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edward-munson · 6 months ago

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back to you | E.M.

Summary: You were supposed to go with Eddie to Robin's wedding, but he broke up with you months before. You mock him every chance you get, but he's grown annoyed over it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), unprotected sex (p in v), slight choking, aftercare; Exes to lovers;

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Note: Eddie has shorter hair (ps: I know this is a manip but I truly loved it)

Word count: 5.2k

✮⋆˙

You're so annoying, you always get on his nerves. You obviously do it on purpose purely for your own satisfaction of seeing him being pissed.

Eddie can't stand looking at the way you stay too close to his best friend, Gareth. You're dancing around with the geek, who invited you over to the dance floor at Robin's wedding party.

Months ago you were invited to her and Vickie's wedding. You were supposed to go with Eddie, before he decided to break up with you. You were invited to be her bridesmaid, and he was going to be your plus one. He ended up being a plus one to some girl your group of friends didn't know about. And your plus one was none other than Steve.

It ate him alive for the first two months. To know that you were going with his best friend, who also was your best friend. And the one he knows you likely fool around with sometimes. Which is why he feels the burning sensation in his stomach when he sees the way you slap his chest playfully whenever he makes a stupid joke. Because he knows you're doing it only to get under his skin.

Back before you were broken up, Eddie wondered about a few things about your relationship. He was having a hard time finding a new job, only getting paid when he was doing the concerts with his band. He still lives in the trailer with his uncle, most people think he's the town freak. He came up with the decision by himself, even though it meant breaking your heart.

He thought he was doing the best for you. You didn't. You thought he was being selfish. You thought he was being childish and completely imprudent. He cried, he made you cry. You knew he still loved you. You still know he does, but at what cost? He wanted to let you go.

And this is why you do anything to piss him off. You don't need to struggle, because the simplest things you do are enough for him to become impossibly mad at you. You always add fuel to the fire. Steve told you to stop. Robin did the same. Until they stopped paying mind to it. As you're dancing with Gareth, you look from the corner of your eyes how he's nursing the same fucking beer for the past forty minutes. He's just so stupid.

A few girls came by to ask him for a dance and he turned down every offer. He refused to step out of his spot. Jonathan came by and started making fun of his own moves. Ripping a laugh from you both. Soon, the girls joined him. He wanted to ask you out once, but you thought you would only accept it to get back to Eddie.

He knows that deep down you still love him and it's obvious. And your friends don't want to come in between you two, because it's not their business.

You feel Eddie approaching the small circle, still holding the bottle of beer in his hand. He tries to dance with Gareth, but it's not like him to do that unless he's in the mood. And you're 100% sure he's not. He has to lean in and speak over your ear for you to hear him. The loud music is blasting through the speakers. You don't always let him do that, but you're curious to know what he has to say.

He asks if you two could talk and you simply respond "no". You then continue to dance with your friends, while he clenches his jaw and watches as you fully ignore him again. Gareth knows what his friend is going through, so he stops dancing and pulls his friend to a table.

You're in your small bubble of happiness, even though you can feel that small pinch in your stomach. Because you wished it was different.

You wished you were dancing with him now. You so wished you could have a slow dance with him. But the next best thing is Steve. You're already settled with yourself you'd let him fuck you tonight. You never crossed that line before, but you're trying to live a different life now. It hurts less to think of the mess Eddie made. He left the pieces so you'd pick them up alone.

From the dance, to the karaoke time, he wouldn't stop looking at you. He tried. He swears he tried to focus on something else. He forced himself to dance with another girl, he forced himself to start a conversation with another girl. But he noticed that the only thing he was getting was the regret biting his ass. The bitter taste of it at each swig of the beer that was already hot in his hand. And it wasn't the taste of the beer that was bitter anymore.

You were never an attention seeker before. Now you're doing it every time he's around and he feels his blood pleasure rising each time you do something that catches his attention. Why is he even mad if he's the one to break up with you? Why is he mad that you're making his skin crawl when you grab Steve's arm and squeeze it, looking at his direction?

Why doesn't he move on with his life if he wanted to let go of you? He asks himself that every single living day of his life. And you do too. You just don't let it be known.

Eddie almost breaks the bottle in his hand when he notices you're dancing with your back to Steve. Your ass almost touching him, his firm hands under the line of your breasts, his chin resting on top of your shoulder as he sings along the lyrics over your ear.

He stands up from his seat, walking to the bar, where he asks for a glass of whiskey. Does he like the drink? Absolutely not, but he's miserable. He needs something stronger to get through the night.

He downs it in one gulp, asking for another shot. He's starting to feel defeated, because he can't handle the feeling of losing you. He lost you for no reason whatsoever. It's been months and he can't even begin to explain to himself just why he would do that. Now he watches as you almost grind against his best friend, wishing he was the one behind you. He turns his back at you and stares down at the empty glass. It took him long enough to give up watching you, but he can't do that all night and not enjoy the party. In fact, he can't seem to have the energy to do that.

Eddie sighs and drags himself out of the bar, walking out. He walks down the long hallway, looking for the bathroom. You don't hear the footsteps approaching, he doesn't know you're also there. It's a fucking unisex bathroom and you forgot to lock the door. He feels unlucky because he knows you'll think he came after you. But little does he know, you might put on a show tonight and piss him off even more.

"You might be the happiest person in this party tonight" He snaps you out of your thoughts, as he leans against the wall outside the bathroom.

You're still fixing your dress when you look up at him. His face holds a harsh expression, his arms are crossed over his chest. It might be the first time you ever see his hair in place because he used a hair fixing spray. Otherwise it would've been all messy already.

"I have no idea what you're on about" You don't give him the pleasure of your attention. You just keep walking back to the hall.

He walks behind you, following you. He scoffs and tries to reach out to you.

"Seriously, you should just drop the act for a second"

That makes you halt on your tracks and look over your shoulder. He hears the bitter chuckle you let out. He knows he struck a nerve.

"What act, Munson?" You hated calling him by his last name and he hated how it sounded coming from you. "I'm just having fun with my friends"

You continue walking, your heels echoing through the hallway. Eddie hates to admit that you look gorgeous wearing that dress. It's a dark green silky fabric with a slit, the straps are thin and the gown reaches the floor.

He catches up to you, gripping your wrist without force. You feel him pulling you back and walking towards the bathroom again, locking both of you inside. Your heart is strumming against your chest, your palms are sweaty. You haven't been this close to him in such a long time.

"Can you stop being so conceited for just a second?" This time you are the one to cross your arms when he speaks up. "If you're trying to prove a point, you did it. Congratulations!"

Eddie holds his waist like a mother scolding her child. It's kind of ridiculous, you think.

"I'm not trying to prove anything. You're just mad because you can't stand the fact that I'm moving on while you're feeling sorry for yourself. Which is good, you deserve it" You smirk and wink at him, leaving him completely silent.

It didn't last long. He laughs loudly, his head goes back and his chest is roaring. His smokey laugh is something you don't miss, to be honest. It's probably the only thing, though.

"How are you even moving on if you can't stop trying to mock me at every opportunity you have?" He takes a step forward, watching as you almost shrink backwards. "'Cause let me tell you something, darling. You're far from being over me"

He uses the nickname deliberately. He knows it makes you soft for him, you've always loved it when he called you that.

"I don't think you're capable of noticing how I don't give a shit about you anymore, darling" You sneer back.

There's not much space left between you two. You're already leaning against the sink and he's just a palm's length from you. You try to be reasonable, you try to convince yourself you don't care about him. You try to warn your body that you don't want him anymore. You keep your chin up, because otherwise you know you'll give in.

"The way you act when you're around my friends says otherwise. But really, you keep telling yourself that. There's a mirror behind you if it helps"

He's being sarcastically annoying. He's using his remarks against you because you know he's hurt. He's been hurt ever since he left your place. And your only way of living with the fact he wanted to break things up, is for you to play your own game.

But now it doesn't seem like it's working anymore. You try to avoid his gaze, the way his fingers tap against his biceps. You try to avert your eyes from looking at the chest hair that's peeking from his shirt. Just like his tattoos. He never wears those, it makes your head pound. He notices your reaction immediately and chuckles.

"Oh. So now you can't look at me?" Eddie finally closes the distance between you two, leaning against you. Your exposed neck clearly invites him. His breath hits your skin and you shiver, gripping the sink tightly over your hands. "What? I'm too intimidating?"

His voice is gruff, you can smell the whiskey in his breath and the perfume he's wearing. It's musky and addicting. The fact is, he's hardly ever intimidating. He's just doing it now to see you break down your walls and let him in. For a few seconds, you keep your guard up. And you use it for leverage as you push him backwards.

He makes you nervous. You don't know what kind of reaction he has on you now. He flicks his eyes from your pointed forefinger to your furrowed eyebrows.

"Don't you think you've done enough already?" Your voice is almost cracking, and as you try to leave the bathroom, he doesn't let you.

He's never been rough. Even now, he doesn't want to be rough. He carefully holds your wrists with both hands and pushes you against the wall. His nose almost bumps into yours.

"You know what you're doing. You're ruining me. And you're wrecking me. And I know you have all the right to do that, but I left you alone. I'm already a broken man, so you should just leave me alone as well if you really want to move on"

He's breathing heavily, his lips are almost twitching. You know you made him miserable, but the urge of feeling superior made it to your head. And you couldn't stop doing it. You like fooling around with Steve, you like to watch the regret and sorrow crossing over Eddie's eyes when you're around each other.

He kept his gaze at you. He was waiting for another snide remark to come from you. He anticipated your jabs at him because now that's how it felt like when talking to you. When you didn't respond or moved, he sighed. He let go of your wrists, dropping his weight over his hands that rested on each side of your head against the tiles of the wall.

"I thought I was doing you a favor. Being broke, being made fun of, being chased around as the "Satan worshiper". Getting behind in school. I mean, look at me" He shook his head. You intently heard his ranting. "Don't I look like a decent person wearing this?"

He pulls the fabric over his chest, showing you what he means. You know what he means. He's trying to say he looks better wearing clothes that aren't ripped, or that aren't patterned. Eddie has his own style, but he thinks it comes with the consequence of him being known as the freak.

"So let's be honest. I was just going to slow you down. You could have anyone. You're almost there already, because you have Steve. And that guy is every mother's dream of a son in law" His tone is bitter. He's jealous of Steve.

But not exactly because of his look. But because he's lucky to have you with him.

"I couldn't let you do it. You deserve so much better than me. I mean, I try my best at everything but I know I'll always be a failure" He stands in front of you looking the smallest he's ever felt in his life.

And you hate to be the one to fix it. Because he broke you. But he's been broken for a long time, you just couldn't help him more because he wouldn't let you.

"Are you done, Eddie?" You speak up after his monologue. He lifts his head up and furrows his brows in confusion at you. "I heard you, so now you're gonna listen to me"

He doesn't say a word, you're the one caging him now. Even though you're shorter than him, you confront him as he looks at you expectantly. You feel your throat burning, your eyes start to itch. You want to cry so hard right now. You want to scream at him and make him see how much you still love him.

"Don't you ever say you're a failure. You're the closest thing Wayne has to a family, you're practically his son. He's the proudest uncle you could ever imagine" You grip on his shirt tightly, the collar of the fabric getting completely creased. "You don't know how much our friends love you and how much you make them happy. Don't you ever see the way they laugh at your stupid jokes?"

Eddie feels his own eyes getting glassy. He was never ashamed of crying.

"You've always worked hard. You're a huge hard worker and you don't see that. You're so fucking blinded by the negative thoughts, you don't see the other way of life! You're so stupid you don't see how much I love you. How proud I am of you. How I couldn't care less about whatever the fuck those people think of you!"

You feel your chest ripping apart from seeing the way his tears are rolling against his face. His lips quiver and he can't seem to avoid your eyes. He sees right through you. He knows you still love him. He knows you never stopped loving him. And you feel like you can't help but feel sorry for him. For the way he thinks he doesn't deserve better.

"You deserve the whole fucking word, Munson" Your breath gets caught in your throat from crying. "You just don't see that. You don't want to see that. So you push people away because you think you're doing us a favor. But you know you're not".

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm fucking sor–" Eddie sobs audibly and drops his head over your shoulder. He cries loudly and can't hold back the tears that are falling harshly. You let him cry out.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, stroking his hair softly. You rest your cheek against his head, crying quietly because you can't stand being loud.

His voice comes out muffled from his position. "I do everything wrong. I can't even think of how I'm going to fix this. And it fucking hurts"

He grips your shoulder tightly. He's not feeling strong enough to let go just yet, so he stays like that. He's murmuring apologize after apologize next to your ear as he tries to stop himself from crying.

You spend several minutes holding each other. You don't know how your make up isn't that ruined, but you thank God for the waterproof mascara. At least it's still intact. As for the eyeshadow, you're not so sure.

Eddie seems to settle down, his shoulders are slumped and he's not sniffing against your skin anymore. He still takes a couple of minutes to compose himself, lifting his face from your shoulder. His eyes are bloodshot and his eyelids are kind of swollen. He grabs a piece of toilet paper to dry the tears that were left. You're caught off guard when he brings another piece to clean your smudged make up.

