#haven’t seen a single trailer

[morganski-19]

Eddie was still in the coma, attached to so many tubes it made Wayne sick to look at sometimes. But they were keeping him alive, so he’ll manage. They were making sure he got to see his boy awake again.

There was still a metal cuff that was attached to his wrist. The other end attached to the bar of the hospital bed. As if he could spring up at any moment and just escape. When he’s been half dead for days. When Wayne hasn’t seen his eyes open since before Eddie went into hiding. 

He hasn’t seen his boy for over a full week. Even though he’s been lying there on the bed for the last few days. Eddie won’t be back with Wayne until he wakes up. If he wakes up.

Everyday Wayne’s been here in between his shifts. Can’t afford to take the days off, with having to get a new place and all. Part of his paycheck’s paying for the hotel room he’s staying in while trying to find somewhere new to live. Even the abandoned houses are too pricy, and the trailer park’s in shambles. 

Honestly, if he could, he’d be pulling as many doubles as possible just to get a new place and soon. But that would mean not being here. Might miss when he wakes up. Wayne doesn’t want to miss that. 

It’s not like he’s lonely here either. There’s been other visitors. The kid that Eddie always talked about from his dungeon game. The one that he secretly liked above the rest of the freshmen. His bandmates came by once, looking guilty as hell when they did. They haven’t been back since. 

There’s been a few other people Wayne hasn’t recognized. A few more kids from the club, some he didn’t even know Eddie knew. But they always came to check in before heading across the hall to see the boy there. The Harrington boy. 

Wayne recognized it was him one day when the door was left open. He was asleep, with an IV in his arm along with some other cords. Not as many as his boy, but still there. There was a girl in there too, short brown hair and wearing a baggy jacket with some patches. She was holding his hand. It never seemed like she let it go. 

The same girl checked in on Eddie a few times. Tried to make small talk with Wayne but left when she realized he was disinterested. Always heading back to the Harrington boy. 

All he knew is that they both came in at the same time. Got admitted one after the other, but Wayne didn’t know what order. That they both had to go through some type of surgery to deal with the injuries. Though he hears Harrington’s was more cosmetic than anything. Eddie’s was to save his life. 

Not that he’s judging. People could do whatever they wanted for all he cared. There were different doctor’s for different things. Priorities and all that. He just hoped that Harringotn wasn’t higher up on the list than Eddie was. Eddie was clearly the one in the worst condition. 

The kid that kept visiting Eddie went over there a lot too. Dustin, is the kid’s name. Wayne can’t remember it half the time, he’s too busy focusing on something else. And just bone tired. But after Dustin sits next to Wayne for a while, updates Eddie on everything that’s happened that day, sometimes reads to him, he heads right across the hall and does it all again. Every single time. 

Wayne has no clue how this boy could possibly be close with both Eddie and the Harrington kid. It’s not like they were in the same circles. Or seemed to remotely like each other at all. Wayne can explicitly remember the Harrington boy being apart of one of Eddie’s hate filled rampages. But if he’s remembering right, there was something different that really pissed Eddie off about him. Something that’s wrapped up in the same reason Wayne’s never seen Eddie bring a girl home. 

But day after day, Dustin goes to Steve’s room after stopping by Eddie. Wayne can see why Eddie liked Dustin. He’s loud and dramatic just like Eddie. Likes the same game, same books, even starting to like the same music. But Dustin and the Harrington boy. He doesn’t get it. 

Until he’s walking down the hall to get a cup of coffee and hears it. The bickering that leads into laughter. Snippy comments about something filled with inside jokes. Suddenly it all makes sense. They almost seem like brothers. 

It’s a few more days until Wayne meets the Harrington boy himself. A nurse coming to check Eddie’s vitals leaves the door open on accident. Harrington peaks through when he’s on a walk down the hallway. 

“Why is he handcuffed?” is the first thing Wayne hears from the kid. Voice filled with anger. 

Before Wayne can get annoyed at explaining the whole situation to another stranger, explain how he knows his boy is innocent, the nurse is yelling at him. 

“You can’t be in here, sir.”

“I don’t give a shit. Why is he handcuffed? He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Wayne is surprised that he’s not the one making the case this time. Somehow, this kid he’s never met believes his nephew is innocent. Just like he does. 

The nurse snaps her folder shut, walking up to Steve and waving for help through the door. “That is private information. Go back to your room before you’re forced to.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a snarl, undoing the buttons on the front of his hospital shirt. “He didn’t give me these. He didn’t kill those kids. I know, I was there.” He begins to pull back the bandages, revealing scarred, mauled skin that looks just like Eddies. The nurse scolds him to stop. “He’s innocent, so why is he handcuffed to the bed?”

“He is still a suspect and deemed dangerous. Now get back to your room.”

More another nurse grabs Steve’s arm to try and pull him to his room. He shakes it off. 

“Dangerous,” his voice raises. “He’s been in a coma for days and you think he’s dangerous. What is he going to do, pop up out of bed like he hasn’t been fucking asleep for days and almost died just to run away? He couldn’t do that if he tried.”

Security gets involved now, physically pushing Steve out of the doorway. The nurse shuts the door to Eddie’s room, cutting Wayne off from seeing it. She apoligized for the intrusion and gets back to checking on Eddie. 

“He’s right, you know,” Wayne says, still hearing the noise from the hall. “My boy didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Can’t escape even if he tried. Or attack anyone for that matter. He’s been through enough, he doesn’t need to wake up to a cuff around his wrist.”

The nurse purses her lips, strained. “This is from above me, sir. But if the news is true, the cuffs are staying on.”

When the nurse opens the door again, the hall is clear. 

The next time Wayne sees Harrington is when he leaves for the day. Only able to fall asleep so many times in a shitty hospital chair before needing to go home. Security presses for him to stay in his room, warning him. 

“Just going to make a fucking phone call. I’m allowed to do that right?” When the security guard crosses his arms, the kid hits him with, “Don’t want me to get my dad involved, do you? Isn’t he one of the main donors for this hospital? Be such a shame if he stopped.”

Wayne almost laughs when the security guard moves out of the way. Harrington giving him the finger with a smirk as he walks down the hall to the payphone. 

Maybe Eddie and the Harrington kid had more in common than Wayne thought. 

now with a part 2

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn���t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

[lovebugism]

congrats on one year of your blog!!

for your one year celebration, could you write something with the prompt

“you showed up at my door of all place?”

“trust me it wasn’t my first choice either.”

with steve perhaps? maybe he’s injured (because when isn’t he) and has no one else to turn to but the reader??

tysm lovie! hope you like it :D — steve seeks comfort in you, his rival since high school, a week after fighting vecna (enemies in love, hurt/comfort, post st4, 1.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Steve’s stitches start weeping a week after the brawl with Vecna — the ones you’d sewn along his ribcage when a gang of demobats made a feast of him. 

He’s gotten so numb to the pain (the constant, never-ending, three years of nonstop pain) that he doesn’t realize his wound has torn open again. Not until his shirt starts sticking abnormally wet to his skin. He looks down, notices the dark red patch blooming on the gray fabric, and then feels the distant stinging of the week-old bite.

Most of them have healed or are starting to. They’ve turned pink and marred over, unlikely to fade. But there’s one gash that refuses to mend, and he’s starting to think it might be some kind of bad omen. Like the constantly knicked sutures are some kind of prophetic telling of an undone fight and not just a consequence of his restlessness.

He thinks of you first, anyhow. Before a solution or a way to dull the pain. He thinks of you and your gentle hands and how you were the only person he’d let touch him after coming back from the Upside Down. 

Steve drives to Forest Hills and ascends the rickety porch of your trailer even though he knows it’s 2 a.m. He knocks at the paint-chipped entrance even though he knows Eddie only lives four doors down. Max lives across the way from Eddie, and he knows that, too. He could go just about anywhere, he figures, but he’s here — on the steps of the girl who couldn’t stand him in high school.

You answer the door much quicker than he anticipated. Ten seconds after he knocks, you stand before him with wet hair and no pants. The damp strands drip onto the oversized shirt you wear. The sleeves of the old thing hang low off your arms, the hem of it falling just above your knees.

You don’t look sleepy despite the early hours of the morning. Tired, maybe, but not sleepy. “Steve?” you say, so suddenly alert at the sight of him. Your eyes, lined with a sleep you haven’t gotten in days, go wide with distant horror. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone die?”

You ask him all this before he’s said a single word. Good questions when you live in a town like this one, when you’ve seen the things you’ve seen.

“Nothing. Everyone’s fine,” Steve answers in a monotone, still gripping his side with his opposite hand. “My stitches just ripped.”

You blink rapidly at him, trying to clear the daze of exhaustion and the subtle shock of seeing him. “Stitches— What?”

He pulls back his hand, the palm of it now blotched pink. There’s one large circle of deep brown blood staining his shirt and two more tiny patches just below it. “I’m bleeding,” he tells you, as if it isn’t obvious now. “My stitches pulled.”

Your gaping gaze flits from his freshly opened wound to the annoyed look on his chiseled face. His pale features glow amber beneath the buzzing porch light. “And you showed up to my door, of all places?”

“Trust me. It wasn’t my first choice either.” He clutches his side again and slides past you in the doorway, walking into your trailer, mostly uninvited. 

He knows your parents aren’t around. It’s the only thing you’ve ever been able to bond over. You grew up mostly alone and learned to raise yourselves accordingly. So it’s not totally surprising to find your trailer dripping with girlhood — tiny trinkets, movie posters, half-alive plants, and vibrant colors. More of a home than his empty mansion ever was.

“Why don’t you just go to the E.R.?” you ask and shut the door behind you. You have to lean your body weight against it and press really hard — or else it won’t close fully, and the wind kicks it open while you’re sleeping, and you wake up to a family of raccoons ravaging the candy bowl on your coffee table.

Steve huffs and sits on your grass-green couch, face scrunching at the distant stinging along his ribcage. “Because I don’t know how to tell people that potentially rabid demobats took a pound of flesh outta me,” he sasses.

You shake your head. “If you get blood on my sofa, Harrington, I swear to god…” you mumble and sit down beside him. 

You lift the hem of his shirt to assess the damage, knuckles skimming warm along his golden side.

Most of the bites scattered along his ribs are healing now. They’re small and shallow and turning slowly pink instead of scarlet red. But there’s one still pulsing crimson, the only one deep enough to need stitches. The only one refusing to heal. 

The sight of the raw, throbbing wound makes your stomach writhe. You remember pulling the stubborn demobat off of him by its tail. You feel the sting of his pain even now, like it’s your own.

Steve watches your face the whole time. He decides to base his pain on how you look at him, whether you shrug it off or grimace in disgust. You do neither. Your eyes dart over his skin, glimmering with concentration, as your fingers brush his aching side with a gentleness he didn’t think was possible.

His brows pinch at your lack of response. He tilts his chin to his chest and ducks his gaze to look at you, honey eyes eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Is it bad?”

“Well… It’s not good,” you conclude after a few moments.

“That’s such a non-answer,” he scoffs, dropping his head to the back of the couch to watch you walk into the kitchen. 

You disappear behind a wall for a few moments. The distant clattering of something, muffled as you dig inside cabinets, fills the empty trailer. 

You’re back in thirty seconds, tops, with the first aid kit you’ve been a stickler about keeping restocked. ‘Cause Steve isn’t your first patient since coming back home. He’s not your second, either. 

It was Eddie first, for his own demobat bites, and then Lucas when the cut along his swollen cheek split open again.

