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deadboyfriendd · 10 months

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Cochise Il: Mudsill

Summary: The morning after his first day reaps a certain morosity with it. After a gruesome shootout with a grisly outcome, he vows not only to protect this town, but you as well. In more ways than one. The second part of Cochise. Sequel to Nellie.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, suggestions of lynching and public execution, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse (the horse watches in this one), ride a cowboy, smut included, death of a spouse discussed in this, blood and wounds (gunshots), minor unintentional self-harm, unprotected p in v, creampie

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 6.1k

Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading! And also for dealing with me going, “now what?” every fifteen seconds, and also for being my nepo goth mommy and being the only reason I get reads on this godforsaken app and also for indulging me in this fantasy and also for ominously looming over my docs because the performance anxiety makes me write better and more consistently.

Find the series masterlist here!

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed

In one self place, for where we are is hell,

And where hell is must we ever be.

The morning is nonetheless blistering, no qualms of early warmth and birds singing. Here, the sun meant silence, this world turned itself over to the night and reaped rest by the break of dawn just to escape its harshness until winter. Not all would make it. By five the blossom of the night-blooming cereus will have shriveled away, and by six the earth would begin to heat.

The sun does not rest, only lies in wait. Remnants of it settling in the sand beneath him.

He awakes with a groan and a pulling sting that blossoms across his neck and face at the first stale movements of wake. He could hear the vacant crunch of footsteps against gravel, hollow and softened by the fine sand beneath them. A shadow overtook him, one that granted a relief like the sour sting of white chocolate against the prevalence of melting.

“Well, good morning, Edward.” His eyes nearly crossed to look up towards you, attempting to make out any of the features of your face. They were too backlit from the sun and his eyes were still too sensitive. A basket for laundry sat firm against your hip, emptied. Above you, there is a line strung from one ironwood to the next, a washbasin several feet away with suds still running down the sides.

He bears his senses, pulling his mind away from that celestial body it rested in the previous night. He tried not to think of your supple nature in front of him, the way your silken skin felt beneath his fingers or the way the ends of your hair tickled against his belly within his dream. It was up now, twisted into braids and tucked unto itself.

His face and neck are red, you aren't incredibly introspective, and you can’t tell if it is a blush or the beginnings of a sunburn. You waited to wake him, washing and hanging your laundry before the break of dawn. He seemed tired, but leaving him out in the sun seemed downright cruel. You ‘d think of him in the same respects as the rattlesnake– the one who cooks from the outside in when it sits in the sand too long.

You offer your hand to him, and he takes it. You are much stronger than your body implies, taking on the weight of him with a pull, hands calloused from housework and the general husbandry that comes from western living.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You asked behind a grin, by now his eyes had adjusted and settled on the whites of your teeth and the upturned fat of your face.

“Apparently I was the only one that wanted to.” He was sore from the ground, though he couldn’t quite tell if his tailbone hurt from the sand or the train to Tombstone. He watched you in stride, taking a few of your smaller ones ahead of him.

You giggled softly, and it sounded like church bells. You looked over your shoulder at him, and he couldn’t bring himself to watch your eyes, instead, settling on the way the flesh of your neck folded at the crease. He counted the moles to ground himself, “The west never rests, Edward.”

He followed your stride for a few steps, his long strides becoming staccatos in comparison to yours. He looked down at his feet, avoiding rocks beneath him in his still-weary state and watching the dust kick up from beneath your heels to collect on the front of his boots.

The gold of your earring refracted a light that brushed across your cheek, had Eddie not been staring so intently, he would have missed it. He’s glad he didn’t. “Steve already came ‘round this morning. Said a telegraph came in for you. Trains’ delayed ‘till ‘bout tomorrow.”

The confession hit him like a shot to the chest, and he could help the dramatization of the groan that escaped him, “Christ.”

“Got something important on that cargo train?” You raised a poignant eyebrow at him, more motherly in nature. It questioned the dramatics more than his personage.

He shook his head, unable to stop himself from chuckling at his own bad luck, “Only my horse… and everything else.”

“I see.” You nodded back in repose, turning your body back to face him. Your hands still clutching the laundry basket braced over your hip, “Well, let's see if we can’t scrape up some fresh clothes for you to wear then.”

You reach your hand out towards him in invitation, his own forbearance of politeness and handshakes prompts him to reach out, though, you don’t seem to let go. You don’t notice the rouge of his cheeks or along the tips of his ears in schoolboy embarrassment beneath his sunburn. Your hands aren’t soft, not like the other women he’s touched. Your hands have been kissed with the calluses of men’s work. Ropes on horses and hands on guns. His memories reel back to your husband, the slack you were forced to receive in his absence. You wouldn’t have to pick up any slack on Eddie, he didn’t plan on dying soon. Not if he could help it.

You use your hand like a reign, pulling him towards the wrought-iron staircase within the bar that led to your home. The staircase rocked with each footstep – a solid structure that seemed not-quite fixated to its endpoints.

He looked around at the corridor, modest, but nevertheless a home. The dark wood on the floors closely resembled the mahogany excessiveness of The Grand Hotel, though, the expanse of it was limited to the flooring. A pale Mexican plaster covered the vast expanse of the walls, rounding the corners and archways into a smooth texture.

He noticed the boots by the door, covered in dust and much too large to be your own. It filled in the gaps where the empty spots on the wall still lie bare, and where the second dining chair had remained tucked neatly beneath the table. Though this place resembled a home, it was not. Instead, it housed the ghost of your husband. He laid in bed at night next to the shell of grief that resembled you, the decanter on the table filled with tears of loneliness and guilt.

You opened the thin door in the corridor, and he realized that all of your husband’s clothes had been moved here. He tried not to picture you pulling them out of the dresser they resided in, tried not to imagine the tears streaming down your face as you buried it within the fabric just to smell him again. Just to feel like he was close enough to touch one more time.

The garments were well-starched. A white high-collar shirt, black vest, black pants, black cravat. He was a man after Eddie’s own heart, that was for sure. You excuse yourself towards the kitchen, allowing him open access to the dressing room to change.

When he slipped through the door, loose on its hinges, he met your eyes– pressing and cold in nature. It wasn’t intentional, at least, not in the sense that your coldness was directed towards him. At an instant, your hands had found his chest, and he peered downwards to watch them, intently. It was a force of habit, righting a missed button and an off-set pattern on the vest. Once you corrected it, you laid them flat against his sternum.

He thought back to last night, the pressing warmth of your hands against his chest and the soft brush of your hair that tickled against his belly. He thought back to the purely pornographic sounds that resounded off the walls of The Grand Hotel in his dream. Though, you’d felt more human now, with the hurt in your eyes that dragged like a trunk you couldn’t rid yourself of. Your eyes carried a grief like granite, pulled from the quarry chipped into the mountain of your life and heavy on your soul.

He thought back to what The Sheriff had said to him, about picking up the slack when your husband died. Who had been there when you were grieving? Surely the sheriff, but he had said it himself. You had your pick, but had never taken another lover. He wondered if it could be him.

There is an ex-cathedra bass crescendo that reverberates against the dainty backing of tenor melodies in the bar at night, long after the dust has settled beneath the feet of the common folk. You never understood why the people here still chose to do their bidding during the day, when the sun casted an itching burn across the delicate cutaneous layers of exposed skin like lye.

It was not Christmas, and yet you’d found pieces of words in fragments of memories beneath your breath as you hammered against the keys with clumsy fingers. You grazed your tongue against your bottom lip, still in search of the remnants of sugar from the dried Christmas fruits you’d been given as a child.

There is a sombering solidarity in this aloneness, and in the way you no longer search for the feeling of your husband’s fingers against the cold ivory. It was just that now: cold. That emptiness would always linger, but that coldness of keys was now not for the absence of his warmth. They just were.

Eddie watched you from the gap in the glass door to the parlor, smoothing the hairs on his arms down from where the low, deep notes rattled in his coccyx. He let the press of the mesquite against his back keep him tethered to the earth. He’d recognized the song like a ghost, Christmases past like bugs with needle-prick feet crawling up his back in repose. Where your fingers lay heavy against untuned, rattling keys, he found a softness. A delicacy in this world that was anything but. He saw tarantula legs in your spindles of fingers, light and silent as they crawled across ivory.

There was not an inherent evil to the tarantula. Only existence.

Your own existence was different here. You weren’t so on edge now that you figured you were alone. He felt guilty taking advantage of your comfort like this, but your softness radiated light out past the windows and into the sand outside in a warm, golden glow. Your lashes kissed in the corners of your eyes, nursing against the apples of your cheeks as you looked down in concentration. He wanted to smooth out the line forming between your brows. Your hair lay wild, splayed across your shoulders and roused from the removal of your hat.

He adjusted himself against the door frame, the creak against the flooring from behind you sent you reeling upwards, the scratch-key a heavy hand against incorrect and out-of-tune keys. The man in black looming behind you like a shroud. You’d gasped without realizing it. He took a step forward, hand out in gentle appeasement as you whipped around, more startled than afraid. He registered it as fear. Your hand came to your chest in repulse, laying flat and tight against your breastbone.

He takes a few steps forward, quickly closing the gap between you. The echo from the heel of his boot bounced off your body and you convinced yourself that the ringing in your ears was from that alone.

“Woah, Nellie.” He’d said to you, softly, a pressing grin upturning crookedly at the corners of his lips. This was not the first time he’d used the horse moniker, and you’d figured this was not going to be the last. You’d blamed your own spooked nature at the way your breath did not fill your lungs completely and not the way Eddie’s warm hands felt as it picked yours up off of your chest, holding it between his two like a vice in apologetics.

You squeezed his hand under your fingers, shaking it slightly in annoyance, “You scared me half to death, Edward.”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, ma’am.” He’d said in apology, once again, yet the smile pulled across his face further, pretty teeth grazing against the suppleness of flesh.

You raised a brow at him, stern in nature, “When you smile something awful like that, it makes me think you did.”

His smile stretched wider in his face, a laugh coming to fruition in his chest and exhaling through his nose and over your face, “I didn’t. Honest.” Not that you really thought that he did in the first place.

His hand left yours and found itself around your waist, where the tautness of your dresses stretched over the softness of your hip. He grasped for skin beneath the ruching of the fabric over you, warm hand splayed across your back.

He was close — entirely too close to be considered professional or polite, but you welcomed it. You felt the breath from his nostrils, cooling against the bridge of your nose and dissipating across the crests of your cheeks. His lips parted, and the breath changed to warm. You could taste the tobacco that resided against his lips like the sugar you’d searched for on your own mere moments ago.

His weight against your chest is foreboding, and even the bracing from his wide palm cannot stop the soft step back you take. The heel of your own hand presses against a random selection of treble keys and creates an awful, off-putting sound that makes him jump.

You can’t stop the girlish giggle that slips past your lips at the momentary terror that registers in your eyes. You don’t know if it is because of the immediate karmic justice or the fact that he was so startled by the noise he just listened to from afar. He looks back down towards you with a look that mirrored your own previous one, trying to force the smile off of his face down into a scowl.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, honest.” You laughed between syllables, quickly pulling the key cover over the tops of the ivories and resting back against them.

“Well, you’re smiling something awful like you did.”

The air outside was still. Too still. Like it lies in wait of travesty that happened in a near-constant turnstile. There is no one in the streets tonight, the party crowd gathered before the stage of The Grand Hotel to watch tonight’s opening of Faustus.

However, Hell would not just be a frame of mind tonight.

Michael ‘Mudsill’ Doten leaks off the steps of The Grand Hotel in a clumsy choreography of laudanum and drink, pupils blown wide in an opiate tincture waltz. The peacemaker across his hip a metronome of depravity waiting for the subtle fingertip of quarter counts to off-beat.

He howls at the moon, firing one, two shots towards it into the open air. It both draws townspeople towards and away from the scenery. Marshall Milt Kilmer steps off the balcony of The Grand Hotel haughtily, fumbling with the weapon holstered against his side.

From behind the glass at the Whispering Sands, you stand at the sound of gunshots, hands finding your own weapon holstered beneath the folds of your dresses. Eddie’s large palm finds your shoulder, squeezing softly in a promise of not us. His other hand met the stock of his gun, tucked away in the shoulder holster against his waist.

“Michael! Come on now.” You heard Milt start, sound clear despite being muffled by glass. The commotion must have been right outside your window. Eddie and yourself listened from behind the front door, air between your bodies stagnant in wait.

Michael was slovenly, more so than usual, “Well, howdy Milt.” He stumbled, lame as a duck and ten times more disgusting. He wielded his pistol like a bomb with the pin pilled, a travesty in wait.

“Alright, hand those over, Michel.” Milt insists, gun wielded in defense against Michael. The commotion has attracted onlookers that seeped from ant pile buildings in uneasy swarms – the Doten family leaking out and congregating in their own slovenly hive like wasps, “Hand ‘em over!” Milt calls, more firm this time.

Micahel takes a look around, then back at the County Marshall before him. His pupils are blown wide like dinner plates, “Okay, Milt, I’ll hand ‘em over. It’s only fun. Here you go.”

But what are thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?

There is a split second in which you can see the silver line between life and death, in which you can walk the plane between realms. There reaps a morosity heavy on your heart in the fractions of a second before a man’s life ends. It is entirely too familiar to you, and you crumble under the weight of it all. You don’t hear the crack of the gun, and you don’t see Milt’s body fall limp, but you see the breath that falls from his lips that keeps his soul on a lark. You try to catch it in your hands to force back into his lungs. Running towards his body felt like wading through sand, burning hot and suffocating around your waist. He was dead by the time your hands cupped around his shoulder, but the remnant of his essence felt like a sheet, drowning you in the great planes of the Gila.

“Milt? Come on now.” Michael said, the gun long dropped on the ground. He nudged Milt’s boot with his own, unable to process the velocity of the events that transpired just moments before.

The sheriff is fast to rush Michael, cracking the stock of his own peacemaker across the crown of the man before him, the body dropping heavy against the sand to your left. Heavy, but still alive.

Everything is heavy. The weight that you bear crouched beside Milt’s body, the way Michael slumped into the sand beside you, the crowd gathering around the sudden onslaught of commotion, and the hand against your back that undoubtedly belonged to Edward.

“Get him off the street.” Steve ordered, sweeping his peacemaker around in a circle to fend off the feigning crowd, “Alright, back off.” He said, stern and loud. You’d have half a mind to be afraid of him when he was like this, if you weren’t still in shock.

“Get a rope!” Someone from the town said, stepping down from a nearby patio.

“String him up!”

Edward could sense the rising tension, his other hand coming firmly around the taught expanse of your waist and pulling you back without giving you room to fight. You stumbled backwards in a stupor, hot tears streaming down your face emotionlessly. You were a stone. A puppet in his hands watching the scene before you unfold.

Steve’s face hardened, jaw clenched under cold eyes, “Nobody’s hanging anybody.”

“He just killed a man–”

“And he’ll stand trial for it. Now, get back! Move!” Steve made sure the hammer was pulled back on his gun, serious as sin. You don’t think you’d ever seen him this scary before. You didn’t think he could be this scary at all.

“Turn him loose.” One of the town patrons called from the building riot, stepping forward from the mass. He was a dirty cattle pusher that still carried the grime and anger of a juvenile foal. When Steve gave him a cold stare-down, he spoke up once more, “He said to turn loose of him.”

“I’m not, so go home.” Steve said again, face like a stone.

Another voice emerged from the crowd, “I swear to God, law dog, you step aside or we’ll tear you apart.” He was an older man with a scraggly beard, wiry hair to match his wiry nature, a dust-alden bandana hanging loosely off the skeleton-physique. He wielded his own weapon, pointing it at the Sheriff. He knew he was outnumbered, but wouldn’t back down. You wanted to cry out, to let them lynch Michael. Anything to avoid watching someone you care about die again. Anything to avoid feeling that.

Steve took a step forward, pressing the barrel directly to the forehead of the old man. Hard enough for it to leave an indentation on the skin.

“You die first, got it? Your friends might rush me later but not before I kill you first.” Steve’s eyes had hardened from something stone-cold to something ablaze. His eyes reaped the anger of the afternoon sun, alight with anger. Anger from defiance. Anger for Milt. “You understand me?”

