#fic.txt

[slashisms]

𝒞𝐻𝒜𝒮𝐸;

𝓟𝓐𝓘𝓡𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: billy loomis x reader x stu macher

𝓡𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓝𝓖: E.

𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: soo many, but most importantly: non-con elements. rough sex, spanking, slapping, roleplay, name calling, etc. all discussed beforehand but read at your own risk basically. MINORS DNI.

𝓦𝓞𝓡𝓓 𝓒𝓞𝓤𝓝𝓣: 7.3k :)

𝓢𝓤𝓜𝓜𝓐𝓡𝓨: your boyfriends have an interesting proposition for you.

There's a lot about Billy and Stu that you go to great lengths to avoid thinking about for very long. When it comes to your relationship, there’s no real room for denial either. Because you're aware of what they do. Your campus has been buzzing with news, devouring any information about the burgeoning bloodbath. You're not familiar with the details and prefer it that way, but you know they've been terrorizing small towns for years. They started in high school and that's all they're willing to say about it. You’re not dying to hear more. As the only person who knows their secret and hasn’t met a gruesome end, your inaction speaks for itself.

Bodies fill the morgue as a result of your silence. Your boyfriends are serial killers and you haven't done anything to stop them. With no moral high ground to stand on, introspection has become your worst enemy. Best to avoid close scrutiny, lest you give your conscience the opportunity to dredge up the self loathing it demands. 

It’s weird. You have to refrain from seeing too much or burying your head in the sand. You could have tried to leave. But by the time they pulled the rug out from under you with the truth, you were in too deep, which was likely their plan. With that cat out of the bag, there is no logical reason for secrets between the three of you. 

There are moments, instead. Not quite secrets that brew between Stu and Billy, because though you somehow gained an invitation into their dynamic, the duo is very much alive. They reach a consensus amongst themselves and then present it to you. It's funny, how they think they have to run things by one another before broaching the topic with you. If you haven't run by now, there's not much that could send you packing. You're willing to be patient and it pays off one night, a couple of weeks after you began to notice their shifty eye contact and odd behavior.

A knock on your window draws you from the essay you've been working on and when you pull back your curtains, Billy and Stu are balancing precariously beneath your window. They climb inside as you step back, glancing at the clock that reads 2:48 am. Their night has likely been more sinister than yours and before you can say anything, they're commanding your space. Billy pulls you in for a deep kiss, drawing your lips between his in a way that distracts you from Stu moving stuff around in your room. His lips are soft and warm against yours, insistent and intent on prying your mouth open and stealing the breath from your lungs. His tongue slides home between your parted lips, tasting the heat and wetness of your mouth. He sighs, content to devour your lips and tongue. Stu must've finished whatever he was doing, because his hands join Billy's on your body.

Long hands move from your hips and cup your breasts. Thin digits graze the sensitive bud of your nipple and you shudder. You whimper when you feel Stu's lips brush over your neck. They like to overwhelm you this way, but there's usually more of a precursor. This feels like the culmination of something big, but you're missing a part of the puzzle. Curious, you fight your way out of their embrace, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the whine Stu lets out. Billy only smirks as you gather your wits. Looking around, you realize that Stu's set up a fort using your blankets and pillows, the credits of some movie beginning on the screen. "What's going on?" You ask. 

Thankfully, you don't have to elaborate. “Why don't we sit, watch the movie for a bit. Then we'll explain everything, doll." Billy says. 

His answer unnerves you, brown eyes bright with some desire. You're positive that if you were to turn to Stu, his eyes would shine the same way. Any doubts would've vanished when you nod and Stu takes the opportunity to press you into your mattress, claiming his own welcome kiss. He towers over you, craning his neck to slide his lips over yours and swallow your tongue. His hips shoot forward and you jolt at the hardness at your hip. Stu isn't difficult to rile up with his hair trigger libido, but this progression is suspicious. He's already making those soft, wrecked noises that preface a messy orgasm. You can't help wondering what got him so far so quickly.

Billy's hand travels between the two of you, running the pads of his fingers over your flimsy tank top to pinch and twist your stiffened buds, smirking when Stu swallows the precious noise you make. When his hips start to chase release, Billy reaches into his boxers to wrap his fingers around his length, circling the base and tightening without remorse. Stu turns teary, blue eyes to Billy who glares at him pointedly. If his thigh hadn't been grinding against your clit, sending sweet jolts up your spine, you would have found it odd that Stuart Macher was willingly sacrificing an orgasm.

Lucky for them, you're busy pressing your thighs together, an action both watch with expressions that would have scared you if you could see them. Billy helps get you under the covers and arousal floods your veins and brain, begging for the return of Stu's lips or Billy's hand. It makes it harder to think, let alone worry that something fishy is going on. You're more than a little annoyed when they then insist you watch the movie, but you're pleased when you don't recognize it.

They make eye contact over your head as you reluctantly become engrossed. When the killing finally starts, Billy pulls you into his lap and Stu wraps around the two of you while you’re engrossed in actions of a seemingly sophisticated killer. You start to feel bad for one of the girls, one of the many unfortunate ones unable to escape the ruthless killer, being chased around her house. You shift nervously as she attempts to escape, blocked by the man intent on toying with her. Billy's fingers crawl to your thighs, inching towards the hem of your pajama shorts. You frown, swatting his hand away. "Start explaining," You say bluntly. 

You take a lot these two throw at you in stride, but you don't play along without answers. Billy pushes up your shorts, groaning into your ear when his fingers find your soaked entrance. You shudder as his fingers work your clit gently. "We had a great night, right Stu?" He asks, ghosting his middle finger over your clit.

It pulses under his touch, heat surging through your veins. Stu laughs, breath ghosting your collarbone. He watches the other's fingers dance between your legs, grin pressed into your shoulder. “It was a helluva night, babe. Reminded us of you." 

You shudder at the malice in his voice, the vindictive musings of a coldblooded killer. It's easy to forget because of his friendly and goofy demeanor, how much pleasure he takes in what they do. With his easy-going attitude, it's tempting to think of him as led astray by Billy's iron will. You know the truth. Stu enjoys killing as much as Billy does, proof of that was gyrating against you moments ago. You're not sure how you factor into this and your heart thuds in your chest, part arousal and fear. "H-How?" You stammer, intrigued. 

Billy grabs your chin and tilts your head towards them. Wide eyes move between them, feeling flayed by their heavy, lidded gazes. On screen, the girl screams and begs the killer for mercy. Billy grins. It's a sadists' smile that sits perfectly on his handsome face. You swallow and try to ignore that they've been on the receiving end of those pleas before. Stu pulls at your shorts and before you can think about lifting your hips, he's yanking your legs open to get them off of you. "Jesus, Stu, chill out!" 

He doesn't respond, cupping your pussy with his large hand. His silence is unnerving, since he usually can't resist running his mouth. It feels deliberate. “Look." Billy orders, distracting you. 

He lets Stu's hand replace his and directs your attention to the movie again. He's much less subtle, flicking and pinching your clit and watching your body jerk with dark eyes. You bite back a whimper, eyes fluttering to try and watch the screen. Another woman is tied up on screen, lying prostrate on a table in her kitchen. You think this is the final girl so you wonder how she's going to escape when she's so thoroughly bound. You hear Billy's breathing pick up.

Pressed against him like this, his dick rests against the crest of your ass. He shifts you on top of his throbbing length, relishing your warmth and the way you've begun to drip onto his pants. Stu slows, the only hint that he's also interested in what's playing. The killer approaches and your eyes widen at the way he grabs at her, wide gloved hand manhandling her body. “They're about to create a convenient excuse for her to get away pretty soon. No one could escape ropes like that. Stu and I tried it tonight." 

You try to look at one of them, startled by the blunt statement. Billy doesn't loosen his grip. "She was a shitty stand in. Serves us right for trying to replace you. We can’t stop thinking about it. The way you'd scream, what sort of noises you'd make. Maybe scare you enough that you try to run. We could pretend to let you go, to hunt you down in your own house. You could beg us to leave you alone, but words wouldn't be enough. You'd offer us your body, convince us that you're worth more alive. Though after we were through using you, you might regret it." 

Stu resumes rubbing at your clit, clever fingers reducing you to mush. Two pairs of eyes burn through you as they gauge your reaction. He slows, waiting to hear your response. This is what they've been discussing, the idea of hunting you like one of their victims. Billy's heart thuds, impressing the rhythm of it in your back. "What do you think, angel? That sound like something you'd like?" 

Their expressions are imploring, a set of puppy dog eyes desperately begging you to say yes. You bite your lip, eyes darting to where the woman has escaped, starting a chase sequence. You gulp when the killer slams her against the wall, hands cupping her chin and throat to squeeze the life from her. You imagine them terrorizing you, breaking into your house and overpowering you. You nod, once. "I-Yeah, okay." The smile they give you is predatory.

。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. ⌒♡ ☆ 。 ・゜♡ ゜・。.

They're surprisingly communicative about the whole thing. The discussion goes on for way too long in your opinion, especially when they gleefully take advantage of hearing every secret desire you’ve had about them. They don’t contribute much, only elaborating on topics you’ve already suggested. It’s endearing, their determination to make you feel safe and comfortable. They succeed. You feel better about the whole thing and after opting for the basic color system and gestures, they've quelled your doubts. 

