#buzzfeed masterlist

[sig-nifier]

Signifier's Fic Masterlist

A list of all the fandoms I've written for - incase u stumbled here and might be interested - with the fics and their summaries listed below.

challengers

masters of the air

our flag means death

buzzfeed unsolved/watcher

star wars: the acolyte

marvel's eternals

marvel's deadpool

challengers

the art of consumption - patrick x art (NSFW)

The one where Art reveals he's never had a blowjob before, and Patrick jumps at the chance to change that.

There’s silence. A period of mourning for what the night could have been. And then, Patrick says simply, “I’d do it.” Art frowns, not following, and turns his head to look at him. Patrick looks back, the picture of innocence, and slowly shifts his gaze from Art’s face to his hips and back again. Oh. Art chokes on air, splutters out a disbelieving laugh. “You’d suck my dick?” He asks, incredulous. Patrick shrugs. “Already had your tongue down my throat, how different could your dick be?”

masters of the air

make you feel alive - bucky x buck

The one where Bucky is temporarily MIA, and Gale loses his mind.

Through the smoke, and the noise, and the grief, there’s Bucky. There’s blood all down the right side of his face, but his eyes are bright, and when he sees Gale his smile is even brighter. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to do, but there’s a crowd, and Gale doesn’t think he can find the right words anyway. Not here, not now. What he settles on is eloquent, and he hopes it portrays all of the feeling he puts behind it: “What took you so long?” Bucky’s grin widens. He shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and gestures back towards the poor excuse of a plane. “We took a detour,” he says simply.

summer rain - bucky x buck

The one where Bucky doesn’t cope very well with being a prisoner of war, and Gale is there to keep him grounded.

“Don’t you ever, ever, do something that stupid again.” John thinks if he concentrates he can feel the sharp of Gale’s nails through his jacket. “Our time’s gonna come.” When still, Bucky says nothing, Gale loosens his grip and places his hands softly on either side of John’s head. He places a delicate kiss on his cheek, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. “You gotta stay with me,” he says, pleading. I can feel this, Bucky thinks. Let this be the only thing I feel.

obsessions, and other things - bucky x buck

The one where the war ends, and the aftermath comes with both its good, and its bad.

“They’d have to catch us first,” Gale counters. “They’d catch you.” “Ain’t no bikes around for you to cheat with, Bucky.” Bucky turns to look at him then, a wide grin slowly slinks its way onto his face. He comes close, leans down, and places a long kiss on Gale’s mouth. When he pulls back he says, “I don’t need a bike,” and then he takes off running. It takes a moment for Buck’s brain to catch up, still in the moment ten seconds ago, and then he’s tearing out of the alleyway after him.

wild things - bucky x buck western au (NSFW)

The one where stablehand Gale finds outlaw John “Bucky” Egan bleeding out in his stables.

He takes the final step, lifts the lantern to flood the empty station with light, and sees a man laying on his stable floor. He’s brunette, sweating, breathing unsteadily. There’s blood wiped messily on his forehead, down his neck. Half laying, half sitting up against the stack of haybales Buck keeps at the bottom of this station, he’s got one bloody hand pressed to his right thigh, which is caked with crimson. His other hand rests wearily on the Colt that’s tucked into the waistband of his pants. Gale’s heart jumps, he wishes suddenly that he really did have a rifle, but when the man sees that Buck’s unarmed he raises the hand slowly, in a shaky surrender. - “You got a name?” Buck asks, in an attempt to distract. The stranger swallows and takes a deep breath. “Bucky.” Buck almost pauses in his work. He scoffs and shakes his head. “I’ll be damned.” “Why’s that?” “People call me Buck.” Bucky huffs out a pained laugh, which quickly devolves into a groan. When he’s finished, he says, “Goddamn fate.”

washed clean - bucky x buck

The one where Gale obsesses over cleanliness in the Stalag camp and Bucky does his best to understand.

John watched him work for a while, watched the way the dirt fell off his boot, satisfying-like, onto the steps below. Slender fingers worked the brush back and forth, a constant rhythm. Bucky would have quite liked to shut his eyes and listened to the sound, felt the way Gale’s body shifted with each stroke. He could pretend they were somewhere else – the porch of their own house, a summer day, their dog running around the front yard. He’d tip his head onto Gale’s shoulder, and the blonde would put his arm around him, and nothing would ever haunt them again. Not the war, not the memories, not themselves.

a magic touch - bucky x buck fantasy au

The one where Witch Hunter Gale Cleven is tasked with pursuing John Egan, a dangerous Sorcerer.

The cobblestone floor was melded around his left ankle, pinning him to the ground. He reaches back, tries to peel the stone away with his fingernails, but it’s like trying to pry up the Earth itself; a futile waste of time. Footsteps approach. Gale slowly, slowly, looks up. Above him, Egan is panting. He’s sweating, curly hair starting to stick to his forehead, and there’s an infuriating, amused smile on his pretty face. Gale looks up into that enchantress grin and hates him immensely. “Stuck, are we?” The witch quips lightly, and Gale grinds his teeth. He braces his hands against his thigh, begins to push himself up to standing, but as he gets half-way an unseen power forces him back to his knees. “Let me go,” Gale says through clenched teeth, all the calm of a sandstorm. Egan preens. “Say please.” I am going to tear you apart, Gale thinks. He says: “coward.” It does nothing to wipe the smile from Egan’s face. He crouches down, balances on the balls of his feet in front of him, and tips his head, regarding. “I find you witch hunters much more agreeable on your knees.”

seven miles out of freedom town - bucky x buck western au (NSFW)

The one where Deputy John Egan doesn’t come home for a few days, and Gale sets out to find him.

It had been four years since Gale Cleven had found one “Bucky” Egan almost bleeding to death in his stables, and life had been far better for it. The town of Lemmon welcomed their new Deputy sincerely, a pleasant change to the lawman who had come before him, and Bucky had responded to their acceptance with pleasing smiles and endearing quips. Even brothers, Crosby and Bubbles, had started to fear him less, and like him more. John had slipped into Gale’s world and knocked it out of orbit, into a kinder, softer galaxy. - Rosie’s holding a letter in his hand. “Bucky home yet?” He asks carefully. “I ain’t seen him.” All Gale can do is shake his head, dread building in his lungs. In his peripheral, Curt stands up. “He okay?” Curt asks. “Course he is,” Gale snaps, and then regrets it. He says, softer, “when you known him not to be okay?”

our flag means death

a study from a lighthouse - ed x stede

The one where Stede is a lighthouse and Ed is not immune to its beacon.

They could make plans to leave the life together, Ed would so enjoy the pleasure of running away, and when they see him standing at the dock they would not be frightened but loved and welcomed and expected. In a reversing of roles it is they who would be drawn to him.

your blinding light - ed x stede

The one where Ed meets the man who owns the lighthouse, and they both find everything they've ever wanted.

“Come for a trip?” Stede’s heart is a jackrabbit in his chest and he so badly wants to say yes, god, please yes, because is this not everything he has ever wanted? A kind pirate, who likes his handkerchief and handles his books so gently, with a lovely ship and access to the entire ocean. Someone to laugh with, and speak with who will listen and appreciate. He wants so deeply he fears he may die from the ache. But he is a lighthouse. Lighthouses do not sail the seas, they command them, and Stede’s not sure if he’s ready to make that change just yet. Not while there is work to be done. Not when he knows he will never want to go back.

the day that i met you, i started dreaming - ed x stede

The one where Ed fulfils his promise.

He stumbles down the lighthouse steps, feet and soul equally as eager, and when Stede wrenches the door open he sees Ed, soaking wet with a lamp in one hand, and the other outstretched towards him.

buzzfeed unsolved/watcher

hitchhikers - shane x ryan

The one where Shane and Ryan both stumble across a strange man with strange secrets.

Hitchhiking is dangerous, from both ends of the deal. There's a chance the person who picks you up is a killer. There's a chance you get picked up by a killer. Either way, it doesn't look good. What happens if one killer picks up another? - "Do you have a name?" He asked. “It's C.C.", the man said. And then, like an afterthought, "Tinsley. What's yours?” “Goldsworth." The lie came as easy as breathing. "Ricky Goldsworth.”

the axeman of new orleans - shane x ryan (NSFW)

The one where a certain axe weilding murderer takes a special interest in Ryan Begara.

It was funny, to him, the things he could stand, and the things he couldn’t. He could slit someones throat ear to ear, but he couldn’t touch old food that had been left on a plate overnight. He was fine with the splatter of blood on his face when he’d struck an artery, but he had to hold his breath when taking the trash out. He could take an axe to someones head, deform their skull, and leave them dying, but he couldn’t stand coffee. * Ryan’s out at a bar one night, "jazzing it up", to avoid the axemans wrath. The cute guy sat next to him might know a little more about the axeman than he lets on.

star wars: the acolyte

there's something about power - osha x qimir (NSFW)

The one where Qimir returns to the cave, injured, and Osha plays caretaker.

