stoneagedevil

[stoneagedevil]

"I could fix him" well I could be the one person he's nice to and soft with, while he remains just as unbelievably awful as ever to everyone else <3

[stoneagedevil]

*slams you with my fucking PUSSY

[stoneagedevil]

happy womens day to everyones favorite woman

[stoneagedevil]

[stoneagedevil]

Idiot | Eddie Munson x f!Reader

TW/CW: loneliness.

———

You’d been feeling down about yourself for some time now. You weren’t a cheerleader, but lately you’d been considering attending the tryouts for the semester. You’d even heard that girls in the band’s flute section were getting action from the brass section. Maybe you could pick up another instrument…?

No. No no no.

Christ, when did you become so desperate? Maybe it was all the twitterpated faces floating up and down the halls, what with the dance approaching and all.

But it’s not even like you wanted to go. You weren’t much of a dancer, but rather a person to get rowdy on stage at the Hideout when you played. That led to other thoughts…

You’d met Eddie Munson at the beginning of summer a few years ago. You were enthralled with his performance in his band Corroded Coffin, and he was just as lovestruck when he saw you go up with one of the most badass electric guitars he’d ever seen. After your set, you’d both gotten to talking at the bar - him buying you each a soda since you both had to drive home. That was the start of a wonderful friendship.

And unfortunately for your poor little heart, that’s all it was.

You sighed, taking a drag off a cig you found in your jeans you didn’t remember washing. Thank god for that. You looked over at the cheerleaders on the field practicing their routine from where you sat on the outside bleachers; trying to picture yourself in a cheer outfit mingling with them.

Suddenly you were startled by a loud, thundering metal sound coming from your right, nearly pulling your neck at the speed you looked over. It was Eddie - who just jumped onto the metal bleachers to illicit a reaction from his favorite person.

“Shit yourself?” He laughed, smile making his eye crinkle.

“Har har Munson.” You blew smoke at his face smirking slightly. He waved it away playfully.

“Watcha doin’ up here? Thought I’d find you in the art room, but you weren’t there.” He sat closely beside you.

You flicked the dead ash from the end of your cigarette. “Feelin’ melancholy I ‘spose…” you trailed off, leaning back on the seat behind you and looking up at the sky. Eddie quickly joined you.

“Why’re you sad? Need something stronger than that ciggy?” He reached into his inside pocket on his jacket and dug out a joint.

You eyed it for a second. “Nah. I’d better not.”

Eddie frowned. It wasn’t like you to turn down his premo stuff. It wasn’t like you to isolate yourself - especially away from him. He got nervous.

“Hey, what’s going on? You know you can talk to me, right?” He placed a hand on your knee, causing those stupid butterflies to flutter around in your stomach.

You debated a lot of things in that moment. You debated telling him you were in love with him. You debated shooting up from your position on the bleachers and pulling his face towards yours and kissing him. You debated running away, never to be seen or heard from again.

You took none of these options.

“I’m lonely, I guess. It’s hard seeing people get asked out to dances all of the time knowing that’s never coming to me. I wouldn’t even wanna go, but maybe if someone asked…I would? I don’t know. It’s stupid.” You sat up and looked down at your shoes.

Eddie looked at the side of your face. Maybe if he was brave enough he’d ask. Maybe if he was wealthy enough and you’d said yes, he’d get a suit and get you a corsage. Maybe if he wasn’t the town freak. Maybe in another life.

Maybe.

“Hey, it’s not dumb. I know how you feel. I’ve only really ever been asked out as a joke. But someone will come around and see how absolutely amazing and badass you are. Seriously.” He said this instead, even though it made his throat tighten at the tail end of his sentence.

You looked at him, and he let go of a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding captive. Your eyes swam with doubt, slightly damp.

“Eddie. I’m the freakette. Anyone who would ask me out is probably an idiot.” You said, somberly.

Suddenly, Eddie’s hand disappeared from its place on your knee, Eddie himself bolting up from the bleachers. “Hey! I know I’m a repeat but I’m not an idiot!” He said, sounding genuinely upset.

You paused, realization smacking you both upside the head. “You…you what?”

The color of Eddie’s face would make traffic stop. Fuck. Maybe he is an idiot. “I said that…that uh-“ his hands flew over his eyes, “that I’m not an idiot but now I’m thinkin’ I am because I’m pretty sure I just ruined the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Your heart sped up in your chest, your face blushing. “You…like me?”

Eddie, hands still covering his embarrassment, sighed. “I mean, like you? No. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you when we met. Christ. Look-“ he removed his hands from his face, instead wringing them together, “if you give me time then maybe I could get over it. We can pretend this never happened, I just- I just need you in my life, whatever way that looks like.” His eyes looked down at his shoes now.

You shook your head, mouth agape at what you were hearing. You debated a lot of things in that moment. Then, you went with the best option.

You stood, walking calmly towards him, taking his burning face in your cold hands and lifted it. He looked down at you, shocked, and slightly scared. Definitely nervous.

You leaned in and kissed him then, him returning the favor. Once separated, you backed up, “Eddie, I don’t want you to get over me.”

His smile looked like it’d break his face in half, “Good. Because I was totally lying about my ability to get over you. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible.” You laughed and he joined, happy to have made you smile. “I know it isn’t a big dance proposal, but, would you wanna go out? With me?” He had to specify. He just had to.

