attempting to give his lips a peck but he holds you away from him, wrists still gathered in his strong hands behind you, his lips parted just inches from yours in a taunt.  He looks from your eyes to your lips and back and he knows what he’s doing, his pouty pink lips on full display with no intention of letting you kiss them.  A whimper escapes you and he just smirks.

In seconds he’s pulling his bandana from his back pocket, using it to secure your wrists to the steering wheel behind you, double knotting it for good measure.  Your lip juts out as you struggle against the cloth, knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere but trying anyway.  He mocks your pout and taps your nose with his finger.  “Darling, you’ve got yourself all tangled up don’t you?” His words have a meanness to them, the kind you love, the kind that gets you all riled up.  All you do is squirm, trying to grind your clothed heat against his denim covered thigh but failing as he holds your hips in place.  “You see, I wouldn’t have to get all mean with you but you’re just so stubborn.” He uses his hand to travel from over your soaking wet panties, up your torso with his fingertips, stopping to pinch at one of your nipples and then moving up your chest and along your neck and then back down over your mound, cupping it.  Your breathing is quick and your hips are twitching at his touch.  “Eddie!” You whine while rolling your hips forward into nothing.  

“What’s the matter, honey?  You all worked up for me?” He teases, finally using his middle finger to move your panties to the side and feel how wet you are.  You can only let out a high pitch moan at his words while his finger collects your slick.  “All this for me?  Baby, you shouldn’t have.” He rasps out.  His face is in front of yours again, letting his lips just barely graze yours but never letting them fully touch.  “E-eddie please—please I’ll be good!” Your tone is pathetic as you plead with him, wrists straining against his bandana.

His thumb comes back up to your bottom lip before sinking into your mouth, you gladly sucking it, rolling it onto your tongue before releasing it with a pop.  “You wanna cum?  That what you want?” He asks meanly.  You’re on the brink of tears, the good kind.  “Y-yes—yes, please Eddie, please m-make me cum!” You beg.  “Are you my pathetic little slut?” He asks, nose nudging yours, awaiting an answer.  “Yes, yes!” You breathe out, nodding vigorously.  

Before you can register it, he’s clicking a button and pressing your rose toy to your clit, the suction causing your knees to buckle as you straddle him.  You don’t know how he managed to hide it when he came back out of the house earlier but he was sneaky and it was to your benefit.  A surprise gasp leaves your mouth as you throw your head back.  You begin to grind against it as he holds it against you only to be stopped by him delivering a smack to your ass with his other hand.  “Hold still.” He demands, scolding you.  You whine at this, he was so cruel and so hot.  

“Maybe you’ll think twice next time you wanna come so bad while I’m in the next room.”  He mocks you, fingers pinching at your nipple again.  He tuts at you as you mewl in delight.  “Such a brat.”  The rose is pushed further into your clit, the pressure becoming so unbearable you think you’ll cum any second only for that reward to be ripped from your grasp as Eddie pulls the toy away from your dripping core, looking up at you like the devil himself.  “Making us late…all because you couldn’t keep your hands away from your pretty little pussy.”  He reprimands you before holding the toy over your throbbing bud again.  “Please.” You whimper in defeat.  

You can feel it, you're just on the brink of overwhelming pleasure but you can’t get too excited cause he could very well deny you all over again.  Your vision goes white as you chase your release, nothing else matters at the moment, you just need to cum.  “Does my pretty baby wanna cum?  Wanna make a mess all over my thigh like the spoiled brat you are?”  His words only spur you on, pushing you just that much closer to tipping over the edge.  “Daddy, please!” You whine.  “Don’t you dare.” He grips your jaw tightly.  “Not until I say so.” He reminds you, breath fanning over your face.  You can’t hold it much longer, it’s like a tidal wave in the distance about to pull you under.  

Eddie adds more pressure, your poor clit being abused more and more.  “Might not even let you cum at all.” He says casually.  At this you sob, the thought of being so wound up, so wet and throbbing only for him to take it away and make you spend the rest of the evening  a huffy and sensitive mess.  You’re tugging at your restrained wrists, each time secretly hoping it comes undone but deep down you know Eddie is a master at knots and you’d never be able to get free no matter how hard you tried.  “Poor baby.” He coos, smoothing his hand over the top of your hair to catch any flyaways that appeared while you endured his torture.  “Why don’t you cum for me now, doll?” He gives you permission to let go.  And you do, you let yourself grind into the toy, the friction never felt better as that tidal wave washes over you.  You’re choking out moans while your body convulses on Eddie’s lap.  His thumb brushes along your cheek lovingly as he smugly talks you through your orgasm.  “I know, baby, I know, so needy.  You just need to be put in your place.” His words only add to the pleasure, your hips stuttering as your walls contract, leaking against Eddie’s thigh.  “That’s my girl, cum all over me.  Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.”  He finally presses a soft kiss to your parted lips, waiting for you to come back to earth as you come down from your high.  You lazily kiss him, lips pouting in the process as your chest heaves.  He clicks the toy off, removing it from you, eliciting a little whine from you, your clit sensitive and overstimulated.  

“That was hot.” He whispers against your jaw, looking up at you fondly.  “Doing okay, angel?  You still with me?” He checks in, untying the bandana and throwing it into the cup holder, freeing your wrists and gently holding them in his hands as he presses kisses to them, his lips gentle on your skin.  You nod your head, pressing your forehead against his as you catch your breath.  “Words, baby.” He reminds you softly, his eyes all big and puppy dog like, unlike how they were seconds ago, intense and dominating.  “Yeah, I’m okay.” You whisper against his cheek, the light dusting of stubble poking against your skin.  “There’s my girl.” He smiles, dimples on full display.  “Let’s get you to Steve’s so I can feed you, make sure you don’t faint from being all cum drunk.” He jokes while kissing your cheek.  You can only hum in response because you were in fact cum drunk.

And who knows, maybe later that night you give Eddie a taste of his own medicine…use his own handcuffs against him, maybe tease him until he’s a whimpering mess.  Edge him until his back is arching off the bed and he begs you to let him cum.  Grind against him while forcing him to stay still as you wear his favorite lingerie set.  The possibilities were endless. 

~end~

Masterlist

[transcodedcharacterstournament]

