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carolmunson · 7 months

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you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down.

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery.

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.”

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later.

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head.

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere.

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.”

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?”

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?”

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.”

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?”

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?”

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow.

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on.

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you.

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch.

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before.

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears.

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough.

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.”

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.”

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.”

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.”

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly.

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit.

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.”

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death.

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.”

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily.

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.”

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.”

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.”

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper.

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge.

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.”

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.”

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat.

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.”

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes.

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story.

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you.

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…”

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

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agirlcandream84 · 2 months

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Even more Boyfriend!Frank Headcanons

What can I say? I live in an imaginary world at all times. Please join me.

Whenever there's something to hang on the wall around the house, god forbid you touch a hammer and nails. It's not that Frank doesn't think you can manage, in fact he knows you absolutely could, he just doesn't think his girl should have to fuss with that sort of stuff. So instead he has the patience of a saint as you hem and haw if it's level and then tells you how cute you are with a peck on the forehead after he's finished hanging it.

You are a passenger princess in the truest sense of the word. Not once since dating did you have to sit behind the wheel. Even the idea of it actually mortifies Frank. And what's more, the man OPENS YOUR DOOR for you when you get in and out. When he first started doing it you'd forget and make to climb out on your own but he'd tut with a "Nah stay put sweetheart, don't make me ask twice" before walking over to your side of the truck, shouting "asshole" at someone whizzing by too close and only opening the door when it was safe.

The thing about Frank is, he will spank you when he knows you need it. You've got a successful career and a lot on your plate and he thinks that's hot as hell but he also sees how the pressure of it unravels you and wears you out. On days where you're extra snippy or attempt to boss him around, he knows you need to feel that he's got things under control and you can let go sometimes. Seems counterintuitive but he'd grab you by the waist, haul you across his knee, shimmy down your pants a bit and give you a few good smacks, asking "You understand why I'm doing this doll?". At first you fight it but by the third smack it slips juuusssst a bit into daddy territory where you feel like you can let go and trust that someone else will handle it all.

Frank liked to go for long drives on Saturday mornings, time to himself to clear his head and let you sleep in but he never left without first getting your iced coffee and bagel order and leaving it on the kitchen table for you when you woke up. Whenever he came home a few hours later, he was always extra sappy, like the time away was weeks and not hours, and he was content to wait on you hand and foot-- running your bath, fixing your tea, literally carrying you to the bathtub saying "Come on, lemme take care of you doll" when you protested.

Whenever your sister was in town and you two wanted to see the sights of the city Frank was respectful to give you the time with your sis you missed so much BUT he didn't like the idea of two pretty girls walking around the city by themselves so he'd tag along and mostly walk 4-6ft behind the both of you with his hands clasped behind his back like we was working security.

Goes without saying but Frank is levelheaded during an "emergency" and you are.....not. When a bird got into your apartment and you were shrieking like it was a hawk and not a tiny sparrow, Frank's in the room in a flash, hugging you to his chest as he walks you to the bedroom, mildly scolding you like "gotta calm down, alright? stay in the bedroom sweetheart" before closing the door and managing to catch the bird and release it. Later he gives you a bit of talking to about staying clam in emergencies and makes you show him were the first aid kit is and what you'd do if there was an intruder.

Frank loves, I mean LOVES, your adorable attempts to "dominate" him physically. Like the time he riled you up on purpose telling you to "go make him a sandwich" and you gasped and shoved him in the chest. He moved as much as a brick wall in the wind and that only made you madder so you shoved him again. He only stood with a smirk on his face and scooped you over his shoulder asking "you wanna be in charge huh?" before stripping you naked to let you ride his cock, practically cooing at you to "Take what you want honey. Doin' such a good job. being in charge."

#frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle fanfic #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fluff #frank castle headcanons

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neevblanc · 28 days

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„curious” ♡

a/n —hey all! hope ur doin' well, drink water if you haven't! have this as a treat. it's 2k and some more but i cant be bothered to check for specifics. (p.s sorry if the tarot aspects of this are wonky! i did my best to research and i pulled reference from my sister's experience with tarot cards/reading.)

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Dazai Osamu x GN!reader

Tags— 22/ada dazai, flirting?, pre-slash, don't question why reader's given a key, reader works under ango but he's also they're dad figure, it's a whole thing, mentions of sskk though not explicitly platonic or romantic, take that as you wish, dazai's infuriating habit of burying feelings and then one day he'll die

CW/TW— dazai. (/j, none i can think of.)

note — reader's ability in this is based on one that my friend chose for our self-ship au. "Teacher of Truth by Saneatsu Mushanokoji: The user can employ tarot cards to gain insight into the past, current, and possible future situations. The user needs to know what each of the cards mean in order to properly interpret what they say." it's from a post on tumblr, but I couldn't find it for the life of me! i'll credit if i can. anyway, it's been tweaked a little so i'm here to explain. in this, reader can choose to use their ability during a reading or not, but the tarot cards are always personal to them. people they know will sometimes show in the cards if they're important to them.