With the lightest pressure, she hooks her finger underneath his chin, and tips his head up. He goes incredibly easily, and that does nothing to help the power that threatens to course through her veins. Qimir’s lips part, she can feel his soft breath on her wrist, and there’s a look in his eyes that she doesn’t know the shape of yet. Osha leans slightly closer, wants to ensure the cut won’t begin bleeding again, and from there her gaze travels over the rest of his face, past the curve of his cheekbones, along his skin until her look lands on the soft pink of his mouth. Morals be damned. It would be so easy.

darkness ascending - osha x qimir hades and persephone au (NSFW)

The one where Osha is Persephone and Qimir is the God of the Underworld.

There is a man in her garden. Dressed in a long, black cloak; his hair is equally as dark. Slicked back away from his face, a few strands have betrayed him, and fallen into his midnight eyes. Tanned skin, dark stubble atop his upper lip. He’d made no sound as he approached, as if he too had grown from the Earth. He is, Osha thinks, offensively pretty.

marvel's eternals

i like the way your words taste - druig x makkari

The one where Druig makes a habit of kissing the back of Makkari's hand over the years.

My beautiful, beautiful Makkari. Did you miss me? The tip of her chin had been answer enough.

marvel's deadpool

put your money where your mouth is - logan x wade (NSFW)

The one where Logan and Wade go for a little drive in a Honda Odyessy, and then maybe get it on in the driver's seat.

The merc gasps suddenly, scrambling in his seat to sit on his knees. He reaches out with a single finger to poke and pinch at Logan’s neck. “Are you blushing?” “It’s irritation,” Logan bites back, trying to twitch his neck out of Deadpool’s grasp. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of gentle canoodling, peanut. People like when the meanie goes soft.” Wade turns, and appears to address someone Logan can’t see. “I hear it’s very popular in fanfiction.” “Who are you talking to?” Logan asks, and Deadpool whips his head back round. Gloved fingers still on Logan’s neck, Wade drags them slowly down his shoulder, down past his arm and over his hip. “You,” he says seductively, “later, in your dreams.”

i want you i need you oh god - logan x wade (NSFW)

Logan can’t fucking escape the stupid little group Wade keeps calling X-Force – except they’re not stupid at all. They’re nice. They’re nice to him and it hurts so damn bad that each day he steps closer to leaning his forehead on his fist and hole punching his brain. They won’t leave him the fuck alone. - “You’re crazy,” he laughs, and Wade just blinks at him. “Wow. Cutting words. Not sure I’ll make it.” “Fucking…lunatic.” Wilson’s gaze flicks to a spot behind Logan’s head. “This has to be the worst degrading porn you’ve ever seen.” Then he’s placing his hands on Logan’s chest and guiding him to lay down. “Nighty night, gramps, we’ll find your viagra in the morning.” - The one where Logan doesn't cope very well with living in Wade's world, and friendly neighbourhood Deadpool is there to help.

the bathroom stall blues - logan x wade (NSFW)

Okay. So, new plan. Find a nice romantic bathroom stall and get his head popped off by Hugh Jackman’s biceps, then save the universe. He had a pocket-sized time machine stuffed in the side of his boot. He could afford to do a little sight-seeing. Wade clicks the safety back on his pistol before holstering the gun. He says sweetly, “just kidding. Maybe I could come with you? Preferably more than once, in all kinds of positions.” - The one where Logan leans his forehead against Wade's gun, and Wade puts his plan to save the world on hold.

song for the sleepless - logan x wade

“What was it this time?” He asks, and Wade groans softly, tipping his head back. “Can’t we just have loud sex on the kitchen counter?” He tries. “And wake Blind Al?” Logan mocks. “Do you have a death wish?” “Oh I could finish twice before she even gets her nightie on. Three times when I see her in it.” - The one where Logan and Wade both suffer from nightmares and do their best to help the other through it.

heist heist baby - logan x wade

How they were going to find a single USB stick half the size of Logan’s nutsack he had no fucking idea, but first they had to avoid detection, and that might prove more difficult because Wade was not made for high society. He cuts into conversations, eats so many Hors d’Oeuvres Logan thinks he might be sick, actually laughs when he sees a little bowl of caviar with a little spoon to serve with. He slurps the tiny balls off the spoon before putting the spoon back, and Logan’s going to pop a fucking aneurysm. - “I saw this in a movie once,” Wade whispers, before grabbing the front of Logan’s suit and slamming their mouths together. - The one where Logan and Wade go undercover as a married couple, and do whatever it takes to avoid detection.

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow - wade x logan (NSFW)

“How many times have we had this conversation?” Logan asks, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Too fucking many, Wade thinks. The table is cool against his skin, and the fork embedded in his hand throbs with a pulsing heat. He thinks he might just stay here for a while, see how the universe kills him like this. Knowing his luck, someone would walk right up and take Logan’s head off, and then he’d have to watch him die, again. Wade loves movies that fuck with time – Days of Future Past is genuinely his favourite X-Men film – but God did it fucking suck to live through one. - The one where Wade gets stuck in a time loop, and he's determined to get Logan out of it alive.

that one bruno mars song - logan x wade

Wade ducks his head into the crook of Logan’s neck, breaths long and deep. It’s warm in the space here, and his nightmare riddled, sleep-plagued mind thinks he’d quite like to move in. “Marry me?” He murmurs, lips pressed to the skin. Logan sighs. “Ask me properly.” - The one where Wade asks five times for Logan to marry him, and the one time Logan says yes.

team-ups, and other inconveniences - logan x wade

“Unlock the chains,” Logan says slowly, barely containing his annoyance. “What’s the magic word?” The merc singsongs. “Blow me.” “That’s not even close.” “Deadpool–“ “Say my name.” Logan blinks. “What?” Deadpool shrugs, throws the key into the air, catches it. He repeats, “say my name.” - The one where Logan goes on missions for the X-Men, and some mutant in a red suit keeps showing up and stealing his kills.

[sardonic-the-writer]

───── ❝ my original ideas turned self indulgent ❞ ─────

reader insert tmnt au—twenty twelve series: link

(in progress: donatello & reader)

indiana jones—ghoul boys au: link

(in progress: shane madej and ryan bergara x reader)

★ > ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ < ★

[lorarri]

★ . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 , 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

summary , charles goes on buzzfeed to read thirst tweets about him? no more like about his amazing girlfriend and their sex life

pairing , charles leclerc x fem! gf! reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | f1 masterlist | next part

BUZZFEED → CHARLES LECLERC READS THIRST TWEETS

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | camprock! au x luke castellan series

when may castellan, the manager of the poisoned mercury, the hottest, new band on the scene, grows tired of the boys' antics, she sends them to camp half-blood to get their heads on straight.

luke castellan, heartthrob and lead singer, begins to see the punishment as a blessing in disguise when girls fawn over him at camp. that is until he met you, a fellow disappointment to her parent, who couldn't care less about him and his fame.

luke is anything but a quitter so he's determined to make you fall for him before he gets back on the road after summer. you're not having it.

or

an au loosely based on disney's camp rock where there are no gods and teenage dirtbag! luke castellan spends his summer falling in love with the girl who loves to argue with him. one-sided enemies to lovers.

meet the band! | silly posts about poisoned mercury au! | poisoned mercury playlists | smau masterlist | find hcs and asks under 'poisoned mercury chats' on my page

i. lifestyles of the rich and famous (introduction)

ii. bad reputation

iii. everybody talks

iv. end up here

v. damned if i do ya (damned if i don't)

vi. check yes, juliet

vii. just friends

r u mine? (smut blurb, mdni!)

viii. pink skies

delicate (friend group shenanigans: the boys and clarisse find out about luke and five star!)

ix. now you got me

meddle about (smut blurb, mdni)

x. long way home

post chb

close as strangers

asks

jealous! luke

cleaning luke's wounds

luke gets in trouble for the scratches you left

midnight swim

poisoned mercury plays never have i ever at buzzfeed

may and five star

fans want five star, not luke!

more to come!

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: surprise! Something to tide you guys over until the heart-wrencher that is part five!! Y'know, gotta have some laughs before everything blows up 💣 or something like that :)

previous chapter ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

What happens when your castmates decide to have a drinking game based on yours and Ewan's interviews? Chaos. Absolute chaos.

"Is it just me or does my head look abnormally large in this?" comes Tom's query as they sit on the floor around the low table in Phia's living room.

Phia, Tom, and Olivia are snug on the carpet, legs strewn in varying postions, their attention on the laptop on the table.

"No, just you, mate," Phia responds.

"Nah, look at 'im," Olivia counters, "Looking like a right old egghead."

"I knew it," Tom clicks his tongue, smiling at the jab.

The friends were just having a nice time catching up in Phia's apartment, and after several coffees and rolled cigarettes, they found themselves nestled on the floor, beers in hand.

Someone made a suggestion to check up on the interviews being released as part of the media rollout. And so they watched the cast's interviews, already having done with the one from Wired, MTV, and the Buzzfeed Puppy Interview.

"I loved those pups," Olivia remarked jokingly. "But they didn't love me back. Story of my life."

"Oh, I love you, Liv!" Phia had exclaimed, pulling her friend in for a hug.

"Aaanyway," Phia says, reaching forward and scrolling through the suggested videos, "how about this one next! I miss those two." She clicks on an interview you and Ewan had done together, in that long press day where you guys were paired by the media team.