“Id love to go out with my favorite idiot.” You smiled cheekily. Eddie burst out into laughter, picking you up and hugging you tightly.

“If I can be your idiot, then an idiot I’ll be.” He declared, kissing you once more.

———

Thanks for reading, I’ve been in a slump lately, so I hope this was good.

#fanfic #x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn

[stoneagedevil]

So a free tool called GLAZE has been developed that allows artists to cloak their artwork so it can't be mimicked by AI art tools.

AI art bros are big mad about it.

[stoneagedevil]

Red and Blue (But Mostly Red) | Billy Hargrove x Reader

PART ONE: “Cherry Red, Denim Blue, and White Hot Rage”

CW/TW: cops, speeding, use of “babe,” etc.

—🏁—

You didn’t particularly care to uphold a reputation for keeping your word, for honestly, or for keeping your sleeves trick-free. In fact, you didn’t really have that sort of honest reputation at all. On occasion you broke promises, told lies, and divulged in a little semi-harmless cheating and deceit.

This track record was the sole reason for your time, date, and setting for this street race. After getting to know certain officials through your dad and just a general set of observational skills, you knew when, where, and how long certain cops liked to sit in certain places.

When one owns a fast car, one thinks ahead. Really, it was your dad’s fault. Growing up with a government agent as a parent was bound to instill some level of secrecy in you, as well as the skills to evade watchful eyes.

Throughout the week you’d subtly pester who you come to know as “Billy Hargrove.” The Keg King, the hottest lifeguard, the serial womanizer, the resident adrenaline junkie. Whatever else he could be called, it was something you took note of. You kept your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Pestering was defined through winks in the hallways, slamming a locker door shut every now and then, and to really get under his skin, making a scene in the cafeteria which involved you sitting in his lap and asking if he was getting cold feet.

Yes, it really was no wonder that you became fast friends with Munson.

“So you met Billy Hargrove.” Eddie mentioned, the boys suddenly stopped their chatter to listen in.

Putting on an air of poshness, you replied,“My dearest Munson, that begs the question, doesn’t it?” Nose pointed up at the ceiling, you sat poised.

“And what question might that be L/N dearest?” He played into the character, matching your demeanor.

You turned suddenly, smirking. “Did I meet Billy Hargrove, or did Billy Hargrove meet me?” The table burst out in jovial laughs.

As Eddie caught his breath, he questioned you again. “So, think you’ll kick ass in the street race?” Eddie asked as he picked at some pretzels.

“Think? I know I would. But I don’t need to. I thought of something a little more fun.” You snatched a pretzel, snapping it in half with your pearly whites.

“Sabotage?” He smiled, eyes crinkling, his hands rubbed together as though he were a villain planning something diabolical.

“Tut tut Munson. I wouldn’t say sabotage is the right word. As if I’d do anything to his precious Camaro.” You stated, as if it were obvious.

Eddie huffed in frustration, causing his wild bangs to fly upwards and his forehead to make a surprise appearance. “Alright alright. So what is it?” He leaned in closer, as the rest of the boys did, waiting on bated breath to hear from Y/N The Cunning.

“I’d never do anything. What will- excuse me- what MAY get him in trouble, are events he partakes in on his own volition. I shall tell you no more, and no less, my friends.” The rest of the table sighed in frustration impatiently, while Eddie’s laugh appeared once again.

You chuckled smugly. This band of brats had really warmed up to you, and despite having the chance to run with the popular crowd, you pretty much defied the laws of high school cliques and wove in and out of groups as you pleased. Really, you were a shapeshifter. You got along with all groups on some level.

But at the end of the day, you spent most of your time with Eddie and the kids.

————

The day came when you’d face Billy in one of the most anticipated street races in Hawkins. You’d cleaned your car and waxed it to glimmering perfection, and gave yourself a spa day as well. What was most integral to this plan of yours, was remembering to take your Polaroid camera along for the ride.

So, with nothing else to do, and the time of the race approaching, you set off in your Corvette, driving to the designated road. As you pulled in, you saw about half of the school in attendance, all looking at each other and talking amongst themselves. You you make out “she showed up”’s and, “I thought she chickened out”’s here and there.

You arrived after Billy had, who was talking up his supporters, declaring how he’d win like it was nothing. Leave it to him to only show up early to a race over anything else going on in his life.

Now, your car may have been older by a few years, but she was still a sports car, and she was born to go fast. Just like you.

However, for now, you’d keep it in first gear.

You both parked your cars on a crudely drawn chalk line. Wheels in perfect synchronization.

Billy turned to you, his windows long rolled down. “Never too late to back out sweetheart. Don’t wanna make a fool out of ourselves, do we?” He smiled. Really, his heart was racing faster than his car ever could. You’d shown up, flawless, car flawless, engine purring.

At his jest, you pulled your sunglasses down to your nose and made direct eye contact with him, pressing the gas gently. Your engine roared in a challenge to him, and you slowly put your shades back up and turned to face the road. Billy exhaled through O-shaped lips. He was sure you’d be the death of him.

One of your classmates stood in between the hoods of your cars, taking a bandana and holding it high in the air.

“Racers! First down the road and back to cross this line wins! Any questions?!” She yelled through red lips.

