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notjustjavierpena · 3 months

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Diner

A/N: My first darkfic and based on that one picture of Pedro in Freaky Tales. READ THE TAGS!!!!

Summary: You get more than you paid for during your visit to a roadside diner.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, degrading language, condescending language, blood and violence, threats of violence, forced masturbation, forced orgasm, forced creampie, reader does NOT enjoy this!

Word count: 3.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52941784

Diner

Something about roadside diners makes you feel like you are in an alternate universe. It starts the second that you step out of your car and onto the asphalt, a weird sensation of not being in the real world overtaking you as you listen to the cars drive by at a dizzying speed. There are a few cars here already, but you suspect that most of them belong to the people staying at the motel just next to the small and informal restaurant instead of people eating dinner. It is late after all, so late that you can see you are just in time for a coffee before they close.

You’ve been driving home in the summer heat for your sister’s wedding, crossing state lines for days now to make it in time, and it means quick dinners, cheap coffee, and sleeping in your car. At this point, you’ve actually come to like the greasy fried food and the coffee that almost resembles tar with how strong it is. It helps you regulate your body temperature in the car, forcing you to cool down because it’s scalding hot in your stomach.

A tiny bell rings as you walk through the door. The checkered tile floor seems slightly sticky as you move through the place with the taste of stale coffee already present on your tongue as if the setting has triggered a memory. You notice the single customer sitting in a booth along the window, all broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up as he eats two slices of toast with eggs and bacon, but you don’t think much of the man as much as you think about eating breakfast foods at night. It’s always oddly satisfying, weirdly rebellious.

You squeeze in between two chairs from the line along the counter. You brush away a few granules of sugar from it, smiling slightly as you are approached by what you assume is the only staff at this time.

“Just coffee?” The lady behind the counter asks as she notices you not looking at the menu and not checking out the pie underneath a glass dome to your left.

“That’d be great,” you reply.

“And no milk or nothin’?” She continues.

You shake your head no and look around at nothing of importance the second she walks away to start up the coffee machine. It gurgles a few moments later.

Behind you, the man has finished his meal. He gets out of the booth to use the restroom, leaving you to sip your coffee alone with the waitress who makes no effort to start up a conversation with you (then again, you don’t start chatting with her either).

Time passes. The song playing from the radio in the background ends. The stranger reemerges and shakes his hands dry on his way to his table again. He doesn’t sit but instead carries his plate to the counter.

“Thanks, Doris, great like always,” he smiles, turning to you briefly to acknowledge your presence. He nods in greeting.

“Anytime, Joel,” Doris blinks at him, batting her lashes. She is clearly infatuated, and you can understand why; the two of them seem to be about the same age. Joel is tall with broad shoulders in an open flannel with a t-shirt underneath, his hands look rough and used to hard labor, and his hair is slicked back by what you don’t know whether is gel or sweat but it looks like he has run his fingers through it several times today.

“Well, I’m off, see ya tomorrow,” he turns to go gather his things at the table where he has been eating. You think nothing more of it.

“Anything else, honey?” Doris asks and you shake your head.

“No thanks,” you say politely, “I’m all good.”

“I’ll have my smoke break then,” she states, untying her apron and hanging it on the wall only to proceed to dig out a package of cigarettes from the pocket on the front, “You can just leave the money on the counter when you leave.”

And then it’s just you and Joel and an eerie feeling settles in your stomach at being alone with a man you don’t know, especially in between cities and even moreso at night.

You glance over your shoulder to watch him carefully but he is just picking through his wallet to leave a tip on the table. You look straight ahead again and shake your head at how ridiculous you feel about your anxiety, rolling your eyes at how you could think such things about someone who is having eggs at midnight.

Still, something feels wrong. You steal another glance over your shoulder and see the table with the empty plate, and the crumbled bill beside it. What you don’t see is Joel, which is weird because you haven’t heard the bell from the door being opened and clo-

A rough hand settles on the back of your neck. It grips you hard until it hurts, causing you to crane your neck and gasp loudly into the room. Joel’s voice makes your skin crawl, “Fuck, you are pretty.”

You hear a deep inhale through the nose followed by a satisfied sigh, “Smell pretty too. Been driving all day alone?”

“What are you doing?” You are frozen to the spot. He has trapped you between the counter, two barstool chairs, and himself. The hand holding you in place is uncomfortable but mostly, its iron grip has started to make you lightheaded due to his thumb and index finger pressing into your carotid artery. It makes you not want to move in case he grabs harder.

“I just realized that I haven’t had dessert in a while ‘n’ pie just doesn’t seem to cut it,” he replies, breathing labored already from how he has control over what your body can or cannot do. The words make you squirm but you still, for some reason, haven’t thought about screaming for help.

“No,” your voice quivers and bravely you try to decline the offer, “I don’t want that. Please.”

“Afraid you’ll like it too much?” You can feel he has moved his head closer, can feel the smirk in his voice. You feel sick like you might actually puke if you weren’t working on an empty stomach.

“Doris’ll come back,” you reason.

“She’s closing up in ten,” he laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard, “She’ll use every second of those ten minutes to have what she considers fresh air but I don’t think we need much longer, do you?”

You whimper, and then suddenly you’re on the move but it’s not by yourself. No. Joel is hauling you backward, moving you around like you weigh nothing, and causing your feet to stumble several times. However, he doesn’t seem bothered by your clumsiness caused by terror, just uses a bit more force until he can shove you down onto an empty table.

That’s when you feel panic starting to rise in your body. You start thrashing, grabbing at whatever you can reach on the table to throw it down onto the floor and make a racket. You cry too, shock setting in and causing tears to flow desperately as emotions become too much. This is it, you think, this is what prey must feel when they’re trying to escape.

Joel growls in anger, holding you roughly in place so your efforts are to no avail, “Shut the fuck up. Stop crying.”

You absolutely don’t. That is until your forehead and nose connect with the surface of the table. Joel has pushed you on the back of your head so harshly that your face has been violently knocked down onto the table, and it hurts, prickling in your nostrils and nausea settling more in your stomach. The impact makes you feel dizzy enough to not continue fighting him.