It was only a matter of when. Waiting for the night. Billy and Stu are capable of excessive patience. As the weeks turn into months, you forget that. Three months later, you don’t find it weird when they decline an invitation to a party and suggest you go with some friends you haven’t seen in a while. You assume they’ll be busy and like always, choose not to think about it. 

。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. ⌒♡ ☆ 。 ・゜♡ ゜・。.

Later that night, you wave off the concerns of your friends as they shout at you from the car. Despite the time, neither of your roommates are home. You spotted one of them at one of the bars making out with a girl, so you know she won’t be returning. "I'll be fine! I-I'm just gonna head to bed and sleep this shit off," you shout, then wince. 

There's no need to worry about waking your roommates, but the rest of the block is still an option. You tug off your shoes and toss them on the rack, humming one of the songs you heard repeatedly at one of the clubs.  Any attempt to dance along to your soundtrack is derailed by the way the room spins. You take off your earrings and rings, fiddling with your necklace when your phone goes off.

Who the hell is calling you at nearly four in the morning? "

'lo? " You slur, grabbing your skin care products and tucking the phone into your shoulder.

Even cross faded, you weren't sleeping with all the makeup and glitter you had on. You're positive someone spilled their drink on you, more than once, but you're too lit for a shower. You feel good, better than good. You wish Billy and Stu were there to satiate the arousal that’s been bubbling ever since you started partying. Once you got weed or liquor in your system, it enabled every single one of your inhibitions. Both were a dangerous combination. "Hello. I was wondering if you could help me." A deep timbre intoned from the line. 

You furrow your eyebrows. "Help? What kinda help ya need at f-four o' fucking clock? Who-who is this?" 

A low whistle and a chuckle. "You've got a dirty mouth, girl." 

If you'd been thinking straight, you would've caught on a lot sooner. Though after a night of your friends supplying you with multiple shots and blunts, you're allowed to be slow on the uptake. It had been a while and without Billy and Stu, you got fucked up, accepting whatever was handed to you. “Sorry, didn't realize I was talkin' to the Pope! Did Isabelle give you my number? Because I fucking told her not to, so sorry to get your hopes up, but I'm not interested. Again!" 

The person is quiet for a second before sucking their teeth. "Not interested? You got a boyfriend?"

You sigh. "Yes, two of them actually. I'm already annoyed I'm talking to you, trying to screw me, when I should be getting screwed. Goodbye, please lose my number, weirdo.”

Before you can hang up, they ask coldly. "Why do you think I'm trying to screw you?" 

You laugh. “Seemed like it and I'm not interested, so good-bye."

"Do not hang up on me, ___."

You pause. Hearing the unfamiliar voice say your name is unsettling. You rack your brain, trying to remember if the guy at the club even got a chance to ask for your name. You doubt it, you shut it down quickly. Your friend could have told him, but you're starting to doubt it's him at all. After running through all possible suspects, you grin, feeling foolish for believing their excuse about a test on Monday. Your inebriated state is a well of confidence, something that's been diminishing the longer this took. "Or what?" You ask quietly.

Billy or Stu, you can't tell, chuckles. "Are you a smart girl ___?"

"Yep! 'Prolly not right now though." You giggle.

"Yeah? Why's that?" 

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. You lick your lips, sitting on your bed. "Cuz'm talking to you, which isn't a good idea." 

"Aww, why not?”

You're so ready for anything that the conversation alone has stirred a simmering arousal between your legs. You slide your hand over your stomach, fingers tracing your belly button over your dress. "Cuz I’m drunk and high and really turned on right now." 

He pauses. You giggle under your breath at how you manage to catch them off guard. There's no reason to play helpless. "That isn't very smart."

"That's what I just said."

"Don't get fresh with me, slut." 

A flush works its way up your neck and face. You squeeze your thighs together. "Don't fucking call me that, asshole!” 

He laughs. You’re shocked by the venom in his next words. "Watch your mouth, bitch. You think I can’t tell what you're doing? Touching yourself, panting for a stranger like a desperate, fucking whore."

Your head spins, hand stopping from where it was trailing over your thighs. You can't think of anything to say for a moment. “How-" 

"How do I know you're two seconds from rubbing your pathetic little pussy? Because I can always tell when one of you is just a dirty little girl, dying to satisfy her empty holes."

You whine and he laughs cruelly. "Poor ___. Where are your boyfriends? They're missing out on your adorable little noises. If I was your boyfriend, I'd keep you stuffed 24/7." 

You're two seconds away from just begging them to fuck you already. You're soaked to your thighs. You rub your them together and the cold voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Stop, right now."

"I can't. I-It feels too good. I-I-" 

It's been a while since they've touched you, building anticipation perhaps, and the little friction and intoxication has your orgasm fast approaching. "If you don't stop-"

You're a little ashamed that his fury, the indignant tone that promises punishment, pushes you over the edge. You gasp into the phone, hips circling as your orgasm fades. It's weak, a ghost of what the two often do to you, but it’s enough. Warm all over and brain flooded with endorphins, it takes you far too long to notice the silence on the other side of the phone. "Hello?" You call, stomach sinking.

Nothing. 

Your heartbeat ratchets up and you sit up. The line is dead, you realize with rising trepidation. It only grows when you hear something crash in the living room. Now that you're thinking straight, that was an stupid idea. You can only hope that it wasn't Billy who ordered you to stop because if it was, you were well and truly fucked. You know you're not getting off easy, but he's particularly merciless when you act out. "Shit!” You hiss under your breath. 

Another bang has you venturing out of your room, peaking around the hallway. Your heart drops at the sight of your front door slightly ajar when you certainly locked it on your way in. Fear, anticipation and lust swirls in your blood. With the permission you’ve given to them, they could do anything to you and you’re aware of how far their creativity goes.

A thrill runs through you. Should you close the door? Realistically, you'd be out it the second you got a chance. This whole thing is about catching you trying your best to get away. With that in mind, you grab the door knob only for the door to be slammed into the wall by a figure cloaked in black. You gape at the sight of a white mask before a burst of adrenaline sends you running. You scream when a gloved hand fists in your hair, sharp pain shooting through your scalp. You're not even thinking when his other hand comes to grab your face, sans glove, and you bite down hard. You think you taste blood, but don't bother making sure. 

Billy and Stu had scoffed when you insisted they promise to use the safe words and you wonder if they're regretting that now. You were going to regret biting, that's for sure. You shout triumphantly when you get to the back door, yanking it open. The closet behind you slams open and you scream, tripping over the doorway to get outside. You're not expecting one of them to already be there, leaping from the shadows to tackle you. Who the fuck moves that fast?

Your heart slams against your rib cage as you slap and punch a broad chest, biting back the instinct to scream at having someone pin you down this roughly. You can't stop the loud gasp when he slaps you, open palm against your cheek. “Don't fucking move,” He hisses. 

Your ears are ringing, chest heaving with labored breaths as your head spins. It's too much, you feel like you're going to pass out with how fast your heart is racing. You couldn't hear well enough to identify who's on top of you so you just stare into the holes of the mask. He doesn't say anything else, pulling you roughly to your feet. He manhandles you inside where the other is waiting, the one you bit. "Get on your knees." He says. 

Oh fuck. It's Billy. Jesus Christ, you bit Billy. 

You take a deep breath. "Make me."

Even if he wasn't who you spoke to on the phone, taking it that far means he's liable to take it further. You may as well dig your heels in and brat to the fullest. Go big or go home. Billy loves brat taming. The thought only makes you hotter. He has a heavy hand, unforgiving and delving out brutal punishments, sometimes with Stu as his proxy. He's just as eager to please as you. Completely surrendering to his control blocks out your loud mind. It’s easy when he dominates you without question. Like now. 

In two swift strides, he's standing in front of you. His bloody hand grabs your face, smearing evidence of what you did onto your skin. The other forces a knife between your lips, serrated edge digging into plush lips. Knowing that it's him holding you like this doesn't ease your terror. People on the other end of this knife have died. The thought raises conflicting emotions within you. Well, not this knife, you insisted on that. You drop to your knees before he can repeat himself. You wince as you hit the floor, keeping an eye on the knife. "What a disobedient, slut. You cum when I tell you to stop and not to mention this!” 

You close your eyes as his words wash over you. Billy on the phone too. Bad fucking luck. Or good, depending on your point of view. "That's gonna stop. Do what we say or you're going to get very familiar with this." 

He presses it further, ignoring your flinch. The sting is barely noticeable with how turned on you are. You're uncomfortably wet, panties clinging to your dripping folds. You want to touch yourself and regret not doing so before. Because there's no way you'll be coming soon. "Understood?"

You nod. Another gloved palm to the face has you blinking back tears. "Not so chatty anymore? Verbal answers. Yes sir, please sir, thank you sir. Or should I carve it into you?"

"No Sir, I-I understand. Please, don't hurt me." 

He tilts his head and Stu comes to stand behind you. He grabs your shoulder, his other hand trailing over your body. “Christ, you really dress the part. Ass and tits on display. Don't you have any self respect?” He snickers, like a schoolhouse bully.