“He’s bluffing, let’s rush him” The younger man spoke up, further trying to entice the crowd. Everyone else was at a standstill, tension so taught, that if that wire snapped, it could recoil and kill both Steve and the other man.

The old man’s eyes went wide, hands splayed out in a half surrender, half heeding motion, “No! He isn’t bluffing. Don’t rush him.” He pleaded, as if he were staring death in the face. By the look of rage and hunger alight behind Steve’s eyes, you were sure he was.

This time, the sheriff went quiet, talking only to the man in front of him, “You aren’t as stupid as you look. Now tell them to get back. “

“Go on, now, get back.” The old man said, hands still upward in surrender. The statement was shaking and quiet, unsure and teetering between tears. “Go on!” He said, louder this time, a plea for his life.

“He’ll kill me.” He whispered, a single salty tear streaking through the fine layer of sand on his face. The crowd dissipated back, the yelling and demands of public execution coming to a gelatinous quiet.

Edward removed his hand from your waist, putting the pistol from beneath his arm. He pulled the hammer back without question, pointing it at the young cattle-hand that started this all.

“And you, big boy, you’re next.” He spoke it like a promise. Like a prayer. If you hadn’t been magnified by everyone's slightest move, you would have missed the way Steve’s eyes met you before he nodded in Edward’s direction.

The train comes by way of Texas Pacific that next morning, long before the break of dawn, and Eddie’s steamer trunk and horse were brought by means of Butterfield’s Overland as the sun was breaking darkness over the horizon.

You don’t remember the sun turning over the next morning until you are blinded by the sudden onslaught of neon orange through the glass of the Whispering Sands. Your eyes feel dry, juxtaposed to the salty wetness of the rest of your face and the bottoms of your dresses, yet you kept scrubbing.

That wretched spot in the middle of the floor that was beginning to divot from where the wood had worn away, yet you swore you could still see the dark coagulants of blood pooling between the grain. Maybe it was your own.

There, where your husband lay dying, where his final breaths sputtered and choked from the blood that congealed within his lungs and escaped the gaping hole in his sternum. Where the unnamed bandolero lay already dead in your doorway, an iron barrel burning a vicious welt into your leg as your hands desperately plunged into the red pool forming within your husband’s chest. That night, the blood of two men covered your hands.

The only evidence that anything had ever happened here was the mild divot on the floor and the blood seeping from your skinless knuckles and you scrubbed salt over the ghosts that resided between these floorboards and in these stools. You haunted this place in search of your husband, who would no longer be found at the piano or behind the bar. You were a ghost in your own rights.

That holy shape becomes a devil, best.

The laundry outside needs tending, and you let the burn from your knuckles tether you to this mortal plane, the unpleasant stick of your wet overcoat sticking ad unsticking from your knees and making them raw as you mundanely schlop wet clothes from the washbasin and pin them to the wire.

You hear Edward round the corner, shrouded in the shadow from the smoky black quarter horse. Though quiet as they try, the equine presence is never quiet. He clears his throat haughtily, though you fail to recognize if it was him or the horse blowing a hefty breath through large nostrils.

“Ma’am.” He started. Your nose was still red and your under eyes were still swollen from the night before, though, he hadn’t originally meant to say anything. Watching a man die was hard, he knew that you would have understood that. You looked like you had died and been resurrected when you turned to face him, hair frizzy and half escaping the braid that hadn’t been touched since the days before tucked beneath your hat, clothes sopping wet and hands bleeding.

“What did you do to your hands?” He asked, suddenly softer now. He reached down to grab your hands, the sides of his calloused fingers scraping the undersides of your own calloused palms.

“Tending to the floors.” You said to him, barely above a whisper. You wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You're soaked.” He observed, taking a step back to look down the front of your buckskin overskirts. Without a doubt, your underskirt and bloomers clung to your skin beneath as well, no longer dripping due to the warming sun.

He understood what was happening here, the frantic nature in the way you scrubbed the floors matched the way he scrubbed his own body raw from the blood that covered his skin. He knew your hurt all too well.

You mustered the courage to look him in the face as he inspected the outer edges of your knuckles with a tenderness that nearly brought the tears spilling back from your eyes. It was a tenderness that you hadn’t known in so long. It was like you were witnessing him from outside of your own body, through the eyes of a spider. You could count the smattering of freckles across his nose– those akin to a schoolboy, endearing in nature. A scar of what no longer remained. While he looked for signs of infection and wood shrapnel and remaining salt, you looked at the near perfection in which his thick lashes brushed from his lid to his cheek and you understood that God may not have been forgiving, but He certainly was real.

A fluttering, frantic desire builds in your core when you slot your lips against his. This feeling was not akin to butterflies and moths. It was frantic, more persistent. Like that of the hummingbirds that drank from the cactus blossoms in the cooler mornings. You watched them in silence, searching and flying entirely too close. Fast and sure. All you can feel is the dry cracking against softness as his startled breath dissipates across your own mouth.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled to him, only pulling a mere few centimeters away. You were not sorry, but you were polite enough to fake it.

“Don’t.”

He drops your hands, fingers scrambling for purchase against the tautness where your vest is slotted tight over your waist, clutching at fabric in search of skin instead. You reel closer, your own hat bumping the brim of his and falling off your head. It is frantic and sloppy and full of an animalistic reproach. The heat of his skin and lips is no different from the staleness of the desert around you. Your hands find his neck beneath his hair, tacky and slick with the sweat of the already blistering morning. You wanted him to touch you with all of the resolve of your dead lover, you wanted him to take you here in the sand– to make you shake and shiver all of the worries that had plagued you to the bone. To feel close to someone was foreboding, if you wanted to feel close you would have taken another lover. To feel safe with someone was something you clung to like a vice, for you hadn’t been safe since you’d started out west. You buzz like the fat hummingbirds in the saguaro blossoms when he hikes you close against him, aggressive without malaise. Both of his arms entrap you tightly, almost too tightly to be comfortable, and keeps a crushing weight to keep your body taught against his. You whine, all woman and all desperation, as your back braces against the rough stone texture of the brick behind you, his leg slotting between your thighs and casting a desperate friction to fruition.

When you gyrate your hip against his thigh, unsparingly, the broad planes of his hands cling to the valley of your back between your shoulder blades relentlessly. It brings you up towards him instead of away against the wall. You can feel the harness of his braced between your bodies, and it sparks a churning feeling deep in the pit of your belly. You are whining, his tongue funding purchase within your mouth and making a home there. He does not expect you to initiate the act, but when your hands slide down the tautness of his abdomen, and pull his shirt out from his trousers, he is surprised.

There is no sense of familiarity to this. Sure, you had been married. Laying with a man was no unexplored land for you, but this franticness, this panic and desperation was all new. It was risky, and it felt dirty, though, not incorrect. Edward reaches up, pulling the hat off of his head, his fingers turning tender against your waist as he guides you off of the wall and downwards into the sand. It is firm against your back and pleasantly warm.

You are not soft like in his dream. You do not whine or beg for him when you see all of him for the first time. You are relentless in undoing your own buttons and pulling your own shirt off. When you see him, he is tall and lean, there is a scarecrow-like nature to him, the gangliness clinging to him like the naivety of youth, though, just as you were all woman, he was all man. Even in his softness. He is soft in the way he looks down at you, and allows your eyes to skim over him. His awestruck nature forces you to resist the urge to cover yourself.

You are not womanly in the way you disregard the messiness of your hair, the tear streaks that stick against your hot cheeks, or the sand that sticks to your back as he lays you down. When he reaches a hand up to cup the side of your neck, it feels like walking that tightrope again– the one that teeters between the plane of life and death. This was a part of you that you no longer had resolve in. You did not think you would ever feel something that resembled your husband again. Though, as you walked this tightrope, it felt like crossing the threshold of your upstairs quarters again. His hands around you like a foundation and his arms around you like walls.

There is a change of pace as he kisses you this time, unhurriedly and exploring. Your fingers grasp around the thick bone of his wrists, thumbs tethering you to the ligaments of his wrists beneath his alabaster skin. There remains a tackiness on the front of your body from where the lye water soaked through your clothes and stuck to your skin, though, he didn’t seem to mind.

Behind the fast-paced nature and desperation of it all, there lies a sticky sweetness. Dark and slow-moving like molasses against your skin. It finds a resemblance in his lips against your neck that trail your collarbones. If it were a different circumstance, perhaps, this would have been slower. He would have taken you like a lover, something that more closely resembled the way he wanted you in the hazy fog of The Grand Hotel. But you needed him here and now, and he would have to give you that.

He does not have to ease your legs open with reproach like he had to do with the other girls, the ones who hid themselves away in meek shyness. Even in the open expanse of the desert before you, where, on the opposite side of this building, the town was awake and beginning to stir, there was a profound lack of meekness to your demeanor. There would be no begging from your lips, though, you didn’t need to. You had him already. You had him as soon as you’d met him.

He found himself tepid, “Do you still want me to–”

“I want you to fuck me, Edward.” You’d insisted, and he was taken aback by it. Though, he was not going to deny you. Not with the sweat pooling between the valley on your breasts and your curls sticking to your forehead. He wouldn’t have denied you anyways.

“Okay.”

His voice was hoarse, moan rumbling low and deep from the confines of his lungs. He is rushed with feeling– taken aback by the crudeness of your language and comfort with your raw body. This was not what he had dreamed of, but rarely was it ever. The thrill changed quickly from an excited tingle to an aching need. His thumbs pull the hair from your face as he braces himself on his elbows, the soft smattering of hair on his stomach becoming flush with yours.

You didn’t understand before the softness that lay just beneath the layer of dust that settles over him, the roundness to the apples of his cheeks or the plush of his lips. Though, now that he was this close, it was hard not to miss. His eyes, though you had only ever seen them dark and angry, were now a golden honey against the tan backdrop of the desert. It resembled the waning orange of the sunrise you were too forlorn to watch this morning.

There was a resounding softness in his promises of, “I’ll take care of you” that reverberated with the building of tears that formed against his pretty lash line, though, not enough to break the surface tension and spill over his even prettier face.

There is a relentlessness in the way he rocks his hips against your core, desperate for the feeling of closeness. A single tear buds against the corner of his eye, dripping down his pretty red cheek and on to your chest. You had half a mind to swipe it away with your thumb. He fucks you languidly in the building spring heat. The tackiness of your skin turns to a slide as he works you.

His hips stutter in a pistoning motion, punching a moan out of your core that was not frilly or rehearsed. Please don’t stop’s resounding off of his chest like prayers. He is a little rougher than before, your back arching in pleasure. His voice is broken as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.

There is a certain inevitability, like you both know that this will need to come to an abrupt end, and you whine with the filthiness of it all. There is a soft soreness that buds from within your core, and from the way he cries out, whiny and vulnerable, you know he feels it, too. There is a reciprocating cry that resounds from both your mouths, and you know he has reached his apex when he spills inside of you, moving slowly and then coming to a stop.

You do not stop him when he drops a heavy head against your sternum, instead resulting in pushing the hair away from his face. His head bobs up and down on your chest as you breathe, his own falling out of sync with yours. There is a resounding whisper that leaves his lips, and you are not sure if you are meant to hear. You reply anyways.

“Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris.” “It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery.”

81 notes · View notes

hairmetal666 · 1 year

Text

Forever is the Sweetest Con~Cowboy Like Me steddie au (cw// Jason Carver is homophobic)

Eddie Munson thinks "con-artist" is such an ugly term for what he does (though he will admit there is quite a bit of artistry to doing it well). It's just, the idea that the truly, horrendously rich don't deserve to be swindled from time to time is fundamentally incorrect. Eddie studies the wealthy, carefully gathering tales of who they use, exploit, destroy all in the name of money, and he's made a life of taking them down a peg. He knows how to find the worst of them; how to woo them, seduce them; and take just enough to get away with it.

Like he said, it's an art.

He blows into town after reading the obituary for one Christopher Stephen Harrington IV, husband of Miriam and father of Stephen. He doesn't need to research the family to know that Miriam will be an easy target. Most widows of men like Christopher Stephen Harrington IV are after being locked into loveless marriages for the majority of their adulthood. They're looking for someone to pay them attention, sweep them off their feet. Eddie loves being that someone.

Eddie's first mistake is thinking that there will be anything easy about Miriam Harrington and the second is not taking into account her son. Eddie's only been in town for a few days when Stephen, Steve, shows up, and he is a revelation.

Steve is

Beautiful. Stupid. Throws money around like it's nothing, like he's begging to lose it. Fucks everything that moves.

It's not even a decision, not really, for Eddie to change his mark. Everything about the other man screams that he's desperate for love, for some kind of validation, and Eddie knows just how to give it to him.

It's not hard, seducing Steve Harrington. It barely takes a week before Steve gets Eddie alone in the formal dining room of the Harrington estate.

"There a reason you keep watching me?" Steve asks. He steps easily into Eddie's space, hazel eyes darkening to golden honey as the distance between them closes.

"Maybe I like what I see," Eddie answers. "Maybe I like it a lot."

Eddie leans down making his intent clear by letting his gaze drift from Steve's eyes to his mouth. He ignores the rapid beating of his own heart, the butterflies in his stomach, as he brings his mouth to the other man's. This means nothing, like every other seduction. Steve is a mark and nothing more.

Right before their lips meet, Steve's breath hitting his face and making his head swim with want, a strong hand grips his chin, the blunt edge of fingernails digging into his skin.

"You think I don't know what you're doing here, Eddie Munson?" Steve asks.

"Wha--"Eddie blinks, the words not making a ton of sense when his entire body is focused on kissing the beautiful man before him; takes him too long to realize that Steve's called him by his legal name.

He wrenches himself out of the man's grasp. "Who are you?" Eddie demands. "FBI?"

The look Steve shoots him is devoid of the dim party boy lethargy Eddie's become used to. It's calculating, quick, perceives way too much. It's also packed with sneering disdain. "Of course I'm not. I'm here for the same reason you are."

Eddie scoffs. "That seems unlikely."

"You know nothing about me, Munson. Just stay away from me and my mother and we'll be fine."

"Just your mother? You don't care about protecting any of your friends?"

"You heard me. Everyone else is fair game."

Eddie's head is too scrambled to protest, and his heart--his fickle, too-easily-swayed heart--throbs with longing.

"Fine," he manages. He flees the room, already refortifying the walls he's spent most of his life building.

✨✨✨✨

At 16, Steve Harrington was everything Eddie expected; spoiled, vapid, cruel, lazy, his entire life handed to him on a silver platter. His life of no consequences changed over night after his father found him in bed with another boy. He got thrown out, no money, no prospects, no life skills. Like so many before him, he fled to the city, but he was barely surviving. That was until he literally ran into one Robin Buckley fresh from poorly pickpocketing a finance bro. Robin took him in, taught him the ropes, and he devoted himself to making the rich pay for their sins.

It's no wonder that Steve and Eddie wind up targeting the same mark, Jason Carver. Jason is the worst of the worst. Handsome, entitled, clever only in ways that hurt, egotistical, desperate for power and prestige. Has a fiancee he treats like office furniture.

Steve uses their similarities to try to get close to Jason, but Eddie plays on his differences, on his nerdiness and confidence, hoping that Jason will find Eddie's fundamental weirdness too intoxicating to ignore.

Eddie's winning. And when he's not planning his slow seduction of Jason Carver, he's unwittingly learning more about Steve. The country club is running a summer youth program, open to the kids of all the citizens of Roane county. There's one feral group that Eddie has a soft spot for, made up of a bunch of dnd-playing nerd children, a quiet girl named El, and a fierce red-head named Max. He's surprised, one day, when he comes upon Steve and curly-headed Dustin Henderson, as Dustin explains some deep dnd lore to a bemused, but clearly attentive Steve. Next, he finds the man sitting with El and Max. El braids his hair while Max paints his nails a charming teal. Later, he sees Steve playing basketball with Lucas Sinclair, coaching him through some improvements on his form, fingernails still glinting with color.

He's so busy trying to put the pieces of Steve Harrington together, rich boy, con man, kind to children, that he doesn't recognize how dangerous Jason Carver is.