A sudden taste of iron fills your mouth. You are bleeding from your nose, you realize, and it replaces the salty taste of your tears and drips onto the surface of the table. Pathetically, you try grabbing at anything in front of you and you end up smearing the bloodstains across the white. It’s not the sight that makes you gag but the fact that Joel seems aroused by it.

“Relax,” he responds to your whine, “‘tis just a bit of blood.”

But that’s not what causes your noise. It’s the position you are in; it makes your ass stick out and Joel’s crotch rests against it whilst he reaches out for your hair, bunching it up in his strong hand and creating a makeshift ponytail to tug on. You try to make sense of what is happening but all you can focus on is how big he seems in his jeans, rock hard against you as he yanks your head up by the hair. It may be your foggy mind’s way of protecting yourself from realizing what this is, particularly because you had a brief thought earlier about how nice his hands would feel if they touched you. They feel horrible.

When he straightens behind you, his free hand starts tugging on your pants. He is rough in his movements but careful enough to make sure that nothing rips, knowing he shouldn’t leave evidence of your ravish behind.

“Please,” you slur with desperation.

“No begging now,” he purposely misunderstands, “I’ll give you what you need real soon, sweetheart.”

When your pants sit around your knees, he lets the hand go down between your legs. Your mind is suddenly very clear.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks with a dark smile evident in his voice. His hand skims along the inside of your thigh, and you feel your feet trying to move away. His fingertips are so close to where you don’t want them. He kicks your ankles hard enough to make you unable to breathe, unable to balance on your feet so you can’t even try to flee.

You whimper in reply.

The satisfied growl he lets out sends a shiver down your spine, cold sweat making you feel lightheaded.

“No,” you finally manage to stutter out, trying to convince yourself that replying is going to make the heartbeat in your chest less intense as you’ve made yourself less interesting to him. Instead, you realize that you have only disappointed him.

“Just when I got my hopes up,” he tuts, suddenly palming your cunt through your underwear. You want to scream and cry but somehow, you simply cannot and it dawns on you that your body is too scared of making him furious to do your most instinctive act of fighting back, “Can’t say I’m happy, but I am surprised at having a whore on my hands. Wait till I tell the guys back home ‘bout you, they’ll be so envious.”

His fingers curl around the fabric of your panties. He tugs them down your thighs and the fabric snaps at the violent yanks that he does. It was only the pants, you think, it was only those that needed to be saved for keeping up appearances.

The way the skin of his hand touches your bare thighs feels like fire, and you don’t know whether to feel relief that nothing has happened yet or become hysterical when your underwear sits around your knees too; you know the rest, know what he is about to do and now, you just have to wait for it to be over.

And then briefly, it’s gone but you don’t dare think that he might have changed his mind but when you lift your head, you can see him in the reflection of the window, sucking on his own fingers to wet them until they’re shiny with saliva.

“Stay still,” he commands, and the hand on the back of your neck slides down so he can rest his forearm on the small of your back to still hold you down. His wetted fingers go right between your legs to search for your clit, and he presses down on it until you let out a whimper from a sudden state of arousal slowly taking over your body.

He rubs you off for a few minutes where you fight every single nerve in your body to not enjoy it but suddenly you let out your first involuntary moan, pussy starting to wet against your will and shame setting in. You rest your cheek against the table, tears sliding down over your nose as you occasionally moan helplessly. Your poor treacherous body burns deep below your navel, and the tingling in your core makes you think that maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad.

“That’s it,” he says in a gentle voice, a tone that makes you hold back a gag, “Knew you wanted it, just needed a little encouragement.”

“Please,” you sob, “I can pay you.”

“I don’t want cash,” he replies simply, sliding his digits through your slick, “I want you, sweetheart, and it seems this pussy wants me too.”

Joel’s fingers leave you and you hear him suck his fingers clean with a hum. The air feels cool against your swollen cunt which is so wet by now that you start to believe, albeit barely, that a part of you wants this. How can you say you don’t when you are close to dripping?

“I’m gonna let go of you now but if you try anything, I’ll cut your fucking tits off with a steak knife, got it?” Joel’s threat doesn’t seem empty.

You nod, paralyzed, and he stretches. You shiver at the sound of his belt unbuckling and his zipper being pulled down. There’s a bit of shuffling and then you feel the blunt head of his dick poking into your ass.

He doesn’t waste his time it seems, because he rubs the tip through your wetness and starts to breach you. Color drains from your face at the realization of his size.

“No, no no no,” you pant as he pushes into you. He teases you open but only at first; you let out a sharp cry as he enters you fully and with no warning. The head had been a warning of how big he was going to be but now that he is sheathed inside of you to the brim, you feel like nothing could have ever prepared you for his size even if you had wanted him. He kisses your cervix, splits you open, and your cunt clenches in an attempt to push him out and pull him in.

“Fuck,” he moans and draws out the word, “Tight heaven.”

He fucks you like a ravenous animal and you turn into a helplessly moaning mess, held down to the point where your hips are hurting against the table because Joel uses all of his weight to pleasure himself with you.

His fingers dig into your hips enough to bruise and his zipper gnaws into the back of your thigh. You have never taken anyone as big as him before, and it’s almost an out-of-body experience to be stretched out again and again by him. He swears above you, rhythm faltering, every time you accidentally find a shred of pleasure in his thrusts.

You feel fucked out of your mind but you are stuck there, having to take each bruising thrust that sends pain shooting through your body each time Joel’s cock bumps the back of your cunt (which is every other crash of his hips due to his size).

“Ah,” you whimper shamefully when he nudges against your g-spot. It takes some of the pain away, and soon, you let out a breathless gasp. Would you actually enjoy him if circumstances had been different? If he’d chatted you up and booked a room at the motel next door?

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut. It leaves you to focus on the way that your cunt squelches from your wetness, how Joel grunts behind you as he continues driving into you.

“Listen to that, you really think your whore-pussy would sound like that if you didn’t want this?” He taunts.

“No, Joel,” you say without any tone to your voice.

“You wanna come, sweetheart? Touch yourself,” he pulls you back by your hips a little until you are able to move your hand to your crotch. His thrusts relent and bring you relief from your throbbing and pained muscles. You don’t move, and he grows impatient and cruel. You almost want to laugh at the contrast of his next line but you find yourself too scared of the unknown, “You think you get a choice here, you little bitch? Do it now.”