The dress is short and tight. You sent pictures of it to them before you went out. You fill it out spectacularly, plush curves of tits, ass, and hips. Eyes had certainly followed you while you were out tonight. Stu takes advantage of his position behind you to grab fistfuls of your body, forcefully and demanding. Greedy, expansive fingers grope handfuls of your curves. He shoves at your spine and you collapse into an arch, flushing when he lifts your ass towards him. You try to lift your head and he pushes it back down, cheek to the carpet. "Don't. Move." He orders. 

"Yes sir."

You watch Billy's boots walk in your line of sight. “There’s only one way to make our point stick," he sighs.

“W-What are you gonna do to me?” You ask, resisting the urge to look at him. 

You’re not being coy. The two hadn’t clued you in to much during their planning, obviously. “Whatever we want,” Billy hisses, dragging his knife along the curve of your spine. 

“Oh, she likes that!” Stu laughs, taking note of how your pussy clenches at his words.

Before you can respond, his wide hand comes down on your ass. Loud thwacks fill the room, relentless and without pause. With every sharp slap, you let out a choked gasp, tears blurring your vision. He spanks you with an open palm, over and over again until you lose count.  A strong hand grips your cheek and tilts your head. Behind his mask, Billy gazes at you. Not being able to see his eyes makes you want to turn away or close yours. Any desire you may have had left to act out is being steadily struck out of you by Stu's quick, harsh strikes. You’re delirious with the pain and pleasure. His hand slaps against the meat of your ass, low enough to catch on your labia. With the way you’re exposed and the knowledge that Stu's eyes are glued to your opening, you feel like you're about to burst into flames.

Of course, he would never miss the opportunity to comment. "Man, you're nothing more than a neglected fuck toy. We know what happens to whores like you when you go too long without a hard fucking." He leans in, only pausing for a moment. "Your cunt is begging to be filled. Poor thing, you’re in heat. Pretty dumb of you to act like you're not aching for it. I guess it’s worth it to see your cute ass on fire."

You can't speak, can barely see through the tears running freely down your cheeks. You want him to fuck you already. He's right about you being desperate for it, for anything. “Anything, doll?” Billy asks. "This is all it takes to get you to let us fuck you, hm? What would your little boyfriends think?" 

You would try to muster some sort of denial, but seeing as how you hadn't meant to speak aloud, your brain is reaching its breaking point. "Well, we'll give it to you. It's just a matter of what you can take. He thinks you'll give out after this round. I say you make it to the end." There's a brush of steel against your collarbone. “He’s got to be in forties by now. You’re gonna be good, right? That's the only way you'll get anything."

You start to nod vigorously, stopping abruptly to stutter out. "Y yessir!"

Billy's grin is manic behind his mask, entire body taut with anticipation. You look unbelievable. He’s been eager to get your lips around his cock ever since you answered the phone. "Good." He purrs, unbuckling his pants.

The sound sends a rush of slick dribbling down your thighs. Stu drags your panties down your ankles, whistling. “Look at that."

The wet noise they make when they hit the floor is, frankly, humbling. "You are a perfect, little, fuck toy. So wet, is that from cumming or getting your backside tanned?" 

Now that you've got a moment to catch a breath, their words hit home. The humiliation only increases the curl of arousal in your gut while your clit throbs incessantly, pleading for touch. You whine at the reminder of your behavior. So, still no chance of cumming yet.

Stu is salivating behind his mask, lips wet from the number of times he's ran his tongue over them. His eyes devour the sight of you, skin glistening with sweat, the sinful arch of your back and feast of your pussy. The heat of your skin burns against his after his treatment. You're the sexiest thing he's seen. "My hands are soaked and I didn't even touch you."

He’s not exaggerating, even grazing your pussy has his fingers coated in slick. Billy finally tugs his belt off and Stu crams his fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of you with a muffled groan. Billy tilts his mask, likely glaring at him, belt stretched out. He shrugs, grabbing it. “You enjoyed this too much for it to be a punishment. I think ten more with the belt will help the message about who’s in charge sink in.”

Billy taps on your cheek twice for confirmation. You look into the empty holes of his mask, inhale slowly and let the feeling of leather ground you. The pain has blended smoothly with the heady arousal cooking your brain. You tilt your head, open your mouth and curl your tongue around the gloved digits, sighing at the taste. Billy practically pries your mouth open with them. Your heart thuds, breath catching when he pulls out his hard cock. It’s flushed bright red at the tip, precum spurting generously down throbbing veins. No amount of acting can cover how affected he is. Stu's likely the same. You swallow a groan. He bullies his way into your mouth, hips jerking deeper into your mouth when you moan. "That's it. Let us hear how needy you are for it." 

Stu takes the moment to strike, once onto the thickest swell of your ass. You cry out, noise muffled as Billy guides you further down his cock. “Count them. Now." 

He cuts off your protest with a mean thrust, slow and forceful, laughing when you choke. “Keep whining and I'll give you something to cry about." 

Stinging pain explodes on your thighs, courtesy of two swift strikes between your legs. You feel foolish, choking out yelps while tonguing at his cock, swallowing the taste. His hand fists in your hair. “You still know how to make it good, huh? Guess your boyfriends trained you well."

You narrow your eyes at him for a second and he tilts his head before cupping the other side of yours, the only warning before he pushes his length down your throat. He holds you, gagging on his cock with drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. You blink back panic at not being able to breathe and let out a rush of air through your nose. "See! "Billy says, jerking you around like a rag doll. "W-what'd I-fuck, say? Perfect, pretty cock warmer. I hope your cunt is this t-tight." 

Stu kicks your legs apart, delivering a final strike directly onto your clit, gentler than the rest but not by much. You scream something that sounds like ten, tears rolling down your cheeks as your legs shake. Billy's emphatic, “Good girl. Good fucking girl,” rings in your mind.

He pulls out of your mouth, caressing your face and wiping tear tracks as you gasp. "I know that was hard. Just let us have you, you won't have to think about anything else, okay?" 

You nod, leaning into his touch. You open your mouth to respond and gloved fingers stop you. His touch is much more gentle, more your Billy. "You wanna feel good?" 

You nod, whimpering. Your throat feels raw, just like your backside. "P-please."

"You got it, doll.”

A rustle of cloth behind you and two warm hands on your hips signal Stu's approach. When you feel his breath ghost against your lips, you murmur, "Thank you, thank you."

Billy nods and his tongue glides through the mess on your thighs, groaning into your skin. You sob when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue sliding over it, grateful to finally have some stimulation. Your blood sings with relief and if it weren't for Stu's hands on your hips and Billy cupping your head, you'd have collapsed into a trembling heap. You're chanting something, but you're laser focused on the way his long, skillful tongue presses against your swollen bud. The movement sets your nerves on fire, careening towards euphoria. Stu and Billy listen, fascinated, as you thank them for every ounce of pleasure.

Stu is so hard his balls ache. He wants you to come, with his tongue stuffed inside you preferably so he can feel it. He wiggles the appendage against your clit one last time before tonguing at your opening. Your mantra increases in volume, so loud you're almost shouting. He could come like this. He palms himself with one hand, pushing his tongue inside you, lips gratefully pulling more of your taste into his mouth. You squeeze around him, he can feel the curves and ridges of your cunt with his tongue as you soak his face. Billy wanted you to pay for your little stunt, but your pleas have softened him. “You wanna cum?" He asks. 

You look at him, eyes wide and imploring. Fuck, you were adorable. "I-If you think I should."

Stu groans between your legs. Billy's hand reaches into your dress, tweaking your neglected nipples. "Good. Pay attention to what happens when you let us use this gorgeous body."

He signals to Stu who stops and you whine, despondent. He moves away, reluctantly if his speed is any indication. Billy shushes your rambling pleas, pulling you up and seating you against the Stu's chest, whose fingers immediately begin rubbing at your puffy lips. You screw your face tight and Billy tuts; Stu stops. “Open your eyes, doll. Look forward." 

You blink your eyes open and make contact with your own lidded gaze. A full length mirror sits against the wall, clearly placed by them. “If you're gonna come, for the second time tonight, we all get to watch."

Your eyes dart along your body, dress bunched up at the waist, makeup smeared and mixed with blood and legs hooked around Stu's, spread so that your pussy is in full view. You try not to close your eyes or legs, embarrassed. As if intuiting the path of your thoughts, Billy cups your chin. “If you want to cum, you'll have to show us what a horny slut you are. Close your eyes and you lose it, understand?"

You nod, glancing at their reflections, cloaked figures hovering over you possessively. Stu’s put his mask back on, but his hands are bare, slender fingers resting on your mound. It's not hard to watch those fingers creep towards your hole, gathering wetness to slick up your clit. You bite your lips, chest heaving as he flicks and pinches the nub until you're panting. He stops and spreads your lips and you watch him sink his middle finger into your hole. Billy crouches beside you, running his fingers over your clit. "How is she?" He asks Stu. "Warm?"

You flush when he answers, "Tight," in a strained voice.

"Perfect. What a cute, fat pussy. No wonder he was dying to keep his mouth on it." Billy growls. 

He raises his knife, dragging it down your neck and into your dress, slicing the fabric without a second thought. He palms your breasts, relishing in the weight of them in his hands. "Such great tits. We really lucked out with you."