Sorry it so long, but the list is finally done

Here are our pair ups

I included almost every character so the tournament is going to be long

Left side

Jesus vs Hamlet

Dean vs Sam

Rose Tyler vs The Doctor

Mob vs teruki hanazawa

Emily Prentiss vs Penelope Garcia

Anakin Skywalker vs Obi-Wan Kenobi

Aziraphale vs Crowley

Jessie vs james

toph vs Sokka

julian bashir vs James T Kirk

Jadzia Dax vs Ezri Dax

Spock vs Odo

Luke skywalker vs Leia skywalker

Hunter vs Luz

Alador blight vs The collector

Raine vs Lilith Clawthorne

Dipper vs Mable

Sonic vs Shadow

Marco diaz vs Pidge

Katsuki Bakugo vs Ejirou Kirishima

Kagamine Len vs miku

bot lightbulb

Test tube vs Apple

Tree vs black hole

saw vs Golf ball

Dr. teeh vs Animal

Floyd pepper vs janice

Zoot vs lips

Fjord Stone vs Yussa Errenis

Zukko vs Azula

Veth Brenatto (Nott the Brave) vs Pyrrha dve

silver vs blaze

Howl vs Aizawa

Walter White vs Jesse pinkman

Noelle vs Ralsei

Perfuma vs Bow

Jim Lake Jr vs Steve Palchuk

Hiccup vs Danny Phantom

Fox Mulder vs Dana Scully

Harley Quinn vs the riddler

Neo vs Trinity

Deanna Troi vs Brunt

Worf vs Saavik

Dr Habit vs Kamal Bora

Scout vs Ms. Pauling

Right Hand Man vs Henry Stickmin

Reginald Copperbottom vs Ellie Rose

Kurapika vs Alluka Zoldyck

Kite vs Daisukenojo "Beat" Bito

Link vs Zelda

Miles Edgeworth vs Franziska von Karma

Rolan Deep vs Chip

Jay Ferin vs William Wisp

Ashe Winters vs Kian stone

Gillion Tidestrider vs Edyn Tidestrider

donnie vs leonardo

Madeline Hatter vs Darling Charming

Kokichi Ouma vs Shuichi saihara

Aiko Umesawa vs Hajime Hinata

Komatu Naegi vs chihiro fujisaki

Randy Radman vs Jaques Kensignton

Shiki Misaki vs Yoshiya "Joshua" Kiryu

Eddie Munson vs Jonathan Byers

Nancy Wheeler vs Max Mayfield

peter parker vs Cecil Palmer

BOYD vs Lena Sabrewing

Yuuki Mishima vs Naoto Shirogane

Futaba Sakura vs Akira Kurusu

Ricky Potts vsJane Doe

Koichi Hirose vs Narciso Anasui

Adeleine vs Meta Knight

Ferdinand von Aegir vs Lorenz Gloucester

Gomez Addams vs Morticia addams

Sir Crocodile vs Yamato

yellow caballero vs Gold

Akari vs Silver

Right side

Penny vs Champion Cynthia

Captain3 vs Agent 8

Apollo Justice vs maya fey

bill s preston esquire vs ted theodore logan

Kermit the Frog vs Gonzo

Jack Kline vs Castiel

Kazuhira Miller vs Revolver Ocelot

Mizuki Akiyama vs Mafuyu Asahina

Scaramouche vs Venti

Alucard vs Juste Belmont

Rika vs Wallac

Bede vs Celestia Ludenberg

Omega vs Pavel Chekov

Amy rose vs Tails

Gerard (Gerry) Keay vs Jonathan Sims

Jane Prentiss vs Martin blackwood

Aether vs Lumine

Diluc Ragnvindr vs Fischl

Sasha waybright vs Marcy wu

Lars vs finn

Jim Hawkins vs Mulan

onoda sakamichi vs shinkai yuuto

Vivian vs Birdo

Bridget vs Poison

Jack Spicer vs Enid

Taliyah vs Jinx

Yoshiko "Yohane" Tsushima vs Rina Tennoji

Marceline vs Wendy Corduroy

Optimus Prime vs Rodimus prime

The Master vs john sheppard

haruhi fujioka vs Haku

Jason Todd vs tim drake

billy batson vs Cleo Cazo/Ratcatcher 2

Maxwell Klinger vs George Costanza

Gyro Gearloose vs ron stampler

Daniel LaRusso vs Miguel Diaz

Xion vs Lauriam 

Alice Yabusame vs Marina

Anna vs Rin Hoshizora

David Jacobs vs Ambrose

Lestat vs Quentin Coldwater

Orel Puppington vs Chucky

Reze vs Isabella Yamamoto

Mrs. Frizzle vs Dr. Doofenshmirtz

Ellen Ripley vs Orla McCool

Peril vs Baldwin

Sidney Prescott vs Envy Adams

akiyama mizuki  vs Flower

Oswald Cobblepot vs Margo Hanson

Charlie Kelly vs Newton Geiszler

Remy vs Meowth

knock out vs Lavernius Tucker

Raiden vs lappland

Party Poison vs Nico di Angelo

Hera vs P03

Leo Demonheart vs Suzuki Iruma

Doug Ramsey vs Marty McFly

Lake vs Jenny

Will Graham vs Herbert West

Anne Boonchuy vs Carmen Sandiego

Paul Atreides vs Yoon Jong-woo

Ritsu sohma vs Ruby Rose

Ruffnut  vs Momoe Sawaki

Xie Lian vs Raikou Shimizu

Chai vs Hisirdoux Casperan

henry morris vs Dave Strider

Jeremie Belpois vs Lloyd Garmadon

Gandalf vs Dolores Abernathy

Arthur Kingsmen vs Mako

Kurama vs Vash the Stampede

Shiver vs Luigi

Kim Kitsuragi vs tristian

Rouge vs Zoe

Shinji Ikari vs Dororo

[abbacchiosbelt]

While I've seen plenty of criticisms of Outlast for ableism/stigmatizing mental illness (because your enemies are murder-happy asylum inmates), I honestly beg to differ—at least for the most part. For one thing, only a handful of inmates actually attack you. Most of the other patients there are either in shock or just trying to lay low and stay alive through all the chaos going on around them. Even the more proactive of the non-combatant characters, such as the pyro you encounter in the kitchen, are just trying to get out—and their desperation is made to be pretty relatable. Even the boss characters like Chris Walker and Eddie Gluskin were victims of the asylum. For crying out loud, the Whistleblower DLC opens with Eddie getting dragged into the morphogenic engine kicking and screaming and begging for help—it's what solidifies Waylon Park's determination to take down Murkoff. Even when you find Eddie's files later on and see that, yes, he was already a murderer before he wound up in Mount Massive, that also comes with notes about the sexual abuse he experienced as a child and his denial of it. It doesn't excuse his actions—of course it doesn't—but it shows that he didn't become the way he is from nothing. Furthermore, the entire Mount Massive arc focuses so heavily on the theme of abuse of power. The patients are enduring horrific experimentation at the hands of people like Blair and Trager, and that is what sets up the rest of the story. The people running the show are the catalysts for all hell breaking loose—not the patients, who are instead victims of a system that is exploiting them by pushing them past their mental and physical limits, and has no qualms about treating them as replaceable test subjects. They are already sick people thrust into terrifying circumstances. Some of them were already dangerous to begin with, but most of them were not. They were all in a place that was supposed to help them cope with their conditions and rehabilitate, but instead were exploited and had their issues exacerbated by being traumatized further, and that's part of what makes Outlast terrifying.  So yeah, the portrayal of mentally ill people in Outlast isn't phenomenal, sure, but it goes beyond making all the patients out to be horrible monsters. Most of them are just trying to stay out of all the awful shit going on and stay alive without completely breaking down. The games still makes you feel for those people after you see how desperate and terrified a lot of them are, due mainly because of the abuses they have suffered from the people who were supposed to help them.

idk if i've posted about outlast (well except for reblogging cupcake's dimitri fic inspired by outlast's universe but—) but this was an interesting read nonetheless! i don't know enough about the game to speak on it, and i'm too zooted right now to go in a big discussion about it, but i can see your points! idk if i agree with all of them (need to do more research, but i'm generally quite wary of that stuff in media) but i liked reading this post!

[zstetchz]

Random Facts/Ideas About my Welcome Home OC

Cole Works as a Freelance Photographer, Mainly in California, but is Known to Travel all Over as Long as There is Promise of Work and Food.

When Cole was Younger, he Wanted to be a Singer/Song Writer, but he Found it was Easier to Make Money While Doing Photography.

Cole Learned how to Roller Skate from Mr. Joyful on His 8th Birthday.

Cole has Actually Traveled with a Few Bands to do Photoshoots for them While on Tour; Whenever it’s a Band he Knows a Fan Personally for, he’ll Mail them a Fun Package with Some Merch, Signatures and some Candid one of a Kind Pictures of the Band Hanging out with him.

Julie Views Cole as her 4th Sibling, 2nd Brother.

Out of Julie, Franny, Bea, Jonesy and Cole, the Age Rank from Oldest to Youngest is as Follows: Cole, Bea, Franny + Jonesy (twins), Julie. [This is Just a Headcanon of Mine! I Don't Actually Know the Order of the Joyful Siblings].

When Cole and Julie were Younger, they did Everything Together and were Inseparable.

Cole is 3 Years Older Than Julie.

Cole Once Went on Tour with Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, he is Still Very Close Friends with Zoot, the Sax Player of the Band. He Takes all of Their Promotional Business Photoshoots.

Cole Moved out of the Joyful Residence at 14 due to the Cave Getting a Little Crowded with 4 Teenage Monsters. He Went to go Live with a Family Friend Named Auntie Dee [a Very Sweet Cow Lady], who Lives in Texas and Worked at the High School he Attended. (This Information Had Been Added to his Character File Very Soon after Frank Frankly had Been Designed, Right Before Frank Replaced him as a Neighbor).

Despite Being so Far Away, Cole Made Sure to Call Julie as Often as Possible Along with Sending Letters and Plenty of Pictures when he got his New Camera from Auntie Dee as a Welcoming Gift.

Originally, in the Context of the Show, he was Going to be Eddie Dear’s Husband, but was Quickly Replaced by Frank Frankly as a Main Character and Eddie’s Husband with No Documented Explanation as to Why Cole's Main Character Status got Stripped.

Welcome Home, Eddie Dear, Julie Joyful, Frank Frankly, Jonesy Joyful, Bea Joyful and Franny Joyful all Belong to @partycoffin !

[strangereads]

i just need to say, your voice in narrative is amazing. it feels so unique. it pulls me in and drags me through all of the emotions of reader in such a pleasantly descriptive and relatable way. i love it, quite frankly.

how i'm tryna be with eddie when i'm zooted ^^

IT MEANS SOMETHING

Eddie Munson x Reader 1,606 words

Warnings: recreational drug use.

Synopsis: A short meet-cute featuring crossed paths, Argyle's weed, probable soulmates, and Fangoria magazine.