You’re not cut out for any of it. Not professionally, anyway. You only know how to do sutures because of Mr. Mundy’s ninth-grade health class.

You return to Steve’s side and begin to clean up the bite, lest an infection spread and Vecna take him out from beyond the grave. 

The burn of the alcohol makes him wince. “Ow,” Steve whispers under his breath, a subtle pout scrunching his features.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you laugh.

“I’m injured— You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“You’ve been through three separate concussions and a thousand demobat bites. I think you can handle a little sting, Harrington.”

Steve tilts his cheek to his shoulder, squinting his twinkling eyes and flashing you a lopsided smile. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing your bedside manner is— ow!”

You start stitching him up without warning. You make it look easy despite having no real idea what you’re doing. Steve figures it’s because you’re a natural at taking care of people. Sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason all of you managed to make it out of the Upside Down in the first place.

“All done,” you murmur after you’ve knotted the last stitch.

“Thanks…” He tries to sit up again. The sting hasn’t yet left him. It’s less of a pain now, and more of a  warning — the thin sutures screaming as they threaten to snap.

“If you don’t move around so much, they won’t pull. Again.”

“Is that the rule?” he teases.

“Yeah. That’s the rule— the don’t be stupid rule.”

Steve takes a sharp breath in and rises. He’s prepared for the ache, so it burns less this time. He sees you reach for him in the corner of his eye, hands darting out to help him and then shooting down again when you decide against it. 

He wouldn’t have minded if you had. He would’ve made fun of you for it, obviously, but he wouldn’t have minded.

He’s been missing the warmth of your touch more and more since the Upside Down — back when he laid mostly limp on the arid ground of a desolate land, when you cradled his body to shield him from the bats flying overhead. 

He stopped feeling scared when you held him. He thought it was because he was dying, but now he knows it was because of you. The healing in your touch. It’s like the amber glow of streetlamps in the dead of night, or sunsets that paint the whole world pink. Being touched by you is like dancing in summer rain and running through a field of wildflowers.

“Sorry, for uh— for keeping you up,” Steve apologizes and inches towards the door.

You follow close behind him, with an urgency that borders between letting him out and keeping him in. “It’s— It’s fine,” you stammer, then laugh at yourself. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”

“Really?” Steve asks, an inquisitive swirl to his scruffy features.

He turns around to face you more, his sneakers melting into the plush of your rug. Your hand gets clammy and tightens around the rusted doorknob when he looks down at you — with his eyes made of velvet and his mouth made of flower petals. His face is so hardened, but he looks at you so softly anyway.

“No,” you confess with a soft shrug. “I mean— after everything, I don’t know how anyone is. I was with Eddie earlier, and the fucker was passed out before ten.”

Steve breathes a sharp laugh through his nose. His plush lips curl into a crooked smile. “He deserves the sleep, though.”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“And so do you.”

“I know,” you grin, equal parts bitter and genuine. “But I’m not getting any.”

“Me neither,” Steve confesses, exhaling so deep it makes his chest deflate.

The two of you linger in place for a long, long time. Both of your mouths curl to say the same things — let’s grieve together, let’s wait for the sun to rise so the nightmares will pass — but neither of you is brave enough to say them out loud.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve nods, finally.

You wrench open the door for him, pulling extra hard when it jams. “The next time you pull your stitches?” you joke, smiling like you’re not grieved to watch him walk into the empty night alone.

Steve grins like he’s not mourning, too. “Probably,” he scoffs.

Maybe before that, he hopes, healed again as he walks to his car. Maybe I’ll be brave enough soon.

[teamdilf]

So, is anyone talking about the possibility that Solas is trapped in the very prison he locked Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan in? And that, assuming it’s in the Black City, he’ll be constantly exposed to the blight until he’s sprung out?

It leads me to this mural from the 2018 trailer.

It depicts Solas standing in opposition to the wolf as the world burns. Correct me if I’m wrong, but we haven’t seen anything thus far that would offer more insight into the specifics of that aspect of this mural? Solas also sounds terrible in the single line of dialogue, and the sound editing immediately had me thinking of how the companions sounded in the In Hushed Whispers sidequest. I was so convinced that this was indicative of Solas using the red lyrium idol in his desperation to bring down the veil and that he’d ultimately be found corrupted and in a terrible state.

I was wrong about that but perhaps not about the corruption side of things because I think Solas is getting blighted, and we’ll be dealing with that (finding a cure/another solution and contending with him in his wolf form until that’s sorted out), in addition to everything else burning to the ground in Thedas.

As a solasmancer who deeply wants him and Lavellan to have a chance at a happy ending, this theory of mine has me shaking in my boots a bit.

[caxde]

thunder step 1 2 3 4 5 you are Dustin’s older sister, you and Eddie used to be friends but haven’t seen eachoter in a while, Dustin needs a sub for Hellfire tonight and you agree to go.

denial 1 2 3 you are Dustin’s older sister, you and Eddie have a stablished "situationship". This fic follows the events of Srtanger Things seson 4, as reader! is now a part of the group

dazed and confused you work on Hawkin's music shop, and Eddie is a regular costumer. Your friends (Steve and Robin mostly) help you to gain confidence and flirt with him.

unlovable you are Dustin’s older sister, you and Eddie used to be boyfriend and girlfriend, but haven't spoke to each other, until your little brother messes things up.

uncertainty you are Dustin’s older sister, and you have developed a very confussing attraction to your brother and friend's friend, Eddie.

tangerine you are a teacher on Hawkins High, all of your friends have moved on and found succes, however, Eddie has had the best luck, achiving the tittle of Rockstar, and missing you more than he's aware of.

heartsease you’re new to Hawkins and you’ve been having a rough time, you find a friendship and feeling blooming between you and your dealer eddie.

still live you and Eddie have been friends for ever, but have chosen to keep your feelings quiet, until a single afternoon changes it all.

labyrinth You knew Eddie before it all, the fame and the succes. He knew you before you found fame, as you both reach it, your relationship changes into something new.

disposable heroes Eddie is assumed to be dead, you belived it, until music found his way into your live again, and a promise he's still alive is evident

bright eyes 1 2 3 4 5 you're a new neighbour in the trailer park, on a sunny day Eddie's daughter bumps into you.

drabbles

Wayne reacts to yours and Eddie's relationship

reader plays dnd with eddie, lua and the lunch kids

reader and eddie go on a little date

lovingsomeone (steddie)

Eddie's got a crush on you, Steve's got a crush on you, and you're not sure who you like. A school dance and a summer party help you figure things out. +mdni smut

[plistommy]

When Eddie comes back to his trailer from one of his Corrored Coffin’s gigs, all sweaty and smelling like cigarettes, Steve finds it hot every single time.

He’d stare at this boyfriend as he’d yap about his gig and how big the crowd was while taking his clothes off, tight leather pants and firm tank top under his vest, damp with sweat.

Once Eddie threw his top to the floor, Steve had to swallow his moan when his boyfriends shirtless body was on full display, tattoos and nipples hard and all for Steve’s hungry eyes to see.

”Like what you’re seeing?” Eddie grins, pulling Steve away from his dirty thoughts as his eyes finally land on Eddie’s.

”I - uh… yeah. You look really fucking hot.”

Steve sounded so breathless.

Eddie chuckled before he slowly moved to stand beside the bed, legs sliding between Steve’s spread legs as he took his boyfriend's blushed face in his hands.

”You should’ve seen me on the stage. I would’ve made a big show for you, baby.” Eddie murmured, voice slightly hoarse from singing, or more like from screaming.

He pushed Steve’s fallen bangs back, massaging his scalp a little which made Steve bite back a moan.

He had wanted to come and see Eddie’s gig so badly, but his shift hadn’t ended until 12 am - thanks to the holidays - and Corroded’s gig had started an hour before that, so he had just come to Eddie’s place to wait and meet his boyfriend there.

The knowledge still made him pout.

”I know, Eddie- I should’ve, I’m sorry,” Steve whined when Eddie tugged his hair back, making his wet mouth form into a pretty o shape as Eddie looked down at him.

”Don’t apologize, sweetheart.” Eddie caressed his cheek softly and leaned down to kiss him, making Steve moan as he finally felt his boyfriend’s lips on him.

When Eddie pulled back, he gave Steve’s nose a small peck before taking a step back - hand still holding Steve’s cheek - and grabbing the towel from his chair.

Steve hadn’t even realized Eddie had gotten naked.

He couldn’t help but to glance at the nice and thick dick between them.

”I’ll take a quick shower-” Eddie didn’t get to finish because Steve let out a pitiful cry on the bed.

”Nooo—Eddie, please! I need you!”

Eddie looked taken back for a whole two seconds before a knowing smirk creeped its way up to his face.

”You need me?” Steve nodded and Eddie grinned more, ”How?”

”I… I- I need you to fuck me.”

Steve didn’t give a single crap that he sounded so needy and honestly, like a slut. He always has been and he had no shame in that. No shame in begging for his boyfriend's cock.

”I haven’t showered.”

It was like Eddie wanted to be a tease on purpose.

He knew how Steve got off of seeing him getting ready for a gig, at the gig and after it. Eddie was always the hottest he’s ever been when he was doing the things he loved.

Playing, singing and fucking Steve.

And he knew Steve got riled up about his smell, even once catching him jerking off while breathing in Eddie’s sweaty shirt after a gig.

He had fucked Steve stupid, feeding his cock into that tight heat and thrusting his cock in and out so fast that it had made Steve’s toes curl as he cried for more with the shirt still planted next to his face.

So, Eddie acting like he needed to shower was out of the question.

”Doesn’t matter, Eds. I need you to fuck me right now, please please pleaaaaase…” Steve cried as he desperately got on his knees on the bed, not even close to the same level with Eddie’s face, but still closer as he wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck.

”I need your dick inside me.” He whispered against Eddie’s lips and Eddie let out a breathless laugh as his hands came down to squeeze Steve’s ass through his underwear.

”A needy boy.”

”Yes-yes!” Steve nodded hurriedly and kissed Eddie.

Eddie just smiled against his lips before wrapping his hands around the back of Steve’s thighs and manhandling him to lay on his back.

Steve let out a laugh when Eddie came to lay between his legs, body still sticky with sweat.

”You really have a thing for a sweaty and smelly metalhead? I’m surprised I’m not grossing the little Stevie out.”

”Never, Eddie” A kiss, ”God you’re so hot you have no idea.”

”I may have a small hunch.” Eddie grinned and dived right into Steve’s neck, making the younger boy moan happily under him as he was finally able have his boyfriend this close and just smell.

[leasstories]

Can you make a EddiexReader where reader wants to sleep with Eddie but they are scared he won’t like what he sees the under their clothes

(LOVE YOU🤭)

You're fucking beautiful

Eddie Munson x gn!reader

TW: Body image issues, mention of smut

WC: 0.9K

You and Eddie have dating for a month. Today is your one month anniversary and for that, you would love to offer your body to Eddie, you really want to. You are no virgin, it is not the problem at all, but you have huge body image issues. Eddie and you are currently on the sofa, in his trailer. You are making out and Eddie’s hand start roaming your body when you reluctantly part.

“Did I do something wrong?” Eddie asks, concerned.

You cross your hands on your chest to discretely hide your body.

“No, not at all, I’m just tired.” You say too quickly.

Eddie pointedly looks at you. “Sweets…” he says, dejected.

“It’s nothing Eddie.” You say while getting up to go to the bathroom.