“Yeah, what do I get if I win?” Billy asked, turning to you. “How about a date?” He smiled again, chewing his mint gum.

You smiled in return. “Be prepared for disappointment babe.”

“Don’t think I can be disappointed when it comes to you.” He winked. You laughed. This back and forth was some of the most fun you had in ages.

“Racers ready!” The flag girl yelled once the exchanged was over. The crowd was buzzing in excitement. You and Billy turned to face the road, engines rumbling in anticipation. “Racers steady…..” she yelled.

Deep breathes in, and out.

“GO! GO! GO!” She screamed, throwing her arm down in a swift motion. Billy shifted immediately into first gear, expertly going straight into third. And when the dust cleared….

…you were, sitting?

You hadn’t moved.

“Y/N! The race started! Go!” A crowd erupted in a commotion as to why you’d talk so much smack and suddenly throw this chance away to beat the man who couldn’t be beat.

“Patience everyone!” You yelled over them, your voice stern and commanding. Silence washed over the crowd. “I’ll go when I need to.”

You checked your watch, and proceeded to move your car down the road at the designated speed limit. Down the road, you saw red and blue flashing lights with a cop outside of his cruiser, standing next to the blue Camaro you’d seen a minute or so prior. You slowed down and pulled up next to Billy’s window, shouting.

“Hey leadfoot! Smile pretty!” You took your Polaroid and snapped a picture of his embarrassed face at the fact that he’d been pulled over. He groaned and slammed his head down on the wheel.

You drove slowly down the road, and back, where you inevitably won the race. Not like you had much competition.

Pulling in past the line, you got out of your car. “Slow and steady everyone.” You said smugly, shaking a small, thin, white square in your hand. When the image developed, you held it up for everyone to see…

…revealing a red, embarrassed (but grinning) Billy Hargrove.

Everyone laughed and cheered, crowning you the car queen of Hawkins High.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t done pestering Billy yet.

-🏁-

Thinking about making a part 3, but it might be a tad short. Y’all alright with that?

#fanfic #x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy stranger things #billy hargrove #eddie stranger things

[stoneagedevil]

Cherry Red, Denim Blue, and White Hot Rage | Billy Hargrove x Reader

TW/CW: Speeding, sexualization of reader, billy being a horndog, etc.

- 🏁-

The growl of the cherry red ‘75 Corvette warmed your heart, and sent adrenaline coursing through your veins every time you pressed your foot onto the accelerator. Pressing the clutch and moving your right hand to shift gears was second nature to you, and you almost found it easier to do this motion than to breathe sometimes.

However, right now the purr of your beloved steed was more comforting than anything, as today, you’d be attending a new school in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Indiana. Hawkins High, to be more precise. Ever since your alarm had screamed at you to get up, you’d been chain smoking cigarettes like a maniac. A balanced breakfast.

Truly it didn’t matter what time you set the alarm for the day prior, as today, you were late. Your mind racing like your car on empty roads, you’d managed to forget multiple things at home multiple times. But this didn’t bother you.

The more time spent in your pristine baby was less time spent doing the “get to know you” routine at another new school.

Your father was a government agent: well off, absent, the usual. While he wasn’t able to tell you much about why he uprooted your lives to move to Indiana, one thing was for certain: this was a dangerous situation.

It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. He provided for you. Your dad and you had worked out a deal: get good grades, face no repercussions. You had free rein over your home and free time.

You were prepared to make this place your bitch too.

You pulled into the driveway of the school, looking for suitable parking places for your prized possession.

And that’s when you saw it. A fellow Chevy, a ‘79 Camaro, in as pristine condition as your Vette. Beside the admittedly stunning car was an open spot - on both sides, actually. You’d figured another passionate Chevy owner would do well to be mindful of their doors. If you had to deal with a door-ding in your fiberglass, you were prepared to break a couple of fingers.

Carefully and expertly, you sailed into one of the two open spots. The outside of the school was empty, signifying class was in session.

You grabbed your bag from your passenger side, slinging it over your shoulder and popping the trunk in order to bring the soft top over the car. Latching it into place, you bid your car farewell.

Time for second period. Your first period teacher would have to get over your absence. There was always tomorrow.

Walking into the room, you received many looks. Multiple eyes flitted up and down your form in order to get a read on you. Who are you? Where do you fit in? Do you even fit in at all? These were the questions you supposed were looping through their brains. The attention you received was annoying, but not unthought of; you couldn’t imagine anything super interesting happened here.

Your day consisted of weaving in and out of bodies in the hallways with whispers following behind you, entering and leaving classrooms, and finding a place to sit in the cafeteria, where you met a band of misfits, one of which was named Eddie who you had a very engaging conversation with on Black Sabbath’s discography. “The Writ” is unmatched in your eyes. He respected that.

Overall, the day was mundane, yet slightly enjoyable.

That was until you left the doors of the school, your eyes immediately catching an ass cladded in blue denim jeans resting on YOUR car, and a large crowd hovering over it. Attached to the ass was an ass himself. Denim head to toe, blonde curly mullet, cigarette trapped between his lips and an earring dangling on one side. The fucking nerve of this denim-ed dork sitting on your car like he owned it. He had another thing coming.

“Deep breaths.” You muttered. A hefty breath in and out followed your words. And then you started walking, shoving these strangers out of your way, not caring what they had to say in return. You had to defend your car’s honor.