Reluctantly, your hand slides down between your legs but you still feel relief as you start touching yourself. In the moment, you try to remind yourself of what you like to do when it’s just you alone and you find that your cunt stirs with interest. It’s followed by a string of ahs as you begin to actually enjoy it, circling your clit with determination to finish.

“That’s it, wanna feel you milk me,” his breath is more ragged now. He is close you realize, and he is not going to pull out.

It feels shameful when you make yourself come, cunt setting off into spasms that should feel beautiful but just makes you hate yourself for enjoying the way they make you feel. You moan louder than intended, completely at the mercy of the pleasure that has been built up deep inside of you and is now coursing through your nervous system.

Joel seems to understand your conflict, radiating claustrophobic warmth as he speeds up his hips as if he is using your body to masturbate with you. His voice is breathy as he talks, he sounds nearly on the edge of coming, “Shh… It’s supposed to feel good. It should feel good.”

He finishes inside of you a moment later, warm and sticky with a looming threat of what could happen from this act. The groan he lets out is one you don’t think you will forget. He gives you his final thrusts, fucking you through each spurt of his cock, “Take it, oh fuck. Thaaat’s it.”

Time stands still after that. You don’t move despite him removing himself from you. Instead, you listen to him tugging himself back into his jeans, the rustling of the denim, and then the noise of his zipper and him buckling his belt.

After a moment more, his hands pull up off your shredded underwear and then he tugs your jeans up over your hips again. He hauls you up and holds your arms tightly so you don’t fall over once more. You don’t look at him and it seems to infuriate him. With a strong grip around your jaw, he forces your head towards him, “Hey, look at me.”

When you still don’t, he shakes your head a little, “Eyes here.”

You eventually follow through, vision blurry from how much you have cried. He scans your face, “You don’t tell anyone about this or I swear. I don’t usually hunt down pretty girls like you but I will. You go into your car and you drive away. I’ll watch you from here. Got it?”

Your body aches as you nod but your expression is blank, even when Joel pushes you out of his grip so you stumble and even when you see him stuff your panties into his pocket.

“Go,” he snaps when you’re still immovable.

You don’t know how but suddenly, you’re walking out the door, barely noticing where your feet hit the ground, and doing exactly what he has said. You probably shouldn’t even be driving let alone on the highway but you do until you feel nothing at all except his come dripping from your aching cunt.

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#pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #my writing

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ekat-fandom-blog · 9 months

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It was Jazz's 18th birthday. Finally. She was so excited. Her, Danny, Mom, and Dad were going to stay up until 12:15 AM in order to know if she has a soulmate or not. Mom and Dad were. (Not that they flaunted it much. They forgot that others didn't just know.) She really hoped she had one, too.

It had been a great day. Tucker and Sam came over to give her presents. The food didn't come back to life. Everything they ate was actually edible. The presents were just what she wanted. Mom and Dad didn't even disappear to work on things downstairs. It was too good to be true. Anxiety started to well up inside of her. Everything had been great so far, so there had to be something that would go wrong.

But nothing went wrong. It was going so smoothly, Mom and Dad had commented on it. It was 5 minutes to 12 and still nothing had happened that would make this day less than perfect.

The thought struck her then: What if she didn't have a soulmate? It was very much possible. Not everyone had one. She knew Tucker's and Sam's parents didn't have soulmates. She knew that even though her parents were soulmates, it didn't mean she would. She knew that having a soulmate was a chance.

She'd always been so certain she'd have one, though. That she'd be in her body at 11:59 PM on the night of her 18th birthday and be in her soulmate's at 12 AM. She'd been certain that she'd spend 24 hours trying to figure out who her soulmate was and how to find them. She'd been certain that she'd get to know some of their family and friends in those hours.

Now, she wasn't so certain. Now, she was scared that she'd been deluding herself with fairy tales for years. Now, she was nearly certain that she'd be facing disappointment when she opened her eyes.

...

When she opened her eyes? When did she close them?

Blinking open her eyes, she looked around. At first she had no idea what she was seeing. There were people around her. They were all wearing costumes for some reason.

"Zatanna?" The man closest to her asked in concern. "What happened, love?"

Her brain was moving pretty slow, but the only thing she could think of was that not only was her soulmate - Zatanna? - part of a strange cosplay group for characters she'd never heard of, but is probably going out with the greasy blonde dressed like a homeless person.

Her soulmate being in love with someone else wasn't something she'd considered, but it was enough to ruin her entire day.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #reverse psychology #reverse psychology ship #body swap au #dcxdc soulmate au #amity park has no info on the justice league or other heroes #whether that's because there's an information blackout #or because they're in two separate universes #or a secret third option #is up to you #also the reason they decided to stay up til 12:15 is because they to be there for if the swap happened #and explain who they were and where to whoever jazz's soulmate turned out to be

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robloxscrapbooking · 4 months

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#clear skies over milwaukee #roblox #tales from the greasy soos

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sassypossumm · 1 month

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Metanoia

You were just an average person, living an average life. That was until you were bit by some stupid spider three weeks ago. Now you're getting pestered by your nosey brother and trying to keep that pesky Spider Society at bay. And if you could just stop secreting deadly venom that would be great. The ups and downs of being your worlds one and only black widow variety of a Spider Woman. Or if you rather, the tale of two idiot hard asses being terrible at feelings.

If this picks up traction, Migs and Y/N are both gonna be super bad at feelings but I'll just say, the spider mating... EPIC... so if you like, let me know!!! (This part is mostly world building, Migs makes a cameo appearance at the end though!)

Word Count: 3,726

Hey.

You're not answering your texts.

I'm going to assume that you're dead.

I got pizza.

Ok you're definitely dead.

Todd's asking about you.

Ok that was a lie. If it makes you feel better he's been on a bender since thursday...

And by thursday I mean two thursdays ago

This had been going on for the past three weeks. Ever since you'd went off the grid.

Wade texted. Todd drank. You sat alone in your apartment. Currently you sat eyeing your phone warily. Wade went radio silent two days ago, and that made you nervous.