The next time Dazai sees you, it’s well before the ADA opens for the day. He’d admittedly had a rough night—sleep evaded him like always, and he hadn’t had dinner because of his own laziness. His futon was impossibly comfy. How was he meant to part with its loving warmth?

The Door to the agency creaks open, the sound not unlike the groan of the cafe floorboards only steps away. One of Dazai’s favorite activities was purposely seeking out the creaky floorboards and dancing on them so loud Kunikida would have to berate him, of course. He was intimately familiar with the annoying sounds this old building could make.

The office is darker than during working hours, but he notices the meager amount of lights still switched on. Distantly, he knows Kunikida would’ve blown a gasket about the electric bill if he had found them still on. He takes a step into the room-

Something rustles. Downstairs, an old radio plays a song he does not recognize. Pigeons flutter and coo from outside the window.

Somebody was in the agency, and had it been any of his fellow detectives, he’d have known.

“Hmmm, what’s this,” he mutters absently, volume low enough to alert whoever it was had decided to trespass.

”Dazai-san?” a soft voice calls, and Dazai pauses for a moment. A short, hollow sound follows—cards shuffling. He bites the inside of his cheek. How curious.

”Last I checked, you don’t clock in with the rest of us measly agents. Surely Ango’s fuming by now?” He hums, stepping into view of you. you’re sat at Atsushi’s desk, bag perched on top of Atsushi’s empty report trays. Dazai almost smirks at the sight— silly Atsushi, always rushing to complete everything in a timely manner. One day, he’d get him to turn them in later, hopefully months later- like he did.

”Hm, no. I clocked in earlier, but Ango wanted me over here early. Something about a mission I have to hand over to Fukuzawa-dono. I got a key from him last time, so I just let myself in.” you explained. Dazai pulled his own chair out and collapsed into it, peering down at what your hands were busying themselves with.

He realizes they’re tarot cards. Thick and sturdy under your fingers, you set them up neatly in front of yourself. The backs are a matte purple, decorated with silver details that glint as the sunrise light hits them for just a fraction of a second. The illustrations seem to flicker with movement, almost like snapshots of time shifting through an old camera, frame after frame.

”What’s got you so busy?” he asks, exaggeratingly leaning over to look at the cards. You laugh and smile, expression wobbly. He notes the change. You briefly shake out the bracelet laying on your wrist, almost nervously. You lay the last card on the desk’s surface. Atsushi’s cute cat clock ticks from where it’s placed near his report trays.

“I do readings for the day early in the morning, just in case. Sometimes, I don’t even use my ability.” You explain, keeping your voice low so as not to break the morning peace. Dazai glances at the cat clock. Soon, the secretaries and Kunikida will clock in and begin their work day. He focuses back on you and grins, intrigued.

“Anxious, then? I guess the ability to see the future will do that to ‘ya.” Dazai sighed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. He was content to watch you finish setting the cards down in a formation he admittedly did not understand.

” What does that one mean?” he says, pointing to one of the cards. Its flickering surface shows a woman with mint-colored hair pulled up into a bun. Behind her, there’s a black mass, and she seems to be standing in a graveyard. There are two Xs at the top of the card. You redirect your attention to the card he’s hovering his finger over and smile.

”That’s Judgment—renewal, reflection, awakening, or reckoning. For a personal reading, it would mean going through a period of self-evaluation or maybe even trying to understand the people around you and your situation more.” You explain, seemingly done with the spread and setting down the other cards nearby. Dazai purses his lips.

”Sounds gloomy. Lame!” He huffs, upset by his choice. you gasp and narrow your eyes.

”Don’t call them lame! You’ll piss them off, Dazai.” You hiss, smacking him on the arm. Dazai grins and leans closer, smile growing coy.

”Really now? And how exactly does one do that?” Dazai prods. You stick your tongue out and cross your arms.

“Not telling. Now shut up and let me do my reading.” You grumble, eyes flicking over the cards. Dazai whines and throws himself forward, almost shoving you off of Atsushi’s chair.

”Dude!” You yelp, hands scrambling to grasp his coat as he rights himself. Dazai grabs you by the shoulders and shakes, intent on being the biggest possible nuisance.

”That’s boring! Do your reading laterrrr; it won’t matter, right? Ne- do a reading for me! I wanna know my future,” He begs, grinning. You blink and scowl, pushing him away.

”First off, it would matter. Doing a reading later would be a completely different outcome. Just wait. All I have to do is interpret these. I’ll do yours after.” You grumble, adjusting their sleeves and settling back into the chair. Dazai harrumphs but settles into his own chair to watch you silently read the cards.

You focus back on the cards, and Dazai settles himself by watching you idly. You’re dressed in what you always wear to work, but it’s casual enough to know doubt have been breaking the dress code had you not been working under Ango for so long. There’s a small scrunch to your nose as you focus on your task, and Dazai can spot how you run your tongue over your teeth in thought. Dazai looks away pointedly. Taking a few breaths, he forcibly clears his mind. How odd.

