#fantasize and dream are almost indistinct to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waywardrose · 1 year

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 16

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.4k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

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

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

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

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

Your alarm clock beeped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when they parted, you screamed.

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

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

You shook your head and turned on the bedside lamp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, sure,” you said oh-so suavely.

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

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

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

She stood before you could answer.

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

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

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

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

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

That hurt like a bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood, sire.”

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

On the other side, the clerk blushed deeper.

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

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

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

You tried to keep the bitter thought from your face.

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

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

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

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

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

There was no sign advertising such a special.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed, sounding a touch hysterical.

She asked, “What?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t.”

She made a face, though her amusement was palpable.

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

She gasped while reversing from the parking spot.

“You wouldn’t!”

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

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

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

“Which I will be spending on you tomorrow.”

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

“Why, thank you, darling daughter.”

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

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

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

Someone yelled, “Throw the bitch!”

You opened your eyes. This was happening.

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

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

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

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

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

One of your captors smacked the back of your head.

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Wake up!”

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

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

Mom softly said, “Hey, you’re okay.”

You nodded and uncurled your legs to sit up.

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

The TV went quiet.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

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

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

“Pretty bad one, I’d say.”

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

“No, it— I mean, I guess?”

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

“Uh, kinda? In March?”

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

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

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

“I do, too.”

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

“Really?”

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

“No way.”

She nodded.

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

“I didn’t know that.”

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

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

She gave you a knowing look.

“People like to talk to me.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” he said.

“What? Why?” asked Gareth.

“We’re paused.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pointedly, Jeff said, “In April.”

“Yeah, in April.”

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

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

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

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

It hit him square on the forehead.

“King Dipshit.”

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

He stood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t make memories if he stayed silent.

“Hello?”

“I don’t want you to be a memory.”

It was quiet for a beat.

“What?”

“I— Uh... Sorry. It’s me, Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know.”

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

“Hi.”

“Can you talk?”

“Yeah, I can talk.”

“What were you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Reading what?”

“The House on the Strand.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it about?”

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

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

“Okay...?”

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

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

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

“And sometimes you play D&D.”

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

“Look, I’m a total fuck-up, I know—”

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

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

You sniffled.

Shit, he made you cry.

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

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

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Y-yeah, I preordered the album.”

You wetly sniffed.

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

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

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

He played with a fray in his jeans.

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

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

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah, I need her class to graduate.”

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

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

“Stop...”

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

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

“You got me blushing.”

“I know.”

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

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

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

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

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

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

You breathed deep.

“Eddie... I can’t. The last time...”

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

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

“No repeat performance?”

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

“But...?”

“But I don’t trust myself.”

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

He whispered, “Jesus,” voice sounding strained.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about this shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How could I forget?”

“You think about it?”

“Like I’m answering that.”

He rolled onto his back to palm his crotch.

“I do.”

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

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

“No way.”

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

“Sorry?”

“I’m not.”

You hummed, amused.

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

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

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

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

“Gonna wear those tight jeans again?”

“Only if you promise to come.”

“I can’t, honey.”

He nodded.

“I know, sweetheart. I get it.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

“Absolutely.”

“Tell me how it goes tonight.”

“You got it.”

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

“Night, baby.”

“G’night. Have fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

You thrashed anew, growling insults.

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

Would they slit your throat now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ours, they said.

No, you replied. Mine.

Ours.

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

You stopped fighting them and surrendered—

And opened your eyes.

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

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

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