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fawnprincessblog · 2 months

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can you write an thresome between tom bill and the reader (i mean that they both fuck you at the same time)

2 in 1.

type: smut (kaulitz twins × fem reader)

includes : d0m! bill & tom, threesome. uh, blurb please! : when bill brings back a girl, it automatically means tom gets his fair share. good brothers have to share. sharing is caring.

bambi's note! : hello sweethearts! so...i disappeared again...life has just been so difficult nowadays. school's starting for me, and every day is just a battle with life and everything that's going on at home. my writing block hit me like a brick and i've just taken a whole ass break from it. i'm so sorry i lied about posting soon, and in the end i didn't. i hope you guys forgive me :/ anyway, i get this request a lot, so enjoy 😚💗

“You don’t mind letting my brother join, do you?” Bill asked, his lips attacking your neck, light red marks decorating your unadorned neck. You were whining and whimpering below him each time he bit and sucked on the skin of your neck, the pleasure of that alone already turning you on harder and harder.

However the thought of Bill saying such a thing made you panic. “T-Two at once? I can’t do two—” you quickly respond, making him pull from your neck to look at you. “Never had a threesome before?” Bill asked, his one eyebrow slightly raised.

The night outside was dark. You were in a hotel room, pinned to the bed, your neck being assaulted by Bill, a guy you met at the bar earlier. Black hair styled in spikes, black clothing and dark eyeliner. It didn’t take long for the both of you to click and end up in this hotel room that Bill had said he was staying at. You found him attractive, and you didn’t mind having this one night stand with him, even if it did upset you a little that he might disappear the next morning.

“No,” you respond. You then pushed yourself up on your elbows, making him pull away a bit. “You didn’t say you had a brother,” you then say, your eyes narrowed to slits.

“My twin actually. Tom,” Bill informed. “He’s staying here with me. If I bring a girl back to the room then he’ll always need his fair share. He’ll be here soon anyway so you don’t have a choice.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise. “You didn’t mention a brother earlier at the bar,” you say, a little bit in disbelief. “I don’t do threesomes. I’ve never—”

“Do you want this or not? Don’t be a fucking pussy,” Bill spat, cutting you off as his palm covered your mouth, roughly pinning you back down onto the bed abruptly, making you squeak.

He was being pretty rough. You were a little afraid to start a threesome with Bill and Tom, who have yet to meet, but you had no choice. You wanted to just be with Bill but now you were slightly pressured to take both him and his twin.

With a bit of reluctance, you nod. He pulls his hand away, and he grins slightly. “Good,” he says softly. “Don’t worry so much. You’ll like him. He’s nothing but a horny fuck.”

You weren’t sure if that was the information you needed as some sort of reassurance. However there was no turning back.

“Ich bin so verdammt müde! ” a voice shouted, a loud slam of the room door followed after. You were slightly startled, and now some sort of fear started to creep in. That was most likely Tom. Both you and Bill turned your heads.

Then appeared a boy with dreadlocks, his entire figure dressed in baggy clothing. From his shirt to his pants, he looked completely covered. Half his arm was literally gone because of how huge his sleeves were. You were in shock. He looked like his brother, yet he looked so different.

The moment Tom walked over, noticing the two of you on the bed, he froze. You observed his face at that moment; he looked a little bit drunk. He was most likely drinking outside too.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing back a girl tonight,” Tom slurred, hardening in his pants as he spoke.

“I did, you drunk fuck,” Bill responded, pulling away from you to let Tom have a look. You just lay there, looking back at Tom. “Do you remember what I said about you bringin—” Tom tried to say, and Bill sighed. “She said yes. You can take her too,” Bill responded, and a smirk tugged at the corner of Tom’s lips pretty quickly.

It’s not like you had said yes, but you didn’t bother to say anything.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Tom chuckled, walking over and taking his spot on the bed behind you as you pulled yourself up to sit. Now you were in between them both. You felt Tom’s hand sneak its way into your hair, pulling your head backwards slightly. “I’d like to see what you’d be able to do with this body of yours,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

Your breath hitched at his words, feeling a slight sting while his hands had a tight grip on your hair. You weren’t going to deny the fact that he was attractive too, but you still were a little unsure about the whole threesome thing.

Pretty soon, you were stripped naked, standing on all fours like an animal. It all happened so quickly, you just let this all happen, becoming completely submissive. You didn’t hesitate. You couldn't even deny your arousal at this point. Feeling both their hands pull away your clothes eagerly and deciding who would do what had put you in a state of excitement.

Bill stood behind you, his hands holding onto your waist. Tom stood in front of your face, his hands slowly removing his belt and unzipping his oversized jeans. He reeked of alcohol. You looked up at him, feeling some sort of desperation growing on the inside the longer he took.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Bill spat, urging Tom to hurry up. Bill already had his cock out, the tip leaking of pre-cum. He was insanely needy at this point, the feeling of his dick aching for release becoming unpleasant. Out of desperation, Bill started rubbing his length against your drenched entrance, in need of some sort of friction.

He let out a soft moan, his cock throbbing with need. Feeling him rub against you, you bit your lower lip, your eyes fluttering close.

“Open your eyes and look at me, slut,” Tom snaps, and you immediately open your eyes again. His cock was now right in front of your face, dripping of pre-cum, twitching as he watched you pathetically looking up at him.

He inched a little closer, pressing the head of his cock in between your lips. Your eyes widen a little. He was so…huge. You weren’t even sure if your throat could handle such a size. “I-I don’t—” you tried to say, but Tom smacked your head lightly, cutting you off. “Suck it,” he said. He then looked at Bill, and he gave him a small nod.

“We’re gonna make you feel good,” Bill tells you from behind, his hand gently giving your spine a soft stroke. “Just be obedient.”

And with that, without warning the both of them had shoved their cocks straight into you. Bill pushed his cock all the way in, a mewl leaving his lips. Tom grabbed your hair in a bunch, slamming his cock straight into your mouth, a low groan escaping him. You let out a whine, feeling the both of them go all in on you so suddenly.

Bill was definitely bigger than Tom. You could feel it. As Bill began pumping in and out of you, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, your eyes immediately rolled into the back of your head. You could feel every inch of him inside of you, hitting every single sweet spot.

Tom began roughly thrusting into your mouth, your saliva coating his dick making each thrust sloppier than the last. “Fuck—mmh…” Tom moaned out, feeling the warmth of your mouth envelop his length. His hands held your head in place by gripping onto your hair pretty roughly, making you whimper and moan out of pain and pleasure. Your sounds were all muffled against his cock, and it only served to fuel Tom’s desire, hearing you so pathetic and weak.

“Ngh—fuck you feel so…hmh…good…” Bill whimpered from behind, his mouth slightly agape as he thrust deeper and harder each time, his hips slamming against you, desperate to feel your tightness around him. His nails dug into the skin of your hips so roughly, it stung and left red marks.

“Shit—” Tom cursed underneath his breath, his eyes rolling into the back of his head the moment you started gagging on him, which added pressure to his needy cock. He kept going harder, mouth fucking you merciless. Your tongue swirled against him inside of your month as you choked. You startled to feel quite lightheaded.

All of this was too much for you to handle.

The noises each one of you made filled the small hotel room. It was so loud, the sounds so unholy. “So fucking perfect—mmh…” Bill moaned out, and his one hand lifted, coming straight down to spank you by surprise, making you jerk forward, choking on Tom’s cock even more. You whine, feeling the sting on your skin.

“You—hngh—like that, don’t you? Fucking slut,” Tom spat, his breathing becoming increasingly ragged. He kept thrusting harder and rougher, his cock sliding deeper into your throat, to the fact it was the whole way in. You couldn’t breathe.

“I think I’m—gonna…oh ja…” Bill whimpered, biting his lower lip in anticipation. His hand landed on your skin again, a loud slap echoing through the room. You whimper at the feeling. You were close, so close. That familiar tightening in your lower abdomen began to form.

Bill’s cock continued to hit your g-spot, every inch of him stretching you open the deeper he pushed. You were clenching around him, your wetness dripping down your thighs.

You couldn’t even think. Your mind was just blank, your entire self just drowned in complete ecstasy. Everything was a complete blur to you right now. You just wanted them to finish inside of you, and fill you up nicely. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum…” Tom groaned, his eyes squeezing close as he tried to contain himself. However, he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

“Hngh—fuck!” Bill shouted, and he jerked forward roughly, hips bucking into you as he released his load right into you, his eyes rolling in as he experienced his orgasm.

Tom let out a loud satisfied moan next, his hands holding tight onto your hair as he held you in place, his cum going straight down your throat so quickly, you couldn’t even think. You managed to cum as well with Bill, both your fluids mixing nicely.

Eventually, with a soft wince, Bill slowly withdrew his cock from your well-used pussy, both of his and your orgasm spilling down your thighs. His cock was coated in cum, the stiffness not really going down. He was still hard.

Tom pulled from your mouth, his cock slipping off your lips, glistening with his cum. The taste in your mouth was bitter and salty, which wasn’t quite pleasant. There was so much, to the fact it dripped down the corners of your mouth and down onto your chin. “Swallow,” Tom commanded, slightly out of breath, and you did after some hesitance. You stick out your stained white tongue, showing him you had swallowed it all. He had a smug look on his face now.

And finally, you could breathe. Gasping for air, you break your stance of being on all fours, and drop yourself down onto the bed, your body full of sweat. You were exhausted. Your body was aching from the pleasure and pain. You couldn’t think. You were just hazy, and all you knew within that moment, was that you were filled up so good. Definitely, you wanted more than just this one round.

