#but thank you for so much enthusiasm right off the bat

[averagejoesolomon]

WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING TO US. Chapter 5?!

1. Rachel Cameron is either so far in love that she's lost her control *just a little*. Or that woman knows exactly what she's doing. Little of both?

2. Matt's got it SO BAD. Did he start falling in love with her during their break? Or right when he saw her again or was it ~the dress~

3. TOWNSEND FOR REAL?! Maybe even with Catherine? What the heck, you're giving us a glimpse at a young Townsend. I can't even.

YEAH. ME TOO, PAL. ME TOO. At this point I will leave Rachel's reactions and intentions mostly to interpretation, but, like, the smartest woman in espionage did just show up with a backless dress, and I've just gotta believe she knows what she's doing. What she might not remember, is just how bad she's got it for this dumb Nebraskan farmboy. Or how bad he's got it for her. These two have been a long time coming, once you put fake wedding bands on them it's over for them. And YEAH. TOWNSEND. Dude, I have known about Townsend showing up this whole time and I couldn't spoil ANYTHING. I'm so stoked that you know now, it's so good and I'm so excited. Thank you for reading along with me.

[chiropteracupola]

historically accurate trip to clifton's cafeteria!!!

[progress shots under the readmore]

[toxicanonymity]

EVERY INCH 4

SERIES MASTERLIST | SLASHERS MASTERLIST PAIRINGS: ghostface x f!reader; dark javi x f!reader LENGTH: ~6.6k words. The next one will be shorter.

SUMMARY: after what you did on the metro, you're ashamed and paranoid. javi crosses a line. ghostface does something he's never done before. so do you.

WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon, piv and various acts, somno, drugs, degradation, dirty talk, angst/shame, yearning, r-word in ref to past acts, breeding and "daddy" kinks, descriptions of (not actual) pregnancy. Restraints, blindfold. And idk, it gets weird. Anonymous ghostface. We enjoy surprises in this series, soo WRITER CHOOSES NOT TO WARN IN FULL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N: Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm and omg all the love on the fics 🖤. Thank you negraarmadura (@theblackarmor) for your valuable input and inspiration. Also, @lunitawrites can shoulder some blame for the excessive breeding kink. Ty @saradika for the dividers. FIWB, There are probably mistakes, play it cool.

Overnight, your fury and humiliation fades into gloom and confusion. Ghostface. You wake up itchy and dehydrated. 

You never imagined things would go this far. You should kill him, right? Ghostface? Don’t you have to? Think about what he did to you. What he made you do. You should kill him, but you don't have the energy. And you're too angry at yourself to have much ire for anyone else. 

Ghostface, a notoriously brutal killer, called you a serial rapist, and he wasn’t even really lying. How much of the metro disaster was planned? Did Ghostface orchestrate it, or did he simply seize the opportunity to watch, fascinated by your blind lust and rage? 

You didn't want to know. As long as you weren't certain, you still had that little sliver hope that you didn't rape a stranger at gunpoint all on your own. But either way, you did hold the gun. Either way, you took the man’s dick out and degraded him as you forced yourself on him in the middle of a public train. Lost in the moment. Feeling like it was just you and him, Ghostface. Until it wasn’t.

The day after the metro, it feels like everybody knows what you did. Every time you close your eyes, images of crowds on train platforms blur through your mind. An infinite audience to your terrible crime. 

You stay in bed, frozen, not wanting to face reality. Telling yourself it’s a dream. Sleeping off and on. Batting away uncomfortable thoughts–like when will you see Ghostface again? Is he going to call you? What will you do? You can’t get him off your mind. 

Two mornings after the metro, you drag yourself out of bed, then out into the world. At the grocery store, you bump into your older pothead neighbor, and he asks if you're okay. Your heart races, thinking he must know. It takes you a moment to remember why he’s asking – your friend Marla was stabbed to death just days ago, and she wasn't the first.  

In the checkout line, you space out until a man’s voice jars you from your trance. You apologize and put your items on the conveyor belt. When you’re just about to pay, you receive a text message from an unknown number, a fact which on its own makes your tummy tingle. When you read the text, your whole body turns hot: 

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine. 

The words land straight between your legs. As the grocer hands you your bags, he asks if you’re okay. You shake yourself out of it and nod.  The grocer wishes you good luck. At least, that’s what you think he says. Good luck not getting caught? Good luck not getting killed? Good luck with what? You decide you must have imagined it. 

In the parking lot, before heading home, you sit in your car for a few minutes, spaced out, wondering if you'll ever be able to go out in public again without feeling like this. Like everyone knows something awful about you.

On the way home, you can't get your phone to charge. You’re fiddling with the cord when blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, making your stomach drop. The lights turn off only after you're parked on the grass shoulder of the two lane road. 

Every second feels like a minute until a tall, blonde cop in aviators gets out of his car, stretches, and strides over like he has all the time in the world.  You roll down the window. He plants two huge hands on the top of your car and ducks down to look at you. For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything, just leisurely chews his gum. 

Then, he shifts his stance and asks, “How ya doin’, ma’am?”  Deep voice, smooth as butter. 

Out of nowhere, you feel on the verge of tears. Avoiding your reflection in his shades, you swallow the knot in your throat and answer, “fine.” 

He stops chewing and asks,“Yeah? You sure?”

You suck your lips together and nod. 

He looks from you to the groceries in your front seat and the mess of junk in the back, then asks, “Where ya headed?”

“Home.”

He bobs his head in understanding and glances down the road, chewing his gum again. 

Your heart continues to race as you watch his face for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks. “Well, put your fuckin’ phone down for me.” He raises his eyebrows and tips his shades forward, forcing his sky blue eyes on you. “‘k, darlin’?”

Your lips part, and you forget to blink until he winks at you and flashes a smile. Then you nod and mumble, “Uh. Yeah, sorry.” 

He fixes his aviators back. “Careful out there, ‘k?” After a nod and a casual tap on your roof, he walks off. You watch him in the rear view mirror.  

Are his legs that long, or is it the monochrome outfit? He adjusts his belt before getting in his car. Your chest bubbles with interest, attraction, and you curse yourself under your breath. 

At home, you try to distract yourself by watching a show, but it’s just not possible. After what he did—what you did–on the train, you’re terrified to know what’s next. What you might do next in this absurd state you find yourself in where he consumes your every thought. And it hits you, the sickest part of all—why you attacked who you thought was Ghostface. Not because Ghostface attacked you, not because he tried to kill you, but because he left you after getting you worked up. Ghostface walked away from you. He left you alone and alive in that alley, and it upset you. 

You find yourself at the bizarre revelation that you and Ghostface are the only people in your world that feel real right now. You’re inextricably linked. He’s the only one who really knows you. He knows your darkness. 

Are you the only one who really knows him, too?

Your phone dings with a text. It’s a political campaign, but you take the opportunity to re-read:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

It gives you butterflies. It sounds like him. It has to be him. That’s the only thing that helps you relax.

(Some hours and a nap later. . .)

"What would you do if you had Ghostface cornered," Javi asks, sitting back and manspreading next to you on your sofa. He's nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case he brought and crammed into your fridge, pushing aside expired condiments and old takeout containers. 

You should never have let Officer Javi in when he knocked on your door. “Heard ya had a rough day,” he had remarked. “Pulled over?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something about him that made you uneasy, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice, so you opened the door.

It was impossible to miss the way he sniffed the air after crossing the threshold. You imagined he was smelling the cum of Ghostface and amateur Ghostface, even two days and several showers later. 

Pulling yourself back into the moment at hand – Javi’s question isn’t easy – what would you do if you had Ghostface cornered? What would a normal person do? 

You ask, "if I had him cornered?"

"What, you wouldn't do anything?" Javi challenges you. 

"I wouldn't get within ten feet of him," you claim. 

Javi chuckles skeptically. "You wouldn't kill him?" 

“No. . . .should I?”

"I think you have it in you,” Javi replies, then drops his voice. “Or you want it in you." 

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t let it go. You challenge him, "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to be a victim. You're determined not to be." 

In a gesture that could pass for reassurance, Javi’s cold, broad hand rests just above your bare knee for a moment. Then he trails his fingers up your thigh, all the way to the hem of your shorts, close to where you’re now tingling. 

His voice goes down in pitch and volume.  "It's an attractive quality. . . Your lust for control." His face is dark with lust. 

You take his hand off your thigh and place it on his own leg. 

“See? ” he asks with a condescending twitch of his mustache in the corner of your eye.  

"Pervert," you mutter.

"You wouldn't shoot Ghostface with my gun?" Javi glances down at himself. Eyes following his gaze, you do a double take at the shape in his tight pants. 

Shame prickles your face, and you swallow as you admit, "Your gun was stolen." 

"I know," Javi nods with just the hint of a smile. "It was turned in." 

With an air of nonchalance, he takes the gun out of the back of his pants. He subtly rubs the side of the barrel against his hard cock as he pretends to inspect the firearm before setting it on the coffee table. "Now you can shoot him.”

He watches you look at the gun on your coffee table. The one that was buried in your cunt less than 48 hours ago. Javi continues, “But you won't shoot him, will you?"

"No," you agree. 

"Don't want him to leave you alone."

"No," you argue, mouth getting dry. “That’s ridiculous.”

"Oh,” Javi seems to be acting. “Too scared to shoot a gun?  We'll practice."

“No,” you shake your head, then ask, "How do I know he's the right one? The one who’s cornered?" 

"Ah," A smile creeps across his face. "The real Ghostface, and not just some guy in a Stab costume? " He raises an eyebrow. 

Over the next few seconds, your face goes ice cold.

"Shhh. It's okay,” Javi rests a hand on your back, then rubs it slowly. “I know, sweetheart.” 

He knows what? Is he involved in this somehow? Your question spills out before you can stop it. “What are you getting at? What did you do?”

The large palm on your back slows to a halt between your shoulder blades. Javi pouts in contemplation, looking at the ceiling like he's racking his brain. Another twitch of his mustache. Before meeting your eyes again, he subtly shakes his head, "Nothing," then bends forward, picks up your drink, and hands it to you. He puts his hand on your back again, lazily caressing it with his knuckles this time. 

Trying to calm yourself down, you take a sip. He nods encouragingly. 

You ask, "Are you even a cop?"

"Yeah, I’m a cop," he laughs. 

“Okay, pig. Who’s your supervisor?”

Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch! ” 

Another sip of your drink. 

“Good girl,” he whispers as he watches you swallow. His eyes are right on your throat. The tingle simmers between your legs. Javi’s hand slides up your back to slowly rub the nape of your neck with his thumb and fingers while his hungry eyes scan you head to toe. How hard is he right now? You don’t allow yourself the glance.

“Listen sweetheart,” his tone shifts,  “I can’t make this any easier on you.” His thumb gently glides over the peach fuzz on your neck.

“Make what easier?”

Javi’s only acknowledgement of your question is to breathe out a small laugh, then continue, “But I can make it harder.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your best interest if I keep you company tonight.” 

With Javi’s crotch tugging at your peripheral vision, a mild arousal stirs in your gut, but you muster a look of disgust. “Or what?”

“Let’s not find out, ” he threatens. 

You scowl and take another sip, catching a flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He continues to caress the back of your neck, then says, “Unless you want to find out.” 

His thumb freezes right in the dip at the base of your skull. “Maybe I read you wrong. Maybe you do want to be a victim.”  He taps his thumb twice and takes his hand away. His dark eyes scan your face as he reaches for the remote control.  

Are you paranoid, or does he know something? You no longer trust yourself to see things as they are. You pray he’s just a creep, taking advantage of his assignment to protect you. If he were a worse looking creep, you might be more concerned. 

Two hard lemonades later, you’re lying on your side on the couch, watching Rosemary’s Baby with Javi spooning you and lightly caressing your lower abdomen, right at the top of your shorts.  

“Are you on birth control? ” he asks, which catches you off guard and makes your face and insides tingle.  

“Yeah, gonna put that in your report?” you answer. 

“Mm,” he sighs. “Bet you take it real well, too.” 

A pool is forming in your panties. 

“Same time every day? ” He doesn't wait for an answer before adding, “Even with all this going on? ”

No response from you.

With the softest flick of his thumb, he unbuttons your shorts. 

“You really think i’m going to fuck you, don’t you?” you ask as his hand plunges into your panties. At least those are fresh. Or they were. 

When Javi’s fingers reach your wetness, he groans softly. “I told you, sweetheart. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Rubbing circles over your most sensitive place, he lightly grinds his hardening dick against your backside. The warm pressure of his arousal makes you throb. 

This goes on for a minute, then he cruelly slides his hand out of your shorts. He smells his fingers. The crudeness makes you twitch and seethe. A moment later, he’s urgently tugging down your shorts. His forearm vein bulges as he wedges his hand between your legs again. Your knees open for him, you can’t help it. His cock is pressing so hard against your ass, throbbing for you. He’s rubbing you at a steady, desirous rhythm, and your body is helping your mind forget everything. 

Need is rushing through your blood. The only thing you can see is a climax in sight.  Your insides swell and throb for him. You think about his cock, you want his cock, but no, you’re not going to give a pig that honor. This will have to do. 

He breathes heavier, and so do you. Your hips move with his rhythm. Every once in a while, his middle finger goes down and teases your hole as he gathers more slick to bring upward. Then one time, his finger stays at your entrance. He wriggles the tip of his middle digit into you, then plunges it in with a grunt, as far as he can get. 

He pumps his finger and grinds his palm against your clit. Your hips begin to rock into his hand. He mutters, “mierda” (shit), to himself as he slides his ring finger in. His thick digits stay buried inside. His cock twitches, and he calms himself, slowing down. A moan slips out of your mouth when you’re on the edge, desperate for release. 

“You want this, don’t you? ” he sides an arm under your neck and across your breasts to pull you tight against him. The swell of his cock sends a wave of pleasure upward, through your chest. 

“No,” you choke out, but your hips roll into his hand. 

“If you want to cum, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between heavy breaths. You’re almost there. Then, you grab his hand and hold it still against your cunt as you send yourself over the edge, grinding against his palm, gasping vocally, spasming against his hand, pathetically trying to hold back your moans. 

As it fades, you want more. Of course you want more. But you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

You wriggle out of his embrace to sit up and kick your shorts off your ankles. 

“I’m going to wash the cop off me,” you mutter in self-disgust. 

Javi is bemused. “He doesn’t make you ask, huh? ” 

Heat rises to your face. You stand up and don’t even look at him. “Fuck you, Javi,” you mutter. 

“Does he even make you cum? ”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you lie. 

Javi stands up, braces his thumbs on his lower back,  and pushes his hips forward in a stretch. A spot of precum on his pants draws your eye as he steps forward, his engorged dick straining to get out.  

After his stretch, he steps forward. His jaw clenches and his eyes are cold. He takes your jaw in his hand and looks from your lips to your eyes and back.  “Everyone’s going to know who I’m talking about if you’re not careful.”

Your stomach drops, but you manage not to show it, you think. “Be gone when I’m out of the shower,” you warn as if you could do anything about it. 