He's careful to not rip the rest of it off. Your heart flutters at the action. And he notices how soft your eyes have become. How your demeanor shifted to a less tense body. You grab his hand and pull him closer, placing your lips softly against his. Eddie closes his eyes and hums to the touch.

"I'm sorry for being so hard on you. I know I was being a bitch" You speak with your mouth still against his.

He places one hand over your jawline, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

"We're quite even, I guess"

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, his teeth grazing against your lower lip. "You look gorgeous"

You don't know how to respond to this. Your first reaction is to hide your face on the crook of his neck. Wrong choice. You inhaled his scent, the smell hitting your nostrils like a punch to the gut. You wanted to bite him. You wanted to do atrocities with him. You just had the most vulnerable moment together, he was crying over your shoulder and there you were thinking dirty things.

"You don't look so bad yourself" You try to play cool, your heartbeat starting to become unsteady.

Eddie finds his way to your earlobe, hovering over your skin. His husky tone fanned your ear "I couldn't help but wish I could fuck you in this bathroom"

You felt that cold shiver traveling through your entire body. There's a turning point for you when he gently gives you a bite in the soft area and pulls it.

He slowly made his way to your back and stood behind you. His chest barely touches you. He slid one hand over your shoulder, his fingertips dropping to the side of your arm.

"Look how beautiful you are" He placed his hand over your chin so you'd look at yourself in the mirror.

He used the same hand, slithering it across your back, carefully pushing you forward until you're bending over the sink. He slowly unzips your dress, using his knuckles to ghost over your skin, until he reaches your lower back. He loves the curves, the dimples. Eddie feels his heart racing, the blood pumping in his ears. He removes the straps of the dress from your shoulders, watching your dress pool on your feet.

You’re still watching it through the mirror, the way he looks at your skin with passion, the way his fingers touch you in the slightest way. He grabs your waist with both hands and swings you over so you face him. He’s mesmerized. He missed you so much. He missed seeing you, kissing you, looking at you. He doesn’t want to waste another minute without you anymore.

You’re the first to pull him for another kiss, it’s desperate and you clash your teeth together. He glides his hands down, groping your ass, sinking his fingers down your skin. You’re only wearing lace underwear, the soft fabric doesn’t do much to protect your heated core from feeling his bulge against you. You unbutton his shirt, fumbling with it as you leave it open.

Your hands travel through his tattooed chest, down his stomach. Eddie grunts in your mouth, leaving a trace of kisses when he pulls away. He spreads small kisses on your neck, down your chest, until he’s in the middle of your breasts. He sticks his tongue out and licks your skin, slowly reaching your nipple. He rolls it around your hardened skin and sucks on it. He cups your other breast with his free hand and rubs circles around your nipple.

You grip his hair tightly, tangling it between your fingers as you bite your lip. Eddie never missed an opportunity to make you feel good, and he’s doing it now. He always thinks of you first whenever it comes to sex and it’s not different this time.

He sucks on your skin desperately and pinches your nipple, enjoying the whimpers you let out. You feel his rough fingertips sliding down your stomach, reaching your inner thigh. They slip through the fabric of your underwear, reaching your soaking slit. You mewl, throwing your head back.

He's still playing with your nipple between his teeth, all while his fingers slip up and down your core, stroking your clit softly. He works his hand fast on your pussy, pulling two fingers into you. He listens to your mumbles, your moanings and hums in excitement. His pants are becoming too tight to his cock that's aching for you. You can't hold back the sounds you're making, your head is hanging back, almost leaning against the mirror.

"Eddie, please. I-" You pull on his hair when he pumps you faster, curling his fingers into you.

He's making noises from sucking your tits, he's being as loud as he can and he loves the way you react to it. You love the way his ringed fingers slip in and out of you, you love watching him fucking you.

You instantly miss his touch when he pulls out of you, lifting his head up as he gazes at you with blown eyes. His unbuttoned shirt is making your head spin from the sight. He's not sure it's the whiskey talking, but he hums in appreciation when he licks his fingers, tasting your wetness. Your knees almost buckle.

Eddie holds your waist and spins you around, facing your back to him. Your underwear barely covers your ass and his mouth twitches. He bends you over the sink. He wants to slap your ass so bad, he wants to punish you for pissing him off, but he doesn't. He strokes your delicate skin, his eyes wander through your body. He finally undoes his pants and rolls them down his legs with his boxer. His swollen cock finally springs free, glistening with precum.

Before he can even make a move, he snaps his head to look at you through the mirror. You're expectantly waiting for him to pound on you. "Baby, are you sure?"

Your skin shivers from the nickname again, you just nod. He spreads your legs with his knee, rubbing his tip along your slit, hissing at the feeling he's been longing for.

He pushes into your pussy without warning, spreading you open until he's deep on you. Your body jolts forward with his thrust, his pubic bone slapping against your ass.

"Oh fuck" He grunts, slipping in and out of you. His cock sinks further into your hole.

He slowly starts to speed up his pace, wrapping his arm around your waist as he holds you for support. Your hands are leaning over the sink. Eddie tugs on your hair and pulls it roughly so you lift your head up to watch him against the mirror. He furrows his brows as he watches his cock disappearing inside of you.

He pounds on you, resting his head on top of your shoulder. His breath is uneven, the smell of whiskey hits your skin. You feel the roughness of his hold and it's vexations, because he's already balls deep into you and it feels like you can't get enough of him.

Your hand flies up to hold his neck, your long nails scratching his skin. They sink on it. Your head now rests against his shoulder, but he pulls your hair forcefully and it makes you tilt your head. You try to look at him, but your vision gets blurry.

He's relentlessly hitting you and you clench around him. Your pussy cages his cock, putting pressure into it, making him disrupt immediately. He freezes his movements because you're holding him so tight, it's hard to thrust into you. Eddie grazes his teeth over your neck, sucking on your skin, squeezing your waist in response.

"Please, baby. I need you" He rasps. His throat goes dry when you grind on him. "Fuck, do that again"

He's begging and he doesn't care. You start grinding against him, rolling your hips. He watches your ass sliding against his skin and his cock twitches. He's not gonna last longer. He's surprised he's been hard for that long. He almost crushes your bones for holding you too tight.

His hand goes up to your throat squeezing it, almost choking you. He thrusts harder against you, inching ever so deeply. You're barely up on your feet, if it wasn't for him holding you. Your eyes keep shutting, your mouth is open widely and he uses it for his benefit, sticking two fingers into it. Your tongue roams against his skin, giving him the blissful satisfaction he's been waiting for.

You suck on his fingers as he sloppily hits his hips against your ass. You start to see white when the orgasm comes in a wave of pleasure that you can't hold. Your legs are shaking, your arms are rigid and your stomach is tied to a knot. Your pussy throbs and clenches around his cock multiple times, and Eddie feels his body jolt too.

It doesn't give him time to prepare for it as he spurts inside of you. His cock is twitching and releasing his cum incessantly. He barely opens his eyes, only peeking through his lashes as he watches both of you coming down through the mirror. He feels his cum streaming down his cock to your legs. The warm, white liquid painting your skin.

You throb at the same time he twitches, your cunt is so sensitive you can barely move. He stays inside of you for a while, ripping his fingers from your mouth, still holding your waist. His hand is now soft on you, but he leaves marks from how much he squeezed you. His fingertips are printed on your skin.

He whispers over your ear, saying he's going to pull out of you and it's painful when he does. For both of you. Eddie groans at the feeling and immediately sighs.

"Come here" He gently says, helping you sit up on the sink.

Before he helps clean you up, he puts his pants back up, carefully fixing his underwear in place. His tip is so sensitive, it's hard to even touch it. He picks the toilet paper, wetting it under the faucet. You watch as he rubs your skin, cleaning off his cum. You find it passionate.

Eddie always did that to you. He always cleaned you up, but rather, he would even pick clean clothes for you to wear after. Your heart is still beating fast, the sight of him soothing your body when he helps lifting your dress and zipping it up. He fixes the straps and smooths your hair down.

You're still watching him over the mirror. The entire time he's focused on you. On your skin. On your body. Your well-being.

He then fixes his own hair, making sure it's in place. He buttons up his shirt and leaves it open on the collar because he knows you like staring at him. He shoots you a warm smile and you blush. It's like you lost your confidence towards him. He washes his hands and his face. His cheeks are still flushed.

You seem to be in a daze, your eyes are roaming over his entire body. His hair that is shorter now, he doesn't have bangs anymore. He grew out a beard, more like a stubble. Your fingers are tapping against the tiles of the wall. Then you snap out of it a second later, walking out of the bathroom as he follows your steps.

You turn to him, extending your hand towards him. Eddie looks at you in confusion, and you wiggle your fingers so he holds your hand.

"We can talk about it later" Your eyes crinkle when you give him a side smile. He nods and laces his fingers in yours.

Eddie didn't think he would come to the wedding and have fun. He knew he was going to be miserable months before. You thought you were going to leave the party and sleep with Steve. You knew you wouldn't be able to stop mocking Eddie.

You're both walking down to the hall, hands tied, faces flushed. Reminiscing about the relationship didn't cross both your mind. Maybe the missing piece was the conversation, his redemption.

Now as he walks by your side, he thinks he needs to give himself a break and stop being a victim. He can't lose you again and he will make it up to you.

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ms-demeanor · 18 days ago

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Idk if you are the right person to ask, but you're a car geek so yeah.

How do I convince my mom to let me buy a old hearse lol? It's got better fuel efficiency than her car, more storage space and I can convert it into a camper. I have the money for it without having to get a loan, and like sure I could get another car. Idk i feel like a hearse fits my needs a lot better than anything else even close to my budget (the next comparable thing is like a jump of 5000 dollars and the fuel efficiency would be cut in half). If you have any thoughts at all it would be greatly appreciated, tho no worries if not lol

Start by looking into your state laws and insurance requirements - you may have to get special insurance on a hearse or need to carry more expensive insurance than you would for a regular car; it surprised me when I was looking up insurance pricing a couple weeks ago and there was a specific checkbox that raised the price for hearses for Progressive insurance.

Consider where you'd get parts and who would work on the car. Most hearses are Lincolns and Cadillacs, which can have high parts costs. You'd basically be buying a customized luxury vehicle, you need to consider luxury vehicle maintenance pricing.

NGL, I'm skeptical on mileage - hearses are heavy; your mom's car may be older and get poor mileage, but there are going to be more fuel efficient trucks out there in your price range that you could stick a camper shell on.

Think about where you're going to park it. Hearses are longer than average cars, and are generally longer than pickup trucks.

My neighbor has two hearses; he likes them, but he doesn't drive either much and they are BIG. If you're looking for a car with decent mileage that you can convert to a sleeper and that has a lot of storage, you might be better off looking for older minivans.

Hearses are cool as fuck, it would be very cool to have a hearse. But if you're not an experienced driver and you're not used to car maintenance costs and if you can't afford the insurance you might be required to carry, it's not going to be a good fit for you.

Figure all of that out first and THEN talk to your mom about it. But if you're not the one paying for the car, or if it's going on her insurance, or if it's getting parked in her driveway you just may need to wait on a car like a hearse until it's not going to be a point of conflict. Because people are weird about hearses, and there's a chance your mom doesn't want you to get a hearse because she doesn't want to hear from the neighbor who is going to be a pain in the ass about it and might continue to be a pain in the ass about it after you move out.

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pretend-i-don-t-exist · 8 months ago

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weird shen yuan hours everyone

you can't tell me that this guy who has like MEMORIZED the plot lines and plot devices of a ridiculously long novel wouldn't geek out when he's in said novel

granted that wouldn't be his first thought with the looming possibility of a horrible death in his future but c'mon he has an entire library with maybe forbidden areas only available to the peak lord. he's going to be so happy reading all of those, fueling his funny lil mind

going :> while he's on a mission with some peak lords to eradicate some beasts only for him to look at the beasts and go: aww cute, i want to keep them

peak lords: shen-shixiong, those things killed three villages

sy, already petting the beasts. which are. just letting him??? snuggling against him??? is he using a beast taming technique? how?: hm? did you say something?

and when they need some obscure ritual from like one thousand years ago sy just lights up and proceeds to infodump about said ritual while performing the ritual perfectly without any help whatsoever

maybe cang qiong just chalks it up as a qjp thing. previous qing jing peak lords were very weird. sj/sqq is the first one to be so elegant and refined. maybe the world caught wind of this glitch and decided to fix it

anyway lbh courts him by bringing him weird things from the demonic realm and that solves a lot, actually

#svsss #shen yuan

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tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

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Tw: cussing, Hydra, medical descriptions, torture, angst, descriptions of disturbing side effects, death.

Part 2

Touch that Takes - Part 1

The lab door crashes open so violently it startles Tony, who’s mid-adjustment on a gauntlet.

Bucky storms in, hair slightly disheveled, boots heavy.

“She’s gone.”

Tony blinks. “Who?”

Bucky’s eyes flare. “Doll ... She’s gone.”