#tokio hotel #love #boyfriend #bill kaulitz #tom kaulitz #smut #tom kaulitz smut #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader

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ewingstan · 4 months

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Poster on my right shoulder with a cheap angel wing costume (the one from Oldboy (2003)): "You should write about how Krouse making an unsecured tophat that's constantly in danger of falling off a key part of his costume actually fits his themes really well. You've already written about how his ringmaster getup is part of cultivating a sense of mastery-within-instability; Krouse excels when thrown into a chaotic situation because he can use chaos better than others. Styling himself as a leader of a circus, master and causer of chaos who holds things together just enough to have them culminate in a grand spectacle, shows what type of reputation he cultivates. But that instability is a constant in his life, he seeks it out, it seeks him out, and despite the air he puts on of having everything under control it really is always in danger of falling apart. The tophat can fall off at any moment, the travellers can collapse at any time, the cultivated and uncultivated chaos surrounding their lives can suck them all into the undertow at any time. If you actually write an analysis post fleshing that out it would be an excellent use of your time."

Poster on my left shoulder, taking the form of Judge Holden as he was depicted in Cormac Mccarthy's Blood Meridian: "You should write about how whenever his hat falls off Krouse just puts a rock or large piece of trash on his head and switches them. Fuckin. Eight times during the fight with the Wards Vista had to deal with the fact that she was nearly getting killed by a guy putting a brick on his head. Sometimes he'd throw his hat at you and then put a brick on his head and then swap them and bam you've gotten hit in the face with a brick."

#wormblr #wildbow #parahumans #francis krouse #leo says #leo reads worm #costume analysis #i should go back and tag my old costume analysis posts huh.

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cerastes · 3 months

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You think doctor fucks?

Yes, but only through either unexpected situations leading to it or with an outcome that isn't exactly what was intended:

Lucian, Blood Diamond: It was actually during a Hana-Barbera-esque chase sequence during a spell of time in which Doctor was separated from the Operator team, in which Doctor escapes the brainwashed Lucian through many doors in the same hallway while many unexpected cameos also appear from the doors. It gave Doctor precious time for Shalem to find them and hit Lucian over the head with a brick in a sock.

Theresa: It sucked ass because they are both bad at sex so they awkwardly chuckled about it and spent the rest of the night playing Mario Kart 64 instead (they had a great time!)

Platinum: Platinum sucks at sex and wanted training for her upcoming title match with Blemishine for the Bedroom Heavyweight Title, so she asked her bestie the Doctor. Unfortunately, they are also terrible at sex so it was just a bunch of Ed Edd and Eddy sounds. Blemishine (who fucks like a champ) then took on Platinum and nearly died from how bad she is.

SilverAsh: I'll keep it real with you, SilverAsh isn't bad at this, but he's way way too extravagant, pulling out ivory toys with inlaid sapphires, gilded gimp masks, extremely expensive Originium-byproduct wax extracted from the highest peak of Kjerag, like man sometimes you just want a hamburger quickie, not the filet mignon coitus and this guy just doesn't get that, plus he magically transforms into a needy pillow princess halfway through, very high maintenance.

Mlynar: The System of a Down of sex. Mid-doggy style, this guy stopped moaning in G major, started talking about the rising price of gas and how Kazimierz has been complicit in innumerable crimes against not only its people, but against others as well, then he kept moaning. Probably the best Doctor has had.

Gavial: Snu Snu with a skilled healer is one hell of a drug, but actually this all just started because they were watching caber toss videos together and Gavial was like "yo I could throw you like that EASILY" and Doc was like "BET" and you don't need me to tell you what happens between two people when they do caber toss together.

Skadi: Snu Snu with no healer nearby is NOT recommended. The closest call Doctor has had. Rhodes Island lost two entire factories and one dorm complex. The cost in LMD was in the millions.

Theresis: It sucked ass because they are both bad at sex so they awkwardly averted their eyes and spent the rest of the night playing Mario Kart 64 instead (they hated every second of it because Theresis can't even beat 50cc CPUs and he kept bitching about it)

#arknights #doctor

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theabigailthorn · 5 months

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were you ever a fan of da sharez0ne? welp,

I'm the original creator actually . I got ultra Somerton'd, gnarly style. this isn't leading to asking you for anything btw, already got things in motion to publish something hopefully very very soon. the whole thing is a long story that makes Somerton look downright courteous in comparison

wow, for real? that sucks, I'm sorry to hear that! "Hit the bricks" is a key part of our vocabulary on Kill James Bond!

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hlvstia · 10 months

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— let loose.

pairing : peter parker x f!reader ( tom!spider )

summary : you find peter angrily training by himself.

warnings : fic MENTIONS spoilers for no way home && MENTIONS blood and death a wee bit. do NOT read if you havent seen nwh and if you aren’t comfortable with said topics.

a/n: switches to 2nd and 3rd pov but doesn’t change the style too much! :)

word count : 1.5k+ MY BIGGEST YET !!! got carried away. OKAY, have fun reading! send requests and i’ll write them <3 also got two fics coming up hehe

after dr. stranges spell, he was furious with himself. he hated the fact how he was forced to forget you and his friends.

all he wanted to do was run into your arms and kiss you. that’s all he wanted. unfortunately, he couldn’t; the presence that he once had was certainly gone because of something he decided to do.

everyday he breathed air was a reminder that you were no longer in the grasp of his arms. he could no longer kiss you to sleep whenever you had a hard time falling asleep.

he was your forte. and your reason to keep on pushing.

god, peter had felt worthless without his close circle. he had to get his anger out somehow. i mean, who was suppose to bottle in the feeling of losing his aunt and his close friends in a close time span?

without a single thought, his fist aimed for the matted material, hitting his knuckles against it as the punching bag jerked back, the chain rattling each time he did.

each punch was a feeling he held inside— one for his aunt, one for you, one for mj and one of ned. each fuckin’ time his knuckles dug into the training equipment was a reminder of how much he was pathetic. at least to himself.

nor’ did he have any gloves to protect his hands. he didn’t care at this point, not caring how much his hands bled from his harsh punches.

hell, his tears threatened to spill out from his puffed up eyes. you could already tell he’s been having a tough time, hence, finding him connecting his fist to the bricked wall behind him.

[y/n] furrowed her eyebrows together, seeing him let out a couple of weak grunts as she grabbed a clean damp towel, approaching the male who seemed irregular than ever.

seeing you made him freeze in his spot, his eyes slightly widening to the fact that you approached him first. he knew you came here regularly, training yourself just in case something horrible had happen to you in the middle of the streets.

so, he signed up for a membership and began training and tracking your schedule for whenever you came. 6pm on the dot always. if anything, he would even catch the moon for you.

“hi, i know it’s not my place but i couldn’t help but notice your knuckles… they’re, uh, bleeding?” your voice was soft spoken, your eyes pointing at his knuckles, the dried blood latching onto his skin. “can i?” you continued, holding out the damp towel to him. “i… yeah,”

most of his words were caught in his throat as he held out his knuckles to you, his eyes focused on your facial features. you were still beautiful as ever to him— the way your lips looked, and the way your eyes were soft everytime they were hyperfixiated.

your lips curled into a small smile, softly pressing the towel onto his knuckles as it picked up the blood, swiping it with a low pressure to wash away the dried blood, but not too much to injur him.

peter winced, sucking the air between his teeth quietly as the fabric made impact with his open cuts, causing him to bite down onto his lips.

[y/n] chuckled softly, feeling bad about his pain but she couldn’t help but giggle at his foolish decisions. “sorry, but maybe next time wear gloves? they help a lot, i promise.” you suggested, wiping his knuckles one last time before folding the towel and pushing his hands down in a soft manner.

there it was again. this was the reason why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. you were always soft and caring to everyone, even if you barely even knew them.

“thanks again, but uh— it didn’t cross my mind to wear gloves. i guess i was heated in the moment? can’t really explain what i was thinking.” peter took one more glance at his knuckles before meeting with your eyes again, this time, his face softening with yours.

“no problem, but can i wrap them up for you? i wouldn’t want your hands getting infected.” you suggested, turning your back to another part of the gym as you started walking, not giving him a chance to deny your offer. “i wouldn’t want to give you too much work— oh, uh… okay!” he nervously followed you behind, keeping a safe distance between you two.

he had a soft blush on his face, not being able to contain the fluttering in his heartbeat each second he looked at you.

as you finally approached your gym bag, you dug in there until you found your packed med kit, placing it on the ground as you opened it, hearing the click. “always bring this with me just in case someone got hurt,” you mumbled to him, searching for an alcohol wipe for his open cut.

he knew you did, but couldn’t bring up the fact that he was aware of it already.

“really? wow, you seem really sweet.” he softly grinned at your comment, his heartbeat becoming faster as he saw you get up, tearing the packet open. “thank you, i would hope i am.” you laughed at his remark, cleaning his knuckles with the wipe. “oh, sorry! forgot to warn you!” quietly gasping to yourself, you felt his body tense up from the sudden stinging spreading throughout his cut.

“n-no, you’re fine! it’s just an alcohol wipe, no biggie.” he mumbled, his body returning to its original state. “yeah but again, it hurts— i mean, the stinging pain is no fun.” you sighed, going back to your bag to grab the bandages that was nearby the med kit.

“right but maybe i should be used by this feeling now… i keep finding myself hurt.” peter flexed his hand, feeling the muscles pull as you tilted your head in confusion. “by training! because, um, i rarely bring my boxing gloves.” he quickly caught himself before you could question him, forgetting that you used to know his secret identity.