“Suit yourself,” he smiles slightly. “This time.” He adjusts himself with his dry hand. 

You give him one last glare. Then, your eyes fall to his hand, where he’s inspecting his two wet fingers, glimmering in the low light of the movie credits. His mustache twitches, and he walks in the opposite direction of your front door. You don’t bother redirecting him. You’re just glad he’s leaving when he exits out the back.

In the shower, you start to feel woozy. Did you drink more than you realized, or did Javi slip you something? It could have been either.  You end the shower sooner than you otherwise might, wrap yourself in a robe and lay on your bed. Aching to be filled, you think about retrieving a toy from your nightstand, but your sudden fatigue wins over.  Not getting off to the thought of Ghostface is a victory, even if it’s on a technicality. Instead, you fall asleep, thinking about the only man you’ve thought about for weeks. 

Your dreams are wild. 

Ghostface is working at a grocery store, with his mask on. He has a black button down shirt under a long black apron with a name tag that says Daddy. He’s rolling up his sleeves as he walks toward customer service. It feels like he runs the place. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. You stand frozen as he approaches swiftly. He grabs you roughly by the elbow and marches you toward the produce section as if you shouldn’t even be there at the store. 

He bends you over a crate of citrus fruit, and a fake thunderstorm booms from a nearby produce cooler as the vegetables get misted.

Standing behind you, holding you down on the fruit with one hand, he kicks your ankles to spread your feet open, exposing your cunt to the cool air. “You couldn't wait, could you?”  He asks, hiking up your dress. You aren't wearing anything under it. “Couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home...” 

There's a surge of need at the crux of your thighs, and you eagerly await his cock. Instead, what you feel is the cool, taut skin of a lime gliding against your dripping pussy. 

He slides the fruit up and down your dripping seam and pauses to grind it against your clit. The man knows what he’s doing. You throb and twitch and sigh as the smooth skin of the lime warms up. 

“That’s right, princess.” He wedges your legs further apart, so far apart the stretch burns. Then he resumes his work with the fruit. 

One end of the lime teases your entrance, then he pushes it into you. Your body sucks it up with ease and spasms around it. 

“Good girl.” His hand remains between your legs, hooking under your body to reach your clit. You whine as he rubs your sweet spot. The lime seems to thrust inside you with each rub of his hand against your front. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

He makes you cum on the lime, and with each of your spasms, your body sucks the fruit further into your channel. 

As your orgasm fades, Ghostface zip ties your hands over your head, fixing them to the sale sign in the middle of the produce crate. He leaves you with your dress still pulled up, ass and cunt exposed, twitching with aftershocks. 

“Please, wait,” You beg him to come back. 

Another worker notices you and fails to hide his erection. The man’s face is pink and spellbound. He stands there and rubs himself through his pants. He looks around furtively as he does it, watching you. And you’re a vision — pathetically bent over the fruit, spread wide open, moaning and whining for your man to come back and fuck you raw. 

A new sensation eclipses your awareness of the small audience. It begins to feel like the lime is growing in your womb, spreading your insides apart. You're increasingly aroused, feeling less and less control over your body as it swells with desire. You find yourself wishing for anyone to shove himself inside you—staff or customer. If only anyone with a cock would stop and use you. Please, you think to yourself. “Please,” you whimper out loud. You’re desperate to cum again, desperate to relieve all this pressure building in your belly. 

An older man approaches, undoing his belt, and he looks you over as he runs his hand over the outline of his erection, deciding what to do with you. He gets close enough to spread your cheeks and examine your cunt. Your hole tremors at his touch, and you whimper. You can feel from the air that you are spread wide open. It feels like you’re going to split at the seam. After examining your parts, the man mutters, “oh,” before deciding against it and walking away. 

Your whole torso feels like it could burst with the amount of tension swelling inside you. Your nipples are tight and sensitive, and you feel one of them bare against an orange under your chest. You look down to see your breasts, noticeably swollen, falling out of your dress. 

The fruit beneath you begins to dig into your tummy and it hurts. It's too much, paired with the aching need between your legs.  You cry out, and the other worker pages the general manager, Ghostface, over the intercom. 

-

When Ghostface returns, he snips your zip ties then roughly flips you over so you're face-up on a big pile of fruit. He ties your hands over your head again, this time using a plastic produce bag. 

“Well, look at my pumpkin,” he admires your body as he removes his gloves. Until you see the way his mask seems to stare at your middle, you don’t realize your midriff is exposed. Your dress has ridden up over your belly, which is rounder than before. It feels tight and distended, and you just feel so full.  He places both hands on your belly, feeling your shape. When you look down, you hardly recognize yourself. Your nipples are leaking. The one still in your top is creating a wet spot. Your other breast has broken containment completely. 

“What did you do to me,” you demand, with Ghostface massaging your belly tenderly. 

He groans and reaches up with one hand. Suddenly he clamps his hand over your eyes. The next thing you feel is a mouth sucking at your exposed tit. It feels amazing, all the tension rushing out of your breast, along with the stimulation of his tongue. He breaks away with a moan. 

“I knew you'd be delicious.”

So much pressure is built up inside you, you're dying to cum. He holds you by both your sides. You’re painfully spread open, inner thigh muscles aching. He puts himself between your legs. He grinds himself against you, and it makes your walls clench and convulse almost instantly with a groan that echoes. 

He pulls his hips back and watches between your legs as you surrender to another orgasm. “Look at you, drizzled all over the fruit,” he marvels as he watches your fluttering hole. With each wave, you feel your belly and breasts swell a little more until you feel and look like you're in your third trimester. 

“Please make it stop,” you beg.  It feels so good, but you don’t want your body like this.

He rubs at your dripping cunt, his flattened fingers gliding soothingly between your puffy folds. Soon, you're grinding against his hand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Take it out, take the lime out.”

“Might be too late, angel.” 

“Please try.” 

He relents and wedges three fingers together. The fingertips tease your dilated hole, then his three thick digits slide right in, the ease of it making him groan. The obscene squelching practically echoes as he fucks you with three fingers, and soon he adds a fourth. Your body accepts him, and welcomes the addition of his thumb. Soon his hand is reaching deep inside you, fist and forearm flexing as he searches for the lime. 

“Daddy’s trying, baby.”

Your body hugs his hand. “Please,” you cry, tears running down your face, from pleasure and pressure more than pain. 

“Let me see,” he muses to himself as he withdraws his hand and moves a finger down to your asshole. He teases the rim of it and you feel it open up for him like the rest of your body. Then he slides two dripping fingers in. With his fingers buried in your ass, you feel some relief. You breathe with the rhythm of his fingers, but when you see your belly heaving with each breath, you remember. “Please, please put me back to normal.” 

Ghostface sighs. “Are you sure, princess?” His fingers slide out of your asshole. 

“Yes,” you insist. 

He crouches down, puts your legs over his shoulders, and positions himself with his mask right at your cunt. He rests his dry hand on your belly, and his wet hand grips his mask at the edges. 

Just as he goes to take the mask off, the whole scene melts into a moving mosaic of fleeting thoughts. 

Everything but the pleasure fades away. 

Everything but the pleasure. . . and the feeling of being spread wide open. . . and your legs over someone’s strong shoulders. . .

Yes, there’s a head between your thighs, two strong hands holding you open, and a hungry mouth feasting on you with abandon. He’s grunting into your cunt with his tongue intruding into your deepest places, making your insides hum with need. 

Did Javi never leave? It doesn’t exactly sound like Javi. Javi is far too measured to be so—ohh, God, that feels good. It feels so good, you barely notice that you’re blindfolded. Or that your wrists are tied above your head, securing you to the bed frame. 

He licks up your cunt to suck at your clit, and he does it well. Fuck. A moan slips out, muffled by something damp and lacy. Your mouth is sore and gagged.  Your heart races as he sucks, and your sensitive nub swells with pressure. 

You’re still waking up, and your traitorous hips are grinding into his face. You’re close. His hands are on your thighs. You’re on the edge of climax, trying not to make any sound or sudden movements. 

When his tongue slips down to your asshole, you flinch. You squirm, but the hands hold you still. His thumbs spread your cheeks, and he licks a wide circle around the rim, getting closer and closer until his tongue is teasing your hole. 

Your nose twitches. You sniff the air, and breathe a shameful sigh of relief. It’s not Javi. It’s him. Thank God, it’s him. And it smells like he smoked in your room.

Ghostface pauses to mutter, “Good girl,” and the voice comes from between your legs, and from your right, as though he’s separated from the voice changer. 

And separated from his mask. Wow. You never thought he’d— his warm mouth returns to your ass, and he thrusts his tongue into you. A pit in your gut deepens with each thrust of his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter against the folded bandana that covers your eyes. 

You grunt and whine into the gag, then he begins to rub your clit while his tongue is buried in your ass. Before long, the tension snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. A muffled moan marks the start of your peak. His tongue slides out, and your body jerks with each spasm. 

“Attagirl,” you hear from both directions.

As you finish coming, he lays a cheek on one thigh and a hand on the other, stroking your skin with his thumb. 

“You were on a silver platter, princess. I had to take a bite.” Your nipples harden—you’re naked and your sweat is cooling. “You know how it is.” You don’t try to respond. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t mind,” he taunts. “And ohhh, Pumpkin. We’ve been having *fun*.” 

Can’t exactly ask what he’s been up to with a mouth full of your own panties. But you wriggle and groan in disapproval.  His face lifts off your thigh, and his hands are quick to hold you down and keep you still.

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledges your halfhearted effort, and you stop resisting. The fact that you both see through this charade puts you more at ease somehow. 

When you feel his breath on your hip, it’s clear he’s not done, and you’re not mad about it. You’re in a daze—Ghostface is in your room, unmasked. Between your legs. 

His teeth press into your skin, then his lips. He sucks hard, then harder, and the bruising suction makes you throb. You grunt into the panty gag. He releases your skin, then drags his lips to your mound. 

He licks up your mound and presses wet, hungry, open-mouth kisses along your exposed torso, licking upward between each kiss, all the way to your breast where he pauses to suck and moan into it. You whine into the gag as your nipple hardens in his mouth and you gush and throb.

He drags his tongue up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The closer his head gets to yours, the more clearly you can smell him - his unique blend of pheromones, his sweat, the way it mixes with the weed. 

And then it slaps against you. His cock. Smooth, and warm, and hard against your hip, and your chest swarms with butterflies. You moan softly. His face is in the crook of your neck. He latches on for a suck and the dull pain makes your hips lift, seeking more of his cock. You feel an emptiness, a longing to be filled. 

His bare face nuzzles at your jaw. He drags his lips up your chin, to your cheek, to your ear. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, despite your silence. 

His lips slowly drag toward your mouth, dragging along the gag. With his mouth on your cheek, your lips tingle with an urge. And then he gets there. His mouth lingers, open against yours, his breath, hot and humid, enveloping your lips. His teeth scrape the corner of your mouth. He bites down on the gag while one hand fiddles behind you to untie it. His cock, now on your mound, swells harder against you and Good God, you need him bad. 

With a backward nod, he tugs at the panty gag, then lets it fall away with a vocal exhale, thrusting his stiff manhood against you. The loss of his lips on your face resembles heartache. 

Barely above a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?” and brace to hear his real voice. 

Instead, his hand seizes your jaw, forcing your mouth wider open. And then he spits in your mouth. You taste it as it slides down your tongue, down your throat, and desire stirs in your gut. 

He releases your jaw. “Daddy needs to hear ya, princess.” He mutters breathily, and it echoes from your right, “Daddy needs to hear you, princess.”

You pull your knees up. He braces a hand behind you against the wall and grinds his stiff manhood against your slick mound. “Fuck,” he whispers, with no digital echo. Then, in both voices, “You want this. . . Don’t you, pumpkin?” He grinds against you, harder. “You want Daddy’s big cock,” he confirms, and you can imagine him nodding. 

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies. The slow, throbbing grind of his warm cock is devastating so close to where you need it. 

“Please,” you ask. 

“Please what?” he replies. 

“Please,” your chest tingles, “Please, Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he thrusts against you nice and slow. So stiff and warm. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead. 

He pulls his hips back, letting his cock slide and drop to where his tip notches at your entrance. “Who’s gonna fuck you?” 

“You are, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” His tip pushes into your yearning cunt. 

“Please, Daddy.” 

“That’s right,” his tone sharpens as he abruptly shoves his length into you, pushing your slick walls apart.  He shudders as he bottoms out. There’s a tingling burn in the stretch, but it quickly fades as your body gives way to the intrusion. And then, the overwhelming feeling is fullness and need for friction. 

His hips pull back, and your legs wrap around him, begging him all the way back inside. He slams into you, and you grunt with the impact as his flesh fills yours again. “Good girl,” he praises. His cock — How did you ever mistake another man for him? He slams in again, making you whole. 

As he fucks you, your thighs tremble, and you whimper, “Daddy,” drawing a groan from him.

He rails in, and slides almost all the way out. Each time, your cunt is pulling at him, begging him back in.  

“Whose little slut are you? ” He asks, his thrusts becoming sharper.  

“Yours, Daddy.” 

A bead of sweat hits your sternum, then your forehead.

“That's my girl,” you hear in surround sound. 

A salty drop falls into your mouth.

“Daddy’s little slut,” he breathes, “can really take a cock,” and the voice changer catches the last half.

He hovers his body lower, closer to yours. A thick steam condenses between you as he pounds you unforgivingly, even from the closer angle. Your chest, your whole torso, you’re all dewy with heat. And his skin, it’s so close, you want to feel it. You neeeed to feel it. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

Yearning to put your hand on his chest, you try to wriggle out of the rope and your wrists begin to burn. Your breasts jiggle and jut into the air with the effort.  His chest grazes your tits, and you gasp with the pleasure that seizes your tummy. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, drowning yourself in his masculine scent and the weed that hangs in the air. 

He thrusts sharply and stays all the way in, grinding against you. His chest grazes yours again as he brings his mouth to your ear, and feeling his breath makes you weak. “Cum for Daddy,” he whispers, and his lips graze your temple with another thrust. He raises his volume, catching the modulator. “Cum on this cock, princess.”

“Mmm,” You bite your lip and whimper. 

“One more for Daddy.” His thick, hard manhood drags heavily through your tight, wet channel, then he grinds again after bottoming out. His pubic bone is nudging your front just right. 

“Mmgh,” you whimper, “Daddy,” and the pressure bursts. You whine, overtaken by your rhythmic release, hips lifting into him. His heavy breaths seem to echo to the beat of your climax. 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, fucking you through it. “Ohhh,” he thrusts sharply and shudders as he begins to pulse. Your spasming cunt milks his cock. Your heels dig into his back. 

He shoots a thick, hot rope deep into your cunt, and with a slow thrust, another one.  Then his cock cruelly slides out. Your heart falls, and your legs reflexively tighten around him. You whine, “no,” with your desperate cunt grabbing at nothing. 

But it's only a split second before his dripping wet cock shoves into your ass. It’s just in time to pulse again as his girth spreads you open and he claims another hole. “Yeah,” He bottoms out and your whole body heats up. In surround sound, you hear, “Hell yeah.” 