When you were in his peripherals, he immediately took notice of you. Rather than trying to read you, he was checking you out. Sizing you up in a way that measured how much you’d play hard to get. He was in for a rude awakening.

“This pretty thing yours?” You asked him, nodding your head to your car behind him.

He laughed and ducked his head, pinching the cigarette between his fingers. “No, but my pretty thing is the Camaro. You could be too though.”

The crowd watched in anticipation: was the new girl set to be another Hargrove conquest? Not quite.

You pretended to laugh and twirled your hair between dark red manicured fingernails. “It’s beautiful. I like the color. But why sit on that car if yours is the Camaro?” You pouted.

He sat up at that, and you gleaned a sense of pride in your compliment by the way he puffed out his chest and smirked. “I’m gonna challenge this guy to a street race. I’d see you there, right? I think I’d remember your face if I’d seen you around here before.”

You laughed again. “I think you’ll have to.” You replied, stepping closer until your lips were inches away, reaching around him with your keys, you unlocked the door to your Vette.

His eyes widened in recognition, and his mouth fell open slightly.

Lifting one finger to his chin, you pressed upwards, closing his loud mouth. “I’ll race you, babe, but don’t get too sad when you lose, ‘kay? 2:00pm this Sunday on Elm sound good to you? Unless you’ve got church…a straight edged boy like you?” You smiled smugly.

He merely nodded, laughing slightly, though all confidence was lost.

You had that effect on men.

You opened your door on his ass, nudging him away, and unlatching the top of your convertible from the trunk, opening it, and unlatching and folding the entire thing back into the trunk again.

Getting in, you put on your sunglasses and blew him a kiss, squealing your tires as you floored it.

Billy Hargrove watched the new girl drive off, the sound of squealing tires quickly being replaced by the “ooh’s” and whistles of his peers at her challenging attitude to him. The feeling of surprise and awe was now overshadowed by the unmistakable feeling of his denim jeans being significantly tighter, and he made his way to his own vehicle.

This was going to be a long rest of the week.

-🏁-

I know I have other part 2s to make but part 2 to this fic will be out sooner than the others. I do what I want, where I want, when I want, how I want! It’s a curse, really.

Anyways, I hoped yall liked this. I totally dropped elements of me in this as I have a 75 Vette myself, and while it needs work done, I still love it with all of my heart.

#fanfic #x reader #stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things #Spotify

[stoneagedevil]

I think I’d rather die than call someone/be called “author-chan.”

[stoneagedevil]

Pavlov-ing myself every time irl men do something mean and I turn to fictional men for comfort.

#pavlovsidiot #fanfic #x reader #I’m just a girl in the world #fictional men #fictional crushes #I want to eat my fictional crushes to fill a void

[stoneagedevil]

“Sing For Absolution” - Muse

#x reader #moodboard #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel O’Hara moodboard #Spotify

[stoneagedevil]

All Will Be Right with the World | Miguel O’Hara x Reader

TW/CW: Alluding to suicide(ish), abuse, alluding to sexual activity, alluding to gore.

-🕷️-

You’d been mulling it over for some time now. Ever since the answers to the questions you had were brought together, you’d been thinking what your next course of action should be.

You were broken. Something was definitely wrong. We weren’t supposed to be feeling this.

You weren’t supposed to be feeling anything at all.

Fear. Anger. Confusion. Yearning.

Love.

These were all things you were familiar with, but were never to feel. Through your years working dedicatedly to the underground criminal agency that had so carefully crafted you, you’d seen these emotions firsthand from your targets. You were an expert at reading people. You were an expert at everything, but this? Feeling emotion instead of identifying it and exploiting it for your agency’s personal gain? It’s never happened. Perhaps this was an easily fixable side effect of the venom. Something causing the emotional part of your brain to go haywire. To start working.

But who could you tell in order for this to be resolved? You never were afraid of death. You weren’t programmed that way. But now? Now?

Now, if you were disposed of because of this flaw, you’d never see him again. Never again get a taste of the emotion you felt from being close to him. Never get closer, even.

But the moment you told your leaders about this “bug” for lack of a better term, you’d most certainly be eliminated. And what a waste! Millions of dollars had gone into your creation. The perfect genes, for health, for beauty, for capacity to learn, for capability. The perfect training - for being able to speak hundreds of different languages, for being able to adapt, for being able to fight with ease and grace, for learning multiple fighting styles to ensure you’d never be bested. Everything about you was thought out from the very beginning. Not a hair was to be out of place.

And then you, a genetically engineered superhuman, was bitten by a genetically engineered superspider. Now it’s all fucked. If your skin was never broken by the fangs of that stupid science experiment from God-knows-where, you’d never have met Jessica, and she’d never have recruited you.

You never would have met Miguel.

And all would be right with the world.

But it didn’t turn out that way. You met him. You met all of them. And despite your stoic robotic-ness, they were so warm and inviting. You’d never heard please’s and thank you’s before from people in a higher position than you. You’d never heard praises for a job well done. The people of the Spider Society gave you those things. You couldn’t possibly throw it all away.

And Miguel. When you’d gotten distracted recently by how focused he looked in the heat of battle, you’d complete disregarded your own safety. But how could you not look at him? He was gorgeous. Never before had you looked at another human being with admiration. You face was warm, your heart was racing, and for the first time, you felt alive. However, while staring, you completely disregarded one of the most important rules in fighting with an enemy: never take your eyes off of your opponent.