It was never good when your idiot brother didn't pester you. Shaking your head, you sighed and turned your phone off. No use staring at a blank phone screen, waiting to ignore the texts that weren't going to come. Flopping back on the mattress you stretched the kinks out of your legs and glanced to the side, trying to ignore the foul odor coming from your closet.

With a groan you sat up and for the first time really looked around your apartment. It was filthy. Running a hand through your greasy hair, you paused to look at the mousy ends. Your surroundings were a grody reflection of how you felt on the inside. Your eyes flicked again to the closet door that was slightly ajar and you instinctively itched at an aggravated red bite mark on your arm.

In all honesty, you hadn't gone radio silent simply over what had occurred between yourself, Wade, and Logan.

There was another reason.

Looking away from the closet door you flexed your jaw and groaned. The feeling of filth crawling across your skin won in the end, and after a week of nesting in your mound of blankets and pillows, you rolled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. Shuffling past the mirror you shucked off your nightshirt and tossed it on the floor. You didn't have to look at your reflection to know that you looked exactly how you felt. Like dog shit.

Turning on the water, you stepped in the shower and hissed at the practical ice that hit your back. Cursing yourself for not waiting, you angrily turned the knob until the water came streaming out at an unbearable temperature. Anything to feel something.

If you'd checked your phone before deciding to DIY a molten skin peel in the shower, you'd have seen the pivotal text.

Im coming over

Your skin was a brilliant vermillion hue by the time the pipes began squealing in protest, and you quickly turned off the water before receiving another beautiful blast of frigid water to the face. The faucet continued dripping, and you scrubbed your hair dry to the steady sound.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Bang! Bang!

You jumped, hitting your head on the shower wall and hissed. Your front door was none too gently flung open, and you scrambled for anything to defend yourself, huffing when your hands landed on the plunger. It would have to do. Slinking behind the door, you crouched as the distinct sound of heavy footsteps came down the narrow hall towards the bathroom. You tensed and readied to defend yourself.

"Sis?"

Wade.

You slumped against the wall, exhaling heavily and dropped the plunger.

"Sis?" The bathroom door slowly creaked open.

"I'm naked you idiot!" You screamed, slamming it shut. Wade swore on the other side. You sighed and rested your forehead heavily against the flimsy wood. "Why didn't you call?!"

"I texted." He sounded defensive. Banging your head against the door you groaned.

"Let me get dressed." Wade shuffled back down the hallway to give you space, and you waited until his footsteps faded and you were certain he was in the living room before inching the door open. Peeking out and seeing the hallway empty, you quickly tip toed back to your room.

And hissed.

You didn't have any clean clothes. Your eyes darted around the filthy room until finally landing on something vaguely brownish in the corner. Snatching it up, you gave it an exploratory sniff.

"Clean enough." You grumbled, yanking it over your head and trudged back to the bathroom to wrap your still dripping hair in a towel. Pausing in front of the mirror you groaned. To your growing mortification, you realized that this brown... thing had been the gag gift you'd received at last year's Dirty Santa party. Staring back at you was the demented face of that planter's peanut, and under it... Goofy Goober. "Just great." You muttered, tugging at the hem of the shirt and reluctantly headed towards the living room.

Wade sat sprawled out on your ratty old couch and perked up when he heard your footsteps. Looking up, he noticed your shirt and smirked.

"Kinky." You merely rolled your eyes and folded your arms, leaning against the door frame.

"Why are you here, Wade?" He fidgeted with his phone, and tossed it on the couch, nervously rubbing his palms on his thighs.

"We, I was worried about you."

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine." You gestured to your surroundings with more confidence than you felt. Wade glanced around and looked back at you with a raised brow.

"Yeah, as fine as Todd." You tensed.

"Don't mention him." Pulling away from the frame, you shuffled to the kitchenette and rinsed out a mug. Wade followed you and sat at the small folding table.

"We've all been trying to reach you." He said gingerly, folding his hands and twiddling his thumbs.

"I know." You filled the mug with water and popped it into the microwave. "And I thought it was obvious I wanted to be left alone." You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know that Wade bristled at that. Good. You thought bitterly.

"I'm worried about-"

"You lost the right to be worried about my well-being when I caught you railing my boyfriend in my apartment, Wade!" Your voice sounded tinny even in your own ears, but you didn't back down as you stared down at your brother bitterly. Wade's eyes shuttered and he opened his mouth to protest, but at your heated glare he backed down.

"It was a shitty move." He whispered.

I'm sorry.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" You responded.

You're an idiot.

"Yeah." He met your eyes. Nodding woodenly, you rinsed out another mug and stiffly went through the rote motions of making two cups of coffee. The instant stuff. It wasn't good, but it was cheap. Plopping the mugs on the collapsable table, you sat heavily in the folding chair, and took a sip of the rusty brew. Wade turned his cups in circles and stared into the black liquid. "No creamer?" His eyes flicked up to you. You shrugged and took another sip.

"Assholes don't get creamer." He winced.

"Fair enough." He muttered and drained half of the scalding coffee in one gulp. Wade looked at you over the rim of his cup and studied you, his eyes focusing in on the angry red mark that still lingered on your arm, even after three weeks. "How've you been?" He chanced to ask, hesitantly.

"Not great." You smiled tightly, and he couldn't miss the way your left eye slightly twitched.

"Have you gotten that checked out?" Wade gestured to the red mark, which you quickly covered with your free hand.

"It's fine, Wade." You hissed.

"You're hiding something." He narrowed his eyes. Your grip on the mug tightened, and the distinct sound of glass cracking could be heard. Coffee began spurting out of a large crack in the side of your mug, causing you to hiss again as the hot liquid hit your hand. Wade's brows raised and he jumped back with a loud, 'Woah!', when you growled again and flung the mug at the wall.

He wasn't taken aback by the blood covering your hand, rather it was your reaction that had him jumping up, knocking over his chair in the process. You were glowering down at your hand, jaw slightly unhinged and... something was dripping from your...

"Fangs?" He breathed, and your eyes shot up to meet his. "Yo!" He scrambled over himself, backing towards the couch. You stood stock still, hand still dripping blood, but you were something otherworldly in that moment. Your jaw had unhinged like a snake, and you indeed sported a pair of fangs that currently had some sort of venom dripping from them. Wade sat heavily on the couch, and you quickly came back to yourself, eyes clearing as you rushed to the sink to tend to the cut.