Skilled fingers strum your body and Stu pushes in another finger, scissoring you open. He curls them, digging deep into you in search of your sweet spot. Your hips jerk when he finally finds it. Warmth licks its way up your spine, eyes dangerously close to shutting as Billy swirls his fingers over your clit. Your moans echo so loudly in the room, you wonder if your neighbors can hear the wounded, pathetic noises you’re making. You whimper, eyes glued to where Stu's fingers pound into you, slick sounds and visual pushing you closer. "I-I'm gonna, fuck, you're gonna make me cum. P-Please d-don't stop, please, plea-"

"You better not." Billy hisses, to your dismay. "You wait until we say you can." 

He doesn't stop stroking you and you try to pull your hips back, stave off the orgasm about to explode in you, buzzing right under your skin. Stu, the bastard, forces your hips into Billy's hand and slides a third finger into you. "Please, please, please, let me cum. I'll be good, so good."

"Yeah? You’re gonna be our good girl. Go ahead, cum right now or we’ll stop.” 

You do, back arched with the force of your orgasm. Their free hands are pressed to one of your thighs, keeping them spread. "Fuck,” Stu murmurs “Our pretty little slut, squeezing my fingers so damn tight. I'm dying to fuck you. You're gonna let me into this pretty little pussy and I’ll stretch it out with my cock ‘til you cry."

You nod eagerly. "Please, please fuck me. Get your cock lost in my pussy, I'm so fucking wet, I need it, Sir, please." 

It’s silent for a beat.

If your brain wasn't goo, you'd be smug at the way your words have rendered them speechless. Stu slowly pulls out of you and cuts off your mewl by flipping you onto your back. He blankets your entire body with his costume draped over the two of you. He pulls out his cock, tip flushed worse than Billy’s, soaked in precum. From the pushy way he spreads your legs and the impatient way he jerks his cock, he's not gonna last very long. He slides into you with a raspy whine, burying his face in your neck when you tighten around his cock, thick hardness breaching you with a restraint that makes his entire body shake. Even with three fingers, Stu is proportionate, eight glorious, veiny inches, with a decent girth. You're soaking him, easing the way for him to shove his cock deeper, but it’s a snug fit. "Fuck." He breathes. "You're so tight, tryna' swallow m-my di-dick!"

His body is wracked with tremors. His cock pulses inside you, spearing you open with a delicious sting as he starts to fucks into you too fast. His hips slap against yours wildly. Pawing at your clit, he twists the abused bundle. Carpet scratches your back with every violent thrust of Stu's hips, as he drills into you with mindless efficiency. He pounds you, pummeling your poor spongy walls until you're sobbing. You throw your head back, burying your face into your elbow. "Please, please, oh God, I'm g'na cum." 

Billy tilts your head towards Stu's mask.

“Yeah? You gonna cum all over his cock? That's all you're good for, taking and creaming on cock. You don't have to do anything else, we’ll take good care of you." 

His hand moves to your throat while the other fists his leaking cock. You spread your lips and mouth at the tip, tongue dragging across the slit. They both swear. "You're so eager to be our little cock pocket, huh?" Stu moans. “Shit, I’m close.”

Billy doesn't press any further into your mouth, but watching you swallow around what he gives you is exhilarating. He strokes himself with patience he doesn't feel. He doesn't want to come before delivering on everything they promised. Stu's mask does nothing to muffle his pathetic moans as he loses himself in your sinful heat and the way your greedy hole takes every inch. He cums, groaning as his cock comes back wetter and filthier than before. He rides out his orgasm, thrusting into you until he's empty, smearing release over your lips when he slaps his tip against your clit. "Go on.” Billy orders. "Give her something to cum on."

Stu buries himself inside you, clearly overstimulated as you tighten around him. The kiss of his cock to your cervix and his sloppy manipulation of your clit has you reeling. You shout and Stu whines as you use his cock to cum, hips slapping against his. He rips out of you and Billy takes his place, sheathing himself inside you with a single thrust. "Fuck, you're so cute spaced out like this," he breathes.

His thrusts are brutal, a punishing pace that has your ass throbbing. He pauses for a moment and a rustle of fabric has you blinking back into focus. Your heart swells at the sight of dark, brown eyes. "That's it, doll."

His hips pick up tempo, thick cock stretching you further. It has an intimidating girth, thicker than Stu's, with a fat head that brutalizes your gummy walls. You fight to keep your eyes open, taking advantage of being able to finally see one of them. His hair sticks to his face, eyes consuming the image you make. You grab at his shoulders, digging acrylic nails into his back. You're not expecting the orgasm that wrecks your body, eyes rolling into your head. He moans into your hair before pulling out and snapping his hips back into you. Sneering, he grabs your cheeks. "Did you just come before me?” He tuts. “Greedy little whore. I'm gonna give this pussy what it's begging for." 

He pushes Stu's cum back into you, wet squelches ringing out loud, mixed with your moans and his pants. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He’s drunk on the way you’re wrapped around him, forcing his hips towards you on instinct. “I'm gonna fill you up. You're nothing but our cum dump." 

He’s not expecting you to nod the affirmative and wrap trembling legs around his waist. He stares down at you with wide eyes as you moan, "Fill me up, breed me, want your cum.” 

"Oh, fuck, baby," He groans, at his limit, roughly nudging your clit.

Luckily, that's all it takes and while you gasp and shake around him, he shoots inside you, pelvis pressed to yours. “Yeah, take it. Fuck, you're perfect. Only we can fucking do this to you, princess, remember that.”

That is the last thing you recall before you pass out.

。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. ⌒♡ ☆ 。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. 

You wake to firm hands massaging your arms and legs. You blink open your eyes and groan pathetically. Your entire body is on fire. You try to withdraw your limbs from reach, wanting nothing more than to huddle into a ball. “Hey, don’t move too much.” Billy orders from beside you. “Stu’s running your bath. After you’re clean, we’ll get you into bed. How are you feeling?”

Your little fainting spell must’ve worried them because his eyes dart over your face in search of signs of pain. “Very sore, a bath is the perfect call.” 

Without another word, he picks you up and carries you into the steamy bathroom. Stu smiles brightly, rushing forward to help get you in the bath. You sigh as your body sinks in the nearly scalding water, just how you like it. They lean against the tub, watching you as you enjoy the loosening of your muscles. You giggle as you watch them put on one of your exfoliating gloves. They squeeze body wash into them and begin scrubbing your body gently. They even wash your face and it warms your heart that they go through the trouble of adhering to your routine, products lined up on the counter with exaggerated eye rolls. When they're done, they help you stand and turn on the shower, rinsing you off before draining the tub. Stu wraps you in a warm towel and you bury your face into it. “Wow, you thought of everything.” 

You try to sound teasing, but you can’t hide how touched you are by it. “Nothing, but the best for you, babe!” Stu says, kissing your forehead. 

They sit you on your bed, massaging warm body oil into your skin. You groan, feeling pleasantly relaxed. “You were amazing tonight, sweetheart. Our sweet little victim,” Billy says when he’s done with your feet. “Thank you.”

Stu rubs your shoulders, nodding. “Yeah, really gave us a run for our money!”

You blush. “It wasn’t too much or corny?”

“No way! You should join the drama club!”

“Fuck no, you did great. We’re proud of you.”

You smile and let them finish getting you ready for bed. They practically tuck you in, sliding in on either side of you. You fall asleep amongst a tangle of limbs, barely registering the press of their lips to your forehead and shoulder or their soft caresses. 

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #slasher x reader #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #black!reader #black reader insert #reader insert #stu macher fic #billy loomis fic #mine.txt #billy loomis smut #stu macher smut #y'all this was a doozy...feedback welcome bc i blacked out halfway through the smut and gave up at the end #this thing has been in my drafts for over a year i think #did i do it justice... #y'all should see the moodboard for this fic...just nasty #side note: they totally kill isabelle after this #attn mobile users: is the font obnoxious lmao #fic.txt

[guzmapkmn-archive]

bring me back to life

ও word count: 1,953

ও relationship(s): pre cirrus/guzma

ও warnings: brief implied self harm and violence, blood

ও summary: cirrus takes care of guzma after the disaster that is the iki town festival tournament.

ও notes: fun fact I started this last september. everyone is so proud of me and my ability to finish writing fics in a timely manner <3

ok to rb!!

Tonight was the festival - the "Full Force Festival'' as people called it. A stupid name, in Cirrus's opinion, but to be honest, it didn't care enough about it to poke fun. 

After the news of the beachfront grunts' defeat, Guzma was in a worse mood than usual. He had gripped the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white, and Cirrus worried the stuffing would pop out. "Hey." It patted Guzma's arm in an attempt to be reassuring. "Don't worry, Guz. The Slowpoke tail stall is getting set up now. There's no way that kid'll get away."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Guzma slammed his fist into the chair, mouth twisted in seething anger. "A fuckin' kid, C," he groaned. "Wasn't even me that got beat and I feel like I can't show my face. Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"Well, he won't be anything once he gets beat."

This seemed to placate Guzma, as he sat back with his chin in his hand. "Yeah. You're right. He won't be, not after I'm done with him," he said thoughtfully.

