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[goosedoes-fics]

Madness Headcanons

Madcom x Reader

Content Warnings: I talk about tits a lot sorry. Also mentions of organ failure and transfem Tricky

Notes: Trying to get back into the writing groove. Sorry if this is shit

HANK J WIMBLETON

If you didn't know ASL before meeting them, they would communicate primarily with hand and head movements. He's too cool to use a notepad

Not a big fan of PDA, but in private he's quite affectionate and cuddly. theyre just a big ass guard dog cmon

Hank Motherfucker Wimbleton what are you doing here????? waiting for them to play gangnam styl.

DEIMOS

Transgenda

I like to imagine Dedmos's rock face works similarly to Hank's metal jaw. It's just a rock jaw. Rock lobster.

He is an ASSHOLE (affectionate)

The kind of person to like. Punch your shoulder when they laugh

Their ideal first date is stealing the declaration of independence

If you don't make him, he will go days without showering he is SO smelly anfd SO stinky. He has GREASY ASS HAIR i just know it

SANFORD

If Hank is a guard dog he's one of those goofy dogs that look like bear cubs

VERY big fan of PDA he will smooch you anywhere. everywhere. any time any place any day

He takes missions more seriously than Deimos but outside of missions he is just a big fat goofball

I'm going to place my hands directly on his man tits. anyways where was I

He lost his nipples in The War

I'm kidding. He lost them during top surgery.

At this point i'm aiming the transgenderification beam at all of them. nobody is safe. BE TRANSGENDER

DOC

Sometimes he wears his hair down and it's like a mullet w/ shaved sides

Out of all of them he's the most adverse to PDA but! In private he is very sweet. very silly

Hey are you okay with being tested on? Yeah? Cool will you drink this organ failure potion I brewed

Plays the piano sometimes! He might serenade you if you ask nicely

TRICKY

BE TRANSGENDER. (shoots her with my transfem beam)

Yeah so he/she bigender Tricky is real. Krinkels told me himself

He is like a big weird dog as well. He might lick your face (don't let him zed spit is slightly acidic)

Probably likes PDA the most. She will make out with you very grossly and sloppily in the middle of McDonalds

Very soft very fluffy. Which is surprising considering how many times he's died

His tail is somewhat prehensile, he could dangle from a tree branch if he tried hard enough

CHURCH AND JORGE

They are very good at sharing!

Sorry not sorry yandere enjoyers but they would NOT kill someone for looking at you they would be like haha yeah everyone should look at our awesome fucking partner theyre so cool and hot

Sometimes they forget how big they are compared to you so they might try to like flop over on you. Pigpile on the small one

Very prone to roughhousing and play fighting but they'll be gentle if you ask

BEEFY BOYS 😍

[goosedoes-fics]

[goosedoes-fics]

whyyy..... isnt tumblr letting me respond to comments on this account help me :(

I CANT HAVE PEOPLE KNOWING MY MAIN REBLOG ACCOUNT GRRRR

[goosedoes-fics]

Missing

Spiderman Noir x Reader

Content warnings: alcohol mention, no use of y/n, first person (reader pov)