While you were busy running cold water over the cut, and squeezing out the blood that continuously oozed out, Wade sat in shock, running his hands through his hair. You glanced over your shoulder at him, nervously and turned off the water.

His head shot up, and you turned off the water as he stood and sniffed the air. Your heart stuttered to a stop.

He smelt it.

You'd become so accustomed to the stench; you'd taken for granted how horrid it was. Your horror grew as his eyes drifted down the hall towards your room. You followed his line of sight, and slowly your eyes met again. Wade's eyes narrowed and he glanced back down the hall, and then down at your hand, dripping blood again.

You rushed to grab a hand towel, and Wade strode to your room. Cursing under your breath, you wrapped your hand and tripped over yourself in a panic to cut him off.

No dice. Wade flung your door open, and you found him on the floor, staring into your closet dumbly.

The blood rushed to your head; your hands felt clammy. Reaching out a hand, you braced yourself against the doorframe and stared at your brother, staring at the box in your closet.

The box overflowing with dead pigeons.

Finally, he tore his eyes away from the grisly sight, and looked up at you, ashen faced.

"Wade." You choked out before everything went black.

You came to with a groan as a cold cloth was placed on your forehead. Cracking your eyes open slowly you realized you'd been moved to the couch. Groaning again you tried to sit up.

"Easy." Wade admonished quietly, helping you into a sitting position, grabbing a throw pillow to prop behind your back.

"How long was I out?" You held the cloth to your forehead and gingerly felt the back of your head, breathing a sigh of relief when you didn't find a bump. Wade sat back and waived a hand dismissively.

"About five minutes." You nodded silently and closed your eyes, willing your head to stop spinning. Wade fidgeted and rubbed the back of his neck.

"So," He looked around the room before back at you hesitantly.

"So?" You opened one eye and considered him critically. Wade crossed his arms and raised a brow.

"We gonna talk about the you know... fangs and dead pigeons?" His leg bounced, and the corners of his lips lifted derisively. You flopped back against the couch.

"You are not seriously playing concerned big brother right now?!" You grumbled, covering your eyes with the cloth. "Hey!" You shouted when he yanked the cloth off your face. Shooting up, you glared at him and grabbed for the cloth, which he easily held out of your reach. "Give it back!" You huffed.

"Not until you start talking, Dracula." You narrowed your eyes and hissed. Wade tossed the cloth in your lap and folded his arms, nonplussed. Holding it to your forehead you again lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. "That gets old real fast."

"What does?" You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. Wade rolled his and leaned back in the folding chair he'd dragged over to the couch.

"The hissing thing. You sound like a deranged cat." He chuckled when you stuck your tongue out at him.

"If I weren't a lady, I'd tell you to get,"

"You're not a lady." He said dryly. You rolled over and propped yourself up on your elbow and pointed the limp rag at him.

"Fine. Get fucked." Pausing you sat up and looked at him with an exaggeratedly shocked expression. "Oh, wait... you already did. By my boyfriend."

"Ouch." He easily caught the rag you tossed at him. "Does it make you feel better to know you have excellent taste in men?" Your expression went flat, and you smiled thinly.

"Are you planning on trying out every man I bring home?" Wade visibly flinched and your brow twitched. "Aw, what's the matter, little sister's burns too much for you?" You taunted, sitting up and crossing your legs. He snorted and placed the rag on the back of his neck. You smiled widely, your newly acquired fangs flashing briefly, and your smile slipped when you saw the flash of apprehension on his face. He turned his attention from you back to your surroundings.

"I'm the last person to comment on someone's digs, but this place has really gone to shit, Y/N." Wade looked back at you, concern in his eyes. You frowned, and your tongue ran over your fangs thoughtfully. A new tick you'd picked up since they'd appeared. You were honestly a bit surprised that your tongue wasn't bloody and raw from as many times as you'd passed it over your sharpened incisors.

"Yeah, well, the last three weeks haven't exactly been a walk in the park, Wade." You uncrossed your legs and stood, snatching the rag out of his hand and headed towards the bathroom, Wade hot on your heels. Tossing the rag in the hamper, you turned to see Wade's attention had strayed to the cabinets over the toilet.

Your blood ran cold.

It was one thing for Wade to find your box of... experiments, as you called them. But you definitely didn't need him snooping further into your latest escapades.

"What's this?" Wade grabbed the black slip of fabric and held it up to examine it.

Too late.

You closed your eyes and grit your teeth, willing the rest of the world to dissolve. Just five minutes. Was that too much to ask? Five minutes of peace?

"Y/N?" You cracked an eye open to see him looking at you pointedly, holding up the garment for emphasis.

"It's nothing." You bit out, snatching the garment from his hands and stuffing it back into the cabinet, slamming it shut.

"It's clearly something." Wade folded his arms. "The fangs and hissing thing again, right?" Sighing you leaned against the bathroom wall in resignation.

"Yeah." You slumped to the floor and hugged your knees to your chest.

"What gives, kid?" He gave you a concerned look, sliding to the floor beside you. "Y/N?" Wade gently nudged your shoulder.

"I got bit." Smiling tightly, you looked sideways at him and shrugged. "I don't know, some crazy spider, I think."

"And that's when you went all 'Elvira mistress of the dark'?"

"Pretty much." Instinctively you itched the aggravated bite again.

"So, I shudder to ask, but what's up with the dead pigeons? Are you trying to create an army of zombie birds?"

"No, idiot." You cracked your first genuine smile in weeks.

"Then again, what gives?"

"Experiments." You offered simply. Wade raised a brow and leaned back to study you.

"You know that's giving major Frankenstein and his monster vibes, right?"

"Maybe I should just bite you to test my theory." You said drolly, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the grimy wall.

"What's this shady theory of yours?"

"Hmm?" Cracking one eye open you acknowledged him before closing it again. Wade scooted closer and nudged your knee with his.

"What's cooking in your noggin', Frankenstein?" You wrinkled your nose at the dig and sighed, turning to face him.

"I'm pretty sure the stuff I've been orally secreting,"

"Venom?"