“oh? maybe you should approach me often. i’ll patch you up for free… i’d hate to see you hurt.” you unwrapped the adhesive bandage, circling the adhesive around his knuckles and around his fingers.

he let out a breathy chuckle, watching you tear the bandage and attaching it to the side of his hand. “i’ll take up on your offer, i guess i should be more aware though.” smiling to himself, he pressed his hands onto his sides.

“yaknow, i can’t help but fathom myself onto why you seem… so familar to me. have i seen you outside this gym?” [y/n] arched an eyebrow up, packing up her stuff as she zipped the bag closed.

peter couldn’t help but to nervously smile, scratching the back of his neck. there was no way you remembered, right? but again, he did visit the coffee shop you picked up shifts at. “the coffee shop not too far from here… you work there, right?” he responded, looking down to see you getting your stuff together.

“yeah, i do! forgot that this street is mostly filled with regulars!” you snickered, throwing the bag up to hold it on your shoulder.

you get a flashback of to you giving him coffee everyday, writing his name down on each cup sleeve. “peter, right?” you finally said his name.

and that just sent a million sparks inside him, feeling his knees be frail on spot. you had actually remember his name. “yeah, that’s me. peter parker, and, uh…” he paused for a moment, closing his eyes to try and remembering your name tag you had pinned to your shirt. “[y/n], isn’t that correct?” peter snapped his fingers when he finally remembered.

of course he did, but had to play it cool— man, this was going to be hard. having to fake everything because he didn’t forget anything about you.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n] to be exact.” you flashed a charming smile, holding out your hand for him to shake.

“it’s a pleasure to finally talk to you, [y/n].” his smile returned back, his hand barely curling as you two shook hands, gently.

fuck, it was so nice to actually say your name in front of you. your name rolling off his tongue perfectly.

“yeah, the pleasures mine!” you nodded, quickly checking your watch as you saw the time.

your eyes had widened, recalling that you had a friend hangout with mj and ned. “oh, gosh— i have to go, so sorry!” you exclaimed, taking one last look at him.

“wait! can i… get your number before you leave?” he blurted out, rushing to whip out his phone, opening up his contacts list. “for sure! you’ll have to text me later though!” you inclined, typing in your digits as you even inserted your name, pressing ‘done’ once you had finished.

“b-bye! text you later!” he watched you leave, hearing the bell ring as you fixed your clothes, speed-walking to the place you had to be.

just as always, he knew the time you arrived back home. 9:30pm, sometimes 9:50pm if you were at a restaurant with your friends.

as hours passed, you reached to your doormat and immediately heard a ‘ding!’ sound coming from your phone, and just to your surprise.

it was peter, peter parker.

looking at the unknown number for a second, you quickly changed it to his name, following along with a special emoji.

thank you for reading until the end! i know i keep bugging about it but SEND in your requests and reblog this post! it helps me a lot and makes me happy.

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akilikesbread · 12 days

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quotes from watching trigun stampede with my friends so SPOILERS:

“Bro he even falls zestily” (in reference to wolfwood)

“oh cool flashback” “more like a VASHBACK am i right? ZINGER” “kys.”

“my lawyers have advised me to not discuss what i would do to his stupid fluffy blonde hair”

WW: “the big man upstairs made me strong” “The big man upstairs made me like people with wires and mandibles.”

*vashs arm gets sucked into a blackhole* “bro wtf, hollow purple”

“boy why you so 🪴”

“motherfucker so gay the cigarette bends the second it touches his mouth”

“this is just a documentary of california”

*BadLads gang shows up* “BL? Boys love? They kiss men?”

*Livio standing menacingly* “SANS???”

*in reference to eye of Michael* “Why’s their logo literally new mexico”

*Legato appearance* “blue hair AND PRONOUNS??” “whats with daman mills and voicing gay men”

*Woowoo getting tortured* “theyre injecting 🏳️‍🌈 into his bloodstream”

*First wolfwood appearance* “He better hit people with that fucking cross”

“he looks hot when hes troubled”

*In reference to Rosa* “If pregnant lady dies i’m leaving the call

“OH MY GOD HES REDPILLED.” “Vashed and redpilled”

“Tricum stampede”

*we were watching on an illegal site so it kept opening new tabs* “AHHHH PORN”

*wolfwood gets fucking bent in half by legato* “Bro where can i get a massage like that”

“Roberto looks like. hold on.” The image sent:

“if the animation was a person i’d make out with them sloppy style. with tongue.”

*in Rollo’s old town with the biblical radio shit* “Guys this sounds just like something my bus driver would say”

*zazie turns into a swarm* “would you still love me if i was a worm :(“

“vash’s mom is pretty” “i’m gonna stop you right there.”

*vash.* “LOOK AT HIS SLUTTY WAIST”

“yeah nai just really liked taking out arms this episode”

*knives playing the piano in the distance* “IS THAT THE GRIM REAPER😨😨😨”

EG Bomber: “MASTER KNIVES😈” my friend in the zestiest voice ever: “master😳”

Vash: *reloading* “THATS SO FUCKING HOOOOTTT” “i wish i was that gun.”

*wolfwood gets fucking run over* “i think hes my new favorite character”

*vash getting chased by the residents of jenora rock* “california has never looked livelier”

“Call me Millions Knives.” “edgy ass emo name, he sounds like hes a 13 year old emo who listens to panic at the disco and cries himself to sleep at night.”

“is this prophetic stress dream bothering you queen”

“i wish Californian sand looked as good here, dont eat the californian sand, its chunky”

*conrad appears* “LUIGI???”

“so this is julai…” “its still may dude, idk how to tell you this”

*Julai screenpan.* “THIS IS JUST VEGAS.”

*wolfwood and vash running away* “me when i skeddadle”

*vash gets shot and walks away* “bros like ‘damn i just got shot :(‘“

“Nicholas the Punisher.” “he can punish me if he wants I MEAN WHAAAAAT”

*That Roberto Scene™️* “*through tears* SO HOW ARE YOU GUYS ENJOYING THE SHOW?”

*Knives dramatically playing piano* “You and that fuckin church organ.”

“5gum stampede”

“Why is nai so jacked???” “theyre both built like brick shithouses”

*Meryl points a gun at conrad* “KILL YOURSELF OLD MAN.”

“WHYS NAI CLENCHING HIS ASS SO HARD…”

“Vash wake up!!” “THIS ISNT LIKE YOU POOKIE”

*Wolfwood steals one last cigarette from Roberto* “Rare cigarette that wasnt fucked up”

“WHO CUT THEIR HAIR.” “Xinqiu.” “Yelan ass haircuts.”

*talking about vash* “hes such a shonen protag. Food friendship and (avoiding) fighting”

“Knives, ur literally gay. i dont wanna hear it.”

“The entrance to the higher plane!” “it looks like a butthole.”

*Knives fucking just floating into the higher dimension* “*cackling*” “WHY HE SLIDE LIKE THAAAT” “stone scraping sound effect”

“Vash shouldve been called damian”

“Prepare mentally for episode twelve, take a deep breath, take a sip of water-“ “KISS A MAN” “DONT KISS A MAN” “KISS A MAN!!!”

*start of episode twelve.* “surely this wont be horrifying”

“I promise to protect you both.” “well you really sucked at that, huh.” “yeah fuck you rem” “HELP???”

*looks at Nai* “Whys he wearing a speedo…”

*Red geranium sprouts in tint Vash’s hand* “NAI LOOK DO YOU WANNA SEE A MAGIC TWICK”

*Running through field of red geraniums* “this reminds me of the angry birds logo”

“metal wing?” “its made of knives, yk, like his name :D” “shut up.” “alright then.”

*chanting* “CUBE!!!!”

“HES GONNA STAMPEDE!!!”

“kiss my vash!!”

#lmao #vash tristamp #trigun stampede #trigun #trigun meryl #vash my beloved #vash saverem #vash the humanoid typhoon #vashwood #vashmeryl #tristamp wolfwood #wolfwood my beloved #nick wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #roberto trigun #there will probably be more added to this #we havent finished it yet so stay tuned

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gideonisms · 7 months

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how would you fix mercymorn though

GREAT question and I have actually not thought about this nearly enough because I'm such a huge fan of what's wrong with her!

The problem with fixing mercy is that she's living with 10k years of pent up grief and guilt that she believes she can never be free of so in order to fix her you really have to get her out of that mindset which you can't do if she's still a lyctor hanging out with john & the gang. So my first step would be to get her to leave, a real utena style just walk out you can quit if it sucks hit the bricks type of deal. Which wouldn't be that difficult since she's just looking for a reason.