"They look adorable, don't they?" Tom says. "Here's to hoping the lad's finally made a bloody move."

"What about the goss on that girl you all were with? The one at the pub?" Olivia curiously asks, not kept in the loop due to her holiday abroad.

"All bull. You know how the tabloids are. She was sweet and everything but Ewan was practically side-eyeing her all the way into oblivion when she kept clinging on his arm. Poor girl." Tom smirks, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"Awww, look! Ewan's looking at her all gooey-eyed. Even then!" Phia simpers, leaning against Olivia.

"Of course, I was extremely excited and nervous to join the cast for season two," you can be heard saying, "being a huge fan of the book and the first season... I mean, it was such a tall order for me to step into this world but you know - "

"She did it so flawlessly," Ewan says to the interviewer. "We were so lucky to have her join the show."

"Oh, come on," you can't help but blush and shake your head. "Everyone was so welcoming, really."

"Well, it's safe to say that the audience loves your character!" the interviewer says kindly.

"Thank you so much, I'm glad to hear that," you beam in return.

"What a character, indeed," Ewan says, looking at you again.

Tom giggles, swinging his beer, "The look on his face, oh my days! Ewan is whi-ipped, I'm telling you. Just look at those stars in his eyes, you'd think she's an angel or somethin."

"She is an angel," Phia muses.

"Lovely girl," Olivia agrees.

"Oh!" Tom sits upright suddenly, leaning forward on his knees, "How about this? They've got a couple interviews up, right? Drinking game then, shall we? A shot each time Ewan looks at her or pays her a compliment!"

Olivia laughs nervously, but she's more than game to participate. "A swig of beer or... "

"Nah!" Tom scrunches his face in response. "Say, Phi, have you got vodka or tequila or whatever?"

"I... think I've got some leftover tequila," she ponders. "Are you proposing a shot of tequila every time Ewan fawns over her? Isn't that a bit dangerous? Should we stick to beer?"

"It'll be fun," Tom reassures, already getting on his feet to fetch the bottle from the kitchen. "Ewan's a professional," he says, when he returns with tequila and three shot glasses. "Surely he maintained his focus during all of that. Can't be more than - what, three or four shots each?"

Oh, how wrong he is.

It only takes another interview for them to realise that they might have been overzealous in taking on the challenge.

Most Likely To with the cast of House of the Dragon, the screen displays. You and Ewan pop up in intervals, and they eagerly await your clips with shots in hand.

"Most likely to be late on set?" you say, raising your hands when you answer with, "I'm happy to say that it was not me."

"No?" Ewan asks.

"Nope, early each day," you smile at him.

"I believe you, I mean, I wish we actually had scenes together," Ewan says, smiling right back, eyes lingering on you when you add something more to your answer.

"Shot!" Tom exclaims. The trio's faces crunch up when the burning liquid slides down their throats.

"Fuck's sake," Olivia mutters. "Ewan better keep his googly eyes to himself."

"Don't get your hopes up," Phia says, knowing the both of you well.

"Most likely to accidentally date a serial killer? What the hell is this question?" Ewan snorts, eyebrows shooting up.

"Are we even in the right show for this?" you joke, and Ewan laughs harder, his hand finding your forearm and squeezing briefly.

"Shot, I suppose," Phia mumbles. "I mean, look at his face, the sweetheart."

Another round, and everyone feels warmer and more lightheaded.

"Wouldn't be me, I don't know about you?" you ask Ewan.

"Oh, I wouldn't. I don't think Aemond would either, he would see right through that."

"Next, most likely to show up in a stunning outfit," you read from the prompts off-camera.

"Hmm," Ewan muses, "I would say maybe Liv Cooke... she's had really good outfits on the carpet lately..."

"I agree," you nod enthusiastically. "Liv's killing it."

"And you, definitely," Ewan turns to you again. "I mean, stunning would be an understatement."

"Shot!" Olivia half-yells. "And bless her, look! She's turned all red from Ewan's flirting."

"Thanks, mate," you say, tilting your head at him. "You as well! Your stylists have outdone themselves this press tour, for sure."

"Half a shot cause she gives something his way?" Tom suggests, comically shrugging. By the end of the video, the group had done three and a half rounds of shots, all growing redder in the face, their laughter turning unhinged.

"I'm actually scared to do another interview," Olivia groans. "Can those two just shag each other already? Goodness!"

"Who knows? Maybe they have? Would be about time," Tom cheekily says, ever the agent of chaos.

"Ewan did fly out to see her," Phia nods. "They're both in America right now, my darlings."

"Another interview!" Tom gets to clicking, landing on the one you and Ewan did with Rotten Tomatoes.

"We ask everyone this question - can you tell me your favourite movie from this year?" is what the interviewer starts with.

"That's a good question," Ewan says. "Uhhmm, well, it isn't from this year I think but her film - " he gestures to you, " - is one of my all-time favourites. I think it came out late last year, if I'm not mistaken?" He looks to you for confirmation, and your flustered self manages to hum a response. "I just think the whole film was brilliant. It definitely showcases her talents and solidifies her as one to watch."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom sighs, and they all bring the shot glasses back to their lips.

"Guys, I might pass out by the end of this." Olivia stands to fetch herself a glass of water. "Ewan's a menace!" she calls out from the kitchen.

"We shouldn't have done this," Tom shakes his head.

"You suggested it!" Phia punches his arm, laughing.

"I guess I underestimated the degree of whipped that Ewan is. That cheeky lad."

Four more rounds of shots later, and the group has their tally up to eight and a half.

Yet another interview plays on the screen, and when Ewan - with all his bloody audacity - pushes a lock of hair away from your face on camera, Tom's eyes nearly bulge right out of his head.

"Oh my god!" he cries out. "He's trying to kill us! I think I'm actually going to puke."

"I quit." Olivia slumps against the base of the velvet couch. "I can't drink any more. Ewan wins."

Phia giggles at the screen, at the sight of her two dear friends slowly but surely falling in love right before the audience's eyes. In some show of celebration, she takes another shot, the last player left in the game.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Meanwhile across the Atlantic...

"Hey, darling," you hear Ewan's voice on the other line. "I just settled in my hotel in New York."

"That's good! Did your flight go well?"

"Mhmm, my meeting's tomorrow afternoon so I've got time to prepare," he takes a breath, before softly saying, "I miss you."

You laugh, "So you keep telling me, Mitchell."

"We're still on that huh, darling? Shouldn't you be calling me something more... personal, by now?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Well... the internet does call you their babygirl."

"Oh come on," he complains, smiling nevertheless.

"What is it, babygirl?"

"That's how you want to play it, bunny?"

"Ewan!" you groan. "Okay, okay."

"Anyway, darling," he says. "I really do miss you. I can't wait to see you again.'

The longing is clear in his voice and it tugs at your heart so much that you need to pause and collect yourself, before finally saying, "I miss you too, baby."

Cheers to all of yous who voted here! Baby it is ~

In the meantime...

Update! ~ part five

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[toxicanonymity]

Joel Miller Masterlist - NSFW

And other Pedro characters

Version 11/11/24 (added: parts - jackson game joel) see series/collection masterlists for their updates.

Blog FAQ | fic notifs: @toxicfics | fic recs: @toxicrecs

⚠️ I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, translated, made into bots, put into AI, etc.

⚠️ 18+ joel x f!reader unless otherwise noted. Darkness ratings (D - Darkish to Dark, DD - Extra Dark, DDD - ultra dark) are subjective and relative. dark doesn't automatically mean it has dubcon (DC) or noncon (NC), but many do (check warnings). The noncon I write is physically enjoyed by reader. Dubcon is often situations that diminish the ability to truly consent. Like drugs, captivity, or power imbalance, but in many dubcon fics, reader is willing or even enthusiastic.

If you can't decide where to start, Buzzfeed quizzes are at the bottom 😅

🍒 innocent reader | 💤 somnophilia | 👴/🧔‍♂️ explicit age gap

MASTERLISTS - AUs, Collections, and Series

Night walks (AU) 👴 D, DC (drugs). hot, older pothead neighbor who talks dirty.

Raider Joel DD. NC (at first, via implicit threat), DC (stockholm syndrome). This is a big AU with lots of lore and interaction.

Silence can never be bought (dbf, AU)👴 You catch him in a compromising position.

Left in Lincoln (dbf x virgin) 👴🍒 DD Your dads trust him to look in on you while they're gone.

Stepdad 🧔‍♂️D You catch him perving on your insta and start toying with him. You seduce him.

Slasher Joel DD DC - You're DTF but end up fcking for your life when you offend him.

Vampire Joel DC - he's been waiting for you for centuries and can't let you go once he finds you.

The Raid D, DC - Javi & Steve find you on a drug raid and take you under their wing, in a way.

Speakeasy (Collection, no plot) - Exhibitionist one shots and drabbles.

Thighs out (bf's dad) - Your bf strays and his hot, slutty dad makes you feel better, much better.

Brotherly Sharing - Several pairs of miller bros. including uncle tommy & leopard print.

Free Use - D, DC, 💤 👫

jalbird - cellmate's nephew

for survival (2003)

For Survival (1.4k) - Joel, a stranger, saves your life, you fuck during evacuation.