Tony straightens, mouth flattening into a grim line. “Define ‘gone,’ RoboCop. Walked out for air? Hiding in a cupboard?”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “She’s went to take the trash out, didnt come back.”

Tony immediately tosses the gauntlet aside and turns to the screen.

“JARVIS?”

"Last recorded location was Sublevel B. Her biometrics went offline two minutes later."

Bucky’s entire body locks up. His jaw tightens, and something primal flickers across his face.

Tony’s fingers fly over the console. “We need cameras. Every hallway. Start tracing from the basement.”

“I should’ve stayed with her,” Bucky growls.

He’s already pacing, breathing shallow.

His right hand flexes at his side, the metal arm twitching with contained violence.

But the fear—real fear—is in his eyes.

Tony pulls up grainy footage: you, stepping into the hallway with a trash bag.

Then… nothing.

The camera feed dies.

“Son of a bitch they knew how to loop footage,” Tony mutters.

Bucky leans forward, bracing both arms on the console, face set like stone. “If they hurt her…”

“We’ll get her back,” Tony assures. “JARVIS is scanning every known frequency. They won’t get far.”

But Bucky doesn’t respond. His mind is already racing.

Your voice.

The way you’d squeezed his hand earlier.

The warmth still ghosting across his lips from when he’d kissed your knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have let her go alone,”

Tony looks at him. For all his sass and sarcasm, he understands loss. He softens his tone.

“She’s stronger than she looks, we'll find her”

Bucky stares at the frozen frame on the screen—your form captured just as you stepped into the shadows.

“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse.

“But she’s my Doll.” He whispers.

-----------------------------------------

Within fifteen minutes, the entire tower is in motion. Quinjet is fueled, and Nat, Sam, and Steve are reviewing contacts.

But Bucky?

He’s already halfway to the garage.

Tony catches him just in time. “Whoa, Tinman—where the hell are you going—your not cleared for field work?”

Bucky's metal hand grips the steering wheel of a tactical vehicle so hand it whines under his hand.

“Do you really want to stop me right now ?”

Tony doesn’t argue.

“You call me the second you find something,” Tony orders, slapping the hood. “And bring our girl home.”

-----------------------------------------

At first it's a blur of needles and pain.

Every morning begins the same way, the door to your cell slides open, and four guards enter. They no longer bother with restraints—your body is too weak from the serum treatments to fight back.

Dr. Lindstrom watches from behind her tablet as they drag you to the chair. The first time, you fought—thrashing, screaming Bucky's name until your throat was raw.

Now you can barely lift your head.

"Baseline vitals stabilizing," she notes clinically, as a technician fastens the metal halo around your skull.

"437 exhibiting increased tolerance to pain stimuli."

The chair hums to life, electricity coursing through your skull, shredding thoughts into fragments.

Your body arches.

Muscles seizing.

Someone shoves a rubber guard between your teeth.

"Memory suppression at thirty-seven percent," someone calls out.

-----------------------------------------

Stark Tower’s walls are too quiet for what’s happening.

JARVIS overlays a glowing holographic map of the building and the 100-mile radius beyond it. Your blinking signal, previously always tethered to the kitchen, common room, or the suite you share with Bucky… is gone.

Tony’s pacing, wild-eyed and rumpled. “How the hell does someone vanish into thin air with JARVIS monitoring every corner? Did she teleport? Phase through a wall? I mean—come on.”

“Tony.” Steve’s voice is low, steady. “Focus.”

Bucky leans against the far wall, shadowed, arms crossed tightly. His shoulders are stiff, the metal arm flexing in tiny, unconscious motions.

He’s not listening to Tony’s theories.

He’s watching the elevators.

Like you might walk back in.

“She wouldn’t leave,” he says quietly.

Steve glances at him. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“She didn’t choose this. Someone took her.”

Through the white-hot agony, you still cling to fragmented images—Bucky's eyes, the soft press of his lips against your knuckles, the sound of Sam Cooke playing in the kitchen.

Each day, these memories grow fainter.

After the chair comes the serum—burning through your veins like acid, rewriting your cells. Your screams echo through the facility.

"Subject's cellular structure beginning to modify," Dr. Lindstrom announces.

"Metabolic rate increased by two hundred percent."

The hunger is constant now—a gnawing, desperate ache that no amount of the tasteless nutrient paste they feed you can satisfy.

At night, you lie awake in your cell, shivering not from cold but from the serum reshaping you from within.

Sometimes, when the pain subsides briefly, you whisper his name like a prayer.

"Bucky will come. Bucky will find me."

Collins visits sometimes, watching you through the glass. His smile grows wider as your voice grows weaker.

You've stopped asking when they'll let you go.

You've stopped begging for water when the serum burns through your system.

You've stopped screaming when they strap you to the chair.

The hunger has become something else—a presence, sentient and demanding.

"Interesting," Dr. Lindstrom murmurs during one of her examinations.

She's shining a light into your eyes, observing how your pupils dilate. "Subject's irises showing first signs of pigment deterioration."

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of her glasses—your eyes darker, veins visible beneath pallid skin.

Somewhere in New York, Nat flicks through the tablet, watching the surveillance footage from that night.

She pauses.

Rewinds.

Squints.

Clint crouches in the dirt, looking for anything new.

“She was smart, Nat. But sweet. Too sweet.” His voice is tight.

“She probably never saw it coming,” Nat says quietly.

There’s a silence between them that feels heavier than the mist rolling through the streets.

“She’s the kind of person you want to protect,” Clint mutters. “Not use as bait.”

Nat clicks the tablet off. “We’ll find her. But when we do—whoever took her is going to wish it was Barnes that got to them first, not me.”

The chair sessions are longer now. Each time, fewer memories remain. But occasionally, flashes break through—Tony's sarcastic laugh as he slides a coffee across the kitchen bench to you, calling you "Thumbelina" despite your protests.

Steve's patience as you both taught Bucky how to shave again.

Bucky's forehead on yours.

These memories surface like bubbles in thick oil—brief, fragile, gone almost as soon as they appear.

During physical tests, they've noticed something new.

When one of the technicians grabbed your arm too roughly, black tendrils—like ink in water—seeped from your fingertips and wrapped around his wrist.

He collapsed, convulsing.

Dr. Lindstrom was ecstatic, you where horrified.

"First manifestation of bio-energetic absorption!" she announced, furiously taking notes. "Earlier than predicted."

They bring you rats after that.

Starve you for days, then throw them into your cell.

The first time, you recoiled in horror when the black tendrils emerged instinctively from your hands, wrapping around the creature.

You sobbed as you felt its life force flowing into you—warm, satisfying, terrifying.

"I don't want this," you whispered, trying to pull the tendrils back.

But they moved with a will of their own, hungry and insistent.

That night, you refused to feed on the second rat they brought.

By morning, patches had appeared on your skin—small areas of tissue beginning to die.

By afternoon, the pain was excruciating.

"Fascinating," Dr. Lindstrom noted, examining the necrotic tissue on your arm.

"The absorption ability appears to be directly tied to 437's immunity. Without regular feeding, 437's own cells begin to deteriorate."

"Please," you begged alone in your cell "I don't want to hurt anything."

"You don't have a choice anymore," she replied, her voice coldly clinical over the mic into your cell. "Feed or your body will consume itself."

By the fifth rat, you no longer hesitate.

Thor slams a hand onto the holo-console. “This Midgardian tower was supposed to be safe!”

Bruce barely glances up from the screen.

He’s gone still and clinical—retreating into logic after months of searching.

“There was a power fluctuation at 2:13am in the east lower wing.” He zooms in. “Small. Almost unnoticeable. The night she disappeared.”

Thor’s fingers twitch at his side. “She is not combat-trained. A child in height. She speaks softly. She brings me the good food.”

Bruce sighs through his nose. “Exactly the kind of person an infiltrator wouldn’t see as a threat. Or… would want to use as leverage.”

They both look at the screen.

“She brought me banana bread once,” Bruce whispers.

Thor’s hand tightens into a fist.

"437 is progressing well," Collins tells Lindstrom, watching you through the observation window. You're huddled in the corner of your cell, knees drawn to your chest, eyes tracking their movements.

"Her absorption abilities are developing faster than anticipated," Lindstrom agrees.

"But her mind is still resisting full conversion."

"I need results, Doctor," Collins presses, tapping his finger against the glass. "The higher-ups are getting impatient."

"These things take time," Lindstrom counters. "She's still holding onto fragments of her former life. The memory wipes are less effective than they were with the Winter Soldier."

"Then increase the voltage."

"We could lose cognitive function entirely. She'd be useless."

You've stopped remmebering your name. Now you're just "437" or sometimes "Subject."

The chair sessions have become more aggressive.

Sometimes you wake up with no memory of the previous day, just an emptiness where thoughts should be.

But the hunger—the hunger is always there.

They've moved on from rats to larger animals. Each time the tendrils emerge, they're stronger, more eager—stretching further from your hands, quicker to find their target.

You've learned that you don't need to touch your victims directly.

The black tendrils can bridge gaps, seek warmth like predators hunting prey.

The process is slower than Lindstrom expected—nearly an hour to drain a large animal completely.

She logs this data meticulously, adjusting formulas, recalibrating treatments.

"Why does it take so long?" Collins demands after one feeding session.

"Energy transfer isn't instantaneous," Lindstrom explains.

"Think of it as a slow transfusion rather than an electrical discharge. The longer the connection, the more complete the transfer."

What neither of them mentions is how you weep silently during each feeding.

How you try to sooth the animals as your body betrays you, the black tendrils extending despite your resistance.

How the patches of necrotic flesh appear on your arms, your chest, your back when you try to fight the hunger.

After each feeding, your strength returns briefly.

Colors seem sharper.

Sounds clearer.

For a few precious hours, the fog in your mind lifts slightly, and you remember fragments—Tony teaching you to fix the coffee machine after you'd broken it for the third time, Steve's steady hand on your shoulder after a rough day with the blue eyed man.

Eyes watching you across the kitchen.

Then the hunger returns, worse than before, and the cycle begins again.

Sunrise casts a warm, light across the tower.

Steve leans beside Bucky on the ledge. His expression is drawn, his fingers white-knuckled on the rail.

“She really meant something to you.”

Bucky hangs his head. “She’s just ... good.”

Steve’s brows pinch. “You sure that’s all she is?”

Bucky’s lips part—like he wants to argue. But the word never comes.

He looks out over the city. “She called me kind. Said I could be more than what they made me. Nobody’s had said that before her.”

Steve nods slowly. “Because they didn’t see you.”

Bucky glances down at his flesh hand, it had felt so empty since you'd gone.

“She did.”

Steve rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

The final phase of serum treatments ends with a session so brutal you're certain it will kill you.

Your screams have long since given way to guttural, animal sounds as your body convulses on the medical table.

Black tendrils erupt and pulse uncontrollably from your hands, your arms, seeking something—anything—to feed on.

"Remarkable," Dr. Lindstrom observes from behind a protective barrier. "Full integration at the cellular level."

When the pain finally subsides, something fundamental has changed. The hunger is no longer separate from you—it is you.

Your first coherent thought is not of escape or of the man with the blue eyes. It's of feeding.

They bring you a prisoner—a failed Hydra agent who tried to escape. When he's shoved into your cell, you don't see a human being.

You see sustenance.

The tendrils flow from your hands like living shadows, wrapping around his throat, his chest, his face.

He struggles, then stills as you drain him dry.

It takes less than three minutes.

For the first time in months, you feel satiated.

"Perfect," Collins says, watching through the glass.

They don't teach you to fight with weapons or fists.

They teach you to hunt.

Your instructors maintain their distance, using shock batons to direct you, to punish or reward.

They've learned the hard way that getting too close is dangerous.

You move differently now—lower to the ground, fluid, predatory. The trainers praise this instinct, encourage it.

Sometimes you find yourself on all fours, scuttling across the training room floor, black tendrils trailing behind you like a shadow.

Speech comes less frequently. Words seem unnecessary, cumbersome.

The chair sessions continue, but with a new purpose. Now they're not erasing—they're building.

Creating someone new from the hollow shell they've made of you.

"You are Leech," they tell you, over and over, as electricity courses through your brain. "You feed. You serve Hydra. You have always been Leech."

And slowly, you begin to believe them.

The light in your room is softer than the rest of the tower. Pastel curtains. Your reading chair, your knit throw blanket. A mug still rests on the side table—lukewarm, half-finished tea with honey.

Bucky steps inside like it’s a sacred place and a sanctuary all at once.

He doesn’t touch anything at first. Just breathes in the air like maybe your scent will help him remember something more.

Something useful.

But it just makes his throat tighten.

Finally, he sits on the floor beside your bed, head resting back against the side, metal fingers tracing a groove in the floor.

“You kept tea in the third drawer,” he whispers. “I got you more Doll, I dont want you to miss anything when you come home.”

He closes his eyes.

“I was supposed to protect you, Doll.”

When he opened them again he saw the compact mirror, resting on your side table, his flesh fingers traced it like it might break.

"I'll find you Doll, I'll bring you home"

His voice cracks.