”Okay, done.” You hum, straightening and starting to pick up the cards. He shifts so his whole body is faced toward you. You take gentle care of the cards, putting them back into the deck.

”Why do they flicker like that? You aren’t using your ability,” he asks, curious about the shifting images on the cards. You shrug.

”Don’t know. It happens no matter what deck I use, though I prefer using this one. The images just shift into the same ones most of the time, though some have changed over time.” You explain, shuffling the cards. Dazai reaches out and hovers over your hand before poking the back of it gently. You let him despite knowing the outcome.

The images on the cards still lying on the table flicker, completely uninterrupted, even as Dazai feels the shiver of his ability eating away at yours. He hums and pulls away. He hadn’t been paying attention when he jostled you earlier, but you were right- they were unaffected.

”Strange, but not unheard of. Some ability effects aren’t considered active enough for my ability to erase.” Dazai says, allowing you to continue. you finish and present him with the deck, pulling away when he goes to take them.

”Don’t be mean to them. They’ll be mean to you. You can’t even think anything negative; they’ll know. You’re gonna cut the deck in 3, okay? We’ll do a simple reading.” you explain, and only once Dazai agrees (crosses his heart and hopes to die!) is he gently handed the cards.

”What do you want to read? We can focus on love, or money, or your career, things like that.” You say. Dazai ponders for a moment before sniffing, mouth settled into a pompous pout.

”I want to know if someone will finally be interested in a double suicide with me.” He huffs. You scoff.

”You’re insane. Okay, so love. Think about that while you cut them.” You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He runs his fingers over the well-loved edges and slots his thumbs through the deck where it feels right, setting the individual cuts down on the desk before them. He tries to take it as seriously as possible, though thinking about love has always made him squirm and itch beneath his skin.

You reach over once he’s done and clear your throat, carefully picking the top cards on each deck and laying them out in front of him. On the left, the first card flipped is a wheel, seemingly in the sky and surrounded by clouds. The clouds float by calmly, though Dazai can’t find anything particularly personal to you the way some of the other cards would show.

It’s made a little more difficult considering the card’s orientation- upside down.

You hum at it before moving on. The card in the middle is revealed, and this one piques his interest. He grins a little at the image. Two figures hold goblets in their hands, strings of power rising from the cups and meeting above their heads to form a Yin and Yang sign. The figures are startingly familiar- one dark-haired, the other light-haired. Accents in their hair match each other, silver and black clashing and melding nicely. This one’s facing right-side up. The image flickers to show the energy that swirls around, occasionally circling their respective holders.

The last one flicks onto the wooden desk with a hollow sound. The image is soft, not unlike the first one with the blue sky. A sun takes up the upper half, rays pronounced against the sky. Ttheire’s a little kid in the illustration, their beaming face scrunched up in happiness. There’s a flag clutched in one hand, with the other gripping onto the mane of the white horse they’re perched upon. Sunflowers frame them, peaking over the illustrated garden wall behind them.

It’s an endlessly endearing picture, and from the smile, he has a feeling he knows who it is. Like the last one, it’s right-side up.

You settle your chin against your palm, leaning on the table with a hum.

”That’s….a really nice reading, actually.” You move to point at the cards. Dazai sits patiently with his hands on his lap. Nothing more fascinating than seeing someone in their element, he supposed.

”That first one is The Wheel of Fortune. Upside down, it’s a little darker. It represents your past,” you pause, looking at him for a moment. “I think for you, it’s focused on the feeling of helplessness—lack of power or control…like you had love but couldn’t control how and when you lost it,” you say, your voice soft. Dazai fights to ignore the discomfort building in his throat.

”Well, what can I say? My dark past haunts me,” he bemoans, and you huff a soft laugh. You move on to the next card- the cups. You look a little embarrassed by this one.

”This one is the present. Two cups represent…well, partnership. More specifically, the realization of a new partnership. This one can be pretty romantic. I guess you’ve got something to look forward to soon,” you say, pointedly ignoring the images of his two kohais. He grins, sparing you of the teasing. He didn’t know how well you even knew Akutagawa- but it was amusing to see everyone could see what those two denied vehemently.

”The last one is the future. You got The Sun, which is actually really sweet.” Through your embarrassment, Dazai watches a sweet smile grow on your face. He matches it easily.

“It means joy and success, for you in particular. It means…whatever or whoever your two cups is for, you’ll be very happy together.” You say, and Dazai sighs wistfully.

”Maybe someone will finally want to commit suicide with me! This news might keep me alive a day longer just yet,” Dazai coos. You groan and take a deep breath, seemingly ignoring him as you duck your head down and then start to put the cards back.

”You better hope you didn’t piss this deck off, Dazai.” you huff, glaring. Dazai pouts, cradling his face in his hands.

“What?! I followed all your rules; I would never,” he whines. You flip him off and busily tuck the cards into a soft leather pouch. He lets his hands drop and watches for a moment.

”Thanks for the reading,” Dazai says, his voice back to normal. You glance at him and smile.