✨✨✨✨

Steve steps from the shower when there's a knock at his hotel room door. He's not expecting anyone, and that makes him nervous. He hasn't survived this long on his own without being cautious. He doesn't hesitate, though, when he sees his visitor is Jason Carver's fiancee, Christine Cunningham. They know each other, sort of, but they aren't close, and he's even more stunned by the tears streaming down her face.

"Chrissy?" He asks as he opens the door.

"Steve, you have to help. Jason's going to hurt him!"

Lead settles hard in Steve's stomach, no need to ask who the "him" is. "Where?"

"They went to Addison's Steakhouse. You know it?"

Steve nods. "I'll get him."

"Please," Chrissy begs. "I didn't think Jason would go through with it, but he kept talking about making Eddie pay, and--and--"

"I know," he says, because he does. "I'll get Eddie. He'll be okay."

When Steve slams into the private dining room of the steakhouse, Jason already has Eddie sprawled on the floor, lip split and bloody, and something inside Steve explodes. He launches himself at Jason, throwing the other man across the room.

Jason staggers. "What, you protecting this freak, Harrington? You know what he wanted with me?"

"I don't care, Carver, just get out of here."

"I heard rumors you were just like him," Jason spits, advancing on Steve.

"Seriously, man, I don't want to hurt you," he clenches his hands into fists.

Jason sneers, taking another step forward. "Like you even could. Everyone knows your dad kicked you out for being a fucking pussy."

It's all the motive Steve needs to punch him across the face with a sharp left hook. Jason collapses, clearly not having been punched anywhere near enough, and then Eddie is all Steve can see.

"Are you okay?" He drops to his knees, angling the man's jaw to get a better look at his injury.

"I was handling it, Harrington."

"Were you?" Steve asks.

Their eyes meet, linger, warmth growing in Steve's stomach.

They move in at the same time, Steve doing nothing to stop it this time, slotting their lips together with practiced slowness. Eddie's blood smears on his mouth, his chin; he gets some on his tongue and moans, pulling the other man closer, burying his hands in all that curly hair.

They fall into bed together like it's the most natural progression of things and, Steve thinks, it probably is. That moment all those weeks ago in his mom's dining room was just a prelude to this, to Eddie taking him apart so slowly, so carefully that it wrecks him, realigns his worldview, makes long dormant emotions surge to the surface so hard and fast that he's helpless to resist. By night's end, he's gone, totally enamored, heart snatched from his chest by Eddie's greedy, careful hands.

✨✨✨✨

Eddie wakes the next morning naked and in an unfamiliar room. For a second, he thinks his seduction of Jason Carver was a success, but then he feels the soft lips pressing against the back of his neck, and he remembers Steve. Steve lying under him, stars in his eyes, smiling up at Eddie; as he made the prettiest, neediest sounds; as Eddie moved inside him, as all his walls came tumbling down, as Steve Harrington ruined him for anyone else.

His mouth aches, the split in his lip still a little bloody. Without Steve around, Eddie would've noticed the danger Jason posed. Would've stopped the con before it got to the point of them being alone together, of Jason having the power to hurt him. If he hadn't been distracted, he could have avoided the very real threat of a beating.

He lurches out of the bed, away from Steve's soft touches.

"Eddie, what..." Steve starts, his voice all gentle.

"Don't," Eddie hisses.

"Don't?"

"Talk to me like we're in love." Eddie rips his hands through his hair.

"I--don't you--aren't--"

He makes the mistake of meeting Steve's eyes, see the love brimming in the golden brown.

"C'mon, Harrington. You're a great fuck and all, but it didn't mean anything."

Eddie watches as all that emotion, all those feelings are packed away, as Steve's pretty face relaxes into a careless blank.

Nausea twists at Eddie's stomach.

"Yeah, whatever," the other man says.

Eddie finds his clothes strewn across the floor, can't stand to watch Steve for another second. Needs to squash all the things rocketing around in his chest."You can't catch feelings so easy in our line of work. You should know better."

Steve snorts. "Don't waste your time worrying about me, Munson."

"Right," Eddie agrees. He stuffs his feet in his shoes. "Well, see you around, Harrington."

Steve doesn't respond and Eddie can't bear to look back.

Once in the elevator, he collapses back against the wall, driving the flat of his palms into his eyes to force away the tears that want to fall. Guys like Steve aren't for him; love isn't for him. He needs to drill that back into his head before someone gets even more hurt.

✨✨✨✨

It's the day of Miriam Harrington's mid-summer party and Eddie's skipping town. This whole endeavor was a bust. He's going home to lick his wounds (both mental and physical), and start over somewhere else. He hasn't seen Steve much since their night together, and that's just another reason to get out of dodge.

He shows up to the party, though, about two hours late. It's foolish, dangerous, but he can't leave without saying goodbye to Steve.

It's one of those black and white balls, and Eddie's in fitted black trousers and a velour suit jacket the color of fresh blood. The guys at the doors don't want to let him in, but Eddie doesn't care, just walks past them, ignoring their protests.

Big, white tents are stretched over the country club tennis courts, and the dancing is already in full swing. Eddie sticks to the edges of the ballroom floor, eyes skipping over swaying couples, searching out the only one he wants to see.

Steve is there, easily found by his chestnut hair that's swept into an artful swoop. He's dancing with Nancy Wheeler, sister of one of the feral dnd children, holding her close as they sway to the mid-tempo song. Eddie watches as the music draws to a close, as Steve smiles at Nancy with soft fondness, and his heart stutters. That's what Steve deserves, who he deserves it with, not someone like Eddie, all rough edges and layers of barbed-wire protecting his too-soft heart.

Nancy walks off, leaving Steve alone in the middle of the dance floor. Eddie is quick to take her place.

"Dance with me, Harrington?" He asks.

Steve turns and when he spots Eddie, his face does many complicated things before falling into the mask that Eddie's now too familiar with.

"Dancing is a dangerous game," Steve responds. He raises an eyebrow, carefully bland.

"I think I'll risk it." Eddie pulls Steve close and they slip together like they had that night in Steve's hotel room.

They dance and everyone else in the room falls away, until it's only them, only this, only the the stars dancing in Steve's eyes as he gazes at Eddie like Eddie's precious, special, worth something.

They're close enough to rest their foreheads together, but Eddie can't bring himself to make any move that will take Steve's eyes out of his view. The song plays, and they hold each other, and they don't speak, neither wanting to ruin the moment with words. Eddie lets a hand trace the strong contours of Steve's jaw, and he knows he's in love. Hopelessly, helplessly.

As the last note of the song swells, Eddie presses a thumb to Steve's pouty bottom lip, and he feels the rush of air as the other man gasps.

Eddie lets himself smile, just a bit, before closing the remaining distance between them, slotting his lips to Steve's in a sweet, soft kiss.

He pulls away without a word, turning and disappearing into the crowd before Steve opens his eyes.

It's for the best, Eddie tells himself as he drives away, knowing he's leaving his heart behind forever.

275 notes · View notes

usedtobecooler · 1 year

Text

series

virgin!eddie | part i // ii // iii // iiii // v // vi | smut | x reader | 13.9k

oneshots

i get off | smut | x reader | 1.4k

hysteria | smut | x reader | 3.2k

she's got the look | smut | x plus size!reader | 2.1k

don't you want me baby | smut | x plus size!reader | 2.3k

living dead girl (kas!eddie) | smut/noncon | x reader | 3.7k

knocking on heavens door | smut | x reader | 1.7k

lay your hands on me | smut | x reader | 3.9k

the sex is good | smut | x reader | 3.7k

'what're you wearing?' | smut/phone sex | x reader | 2k

'you're cute when you beg' | smut | x reader | 1.5k

'you wanna get cucked by steve?' | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 2.1k

two for the price of one | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 1.3k

'you want some help with that?' | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 2.8k

this must be the place | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 8.6k

like a secret in your throat | smut | eddie x steve | 1.1k

isn't that so sad | angst/mental health | eddie x steve | 1.9k

blurbs

'go on, what else would i like?' | smut | x reader | 1k

'are you that easy for me?' | smut | x reader | 1.7k

'those are gonna be hard to cover up' | smut | x reader | 1.1k

'i bet i could make you squirt' | smut | x reader | 1.1k

'same time tomorrow?' | smut | x reader | 1.1k

'you'll take what i give you' | BULLY!EDDIE smut | x reader | 1.6k

'dunno, eddie. i feel funny.' | BULLY!EDDIE smut/piss kink | x reader | 1.1k

'sorry? too little too late.' | BULLY!EDDIE smut/dubcon | x reader | 1.1k

'i need to see you cum.' | VIRGIN!EDDIE smut | x reader | 1k

grower not a shower | smut | x reader | 1k

eddie & steve dp | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 1.5k

virgin!eddie watching porn | smut/phone sex | x reader | 1.2k

rockstar!eddie signing your tits | smut | x reader | 1.2k

drabbles

'who's the desperate idiot now?' | smut | x reader | 672 words

'tell me, was he as good as me?' | smut/dubcon | x reader | 1k

save a horse, ride a cowboy | smut | x reader | 503 words

'your perfect little nose' | smut | x reader | 248 words

'fucking hate you, munson' | smut | x reader | 557 words

'you think bad girls deserve to cum?' | smut | x reader | 866 words

'shit sweetheart, didn't see you there.' | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 730 words

'so desperate you couldn't wait, huh?' | smut | x reader | 495 words

‘s’not all gonna fit is it?’ | smut | x reader | 945 words

'oh shit, sorry, m'gonna-' | smut | x reader | 246 words

eddie fucks fat girls | smut | x reader | 362 words

eddie 'minuteman' munson | smut | x reader | 200 words

edging eddie until he cries | smut | x reader | 847 words

perv!eddie likes to make you squirt | smut | x reader | 246 words

modern day!eddie + reddit | fluff | x reader | 449 words

eddie + sick reader | fluff | x reader | 537 words

'i never thought you could hurt me like this' | angst | x reader | 630 words

'here comes the airplane' | fluff | x reader | 266 words

'i was gonna knock your socks off' | fluff | x reader | 461 words

eddie and your daughter | fluff | x reader | 383 words

eddie finds out you're pregnant | angst | x reader | 659 words

updated january 14th '24

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson masterlist #ml - em #em

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lokis-army-77 · 1 year

Text

Stranger Things Masterlist

Updated: 04/02/24

Smut 🔥 | Fluff ☁️ | Angst 💔 | Personal Favorite⭐

Eddie Munson

(Most recent at the bottom)

Distraction 🔥

Unexpected Visit (Vampire!Eddie) 💔☁️

The Quiet and the Loud ☁️

Safe With Me Masterlist (Hiatus) 🔥💔☁️

Surprise for You Part 2 🔥☁️⭐

Summoning Masterlist 🔥 (Demon!Eddie) (Complete)

Opposites 💔☁️

Tattoos and Mischief 🔥⭐

The King and I 🔥

Haunted Act💔?

More than Casual 🔥💔☁️⭐

Knight in Shining Leather🔥💔☁️

Visit From Strangers 💔

Insecurities 💔☁️

Where have you been? ☁️

The Princess and her Bodyguard🔥

Dinner for Three🔥 (steddie x reader)

Left Behind 💔☁️ ⭐

Late Night Call 💔

Satiate Me masterlist🔥 Incubus!Eddie (complete)

Wander ☁️ blurb

Early Morning Lovin' ☁️🔥

Wild Hearts Masterlist 🔥💔☁️Cowboy!Eddie (hiatous)

Live from Hawkins 🔥 ⭐ Older!Eddie

Live from Hawkins: Round Two 🔥 Older!Eddie and Older!Steve

A New Purchase 🔥

Recipes for Romance 🔥 Bestfriend!Eddie

A New Purchase 🔥

Pretty Girl and Her Hoodie Guy ☁️ ⭐ Modern!Eddie meet cute

Private Viewing 🔥⭐ camboy!eddie

Hunger 🔥 Incubus!eddie

A Text Away 🔥 modern!eddie

Soul Searching 🔥 Demon!soulmate!eddie

Cozy 🔥☁️

The Date 💔 Hurt no comfort

At Home Book Club🔥

Love Unwanted 💔 Hurt no comfort

Piece of Cake 🔥dom!eddie x sub!reader

Make Room 🔥 Boyfriend! Steve Harrington x fem reader x College Roommate! Eddie Munson

Ravishing 🔥 modern!eddie x reader

Premium Air ☁️ modern!eddie x reader

Robin Buckley

Notes☁️

Birdie☁️

Steve Harrington

Dinner for Three🔥 (steddie x reader)

Live from Hawkins: Round Two 🔥 Older!Eddie and Older!Steve

Make Room 🔥 Boyfriend! Steve Harrington x fem reader x College Roommate! Eddie Munson

#Joseph quinn #Joseph quinn masterlist #masterlist #Eddie Munson #Eddie munson masterlist #robin buckley #robin buckley masterlist #maya hawke #maya hawke masterlist #joe keery #joe keery masterlist #steve harrington #steve harrington masterlist

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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

stranger things masterlist

ONE-SHOTS.

✩ sweeter than this. ─ steve harrington x reader

you and steve take the gang apple-picking. (fluff, pining, the kids being cute and trying to get steve and the reader together).

✩ somebody to you. ─ steve harrington x reader

you’ve never been kissed. steve changes that. (fluff fluff fluff, best friend!steve, inexperienced reader, first kiss).

✩ we got a lovin’ thing.─ steve harrington x reader x eddie munson

eddie, as it turns out, is the only one with a brain cell among the three of you. (or: the time you didn't know you were all dating). [didn’t know they were dating, fluff, getting together].

✩ adore you. ─ steve harrington x reader x eddie munson

when you and eddie learn that steve has never celebrated his birthday—and had no intention of letting you know he even had a birthday—you two make it your mission to give him the best birthday ever. secret parties, however, aren’t always easy to keep secret. (mild angst, birthday fluff, steve harrington feeling loved!!)

✩ lampshade. ─ steve harrington x reader

after an encounter with your high school bully, you're reminded that you don't have to be alone with your insecurities. (plus size reader, insecurity, bullying, sweet boyfriend steve)

✩ you were made for lovin’ me. ─ steve harrington x reader *

you and steve haven’t seen each other in a week. he’s desperate. just how you like him. (sub!steve, *smut 18+ only!!!)

✩ no other will do. ─ eddie munson x reader

you're home from college for the holidays. eddie's playing a show and he wants you to be there. how can you say no to the boy you've been in love with since freshman year? (friends to lovers, pining, eddie playing his sexy mf guitar)

✩ no more lonely nights. ─ steve harrington x reader

steve comes home from starcourt, bruised and battered. and you're there. you always are. (friends to lovers, hurt comfort, s3 steve, bed sharing, confessions)

✩ let me know that it's real. ─ steve harrington x reader

you get stood up for a date. steve finds you first. (reader is stood up, friends to lovers, steve is the bestest. the BESTEST!!!)

✩ i'll put us back together at heart. ─ steve harrington x reader

it's 1987. you haven't spoken to steve harrington in nearly five years. then dustin henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at family video, where he can rent any video he wants. (ex-friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, steve and reader always find each other).

☆ it's a feeling that's fine. — steve harrington x reader

you accidentally climb the wrong fence on the hottest day of may. it turns out to be the best thing that's ever happened to you. (summer romance, strangers to friends to lovers, sweetheart steve, unconventional first meeting)

☆ redamancy. — steve harrington x reader

redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed steve harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back. (friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mild canon angst, kissing!!)

SERIES.

'ABOUT A BOY' UNIVERSE ─ eddie munson x gn!reader

a series of snapshots between a gender neutral reader and their first relationship with the one and only eddie munson.

BLURBS.

▻ kissing steve aaaallll over his face ‘cause he’s a pretty boy!

▻ going to a drive in movie with eddie

▻ werewolf eddie being sweet on you

▻ the first time you use a pet name on steve

▻ giggly comfy cuddles with steve

▻ steve and eddie sharing the bed (steddie)

▻ best friend pining!steve who greets you with back hugs

▻ steve comforts you after a terrifying nightmare

▻ steve helps you "study" (based on the steve/nancy s1 scene)

▻ steve has glasses. you go feral.