Not the Winter Soldier.

Not Sergeant Barnes.

Just Bucky.

The isolation chamber is dark and cold, designed to heighten Leech's senses before a mission. She hangs from the ceiling in the corner, suspended by the black tendrils which occasionally ripple across her skin.

Dr. Lindstrom observes through specialized goggles, making notes on her tablet. "Subject has fully integrated the Leech persona," she reports to Collins. "Speech patterns reduced to primitive third-person references. Locomotion primarily quadrupedal when not in hunting stance."

Collins nods, pleased. "And the absorption capacity?"

"Beyond our projections. She can drain a healthy adult male in under two minutes. The energy sustains her for approximately seventy-four hours before hunger response initiates."

"Side effects?"

Lindstrom hesitates. "Dependency is total. Without regular feeding, withdrawal symptoms begin within ninety-six hours. Tremors, hallucinations, eventually cellular degradation."

"Perfect," Collins says.

The lights in the isolation chamber flicker on. Leech hisses, covering her sensitive eyes.

Leech knows the pain that follows disobedience.

"Your training is complete," Collins says. "You have your first mission."

Leech tilts her head, curious. Missions mean feeding. Missions mean fresh prey.

Leech's tongue darts out, wetting cracked lips. "Leech... feed?"

"Prepare her for transport," Collins orders.

In the chamber, Leech drops silently to the floor, landing in a crouch.

Her movements are no longer human—fluid, predatory, patient.

The black tendrils around her hands pulse with anticipation.

Leech doesn't remember the kitchen anymore, or the music, or the gentle press of lips against her knuckles.

Leech doesn't remember her name.

Leech only knows hunger.

Leech only knows the hunt.

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akikohanasaki · 12 days ago

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Would it be cool to ask for yandere Eltingville Club, x a reader they originally thought was a boy but was actually a girl? (Kinda like ouran host club) i think it’s just a fun little idea!

Ohshc was such a banger. I HAD to write this one ✋🏻 🙂‍↕️

Yandere!Eltingville Club x Fem!Reader Mistaken For a Boy

---

Bill Dickey

💢 The Gatekeeping Tyrant Obsessed with "Protecting" You

At first, Bill hated you. Not because you were a girl — he didn’t know — but because you were a "newbie" with opinions he thought were "wrong" or “inaccurate” about comics, especially Golden Age stuff.

When he found out the truth… oh boy. His worldview cracked. He spiraled between being furious that a "chick" out-geeked him and feeling violently drawn to you. His anger only fueled his obsession.

“They ruined fandom,” but you're the exception. You're the only girl who "gets it." (Or at least should by his expectations.) That makes you sacred to him — a rare gem in the trash heap of normies, casuals, and fake geek girls.

He starts sabotaging your friendships with the others, harshly correcting your trivia answers, gaslighting you “You never said that, you're misremembering!”, and if you're close to any guy outside the group? He stalks them. Maybe worse.

He'll try to indoctrinate you with “real” comics, giving you his most depraved, obscure favorites and watching your reactions like a hawk. The moment you like something he gives you? His brain short-circuits with delusional affection and possession.

You're his “canon love interest.” He’ll start imagining comics where there are characters based on you and him, but with “you” as his loyal lapdog of sorts. And let me tell you this, he does not handle rejection well. If you reject him, he’ll accuse you of being a poser, of leading him on, of “ruining the club.”

If you get too close to anyone else, he’ll explode. Literally or figuratively. This is a guy who burned down a comic store. Imagine what he'd do to someone who flirts with you.

---

Josh Levy

📼 The Sci-Fi Psychodrama Nightmare

Josh thought you were just another rival nerd. He argued with you about Dune, Star Trek, and sci-fi minutiae constantly. You were fun to fight.

When he found out you were a girl, he froze — malfunctioned like a busted protocol droid. Then the delusions started: he convinced himself the two of you were in some epic, slow-burn enemies-to-lovers arc straight out of a sci-fi romance novel.

He rewatches Star Trek episodes imagining you as the love interest. He writes crossover awful fanfics where you're a misunderstood alien princess and he’s the only one who "understands" you.

Prone to mood swings — he’ll scream at you in front of the others, then follow you home crying about how sorry he is, clutching an action figure as a peace offering.

Deep down, he wants to “rescue” you — not from danger, but from the other guys, from the world. Only he understands you. You’re his sci-fi waifu come to life.

Josh starts hacking badly into your online accounts, reading your forum posts, your private messages. He's not even subtle. He’ll reference things you never told him, smiling like it's a cute in-joke.

In his mind, you have to like him. You’ve been arguing like the leads in every romantic subplot he's ever loved. That’s just how the story goes.

---

Pete DiNunzio

🔪 The Horror-Fixated Control Freak

Pete was the most chill toward you at first — not because he liked you, but because you liked practical effects and horror, and you didn’t talk over him. That was respectable.

When the gender reveal happened, Pete froze. He went quiet for a few days — a rare occurrence. And then he got weird.

He starts treating you like a final girl in a slasher movie — someone to protect, someone who has to survive because you're "pure" in his mind. He’ll act like he's your bodyguard, lurking near you, watching from a distance.

Pete has a twisted romanticization of horror movie tropes — he fantasizes about “rescuing” you from fake dangers he stages himself, just to play hero. You're not a person to him anymore, you're the lead in his personal horror flick.

He becomes hyper-vigilant. Any mention of a date, guy friend, or normal social event outside the Club? He starts snooping. Stealing your stuff. Keeping items that “smell” like you.

If someone hurts you or even upsets you? He will hurt them. That is not a statement. That is a rule. Not necessarily in public. But something will happen. An "accident." And he’ll say something like, “See? The world’s dangerous. You’re safer with me.”

Pete’s not subtle. His room eventually becomes something like a serial killer’s obsession shrine: horror posters, latex props… and now, your photo tacked between a gory bust and a Freddy Krueger glove.

---

Jerry Stokes

🗡️ The Quiet, Fragile Fixation

Jerry was the only one who never questioned your presence in the Club. He welcomed you warmly and was the most polite — albeit shy and awkward.

When he learned the truth, he didn’t speak for days. Not out of shock… but embarrassment. He couldn’t believe someone so perfect, so gentle and smart, had been near him this whole time while he had no clue.

Jerry doesn't express his obsession loudly like the others. He internalizes it. But it festers. He starts drawing you in fantasy scenes, writing RPG campaigns where you're a magical maiden only he can save.

He keeps quiet tabs on you: noting what manga you read, what characters you like, what makes you laugh. You’re his muse, his reason for existing in a world that constantly bullies him.

The others start noticing Jerry’s fixation when he snaps during a game night because someone makes an off-color joke about you. He goes eerily cold, mutters something about how “they don’t deserve her presence.”

He wants to “run away” with you into a fantasy world where it’s just you and him. A place of safety, away from the cruelty of fandom, of school, of the other boys. He starts developing a campaign setting that’s really just a love letter to you.

His yandere side isn’t explosive — it’s desperate, clinging, tragic. If he thinks you're pulling away, he might threaten self-harm. Not as manipulation, but because he genuinely feels like he'll die if you’re gone.

---

Final Thoughts

When they all find out about each other’s obsessions?

Hell breaks loose.

Bill accuses everyone of being "fake fans" and "unworthy."

Josh starts narrating his breakdown like a season finale voiceover.

Pete threatens to kill someone. No irony.

Jerry withdraws, plotting a "rescue mission" for you.

You might be the only sane one left — but you’re now the centerpiece of a club collapsing into madness.

Their love isn’t sweet. It’s all-consuming, twisted by years of repression, fandom, and isolation.

You're no longer just part of the Club.

You're its only reason for existing.

---

I enjoyed this one a lot :3

I missed your request guys but I've been working out a lot so I didn't have the energy to write but I feel like that will change soon.

Love y'all

Akiko's out 👾

#eltingville club #the eltingville club #eltingville club x reader #josh levy #jerry stokes #pete dinunzio #bill dickey #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #>:3 #i love yall #waiting for more requests ;3

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songoftrillium · 2 years ago

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Werewolf: the Apocalypse 5th Edition and the Anti-Indigeneity in the Gaming Industry

reosted with permission from J.F. Sambrano

Dagot’ee!

Shii J.F. Sambrano gonsēē. My nations are Chiricahua Apache (Ndeh) through my maternal grandmother and Cora Indian (Náayarite) through my maternal grandfather. I am a mixed race Indigenous person, and through my father my heritage is English and Scottish. I am currently residing and doing work in my community on the lands of Lummi Nation. I use both gender non-binary and masculine pronouns, but prefer the former. I have several published works in the TTRPG industry, and am probably most known for my contributions to Mage: the Ascension 20th Edition, Werewolf: the Apocalypse 20th Edition, and the Transformers Roleplaying Game, as well as being part of the Essence 20 development team. Further, I also work in higher education at an Indian college, both advising and teaching Indigenous students across the United States. My passion is education, and I believe that we all learn through play, and that TTRPGs are a valuable source of learning, especially on personal, cultural, and social levels. This has always been what has drawn me to TTRPGs since I started playing M.E.R.P. with my brother in 1996 (and before that HeroQuest), through to my “graduation” into more story-driven games such as those presented in the Storyteller System, until now, where I author and produce my own roleplaying games.

I was also part of the First Team (in-joke intentional) hired by White Wolf Studios/Paradox Interactive via Hunters Entertainment to develop and author Werewolf: the Apocalypse 5th Edition. After several months of work, Paradox Interactive chose to go in another direction in early 2021 (I believe it was either March or April) and in fall of that year, it was announced that Werewolf would instead be taken in house, with Justin Achilli as the Brand Creative Lead and primary author of the book. Going forward I will be describing my experience while I worked with Paradox Interactive, primarily through Karim Muammar, White Wolf’s Brand Editor, as well as the developmental editor for Werewolf. Although I worked in a team, both with hired authors and in-house representatives at Hunters Entertainment, I will not be speaking for the experience of others, except when specifically noting unanimous consensuses, and specific interactions (which will go unnamed) that are particularly relevant. My hope is that by highlighting some of the anti-Indigenous attitudes that are central to the foundational members and leaders of the White Wolf brand, that I can provide opportunities for growth and healing within the World of Darkness TTRPG community, but also in the broader gaming community, where these behaviors and attitudes are rampant. I also want the community to have a better understanding of what this experience is like internally, and the challenges that Indigenous creators, as well as other marginalized creators, are met with when they try to make positive change within nerd and geek communities clinging to inherited white supremacist values, even if they don’t realize they are doing so.

What I do not want to be doing in this article is creating fuel for edition wars. I believe that both legacy and Werewolf 5th are rife with anti-Indigenous attitudes, and appalling amounts of appropriation. Both versions deserve criticism, I am not defending one over the other, I am only sharing what my experience was like working on the 5th edition of the book. Further, please understand that I was originally going to wait until I had read the final copy of the book, because I wanted to know how much of my work was used (based on previews I already know some was, just not the extent) and whether or not they decided to credit me for that work, and how I was going to be credited. My belief is that I likely will not be, but I am genuinely uncertain. Knowing how they handled that would have reframed how I addressed this. But more importantly, I want it to be very clear that even before Paradox ultimately pulled the plug on the Hunters team, I was preparing to exit working on the project based on the experience I will describe below. Not only did I find it frustrating, and personally disparaging, but I ultimately decided I was uncomfortable with my name being attached to the product based on the direction they wanted to go. So while I wanted to know whether or not I would be credited, because it would teach me something about their internal practices, I do not want or need the credit.

Finally, the reason that I decided to speak about this now instead of after having a chance to inspect the final product, was because my personal experience dealing with anti-Indigeneity coming from Paradox was just that: personal. But since then I have witnessed a throughline of hateful and xenophobic attitudes wielded against Indigenous people across the globe, and we do not deserve this treatment. I was outraged over the events that led to the segregation of the Latin American fanbase, which culminated from bottom-up criticism about how poorly their people and countries were being defined through World of Darkness products, and ended up with the firing of their Latin American Brand Ambassador, Alessa Torres, because she chose to stand with her community in those criticisms. I was further appalled when the likeness of Tāme Wairere Iti was shoehorned into the Werewolf book, a blatant example of cultural theft: not only in stealing the literal physical identity of an Indigenous person, but also his sacred tā moko. When Paradox Interactive issued an apology for this, it felt incredibly hollow to me in the wake of these events, the hateful attitudes I had personally witnessed coming from the top.

Whether from North America, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, or Peru, or across the globe in New Zealand, not only do Indigenous people deserve better treatment from such a major company, but their Indigenous and Latino fanbases, who have twisted and worked themselves through difficult representation for decades at this point, deserve better. Apologies are not enough, especially when they come with next to no real change.