So it certainly came as a surprise when you were sent flying into a structurally unsound building, the force of your body sending a large piece of concrete hurdling towards your disoriented self. You’d heard your name be called - No, be desperately yelled out. Hoarse, painful. Scared, worried. You could identify these emotions. But the surprise was that they were directed towards you and your well-being.

Miguel had made it in the nick of time, using all of the strength he could possibly muster to counter the heavy concrete that would’ve left you an unidentifiable bloody heap of remains.

“Y-Y/N, GO!” He shouted, voice strained just as his body was under the weight.

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You scrambled to your feet - you never scrambled, you were supposed to be graceful - and you booked it out from underneath the concrete. Miguel swiftly turned and threw the crumbling piece of wall at the anomaly you two were supposed to be catching. Once he was sure the anomaly was neutralized, he rushed over to you once more.

Everything felt like slow motion. It was so different from the fast-paced life you lived. You felt warm palms on your face, and the comfort they brought was more disorientating than almost being met with you untimely demise.

“Y/N, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your eyes were widened, surprised gaze snapping straight into his concerned one. He craned his neck in all sorts of directions, eyes darting around your person in search of even the slightest injury. And then your line of sight was blurry.

“What? What is this?” You breathed heavily, frightened at the overwhelming amount of moisture in your eyes. One of your hands shakily reached up to your face, catching a falling tear. You looked down at the drop in confusion.

“You’re crying.” He said gently. He took in this show of emotion. You’d told him about your creation, and creation was the key word. You’d never had a birthday, for you’d never been born at all. He researched you day and night at your divulged information. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met before. You were supposedly engineered to not feel anything.

“I’m not! I’m not supposed to be!” You exclaimed. “This cannot happen to me! If anyone finds out about my capacity for this, I won’t be useful anymore!” You were really getting worked up, frantically wiping at your eyes and cheeks with enough force to irritate your delicate skin, the wiping leaving red in its wake.

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from I hiring yourself in a fit of blind emotion. “Stop, stop, stop. That’s not true, you’ll have a place here, with m- with the Spider Society.” He stumbled, and through your emotional turbulence, you hadn’t caught it. Your eyes were screwed shut, willing the waterworks away.

“I’m the perfect being, Miguel. It’s what I was made for. If I can’t do what I was made for, then I am nothing.” You said, empty and solemn. Miguel swore he heard his heart crack. In a split second, you’d opened a portal to your dimension, ripping yourself away from the comfort of his arms, and diving into the Hell where you came from.

You never saw him reach out for you, too inside your own head.

A few days had passed since then, and you’d been dispatched on multiple missions given to you by your homeworld superiors, throwing yourself into your murderous tendencies. This was where you belonged. Through your time in the Spider Society, you’d come to realize you were no hero. You didn’t belong with them. You were a weapon of mass destruction, and you were extremely good at it. You were created for this. Crafted precisely and expertly. You weren’t created by the love of two people, rather the hatred your creators held and passed onto you.

You’d supposed the title of “weapon of mass destruction” lead you to this decision you planned on executing. That, and a few handsy targets along the way. You weren’t always meant to kill some of the other high profile criminals you came into contact with, instead gaining their trust through more romantic endeavors. Or rather, lustful. In the middle of the act, you’d wonder if Miguel would be more gentle. If he’d hold your face like he did when you’d almost died. If he’d praise you instead of degrade you like your targets did. If he’d care about how you felt in the middle of it all rather than just himself.

And now you were feeling angry. Huffing, you looked at the watch on your wrist. All of these people who’d used you, if they found out your capacity for human emotion, would kill you. If they didn’t, they’d continue to use you, and you knew you’d only get worse. If you ran, they’d give chase. You’d be followed over and over and over again. These feelings were a sickness.

So, you devised a plan.

Create an anomaly in your world. Make it unreachable for the Spider Society. Watch your world crumble - destroy it, destroy everything, as it’s in your nature.

And die along with it, so all will be right with the world.

-🕷️-

I’ve never written for Miguel before, but I hope someone enjoys this. ♥️

#fanfic #x reader #into the spider verse #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse

[stoneagedevil]

Anton Chigurh (No Country for Old Men) 💵

Fics:

“Coincidence”

“Compound Fracture”

“Little Bird”

“Lucky”

Headcanons/Imagines:

“Heart Headcanon”

Moodboards:

“Red Right Hand”

♥️

Hannibal Lecter (NBC’s Hannibal) 🔪

Fics:

“Always”

“Not Like Them”

Headcanons/Imagines:

“Heart Headcanon”

Moodboards:

“Mosquito Song”

♥️

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) 🗡️

Fics:

“Her Song”

“Idiot”

Headcanons/Imagines:

Moodboards:

♥️

Billy Hargrove (Stranger Things) 🏁

Fics:

“Cherry Red, Denim Blue, and White Hot Rage”

Part 2: “Red and Blue (But Mostly Red)”

Headcanons/Imagines:

Moodboards:

♥️

Miguel O’Hara (Spiderman: Across the Spider-Verse) 🕷️

Fics:

“All Will Be Right with the World”

Headcanons/Imagines:

Moodboards:

“Sing For Absolution”

#x reader #no country for old men #anton chigurh #anton chigurh x reader #hannibal lecter #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #fanfic #masterlist #moodboard #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things

[stoneagedevil]

“Mosquito Song” - Queens of the Stone Age

#fanfic #x reader #hannibal lecter #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #moodboard #Spotify

[stoneagedevil]

Thank you for blessing us with your stories 🥺 May I request Anton with a reader who is a nanny working for his wealthy target?