For Survival 2 (1.4k) - fucking in your sleeping bag trying to be silent.

dark mode!Joel ULTRA dark - DDD, 👫

Dark mode (knife)You activate Joel's dark mode for your own enjoyment.

Clicking (horny! joel -> dark mode) He won't stop when a clicker appears. You try to punish him.

just the tip D, DC (power imbalance) 🧔‍♂️🍒

Just the tip 🍒 he coaxes you into full piv.

surveillance (imagine) he watches you.

Just the tip (really) you've been trying not to fuck him and this time it's really just the tip.

VIRGINS

Aches, thoughts, and needs 👴🍒 outbreak

Night Talks 🧔‍♂️🍒 D, DC best friend's dad

Patrol - pt. 1; virgin patrol 👴🍒 DD, DC

Virgin sex worker (v loss) D 🍒

Ready for her ( part of Miller Bros)

See also, Lincoln series and Just the Tip above.

⬇️ ONE SHOTS, miniseries, misc⬇️

Post-outbreak

you almost die then get used D, NC, 👫

Possessive cum play D, 👫

Secret breeder!Joel Refuses to pull out D, 👫

Jealous of you/Tess (degradation) D, DC mean

Bone broth (consensual noncon) 👫

non-con while you sleep D, NC 💤

movie night (in public) 👫 Under a blanket

Caught DDD very mean Joel, ✨At the table

Lazaretto (NC. sex pollen)👴, PART 2, DC

caught masturbating (300) D

the old fashioned way (1k) D He breeds you

parts - jackson game joel

Pre/Non-oubreak/AUs

pawn shop (GILF Joel) ��D

canopy, pt 2 (caught) ��🧔‍♂️ dbf in your old bed

Fucking Joel at your dad's house dbf

Breeding couple ; Pregnant , 👫

in the ass like a good girl anal drabble

Window (peeping tom) pt.2 date next door D

caught Drinking ( DDDNE) 🧔‍♂️DDD, NC sarah's friend is punished

sleeping Beauty 👴💤, 👫 CNC.

that's the spot (masseur!Joel)

gas station skeeze (300) 👴

packing: butcher!Joel DD, DC

personal trainer , part 2 D, DC

daddy Joel ��🧔‍♂️, a day in the filth

dark nurse!Joel (sex pollen imagines)

locket - DC best friends dad x dark! reader

HCs, imagines, other

Free Use / Objectification HCs - you can put Joel in different modes for your enjoyment.

Brothel Reality Show

✨Trucker Joel

Multi-Joel Art & Misc

Lmk if yours is missing, ✨section in progress✨

Joelkémon cards by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

JOELS AS CATS by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel's as cats pt. 2 not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Dick HCs - size, appearance, and more

random hot things from HBO canon

Joelkémon astrology by @wannab-urs

Mood board of joels by @milla-frenchy

joels as texts by @iamasaddie

Buzzfeed Quizzes

by @missannfairy & @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Which Joel are you most compatible with?

Which Joel are you?

Which Joel to spend the holidays with?

Compatability: Valentine's Edition

Other pedro characters

Javi G. - Watch you watch him fuck his wife. Nick watches. You're Javi's wife.

Ezra - Sleep time: pt. one (250), two 💤(850) D You bait Ezra pt.3 Ezra strikes back. DC ; ✨ The Green

Javi P.

hunt and peck (2.7k) 6/30

THE RAID ongoing series

[boiohboii]

Starstruck

(Max Verstappen x idol! Reader)

When a video about 2 very famous is leaked, the public expects a specific response due to the nature of these people's jobs, luckily for them- or not- these 2 are just built different

Or

In which a kpop idol is not media trained that well

Requested ✅

N.B: this had been sitting in my drafts for a long ass while tbh, i really loved the idea but struggled to write out yn's character cause I didn't want it to be repetitive or too much, so thank you to @vixxen-lou for helping me out and also a thanks to @mirrorball-6 for helping me come up with how max and yn met (there is another part just for that cause I couldn't fit it in here, sort of like a prologue). HUGE THANK YOU TO BOTH OF YOU, ADORE YOU! ♥️♥️. Also big love to @dark-night-sky-99 and @lifeless-firefly for interacting and willing to help, appreciate it really!💖💖 HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING IT!

WARNINGS: NOT PROOF READ, swear words (dick, if I missed anything else lmk), timeline isn't that accurate.

Masterlist

Faceclaim: Jihyo from Twice

youtube: Buzzfeed interview-->stray kids talk about formula 1 and meeting max verstappen

Liked by Twice_official, pierregasly, lilym and 1,728,093 others

Maxverstappen1: what a break.

username: is he trying to soft launch? After whatever tf happened within the past 2 weeks?!?!

Lilym: I can't believe THE YN LN IS A FELLOW WAG!

Twice_official: oh please, you flatter me, I really want to meet you and all the girls, I bet it'll be such a blast! -YN

Lilym: it'd be such an honor omg, marry me? I had a poster of you in my closet

Alex_albon: babe!!!

Lilym: shush, she has always been my celebrity crush

Twice_official: and what a weekend it will be -YN

officialskz: dear fia officials, BE SCARED! RUN FOR THE HILLS -han

username: if I were the fia, I'd listen these boys grew up with her

(Ps: just imagine the elvis suit and it's at night)

[midnightsnyx]

beautiful things p1 - mat barzal

my masterlist pairing: mathew barzal x singer!reader summary: mathew barzal has a crush on you but you have no idea who he is until an interview goes viral. warnings: mentions of past toxic relationship, not edited word count: 612 words requested: yes/no author note: this was requested but has potential for a part 2 I think. also I hate using "y/n" but I had no choice lol requests are open!

"Mathew Barzal has a crush on you”, is the first thing you hear when you wake up.

Your head is pounding, probably from your show last night. People don’t usually bother you until you make an appearance but apparently your assistant finds it necessary to wake you.

“Who’s Mathew Barzal?” you ask but before you can finish your sentence, a phone is shoved in your face and you’re looking at a picture of a hockey player.

A very attractive hockey player.

But then, you see the time.

7:29 a.m.

You roll back over and mumble, “my alarm isn’t set until 10.”

Iris plops down next to you. You’re not able to see her, but you can feel her vibrating with excitement. “C’mon, this is Mat Barzal!”

“And?”

“And, he’s like super hot! And he likes you!”

You groan, rolling over to look at her. “How do you know he likes me?”

Once again, a phone is shoved in your face but this time there’s a video playing.

“What kind of music do you usually listen to before a game to pump you up?” A reporter asks Barzal and he blushes and scratches the back of his neck. There’s a pause before he decides on an answer.

“Uh, y/n l/n has pretty sick music out right now so I’ve been listening to her,” he says and from across the room, a voice shouts: “yeah and he has a giant crush on her!”

The video ends and your view is replaced with Iris’s face. She’s practically trembling with excitement and you can’t help but laugh.

“Sounds like you have a crush on him,” you tease and she blushes.

“My ex was an Islanders fan,” she mumbles but then shakes her head. “I can connect with his agent and get his number for you and then-"

"Iris, no," you say, finally sitting up. “I said I wasn’t dating right now. I can’t, not after him.”

You don’t need say his name for the mood to completely darken. Your last relationship nearly ruined you and you’re not ready to open your heart back up to someone when it’s just starting to heal.

Iris nods, not saying anything else. She quietly leaves your room and you flop back on your bed, closing your eyes trying to fall back asleep but it’s useless now. The last thing you want right now is a relationship but you’re a little curious about Mathew Barzal. Your hand reaches out patting around until you find your phone. It’s on do not disturb so when you turn that off, your phone is flooded with notifications. Messages from friends congratulating you on the show, a missed call from your mom - you make a side note to remember to call her back - and finally, you open Instagram and you’re tagged in every single re-post of Mat’s interview. 

Buzzfeed even has an article on it. 

“Huh,” you say outloud to yourself before opening your direct messages and there is one that immediately catches your eye. You hesitate before opening it however because opening it means a lot of things.

It means possibly opening your heart to someone when you feel like it’s just heal. It means the possibility of early morning coffee dates and getting food at 24 hour diners together after your shows or his games. It means long distance sometimes, when you have shows and he has games. The many, many discussions about moving in together before actually doing it. It’s slow mornings together making breakfast, lounging on the sofa when neither of you have anything to do. 

It means the possibility of building something beautiful together.

So, you take the leap and open his message.

barzal97 so about that interview…

[cameronspecial]

I Could Show You

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Spit Kink

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.3K

Summary: Y/N noticed something interesting during their Thrist Tweet Interview with Buzzfeed.

A/N: This is inspired by this interview. It will have a part two with smut.

Masterlist

Y/N turns toward JD as he reads the next tweet. “The fact that I would let Rafe Cameron SPIT in my mouth shows that I should not be allowed to make my own life decisions,” JD says out loud, laughing as he does so. Her eyes flicker toward Drew and she watches as his bottom lip buries between his teeth. There is something in his eyes that kindles a fire between her legs. She rubs her thighs against each other to try to smother out the flame. Eventually, she has to face forward so that she can read the next tweet. 