”Yeah, no problem. It’s nice to read without my ability once in a while,” you admit, expression soft. He grins. Something stirs in his chest.

”You can read me whenever you want, lovely.” He purrs jokingly. You startle, flushing. You glare and kick him with your foot.

”Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter. Dazai whines out a laugh, having settled on teasing you until he could see the smoke coming out your ears.

Before he could continue, the door creaks open, and the overhead lights flick on. Multiple people come shuffling in, and Dazai can hear Kunikida conversing lowly with Fukuzawa. The secretaries also file in, chattering contently amongst themselves. Fukuzawa and Kunkida pause only to greet them both. you wave politely, and Dazai salutes them both.

you blink your eyes to adjust to the light now flooding the room. Dazai huffs and stands with a groan.

”Alright, I’ve got five minutes to get out of here. You’ll be going in to see Shachou, right?” He asks, stretching. you stand and nod, giving him a look.

”Where are you going?” you ask, picking up your bag. He groans at the way his back pops as he rights himself from his stretching.

”Home. I only came here 'cause I was bored. But in the long run, it’ll be a lot funnier if Kunikida’s mad all morning when I don’t show up~” He snickers. you shake your head, a smile pulling at your mouth.

“You’re so lame. See you, then.” You sighed, heading down the hall Kunikida and Fukuzawa had disappeared down.

”And yet you love me. ‘Till we meet again,” he calls, pointedly ignoring the yell you let out.

”Whatever!” you yelped, and Dazai let the agency door click closed behind him.

He grins. Curious indeed.

note — can you tell i love brothers! atsushi and dazai? also, the woman in Judgement is Mizuki Tsujimura, who I headcanon is pretty good friends with reader in this one. :) please let me know if there are any pronoun inconsistencies! this was originally written with she/her pronouns, and i did my best to fix it to match the gender neutral style i like to use for tumblr stuffs.

©neevblanc 2024 // do not plagiarize or repost

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #gn!y/n #dazai osamu x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x you #gender neutral y/n #neev.doc

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considermygenderminecrafted · 6 months

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hmmmm. Debating makin this post but sure. Fuck it.

context: Sunny felt really hurt over how Phil introduced her to Talullah and some folks are interpreting is as Phil were cruel or that he's tryna be like more fucked up after purgetory

Disclaimer: Sunny is a kid and has every fuckin right to feel how she feels, and interpret things how she does, and it would be great if they talked and figured shit out. Disclaimer over.

Post: Ngl fellas, introducin someone with some banter about a topic you don't see em as insecure about is just kinda summit you Fuckin Do in north england. YUP EVEN WITH THE LITTLENS. My Mam and Dad did it with me nd my sister as a kid, my parents close friends would to it with us, my friends rents do it with them, my mates do with to me, I do it with them. It's like, kinda a thing that just happens,,, It's part of the culture. especially if the person you're introducing them too is nervous, cause its an ice breaker. Like "hey the person you're scared of is a person like you, look they can handle a bit of banter, its all fine we're friends here" type vibes!

Usually, you preface or end it with a compliment to show you're genuine feelings, and usually you don't do it with someone when it's your first meeting with em, but you'll take the piss out of someone you like to show that you like them yknow? Especially if you've like done other shit to establish yous appreciate that thing you're making fun of em about (like qPhil givin Sunny another pretty crown cause she likes gifts and pretty things and feeling like a princess).

You'd also go for something that you don't acutally feel negateiely about, obviously. Phil doesn't give a shit that she and tubbo steal, thats just a like thing that happens sometimes that you can roll your eyes at but whatever kids gonna nick shit /affectionate. It's not a fuckin insult coming from a place to shame or correct, it's intended to be banter, yknow?

Like, its a show that you like the person and know summit about the person and also believe they can handle a bit of banter at their expense. ESPECIALLY if you've seen em take the piss out of you, someone else, or themselves, cause then it's like "oh word you like to play with this dynamic, okay"

And like, does it suck when you misjudge? Absolutely. Does it suck when someone chooses the wrong topic and gets at summit you're genuinely insecure about? Yes. I've had convos with mine being like 'hey can you not use this topic when you're doin banter' and thats like, really fair to do. There are also like more casual ways to tell em to knock it off like, turning it back on them, or lampshadin it etc which are like, accepted way to tell someone to back down a bit, because it's just like. A thing you do here!

Like qPhil takes the piss out of everyone he loves, chayanne and talullah get it all the time, tubbo (the godparents of his kids) gets it SO much, so does fit, so does Etoiles, like its truly is like, just a fuckin, part of friendships.

TO REITERATE. SUNNY HAS EVERY FUCKIN RIGHT TO FEEL THE WAY SHE DOES! SHE IS A KID, SHE'S NOT FROM THE SAME CULTURAL BACKGROUN, SHE DOESN'T KNOW PHIL THAT WELL NOR PHIL AND TUBBOS RELATIONSHIP!!