"Yeah, venom," you hissed bitterly. "I'm fairly certain this venom, is poisonous, fatally so. At least to small animals."

"And you tested this theory out on little critters? That's kinda twisted, sis."

"Says the Merc with a mouth!" You punched his shoulder.

"Ouch!" Wade winced dramatically and rubbed his shoulder. "Easy, killer." Your face hardened and he instantly regretted his choice of words.

"Obviously I'm not going to risk finding out if my venom is fatal to an actual person."

"Why not?" He leaned forward, startlingly animated.

"You're joking?! You were just negging me for biting some pigeons. Little animals are off limits but whole people are fair game? That's twisted, big brother." Wade rolled his eyes and waived off your tirade.

"I'm not saying you should grab some rando off the street. I mean, hello! You've got the perfect test subject right here!" He gestured to himself.

"You want me to bite you?" You looked askance at him. Wade pulled a face and shrugged.

"Why not. If it's not fatal, no harm. If it is fatal, I'll regenerate anyways. It's a win win!" You folded your arms, unimpressed.

"You just want to get bit by a vampire." You folded your arms, unimpressed. Wade sighed heavily and scooted even closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"This is the closest I'm gonna get to that! Come on, sis, don't take this away from me!" He whined, jostling your body. You struggled against his grip, but Wade doubled down and gave you that insipid puppy dog pout you hated.

Naturally it didn't work on you, but you'd do anything to wipe it off of his face.

"Pest." You hissed, and turned, biting down on his neck harshly. Wade clenched his jaw as the venom burned hot through his veins. You pulled back hesitantly and wiped your mouth on the back of your arm and watched him. At first, he had no reaction beyond a light layer of sweat beading against his hairline.

He turned to look at you and opened his mouth when his eyes rolled back, and he twitched violently before going stiff and flopping over.

"Wade?" Your blood ran cold, and you reached out a shaky hand to touch his arm. He twitched again and you recoiled with a choked sound and scrambled on top of the toilet. Moments of sheer panic and dread passed as you watched his skin take on a grey pallor. It felt as though your heart might jump out of your chest.

Gingerly you climbed down from the toilet and inched closer to him until you were standing by his head.

"Wade?" You whispered shakily and nudged at his cheek with your foot.

He opened his eyes and gasped for air.

His hand reached out and clamped around your ankle.

You shrieked and kicked him in the face.

He grunted and roughly yanked your leg out from under you. Another shriek turned into a sharp exhale of air as your back made contact with the hard linoleum.

"Was that really necessary?" You growled, biting back a sound of pain.

"Says the woman who just killed me." He groaned, rubbing the side of his face. You turned your head to meet his eyes.

"You recovered." Wade barked out a short laugh.

"At least we know two things now." He rolled over and sat up with a grunt and offered you a hand.

"Yeah?" You took his hand, and he pulled you into a sitting position. "What have you deduced, Sherlock?" You stood and stretched out your back muscles and offered him a hand up. Wade took it and stumbled to his feet.

"That I'm never going near your feet again, and I'm gonna make sure not to piss you off in the future." He gestured to the puncture marks on his neck. You narrowed your eyes playfully and bared your teeth with a hiss. Wade held up his hands to shield himself and dodged you easily with a chuckle. "Oh, no, please, scary vampire lady!" Your smile faded and your eyes shuttered. "Aw, sis, I was just kidding." He wrapped an arm around your shoulder again and squeezed.

"I know." You offered a halfhearted smile and elbowed him gently in the ribs. "But all jokes aside, Wade, I'm a threat." You've seen, when I'm pissed it's hard to control. It's like I instinctually need to put something in my mouth." You groused, folding your arms. Wade smirked and coughed to cover a snort.

"I could do so many things with that statement." He snorted again. You rolled your eyes.

"You're disgusting, Wade." He opened his mouth to argue when there was a knock at the door. "Not again." You grumbled and marched to the door.

"What's not again?" Wade called out, and when you didn't respond he followed, curiosity leading him.

"The fourth time this month! I swear they won't leave me alone." Ignoring his presence, you grumbled to yourself as you stormed to the door, building steam as you went. Wade would've asked what you were so angry about, but his neck was still smarting, and he wasn't exactly jumping to have a repeat experience.

Grabbing the folding chair, Wade straddled it and folded his arms over the back. Reaching for the doorknob you whipped your head in his direction to glare at him.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here until intermission." He smirked and propped his chin on his folded arms.

He probably should've reminded your that you were still wearing that idiotic goofy goober sleeping shirt, but what the heck.

Gripping the doorknob, you yanked it open roughly, splinters flying back as the wood split with the force of your hand. Wade flinched.

"I told you I wasn't interested, Peter," Your anger instantly evaporated as you took in the giant of a man staring down at you stoically.

"Not Peter." His voice was flat, his expression unaltered as he stood there, arms folded. You took a step back and looked down, realized the knob was still in your hand.

"Great." You muttered, closing your eyes shut and squeezing the doorknob. You didn't have to look to know that you'd most likely ripped the door off its hinges. Again. Sighing deeply, you opened your eyes and forced a smile before turning back to the behemoth.

"Can I offer you a shitty cup of coffee?"

#wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv #atsv miguel #deadpool #wade wilson #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 x reader

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corroded-hellfire · 7 months

Text

Infestation, Oppression, Possession - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You warn Eddie about playing with a Ouija board, too bad he doesn’t listen.

Note: As a horror movie junkie, my personal favorites are the possession ones (esp The Conjuring, where the title of this comes from) so here’s a little Halloween horror starring Eddie

Warnings: playing with ouija board, possession, general spookiness because tis the season

Words: 2.7k

“Please promise me that you won’t play with it,” you beg your boyfriend. “They’re dangerous.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “Babe, it’s just a piece of wood with some paint on it. How could it be dangerous?”

You eye the Ouija board sitting on his bed, the planchette inconspicuously resting on top of it. There are no shortage of horror stories and cautionary tales warning people away from playing with such a dangerous game. You’ve spent the better part of the last hour relating these worries to Eddie, who seems to think nothing of them at all–or about the fact that he bought it to begin with. It doesn’t seem to matter how much the whole thing bothers you.