Notes: if you look closely you can see the exact moment that I lost all inspiration to actually finish this oneshot!! anyways yea I was gonna have it from Noir's POV but it would be harder for the reader to be gender neutral if that was the case

~~~~~

The young shamus' office was colder than a summer night in Antarctica. A single light dangled overhead, dimly illuminating the room just enough that the corners were pitch black, but everything else was a bit visible. I had heard tales of the hard-boiled gumshoe, the only private eye in New York to wear a mask. It was pretty dang smart, really. Protecting his identity and all that jazz.

His feet were propped up on his desk, clad in worn leather boots that seemed to have dirt caked in from his many adventures. His fedora covered where his eyes would have been, had he not been wearing a mask that already concealed them.

I took notice of the bottle of moonshine on his desk, picking it up and inspecting the label. "Bit ironic for a detective to be drinkin' hooch, ain't it?"

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't respond, as he didn't look up nor tilt up his hat, but he leaned forward slightly as he addressed me. "Don't blow your wig, pal. You can't convince me ya haven't stepped into a speakeasy a few times."

His retort earned a quiet laugh out of me as I placed the bottle back in its original spot.

The private investigator finally took his feet off the desk and looked up at me. I could only imagine his piercing gray eyes inspecting me. The thought somehow got me flustered, subtle heat rising to my cheeks.

"You got somethin' to say, or are you just gonna stand there gawkin'?" He eventually asked, snapping me out of my stupor.

He reached into a drawer on his desk and took out a cigar, lighting it and putting it up to the fabric of his mask where his mouth would be. "Usually people come in here for me to solve a mystery."

"Oh!" I laughed nervously. Had I been staring at him? Idiot. "Right. Yeah."

Reaching into my back pocket, I retrieved a small photograph, sliding it across the table like an 8 ball in a game of pool.

"My grandma." I tapped the photo. "Y'see the necklace? It's been in my family for decades. And today, it wasn't in the safe."

The detective's interest seemed piqued, at least from what little I could deduce from his body language. "Touched it lately?"

"Not since two months ago. It's only for VERY special occasions." I shrugged, taking a glance at the nameplate on his desk. "Mr. Noir... can you find it?"

The silence was thicker than 5 year old expired eggnog. Golly, how I wished I knew what he was thinking. The only thing I could decipher was a bit of curiosity from the slight tilt of his head.

I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath until I started getting dizzy.

Eventually, he spoke up. "The question ain't can I, toots. It's will I. And the answer is yes."

A small smile spread across my lips as he stood up, handing me back the photograph with a slight tilt of his head.

"Thank you, sir."

The apartment I lived in was quite small, and hardly luxurious. Despite our family heirloom being one of such high worth, we weren't a wealthy family. But I managed to get by. Even if it wasn't large, it was cozy.

"This is your place?" His body language betrayed no thoughts. It was really quite frustrating how little I could infer from him, with only his voice and movements to determine what he was feeling.

"...it's not much," I admitted carefully, "But I do like it."

"And you never thought to sell the necklace?"

"No, sir. It's too important to our family."

Noir hummed softly, inspecting the safe when I pointed it out. He dragged a gloved finger over the surface, a thin layer of dust now coating his fingertip like ash from a fireplace. The motion somehow made me nervous, as if he was convincing me I had something to hide.

Noir looked up at me after a moment's pause. "...Listen, if you can't pay, I can-"

"No." I cut him off. "I can pay. I wouldn't have hired you if I didn't set aside some money."

The vigilante didn't respond. He merely turned back to the safe, closing the door of it before standing up straight again. He looked down at me, and I could practically feel his eyes burning into me.

"...I can't take your money, darlin'."

Frustration boiled inside of me as I took a step forward. "Yes you can. I don't need pity, detective."

A small sigh could be heard through the fabric of Noir's mask. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from having an outburst.

In a swift, almost imperceptible movement, Noir took one of my hands in both of his. The investigator's huge gloved hands dwarfed my own. "You don't understand. I know what happened with yer necklace, I can't ask you to pay me for such a quick job."

It was hard for me to choke out any words. "But-"

"No buts."

"I have to pay you. This is your job," I protested.

Noir was quiet for a moment before cupping my face in his hands. I was aware of heat rising to my cheeks. If he noticed how flustered he was making me, he didn't say anything. "You really wanna pay? I'm not gonna bump gums with you about this."

I nodded stubbornly. Perhaps I didn't quite understand the implications of his words, because after lifting up his mask just above his nose, he kissed me square on the lips.

The light pink on my cheeks doubled, turning my face red as I slowly began kissing back. My mind clouded, halting any racing thoughts and focusing only on the gentleness of his lips.

When he finally pulled away, it felt too soon. I couldn't squeak out any words as he took a step back from me, tilting his hat by the brim with a small nod.

My mind was still in a bit of a daze when he started to leave. "By the way, darlin'." I looked up at him as he spoke to me. "Check the coffee table."

And sure enough, there was the necklace, hidden from view next to a stack of magazines.

[goosedoes-fics]

the thought that spider-man therapist would most likely send his enemies into a deep reflective depressive episode mid battle is pretty fucking funny to me

he'd yell out "WOULD YOUR MOTHER BE PROUD OF WHAT YOU'RE DOING?" and all the thugs stop fighting and start contemplating their every life decision

"interesting. i guess you haven't been shown enough affection as a child, your destructive behaviour doesn't surprise me. ever heard of cognitive restructuring? you should try that out" *shoots webs*

[goosedoes-fics]

Boundaries and rules. --☆

I've been writing fanfiction for a while, and some re-uploads of old works may be cringey or odd. I'll usually state in notes before the work whether or not it's a re-upload.

I am a MINOR. I will not do nsfw or smut of any kind. The most you're getting out of me is something mildly suggestive.

I will NOT write for proships and comships. This includes age gaps, relatives, and student x teacher.

Please feel free to request anything!! I can't guarantee I'll respond, but I love getting requests.

FANDOMS I WILL WRITE FOR:

Eddsworld

Markiplier egos

Undertale and AUs

Deltarune

Homestuck

Centaurworld

Zeddyzi's Ramshackle

Spider-man: Into/Across the Spider-verse

Spooky Month

Danganronpa

FANDOMS I WILL NOT WRITE FOR:

(This is nothing against these fandoms. Enjoy whatever you want.)

South Park

Family Guy

Dream SMP

Countryhumans

Hetalia

Hamilton

[goosedoes-fics]

Clown Town

GHB x lowblood!Reader

Content Warnings: Violence, murder mention, blood, use of y/n, distantquest ghb (my pookie)

Notes: this one is the most cringe out of all of my re-uploads but after this it'll all be fresh content!!! currently working on a Spider-man Noir oneshot