You lock your self in the cramped bathroom of Eddie’s trailer and take off your clothes to look at yourself in the mirror. You start tearing up at what you see, you don’t like it. If you don’t like your body how can your boyfriend like it. It is the first time ever you have paid attention to every single flaw on your body. You are far from the perfect cheerleaders or jock. God you are far from the people in Eddie’s porn magazines. He won’t like you anymore, that’s your conclusion. As soon as you will take your clothes off, Eddie will run. He will question why in the hell he started dating you. Or if he is kind enough, he will let you down slowly and kindly, but it will hurt even more. You hurriedly put your clothes back on, dry your tears and go back to the living space.

You take your bag on the bar stool. “I’m sorry Eddie, I have to go!” You say while making a beeline for the door.

“Wait!” he says while hurriedly getting up from the couch. He puts his hand delicately on your arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, as if you were a wounded animal that would be scared if he spoke too loud.

“Nothing’s wrong, I have homework to do.” You say dismissively. He takes everything in you not to start tearing up.

“Tomorrow is Saturday baby; you will have all the time in the world for homework.” Eddie says, confused by your sudden mood change.

“I really need to go.” You say, Eddie can see the way your fists are closing tight and that is when he realizes there is really something wrong.

“Sweets? Did I go too far earlier?” Eddie asks.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Then what happened?” he asks, almost pleading.

“You won’t like me anymore…” you mutter.

“What? When? What is happening?” Eddie asks, desperate to understand what changed your mood like that.

“As soon as I undress to go all the way, you won’t like me.” You answer, shrugging and biting your wobbling lip not to cry.

“Baby…” Eddie coos. “What’s got you thinking like that?” he asks.

“I see myself Eddie… I know I’m not perfect. I don’t have the perfect body…” You tell him sadly.

“I might haven’t seen everything, but I love the way you look Sweets.” Eddie tells you rubbing your arm.

“Because I am hidden.” You say matter-of-factly.

“Then show me.” Eddie says as if it was the most logical answer ever.

You shake your head. “I’m not ready to lose you.” You tell him.

“You won’t.” Eddie says confidently and walking toward you slowly. He closes the front door that you opened earlier, takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. You don’t fight against it, letting Eddie lead you to the bedroom.

Eddie kisses your lips softly and then cups your face in his big warm hands. Somehow, Eddie’s hands are always warm, even in the middle of winter.

“Can you show me Sweets?” Eddie asks softly before kissing your forehead. “Can I undress you?”

You slowly nod, self-consciousness creeping in again.

Eddie starts by unbuttoning your pants, he knows showing your legs will be the “easy” part for you, he knows your more scared he is not going to like your upper-body.

He takes off your pants slowly, taking the time to take in what he sees. He kisses your legs from your calves to your panties. “So beautiful.” He speaks.

You blush at Eddie’s words. Eddie then helps you out of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin exposed. As soon as he is done kissing your body you reflexively cross your arms to hide yourself. Eddie delicately takes your arms to unhide your body and kisses your lips.

“So fucking pretty baby.” He says.

Eddie then lays you down on the bed and start kissing every inch of your body. He then takes off his own clothes and spends the night worshipping and complimenting your body.

Showing yourself naked in front of Eddie is becoming easier thanks to his patience and love for you, and ever since that night, Eddie keeps telling you how much he loves you, body, and soul. And even if Eddie cannot make your own self-consciousness disappear, he had helped a lot. You are now able to be the one taking your clothes off in front of Eddie and every time you do, he praises you. Eddie loves you, body, and mind and now, you are starting to believe him.

Taglist: @abellmunsonmovie

[rinhaler]

In The World My Demons Cultivate

“Why do you miss me?” he breathes again, your voice hitches at the thought of explaining yourself so intimately. So desperately. You won’t be able to stop him from judging you or mocking you for being so weak, and still, you do as he asks.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ ghost!toji fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: angst Notes: cried so much writing this oof Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, no smut, dead character (obviously), mental heatlh struggles, suicide ideation, grief/loss, drug abuse, pet names. Words: 3k

Does it ever stop?

“No, not really,” he answers.

You look up, seeing a familiar face, a familiar scar. One that you haven’t seen for a long, long time. It makes you laugh. You’re giggling like a little girl as you look at him. And he’s looking at you, too. A missing memory that you’ve blotted out every single day for as long as you can remember.

How old were you?

How old are you?

It doesn’t matter, you suppose. In the grand scheme of things nothing really matters to you or anyone else. You don’t matter and no one else does, either. You’re just another set of lungs tarring them with filth at the end of the day.

You quit, you did.

You really tried to quit.

But it’s the only thing that makes you stop thinking about your miserable fucking life for a few hours until you pass out and have to live it all over again. Everyday is the same. How do people live like this every single day until they die?

How do people pretend they aren’t suffering when they are?

They are.

You are.

“Can you read my mind, Toji?” you laugh.

He nods. And he notes how your eyes instantly flutter closed when he places a hand on your bare shoulder. It’s been too long since you’ve been touched.

Held.

Loved.

He knows you better than you know yourself. He’s always been like that. You’ve never been able to keep a secret because he’ll get it out of you one way or another. You’ll crack under the pressure of a stare so intense it could turn mere rock to diamonds, the power of glorious green eyes over your fragile mind.

That or you’ll tell him of your own volition.

Does he really possess the power to read your mind? Is that why you love him, so unequivocally? Through all of your faults, he’s here. Through all of his, you love him, still.

You smile.

“I wish I was dead.” you grin, but his face is stoic.

“You said that out loud.” he hisses. You mewl, and it’s gentle, as he runs his fingers through messy, unwashed hair. You’re like a cat, eyes closed and purring for him as you rest your head on his thigh. “Don’t joke about dyin’, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think he’d come, no matter how hard you wished for it. You hadn’t thought he’d show up just for you. And yet, here he is, with his back pressed against your headboard and a deep rumble in his lungs with every heavy intake of exhausted breath.

Like it’s hard.

Hard to breathe or hard to be with you, you don’t know. You don’t want to know, either. He’s here, that’s all that matters now. Things feel good again, normal.

“When did you get here?” you wonder, your voice is barely above a whisper as you speak. Eyes still closed so delicately; he can see the way your eyes are trying to explore your bedroom despite them being shut. He likes that about you, that your mind can never switch off.

But he hates it, too.

He’s not alone in that.

“I’ve been here the whole time, baby.”

Did you forget? Have you misremembered because you’re so fucking stoned? It’s possible, but unlikely. And still, you don’t question it. The warmth of his hand on the crown of your head, the pudgy but sturdy flesh of his thighs beneath your cheek are enough.

You don’t need answers, not now.

The blue light from your laptop flickers and blinds you as the same trailer that Netflix has been repeating for hours now continues to loop and loop. It should be driving you mad, but it isn’t. It’s inaudible to you, especially now.

A heartbeat fills your ears and ricochets between the four walls of your bedroom. The vociferous beating might deafen you if you don’t clear your mind of it, if you don’t speak you might succumb to the burden of it.

“I’ve missed you.” you whimper.

His hand freezes, tongue drying in his mouth before turning into sand he’ll surely choke on. He swallows, and it’s loud. A cartoonish gulp as he hears the sorrow in your words, a meek cry for help that you wouldn’t dare admit to. You couldn’t do that to him, not really, not right now.

“I know.” he sighs.

“I’m so…” you start, your voice fading away as you contemplate keeping your words to yourself. He isn’t the type to care, is he? He hasn’t missed you, anyway. Or at least he didn’t say it, which, to you, surmounts to the same conclusion.

You aren’t missed, not by him.

Neither of you speak, but his fingers resume soothing your scalp. He won’t say he’s missed you. He won’t tell you anything you want to hear; he isn’t like that.

Could it be that he can’t, rather than won’t? It’s trite, burrowing your head between each word and letter he’s spoken and hasn’t spoken. Searching for some double meaning in the words he chooses instead of just some meaning.

Any meaning.

What does it mean to find purpose or reason at a time like this?

It won’t help and it won’t change things. You’ve long accepted that things don’t change for the better. They change, things certainly change. But not for the better. Or maybe they do, for other people.

Not you.

Never you.

“You’re so loud.” he mutters, prompting you to roll over to face him. He looks down at you, it isn’t patronising. It’s generic, which might be worse. There’s no feeling with him, in him, from him. At least if he was patronising you he’d feel something for you.

He’s felt nothing for so long.

You wonder if he ever felt something for you.

“I didn’t say anything.” you tell him.

He does nothing except poke his index finger into your exposed temple, and for some reason, it urges you to smile for him. It’s been so long since you smiled because you wanted to, not because you were forced out of sheer obligation.

That’s why you don’t mind, or rather, prefer being home with nothing but Netflix trailers playing on continuous loop for hours and hours on end while you get so high you scare yourself stupid until you pass out.

It’s a disgusting habit that you can’t rid yourself of.

It’s your only comfort. Your only solace from how downright devastating and pathetic your wretched life truly is.

Nobody expects anything of you when you’re home alone.

“You think too loud,” he starts, the force of his pointed finger becomes deeper but soon leaves completely. Your skin feels colder, right after. Like losing an extra layer of clothing despite being in a warm enough room, you miss the feeling regardless. “You gotta stop.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again.

“I can’t help it, there’s too much to think about.” you breathe.

The thought of him disappearing into the night never to be seen again, it horrifies you, and it’s at the forefront of your mind. He’s been gone for so long now, you’re sure. He lied, though you aren’t surprised in the least. He’s always been a liar that still possess the ability to have you hanging on his every word.

If you talk, you’re scared he’ll leave. Though he can hear your thoughts, or so he claims.

Again, he’s a liar. If that were true he would have left by now. If he knew how pathetic and desperate your reeling mind sounded he’d have run off and done exactly what you’re worried about him doing.

“You’re so hurt up here, baby,” he tells you, words hushed and secretive as he strokes his thumb across your forehead like you’re precious. Like you’re brittle enough to turn to dust if he applies too much strain. “Aren’t you?”

A sob leaves your throat, and you want the world to swallow you up right then. Tears begin to pour from watery eyes and soak into the material of his trousers before you even think about answering. You do, though. Because you want to, not because he’s making you. You nod, an uncomfortable beat of sniffling silence goes by before you utter a word.

“I wasn’t j-joking.” you start, “I don’t want to be here.” your voice cracks as you speak, the notion of your words and the burden on them weigh down on you enough to make you dizzy and sickly.

He shushes you, not because he wants you to stop talking, but he wants you to stop working yourself up into a nauseated stupor.

“Why?”

“Because I miss you, Toji.” you sit upright, your temperature feels like it drops below freezing when you part from him fully. He pulls you backwards, into his arms before you’re both lying side by side. His chin rests atop your head while you play with your hair, too choked up to say another word.

He doesn’t say it back, again.

But maybe him holding you like this is his way of saying it.

“I don’t know what you mean.” he tells you. His voice is quiet as he speaks into your hair, but you hear him clear enough. You want to argue, but you can’t. The room spins and it feels like you’re floating. Everything mirrors over what feels like hours. Furniture isn’t where you remember it being and you don’t feel like you’re in the right body anymore.

Is he here with you?

You feel a squeeze.

You don’t know what’s happening, anymore.

Those hours that passed were barely a minute. His face is nuzzled into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his breath is mystifying against your skin. Every huff is like ice and you feel the way your skin clusters and rises in uneven bumps as it tries to preserve any remaining warmth lingering through your body.