Werewolf: the Apocalypse in Context

At the time that White Wolf Publishing began to produce its World of Darkness line, the TTRPG industry was dominated by white men, both as producers, developers, and authors, as well as the main characters in their settings. White Wolf's World of Darkness made an impact at the time, by defying these Eurocentric, patriarchal presentations, first by defaulting to feminine pronouns throughout Vampire: the Masquerade, and then by focusing on Indigenous representation and values in Werewolf: the Apocalypse, and as a young Indigenous nerd, it had a positive impact on me, as I know it has on some other Indigenous people who became fans of the World of Darkness at the time. This was because before opening the pages of Werewolf: the Apocalypse, I had never seen heroes that I could play who looked like me and my culture. It was off, and often offensive, but it was my first experience in which I could directly play a hero who shared my heritage--and I also had more than one option through two different Tribes to do so. This might sound a little like I was cheering for table scraps, but again, at the time, table scraps was more than I had ever seen before.

Werewolf: the Apocalypse 1st Edition was originally published in 1992 via then White Wolf Publishing (not to be confused with Paradox Interactive's White Wolf). From its inception, the premise was interwoven with what its then-authors believed to be Indigenous praxis and representation. Like many pop-culture presentations of Indigeneity from this time period (see Fern Gully, Dances With Wolves, Disney’s Pocahontas, or in TTRPGs, the NAN from Shadowrun) it was rife with problematic and even offensive stereotyping. The most obvious examples thereof are within the two "Pure Tribes" Uktena, and W****** who I will henceforth refer to as Older and Younger Brother. However, Indigenous inspiration was at the core of the game's spiritual premise as well, where animism and "Totems" are central to the setting and gameplay. The way these concepts are presented is trivializing and dehumanizing, but it is important to acknowledge that the appropriation present in Werewolf: the Apocalypse goes a lot deeper than the two Brother Tribes (even the term "Tribe" was meant to invoke a vision of Indigeneity compared to the previous setting in the line's use of "Clan"). Additionally, there is art throughout every generation of these gaming books that represents humans, wolves, and human-wolf hybrid forms wearing Indigenous regalia, including sacred items such as headdresses, or engaged in sacred rituals such as the Sun Dance. The list of problematic representations goes deep, and my examples only scratch the surface, but it is also important for me to note the positive impact that this had, particularly in the 90's.

Even though the primary contributors to these narratives were non-Indigenous authors, or in one case, a Pretendian, and another, a culturally disconnected author, by the time the Revised (or Third Edition) era of the books came around, White Wolf Publishing was actively engaged in cultural consultation. While I do not believe cultural consultation makes a big difference on its own, it matters that the attempt was made, to a degree: while these efforts fall short of what needs to be seen in cultural representation, this was still ahead of most other gaming companies at this time.

Hired by Hunters Entertainment

In February of 2020 I was approached by one of the co-owners of Hunters Entertainment to be one of the primary authors for Werewolf: 5th Edition due to my work on other World of Darkness projects, and let's be honest, because I was capable of bringing a much needed Indigenous perspective to a gameline that was rooted in Indigeneity and rotting with appropriation and racist stereotypes. I was overall receptive to the invitation, largely because I was very passionate about the World of Darkness setting overall, and Werewolf in particular, due to the impact that 90's representation had on me when I was a younger gamer. I also felt hopeful that with a really hard rewrite of Indigenous aspects of the game that I could shift a lot of really painful aspects of the game into something that was a net positive for Indigenous representation. I will tell you now, more than anything, I was excited to rewrite the Younger Brother Tribe, because when separated from racist authors, their message is very empowering and real to my lived experience.

That said, I did not agree to join the project without first asking for reassurances. I said that I was not willing to write negative Native stereotypes. I would not use appropriative language, or generally engage in appropriative writing (which meant at minimum that the names of the Pure Tribes would need to change), and most importantly, that I would not not engage in writing that contributed to erasure. While the person who recruited me to work on the project was eager to work with me, he acknowledged that he was not sure he could get everything I wanted to see approved, but also promised to fight for everything I suggested as hard as he could. Additionally, he shared with me that the original setting pitch for W5 involved all of Younger Brother being slaughtered en masse in a massacre. I made it clear that this was exactly the kind of thing that I would not write. I cannot remember if this was something he suggested to be changed before or after I was invited onto the project, but with some pushback it was changed. However, I point this out because I want you, the reader, to understand how eager Paradox Interactive was to start with mass genocide and erasure as a foundation to the setting. All that said, I cannot stress enough that I have had nothing but positive experiences with Hunters Entertainment, and none of the following concerns fall upon them.

The Sword of Heimdall

The first encounter the Hunters Entertainment team as a whole had with problematic guidelines for the W5 draft was the direction that Paradox Interactive wanted to go with the Sword of Heimdall. At the time, the suggestions from Paradox and Karim Muammar were that the Sword of Heimdall was going to represent the new major villain of the Werewolf setting, and that they were to also represent the far-right, fascist direction that Werewolf society so often turned toward. They were meant to be representative of how far the new concept of Hauglosk could take entire communities. However, the Sword of Heimdall was discussed interchangeably with the Get of Fenris as a whole, and more than once Muammar seemed to suggest that every member of this Tribe was guilty of the same attitudes espoused in previous editions from the Sword of Heimdall. Now let's not beat around the bush: the Sword of Heimdall are literal Nazis. They believe directly in white supremacy and don't shy from it. They wanted to cleanse impure elements from the Get of Fenris, including BIPOC people, other non-white ethnicities, women, neurodivergent Garou, and other disabled Garou.

The writing team found this approach problematic for several reasons. The first, and most obvious, was that the direction seemed to want to turn one of the most popular Tribes into a horrific stereotype of its most abhorrent faction. Whether or not Muammar’s goal was to turn them into villains, we could not imagine a world where fans of previous editions would get their hands on this book, and not look for a way to play one of their previous favorite groups, thus creating the issue of making a guide to playing Nazi. Even beyond that, it’s not as if historically there were not players who used the tools of the setting to play Black Spiral Dancers, why wouldn’t this draw people who actually wanted to role-play through these toxic, harmful politics? Further, and while this is less important, it left a bad taste in my mouth, the justification for this major shift in Werewolf lore seemed to change over each pass. At first, Muammar suggested that all Fenrir were Nazis/SoH. Then, when he was provided with evidence that it was a small faction that was eliminated in the early 2000’s, he started to shift toward the idea that we should not follow the lore. Finally, when every single member of the writer’s team flatly refused to provide what would essentially be “a player’s guide to being a Nazi werewolf” the writing was on the wall about the end of our involvement with this product. More than once, he suggested that we were cowardly social justice warriors for being unwilling to work with this concept, even though there were several attempts to write a heroic version of the Fenrir that were focused on undoing these ills of the past.

Indigenous Erasure in Werewolf: 5th Edition

While the entire Hunters Entertainment writing team was handling the major, glaring issue of Paradox’s fervor to include a major Nazi element in Werewolf, I was personally dealing with the problematic approach to the Indigenous issues in the setting. The largest problem, for me, was in addressing Younger Brother’s issues, the history of non-Indigenous writers creating horrifically racist stereotypes, and what was valuable in the Tribal identity that should be saved and recentered. However, my attempts to do so were thwarted with every approach. I rewrote this Tribe four times, and offered three different versions of it to try to earn approval for a final write-up, but each time there was a lot of negativity directed towards my attempts and all them boiled down to this: Muammar felt that having two Tribes (both Younger and Older Brother) representing the “Indigenous population” was too many, and wanted them to only be focused on Older Brother, and that Younger Brother’s connection to a central, Indigenous identity, was undesirable because “other sources wrote them as having Siberian and European connections” and that future writing on this Tribe would require a lot of sensitivity…suggesting that one, Muammar wasn’t interested in doing the work to handle that level of sensitivity, and further, that he wasn’t interested in including me in future work, since I was involved with doing that at the time.

I want to take a moment to remind you that the work that was put into recovering Younger Brother started with “Let’s Kill Them Off” and at this point, through a combination of convincing and pleading, had been walked back to “They can live, but now they’re not connected to being Indigenous anymore” which is just representative genocide of a different variety. “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” It was also explicitly something I said I would not write about going into this project. Ultimately, my efforts did not get much further than this, with some specific exceptions I will cite below.

Karim Muammar’s Anti-Indigenous Positions

Muammar consistently and repeatedly communicated to the team in ways that were condescending and dismissive of our collective accomplishments and capabilities, but from my perspective, no one suffered as much significant derision as I did while discussing the changes I wanted to make to Younger and Older Brother in order to make their representation empowering and exciting.

In the pulled quote from the previous paragraph, I want to point out to you that Muammar, who had the title of Lead Editor on this project, refused to capitalize Native American. Further, he would often redline my work with edits to decapitalize my own uses of Native American, as well as the word Indigenous when referring to Indigenous peoples. While there are plenty of people who might want to argue about this, I will point out that both the AP style guide as well as the Chicago style guide (the one which I am most familiar with in my academic historical work) both call for Indigenous to be capitalized when referring to a people. Further, I challenge anyone to defend the consistent decapitalization of Native American. More importantly, the reason that these are standards in respected style guides, is because the English language has been used historically to oppress and erase ethnic identities, including Indigenous identities. By transforming adjectives into proper nouns, we are declaring that Indigenous and Native aren’t descriptors that can be applied to animals, plants, and soil, but real lived identities and culture groups.

When I was explaining to the Paradox team (which was mostly just Muammar) why it was important to change the names of these two Tribes from the appropriative (and offensive) ones used in the past, Muammar pushed back by defending the previously used Younger Brother name, even after reading my extensive research and explanation about how this would harm Indigenous communities and fans.

While doing so, he also decided that it was appropriate to refer to this entirely Native American tribe by the word “savages” a slur that has been specifically used to dehumanize Native Americans, and then mocked my rewrite that focused on presenting them as stewards of the land using Indigenous methodologies and praxes, instead of the “savage” racist stereotypes they were presented as in previous editions. Further, as in the above quote, even after it was communicated that the use of this term was problematic, he kept doubling-down to use it to refer to the Tribe.

Even though I worked hard to redefine Younger Brother through Indigenous theory, such as place-based theory, relational theory, and communal theory, Muammar either refused to recognize this work, dismissing it as simple, or else simply could not understand the importance of these changes. Either way, the choice is that he didn’t want them to change, or couldn’t comprehend why the change was important because of how entrenched in white supremacist thinking he is. Further, after the massive effort that I put forward to attempt to educate him and the rest of the Paradox team on these issues, the insistence on using offensive terms and belittling my work felt intentional. So let’s talk about the work I did that was above and beyond my job description: free cultural consulting work.

“Sensitivity” and Consultation

I have seen several misunderstandings of my role working on this project going around, so I want to make something very clear. I was hired to work on this project as an author, and nothing else. I was not ever hired to be a cultural consultant. I do not do cultural consulting work. While I feel that there are many creators and companies who hire cultural consultants with the best intentions in mind, their responses often fall short of what is needed, as no one is ever obligated to actually follow the advice of cultural consultants. Further, I think there are also many companies who choose to hire cultural consultants only to say “we did this minimal step, and that is enough” in order to ward off naysayers.

However, anyone who hires me gets some level of cultural consulting for free, because it comes out in my writing–in both what I won’t write and what I choose to center my writing around. In the case of Werewolf 5th Edition, however, it was far more involved than this. I came with a plethora of “I will not write X” because I knew the setting was so problematic. A short list of my demands besides not being willing to write Indigenous erasure, was that we needed to change the names of the Pure Tribes (and the term Pure Tribe itself), we needed to change the word Totem to Patron, and also the Patrons of the Pure Tribes. We needed to move away from the term Metis for obvious reasons, and we needed to move away from the term Skin Dancers. I also specifically noted that there was a lot of cultural theft happening from the beginning of Werewolf until now that I wanted to address. The only way these issues were going to be addressed was to convince Paradox they were actual issues on the level of PR concerns, because nothing else was likely going to be considered. So in order to achieve this, I put in weeks worth of research, writing, and meetings with top level administrators with Hunters Entertainment so that they could bring this information to Paradox. I never documented my hours, but I would guess that I did approximately 80-100 hours of what I could only describe as cultural consultation work for free that was outside the contract work I was hired for. Let’s be clear: I did this willingly because I was passionate about the positive changes I wanted to see in this product, because I believed that Werewolf’s historic ills could be turned toward non-toxic representation.

Besides my actual words, such as naming the Ghost Council, and arguably the name Gale Stalkers came from a combination of names I pitched to Paradox after Winter’s Teeth was denied, and several sentences and paragraphs that I have seen so far that appear so close to what I originally wrote that you could imagine they were just edited versions, my largest contribution toward the final version of Werewolf: 5th Edition was this work. The only reason the offensive, appropriated names were changed were because of hours of my work to convince them it needed to happen. The reason that the Gale Stalkers aren’t just dead and gone: again, I pushed against this. The reason that Skin Dancers, Totem, and Metis will not appear as canonical titles? I pushed against their unwillingness to alter these things (see Karim’s defense of Wen**** Tribe name above).