~~~~~

"Welcome to the Dark(ish) Carnival!"

The purple-coloured banner hanging above your head made you chuckle slightly under your breath. Your eyes glanced slowly around the circus tents in front of you.

You had never been one to interact with purplebloods, really. They'd naturally cull you on sight. However, a kindly clown preacher (cleacher) had directed you to this extravagant event. Despite how odd they had acted, their words were in no way malicious. They didn't seem like they were directing you towards a lowblood culling fair or anything.

The scenery surrounding you was precisely what you were expecting from the clown caste. Balloons, rides, tents, and the occasional splatter of blood. You tried your best to pay it no mind. However, if this is the place you were to die, it wouldn't really surprise you.

The trolls attending the carnival were mostly highbloods, really no castes lower than jade. You began to regret your decision to investigate the odd circus. This location was a one-way ticket to your burgundy blood splattered on the ground.

Whispering voices surrounded you as the carnival patrons noticed the lowblood attendee. You tried walking a little faster as you felt eyes gazing from every direction. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

Though you were in no immediate danger, you found yourself taking cover behind a particularly large tent. While you sat down, you mentally reprimanded yourself for blindly trusting the preacher, despite their caste's violent reputation. Of course they had invited you, the highbloods needed someone culled for entertainment. Your bloodpusher rattled in your ribcage at an alarming frequency as you tried to catch your breath.

"hey. little motherfucker."

You nearly passed out from the shock as you heard a gravelly, masculine voice right next to you. Your body trembled and you refused to turn to look at whoever it was for fear of what you might see.

"i know you FUCKIN' HEARD ME. come on and LOOK AT ME." his voice raised to a slight growl and you felt a large hand grab your wrist.

There was no resisting now. You slowly turned your gaze towards whoever it was.

There stood a purpleblood, unsurprisingly. He was a young adult, seemingly much taller and heavyweight than most trolls of his age. He towered over you with a height almost as tall as a full-grown fuschia.

"what's your NAME, MOTHERFUCKER?" his eyes narrowed, any emotion hidden inside them indescernible.

Your quaking form refused to settle as you stared up at him. Refusing to answer would result in death, you realized. "[Y/n]," you managed to choke out, trying not to make direct eye contact.