“You can tell me, without telling me.” he explains, though you don’t really follow. His arms tighten around you again before releasing you slightly, slowly, enough for you to wriggle around in his hold if you choose to. You don’t. You’re completely still, digesting his words. “I’ll hear you, no matter what.”

“I don’t know what to say, Toji… I, I really don’t.”

“Why do you miss me?” he breathes again, your voice hitches at the thought of explaining yourself so intimately. So desperately. You won’t be able to stop him from judging you or mocking you for being so weak, and still, you do as he asks.

Not because he told you to, no. You’d do it anyway. You do it every single day when given the opportunity to dwell. All he can do is hold you as buckle under the lofty ideals and pressurizing weight of your spoiled existence.

I miss how I felt with you. I miss how life felt worth living each day because there was so much to do with you. Nothing felt impossible, everything is impossible, now. Even small things that are simple for others, aren’t for me. Things felt new and exciting, I’m too tired of everything now. Food seemed more appetizing with you, everything tastes worse now.

Things are meant to get better, easier. People say that but I feel the same as I always have. It fluctuates, there are ebbs and flows but ultimately I’m always going to be sad. My skin feels worse and my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. I don’t want to be in it, I don’t want to be attached to the skin and bones that are meant to be mine. They aren’t. They were never meant to be mine. I’m wasting the oxygen in my lungs, I’m rotting.

Everyday is the same.

I only rot and wither.

I’m lonely and unsatisfied. Nothing makes me happy because I don’t have you. No lover will compare. No meal will stave away the starving pangs I feel in my stomach. No drink will be cold enough to quench my thirst in the beastly summers and none will be hot enough to warm my bones in the bitter winter.

I’m wholly unsatisfied.

People do great things. Not me. I don’t doubt people would miss me if I died, but I don’t really care. It’s selfish, but I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I miss you, I miss you more than I’d ever be missed. I mourn your life, a life that isn’t mine, more than I will ever mourn my own. Every breath I take feels like a theft. I’m stealing the air and lung capacity of someone greater than myself, someone worthy.

I’m worthless.

I speak sentences no one cares about, not like you do. No one will ever care about me like you do, and you don’t even miss me. I wouldn’t, either, I suppose. Any words I say, poetry I write, canvas I paint, is worthless. I am a burden in people’s eyes, my creations aren’t worth viewing, my point of view isn’t worth seeing, I’m worthless.

I am worthless, Toji.

Do you think I am? Maybe if things were different, maybe if I didn’t miss you so much, I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel burdened by a life lost and squandered that I will never be able to know the way I so desperately crave. It’s my fault, I know. I love you and I want you back but I’ve lost you forever.

What I have now, my miserable little life, is what I will have forever. A true burden, a hinderance, a stain. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t. How am I expected to live a life I’m so depressed by for the sake of others. So I don’t make my family or friends sad. It’s selfish, I’m selfish, I’m finding it hard to care as each day passes.

I’d rather be with you, now.

Things don’t get better, I won’t get better.

I know my thoughts are loud, my thoughts are exhausting and it’s hard to hear or think clearly like this. But if I’m with you, it’ll stop.

I don’t want to miss you anymore.

I don’t want to be lonely anymore.

No one loves me the way I need to be loved; but I don’t know how to ask for it.

You sit bolt upright, breathless before running to the bathroom. You’re panting and your mouth feels warm and icky from the taste of swallowed tears. Though your face still shines under the bathroom light from them. You don’t have a glass, you bend over and drink water directly from the tap as you try and regain your composure.

He’s staring at you from his spot on the bed as you gasp and devour each droplet you can. It coats your tongue and bulges through your throat as you take heartier gulps than you had any business taking.

But soon enough, you’re back in his arms as you try and calm yourself down. You’re always tired, but now, after that, you’re exhausted. You wonder if he really did hear you or if he lied to you. It doesn’t matter you suppose. There’s nothing you can do to make him miss you too. There’s nothing you can do to force him back to you.

He’s gone.

For good.

“Why are you still here?” he asks you. Your eyes open, only a little, wondering if you heard him right. “If you were serious, if you weren’t joking, why?”

“… I’m scared,” you admit. “I wasn’t joking… but I am scared. And I know… I know people love me, I know people care about me. It doesn’t feel like enough, it never has and I don’t think it ever will. But… it’s something.”

“Why are you scared?” he continues.

“I— I don’t think things will get better.” you confess. “But what if… they do?”

You don’t see the way he smiles when he hears you speak. When he hears that resilience in your words. You’re hurting, you’re struggling. And still you’re here. You’re trying, your fighting. You’re hoping.

Things might not get better. But what if they do?

One day you might remember why your favourite foods are your favourite foods again. The TV shows and films you love might feel warm and familiar again. There could be someone, anyone, waiting to find you so you can share these things with them, too.

Things could change.

People might listen to your thoughts and care about them. The words you write might matter to someone. The paintings you create might be worlds people fantasize living in as they hang on their walls.

Someone might love you the way you need to be loved, without you knowing how to ask for that brand of love.

Toji misses you, he mourns you, too. But you understand, now. He doesn’t want to hold you back anymore. He doesn’t want you to keep suffering because of him. Because you miss him.

So, you’ll always miss him, there won’t be a day you won’t think about him.

But if there’s a chance, however small, that things might change, he wants you to take it.

“Goodnight, baby.” he hums. “… Princess? I’m proud. I'm proud of you.”

It warms your body to hear him say it. It’s a little embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s words, maybe it’s lip service, but you made someone proud. And you sleep peacefully with that knowledge.

Daybreaks through the window, bright and invasive enough to break you from your sleep. You fell asleep above the covers, you aren’t being held anymore. There’s no noise in your apartment, there’s no signs of life besides your own beating heart.

Maybe it was like that the whole time.

--

© 2024 rinhaler

[bookshelf-dust]

really know him

part i part ii part iii part iv

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3,686

warnings: swearing, reader has a shitty mom, a few uses of y/n, anxiety, fluff and angst

a/n: hi! listen, i know, i know, it’s been more than a month since i published part two and i’m sorry. but i promise it won’t take as long anymore. i hope you like this part! there’s a lot going on. it’s getting messy, my dudes. love you! <333

————

Your room is small. And you don’t mind that one bit. Hell, you’re lucky your parents snagged one of the few single-wide’s with a layout nice enough that there even are two bedrooms. 

But sometimes the small space can seem confining, like right now. 

You’ve been staring at college-ruled paper for what seems like forever now, and…you’ve got nothing. You spent all day brainstorming for this essay, and now that you’ve sat down, you’ve lost it all. It’s as if there isn’t a single coherent thought left in your brain. 

You hop up from your seat, thinking that if you get a drink, maybe listen to some music, then you’ll be able to get a hold on your concentration. 

And it works, for a while. You’ve been at your desk for well over an hour, and you’ve put a hell of a dent in your paper. 

But having your headphones on means you don’t hear your parents come home, not until your mother is smacking her fist against your door frame to get your attention. 

“Hello?”

You’re quick to push the pause button in on your walkman and put your headphones on the tabletop in front of you. The amount of eraser shavings you’ve accumulated is unsettling. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Your mother lets out what you're sure is the most dramatic sigh known to man. “Of course you didn’t, not with those things on your ears.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better about it, okay?”

She crosses her arms, leaning against the wall just inside your room. “Mhm. How’s your paper going?”

“It’s fine. Not due for a week.”

“So you’ve said. Anyways, I came in here because I was at the store yesterday, and Sherri caught up with me.”

“Oh, yeah? How is she?”

Sherri Henson is a bitch. She’s the kind of woman who peaked in high school and can’t seem to grasp that—even if she is well into her fifties by now—spending all her time corralling the neighborhood gossip. She’s lived a couple trailers down from you your whole life. And she’s yet another reason why you need to get the fuck out of dodge. 

“Oh, she’s fine. She just wanted to tell me that she’s seen you hanging out with that Eddie Munson boy. And I haven’t heard good things about him. I just wanted to know what you were up to.”

Your stomach drops. Of course she’d say some shit like that. “We’re friends. I’m allowed to have those, aren’t I?”

“Yes. But don’t you think it would be wise to make good friends?”

You rub at your forehead, already sick of this. There’s a reason you don’t tell your mother anything about your life. 

“You don’t know anything about him, do you?”

Your mother pushes her glasses up into her mess of hair. ��Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand how you can be judgmental of a guy you don’t even know. You’re always whining about how I don’t have friends, and now that I’ve made one, he’s not good enough?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I just don’t want you to harm your education by hanging around some good-for-nothing boy.”

“I think I can make my own decisions.”

“Clearly not. Look at you.” She doesn’t say anything more, but leaves the room instead. 

You should be used to this. You should know that your mother doesn’t like that you aren’t a carbon copy of her. But it still stings. The feeling is drowning you; the feeling of being pathetic, unsuccessful, embarrassing. 

You need a minute. It’s not like you can concentrate on your paper here anyways. Your mother has already shut herself up in her own bedroom, and you know she won’t miss you if you’re not around. 

A lift of the blinds in your bedroom tells you that Eddie’s van is parked outside his trailer, but you don’t feel right just running over, so you call. 

Of course he picks up.

He hasn’t even said his name yet and you’ve already started talking. “Eddie?”

“Hey, yeah, something wrong?”

You sound frazzled. If Eddie’s being totally straight with himself, he might even say you sound a little panicky. Claustrophobic, maybe.

He doesn’t like hearing you sound like this. 

“Would it be okay if I came over for a bit? You can say no, I just…your company might help.”

You can feel that cocky ass grin from over the phone. The way your words register in his brain and he comes up with a response he knows will get you riled up.

“Oh, my company? That what you need?”

“Eddie,” he can practically see you waving him off, “nevermind.”

He laughs. “Okay, sorry. Yeah, you can come over. You didn’t have to ask. Could’ve just busted in.”

“That seems like a horrendous idea. And isn’t Wayne home?”

“Yeah, but he sleeps like the dead. He wouldn’t even notice. That’s what he gets for having me around after all this time.”

“Poor Wayne.”

He scoffs and stumbles over his words. “Poor Wayne? 

“Yeah, I feel for him, having to put up with you all these years. Anyways, I’ll be there in a second.”

“You little shit–” he starts, but you’re already hanging up. 

Eddie opens the door closest to his room to watch for you. You bound across the road and up the concrete step, clearly pleased with yourself. He backs up, that stupid ass grin on his face, and gestures with his arm for you to go inside. 

He notices you’ve brought your bag with you. “Plotting my murder?” he inquires, eyes dancing over the corduroy. 

“Absolutely. Any sort of preference?”

He sits down on his bed, back to the wall. “Maybe the candlestick? Rope could be fun. Or if you’re feeling particularly malicious: poison.”

“Remind me to never play Clue with you.”

He laughs and it’s low and drawn out like he knows he’s being annoying. Like he knows you enjoy it. 

“Why, because you know I’ll kick your ass?”

You smile at him, and it feels like he’s won the lottery. “Precisely.” 

“I’d go easy on you,” he argues. 

“Bullshit.”

Eddie watches you fiddle with the zipper on your bag and then pull out a piece of paper. You flop down in his desk chair, making yourself at home. He’s told you to do that more than once, so he’s glad to see you act on it. 

“What are we working on?”

“I’m supposed to be finishing a paper, and that’s what I was doing, but being berated doesn’t really help my focus.”