Lucky | Anton Chigurh x f!Reader

TW/CW: Blood, murder, abuse, guns, thievery.

-

You’d wished him dead for years. Every spring when you had time to yourself, you’d blow away the seedlings of a white dandelion, wishing him dead. Every summer you’d wished the heat got to him in the tailored suits that had to be perfectly pressed, lest he struck your hand thrice with a ruler. Fall, you’d wish on any falling leaves. Winter, you’d hope he’d get caught in some terrible blizzard.

You hated your boss with all of your mind, body, and soul. About as much as one person could hate another.

But there were others who felt the same way, but for different reasons.

And that’s why Anton was chosen to deal with him.

Kenneth Scott was his name, a successful business man who often bought storefronts as cover for money laundering, after all, something must be done with the copious amounts of cash made from dealing with the cartel. Mexican Brown Dope was making him more money than he could spend in a lifetime, especially his.

Especially since it’d be cut so short.

He was known to sick his help on the doorbell. Ask a question or two, and then invite the guest inside. Anton didn’t anticipate this would be difficult, as Kenneth didn’t expect anyone to be ringing the doorbell, entering cooperatively, and then greeting the host with the bullet in the chest. He also didn’t anticipate being so intrigued by the maid.

You. The live-in maid. Whose life was a living hell as you scrimped and saved and pickpocketed any gold-toothed-suit-wearing-son of a gun that walked into this hell hole. If they were waltzing up into one of the richest men’s mansion, surely they’d be packing a fat wallet as well. There was just one issue. Your boss.

There were many times you eyed the imported stainless-steel set of kitchen knives. Thought of picking the lock to his bedroom door at night. Taking what you needed. Leaving. Becoming a ghost. And then the what if’s and the second-guessing hurried into your mind.

What if he sees one missing and beats you within an inch of your life? What if the fiddling with the lock wakes him up? What if you don’t get his heart? His head? His arteries? What if you do get his arteries and blood goes everywhere, and then the cops show up and they know it was you? What if? What if? What i-

You were suddenly brought out of your spiraling by the ringing of the doorbell. Your eyes shut hard, lashes barely kissing your cheeks as you took a deep breath in, and then out.

“Alright. Let’s go then.” You said softly to yourself, pacing to the front door.

When you opened the door, you were met with the chest of a tall man shrouded in black clothing. He was carrying a shotgun of sorts. Looking up, you took notice of his dark eyes, larger nose, and unusual glossy haircut. You both stood there, like aliens figuring out how to be human.

“If you’re gonna shoot him then you’d better be quiet about it.” You stated, rather matter-of-factly. Anton was somewhat caught off guard by this, his eyebrows raising almost imperceptibly.

“It has a silencer on it.” He replied.

That was good enough for you. You opened the door wider.

He walked past you, your ghostly fingers expertly reaching into one of his pockets, and he was none-the-wiser.

“He’s upstairs to the left. That’s his office. If he reaches to the left - his left, that means he plans on shooting you. He’s left handed. Gun’s in the top drawer.” You gave all of this information to Anton very seriously, as if preparing him for an interview.

“You hate him?” He mused. You’d acted as if he was your savior and he hadn’t even pulled the trigger yet. He wasn’t used to the feeling.

You looked at him dead on, his dark eyes meeting yours, which were piercing and fiery, “More than anyone could ever hate another person.”

That was enough for him. You lead him to your boss’s office, gently knocking on the door to save the scabs on your knuckles from ripping open once more. Anton took notice of this.

“What is it?” A gruff voice spoke harshly through the solid wood.

“You have a visitor, sir.” You stated calmly. As if it was any other day.

“Who? I wasn’t expectin’ no visitors.” He was angered. You looked at Anton, gesturing for him to speak.

“Anton, I’ve been sent by one of your business partners to speak about a deal.” He lied through his teeth, eyes never leaving yours.

“Fine, fine.” You both heard the lock click, heads turning down to the knob, and you gingerly reached out to turn it.

By the time you’d opened the door, your boss was already in his leather seat at his desk once more. “My apologies for her. I wasn’t expecting visitors.” Kenneth said, and he folded his hands over the desk.

Anton’s eyes took in the room. Everything was as expensive as one could have an office. Unnecessarily so. You can’t take these things with you when you go. Landing on the desk, his eyes took in a cup with several pens, and one bloody ruler.

“It won’t take long.” He stated, pupils shooting up to Kenneth’s.

It wasn’t long before Kenneth saw the shotgun, before he inched his fingers closer to the left drawer just as you described. It wasn’t long before the man was laying on the ground and spluttering “you bastard’s” and “you fucking bitch’s” at the two that stood there and took it in.

You walked up to him slouched behind the desk, his breaths becoming shallow and ragged. You took out the bloody ruler from the cup. Leaning down, you softly said, “I hate you, Kenneth.” Finally plunging the ruler into one of the holes in his chest. He was dead.