He groans as he pulses, and over a few more beats and moans, the rest of his hot seed floods your guts. Each twitch of his shaft makes you shudder. You let yourself get lost in the warmth.

He breathes vocally as he finishes. Then his nose grazes yours ever so briefly, and you bite your lip. As he slides out of your ass, his breath is humid on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. When his face pulls away, your face feels cold.

He reaches toward the corner of your bed. Then you hear him rustling around as he puts his mask back on. 

“Untie me,” you beg. He gets off the bed. More rustling. When he comes back, you feel his pj pants graze your bare skin and you’re offended. 

He lightly braces a hand on your shoulder as he gets closer to where your hands are tied. The cool metal of his blade hits your palm and gives you a chill. The flat of the knife presses into your skin as he slices part of the rope and it loosens. You free your hands and bring them in front of you to caress the burn marks from your attempts to free yourself. He gets off your bed again. 

“You had company tonight,” he remarks. 

“Uninvited,” you clarify. 

“Ohhhh. *Uninvited*,” he taunts with skepticism. The location of his voice has changed—he’s pacing. 

“Jealous?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Want him to bleed out anyway? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“He’s not a good guy,” you offer.

“Oh, princess. If he was a good guy, you wouldn’t let him in your pants. . .Wouldn't give it up that easy.” 

“I didn’t–what–If you were here, why didn't you do anything?” 

“Oh, I did a lot. Just not to him.”

“How long have you been here?” 

He ignores the question.  “Tell me, princess. Why would Prince Charming knock you out, and then just. . . leave?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “But I'm glad he left.”

“Cause he got what he wanted,” Ghostface answers his own question. 

“He didn't even cum”

“Oh, that's not it, princess.” 

“How would you know?”

“Think, Pumpkin.”

You’ve got nothing. 

“There’s gotta be one brain cell left.”  He sits down on the bed to put on his shoes. 

“You're not gonna tell me?” 

He stands up. You hear the woosh of his robe as he puts it on and walks away.

“Wait,” you protest. But he doesn't say a word. His footsteps recede, and you tug the blindfold down to see his robe trailing behind him toward the back door. 

“Asshole,” you mutter to yourself.

When you go to the bathroom, cum is leaking out of both holes, which shouldn’t surprise you. After cleaning up, you get back in bed and keep the blindfold with you. It’s faded green, stiff with sweat. You sniff it. His sweat.  Your chest feels light with forbidden affection. 

Then you’re back to thinking about the question he left you with.

What did Javi want? You push through the shame and replay it all in your head. And then, you see the way he held his wet fingers so carefully as he left, not letting them get contaminated. And it makes your stomach drop. He might be trying to do his job, after all. It unsettles you and keeps you up. 

You curl up under the covers, hugging a pillow. The bandana is wrapped around your hand, pressed against your nose and lips. The scent is comforting. You dart your tongue out for a taste, and find even more comfort in the salty tang. Then ,you take a wrinkled corner of it between your teeth. Your lips wrap around the cloth, and your body finally relaxes fully. You drift off suckling at his sweat. 

Thank you for reading!

Thank you for being here and sticking with me. I value each one of you. I can't overstate how much your comments and reblogs really help and motivate me. Your asks, too. I love knowing what you enjoyed most.

So, as for the series: Until now, I've never had the next part planned ahead of time. Now I have 3 more planned. We'll see if it moves any faster this way, but no promises lol. No estimates, but I'll tease when one is nearly done.

[3uthym1c]

𓆩⚝𓆪 ☒ 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐀 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝! 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳

𓏲 ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖    ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑  ˖ ࣪ ٬     ุ๋ ⸱    ִֶָ . ָ࣪   ˑ ֗⭑  ˖ ࣪ ٬     ุ๋ ⸱    ִֶָ . ָ࣪   ˑ ֗ ˖    ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ࣪ ˖    ⋆ ࣪. ⸱    ִֶָ . ָ࣪  

Ꮺ Read before getting into your group please! THERE IS A MESSAGE FOR EVERYONE AT THE END!!!

Hey y'all, it's me and I'm back. I told y'all I don't have a PAC uploading schedule 😭. I honestly just do it whenever I feel that I have the energy and then recharge. Perhaps when I'm in my "tarot reading hibernation" I'll take free requests so stay tuned (I'll have to figure out rules for requests first 😭).

Remember that you can pick more than one and to choose what resonates and STAY HYDRATED!!! I've never done a love reading before so feedback would be very appreciated.

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ

For physical features I see that they have brown hair (light or dark brown). For some, your partner might have dreads, locs, or very intricate braids. Their skin may be brown or tanned (or tan easily). They have such an infectious and bright smile, it's like their whole face lights up and it's so beautiful to everyone seeing it. They're muscular, but in skinny way? I don't know how to explain it. Kind of like runners? As for their clothes or clothing style, they might wear either all black or white with a few pops of color. Like an example would be a dark t-shirt with a bright red collar thing and a necklace with a big yellow crystal.

They carry so so so much enthusiasm. Right off the bat they just bring a light very few can bring. They bring so much to people just by existing. inspiration, hope, enlightenment even? They don't even have to be extroverted they just have and give so much energy. They have so many silly little thoughts they share every now and then that seem to come out of nowhere. Their biggest character strength is gratitude. They feel so thankful for everything and everyone and they'll let you know. Oh my god pile 1 you're so lucky this person is so in love with life and will make you in love with life even more than you currently do. They will make you love being human the and feeling and tasting and dancing and experiencing that come with it. It'll have you seeing beauty in the everyday things.

Right now they're going through some really intense spiritual transformation. They need to learn to ask for help when they need it. They'll do well though. They'll find a lot of things could've been solved by just asking for help. Both you and them are at the beginning of your journeys (that doesn't mean your journey is long though), so if you guys think things are already good then I'm thinking of the phrase "universe, show me how good it can get". They're such a good cook & baker by the way. They have a lot of earth and fire placements. Extremely romantic in both the loveydovey type and the artsy sense.

When you come into their life it's very much random and unexpected. My sister just unexpectedly found an item that cleans her flute so I'll take it as a sign that you guys meet at a music / dance event or concert. Perhaps in the same class taking music lessons. Also random message: this meeting is just unavoidable, no matter what you do they'll find their way to you so don't worry. Even if you guys meet, have a conversation, and leave, you guys will keep bumping into each other. Months into your relationship, both of you will look back at this meeting as something purely magical. If they don't believe in fate or magic or some higher power, this will change their mind.

I'm also hearing, "It's so beautiful how deeply you feel." You may have been looked down on for being "overly sensitive" and "caring too much" but they very much appreciate it. Also hearing "Whatever you say, beautiful." like if you told them to do something crazy they wouldn't even question it. Literally remembered this image:

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: The Chariot (representing them), Ruby, the word "baroque", Soprano, Clownfish, Horses, Bells, Lemons, roses, letter S.

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ

Straight dark brown or black hair, they like wearing more simple outfits most of the time with neutral colors but there will be days where they're like "screw it I'm going to dress all fancy just to go to the library". Often carries a backpack or suitcase or purse everywhere. Worst case of RBF (resting bitch face) ever, but their face is so gentle and pretty too. Maybe wears black glasses (maybe prescription maybe not). A little random but you might find that they look so hot when they're focused? Really nice hands, they might like to wear rings or gloves. Would probably let you paint their nails.

But when you get to know them they're actually goofy and sometimes they don't even know it. "Apartment complex? I find it quite simple actually." vibes. I think a lot of people don't like how confident they look and say stuff like "They think they're better than us." when they never even act like that. Warning they have so many haters and it isn't because they even did or said anything, people see them and their confident energy and assume so so SO much about them. They don't know that though, because to them it seems like they hate your S/O for no reason and they're so confused. In reality they're so soft and kind hearted.

Random thing - they might really like penguins? They have ungodly amounts of patience for everything and everyone it's mind boggling. They're either interested or uninterested in things, so if they're interested they will put their heart and soul into whatever it is. You can see it so well in their work and career, whatever it may be. Embodiment of the word "Meraki". Btw your S/O doesn't want me to "spoil any surprises" take it as you wish.

EDIT: Holy shit there was whole entire paragraph about what I'd guess is the "surprise" that somehow didn't end up in the reading when I copy / pasted it from Notion to tumblr?????

Going to add more to this, it seems that your partner is super shy and a little awkward if that makes sense? Like, if you ever have done readings about specific people, while you may not HEAR their voice, you can kind of feel the vibes of them talking? They kind of remind me of the smell after the rain (which if you're curious, no it was not raining at the time of me doing this reading).

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: Meraki (obviously), Cats, purple & blue, the letter R, birds visiting your backyard often, 777,

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Instead of starting with physical appearance I think I want to start off with what they're like. Right off the bat their energy is very easy to tap into (in a good way). In fact, after I was done with pile two, I kept on getting intuitive messages for two whole days on what they're like. This whole entire pile I didn't even have to draw a single card. at all. They're extremely talkative, and I wouldn't be surprised if you constantly recieved messages and signs from them. I'd imagine it would be like recieving a loud notification on your phone because honestly whatever chance they get, their higher self constantly is there checking in on you.

They have an incredible sense of humor first of all. They will never fail to make you laugh. I hope this makes sense, but they're almost like a walking four leaf clover or lucky charm. Wherever they go they just bring good luck to themselves and people around them. Perhaps their very existence is a miracle. Their birthday may be in May. This is going to sound weird and no shade to your S/O but they're the type of person you wouldn't expect to be so smart. Usually people think of smart people as like, these serious nerdy looking people, but this person is genuinely so so smart and good at talking to others.

I bet how you guys will meet is that you'll be struggling with something and they'll walk into your life and help you. They have the sort of magic of a teacher that can explain the hardest topics so easily. One of their weaknesses is that they're a little too afraid to ask help for themselves. This person isn't JUST good boy/girl/joyfriend material, but also a great spouse.

Wouldn't be surprised if they have light hair or are ginger. If they have dark hair it's probably dyed. Their hair is so fluffy and if it's long it's very nice to just run your hand in. A very comfortable style, I could imagine that they sometimes wear soft pastel colors (Blue, green, orange mostly) or neon. Hoodlies, loose clothing, handmade clothes.

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: Four leaf clovers, 444, cats with different colored eyes (kinda specific), spiders, random light colored yarm / wool.

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

Your partner is probably much taller than you. They probably have silver jewelry and long hair. They put in a LOT of effort into how they look, they always look so fashionable. They also take great care of their body too. I don't think it's to the point where they're vain though, they just take care of themselves and like dressing cool. They may have blue, green, or grey eyes.

First of all, this may come to a shock to you but your partner is very spiritual. When you meet them they'll probably have already spent years learning about and practicing their spirituality. Everyone that meets them thinks that they're mentally just wise beyond their years, and I don't mean when it comes to academics (though that might be the case). There's just something about them that makes them feel like they've been on this earth for a long long time and have witnessed many things and met many people.

They may actually be a historian, anthropologist, archivist, librarian, psychologist, or sociologist. Okay I've just been having this stuck in my head while doing this reading but I'm imagining like, a rock or statue with moss growing on it. Also I'm feeling strangely calm and warm right now. I don't know if "calm" would even describe it, it's like complete serenity.

When you meet them it might be in somewhere incredibly crowded, but it'll feel like it's just the two of you. You could maybe meet them through a friend and have a nice long night drive talking to each other. They genuinely love you. I mean obviously this is a future partner reading so of course they would, but this love runs so deep. There's not any way that I can get you to fully understand the depths of this love, so you'll just have to wait and see!

They're the type of person that makes people comfortable enough to be themselves without worrying about judgement, mostly because to be honest this person is seen as "weird" themselves. You make them love humanity, is another message I'm getting.

Also a note that I didn't even pull cards for this, it was all intuitive so usually I take it as a sign this person's energy / presence is strong and you probably receive messages and signs from their higher self a lot. Or maybe their 3d human self consciously sends positive energy your way, a sign of this is randomly feeling warm and cozy and calm for no reason. P.S. they probably think about you as much as you think about them.

ALSO!!!! PILE 4 don't stop reading it yet there's a message I got for you guys but I feel called to put it at the end separately for all of the piles!

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: 888, blueberry, lights that flicker for no reason, or maybe dreams where you see some sort of light floating around, rainbows, bees, Magician card, the word "arbiter"

𝕄𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝔼𝕍𝔼ℝ𝕐 ℙ𝕀𝕃𝔼!!!

I know someone (not all of you) is thinking "Nahh this sounds too good to be true", well 1. that's the magic of soul connections and love & 2. Please stop lowering your standards because it's "unrealistic" because I swear you're not asking for much from a person. You deserve something "too good to be true" bestie (And also, remember, YOU are a dream come true for them too 😭).

"Why me what's so special about me 🫤 " on god you're the type of person who asks for signs from your spirit guides and then ignores them like they're tiiiireeedddd. Real talk though, you don't know how beautiful you are to a strangers eyes because you grow accustomed to your face. You don't know how smart and amazing you are (and yes knowing a lot about a random show or book or random subject counts as being smart shhh).

You are so perfectly human you just DON'T KNOWWW. I

f you think like this (or even if you don't because we should all do this), I'm giving you homework. Make a list of everything you are grateful for yourself for doing / being, what topics and interests you have, your favorite fashion style, achievements, color, animal, your favorite song, things you have around the house that you like and why, etc.

YOU ARE AN INTERESTING PERSON!!!! If you have a good relationship with your parents / guardians or grandparents or aunts or siblings, ask them what they love about you. Get to know yourself!!! A lot of things are cool and special about you!!!!!!!!!

-Eiki

[tkingfisher]

So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?

How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?

Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3

*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.

But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.

Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.

Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.

Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)

There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.

In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)

Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.

This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?

Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)

For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.

You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.

(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)

Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.

At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.

(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)

So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.

Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.

(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)

[ashtavula]

OMGOMGOMG COULD I ALSO REQUEST THE REST OF DIASOMNIA WITH THE ACCIDENTAL LOVE LETTERS?!?!!

I LOVE YOUR WORK AHDJBAJSNFF

aaaaa thank you!!!

Sebek, Silver, and Lilia accidentally receive your love letter

Sebek:

-The two of you had been studying together. Well, more like Sebek had been fussing at you while you struggled to understand the complex theorems in front of you. You end up having to leave in a rush, and your love letter ends up fluttering to the floor. Sebek tries to tell you that you dropped something, but you leave without paying attention to his words. He picks it up, and his eyes go wide when he realizes what's been written.

-Sebek sputters as he reads, and his cheeks turn pink. He'd been trying to ignore his feelings for you, but your letter makes his heart pound in his chest. Sebek is consumed by the desire to go to you, to tell you that he loves you more than anything. And before he can think to try and stop himself, he's already shoved his things into his bag and is tearing off after you, still holding your letter.

-When he finds you some time later, he immediately grabs your hands and pulls you close. Sebek, in all of his usual enthusiasm, loudly declares that he accepts your feelings. He goes on to vow that he will be a devoted husband to you, and that his adoration for you will never wane. As usual, he's going too far, but that's just one of the many things you love about him.