He chuckles, opening a bag of Skittles you didn’t even know he had. “I wouldn’t think so. You wanna talk about it?”

“No, that’s okay.” 

Eddie nods, hoping you’ll open up to him sooner than later. 

“Would you prefer if I just went about my business while you worked?”

“I really would, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Mhm. Anything you need, sweetheart.”

He hops up, and his fingers go to mess with the radio, but he stops himself short. “Will this bother you? If I keep it low?”

You shake your head, tapping your eraser on the desk. He gives you a frantic thumbs up before trying to make sure the music doesn’t murder your hearing. 

It’s on some rock station, where some of the songs are ones you’re familiar with, others not so much.

“Good?” he asks, and you return his earlier thumbs up. It makes him grin.

He settles back on his mattress, though it groans in protest as he does. He scratches away at a notebook for a while, and the room stays quiet. Just being in the same room as him is enough to keep you calm and give you time to focus.

You make more progress on the paper now then you had at home, and start to think maybe you should do all your work in Eddie’s company.

Eventually Eddie gets bored and pushes up, his hands coming to rest against the desk on either side of you, caging you in. He kisses the top of your head before resting his chin on it, peering down at your paper.

“Damn. Almost done?”

“Yeah. Should probably quit and come back to it later anyway.” 

“Wanna see something fun?” You look up at him and he’s got a wild look in his eyes, a wide smile on his face. 

“I don’t know if I trust that.”

“Oh, come on. Take a break. For me?” Eddie bats his eyelashes and you smack him on the arm. He stands and stumbles backwards as if you’ve brutally wounded him, though the smile stays and really ruins the act. 

“Fine. Let’s see.”

He’s got this brilliant, boyish look on his face. You can tell he’s excited. It’s the kind of excitement that rubs off on you, that makes you anxious to know what it’s for, even if it is something small. 

He moves to the corner of his room and opens this big chest that you might not have even noticed because of how much surrounds it. You realize, though, that there’s a handful of Dungeons and Dragons handbooks, a binder covered in stickers, other things you don’t entirely understand.

Eddie digs around for a second, and then he pulls out a little velvet bag. He brandishes it to you, shaking it a little. Whatever’s inside makes noise.

“I got new dice. And I know what you’re thinking, ‘Eddie that’s so amazing, I can’t believe you’d share this with me,’ but believe it, because they’re cool, okay? Prepare yourself.”

You take a dramatically over exaggerated deep breath, gearing yourself up. “Ready, Eddie.”

He snorts. He can’t believe you. 

He dumps them out next to you on his bed. “Ta-da!”

You pick one up, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t squeal. The dice are a translucent red color, with black numbers, and they’ve got little bats set into them. 

Fucking bats. 

You look up and Eddie’s big brown eyes are shining down at you. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, clearly trying to contain himself.

“Eddie, these are so cool!”

He throws himself on the bed beside you. “They’re sick, right?” 

You pick up a handful, looking at all of the different ones as they roll around between your fingers. “Yeah. These are fucking cool, dude.”

Eddie giggles. He giggles. His glee is palpable. 

“I’m honored that you wanted to share this with me, Mr. Munson.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, scooping them up and putting them back in the bag. “I don’t just go showing my dice to anyone, you know.”

You laugh, hard, and it’s the first time Eddie’s heard you laugh like that. He thinks he could live off of the sound. He wouldn’t need anything else. 

“Well I’m glad you showed them to me.”

Eddie winks at you. “Me too.”

————

Eddie doesn’t hear from you for a few days, but it doesn’t worry him really. He knows you're busy with school, and he is too, now that he’s trying to get the hell out of there for real this time. He’s also working on a big ass campaign. He thinks this might be the one where Dustin’s character finally dies, the little fucker. He’s managed to kill off everyone else’s characters at least once (Gareth a few more), but never Dustin.

He does miss you, though.

Eddie is finding that he doesn’t like being without you as much as he likes being with you. 

He’s starting to show you parts of himself that he hasn’t shown other people before. He usually doesn’t have the ability to sit quietly in a room with someone else. Or watch for fucking bats. Hell, he built a fort for you. 

And he’s laying in bed, well past the time he should be asleep, thinking about how he doesn’t feel like you’re letting him get to know you like he is you. 

Eddie’s room is dark except for the light coming in through the window. He goes to rest his hand on his chest, but cold metal meets his bare skin and he’s quick to unsnap the bracelet he left on his wrist. 

He knows what you’re in school for. He knows you’re into bats. That you laugh at stupid, immature shit just like he does. Shit you’d get in trouble for laughing at. 

But if what he’s feeling, deep down, is what he thinks it is, he wants to give all of himself to you. And he wants all of you. 

He really does. 

And something about the way you held him that night that you stayed over told him you felt more. He can see you letting go sometimes. But more often it feels reluctant. 

Eddie just wants you to know that he’s not going anywhere. That he wants you safe. Happy.

He wants you for you.

Not for whatever else anyone tells you.

You are everything he’s ever wanted.

You.

————

“How’d you do on your paper?” Eddie asks. You’d told him when it was due, and just now that you’d gotten it back.

“Fine.”

“Fine? That’s all I get?”

Something’s wrong with you today. He’d invited you over for lunch, and you’d come, but the smile you gave him at the door wasn’t genuine. Something is hurting you, and you haven’t told him what. 

And it’s killing him.

He can’t help you if you won’t let him. 

You set down your drink, a little harder than you’d meant to, and sigh. 

Fuck, Eddie thinks. The last thing he wants to do is frustrate you. 

“I got a B.”

His eyebrows raise over the enormous bite of sandwich he’s just taken. He decides to behave and chew it all before he speaks. Wayne might not get the same treatment.

“Oh yeah? That’s so good! I’m proud of you.”

You nod your head, but you don’t look at him. If he’s being honest, it kind of hurts his feelings.

“You might be the only one,” you mumble. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…it’s nothing, Eddie. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He grabs the bag of chips out of your hand before you can shove your mouth full of them, and you look incredibly offended. 

“Don’t do that. Tell me what you meant.” Eddie’s voice is serious. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

You run your hands over your face. “My mom. She told me I could’ve done better than that.” You don’t say that she also said it was probably a result of spending so much time with Eddie. 

Eddie sets your bag of chips back down. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“You’re a total badass, and I know you’re hard working as shit. If she can’t see that, then fuck her man.” 

You won’t look at him. 

You won’t look at him. 

“You can’t listen to that shit, man. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this, Eddie.” He cocks his head at you, brown eyes boring into yours. “And it’s not exactly easy, just ignoring it. I’ve heard it for years, that I could be trying harder or doing something differently or anything, so it’s like fuckin’ ingrained in my brain. And sometimes I think it’s true.”

Eddie reaches across the table for your hand, his laying palm-up, waiting for you to accept it. You limply supply your hand to him, and he pushes his thumb into the center, rubbing in slow circles. He’s hoping the contact might be enough to pull you out of your head some. 

“Look at me,” Eddie says. 

You're quick to think about the night he found you moping on the bench. He’d said that then too. 

“Look at me.”

You shake your head again. 

“It’s okay. I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says, and you believe him, though really looking at him and his big brown eyes is enough to wash a surge of sadness over you. 

Eddie uses his thumb to wipe the fresh tears from under your lashes, grazing the tip of your now stuffy nose with his knuckle. You wrinkle it and he grins. 

Eddie’s thinking about it too. How upset you’d looked. How upset you look now. But he also remembers something else. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not really, no.”

You hadn’t wanted to talk about your feelings then, and that was understandable because you hadn’t seen the guy in forever. But it’s different now. Isn’t it? Eddie feels differently for you. And he can see that you care about him, obviously, but what if he’s reading this wrong? What if you don’t want him as anything other than a friend?

This time though, you do look up at him. “It’s not true. I know your brain is telling you that, and maybe you even hear your parents saying that shit, and if your mind works anything like mine does–and I think it does–then I know it’s so fucking annoying, and you can’t do anything without hearing some negative response.”

“But it isn’t true. You work your ass off, and you’re kind and caring, and I’m sorry, but I can’t have you thinking otherwise, you hear me?”

You nod your head, and Eddie’s quick to swipe up the tear he sees fall, before you even know you’re crying. 

He gets up, coming over to where you're sitting and crouching in front of you. He puts his hands on your knees, but you push them off and stand, forcing him to follow so that he doesn’t bust his ass. 

You wipe your face off, drag your hands across your jeans, the feeling of Eddie’s hand on yours still burning through your nerves. 

“Eddie, I think I’m gonna go home.”

Something about this, about the tone in your voice, how resigned you sound, makes Eddie frustrated. 

He doesn’t move from his place in front of you. He can’t just let this go. He isn’t wired that way. 

“So this is how it’s gonna go, huh?”

You blink at him. “What are you talking about?”

He puts his hands on his hips, and he knows he looks like Wayne, he knows it, but he can’t find it in himself to care right now. 

“You come over, you’re upset, but you won’t talk to me about it, and when you do start to talk about it, you give me vague answers and you shrug it off. That’s not talking, Y/N.”

“This is hard for me, Eddie! I don’t know what to do with myself when someone wants to listen to me, okay?”

“I understand that, but you’ve gotta at least try.”

“Try what?”

“Letting me in, for fucks sake! I can’t fucking help you, if you won’t let me in!”

Eddie sounds exasperated. And now you’re both shouting at each other. Shouting.

“Eddie, I–”

“Listen, just give me a second. You wouldn’t talk about what happened that night you stayed over except vaguely–and that’s okay with me–but then you wouldn't talk to me the other day, either. And now you’re just…I feel like you’re shutting me out.”

“I want to help you, and I know it takes time to open up, but I know that you know you’re safe with me. And I want to help make it better. I want you, Y/N, and I just–why won’t you let me in?”

It feels like your heart has stopped. Like he’s messing with you. But you know better than that. And you should’ve known that was coming at some point. 

“Eddie, don’t say that.”

“Say what?” He wants to hear the words leave your mouth. 

You mess with your fingers, and he grabs your hands to get you to quit. “That you want me, Eddie. You can’t just say that.”

“And why can’t I, huh? Because it involves feelings? Y’know those things that you won’t share with me?”

You step a little ways back from him, but you’re still cornered. He knows that stung, but if he hadn’t said it now, he might never have at all. 

“Eddie, you can’t actually want me. You’ve said it yourself, I’m incapable of being open and not fucking things up! Look at what we’re doing!”

“And what if I do want you? What then?”

“Then I don’t know!” you yell, louder than you’d intended. 

Eddie moves away from you then, sitting back down, and crossing his arms. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you, despite the fact that you’re arguing. 

“I never said you were fucking things up. And I didn’t say you were incapable of being open,” he breathes. “That’s all I want, for you to be open with me. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me, like you have to let that shit eat you alive.”

“But aren’t I? Fucking it up? Eddie, you’re the only friend I’ve got and you’re being honest with me and all I’ve done is fuss at you. That’s like, the definition of fucking things up.”

“You’re not. I just want you to let me in.”

You’re both quiet for a minute. You walk around the trailer, cleaning up your lunch and grabbing your things. It’s mindless, and you’re not even sure you want to go home. 

“I meant what I said,” Eddie starts. “I do want you. And I mean as more than just a friend. I’m—” I’m falling in love with you. But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say that he wishes he’d said so sooner. That he’d told you in high school. None of that matters now. He wants you, and he thinks he always will. 

“I would never lie to you about that,” he says. 

You take a shaky breath. “I know that you wouldn’t, Eddie. I just…I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me. You do know.”