Then I think I'd give her an earnest protege who's capable of pushing back when she acts like mercymorn. it would fuck her up enough that she'd start to experience her emotions again and from there she could have her breakdown and start thinking about what she wants to do about john and her own part in the empire. I also believe deep in my heart that mercy needs someone to hold her and tell her it's going to be all right and that if she experienced this in any genuine way she WOULD cry her eyes out

#replies #basically she needs people to have genuine emotions around her #it would break her but you have to before you can really fix her again

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peachtozier · 2 months

Text

extremely niche field hockey losers club au taken entirely from my experience playing field hockey as a teen <3

Bill

Centre midfield

Right in the middle of the field, halfway

This is mostly due to the fact that as a kid when i played hockey, centre half was always the position of the team leader

Thats because they have to organize both defense and offense due to being in the centre. and the midfield

Surprisingly good at talking around his mouthguard

Sometimes forgets to even take his mouthguard OUT when coming in for half time so everyone just listens to him slur about the game for a couple minutes before he realises

Has a couple spare sticks in his bag always so if anyone forgets theirs he lets them borrow them

Probably the best overall player. You could stick him anywhere and he’d thrive

Except maybe eddie and bevs position, lol

Richie

When he was younger richie was definitely a really annoying winger (sometimes called forwards or strikers)

This is because he mastered the art of seagulling. essentially swooping in last second to flick a ball into the goal when not needed

However once he got older and taller he was way too gangly and awkward to shove up field

So he ended up as a fullback. a completely defensive position. which is in fact very different to playing an offensive position like winger

He's actually really good at defence surprisingly

Hes ALSO annoying here but for a different reason

He has such a good hit on him that its ridiculous. Even with a little bit of a windup and he can crack the ball from way deep in defense up to the offensive quarter

Takes his mouthguard out of his mouth to talk. And tucks it under his sock when not using it (REAL THING WE USED TO DO). to do so you have to buy slightly-too-large socks so they fold over at the top so if he doesnt fold them over his socks do go over his knees

Always wearing colourful inners (a type of sock we wear underneath our shinpads bc shinpads are extremely awkward and uncomfortable to wear)

Has to wear a facemask during shootouts and it fits so weirdly around his big head and big glasses

Wears a protective glove on his left hand only (the hand that touches the ground if you tackle)

Takes the original tape off his stick so he can replace it with more colourful tape

Eddie

Eddie plays inner. and will always play inner. (position is also called sweeper, freeman)

This position is just essentially running up and down the field, relatively in line with the ball so you can always be an available pass

Which means eddie is constantly running. running up and down the field (about 90 meters or 300 feet long) for the entirety of the sixty minute game

Eddie also buys his socks large enough to have them fold over at the top but he will not tuck his mouthguard into them. he thinks thats fucking disgusting and yells at richie for it every game

He sucks ass at talking around his mouthguard though so if hes relatively free from other players hell quickly take his mouthguard OUT OF HIS MOUTH to yell for the ball

Wears protective gloves on both hands bc one time richie nailed him in the knuckles with a pass and it bruised so badly mrs k barely let him out of the house for three weeks

Wears defensive shinpads (you can get both defensive and offensive style shinpads) bc he thinks the offensive ones are way too small

Mike

I think he’s also a fullback with richie

Probably stays closer to the goal than richie does

Because i think he’s probably the best tackler

An actual brick wall when he’s tackling. low to the ground, knees bent, everything. and then he’ll flick the ball OVER your stick and pass to richie to get it out of the defensive quarter

Hes only played defensive positions so he has an eye for where players will run to to shoot

He’s the one that brings the snacks to the games. it isnt halftime without a bag of jelly beans.

Whenever theyre having an offensive-heavy game and the ball isnt coming back to defence he’ll lean against his stick like it’s a cane and just watch the game (youre supposed to always stay prepared but its nice just watching the rest of the team deal with bullshit)

He’ll play kicking back if theres no goalie but he HATES it (kicking back is essentially a goalie without the uniform. you get a face mask and thats it. you do get to kick the ball without the ref calling it though)

Gets bits of artificial turf all over him and he isn’t even running like eddie is. somehow it just all splashes up onto him

Bev

Girls are allowed to play with the boys teams here occasionally (as long as you have less than eleven players- which is the maximum amount of players on the field)

When she plays with the boys i think she’d be an inner with eddie

Shes not the best at inner, she’s just fast

Worlds most annoying dribbler oh my god

Constantly flicking ahead of herself and just begging for people to try and steal from her

She’s really good at getting the ball past people’s sticks and through their feet (which is a dick move bc if it touches someone’s foot the ref calls for a penalty hit. the game stops and all opposing players have to move at least five metres away)

Plays super offensively even as an inner and bill is always calling for her to run back and help defence

Also de-tapes her stick to retape it fun colours

When she plays with the boys she also wears two protective gloves

Also tucks her mouthguard in her sock during half time

However she will forget to put it back in and sometimes plays a couple minutes of a game before she realises shes not wearing it

Makes her own inners from fun fabrics

Ben

Ben as a kid i think always got put at fullback

They do this to fat kids its why i got put at fullback too

But as he grows into being a teenager i think he ends up a half back

Essentially like bill’s job except without the offensive. Calls out to people on his side to move up or down or left or right. Helps defensively, that sorta thing

Stays super low in defence even when he doesnt need to bc its what he’s used to

And if its a slow game he talks to mike and richie (he and richie like gossiping)

Also has a super good hit but rarely uses it because he’s worried he’ll hit someone with it

Probably the second best at talking around his mouthguard

He and eddie are the only ones that enjoy full-field warmups where you run around the outside of the field. everyone else likes the shorter sprints up and down the middle

He gets a part-time job at the stick-shop near the field and everyone badgers him for discounts

Stan

Pure offensive wing

Rarely comes back past the half-way line

Has the highest goal-count out of all of them because of this

This was not true as kids because richie used to seagull all his goals like the little asshole he was

stan still high fived him (begrudingly) at each of richies seagull goals though

De-tapes his stick because he uses a special kind of tape that’s a little more lightweight and cushiony

Definitely has a full stick bag with sections for every kind of gear. Has a separate section for his gloves. A separate section for where he puts his uniform. A separate section where his shinpads go.

Always the one bringing the ball bag onto the field bc everyone else forgets it

Also talks around his mouthguard

Not good at it but he’d rather die than put it in his sock

He’s the only one that will replace his mouthguard every two months like youre technically supposed to

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #stan uris #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #the losers club #it 2017 #it 2019 #connors hcs

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carusolikey · 18 days

Text

The Blue Hour

a Max Phillips & Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic

Summary

In filmmaking and photography, the most coveted time of the day occurs just after sunrise and just before sunset - when the sun’s angle as it hits the earth’s surface produces a beautiful, perfect glow on everything the light touches. Naturally, it makes sense that it is known throughout the industry as The Golden Hour.

The opposite of this is known as The Blue Hour, taking place in the quiet before sunrise and scantly past the precipice of sunset - when the sun’s position scarcely below the horizon casts its cool tones. As the ripe colors of The Golden Hour are exsanguinated from the landscapes and cityscapes, the tranquility of night with its alluring promise of sleep creates an ambience that is both calming and nostalgic.

In this tale, we find ourselves caught in the midst of a months-long web of insomnia, cycling through night after night - doing our own bidding in the wee hours undisturbed by any other residents of the apartment building. Until one fateful night, when an unwelcome interloper by the name of Max Phillips decides to crash a 5 minute dance-party-for-one in the basement laundry room.

He’s handsome and well-dressed for a pharmaceutical salesman, but has the type of charm you’d assume from someone peddling snake oil. And somehow, he keeps popping up when least expected, creeping in like hedera helix - invasive English ivy, covering the outside of our brick building, eager to infiltrate what lies beneath.

To resist this dapper vampire, might very well prove to be futile.

Pairing: Max Phillips of Bloodsucking Bastards x afab!fem!reader

Rating: Explicit / NSFW 18+ (No Minors)

Author’s Note: I wrote this piece during the month of April 2024 - Adenomyosis Awareness Month, and the idea came to me during March 2024 (Endometriosis Awareness Month). This will not have any type of pregnancy kink, but will touch on infertility of OC due to the aforementioned; canon for this story is also that Vampires are infertile - there will be no Renesmé. OC is intended to be around the same age as Max, reader’s choice up or down, but no age gap. Because older afab/fem lovers are sexy - we drink and we know things. The style of this sticks to the humor and playfulness of the original movie, while incorporating a very sexy and romantic Max, even though he is a little bit of a cocky, smartmouth asshole.

Warnings: A bit of rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration - P in V, oral [m + f receiving]), food play, 18+ only content, able bodied fem afab reader, alcohol consumption, non-gendered pet names, fem can be carried and has hair - though length is not mentioned, consensual "bondage", some use of y+n - but not explicitly, though consensuality is implied and intended through actions and reactions, no protection used for Vampire reasons TBD (be wise and always use protection, this is fiction). Did attempt to stay away from gendered pronouns and nicknames, although did use the word woman, 3 times throughout the entire piece (not fully published yet) referring to OC. Future chapters will discuss history endo / adeno, and of previous relationship / SA; there will also be Vampire hunting, murdering, and blood….sucking bastards.

Word Count: ~ 7,250 (For Chapter 1 Only)

Chapter 1 - Spotify Playlist Chapter 1 Easter Eggs Chapter 2 - Spotify Playlist Chapter 2.1 Easter Eggs Chapter 2.2 Easter Eggs Chapter 3 - Spotify Playlist Chapter 3 Easter Eggs

If you enjoyed this first Chapter, please don't hesitate to share the wealth of Max by reblogging - we all know he loves the attention!

Additional FanFics:

Paddington 3: Lost in Mallorca

Javi G. x afab!fem!reader

High Heat, Heavy Load

24 year-old Joel Miller x 36 year-old afab!fem!reader - subverting the patriarchal age-gap fic one fan at a time.

#Pedro Pascal #Max Phillips x afab!fem!reader #Bloodsucking Bastards Fic #Adenomyosis Awareness #Endometriosis Awareness #Not Twilight #NO Renesmé #Hey Check Out My Javi G Fic #I Got a Sexy Young Joel Miller Fic Too

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years

Note

Ro!!! I saw this, and it remind me that nomad stev and reader...

just thinkabout when you and Steve both take a day off, and they start playing

maybe some size difference, size kinks, manhandled and nomad eat you out...(*cough)

fluffy, sweet and smut... I just...🤤🤤🤤

Hehe,loaf ya(*/ω＼*)

sweet googlymoogly, this one hit me like a ton of bricks which is what I imagine it feels like to have Nomad Steve on top of you lol

The Game

Warnings: MINORS DNI, smut, pet names ('little one' and 'kitten'), several positions including doggy style 😉, hint o'size kink, vurray strong Steve but like explicitly cute, if that's a thing, zero attempted editing

You’re trying to read the paper to get an idea of where in the world the group is needed most. The quinjet is parked outside, charging in the sunlight since you all haven’t had the resources to stock jet fuel for months. The delay used to irritate Steve, but he’s remarkably comfortable with downtime now. Why might that be?