Silver:

-Silver was confused when he woke up to find a letter sitting on his chest, delivered by one of his avian friends. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he opens the folded paper. The lingering drowsiness quickly leaves him once the contents of your letter are revealed to him.

-You...you love him. Silver has a hard time coming to terms with that. He loves you too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to give you the sort of life you deserve. Silver isn't oblivious. He knows that his condition is difficult and frustrating. He also knows how most people see him. It takes a few long minutes, but Silver eventually decides that there's no harm in at least trying.

-A week later, a letter arrives for you, telling you to go to the botanical gardens after sunset. When you arrive, you find Silver. He appears almost ethereal in the moonlight, holding a bouquet of flowers for you. The two of you wander through the garden, and Silver points out all of the flowers that only bloom at night. He shows you just how beautiful things can be in the quiet of the dark. At the end of the path, surrounded by the sweet scent of the flowers, Silver gets down on one knee, and he confesses to you. He tells you that he can't promise much, but he can promise to love you, no matter what.

Lilia:

-He tilts his head to the side as one of his little bats comes flying towards him with some paper clutched in it's claws. Once Lilia receives it, he's quick to note that the page is covered with your handwriting. And it doesn't take more than a few words for him to realize exactly what kind of letter you've written for him.

-Lilia's lips spread into a sly smile as he reads, little giggles escaping him. He's happy, but also rather amused by the novelty of actually having a love letter addressed to him. It reminds him that even he can be surprised every now and then. And since you're being so sweet to him, he decides that it's only fair to return the favor.

-Since you sent him an old-fashioned love letter, he's going to show you some old-fashioned fae courtship. He surprises you by arriving at Ramshackle one evening, bearing a container of homemade food and his bass guitar. Once you've been given the food, Lilia clears his throat, and starts strumming on his guitar. He's written you a love song. The lyrics are lovely, even if he does take a few...liberties with the vocals. And once you accept his somewhat odd courting, he'll give you one more gift. A sweet kiss, right there on your front porch.

[loveinhawkins]

keep thinking about Dustin being Gavroche coded so here’s the start of something 💔

Eddie is starting to suspect that Dustin’s trying to kill him. For one thing, he’s way too close to the edge of the trailer roof when they’re checking that the cables stretch far enough—“Uh, absolutely not, get back, dude,” Eddie says when he notices, to which Dustin says with a smartass grin, while kicking his feet over the edge, Jesus Christ, “Just soaking up the atmosphere.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but it’s difficult not to be affected by Dustin’s enthusiasm: it steadies his nerves, allows him to play the guitar with a combined speed and technique he’s never achieved before.

The ‘concert’ is fun, almost too much fun; as they scrabble off the roof, Eddie finds himself choking back near hysterical bouts of laughter. He only gives into it when they’re both inside the trailer, Dustin jumping up and down in his arms—most metal ever!—and Eddie figures what the hell, they’ve earned this victory.

Then they hear the bats on the roof.

Eddie does his best to smother the fear—heart in his throat when the bats break through the vents, almost screams himself hoarse telling Dustin to, “Get out of the way!”

And they’re running as the bats splinter the wood of his bedroom door, and Dustin’s right, it’s not gonna hold; Eddie watches as Dustin climbs up the bedsheet, lands safely onto the mattress, and there’s a thought growing in Eddie’s head, but in his hesitation, he looks up and—

He doesn’t know what it is, really. There’s nothing to see, just Dustin staring at him expectantly. But there’s some kind of intuition that spurs Eddie on—inexplicably he thinks of when he was a kid, when Wayne seemed to always know that he was sick before he did.

He climbs.

“You gonna give me room?” he says, aiming for light-hearted, because even as he hovers at the lip of the Gate, Dustin still hasn’t moved.

Dustin blinks. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, and the words sound distant—but so does everything, Eddie reasons, thanks to that strange distortion when communicating between the two dimensions.

He lets go of the makeshift rope. He lands on the mattress, Dustin having shuffled over to give him just enough space. Exhales.

“Holy shit,” Dustin breathes. He’s laughing like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, holy shit.”

The screech of the bats sounds more muffled than what he’d expected. He dares himself to hope; it worked, it worked—

“This feels so weird,” Dustin says.

“Y-yeah.” Eddie nods. “Just, uh. Adrenaline. It’ll pass.”

“Yeah, that… that makes sense,” Dustin says slowly, and maybe if relief wasn’t coursing through Eddie’s veins, he’d hear the alarm bells ringing, because Dustin always has an answer, always likes to be right, but instead he’s sitting up, surveying the Gate, and no bats are coming through, so maybe…

“Holy shit,” Eddie echoes. “Dustin, I think it worked, whatever the others are doing, like those goddamn bats are, like, dying or…”

“Eddie?”

Eddie turns.

Sees spots of blood on the mattress.

Follows the trail to the back of Dustin’s hand. There’s something there, so small. Puncture marks.

A bite.

Dustin’s eyes are glassy, pupils dilated. Eddie watches in horror as his chest heaves erratically.

“I—” Dustin chokes, his hair already drenched with sweat. “I feel really weird.”

And he collapses.

[taetaespeaches]

“I had enough faith in you for the both of us.”

mingyu x reader genre: fluff word count: 1K

a/n: I wanted to write something for Mingyu’s birthday (happy birthday babygirl) and this fic just kind of happened as I started writing. There’s just something about excited and doting and adoring Mingyu that I just had to write him this way, and that required giving him something to be excited for you/reader about. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

Stepping into your apartment, you sighed in content at the mix of seeing Mingyu’s shoes at the doorway and the sound of soft strumming on his guitar. You loved when he let himself in. Mingyu was your neighbor before he was your partner, and there was a time you found yourself appreciating the hum of the guitar through the poorly insulated wall that you shared between your apartments. The bliss you felt hearing the sound flow uninhibited by walls, along with the shoes that sat amongst a few other pairs of his and some of yours, was the kind of domestic contentment only life with Mingyu could make you feel.

Following the sound, you found your boyfriend slumped low on your sofa, his guitar resting overtop his hips as he lazily, and without much thought or care, played a melody of chords on the instrument.

At the realization of your presence, Mingyu’s head snapped up, followed by his body straightening quickly, showing off his perfect posture. The guitar was discarded next to him on the couch cushion, the man giving you a stunning smile, canines on full display.

“Hi,” he greeted happily, making you pull your eyebrows together in question. It wasn’t rare for Mingyu to greet you in a joyous manner, but his level of enthusiasm was suspicious.

“Hey,” you gave him a small smile in return. “Why are you so chipper?”

“I just missed you,” he defended, eliciting a small chuckle from you as you nodded in feigned belief.

“Mhmm,” you teased, stripping your coat off before stepping further into your home. “You’re cute, but what’s really going on?” He raised his eyebrows in return, though you could see him chomping at the bit for… something. “Come on, you’re way too excited just to see little ol’ me,” you batted your eyes innocently.

“No I’m not,” he retorted, insisting that his level of apparent eagerness was completely valid. “I picked up your mail,” he then added, your heart skipping a beat. You were waiting for some important correspondence, and Mingyu knew that. “You got a letter.”

“Grad school?” You asked nervously, Mingyu nodding at you before looking across the room at the table of envelopes. He stood, leading the way to the counter where he left the stack of bills, credit card applications that you’d toss out, and right on top, the letter regarding your acceptance or rejection.

You followed after him, slowly joining him at his side and lifting the letter up. Holding it out in front of you, you acknowledged Mingyu’s presence next to you. The way he hovered beside you but was careful not to lean in, giving you your privacy as he waited for you to receive the news first. He was there for support, for confidence and assurance, and you found yourself feeling more grateful as ever for him. His only sign of anxiety was the way he chewed on the nail of his middle finger.

Ripping the letter open in a messy and ungraceful manner, Mingyu took the discarded paper from you before folding his arms across his chest and waiting as patiently as he could, as you unfolded the letter and began scanning through the words. They all scrambled in your mind and nothing made any sense until you reached “pleased” and “accepted”, your heart racing in your chest. You looked up at Mingyu and bit back a smile but he could see you fighting it off, making the man try to hide his own as you nodded to the letter to silently tell him to read.

He immediately stood behind you, reading it from over your shoulder. And then when he reached the same words you did that triggered celebratory cheers in your head, his arms wrapped around your body and pulled you against him in the tightest hug he could muster.

The man squealed in happiness, rocking your body and shaking your form in affectionate glee. “I knew it!” He cheered, the volume loud so close to your ear but you didn’t mind at all.

“I really didn’t,” you sighed in relief, folding your forearm over his that was stretched around your body.

“I had enough faith in you for the both of us,” he assured you, pressing his lips in a smooch against your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” he then whispered to you, loosening his grip on you to allow you to turn to face him, stretching your arms up to rest over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, blinking back the tears that were forming along your bottom lash line. “For-” you shook your head at the mass amount of things you could be thanking him for. Encouraging you to apply in the first place, assuring you along the way that you were more than capable of not only handling but excelling in the program, for helping you with the application and reading over your essay and answers way more times than necessary. Especially for the future encouragement you knew he’d give you throughout this journey to come.

“I know,” he told you, letting you out of completing your words of gratitude.

“For everything,” you told him anyway. “Seriously.”

Mingyu leaned in and kissed your lips gently, the meeting ending soon after it started due to his beam stretching across his features. His smile was always contagious and you found yourself grinning against his mouth as well before you broke apart and looked at each other, happy and appreciatively.

“How am I gonna pay for more school?” You asked suddenly, allowing your next worries to flood in.

Mingyu’s arms were loosely slung around your waist as he soothed his hands along your lower back. You could already feel yourself melting into him, letting go of future concerns, at least for now. “You’ll apply for scholarships, you’ll get loans, you’ll do what you have to do,” he told you, cocking his head as he gave you a dazzling smile. “And we’ll worry about it later,” he finished, halting your anxieties and bringing you back into the moment that was full of relief and glee. “For now,” he tightened his arms around you, “we celebrate you.”

[hayleythesugarbowl]

I loved the angela giarratana x reader headcanons you did i hope it’s not too much for me to ask if you can do a full on story if you can’t that’s fine I understand if you need an ideal what about reader getting really close to someone from smosh and Angela miss reading it think reader liked them or something plz 😊😊😊😊

Misread Signs || Angela Giarratana x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: oneshot where you start to become really close with courtney, and angela takes this as a sign that you aren’t interested in her, until unusual circumstances cause you both to realize each other’s feelings

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

a/n: thank you so much for this request babe, i love angela so much and i was so happy to write for her!! hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy this <3🍓🎀

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“Hey, (Y/n)!” 

     Courtney greeted you as you fell into step beside her. You had been called to set earlier than, in your opinion, was natural for any human being to be awake. Courtney however was as bubbly as ever. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, smiling at her enthusiasm. 

     “Hi, Court.” You had only been friends with Courtney for a few weeks, ever since you had moved from Smosh editor to cast member and she’d taken you under her wing, but it felt like you had known her for much longer. 

     You plopped down in the first chair you found, waiting for the rest of the cast to arrive. Courtney sat down next to you, pulling out her phone as you two began talking about what shoots were scheduled for the day, starting with TNTL. 

     A motion to your right caught your eye and you looked up.

     “Angela!” Courtney exclaimed.

     Angela set her bag down and looked over at you and Courtney, smiling, coffee in hand.

     “Hey guys, how are we today?” 

     Was it too much to hope that one of these times she would look only at you? Ask how you were doing? You let out a small sigh and Courtney gave you a sympathetic look. 

     It felt like ever since you started working at Smosh you had been chasing Angela’s attention. Hoping she would notice you. Finding excuses to talk to her. Striking up conversation with her in hopes that one day she would miraculously ask you out. She hadn’t. 

     Yet. 

     But you were starting to loose hope that you would ever become anything more than…acquaintances? You liked to think you’d started to become friends. That she liked you. But it had been hard to constantly see her act the same around everyone else as she did with you.

     And then when you became a member of the cast, you and Courtney had started to become close. She listened to you vent for hours about getting nowhere with Angela and you enjoyed her friendship. 

     Now, she grabbed your wrist, bringing you back to the present. 

     “(Y/n), you good?” She looked at you knowingly.

     You shook the wistful look off your face and said, “Yeah, I’m ok. It’s nothing new.”

     Your friend put a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, I don’t know. I still have faith in you two.” She gestured between you and Angela. “I mean you’re both gorgeous, so why hasn’t one of you asked the other one out?”

     You batted her hand away quickly, cringing at her obviousness but laughing despite yourself. 

      “See, there’s the (Y/n) I know and love,” she bumped her shoulder into yours gently.

     “Thanks Court,” you smiled at her. 

     Risking a glance at Angela, you saw she was now in the middle of a conversation with Shayne, laughing at one of his jokes—lucky bastard— and gesturing animatedly. As if she sensed you looking however, she glanced over at you and Courtney, a thoughtful expression appearing on her face before she smiled and turned back to Shayne and the few other people who had started to gather near them. 

     “Ooh, stolen glances!” Courtney sing-songed. 

     By then, most of the cast had now arrived and you heard someone shout, “Quiet on set,” and then, “could someone please grab the boxes labeled ‘new props’ from the storage room?’”

     “I’ll do it,” Angela called out enthusiastically, “Anyone want to come with?”

     Always offering to help. It was yet another one of the reasons you liked her so much.

     “(Y/n) will!” Courtney volunteered. You shot her a look and she gave you a mischievous one back.

     “Ok, great!” Angela said as you walked over towards her, simultaneously cursing and thanking Courtney in your head. 

      The silence was deafening. For all of about 12 seconds before Angela broke it, saying, “So, you ready for today? Early call time today, I know you hate mornings!”

      You nodded, but it caught you off guard that she would have remembered such a small detail about you. You figured you must have mentioned it at some point.

     “Ok, help me out. I’ve worked here for a year now and I still don’t know to get to the storage room.” She laughed and you laughed with her.

     “Down this hallway on the left,” you pointed ahead of you. You’d been working here a few months less than Angela but you felt like you pretty much knew your way around the place. You stopped in front of your destination and opened the door, stepping into a room full of bins of colorful props and costumes 

     “This reminds me,” Angela started, picking up a feather boa, “Hear me out, I have this idea for a bit.”

     She picked up the boa and draped it around her shoulders, grabbing a nurse’s hat and leaning dramatically against the door, pushing it shut. “A dental hygienist who should’ve been on broadway!”

     You laughed as she began singing off-key showtunes. 

     “Brava!”

     “Alright, we’d better get back,” she said, still keeping the boa on her shoulders. 

     You both grabbed a bin and you went to push the door open but it wouldn’t budge. You put the box you were holding down and jiggled the handle with more force.

     “Uh, Angela? We might have a problem,” you said.

     You both inspected the door, and when it was decided that you were in fact stuck, you sat down on a box and Angela followed. 

     “Ok, we can figure this out,” you said. “Do you have your phone?”

     She shook her head. “Left it in my bag. You?”

     “Left it with Courtney.”

     Angela nodded, but looked down. After a moment she said, with a hint of a smile on her face, “Well, that only leaves one option.” 