“You never know who or what you’re communicating with,” you tell Eddie. “You could be opening a portal for something evil.” “So, you think a demon is going to decide to come here to little ol’ Hawkins? And will want to possess me? I’m flattered.” Eddie raises his eyebrows and lets out a small chuckle. A groan slips from your lips as you rub your hands over your face in aggravation.

“Just…please,” you beg as you stand up from where you’re perched on Eddie’s amp. “For me? Just throw it out.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says as he takes a few steps over to you. He places his hands on your shoulders and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Relax, okay? I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you just–”

“Baby,” Eddie interrupts you. “Go to work, okay? I promise I’ll put it away.”

“You should throw it away,” you say sternly. “Or burn it. You’d have fun doing that, I know.”

Eddie chuckles and presses another kiss to your head. He slips his arms around you and tugs you against his chest. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay. Just go to work and try and forget all about it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, pulling out of his arms. “Serving greasy burgers to angry truckers is really going to take a load off my mind.”

Calloused fingers gently grip your chin and tilt your head up. Soft but chapped lips press against your own and you close your eyes as you lean into the kiss.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers against your mouth.

“I love you, too.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” Eddie assures you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Bright and early with two coffees.”

“Make sure you don’t drink half of mine before you get to my house this time,” you say as you swipe one of your boyfriend’s hoodies from where it’s sprawled across his desk.

“No promises,” Eddie tells you as you slip the sweatshirt on over your head.

You press one last kiss to his lips, avoiding looking at the devil board on his bed, before heading out to work.

Eddie huffs a laugh to himself once you’ve left. He’s surprised that you’re so worried about the Ouija board. Usually, you’re so cool and collected, always logical and tactful in your way of thinking. It’s not like you to believe in some silly superstition. Maybe it’s just getting too close to Halloween, Eddie thinks as he picks up the board and planchette. Corroded Coffin should be by in about twenty minutes for a songwriting session, but first, Eddie thinks, perhaps the guys will have some fun and try to scare one another.

The next night, Eddie’s lounging on his bed, guitar perched on his lap as he strums a few new chords that the band came up with last night. His amp is on since Wayne isn’t home, turned down just enough so the neighbors won’t complain. Fingers glide over the strings as Eddie plays around with the sounds of a possible new song. A beautiful melody flows to meet Eddie’s ears, but the moment he lets his eyes slip closed to lose himself in the music, the amp cuts out.

The sudden silence has Eddie sitting up and frowning at the amp in confusion. Gently setting his sweetheart down on the bed, he leans over to fiddle with the controls on the amp. It’s still turned on, all the dials are set just as they should be, so why did it go quiet? Eddie pushes himself off the bed to make sure the plug hasn’t come loose. A deeper frown etches on Eddie’s forehead as he sees the plug snugly in place in the outlet.

“Stupid old trailer,” Eddie grumbles as he gets down on his knees. “God damn electric problems.”

The outlet above the one the amp is plugged into has Eddie’s lamp connected to it–the same lamp that’s currently on and shining brightly next to his bed. Yanking both cords from the wall, Eddie tries putting the lamp’s plug into the bottom outlet, just to make sure that’s what isn’t working. The moment the prongs snap into the wall though, the light illuminates his dark room again.

“What the fuck,” Eddie mutters under his breath. He switches the lamp back to the top outlet and puts the amp back into the bottom one. “This amp is new, what the hell? Stupid piece of–”

Earsplitting feedback abruptly rings out through the amp, causing Eddie to fall back on his ass and cover his ears. Heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Eddie stares at the amp with wide eyes. The racket only lasts five seconds, but it’s enough to freak Eddie out.

“O-Okay…” Eddie says as he pushes himself back to his feet. The room is quiet once again. The lamp is on, his guitar is still nestled against his pillow, and the amp sits there inconspicuously on the stained carpet.

“Jesus, this place is a shithole,” Eddie says, trying to convince himself it’s just some faulty wiring in his old home. He sits back down on his bed and the moment he grips the neck of his sweetheart, the bleating sound of the phone ringing in the hallway has him jumping out of his skin. Once his mind registers what the new noise is, Eddie laughs at himself as he sets his guitar back down and heads toward the phone. “You’re a wuss, Munson. Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, keep your pants on. Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie,” your cheerful voice greets through the phone.

“Hi, babe. Hmm, I take back what I just said then.”

“What?” you ask.

“I told whoever was on the phone to keep their pants on as I walked down the hall. I take that back now.” You can practically hear the smirk on your boyfriend’s face.

“Who said I’m even wearing any?” you tease.

“I’m listening.”

The mystery of the faulty sound equipment quickly fades from Eddie’s head.

Eddie huffs as he uses a flashlight to look through the pantry. The damn lights in the trailer are flickering like crazy and it’s driving Eddie up the wall. At first, he’d thought it was just the lights in his room, but it seemed to follow him down the hall and into the living room as well.

Searching for something to eat, the aggravation only hits a new high when the flashlight in Eddie’s hands also starts flickering.

“Okay, what the actual fuck?” Eddie demands. He bangs the flashlight against his palm and the beam becomes steady once more. “Thank you.”

As if the lights heard his pleasure, they all turn off at once–even the flashlight.

“Are you shitting me?” Eddie shouts. The darkness comes on so quickly that Eddie’s eyes take their sweet time adjusting. He bangs his head on a cabinet as he shuffles out of the kitchen. Like someone flipped a switch, the lights come on all at once–even ones that weren’t turned on before. The sudden brightness burns Eddie’s eyes, and he drops the flashlight to cover them. Slowly, the lights fade back to their usual strength and Eddie is able to open his eyes without pain. He blinks them a few times, still getting them to adjust to the brightness when the front door opens and Wayne steps inside.

The older man shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on a hook near the door. He eyes Eddie where he stands, eyes watering from how sensitive they are right now.

“What’s with you, boy?” Wayne asks.

“Did you pay the electric bill?” Eddie asks in return, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“‘Course I did. Why?”

“Because these damn lights are going crazy,” Eddie says, flinging one hand in the direction of the nearest lamp. “Just wait, they’ve been flickering for an hour now.”