It’s hot in the Australian outback, go figure, and a while ago Nat discovered these two cottages on an abandoned ranch. The first time you stayed, you and Sam and Steve and Nat all patched up the structures, spreading out into a ‘girls’ house’ and ‘guys’ house’ for some days of R&R.

That was then; this is now.

Wilson and Romanoff have taken the bikes on a supply run, leaving you and Steve lazing around on two twin mattresses smooshed together on the floor. It’s still fancier than most places you lay your head these days. In naught but underwear and a tank top due to the heat, you’ve opened the newspaper from the other side of the world to see what’s happening out there, spread out on your stomach with arms crossed under your chin.

Steve, completely naked—though you joke that he has enough body hair grown out all over to cover him—makes a show out of sighing heavily before poking at your hip.

“No,” you gripe, swatting at his hand.

He whimpers and tries to tickle you, fingers sliding underneath the hem of your tank.

“I said give me ten minutes.”

“That was nine and a half minutes ago,” he whines.

You push Steve’s broad and heated palm away from you. “Have you been counting?”

“Yes.” He so matter-of-fact about it. It’s infuriating.

You turn to put your back to him. “Then I have thirty more seconds, don’t I?”

Steve growls playfully behind you, the mattress dipping with his weight and you nearly roll over.

“How about a game,” he asks, hot breath on your shoulder as he opens his jaw and lightly bites the curve of you. He keeps his mouth there as his eyes shift to meet yours.

“It’s too hot, Steve.”

“You’re hot.” He releases you and wiggles his eyebrows.

“No—“ you knock his body back with yours “—you are legitimately too hot.”

“Thank you?” He mutters something, and you can’t make it out until you hear, “three, two, one.” Steve runs his hand over your ass, tucking it between your thighs. “So you wanna play a game?”

“And then you’ll leave me alone?”

“If you win, I’ll leave you alone and I’ll cook dinner tonight.”

He knows you well; that’s a fucking challenge to succeed.

“Fine. What’s the game?”

“You have to get away from me.”

“Well, I was trying to do—“ You suck in a gasp when his hand slides across your panties and up your belly beneath your shirt, pushing you flush with his chest.

“Yes, but I wasn’t trying to hold you yet.” Steve nips at your ribcage while his giant paw presses you closer.

He is very hot, the radiating warmth of his skin broken only by the thick cushion of his beard and the bristle of the trimmed hair all down his body. The smooth skin of his dick swells at your ass while he not-quite bites his way up your neck, sealing his hold with a lick along your ear.

“Play with me, little one.”

In such a low voice, his request is indistinguishable from your captain’s command. God, that voice does things to you.

“You want me—“ you roll back toward him, noticing how he relaxes his grip to smooth down over your mound and pull the fabric off “—to get away from you?”

That’s when his other hand, the one you didn’t notice before now, grips at the back of your neck. It’s just a pulse of pressure, a hint of control. “I want you to try.”

Faster than you can exhale a shiver of excitement, your panties are gone, and Steve’s got you on your back, head lolling off the side of the mattress while he pins your hips down. He buries his face in you. It’s not fast or aggressive. He’s not a man starved. He has time, all the time in the world because you can’t get away.

Through pants and rutting groans of pleasure pushed from your lungs, you do try to shift away. That’s the game. Each time you move, even just an inch, Steve tightens around your hips and his teeth graze your inner thigh, a threat, challenge, and tease all in one little motion.

Because little motions are all you’re getting; they’re all you can manage with his strength bearing down and all he’s giving across your clit, but little motions are enough when Steve’s focused. They are more than enough with that fucking beard of his.

When he knows you’re close, he hauls you back onto the mattress, ruining all your progress (that merely got your shoulder blades to the edge). The pull and the burn and the friction and the wet of everything inside and outside of you implodes as your grab Steve’s long hair hard. You’re not even sure whether you’re pushing him into you or pulling him off of you. You’ll never know because, fuck, why would you care? He’s not budging until your screams die down.

Then he drops you, and you weakly scramble to perch yourself on your elbows, anything to show some fight left in your ravaged body.

Game’s not over. Steve’s not done.

By your ankles, he flips you. It’s not that difficult, not for Steve, and you’re not that big, certainly not compared to him.

His palms press and slide up the back of your thighs, over your ass. One stops at your hip. The other settles between those treacherous shoulder blades, riding the tanktop up to just beneath your breasts. The hand at your hip lifts your lower half, presenting everything you have as an offer to Steve. His groan and your whine harmonize and mingle in the red dust blown through the open windows.

Two fingers sink in while he chuckles. “Could have sworn you had claws, kitten,” but it’s too late. He can hold your hip, your arms, your neck, he can drape his weight overtop you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You still fight for every inch, but each rush forward ends with another inch of him sinking into you. By the time your palms are back on the floor, Steve’s buried to the hilt, and all you’ve managed to do is give him a better—no, the best angle to fuck you.

This is a stupid game, and it feels un-win-able. You get away? Well then he’s not inside you anymore, and that’s a travesty. You stop fighting? He might go easy on you, and that’s just plain unacceptable when his dick feels this good. Hell, he sounds so good, grunting and babbling about how tight you are around him, how much he loves watching your ass from ‘way up here,’ how you’re so wet his balls are dripping as they slap against your sensitive nerves. It’s an impossible situation.

But…

Captain said to play the game, and Captain Rogers must be obeyed.

You press against your hands like a stretching cat, shoving Steve back onto his heels. He huffs, his rhythm broken until you attempt to stand and jump off the bed.

Mid-air, he catches you, swatting you back down onto the springy cushion, face up and giggling. You can’t help it. You’re so not sad that your ploy ‘didn’t’ work. Your reward—the thinnest veiled punishment of it all—is Steve’s near-feral attack on your breasts, top ripped over your head, nipples caressed, sucked, and bitten to within an inch of your life, or so it feels to your lung. The now dire ache grows between your legs.

As if on cue, he lines himself back up, a glorious sigh rolling off his shiny pink lips. Steve pushes that giant paw of his into your stomach again, this time using the other to prop your leg over his chest and shoulder. He clutches your thigh to his straining abs.

Sweet mercy, he knows. He goddamn knows that’s the spot. He can feel himself thrust inside you. He savors the slow drag of his head beneath his own fingers through your skin, but he can only handle that so long.

You coming around him is his downfall. His eyebrows synch together crudely, and his movements falter. Steve’s moans cut off in higher and higher whines.

This is your moment; he’s useless when he comes.

You seize onto his broad shoulders for leverage, using the slick of your arousal and his sweat to launch out of his grasp and off the bed. Though the victory feels empty without Steve filling you, you’re granted the glorious sight of the beast that is Nomad frantically stroking himself to completion. His desperate, small cry at having to shoot his load on the sheets beneath him instead of deep in your heat may as well be music.

That treat alone could be enough of a prize, and it is…until those blue eyes turn up toward you through long lashes, a grin breaking through the coarse hair all around it.

“Best two outta three?”

Ope, feeling myself gettin' frisky, gang. Good thing I've got two series that all have smut next...

Hope you enjoyed reading! Reblogs and feedback are always welcome!

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utilitycaster · 6 months

Note

as a reader I feel that both canon-has-disappointed-me-and-i-shall-make-everything-how-i-want-it-to-be and the kind that, as you say, explores canon themes at least somewhat on canon's own terms has value, but it depends on which fandom I'm looking at, how much / whether I'll indulge in the former. I'd never even consider looking for it re: Calamity for instance (haven't seen candela yet), but then there's canons I'll be happy to entirely disregard. I think maybe it changes with just how much I personally value the canon work of fiction as a work of art in and of itself. plus, if the art is shit, if it's valuable to me as a jumping off point only, I don't see why I should respect the integrity of the work like that.

it does suck to think that people think of Calamity the way I think about, like, the call of duty modern warfare reboot tho.

anyway. not disagreeing at all I just. you know, I felt vaguely called out because sometimes I do like that style of fic, but then I realised uuuh it's probably not about me.

Hey anon,

I know you sent a follow up saying I could delete this if I wanted, but I am actually not annoyed and I think this offers an opportunity to elaborate that I'd like to take.

I will note: I am pretty aware that I make posts that are very easy to take personally if you a person who likes the thing I dislike. They are, more often than not, posts about trends rather than any individual person; but that doesn't mean that an individual person participating in that trend won't feel called out. This probably won't help with those feelings, but while I'm ultimately just making posts about my opinions and what I like, I am not opposed to someone feeling called out and rethinking what they do, and if they come to the conclusion of "hey, utilitycaster is an opinionated asshole and I don't need her approval" that is valid (honestly, more valid than strangers feeling they are entitled to my approval) but it's also a not undesired outcome if someone says "oh, huh, this is a good point, what am I doing with my constant fluffy fix-it fics of things that are about grief and loss and tragedy."