Further, and this is the biggest reason I decided to write this article before seeing the final version of the book, I want to mention that I was also included in discussions with Hunters Entertainment to potentially be part of the art direction team, especially to oversee depictions of Indigenous characters, regalia, and art, to ensure that it would be represented either respectfully or not at all. I decided I needed to speak as soon as possible after the artistic portrayal of Tāme Iti appeared in the Glass Walkers preview without his permission. There are many arguments surrounding this issue and I am not going to address everything, but ultimately, I can tell you that had I remained as part of the art direction team, and saw that, I would have questioned it immediately. Even if I didn’t recognize Tāme Iti immediately, I would have asked what the source was on the depiction of moko in that piece, because I am aware that this is a sacred form of art–and I had already discussed wanting to make sure things like Crinos in headdresses didn’t appear in the book (as had often happened in previous editions, particularly on a certain white-skinned character whose name rhymes with Steals-the-Past).

As time working on this project went on, and I went through rounds and rounds of trying to convince Muammar and Paradox that it was important to not steal Indigenous identities, art, and stories, and that a greater effort needed to be put in powerful and empowering Indigenous representation, and I constantly ran into refusals and criticisms that were clearly hateful toward Indigenous identities and peoples, not to mention the push to represent Nazism as a major part of the game setting, I grew increasingly frustrated and restless with feeling like I was trying to work on a challenging project while also defending my right to exist as the person I am at every turn. Eventually I turned to another Indigenous TTRPG and game creator to ask for advice, and after a long and difficult discussion, I came to the conclusion that I was going to talk to the Hunters administration team and tell them that if Muammar kept using slurs and other anti-Indigenous language and attitudes, I was going to need to step off of this project, because it was harmful to me on a personal level. In furtherance of this point, I have been avoiding doing any contract work at all where I can tell that I am wanted for my specific cultural perspective ever since, because this situation was so harrowing for me.

Unfortunately, before I could have this conversation, after one final draft of Younger Brother and Bone Gnawers (which had its own issues, but that is not the point of this discussion), before we received any other specific feedback, the Hunters Entertainment administrators announced to the writing team that Paradox had decided to take the book in-house, and would no longer need our services.

The main point I would like to leave you with, besides these few specific quotes (out of dozens and dozens) that Muammar made that were anti-Indigenous, is that there is often a big call to have more BIPOC voices in various entertainment industries, so that both our stories, perspectives, and unique views on how the universe and life works, can be included; so that an industry that is historically, harmfully Eurocentric, might turn toward new, healthier, and inclusive directions. And I agree with this call for change, but I implore you to consider the conditions that BIPOC creators often have to work under: doing cultural/identity work and consultation for free as part of being present, being subject to vicious refusals of our experiences and perspectives, and straight-up having slurs lodged against our work. I want to see these changes in the industries we love, including the gaming industry, but currently the people who are in charge, who have the most power, are severely hostile to our work and our perspectives. This is why, for example, works like Coyote & Crow were done with an almost entirely Indigenous group of creators, and led by Indigenous creators, because trying to work for and with this ugly, hateful, and xenophobic group of people is so often exhausting, both mentally and spiritually, and because no good changes end up being made.

I am glad the harmful, appropriative terms were removed from the setting. I am glad I was part of the fight to make that real. I am not so glad that I was treated with hostility and racism by Muammar for the effort and love I put into this work, and I am not so glad that I will certainly be reviled by one of the two communities I did this work for–the gaming community, and certainly the people in power in this industry–and I am also not so glad that I didn’t have the opportunity to properly acknowledge how much of Werewolf’s base themes and setting are twisted and tied-up in Indigenous appropriation without giving the proper acknowledgments.

More than anything, I hope that this story will help you, the fans, realize that there is a lot of darkness in these communities, and they won’t change unless you hold their feet to the fire.

Ánaagodzįįhł

J.F. Sambrano

#decolonization #ttrpg #werewolves #writing #world of darkness #werewolf: the apocalypse #werewolf the apocalypse #mage: the ascension #vampire: the masquerade #changeling: the dreaming

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juliettejwnewinesa · 1 month ago

Note

hiii i appreciate your writing so so so much and i’m sorry abt the hate your getting, genuinely that’s stupid with whatever is going on. but keep up the good work girllyyy!!!!

but was hoping if i could request one for a light nsfw Baku and Fem Reader (she fell first, he fell harder🫣🫣)

Where the reader is like a geek and is socially awkward but confidently (sorry if that sounds confusing, it’s like baku when he mispronounces words and is still confident 😭) but she was paired a project with baku so he meets her at house and she’s got that messy bun with glasses look and in her out of school clothes. and he’s mesmerized and as they’re talking throughout the project he sees a small tramp stamp as she’s bent down in front of him and he’s like blushing.

And so throughout the night he’s trying to keep his composure of asking her questions and she gets the hint and asks him if he’s alright and he just blurts out that question, she answers and asks if he’s wants to get a clear view as a joke and he says yes in a serious tone and it just somehow ends up with them making out(?) i’m sorry idk how i can end this but with them making out 😭🙏

Hi lovely!! Thank you so much for your nice words like seriously, that made my day 🥹💕 Don’t worry at all I got it 👌 chefs kiss idea

💻✨ “You Got Something On Your Back (…Me.)”

Pairing: Humin x Confident-but-Socially-Awkward Geeky Fem!Reader

Tone: Light NSFW, teasing, mutual crush energy, she fell first, he fell harder.

—————————————————————————-

Humin didn’t really care about school projects. He was the type to just do what needed to be done, slide by, and avoid too much interaction.

So when he got paired with you(the quiet girl in class who always raised her hand, mispronounced words with full confidence, and wore anime pins on her backpack)he expected it to be awkward.

It was, at first.

Until you opened the door to your apartment.

Messy bun. Baggy hoodie sliding off one shoulder. Shorts he wasn’t sure were legal. Glasses slightly askew. And a soft, genuinely surprised smile like you didn’t expect someone like him to actually show up.

“Hey! You want water? Soda? Monster? I have like three types of caffeine.”

He blinked. “…Monster?”

“Cool, cool.” You walked away, muttering something about “fueling your chaos coding brain” and he just stood there for a second, completely still.

You were different. But in a weird way, that kinda made sense to him. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself. Even when you said things like:

“I accidentally broke the simulation. But like, intentionally. Accidentally on purpose. Y’know?”

No. He didn’t know. But he liked how you said it anyway.

The two of you got to work sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by notes, wires, and open laptops. You were in full geek mode, talking excitedly and leaning over to scribble on a notepad, totally unaware that your hoodie had ridden up a bit.

And that’s when he saw it.

A little black ink design,barely visibleat all,just above the waistband of your shorts. A small, delicate tramp stamp.

His brain froze.

He looked away. Looked back. Looked away again. Cursed internally.

You noticed. Of course you noticed.

“You okay, Humin?” you asked, half-laughing. “You’re redder than my error log.”

He coughed, pretending to flip a page in the notebook. “I, uh… You got a tattoo?”

You raised a brow, amused. “You mean the one on my back?”

He swallowed.

“I wasn’t tryna look, it just—”

You smirked. “Want a clearer view?”

He stiffened.

Then: “…Yeah.”

Your eyebrows jumped. You didn’t expect that. You stared at him.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded once, jaw tense.

You shifted slowly, turning your back to him and pulling your hoodie just high enough to show the full ink. “It’s a glitch symbol. From a game I mod. You like it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand grazed your waist like he wasn’t even thinking, just acting on impulse. Then he leaned in a little closer.

“I like… everything I’m seeing right now,” he muttered.

You twisted around, face-to-face now, and that heat building between you two boiled over. His breath caught when you licked your lips. Yours hitched when his eyes dropped there.

It happened fast your glasses almost fell off in the rush. He kissed you like he was holding back for days and suddenly had permission to lose control. It wasn’t rough, but it was intense, needy. Like he finally found the one thing that made him care about more than just getting by.

You smiled into the kiss, hands gripping his shirt.

“Guess you’re not so focused on the project anymore, huh?”

He smirked against your lips.

“I am. Just… working on a different kind of assignment now”

Author’s note: You didn’t say you wanted smut just nsfw if you wanted smut sorry u didn’t deliver 🥲

#park humin x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class #smut #weak hero class two #weak hero fanfic #weak hero class one #weak hero #whc2 spoilers #humin ff #humin smut #park humin #humin x reader #whc baku #weak hero class baku #baku x reader #Baku smut #whc2 x reader #whc2

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sweetblinginrose · 1 year ago

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗,

(OS Eddie Munson x fem!reader geek)

summary: Rival Dungeons and Dragons reader who has a tournament and ends up without clothes. Oops…

word count: 6,6k +

warnings: obv +18, rivalry, unprotected sex, asphyxiation, bad language, cumming inside, female masturbation, culilingus.

a/n: hey lol, i wrote this half asleep so idk how it turned out, i'll see if it's any good or not later, so if there is something wrongly translated or that you don't find makes sense, pls let me know, hugs!

oh and don't copy my idea, it's my own huh 🦄

masterlist

part 2 !!

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

The Sith Order.

All the members of the Hellfire Club and your group, The Sith Order, maintained a cordial and mutually respectful relationship, with the exception of the tense rivalry between you and the opposing leader, the insufferable Eddie. You hated him so much, especially now that you had bet your grand dice, which your brother had given you as a gift.

The abandoned cabin loomed like a shadow among the trees of the forest, a forgotten refuge that now housed your group of friends and your imaginary adventures. Inside, the air was filled with a smell of dampness and earth, a constant reminder of nature reclaiming its space. The once cozy and lived-in furniture was now covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs that wove complex patterns in every corner.

The sofa, your throne, was worn out, with upholstery torn in several places, revealing the crumbling yellowed foam at the touch. Dark stains of time adorned the fabric, and every time you moved, a cloud of dust rose like a sigh from the cabin itself. Sitting there, on your stomach, with a furrowed brow and crossed arms, you couldn't help but feel the rough and cold texture of the sofa against your skin, a reminder of your recent defeat in the game.

Around you, the tables wobbled on uneven legs, their surfaces scratched and marked with circles from past glasses. The faded and torn curtains hung sadly from the windows, allowing dim light to filter in and illuminate the dust particles in the air. The floor creaked under the weight of footsteps, and each floorboard seemed to tell a story of abandonment.

In this space, time seemed to have stopped, and every object told the story of a better past now eclipsed by neglect and desolation.

You felt as if a storm was brewing inside you, a mixture of frustration and challenge that consumed you as you sat on the sofa. The defeat in the friendly game was a thorn in your pride, a small battle lost in a war that seemed to extend beyond the game of dragons and dungeons. The rivalry with the Hellfire Club and its leader, Eddie, was the real dragon to be defeated, and every thought of him fueled the flames of your resentment.

Eddie, with his arrogant smile and his ability to bring out the best in his players, had become the antagonist not only in the game, but in your mind and life. You imagined him, with his tousled hair and carefree attitude, as the perfect villain for your campaign, one who seemed to enjoy every time his group came out victorious. The idea that he might consider your defeat as a point in his favor was unbearable.

While your friends continued with the campaign, laughing, stressed, focused, and rolling dice, you immersed yourself in your thoughts, planning your next move. It was not just a matter of winning a game; it was a matter of honor, of proving that your group could overcome any challenge, even the infamous Hellfire Club. Determination began to replace frustration, and although you still felt the bitterness of defeat, there was now a new goal on the horizon: to defeat Eddie and prove that your group was the best in the fantasy game.

But... were you really prepared for tonight?

...

Eddie, with a sly smile and a spark of malice in his eyes, steps forward to greet you in the lair of the Hellfire Club, the basement of the institute, the setting of countless campaigns and now the battlefield of your latest challenge. As the girls from your club gather in the space, filled with detailed maps and meticulously painted character figures, Eddie focuses on you, his most formidable rival.

"Welcome, oh great 'Mialee!'" he exclaims with an exaggeratedly theatrical and ironic tone, making a reference to the elven mage character to underline his mockery. "I hope your spells are as sharp as your tongue this time, and that your strategies are less predictable than your expressions of defeat."

You can feel the gaze of the others on you, some with complicit smiles and others with cautious curiosity. Eddie continues, not missing the opportunity to poke at your pride: "I hope you brought your Dragon Crystal Die, because something tells me you're going to need all the luck you can get."

The lair resonates with the stifled laughter of the club members, and although you know that Eddie's words are part of the rivalry game, you also feel that each joke is a challenge to your skill and determination. With a firm gaze and unwavering resolve, you prepare to show that this battle will be different, that this time, Eddie will be the one left speechless at the end of the night.

"You are living proof that not everything that glitters in a treasure is gold, and in your case, it's not even copper," you say, challenging him as you look him in the eyes. With a confidence that resonates in every word, you confront Eddie, your eyes shining with the reflection of the candles that illuminate the basement. "I hope you haven't forgotten your part of the bet, Eddie," you say with a firm and clear voice that cuts through the tension in the room. "That Orb of Entwined Destinies you so proudly show off will be mine before the moon reaches its zenith."

The Orb of Entwined Destinies was a perfect sphere of dark crystal, with a core that seemed to contain a miniature nebula, ever-changing and slowly rotating. It was more than just an object for Eddie; it was a symbol of his ability to manipulate probabilities and destiny within the game.