Wayne stands near the door with his hands on his hips, looking around the room at the different lights that are on. Eddie squares his jaw when not even one little flicker occurs.

“Smoke a little too much tonight?” Wayne asks with a chuckle as he walks past his nephew and into the kitchen.

“I didn’t even…ugh, never mind.”

“You want a grilled cheese?” Wayne asks, opening the fridge.

“Sure. Thanks.” Eddie plops down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. The lights had been going crazy–right?

“Did you sleep at all last night?” you ask Eddie at lunch.

Dull brown eyes slide over to you, dark bag eyes beneath them puffy and prevalent, and seem as if they look right through you.

“A little,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Dude, you look like shit,” Gareth says.

The Dungeon Master raises his hand to flip off his friend while he lowers his head down to the lunch table. He felt like shit too, but he wouldn’t give his friends the satisfaction of knowing that.

Over the next few days, Eddie only looks worse and worse. His face begins to look drawn, his skin a sickly shade of greenish gray. His clothes are more unkempt and wrinkled than normal, appearing as if he’d slept in them the night before. Every morning on the way to school you’d try to get out the knots that had accumulated in your boyfriend’s hair during the night. There hadn’t been a time when his hair had been this much of a pain before. Eventually, you just slip your red scrunchie from your wrist and tie his hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck.

“Are we getting pizza tonight?” you ask as Eddie parks his van in the Hawkins High parking lot.

“Babe, I’m not even going to Hellfire tonight,” he tells you, all emotion zapped from his voice.

“You’re not going to Hellfire?” you ask in shock.

“No,” Eddie grumbles as he pulls the keys from the ignition.

“Why don’t you just go home, baby?” you suggest as you reach over and move a few loose strands of hair out of his face.

“Maybe.” Eddie gives a half-hearted shrug and shoves the van door open and slides out. Frown still pinched on your face, you follow him out and stick by his side as long as you can until you have to go to your separate first periods.

Your phone rings as you’re buttoning your jeans the next morning, and you hop over to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” There’s no energy in Eddie’s voice, the sound raspy and gravelly. “I can’t take you to school today. Not getting out of bed.”

“Aww, baby,” you coo. “I’m going to come over and take care of you. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“No,” Eddie responds. “You’ve got a test today, go to school.”

“Can’t hear you. I’m coming over. Bye.” You hang up before he can protest again; because you know he will. Eddie’s hoodie from the other week is still hanging over the chair in your room so you toss it on before heading out the door to your car.

Eddie looks as shitty as he sounded when you get to his place. He’s sprawled out in bed, the covers tucked up under his chin and his eyes half-lidded as he tries to focus on you. You sigh as you sit down on the edge of his bed. When you reach up and move some hair off of his forehead you feel that his skin is surprisingly cool against your fingertips. You’d expected heat there–most likely a fever raging inside of his body.

“Are you cold?” you ask. Eddie nods, seeming like he hardly has the energy for even that. “I’ll get you another blanket.”

The room feels chilly to you as well, but not enough to warrant two heavy blankets being piled atop of you. Something is definitely going on inside of his body. As you open Eddie’s closet to grab another blanket, your eyes land on the Ouija board sitting on top of a pile of dirty clothes. The room suddenly feels hot as your temper flares. Anger builds up in your chest and your nostrils flare as you snatch up a blanket. Spinning around to face Eddie again, you stomp over to him.

“What the hell, Eddie? Why is the Ouija board still here?” you demand.

Eddie groans and turns his head to bury it in his pillow.

“Talk quieter, please,” he begs.

“Answer. Me.” Despite your anger, you’re not heartless. You lower your volume as you shake out the blanket and lay it across your boyfriend’s body. “Did you play with it?”

The guilty look that crosses his face gives you his answer before he opens his mouth to croak out, “Yes.”

“Eddie,” you whine, running your hands over your hair. “What if that’s what’s wrong?” You gesture to him lying down on his bed, lethargic and exhausted.

“Stop,” Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes closed. “M’just getting sick. Or worn down.”

“But you don’t know–”

“Babe, calm down,” Eddie begs, trying to inject as much fervor into his voice as he can. “It’s not from some dumb game. That’s ridiculous.”

The only reason you bite your tongue is because he looks so miserable bundled up in the middle of his bed. Deciding to let it go for now, you sit down next to his head and card your fingers through his curls.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask him softly.

“Just you,” Eddie answers, mustering up a small smile to give you.

As you lean down to press another kiss to his forehead, you swear he feels even colder than he did a few minutes ago.

Eddie still isn’t back to himself the next week. In fact, he says he feels worse. You weren’t able to take the whole time off from school or work, but any moment that wasn’t spent somewhere you were obligated to be, you were at his side. He refused to go to the doctor and even Wayne couldn’t get him to go. It seems the shittier Eddie feels the more stubborn he is.

On Thursday, you don’t have work, so you head to Eddie’s place straight from school. He hasn’t been able to answer the door since he’s been staying in bed most of the time, so you just let yourself inside as usual.

“I’m here, Eddie,” you call out, not too loud though, in case he’s asleep. Your sneakers join the small pile of shoes near the front door, and you pad down the hallway to your boyfriend’s room. Confusion furrows your brow when you don’t see him in his bed. A glance behind you confirms that he’s not in the bathroom, so where else could he be? You take a few steps into his room and spot Eddie standing near the closet, his back to you. His back is straight as a rod and his stained Marlboro shirt and blue plaid pajama pants hang loose on his thin frame, even thinner from lack of food lately.

Cautiously, you take a few steps in his direction. The hair on the back of your neck is raised but you’re not sure why. It’s just your boyfriend.

“Eddie?” you ask timidly. “Are you okay? What are you doing out of bed? Eddie?”

A few heavy silent moments hang in the air. Then with a sudden sickening cracking sound, Eddie’s head snaps towards you. With a gasp, you take a step back. His eyes are entirely black. No trace of the dark brown that you love so much or the white that should be there. Pure black, darker than night. A sinister, toothy smile slides onto the mouth you’ve kissed so many times before. Your body trembles from the inside out as you stare in horror at whatever you’re witnessing in front of you. Eddie’s mouth opens, but the growling voice that comes out does not belong to him.

“Eddie isn’t here anymore.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine

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