Did qPhil put his foot in it? Yes. Do they need to have a natter and settle things? Yes.

But it would be fuckin Lovely if we didnae start up "Phil is actually being a bad person and purpose and cc!Phil is making the choice for his character to be bad" when it's just like, a cultural difference from him being northern again

#discouse #q Philza #q tubbo #q tallulah #q sunny #tbh i think this actually applies to most of britian? at least like not the stupid posh parts #but i can only speak to my expriences so #fandom neg

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testingthewatersss · 4 months

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Spy General Wintersolider context warnings, nothing too extreme. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 1 3765 words Fluff, barely angst. 18+ MDNI Steve hadn't meant to spy on you and Barnes. Not exactly, anyway.

“So are you going to do anything?”

Steve chews his lower lip, eyes flicking between the view of the room, and Natasha, who is clearly waiting for his response.

He paws at his jaw when she sighs, nodding towards the scene they’ve both been watching for a good ten minutes.

Bucky is perched on the edge of the couch, anxiously wringing his flesh hand in his metal one, gaze focused intently on the floor.

“Like what?” he asks at last, “He-”

“You’re his friend” she replies, “He’s clearly not doin’ well-”

“so how do I help him, Nat? I’m open to suggestions here”

There’s a strained desperation in his tone. It pairs well with the helpless look on his face.

The woman decides to pity him with a smile before she shrugs.

“I don’t know” she says honestly, “I don’t really know him- but, I can tell you a bit about normal behaviour, Cap’ and that—“

She nods over to where the man remains unnervingly still in the adjacent room,

“-That, isn’t it.”

Steve knows that, so he nods, gritting his teeth as he tries to decide what, if any, action to take.

Barnes struggling is something that everyone has expected. It’s been less than two months since they’d gotten him away from HYDRA, and he’d been there for the better part of a century, so really, him having problems adjusting to a life where he’s not being tortured 24/7 is more than understandable.

That doesn’t make witnessing with it any easier, though.

The former soldier has kept to himself, for the most part. He’s still a fraction too close to being a cornered stray for majority of the towers inhabitants to risk interacting with him too heavily, and with how strained things still are with Tony, even Steve has been staying away from him.

Although, saying that, it had been Tony who had quietly taken Steve aside at lunch, to tell him about the way that his oldest friend was acting strangely in the common room.

“I’m goin’ out for the night anyway” he’d said, disinterested, “but you might want to check in on the kid. He doesn’t look right.”

A quick “Thanks, Tony” had been all he’d offered in response.

“Maybe we should just give him some space” Natasha suggests, “He’s not actually doin’ anything-”

“Exactly, Nat” Steve says, “I don’t think he’s even blinked in the past five minutes.”

She turns back to the small, remotely activated two way mirror they’ve been watching through, leaving the man by her side to stew in his concern.

“Hey, Buck!” a cheery voice says suddenly, making both the viewers heads snap up, “You doin’ alright?”

“Is that Y/N?” Steve asks urgently, as the side door to the room swings shut.“Jesus christ-”

Natasha hushes him, watching the interaction curiously;

“Nat-“ he insists, “She’s great, y’know I think she’s great, but she’s— she’s a little, lively— she’s Tony’s sister, and we both know tact ain’t a Stark trait—“

“Shut up” she hisses, nodding back towards where the young brunette is now pacing round to where Barnes is still staring straight a head, “I’m tryin’ to listen”

He exhales, frustrated, but then, just before he can start talking again, Y/N does something that silences him instantly.

She crouches, a few feet away from Bucky’s legs, and reaches out, placing a tentative hand over both of his.

To Steve’s enormous surprise, all the man does in response, is blink at her.

“Hey” Y/N soothes, tone much softer than it had been before, “You feelin’ okay?”

There’s a beat of silence, where the former solider seems to register her presence for the first time.

He tilts his head, eyes staying trained on her face now, as his vibranium fingers curl into a fist, and his flesh ones, turn over, to hold onto the hand she’s offered him;

“My…my head hurts..” he admits, so quietly that Steve and Natasha both have to strain themselves to hear it, “I was lookin’ for you, I— I didn’t know where you’d be”

Steve’s jaw goes slack as Y/N brings her free palm up, to press it against the other mans brow.

“I was in the labs, sweetheart” she replies, “FRIDAY could’ve told ya’ that, if you’d have asked.”

She brings his knuckles up, pecking a kiss against the skin as she lowers her other hand from his head, to his lap.

“‘m sorry” he replies, “I-I didn’t- I… I guess I forgot..”

The nervous waiver in his tone is enough to make Steve swell protectively. He hasn’t seen the man this vulnerable since they were children, and he doesn’t know enough about Y/N to trust her intentions—

“It’s alright” she soothes, smiling, “just, try and remember next time, okay? if you want to find anybody, you can just ask, she’s real good at that”

He nods in response, although it looks like the action pains him.

Y/N notices that, too. She lowers their tangled fingers back to his legs, releasing him, before reaching up to stroke her thumb across his temple.