     She got up quickly and began banging her fist on the door, shouting. “Hey! Hello? Can anyone hear us? We’re kinda trapped in here!” 

     You joined her. After a few minutes though, you realized your efforts were fruitless and you both stopped, sitting back down again.

     “Well, seeing as we’re stuck in here for the foreseeable future,” Angela started, “wanna play a game or something?”

     “Sure.”

     “Alright, I spy, with my little eye, something blue,” she said.

     “The pool noodle?”

     “Dang it! That was supposed to take longer,” she threw the boa at you. You picked up the thing nearest to you—a stuffed frog—and threw it at her, draping her boa around your shoulders and posing dramatically as she had. It smelled like her, and your heart fluttered. 

     You enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself. You hadn’t actually talked to Angela in weeks. It was nice to have an excuse to spend time with her. Even if it was a bit awkward, and you were sweating, and locked in a storage closet for who knows how long. You looked at her and tried not to stare at her eyes, and how the lighting in the room made them sparkle. 

     An awkward silence descended, and you began pulling feathers off of the boa to pass the time. The seconds ticked by.

     “Ok, it’s been like 10 minutes now. They cannot start tntl without us because then who’ll see my broadway dentist bit?” Angela stood up.

     “Well, I saw it, and I loved it, for what it’s worth. And I’m sure someone will come looking for us soon. Courtney has my phone and my coffee so she’ll realize when she sees them, right?”

     Angela sat back down and you began inspecting your shoes.

    “So, you and Court, huh?” You looked up and found Angela watching you intently, waiting for an answer. She began pulling at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. 

     “What?”

     “I just, figured you two were a thing. I mean you spend so much time together and it just seemed like…” 

     Again, what? You blinked. “Um, no, Courtney and I are friends but—”

     “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she interrupted, “I just—you guys seem really close.”

     “No, it’s ok,” you assured her, “I’m just a single pringle.” You internally slapped yourself. Why, why were you like this?

     “Same!” She gave you a high five. You internally groaned. Why, why was she like this? 

     “So,” she continued, “got your eye on somebody else then?”

     “Oh, I don’t know l—” you started.

     “C’mon,” she nudged your shoe with hers, “we never catch up anymore!”

     Because we’re both busy. Because we  didn’t make an effort. Because I didn’t think you felt the same way about me as I felt about you.

     Instead, you just sighed. You did not want to have this conversation with her, especially when you didn’t exactly want to tell her the answer. But the opportunity to talk with her was too inviting. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

     “There might be…someone?” You didn’t want to give her any more information than that. You couldn’t.

     “I knew it!” She shrieked. “So, who are they?”

     “Well, they’re beautiful and talented and funny…”

     “Sounds like a real catch!”

     Yes, you do. “Well, what about you?” You asked, “Doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one asking the questions,” you smiled.

      She raised up her arms in defeat, “Ok, caught me! There is someone.” 

      Great, You thought. Just my luck. 

     “Well, anyone would be lucky to be with you,” you told her.

     “Thanks, I appreciate it,” Angela answered you, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

     She leaned in for a hug, and you hugged her back, savoring this moment—even if she was telling you about someone else that she had feelings for. 

     Suddenly, the door to the storage room opened and a worried Courtney, followed by Shayne appeared.

     “Angela, (Y/n), you’re here!” Courtney said.

     “Yeah, we sort of got locked in,” Angela answered her.

     “We were getting worried—and waiting on you,” Shayne teased, and then looked between the two of you, pulling back from your embrace. “Oh, good you finally told (Y/n) how you feel! See, told you it’d go well!”

     You narrowed your eyes at Shayne, “What?”

     The look of panic on Shayne’s face was nothing compared to that of Angela’s.

     You turned to her, “What’s he talking about?”

     Courtney jumped in, “Shayne and I should be getting back to set. We’ll see you there.” She looked at her friend pointedly.

     “Right,” Shayne ran a hand through his hair, “glad you guys are ok, we’ll just be—” he pointed in front of him towards the hallway and, picking up a box of props, left with Courtney.

     “I’m going to kill him,” Angela clenched her fist.

     “Well,” you prompted.

     “Right, um…” Angela paused. You had never seen her speechless before. She seemed at a loss for words and it shocked you to see her this way and not her usual outgoing, confident self.

     “So,” she continued, “what Shayne was referring to was, um, well I told him earlier that I—Ok, just gonna rip off the bandage… I may or may not have a teeny, tiny, crush on you.”

     You could hardly believe what you were hearing. Angela what? This whole time you had just assumed she didn’t return your feelings.

     “Say something?” She prompted

     “When?” Was all you managed.

     “A while…”

     You couldn’t breathe. Then something clicked. “And when you were talking about liking someone just a second ago…”

     “Bingo,” she gave you a wry smile, “you the whole time. Surprise!”

     “I don’t know what to say, I—”

     “It’s ok, I don’t expect—anything, I—well this isn’t exactly how I planned on having this conversation but,” she threw her hands up, “now you know!”

      “Angela I—” 

     “I was planning on asking you out sometime, I really was. But then I saw how close you were getting with Courtney and I thought—I don’t know.”

     “Courtney and I are nothing more than friends. She’s like a sister to me. In fact, most of our friendship was spent talking about you,” you admitted.

     Now it was Angela’s turn to be confused. “What?”

     You didn’t know what got into you then. Maybe it was the time you’d spent on the storage room. Or maybe it was knowing Angela liked you and seeing the way she was looking at you right now. But, one way or another, you figured now was a good a time as any.

     “I like you too…a lot, actually. I have ever since you started working here and I never told you because I never imagined you could feel the same way and I just think you’re so beautiful and talented and smart and—”

     You never got to finish that sentence because suddenly Angela was kissing you, and you were kissing her back. She put her arms around your back, pulling you close, and you put your hands in her hair. You almost forgot about where you were or that you were needed on set. Almost.              

     “Shouldn’t we get back?” you pulled away and lifted a thumb towards the door. “They’re probably waiting for us.”

     “They’ve waited this long for us, what’s another minute or two.” She joked. 

     She smiled and then she was kissing you again, more passionately this time. You let all of your other thoughts go, enjoying the moment. 

     And it was perfect. 

     Just you, and Angela, and a closet full of fake limbs, animal onesies, and giant hats with googly eyes. You felt like you’d been waiting for this moment for months. 

     And maybe, she had too. 

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ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this!! let me know if you have any other smosh requests!! 🍒🪩

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 17: Funny T-shirts

Sunny likes to poke fun at Swiss with custom t-shirts, much to his chagrin.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers! <3

The note for this in my outline was "a la mercer and riegel" if that makes sense to anyone lol.

Swiss looks up from his breakfast, a bowl of granola and berries and yogurt, as Sunny bounds into the kitchen, her copper curls bouncing as she enters with a suspicious spring in her step. "Hiya, spark!" She greets him, settling into one of the chairs across from him. Rain and Aurora look up as well, wishing the other multi-ghoulette a good morning.

His eyes settle on the collar of her oversized button up, clearly one of Aether's. "Morning, ember," he says, trying to copy her enthusiasm and not quite making it. "You go clothes raiding again?" He takes another bite of his breakfast, watching her expectantly. Something's not quite right here, button ups not usually Sunny's style.

She shrugs, still grinning, snatching the carafe of orange juice and pouring herself a glass. As Sunny leans to reach, the collar of the button up droops, revealing the hem of a bright orange t-shirt. Nothing more than that, but it's enough for Swiss's spoon to clink against his bowl as he buries his face in his hands.

"Another one, Sunny?" he groans. "How many shirts. Please."

Rain and Aurora turn, eyes brightening in intrigued laughter as Sunny takes a drink, smugly settling back in her chair.

"Now, Swissy, I have no idea what you could be talking about," she says, batting her eyelashes at him.

It's her favorite way to poke fun at him. Awful candid photos of him, blown up and custom printed somewhere online, hidden under zip up hoodies and button ups that she takes off to reveal like the world's most embarrassing strip tease. There have been ones taken while he's sleeping, mouth open, snoring and drooling, and ones that were the unfortunate results of a mistimed blink while taking pictures with the pack. Fortunately, or unfortunately for Sunny, there are no kit pictures, no way to bring them after being summoned Up Top.

He hates the way it makes his face burn, but it makes the pack laugh, and makes Sunny's cheeks dimple with her grin in a way that makes Swiss feels crazy. So he endures it. (He'll never admit that he thinks it's funny too.)

"Noooooo," he groans, peeking through his fingers as Sunny stands, unbuttoning her top button.

"How many of those do you have, sunbeam?" Rain asks, staring smugly at Swiss's over the top distress. "Ten? Twenty?"

"This one makes fourteen," Sunny says, undoing another two buttons.

Swiss rubs his temples, pretending a headache's coming on. "Emberrrrrrrr," he drags out in a groan. "Come on, get it over with."

"As you wish." Sunny copies his signature grin, all of her teeth on display, hands moving down farther and farther, each button slipping through the button hole. Finally, Aether's shirt falls open, revealing a Ritual picture of him.

It's the lowest quality picture of him Swiss has ever seen, only thing distinct about his features are the bug like lenses and the bright white of his teeth against the black helmet. He had been grinning menacingly at that Ritual, but the grainy picture makes him look dorky. There's words across the top and bottom, all caps in Impact font, declares "Swiss Shirt Bottom Text"

"I made a shirt for you, sparky!" Sunny beams, watching Swiss groan. "You like it?"

Swiss growls, silverware clattering as he shoots to his feet, Rain and Aurora's laughter echoing around the kitchen. Sunny squeaks, eyes wide as she darts off, Swiss in close pursuit.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

It’s me, your favorite prompts blog!

I know you’ve written depression before. Can I have a short story where Peter is struggling with high-functioning depression? On the outside everything looks normal. On the inside, he feels like crap.

And Tony notices Peter’s not himself anymore

Mini Fic #4 for this round is here! (and prompts are still open! If you have something you would like to see me write in less than 1k, send me an ask! Anon or otherwise) This hurt/comfort prompt was tricky to squeeze into so few words, but I managed it! Thanks for sending in the idea @itsmechara426!

Not Alone 811 Words

Peter wasn’t sure when it had happened. But at some point he’d realized his days were nothing more than an elaborate performance. The banter, the jokes, even the pop culture references were all meticulously crafted performances meant to shroud the weighty emotions that had settled so deeply within him. He carried them all around in the back of his head. Buried deeply behind the pleasant facade he’d grown so accustomed to. He didn’t want to burden anyone with what was surely a personal matter. Not his friends, not his aunt, and especially not Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark was a busy man. He had responsibilities pouring in from every aspect of his life. Stark Industries needed his intellect, Pepper needed her partner, and the world needed Iron Man. Peter understood this and always made a point of not demanding too much Mr. Stark’s time. He didn’t ask about lab days or seek advice. There was no reason for him to be selfish. Mr. Stark didn’t owe him anything, least of all his time. So, despite his longing for a few additional hours spent in his mentor’s presence. He kept his mouth clamped up tight.

Peter sighed, taking a seat at the edge of an abandoned building to take in the view. Mr. Stark’s number popped up on his HUD. He considered ignoring it, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. If Mr. Stark wanted to talk to him, then Mr. Stark would talk to him.

As expected, the call was pushed through after three rings. “Hey, Kiddo. I’ve got some time this afternoon. Want to stop by and fine-tune that new web-fluid you’ve been messing with?”

“Uh, Yeah, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, plastering a fake smile across his face. “That sounds awesome.”

A look crossed Mr. Stark face. But it was so fleeting that Peter didn’t have a chance to decipher it. If he were to guess, he’d say it was concern. But that didn’t make any sense. Despite the misery swirling in his chest, he was acting out an expected enthusiasm with the practiced ease of a habitual liar. He batted the suspicion away, writing it off as a mild case of paranoia.

As he entered the lab, he made sure to add a skip to his step. He offered an exuberant greeting, bolted across the room and began pulling chemical components out of the cabinet without having to be asked.

Mr. Stark joined him at the workbench, reviewed the formula and provided a few suggestions. Peter nodded along and started mixing. It felt like a typical lab day until Mr. Stark casually shifted the subject miles way from chemical bonding.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

Peter blinked, doing his best to remain upbeat and neutral. “Of course.”

“I mean about more than just science,” Mr. Stark said. He sounded frustrated but his face and tone relayed nothing but gentle concern. “I can tell you’ve not been yourself recently, and I’d really like to know what’s going on.”

“I- It’s nothing, Mr. Stark.” Peter swallowed, struggling to determine an answer that suited his act “Just- Personal stuff.”

To Peter’s relief, Mr. Stark didn’t press. He placed a gentle hand on the back of his neck and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Well, if you ever decide you do want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

Hesitantly, Peter considered the offer. He waffled greatly between not wanting to be a nuisance and a surprising desire to open up to Mr. Stark. Although he struggled to see how it would help. Negativity had a tendency to be contagious, and he didn’t want to be the contaminant. He glanced up, his wary eyes meeting Mr. Stark’s worried ones. He suddenly felt compelled to say something. Anything to ease the building tension.

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on. Not really. Sometimes I just- I feel like I’m drowning,” he tentatively explained. It already felt like too much. He snapped his mouth shut and mumbled. .”The last thing I want to do is to drag you down with me.”

Mr. Stark’s expression softened. “You wouldn't be dragging me anywhere, Buddy. I’m ready to jump in willingly, life raft in hand.” He smiled sadly. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Buddy. I’m here for you.”

Not feeling obligated to handle everything on his own sounded wonderful. He wanted to follow through, open his mouth and let all the words come tumbling out. But he managed to choke them back. He wasn’t certain he was prepared for that. Instead, he leaned into Mr. Stark, initiating a rare hug. ”Thanks, Mr. Stark,'' he murmured. “But I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it just yet.”

“That's fine, Bud.” Mr. Stark turned his head, kissing the side or Peter’s head in the process. “But when you are. I’m right here.”

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

HELLO! i was wondering…can you do some daryl dixon jealous/possessive smut? like y/n gets hit on by someone and daryl gets all jealous & possessive!

THANK YOU

ps: i’ve never done a request before so v nervous x

༉‧₊˚. 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairings: daryl dixon x plus size!reader

― era: early season 5

― summary: daryl knew jealousy was ridiculous, but it was as if there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to you or for you.

― warnings: possessive!daryl, rough sex, finger fucking, vaginal fingering, edging, light degradation, daryl takes you from the back, teasing, some dude i made up being a creep, vaginal sex, ass slapping, marking, unprotected sex, breeding kink (don't be like them please), mushy feelings at the end cus i'm not a monster, just the reader and daryl being in love man :`]

― wc: 1867

⋆ a/n: hii anon, i'm so sorry this took so long to get out! my life has been crazy recently and here this finally is! i had lots of fun writing this and i did get carried away a bit but oh well :) there's no need to be nervous! Iidon't bite, you're always free to request again! i hope this lived up to your expectations and thank you so much! &lt;3

masterlist | AO3

It wasn't often that Daryl had been able to keep things for himself; either that be when he was a kid where Merle would take his stuff, or when his mom and dad would, so when he finally had you, he wasn't going to let you go. It was as if all rationality disappeared from within him when something would happen to you, or if he had an off feeling someone that was interacted with you.