▻ robin confesses her love for you on a snow day

▻ werewolf steve needs some comfort and cuddles

▻ steve finds old poetry eddie wrote about him (steddie)

▻ you read to steve and pine over him

▻ you visit steve in the hospital while he's loopy on pain meds (s4 hurt steve)

▻ cowboy!deputy steve captures you, a slippery outlaw (suggestive/nsfw)

▻ outlaw!eddie visits you, his favorite bartender

▻ steve gives eddie an incentive to finish their morning run together (steddie, nsfw)

dividers by firefly-graphics

#masterlist #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanart

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brain-palace · 9 months

Text

Just like my previous (sorry if you haven't seen it), this one serves as an archive for the fics I love. However, this one is for smaller things like headcanons, imagines, drabbles and scenarios. As usual, if you're looking for something new to read feel free to have a look I recommend everything here. I read many different characters/universes, so I'll list them all so you don't waste time looking at something that isn't relevant to you. If you find something you like please show the fics and their authors some love!

Disclaimer: None of the works below belongs to me unless it explicitly says so. © - All rights reserved to the authors. If a fic does not have a name I will make one up for the sake of archival purposes.

Characters/Universes

Key ➸ Angst ☁ | Fluff ♡ | Crack ❈ | Smut 🔞 |

Spencer Ried (CM) ↴

Spencer's wife stitches him up after being injured on a case | by @radiant-reid | ♡

Spencer introduces his family's newest addition to the team | ♡

Tricking you for kisses | by @chrisevansleftpeck | ♡

Playing twister with Spencer | by @byersbootyshorts | ♡ ❈

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Aaron Hotchner (CM) ↴

Guess who has Hotch's initials tattoed | by @kryptonitejelly | ♡ ❈

Identity theft - Someone took the wrong badge | by @ssahotchnerr | ♡ ❈

Thought I'd make you breakfast | by @ddejavvu | ♡

Prompting insecurity | by @ptersparkers | ☁ ♡

Saving you from a bad blind date | by @ddejavvu | c

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Daryl Dixon (TWD) ↴

"If that’s yer light punch, yer real punch must hurt like hell...” | by @daryl-dixon-daydreams | ❈

"Parking that in my front yard wasn’t exactly subtle,” | by @daryl-dixon-daydreams | ♡ ❈

“The kids ambushed me!” | by daryl-dixion-daydreams

"Blood does seem to be a rather disturbing theme around here." | by daryl-dixion-daydreams |

"Nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time!" | by @letterstotheflre |

"I'm not lost. I'm just... exploring my options" | by daryl-dixion-daydreams |

"Just some short and sweet pregnant reader" | by @babyyblues | ♡

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Eddie Munson (ST) ↴

Picking up a drunk Eddie Munson | by @munson-blurbs | ☁ ♡

Confessions in the Rain | by @appocalipse | ♡

Teaching you how to play the guitar | by @strange-mischief | ♡

Only you can touch my hair | by @bruisedboys | ♡

Boob talk | by @purplehazed-h | ♡ ❈

Need you around | by @silent-stories | ♡

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Steve Harrington (ST) ↴

Got my picture in your wallet | by @luveline | ♡

Signals | by @sanguineterrain | ♡

Cowboy Steve | by @sanguineterrain |

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Peter Parker (MCU) ↴

Drunken words | by @luveline | ♡

s'it okay? | by @inkluvs |

Bleeding on your bed again | by @bruisedboys |

"You're a very good kisser" | by @ddejavvu | ♡

Re-touching the roots | by @reidslovely | ♡ ❈

Got to let you go | "Peter will always pick the pain of letting you go over seeing you in pain" |☁

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Sherlock ↴

"The Game is Afoot, Indeed" | by @marvelousmando | ♡

Held at gunpoint | by @imagine221b | ❈

♠ ♤ ♣ ♧

Tony Stark ↴

Trial and error | by @mostly-marvel-musings | ♡

Notes: To see longer fics check out this post → The Archive list

#peter parker x reader #daryl dixon x reader #rick grimes x reader #aaron hotch x reader #steve harrington x reader #spencer reid x reader #eddie munson x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #rick grimes x you #daryl x reader

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yellowharrington · 2 months

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yellowharrington masterlist!!

hey y'all my name is natalie (she/her) :) i'm 24 and i'm a fanfic writer!! my blog is an 18+ space, minors DNI with my fics or you will be blocked. all of my works are original and written by me. i do not consent to reposting or my work copied elsewhere, including into AI search engines or chat bots. my requests are open.

please enjoy my silly little stories with all of that in mind!

❀ - fluff

♡ - smut

༺ - hurt/comfort

✧ - angst

⭑ - 1k+ notes

→ STRANGER THINGS

steve harrington

favour for a favour ❀⭑ - steve has a big ol’ crush on the girl that trades him pastries for movies every week.

good vibrations ♡⭑ - you take steve to an “adult’s only” toy store.

illicit affairs ♡ - you and nancy used to be friends, but you challenge yourself to take the one thing she can’t get: steve harrington.

drabbles

praise kink steve ♡ - request: “Can you please do a praise and talking the reader through their orgasm smut with Steve 😩 maybe coming home to drunk sex after a fun night out”

steve helps you decide on a pet name ❀ - request: “Could we get a lil story of Steve trying out new pet names when you first start dating? 🥺 Like trying to decide if he likes baby or sweetheart or honey… Just down bad and need some fluff”

eddie munson

(500) days of eddie ❀✧ - you and eddie are “just friends”, but he wants more. (loosely based on the movie (500) days of summer)

→ THE BEAR

carmen “carmy” berzatto

jaded - fresh off of his breakup with claire, carmy needs a rebound. he just doesn’t expect it to be his pastry chef.

chapter 1 ♡ ❀

chapter 2 ❀༺

chapter 3 ✧

chapter 4 ❀

sugar sweet ❀ - it's carmy's birthday and you want to make it special for him again.

all i really want (is you) ♡ - carmy secretly books a lake-front hotel room in chicago for your anniversary.

→ THE LAST OF US

joel miller

wildflower and barley ♡ ❀ ⭑ - after deciding to change your age range on a dating app in hope of a change of scenery, you stumble across joel miller.

save a horse (ride a cowboy!) ♡⭑- meeting an older man at the bar and spontaneously fucking him in his truck was not on your list of things to do for your first summer back in austin, but what can you do?

divider by @enchanthings

#masterlist

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strawberrysodaslut · 6 months

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𝓓𝓸𝓰𝓰𝔂 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓘𝓷 - Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

(and GN!dog)

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

[ main masterlist ]

[ eddie munson masterlist ]

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

word count: 1.9k

(description in small font for formatting and convenience, actual story is in regular)

warnings: mostly fluff, some angst, mentions of upcoming death of dog, dog in palative care, not fully proof read but i tried to keep both dog and reader as gender neutral, and without descriptions, i am basing a this in real life so it might have slipped.

summary: After receiving bad news about your dog, you and Eddie decide to take them to their favourite movie at the drive ins.

authors note: Hi. It’s been a little while. This is based on something i did with my dog a few weeks ago, we took her to the eras tour movie and it’s one of the best nights i’ve had with her. i’ve i wanted to get it out within the week of that but then life happened, i had to take care of her a bit more and we sadly had to put her down the sunday before last. we’re receiving her ashes soon and i got a plush that looks like her so i felt inspired to write this again as a way to deal with my grief. i have included a lot of anecdotes about her in this, so im sorry if you’re trying to picture your dog or a past one and some events done line up. i tried my best to keep the descriptions of the dog pretty general, the only big thing i think is that they would have a tail. anyway it’s 4am and i’m crying now so i’m gonna be on my way. i hope you enjoy <3

i won’t be doing my taglist for this one, hope you can understand <3 if you would like to join the taglist for less emotional fics you can here

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

"They're not gonna let us in."

"Will you sto- they're gonna let us in." He chuckled, glancing at you quickly with a smile."Stop worrying. Remember what I told you? Your only job this week is relaxation and snuggles."

You sigh, opting to look out of the window instead of responding.

Eddie notices, but he also knows you're still listening. "Which conveniently go hand in hand don't they sweetheart." He says, upping the baby talk as he stretches his arm behind the drivers seat to scratch your dogs chin, marvelling at how quickly they leaned into his touch, groaning in joy.

"See!" He said, laughing. "I'm their favorite."

It's the same thing he said when he installed the makeshift doggy car-seat Wayne had made you months ago. When Eddie first suggested taking your dog with the two of you on drives, he started drawing up the plans immediately.

"That dog is the darn cutest thing I've seen since you were in diapers." Wayne said, pointing to his nephew. "And I don't trust your cowboy driving."

Two weeks later when he picked you and your dog up for your first big drive, you were immediately taken by surprise that he put the seat on his side.

"You traitor!" You said, pointing towards the seat Eddie was now fastening your beloved dog to, away from you.

Eddie gasped in faux shock, looking at your dog with wide eyes. "Can you believe they called me that?" He said to your dog, who responded to him only with a wagging tail and a lick on the chin.

"See!" He said, clapping his hands once your dog was settled in. "I'm their favorite. So I get to be closer to them. You get a nice view, so don't complain." He said, winking at you as he swung into the drivers seat.

You had done a lot of trips since then, but this was the first one later at night. It wasn't too bad, springtime means the sun is slowly setting a bit later. You can't help but be enamoured when you turn to look at your dog, the way the sunset sits behind them makes look like a painting.

Eddie seems to have noticed, because he's reaching on the dashboard and passing you his prized film camera. "If you don't get a photo of them right now I'm never talking to you again."

You laugh, snapping a photo that you would later discover is your favorite one you've ever taken of your dog... and a few more for good measure.

"We're here!" Eddie says, pulling into the Hawkins Drive In. He parks just outside of the concession stand. "Do you want anything."

"Popcorn and a coke please." You say, pulling out your wallet to give him money, but you know it's no use when swats it out of your hand.

Instead of mentioning it though, he turns around to the back of the seat to face your dog. "And some nuggets for you bud?"

As if they can somehow hear him, your dog yaps in response. Eddie nods, "Thought so."

"Eddie..." You start, nuggets were salty and salt is not good for your dog.

Eddie cuts you off though, "I'll ask for no salt, they'll probably like it better that way anyway. And hey, you said it didn't matter what they ate anymore."

It's not Eddie's fault, but you feel as though you've been struck. He was right, that was what you had said, but for a shining moment, you had forgotten the constant countdown ticking over your dogs head. Displaying a number you had no way of reading exactly what it said.

It doesn't take more than a second for eddie to realise what he's said. "Hey- no. I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring that up. Here, let's take them in and they can pick out something." He said, running around to your side of the door and opening it for you- ever the gentleman.

He helps you out of the car and the two of you take your dog out of the back of the van, heading into the concession bay.

Immediately you- or your dog- is greeted by a young girl running up to pay them. Her mother quickly scolding her for going up to a strangers dog. Less than a minute later, the girl carefully walks up to you, almost stubbornly.

"Can I pet your doggy?" She asks, her hand twitching as she clearly fights the urge to give your dog a big hug.

You nod your head, "You definitely can, thank you for asking." You say, looking up to the girls mother and winking at her, getting a mouthed 'thank you' in response.

And you have to say, if there is a heaven, it's going to have a tough time beating the joy your dog gets when a new person gives them cuddles. You and Eddie both swear that your dog is convinced that everywhere you go, everyone is there to see your dog specifically.

"It's the pet tax." Eddie said a few months ago when your dog barked out your front window at unsuspecting people walking by for the third time that afternoon. "The people walking past have to pay a pet tax to the top dog."

You both agree that it's better for it not to be an official tax, as your dog would not appreciate having to stop at every house with a dog so that you could pet a random dog. Absolutely not.

Eventually, the little girl's mother got her food, and told her they had to go. The girl frowned, but said bye to your dog, whispering a 'i'll save some popcorn for you.' before running off to join her mother.

In the meantime, Eddie had ordered your food, two large popcorns- of course, a coke and a pepsi- something the two of you could never agree on, and two servings of nuggets, no salt.

"You're funny." You say, opening the door for him as he tries to balance the abundance of food and drinks.

"I am- hey could you-?" He started, but you've already grabbed your drink, noticing it just about to slip from his grip and onto the dirty cement. "Yeah, thanks."

You smile at him. "We're a well oiled machine you and me." He nods in agreement, muttering something about 'you and i' incorrectly when you get back to the van. It’s hard not to chuckle.

It's barely a thirty second drive to the parking spaces for the movie, but both you and Eddie insist on strapping your dog in their seat while you park.

Unfortunately, you have to do it while your dog is giving you the saddest puppy dog eyes you've ever seen. They don't want to be in the doggy-seat, they want to be in the front with you... and the food.

The order of those aren't important.

"I know hun, but it'll just be a minute and then we'll get to cuddle okay?" You say, doing absolutely nothing to stop your dog viewing the car seat they're now in as an obstacle from the food they want.

Eddie parks the van with the back facing the screen, jumping out of the car before pulling the back doors open. You giggle when he shouts at you to wait so that he can once again open your door for you.

"Here you go m'lady!" He says in a bad british accent, pairing it with a theatrical bow.

You take his hand like how you've seen rich people do it in movies. "Why thank you sir!" You gasp, matching his dramatics instantly.

Before you can get too lost in the bit, your dog barks, reminding you that the more you chat, the longer they have to wait for food- cuddles. Cuddles, not food. Not food at all.

You climb into the back of the van, Eddie following close behind you, food in tow. "Here you go buddy, I've got the goods."

"Don't say it like that! You sound like you're giving them weed." You giggle, unclasping the safety belts from around your dog.

Eddie furrows his brows, clearly still appealing to his inner theatre kid with faux confusion, "Wait..." He says, before dramatically laying out the first blanket. "Was I not supposed to?"

You both giggle as you set up the blankets and pillows, and if you hadn't been keeping such a close eye on your dog, you might not have noticed them slowly sneaking towards where the food sits.

"Hey!" Eddie laughs, grabbing the food and moving it to where you're all going to sit among the blankets and pillows.

Once again, your dog gives an oscar winning performance, giving Eddie a look at only a starving puppy could have.

Eddie, ever the softie, gives in.

"Oh alright." He says pulling out a nugget from the box and ripping a chunk from it. "Okay, now sit." Your dog follows, tail wagging so hard it's making a clanging noise against the metal floor.

"Good, now high five." Eddie says, lifting up his right hand, your dog deciding not to leave him hanging by smacking his hand with his paw. "Good job buddy." He says, "Now other paw, can you do other paw?"

Other paw was one of the newer stills your dog learned. To be entirely honest, you have no idea how they learned it. You were just asking for high fives one day, said other paw and it worked. You gave them praise and then the next time they did it again, and then again.

You're half convinced your dog taught you other paw, not the other way around.

It's still about 50/50, if your dog thinks they've done enough, they won't respond to other paw the same they would with other commands. You guess that comes with the whole 'they trained you' theory you had.

That odd also jumps wayy down whenever you try to show off 'other paw' to someone who hasn't seen it before. Your dog loves you and enjoys your games, but they're also a pet and they love embarrassing you and proving you wrong.

Today, the odds were on your side, with your dog doing a perfect example of the 'other paw' to Eddie, who for weeks of failed attempts of showing him, thought you were lying about.

"See! I told you!" You cheered, grabbing a bigger chunk off of the nugget in Eddie's hand and giving it to your dog. "Good doggy! What a good doggy!"

Eddie laughs, "I'll be damned." He says, throwing his piece of the nugget into the air for your dog to catch, they do so, ready for more.

You both give them the rest of the nugget before settling in for the movie, you figured you'd try to spread the nuggets out, so your dog could enjoy them the whole time.

Your dog seemed to get the message, crawling inbetween you and Eddie. Or- actually, pushing the two of you apart so they could be sandwiched in the middle. Their favorite spot.

As the previews come to an end, you turn to Eddie "Thank you for doing this with me." You say, scratching your dog behind their ear.