“I think maybe you should want someone who’s not so much trouble.”

And Eddie can’t say anything, because you’ve already turned and rushed down the stairs, the door slamming shut behind you. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @ajkamins @golddustwitches @copycatkillerfics @prestinalove @zaypay @clovermunson @kelsiegrin @storiesbyrhi @avalon-wolf

[golvio]

I’m a little obsessed with this one particular shot from the new trailer.

To me, this vague lump of…something is shaped like the hill where The Cabin is located, with the two pine trees framing it.

However, in the trailer shot, there is no cabin.

That’s a big deal, because there’s always a cabin.

In every route, there are constants that don’t change no matter what choices you make. There’s always a cabin at the top of a hill in the woods. There’s always a knife placed on the table near the door to the basement. There’s always a shackle on the Princess’ left hand. There’s always the Princess, the Narrator, and You.

And there is always a cabin. In the Stranger route, every single parallel universe the Narrator could possibly create has the exact same cabin on top of that exact same hill. There’s never not a cabin on top of that hill.

So, is this the point in time where the Princess says, “Days mean nothing in the maw of forever?” By that, does she mean it’s been so long and so many loops have passed that even the Narrator is no longer tracking the finer details, and the cabin along with the landscape eventually unravels and falls away?

Is this a point in time before there was ever a cabin, much less a path or any woods? A point where the Narrator was still in the process of creating this closed, isolated little narrative to safely contain the Princess (and, by extension, You) inside?

Or could it be that the cabin is there, just in a place or state that we can no longer see it? Is the trailer shot representing a version of the world that’s faded into an Impressionistic outline of what it was intended to be? Or are those brush strokes and textures actually…hair…?

Is the Princess the landscape? Is that what she meant by “I never left your side?” Is this what “ending the world” looks like?

I mean, one of the constants the Narrator has imposed upon this world is that the Princess is always in the cabin. However, we haven’t seen all possible permutations of “in the cabin” that follow that rule. The Princess can still technically be in the cabin even if a vast majority of her is spilling outside of it, burying it beneath a mound of hair and flesh in a way that makes its interior, the knife, and her vulnerable heart inaccessible to us. After enough loops, it wouldn’t be surprising if the Princess eventually came to represent so many different concepts in our mind that she’d eventually grow to encompass the whole world, no longer resembling a “Princess.”

However, there’s also the question of whether this is the Princess taking over the world that the Narrator created, or whether this is the landscape reverting to its original form as the Narrator’s grip on the story begins to loosen when it becomes too complex and unpredictable for him to control. If “I never left your side” applies to every loop, even the very first one, then that means that the Princess doesn’t become the landscape so much as she always was the landscape. It’s just that the Narrator put a veneer of separation from the Princess onto the world to make the entity that it is small, limited, and easy to subdue.

What, then, does that mean for You? Are you another invader, whether a real person from outside or a literary construct the Narrator pulled from thin air? Or are You, too, a part of the Princess, ripped away from her body and deluded into believing you were a separate entity?

Is that the purpose of the mirror? Is the Princess merely a reflection of You, a funhouse mirror image mimicking your desires and actions because she is doomed to be eternally defined by your perceptions and can’t take physical shape without You observing or even thinking about her? Or is it that You are her reflection, her distorted mirror image, who she must bring back into herself in order to become truly whole again and escape?

[thegettingbyp2]

Trouble

You would never grow tired of watching Austin work; there was something about the way he was just able to throw himself into role that you couldn’t help but admire. So, when he asked if you wanted to appear as an audience member in one of the scenes in Elvis, there was absolutely no way you were able to refuse. As the day of the scene approached, you tried to find out what scene it was going to be that you’d be appearing in, but every single time, Austin would just smirk at you and tell you that you’d find out on the day.

It was finally the day of filming and Austin had been whisked away from you as soon as the two of you arrived on set so he could get ready. The dress they had given you to wear was beautiful, a typical 50’s style dress and your hair had been pinned up so it sat out of your face.

‘Ah, you must be the lovely (Y/N), Austin’s told me a lot about you,’ Baz Luhrmann said as he approached you, arms stretched wide and a welcoming smile on his face.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you as well,’ you replied, your smile matching his. ‘Thank you so much for this opportunity, I really appreciate it.’

‘Nonsense! Austin is an absolute star and you deserve to see him in action.’

‘That he is,’ you agreed. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what scene is it that’s going to be filmed today?’

‘Now, Austin’s made me promise not to spoil anything so you’re just going to have to wait to find out. He has requested that you be at the front of the stage though.’

---

You were standing directly in front of a large stage that you knew Austin would soon be gracing and the second you heard the word “Action” called across the set, your excitement grew as you heard the introduction of the one and only Elvis Presley. You watched as your boyfriend walked onto the stage and your breath was taken away when you took in his appearance. The black suit matching his hair made him look almost sinister and the second you heard him speak, you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together.

The moment he started to sing, you were glad you had the stage to prop yourself up on as your knees weakened. His hips moved with such ease you couldn’t help but stare at him, completely forgetting that you were meant to be acting. Austin caught your eye as he sunk to his knees in front of you and his hand came out to grip your jaw as he carried on singing, his face inches away from yours and it took everything you had not to lean in and kiss him. His thumb brushed your lower lip and he winked at you before moving away and continuing the scene.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. After filming Trouble a couple more times, making sure that they had all of the takes they were going to need, you found yourself waiting in Austin’s trailer, ready for him to finish. When he walked in at the end of the day, you were so wound up that the moment the door closed behind him, you pushed yourself off of the sofa and made your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss.

‘What’s this for?’ Austin asked with a raised eyebrow in a tone that he knew exactly what it was for. ‘You enjoy today?’

‘You were incredible!’ you exclaimed. ‘You looked and sounded,’ your voice trailed off once you saw Austin’s eyes darken and one of his hands came to the back to your neck to bring your lips back to his. It was only when your fingers started to frantically try to unbutton his shirt that he broke the kiss and pulled away.

‘Woah, slow down baby,’ Austin said, an amused tone colouring his voice.

‘I can’t, need you, please Austin,’ you whined, your fingers sinking into the soft material of his shirt. ‘All day, I haven’t seen you, I need you!’

‘Alright baby girl,’ Austin cooed as his hands reached down to the back of your thighs, making you jump into his arms as you connected your lips once more. Austin blindly made his way backwards until he came in contact with the door and you heard the sharp snap of the lock before moving back across the room until he was able to gently lay you down on the bed. Your hands threaded through his dark hair as his lips made their way down your neck, shivers running through your body at the feeling of his teeth gently dragging across your skin. ‘Baby, you don’t know what you in this dress does to me,’ he groaned against you as one hand came down to bunch the skirt at your waist as his other hand roughly yanked the dress off of your shoulder, a gasp escaping your lips at the sound of the material ripping.

Your fingers began to work at ridding him of the shirt he was wearing until your hands were able to wrap around his shoulders, the both of you letting out a content sigh at the feeling. Austin’s fingers dipped into your panties as he swiped a finger through your pussy, groaning when he felt how wet you were. ‘Fuck, this all for me, sweetheart?’

‘Been waiting for you all day,’ you whined, moving your hips against his hand as he slipped a finger into you. ‘Don’t tease,’ you begged desperately, ‘not today, please baby.’

‘You’re so good for me,’ Austin murmured as he pulled his finger out of you and brought his hand up to grip your jaw, exactly the same as he’d done earlier that day. ‘You liked watching me move like that on stage today hmm? Liked seeing all those girls screaming for me but knowing you were the one I was coming back to, that I’m yours?’

You nodded quickly, not being able to find your voice before he harshly pressed his lips back to yours, nipping your bottom lip. ‘Well guess what, baby?’ he asked, lining himself up at your entrance, his fingers still gripping your jaw tightly. ‘You’re mine too,’ he said before roughly pushing into you, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush to yours.

You couldn’t help the loud moan escape your lips as Austin gave you no time to adjust before starting a brutal pace that had the breath being forced from your lungs and you were pretty sure that you’d have the imprints of Austin’s fingers on your jaw when you woke up in the morning.

Finally moving his hand, Austin looped his arm around your waist, holding you tightly against him as he groaned into your ear, whispering about how good you were for him and how good you made him feel. You felt something tightening in your stomach at his words and you started to whimper as your nails dug into his shoulders, causing Austin to hiss lightly.

‘You almost there, baby?’ he asked, beginning to sound breathless as he began to draw close to his own orgasm.

‘Don’t stop,’ you gasped, pressing your lips to his neck, muffling the sound of your cry as his fingers moved down to lightly pinch your clit, throwing you over the edge. You clung desperately to each other as you both rode out your orgasms together before Austin slowly moved your head from his neck to gently kiss you.

‘I take it the scene was a success then?’ he asked softly against your lips, making you both laugh lightly.

‘I think that’s going to be my favourite scene in the whole movie.’

[sw-33-ts-stuff]

Killer In NYC (Tara Carpenter X Reader)

WARNING: Possible Spoilers (I haven’t seen the movie yet so this is my own interpretation based of trailers and the franchise)

Part 8- Finale

3rd Person POV

"Sam?! Tara?!"

"Gale?!" The Carpenter sisters both watched in horror as another figure in a Ghostface costume appeared next to them. Both holding the girls by the back of their heads.

"Police don't move!" Detective Brooks pointed his gun as he and Gale surveyed the scene before them. He began to laugh lowering his gun. "Now why don't we play a little game girls? Let's see how long it takes the infamous Gale Weathers to die!"

A gun shot followed as the reporter fell forward blood pooling around her as Y/N began struggling to get out of her seat eyes meeting Chads as he began to do the same. Tara and Sam crouched near her body. Sam grabbing the older woman's hand in support.

Gale squeezed slightly as she looked to the two, the pain radiating through her body as the she felt the blood leaking out of her.

"Sam...." she coughed. Sam leaned closer so she wouldn't strain herself as much. "Tell Sidney I'm sorry."

Tara looked up at Detective Brooks who put a hand on the shoulder of one of the Ghostfaces.

"And I'm sorry to both of you too." The Carpenter Sisters shook their heads as she continued speaking her breathing getting heavier.

Sam cut her off.

"Stop apologizing you're going to be fine." The reporter laughed.

"Not this time sweetie." Tara swallowed the lump in her throat as Sam shook her head in denial. "It's ok Dewey's waiting from me."

She laughed in bittersweet sorrow. “A lot of our family is waiting for me.”

"How sweet..." The detective sneered before he shot her again a harsh wet sound escaping her lips as they coated themselves in blood.

"I hate sweet."

"Why are you doing this?!" The older man smiled.

"Ah ah ah we're not there yet..." he smiled slowly at the two before pointing over to the balcony. "We have plans."

They all looked over to see Chad and Y/N's chairs knocked over as David was slowly inching towards the edge of the stage. Detective Brooks rolled his eyes before shouting.

"ARE YOU ALL DONE?!" The three froze as he began to laugh. Ghostface number 1 and 2 walking towards them. They had gone to grab Chad but Y/N kicked one in the back of their knee as David's chair fell and broke. His eyes wide in realization.

They're stage props!

He went to push Ghostface off quickly breaking one of the legs of the chairs before running up the stairs towards Sam and Tara. The second Ghostface going to chase him before they heard another noise. Y/N had broken Chad's chair.

Detective Brooks quickly grabbed Tara knife tucked under her neck as he gave Sam a gun. David had run up but froze at the scene before him.