Being at Deana’s party was like a fever dream; there were people eating or drinking as much as they wanted, music, and people talking as if the world hadn't ended. You didn't feel very conversational, so it was all fake smiles and laughs, especially with this one guy that couldn't take no for an answer. He was talking to you as if he hadn't seen a woman like you in a while, eyeing you up and down, staring at your breasts that were pronounced due to the dress you were wearing, and annoyingly tight around your curves and large stomach.

Your hand twitched around your glass, the urge to punch him in his teeth becoming overwhelming. As he laid down what felt like the fiftieth pickup line of the night, you couldn't help but wonder where the fuck was Daryl at? He had promised you to make an appearance, but he had yet to show his face, and you were talking to this guy for longer than you had originally anticipated.

As if he had answered your prayers, he was there, sliding his hand over your waist and squeezing the fat of it.

“Baby, there you are! I was wondering where you were.” You said with a little bit too much enthusiasm. “Blake,” Was his name Blake? ”I would like you to meet my boyfriend!” Blake reached out to shake Daryl’s hand, but by the look on his face, he was making his annoyance for him very evident. “The name's Jake.” Ah, that's what it was. “Daryl.” Your boyfriend said curtly, squeezing Jake's hand a little bit too tight by the wince that he'd let out.

“We were jus’ leavin’.” Daryl said, tugging you closer to his body. “Ain’ that righ’?” You bit your lip to hide your shit eating grin at the fact that Daryl’s tucked you into his side, your bodies practically squished together. “That's right, hun. It was… nice to meet you, Jake.” Nice was the last word you would use to describe the last fourty-five minutes of being around him. You allowed Daryl to whisk you away outside where he remained deathly silent the whole way to your shared home. When you had gotten inside, he had you up against the door, hands placed on either side of your head as he hovered over you.

His whole aura was dark, his energy radiating nothing but possessiveness as he looked you straight in your eyes through the loose hair in his face.

“’You likin’ the attention?” He all but growled. You shivered, batting your eyelashes as you acted innocent. “I wouldn't say that. He was just.. something to keep me company.” You reached up a hand to stroke the side of his face. “No one does it like you do, baby.” He lowered his head so that his breath fanned over your lips, your back aching to arch into him and give him what was his.

“Damn righ’ they don't.” He finished off with a passionate kiss that stole your breath away. His hands fell to the side of your thighs as he forced your dress up, the material now sitting above your ass. Your panties were exposed, and Daryl didn't waste any time snatching those down too, your whole bottom half being left naked. You shivered as the air hit your heated skin, a moan escaping you and falling right onto Daryl’s tongue as his fingers traced your weeping slit.

“Only you can get me all worked up like this, D.” You whined. “Shut yer mouth.” And you did, allowing him to slip his middle finger into you as he leaned down to kiss you once more. You buried your hands in his hair, tugging at them everytime he hit that spongy spot inside of you. Slick dripped down your spread thighs, Daryl adding his ring finger as he roughly finger fucked you. Squelching and your moans were the only sound that breached the silence of the house. Daryl wasn't gentle, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm as his thumb harshly pressed on your clit.

You couldn't take it anymore as you grew closer to cumming, your head falling back onto the door with a light thump. Since your mouth had fallen open, all of your moans were spilling out of you, your legs shaking when Daryl bit down on the curve between your neck and your shoulder.

As you were on the edge of bliss, Daryl took his fingers out of you.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, your voice boiled down to a pathetic whimper. “Yah ain’ comin’ unless it's on my cock, you understand, girl?” He grabbed your jaw with the hand that that was just between your legs, you arousal smeared onto your cheeks. “Yes,” You breathed, “I understand.” He didn't loosen up his grip as he placed a kiss on your forehead sweetly.

You were tense the whole way up the stairs, the fact that Daryl was behind you and your ass was in slapping range, had you on edge. But alas, no slap was laid up on your ass as you made it to the room you shared. Quickly, you shed your dress, tossing the offending item onto the ground as you bra came next, falling out the cups of them with a pleasurable sigh coming from your lips as they did. Hearing Daryl closing the door behind him, you scrambled onto the bed, ass raised in the air, back arched, and your head resting on your forearms. You turned your head to watch him undress, biting your lip as you watched his muscles flex, his neck strained as he forced the layers off of his body.

Warmth flooded your insides at the sight. It was commonly known that Daryl was insecure about his body, about his past being painted all over his back. You knew there was a chance that this could potentially affect your sex life and it did, Daryl wearing one of his button up shirts with the sleeves cut off of them most of the time. It wasn't until one day that wearing a shirt got old; he needed you, he needed to feel you, needed to touch and caress and squeeze your body until there wasn't a part of you left untouched by him.

That night sex was was gentle, praising words falling into the heated night air of the prison as you worshipped every single scar, even the small ones. So, watching him totally give himself to you did something to your body, heating up even more as he made his way over to you.

“Daryl, please. Touch me.” He only grunted, his large palms and calloused palms caressing your ass. “Nah, ain’ goin’ta touch ya. Ya gotta work for it.” You whined in frustration, making eye contact with Daryl and trying your best with your best puppy dog eyed look. “Don’ do nun of that complainin’ shit or you won't get nothin’.”

He ran his cock up and down your slit before lightly tapping on your hole with it. You whimpered, shaking your hips enticingly as if to slip it in there yourself. He gripped both of your arms, holding you back by your wrists and he impaled you with his large cock. He went slowly, forcing you to feel the stretch against your gummy walls. You buried your face into the mattress, partly out of embarrassment, but in need. The feeling of the sheets kept you anchored to reality as he finally bottomed out inside of you with a deep groan.

Much to your displeasure, he really wasn't going to move. You pulled your hips forward before bouncing back onto him, a sharp crying ringing through your ears, but you didn't stop, determined to make you and him cum. You relished in the feelings, and Daryl’s heavenly sounds that just turned you on even more. Daryl let go of your wrists, allowing you to balance on your forearms as he pressed himself against your back, lips locking and sucking onto that special spot under your ear.

“You think he could’a made you feel like this?” He empathized the word ‘he’ with a thrust that shook your body, sending you up the mattress. “'Bet he wouldn't even know where to start. 'Bet he wouldn't know how’ta handle ya. Not like do.” His grip on your hips were tight, nails digging into your skin as he forced you back and forth onto his cock. He didn't stop talking as his breath hit the shell of your ear, Daryl clouding your short circuiting mind as he took over you mind, body, & soul.

“Yer my girl. My woman. My future wife. My everythin’ and I'll be damned if he think can take ya away from me.” He stilled his movements, keeping you full to the hilt as he pushed his full weight against you. “Yer mine, understand?” You head fell back onto his shoulder where he placed kisses and nips onto, your skin stinging deliciously.

“I understand, Daryl. God, all I want is you, forever. Please.” You whimpered, your walls clenching down onto his dick. He groaned into your neck. It seemed as though your words sparked something within him, something dark and uncontrolled, something completely and utterly possessive that would scare other people; but not you, no, you basked in it, the violent desire burned hot in your veins as he fucked you like a wild animal.

“Please, pleas— Ah!” A sharp slap landed itself onto your ass. The sounds coming from your room were sinful, nothing but your cries echoing off of the nicely painted walls were heard compared to the wet slapping of your butt meeting his hips.

You were going to cum, you could feel, and you know he could too.

“Ya gonna cum?” You nodded profusely, tears streaming down your cheeks as hair stuck to your forehead due to the sheer amount of sweat you were producing. “Mhm!” You pressed your lips together, but Daryl was having none of it. “'Lemme hear yer noises, or ya ain't cummin’ at all.” You screeched out a moan as you came, Daryl’s cock pulsing before painting your insides white, your womb feeling nice and full as you both made an attempt to catch your breaths.

“Holy fucking shit.” You swore. Daryl pulled out of you, sliding you both up the bed until you were cuddled into his side. “I wan't too rough, was I?” You shook your head as you laughed incredulously. “Are you kidding me, Dar? It was perfect.” You shoved your face into his shoulder, your fingertip mindlessly circling his areola.

“Did you mean what you said?” You asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mhm.” He grunted. “Every word.”

[devilfic]

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

IX. from now on.

parts: previously. plot: endings give way to beginnings. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, grief, the author only understands so much about medical protocol I’m sorry, minor character death, grief. words: 5.5k.

a/n: well, this is the last chapter. thank you all for keeping up with this series! I’ve had a wonderful time exploring this little world with my bruce and I’m happy to have gotten to share this series with all of you. your enthusiasm and kindness has meant a lot to me. hope y’all enjoy~

You had a memory—shortly before the death of the Waynes—of seeing Wayne Manor for the first time. Of course, by that point, the sprawling mansion was being called Gotham Orphanage and Thomas, Martha, and Bruce Wayne were christening its rebirth on live TV. 

You weren’t any different than every other kid in your class for daydreaming about the place. How lucky little Bruce Wayne must have been to have all that to himself! It was a far-off dream for someone like you, but you’d wanted to visit. Just once. Then it burned down on the news and that dream went up in smoke with it. 

Now, as you wade through weeds and broken beer bottles that decorate the front yard, careful that you don’t trip in the dark, you realize that childish dream of yours never really died. Bruce is waiting for you in the foyer when you finally get through the door, “I get that you’re a bat and all, but some of us can’t see very well at night.” Before you can clock his reaction, Bruce shines his flashlight directly into your eyes.

“Neither can bats. They use echolocation.” The sound of his voice and his approaching footsteps cut through the blinding light until he’s standing right before you.

“What are we doing here, anyway?”

Bruce follows your line of sight to the broken chandelier overhead casting reflections of light against moldy, torn wallpaper. Shining his flashlight directly on it makes diamonds dance in his eyes, “Research.”

Without further discussion, Bruce turns abruptly and leaves the hallway without you.

You’re quick to catch up, only stumbling on wet, loose debris every few feet. Bruce is always quick to grab hold of you when you lose your footing. “Not that I’m not having fun, but this kinda seems like a job for you and your pal Gordon. I can’t imagine I’ll be much help here.”

“You’ll be plenty,” and then Bruce pushes his flashlight into your hands once you reach the staircase, every other step fractured or chipped off, “point the light up?” You do as told, light landing on a large hole going through the floor of the second story. 

“What’re you researching?”

“The manor.”

“Pretty sure this place has a Wikipedia page.”

Bruce cuts his eyes to you and smiles, “I need a closer look.”

When Bruce starts moving to the next room, you obediently follow at a much slower pace. There isn’t much to look at given the history of the manor. Smoke clings to the walls and the architecture is falling apart at the seams, but it fills you with enchantment all the same. You try to imagine what you’d seen in pictures before, and though you know your imagination will never live up to the real thing, you still try. 

The next room ends up being a much bigger space. The chandeliers in here are more intact thanks to how high the ceilings reach. If you looked hard enough, you could even make out the detailed cornice all along the ceiling. As for what you can clearly see, chairs are lined up in broken rows; it’s the shell of a movie theater or a common room for the children. But long before that, it was something else, “Was this the ballroom?”

“It was,” his voice is tinged with melancholy, examining the room, “it was much more impressive when I was younger.”

“I bet. Would’ve killed to come to a ball here. Did you guys ever have a chocolate fountain?”

“No, though it wasn’t for lack of requesting.”

You giggle, a younger, more petulant Bruce Wayne appearing in your mind. “Can I ask what you’re researching in here?”

Behind the cowl, you make out a nervous twitch at his brow. “I’ve been seeing your mother.”

You blanch, “I’m sorry?”

Bruce recoils at the sharpness in your voice, realizing his mistake, and he scrambles to fix it, “I’ve been visiting her. In the hospital.”

“Oh... really? She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

“I asked her to keep it a secret.” At your scandalized reaction, Bruce smiles in what you think is an attempt to be reassuring, “It’s nothing bad.”

“Is it something I’m not going to like?”

“The opposite, actually.”

“That just makes me nervous.” You found it difficult to believe your mother had much to offer someone like Bruce, even more so when Alfred was there. Unless Alfred was in on it too... You couldn’t be the only one out of the loop, could you? Now you were sufficiently unsettled. “Can I know what it is, at least?”

“At least.”

“Bruce.”

“I promise,” and he keeps the humor out of his voice to convince you, sincere, “I can’t leave you in the dark if you’re a part of it.”

“Part of what?” Ideas begin to swim in your head, each more incredible than the last.

Bruce captures the hand that’s closest to him, holding it between both of his own, saying nothing for a moment. You’re glad he isn’t actually a bat; if he could hear your frantic heartbeat, he’d probably have you rooming with your mother in Gotham General until it calmed down... or maybe he’d finally just tell you. You scoot up to his shoulder to see which possibility might win.

“Mayor Reál once told me that I could be doing more for the city, and I’ve been thinking about what Selina said to you. About me doing nothing for Gotham. It didn’t really... hit me, that my name could be anything other than a burden. Your mother gave me some advice on what to do with that name recently. I’ve been working on an idea, and if you’d like, I want you to be part of it.” You notice the slight shake of his hands clasped around your own, though you don’t detect any fear. Nerves, actually. Excitement. He was excited.

You watch, in awe, as he turns his head to meet your eyes, “I’m going to the mayor’s office next week with a proposal: offer rehabilitation to the dropheads seeking shelter in the orphanage, and then tear it all down. And rebuild,” Bruce’s voice trembles, “rebuild everything. Give a new generation of children in Gotham a chance. This time, there will be no mistake. I’ll make sure of it myself.”

“Bruce.”

“And I want you to... do it with me. I’ve been wanting to do some rearranging of Wayne Enterprises anyway, give Alfred a break and put someone permanent in charge. And you can stay as you are, or, if you’d like, I’d like to put you in charge of the finances for the new orphanage. I don’t want that money going to anyone other than those kids. There’s no one I trust more than you for this.”

Well, out of all your incredible ideas, you’d expected nothing close to this.

The orphanage had been a chilling reminder of Gotham’s failure long before it burned down. It’s why it was a graveyard now, a shell of the home it was and was meant to be. At least it being in ruins had been more favorable to the hell it had been before.

But there were people willing to take a chance on Gotham. It might’ve started with a vigilante, but it was trickling down. Mayors, police commissioners, normal people like you. You hadn’t felt this much hope since the dawn of those horrible floods. Not since you realized while watching that soon to be unmasked vigilante- no, hero, standing on that arena rooftop and pulling people to safety, that there could be something more.

“I, uh... Jesus Christ,” your disbelieving laugh draws a nervous one out of Bruce, “you’ve really thought this through. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could’ve helped.”

“I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to be ready.”

It was a large step up from being a CEO’s butler’s personal assistant, and the responsibility of being in charge of something so dear to Bruce and so important to the city was a heavy one. It wasn’t a choice for you to make lightly. 

But could you really imagine doing anything else?