Author’s Note: Set in 1990. No Upside Down AU.

He is the last to get on the train. Patiently waiting his turn. Smiling politely at the other commuters. You watch him step off the platform into the carriage. He opts to stand against one of the poles, letting others take the vacant seats. He surveys his surroundings. It is at this moment his eyes lock with yours.

Instead of pretending like you’d only just glanced at him or nodding a casual acknowledgment, you look away too quickly. You feel yourself flush.

As the train finally pulls into your stop, you’ve used all your willpower not to look back his way. All that willpower amounts to little; as you stand, preparing to leave, you feel him staring. His gaze pulls yours back to him.

He flashes a brilliant smile, then ducks out the opening doors before you can clock his blushing cheeks.

You’re not a romantic by nature. Yes, you are prone to fits of fancy and the occasional delusional daydream, but you don’t find yourself frequently lusting after pretty people on the train. Beauty is viewed with a matter-of-factness rather than a force of attraction itself.

Some people are funny.

Some people are clever.

Some people are hot.

Some people are whatever.

And it isn’t as if this makes you less shallow or more holy than anyone else. It kind of just makes you a little more detached. Yes, you’ve dated. But there were never big, big feelings. No traumatic breakups. It had all been textbook mediocre.

It is all this knowledge of yourself that comes to the forefront of your mind as you lament the loss of the man in the crowd.

You track his fluffy hair through the station, but he is gone by the time you get to the city street. The sun is setting, a twilight glow making all the shadows seem worthy of an art gallery.

The man is gone. His dark eyes. Kind smile. His stupid t-shirt. What was it? The Burbs. That’s it. The Tom Hanks movie from last year.

Why are you still thinking about him?

The guy. Not Tom Hanks.

You walk slowly, in the city way too early for the party your friend from college, Robin, is hosting. Time to kill.

In a 7-Eleven you stand at the drinks refrigerator with too much consideration. Too much effort. Dr Pepper will always win over Coke. Flipping through magazines in the rack pulls you through a couple more minutes.

It occurs to you that the old record store a few blocks from Robin’s is open late. They have better magazines.

The neon sign sparkles against the darkening skyline as you turn onto the store’s street. Lured like a moth to a flame, you’re inside and pulling Fangoria from the stand before taking a second to look around.

There are a few customers browsing, one with a punk magazine ordered especially from the UK in his lap as he reads from the floor. You wonder if it might make more sense for the owners to open a library.

A music library would be cool, you think, as you look over at the counter.

You can identify them both.

The guy behind the counter has dead straight longer hair and one of the best speaking voices you’ve ever heard. Argyle works days mostly, since he delivers pizzas by night. He must be covering a shift for someone. Or maybe the night guy is late.

Opposite Argyle, leaning on the counter with a familiarity that tells you he has been here plenty of times before, is the man from the train. Though he isn’t facing you, the Dio patch and hair are a giveaway.

What are the fucking odds?

Fangoria back in the rack, you creep through the aisles, trying not to draw attention to yourself. When you get close to the counter, you listen to their conversation. They’re funny.

Argyle’s brand of humor is easy and irreverent. It’s how he ends up befriending everyone, including you and Robin. And, as it were, the man from the train. Train guy’s banter is far more purposeful, performative. He’s dramatic, or maybe it seems like that in contrast to laid back Argyle.

They’re talking about music but suddenly switch to films. Bill & Ted. Even more suddenly, they break out into impersonations.

It’s too late to catch your laugh. Far too late to pretend it was a coughing fit. The man turns around. He beams as he recognizes you. It’s almost enough to keep you there. Almost.

“Hey-” Argyle goes to greet you.

“Sorry. Hi. I’ve gotta go,” you say.

“See you at Robin’s later?”

“Yeah. Yep. Bye!” and you’re out the door before Argyle can think to introduce you.

This feeling is so foreign to you. You feel all gooey and icky, like maybe your skin is going to start to fizz and slick off your body. Stupid, pretty train boy, you think.

It’s still too early for Robin’s, so you detour to a bar and order a drink in a vain attempt to settle yourself.

Stupid, pretty train boy.

Four hours later.

“I jus’… Can it come closer? It’s too… too far away?”

Robin looks at you. If you look back, you would see the face of a woman equal parts amused and bored. But you physically cannot look away from the television. And the television seems to be getting further and further away.

“Quick… Robin… It’s going!” you whine. The television set is as small as your palm. You hold your hand up to compare it. “So, so small…”

“You, my friend, are so profoundly high. Argyle gave you that new shit?”

“Says try with pineapple,”

“I-What? Pineapple?”

“Says try before you deny,”

“Alright. I’m calling it. You need some time out.”

Suddenly, you are floating through Robin’s place. A conversation about whether you are okay by yourself floats along with you. Yes, you would be okay. You like rolling around in bed, high as a kite. The party is winding down anyway. You’d not be alone for long.

Alone, you play three games of I-Spy. The loser and the winner. You starfish out on the bed and make imaginary snow angels. Time passes. Maybe. You’re not sure. Then, you see the room explode into view. The light has been switched on and you yelp, diving for cover under a pillow.

Voices. The weight of someone being dropped into bed next to you.

Robin calling your name. So far away. “You alive in there?” she asks.

“Ah-huh,” you confirm.

Then, quiet. You emerge from under the pillow like a field mouse from its burrow. They had left you in darkness but for him, a bedside lamp has been left on. He doesn’t know Robin’s bedroom like you.

He is lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. In profile, he is just as pretty. You want to drive a little Matchbox car down his forehead and use his nose as a jump. Evel Knievel style. The thought makes you giggle, which makes him turn his head. He looks at you, blinking twice.

“I wondered where you went,” he admits. He rolls onto his side, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow. “Hi,”

“Hi,”

“Bit weird seeing you again,”

“Bit weird,” you parrot.

He smiles. “Why’d you get sent to the naughty room?”

“Huh?” 

Your answer, or lack thereof, answers the question.

“Argyle not warn you properly about the Californian stuff?”

You shake your head.

He laughs, so you laugh. He wriggles a little closer.

“Hi,” he whispers, sticking out a pinky finger. You watch as he hooks it around yours.

When did you move to mirror his body? When did he arrive at the party? Was he here for you? No. Silly. So silly. That would be silly.

“You’re getting small… Like the television,” you tell him.

“Oh… I don’t want to get small… If I come closer, will I get big again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. This close you can see his pale freckles. The tired purple under his eyes. The almost-wrinkles that are born of laughter. Long eyelashes.

“Long eyelashes?” he asks.

“What?”

“What?”

You snort, giggle, lost and happy.

“I need you to know I did not follow you here,”

“Okay,”

“I’m friends with Argyle,”

“Okey dokey,” you nod.

He holds in laughter, so you do too.

“I didn’t follow you either,”

“To Vinyl City? But you were eavesdropping.” It isn’t an angry accusation. It’s not really a question either. Still, you nod. “I’d be okay with it if you were following me. For the record,” he states, rather emphatically. 

He watches you watch him. He makes you feel as if you are getting higher and sobering up at the same time.

“I’m Eddie,”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Last I checked,”

“What’d you check?”

“Ah… Birth certificate?”

“Says Eddie?”

“Well… Edward.”

You giggle. Eddie’s heart flutters so hard it feels like nausea.

“Hi… Eddie,”

“Hi. Do you have a name?” He already knows it. He just wants to hear you say it.

You nod.

Eddie laughs. “Tell me your name?”

You do. Because he asked.

“So… Three times… Coincidence?”

“No,” you shake your head. You don’t know what three times he’s talking about. “That’s two. Two’s a coincidence,”

“What’s three then?”

You can’t remember. You shrug, which makes Eddie laugh, which makes you laugh. A repeated cycle.

“I think it means something,” he asserts.

“So do I,”

“Do you? Or are you just a little bit high?”

“Can it be both?”

Eddie makes a show of thinking. “It can. I’ll allow it.” He grins. “So, it means something?”

“It means something,” you agree.

End Note: I've been struggling to write post-Burning Yarrow. So, this was just a little something to try to get back on the horse. Soulmate meet-cutes are my bread and fucking butter.

I have some very vague ideas for a part two of this, but idk if it will amount to much. Lemme know your thoughts and feelings.