"No thank yous necessary sweetheart, I'm glad you're both having a good time." He replies, a soft smile adorning his face.

You all relax into each other just as the beginning of your dogs favorite film; 101 Dalmatians, starts to play on the big screen.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #hurt/comfort #tw death

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oneforthemunny · 6 months

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christmas (baby, please come home) |cowboy!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: it's not the most wonderful time of the year for everyone, including you and eddie.

apart of my munny's merriest that you can read here!

contains: angst. eddie is mean. past parental trauma. grief. holiday grief and sadness. angst really.

Heavy boots, covered with slush and snow from the frozen ground below, pounded up the creaking wooden porch. Eddie huffed, his breath clouding around him, a gloved hand reaching for the screen door. The toe of his work boots knocked against the doorway, kicking off the remainder of the snow from the icy, winter wonderland that arrived overnight, just in time for Christmas Eve. With it, came an icy chill that had Eddie working overtime to make sure the horses were warm.

It was an odd feeling, walking into the mud room, plopping on the bench to pull off his boots. Eddie waited, inhaling in the cold, crisp air, waiting for the warmth to flood back to his system. That cozy heat to thaw out the chill that shocked his system, left his cheeks red and frost bitten from the cold. The euphoric feeling of relief that coated him every time he walked in from the snow. It never came.

In fact, it felt colder in the house.

In the house that was decorated, halls decked and every square inch covered with Christmas. The usual homey contentment that came from looking at the decorations was gone, replaced with a miserable, heavy feeling settled deep in the pit of his stomach, feeling him with a sickening guilt.

Visions of your fight, hateful words piled on with yells and slamming doors, right there in the kitchen. A kitchen that should be filled with Burl Ives’ Christmas album on a loop was missing its merry music; it was missing you.

“We always spend Christmas with my family.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s always about you, what you wanna fuckin’ do!”

Eddie could see your face as if it was in front of him again. The way your expression fell, crumbling before him, the betrayal in your eyes rimmed with flecks of hurt. It made his stomach turn all over again.

“You don’t- I thought you liked spending time with my family.” Your voice was small, far too small for your usual tone. “They always love spending time with you, Ed.”

“Oh, yeah, to you they do.” He scoffed, eyes rolling so hard he gave himself a headache. He could feel it now. “You always leave me with your asshole uncle, who always wants to tell me the same goddamn story about how he used to ride horses growin’ up, like I give a shit-”

“-Eddie! He’s trying to be nice and talk to you, so you’re not-”

“-So I’m not miserable? Well, guess what, honey. I’m fuckin’ miserable!” His voice was so loud it shook the wooden cabinets of the kitchen, your tin snowmen rattling on top of the shelves. “I am fuckin’ miserable every Christmas! I would rather be here alone, shovelin’ shit all goddamn night and day than be there!”

The hitch in your breath rang loud and clear in Eddie’s ear, his own face crumpling this time, a shaky hand rubbing across his eyes to try and keep his composure. But how could he? How could he stop the ache in his chest when he remembered the way you looked at him? The way your eyes filled with tears, lip quivering in fear. You hadn’t cried, not in there, atleast. Instead, you waited until you got to the bedroom, pulling out your own little overnight bag and filling it silently.

He’d been so furious, so unfathomably filled with weeks of pent up rage, Eddie had to step out. Fury filled steps, a swinging fist to a post that left his knuckles bloody, splintering into the pale skin that was already blooming with bruises. Eddie really regretted it now, sure he’d broken a knuckle at the way it had swelled, doubled in size and kissed with dark purple, welt-like bruises. Oh, what he would do, what he would give, to have you fuss over it, patch it up and huff at him for doing something so immature.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stayed silent, save for the heart wrenching, hiccupy sniffle you gave when loading your bag into the trunk. Eddie’s body was still buzzing, electric with every ounce of bitter grief he’d tried to ignore.

“Where you goin’?” Eddie gritted, tone sharp, it left you shuddering at the unfamiliar sharpness directed at you.

“You want to shovel shit, since it’s so much better than being with my family.” Your breath stuttered in your chest when you took that breath. One that had Eddie’s heart lurching, nervous system flooding with a damning shock that left his head reeling in fear.

“Better than being with me.” The crack in your voice matched the crack in Eddie’s own heart, splitting it right down the middle.

“I don’t want to make you any more miserable than you already are.” You spat, and suddenly, Eddie longed for the sadness in your tone because the bitterness that replaced it was worse.

Your own boots crunched on the ground, bare with snow and ice, but frozen from the cold. “Have a Merry Christmas by yourself, Eddie.” A hard yank of your car handle, and you were gone.

Eddie watched you go in a horrified stare, your car disappearing down out of his sight in a red flash, feeling like he was watching a movie- a fucked up movie through his own eyes, but not in his own body.

Then he was alone.

Eddie was alone, standing on his family’s land, holding his throbbing hand alone. He was alone then. He was alone later that night, when he crawled into bed, teary eyes and shaking hands grabbing at your pillow, smothering himself with it because it smelled like you- terrified it might be the last time he could smell you. And he was alone now. Sitting in a too still kitchen, in a too quiet house, on Christmas Eve, alone.

The burning threat of tears choked him, bubbling out of his chest and crept up his throat. Through blurred vision, Eddie could see the time. A little past four. He wondered what you were doing, what your family was doing. If your dad had started a card game yet. The same Rummy game he always made sure to deal Eddie in to- always made sure to include him.

If your uncle was on his fourth or fifth glass of eggnog, spiking it with an extra pour of Woodford. He’d always offer Eddie some, slurring and spilling a little onto the festive tablecloth. Drunkenly tell him about his childhood, how he grew up riding horses, the same droning story that Eddie would always nod politely at. He was sloshed through the holidays, but never mean- always a jolly drunk, bellowing laughs through shining eyes. No smashing of plates or bruising grips like Eddie’s childhood Christmases always had.

Or if your mom had got a chance to breathe, pull herself out of the kitchen with your aunts. She’d always hug him so warmly when she’d greet the two of you at the door, fussing over taking your bags and jackets, so happy the two of you were there. She’d even embroidered a stocking for Eddie last year, surprised him with it proudly. He’d nearly cried.

It was a weird feeling. This feeling that he was becoming a part of your family. That they wanted him to be a part of it.

He only had Wayne left, the rest of his family was long gone. It filled him with a grimy, gross feeling how much he enjoyed his time with your family. The sickening thought that he was betraying his own, replacing them and filling in their spots with shiny, new replicas.

Wayne would laugh at him, tell him he should enjoy it, he better enjoy it. “You know Darlene and me go to Florida ev’ry Christmas, boy. You better stick it with ‘er. She’s a good’en.”

Wayne would be furious at him if he knew. Probably take him ‘round back for the way he spoke to you, about your family. Eddie wouldn’t blame him, he was furious at himself for it.

Eddie’s eyes found their way to the mantle, your stocking and his lined side by side. His was full, stuffed with small gifts and goodies you’d cheerily slip in, tongue clicking at him when he’d try to peek. Yours was deflated, sans for a small pair of cabin socks Eddie had got in early November.

The bile in his throat brought him back to his very cruel reality in front of him. He’d been mean to you- he acted like his dad.

Eddie’s stomach lurched, moving to the sink, a shaking hand pulling his hair back, retching into the sink at the revelation. Parallels of his mom and dad, his childhood, how his mom would decorate the house from top to bottom, make it nice and festive for Eddie. His dad would come in, tear it down, mock her for it in a drunken slur. She’d always buy him a gift, make sure Eddie’s stocking was filled with what she could: penny candies, knitted gloves, dented wacky packs from the discount store. Eddie would make her an ornament, his Mamaw Munson would get her a little gift, but never his dad. Her stocking was always empty.

A choked sob caught in Eddie’s throat, vomit spewing into the shiny surface under him. Clammy forehead pressed to the cool countertop, he took a deep, shaky sob to try and keep the cry in. The mangled sob that shook his core, rattled his lungs, burned all the way from his stomach to his nose.

Calloused hands wiped at his wet cheeks, chapped from the cold, giving a fierce sniffle. Eddie felt eight again, noticing for the first time the way his mother’s eyes dimmed, how she tried to hide it when she opened the empty stocking. She had been hopeful that there had been something in there, that this year his dad would remember her, be better. He never was.

Eddie couldn’t be him, he wouldn’t be. He’d already reflected him in every way, too much for his own comfort lately- screaming at you, that rage that tore through him, bloody knuckles and aching throat that was leaving you in tears.

As his shaking fingers turned the dial, cradling the phone to his ear, he hoped you would answer- that he could just get to you, talk to you. Your mother’s cheery voice rang over the phone instead, a happy roar of chatter mixed with music playing behind her voice.

“Oh, Ed?” Your mother’s voice sounded concerned, he could practically see her frown, one you inherited. “Are you feeling better, hon? We miss you. I’m sending your stocking and gifts home- well, not the stocking, I’ll keep that but what’s inside.”

You’d told them he was sick, covered for him- just like his mom used to do for his dad. The kindness in her tone nearly sent Eddie over the edge, pulling the receiver away to take a breath, to keep the sob from coming out.

“Ed?” Your mom tried again. “Are you there?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry. I just… Is s-she around?” Eddie’s voice was tight with emotion, and he knew if he said your name, it would break whatever facade he’s mustered at the moment.

“Uh-huh, one second.” A staticy rustle filled the receiver, your name muffled and falling from your mom’s lips.

Eddie didn’t realize he was holding his breath, until he released it, a desperate sigh of relief when you took the phone. “Hello?”

“H-Hi, baby.” Eddie tried, hoping his voice was soft enough, gentler now- than the last time he talked to you.

“Hi.” You bit, through gritted teeth, dragging the chord of the phone into the hall with you. “What do you want? I’m with my family.”

His water line brimmed again, overflowing with angry tears. “Yeah, I know, honey. I’m sorry, I just,” Eddie took a deep breath, stuttering in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Your own lip wobbled, fresh with tears. You’d pulled into your parents drive the night before, eyes red rimmed from your cry, telling them something about the hay and your allergies. They’d believed you, pulled you in with a warm hug. It was nice, comforting at your home, surrounded by your family until you were asleep. A bed had never felt so cold.

“I don’t-” You grit, trying to keep your own emotions in. “This is why you called me?”

Eddie flinched at the venom in your own tone. “I am sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby, you don’t even kno-ow.” Eddie’s chest stuttered. “I didn’t mean any of that, I swear. I was- I’m just… I’m not doing great this year, baby.”

Your heart jumped at the shake in his tone, the rawness of his words. “You really hurt my feelings, Ed.” You admitted, your voice smaller. “I don’t- I don’t know why you don’t like my family. They love you-”

“-I don’t.” Eddie shook his head, fist balled around the phone. “I didn’t mean any of that. I love your family, I-I love you.”

“So, you said all of that, why?” You scoffed lowly.

Eddie’s knee bounced. He hadn’t expected you just to forgive him, but it was still hard- hard when you weren’t here, when you were away and hurt, and he was alone and miserable.

Miserable, the single word in the world he wished to never say or hear again.

“I…” Eddie’s hand threaded through his matted locks. “I don’t know. It’s weird. Not- no, no, no, not you or- fuck, that’s not what I meant.” Eddie rambled stupidly.

“I feel weird about being with your family on Christmas because…I like it.” Eddie’s vision was blurred, watery with tears. “It’s just different from what I grew up with, and… and I don’t know, sometimes it’s just, it’s overwhelming, baby.”

You stayed silent on the other end, the only sound signaling you were still on the line was the faint yells and mummers of your family, only making Eddie’s heart ache even more. “They’re all so nice, it-it makes me… I didn’t have that. My family didn’t have that, and-and every time I’m there it just makes me wish they did.”

The both of you fell into a silence, one that was becoming far too common. Eddie’s heart hammered behind his ribcage. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. This- nothing is your fault, you know that? This is on me. I shouldn’t have ever talked to you like that, said that shit. I’d beat the dog walking shit out of anyone who said that shit about you, and then I say it? That’s just-” Eddie let out a humorless, watery laugh, fist pressed to his forehead in an attempt to extinguish that fury burning through his chest again.

A cleansing breath later, Eddie’s head was in his hands. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, wobbly when he told you. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s… We can talk later, Eddie.” Your voice finally rang through, shaky and unsteady, clutching the phone like it was your life long. “Thank you for calling me. For telling me that.”

The silence settled again, both of you unsure, scared to make the next move.

“I, uh, I wish you were here.” You broke the silence this time. “My family keeps asking about you. They miss you, a lot.”

“I miss you.” Eddie sniveled, wiping his running nose with the back of his hand. “I mean, I miss them too, but I just… I miss you a lot.”

A pause, the slight clear of your throat. “I have to go.” You whispered, voice tight and Eddie knew you were close to tears. “I have to help my mom set the table, but… I’ll call you tonight.”

“I love you.” Eddie blurted, sacred he might forget to say it with how his head was swimming. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“I know.” Your voice was soft. It made Eddie’s stomach lurch all over again.

The line droned in a steady beep after your receiver clicked. Eddie held the phone there, eyes shining dully with unshed tears in the lights of the strung decorations. A defeated slump in his shoulders. He didn’t feel any better, worse if anything.

Eddie was surrounded by a deafening silence, the house too quiet. Too quiet to be Christmas. Too quiet without you.

The soft glow from the barn pulled Eddie’s attention, the doors pulled to keep the heat in for the horses. He twisted the phone in his palms, turning it over in his hands gently before jabbing his fingers back into the dial.

The line rang once, twice, nearly a third before it was answered.

“Gare, hey, I’ve got a big ask…”

“Honey,” Your mom’s eyes squinted, yellow rubber gloves dunked into the soapy warm water in front of her. “I thought you said Ed wasn’t coming.”

You nearly dropped the plate you were drying, breath caught in your throat. “What?” You hissed, leaning to look out the small window over the sink. Sure enough, there in the dark, snow covered driveway was Eddie’s truck.

“I-I didn’t think he was.” You shook your head, setting the plate down gently. “He said he wasn’t feeling well. I’m just- I’ll be right back.” Slipping on your boots, not bothering to lace them, you stepped outside into the frigid cold of the night.

Eddie didn’t see you, back turned, grabbing armfulls of bags out of the back seat. “What are you doing here?”

He jumped, nearly dropping your aunt’s present, eyes wide when he turned. “Shit, I-I…” Eddie’s tongue tied, jumbled and thick in his mouth. He didn’t expect to see you, standing there, in your little Christmas sweater that had his heart swelling. He wanted to kiss you, coo at you for being so cute, get you all blushy and giggle at his compliments.

Your lifted brow, arms crossed over your chest protectively stopped him. “I wanted to give your family their gifts. I-I was just going to leave them on the porch and tell you when I called tonight.”

Your foot twisted into the snow, eyes cast downward. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did.” Eddie nodded firmly. “They’re not- It’s not great. The mall was closing early so I had to kinda rush, but, uh, I wanted to get them something.” He looked at you, eyes shining with emotion. “Wanted to get you something too.”

Your stocking was hooked onto his left pointer finger, a crooked bend of the knitted fabric, hanging heavy and filled with tiny trinkets and things that ruffled. You looked at it carefully, face quipping just barely, but Eddie caught it. “I didn’t want you to think I forgot about you.” Eddie muttered lowly, breath showing under the glow of the lights.

“Thank you.” You nodded, swallowing thickly around your words. “I can help you take them in.”

“No,” Eddie shook his head. “I don’t want to… I know you don’t want to be with me right now, baby, and I get it. I’ll just drop them off-”

“-Come inside.” You sighed, arms still tight around his chest. “My mom already saw you. It’s just easier for you to come in.”

Eddie tried to hide the hurt he felt with a simple nod. “I don’t want to ruin your Christmas.” He muttered softly. “More than I already have.”

“Eddie,” You sounded tired, words heavy with emotion, exhaustion maybe. “Come inside.” Your eyes lifted to his, so sweet, nearly pleading he was sure he might sob. “There’s still leftovers. I’ll heat them up for you.”

So Eddie followed you inside, gifts under his arms, letting your family greet him warmly, chocking his red eyes and matching nose up to the hay fever he’d been having. Your mom fixed him a plate, poured you both a glass of mulled wine.