———

JD and the girls decided that after the day of interviews, they wanted to go out to get something to eat. However, Y/N and Drew were too tired from the day so they were going to stay in the hotel for dinner. The car ride shared between the two was quiet as they tried to recuperate from the day. They finally found their voices when they were in the privacy of the elevator. “Soo…” Y/N begins. “Those thirst tweets were pretty thirsty.” Drew chuckles, “Yeah, I didn’t know people could be so creative with words.” Y/N nods and looks up at him with a smirk, “Me either. I also didn’t know that you could be so kinky.” The tone oozes with teasing and Drew’s eyes find hers. “What are you talking about?” he questions. Her teeth find her bottom lip, “I saw the way you reacted when JD read about spitting in the writer’s mouth. That turned you on.” He smirks as he recalls the event. He turns so he is facing her and takes a step forward. The tip of his shoes knocks against the side of hers. He leans down so that his mouth presses against the shell of her ear, “I saw the way you acted too. You were intrigued by it. If you give me the chance, I could show you you are just as kinky as I am.” 

The elevator dings signalling that they are on their floor. The doors roll open and Drew exits the metal box as if nothing happened. As if he isn’t leaving his co-star behind with a burning within her that can only be satiated by him.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

[xtra7s]

It's me again, how about Renee and r reading thirst tweets??? Or Renee flirting with r and she just loves making her flustered. Something like Renee always calling her "baby" I just can't get my mind out of these thoughts.

Also, love you and your works darling<3

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋: 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 ─── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Renee and Y/N get to read thirst tweets!!!

Content: Renee Rapp x Fem!Reader, fluff, Renee bullying the hell out of Y/N(lovingly)

Word Count: 1.2k

a/n: please keep these comin baby. I am in writers block like crazy right now but this shit was fun to write. Hope you enjoy, (let me know if you want 'something special: Paris Trip' (;

masterlist | first part | second part

The studio lights glowed softly as Renee Rapp and Y/N settled into their seats, ready for another interview. This time, the format was a bit different. There was no host, and they were told that they would be reading and reacting to "thirst tweets" from their fans. Renee and Y/N exchanged amused glances, knowing this would be a fun and cheeky experience.

The camera starts rolling, and Renee perks up in her chair.

"Hey guys what's up, my name is Renee Rapp and this is my lovely costar Y/N YL/N, and we're here with BuzzFeed to read our thirst tweets."

Y/N smiles softly at Renee as she speaks, turning to the camera playfully when she's done. "I'm so excited about this you have no idea. Let's see what our fans have to say."

The first tweet appeared on the phone, and the playful banter began.

Y/N giggles at the tweet, reading it out in between breaths. "Is it just me, or does Y/N's smile have the power to cure any bad day? Asking for a friend.'"

Y/N grins and looks up at Renee, and then back to the camera. "Well, I'm flattered. If my smile has that kind of power, maybe I should start offering smile therapy."

"I can attest to the smile therapy. It works wonders." Renee speaks with a smile that matches Y/N's, leaning forward in her chair like she's telling a secret.

Renee shakes her head with a shit-eating grin on her face at the next tweet, "I wish Renee Rapp and Y/N YL/N were my birth parents, actually no, I wish I was in a throuple with them."

Renee tilts her head, looking at the camera intently. "I think you need to decide if you wanna be in a throuple with your parents, and that's something you should talk to your therapist about. And I don't know who 'Y/N YL/N' is." Renee speaks with a laugh, looking over at Y/N.

Y/N has a tint of pink covering her cheeks as she shoves Renee's shoulder playfully. "that's, I need a minute to process that one" She giggles, scrolling to the next tweet.

As the tweets became bolder, the chemistry between Renee and Y/N intensified. The playful flirting was accompanied by shared laughter, and the studio audience couldn't get enough.

Y/N widens her eyes at this one, a silent laugh coming out of both Renee and her. 

"Perfect threesome? Me, Y/N YL/N, and a tub of peanut butter. How you feelin' about that one baby?" Renee murmurs, looking over at Y/N softly.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her face scrunching into a grimace. "that-" she shrugs awkwardly as her face gets darker in a shade of maroon, "makes me feel weird."

Renee smirks as she sees the effect she had on Y/N, grabbing the phone gently from Y/N's hand and reading the next tweet.

"Renee Rapp I am simply just a hole for you."

Renee sits there in silence for a second, pushing her tongue against her cheek while she laughs. "And I am simply just a fucking- I'm a person, I'm a human being. What do you want me to do to your holes? Be more specific."

As the interview shifted back to a more traditional format, An interviewer named Taylor came in and decided to focus on the professional aspects of Renee Rapp and Y/N's collaboration on "Unveiling Hearts." The studio lights dimmed slightly, creating an intimate ambiance as Taylor delved into questions about their characters, on-screen dynamics, and the impact of the show.

Taylor greets both Y/N and Renee, getting into her questions smoothly. "Alright, let's talk about 'Unveiling Hearts.' The chemistry between your characters is undeniable. How do you both manage to bring such authenticity to your roles?"

"Well, I think it helps that Y/N and I have a natural connection. It's not hard to portray a convincing love story when you're working with someone as talented as her." Renee speaks as she looks at Y/N, grinning at her.

Y/N blushed as she looked away shyly, "Aw, thanks, Renee. It's definitely a collaborative effort. We bounce off each other's energy, on and off the set."

Taylor nods and moves right into another question, "Fans are loving the romantic storyline this season. Any hints you can give us about what's in store for your characters?"

"Let's just say there might be a few more unexpected twists and turns in the romance department. You'll have to tune in to see." Renee leaned in, speaking with a playful glint in her eyes.

Y/N matched Renee's expression, placing her hands on her lap. "Renee loves to keep me on my toes, both in the script and in real life."

As the interview progressed, Renee couldn't resist injecting a flirtatious edge into her responses, causing Y/N to squirm in her seat. The studio audience picked up on the dynamic between the two, and Taylor couldn't help but smile at the palpable chemistry.

Taylor smirks at the banter between the costars, "What's it like working together? Any memorable moments behind the scenes?"

Renee looked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she narrowed them at her. "Oh, where do I begin? There are so many, I just can't choose. Probably that one time when we visited Paris, the Eiffel Tower was-

Y/N smacked Renee's arm quickly, but not hard enough to hurt her. "And that's enough out of her mouth." She spoke with a nervous grin, narrowing her eyes back at Renee.

The interviewer raised her eyebrows as the teasing continued, with Renee casually dropping endearments and playful comments throughout the interview.

"Working with Y/N is a dream. She's not just a talented co-star; she's my partner in crime, my confidante, my baby." Renee speaks with a flirty tone, gripping Y/N's knee and squeezing it softly before letting go.

At this point, Y/N's face was covered in a deep shade of maroon. "Okay, Renee, you're really going for it with the baby thing today."

Renee playfully flipped her hair and winked at Y/N, "Can't help it. It just feels right, baby."

The interview concluded with laughter and a lingering sense of warmth. The fans would undoubtedly dissect every word and gesture, adding a new layer to the mystery of the real-life connection between Renee Rapp and Y/N.

Renee wraps her arm around Y/N's shoulder as they finish reading the tweets, "Thanks for watching, hope you had fun, thank you for all these.. Very sweet.. Tweets, I will be thinking about them before I go to bed."

Y/N says to the camera, a false concern look on her face as she smiles at the camera, Renee and her waving as the screen fades to black.

[lowkeyrobin]

Trevor Spengler dating headcanons?? With a paranormal enthusiast?

YESYESYESYES FINALLY TREV REQUESTS OMG YEAHHAHAHSHAH ; thank you for requesting!! hope you enjoy :)

TREVOR SPENGLER ; dating headcanons

summary ; dating stuff w trev

warnings ; language

word count ; 539

masterlist

he's literally obsessed with you

always talking & thinking about you

he's got over 500 pictures of you too

his lockscreen is a picture of you two together as well, so he's constantly opening his phone to see it

he's got a couple widgets that are just you as well 💀🙏 it's all nice and themed bc you showed him how to do it

probably picks up editing for you

surprisingly a great editor, he's 100% into shake and transition edits, no matter how long they take

your contact name is probably "y/n/n 😈🔥" because he's a teenage boy.

you can't tell me he doesn't frequently use 😈🔥🗣⁉️🤞👍💪💀 etc

he isn't big on physical affection (mostly pda) but he has his moments. he's much more into physical affection when you're completely alone or just w pheobe or lucky tho

likes slinging an arm around your shoulder or giving/relieving reassuring and comforting hugs, or some hand holding

he doesn't like feeling like he needs to prove to people that you're together or anything which you 100% understand

his love language is quality time

always watching movies, driving around together, playing video games, etc

he's not great with his words but when he says he loves you and cares about you, he's being completely, truthfully honest

you guys discuss drama and make fun of fake bitches together, in and out of school

watching those tik tok storytime slides shows and they're WILD. you're cackling and confused at the same time

go watch derrick branch to see what I mean cause holy shit those storytimes r wild

he loves teaching you all about the ghostbuster gear

and also about ghosts, their spirits, haunted objects, etc

uses big words like protons and neutrons to try and impress you and sound smart

thinks you look cute in the ghostbuster suit

you guys play around with the proton packs and play with them like nerf guns (off of course)

custom ghostbuster patches on your backpacks/special jackets

you make a drawing of him and slimer together LMFAO

trev is all miserable and hunched over like 🧍‍♂️😒 and slimer is like floating above him a bit like 😊👍

he loves it, it's on his wall

always going on adventures together

you teach him stuff about your hobbies, and he teaches you stuff about his

sharing spotify playlists>>>

making food together is like a shared couples hobby

collecting plushies because why not

matching clothes galore

and stealing clothing out of each other's closets

ruffling his hair (and washing it when he's lazy/has no motivation to do it himself)

randomly sending each other memes/gifs/emojis

sharing an umbrella

pressing your foreheads together and sitting in silence

pushing his hair behind his ears randomly to get a better look at his face

remembering little things about each other

facetiming even to just sit in silence and do your own thing

conspiracy theory dumping on him

working at the lab with lucky to understand Ghosts better

buzzfeed unsolved with Ryan and Shane 24/7. you guys (you) geek out over that shit

your first time ghostbusting, you literally just watched in awe

like ghosts are actually real?? omg

you ranting about how you wanna be a professional ghost hunter

figuring out new info on ghosts, how they function, how it all works etc

you're like a little scientist

he thinks it's so cute

[consultingskeletondetective]

Virginal, chapter 2

Michael had left you alive, and you couldn't begin to fathom why. You know all you can do is try and forget it and move on with your life.