Eddie Taglist: solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

[pleb-the-original]

Day 27: Suggestion

(So I haven’t done this in a hot minute. Yeah sorry about that but I’ll try to get the rest of these knocked out so I can move on to the next list which will definitely not be done by the end of June. So now, my suggestion. I asked some friends in discord and one told me Eddie the Yeti. Like from the DKC tv show. I figured I could work with that since I already had the idea of Freezie demons being the cause of those sightings. But somehow, maybe it was the song associated with him, but my mind went to music. Something about the idea of this yeti just screamed jazz to me. So instead of investigating cryptid stuff, this became an exercise in using as much jazz slang as possible. You’re welcome.) Hey hey hey! What’s hopping hop cat? An interview? Yeah I’m down for a goof. Folks call me Eddie the Yeti. Been Eddie ever since I picked up my axe. Yeti part just comes from my time up on Everest. Ah naw, they ain’t all me. I’ve known plenty of other guys like me who’ve been used as Yeti sightings. Word of wisdom baby doll, every single sighting of cryptid apes up there are all us furball Freezies. I’ve known a few fly pals in my time who’ve been responsible for sightings. Even the old crumbs in the crowd sometimes get their time as a Yeren or a Yowie. Fine, we can continue. Ya don’t have to give me the icy mitt here. Chill Chops? Doll, I'm the founder of this place! This club has been my crib since I started to feel the jazz in my soul. Contrary to popular belief, Freezies like me go out onto the mortal realm all the time. See once again the worldwide cases of giant apes. I’ve always been a city slicker at heart. My vibe is with the crowd. However I never knew how to get anyone to actually stick around until that fateful day I decided to hop in a place to see if they had anything good in the ol’ gutbucket. I dunno if it was just the talent of the man on stage or the alcohol making his song sound so much sweeter, but when I heard my first tune up there it practically rewired my soul man. I spent all the kale I had with me to keep drinking there just so they wouldn’t kick me out. I mean he was bad, badder than bad. Practically the cat’s meow! So I bought an axe the moment I got more kale and set to work. Course at first I was nothin’ more than a rusty gate. The boogie men back then were brutal to me, both down here and up there. But I kept at it. Now I’m smokin’ every moment I hit the stage. Then I needed to find the rest of the band. That was actually the easiest part, I just accepted anyone who could play a good lick. Personally, my guy on tubs is probably the best however. Then we set up shop right down here in the Dark Market. Down here, I don’t have to worry about voot or needing a fancy zoot. All I need is to make sure the java is rolling and the barnburners keep coming. Aw c’mon doll, stick around a while. I can show ya some real hot stuff. (Don’t worry guys about the ending there, he just played a sax solo. But this was an interesting case. I am excited for all of us to track the musical development in hell. I could do without the flirting though. My body may not be as slick as it used to be, but my claws still lingered to tear his stupid smug smile in two with all that flirting. There is still that news about the percentage of furred Freezies that have contributed to ape cryptid sightings. I guess the guy back at home base might be correct, every initial sighting of an ape cryptid was a Freezie. We really need to report more on their impact on everything. I mean we only just released the article about the Freezie and their hellhound that caused the Dyatlov Pass incident! But I’ll save the rest of my grievances when I get this organized. -Kana′tĭ

[checkitoutmikey]

i love how we all took one look at eddie and collectively went

the 5th lost boy!!

[seat-safety-switch]

Last weekend, I was down at the bird sanctuary. Don’t worry, it’s not what you’re thinking. All of the solvents I’ve been inadvertently/semi-vertently huffing are not getting to me. What happened is the legend of a barn find. Or, to be more specific, a flood find.

Here’s how it started. A couple weeks before this, Twitchy Eddie (not his real name) came by my driveway while I was working. He said, with great excitement, that a real-ass AMC Eagle washed up on the sandbar inside the bird sanctuary. I scoffed, and began to jokingly interrogate him about why he was there. His dealer likes to go there, he explained, and the cops don’t. That was enough for me, and an Expeditionary Force was formed on the spot.

Of course, it took a couple weeks to get the aforementioned expeditionary force coordinated. Schedules, and all that. Parole officers, children, competitive public transit driving events, you know the usual excuses. It was a miracle at all that we managed to get enough folks together to assail the emplacement of the avians. Questionable Julie (her real name) drove her van, which she likes to jokingly refer to as the “Mystery Machine.” It contained no mysteries at all: rat-chewed wiring, torn-up carpet, and a dead packrat in the blower motor. I gave it a 8/10 and offered her an insultingly low amount of money if she ever wanted to sell it. What were we talking about? Right, the Eagle.

All of us had done barn and swamp and farm and junkyard rescues before, sure, but “river sandbar” was a new one for us. So we recruited a new guy, Phil, who claimed to have a boat. He was vouched for by Eddie, and – although he has been known to be a poor judge of men in the past – that was good enough for us. Perhaps we all had American Motor Corporation logos in our eyes, and couldn’t see what was happening.

Friends, when we got there, the Eagle was long gone. Phil had taken the info, hooked up in the middle of the night, and took off. The reason we knew this is because his boat was not capable of keeping a 3,400-pound (less with rust) station wagon above the waterline, and the whole mess sank in the river about eight feet away from the sandbar Eddie had spotted. This was discouraging, but we resolved to return when the fire department lowered the water level in order to do the annual dredging for corpses.

However, it wasn’t all bad news. The maybe-rental plasma cutter we brought along did a great job of cutting Phil’s high-zoot Penta outboard loose from the taco-shaped wreckage of his boat. We also had a really nice afternoon looking at sandhill cranes and reading all the little placards about our feathered friends. It was my job to bring the picnic sandwiches, too, and I made sure ahead of time that everyone was good with pastrami on rye. Let’s just say it’s a good thing Julie’s van has lots of holes in the floor and seats.

[kikis-writing-world]

Oh my god, I love this so much. The characterization was amazing (for my tastes, don't wanna speak for everyone.) The bickering between the two of them, just the banger in general- bitch (lovingly and gender-neutrally) you had me yearning lmao When Eddie did the [paraphrasing] "You're not playing along, you have to play along" part... You just wrote Eddie in a way that I could feel the magnetic charm to him. I wanted to keep talking to him to see what he'd say next.

Also I'm a known whore for the "best friend's sibling" trope. The fact that Dustin knew a boy had been sneaking in, and that Eddie was seeing someone, but didn't put two and two together... Lord the poor kid is going to suddenly remember a story Eddie told them once, out of the blue, and realize the girl Eddie was talking about was his sister 🤢 lmao I could read an entire companion piece of the carefully edited stories Eddie would have shared and Dustin putting them together.

Not to negate everything I just wrote, I'll admit that I'm high but not only do I think this is still great without substances, isn't it kind in the spirit of Eddie to be daydreaming of him while a lil zooted anyway?

I'm just rambling now. I really loved this.

Roll for Persuasion

You were quite content living in blissful unawareness of Eddie Munson, but that all changed when your brother joined Hellfire Club. Now the loud-mouthed metal head was everywhere; and for some reason he's deadset on making you miserable.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Henderson!reader (can be read as bio or adoptive sister - visually inclusive)

Warnings: SMUT (reader is 18+, protected sex), underage drinking (in America), mean older sister/ siblings shenanigans, enemies to lovers

Word count: 7k

masterlist / read on ao3 / send me love 💌

You had never paid much attention to Eddie Munson before your senior year. You’d heard of him, of course; Hawkins was a small town and his reputation as the loud-mouthed metal head preceded him, but the two of you ran in different cliques and had never actually crossed paths.

Eddie never paid much attention to you either. He knew your name and face the same way he knew the names and faces of most of his classmates, but he thought you were just another stereotype. Another cheerleader destined for a life of middle-class suburban drudgery after peaking in high school.

But Eddie was wrong. Behind your strawberry lip gloss and perfectly styled hair you had goals beyond being a housewife. Your dad had always said you were ambitious; too smart for your own good. Your advanced placement classes and extracurricular activities had put you on track for a scholarship to some fancy out of state college and as soon as you graduated you were out of Hawkins.

The only thing you were going to miss about your small town was your younger brother. Dustin was annoying, he was also a major nerd who shared practically none of your interests, but you had a soft spot for the little twerp. It had been hard on him when your family moved to Hawkins five years ago and even harder when your father had up and left. You’d taken it upon yourself to look out for the kid. It had been a blessing he’d found friends in Mike, Lucas, and Will, but you were still thankful to be there for his first year of high school.

The first day Dustin started at Hawkins High he’d come home talking about Hellfire Club and their leader, ‘Eddie the Banished’. You hadn’t thought much about it, just glad that he and his friends had found a group to belong to amongst the high school cliques, even if it was one of the lamer clubs. That relief soon turned into annoyance when you learnt that Hellfire Club met at the same time as cheer practice, meaning your mom made you drive Dustin and his friends home.