Anyway what I actually wanted to cover is respecting the integrity of a work you don't care for. I don't actually care about the integrity of the art in transformative works! It's fic! The writers and authors do not care! But I also have never, ever seen the point of saying "I don't like what this work did so I want to spend more time in this space and make it do what I wanted." At most, I've picked apart what I thought was good about the premise before it went to shit and used it to inform my other writing or my meta but like...I've stripped it down for parts to the point that it's not even a little about that canon anymore. I steal the concepts for a cool magic system or a specific character trait and bring them to other creative endeavors but I do not associate it with that work anymore. I don't write fic for stories that I, at least at the time of initial writing, did not think were pretty good. If it sucks, I do, in fact, hit the bricks and stop spending time on it. The only scenario I can really concoct is like, a Game of Thrones situation in which someone familiar with both the show and the books writes an ending that is true to the themes of the books (and earlier themes of the show) and diverges before the steep decline); but that is a very specific situation. Even shows I enjoyed that I think ended poorly - even those that are widely agreed to have had bad endings (Battlestar Galactica; How I Met Your Mother; Rusty Quill Gaming) do not entice me to write a fix. It's not that I think the writers or creators did a good job that I am obligated to honor; I just don't see the point.

Fundamentally, I do not see fanfiction as wish fulfillment. I simply do not. Nor do I watch/read/listen to fiction with an end goal of writing or reading fanfiction. If it happens, it happens, but just as much as my post was about "hey, if you look at a tragedy that was made with intent, and you cannot exist with it and live with it and embrace it as such, that's perhaps not a great thing," it is also about being able to see fiction as a completed story that does not need you.

This isn't me saying fanfiction can't be good or enjoyable or isn't an art or a worthwhile pursuit. But I left out some tags from my post that I originally had there, which is that almost all the fanfic I've actually enjoyed has been from people who also write meta. It's written by people who are as comfortable following and listening, as they are leading and telling. And again, this isn't about the integrity of canon so much as the fact that I believe that if you (the general you, not you the anon) cannot read (watch, listen) without saying "how can I make this mine" your work will never be good. I think a lot of people write fanfiction in order to mark hypothetical territory, or get a good grade in ao3, or because Fic Writer is a part of their identity, rather than because they have something to say is best communicated through the medium of fanfiction. And that's their right - I cannot and will not stop them - but I don't care to read what they're writing.

#answered #Anonymous #long post #on fandom

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waywardrose · 9 months

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 16

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.4k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, 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, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

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.

note: Montaging our way to spring break! Wee! (Also, pardon the lack of updates. I’ve been sick.)

Angry faces obscured your view. A wordless cacophony of voices drowned out all other sounds. Hands like shackles clasped your arms. Broken blacktop and brick-dust riddled the ground under your bare feet. You fought to escape, but there were too many restraining you. Your heels scraped raw and skin bruised as you thrashed.

Like a shoal of fish distancing themselves from a predator, the mob parted for those dragging you. You tried to make eye-contact with anyone, yet no one really saw you. Their indistinct yells were neither protests nor cheers, only primal noise.

Dry heat and the sharp smell of electricity permeated the air the farther your captors pulled you. It made the hairs at your nape stand on end.

Your alarm clock beeped.

You batted around your nightstand until hitting the snooze button on the clock.

It was just before six AM. Tuesday. Still dark. School started in almost two hours.

School meant putting on a veneer of indifference. Truthfully, heading downstairs to breakfast meant putting on a veneer of indifference. Your parents didn’t know Eddie had only called once in the two and a half weeks since you’d given him your new number. No one at school knew what he meant to you.

You went through your morning routine without thought. Your parents chatted over scrambled eggs and toast. Mom was heading into work with your father today. There were calls to make, notes to take, and documents to file. They wouldn’t be home until after five. You could impersonate Mom and excuse yourself from school, but you’d done that last week.

You had a quiz in Spanish class today, anyway. You didn’t want to explain to Senora Richmond before the next class why you needed a make-up quiz — en Espanol, no less.

You didn’t know how to translate: Sorry, my kinda boyfriend ditched me because his music styling was changing and my poor lil heart couldn’t take it.

By the time you arrived at school, darkness had given way to a marigold sun. The honey-colored horizon faded to silvery blue in the flat sky. It looked warmer than it felt.

The morning went by as you expected. The Spanish quiz wasn’t as difficult as you’d prepared for. You kept yourself busy during lunch to fill the usual emptiness. Eddie didn’t attempt conversation before American Government, which sucked more than you’d anticipated.

Your bleeding feet left streaks of crimson on the cracked concrete. Despite your pleas, your captors dragged you closer to the scorching heat. Otherworldly electricity snapped and sizzled over the roar of the crowd—

And when they parted, you screamed.

You jolted across the bed, breathless and disoriented. Nothing hurt. It was dark. Your heartbeat banged in your ears. Harsh sunlight filtered around the window blinds. The neck of your nightshirt clung to your damp skin.

It was the same dream you’d had days ago. You could rationalize a bad dream once, but not a second time. Maybe this was a third time? Something about the details...

You shook your head and turned on the bedside lamp.

It was just after ten AM. Sunday. Mom would serve breakfast soon.

You took your diary from the nightstand to record what you’d seen. Halfway through, Mom knocked on your door, announcing food was ready. You launched from the bed and called back you’d be down in a minute. Your rumpled, sweat-ringed shirt spoke to the contrary, but whatever.

With a quick change, you scurried downstairs. Sunday Morning played on the small kitchen TV. The scent of coffee and browning sausage patties filled your nose. Maple syrup, butter, and a platter of steaming pancakes waited buffet-style on the counter.

After everyone settled at the table, your father announced he would be in Louisville next weekend for an investor conference. Mom nodded along, asking if she needed to have his car serviced. She sounded like his secretary, which she’d been before you were born. She’d been his “girl.” In most respects, she still was. Their dynamic made you never want to marry. You didn’t want to be some man’s assistant, you wanted a partner.

Your father replied he would rent a car instead. It was easier to deduct tax-wise. Mom agreed before taking a dainty sip of her coffee.

Conversation tapered off as Face the Nation recapped the past week’s events. Your father focused on the show while chopping a wedge from his pancake stack.

Mom turned to you and said, “How about we have a girls’ weekend?”

Her kind yet serious expression put you on high alert. She hadn’t offered an expression like that since she broke the news of the move. Syrup dripped from the bite of pancake on your fork.

“Uh, sure,” you said oh-so suavely.

Everything was under control. Situation normal. Everything was perfectly alright now. You were fine. You were all fine, here, now, thanks.

She smiled what you’d referred to as her beauty-pageant smile. It was the one she used as a genial mask.

“We’ll rent a few movies and eat pizza!” she said. “How about facials? Mani-pedis?” She set her mug on her placemat. “A salon visit? Maybe a stop by that boutique on Main? Oh, I know, I’ll make a list!”

She stood before you could answer.

Eddie knew he couldn’t afford to skip American Government like he had been. O’Donnell was such a hardass about homework, proper grammar and complete sentences on tests, class participation, and attendance.

She abhorred his long hair and ripped jeans. Hell, last year she’d sent him to the office before Homeroom for the patches on his battle vest. Her nose curled when she addressed him, as if he stank. Which he did not, thank you very much. He showered and wore deodorant every day.

However, he’d much prefer to lie on the couch while eating spray cheese from the can instead of facing the world. Which was pathetic, and he’d rather not have anyone know. Not even Wayne, but especially not you.

Jesus Christ, he’d fucked up so bad. As per usual.

You hadn’t glanced at him when the semester started. It was more than you ignoring him. You didn’t notice him anymore. Or like you’d seen the real him and didn’t find him worth the effort.

That hurt like a bitch.

That was karma, he guessed. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t agree with the adage that karma was a bitch. No, karma was a virgin. Karma teased and hinted and strung him along. Karma gave him metaphorical blue balls.

He could have this little good thing, but it would cost him a bigger, better thing that he wouldn’t know the existence of until it was ripped away. Like getting a mediocre handy, then finding out after he’d come he could’ve been balls deep in the slickest, hottest, tightest hole in the universe.

Except, this time he’d given himself the handy.

He made a face at the wording. Luckily, he was alone in the Auto Tech garage. He switched positions on the workbench stool and stared at the Music Theory worksheet he needed to finish by tomorrow morning.

He kept recalling how your gaze had met his during the previous class. Your expression went from neutrally attentive to goddamn miserable. He wanted to drag you from the classroom to apologize and explain better. Explain in a way you’d understand and was coherent. It all made sense in his head, where he was eloquent and astute, but his words came out all wrong. He sounded one evolutionary step away from a proto-neanderthal, a caveman, an idiot.

All he could think of was your misery. He’d done that. He hadn’t kept trying. He let you remain miserable.

So, yeah, he’d wanted to drag you from the classroom and kiss your misery away. He wanted to take you home, play his new compositions for you, prove to you the time apart was productive.

Maybe he should record a few on the boombox — if it had the right input jack. Then he could write a letter. He was better on paper, anyway. He was an experienced dungeon master and storyteller. He was eloquent and a fast-thinker during sessions. It stood to reason he could translate those skills to a fucking letter—

“Munson,” said Mr. Thompson, the Auto Tech teacher.

The main door clunked shut. He whirled around to face Mr. Thompson, who raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hail, car-lord and master!” he said with an innocent smile and raised hand.

The corner of Mr. Thompson’s lips curled before he shook his head.

“If I catch you in here again before the bell, I’m taking you to Higgins.”

Eddie saluted, while thinking of the next warm place he could hide during fifth period.

“Understood, sire.”

Mr. Thompson waved it off and headed for his locked office.

“This isn’t a study hall, son, get off your duff and help me wheel the tool chests out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mom said, “—And this is my daughter,” as you stopped next to her at the front counter of Family Video.

On the other side, the clerk blushed deeper.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He gave you a startled smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You replied with a ‘hey’ and set the three VHS cases in front of him.