"you're a TINY MOTHERFUCKIN' RUSTY," he mused, crossing his arms lazily. "what brings you here, other than to GET YOUR ASS CULLED?"

You couldn't determine whether he was being sincere or aggressive. The way he spoke really seemed to indicate both, honestly. "I... was invited. B-by a preacher I listened to on the street."

The clown paused for a moment, his gaze tinted with mild curiosity. "you here to listen to the WICKED WORD?"

You nodded quickly. Perhaps he would be less inclined to beat your skull in with those juggling pins on his belt if he knew you were curious about his religion.

Silently, he lifted you up and set you back onto your feet, his eyebrow quirked with intrigue and his lips curled into a malicious grin. "follow me," he ordered, pulling you by your hand into the tent.

The large tent was separated into two parts. Passing by earlier, you had caught a glimpse of the first area, a large theater-like room, presumably for sermons. Now, you were being led (or really dragged) into a smaller area, set up like a dressing room.

A framed image on a table held a picture of your new companion dressed in more formal attire.

Wait. What was the sign on his chest in the portrait?

...Capricorn.

Only one purpleblood held such an iconic symbol. Your stomach backflipped as you realized who was holding on to your wrist. Surely nothing good could come of this.

The Grand Highblood led you to a small couch, releasing his grip on your wrist and pulling up a chair for him to sit on so he could face you. You tentatively sat on the couch, not willing to refuse the words of such an important (and violent) clown.

"do you KNOW WHO I AM?" he asked coolly.

You nodded quickly. "You... you're the Grand Highblood," you mumbled, shock seeping into your voice.

"yeah. just call me GHB."

You dipped your head, acknowledging the order. You locked eyes with him for a moment before turning your gaze to the ground.

GHB took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look him in his eyes. He regarded you carefully, taking in your features. After a moment of you squirming in his grasp, he released you, leaning back in his seat nonchalantly.

"not many rusties like yourself take up the MOTHERFUCKIN' COURAGE to WALK UP IN THIS PLACE," he commented, sounding mildly impressed with your bravery. You mumbled your thanks.

A second of silence passed before GHB spoke up again. "hey. y'know i ain't gonna cull you, right?" his words were somewhat gentle and you mustered up the courage to look him in the eyes again. He was... being sincere. You smiled sheepishly, dipping your head in thanks to his mercy.

The edges of his lips curled into a smirk. "you're a SPECIAL LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER, THOUGH. so don't think you're goin' back to a life that's ANY SEMBLANCE OF NORMAL AFTER THIS."

GHB's words confused you. What exactly was he implying with that statement?

"what i mean is i WANT YOU TO STAY HERE," he rumbled, taking your face in his hand again. "a freaky little BURGUNDY LIKE YOU is too fuckin' special to just up n' forget about." He inched his face closer to yours, and you felt your cheeks immediately flush a deep red.

Your flustered reaction made GHB grin with satisfaction and he closed the gap between your faces, kissing you roughly.

He placed his hands on your waist, slipping a hand under your shirt, earning a shocked squeak from you. After a moment, he pulled away, his eyes narrowed and a smug grin on his lips. Your face was still deep red, and you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Though... if he had done something you hadn't liked, you would've tried your luck escaping. It did feel nice.

GHB stood from his seat, gazing down at you fondly. "now then, little rusty. i have a SWEET-ASS SERMON TO PREACH. don't you go anywhere."

with that, he slipped out of the changing room into the main area, leaving you shocked on the couch.

You let your muscles relax after a moment, leaning into the plush cushions with your mind swimming with a thousand thoughts.

Only one thought remained dominant in the cacophony.

Thank gog for that clown preacher.