"New game Samantha shoot your boyfriend or I shoot your sister."

"Fuck you!"

"You wanna know why I'm doing this?! I want to take everything you love like you did to me!"

Sam just stared at the man.

Chad tackled Ghostface 1 as Y/N swung on Ghostface 2. The latter dropping to the ground as the barista went to help Chad. She grabbed the serial killer and threw them to the ground. They began to kick them sure that at least a few ribs were broke in the process.

"NO!" Both of their heads snapped up as they ran recognizing that scream anywhere.

"Sam..." David began before he looked at Tara. He turned back to his girlfriend nodding. "Shoot me." Sam looked at him with wide eyes.

"Are you-"

"Sam you came back for your sister. I know how much she means to you, so shoot me." The man took a deep breath. "I love you it's ok."

He stepped closer to the girl who had the gun pointed towards the ground. He pushed her arm up gun pointed at his chest. "It's ok."

Tara hit the detective with her head running forward and knocking into Sam. A single gunshot ringing through the air.

"NO!" Tara grabbed Sam as they began to run nearly crashing into Chad and Y/N.

"Where's David?" The two shook their heads as they tried to find a way out.

As they ran the boy would continue to throw objects to slow the murderer down. Ghostface 1 appeared again, Chad cocking his fist back and swinging making them fall back as they ran into what seemed to be an abandoned theater lobby. Tara kicked him before she was pulled back by Sam. Caught off guard Chad was grabbed by the second Ghostface knife driven into his right pec.

"CHAD!" You went to help when the boy shook his head blood leaving his mouth as his eyes darted to Tara.

She comes first.

"Run." He choked out.

You pushed the two girls through the lobby not looking back as Tara continued to cry. She watched as the two took turns stabbing into various parts of the boys body.

The smaller girl pushing you once you all stopped.

"Why didn't you help him?" She kept pushing you until her hands balled into fists. She stopped pushing once she felt her tears come back.

"I'm sorry Tara."

You didn't move as she cried into your shirt eyes locking with Sam's before they widened in horror. A sharp slice made to your back as you fell to your knees, a boot pushing you down and a figure stepping over you. Two more following to surround the girls.

Detective Brooks stood tall as he was flanked by the other two killers.

They removed their masks making the girls gasp. Tara broke the stunned silence first.

"Mom?!" Sam stared at the woman in contempt.

"Hello Tara, Samantha.”

Tara then began to stare into familiar blue eyes too disgusted to look at her mother.

“Why?” Sam whispered.

“Why?! You can really sit there and ask why?!” The older woman came closer to her daughter eyes slightly dazed. “YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME! YOU AND YOUR PSYCHOTIC FATHER HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT RUIN MY LIFE!”

“NO ONE MADE YOU OPEN YOUR LEGS!YOU DECIDED TO BE A SLUT ALL ON YOUR OWN!” Before she could register it a sharp ring sounded throughout Sam’s ears. Her mothers hand still raised.

“Because of you my husband left me, because of you my daughter left. My only reason for living left me for you!”

“Evan.” The boy smirked.

“You know she’s not the only person you stole family from Sam.” The older girl turned to the boy. “My brother went to Woodsboro to make a movie…except he never came back.”

“Richie.” Tara whispered under her breath.

Evan nodded as she had yet to take her eyes off him.

“When my dad suggested his plan I almost didn’t want to go through with it. But when your mom came to us and showed me you kissing Y/n in the club and finding a note about Chad in your apartment, it was an easy decision.”

Detective Brooks inched behind Sam lips slightly grazing her ear. “Do you know what it’s like to lose your first born son?”

She held back a shiver of disgust. “No and you don’t either because you son was a pussy!” He smacked the butt of his gun to the back of her head.

“My son was a man of his word and I’m here to finish what he started.”

“Your limped dick son was a baby back bitch who let his girlfriend do all the dirty work.” Detective Brooks pulled Sam back up as her mother inched forward.

“Any last words?”

“Fuck you!” She closed her eyes preparing for the worst when she heard a yell.

“EVAN!”

“Y/N!”

She opened her eyes in time to see you pushing Evan off the balcony railing using him to cushion your fall. Both of you still as they all looked on, Tara smirked.

“Guess you lost another son.” He went to hit the girl when he heard shuffling.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you you bitch!” Evan was huffing from his position trying to get back up. You stood cracking your neck as you grabbed his knife.

Detective Brooks began to aim his gun at you when Tara shoved him making the gun begin to loosen in his grip.

Sam tackling their mother as things grew more chaotic.

You stabbed Evan multiple times before you fell to your knees in exhaustion. Gun shots rang in the distance and you looked up to see Tara fighting an older man.

She was pushed over the edge making Sam push away her mother and go to help. The blood on their hands not helping. Down below you began to position yourself.

Sam cried as her grip on Tara loosened her younger sister falling only to be caught by you both of you falling to the floor.

The smaller girl looked to you bewildered as you both heard a scream. You turned to see Sam throwing her mother over the balcony as well. The only ones left were her and Detective Brooks.

“I’m going to kill you Carpenter even if it means I have to die with you.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told your son..” she glanced to his gun on the floor making him dive for it as she pulled out the knife she stole from mother. She surged forward stabbing him in the head as he went to shoot her, his gun clicking as he realized he was out of ammunition.

“Don’t fuck with the daughter of a serial killer.”

It was silent for a moment before Sam heard footsteps running towards her. Her shoulders sagging in relief and exhaustion as she sees her boyfriend coming to her. He pulls her into a hug. The girl crying softly into his shoulder which seems to be bleeding.

“SAM?!”

“TARA!” She looks over the balcony at her younger sister who’s sat firmly on your lap. Another scream breaks their moment as Evan runs to you both. You push Tara behind you as you get ready to face him. She slides a knife into your hand as he comes closer. It takes a few seconds but he stumbles when you plunge a knife between his eyes making sure to slit his throat after he falls. You drop the knife as he stops moving, turning back to Tara.

Sam and David coming down to you.

“Can we please get the fuck out of here?”

You chuckle lightly at the small girl nodding as the four of you leave.

.

.

.

“Can I get-“

“An iced matcha latte with oat milk and a vegan wrap?” You smiled at the smaller girl with freckles as she looks surprised to see you.

“Oh and an iced chai with oat milk.” Your eyebrows furrow as she orders your favorite.

“Who’s the chai for?” Tara smirks.

“You. You’re going on break in two minutes so you can make our order and sit with me.” You chuckle shaking your head.

“Yes ma’am and since I’m joining you, it’s on the house.” She looks at you annoyed when you shrug.

Sam and David wave at you once you notice them sitting in Tara’s usual booth. You slide in next to her placing down your order.

“Hey Y/n.” You nod politely at the two turning to Tara who’s staring at you.

“What?” Mindy scoffs as she walks up to the table.

“Can you guys just go out already and save us all the trouble?”

Everyone laughs as Tara blushes. You rub the back of your neck before turning to the smaller girl. You didn’t want to make the same mistake.

“Would you wanna go on a date with me tomorrow night?” Her nose scrunches up as she smiles at you eyes crinkling at the sides.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Taglist: @alexkolax @nitchxhdc @maowxslay @annalestern

@natasha25052 @wol-fica @tashakink @pdione11 @dksjskx @the-camilucha @rainbow-love4ever

[meandmypagancrew]

So, I don’t know if I’m the only one who noticed this, but with the exception of Barbie, am I the only one who thinks most movies recently have been really poorly marketed?

Like, Oppenheimer was a critical success but I think we can agree the marketing team did an abysmal job - like Christopher Nolan’s name definitely sold plenty of tickets but for the most part, it seems they just let the Barbieheimer memes carry them to the finish line.

Now, I’m not sure if this is related to the strike, if marketing teams for movies completed before it but not released yet are striking or if they’re one of the exceptions that was carved out - which, if they’re striking, good for them, but if not, I don’t think they’re doing very good jobs. I think a good example of this is A Haunting In Venice. This movie comes out in less than a month, and I haven’t seen a single trailer for this movie despite going to the movies several times over the past few months, and while my local theatre does have a poster up for it, this is it.

Now, this is a bad poster. The only thing it’s inspired in us is confusion. After Indiana Jones and Barbie and all the Ghibli Fest movies we’ve gone to we’ve stood and looked at this poster and all we’ve felt is confusion. I mean, we recognized that that’s the actor who played Hercule Poirot in Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express, but did that mean this was another one of those or is it a mere coincidence that he’s in another movie? Actors do that, you know, they play multiple roles. And especially since the Agatha Christie book this is based on is actually called something different, it really doesn’t convey enough information to actually get people interested, I feel.

So I took five minutes and improved it. I feel this poster is 50% more likely to sell tickets because it’s at least 75% more informative and has 100% more false advertising because I couldn’t resist.

[ayeforscotland]

I was wondering if the Scottish accents in The Dragon Prince pass muster

Haven’t seen it but just watched the trailer and Scottish accents in TV are something we’re going to be talking about on @theayesphere

I’m not going to police every single Scottish accent I hear on screen but for me it’s split into two camps.

It’s either someone who isn’t Scottish attempting a Scottish accent which can be pretty grating, or it’s a Scottish person being directed to overplay their accent which leads to weird stressed sounds and odd sentence flow.

One of the characters in the trailer seems to lean towards the latter.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Last Boss - A present

English is not my first language! 

Synopsis: Last Boss has his eyes on a certain girl who’s been living at the Beach for a few weeks now. But how is he supposed to approach her? He had seen boys giving the girls they like flowers and chocolate in his old world. But in this world? He had to find something better.

Akemi was laying on one of the pool chairs next to her friends, enjoying the sun, while hearing the faint sounds of music coming from the inside of the hotel. 

She had been in this strange world for a month now, having spend her last two weeks at the Beach. It was a nice place, but she also knew about the many dangers that were all around them. They often lead back to a certain group, the militants. The group were supposed to keep the peace at the Beach and make sure everyone was safe, sadly that wasn’t the case. They terrorized the people and took whatever they wanted, since no one was able to say anything against them. 

But apart from them the Beach was a nice place, a place that provided electricity, working showers, even fun and friends. It was a place for the people who were all in the same situation. Having to fight for their lives every few days in brutal games just to be allowed to survive in this world for as long as their visa was. It was horrible, but the Beach offered distraction, which was happily welcomed. 

„God, I wish he wasn’t a killer.“ Ikari, one of Akemi’s friends, sighed loudly as the others now followed her line of vision. 

The militants just arrived at the pool area, led by none other than Niragi, the right hand of the militant’s leader. He was a known killer and rapist, a horrible person, someone you didn’t want to get too close to. 

„He’s so hot.“ She continued, causing Akemi to turn her head towards her friend, staring at her unbelieving. 

„Are you kidding me? You know how he is.“ She muttered, glancing back at the militants, just to catch Last Boss’ eyes. 

She had never talked to the tattooed man, but she had played a game with him. It was difficult as they had to escape out of an old trailer park, with dangers hiding behind nearly every single trailer. They managed to get out of there together as a team. He had saved her life as she was nearly stumbling into a bear trap, therefore she had saved his life, stopping him from getting pierced by an arrow triggered by a trip hazard. 

But ever since the game, they haven’t spoken one word with each other. Akemi wasn’t even sure if he was able to talk at all, she had yet never heard him say something. Therefore, he observed a lot, wherever she went, he was there a few minutes later. If she was in the disco room, dancing or drinking, he stood somewhere leaned against a wall, looking around while she felt his eyes on her more than once. If she was at the pool, he walked his rounds here or sat down at the pool bar. If she was in the dining hall, he was there too, grabbing himself something to eat. At first, she found it a little creepy, but by now she wasn’t bothered with it. 