The clerk was cute. Actually, he was downright pretty with thick golden-brown hair, a perfectly symmetrical face, and big brown eyes. The preppy polo shirt worked with his broad shoulders and tapering torso. He looked like someone your father would approve of, despite working at a chain video rental store. Unlike certain unemployed musicians who sold drugs and drove a rusty van that screamed ‘stranger danger.’

You tried to keep the bitter thought from your face.

“I hope you found what you were looking for,” said the clerk, glancing between you and Mom.

In nearly a purr, Mom said, “And then some.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was Mom flirting with this dude? You gave her a quick look. Her grin was on the seductive side. Her body had loosened, shoulder and opposite hip tilting.

The clerk’s expression turned coy as he checked the cases.

“I’m so glad to hear it.” He winked before logging the tapes into the system. “We’re running a special this weekend, so that’ll be six dollars.”

There was no sign advertising such a special.

You focused on the candy display to your left to distance yourself, because you didn’t know what the hell you felt. It was cool to get a discount. It was not cool to watch your mother flirt with someone half her age. And you knew the clerk would remember this interaction for weeks to come, too, so you’d have to return the tapes via the slot by the door. There was no way you’d show your face in here until summer.

Once the clerk slid the cases across the counter, you took them and nudged Mom with an elbow. She tittered at something the clerk said.

Under your breath, you said, “Oh my fucking god.”

Mom bid him a good night. He replied something along the lines of the two of you having a better one. It was an opening to continue to flirt, or invite him over, or return at closing. She touched his wrist as she thanked him and then sashayed to the front doors.

You followed her, hoping to block his view. He couldn’t afford the lifestyle she’d become accustomed to, anyway, and you certainly didn’t want a stepfather who was maybe four years your senior. With a peek over your shoulder, you found him watching regardless.

She held the door for you, all gracious and smiling. She glowed as if she’d just returned from the spa. You rolled your eyes when you passed her. She remained quiet until you both were in the car.

“Well, he was a nice young man,” she said as she started the engine.

You laughed, sounding a touch hysterical.

She asked, “What?”

“‘Nice’? Really?” You pulled the seatbelt across your body. “He was practically propositioning you.”

“Oh, pfft!” She flicked a hand out. “That meant nothing.”

“He probably thinks you’re a single mom looking for a good time.”

She giggled as she latched her seatbelt. “I doubt that.”

“I don’t.”

She made a face, though her amusement was palpable.

“I’m going to tell Dad,” you said to tease her.

She gasped while reversing from the parking spot.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Why not?” You smiled and bit your lip. “It meant nothing, right?”

Taking on a faux-haughty air, she said, “Fine, tell him. He’ll be proud of the discount.”

You laughed a drawn-out ‘oh-ho.’ “Three whole dollars!”

“Which I will be spending on you tomorrow.”

“Hush money. Nice.” You nodded. “I’ll keep your new boy-toy a secret, Mother-dearest.”

“Why, thank you, darling daughter.”

The crowd parted as the heat grew. You turned your face into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes closed. You couldn’t look. This couldn’t be happening. They were going to burn you at the stake. This couldn’t be happening. They’d discovered you were a witch. This couldn’t be happening. They feared you. They hated you.

Were there others? If you opened your eyes, would you see charred remains?

Skin burned away in blackened lumps. Eye sockets empty. Mouths open in eternal torment.

Someone yelled, “Throw the bitch!”

You opened your eyes. This was happening.

People from the crowd dragged ends of a barbed-wire barrier apart. Beyond lay a chasm glowing orange-red, like the mouth of a volcano. They weren’t burning you at the stake, they were hurling you into the center of the Earth.

You fought anew, twisting and kicking and pulling. New hands grasped at your arms. Someone fisted your hair and shook your head. You gritted your teeth, daring them to get closer.

Golden lightning arced from the chasm. You gasped, eyes going wide. Goosebumps swept over your body in one shivering wave.

The chasm didn’t lead to the center of the Earth. It was something different, something unnatural. The chasm became a gaping maw. It was going to swallow you, reduce and destroy you. There was nothing you could do to stop it. Your magic remained too mundane.

“You’re doomed, cursed, forsaken,” you whispered. “You shall never find peace. You’ll never know victory.” Your fingers strained claw-like towards the ground as you called energy to you. “You’re condemned with me, you pathetic motherfuckers.”

One of your captors smacked the back of your head.

“Shut up.”

“No, fuck you! Let me go!” You thrashed and growled. “No!”

A gentle hand shook your shoulder. You flinched from the touch. It didn’t belong. Soft words pulled at your attention. They didn’t belong, either.

“Wake up!”

Your eyes snapped open. It was night. Friday. You were in your dark living room, snuggled in the sofa’s corner under a throw blanket. A figure blocked the flickering TV in the corner. You blinked a few times before everything came into focus. The figure was Mom. You were safe.

The greasy pizza box lay on the coffee table. Your mouth vaguely tasted of spicy pepperoni.

Mom softly said, “Hey, you’re okay.”

You nodded and uncurled your legs to sit up.

She backed away to click on the nearest lamp. You closed your eyes at the light.

The TV went quiet.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

Scrubbing hands over your face, you said, “No, it was just a dream.”

A dream which you’d been keeping at bay with a bowl of new crystals and stones by your bed. Unfortunately, it seemed their reach was limited. You would need to purify and charge everything tomorrow. And perhaps order a necklace to wear at night. Onyx could work. Maybe obsidian? Jasper?

“Pretty bad one, I’d say.”

You shook your head to concentrate on the conversation. Your mind felt wrapped in cotton wool.

“No, it— I mean, I guess?”

“Well, it’s no wonder with the SATs in a few weeks.” She sighed. “Aren’t midterms soon?”

“Uh, kinda? In March?”

She hummed as though you’d confirmed some suspicion of hers. “I’ll keep your father off your back. I know he’s been a bit much.”

You made a face, because, oh yeah, he’d been a bit much all right. He’d been bugging you about school at breakfast and dinner. He asked after your SAT prep as well.

Mom chuckled, saying, “He really wants you to do well on your SATs.”

“I do, too.”

“I’ll tell you a little secret: you’re doing better in school than he ever did.”

“Really?”

“Yup! His grades were so-so, and he only got into Columbia because his guidance counselor was an alum.”

“No way.”

She nodded.

“His father was friends with people on the admissions board, too.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well...” She shrugged. “He likes to think of himself a self-made man, but...” She shook her head. “Between his father and his cronies, the frat brothers, he wouldn’t be where he is now.”

“How did you find out all this?” you asked.

She gave you a knowing look.

“People like to talk to me.”

Glacial wind outside had driven most students into the cafeteria for lunch. Warmth from the additional bodies and the kitchen steam-tables fogged the windows. The air smelled like a meatloaf TV dinner, making Eddie’s stomach rumble.

“So, what are you and your ladylove doing on Valentine’s?” Gareth asked before taking a swig of his milk.

Eddie frowned at his half-empty baggie of baked cheese bites and purloined Mountain Dew. Valentine’s Day was Friday. He hadn’t spoken to you in too long. Honestly, he’d lost his nerve when the boombox didn’t have the right input jack to record his new stuff properly. The boombox’s built-in mic sucked. Everything had sounded like crap.

He hadn’t thought there was a point in writing a letter without proof of creation. It would be a hollow gesture at best and, at worst, look like a desperate attempt for your attention. You were already pissed at him. He didn’t want you losing respect for him, too.

“Nothing,” he said.

“What? Why?” asked Gareth.

“We’re paused.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we’re paused, man. I told her I needed space.”

“You what?” Jeff asked the same time Gareth exclaimed, “No!”

Dougie’s rounded eyes said everything as Dustin coughed around a mouthful of peas and carrots. Mike narrowed his eyes in irritation at Eddie while he thumped a hand on Dustin’s back.

“It’s for us!” Eddie said to Gareth. “We’re practicing more, right? Writing more. We’re getting better.”

“But you let that-that... That babe go?” Gareth asked.

“I mean, not exactly? I said it was only ‘til the Battle of the Bands.”

Pointedly, Jeff said, “In April.”

“Yeah, in April.”

“A lot of shit can happen between now and April.”

“Yeah, like someone else snatching her up,” Mike said.

“She’s not a shirt at the thrift store, dipshits.”

Gareth said, “Uh, no, she’s probably one of the coolest girls in this school,” and threw the last bite of his dinner roll at Eddie.

It hit him square on the forehead.

“King Dipshit.”

He sat by the bedside phone and couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing. His bedroom was too cold. He’d forgotten to remove the A/C unit from the window. He could wrestle it out now.

He stood.

It took him and Wayne to install it, though. There was no way in hell he’d be able to uninstall it by himself. He didn’t need to drop an A/C unit from his window on a Thursday evening.

God, this was such bullshit, he thought. Valentine’s Day was such bullshit.

You probably didn’t care about it. He’d never given it a lot of thought. Other than the discounted candy the day after, of course. Maybe he should rent My Bloody Valentine and get high tomorrow. Surely, there was time to pop by Family Video before practice.

He turned to the nightstand to retrieve his wallet and keys.

There was the phone. Sitting there. Waiting. Judging him.

Was it a dick move to call? He didn’t want to hurt you. He sat on the bed and lifted the receiver. He only wanted to hear your voice and catch up a little. With a sigh, he dialed your number.

He didn’t want you — or the relationship with you — to be a fond memory. He didn’t want to look back on this time and sigh wistfully. He wanted to keep making memories with you.

He couldn’t make memories if he stayed silent.

“Hello?”

“I don’t want you to be a memory.”

It was quiet for a beat.

“What?”

“I— Uh... Sorry. It’s me, Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, yeah, good.” So eloquent, Dungeon Master. He rested his forehead on his hand. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can you talk?”