[goosedoes-fics]

Werewolf

Bill x witch!Reader

Content Warnings: use of POVs, hanging mention, use of y/n, it's really just mild hurt/comfort

Notes: when I uploaded this to ao3 about a year ago I put one of the tags as "impromptu divorce" and I think that's really funny

~~~~

POV: Bill

Bill ran through the thick forest as fast as he possibly could. Stray twigs and branches clawed at his face as he rushed by them, leaving dirty scratches where they whipped past.

Bill could hear the townspeople's outraged cries some ways behind him. His friends, his family, everyone he had ever known, trying to have him dead. He tried to tell himself it wasn't their fault. The paranoia got to them. But the look of hatred on his wife's face... he couldn't forget that.

At the memory of his wife, his mind flashed back to the scene in the Seer's abode. Despite their semifrequent arguments, Bill had expected his wife to defend him when he was accused of being the werewolf. But... she was so quick to turn on him. There was no sympathy in the woman's eyes when she followed the crowd to have him hung.

The memory brought tears to his eyes, blurring his vision. His emotions were a vortex of anger, of fear, of sadness and betrayal. Quickly, the anger overtook all others. Putting his jeweled hand in front of him, he threw off the precious golden ring viciously, watching it fly behind him and land in a pile of mud, slowly getting harder to see as his legs carried him further away.

The ring was hard to see now. In fact, Bill couldn't hear the townsfolk anymore, either. He slowed to a fatigued jog, straining his senses for any sort of evidence that he was still being followed.

Silence.

With the town, the villagers, and the ring now out of sight, it was as if Bill had never lived there in the first place. He couldn't decipher if this fact made him joyful or absolutely miserable.

Bill refused to stop walking for quite some time. Though every inch of his body begged him to cease his fleeing, he couldn't be sure yet if his pursuers were far enough away to be safe.

It was nearly midnight now. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting an oddly serene light on the forest floor. Though, Bill noticed, the trees were beginning to thin out considerably.

Looking further ahead, he could clearly see an open field lined with dazzling flowers. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief at his fortune. This would be a good place to settle down. Nobody would be able to sneak up on him.

"You're quite some ways away from the village."

Bill leapt into the air, gaining astounding height from the shock of the sudden voice. Whirling around in panic, he swiftly noticed a human figure wrapped in a silken cloak and decorated by colourful flowers.

It was evidently none of the townspeople, so Bill let himself settle down. He took a few steps back before letting himself speak.

"Who are you?" he asked warily, eyeing them carefully to take in their features.

"You may call me [Y/n] [L/n]." the stranger's critical yet gentle [e/c] eyes were shaded slightly by the brim of their rounded hat. "The Seer told me of your town's plight. I am sympathetic, though as I told her, I am forbidden from tempering in Wolven affairs. I cannot help you."

Bill bowed his head nervously. "I understand. B-but... I have been driven out of the village. I-I am no longer a resident there." as he spoke, he felt his fatigue catch up to him. He willed his eyes to stay open, praying he didn't faint in the midst of a stranger's presence.

They paused for a moment, gazing at Bill carefully. "I'm sorry, but I have no room to house someone of your kind. My work is frowned upon in your world, and I'd hate to force my beliefs upon you." They said the last bit coldly, as if they had heard such a phrase a thousand times.

Bill opened his mouth to speak again, but the thrill of running from the townspeople was beginning to wear off quickly.

Fatigue hit him hard and fast, and as he began to crumble to the ground, all he could muster was a quiet sorry before everything went black.

POV: 2nd person