The plan was all set up, with A, as he dubbed himself, taking part in the competition for something-or-other, and a group of other grunts manning a popup food stall just in case. But… the beachfront grunts were strong, and according to them, the kid had beat them like it was nothing. Cirrus was reluctant to voice its concerns out loud, but for everyone's sake, it wanted to be 200% sure of their success.

"Why don't I head down there, just to keep an eye on things? Not that I think there will be any problems," (it did), "but, ya know. Just in case. Couldn't hurt," Cirrus suggested.

"No," Guzma said after a beat of silence, hopping to his feet. "You stay here. I'm goin' to crush that kid. Won't even take a minute. I'll be back before ya know it."

"Oh," Cirrus said. It was honestly surprised that Guzma hadn't ordered it or Plumeria to go help out earlier. Leaving something this important in the hands of a bunch of grunts wasn't always the best idea, but Guzma rarely got so directly involved. This must have been bothering him more than he let on, to decide to go to the festival himself. "Uh, okay. Are you sure? It'd be no trouble for me-"

"You can't always count on other people to do your dirty work for ya. I need to destroy him myself. Make sure it's done right." 

He left before Cirrus could say anything further, leaving it alone in his room.

"Ugh. Typical," it grumbled, flopping down in Guzma's chair and swinging its legs over the side. As much as it didn't want to go to the festival, being left alone while everyone else was there, even for business, was even worse. It just hoped Guzma wouldn't do anything stupid.

~~~~~~~

The next thing Cirrus heard was a frantic clamor coming from the downstairs of the mansion, a cacophony of shouting and yelling that awoke it from its accidental slumber. Shaking its head in an attempt to dislodge the sleep that still clung to its eyes, it was about to make its way to the door, but was interrupted by a grunt swinging open with enough force to make it jump. Well, this is definitely Not Good.

The grunt wrung her hands, shifting her weight from food to foot nervously. “C-Cirrus!!” she wailed upon spotting it, looking as if she might burst into tears at any second. Oh dear. “Hey, hey, take a breath, alright?” Cirrus stumbled down the stairs and across the room, gently ushering the grunt out of the room. All of the remaining fatigue had faded with the commotion, and was now replaced with worry. “What happened?” it asked once they were outside.

"I… Th-the boss is hurt, and…!" 

Wait… Guzma was hurt? It was just supposed to be a battle tournament, right? And he wasn’t even the one competing…

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs, A just brought him in, but… but…” she trailed off, and Cirrus pressed its lips together.

“Shit. Okay. Thank you.” Cirrus hated to leave her here when she was upset, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder in what it hoped was a reassuring gesture before running down the stairs.

~~~~~~~

The ruckus downstairs had mostly quieted down as Cirrus arrived, save for A and Guzma loudly arguing. A’s mouth snapped shut once he noticed Cirrus, staring at it from over Guzma’s shoulder, with the taller man following suit, turning around to give Cirrus a clear look at the blood dripping from his forehead and the bent and smashed sunglasses in his clenched fist.

The worry that had been welling in Cirrus’s chest bloomed into anxiety as it took in the scene in front of it, with Guzma refusing to look it in the eyes, and the way the dim light in the mansion reflected off the shards of glass from the shattered sunglasses that were embedded in his forehead, and the blood dyeing the tips of his bangs red. If only it had pushed harder for Guzma to let it go instead… this wouldn't be happening.

“Guzma,” it said quietly, waiting until said man crossed his arms and began stomping his way towards it to head towards the bathroom upstairs.

Cirrus sighed as it shut the door behind them, frustrated, worried, exhausted… “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good,” Guzma spat out, waving away Cirrus’s hands as it attempted to help him onto the counter.

A scowl had crept its way up Guzma's face in the few seconds it took Cirrus to grab the first aid kit from under the sink, with an angry crease forming on his brow.

"Hey. Quit it with the grumpy face, you're making my job a lot harder."

Guzma huffed, but smoothed out his scowl, allowing Cirrus to tilt his head up and carefully pick out the remaining shards of glass from his wound. It worked in silence, only uttering a quiet sorry when Guzma flinched back, hissing through his teeth.

The room was thick with a palpable tension that Cirrus tried hard to ignore as it dabbed at the now dry blood that had dripped down Guzma's face. It knew how destructive Guzma got when he was angry - had seen the aftermath of his rage firsthand - but he had never done anything like this to himself. At least, not that Cirrus knew of.

Something was up, something had happened, but Cirrus didn't want to pry, especially so soon. Besides, the chance of Guzma opening up so easily was slim to none.

Resisting the urge to sigh again, Cirrus took the gauze and bandages it had set aside and pressed them to the wound, making sure they wouldn't fall off the second it let go. "There we go," it said, brushing Guzma's hair back over his forehead, "good as new!"

"Thanks…" Guzma muttered, tugging at his bangs. With the admittedly amateur doctoring complete, Cirrus was able to take a step back to truly take in the other man's disheveled state, with his shoulders drooping and the bags under his eyes darker than normal.

"Guz… Maybe you should get some rest, yeah?" Cirrus suggested. It didn't know when the last time he slept properly was, but it couldn't have been recently. "'M fine." Guzma rubbed at his eyes almost aggressively, as if trying to clear the obvious heaviness from them. "'Sides, I didn't get the chance to heal Golisopod or Masquerain after the battle, 'n I gotta do that first." He had grimaced for a brief moment at the mention of the festival, but broke out into a yawn.

"I can do that. You look dead on your feet. Go to bed."

"I toldja I'm fine-"

"I'll go take care of them. You go take care of yourself," Cirrus said firmly, leaving no room for arguing. It held out its hand expectantly, raising its eyebrows when Guzma crossed his arms. "Fine," he said, reaching in his pocket for the pokéballs and placing them in Cirrus's outstretched hand. "Thank you. Now go rest," it stressed. "Or I swear to Arceus I will drag you to your bed myself."

"Yeah, yeah," Guzma waved Cirrus off but slid off the counter, stopping once he reached the door. "...thanks," he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "For helpin' me out. I… really appreciate you." 

A dark blush crept its way up Cirrus's face and Butterfree fluttered violently in its stomach at Guzma's words. "Shit," it choked out once Guzma left, trying to drown out the pounding of its heart. I appreciate you. He didn’t just appreciate the action, he appreciated Cirrus. It clenched the pokéballs in its hands and took a deep breath before heading outside.

“That’s a normal thing to say to someone when they help you, right? I’m… just thinking too hard about it. That’s a perfectly normal thing to say,” it said to itself as it made its way down the winding staircase. The eerie silence from inside the now-abandoned Shady House followed Cirrus out to the yard, making it shiver. 

Cirrus let Golisopod and Masquerain out of their pokéballs, and stayed quiet as it sprayed the Pokémon with potions. The harder it tried to not think about what Guzma had said to it, the more it ended up thinking about it. A frustrated groan escaped its lips and it threw the empty potion bottle to the side, a bit harder than it planned. Golisopod gave it a look, then busied itself with Cirrus's bag, poking at it with his claws. "Ugh, I'll pick it up in a minute - hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Golisopod continued to nudge at the bag even when Cirrus took it from him. "Oh, you smell the poké beans, don'tcha? Well, y'all're in luck - I got the good stuff." It pulled out a rainbow bean from its bag, which was promptly snatched and devoured by Golisopod the second it was in view. "Hey now!" Cirrus raised its eyebrows at him. "I know you're Guzma's Pokémon, but use your manners!" A pause. "Don't tell him I said that."

Gentle moonlight shone down within the walls of Po Town, seeming to have a calming effect on the run-down city. The emptiness usually scared Cirrus, it didn't enjoy being out there after dark, but that night it looked almost pretty, in a strange sort of way.

Cirrus handed another bean to Golisopod, who took it much more delicately this time.

"Ooh, such a good boy!!" Cirrus cooed, reaching up to scratch Golispod under the chin, laughing as he trilled contentedly.

Masquerain started buzzing angrily around Cirrus's head, clearly jealous of the attention it was giving Golisopod. "Oh, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you!" It pet her head and fished another poké bean out from its bag, then sat cross legged on the grass, watching Masquerain perch upon Golisopod's head with the treat.

"Y'all fought hard for the boss today, huh?" Cirrus tugged at the grass absently, a small frown on its face.

"I just wish he wasn't so hard on himself…"

It flopped onto its back, staring up at the clear sky and letting the calm air wash away all its worries from the events that had transpired that night. Guzma's earlier words echoed in its ears - I really appreciate you - and it groaned loudly, covering its face with its hands as a hot flush began creeping its way up its face.