The mention of the orb makes Eddie's smile falter for a moment, a crack in his facade of confidence. You know you have hit a sensitive point, reminding him that you are not the only one with something valuable at stake. "Get ready, Eddie," you continue, "because when I'm done with you and the Hellfire Club, that orb will be the trophy of The Sith Order, and your luck will change forever," you spit, leaving the boys dumbfounded, unlike his group of friends, as they were used to this kind of speech.

Lucas, with a carefree smile and a tone bordering on disbelief, tries to lighten the atmosphere that has built up in the room. "Come on, guys, don't you realize? It's just a dumb bet, right? There's no need to turn this into an epic battle or something..." he comments, his voice a thread of sanity in the tapestry of rivalry unfolding before him.

However, his attempt to lighten the mood is quickly quashed by a severe look from both leaders, who in a rare moment of unity gesture to him with a stern gesture and an almost synchronized "Shh!" The seriousness of their bet is not something they are willing to downplay, even with Lucas' playful interjection.

The battle between The Sith Order and the Hellfire Club unfolds in a fantasy world woven with the magic of dragons and dungeons, but the tension is as real as the beating hearts of the players. The room, illuminated by the flickering light of the candles, has transformed into an epic battlefield where each roll of the dice resonates like the clash of swords.

The Sith Order bravely faces the challenges posed by Eddie and his Hellfire Club. The dice roll on the table like distant thunder, dictating the fate of heroes and villains alike. You, The Sith Order, with characters ranging from cunning rogues to powerful sorceresses, maneuver through traps and puzzles that Eddie has crafted with malicious skill. The battle intensifies, with each strategic move and each spell cast adding layers to the unfolding narrative. Your characters fight hordes of infernal creatures, cross dark abysses, and decipher ancient codices to unravel the secrets that will lead them to victory.

As the night progresses, a tie seems imminent. The Hellfire Club has countered every attack, every plan, with a precision bordering on the supernatural. But you, with your leading character, are not willing to give up. With a mix of cunning and a bit of luck, you roll the dice for one last masterful play. Silence fills the room as the dice roll, dancing on the edge of the abyss between victory and defeat. Finally, they settle, and the numbers they show are the harbinger of a tide change. Your play has been successful, overcoming the defenses of the Hellfire Club and securing an unexpected triumph.

Eddie, with a look of genuine astonishment, acknowledges the victory of The Sith Order, albeit reluctantly. You, with a smile of satisfaction, accept the Orb of Entwined Destinies, now rightfully yours.

Amidst the euphoria of victory, one of the girls from your group, with a contagious smile and an overflowing energy, suggests an idea that captures everyone's attention. "How about we celebrate with some pizzas? It would be great to relax and enjoy the moment," she says enthusiastically.

The idea is met with a mix of nods and smiles. It is a comfortable and familiar proposition, a perfect way to lower the intensity of the night and simply enjoy each other's company. Everyone, except you and Eddie, seems to agree. The tension of the battle still clings to you, and the idea of sharing a table with Eddie and his club, even in a neutral and friendly environment, is something that you find hard to accept, just like Eddie.

However, aware that rejecting the offer could be seen as poor sportsmanship, both of you reluctantly agree with a gesture of resignation. "Fine, but only because I'm hungry," you murmur, trying to hide your reluctance behind a practical excuse. Eddie nods silently, his serious expression revealing his reluctant agreement.

And so, with victory still fresh and emotions running high, the group sets off to share a meal that promises to be as full of flavor as it is of interesting dynamics.

The night has slipped into a soft twilight when everyone, now relieved of the tension of the game, finds themselves in Eddie's van. The space is filled with laughter and the sound of bottles clinking together. "Cheers!" the group shouts for the sixth time, raising their beers in the air in a toast that has become a ritual.

Eddie's van, with its worn seats, stickers, dirt, and windows displaying the world passing by at high speed, has become a temporary sanctuary of camaraderie. With each new "Cheers!", the barriers between The Sith Order and the Hellfire Club seem to dissolve a little more, erased by the alcohol and the shared joy. Or so it seems...

Eddie's van snakes along the road, a lonely path flanked by the silhouette of trees gently swaying under the starry sky. In the front seats, silence between Eddie and you is a marked contrast to the bustle that reigns in the back, where the rest of the group sings enthusiastically game anthems, interspersed with laughter and the sound of opening beers.

You, with crossed legs and a beer can resting in your hands, get lost in contemplation of the nature that unfolds before your eyes. The moonlight bathes the landscape, transforming each tree and bush into dancing shadows that play hide and seek with each turn of the road.

Eddie, with his attention focused on the road, drives with a slowness that seems to respect the shared silence. His profile stands out against the occasional glow of distant street lamps, and although you are together in the cabin, an abyss of unspoken words stretches between you.

"Hey..." Eddie's voice breaks the silence, a word hanging in the air that seems to wait for permission to continue. He does not look away from the road, as if fearing that a moment of distraction could reveal more than he intends.

You turn your head towards him, an eyebrow arched in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. It is strange, this attempt at conversation. Outside the game, words between you have been as scarce as leaves in winter. You have never crossed more than strategies and challenges, and now, this attempt at dialogue seems as out of place as a barbarian in a library.

The tension between you is palpable, a taut thread that is woven with each kilometer the van devours. What words will follow that "hey"? Will it be an attempt at a truce, or perhaps the prelude to another challenge? Time seems to stand still as you wait for Eddie to continue, and in that moment, the van is not just a moving vehicle, but a space where two rivals might, just maybe, begin to see each other as something more.

"No... no, nothing. Forget it..." he murmurs softly, not taking his eyes off the road, but now looking more tense, sighing.

You decide not to insist, but this time not averting your gaze from those long locks, but discreetly examining them for some kind of response.

Eddie's van glides to a smooth stop in front of a caravan. As he turns off the engine, Eddie's expression transforms. The seriousness that marked his face during the journey gives way to a genuine smile, an open invitation to continue the night in a space that is as much a part of him as the game they both love. "Come on, guys! The party continues at my place!" he exclaims with enthusiasm, his voice resonating with the promise of more laughter and memories to be created. "We can drink as much as we want, and if anyone's interested, there's weed too. My uncle works nights, so we have the place to ourselves."

Friends and friends respond with a chorus of approval, their stumbling steps and complicit smiles sealing the tacit agreement to extend the celebration. One by one, they enter the caravan, a cozy space illuminated by dim lights and adorned with mementos from trips and caps. A bit messy, but cozy.

You, with a mix of caution and curiosity, are the last to cross the threshold. Your eyes meet Eddie's, and for a moment, the outside world fades away. Eddie closes the door behind you, a simple gesture but loaded with meaning. You stand there, still, remembering the unfinished conversation, the words that Eddie left hanging in the air.

Feeling the weight of the night and the looks charged with unanswered questions, you decide to join the group that has settled in the caravan. You grab a few more beers, your hand brushing against the cold surface of the can, and sit at one end of the narrow sofa from where you can observe the scene. Eddie, on the other hand, seems different tonight. The usual arrogance that characterizes him has given way to an unusual stillness, almost reflective. Was defeat the cause of this change? Or was there something deeper behind his silence?

With each passing minute, glances between you meet like swords in a silent duel, full of questions that neither of you dares to voice aloud. After an hour of this game of looks, you feel the need to escape, if only for a moment, from the intensity of the atmosphere.

"Where is the bathroom?" you ask, your voice strangely formal in the relaxed atmosphere. Eddie points to a small hallway at the back, and you get up, navigating the space filled with laughter and conversations until you reach the bathroom.

Inside, you find yourself facing the mirror, your reflection returning an image of someone who seems to be on the border between two worlds. You wet the back of your neck, not wanting to ruin your makeup, and step out, feeling refreshed but still restless.

As you pass through the narrow exit of the bathroom, you collide with the partially open door of Eddie's room, and curiosity gets the better of you. You discreetly peek inside, your eyes scanning the space that is so intimately his. The room is adorned with posters of rock bands, metal, clothes everywhere, magazines scattered on the floor, and action figures of fantasy heroes, a mix of passions that reveal facets of Eddie that you had never considered. On the bed lies an open diary with scribbles and handwritten notes.

Eddie, with his carefree smile, leans against the doorframe, watching you with curiosity as you try to process the mess. "What are you doing here?" he repeats, his voice gentle but clearly amused by your confused expression. The scent of marijuana is evident, and his eyes, although red, gleam with a mischievous spark. He seems not to mind in the least your presence in his personal sanctuary. You feel like an intruder in an unknown world, every object in the room telling a story that only Eddie knows. However, he, with that calm bordering on indifference, gestures for you to enter. "Come, I'll show you my collection," he says casually, and suddenly, the place transforms. What was chaos before now seems like an art gallery, each hanging T-shirt, each vinyl, and each magazine clipping is a piece of his identity. He guides you through his space, narrating anecdotes of concerts and trips, his voice a thread weaving a tapestry of lived experiences.

The initial embarrassment fades away, replaced by fascination at discovering the depth of Eddie's personality. And as he shares his world with you, the messy room becomes a map of his personal universe, a place that, despite the disorder, now makes sense.

As you survey the room with your gaze, something catches your attention and takes your breath away: a proudly displayed B.C. Rich guitar hanging on the wall.

It is a red and shiny beauty, with its aggressive shapes and air of mystery, a piece that any metal lover would desire. Your heart beats with excitement, not only because of the surprise of finding such a treasure in Eddie's room, but because metal is your passion, one of the many things you have in common with Eddie without even knowing it, a detail he is unaware of.

He notices your excitement and, with a mischievous smile, takes down the guitar and hands it to you. "It's all yours, at least for now," he says with a wink. You hold it in your hands with reverence, feeling the weight of the wood and the coldness of the metal.

With shyness but moved by the emotion, you ask Eddie to play something. He shrugs, regretting the lack of an amplifier, but he is not discouraged. With a mischievous smile, he starts "playing" the guitar silently, mimicking the sounds with his mouth. It's a parody, but there is something about his attitude that invites you to play along.

"Come on, guess which song this is," he challenges you, as he moves his fingers in the air and imaginary sounds of a song fill the room. You concentrate, trying to follow the rhythm and melody that Eddie creates. The silent notes seem to come to life, and suddenly, you recognize it. It's 'Time Is Right' by Whitesnake.

Laughter fills the room as you guess it, and Eddie nods approvingly. "I knew you were one of mine, babe," he says, and in that moment, the guitar is not just an instrument, but a bridge between two souls who share a hidden passion for metal and many other things.

A blush creeps up your cheeks, an unexpected warmth that takes you by surprise. The word "babe" resonates in your ears, a term so casual and yet, loaded with an intimacy you did not expect. It feels as if you are inside the pages of one of those erotic books your mother used to read in secret, where the protagonists, initially at odds, end up wrapped in a story of love and rough sex.

Eddie's gaze has become more intense, his eyes no longer just reflecting the reddish glow of a pot smoker, but also a different glow, deeper, provoked by your presence. There is something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel like you are the only person in the world at that moment, but at the same time, as if he is undressing you.

You find yourself returning his gaze, unable to look away from his eyes. There is a connection, an unspoken understanding that seems to transcend words. And while a part of you wants to laugh at the situation, at how absurd it is to feel like a character in a pornographic novel, you cannot deny the electricity in the air, that spicy tension that hangs between the two of you.

Eddie takes a step towards you, his proximity overwhelming, and although he does not say anything more, he doesn't need to. Words are unnecessary when the looks speak for themselves. And in that instant, in that messy room that smells of marijuana and freedom, you understand that sometimes, real life can be as surprising and exciting as the stories hidden within the pages of a book.

After that moment, the room seems smaller, as if the walls had closed in to witness the silence shared between you. You decide to break the tension with a nervous smile and a change of subject. "Hey... what did you want to ask me before, you know, in the van?" you ask, stuttering slightly as you feel Eddie's scent filling your nostrils.

Eddie leaned against the threshold of the door, just inches away, watching your lips adorned with an intense crimson and your lined eyes attentively. "Ah, that..." he wondered, feigning forgetfulness. "I think I wanted to say something about Dungeons and Dragons, right?" he inquired with irony, biting his lip as he laughed and crossed his arms.

None of this compared to the fantasies you had with Eddie. Let's admit it, you had imagined countless similar scenarios, all related to the game and its protagonist, Eddie. You had wished for him to touch you in the same way he caresses his guitar. You wanted to be that fucking guitar.

"I don't think I want to talk about that right now..." you whispered, slowly moving closer to Eddie, who raised an eyebrow and smiled widely, catching your hint.

"Well then, if you don't want to listen to me, why don't you shut me up?" he whispered near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He grabbed your belt, holding your short denim skirt, forcing you to be pressed against him. "I said, why don't you shut me up..."

Eddie played dirty even outside of his character. He wanted you to take the initiative, perhaps to mock you or further feed his ego, but you wouldn't allow that to happen. With confidence, you ran your tongue over your lips and approached his neck, whispering, "I don't plan on silencing you. I enjoy listening to you and narrating each campaign..." This excited him, caressing your shoulder and getting closer, causing your breasts to press against him, eliciting a reaction in his groin. "Then, shut me up. I know you've wanted to since you met me," you whispered, trying to provoke him, with some success.