You gazed at the odd villager curiously as he unconsciously nestled further into his pile of woolen blankets. His sudden fall had surprised you for sure, but you managed to catch him just before he hit the ground. You suprised yourself with being able to catch the hefty man, really. You had to pretty much drag him to your cottage. Oh well, his clothes needed cleaning anyways.

You glanced outside the window. It was about noon by now. The man had been sleeping for at least 12 hours.

As if he had read your thoughts, you saw his figure start to stir in the corner of your eye. Turning to him, you could see just how much good the rest had done him.

He sat up in your wood-framed bed you had lent him, stretching with a loud yawn. The bags under his eyes were no longer visible, you noted as he turned to look at you.

You made eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time before you spoke up. "Despite my previous concerns... I'm willing to let you stay under this roof for as long as you need. So long as you keep your religious opinions to yourself."

The man looked dazed and confused. Perhaps he had forgotten the events of the previous night? "I don't... think I follow."

"I am a witch," you responded simply, gesturing to the herbs growing in pots around your room. "And your... ex-neighbors have been trying to kill me for years."

He blinked, eyebrows knitting together in an expression of concern. "Well, that hardly seems fair," he commented. "Though they don't seem to know the meaning of fair, I'm coming to realize." His words turned bitter and you remembered his passing comment about being driven out.

"What is your name?" you asked gently after a moment's pause, crossing the room to stand by your desk. You took a vial of coloured liquid, tapping a drop of it into a newly-brewed cup of herbal tea.

"It's... Bill."

You walked back to him, holding out the drink. He accepted it gratefully, taking a few sips. "Normally nobody drinks that brew," you commented fondly. "It's always too bitter for them."

Bill tilted his head. "Sure it's bitter," he agreed, "but you seem to know your way around herbs. I trust you."

A warm feeling filled your chest at his words. This odd man was clearly different from the other villagers. Somehow, he made you feel as if you wanted him to stay.

You quickly brushed the thoughts away. Surely, his fellow townsfolk would welcome him back soon. You wouldn't want to keep him for longer than he needed.

"You should go back to sleep," you advised quietly. "The potion needs time to take effect. It will clear any wounds that haven't already mended."

Bill frowned slightly at your words. "I don't know if I can. I'm not used to sleeping alone."

You raised an eyebrow, staring at Bill for a moment. After some thought, you let out a soft sigh, walking over and sitting on the bed. "Does it go against your kosher laws if you use a witch like a teddy bear?" you asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Bill's face turned a light shade of pink. "O-oh. Well, no, but you... you don't have to if you don't want to."

"It's fine." You smiled softly, laying down next to Bill and staring up at the ceiling. You expected that he wouldn't cuddle with you. You had only just met. But maybe just being close by would help him fall back asleep.

A few minutes passed by with no sounds from Bill. Thinking he had fallen asleep, you turned on your side, facing the window and looking out it placidly. Then, you felt a woolen blanket being pulled over you, and strong arms pulling you closer towards the center of the bed. Your face flushed at the unexpected embrace, but you didn't speak for fear of alarming the tired man and having him pull away. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warming your skin. His face felt almost as warm as yours, evidently unsure of whether you would accept his touch.

You let yourself relax into the embrace, allowing Bill to do the same. His breathing steadied as he drifted off again.

You closed your eyes as well, letting drowsiness overtake you. The two of you were safe together, you knew for sure.

[goosedoes-fics]

Quiet

Wilford Warfstache x nonverbal!Reader

Content warnings: Gender neutral reader, use of y/n, boss and employee relationship, what the fuck is a slow burn

Notes: this is another re-upload. errrmmmm wilford the silly