The action is so gentle, that Steve feels his eyes flicking over to Natasha, he’s only half surprised to see her still watching, totally unfazed by the affectionate display.

“Is it just your head botherin’ you?”

Bucky looks at her for a moment, before dropping his gaze.

“No” he tells her quietly, “I…I feel like shit, doll.”

She laughs at that, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against the corner of his lips.

“Why don’t you get settled on there?” she suggests, standing, “I’ll make us some drinks, grab a blanket, you look like you could do with a few hours sleep”

Steve notes how Bucky is moving for the first time since he’s been watching. He’s tilting his head up, clearly tracking the way Y/N is moving, pacing around the furniture, towards the small kitchenette that’s nestled in the corner of the suite.

“D-don’t you have to meet your brother, or-”

“Tony’s got a date with some shareholders tonight” she replies, flicking on a machine that starts to fill the two waiting mugs with steaming liquid, “I was supposed to go, too- but he offered to take one for the team, as long as I promised to use my night off wisely.”

She’s ducked out of view, now. And Steve is blinking wildly, pulse racing as he tries to make sense of everything he’s watching unfold.

“I think curlin’ up with a handsome super-soldier definitely counts as wise.”

Bucky even manages a scoff at that. He tries to smile, too, as she reappears in front of him, holding a thick blanket she’s grabbed from a chest that’s disguised as a bench beneath the bay window.

“You don’t look very comfortable” she notes, passing him the cover, “Lie down, sweetheart”

He flushes scarlet, before reaching out for her hand, again.

The action is so hopeful, so innocent and gentle that she can’t help but sigh, ignoring the waiting drinks to refocus all of her attention on the man now clutching her fingers.

“I’ll be right back” she promises, “How longs it been since you’ve gotten any rest, huh?”

When Bucky looks back up, eyes wide behind his hair, Steve thinks he’s looks an awful lot like he did as a child, when they’d both gotten caught doing something wrong and he’d known that he was about to be scolded. It hurts his heart, especially when he thinks about how much time has past between then and now, and how much more scared he looks now, even though he’s a fully grown man.

“I’m not sure” he confesses, “I— I try, doll I- I swear-”

She nods, cutting him off.

“Have you eaten anythin’ today?” she asks next, voice soft and non-judgemental.

He shakes his head a fraction, not bothering to explain his lack of appetite. He knows she already knows.

“That’ll be why you feel so awful” she says, “You’re human, serum or not, you can’t just run off adrenaline indefinitely.”

He doesn’t argue. He stays quiet as she kisses his hand, again, before nodding towards the couch he’s sitting on.

“Lie down, sweetheart” she repeats, “I’ll get the drinks, and then I’ll be right back. I promise.”

It takes him a second, but eventually, he does what she’s asked him to.

As she lets his hand go, Steve finds himself squinting in disbelief.

Natasha looks intrigued, more than anything else, he thinks that’s fair, since spying on people is something he’s sure she’s had more practice at than him.

“Here” they hear Y/N say, “It’s hot, Buck— be careful.”

“It’s good” the other man counters, budging up so that she can slip in against his flank, “Thank you, doll— for- for all this, I— I don’t know what I’d do without ya”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout that” she replies calmly, “I’m not goin’ anywhere”

There’s a strange weight in her words that takes both Natasha and Steve by surprise. For the first time since Y/N’s arrival in the room, the red-heads expression has shifted from interested to genuinely shocked.

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t seem taken aback by the love behind her tone, infact, all they see him do, is snuggle closer into her side, and then, press a kiss against her brow.

Y/N laughs at that, before reaching up with the hand not holding her mug, to guide his face down, so that she can press their lips together.

Steve is blushing then. It strikes him instantly how wrong it is to be watching the pair this way, when they clearly think they’re being given the luxury of privacy.

It feels horrible. Guilt is well and truly settled in his core, he nudges Natasha and mouths out ‘let’s go” so obviously that she roles her eyes at him.

She doesn’t fight though. With one last glance at where the couple are now cuddled up on the couch, between a thick blanket, kissing and laughing like teenagers, she follows him out into the hallway.

“Jesus christ” Steve says, the second they stop, “what was that?”

“I think” The woman chuckles, “That’s proof that even after being brainwashed for the last hundred years, your old pal, still has more game than you-”

“Very funny, Nat” Steve mutters, “I’m being serious-”

“-So am I-” she counters, “-I think it’s pretty obvious what that was”

“But they-”

“-are both consenting adults, Steve” she says, “and since Y/N will probably try and kill us if she finds out we’ve spent the past 10 minutes watching her through this mirror, I’d say we forget all about what we saw”

He gawks at her for a minute, before realising that she’s right. Y/N has a temper to rival her brothers, and, despite the fact that their intentions had been pure, the invasion of privacy isn’t something he’s likely be able to talk his way out of.

Eventually, he nods.

“Yeah…” he agrees, “Yeah, you’re right, Nat but.. this, this is Bucky, I mean- he, he nearly put himself through a wall when I pat him on the back the other day, and now he’s-”

“Curling up with Tony’s little sister like a lap dog” she says bluntly.