The first time you properly interacted with Eddie Munson was about six weeks into the new school year. Hellfire had run late the last few weeks and you were not in the mood to be waiting around. The nights were getting colder and the cardigan that came with your cheer uniform was doing little to protect you from the chilly October air. After sitting in your car for half an hour you’d had enough.

Dustin had never told you where his club met but it didn’t take you long to find them; you only had to follow the sound of raucous hollering down the hallway to the drama room. The door was shut but you could see the light seeping through the crack above the floor and hear the unmistakable sound of muffled arguing. 

You swung the door open without warning, cutting someone off mid-sentence. “If you’re not in the car in five minutes I’m leaving and you can all walk home.” Your voice cut through the chatter like a knife, all heads whipping around to stare at you.

The young man at the head of the table squinted his eyes, rising from the throne he was sitting on. “This is a private meeting.”

“I’m not asking to join,” you retorted. “I’m Dustin’s sister.”

“Family day is next week.” He studied your face as if trying to place you and your name rolled off his tongue as a question. “I’ve seen you with Chrissy.”

It didn’t surprise you he knew Chrissy. You knew she’d scored special K and oxy off him a few times; you knew most of the cheer squad had bought something from him whether they admitted to it or not. Chrissy had told you, albeit in secret, that Eddie was actually a nice guy. His tone and expression right now made you question her judgement.

“You never said your sister was a cheerleader, Henderson,” he said it like an insult but he was smirking. His eyes trailed up your legs, your short skirt only just covering your thighs.

You shifted awkwardly but stood your ground. “Glad to see all that pot hasn’t affected your critical thinking skills,” you crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side. “Reckon you’ll finally graduate this year?”

“Why, already planning the reunion? Must suck when your entire personality is school spirit. What’s left to do once you’ve already peaked?”

You scowled, eyes narrowing. “Car, Dustin. Now.”

“You said five minutes,” your brother whined, eyes bouncing between you and Eddie.

“I changed my mind,” you turned on your heels and left, not caring if your brother or his friends were following.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You seemed to see Eddie more often after that first encounter. Either he was making his presence more apparent or your mind had become more aware of spotting him in the crowds. Either way, neither of you spoke to each other, but you did keep making the mistake of glancing at him; fatal errors that left him smirking after you.

You didn’t seem alone in your inability to look away, though. You’d caught Eddie staring at you in the hallways more than once, casually leaning against his locker and twisting his silver rings around his fingers. The difference between you, however, was that Eddie never looked away in embarrassment when you caught him watching you. Instead he would tilt his head, wordlessly testing to see if you would question him, knowing you wouldn’t be caught dead talking to him in public. You’d scowl whenever he did this, slamming your locker shut and forfeiting the contest. 

“Dustin won’t shut up about him.”

“Who?” You knew who he was talking about, but you acted confused nonetheless, picking at your manicure as you sat on the hood of your car.

“That freak Eddie Munson,” Steve said, jealousy coating the name. He was leaning against his own car, parked in the spot next to yours. The two of you often found yourselves chatting as you waited to pick up your freeloaders; you were waiting for your brother, Steve waiting for Robin.

“I know, it’s getting ridiculous,” you too were getting sick of Dustin’s dedicated worship to the dungeon master, but part of you was also glad he was annoying Steve too. “Maybe if you hung out with him more-”

“I have a life!”

“-he wouldn’t have so much time for Eddie,” you finished your thought. Steve groaned, throwing his head back to look up at the sun, Ray-Bans perched on his nose. “Speaking of having a life, have you asked out Linda yet?”

“Have you asked out Gavin?”

You made a retching noise. “Ugh, no. He tripped a freshman in the cafeteria the other day and my attraction to him,” you flicked your wrist. “Just like that, poof, it was gone. He has great hair though.”

“You can have great hair without being an asshole. Believe me, I would know.”

“Would you though?” You reached up to ruffle his hair, managing to mess it up before he swatted your hand away. Your giggling was cut short as Steve tugged your head back by your ponytail, loosening the hair tie until it hung limply by your shoulder blades. “Hey! I spend ages getting these curls just right.”

“And you think this comes naturally?” He stared at you a moment over the top of his Ray-Bans before the two of you dissolved into a fit of laughter. You slumped against Steve’s shoulder as the muscles in your stomach began to ache, his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady.

“Interrupting something, are we?” You looked up to see Eddie and Dustin standing in front of you. Eddie was holding a shoe box with a scale model of a water wheel, while Dustin was holding the poster-board portion of his science project.

Steve dropped his arm as you rolled your eyes. “If you needed help carrying stuff you should have asked,” you opened the trunk of the car, gesturing for Dustin to put his science project inside.

“Eddie offered,” Dustin tossed his bag next to the water wheel and shut the trunk. “I said I’d help Mike with his so I’ll be back in a sec.” Before you could protest that you had things to do, Dustin rushed off brushing passed Robin as he left.

“Did anyone tell him he’s heading in the wrong direction or are you all too busy standing around doing nothing?” Robin asked, opening the passenger door of Steve’s car and throwing her backpack on the backseat. She gave you a little wave before she hopped in.

“Coming to the store later?”

“Nah, can’t tonight. Got a test first thing tomorrow morning,” you sighed, drumming your fingers on the roof of your car. “I’ll come by after school tomorrow. Brooke said I need to watch Impulse. She said it’s sexy and scary.”

“The best combination. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Have fun studying,” he gave you a dorky salute before he got in the car.

You hadn’t even realised Eddie was still standing there until he spoke. “Didn’t know you and Harrington were a thing. Can’t say I’m surprised,” he dug around in his jacket pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

You crossed your arms, already annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business but we’re not together.”

“Why not?” He stuck a cigarette between his lips, lighting the end. “He seems like your type. You know, an asshole.”

“If assholes were my type I’d be all over you,” it came out more as a sneer than you had anticipated but you stuck with it.

“Who says you aren’t?” When he saw your horrified expression he explained. “I see the way you look at me.”

“I only look to make sure you’re not watching me. You’re a stalker, Munson.”

“Stalker? Does the whole world revolve around you now, sweetheart? I wasn’t aware.”

“Your world does since you seem to be obsessed with me,” at this point it was pretty clear, even to you, that you were deflecting. But there was some small amount of truth in the fact that he watched you as much as you watched him. “I hate you, Eddie Munson. And I’m pretty sure you hate me too.”

Eddie smirked, blowing a spiral of smoke upwards, “it’s a thin line between love and hate.”

You blinked as you processed his words, a knowing smile appearing on your lips when it dawned on you why they sounded so familiar. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you. Now tell me, what do girls usually say when they realise your lines are stolen song lyrics?”

“That’s up to you, sweetheart. You’re the first,” he winked as he left you standing shellshocked.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was a chilly Tuesday night, and while you would have much rather be curled up on your couch watching Moonlighting with your mom, you’d instead been dragged to a dingy bar on the outskirts of town by your friend. She had a crush on one of the bartenders; a community college student from the next town over. Inside the bar was thick with cigarette smoke and the floor was sticky with years of spilt beers. An amateur band had taken to the stage and were playing a very subjective form of music. But your friend had assured you that this bar didn’t card.

You shrunk into one of the booths, fingers gripping a tall glass of very foamy beer. You kept glancing across to where your friend sat at the counter, overly affectionate in her flirting with the man behind the bar. Stupidly, she’d been your ride here, meaning you’d either need to convince her to leave or call your mom up to come and save you. Neither seemed like great options. You looked over at the stage, the band was now playing a slower song and you had to admit it wasn’t half bad.

The guitarist was pretty good. You watched him as he concentrated on the riff, his fingers moving quickly along the neck of the guitar, his long hair and the dark stage lights obscuring his face. You couldn’t look away from his hands and suddenly very uninvited thoughts entered your head. Dirty thoughts that had absolutely no excuse to be there, especially about a man whose face you’d never seen. You shook your head trying desperately to shake free the thoughts, but they were somehow gripping onto the corners of your mind; digging in their heels and setting up camp.

You were busy trying to think about other things like kittens and rainbows that you’d barely noticed that the band had stopped playing. Only the scattered applause from the few drunken patrons woke you from your dream state. The band began packing up; unplugging amps and disassembling the drum kit and you contemplated introducing yourself to the mystery guitarist. There was something about him that felt magnetic, but you decided to watch him from a distance for a little longer. There was no point talking to him if he wasn’t cute, after all.