~~~~

"[Y/n]!"

A loud voice jolted you out of your imagination. It was a very slow day, the kind that you'd spend curled up in a blanket by the fireplace, but of course you had to spend it at work. Typical.

You turned expectantly to your jovial sounding co-worker. What you had assumed was correct, as usual. The boss himself, Mr. Warfstache.

To call Wilford a "friend" would be an odd choice of words. You preferred to think of your relationship as strictly professional, but Mr. Warfstache seemed to consider you as a close pal.

Wilford plopped himself unceremoniously next to your seat at the sound booth. A wide grin was present on his face, as usual.

"So! The day's almost over, yeah? You ready to head home?"

You shrugged slightly, hoping he would leave you alone. It's not that you disliked him exactly, but more that he didn't really understand your aversion to conversating. As usual, he paid no mind to your wordless response.

"Me and a few a' the guys are headed over to a fancy li'l resteraunt in the area. And y'know of course I had t' see if you wanted to come along!" The eccentric man grinned wider, maintaining eery eye contact with you.

Naturally, you didn't respond verbally. Honestly, you didn't respond at all. You gave Wilford a strange look, turning your head towards the soundboard and flicking off the power switch for the night.

Wilford leaned forward, trying to catch your eye again. "But, hey, if you don't want a crowd, we can just go by ourselves! The two of us!" he piped up hopefully, his odd voice taking on an even odder tone.

That... actually didn't sound too bad to you. You turned to face him once more, hesitating for a moment before giving him a small nod. His face immediately lit up.

Wilford jumped out of his chair, running a hand through his hair to adjust it. "Well! Let's go now, then!"

With a small sigh, you lifted yourself from the chair, stretching a bit before gathering your belongings and heading for the studio door. Wilford trailed close behind you, locking the door as you exited the building.

The walk was about how you expected it. Wilford chattered away, nearly talking your ear off, but thankfully stayed away from anything that required you to speak. The sun was starting to go down now, painting the sky with a lovely gradient from blue to pink. You took a moment to admire the beauty of the scenery.

It was a little while before you began to realize the two of you had been walking for quite some time. Wilford had piped down a bit, and was glancing around in confusion as he scanned the streets.

"...coulda sworn the damn thing was this way," he muttered, seemingly embarrassed. "Yeah there was... that big ol' sign? And further down was the restaurant, right?"

The odd man seemed quite nervous now. Bits of sunlight filtered through the buildings on the horizon, but the streets were dimly lit as the lamps littering the sidewalks had yet to turn on.

After a moment, Wilford sighed heavily, turning swiftly on his heels. "I don't want us to get lost. Let's just head back." He hung his head sadly. Something told you he had been looking forward to this for a while.

You reassuringly pat his shoulder, making Wilford jump slightly, as if he had forgotten you were there. He looked back at you, giving you a small smile. "Don't you worry, I know where the studio is from here."

The walk back was much quieter than before. Your boss was so uncharacteristically quiet that it startled you half to death when he protectively wrapped an arm around your waist. You didn't protest. The closeness was quite comforting.

Eventually, the two of you managed to return to the studio. It was dark out now, and Wilford dejectedly retracted his arm as he turned to look at you.

"I'm sorry this turned out so boring, [Y/n]," he commented sadly.

You patted his arm again, this time letting the touch linger a bit more than you realized. You swiftly brought your arm back to your side, gazing at the sidewalk with embarrassment.

When you looked back up, Wilford was a bit closer. You felt your face heat up immediately as he drew you into a strong hug. After a moment of shock, you put your arms around him and hugged back.

Wilford pulled away with a deep breath. "Ta be honest, I was really looking forward to spendin' time with you. I didn't mean to get all lost like that."

You blinked in confusion. Wilford was talkative, sure, but he never tried to "spend time" with you outside of work.

"Actually, I'm really sorry for a lot a' things. I know I talk a lot an', I mean, you don't." His words began speeding up as he started to ramble. "You always seem so... uncomfy when I talk to ya. Did it feel like I was pushin' the whole outin' on ya? Gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't think about that, of course it must've felt like that. I'm your boss and you're always so quiet. I wish you had told me, not that this is your fault, but I mean-"

You put a finger over Wilford's lips to stop his rambling, and he cut off quickly. He stared at you for a moment, and as you realized what you had done, you quickly pulled away. You gazed at him and shook your head to indicate his worries were incorrect.

You both stared at each other for a moment. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment once again.

Wilford gently placed a hand on your waist. "Is it okay if I kiss you?" he asked cautiously.

Your face was now evidently reddened. After a moment of processing his words, you nodded slowly.

Wilford brought his face closer to yours, eyes narrowing slightly as he slowly planted his lips on yours. For how rough his hands were, his lips were comfortably soft. The way he kissed you made it seem as if he'd been waiting to for quite some time.

Slowly, he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours in a caring gesture.

The warmth of the embrace lasted some time before you stepped back, earning a sad whine from Wilford. You smiled slightly.

"It's dark out now. Can I walk you home?" he asked hopefully.

You nodded, grasping his hand firmly as you began leading the way.