You sat back on the heels of your feet, taking in another deep breath in, and out.

Euphoria.

Anton stood straight behind you, taking it all in.

“Don’t kill me. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. I’m nothin’.” You said.

“I kill nothings. But you’re something.” He replied. You were something he couldn’t quite understand. Something he wanted to, but something he wasn’t sure that he could.

You turned to look at him.

“Why’d you only got a quarter on you?” You asked.

He tilted his head, hands reaching into his pocket, but finding nothing. You reached into one of yours, pulling out a quarter from 1958. “Is it special?”

“Yes.”

You stood up finally, walking calmly over to him, and holding the quarter out to him. His eyes flicked down to your delicate hand holding the quarter, then looking at your face.

“If it made it into your hand, then it was for you.” He stated.

Your mouth quirked up on one side as you stated down at the coin, and he felt that perhaps there was something wrong with his heart that would require a real doctor.

“My lucky quarter?” You said hopefully, looking back up at him.

“As long as you don’t get it mixed up with the others. It’ll become just a coin otherwise.” He stated, “which it is. Are you good at pickpocketing?”

“The best.” You replied confidently.

He took the coin from your hand, dropping into your pocket, and turned towards the doors of the office. You stayed put, stayed behind, until he turned around, opening the door and holding it open, just as you’d done for him.

“You don’t have anywhere to go. You can’t stay here.” He said. This was a fact. If you had family or friends, you probably would’ve left after the first strike of the ruler.

“I know. I don’t need anywhere. Just somewhere.” You took the quarter back in your hand, twisting it in between your fingers. The metal was cold, but comforting as you ran your thumb over the reeded edge of the coin. His gaze lingered on your fidgeting with the quarter.

And then, you walked through the door, him following closely behind.

-

Thank you for requesting, I hope that you liked this. I wasn’t sure about a nanny, as I wouldn’t really know how to incorporate children into this, but a maid/housekeeper was definitely doable. 💜

#fanfic #x reader #no country for old men #anton chigurh #anton chigurh x reader #anon ask

[stoneagedevil]

“Red Right Hand” - Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.

#no country for old men #anton chigurh #anton chigurh x reader #moodboard #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #Spotify

[stoneagedevil]

i really liked the anton fic. could we possibly get a small continuation or a separate one entirely? smut included, if possible

Little Bird | Anton x Reader

CW/TW: Size kink if you squint. Smut. Blood/blood kink-ish. No protection. MDNI. Murder. Obsession. Possessiveness.

————

Anton didn’t do “deals.” He didn’t do half-assed jobs. He was the right tool to choose because of the way he operated; swiftly, completely, cleanly (save for the bloodshed), and typically got away with ease. People all over had called him a ghost, the only problem for his targets was that he was very much alive.

There was danger in even seeing Anton, as those who asked stupidly if he was going to kill them, he’d reply, “That depends…do you see me?”

The short answer was yes.

The shorter answer was a bullet in the face.

However, you had always been the exception. You’d seen every square inch of his body, and he yours, but he never intended to put a bullet between your gorgeous eyes. Anton understood emotions to a certain degree. He understood that emotions make people do stupid things, that love hurts and can make a sane man do insane things.

Anton understood emotions to a degree, yes. He just didn’t feel them, not all of them at least.

But the feeling that felt like the devil’s fiery hand crushing his heart was definitely real. He certainly felt his teeth clenching together, slowly tightening until he thought they’d crack. Certainly felt his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel of the beat-up pickup truck he stole.

And why? Well, love he’d assumed.

Anton wasn’t a man to bring you home flowers, or chocolates. He wasn’t a man to say “I love you’s.” He didn’t go to work at 9 and come home after 5. He was a stone cold killer, but damn it if he wasn’t obsessed with you.

You’d had no family, never made friends, and had no qualms about what he did. That’s not to say you couldn’t be friendly when the time arose. You could step up to the plate when you’d have to, and you’d killed a few people yourself a few times, only because you had to. You’d never go out of your way for it like he would. But you were perfect. Always saying the right things at the right times. Tough, but someone who he protected with his life. You’d always gone with the flow, if you needed to pack up at 3am because Anton got a tip that his target had dashed, you’d be the first one in the passenger seat to the vehicle you’d just hotwired. There were times in the most silent drives, he thought that perhaps mind-reading was a real thing. You always spoke with purpose. Always for a reason.

So to reiterate, you were perfect.

And you were currently being held captive by his “boss” because he’d found out that the not-so-little secret of his got out: he’d hired a few men other than Anton. To do a job Anton was already doing.

And now you were collateral.

Anton wondered if this is what Llewelyn Moss had felt. But then again, he couldn’t possibly have known. A man so willing to leave his woman for $2 million in cash wasn’t a man in love. He wasn’t a man to do insane things. Llewelyn didn’t try hard enough, and where he failed, Anton would succeed. He simply had to.

And so, it was set in stone by the stone cold killer. He’d be getting you back, one way or another.

-

He sped into the parking lot of the skyscraper, and although he hated populated cities, rich people didn’t. On the top floor is where he’d find his good-for-nothing boss-turned-target; soon-to-be-turned-cadaver. The truck’s breaks squealed like a pig, and Anton left the cab of the pickup just as fast as he’d stopped it. A slight breeze combed its fingers through his hair as he walked briskly, his feet light in his heavy boots.