“Well... we’ll definitely have to talk more details, of course. I’ll help you proofread everything, and then we’re going to have to meet with the accountants at least once to smooth out the logistics but... yes, I would love to. I would really love to.”

Bruce exhales in relief, swirling the early summer air between your faces, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so big in his life. It’s gone in an instant but his joy still vibrates through his touch. He resembles a younger Bruce in that moment, a Bruce you never got to know before news of the Waynes rocked the nation all those years ago. You can’t help but take his face into your hands and burn it into your memory. You don’t ever want to forget it. “Now, can we continue this research in the light of day, maybe?”

When the mayor’s receptionist instructs you both to take a seat, you run your eyes over the proposal in your hands until each word is printed into your mind, and then you do it a few more times for good measure. “She’s not going to bite, you know.” Bruce points out.

You roll your eyes, “Cut me some slack. I’m meeting the mayor.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a fan.”

“I’m not,” though, your cheeks go a little hot anyway, “I just think she’s... cool.”

Bruce snorts low in his throat, not even gathering the attention of the receptionist mere feet away, but it’s enough to make your ears burn. “Would you like to pitch the proposal, then?”

“God, no! I’m too nervous to make any sense.” Bruce reaches over and pats the back of your hand, discreet. It’s more than enough to help calm your nerves that little bit. You take a deep breath and try not to leave sweaty fingerprints in the paper you’re holding. “I’ve got to keep my phone on, anyway. The hospital could call.”

“We can reschedule.”

You look at Bruce with wild eyes, “Reschedule with the mayor? You’re crazy.”

“I don’t want to add more stress to your plate,” Bruce answer simply, “and for what it’s worth, I’m sure it went well.”

The surgery had been penciled into your calendar for weeks at this point. With your mother’s illness growing more arduous on her body, she’d been advised to get as much of the malign growth removed before her quality of life plummeted even further. It would be a routine surgery, you were assured over and over, but it hadn’t made you any less nervous. You’d been jittery ever since leaving her behind.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “you’re probably right.”

A solid voice cuts through the moment, just as powerful in a small room as it was on stage in front of thousands. Bella Reál stands in the doorway to her office and gives you both a smile, “Mr. Wayne. I’m glad you could make it.”

Bruce is more than capable of doing all the talking. He’s rehearsed enough on his own, replaying his pitch to you at breakfast and over the phone and in your bed (or his) late at night. He’d repeated it so much that you’d remembered it all word for word, mouthing each sentence as he spoke. He’s nervous and keeps his hands clasped in his lap in lieu of reaching for you, but he does it. By the end of the pitch, Bella is sold.

Somewhere in between discussion of when to break ground and sharing specific costs, you feel your pocket begin to vibrate. Bruce only needs one look from you before you’re excusing yourself into the lobby.

“How’d it go?” You breath out before the nurse on the other line can even get a word in.

It’s Annie, you realize, but only halfway through her sentence when what she’s saying starts hitting you. You can hear her voice quiver as she relays back the standard protocol, “The surgery was successful, but your mother’s condition has worsened. She woke up in an abnormal amount of discomfort, and after some testing, it seems to be due to internal bleeding.”

“Bleeding? Has it stopped?” The receptionist’s eyes cut to you as you stammer.

“We’ve been trying to get her stabilized, and we don’t think the bleeding is severe enough to warrant another operation just yet, but we’ve given her a transfusion and we’ve got her on more fluids to help the process. It would be best if you came by as soon as possible, she wants to see you.”

There are several different thoughts going through your head. The assurance that the situation isn’t as severe as it could be is only comforting to an extent, but the invisible war your mother’s body was fighting left a pit in your stomach. There was nothing you could do to help her but be by her side. There was nothing you could do but hope that she would be fine.

She would. She would make it through. You couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Thanks, Annie.”

You exchange your goodbyes and barely have the soundness of mind to leave the receptionist with a message for Bruce. She seems frazzled by the suddenness but assures you she’ll pass it on once the meeting adjourns, and that’s all you really have time for before your brain shuts out everything else. You just need to be with her. There would be time for everything else later.

It’s half an hour later when Bruce gets the news.

Life buzzes on about the hospital floor, but it feels lonely standing here, as if room 614 had been carved out of time and space and existed in a separate world to Bruce’s own. Annie doesn’t even spare him a smile, unlike herself, “Hey, Bruce. You can go on in.” His thanks is simple, certain that the nurse is in no shape for conversation, but before he can get the door open, Annie intervenes one last time, “Eline’s peaceful, but... it can be difficult. For family members.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

She gets out of his way then.

Your chair is pulled up to the hospital bed. One of your hands is clasped in Eline’s while she watches the news on its lowest volume, your other tucked against your waist as if you might be sick. Your face, however, is the most lifeless he’s ever seen it. If you felt sick, you didn’t look like you had the heart to care.

You register he’s there when your eyes flit to him, but you don’t make a move to say hello. Eline does, however, smiling, “Took you long enough.”

Instead of bringing his chair to her bedside, Bruce rounds the foot of the bed and hovers behind you, “I considered calling an ambulance for a ride, but I didn’t want to steal the spotlight.” He’s thankful for the comforting sound of Eline’s laugh, “How are you feeling?”

Despite her jovial tone, she’s sickly with exhaustion written deep into the bones of her face. He wasn’t familiar with the slow toll your body failing on you could have; he’d experienced seeing the life sapped out of others in an instant, faces often still full of life even as they went cold. Your mother, on the other hand, looked as if she needed a long, long sleep. “I could be better. How’d the meeting go? Kid told me the mayor loved it.”

At the moment, you didn’t look capable of talking about anything. You continued to stare at your hand intertwined with your mother’s. You move only to breathe. Bruce feels strange sharing good news, “We can break ground starting late June. Maybe sooner.”

You twitch just a little. Your head moves like you intend to look up at him but you don’t complete the action. You continue to stare ahead.

Eline reaches her free hand out to him and Bruce is quick to take it, noting how cold it was. Back when he’d first held it, it had kept his own hands warm. Her touch is no less motherly, but it feels... wrong. All of it feels wrong, “Knew you could do it. I’m telling you, it’s only going to look up from here. First, the orphanage, next... well, who knows?”

“I’d love for you to come see it when it’s all fixed up.” His voice drops low, and those who can hear it are aware of its hopeful undercurrent.

“That’d be nice, huh, kid? You always wanted a look inside that place.” Her prompting doesn’t elicit any response from you. You’re catatonic while Eline looks on, heart visibly breaking a little more with every silent second that passes. Her eyes slowly shift back to Bruce. “It can happen sometimes. Complications in surgery. Doctor said they’ll keep an eye on it, but I just get a feeling. You know?” Bruce can’t say he does, but he nods, “But I think I did pretty good.”

“You did. A star patient, I heard.”

“Not that. I mean... I think I did pretty good for myself. To go out like this.”

Your mother had been dancing around it this whole time, and only now were the words out in the open, the force you needed to break apart completely. Bruce reaches forward and grasps your shoulders as you lurch toward her, body shaking all over, “Don’t say that.”

A stranger could mistake Eline’s expression for one of indifference, but in the few weeks that Bruce had gotten to know your mother, he’d learned of all the layers that lied beneath. It was taking all there was in her not to react to you the way he was sure she wanted to. “It’s not going to get better,” her tone is cruel, forcing reality on you, “I’m weak and it keeps spreading and... how many surgeries can I really afford to have?”

“As many as you need. I would make sure of that.” Bruce insists.

“It’s a waste,” you flinch at your mother’s assertion, “no, no it is. I’m tired. This isn’t going away. The fact I’ve made it this long is a miracle, and I’m happy I made it this long. I’m happy I got to have a wonderful kid. And I’m happy I got to see you grow up. And I’m happy that you’ll be loved even when I’m gone.”

Your head shakes back and forth, muttering to yourself. Bruce has never seen you this way. He doesn’t want to see you this way ever again.

It is just so slow.

When Thomas and Martha Wayne’s lives were taken in front of him, Bruce had skyrocketed through so many emotions. The terror from being cornered, the shock at seeing the gaping wounds, the panic upon realizing he was utterly helpless, and an overwhelming agony as he cried, alone, until he’d screamed himself numb. 

Seconds. He’d lost them in seconds. So quickly had his parents been taken from him that details blurred if he didn’t think about them hard enough. What came first? The tears or the rage?

But Eline goes slowly.

It’s between you and Bruce to hold onto hope that she doesn’t have. She murmurs a thought every once in a while, pointing out something on the TV, and hums a broken tune. Bruce watches the TV to give her privacy, his heart racing each time he looks over to see if it’ll be the last time. You alternate between crying and humming along too.

When her vitals plummet, they find what Eline had already suspected. It doesn’t take them long to wheel her away for emergency surgery. The nurses assure you both that it’ll be quick. They know what’s wrong, they know how to stop it. They just need a little more time.

She doesn’t come back.

Comforting in this gentle way doesn’t come easy to him, but it’s almost second nature the way Bruce takes you into his arms and holds you. 

It’s the worst feeling in the world. It’s excruciating. He’d always thought it’d be different for you, when it ever came time to grieve, because you’d have time that he never had. You’d had years to say goodbye, as callous as it was to think, so maybe it wouldn’t tear you up so much. 

In reality, you cried just like he did, voice cracking after the strain became too much. Bruce remembered how raw his throat had been the next day, barely able to speak, and resists the urge to smooth a hand over your own throat.

You deserve to cry, and you’re allowed to let it hurt.

Bruce Wayne isn’t there for the funeral.

Someone is, but it’s not Bruce Wayne. Throughout the service, you see him at the edge of the crowd, dressed unrecognizably to the untrained eye, flanked by (more recognizably) Alfred and Dory. The few people that inquire of the sinewy stranger can never get close enough to look at him. You don’t blame the little family and friends that waver in the pews, sneaking glances. 

He’s the first person there and the last one to leave. Alfred and Dory come to pay their respects together. Dory is a chatterbox complaining about how hectic the traffic was to get here, and Alfred smooths his hands over your sleeves and promises to leave the lights on for you. The only one who doesn’t approach you is Bruce.

Though there’s a feast of a reception going on for a good hour or two after the funeral, he waits outside in the rain until you come around with a slice of cake one of your aunts had made. It was your mother’s favorite. “You sure you’re not hungry? There’s some food left in there.” You ask, peeking under the bill of his Gotham Knights’ baseball cap.

Bruce leans closer in some vain attempt to guard you from the weather, though it’s difficult with his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. Inside, there are still some people lingering around the reception hall laughing over memories they shared of your mother. You notice Bruce’s discomfort and nudge him with your arm, “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

He’d seen you plenty. The first few days—sure—you holed up in your room and left only when necessary. The others shuffled around you, leaving you a breadth of room to be alone. What waking moments that weren’t spent in sorrow were for getting preparations together, and you’d only forced yourself to function recently, but he was always still there: food put away on its own, clothes picked off the floor, things put back in their places when you were sure they hadn’t been before. You’d assumed the lapse in memory was why everything was always just... taken care of.

And then there was the Bat.

You didn’t leave the tower often, but when you did (because you didn’t want to talk, because you needed more time), you’d take solitary walks in the city. You kept your head down the way you’d been taught and stuck to the crowded parts of the city, walking at a speed that kept others from approaching you. Sometimes you did look up though, just because you would get a prickling at the back of your neck that something in the air had shifted.

After all, every rooftop in Gotham is his perch. Your eyes had started to naturally scan where the city ended and the sky began to find him, and it usually only took a glimpse for him to leave. You’d still be registering his cowl against the backdrop of the full moon and he’d already be gone, smoke in the night. In his own way, he took care of you.

Despite his wet jacket, Bruce’s body heat burns through, and you’re quickly reminded of how much you missed touching another body like this. “How are things?”

“Alfred and Dory miss you,” you smile at that, “Mayor Reál sends her condolences.”

“And you?”

You don’t even have to see Bruce’s face to know he’s pink in the cheeks now. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Bruce mulls over your words for a few minutes. Twilight lingers on the horizon, and soon you’d be seeing Bruce off for his nightly duties as the Bat, but you’re thankful he’s in no hurry. “I didn’t want anyone around when it happened to me. Not Alfred, not anyone. Still, he... was always there. Even if I couldn’t see him. Even when I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to do the same. I wanted to wait until you were ready.”

“I... figured.” Bruce shifts lightly, not enough to disturb your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But I do miss seeing you. Out of the shadows, I mean.”

Bruce brings one hand out of his pocket and brings you a little closer. Unsure if you’re comfortable with more. You’d think you’d been starved of touch since birth with the way you react to it. “Maybe I’ll... wait in the corner of your room at night until you wake up.”

The very image makes you shiver and laugh. “I’d prefer you just sit with me. Or let me sit with you. I’ll even let you tinker with my car a little more.”

Bruce doesn’t answer in time. People start pouring out of the reception hall as the rain lets up and the sun goes down, exchanging well wishes as Bruce hides his face under the cover of night. By the time everyone is cleared out, twilight has turned into the cloudy, black night characteristic of Gotham. It won’t be long now. 

“Bruce, can I ask you for a favor?”

Bruce catches your eyes, breath going still. You don’t know what he thinks you’re going to ask for, but he looks braced for the worst. “Anything.”

“Will you take me for a ride?”

His shoulder relaxes beneath your head. The bike is just across the lot and you walk hand in hand until Bruce situates his helmet on you. You’d insisted once that he be the one to wear the helmet when riding together, though that was shut down with such intensity that you dared never to suggest it again. It did help that he bought you your own helmet days later, though.

You climb on once Bruce settles down, arms finding their familiar place around his torso. You hope he doesn’t mind that you’re holding him much tighter than usual. 

With the cheek of your helmet pressed in the spot between his shoulder blades, Gotham flies by in a flurry of lights and sounds. At every stoplight, citizens of the city rush about: some to work the evening shift at a diner, some finally on their way from work, and others just like you—wandering. At every stoplight, Bruce reaches a hand back to your knee. Each time, you snuggle that much closer into him.

You go on for what feels like hours. Perhaps it is. All you know is that Bruce doesn’t take you home until your grip starts to go slack.

You think he might leave.

Instead, once Bruce has settled you under your covers, he crawls into the other side—his side—and waits until you reach for him to hold you.

“Don’t you have patrol tonight?” You whisper.

“Yes.” He replies, hesitant.

Perhaps he knows. There’s no way he hadn’t heard you waking up with night terrors, heard you crying and mumbling in your sleep before your dreams released you. He probably knew already, but it didn’t hurt to ask, “Then... can you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep.”

You can’t see his face with your own concealed against his chest. You can only hear his very steady heartbeat thumping in a peaceful tune, one single breath his answer, “Okay.”

The night terrors make it hard to fall asleep on your own, but you’re out within minutes and hope that at least you won’t wake to him pulling away. You don’t think you can handle tonight alone.

But morning comes, and there are no night terrors, and Bruce is still holding you in the same position you’d fallen asleep in. The certainty that this was no mistake on his part is enough to lull you back to bed. Sleep is the most peaceful it’s been all week.

2 months later.

“Careful, whole place is a mess right now. You’ll need one of these.”