Except...Michael has followed you home.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms

The police hadn’t caught him yet.

It had been almost a week since your encounter with Michael Myers in the woods on your way home from work, and he’d been on the run ever since. You hadn’t reported what had happened to the authorities, even if you’d been on the verge of it many times. You’d spent the whole week waking up in cold sweats with a gooey and shameful mess between your legs at the memory of Michael’s large hand on your neck, or the sense-memory of his cock pressed heavy and dangerous against your core. The way he’d used you, fucked you, like his own little plaything haunted you.

No one could know what he’d done to you, no one could know how you felt about it, even if the guilt gnawed at you. Maybe if you’d told someone, they might have caught him by now, and people might still be alive. But there was a part of you, a part of you you wished you didn’t have, that reminded you that if Michael wanted someone dead, then there was nothing any earthly power could do to keep that person alive. Michael left no survivors.

Except for you.

It had been on the news religiously all week; police were baffled by his location and utterly at a loss for his motivations and patterns. Michael, it seemed, cared not a bit to cover his tracks. He even seemed to decorate his murder scenes artistically, propping bodies up and, blurred though they were on the television, reminding you of a sick and gruesome game of action figures. They were Michael’s bodies, to do with as he pleased. Twelve people he’d killed since he found you. Twelve. That the authorities were aware of, anyway. The thought chilled you to the very core.

You’d learnt from the heavy reporting that Michael Myers had been being held at the Westbrook Sanitarium for the criminally insane, not four miles from where you worked, and he’d escaped that night he’d taken you - thrust against your weak body until he came on your cunt like a wild animal. 

You were the first person he’d come across, apparently, and after years of solitude, Michael had some frustrations to take out on you. You knew well who he was, you recognised that mask and that boiler suit the second you’d seen it. You’d grown up with stories of the boogeyman who’d murdered his sister the same as everyone else, thrust into the spotlight when he’d escaped from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium a few years ago and murdered a bunch of teenagers on a spree. You’d seen the youtube video essays and buzzfeed articles on the stoic killing machine who’d baffled psychologists and doctors up and down the country, maybe even the world. You’d walked past books in shops written about this monster, his silence, his rage, his gore and death and damnation were a part of your culture. It made it easy to forget that Michael Myers was real, and not just some fictitious product of a sick mind. He became very real to you that night, your own personal boogeyman.

You’d learnt that Michael Myers was no man, he was an evil spirit, a hell-sent silent demon, a ghost - one that was haunting you. 

You turned the television off and went into the bathroom, shucking your clothes into a messy pile by the bath as you stepped under the cool spray of the shower.

It was a warm day, your skin over-hot, and you welcomed the clammy dribbles down your back. You washed quickly, fingers pressing too familiar over the lips of your pussy, you expected them still to be swollen, puffy from use where Michael had rutted his scorching and elephantine cock against you like a beast in heat, but it wasn’t. It was like it hadn’t happened. Except it had, of course, because you still wore him on your skin. His fingertips were in every bruise, his grip was the ache in your bones with every groan of your sore body. It was like he’d marked you, made your tiny body a part of his eclipsing form. 

You shook your head frustratedly to yourself in the bathroom mirror before flicking the lightswitch off and making your way to your bedroom. You couldn’t think of him every moment for the rest of your life, you couldn’t live in fear of the boogeyman. He had left you alive, and you had to live with that. Michael was gone, and you’d never see him again. 

You pulled a short nightdress on, the flimsy material to combat the hot and sticky night you anticipated, and you made your way to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle to take to bed. 

The outside light was on.

It wasn’t yours, but your neighbours. It was motion-sensored, you knew that because it blinded you every time you stumbled back from a night shift.

You frowned before crossing to the door, to close the blinds over the glass so no one would be able to see into your home in the middle of the night. Your hand tangled in the string before it froze, along with the rest of your body. Like your blood had frozen to ice inside you and made you a dead weight to the floor.

Michael was standing under the light, 50 yards away from your door. He was staring sightlessly at you through the empty eyes of his mask, utterly emotionless. His hands rested unclenched by his sides, his back razor-straight as always. He was just watching. His form gave no indication of how long he’d been there. Maybe hours.

Fear shot through you and the string began to shake violently in your grip as you stared at him. He’d come to finish what he’d started, you realised in horror, he’d noticed his mistake in leaving you alive. Was it so you couldn’t tell the police? Was it just that you needed to die, he’d had you in his grasp and that was that, a rageful itch under his skin that wouldn’t be quenched until your blood was soaking his hands?

It didn’t make sense. He was stood in the street, bathed in your neighbours motion light like a bloody homing beacon. Surely they’d seen him. Surely someone had seen him and called the police? Why weren’t there any sirens? It was deathly quiet. Just you, him and the wind. Maybe it was a fever dream, a sleep paralysis nightmare and your demon had returned to you.

He began walking leisurely towards the door, his pace bone-tinglingly unhurried as ever, before he stopped at the glass and peered down at you. You shrank, paralysed with fear. You’d somehow forgotten just how big he was. He might have been two foot taller than you, and just as broad, taking up the whole of the door so he blacked out any light behind him. That was as good a metaphor as any to describe Michael. The darkness followed him. 

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving, dazzled, you supposed somewhere in the back of your mind. A monster brought to life, in front of you, enough to convince yourself that you were dreaming.

His fist shattered through the glass, shards of glittering ice hitting the kitchen floor as his hand curled down to find the handle. You screamed, backing off so violently your back hit the fridge and tears wept down your cheeks until they were quite literally soaking the front of your nightie. This was no dream. It was a nightmare incarnate. 

Even his violent outburst seemed calm somehow, shattering your backdoor into shards of glass like it was nothing. His large hand found the door handle and began to rattle it, and the noise caused your brain to snap back to where it needed to be.

You forced your eyes from him, pushed yourself away from the fridge and scurried into the living room. The front door was in your sights. You didn’t know precisely what you planned to do with yourself when you got outside, your brain hadn’t made it that far yet. All you knew was that you needed to survive, and you had no chance of that locked in the same cage as this rabid animal.

You grabbed for the front door handle with a hiss of accomplishment, throwing your gaze back over your shoulder to ascertain how much time you had. No time. Michael was already in the living room, walking towards you like he had all the time in the world. You shrieked in pure terror at his towering form as you flung the door wide open, the concrete of your front step was cool on your barefoot but the sensation barely lasted a second as fingers tangled roughly in your hair and yanked you roughly until you fell onto the carpet. The open-palm of Michael’s free hand slammed the front door shut, cutting off your exit, and the oak creaked under the force of it, the foundations of the house damn-near shaking.

You scrambled onto your knees, screeching, crying, grasping at his hand in your hair, wincing when every flex of his fingers yanked at your scalp, tearing individual hairs out by the roots. He had to bend his back to hold you to the floor, his emotionless mask looking down on you. His breathing was barely audible over your devastated screams. You couldn’t move.

“Please, please, please, Michael, please don’t kill me. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! I won’t! I don’t want to die, please let me go, please, please-”

You could barely beg, your throat hoarse, your words sobs. He didn’t respond except to drag you into the middle of the room by your hair, kicking the coffee table aside to make room for you both in the middle of the floor. One of the wooden legs of your poor table snapped under his boot before he tossed you down like a ragdoll. Your back hit the carpeted floor and it shook your whole frame. You instinctively planted your palms on the floor behind yourself, to crawl back, to spring up, you didn’t know.

Michael’s boot came to rest on your bare thigh, his weight utterly solid and you wailed as he pinned you to the floor. Your nightie had ridden up, not to the point of indecency, but enough that his boot kissed your flesh. You froze as fresh tears streamed down your face, remembering exactly what he’d done the last time he’d had you like this, as if just realising how acutely vulnerable you were in this position. Were you even wearing underwear? You didn’t think so. His boot was mere inches away from your exposed cunt, all he’d have to do was push your dress up and he’d see everything. See how fucking wet you were. You hated yourself.