That sounds so ridiculous that Steve finds himself sighing. It only takes him half a heart-beat for Tony to enter his mind.

Suddenly, he’s panicked.

“Oh, oh god, Tony”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“He tried to kill him— He’s still-”

“-in his defence, Barnes did assassinate his pare-”

“Nat” Steve bursts, not caring for the humour in her tone, “if he finds out-”

“Y/N will deal with it” the red head says calmly, “I for one, am not going to get in-between any family drama those two could cook up”

That sounds fair, it’s not settling his nerves, though.

Eventually the woman takes pity on him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder

“Look” she exhales, “I’ve known Y/N a long time, she’s good, she’s really, good— okay? and from what you say, Barnes is a pretty okay guy, too?”

He nods, barely looking at her.

“So” she says, “I say, we leave them alone. If this becomes anythin’ that Tony finds out about, then we’ll deal with it, but until that happens, there’s no sense in interfering, not when they’re clearly trying to keep things quiet.”

She meets his eyes until he folds, gulping and nodding again.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

With another brief exchange, they part ways. Both agreeing to meet up later that night to go through some paper work for a job they’d be working on that weekend.

It’s dark when they both perch themselves at a desk in one of the studies, and it’s even darker when they sign the final document, having gone through every sentence, making sure it lines up with the tactical plans they’d drawn up that morning.

They’re about to split, and turn in for the night, when they hear a door opening down the hall.

Their eyes meet, and Steve knows she’s come to the same, split second conclusion as he has.

“Tony’s back” he says, hoping, praying, that he’s wrong about where the sound has come from.

Instead of a verbal reply, Natasha walks quickly in the direction of the mirror they’d been spying through earlier.

“Maybe they’ve moved?” he says following her, “or maybe that’s not-”

“Shit” she hisses, nodding to where the couple are still curled up together across the couch, “He’s-“

Steve’s about to cut her off in a panic, when they see the billionaire enter the room through the same door that Y/N had used the last time they were watching.

There’s a horrible silence as both of them survey the scene, weighing up what they should do.

It feels awfully like they’re about to see something terrible unfold. Steve is about to launch himself through the hidden entrance, when Tony does something that makes him have to hold onto the wall for support.

The man looks at where his sister, and Barnes are sleeping, before reaching down, to grab the blanket that has slipped to around their waists, and then, he pulls it up, silently tucking it in around both of their bodies.

Natasha is slack-jawed as they watch him leave, without as much as a word to anybody.

Minutes pass, and Steve is still just blinking dumbly.

“Well shit” Nat says, almost laughing, “Guess we don’t have to worry ‘bout Tony.”

The next day, Steve is partially convinced that everything he’d witnessed had been some kind of strange dream.

Infact, if it hadn’t been for Natasha sniggering at his vacant expression from behind her coffee, he’d have sworn it had been a delusion.

They’re both sat at the kitchen bar when Y/N comes in, wearing clean work-out clothes, hair tied back into a pony tail.

She beams at Nat, and then at Steve before making a bee-line for the espresso machine behind them.

“Mornin’ ” Romanoff greets, “Sleep well?”

Steve widens his eyes, as the younger woman nods, making a quiet noise in the base of her throat.

“Well enough” she replies, flicking some switches and arranging her mug, “You?”

Natasha nods pleasantly as Bucky wonders into the room.

He looks good, Steve notes. He looks much better than he has for the rest of the week.

“Coffee, Buck?” Y/N asks, already turning away from him, to grab an extra cup.

“Please, darlin’…” he says, coming to a slow stop by Steve’s side, “..Black -“

“-two sugars” she finishes with a scoff, “It’s the same every day, I think I’ve got it memorised.”

He doesn’t reply, but Steve tilts his head as he catches him grinning at the counter.

“Thank you” he mumbles, as she passes him his mug, before turning to finish making her own.

“You’re quiet today, Cap?” she notes, when she’s done, “you feelin’ alright?”

Steve feels his cheeks burning red as all eyes land on him.

Even Bucky is watching him curiously.

“Fine” he says, aiming for calm, “Just, thinkin’-”

“Don’t do that” Y/N mock scolds, “you might hurt yourself.”

The laughter he hears at his side makes his jaw drop open.

Bucky’s genuine chuckling is something that is so familiar that it takes him a minute to remember why it’s surprising to him at all.

Y/N just smiles, turning away again as Tony walks in.

He’s apparently ignorant to the way the atmosphere changes when he appears, he paws at his goatie before pressing a kiss against his sister’s head, and nudging her out of the way of the coffee.

“How was dinner?” she asks absentmindedly, “Get the answer you wanted?”

“The answer we wanted”

“The answer we wanted” she agrees.

“Sure I did” Tony chirps, merrily adding milk to his coffee, “What about you, did you have a successful night in?”

Steve feels his breath catching in his throat in the beat it takes Y/N to answer.

“Sure I did” she says, rummaging around by the stove.