He responded by pushing you against the wall, trapping you between it and his body, placing his thigh between yours and gripping your waist tightly, feeling the coldness of his rings against your bare skin. "What I've wanted since I met you is to fuck you on the Harken map, so that your screams scare away the undead lurking there..." he muttered with a deep voice, softly kissing your collarbone, causing a sigh to escape your lips. With captivating slowness, Eddie guides his lips to yours, each movement deliberate and filled with anticipation. When they finally meet, the kiss is like an explosion of fire, burning and passionate. His lips sink into yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless, and his tongue boldly slides in to explore every corner of your mouth from the very first moment.

As your lips entwine in a sensual dance, his hands find your breasts with a firmness that surprises and excites you at the same time. The pressure of his hands cupping your breasts sends a wave of pleasure through your body, making you involuntarily shudder at the intense and unfamiliar sensation. You never expected this reaction, but you find yourself completely captivated by the desire that Eddie awakens in you, leaving you craving more of his passionate touch.

Eddie suddenly stops, his fingers noticing the absence of the bra he expected to find. A mischievous spark shines in his eyes as he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and desire. With a naughty smile on his lips, he whispers in your ear in a seductive tone, "Wow, looks like the girl comes with nothing...," murmuring with a hoarse voice, his warm breath sending shivers down your naked skin. His comment, though bold, is imbued with an irresistible sensuality that makes you blush and feel even more drawn to him. It feels like you're in a scene taken straight from one of those forbidden novels your mother used to find in the library, but this time, you're the protagonist, enveloped in the heat of shared desire with Eddie.

With expert dexterity, Eddie deepens the kiss, intensifying each brush of his lips against yours. As his tongue explores yours with unrestrained passion, his thigh slides and exerts pressure between yours, finding its way under your denim skirt, lifting it almost completely, hitting just that sensitive spot that makes your whole body react instantly.

"Mhmmm..." an involuntary moan escapes your lips as you feel the perfectly placed pressure of his thigh against you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You feel the need to ride that leg. You were very wet at that moment, so the touch was making you even wetter.

He moves it with precision between yours, creating a delicious friction that awakens sensations that make you gasp against his lips. Each movement is calculated, designed to provoke maximum pleasure, as his thigh finds that sensitive spot on your body, sending waves of excitement through you.

"You've got me so hard..." with a throaty whisper, he makes you aware of the effect you have on him, sending a thrill of excitement down your spine. His warm breath against your lips only increases the intensity of the moment. You feel your heart pounding hard as you let yourself be carried away by the passion swirling around you. Then, with seductive skill, he leans slightly down, his strong hands gripping the bottom of your thighs to open you up and wrap around his waist. The change in position allows his bulge to press directly against your underwear, which is exposed by the previous lifting of your skirt. A wave of desire surges through your being as you feel his prominence brushing directly against your sensitive and swollen clit, sending sparks of pleasure that seem to electrify every fiber of your being.

The movements of his hips are precise and deliberate, each delicious brush torturous while engulfing you deeper into the abyss of pleasure. The sounds of your ragged breathing blend with the seductive whispers and soft moans escaping between hot kisses. You are completely at the mercy of the passion Eddie unleashes in you, lost in the whirlwind of overwhelming sensations that threaten to consume you completely.

The barely contained moan escapes your lips between kisses as you feel Eddie's gentle hip movement, a movement that sends you soaring to the heights of pleasure. Still with your thighs tightly wrapped around his hips, you give in to a wild and passionate kiss, with an intensity that defies any limit.

The kiss becomes a whirlwind of unabated passion, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as you let yourself be carried away by the overwhelming sensations. Amidst the heat of the moment, you feel Eddie release one of your legs, changing the dynamics of the position and making you feel his bulge even more. Now, in this new position, the contact with his clothed cock is even more evident, causing you to instinctively arch your hips towards him, seeking more contact, more friction. You feel his hands grip your buttocks firmly, aggressively pressing you against his jeans, as if he is eager to feel you even closer.

The brushes and hip movements become increasingly intense, a symphony of pleasure that seems to have no end. You are completely immersed in the moment.

"Mmhm... fuck..." Between moans escaping your lips, accompanied by the sensual movements of your hips, Eddie suddenly stops, only to turn off the bedroom light and then guides you, still with your body on top of his, to his disheveled bed. He places you on your back on the tousled sheets, and positions himself above you, burning desire reflected in his gaze as he begins to explore your neck with hot kisses and licks. Each touch of his tongue against your skin awakens an electric sensation that makes you tremble with pleasure. His expert hands play with your nipples from inside your top, squeezing and teasing them while his thighs continue to exert delicious pressure on your intimate area, making you gasp with each movement, holding onto his back.

Slowly, your rival moves down your body with controlled impatience, licking and kissing your abdomen eagerly before quickly lifting your top and leaving you exposed before him. His lips find your breasts, and he kisses and licks them with devotion, as if they are the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. His long hair sometimes gets tangled in his face, but when you start gently tugging on it for pleasure, he moves away, leaving behind an incredibly enticing scene that makes you arch your hips forward instinctively.

While Eddie continues to lavish attention on your breasts, his hands begin to explore above your underwear with his ring finger, stroking gently from top to bottom. "Do you like it like this?" he asks between kisses and licks, asking you with a husky voice if you're enjoying yourself, establishing an intimate and desire-filled dialogue that only increases the sexual tension between you. "Or is it better like this?" he increases the speed of his touch.

Your silence prompts Eddie to grab your chin firmly, his fingers exerting a dominant and sexual pressure as he forces you to look into his eyes. When you finally respond to his question with an intense gaze, he slowly releases you, going back down to give attention to your body. His lips find your panties, and he kisses and licks them eagerly, soaking them with his saliva mixed with your own excited wetness.

With precise and deliberate movements, Eddie slowly pulls down your panties, placing soft kisses on your inner thigh as he slides them down your legs. Once he has removed your panties, his eyes meet your exposed, naked, and wet pussy, and he can't help but feel his cock throbbing with an unprecedented intensity, eager to satisfy the burning desire between them. You feel incredibly exposed under his heated gaze, but Eddie sees you as a work of art, a sight that excites him to the limit. Without wasting time, Eddie gives you a generic lick to your wet pussy, spreading your lips with his fingers to access your exposed clit directly. An overwhelming moan escapes your lips at the wave of pleasure that courses through your body, but Eddie quickly covers your mouth, whispering that you can't moan to avoid being heard in the common area where the others are.

With a mischievous smile on his face, Eddie realizes that the loud music has concealed any sound that would have revealed their activities in the bedroom. With your mouth still covered, he delves into the task with renewed eagerness, licking and sucking your clit with an intensity that makes your body arch in response. Each suck and each lick sends waves of pleasure through you, taking you to the edge of ecstasy over and over again. Your hips move instinctively in response to the overwhelming pleasure, but Eddie firmly controls them, maintaining a rhythm that takes you closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure. With an expert hand, he begins caressing your abdomen, slowly descending until reaching your clit, parting his mouth for a moment to touch it with his fingers before inserting two of them without any prior preparation.

The sudden stimulus causes your eyes to roll back, and your thighs tighten with force from the pleasure that overwhelms you, arching your back and moving your hips towards the direction of the long-haired person. In a short time, Eddie goes back to action, losing himself between your thighs as he continues moving his fingers with unwavering determination.

He continues like this for a few minutes, not stopping for a moment, until you feel that you're about to reach climax. You grab his hair with incredible strength, almost burying your fingers in its roots, urging him to continue, feeling like you're about to burst in his mouth. But just as you're on the edge of orgasm, he pulls away from you, leaving a thread of saliva mixed with your wetness as a separation between his mouth and your pussy, leaving you in a state of uncontrollable anticipation and desire.

Eddie, eager to satisfy his burning desire, hastily fumbles with his zipper and unleashes his erect cock, ready for action. Eddie's cock, although of average size, has a peculiarity that sets it apart: a curved shape that gives it a unique and distinctive appearance. Its thickness is notable, and the veins that run along its length add texture to its look. The skin that covers it has a pink tone, with a reddish hue indicating the excitement that engulfs it. A slightly glistening liquid adorns its tip. It is an image that reflects virility and desire, a promise of intense pleasure about to be unleashed.

"How does this look, huh?" he moves it, noticeably sensitive, gently rubbing it against your clit, giving you a mischievous look as if he's playing a game with you. Without warning, after lightly masturbating it, he quickly and decisively inserts it into you, completely surprising you and leaving you breathless. "Mhmmm..." he sighs deeply, as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, arching his head backward. From the very first second, he begins to thrust into you with a dizzying rhythm, penetrating you deeply over and over again. You are overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure that engulfs you, unable to articulate a single word as you completely surrender to the wild thrusts of the guy. Each thrust hits your insides with overpowering force, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

Despite the initial discomfort from the lack of preparation, you find yourself immersed in a whirlwind of sensations that make you lose track of time and space.

You writhe under him, unable to hold back the moans that escape your lips as you completely surrender to the frenzied pleasure that consumes you. Although it hurts, you can't help but enjoy every thrust, every touch of his skin against yours ignites a burning fire inside you.

He grabs you by the neck with a firm but dominant hand, stopping any sound that could escape your lips. His warm breath brushes against your ear as he whispers with a husky and authoritative voice, "Shut up." The words, loaded with desire and determination, send a shiver down your spine, leaving you breathless and obedient to his command. You are completely surrendered to him, unable to do anything but obey his orders as you let yourself be carried away by the frenzied passion that burns between you. The orgasm that you had almost experienced less than a minute ago begins to resonate through your body again, but the intensity of Eddie's thrusts makes you feel like you're on the verge of a great climax. You are completely overwhelmed by the avalanche of sensations that envelop you, unable to resist the tide of pleasure that drags you into an endless abyss of ecstasy. Your increasingly intense and uncontrolled moans blend with the background music, creating a symphony of pleasure and ecstasy that fills the room. Eddie, releasing his hand from your neck, begins to hit your thigh and butt with a mixture of desire and unbridled passion. As he continues to thrust into you with force, his lascivious words fill the air, whispering in your ear with a deep and seductive voice.

He tells you how much he has wanted to fuck that pussy of yours, expressing his most intimate desires with an exciting crudeness that makes you shiver with pleasure. He calls you a slut with a tone of desire and adoration, celebrating your sexuality and the way you grip his cock with every thrust. Those words, charged with lust and desire, only increase the intensity of the moment, pushing you closer to climax with each word that comes out of his mouth.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, every thrust of Eddie sending waves of pleasure through your body. He perceives it too, thanks to the way your pussy grips his cock, and he lets out a guttural grunt of satisfaction. You're on the edge of the abyss, about to let the ecstasy completely envelop you, while Eddie's lascivious moans and words push you towards the most glorious climax you've ever experienced

You feel the ecstasy completely enveloping you, a overwhelming wave of pleasure that shakes you to your core. Your walls contract tightly around Eddie's cock, squeezing with an intensity that makes him moan with pleasure. "Damn, you're so tight..."

Your body trembles uncontrollably, your eyes rolling back in your head as a guttural groan escapes from your lips, louder and more heartbreaking than ever before.

However, before you can fully recover from your orgasm, Eddie aggressively grabs you by the throat again, his expression a wild mix of concentration, excitement, and a hint of anger. With notable abruptness, he continues fucking with a renewed ferocity, as if taking revenge for something, but this time he has absolute control. The sensation of being taken with such force awakens a wild fire inside you, a overflowing passion that mixes with pain and pleasure in a symphony of indescribable sensations. You are completely immersed in the erotic game between you and Eddie, each thrust taking you further into the abyss of shared desire.

Thegame is now tied, each one taking the lead at different moments. You feel Eddie moaning with an unusual intensity, sensing that he's about to reach climax. You want to warn him not to come inside, but your throat is blocked by Eddie's firm hand, keeping you from articulating any words. A slight shiver runs through his body when he perceives your attempt to communicate your desire, but it's too late.

With a few final shaky thrusts, Eddie gives in to the avalanche of pleasure, releasing his hot and trembling liquid inside you. You accept his release without reserve, watching Eddie's expression as he does so. His face shows an unusual vulnerability, with arched eyebrows and a lost look somewhere in the room. His slightly parted lips release his moans of pleasure, and his hands grip your hips tightly, as if clinging to you for support.

After Eddie releases his liquid inside you, he slowly retreats and lies down by your side. Both of you remain staring at the ceiling, and suddenly, a nervous and uncontrollable laughter overwhelms you. Eddie looks at you strangely and asks what's happening. Between laughs, you respond that you just imagined that all of this was one of his campaigns, a kind of joke or experiment designed to test your limits and reactions. The surprise on Eddie's face turns into a knowing smile when he realizes that you have disarmed the tension of the moment with your humorous comment. Both of you give in to laughter, releasing the accumulated tension and sharing a moment of complicity after the unrestrained passion you just experienced together. It's an unexpected and light ending to an intimate and passionate encounter.

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