The quiet of the night gave you some time to reflect. You realized how easy it was to communicate with Wilford, as you didn't have to say a single word. That was very comforting to you.

Maybe one day you'd even be confident enough to speak in front of him. You smiled at the thought.

Maybe the talkative man wasn't so bad after all.

[goosedoes-fics]

Closet

Bim Trimmer x Reader

Content warnings: blood mention, death mention, gender neutral reader, use of y/n, use of title Mx.

Notes: ohhh God I wrote this. ages ago. and since I just made this blog I thought I'd re-upload a few old oneshots. huge cringe warning I'm so sorry

You had to get away. That's the only thing you knew. You had run backstage. The stench of fresh blood still hung in the air, choking you with its visceral aroma. The adrenaline was still pumping through your veins when you managed to reach the old closet where you now resided.

~~~

A game show. A simple old game show. That's all it was supposed to be. You had nothing to be concerned about. And yet, a deep part of your mind wasn't truly surprised by the blood now lightly splattered where a fellow contestant had previously stood.

You let yourself take a deep breath. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

I've seen this show thousands of times, you thought to yourself in shock. This has never happened. The contestants were always just hidden offstage, there was never any blood.

Of course with your luck, this had happened. Someone was dead. In an attempt to gain more points for the show, they had ended their own life. This was your fault, wasn't it? Somehow, you told yourself, this was all your doing.

Voices echoed through the halls outside. They were looking for you. They couldn't let you get away. They had never let a contestant get away before.

Of course, a contestant had never seen a death before, either. Some machinery malfunctioned, causing the death to be visible to those in the studio. Thank god the show wasn't filmed live.

Footsteps. Drawing nearer. Someone knew you were here.

The knob turned. Fate would decide what these people would do to you. You had witnessed too much. Far too much to be kept alive.

The closet door opened with a creak, a sound that was eerily similar to the sound of very faint screaming. A well-dressed man stepped inside the spacious closet, closing the door behind him and flipping the light switch to see you better. You could clearly see the man's face. It was the host of the show himself. A certain Bim Trimmer.

"I was under the impression that you would be a bit better at hiding." His smirk was crooked and a bit too playful for the situation you were in.

You tried to get further away from him, to no avail. Your back pressed against the shelves of the closet, and you could feel the wooden boards threatening to bruise your skin if you pushed back much further.

"We haven't had an incident such as this in quite some time," Trimmer lamented, shaking his head with faux shame. "You're now the single outlier in our perfect record."

You tried to respond. Maybe to reprimand such a twisted man, maybe to apologise despite your innocence. Unfortunately, the words caught in your throat like a fly in a web.

Bim could sense your weakness. He knew he had the power in this situation. He had you in the palm of his hand.

"What are you afraid of, Mx. L/n?" The host stepped closer to you. You had nowhere to go, and you both knew it.

He stepped closer once more. "Are you afraid of death, perhaps?"

At his next step, he was now uncomfortably close to you. "Are you afraid of being alone, abandoned?"

Bim rested his hand on your shoulder, leaning in to whisper in your ear. You were painfully aware of the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

"Or maybe," he murmured, his warm breath heating your exposed skin, "Are you afraid of me?"

You wanted to speak up. You wanted to say no, or try to run, or do anything other than stand there, helpless and intimidated. But every cell in your body was fighting against your better judgement. All you could muster was a shaky breath.

The fancily-dressed man pulled his head away enough to look you in the eyes. The way he gazed at you gave you the feeling that he could read every little thought in your head.

"I'm not going to harm you, Mx. [L/n]. You intrigue me. More so than any ordinary contestant." He smiled, a smile sweet as honey but equally as sinister. "However, you can't just waltz off, what with all of the things you've seen."

Bim carefully cupped your face in his hands. The adrenaline previously running through you was running low, and you felt drowsy. Despite everything, you couldn't help but notice how gently he held you. It felt nice, in a way. The host smiled at you again, though this smile seemed more sincere.

"If you truly are afraid of me, dear, you'll have to face your fears a lot more from now on."