Every time you tried to catch a glimpse of his face something was in the way; either the bassist was chatting with him about something or other, or the bartender was refilling his drink. You were about to finally give up and admit that it was a lost cause when you looked up and saw he was alone at the corner of the stage closest to you. He was fiddling with one of the tuning keeps when he pushed his hair back, the stage light in perfect position to illuminate his face. His annoyingly handsome face.

“No,” you breathed, sinking into the booth with your head down. You did not just spend the last 20 minutes building up the courage to talk to the cool guitarist for it to turn out to be Eddie fucking Munson. You braved a glance up to see him staring right at you, “fuck.” He was smirking, just like always, as he packed his guitar into its case.

Maybe he’d leave you alone. Maybe he would pack up the amps and head off. You didn’t really believe that, groaning as you saw him making his way towards you. 

“Sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” He slid effortlessly into the booth opposite you.

“Wait, this isn’t the nail salon?” You feigned confusion, expression quickly souring as his arms stretched over the back of the booth. You didn’t like that he was getting comfortable. You didn’t want to like it.

“Like the set?”

“You’re not Duran Duran.”

Eddie scoffed, “I’m taking that as a compliment.” He leant forward, “what are you doing here, Henderson?”

You glanced over at your friend, it was the first time you had checked in on her in a while and the innocent flirting had advanced to making out as she and the bartender swallowed each other’s tongues. 

Eddie followed your gaze, “oh.”

“Yeah,” you downed the last of your beer. “She’s my ride.”

“I can drive you home,” he said it easily, as if it was no big deal.

You were hesitant to take him up on the offer, but due to your friend’s current activities you might just have to. “Really?” You weren’t sure how you’d manage the drive home in such close quarters.

“Sure. You can help me load the amps.”

After managing to pull your friend apart from her make out companion long enough to tell her you’d found a ride home, Eddie had stuck to his guns and made you help him pack the amps into the back of his van. His van smelled warm, like old spice and smoke, with the faint earthy hint of weed. It was nice and cosy, a safe haven from the frigid December air outside. You waited for Eddie to turn on the ignition, but he hesitated.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“What?” You weren’t expecting him to ask you that. It was true that you’d told him those three big words before, but it was more of a heat of the moment explosion than the truth. “I don’t actually hate you.” He just got on your nerves and if you were honest you weren’t even sure why.

“You obviously don’t like me.”

“You don’t like me,” you pointed out, remembering the first conversation you two had shared and the insults you’d both made at the other’s social rank.

“I do like you,” he sounded earnest, his voice soft.

You paused, “you like me?”

“Yeah, you’re not what I thought you’d be like.” You frowned and Eddie cringed, “I didn’t mean-” he attempted to grasp for the right words. “I thought you’d be a stereotype, but I was wrong. I’m sorry for what I said when we first met.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Not really,” he leant back against the headrest, his face turned to watch you. The moonlight reflected in his dark brown eyes showing shimmering flecks of amber. “Dustin talks about you a lot. He talks about Harrington too but I’m more interested in what he has to say about you.” You couldn’t help the smile that escaped through your well maintained facade of indifference and Eddie caught it. “That’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.”

You blushed. What on earth was he doing to you? You looked down, a million thoughts raced through your head but the one you focused on was telling you to get it together.

You didn’t hate Eddie Munson, but you didn’t exactly like him either. You didn’t even know him. All you knew about him came from what your brother had told you. He liked metal music, played the guitar, and led the most epic DnD campaigns. He was cool, according to Dustin, Lucas, and Mike, and he’d taken the three freshman under his wing on the first day of school. Eddie Munson hadn’t done anything to make you dislike him, in fact the way he was looking out for your brother and his friends should endear you to him. He’d even apologised for insulting you the first time you’d met. Maybe Chrissy was right, maybe Eddie was a good guy.

You weren’t sure what made you lean in, but within seconds you were kissing him. He tasted like tobacco and beer, and ever so slightly like juicy fruit. His mouth felt warm, his tongue lingering against your bottom lip, like he wasn’t game enough to make the next move.

“Kiss me,” you urged, tugging his head towards you. That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed because the instant his lips met yours for the second time all bets were off.

He groaned as your fingers curled against his scalp, his hands landing on your hips and pulling you across the centre console onto his lap. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it in the backseat and his movements made your back bump against the steering wheel. You didn't care, too focused on the feeling of Eddie’s hands travelling beneath your sweater, your own hands tugging the material of his raglan shirt away from his skin. You shivered as his thumbs brushed below your ribcage and you wanted nothing more than for him to explore further, but you were in his van. And his van was in the parking lot of a shady bar. And people were beginning to file out of the shady bar into the parking lot.

“Eddie,” it came out more like a moan as his lips moved to the skin on your neck.

“Hmm?” You didn’t want him to stop, you never wanted this to stop.

“It’s getting late,” it took every fibre of your being to place your hands on his chest and push him back. You hoped to God he could see the disappointment in your eyes under the flickering neon of the Hideout sign.

“Oh,” hands slipped out from beneath your sweater and landed on your waist. His fingers toyed with the belt loops on your jeans. “You need to get home.”

“I don’t want to,” you really didn’t and Eddie’s mood seemed to lighten at your confession. “But I should. I’m sorry.”

“No, s’fine,” he cleared his throat and loosened his grip on you allowing you to clamber back into the passenger seat. “You live on Vine, right?”

“Yeah,” you felt a little out of breath and you straightened your sweater as he pulled out of the parking lot. You couldn’t figure out why he made you so nervous. You’d been with boys before, popular boys too. But Eddie was different and you weren’t sure why.

The drive was silent for the next couple of minutes, tension thick in the air as you gathered up the courage to make a suggestion. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?” You could see his knuckles whiten against the steering wheel when you said his name. 

“If you don’t have anywhere to be,” you drifted off. Snap out of it, just ask him. “Do you want to come in? Everyone will be asleep.”

You could just make out his grin as street lamps flashed passed. “Absolutely.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You told Eddie to park a few houses down, saying you didn’t need to explain to Dustin why his friend’s highly recognisable van was parked out front of your house in the middle of the night.

“My brother’s room is next door so don’t talk too loudly,” you hurried Eddie into your bedroom, softly closing the door behind you and sliding the lock shut. It had taken some begging but your mom finally let you put a lock on your door after Dustin kept recording Saturday Night Live over the top of your tapes of The Love Boat.

The room felt suffocatingly quiet and you were certain Eddie could hear the hammering of your heartbeat, so you moved over to the cassette recorder and chose a tape; the opening notes to More Than This softly played through the speakers. Eddie took a seat on your bed, looking around the room while you twisted the vertical blinds shut and closed the sheer pink curtains. 

“For some reason I pictured more posters of Ralph Macchio.”

“They’re all inside my closet,” you kicked off your shoes and sat cross-legged next to him. “Along with my shrine to Thomas Magnum.”

“Is it the moustache that does it for you? Because I’ll tell you know if I grew one I’d look like a 70s porn star.”

“Wouldn’t that be kind of hot?” You moved a little closer to him, your knee pressing against his thigh.

“Have you seen the guys in porn? Definitely not.”

“I think I’ve seen maybe one porno in my entire life. Something where a girl orders a pizza-”

“With extra sausage? Then you’ve seen most of them,” he’d placed his hand on your knee now, slowly inching it up your thigh.

“This is not how I thought my night would go.”

He started to pull back but you grabbed his hand to keep him close. “Are you regretting it?”

You shook your head, your fingers intertwined with his. You wondered if his rings would leave indentations in your skin when he gripped your thighs. “No, not at all.” You took a deep breath, ready to admit to the butterflies that had been sitting in your stomach since you’d left the Hideout. “You just make me nervous.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “I make you nervous? Princess you terrify me. I’m shaking in my boots here.”

“So we both feel the same way.” You dropped his hand back against your thigh, pushing it slowly between your legs. You still had a pair of thick denim jeans on but Eddie got the message. “Maths states they should cancel each other out. You should kiss me to make sure.”

“If that’s what maths says,” he leant forward and you instinctively fell back, your head hitting the quilted pillow. Eddie was hovering over you, his lips soft and pink about an inch above yours. He dipped lower, brushing against the underside of your jaw, below your ear, and over your cheekbone before he finally pushed your lips apart with his. This kiss felt different from the last, not as flustered or bruising. His tongue moved languidly against yours; it felt like he was trying to memorise the shapes and textures, taking his time and eliciting little gasps when he nibbled and sucked. You lost yourself in the feeling of him, time slowing and the sounds of Brian Ferry’s vocals becoming nothing more than a humming buzz of white noise.