„I know, I know.“ Ikari answered with a loud sigh, „But it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s hot.“ She hummed, making Akemi raise her eyebrows before shaking her head. 

„Whatever. I’m gonna go and get another round.“ She told her friends as she now got up, walking towards the pool bar. „Hi.“ She smiled at the man behind it, „Could I get four mojitos please?“ She asked, making him smile and nod his head as he now prepared the drinks. 

Akemi sat down on one of the stools, hanging behind her thoughts while watching how he was getting four glasses out of a cabinet, filling them with cubes. 

„Do you want,“ He began, turning towards her with a smile, but he quickly stopped in the middle of the sentence, widening his eyes slightly. „Uhm… Do you want mint leaves in the glasses?“ He asked now almost shyly, stumbling over his own words, which caused Akemi to raise her eyebrows confused. She sent him a short nod, causing him to quickly turn around again as he continued, while she now looked over her shoulders. 

„Hey,“ She greeted the man who stood right behind her, staring at her with his typical, dead eyes. „You’re Last Boss, right?“ She asked after a second where he didn’t answer her, just continuing to stare at her. „We played the Six of Spades together, I don’t know if you remember…“ She continued as he still didn’t give her an answer. 

This time, he at least nodded slowly, causing her to smile awkwardly as an uncomfortable silence spread between them. Why was he just staring at her without saying anything? What was wrong with him? 

„Last Boss,“ Niragi now called out to him, glancing at Akemi dismissive for a second before focusing back on his friend. „Stop flirting! Come on, Aguni wants to talk to us.“ 

Flirting? Whatever this was, it wasn’t flirting, right? 

Last Boss slowly nodded at his friend before focusing back on Akemi. And instead of saying something, anything, he just extended his hand. The girl raised her eyebrows confused as she held her hand out, feeling how something cold made contact with her palm, causing her to look down confused. Last Boss gave her a small white stone with black dots all over it, as it had a honey comb structure. It shined a little, almost as if he had tried to polish it a little. 

„Thank you.“ Akemi whispered, not sure what this meant but to her surprise he had the smallest blush on his cheeks, „It’s really beautiful.“ She told him, making him almost squirm as he now nodded, before quickly turning around and practically bolting over to Niragi who just laughed at his friend.  

Akemi continued glancing between his retreating figure and the small stone in her hand, but before she could make sense of it, her friends already rushed over towards her, surrounding her as they all stared at the thing in her hand. 

„He gave you this?“ One of them asked, looking at her surprised. „A stone?“ 

„Yeah?“ Akemi sounded unsure, shaking her head. „I’ve got no idea why.“ 

„Oh my god,“ Ikari squealed slightly, grabbing Akemi’s shoulders. „He likes you!“ 

[absolutewhore101]

Helloooo, I just found your account, saw that you like both Eddie Munson and 5sos, and i’ve had this idea in the back of my mind for a while, and since your requests are open i was wondering if you would maybe love the idea and write it?

Eddie Munson x f!reader inspired by “If you don’t know” by 5sos, happy ending? 🥹

If You Don't Know

A/N: i hope you enjoy! i had to (minorly) alter a few lyrics to fit the fic but other than that, i left it alone!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x ImpliedFem!Reader

Summary: song fic set to 'If You Don't Know' by 5 Seconds of Summer; angst to fluff

Warnings: angst, mentions of weed (but who's surprised)

Word Count: 1.6K

Minors DNI

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

Eddie was the first and only boy you’d ever loved. You didn’t even think love was an adequate word for the way you felt about him, but it would do the job until you found the one that was.

You’d started dating in January, and over the summer, you’d become so accustomed to spending every waking moment by his side that you didn’t know what to do when school started. 

As luck would have it, the two of you didn’t have a single class together, not even the same lunch period.

Outside of school, it was getting increasingly harder to find time for each other. Between your job and Eddie’s latest campaign, your schedules almost never aligned. 

And you were well aware of it. 

You talked to Eddie three times in the last week, all of which were short conversations, never about anything meaningful. The time apart was starting to put a strain on your relationship. 

Soon, homework was piling up, work was becoming overwhelming, and you were hardly talking to Eddie at all. Sometimes, it felt like you weren’t even together. 

You were stressed, overwhelmed, and just plain exhausted. 

But then, Eddie called you one Friday night while he was supposed to be at D&D.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, baby. Campaign got canceled tonight and I know you don’t have work soooo… pizza and movie night?” He asked. 

You thought about it. You were in possibly the worst mood you’d ever been in, but the thought of seeing Eddie for the first time in weeks was enough of a pickup for you to say, “fuck yeah. I’ll be there in 10.”

You didn’t bother changing, knowing that your pajama pants and one of Eddie’s t-shirts was exactly what he’d expect you to show up in. 

You let yourself into the trailer, immediately seeking out the comfort of your boyfriend, only to find Chrissy Cunningham walking out of his room. 

“Oh, hey!” She said, much too happily for your liking. 

“Hi… Chrissy.” You said as she walked right past you, straight out the front door. If she hadn’t greeted you, you wouldn’t have been sure that she realized you were there. 

You turned around, meeting your boyfriend's apprehensive face. 

“Seriously, Eds? Chrissy Cunningham?”

He shook his head. “You and I both know it’s not like that.”

“Do we?” You challenged.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you haven’t seen your girlfriend in almost a month, and when you finally find time for her, she comes over to see another girl leaving your room.”

Eddie was frozen. Did you really believe that? That after being together for so long, you thought he’d do that to you?

“Baby…” he trailed off, not sure what he could say to make you believe him. 

“Well?” You asked. “Do you have anything to say about that, or am I walking out of here assuming that you and Chrissy have something going on?”

Eddie’s mind was racing. If I could say the things I want to say, I’d find a way to make you stay, I’d never let you get away.

After nearly a minute of silence, you took a step away from him. 

“Eddie, I want you to want me that way, I need you to need me to stay.”

When he still didn’t respond, you turned around, heading for the door. 

“I guess it’s the latter, then.” You mumbled, opening the door and softly closing it behind you. 

You weren’t angry at him - it wasn’t his fault. You didn’t actually think he had something going on with her, but the stress of the last few weeks was getting to you, and when he didn’t outright deny it, it hurt. 

Eddie laid in bed that night, replaying your fight. He thought about all the things he loved about you. 

The taste of your skin, the way you looked - you had those eyes - the way you made him feel. He could name every song that made you cry. And when you’d fight, you would scream at him, call him crazy, but no matter how mad you were at him for laughing at you, you’d always press a kiss to his waiting lips. Then his thought drifted to the shirt that constantly hung from your frame, the one you’d been wearing earlier. 

Was it gone for good? Is there no tomorrow?

He thought about going after you - about showing up at your door at three in the morning to beg for your forgiveness - but ultimately decided not to. 

No, he needed time to plan what he was going to say. He wasn’t always the best at expressing the way he felt, especially when it came to you. 

That’s why, the second he woke up the next day, he dialed your number.

“Hello?” You mumbled your greeting, obviously having just woken up. 

“Hi, baby.” Eddie said quietly. 

“Oh. Hey, Eddie.”

No ‘Eds’? God, he really messed up.

“I just wanted to call you and try to explain what happened last night. With Chrissy and everything…”

You sighed. “Okay.”

“Listen, sweetheart, I need you to understand that nothing is going on between us.”

“Then why was she in your bedroom?” You asked, not accusatory, just genuinely curious. 

“She wanted to see my record collection, but that’s beside the point.”

“Besides the point?” You asked, starting to get a little angry. “Eddie, you used that exact pickup line on me!”

Shit.

“Well, yes, I did, but-”

“No buts, Eddie!” You said. 

Eddie closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to come back from this. 

“Listen to me, Chrissy wasn’t there to see my record collection, she was there because she wanted to buy some weed.”

You were silent. 

“You expect me to believe that?” You asked.

“What? Why would I lie about that?” Eddie countered.

“You want me to believe that Miss Perfect herself went to your trailer to ‘buy some weed’? Honestly, Eddie, how stupid do you think I am?”

“I’m serious! Why else would she be there?” Eddie was now getting frustrated. Why didn’t you believe him?

“Because she’s Chrissy Cunningham! I’ve seen the way you look at her, Eddie, the same way everyone looks at her. Like she’s the prettiest fucking girl on the planet.”

“Okay, maybe I used to, but you're out of your mind if you think I still do when I have you. Do you think I was gonna, what, put the moves on her?”

“I don’t know why you’d even bother.”

It was Eddie’s turn to be silent. 

“You don’t mean that.” He said quietly. 

You were silent. 

“No, you know what? Go ahead. Rip my heart out. If you think that’s what love’s all about…”

“No, Eddie-” You started. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

And with that, Eddie placed the phone back on the receiver.

Your hand dropped to your side, still holding your phone, as you moved to rest your forehead on the wall. 

Fuck.

— 

It had been a week since your fight with Eddie, and it was killing you. You’d never in your life thought those words, so you stunned even yourself when you said them. 

Eddie had his campaign Friday night, so first thing Saturday morning, you were pulling up to Eddie’s trailer. 

You thought about knocking, but before you could lift your hand, the door swung open. 

Eddie stood on the other side, clad in nothing but a pair of black sweatpants as he looked at you. After a few moments of observing each other, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside. 

“I’m sorry.” You said. “There’s nothing in the universe that could make me believe what I said and I’ve been beating myself up over it for the last week. Eds, I never should have said that, and I am so, so sorry that I did.”

Eddie just looked at you, in complete disbelief that you thought you were in the wrong here. 

“Come on.” He said, leading you down the hallway into his bedroom, gently shutting the door behind the two of you. 

You took a seat on his bed, watching as he began to anxiously pace around the room. 

“I need to explain what happened, because I never should’ve had another girl in my room without letting you know what was happening beforehand. I just…” he trailed off. Why was it so hard to just tell you how he felt? “God, I don’t know if I can do this.” He mumbled. 

You were shocked. Just like that, he couldn’t do this?

“Eddie.” You said, getting his attention. “If you don’t know, then just let me go. I know I fucked up, but if this is too much for you right now, I can go.” You finished, standing up to leave. 

“NO!” He yelled, shocking both of you. “Um, sorry. No. No, that’s not what I was saying. God, why am I so bad at this?”

Your quiet giggle was enough to bring him to his senses, and suddenly, he knew exactly what he needed to say. 

He took a deep breath. 

“Sweetheart, you are the love of my life. There’s never been another girl who can make me feel the way you do. I know what it looked like was happening when Chrissy was here, and I’m sorry that I didn’t explain it very well the first time. Believe it or not, Miss Perfect is a pothead. But! I told her I couldn’t deal to her anymore and I hooked her up with one of my buddies, and I don’t think she even acknowledged that.”

You nodded along. 

“I love you more than anything in this world. More than Metallica, more than my chains, hell, more than weed! Okay? It’s only you. It’s only ever been… you.” He finished. 

You grabbed his face, pressing your lips to his. Your mouths moved in sync, saying all the things that could never be put into words.

When you pulled back, Eddie’s face was flushed and his lips were slightly swollen.

He was a sight. 

“I love you, too, Eds. Please don’t forget that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tell me your thoughts! Thank you for reading :)