If only it was brave enough to tell Guzma… it felt the same way. If he only knew just how deeply Cirrus's appreciation, admiration, adoration, ran.

~~~~~~~

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#fic.txt #eep ok. i hope this doesn't completely suck i havent written properly in so long... #woke up feeling dangerous; guzmα 🪲 #s/i: cirrus 💿

[archivistea]

why must i write the fic. is it not enough to throw down a cool title ending with a phrase in parentheses (like this) and a poorly written summary mainly made up of keyboard smashes and question marks into my notes app and call it a day

#this is abt sampard btw. what r they doing to me #i have a calc exam tmrw #my brain is activating just in the WRONG DIRECTION #sampard #t.txt #fic.txt

[chuuyanakaahara]

i come bearing shirase & chuuya reunion at 22 (because chuuya got Fucking Stabbed and is in london)

“Where else would I go?” It sounds like a confession, an admittance, even to Chuuya’s own ears; he sounds pathetic. He sounds like a scared eight-year-old running back to a tattered, rubble-filled building on its last legs and hiding under Shirase’s coat because the old shopkeeper caught him stealing. He sounds like a combative, grief-filled twelve year old after he ran to hide behind Shirase because he couldn’t bear to tell the rest of the Sheep that the sickly kid hadn’t made it.

Where else would I go? 

The phrase in and of itself is the sum total of how Chuuya and Shirase have always come together. Never Nakahara Chuuya and Shirase Buichirou, just… Chuuya and Shirase. Afraid of the world. Afraid of each other. Afraid of living. 

It’s the state of the world that scares Chuuya, really. Still, the weakness in his own voice makes him want to bite his tongue out. 

Shirase purses his lips into a thin, tight line, and Chuuya cannot pretend that they are anything other than a monument to each other’s past. They have made their peace with each other, with the way they were raised in back alleys and booze bottles, and here he is — ruining it all. 

Opening that wound up again, in more ways than literal. At least open wounds, the physical kind that ache to have his organs disposed and torched, don’t ask for his forgiveness. At least open wounds do not smell of the bitter taste of childhood. 

“I don’t even know how you know this address,” Shirase says, though it’s more filler than anything and they both know it. Of course Chuuya knows Shirase’s address. 

Of course Chuuya keeps tabs on the people he’s willing to die for. Shirase, Dazai, Yuan, the rest of the Port Mafia — Kyouka. Chuuya is not a man of God, and there are no angels to watch over the people that have carved out their place in his soul, so it is his duty to keep up with the work. 

(It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Half the time, they’re doomed simply because they choose to be around him. Or didn’t choose. It’s often debated, in Chuuya’s head, which came first — desolation or reunion? And why does reunion always sound like ruination?)

#cherri.txt #fic.txt #this is for all u amicable exes shirachuu truthers out there #they're amicable but not Settled. not yet. hehehe #chuuya nakahara #bsd #shirase buichirou

[24-05txt]

Got tagged in a writing train on Twitter so I thought I'd share the snippets here, too! First two are already posted and are just my favorite parts, the last two are teasers of projects I'm VERY excited to share. Links and snippets under the readmore 🌟

Figure Study

Ghost asks Soap to draw him like one of his French girls, in not so many words. Things devolve from there.

John slides his sketchbook onto the desk, then slowly—so slowly—leans down, puts his elbows to his knees, and runs his fingers across his scalp. 

Deep breath in… Slow breath out.

When he can lift his head again, Ghost is still asleep in the same position he was before, as if he didn’t just make John the victim of the biggest display of trust since a cat showed a human their soft underbelly. 

“Fuck you,” he whispers, and glares at the man in front of him. Ghost doesn’t so much as twitch under the scrutiny. John considers waking him up again, and this time he gets as far as standing and taking a single step over to the bedside before he hesitates. He keeps fucking realizing how much bare skin is on display, and the revelation attacks from a different angle every time, always catching him off balance. Ghost’s head is level with John’s abdomen and he wants to know what Ghost’s jaw would feel like pressed against his palm. He wants to know quite desperately actually, and after a moment John realizes that he’s not only staring, but that his hand has lifted up to Ghost’s shoulder, coming up to cradle his face like it’s already made the decision to do so without Johnny’s conscious input.

He holds himself still for a breath, thinking hard. Then, gently, he cups Ghost’s jaw in his palm. Stubble tickles his fingertips like a greeting and all the thoughts he has swirling around fall silent. 

His mind is blank; the room seems that much quieter for it.

Then Ghost sucks in a slow breath, shoulders rising. His eyes crack open for a moment, then fall shut. They open again when he turns his face into John’s palm, brows furrowing slightly like he’s confused. John’s heart thuds, blood running cold, but he can’t bring himself to move.

“Johnny…” Ghost's voice is low, thick with sleep. His lips brush against the skin of John’s inner wrist. John can’t move, can barely think, but manages something he hopes resembles a smile.

“Mornin’ sleepin’ beauty. How’s yer nap?”

“Mm…” Ghost blinks once, twice, closes his eyes and sways dangerously forward, leaning into John’s hand. He can’t help but brush his thumb up the bridge of Ghost’s nose. Blonde lashes flutter in response. His heart thuds again. “Goin’ back to sleep.

“If yer gonna take an afternoon nap in my bed like an old man, at least put some pants on, hell’s bells,” he chides, mouth running of its own accord. (It’s for the best, really. Otherwise, he might just spend all day making Ghost’s lashes flutter with a finger on the bridge of his nose.)

Ghost hums philosophically and tries to press his entire weight into Johnny’s palm—he really does seem intent on sleeping that way. John’s heart is in his throat now, throbbing painfully; he feels like he’s just run a mile, like he should be out of breath and gasping but he’s just standing in front of his Lieutenant, cradling his face in his hand, like an idiot.

To Lie Down With Dogs - Ch.1

Soap finds a stray dog on base. Obviously, he investigates.

He’s woken up from some night-terror or another, (he won’t bother himself with recounting the details when he knows it’ll only make his shoulder ache and his chest tighten in panic) and even thought the sky is still closer to black than blue, he decides to take himself out for a walk. It usually helps to get some fresh air, remind himself of where he is and where he most certainly is not. Finding a conversation partner also helps, but it’s both too early and too late for that.

He gets one foot through the door before he spots movement out of the corner of his eye and nearly has a heart attack. For a moment, there’s a man crouched in the shadows bracketing the light spilling from the door. Waiting for him, mere meters away. Before he can do much more than pull his knife, it steps close enough to take shape.

A dog, not a man. Big enough that it has to be the same one he saw not too long ago. Its head is lowered warily, tail limp, but it doesn’t bark or growl or try to bear down on him any. Its eyes are reflecting the light, glowing a flat, sickly green, and the whole thing is fucking creepy. He can’t stop staring. (He wonders a bit if he’s still dreaming.) After a tense moment, he remembers reading somewhere that making eye-contact with dogs isn’t a great idea—canine-speak for ‘wanna have a go, mate?’—so he turns his head just a little, watching the dog from his periphery, trying to calm his pounding heart. (Dream or not, Soap doesn’t want to get bit.)

If it were so inclined, this would be a good time for it to try and take Soap down. There aren’t many other people awake, he’s out on his own, and he’s just as good as turned his back to it. Great going, Sergeant MacTavish. Ghost would have his fucking head.

The dog just looks up at him for a moment, standing less than a meter away. It doesn’t even blink.

Then it shakes its head, pointed ears flapping, and trots away. It passes in front of him—close enough to reach out and touch, like he and his knife aren’t a concern in the slightest.

Soap half-thinks to follow after it to find out where it came from, and is graced by the mental image of his forearm caught between those wicked jaws, gleaming eyes flashing red. He thinks better of it, and lets the stray wander off into the dark.

HAUNTINGS I: Architectural

WIP I want to talk about so so so much. Very self indulgent. Summary from my notes:

Soap is assigned to a safehouse in Mexico while assisting Mexican Special Forces with investigating a Cartel's movements. During the events of Las Almas he returns to the safehouse to seek the assistance of the residing ghost who tried to warn him of Shepard's betrayal.

He doesn't fall asleep so much as he passes out on that cellar floor. Dragging himself to the upstairs bathroom once he's awake is possibly one of the hardest things he's ever done, least of all because he still can not compel himself to leave the skull on the floor where it lay. He sets it on the toilet seat while he tends to his hands, tediously pulling each splinter, cutting out the one firmly embedded in the heel of his palm. Afterward he very nearly bathes in antiseptic solution, would drink it if he thought it could do him any good.

Then he steps into the shower, turns the knob as hot as it can go, and scrubs himself raw. He spends the rest of the hot water sat on the floor of the tub, knees pulled to his chest, making eye-contact with the man sitting on the lid of the toilet.

As the water starts to run cold and the grimy, itchy sensation finally recedes, he takes a breath to speak.

"How did you know Shepard would betray us?"

"He killed me." The ghost that used to haunt this house has scars that turn one half of its mouth into a tooth-bearing grimace, and the other into a gruesome smirk. It's a natural blond, with pale lashes that frame dark eyes and shaggy hair slightly too long to be in regulation with the drab tac-gear it's wearing. It could have been handsome, under different circumstances.

"What'd you do?" Soap asks. He doesn't have the energy to gentle his voice and the question comes out harsh, accusatory. The ghost frowns.

"Loaded question…" it mumbles, which is so patently ridiculous that Soap's humor cycles right back around to rage.

"Oh, aye? Is it? Cannae imagine." For all that it's still raining outside and the water is still running, Soap's tone is dry as the desert. The ghost's frown turns into a scowl.