You were normally great at multitasking, but Eddie had left you in a haze. You’d done this a few times before, notable players including the asshole basketball star in your sophomore year and the college kid who’d returned home for the holidays when you were a junior. You’d even slept with Steve a few times over the summer out of sheer boredom, but none of them had made you tingle with electric energy the way Eddie did. You were so focused on the rhythm of the kiss that you hadn’t even realised he’d unzipped your jeans until his fingers pushed your panties aside and dipped between your folds.

“God you’re so wet already,” you squirmed when you felt the pressure of his finger against your clit, a little whine getting stuck in your throat. “Is this okay?”

You nodded wildly, hair falling in front of your eyes.

“Need you to use your words, sweetheart.”

“It’s good Eddie. I need more,” you jerked your hips upward and he obliged by rhythmically rubbing your clit. He could only do so much with his hand down your pants, his movements awkwardly affected by the denim. “Faster.”

“I can’t, your jeans are in the way.”

You huffed, pushing him back so he was sitting on his heels. You pulled off your jeans, frustratingly throwing them to the ground. You ripped off your sweater while you were at it, leaving you only in your panties and your bra. “Better?”

“Your underwear is still in the way,” he sounded genuine but you could see the smug glint in his eye.

“Take off clothes, you’ve got your dirty sneakers on my bed,” you folded your arms across your chest and watched as he appeased you. “Have you got a condom?”

“In my wallet, yeah. But I left it in my van.”

You got up and went to your wardrobe, opening a drawer and tearing a condom from the roll hidden beneath your underwear. You turned around to face Eddie and saw him watching you from the bed. He had made himself comfortable, stretched out on top of your floral quilt, his hands clasped behind his head. Your eyes trailed over his body, taking in the tattoos that painted his chest and arms, the line of dark hair on his pale stomach that disappeared beneath his boxers, to the hard bulge prominent beneath the checked fabric. 

You handed him the foil packet. “Hope it’s not too big.”

“Ouch, that hit me right in my ego.”

“Like that’s hard,” he moved across the bed as you slipped below the covers. You watched as he pulled his boxers down, his cock hitting his stomach. He was bigger than you’d expected, and his dick was oddly pretty. His hair was neatly trimmed and coarse curls sat at the base, you imagined they’d provide a delicious friction against your clit. The head of his cock was perfectly rounded too, flushed a deep red and leaking at the tip.

“You’re drooling,” he’d rolled the condom on and had dipped below the covers, his thigh pressed against yours.

You realised your lips were parted and you quickly shut them, frowning. “Am not.” You pulled off your underwear and straddled his lap. His cock pressed against your cunt and you ground down. “Shut up.”

“Just saying I’m not opposed to you blowing me.”

“Not happening,” your hand wrapped around the base of his cock and held it steady against your cunt, lifting your hips up so the tip breached your entrance.

“There’s always next time.”

“In your dreams,” you sank down on his length, his cock stretching your walls exquisitely. When you sat flush against his thighs, you could fill the head nudging at the spongy spot deep inside your core.

“This is better than my dreams, believe me,” he gripped your waist, helping you slide up and down on his length. You rolled your hips, changing the angle and he let out a guttural groan. “Fuck, do that again.”

You arched your back, your hips doing most of the work. You reached down, your hand between both your bodies as you rubbed your clit. Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off the space between you where your bodies met, watching as his cock slipped and disappeared inside you, only to emerge glistening wet before repeating the motions. “God, I can feel you squeezing around me, fuck, princess, keep doing that.”

“Eddie.” He’d replaced his fingers against your clit with his own, his pace was sloppy and desperate but it was just what you needed. 

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since we met. God, I’ve dreamt of your pussy but it’s so much better than I ever imagined. It’s magic, sweetheart. You have a magic pussy, I swear.”

His words sent you over the edge, your legs trembling as your hips stilled against him. Eddie bucked into you a few more times before he too came with a shuddered moan. “Fucking hell.”

“Fucking hell,” he agreed, brushed the hair that had again fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear. “You are a devil woman.”

“Me?” 

“Yep," he helped you off his lap, his hand naturally gripping your thigh when you settled onto the mattress next to him. You were pleased to find that his rings did leave little marks against your skin. "Tempting and taunting me with your perfect body. I was an innocent man before I met you.”

Your head fell against his shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his chest. “Innocent? Really?”

“You’re not playing along, you have to play along.”

“Oh sorry,” you cleared your throat. “Now that I’ve put you under my spell I can do whatever I want to you.”

“No, evil sorceress, please don’t use me to satiate your sexual desires. I won’t be a part of your satanic bidding, for I’m just a humble, God fearing farm boy.”

“How much backstory do you have for this character?”

“Too much. We’ll work on it. Get you a pair of devil horns and really flesh it out.”

Eddie stayed for a while, talking to you in hushed whispers long after both sides of the cassette had been played. He ended up crawling through your window just as the sky began to lighten.

“You look tired, honey. What time did you get in last night?” Your mom poured coffee into her mug, frowning at you.

“Not too late,” you pushed cereal around your bowl. “We got sidetracked by a girl who used to be on the cheer team and when I realised the time it was too late to call.”

“Next time, call anyway. It makes me feel better knowing you’re okay,” she patted your shoulder, adjusting the bow on your ponytail. “I hope you had a good time, you need to have fun while you’re still young.”

“I’m sure she had a blast,” Dustin smirked, his eyebrows wiggling. You shot him a questioning look but ignored him like you did most mornings. Once your mom had left the kitchen, Dustin leant across the table. “So I heard something funny last night.”

You kept your expression as neutral as possible but internally you were cringing. “Oh yeah? What did you hear?”

“Kind of sounded like someone falling out a window at 5am.”

“Wow, that’s so weird. Crazy what you hear early in the morning.”

“You had a boy over,” Dustin laughed in a sing-song voice.

You clapped your hand over his mouth and looked wildly around for any indication that your mother was in ear shot. “Shut up, virgin.” His brows furrowed and your expression faltered, you wanted him to be quiet but you hadn’t meant to be mean about it. “Sorry, low blow.”

“You know Suzie is waiting till marriage.”

“Doesn’t help that she’s in Utah.”

Dustin ignored you. “So, who’s the mystery man?”

“Just some guy. Probably won’t see him again.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After the first time, sneaking around with Eddie became your new favourite hobby. It became a normal part of your day to steal kisses in mop closets, or find hastily written notes stuffed in your locker giving you compliments or asking you to meet him in the woods during your next free period.

What started out as a hot and heavy romance filled with make out sessions and Eddie almost breaking his neck sneaking out of your window slowly turned into movie nights and pancake dates at the diner off I-69. During one such night where Eddie had finally caved to watching Romancing The Stone, he’d introduced you to Uncle Wayne as his girlfriend.

“Girlfriend? When did that happen?” You’d asked in an attempt at a nonchalant tone. Underneath the blanket your heart was pounding.

“A few weeks ago. I figured when you started coming ‘round to watch movies and you weren’t trying to get in my pants there was something more to this than just sex.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on your lap. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah. I’m okay with that.”

Since you now had a boyfriend, you wanted to go out and do things on a Saturday night. You hadn’t planned for your night to be spent chaperoning your brother while he hosted Hellfire in the basement, but your mom didn’t trust a group of teenage boys to behave. She had a singles mixer in Indy and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow so she’d left you, the responsible older sister, in charge. At least that meant Eddie was around, even if he’d be spending his evening playing DnD with your younger brother instead of playing adventurer and tavern wench with you in your bedroom. 

“What kind of pizza do you guys want?” You didn’t bother descending the steps instead choosing to poke your head around the basement door and call down the stairs.

“Pepperoni.”

“Extra sausage!” You could guess who called that one out.

“Cheese.”

“Mushroom.”

“Supreme.”

You sighed, descending a few steps so you could see the boys sitting around the table. “I’m going to need a straight answer, it doesn’t work if you just shout different toppings at me.” You were wearing skimpy pyjama shorts and you could feel the boys’ eyes creeping up your bare legs. When you scanned the table Mike and Gareth quickly looked away, their necks flushed red at being caught gawking, but Eddie just smirked, his eyes still stuck on you and his tongue tracing his bottom lip.

“Get two pepperoni, one cheese, and one supreme,” Dustin looked around the table for approval, which he got in the form of nods. “No one wants mushroom pizza, Jeff.”

The problem with Dustin hosting Hellfire was that they’d drank all your soda. You had your head stuck in the fridge trying to find a can of something fizzy to drink when you felt a smack against your ass.

You jumped, hitting your head on the shelf in the fridge. “Jesus Christ.”

“Nope, just me,” you spun around to see Eddie grinning playfully at you. When you frowned, hand pressed against where you’d hit your head, he pouted. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you but your ass was right there.” He pulled you against him by your hips, smoothing your hair flat and pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head. “There, all better.”