“Please,” you tried again, voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him. Submissive, you realised, prey before a predator, begging for its life. “What do you want?”

He didn’t move, you could barely tell if he was breathing, just staring down at you as everything else in the world fell away. His hands were still loose by his sides, no knife, you noted, but a grim red-hued dirt on the rough palms of his hands you could identify without too much guesswork. Your stomach rolled.

His hand raised and you jolted, expecting pain, to be struck, stripped, killed. 

How long had he been searching for you? Maybe he’d never left, maybe he’d been one step behind you all week, watching you sleep, watching you shower - were those twelve people dead because they lived close to you? Did you kill them?

His large hand came to rest over the front of his crotch and your mouth fell open. Not again. Why me? You were already shaking your head, breathy hitching sobs racking through you.

“No, Michael, please -”

He toed your thigh with the steel-gap of his boot, shoving it to the side, affectively opening your legs and you wanted to close your eyes, the feeling of vulnerability and shame as he spread your legs for him hurt something deep inside of you, you felt dirty and shameful in every one of your nerves. Your slick was soaking the back of your nightie and probably your carpet too. What the fuck was wrong with you?

He fell to his knees in front of you, in a way that could only have hurt, but he didn’t make a sound as his large, gore-stained hands gripped your bare thighs and tugged until you were lying in front of him. You squeaked, your legs not quite touching his, more left hanging in the air as he scraped his calloused hands down your thighs in a way that definitely didn’t make your heart speed up, no more than it was already hammering, before his palms were flat on your inner thighs, pressing them apart and into the floor. You tried immediately and desperately to close them and his grip on you tightened to the point of extreme pain, your femurs tremoring dangerously like they might snap if you moved even an inch.

You stilled completely, you couldn’t tell where he was looking, but it seemed to be right at you, that emotionless masked expression, or lack of, giving you nothing, but you could feel the rage and the dangerous power wafting off of him, you could feel the coiled strength in his fingers, the strain of his bicep muscles in his boiler suit as he held you immobile and you swallowed, shivering in fear and pitiful acceptance as you stopped struggling. If you had any hope of getting out of this alive, and as uninjured as possible, you had to stop fighting. 

His pathetic, mewling hole, your brain supplied almost bitterly.

Once apparently satisfied you’d stopped struggling, MIchael’s grip on your thighs lessened somewhat, leaving deep red bruises regardless, and he shifted forwards on his knees, taking up more space between your legs, as he rucked your nightie up to your belly, sitting back a little just to stare at your pussy, exposed and dripping and vulnerable, as if getting a good look at the wet little hole that had made him come so hard the last time. 

Your cheeks burned boiling hot as he looked at you, your thighs twitching conspirately to close but you forced yourself to try and calm, utterly impossible, you trembled like a newborn foal.

He dipped his head between your legs and your back arched, startled, wondering what he possibly meant to do, particularly, your horrible brain chipped in, with a mask over his face. You could hear nothing but that breathing, before it was sucked in, the nose of his mask just nudging your folds and making you jolt. 

Was he - was he smelling you? 

He made no noise, his body shifted an inch. What was he doing? It was like he was searching for something. He kept his nose buried against your soaping heat for a few more moments before he apparently found it. Then he was sitting back up again. Your knees were nearly knocking together in terror when his hands, fuck, how were they so big? framed your cunt, pulling at the flesh of the tops of your thighs, spreading your folds, revealing the vulnerable pink flesh of your seam, your clit.

Oh fuck.

He prodded you with a long finger a few times, painful sharp jabs until he caught the rim of your opening and sunk in to the knuckle. It burned, it burned so hot, you clenched painfully around his finger. Fuck, it felt like the size of a cock all on its own. But the finger was withdrawn as quickly as it had breached you, like a fucking dip test, but no less rough on the way out and you grimaced. You had a pretty good idea about what was to follow, and the anticipation of the pain alone was enough to make you cry again. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you tried again pathetically, wondering somewhere in your mind why you were trying to distract him from fucking you, when the alternative was his heavy hands shattering your collarbone until your heart was pierced by your own brittle dagger. Survival, you kept saying to yourself, one day you might believe it, you were trying to live. Nothing else. Nothing else.

He’d already unzipped his boiler suit, you could just glimpse a sliver of pale flesh beneath but he undressed himself no further, reaching down into his trousers and pulling his cock free. 

Fucking hell.

It was a goddamn fucking monster. It sat snug in Michael’s large hand, long and thick, crown red with blood and dribbling precome, it curved up slightly, in a way that was designed to attack that spot inside of you, and when he dropped it, it dipped, bobbing against his boiler suit, so heavy under its own weight it could barely hold itself up, but it did, his cock stood proud and to attention, ready for action, as he shifted down a little, hands once more finding your thighs and hauling you practically into his lap. He threw your legs over his broad hips, stretching your thigh muscles, as his cock rested hot and heavy on your pelvic bone, like a leaden weight on you. Oh fuck, you were so fucked. It was near enough the size of your thigh, and you knew it was going to wreck you.

You jerked your hips uselessly, trying in vain to put some distance between you and Michael’s thick cock, you’d never had a partner that size before, you’d never even had a toy that size. It wasn’t going to fit, it was as simple as that. Except he didn’t care.

He pressed his hips up, taking you with him, lifting your back clean off of the floor so your spine was arched uncomfortably. He paid you no mind as he gripped the base of his erection and slipped himself down through your folds.

He was silent, calm and ferocious as he pressed forward against you with so much pressure that it hurt. You could feel his heaviness hard against your pelvic bone and you trembled in fearful anticipation of what was about to happen.

Finally, Michael found what he was looking for and his thick cockhead breached your hole barely a centimetre but still you gasped, already undone by being so violently penetrated by not even a goddamn inch of that fat unforgiving head. 

Michael surged forward, in triumph perhaps, or just in a hurry to get his cock stuffed deep into you as quickly as possible, but your traitorous cunt was wet enough that he slipped straight back out again, whole cock fucking upwards and jamming through your folds, gliding gloriously against your clit. You let out a loud moan and he stilled entirely except for the throb of his cock against you. You clapped your hands to your mouth and forced your eyes to the ceiling. You hadn’t meant to do that. You didn’t want to give him the sick satisfaction. It was the last thing you could keep for yourself.

Michael was a fast learner, it seemed, because this time he inched a little more slowly inside you until a good inch of solid cock was spearing you open. You thought you might die, knees knocking against his hips helplessly as he forcibly stretched you obscenely around him. You will take me, I will make it fit.

Only when he was firm in you, and you were surely going to pass out from pressure alone, did he plunge his hips forward, his whole cock sinking to the hilt in one brutal thrust. 

The pain, fuck the pain was indescribable, burning, aching, stuffed full, stuffed beyond full - he didn’t care - he didn’t care that he’d probably just ripped you in half, stretched you so full you were more cock than you were yourself anymore. He didn’t care you were crying, shivering, he cared that you were an open, wet heat to warm his cock in. 

Those blood-stained, murderous hands gripped your hips and an ache blossomed in your bones, your skin beneath his skin turned white to red to near-black with bloodied pressure-bruises as he gripped you hard enough you fully believed he intended to shatter bone. He could, you knew he could. It was enough to lose yourself to, you were going to pass out, you were going to die from the stress and agony forced upon your weak and small body. This was how he was going to kill you.

He moved, shifted his heavy length inside you, nudging spots of your flesh where a cock was not meant to be. He pulled out incrementally, shoved back in and oh - oh .

Your thighs shook again, trembled, as spiralling pleasure mixed with pain and your pussy clenched around his cock, contracting around it as he thrust in again, as if traitorously and deliriously pulling him in to you, to where that thick and hot pressure felt the best. He thrust in again, harder than before, faster than before, immediately picking up an athletic, robotic pace as if he were half-way through a marathon fuck, thrumming with energy. You had no time to adjust, no time to build-up - you were there immediately, clenching uncontrollably on Michael Myer’s mercilessly hard cock, your cunt fluttering and clenching on every brutal, animalistic intrusion, until you couldn’t take it anymore. There was no edge, there was just falling.

You yelped, back arching up even more than it already was, legs squeezing the small of Michael’s back as your poor cunt spasmed, coming hot and hard until you felt your own slick dribbling down the backs of your thighs. Michael didn’t stop for a second, he didn’t even slow, you nearly choked on your own spit.

He was utterly devoid of anything, breathing heavy and focused, no movement except the piston of his hips as he fucked you deep and unforgiving until you were sure his thick crown was kissing at your cervix. 

Your head was hazy, eyes unfocused, you had absolutely no control over your overworked cunt anymore, whining pitifully as you came around him again, lathering his cock in your traitorous spend, praying every time that he’d slow, but he didn’t, and you felt that molten lava in your core building again until you were covered in a sheen of your own sweat, spent, exhausted. He didn’t care. He wasn’t done yet, he wanted more. He took it.

He angled his hips up, chasing a sensation, you weren’t prepared for it. He hammered into you until his hip bones were slamming against your inner thighs with enough force to shake your entire body. His cock against your sweet spot was like a punch to the gut and you screamed. Pain, pleasure, you didn’t know anymore as your hips convulsed and jerked, clamping down on him hard enough that if he were a normal man, he wouldn’t have been able to move.