“Did you get up to much?” Natasha asks, tone almost smug.

Steve thinks about kicking her under the bar, but he decides that’s probably more noticeable than the line of questioning she’s pursuing.

Plus, she’d definitely break his nose.

“No” Y/N admits, cracking eggs into a bowl, “I said it was successful, not productive.”

Bucky chuckles at that, though the sound is significantly more tempered than it had been before Tony’s entrance.

Natasha turns to stare at him for a moment, and Steve can’t help but clear his throat.

“To be honest” The younger Stark sighs, whisking her mix now, “I turned in pretty early, but I guess I was tireder than I’d thought”

“You’ve been burnin’ yourself out in the labs” Tony agrees, tone softer than before, “I keep tellin’ ya-”

“You can’t say shit about spendin’ too much time in the labs” she cuts in, “Do ya’ll want blueberries in these?”

Steve blinks confused as she gestures to the food she’s preparing.

“Pancakes?” Natasha asks, “Or muffins?”

“ Pancakes, Nat- it’s nine thirty in the morning.”

“Like that matters” Tony mutters dryly, before ducking away from the wooden spoon she goes to swat him with, “Okay-O- Okay!”

“Okay, what?” she laughs, easing up “am I adding the berries or not?”

“Yeah” Nat answers before Tony opens his mouth, “Blueberry sounds good”

Satisfied, Y/N turns her back on the others, and sets about preparing the food.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know” Steve says, “Cook for us, I mean”

“I know” she chirps pleasantly, still not facing him.

“She’s practicing her house wife skills, aren’t ya’, Stark?” Natasha teases, flicking him a glance that he takes to mean she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“I think that’d be called ‘home making’” Y/N replies, cool as ever, arranging a pan, “and, what, would make ya’ think I need practice?”

Her gaze is almost smug as she turns it onto the redhead. Who suddenly looks as though she’s been caught.

“You’re going to burn those, for a start” Tony interjects, nudging her out of the way to fuss over the stove, “why do I even bother, huh? I keep the refrigerator stocked with pre-made, over-processed junk specifically so we don’t need to coo-”

“I don’t think eatin’ the chemicals in that stuff all the time is a good-”

“I don’t think” he chuckles, “that we can say anythin’ about the damage chemicals can do to someone”

She flicks the two super soliders a courteous look, before laughing along with her brother, shaking her head and passing him a spatula.

“We” she says, “had nothin’ to do with that. I for one would’ve drawn the line at human experimentation.”

Tony shrugs.

“I’d have probably drawn the line at the flyin’ car”

She laughs again, and Steve can’t help but notice the way even Bucky is grinning at the siblings interaction.

“Either way” Y/N agrees, “I don’t want to consume something with that many E numbers in more than 8 times per week, thank you very much.”

“8?” Nat asks, “Why draw the line that far down?”

She shrugs, pulling out a bottle of syrup, and grabbing the plates, seemingly pleased with the way that her brother has taken over the responsibility of cooking.

“Because even though it’s bad for me, I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy it.”

Tony snorts, and she tilts her head at the way Steve is watching her.

He suddenly feels the need to get to know her better. He’d never payed her much attention, really, outside of the fact that she was a genius, with an arrogance to rival her brothers, her working for SHEILD as an agent had never filled him with a desire to interact with her much, even though she was nothing but outwardly pleasant towards him.

“He’s thinking” Y/N says, in response to Tony questioning the blonde man’s gawking, “He’s been doin’ a lot of it this mornin’”

“You wanna be careful with that” he says, “You might-”

“Hurt myself.” Steve cuts in, rolling his eyes, “I’ve heard.”

The duo laugh together again, before returning their joint attention to the breakfast they’re preparing.

It all seems strangely domestic, especially with the playful bickering and the way that Tony keeps nudging his sisters’ side.

Even Bucky seems relatively settled, even if he does shift uncomfortably in his seat when Y/N passes him a plate.

“I’m eatin’ in the lab” Tony announces, when he clicks onto the man’s reluctance.

Barnes’ cheeks are very red. He looks as though he might object, but before he gets the chance, the older Stark meets his eyes;

“You’re fine.” he says, in a tone that brokers no discussion.

Y/N pecks her brothers cheek, before either he can continue or Bucky could think of a way to respond.

The affectionate act seems to snap the awkwardness of the atmosphere. Tony, paws at his goatie, beaming at the woman, before telling her that he’ll be ready to go over their plans by noon.

She agrees, eagerly, before sitting herself at the bar, opposite the others, directly across from the former solider, who still looks more than a little uncertain.

“Eat” she murmurs, before grabbing her mug, “anyone doin’ anythin’ fun today?”

Her question draws a scoff from Natasha, who reminds her about the briefing she is also supposed to be attending.

“We went over the papers last night.” Steve tells her, “We, uh— didn’t make any tactical changes-”

“Did you get all this done before, or after you decided to spy on us?”

Bucky swallows. Looking at her, before averting his attention very deliberately back on his meal.

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