An elevator ride later, and he was faced with the large wooden double-doors of his target’s office. If you weren’t in there, you were in the missing floor. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to go looking too far as the minute he rushed into the sterile room, he was met with your eyes, the barrel of a revolver kissing your temple. He stopped then.

“I knew you’d come.” The man said. “You weren’t quick enough to get the man. We were out $2 million in cash and in product, and her life is just a fraction of that.” He sneered. Your eyes never left Anton’s, however. Your body was completely still, mouth covered with duct tape and hands with bloody knuckles bound together at the wrists. You’d caused trouble for them.

That only made him need you more.

You blinked slowly at him, and though you couldn’t say anything, if was thought you both had a secret language; one that never had formed into words. Never needed to, anyways.

You quickly threw yourself to the floor out of the barrel’s line of fire, and Anton wasted no time in bringing up his specially-made suppressed shotgun and shooting off the older man’s offending arm. The revolver and the bastard’s favored limb fell to the ground together, and you quickly rolled away as your captor writhed in shock. Your rolling was not quick enough to evade the blood of a severed artery, and the warm feeling of life itself spattered onto you.

Anton stalked over to you as his victim fell to the floor, growing increasingly weak as the blood drained from his body. It wouldn’t be too long before he’d be food for the worms. Taking out a switchblade and flicking it open, Anton’s large hands worked nimbly at cutting the rope that you were encased in, setting his little bird free once more. You reached a delicate had up to your mouth, violently ripping the tape off with little to no reaction.

He offered you a hand, and without hesitation, you took it. Anton helped you up, and the boss’s flailing had lessened. You both watched, but Anton’s interest laid elsewhere. He turn to look at you.

And there you were. By his side once again, your deep eyes watching the man he’d killed for you die, the man’s blood on your face and all over your body. You licked your lips, wet tongue clearing the blood away from your lips, the metal taste welcoming on your tastebuds. It signified freedom to you. A promise that Anton had made.

“Did he do anything?” Anton asked, almost demanding. His gravely voice conducted your eyes to look into his.

“No. Nothing I cannot deal with.” You replied softly, turning your head back to the body and tilting it.

Anton huffed slightly. Whether it was a release of anger, or a sigh of relief, he wasn’t sure. “Look at me.” He ordered. And you did.

In what seemed like an instant, the desk of the deceased was immediately cleared, your stomach then resting on the smooth wooden surface as Anton pressed himself behind you. You looked behind you at Anton, and he wrapped a single hand around your throat and brought your face to his. He licked the remaining blood off of your lips, moving his hand to your hair and angling your head to gain access to your neck. There, he nipped continuously, noises reverberating from your throat and into the luxurious office. You pressed yourself back into him as much as you could, but he was significantly taller, and your feet her hardly touching the ground.

“Anton.” You whined, the idea of being intimate on the desk and while you’re covered in blood becoming too much. He backed off at the sound of his name falling from your lips, and it was then you felt his hands reach around your hips and begin to unbutton your denim jeans with the same efficiency as he had when he cut away the rope. You aided in pulling your jeans down, along with your panties.

His little bird was free once more.

It wasn’t long before you heard the zipper of his own pants, and instead of turning your head to get a look, you took your hands and grasped the desk - bracing yourself. He’d always given you what you wanted.

No spit was needed, to say the least, and Anton slid in with ease; mostly thanks to you. You were always wettest when Anton had killed someone for you. For you. That was the most gorgeous part of him. Where all other men had limits, Anton had none. It made Anton wonder if he should hunt down every last person on Earth for you.

Anton was a violent man. One who did things quickly.

You were not one of those things.

He took his time with you, feeling you from the inside, and out. Warm, wet, tight, soft. So soft. Your soft skin balanced out the callouses on his hands. His teeth made themselves a home in the flesh of your shoulder, his hard grunts mingling with your soft moans. He tasted metal, far sweeter than the kind he tasted on your lips before. You had no choice but to feel him, as he stretched you out given his size.

Your abdomen tightened, your legs had begun to shake, and you clamped your legs together as you reached what you assumed was the closest thing to paradise. Anton split you open more, pushing deeper, the tightening of your hole - no, his hole - bringing him towards a paradise of his own. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt a warmth flood your insides. Anton bit harder into your flesh, finally releasing the right hold of his jaw after his orgasm. His mouth had blood around it, and he leaned forward once more to kiss you.

He pulled your clothing up over you and fixed it until you were decent, and then did the same to himself.

“You are mine.” He wouldn’t let anyone touch you, and if you were taken from him, he’d re-establish the fact that you were his, in one way or another.

“As if I could forget. As if I’d even want to.” You replied, standing shakily like a newborn fawn. Anton’s intense eyes studied your figure as you walked towards the door, stopping and turning to look at him, your eyes saying, ‘I’d follow you anywhere.’

So he lead the way. You’d hotwired another vehicle, the two of you becoming ghosts once again, and you becoming his little bird encased in his birdcage. His ribcage. Right next to his heart.

————

Thank you for your request anon! 💜

#fanfic #x reader #no country for old men #anton chigurh #anton chigurh x reader #anon ask #smut #antonchigurhxreader #antonchigurhsmut