"No, you can't," it says sternly, anger quickly overtaking the calm it had been presenting before. "You didn't get buried alive under a foot of fucking concrete—"

"You didnae have yer heid minced by a bloody poltergeist for a week straight, get shot by some two-faced slimy bawbag, nearly drown in sewer water and trek for two fecking hours just to shove your hands in a stranger's emaciated corpse on the off-chance of getting some help!" His voice strains at the end of his sentence, out of breath and fuming, but he's not done yet. "There's nobody! Ah have nobody on my side right now—Graves took the base, Rudy and Alejandro could be dead, Price is halfway 'cross an ocean and fucking Shepard is behind it all—that schemin', stinkin'—" his words become garbled, choke him, and his eyes sting even under the spray.

Lost and Found - Ch.?

Zombie AU, also SUUPER self-indulgent. First chapter is posted, but here's the current summary:

Running into a lost kid in post-outbreak Colorado makes a scouting mission infinitely more complex for our favorite duo.

“Well, I'm just going to check your vitals real quick, alright?” the nurse has shuffled closer while he was distracted, and is reaching one hand toward his wrist. He can't really be bothered to protest, so he just grunts and lets them take his pulse.

They do a few more things with his arm, but he struggles to pay much attention as the painkiller starts to drag him under again. He doesn't know when they leave, but he knows they're no longer prodding at him when Soap pushes through the curtain.

“Hey there, Ghost.”

It's a struggle to try and fight away the haze enough to force his eyes open and his face toward Soap, but his efforts are well-rewarded by a clear view of the other man's stupid lopsided grin.

“They got you good, aye?” Soap lifts a hand to his face, and Ghost cannot for the life of himself stop his eyes from fluttering closed as Soap slides a finger down the bridge of his nose. When he finally gets his eyes open again, Johnny’s smile has widened to a blinding grin. “Like a wee bab right now, you are. Off yer fuckin’ head.”

Johnny's thumb traces the shape of his cheekbone and the words go in one ear and out the other; he can hardly be expected to focus on both things at once under these fucking conditions.

Sudden laughter sparks something sharp and warm in his chest, and he fights his eyes open again to realize his face is securely cradled in the palm of Johnny's hand.

“Och, I'm sorry. Gowan, back to sleep with ye. I'll leave you be.”

Every cell in Ghost's body must be acting in tandem for him to react as quickly as he does, grabbing Johnny's wrist before he can get more than a step away from the cot he's laid in. He yelps, maybe; Ghost is more concerned about the look he's given as Johnny turns back toward him. Something about the expression makes his chest clench.

That's all! If you care to ask any questions or want to know more feel free to ask I love to chat about my AUs and shit lmfao.

#cod:mwii #fic.txt #ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soap #fanfic #cod fanfic #cod fandom #wips #wip weekend #cod angst #cod au #hurt/comfort #wolf at the door au #existance after death au #figure study #lost and found

[laurelnose]

what do u mean u compile ao3 metadata for fic ur not gonna write? what does that look like?

re: this post

usually it’s just a series of blocks in a text file! like this:

(when I’m not doing it just for the sake of doing it, the tag cloud mockup is also a crucial part of my outlining process, so I have a txt file with a blank version of the above template ready to go whenever. For every fic-in-progress I have the Additional Tags paragraph with “Definitely” tags referring to stuff I’ve already written or am positive will be written, and a second paragraph right underneath of “Maybe” tags; the Maybe tags are things I haven’t gotten to yet, or are partially redundant with one of the Definitely tags, or things I’m not sure I will include. The Maybe tags help me keep track of concepts and moods I want to touch on in the fic without pinning myself down with definite scenes or chronology before I’m ready.)

but also sometimes if I’m feeling fancy I go play with Inspect Element in the browser and make my little blocks into whole fake AO3 entries:

which is probably the thing that’s most analogous to the creation of a moodboard, tbh. but yeah this is all it is, I just think writing the metadata is the fun part! or. I guess it’s not really metadata if no referent fic actually exists in any form (which indeed, no prose exists for either of the above, not even scrappy partial draft pieces). I think at that point it might just be the data. I like to write data, how’s that.

#asks #anonymous #fic.txt #ok it’s not THE fun part i like tbe actual writing also. but it is A fun part for sure

[samsrowena]

i'm so funny

#anyways not to jinx myself but. Words are being Written #for the first time in months! so i'm proud of myself <3 #fic.txt #altarofwriting #the cabin fic #destiel

[castielcommunism]

what’s up with destiel fics all being in present tense. this isn’t a criticism btw I’ve just never seen such a specific fandom “house style” that included tense preference

#fic.txt

[isthiswhatiam]

you can pry the trope of "character A and character B are professors and married but everyone thinks there's no way those two are married to each other" out of my cold, dead hands

#i've read that trope a million times and i'll read it a million times more #fic.txt

[aliceinunderw0rld]

PINNED POST

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Name: Alice

Pronouns: they/she

Age: adult

Requests via inbox: OK!✅️

Posts about: twewy, rpgmaker horror, fnaf, Sonic, rgu, etc

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Tag Cheat Sheet:

Personal: #alice.txt

My artwork : #art.png

My original characters/content: #oc.exe also [character_name].exe

My writing (if I ever pick it up again): #fic.txt

Queued posts: #queue.exe

Reblogs: #[fandom_name].exe

#alice.txt

[pacinothot]

Sunset & Wine

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Smut, DNI if you’re under 18, no plot, just porn

A/N: This fic was requested by my beloved @supernaturallymarvellous. I hope you enjoy it babe!

It was a balmy summer evening. A light breeze tousled your hair as you descended the steps down from the restaurant. You could hear the water lapping against the expensive yachts in the harbour. The soft thumping of music and laughter travelled up from the yachts to where you were standing. Motors faintly roared in the distance. The reflections of the city lights sparkled on the surface of the Mediterranean sea, moving with the waves. 

The wind picked up and you felt the hem of your dress flutter against your thighs. At the sound of footsteps, you turned around. Daniel smiled at you apologetically as he walked towards you.

“I’m sorry that took so long.”

“You don't have to apologise for spending time with your fans Dan, I get it,” you reassured. “It’s part of your job. Besides, it was nice to just get to soak the atmosphere up.” 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself”, he said, wrapping his arm around your waist, “but I want to make it up to you regardless.” 

There was a certain mischief to his voice that sent a tingle down your spine. You shivered in the warm summer air and Dan pulled you flush against his side.

“Cold, are we?”, he teased, grinning at you. “Well, don’t worry, my place is down the road, and I know a couple of tricks to warm you up again.”

He whispered those last words to you, and his hot breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear. A soft whimper escaped your lips and Daniel knew you were putty in his hands. He loved how easily you melted and let him have his way with you, and how it was reciprocal. You had just as much power over him as he did over you. He’d never experienced anything like it. 

The short walk back to his apartment was filled with anticipation and sly remarks from Daniel whispered directly into your ear. By the time you entered the building, your underwear was ruined and Daniel’s jeans had grown too tight. 

As you entered the lift, he let go of you and kept a respectable distance between the two of you. You’d thought that his touch was driving you crazy, but the sudden lack of it was even worse. Dan loved teasing you. Yet you also loved teasing him, so you had no right to complain. You just hoped he would not keep this little game he was playing up for too long, or you’d have to change dynamics and tie him up so you could have your way with him. 

When the lift finally came to a stop and its doors opened, Daniel turned to you, a sly grin on his face, his eyes full of mirth. 

“After you,” he said, motioning for you to step out first. 

You walked into the hallway and felt Daniel’s presence behind you immediately. The heat radiating off his body penetrated through the thin fabric of your sundress. His scent was so overwhelming that your head was spinning. 

You stopped in front of his apartment door and then, without a warning, you felt Dan press his body against your back. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, as he reached around you to unlock the door. His cock was pressing against your ass and arousal pooled in your underwear. 

As he led you inside, he let go of you, yet again, and this time you groaned. You were horny and impatient, which was right where he wanted you, and you were growing frustrated.

“You go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the balcony sunshine, I’ll be right there,” Dan instructed from the kitchen and you obliged, but not without rolling your eyes. 

You slid the door open and stepped out into the night again, your hair and dress blowing in the wind. Instead of sitting down on one of the chairs, though, you walked up to the railing, resting your forearms on top of it. The city sounds were barely audible from up here. They were more of a soft murmur in the distance. But the view was amazing - it encompassed the entire harbour and then stretched out to where the Mediterranean sea met the horizon. The sun hadn’t set completely yet, so a small sliver of red and orange was still visible. A couple boats floated across the water and were swallowed by the horizon as they continued on their travels. You’d seen plenty of sunsets in your life, but this one was definitely one of the most beautiful.

“Nice view, huh?” Dan asked, as he walked up behind you. 

“It’s stunning,” you turned around to face him, leaning back on your elbows. 

“Not as stunning as you,” he grinned, handing you a glass of red wine. The burgundy liquid sparkled in the sunlight. 

“You’re just saying that to get back on my good side.” You joked, before taking a long sip of wine. 

“I know better ways to do that,” he retorted. “Anyways, didn’t I promise you I’d keep you warm?” 

You cocked an eyebrow as he held out his free hand to you. 

“Come sit down with me, babe”, he asked, his voice gentle. 