You smiled into his chest, the sharp pain had suddenly disappeared. “What do you want, idiot?”

“Just came to see what the plan is tonight since your mom is away.”

“I think Lucas and Mike are staying over. Might be a little risky.”

“No biggie, I’ll park in the next street and sneak in through your window. Risky is hot.”

“I forgot danger turns you on." You kissed his cheek. "Pretty sure Gareth was checking me out when I came downstairs.”

“Have you seen these shorts you’re wearing? Almost made me cream my pants, Jesus H. Christ.” His hands cupped your ass and squeezed the flesh. “So distracting, you’re throwing me off my game.”

“Since when do you have game?”

“Pshaw, I have game. Got you to sleep with me, didn’t I?”

“But you love me.”

“Mmm, I do.”

Your skin felt like it had been lit on fire. He loves you. You hadn’t said those words to each other yet. It had only been a couple of months since you’d started seeing each other. You thought you felt something like love for him, but you weren't sure. You’d been feeling something deep, something that pulled at your heartstrings, something that made you feel safe.

You pulled back to look at him, searching his eyes for any hint of regret. Maybe he’d misspoke, maybe he was just playing along.

“I do love you,” his hand slipped beneath your sweater and stroked the skin on your lower back, it was like he was grounding himself to the moment. “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready,” you nodded, your hand cupping his cheek. “I love you too, Eddie.”

He dipped his head down to reach your mouth, his lips slotting perfectly against yours. You let out a sigh, relaxing into his body as he sat you on the kitchen counter. Your legs wrapped around his thighs pulling him closer until you could feel a growing hardness pressing between your legs.

“Ew, ew, ew,” your younger brother’s voice shattered your reverie. Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were plummeting back to earth. Your head shot back and you saw Dustin, alongside the rest of the Hellfire gang standing inside the kitchen. “What the fuck?!”

You went to pull your body away but Eddie’s hand on your back kept you in place. “Relax, Dustin,” he spoke steadily, but you noticed his pupils were still blown and he had a dreamy sort of calmness to his expression.

“Relax? You’re devouring my sister. We eat here! What’s going on?”

You hopped down from the counter but stayed close to Eddie’s side, his arm still tightly wrapped around your waist. “We’re dating. We have been for a while.”

“Oh my god,” realisation hit Dustin like a semi truck. “He’s the guy who’s been sneaking into your room at night? She’s the hot chick you’ve been seeing?”

You lightly hit Eddie’s shoulder, “you told them? What did you say?”

Eddie winced, “not a lot.”

“You said you had sex at Lover’s Lake last week!”

You swatted his chest, a little harder this time. “Eddie, oh my god, why would you tell them that.”

Gareth laughed, “ha! We totally thought you’d made that up, that’s awesome.”

Eddie waved his hand dramatically, “see I told you it was cool!” At Dustin’s look of horror he frowned. “I’m sorry, we didn’t think you’d find out this way.”

“We were going to tell you,” you nodded. It was a flat out lie you definitely weren’t planning on telling Dustin anytime soon but he didn’t need to know that.

“When? When I’m bailing you out for public indecency?”

He was not letting this go, you had to pull out the big guns. “Eddie’s coming over for dinner tomorrow. I’m going to introduce him to mom.”

“Oh,” Dustin’s expression changed. He knew you must be serious if you were introducing Eddie to mom, you’d never introduced a boyfriend to your mom before.

“I am?” You stomped on Eddie’s foot and he got the message, “yes, I mean I am. Super excited.”

“And he’s staying over tonight,” you added. Eddie would just have to deal without the sexy addition of risk. You’d much prefer to have him leave via the front door than falling out the window again.

“But they’re staying over tonight,” Dustin gestured to Mike and Lucas.

“And we do not need to hear your weird sex noises,” Lucas chimed in from the sidelines, Mike nodding.

Your eyes widened, “excuse me?”

“Our sex noises are not weird,” Eddie said taking an odd amount of offense to the comment.

“Not what I was going to say, babe. We’re not going to have sex with you lot down the hall.”

“We’re not?” Eddie asked.

At the same time Dustin snidely remarked, “never stopped you before.”

“Dustin, please be cool about this. I know he’s your friend, but we like each other a lot.”

“Yeah, man. Like a lot, a lot.”

Dustin looked between you two, noticing how you’d never pulled apart from each other. “Fine. This is going to take some getting used to but okay. But if you hurt him,” you raised your eyebrows at Dustin, waiting for him to explain how he would exact his revenge on Eddie for hurting his precious older sister, but Eddie was watching you. Your brain reset. He’d said if you hurt him. 

You blinked. “Wait, if I hurt him? What about if he hurts me?”

“You’ll be fine,” Dustin brushed off your concern. “Eddie, however, would never recover if you broke his heart.”

“It’s true princess. I would forever be a broken man.” He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a chaste kiss to the skin.

You sighed in defeat but still squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, I plan on keeping your heart safe for a very long time.”

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[mistiell]

Quirks Stranger Things Characters have

Contains: The Fruity Four (AKA Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Nancy Wheeler)

Eddie Munson

- His room is constantly a mess

- Clothes on the floor, sheets and blankets askew, unfinished homework strewn all across his desk

- He tries to tidy up when you come over, but it’s still a little chaotic in classic Eddie fashion

- The man cannot cook for shit

- He lives off of cereal and microwaveable dinners.

- He tried cooking you breakfast when he stayed over once and nearly burned your house down

- safe to say you banned him from ever touching another kitchen appliance until you could show him how to not set the toaster on fire.

- He has a habit of fidgeting with his rings and biting his nails

- Whenever you catch him doing the latter, you take his hand and let him fidget with your fingers instead

- Which he loves btw-

- His handwriting is messy but in a pretty way

- His brain often moves too fast for his hands to keep up so the letters always look rushed and are slanted to the right

- He’s like an encyclopedia for the most random shit ever

- He can’t tell you who the president was 20 years ago or who invented the light bulb

-what he can tell you is that he learned that turtles can breathe through their butts after getting fucking zooted and watching animal planet for 5 hours straight

- He loves late night drives

- Bonus if you tag along with him

- He likes to say he drinks his coffee black “like his soul”, and he does most of the time

- but in reality, he actually prefers it to be sweet as fuck

- he’ll only ever get it that way if you’re ordering and no one can see what’s in the cup though

- or if you two are home alone

Steve Harrington

- He hates white chocolate

- I have absolutely nothing to back this up. It’s just a vibe

- Before all the shit with the watergate, he used to love swimming

- He still enjoys the water, but he gets a little anxious now when he can’t see the bottom

- He has a hoard of comfy sweaters

- You’ve stolen at least three

- dw, though, cause he doesn’t mind at all

- He actually really likes when you wear his clothes

- you’re the only person he lets touch his hair

- and the only other person aside from Dustin who knows what his hair routine is

- he cracks his knuckles absent mindedly

- he’s made it a habit to just bend down and retie your shoe laces if he notices they’re starting to come undone

- but unlike eddie, he would never tie them together

- Eddie teases him relentlessly for being whipped for you but he doesn’t care

- He chews on the ends of his pens and pencils

- He won’t do it if he’s borrowing it from someone else though

Robin Buckley

- she counts her fingers discreetly when she’s nervous

- It’s repetitive and it gives her something to focus on to calm down

- She cuts her own bangs

- If you have longer hair, she’s always asking to cut yours

- She hates black coffee, but she also hates when it’s overly sweet

- Her bed is filled with a bunch of pillows and blankets for top tier comfiness

- seriously. Cuddling is the best in her bed

- She has a habit of forgetting her things at your place whenever she sleeps over

- She’s left her toothbrush, hair brush, half her wardrobe

- You often joke that she’s slowly moving in with you

- She has a habit of talking during movies

- Especially horror movies

- She yells at the characters as if they could hear her

- Lots of “No, no, no! What’re you doing, you idiot!”

Nancy Wheeler

- She has a bunch of polaroids that she keeps in a little box

- Some are of your friend group, others are of the two of you

- She’s an amazing cook

- She makes you breakfast whenever you stay over at her place and it’s always amazing

- her handwriting is always neat, even when she’s rushing

- It’s kind of a mix between cursive and printing

- She writes little sticky note reminders and sticks them to her mirror

- Sort of like a to-do list

- She colour codes her notes

- And her annotations whenever she annotates a book

- Her room is normally spotless, so when it’s a little messy, that’s a tell tale sign that she’s not doing well

- She prefers sweet stuff over salty stuff