“Yeah, I can talk.”

“What were you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Reading what?”

“The House on the Strand.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it about?”

You sighed. “Eddie, what do you want? What do you mean, you don’t want me to be a memory?”

“I was thinking about us. About you. I don’t want to be nostalgic about you.”

“Okay...?”

“I don’t want to lose you, is what I’m saying. I don’t want to look back at this year and think about how great you were. I want to know how great you are.” He gnawed on his lip. “You know what I mean?”

You sounded hoarse as you said, “Yeah, I think so.”

“And I...” He combed at his bangs. “Look, I know my actions aren’t matching up with that shit, but...” His finger snagged in a tangle. “I’m working and practicing every damn day. When I’m not at school, I’m practicing and writing. When I’m not doing that, I’m making money.”

“And sometimes you play D&D.”

He grinned for a second, rubbing at an eye. It was good to hear you tease.

“Look, I’m a total fuck-up, I know—”

You cut him off, voice thick, “No, you’re not.”

“I fucked us, though. I fucked us. I know I did.” He scoffed at himself. “It’s the Munson Doctrine: Everything that can fuck up will fuck up.” He shook his head and cleared the sudden strain in his throat. “But I’m gonna unfuck us. Me and the guys are going to win in April, and you’re going to be there, and we’ll graduate and leave this stupid town.”

You sniffled.

Shit, he made you cry.

His chest tightened as his eyes grew hot with empathetic tears. He couldn’t make his voice work. If he tried, it would break. Then he’d sound like he was going through puberty again. That shit was bad enough the first time.

After a minute, your creaky voice asked, “Have you heard Metallica’s new single?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Y-yeah, I preordered the album.”

You wetly sniffed.

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.”

“If you want, you can come over after school.” He rested his forehead in his hand again, certain he’d chosen the wrong thing to say. “Only if you want, of course. No pressure.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, definitely the wrong thing.

“Yeah, of course, you’re right. I’ll make you a copy.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to, but...”

“No, I get it. I said a pause, and that means no home visits.”

“You know, our pause doesn’t mean you should skip O’Donnell’s.”

He played with a fray in his jeans.

“Eddie, I’m serious. She takes points off.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” He shrugged. “See if she’ll give me extra credit.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah, I need her class to graduate.”

With a grin in your voice, you said, “Use those pretty eyes of yours.”

A flash of tingling warmth brought a smile to his face.

“Stop...”

“Be your charming self, honey. How could anyone resist you?”

His cheeks heated, and stomach swooped. He couldn’t find a decent retort. All he wanted to ask was if you were beginning to forgive him. However, he knew that would spoil the conversation. But oh, how he wanted to know.

“You got me blushing.”

“I know.”

He groaned and collapsed to the side. Your answering giggle killed him. Utter devastation with no survivors. He wished he could see your smile, how your eyes sparkled. It would make his death worth it.

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Well, no... I mean, I finished my homework.”

“I’m practicing with the guys—” He checked the bedside clock. “In about an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready, then?”

“Probably.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. “You wanna hang out? Hear some of our new stuff? Gareth’s got a heated garage...”

You breathed deep.

“Eddie... I can’t. The last time...”

He vividly remembered the last time you saw him play. You’d been so sexy. He remembered your skirt and your pantyhose — which he’d ripped to get at you — your smeared lipstick and the way it tasted. He remembered the clutch of your sweet pussy and how it pulsed around his dick when you came. Your thighs had squeezed his waist. You’d pulled his hair and grabbed his ass.

He went hot, with his dick at half-mast, just recalling those disjointed details now.

“No repeat performance?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love watching you and the guys play...”

“But...?”

“But I don’t trust myself.”

His pelvis flexed forward as the heaviness between his legs increased. The fine cotton of his boxers rubbed at his cockhead. He tempted you. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. If you were beside him with your dark-headshop scent and soft skin, confessing that in his ear, he’d nut.

He whispered, “Jesus,” voice sounding strained.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about this shit.”

He wanted to end the pause, offer it up like a sacrifice. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said the band was practicing and writing more. They had a good chunk of five more original songs in the bag. They’d all agreed to buy Master of Puppets and attempt to cover one of the songs. The album wouldn’t be out until next month, though, and currently the album’s songbook had no release date.

Your smile was evident in your voice as you said, “You’re just sorry you won’t be fucking me behind, like, Gareth’s garage.”

“Well, yeah, I’ll fuck you anywhere you’ll let me.”

He realized too late his tone had been too sultry to be playful.

The smile was gone from your voice. “Eddie, don’t, please.”

He leaned into the sultriness, because he might as well.

“Hey, don’t forget my offer from New Year’s.”

“How could I forget?”

“You think about it?”

“Like I’m answering that.”

He rolled onto his back to palm his crotch.

“I do.”

After a breathless moment, you asked, “What do you think about?”

“Having to fuck you on the floor to keep your parents from hearing.” Yeah, he’d like you bouncing on his lap, reverse cowgirl. He’d play with your tits. “Covering your mouth with my hand because you’re too loud.” He squeezed the base of his dick. “I like the way you sound, by the way, like making you come. Like having your bite-marks and scratches on me the next day.” He grinned. “You know, after Halloween, I had little bruises on my ass.”

“No way.”

“Yep, little fingertip bruises. You grabbed me good.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m not.”

You hummed, amused.

The sound shot heat to his groin. He teetered on the edge of sweating. And unzipping his jeans. And asking you to talk about anything. Read the fucking phonebook, talk to him about your math homework, he didn’t care.

However, he didn’t want to prove you right by only calling when he couldn’t stand jacking off alone.

“Well, since you have practice tonight, I’ll let you go.”

“Yeah, I need to pack the van. Maybe change clothes.”

“Gonna wear those tight jeans again?”

“Only if you promise to come.”

“I can’t, honey.”

He nodded.

“I know, sweetheart. I get it.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

“Absolutely.”

“Tell me how it goes tonight.”

“You got it.”

“Okay, I—” You breathed. “Okay, tomorrow.”

“Night, baby.”

“G’night. Have fun.”

Your end of the line clicked as you hung up. He dropped the phone’s handset in its cradle. He had around fifteen minutes before he had to leave. That was enough time. He undid his jeans, maneuvered his aching dick from his boxers, and spat into his palm.

The barbed-wire barrier parted like a grisly curtain. The mob on the other side of the barrier roared. Pebbles bit into the soles of your feet as you thrashed in your captors’ hold. Ahead, the chasm awaited. Its heat dried your eyes and baked your skin. A fist in your hair kept your face forward. Like you could look away.

Arcs of lightning crackled from the chasm, charging the air. The hair on your arms and head stood on end.

You cursed everyone. Let the universe feel your rage. Let it ripple out, like a stone thrown in a pond. The ground trembled. Your vengeance would ruin the world. If they threw you into that ravenous, scorching maw, your body might be destroyed, but not your spirit. They’d never know peace — just like you wouldn’t. They’d be condemned with you.

One of your captors hit the side of your head and ordered you to shut up.

You thrashed anew, growling insults.

Another captor kicked the back of your knees so the others could drag you easier. You lashed out and caught one of them in the ankle. That one stumbled, yet continued the relentless march forward. You were hit again before they wrenched your head back.

Would they slit your throat now?

You closed your eyes to the black clouds obscuring the morning sky. A helicopter’s blades beat in the distance. Those onboard weren’t coming for you, though. They were leaving you behind. You weren’t worth saving with your powers so reduced.

Useless witch, you heard. Pointless. Worthless. Broken. You deserved to be culled.

You’d let him in, let him take from you, let him drain you. He’d grown more powerful, near unstoppable, because of you. It was all your fault. Your good intentions had paved this road to Hell.

Hands took hold of your legs and hoisted you into the air. The bloody wounds on your feet burned in the dry heat. You writhed and screamed on instinct.

The mob returned your screams tenfold. You turned your head to see all their faces now expressionless save for their open mouths. Their eyes were seared like the clouds above.

It was too late to cast one last spell. Someone already had — and it had been him. He watched from every eye aimed at you. It was too late to save you, too late for salvation, and too late for revenge.

Your voice died in your throat. You choked on hot air. Any strength you had abandoned you. Tears rolled over your temples and into your hair. The ground trembled once more as if to knock your captors off-balance or close the chasm. It was a last, futile attempt to save you, which you silently thanked it for.

Your captors’ hands left your arms and legs as you soared into the air. Heat singed your back, then your feet, then your front. You hovered above the chasm for a silent second. Lightning extended out to welcome and change you. It danced over your skin to make you like itself: blazing, charged, and brilliant.

It drew you into the glowing orange rift and buffeted you between walls of molten rock. Electricity criss-crossed around your body. You fell and fell and fell, twisting and spinning, until it didn’t feel like falling at all. The lightning turned red as the walls, like lava fields, moved around you. Lava fields became dark, billowing clouds became tempests of ash.

Watery screeches came from behind you. Before you could question if something had followed you or spotted you between the swirls of ash, tiny knives bit into your legs, your back, your neck. With your vision obscured and sense of direction gone, you cried and flailed. Leathery wings beat at your face and arms. Hot, thick liquid trailed down your skin to soak your clothes.

Ours, they said.

No, you replied. Mine.

Ours.

You understood then: these creatures were yours. They were of you. They bit to drain you of weakness. They’d show you how to fill yourself with strength.

You stopped fighting them and surrendered—

And opened your eyes.

FYI: I've read kambaba jasper under your pillow helps with nightmares and/or night terrors. Evidently, you can also meditate with it before bed to protect your sleep.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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