In the tiny bed of your childhood room, the two of you talked in hushed voices, silent apologies traded over soft touches.

“I didn’t mean it.” Eddie whispered, nose pushing into your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You nodded, and you did. Even if it still hurt, still wounded from the words, you knew that was true.

Eddie’s cheek pressed against your shoulder, hands grabbing at you, pulling you closer and closer like at any moment you might disappear from his clutches. “My mom,” His voice cracked, eyes pinching shut. “She used to love Christmas.”

“Really?” You hum, tone as even as it could be with the shock. Eddie never spoke about his mother.

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “She, uh, she used to decorate every Thanksgiving. Pull out the tree after dinner, put it up. My dad,” Eddie swallowed around the bitter title. “He was always passed out by then, so she could do it pretty quickly. Get it up and ready before he’d wake up and bitch. It wasn’t a lot, a tree and some other stuff, but I’d always help her. She-She always let me put the angel on top.”

You weren’t sure what to say, what you were supposed to say. Eddie’s mom was a sensitive spot. One he didn’t talk about much, at all, really.

“She would really like your family.” Eddie’s voice was small, a rarity. Always the loud, rough and tough cowboy, commanding wild bucks all day. Small wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“They would have really liked her.” You said slowly, vibrations from your voice tickling Eddie’s ear.

Eddie knew it was true. He felt stupid, really, waves of horrible guilt crashing over him again as he clung tighter to you. Your family wasn’t the enemy, wasn’t one to try and replace his own family, just an extension.

He meant what he said, that his Mama would like your family. He already knew she’d love you, simply because he did. He hoped it was true, that your family would’ve loved her. He knew deep down they would have, that they would welcome her with the same warmth that they gave him.

That they’d always make sure her stocking was full on Christmas morning, because they always made sure his was.

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castielli · 2 years

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How to request:

Send your request featuring the character you want, the plot (+ANGST, FLUFF…) and anything I need to know about the reader.

MASTERLISTS:

MOVIES/TV SHOWS

KDRAMA/KPOP

Fandoms I write for under the cut!

——————————————

NCIS

Timothy McGee

Jimmy Palmer

Nicholas Torres

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Penelope Garcia (platonic🫶)

Luke Alvez

CALL OF DUTY (MW/WWII)

John Price

Soap MacTavish

Ghost Riley

Gaz Garrick

Alex Keller

Alejandro Vargas

Phillip Graves

Vladimir Makarov

Rudy Parra

Red Daniels

William Pierson

Joseph Turner

Robert Zussman

Frank Aiello

Drew Stiles

SHAMELESS

Ian Gallagher

Carl Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

Mickey Milkovich

Kevin Ball

THE WALKING DEAD (+TELLTALE GAME)

Rick Grimes

Daryl Dixon

Glenn Rhee

Negan Smith

Shane Walsh

Lee Everett

Kenny

Doug

Mark

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Robin Buckley (platonic)

Eddie Munson

Jim Hopper

Jonathan Byers

Peter/001

Jason Carver

Dimitri

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY (I still need to finish the last season😊)

Viktor Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Number Five

Luther Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Crowley

Bobby (platonic)

Chuck

NOW YOU SEE ME

Jack Wilder

J. Daniel Atlas

Merritt McKinney

Dylan Rhodes

Chase McKinney

MARVEL (Avengers/X-men)

Wanda Maximoff

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Steve Rogers

Stephen Strange

Peter Parker (Tom/Andrew/Tobey)

Clint Barton

Deadpool

Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson

Peter Quill

Quentin Beck/Mysterio

Eddie Brock/Venom

Druig

Ikaris

Charles Xavier

Erik Lehnsherr

Peter Maximoff

Wolverine

Scott Summers

Hank McCoy

Bobby Drake

Alex Summers

Phil Coulson

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockey

Scott Lang

Pietro Maximoff

Mobius M. Mobius

Matt Murdock

Shang-chi

STAR WARS

Anakin Skywalker

Luke Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Poe Dameron

Finn

TEEN WOLF

Stiles Stilinski

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

Isaac Lahey

Jackson Whittemore

Peter Hale

Theo Raeken

Liam Dunbar

Jordan Parrish

Mason Hewitt

Danny Mahealani

Aiden Steiner

Ethan Steiner

Corey Bryant

THE BOYS IN THE BAND

Bernard

Harold

Hank

Donald

Cowboy

Alan McCarthy

Michael

Larry

Emory

WHITE COLLAR

Neal Caffrey

Peter Burke

Mozzie (platonic)

Clinton Jones

DIVERGENT

Peter

Caleb Prior

Four

HARRY POTTER

Neville Longbottom

Sirius Black

Cedric Diggory

Seamus Finnigan

Viktor Krum

Remus Lupin

Draco Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Charlie Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Percy Weasley

Ron Weasley

Oliver Wood

FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM

Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen)

Newt Scamander

Credence Barebone

Theseus Scamander

Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law)

HUNGER GAMES

Peeta Mellark

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

MAZE RUNNER

Newt

Thomas

Gally

Minho

911 (and LONE STAR)

Evan Buckley (Buck)

Howie Han (Chimney)

Bobby Nash

Eddie Diaz

TK Strand

Carlos Reyes

Paul Strickland

Owen Strand

Jud Ryder

Mateo Chavez

RIVERDALE

Jughead Jones

FP Jones

Archie Andrews

Hiram Lodge

Sweet Pea

Fangs

Kevin Keller

Reggie Mantle

Chic

Moose Mason

BROOKLYN99

Jake Peralta

Terry Jeffords

All the others (platonic only)

CHRISTIAN BALE

Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

PEDRO PASCAL

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)

Agent Whiskey (Kingsman)

Silva (Strange Way of Life)

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN

Connor

RK900

Hank

Markus

Luther

Simon

Gavin

Josh

BARBIE

Ken (Ryan)

Ken (Simu)

Allan

SHERLOCK

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Jim Moriarty

Mycroft Holmes

FNAF (movie)

Mike Schmidt

Steve Raglan

SUITS

Harvey Specter

Mike Ross

LA CASA DE PAPEL

El Profesor

Berlín

Palermo

Denver

Río

I WON’T WRITE:

-Smut (for anyone)

-R*pe

-Female readers/GN readers

-Suic*de

-inc*st

-Crossdressing

-Romantic/Suggestive stories for underage characters (only platonic, basically)

If the character you wanted to request is not on the list, you can try and ask me anyways.

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deadboyfriendd · 1 year

Text

Cochise l: Nellie

Summary: A dark stranger blows into town, bringing Hell with him. Little did he know, Hell was already here, in the form of you. The air here is stale and the residents stagnant. This town was as wild as the west was able, and you are the most wild thing about it.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, wet dream, smut included, feminine rage embodied and I gave her a gun

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading!

Find the series masterlist here!

When the dust blew in from the East, Hell came with it.

And Hell hath no fury like a woman’s reproach.

1890. From the ashes of the Civil War rose a phoenix of economic expansion and spurs the great migration west. Farmers, ranchers, prospectors, killers and thieves seek their fortunes. Cattle drovers turned cow towns into armed camps with murder-rates higher than those of modern-day New York or Los Angeles. Silver is discovered in Arizona, and the prospectors dragged their young wives and their Parisian fashions with them. Siphoned together out of greed, hundreds of Texas outlaws banded together to forge a new way forward, resulting in the birth of early organized crime.

Out of this chaos came the great legendary lawmen, and none as mean as you.

The air was stale this time of year, heavy enough to flatten a lizard, when the turn of the season brought the green back to the ironwoods and the snakes back from their hides. When it brought the heat back with a haughty laughter and a heart full of vengeance. The sun cast down a glare that warped the mirage of the desert backdrop of Cochise County, turning from a comforting radiation to a wasp sting when the night turned. The cereus blossom fragrant with rot that filled the stagnant night air and its timely beauty– and ultimate untimely death.

He reaped a certain morosity with him, spurs scraping across the floor like a toll, steps sure as snow in the northern country– as they dragged the dust from his heels eastward. His skin was of alabaster, and his clothes of obsidian. He was not from here, and it drew a shudder from the mesquite doors upon their sun-dried hinges. The dirty faces of prospectors, drunks, and cattle drovers turning to peer at him under sweat-laden brows.

The Whispering Sands was not the ritzy bar, no, that was the bar located in the lobby of the Grand Hotel up the holler. No, Your dealer was as straight as a Christmastime wreath, your doors hung as crooked as your dealer, and if you didn’t carry when you walked through, you had spares. There would be no clean men and women with their Parisian dresses and costly hat pins occupying this place. This was the lowest of the low.

He peers at you from under the brim of a coal-stained, honest-to-God gunslinger wool Stetson, lined with the hammered silver and turquoise-inlaid band. It laid flat across the top and around the brim. You hadn’t seen one like it since your wedding night on the ritzy hardwood grounds of the Grand Hotel herself. He takes a seat in a singular fell swoop, frock coat flaring outwards and casting a soft breeze over your presence. Single-breasted, large notch lapels. Beneath it, his dark pinstripe trousers folded under the weight of his body, the silver brocade vest above the black cravat remaining stiff. From where your eye connected with him, you could see the nickel plating of a Colt 1873 single action revolver, sheathed under the oiled ellipse of the leather-bound shoulder holster. It was apparent he wasn’t here to push cattle.

It was a fleeting gaze, the kind that rattle each of your vertebra and settled in your coccyx. A single golden curl slipped over a broad shoulder and swung heavy in the tension between your two bodies.

There was a resonant patriarchal tenor that buzzed amongst the patrons in this space, tense on the outcome and flat-lining in deliverance. They tried to avert wandering gazes from this new resident— strung together words in staccato, interrupted by morbid curiosity and on-looking eyes. Michael Doten– amicably monickered “Mudsill”, shattered this hum like china. He was a worm of a man, slimy in all of the worst ways, and, on this day in particular, aptly under the impression of laudanum and drink. He shared these sympathies with his own father– a man no more than fifteen years his senior.

He slinked through the door with the demeanor of an old tom-cat, crooked in stride and greasy to the touch— not that you could fathom anyone wanting to touch him at all. He demanded a house whiskey with a slovenly belch– a concoction made from your own sarsaparilla, burnt raw sugar, and chewing tobacco.

“Michael, I’d say you’ve about had enough today.” You chided, firm in your answer. The stranger peered a doting gaze towards you, then turned it toward ‘Ol Mudsill from a downturned hat– wistful in demeanor and daring in residence. He watched as Michael cast a thumb of brown saliva onto your floor, intentionally ignoring the existence of the spitoon a mere few feet from it.

He sneered towards you through leather-laden eyelids, a protuberance straight from the aforementioned spittoon, and filled with piss and vinegar, “Now,” He started, “ – if I wanted an old bitch telling me what I can and can’t drink, I would have considered marrying.” It was a slimy statement with a profound lack of remorse. It dripped from the gaps of his rotting teeth like a tar.

“I wouldn’t marry you, even if I was fixin’ to face death herself.” It wasn’t the first time you had denied him a drink, nor was it the first time he had spoken ill toward you. You doubted it would also be the last. You were a harum-scarum, devil-may-care woman, tough as nails and pretty as a mink stole.

“You don’t listen too good, now do you?” Mudsill spit back, standing now. Your fingers grazed the pearl handles of the Remington Model 1890 tucked away in the fold of your dresses. You hoped to God you didn’t have to use it.

Before ‘Ol Mudsill could think of something to say back, the dark stranger stood, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“Is that a fact?” Mudsill raises a wiry brow towards the man, standing erect in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He said back, quietly. It was a discerning quiet, the kind where you figure trouble might be brewing.

“Well, for a man that don’t go heels, you run your mouth kinda reckless there, don’t ‘ya?” The stranger said, standing a little more erect– like he was fixing for trouble, though, by the context of the rest of the conversation, you’d say trouble had already been brewing. Now, you waited for the pot to boil over, “No need to go heel to get the bulge on a tub like you, huh?”

Mudsill glared toward him though tight lids, a reckless abandon only a drunk could possess, “Is that a fact?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Well, I’m ‘real scared.” Musill replied with a bobbling nod of his head, reaching for the firearm tucked away behind his waistband.

“Damn right, you’re scared. I can see that in your eyes.” The stranger followed the movement of his hand momentarily, eyes settling over the worn wood of the stock before meeting back up with his eyes, “Yeah, go ahead, skin it. Skin that smoke-wagon and see what happens.”

“Listen Mister, I’m gettin’ awful tired of you–” He was cut off, the stranger landing a stinging, open-palmed blow to his face.

“I’m gettin’ tired of your gas, now jerk that pistol and go to work.” Mudsill stared back, stunned. Frozen like a scared lizard. Another blow. “I said throw down, boy.” A third blow landed across his cheek, harder this time. You could see where the blood filled his mouth and covered his teeth. “You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?”

“No?” The stranger raised an eyebrow, reaching upwards to put a forceful hand on mudsill’s shoulder, “Now, come on, Junior.”

The wire snapped behind ‘Ol Mudsill’s eyes, and with a sleight of hand, he reached for the worn pistol tucked into his overcoat. The dark stranger was fast, but you were faster. The pearl grips cold and smooth against the sweat of your palms. Quickly and in one motion, you stepped out from the bar, hand forced steady only in fear alone.

“You’re bluffing.” Michael sneered towards you, taking a step forward, closer to you with the barrel now in your direction. It was enough for the stranger to bear his arms as well, though, he wouldn’t need them today. The barrel met Michael’s forehead.

“I don’t bluff.” Your thumb met the hammer, pulling it back enough for a deafening swell click, “Now your family may be back to rush me, but that won’t stop me from blowing a canoe through your head first, y’hear?”

His eyes widened, and he pulled the barrel back from you, finger leaving the sheath of the trigger and thumb only staying tucked around the grip enough to keep it held.

“Don’t come back here. Ever.” You ordered, and he nodded slightly.

“Yes’m”

The stranger spoke then, pistol still planted firmly against the back of the offender, “And you’re gonna drop that weapon right here, Michael.” He ordered.

The worn colt clattered against the floor as he tossed it from his waist-height to the ground. The stranger took this as the opportunity to grab Michael by the collar and drag him out the front doors like a calf. You could see the durst stir from outside, but didn’t sense a further commotion. You sat idly in one of your stools, letting free an exasperated sigh as you threw your head down against the bar. You didn’t sign up for this when you found yourself out west.

You felt the stock of a pistol press into the meat of your upper arm, “Here. Keepsake. Hang it over the bar, Nellie.” The stranger spoke back to you, sliding the firearm across the worn mesquite bar top.

You raised a brow at him, more at the moniker, but also at his enthusiasm, “Nellie?”

“I had a horse like you once,” He released a breathy laugh between his words, maybe more nervous at the fact that he was comparing you to a horse, “ —even after she broke she was meaner than hell, but prettier than a mink stole. It’s a pleasure, Mrs–”

He thought it was foolish, comparing you to that mean old mare, but he didn’t have time to dote on it before you stopped him mid-sentence.

“Ms.” You corrected.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes flitted down to the ring on your finger, a single thin gold band that he dwelled on for just long enough for you to notice the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Dead.” You clarified, and he felt his heart contract as the word left your lips.

“Sorry to hear that.” He dips his head low, only now taking off the Stetson to greet you properly, “Name’s Munson. Edward Munson.”

You shook your head, forcing that still-bruising ache away to push a smile, “Ain’t no changin’, may God have willed it, Mr. Munson.”

He matched your smile, handsome cheeks creasing deeply around the curvature of his mouth, “Just Edward will do, ma’am.”

You pulled open the humidor, nimble fingers gracing along the stack of cigars beneath its lid. You chose the one with the cleanest-looking wrapping, one that looked sufficient enough as a thank-you, before offering it to him. He took it with a nod of his head, thick fingers wrapping around the base gently before pulling the kerosene vase near him. You watched the smoke roll from between his lips in a vapid crescendo, all too graceful and all too beautiful.

“I take it you're not a prospector?” You questioned him gently, voice sure, yet smaller than his resonating alto.

He laughed softly, the kind that heaves itself from the chest. Hearty, “No ma'am.”