You let him lead you to one of the chairs - he sat down first, then pulled you into his lap. His free hand travelled up your leg until it met your thigh. Daniel squeezed it gently and you let your head rest in the hollow of his throat. His hand travelled up further, his pinky now pressing against your clothed core. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmured against the crown of your head, and your skin erupted in goosebumps. “Let me take care of you, my love. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” 

You simply nodded, taking another sip of wine. Daniel stroked you through the soaked material of your knickers, then shoved them to the side. Soft mewls escaped you and he chuckled at your neediness. As his fingers dipped into your slick folds, the two of you moaned in unison. He let his fingers gather up your essence, as he drank wine. Then he sat his glass down on the little table next to the chair and did the same with yours. 

“Can’t have us spilling mother’s milk, now can we?”, he said. 

“Red wine is a bitch to clean up,” you agreed. 

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he grinned, “now lean back and enjoy the ride babe.” 

With that, he slipped a finger inside your cunt and you let out a groan. 

“That’s right, Y/N, let it all out,” he said, “I want everyone to know how well you take my fingers.” 

He began to pump his finger in and out of you, curling his knuckle. The palm of his hand pressed against your clit and the gold ring he wore on his ring finger felt cool against your searing skin. You jolted in his lap as he penetrated your sweet spot. 

In response, Daniel giggled and added his middle finger. He kept a slow pace going for a while, until he noticed your core tensing up. He sped up his movements then, hitting your g spot with every thrust of his fingers. One of your hands curled up around the neckline of his shirt, the other one grabbed onto his jean clad thigh for dear life. As you felt the knot in your core grow tighter and tighter with each of his caresses, your knuckles turned white. Your moans too grew in their intensity. 

“Come on babe, let go for me,” Daniel whispered into your ear, his breath fanning onto your cheek. 

You didn’t have to be told twice; he hit your g spot again, and the coil in your core snapped. 

“Fuck, Daniel,” you moaned, coming all over his soaked digits. 

Daniel removed his hand from you, gently slapping your cunt with them. Then he placed his fingers to your mouth. You took the hint and began sucking on them. He let his head roll back as you moaned around your fingers. As you licked your juices off his fingers, he rutted against your thigh, groaning as he came too. 

His head dropped forward, resting against your shoulder. 

“Fuck, that was so hot,” you moaned, as he slipped his fingers out of your mouth. “I love that I can make you cum without having to do anything,” you teased. 

“Your cunt is fucking magic, you know that?”, he groaned, “I have never managed to get off by fingering someone or performing oral sex. Fuck me.”

“I think I just did,” you giggled and he joined in. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he suggested, turning serious for a moment. “We can watch a movie or something after if you want.” 

“Sounds like a plan.”

Tags: 

@supernaturallymarvellous // @a-little-counter-esperanto // @riccivergne // @ricciardhoes // @lillict // @formularicc​ // @iwillfightdannyric​ // @scotlynaurora​ // @mickdidthat​

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 #f1 fanfic #fic.txt

[villlainarc]

logan’s eyes were beautiful, and roman simply couldn’t look away.

there was a word for that kind of beauty, he knew. he had the definition floating around somewhere in his mind, but perhaps that definition was simply ‘logan’s eyes.’

no, that was wrong. he had an image in his mind, and that was a little bit more than just ‘logan’s eyes,’ although those did still happen to be at the forefront of his every thought. that had less to do with his mystery word though and far more to do with how indescribably in love he was.

“logan?” he asked, wondering if seeing those lovely dark eyes staring back at him again would spark his memory.

“yes, dear?”

seeing logan’s eyes, as it turned out, did nothing more than cause roman’s heart to burst into a flurry of butterflies fighting to break out of his chest and his face to turn to flame. he pretended this wasn’t the case, and simply smiled back him. “nevermind. it’s just nice to see your face,” he replied, voice soft.

“you flatter me,” logan said with a huff of a laugh at the end.

“that’s my job, isn’t it?” roman stood up from his place on the bed and made his way across the room to place a featherlight kiss on logan’s forehead. “i’ll be back with another glass of water for you if you’d like?”

and suddenly, logan was glowing. it wasn’t just his eyes this time, either. no, this time it was his whole being. he was a source of light—and he was the brightest one in the galaxy, surely, and roman loved him.

it was then that the word hit him. “iridescent,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

“iridescent?”

“yes,” roman agreed. “you’re iridescent, my love.”

“i hate to break it to you, but i can tell you with nearly one hundred percent certainty that i am not, in fact, iridescent.”

“are you sure?” roman took a step closer, perching on the edge of logan’s desk. “i mean, you can’t possibly be sure. you don’t know what i do, my darling, my star, my moonlight. you don’t see your smile when you look at something you’re proud of, when you look at me. you don’t see your eyes, deep brown and shimmery and beautiful and alight with the most wonderful, brilliant spark of something i couldn’t even begin to describe. you don’t see your face light up when you start talking about something you love or when i—“ roman took a short breath, leaning forward and pecking logan on the lips, “—kiss you.”

logan stared back, mouth agape.

“so yes,” roman concluded, “iridescent.”

“i would argue that what you said still does not include the definition of iridescent, but i can’t imagine anything i say will change your mind.”

“and you’d most certainly be right.”

“besides,” logan continued, standing up from his desk chair, “if that’s the definition of iridescent you’re going with, then you’d be hard pressed to argue that you aren’t either.”

logan kissed him then, and roman was so in awe of this man that he had the privilege of calling his boyfriend that he said nothing else at all.

#sanders sides #logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #fic.txt #yes this is the second night i've posted something in a row #no you shouldn't get used to it #but yes if you do happen to send one or two words that make me go Blurry Eyes then i Might write a little something with them to destress #because i Cannot currently handle larger projects fdlkasjflk

[guzmapkmn-archive]

drabblecember - reunited

relationship(s): ryan/oswald

notes: season 3 reunification <3 also writing us actually in a relationship is so fun i usually just write pre relationship...

"Oswald," Ryan whimpered out in that sweet voice of his. He gripped his lover tight, worried he would fade away. Oswald kissed him, savoring the feel of the other man's soft lips on his own, which had been so lonely for so long.

With his shaking hands, Oswald carefully thumbed away the tears steadily falling from Ryan's eyes. "Oh, my love…" He murmured. "My heart, my angel… I'm here now. There's no need to cry."

"I missed you… so much." Ryan's voice quivered with a sadness that made Oswald's heart ache. He vowed to never let such sorrow befall his beloved ever again.

#fic.txt #all dressed to kill; oswald ☂️ #s/i: ryan 🌻 #ough.....

[ancientmyrddin]

Love rambling about the plot of my dark souls fic to tatem while she stares at me blankly not knowing what I'm talking about

#Her: onion knight??? What the fuck is an onion knight #Yes he's in it!!! #He and ornstein do some wandering #It's ornstein going hollow fic :) #Fic.txt

[chuuyanakaahara]

“What, you think you’d be a better assassin than detective?” 

“Probably, yeah.” 

“Then why do you stay with the Agency?” 

The question alone shouldn’t make Junichirou pause, but it certainly does. He almost stops in his tracks, stumbling over his feet, but he manages to keep his balance and his stride with Tachihara, who either doesn’t realize the effect of his words or doesn’t care. 

Why is he with the Agency, anyway? He’s useless there. 

“Because, I don’t know…” He starts, trailing off meekly. “I don’t know. They’re family. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“And leaving your potential to waste is disappointing to them?” 

“It’s not - we all have potential. To do good things and bad. I don’t - really, I don’t have an inclination to bad or good. I think that sometimes people need to die. Sometimes I think I should be the one to do it. But that isn’t how things work at the Agency, and I’m okay with that. I do things their way.” 

“Because you want to,” Tachihara starts, as though this idea makes him dumbfounded. “You really don’t care about morality and all that bullshit?” 

“That’s… majorly oversimplifying it, but I guess I don’t. I know it matters to a lot of people at the Agency, though. I don’t want to disappoint them.” 

“They were the ones who wanted you to kill the Boss.” 

“Yeah, to save ours. And we were forced into that role, and - honestly, I think Dazai could’ve slit your Boss’ throat gleefully, but I think - I think it would’ve broken him.” 

“You…” It’s Tachihara’s turn to trail off now, and he does stop in his tracks, turning to Junichirou with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I don’t understand you,” he says finally. “The way you work. I don’t understand it.” 

“You don’t need to understand the way I work,” Junichirou scoffs. “I kinda do, if I’m going to be watching your ass and working with you for the next ‘two weeks to two months’, and all.”

tachizaki ft. morality, in a wip that i started working on before vacation

#they r ??? yr honor. they dont know. rivals? friends? enemies? #junichirou tanizaki #tachihara michizou #tachizaki #tanitachi #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fic.txt

[24-05txt]

Chapter 2 posted today !!

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Platonic Relationships, Road Trips, Unreliable Narrator, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Additional Warnings In Author's Note

SUMMARY:

It's a family picture, clearly staged. One man, one woman, one toddler resting on the woman’s hip.

Ghost’s heart sinks. It falls to the floor when he flips the photo over on instinct and spots a tight, feminine scrawl in plain black ink.

‘See you in Utah’

Running into a lost kid in post-outbreak Colorado makes a scouting mission infinitely more complex for our favorite duo.

#ffs i keep forgetting i have social media i can post on #hate it here (lie) #cod:mwii #ghostsoap #fanfic #cod fanfic #fic.txt #ghostsoap fanfic #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #lost and found