A hardhat is passed into your hands seconds before the construction worker abandons you to help tear down a nearby wall, though you don’t struggle to find where you’re going in the daylight. The last time you’d been here, you might as well have been trekking through the set of a horror movie.

It’s not much prettier than before, but it’s definitely a start.

You’re careful not to get in anyone’s way, what with wooden planks being marched through hallways and sawdust flying in every direction. Most rooms are flush with busybodies tearing away at the diseased parts of the house, and others are storage rooms of material you’re not qualified to touch, but none of them seem to have what you’re looking for. If you tried calling out for him, your voice would barely carry over the bustle.

You really shouldn’t be surprised about where you do find him. 

Alfred stands at his side, hands politely tucked behind his back as they examine the ceiling of the ballroom. You hear the butler muttering something that makes Bruce look eager to shut him up. Luckily for him, he spots you then. A smile that had become more commonplace on Bruce’s face is what greets you first, “Well? What do you think?”

You cross the large hall and kick up dust as you go, “Very industrial. What with all the uh... construction.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, “Besides that.”

“It’s got a lot of potential. I can’t imagine what it’ll look like in a few months. Hell, I can’t imagine what it’ll look like when kids are running around in here.”

Alfred smiles, “I can, though a distant memory.”

A lightbulb goes off behind your eyes. “Oh yeah, Dory told me Bruce was a very... active child in here.” At the same time, the light goes out of Bruce’s eyes.

Before Alfred can get any ideas of adding in his two cents, Bruce very unsubtly guides you by the small of your back to another part of the ballroom.

Despite the joy in his features, you couldn’t ignore how tired he’d been looking recently. With his nightly duties and getting the orphanage up and running, you’d found Bruce to be more of a weighted blanket in bed than a partner. You didn’t blame him; you did worry, though.

Your hand naturally finds the curve of his jaw, fingertips brushing where his hair had grown back out again. With Alfred busy training his successor, he hadn’t had the time to trim it out of Bruce’s eyes, but you couldn’t say you were in a hurry for him to get it under control. Sentimental, you were. “It’s amazing, Bruce.”

Your assurance doesn’t penetrate as deeply as you’d hoped. “Wish I’d done it sooner.”

“You needed time to get to a place where you could do it right. Could you imagine trying to get something like this done under Mitchell? Absolutely not.” Bruce looks past you, still not entirely convinced, but you gently guide his gaze back to you, “And you’re not the same Bruce you were before. Everyday, you’re getting better. You’re learning. You can’t rush that.”

A vulnerable look crosses his face. His warm, stubble-ridden cheek leans into your palm searching for more comfort and you gladly give it. 

You still can’t quite wrap your head around where the two of you have ended up. Watching Gotham shift alongside the man responsible for so much of its metamorphosis often felt more like fiction than fact. More than that, though: it felt hopeful. While you didn’t imagine Gotham would ever be “perfect”, its baby steps were a welcome change. “You’re doing a good job, Mr. Wayne. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

Bruce shuts his eyes, “Thanks.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

Bruce’s eyes reopen just a smidge, hooded eyelids revealing only blue half-moons, and he turns his cheek just far enough to press a tender kiss to your palm. Another way of saying thank you. 

“By the way, what was Alfred saying to you before I came in? You looked kinda peeved.”

Bruce groans, pulling you closer by the hand until your elbow rested on his shoulder, “He kept insisting we invest in a ballroom for the tower.”

“Whatever for?”

“Something about... how I should’ve kept up with my dance lessons as a kid. He’s convinced I could’ve been a dancer in another life.”

A silly grin breaks out on your face. “You’re still a good dancer. I recall us dancing on my kitchen counter, on the kitchen floor, in my childhood bedroom-”

Bruce pulls you all of the way into him to shut you up with a kiss, indignant as he was, though Alfred was too far away to have even heard any of that. Out of curiosity, you peek open an eye to look in the old man’s direction.

You’re met with his usual, knowing smile. Perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.

[equizona]

Hello! Its me again I hope you don't mind me making a request Again, basically some headcanon of what kamaboko squad(zenitsu, tanjiro and inosuke)and genya, are like with a reader who is very chatty and enthusiastic but then becomes quieter and sad when someone (maybe another hunter of demons) tells them that they are a nuisance and that they should learn to shut up, and at some point the reader tells them about this and asks if it really bothers them that I talk so much, thanks in advance.

⤷ YOU'RE LOVELY

kamaboko squad + genya || demon slayer

gender-neutral reader

masterlist, navigation

ofc! send in as many requests as you want as long as my requests are open, haha

⤷ KAMADO TANJIROU

He can immediately the depressed and insecure hint clinging to you, and he is very worried. He tries to cheer you up at first and only gets more worried when it doesn't appear to be working.

When you tell him what is bothering you, he is quick to assure you that he loves listening to you talk. He loves your energy, and your enthusiasm is a very nice contrast to his job. He'll tell you that as long as you're happy, you shouldn't listen to what anyone else says, even if it had been him.

⤷ AGATSUMA ZENITSU

He can also tell something is wrong right off the bat, and he doesn't like the change your sound has made, it bothers him immensely. Tries to subtly inquire about what's wrong, when that doesn't work he's likely to just ask straight up what happened.

When you tell him what happened, he's more relived than anything. He thought you were upset with him! That maybe he had done something wrong. He is quick to tell you that you're one of the only sounds he likes listening to, he doesn't want you to change at all!

⤷ HASHIBIRA INOSUKE

He more feels that something is wrong rather than noticing. He doesn't know why you're acting weirdly, he thinks you got hurt at first and tries taking you to Kochou, and doesn't understand when you insist that you're not injured.

He doesn't understand when you tell him what upset you. Why the Hell does you care what some weak, pesty guy has to say to you? He outright tells you that's stupid and that you should go beat that guy up. Though, in his own way of comfort, he offers to do it for you.

⤷ SHINAZUGAWA GENYA

He might not be the best at telling when people are upset, but he catches on rather fast that something is bothering you, which just makes him even more worried. He thinks it's better to be upfront about things so he'll ask you outright if something happened.

He does his best to comfort and assure you that you loves listening to you talk, and that he loves your enthusiasm and energy. He has plenty of insecurities himself, so he takes you to do something fun in hopes of making you feel better.

[greyghoulclub]

Rock you like a hurricane

Au where Eddie is a famous rockstar in the 90s and Billy is a groupie for Corroded Coffin. They meet after a show in Cali and Eddie gets his shit schlonked silly.

Characters: Billy Hargrove, Eddie Munson

Ship: mungrove (Billy Hargrove x Eddie Munson)

Fandom: Stranger Things

r-18, Billy antis DNI.

San Diego 1993, 

Corroded Coffin was one of the biggest bands of the relatively unknown Indiana metal scene. They had exploded onto the scene with big hits like, “Bat from Hell” and “Stressed, Depressed, Possessed”. This was in no doubt helped by their charismatic frontman Eddie Munson. The man was a demon on the guitar, with endless energy that some wondered what he was on and if they could have some.

Billy had, by some miracle, managed to get tickets to the very quickly sold-out San Diego show. He sometimes had to pinch himself to remember that it was real and he was going. 

“You just have a crush on the guitarist,” Max had remarked when they had met for coffee. Although Billy had vehemently denied it, the redhead raised a knowing eyebrow. “Don’t think I haven’t seen the shrine you have in your bedroom.” 

Billy choked on his coffee, “It’s not a shrine! It’s just a couple of posters, Max,” he knew he couldn’t really get one over on Max, she knew how to read him too well. 

“Yeah right, and I’m the queen of England. What’s the big deal? They’re just a band.” Max downed the last of her coffee and looked to Billy for an answer to her question. Billy did not have one. “I knew it.”

Max, for all her teasing, did genuinely care for her brother and was never malicious. She left a twenty dollar bill on the table and grabbed Billy’s arm, “to get you ready to see your crush” she had said. 

****

The crowd was already swarming around the stage of the venue, anticipating the arrival of the band. Most were decked out in merch, leather, and battle jackets. Billy was about four rows from the barrier but he was ready to fight his way to the front if needed. His hands shook as he tried to get a flame going on his zippo, he swore under his breath as he tried again. 

“Here,” a voice said to his right and offered their lit cigarette so Billy could use the tip to light his own. 

“Thanks,” he grumbled, taking a drag and feeling the nicotine hit settle into his system. 

“No problem Blondie,” the helpful stranger replied and walked towards the stage. From behind, Billy could’ve sworn it was Eddie Munson. 

****

A guitar squealed from the direction of the stage, the supporting band starting their set, one of the bands from the local circuit. Billy tapped his foot in time with the music, not really paying attention. His gut was swarming with butterflies from maybe talking to Eddie Munson, and ok it might have been just what he would’ve said to anyone else who was having problems with a lighter but he called him Blondie. Surely that meant something right? Was he thinking too much into this? Probably. Is he going to think about that when he jerks off when he gets home? More likely than you think.  

Before he knew it, the supporting band were done, and Corroded Coffin was taking the stage. Eddie swaggered onstage with the confidence that was only reserved for rockstars. He was wearing ripped black jeans and a Black Sabbath tank top with a chain around his neck. Billy was sure he was wearing eyeliner too. Not enough to be obvious but you could see it if you paid attention. 

“Hello, San Diego!” he yelled into a microphone. The crowd yelled back with just as much enthusiasm. The excitement in the air was palpable. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight, we’re Corroded Coffin!”

“I love you Eddie!” someone in the crowd shouted out. 

“I love you too! Now, are we ready to get this show on the road?”

The crowd screamed as the opening drum beats of ‘Upside Down’ started, and the lights around the stage dimmed to red, bathing the band members in a ghoulish hue. Eddie’s fingers flew over the frets of his guitar, his iconic custom NJ warlock, Eddie was in his element. A born performer, side gig in making panties fall to the floor. 

Billy had been shoved to the front by some bigger guys that had been behind him, and he would’ve turned to kick their teeth in if they hadn’t given Billy such a good view. He was within arms reach of the stage and Eddie’s eyeliner was even hotter close-up. Of course, his horny brain took over and thought of the ways that he would mess up that eyeliner, and have it drip down Eddie’s face as he gagged on his cock. 

Yeah, that was a thought for later. 

While Billy was thinking about the things he’d do to Eddie, he didn’t see Eddie looking back at him.

****

The rest of the show was high energy, high noise, and some high people. Billy had seen a few blunts be passed about. He had declined himself on the fact that he had to drive home. As the rest of the crowd filtered out of the venue, Billy stopped to lean on the wall to have a smoke. He crushed the empty box in his hand, he could probably scrounge up some change to buy some more. 

“Hey, Blondie,”

Billy turned to see who was speaking to him and nearly dropped his lighter when he saw who it was. Eddie Munson. 

“Uh, hi? Needing a light?” he offered his zippo to the other man. 

Eddie laughed and waved away the lighter. “Nah, I’m good, I’ve got a different proposition for ya Blondie.”

“Huh?”

“I saw you looking during the show,” Eddie was now very close to Billy and he wasn’t sure if he was happy or if he wanted to anxiety vomit. The frontman of his favourite band is schmoozing him? That’s what it was wasn’t it? 

“So I’m thinking that you like what you see, and well so do I,” Eddie ran his finger down Billy’s chest, toying with the undone red shirt he was wearing. “You wanna come round the back with me?”

Billy didn’t need telling twice. 

****

Eddie pushed Billy against the wall, kissing down his neck, knee in between Billy’s legs. Billy groaned, wanting to grind against Eddie’s leg but Eddie had him pinned. 

“God, you’re so hot.” Eddie answered with biting into the groove between his shoulder and neck. Pleasure and pain in equal amounts that had Billy’s head spinning. 

“Ah ah Blondie I didn’t say you could touch yourself yet,” Eddie grabbed Billy’s hand away from his groin. 

“C’mon man I’m dying here,” Billy whined. Eddie had a devilish glint in his eye and was grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

“Oh wow, you are kind of a brat Blondie. Maybe you should do less talking and more sucking yeah?” Eddie said as he started to pull his hemline down, revealing a dark snail trail that got Billy all sorts of excited. 

“Goin’ commando cause you knew you were gettin’ some?” Billy teased, if Eddie said he was a brat, then by god, he was gonna be a brat. “And my name is Billy, by the way.” 

He was rewarded with a slight tug on his hair, not enough to hurt but enough to rile him up. He dropped to his knees, and opened the fly to Eddie’s jeans. He started to suckle on the tip drawing a moan from the back of Eddie’s throat, growing more confident he started taking the length into his mouth, tongue working the underside.

“So good man… so good,” Eddie tilted his head towards the night sky, hand covering his mouth to muffle his moans. 

Billy stopped for a second, but still fondled Eddie’s balls. “I wanna hear you, that shit’s hot.”

Eddie considered it before putting his hand on the back of Billy’s head and thrusting back into his mouth. Billy gagged as the tip hit the back of his throat. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes but he didn’t stop as now he was hearing those goddamn sinful noises from Eddie. 

“God, you’re so good… Seen you at other shows in Cali, should’ve brought you back to the bus earlier.”

Billy gripped onto Eddie’s thighs for dear life, Eddie was thrusting harder, faster, absolutely wrecking his throat. He was drooling everywhere but he didn’t care, he was gonna cream his jeans if Eddie kept going like this. 

“Got those pretty dick-sucking lips,” Eddie grunted out, he was close now, he could feel the pressure building in his abdomen. “I’m gonna.. Gonna cum.”

Eddie let out a howl into the night as he came down Billy’s throat, Billy swallowed every drop. Eddie felt like he had no bones in his legs as Billy zipped him up and got off his knees. 

“So what was that about taking me back to the bus?”

[mandalhoerian]

i’m newly into resident evil and i must say i started off strong with moth to a flame and no time to die, i don’t think anything’s gonna top them so i lurked a bit on your fic rec tag and i love your fic taste as much as your writing 😩 if you feel comfortable sharing more fics with us i would be so happy because i’m pretty clueless in this fandom basically

First of all thank you sm for the compliments they almost got to my head anon LMAOOOO ur elite in my head for reading no time to die too so an extra heart only for you —> ♥️

So uh ☹️ I was big on fic recs and reading as much as I could (bc the leon hyperfixation, the usual) when I first got into the fandom as well pre-re4r around november? of 2022 ,,, and a tiny little experience made me feel so uncomfortable because I got the feeling I was interacted with by someone solely because they wanted me to read their fics and leave comments, so I started doing my reading on my own as time passed, and mainly supported my mutuals and everything bc being used doesnt feel good, so I just lost my enthusiasm along the way I guess. This is all very TMI but I dont want you to think im like one of those gatekeepers who’ll only write abt their blorbos and not read anything or whatever . I DO read,,,,, im sorry for not making fic recs anymore as i used to but:

You can check out @the-resident-vampire @winksasleeplesseye @notrattus @uhlunaro @so-mordor-itis @ashiemochi (and dimerization on ao3!!! also tinychubbybird — whom idk if im spelling their handle right BBHHH) for good leon fics, I love their stuff, that’s all that comes to mind right off the bat 😭