“Then how does someone like you find yourself in a place like this?” You leaned an elbow on the bar, chin resting firmly in the warmth of your palm. You tried to ignore the sweat building between the flesh.

He looked down at the cigar between his fingers, twirling it around and feeling the paper it was rolled in, “Well I find I could ask you the same thing–”

The bell above the door was shrill in the staleness of the air, the resonance of the prior entanglement floating back up in a cloud in an attempt to re-settle over the old furniture like silt. The man that waded through its wake was tall, but not gangly, no, he did not share the demeanor of a scarecrow. He looked like he meant business.

You pulled your attention away from Edward for a brief moment, your eyes tearing from his personage and settling over the familiar face, “Hello, Sheriff.”

“Hello, ma’am.” The sheriff tipped his hat towards you in greeting, peering briefly at the man sat at the bar in front of you, “‘Ol Mudsill seems pretty shaken up, did somethin’ happen again?”

“Nothin that Edward here couldn’t handle.” You watched as his eyes flicked back and forth between you and Edward, like he was trying to piece a puzzle together but there were too many missing pieces, “Sheriff, this is Edward Munson, just unloaded from the train in Tucson.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He reached a broad hand out to meet with the sheriff’s.

He accepted the offer, hands locked together in a firm grip, “Steve Harrington.”

“Pleasure.” Edward mentioned, politely.

“You have a place to stay, Edward?” He asked, hand still interlocked with his for a brief moment.

“Not as of yet. Know of anyone housing?”

“I’d say the Grand Hotel just across the way.”

The walk to the other side of the road is brief, but the sun beat down against Eddie’s back like a brand– the eyes that followed his movement, the hands that held the iron. The dust kicked up behind him and collected at the bases of his boots seemed to slow his stride as he sunk into its softness. He would have to have them polished tomorrow.

Steve turned to him, boots casting a hollow thud as they stepped up onto the decking of The Grand Hotel, “I am inclined to ask, what exactly happened back there?”

Eddie cleared his throat, righting himself, “Just some drunk. Got all riled up when she wouldn’t serve him and started waving his gun around.”

Steve shook his head, removing his hat to run a finger through the hair beneath it, sand ripplying against his scalp beneath his finger, “Christ, well, thank you for handling that for her. She’s been through too much this year.”

“She dealt with that right on her own, sheriff, the only part I took part in was getting him out.”

Their boots made a clunk against the sun-rotted wood on the staircase of The Grand Hotel, stairs creaking in affliction. There was a moment of silence between the two men, tense and fleeting, like there was still something to be said.

“Her husband died last spring.” Steve finally mentioned, understanding that it wasn’t his place to tell.

“She mentioned it.” Steve felt a relief at him knowing. He didn’t want to be the one to have to bear the shock of the statement.

He sighed before continuing, “Shot and killed on that bar floor. ‘Couple of bandoleros robbing the place.”

“Chist–- She seemed capable.” Eddie mentioned to him, raking his hair back under his hat. He felt the sweat bead around where the band met his skin.

“But still, no woman should ever have to bury her husband.” The sheriff said, reaching up to place nimble hands on his hips, “‘Specially not that young.”

The Grand Hotel is the essence of luxury in the west. Well, as luxurious as they could ship by train. Mahogany covered the expanse of the palace in a grandeur scale, only being broken by the pin-striped wallpaper covering the upper half of the wayne-scotted wall on the second floor. The taxidermied elk that hung above the bartop was shipped from the northern country, as were many of the axis and whitetail deer that hung on other walls.

This seemed to be the only place in this town that a fine layer of dust hadn’t settled over.

The velveteen nature of the drapery that hung over the stage to the left in a heavy abismality had remained nearly untouched by the traces of the desert around it. The gold of the drawstrings that held them back still contained the luster under the light.

He couldn’t help but to search for you in the madness of coiled, unabashedly tentative curls piled on the heads of the women in the large bustles that scraped between tables and each other. You looked like you belonged here, but he knew where you would be.

This night’s show had ended already, the lingering patrons also taking residence within the palace. The backing curtain drawn to a close and the actors retired to their quarters. Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, overrun, overplayed. Edward thought about it. Of all the things in the world to know, why learn The Devil’s craft? He figured if it was the only thing left to know, he’d probably learn it, too.

There is a man of about five foot, ten inches sat at the bar, elbows rested against the glossy finish of the bartop. He is a burly man, Eddie can see that even from his sitting position. Steve guides Eddie towards him, taking his own seat next to him. Eddie stayed standing.

He looks back behind him, Steve muttering a few words that Eddie couldn't seem to hear over the drabble of lobby patrons, “Milt. County Marshall.”

He sticks a rough hand out, and Eddie takes it in a firm clasp.

“Edward Munson.” He shakes his hand once, Milt was a man of few words.

Steve buys Eddie a drink. A golden bourbon, not watered down like many of the bars out west did for reserve. Real golden bourbon. An import. A thanks.

They settled on a less-occupied corner of the palace, one that lacked faro tables and drunk patrons. On the opposite side of the baby grande that played anything its player knew how.

“Her husband was a good man.” Steve said between sips, sweat dripping down the crystalline glass like glitter, “Too good if you’d ask me. It’s what got him killed in the first place.”

He felt the pang in his chest, a tightening of muscles like tears, “It’s a shame. Pretty woman like that having to run that place by her lonesome.”

Steve chucked a bit in agreement, looking back over his shoulder like you would somehow appear, “That isn’t by our choice. She could have her pick if she wanted it.” He took another sip of his drink, and Eddie knew he was right. You were pretty, sullen skin like satin, hair like ribbon. He’d pay all of the money in his pocket just to touch.

“She doesn’t?” Eddie questioned, looking over to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I’d reckon not.”

He tried not to think about it, instead focusing on the piano. He watched the woman sat on top, the way the lace of her undergowns flowed upwards with the swing of her ankles. He watched the man play with skilled– albeit drunk– fingers.

This place was lively, perhaps a little too lively for the hour. People still yelling obscenities and praises over faro, ice in glasses. He felt the sweat from the glass beneath his fingers, and it matched the band of it building beneath his cap. His collar felt tight, like someone had been pulling it from the back. Shouldn’t it have gotten cooler when the sun went down?

“I’d reckon I’d better turn in for the night.” He said suddenly, placing the glass down on the bar in front of him, about a milliliter of fluid left watered-down and pooling at the bottom.

He ascended the mahogany staircase to his quarters, where he would retire for the night. However, as he stripped himself of his frock coat and underclothes, he couldn’t help to peer towards the luminescent glow coming from The Whispering Sands upper floor across the bend.

The curtains billowed outwards towards the street below, casting a light over the sand beneath it like a halo. White linen backlit by yellow butane lighting. And there you sat, all woman. He’d have half a mind to buy you some night clothes, and the other half a mind to burn them if you even had them.

He watched the way your skin rippled at your lower back as your bare skin pressed against your vanity stool, and the way your skin stretched over your shoulder blades as you pulled your hair to the side, raking through it with the brush in front of you. Your lips fell into a supple pout in concentration, and your lashes kissed your cheeks as you looked down. He could feel the windowsill digging into his palms, it grounded him– kept him from free-floating into the stagnant desert air.

The Grand Hotel is a loud place, and it never sleeps. The faro games did not stop on his account, and he didn’t expect them to. He closes his eyes, a glass breaks. A fight breaks out downstairs in a triad of commotion, shuffling, and yelling. This was the first time he had been in a bed in days, yet, it felt horrendously unceremonious. Sleep would not evade him in the way he willed it.

The flooring creaked, drunk patrons hit the wall outside of his quarters with intense, muffled thuds. Two people in the suit next to him were clearly of relation. He tried to ignore the way the oak headboard creaked and hit the wall in a rhythmic fashion. He tried his hardest not to think of you.

This place did not sleep, and he knew he wouldn’t either. So instead, Edward collected his hat and gun, pulling his trousers back on and lazily doing his shirt back up.

The night air had cooled some, less blistering than when the sun was out, yet it remained stale. He walked a bit, eyes still shimmering with the adjustment of light from the palace to the stark darkness of the desert. Light traveled a lot further here, darkness even further. The hum of the palace dimmed as the distance between them grew, air heavy like a barrier that stopped the noise from traveling.

He settled himself in the soft sand beneath him, back planted firmly against the knotty base of that twisted old ironwood. Someone else still awake at this unholy hour plucked delicately at old piano keys– these ones slightly more out of tune and reverberated off of the walls with a static hum that resonated through the otherwise empty streets. Sleep evaded in a thankless percussion.

And there you were.

He allowed his fingers to trail over the delicate expanse of your shoulder, brushing soft curls over its bridge. Soft presses of his mouth trailed from your year to the valley of your clavicle. He pressed your gowns down your shoulder as he went, the loose garment sliding off with ease.

In your glorious, supple nature. All woman all the time. Your hands, nimble and soft, were forceful against his chest as you pushed him back against plush white linens. Fingers as sure as death and as right as rain. The haze from the butane lamp cast a glow around you, baby hairs illuminating around your head like a halo.

Slowly now, but with an urgency, you right yourself in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his shirt in a way that made him want to beg just to feel a finger brush against his skin. He whined as he watched you with wide eyes.

His buckle made impressions on the inside of your thigh, a welcome breeze blew through the open window, gracing the overlaying flesh in a ritual of human intimacy. Songs of “Oh- Gods” and small giggles creating perfect songs- a gathering drum backing and an underlying hum of the desert around you. You could feel his hands on your back, fingers his fingers unwrapping you from linen bed sheet confines and introducing you to your own bedroom like an heirloom– a home in which you yourself haunted. The palms of your hands feeling the smooth surface of stone beneath the skin, and the dewey droplets from his own flesh dampened them with a waxy residue.

His fingers pressed firmly into the plush of your outer thighs, and your skin was soft. Calves skin, another import. Too soft for this place. Too soft for this sadness.

“So soft.” He whispered, voice a tenor to its usual pitch.

He watched where your bodies connected, the way you slid up and down on him, the way his fingers rippled your skin where they dug in, the gyration of your hips. Your hair is down this time, braid long since combed through, and the ends of it tickle as they brush against him.

“God, Nellie.” He isn’t particularly introspective or anything, but he does know that he’ll never feel something like this again.

Your tender touch a velvety petal trailed down the expanse of his chest where it heaves, nothing left to impede your touch. No overcoats, no holster or gun. Your hands like the claws of the bobcat pawing into the sand where his heart lay in an unmarked grave.

“Edward,” You whispered against the shell of his ear, his hands pressing the center of your back to bring you close against your chest. It was a plea. It read like a prayer. “Take me, please.”

His upward thrust slowed from long, meaningful bass crescendos to harsh uneven staccatos. Your breaths became erratic in nature to match. Your release washed over you like a storm, rolling and violent and all at once. His own followed suit.

Edward realized then that this was how the west would be won. If it wasn’t, he’d wage the war himself.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #Spotify #outlaw!eddie #cowboy!eddie

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waywardrose · 9 months

Text

MASTERLIST

Under the cut are x-reader fics for:

Flip Zimmerman (BlacKkKlansman)

Pale (Burn This)

Ronnie Peterson (The Dead Don’t Die)

Adam Sackler (HBO’s Girls)

Jacques le Gris (The Last Duel)

Clyde Logan (Logan Lucky)

Charlie Barber (Marriage Story)

Abraham H. Parnassus (Saturday Night Live)

Kylo Ren (Star Wars)

Armitage Hux (Star Wars)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Phillip Altman (This Is Where I Leave You)

+ Miscellaneous fics (and more! 👀)

updated: January 30, 2024

Follow me on:

AO3

Wattpad

Twitter

Discord: waywardrose

BLACKKKLANSMAN

reader x flip zimmerman

🌹 A Reintroduction

rating: teen+, 1.5k, gender-neutral!reader, flip is dishonest, but also thirsty, drug-dealing mention

Flip. Your Flip is with the cops. He has a gun and a badge and everything.

That didn’t make any sense.

🌹 Flashfic: Flip could get it ✊

🌹 Flashfic: How do you think Flip would react to his wife’s changing body during pregnancy?

🌹 Flashfic: How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

🌹 Flashfic: How do they picture their future with their s/o?

🌹 The Handler

rating: explicit, 4.4k, sexism, violence, abusive language, blood (bc of the violence), drug mention, guns mention, child sex-trafficking mention, rape threat, jealousy, fighting

You propped your cowboy boot on the table edge and took a long drink of beer. No one sitting at the table with you paid your rudeness any mind. In fact, Johnny Claiborne promptly placed his callused hand on your bare knee.

🌹 It’s Too Late To Turn Back Now

rating: teen, 2.1k, past physical-abuse mention, brief injury description, off-screen murder, period-typical sexism

The first time Flip saw you, you were bruised and cuffed. The scuttlebutt around the precinct was you had run over and murdered your abusive ex-boyfriend.

🌹 Queen of the Roller Derby

rating: mature, 2.3k, vague injury description, anachronistic sports teams and organizations

He couldn’t believe… Well, a lot of things. First, that he’d been invited. Second, that he was looking forward to the bout. Third, that he was anxious for your well-being.

🌹 NSFW Alphabet Series

ABC | DE | FGH | IJK | LMN | OP | QRS | TU | V | WXYZ

Bonus: My five favorite things about Flip Zimmerman

rating: explicit, 32k, stand-alone vignettes, oral sex, fluff, angst with happy ending, masturbation, daddy kink, public and semi-public sex, kind-of somnophilia, drug use, under-negotiated bondage and spanking, soft domming, ass play

Your legs went limp on Flip’s shoulders, and you felt him eased them down to the bed. He ran his big hands up your sides and then under your back as he bent forward.

🌹 Still the Same

rating: explicit, 13k, fem!reader, high-school!flip+reader, vaguely 1969 (with inaccuracies), fingering, handjobs, pining, military draft/service (with inaccuracies), colorado setting, period-typical drug use, magical first time, angst with happy ending

He cracked the window, letting in the crisp spring air. It was too dark to see where specifically he was looking, but he had turned to face you. One hand remained on the steering wheel, the other over the back of the seat.

He offered, “Wanna get in the back?”

“Sure,” you said, dropping your purse on the floor, and opened your door.

🌹 Three-day Weekend

rating: explicit, 3.2k, daddy kink, daddy dom, reader is not a little, off-screen negotiation, edging, oral sex, mild spanking

You woke to a hot hand sliding across your bare middle and lips kissing your shoulder. There was the tickle of whiskers, and you turned your head towards disruption. With a sigh, you opened your eyes to watch Flip kiss your shoulder again. He looked up at you as his hand traveled under the sheet bunched below your waist.

“Mornin’, baby,” he said. His voice was sleep-rough yet tender.

🌹 Triple-Feature

rating: mature, 2.8k, old-fashioned living arrangements, making out

The Aircadia Drive-In was running a classic-horror triple-feature this Saturday night. You read in the paper they were playing The Wolf Man, Frankenstein, and Dracula. That evening, you rang Flip and asked him out on a date. You even offered to pay.

🌹 You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet

rating: mature, 2.8k, detective reader, estranged married couple, smoking, period-typical sexism, dirty talk

…you balanced your mother’s big Tupperware container filled with homemade Samoas cookies. They were Flip’s favorite, and he detested sharing them. But he would have to—because you were famous around the station for your cookies.

You hoped he only got one. It would serve him right.

🌹 You Can Leave Your Skates On

rating: explicit, 2k, almost uniform kink, roller derby mention, clothed female naked male

The sink counter was strewn with make-up and hair tools and the pair of scissors from the kitchen. Before he could ask what the hell all this was for, you kissed his cheek and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Spiritual sequel to Queen of the Roller Derby

🌹 You Light Up My Life

rating: teen, 1.4k, sneakiness, secrets, fluffy married life

The first time you knew something was up was when Flip started his car and hurried to change the radio station.

🌹 You’re the Inspiration

rating: teen, 854, past alcohol abuse, fluffy afternoon

Flip sat in his switched off car and stared at the dark house. He wanted to break something.