But Michael was no normal man. 

He held your hips down, taking your clenching orgasm for himself as he slammed into you. Being fucked into your leg-shaking release was like being volted off of this ethereal plane and into another, your eyes whitened, your brain slowed to juddering holt as dizzying, mind-numbing ohmyfuckinggodthisfeelssogood short-circuited your entire being.

Michael slammed into you one final time, unable to withstand the vice-like grip of your velvet walls any longer before he was stilling completely, his cock an erupting volcano inside of you that spurted hot white heat against your walls, filling you utterly.

Your mouth opened in shock, or exhaustion, as your whole body trembled, jerking uncontrollably in the aftershocks.

He didn’t linger. His hands left your hips first, the bruises behind ached immediately, black and devastating to your skin where even taking a breath in bothered them. Then he snapped his hips back, swollen cock slipping free of your drenched heat, sopping with white. He let it hang there, between his legs, a stark contrast against his boiler suit, and you trembled with undignified arousal. Your cunt felt wrecked, stretched wide, forced open to accommodate him, and yet your body still somehow ached for more. No, you were terrified, fighting for your life, this wasn’t real. None of it was.

He stood, using core strength alone, leaving your legs to fall heavily to the floor. They ached where the muscles had been stretched, kicking the pain in your back and your hips into eleventh gear. You’d been twisted like a pretzel for too long. You frowned. How long had he been fucking you? It felt like no time at all, it felt like days.

You pulled your nightie down as far as it would go, scrambling your legs together despite the way they twinged. You could feel him squelching between your thighs and your untouched clit twinged pitifully.

When you gathered the courage to look up at him, you saw that he’d tucked himself away and zipped himself back up. He stood tall and menacing over you, gargantuan in your living room, his head near-touching the ceiling. He was peering down at you, that devoid mask giving nothing. The utter silence was as terrifying and deafening as any death cry.

He cocked his head ever so slightly and you winced, fight or flight response, before he was turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Terror rocked through you, vomit-inducing, head-spinning terror, and you were on your feet in a heartbeat. Your mauled insides and your ruined hips complained at you but you ignored it. They would mean nothing if you were dead. Which you were about to be. He was going for a knife, surely he was. He -

The creak of the kitchen door caught you by surprise, but it took a few long minutes for your heart to stop thudding loud enough for you to realise that he wasn’t coming back in. After a few breaths, your curiosity got the better of you and you crept into the kitchen. The back door was shut, except for the hole gaped in the glass by his fist, of course, and the kitchen was empty.

You were careful with your bare feet to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, not that it would make massive amounts of difference to your ruined body, before you shakily peered through what remained of your door.

The motion detector light was on, the street was empty.

Confusion and shame rocked through you with enough force to make you tumble and you had to grip the countertop to keep yourself upright.

How on earth were you still alive? For a second time? What did the most infamous serial killer in the country get from keeping you alive?

A hot, wet hole to come in.

You could feel the ache between your legs like Michael was still there, it was a glorious, horrible burn, trembling pleasure, irrefutable depravity - the best fuck of your life.

What did that make you?

Everything was eerily quiet. Your water bottle still sat on the side. If it weren’t for the broken door and the shards of glass, it would be easy to imagine that Michael hadn't been there at all.

Except for the warm come dribbling down your thighs where he’d marked his territory inside you. You swallowed. Whether you were his next victim or his fucktoy - you couldn’t escape that you were his. And you knew, even now, with terrifying certainty, that Michael Myers was not going to let you go.

link to chapter 3

[lorarri]

★ . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 , 𝐋𝐍𝟒

summary , lando goes on buzzfeed to read thirst tweets about him? no more like about his amazing girlfriend and their sex life

pairing , lando norris x fem! gf! reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | f1 masterlist | next part

BUZZFEED → LANDO NORRIS READS THIRST TWEETS

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override - Submission Board

Hello, my darlings! I've received a lot of ideas and requests and queries about Chem Ov, so I'm making this post as a way to keep track of all of them.

Feel free to share in the comments or in my ask!

Once an idea has been submitted, I will add it here, to avoid repetition and to make sure that I am able to incorporate it into the story if it fits the narrative 💙

*random pictures included above, added cause they amuse me :)

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan and the reader thinking about living together - 🦜 anon

Reader adopting Benjicat who ends up preferring his mum, unlike Sansa - TheCatAnon

Ewan seeing an ad or film of the reader and sending her a picture along with a compliment - @seamaiden

Audience reactions to Ewan and Matt's game interview from Above The Gods Eye - ✨️ anon

Reader running to Ewan's aid when he gets injured on set, shoving past Matt - @ajantanijhum

Reader having a naughty dream about Ewan and Matt - anon

Ewan comforting reader when she's on her period - anon

Sansa sneaking into Reader's bag and ending up in HOTD set - TheCatAnon

Reader getting addicted to viral pastries from a Japanese bakery, influencing Ewan, who over-indulges his sweet tooth - @theintrovertedwriter868

Ewan watching (and adoring) Darling's interview on Hot Ones or another variety show - @just-fics-station

Ewan and Darling discussing marriage and babies - anon

Ewan and Darling do the Wired Autocomplete Interview / friendship test - @seamaiden

Matt or Ewan or both seeing Darling's lingerie campaign - anon

Ewan posting Darling's high fashion ad on his stories - 💌 anon

Hotd cast playing never have i ever, drunk edition, but prior to the game they all decided to target ewan and make all of the questions related to darling (e.g. "never have i ever made longing gazes at darling during interviews?") - anon

Darling gets cast for a music video. Matt visits her on set and he gets cast in an extra role as her lover - @just-fics-station

Darling is in a musical on the West End, playing a character who's dominant and confident (thinking of Heather Chandler) and Ewan goes to watch and is obsessed - Scottish anon

Darling meets Ewan's parents or vice versa - @clarkysblog

Ewan and the reader vacaying with the cast. Them sneaking off to make out. Ewan gawking at the reader behind his sunglasses - anon

Darling prank calls Ewan/Matt for Elle - anon

A famous celeb says that Darling is their celebrity crush and wants to work with her - anon

Darling wearing a 'revenge dress' for an event - anon

Darling taking the buzzfeed hotd character quiz and getting Aemond - @seamaiden

Ewan and darling sharing in each other's interests (eg. She wears one of his rock band shirts / she'll get him into horror movies, sci-fi, skincare) - anon

Darling doing an everything shower/extensive self-care routine and being so exhausted afterward that Matt or Ewan have to take care of her - 🦘

Darling posting a hot photo on Insta, attracting admirers and triggering boyfriend Ewan - @kammmy101

Ewan and the cast supporting Darling in her theatre debut - 💌 anon

Ewan having Darling as his lockscreen and she finds out - anon

An interview flirting with Darling, and Ewan trying not to get riled up - anon

Darling and Jenna becoming best friends - ✨️ anon

[muldermuse]

Fox Mulder Masterlist

Fox Mulder X Reader: One Shots

Peanuts

You meet an interesting stranger at a bar

First Date

Your first date with Fox

Halloween Party

Your boyfriend, Fox Mulder, convinces you not to go to your work Halloween Party

The Best Medicine

Fox takes care of you when you are ill

Jealous Fox

Fox gets jealous when he sees a coworker flirt with you

Houseplants

Fox helps you move into your first apartment

A Hard Day

Fox helps you through a bad mental health day

The Name Game 

You and Fox struggle to decide a name for your kitten

The Most Haunted Forest in South Carolina

Fox invites you camping 

Jealously, Jealousy

Fox doesn’t like how interested Alex Krycek is in you

Okay is not enough (Part 1)

Your family are being held captive by one of Fox’s previous encounters

Fox Mulder X Reader: Headcanons

Protective Fox Mulder

Fox has a crush on his coworker

Subtle ways Fox shows he has a crush

How Fox acts around Reader

Reader gets jealous of Fox’s new coworker

NSFW version of above^^^

NSFW Fox thoughts

Fox misses you

Reader’s birthday

Your cat loves Fox

Fox cheers you up

Forgetful mornings with Fox

Fox misses you after a trip (some nsfw)

Fox loves lingerie (some nsfw)

Dad!Fox Mulder

Dad!Fox Mulder 2

Modern Fox Mulder

Fox is a Buzzfeed Unsolved fan

Halloweeny Fox Thoughts 1, 2 and 3

Muldermuse October Writing Fest

Spooky Pyjamas (Dad!Fox Mulder x Reader)

A new family tradition is started

A Halloween Announcement (Fox Mulder X Reader)

As title states...it’s a halloween announcement

Trick ‘r Treat (Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fancy dress SMUT

Halloween Party (Cat Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox has a party with your cat

Haunted House (Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

You come home from work to a haunted house

Halloween Card (Dad!Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox receives a special card from his family

Ghosts (Modern! Fox Mulder X Reader)

A drabble about doing a ghost walk with Fox

Fox is creative (Modern! Fox Mulder X Reader)

Fox loves Halloween recipes

Ghost Hunting (Fox Mulder X Reader)

A hc about ghost hunting with Fox