BURN THIS

reader x pale

🌹 In the Night We Trust | playlist on spotify

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

rating: explicit, 57k, pretty woman au, prostitute reader, 1980s/90s, drug use mention, alcohol consumption, inherent power imbalance, soft dom, choking (not breathplay), safe sex, oral sex, semi-public sex, public dirty talk, rough sex, mild spanking, fighting, abusive language, attempted sexual assault, aftercare

“So tell me, Pale, are you in town on business or pleasure?”

“Business…” He looks at your lips. “Until now.”

THE DEAD DON’T DIE

reader x ronald peterson

🌹 A Grave New World

rating: teen+, 804, canon-typical violence, missing parents

You’d only gone on one date—a really nice date, too—with Ronnie Peterson and then the zombie apocalypse happened. Like, what the actual fuck?

GIRLS (HBO)

reader x adam sackler

🌹 Flashfic: …imagine him trying to cuddle and smooch his gf in public and she’s like “😬😬 what are you doing…? Mmm, I guess it’s not so bad”

🌹 Flashfic: please. please tell me about licking sackler’s sack. its all i can think about. my mind has been infected by thoughts of adam sacklers balls in my mouth

🌹 Improving His Taste

rating: teen+, 2.2k, post s05e10, arguments with SO, making out

You were so sick of Adam Sackler and his tempestuous girlfriends.

🌹 Let Me Explain

rating: teen+, 1.2k, light angst, happy ending

“Whoa, let me explain!” Adam implored while teetering in patent leather stilettos, a chef’s knife with slices of carrot sticking to it in his hand. He grabbed the kitchen counter with his left to steady himself.

🌹 There Is A Light (That Never Goes Out)

rating: explicit, 4.3k, canon-typical buffoonery, jealousy, brief non-con element, femdom-ish reader, oral sex

“Take off your clothes,” he murmured after kissing you. “And crawl to my bed.”

THE LAST DUEL

reader x jacques le gris

🌹 Fair Is Foul

rating: teen, 1.8k, historical inaccuracies, timeline inaccuracies, anachronisms, medieval flirting, sad/open ending, minor spoilers(?), rape mention

The other ladies at court told you not to demean yourself by keeping company with a squire. You pointed out that said squire had Count Pierre’s favor. Said squire might even be favored above any knight.

🌹 To Honor and Innocence

rating: mature, 5.3k, fem!reader, young!jacques, historical/jousting inaccuracies, ✨the middle ages were magic✨, catholic imagery, reader has a spring/summer birthday, just roll with me, making out, thigh riding, euphemisms galore

You needed to look away, but you couldn’t. He was striking with the sudden high color in his cheeks and glittering eyes. His smile softened around the edges, and your heart soared at the sight.

Look away, you’d told yourself. Look away before you lose yourself.

LOGAN LUCKY

reader x clyde logan

🌹 A Newer World

rating: teen, 1.3k, PTSD symptom mention

Jimmy leaned across the patio table, bottle of Coors in hand. “So, when you gonna make an honest woman outta her?”

🌹 Lucky Me Lucky You | duck tape jukebox on spotify | ambient mix by Sushii

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Bonus: NSFW Alphabet [2.1k]

rating: explicit, 33k, counter-espionage, angst with happy ending, alcohol consumption

You’d had big plans for your future. He’d had big plans, too. During senior year, you’d overheard him talking before class about joining the Army. You had thought about him in that service uniform and how handsome he would look.

Thirteen years later, Clyde was tending bar, sans uniform and missing part of his left arm. At the same time, you were working at the data-entry/call-center down the road from the house you inherited from your late grandmother.

So much for big plans.

🌹 When I Saw You

rating: mature/explicit, 3k, hairdresser!reader, touch-starved!clyde, post movie, erotic fantasies

In his fantasies, he always has both hands.

Which he knows is ironic.

MARRIAGE STORY

reader x charlie barber

🌹 Finding Treasure in the Dark

1 | 2

rating: explicit, 18k, submissive!female-reader, dom!charlie, under-negotiated bdsm, impact play, nipple play, oral sex, anal sex, piv sex, restraints, rope bondage, edging, semi-public fingering, sex toys, handjobs, public teasing

“Yes!“ she hissed in delight. "I told Professor Barber straight out I didn’t do that crap. Or let him boss me around. That’s why I dropped him, you know. If he wants some Stepford to indulge his impulses, he should go to Fetster or whatever.”

Your eyes went wide, and you shifted in your seat, faux-yawning and stretching your arms to cover the movement. You knew Charlie Barber.

🌹 Sweet Angel

rating: explicit, 3k, fluff, dog adoption, insecure!Charlie, piv sex

Since moving to a house with a fenced yard, Henry has been focused on getting a dog. First, it was getting a puppy for Christmas. When that hadn’t panned out, a dog for his birthday. Nicole wouldn’t install a real fence at her place, but tried to distract him with a new iPad.

That worked for a month.

SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE

reader x abraham h. parnassus

🌹 Flashfic: …what would young!Abe do for his wife on [Valentine’s Day]??

🌹 Flashfic: Abe Parnassus vibes jacquesdemys.tumblr com/post/125815250515

🌹 His Girl On A Friday

rating: teen+, 1.2k, corporate espionage, seduction

You’ve been sent by your father, Henry Pickens, to spy on his rival: Abraham H. Parnassus.

🌹 Indulgences

rating: mature, 1.5k, fem!reader, vaguely 1950s, old-fashioned euphemisms, dub-con-ish at first, public fingering, mild edging

It’s official: Don Carlos is boring. Yes, it’s a fundraiser. And of course, you agreed to purchase tickets. Anything to support The Met. But this opera, while beautiful, is dull.

🌹 My Baby Just Cares for Me Series

rating: explicit, sheltered-artist reader, vaguely 1950s, no vintage racism, written with old-fashioned sensibilities and euphemisms, oral sex, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex, sex toys, vaginal fingering, first time

— Expanding One’s Horizons [5k]

“We all need to expand our horizons,” you said as you went to the dining room to turn off the lights.

“Indeed we do, my love.”

— Tension Tamer [3k]

The mattress trembled under you. The softly lit face of your alarm clock said it was after three. You knew it must be work that had awoken him. The company was in the middle of a merger and tensions were high.

— A Treasure More Than Gold [2.2k]

You met your husband’s eyes across the dance floor of Hotel Astor’s ballroom. He’d let his five o'clock shadow develop into a short Vandyke beard in preparation for Babe Paley’s Halloween gala.

— Minx [2.7k]

Abe groaned into the coverlet as you pressed your thumbs on either side of his spine. His muscles were slowly losing their tightness. You didn’t think his desk chair at work was supporting him properly. Most likely, he never sat in it except to sign documents.

— It’s Magic [4.4k]

Don’t go to art school, they said.

— Two To Tango [7k]

You sat at the bistro table tucked in the corner of the pasticceria. Abe sat across from you, tiny plates of bite-sized cake on the table between you.

STAR WARS

general

🌹 The Skywalker Ascension

rating: teen, 4.5k, tros revision, mc death, angst, lightsaber battles, retcon timeline

“All the Sith live in me,” he vows. “You will be empress, and we will be one.”

While disgust churns her gut, she will not hate, she will not give in.

To him or to anyone.

🌹 Unsanctioned

rating: general, 371, universe jumping, pre-tfa, my poor attempt at humor

You’re taking the walk of shame to the kitchen, arms full of dirty dishes.

kylo ren x armitage hux

🌹 Bombing Out

rating: mature, 1.4k, canon compliant, cannoli kylux, gambling, strip sabacc, alcohol consumption, afterlife, mutual pining, arguing

He didn’t know why he was playing sabacc. He didn’t like card games. There was hardly any strategy. No planning. Everything was left to chance. It was messy. And the gambling. He didn’t mind risk, of course, but one had to match their opponents’ bets. Which meant the opponent had too much control.

It was idiotic.

About as idiotic as his opponent, Ben Solo—

Who had literally lost his shirt last round.

🌹 Iron Moon Series on AO3 | photoset | spotify playlist by ayudameme

rating: explicit, 36k, canon universe, xeno-vampires, canon-typical violence, the first order wins, soft kylux, but with blood, knife play, blood drinking

He wanted to taste it, lick it all up. He wanted to run his tongue along the cauterized edges of the cut on Ren’s face. He wanted to follow it down under Ren’s ruined clothing.

reader x armitage hux

🌹 Flashfic: Armitage Hux is low key hot

🌹 Flashfic: I want Hux to throat fuck me

🌹 Succor

rating: mature, 2.4k, shy princess reader, fo-leader hux, the first order won, arranged marriage, dirty talk

You felt your dinner guests’ eyes on you, their judgements. You ignored them while hiding behind the courtly rituals you’d been taught since childhood.

reader x kylo ren | ben solo

🌹 All the Time in the Galaxy

rating: teen, 1.9k, kor reader, mutual pining, first kiss

“Lady Ren, pardon the interruption—” You didn’t know what he was interrupting. You were both standing in silence. “—The techs have noticed something strange here on Starkiller.”

🌹 Call It In the Ring Series

rating: teen-mature, college au, art-majors kylo and reader, first date, sibling fights, nude photography, assisted masturbation, phone sex, fingering

— Hotshot House Show [2.5k]

You checked the address one more time on your phone. It was right, but definitely not what you expected when Kylo offered to make you dinner.

— Worked Shoot [5k]

Photography midterms were due in two weeks, and you only had one of the four photos you needed. You silently berated yourself because you’d known this was coming. It was on the damn syllabus.

But who actually read the syllabus?

— Clean Finish [2k]

You couldn’t believe you were about to do this, you thought as you stood naked in front of the clean bathroom mirror. You didn’t know if Kylo would like it. What if he didn’t?

— Vignette [938]

Ben was all “Morning, beautiful” with a grin Flynn Rider would be proud of. He sat close to you on the sectional sofa—even though there were plenty available places to sit.

— Bonus: I want nothing more than to strip off his clothes piece by piece, kissing any and all skin bared to me.

— Dirty Pre-show [1.3k]

You’d washed at the sink in the studio, but ugh, your jeans are splattered with slip. You’re pretty sure you have some on your face, in your hair. Hell, even one of your ears feels crusty.

How the ever living fuck does it get everywhere?

🌹 Dum Dums

rating: teen, 2.3k, gender-neutral reader, suburban high-school au, fluff, mutual pining, mild angst with happy ending

“Your boyfriend’s looking this way again,” Poe sing-songed before taking a big bite of his apple.

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply as you set your bottle of water on the lunch tray.

🌹 Flashfic: Please the (fem-dom!reader) story from gc…. I NEED IT

🌹 Flashfic: FAM IM ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU… PLEASE PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT GIVING SMOOCHES TO FOREVER SAD BOY KYLO

🌹 Flashfic: How does Kylo spoil his lady?

🌹 Flashfic: So, what do you guys think is Kylo’s favorite way to kiss?

🌹 Hello

rating: mature(ish), 1k, modern au, dream-sharing, pining, possessiveness, nightmare elements, magic/force shenanigans

A phone rang. Burr-ring. Distant at first. Burr-ring. Clanging. Jarring. Burr-ring. It was too dark to find it. You groped around in the cool, damp blackness to find nothing. Burr-ring. You cursed just before your hand slapped against something cold and metal.

🌹 Me and The Devil Series

rating: mature-explicit, modern vampire au, death mention, blood drinking, menstruation, oral sex, biting

— Flashfic: …I want vampire!kylo to do *very* unspeakable things to me :)

— Flashfic: Very bored tonight and [thinking] about vamp!kylo, if you have any, what’re your favorite five about him?

— You’re My Sweetness [2.1k]

“You’re sad,” he murmured, a note of confusion in his words.

“Funerals tend to do that.”

“Let me make it better.”

— Red Wings [1.4k]

So, you laid there and bled onto an overnight pad that had to be the length of a regulation cricket bat.

— Flashfic: Do you have any thoughts on vampire Kylo sensually playing with you with his teeth?

🌹 Not Like the Rest

rating: teen, 948, alcohol consumption, politics

So, Ben’s kept moving for years. He hustles. He’s on committees. He researches everyone around him. He schmoozes.

And he’s schmoozing during a dinner to honor a retiring staffer when he sees you.

🌹 On the Pulse of Mourning

rating: teen, 6.5k, ptsd, angst, disregarding an elder’s wisdom, force choking, force weirdness

He sat on the lowered ramp of his TIE and waited for the Resistance scouts to find him. He didn’t think it would take them long. He’d landed only two klicks from the base.

🌹 The Sofa King

rating: mature, 550, hs au, making out, frottage

Anonymous asked: Ben Solo is such a precious little baby I don't see him making the first move. He would be way too nervous. Like during a movie night you could literally be in his lap, rubbing his chest, purring into his ear and he would just keep his eyes locked on the screen, jaw locked, shifting uncomfortably, and he making silly comments about the movie.

reader x kylo ren x armitage hux

🌹 Precious Pet Series on AO3 | photoset | playlist on spotify

Bonus: NSFW Alphabet for Kylo and Hux [1.6k]

rating: explicit, 335k, canon universe, force-sensitive reader, departing from tfa, stockholm syndrome, force bond, everyone has issues

A hush suddenly fell over the village and you strained to hear anything. Was it over? Had the Order gotten what it wanted? You had a gnawing feeling it was only beginning.

The whoosh of energy—you couldn’t identify the noise, but you knew it wasn’t good—pierced the air. There was a collective horrified gasp and more scrabbling and then more blaster fire. Something had happened, something terrible. Someone’s death had triggered it all. Suddenly, there were screams and controlled violent blasters, and you covered your mouth to muffle your sob. The village was dead. Everyone you knew was dead. Lor San Tekka was gone. You felt it like a punch to the chest.

STAR WARS/DREDD

armitage hux x clan techie

🌹 Little Blue

rating: mature, 1.3k, incest, abuse mention, jealousy, crushes

“I see you’ve been slumming it with the radar techs again,” Armie said from his perch on Techie’s bed.

Techie gnawed on his lip, stepping through the doorway of his berth, and let the door slide shut behind him. He knew it would be stupid to deny it. He was wearing the tech jumpsuit after all.

STRANGER THINGS

reader x eddie munson

🌹 Through A Glass Darkly | playlist on spotify | masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28

rating: explicit, 163k, canon universe, fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn, friends to lovers, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, mild spanking, reader’s father is a dirtbag, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, breaking up, angst with happy ending, running away, guns, fighting, everyone survives, suicidal ideation

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU

reader x phillip altman

🌹 Risking Thorns

rating: explicit, 12k, post-movie, ice skating, nice suburban upbringing, slut shaming, almost enemies-to-lovers, prickly reader, phillip gets a short leash, bastardization of a jewish holiday, fingering, semi-public sex, phone sex, spanking threat

Once she pulled out of the parking lot, you asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Altman’s? I thought you got your skates sharpened there, too?”

Mental alarms went off as you shook your head. You knew the Altmans…

THE WITCHER

yennefer x geralt

🌹 Nailed Into Place

rating: explicit, 14k, modern new orleans au, inspired by s01e03 “betrayer moon”, mishmash of nola folklore, i’ve altered the striga curse (pray i don’t alter it further), references to s01e05 “bottled appetites”, timeline what timeline, alcohol consumption, incest mention, pedophilia mention, injuries, blood, ableist language, a sprinkling of geralt/jaskier

Geralt Rivia is the only witcher in New Orleans. He’s typically hard to find until Jaskier decides to announce on Instagram where he’ll be performing via selfies with Geralt in the background. Baron Ostrit, an associate of mob-connected Foltest Temeria, shows up to hire Geralt to rescue his daughter from slavers. Another princess to save. Geralt finds himself in a tangle lies, from the Marigny to the Garden District—and consulting with a mage he hasn’t seen in years…

MISCELLANEOUS

🌹 Character Soundtrack

Songs and playlists for characters I (and others) associate with them. Feel free to message me with ideas!

🌹 BlacKkKlansman Supercut

Flip Zimmerman scenes only.

🌹 Logan Lucky Supercut

Clyde Logan scenes only.

🌹 Burn This - Audio

Bootleg audio recording of the play.

#waywardrose writes

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