#i have the most Extra writing tag ever considering i never use it

[xmads-omensx]

Not sure if I can request things but if you would be willing. Could you write Noah in an established relationship and maybe his girl is a part of the crew and like mid tour he starts to notice that she starts sleeping a lot when she never sleeps during the day and then her standing by the barricades snapping pics of her and fainting. Thank you so much!

Word Count: 1,531

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X reader

Content Warnings: fainting, mentions of exhaustion, established relationship, swearing, fluff, mentions of burn out, mentions of hospitals

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @heyyoplayer @dsireland86 @missduffsblog @overmydeadbodysblog @dominuslunae @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @kait16xo @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm

I had been touring with Noah for as long as I could remember.

It was how we met.

Matt had hired me originally as his assistant tour manager, before shifting me to be Bryan’s assistant as well as remaining as Matts assistant when he discovered my passion for photography.

Whilst touring with Bad Omens, I developed feelings for Noah very rapidly, as he did the same towards me.

It was a lot of awkward skirting around eachother as we flirted like high school children, both too afraid to actually admit how we felt towards eachother out of the pure fear that the other didn’t feel the same way.

In fact, it was Matt who had forced us together in the end.

He had sent Noah and I to get some cables from the bus individually, forcing us to be alone, when Bryan pushed the two of us into the back of the van, refusing to free us until we admitted how we felt.

We have been happily together ever since.

After that, touring became a lot more bearable considering the fact that I was doing it with the person I loved more than anything else in the world.

The Australia tour was something that I had been really looking forward to, mainly since I had never been there before. I was sick the last time that Bad Omens played there, so I had to sit it out, which had not been enjoyable for anybody since the guys had to put up with Noah’s whining and Bryan and Matt had to do double the work.

Matt and I had met up about three months prior to the tour beginning in order to make the adequate preparations and make sure that everything was in order before we all made the insanely long journey down under.

It was a long and arduous process, making sure the appropriate flights and hotel rooms had been booked, then organising fun things for the guys to do on their off days all while editing photos that I had taken for another band that I had just toured with as their photographer.

My workload was most definitely a lot more than I was used to, but it was a challenge that I embraced with wide open arms since I felt insanely lucky to be in the position that I was in.

Noah had been a massive help as Matt and I prepared for the tour.

He took on my chores on top of his own to balance out my workload, he ran errands for me that I didn’t quite have time to run and was an overall incredible help whilst I prepped.

When the time came to actually go on said tour, Noah was a stressed wreck, which was expected when going on any tour that Bad Omens did, especially when it was the first tour back from their break due to Noah’s burn-out.

I had made sure everybody was all packed and ready to go, making extra sure that Noah knew that I had triple checked both of our luggage.

The flight had gone smoothly, with me napping for most of it, which had admittedly shocked Noah since I notoriously could not get to sleep on planes, but it was a great sleep so I wasn’t going to complain.

“Baby, we’re here.” Noah had whispered with a kiss on my forehead as we landed in Melbourne for the first few shows of the tour.

I awoke groggy, but happy to see my boyfriend’s face smiling down at me.

Strangely, I still felt tired despite having slept for most of the flight. Assuming it was just jetlag getting to me, I went about starting to prepare the first show of the short tour.

Matt and I met up at a nearby café to discuss last minute arrangements for the first show. We went over the visuals, the timings, the pyro and pretty much anything and everything in-between.

I could barely hide the exhaustion on my face as we worked.

“Hey, are you okay?” Matt asked with a concerned expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ve never flown that far before.” I replied with a weak laugh.

“Oh dude tell me about it.” He sighed, taking his cap off and running his hand through his hair before replacing the cap back on his head. “I mean, I’m pretty much done with you here, so why don’t you go and find Bryan and talk about what his plan is?”

“Sounds good.” I said with a laugh, standing up and patting his shoulder before leaving the café and returning to the hotel.

Bryan was hanging out with Noah and Nicholas in the hotel room that Noah and I were sharing. I could hear their laughter from the hallway as I got closer and closer.

“Hey idiot.” Nicholas sighed when I walked through the door.

“Hey!” Noah scolded, throwing the pillow that he held over his lap at his best friend’s head.

I laughed at their behaviour before sitting on the small sofa next to Bryan.

We began to go over our plan for the tour as Noah and Nicholas continued hitting eachother with pillows and laughing at eachother.

“So I will go behind the guys, and you go just in front of the barricade, that way we cover all bases.” Bryan said, but his voice had begun to grow quieter in my ears.

A hand brushed my shoulder. It was Bryan.

“You okay, Y/N?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“Yeah, just tired.” I replied, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, everybody out.” Noah demanded, standing up and hitting Bryan on the back of the head with the pillow he had been hitting Nicholas with.

The two other men stood up and shuffled out of the room, leaving Noah and I alone.

“Wanna sleep?” He asked, gently cupping the side of my face and stroking it with his thumb.

“I think a little nap will help me out.” I sighed, kissing his palm, making him smile.

Noah pulled away from me and pulled the duvet back on the bed, getting it ready for me to crawl in and finally get some sleep.

The first few dates of the tour had been like that.

We would arrive at the city, I would take a nap, then we would do the show.

It was a cycle that had been concerning Noah more and more since I never usually napped during the day.

Noah had been urging me to go see a doctor whilst we were on tour, but obviously I didn’t want to listen to him.

He had a tendency to be overprotective and overbearing at times when it came to both touring and my health.

It all came to a head one night on the tour when I was by the barricade taking photos like I did every night, when suddenly my head began to spin and my eyes became blurry.

I could no longer hear the music as the venue faded to black around me, enveloping me in a pitch black void.

When I awoke, bright LED lights practically blinded me.

I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t let me.

No, scratch that.

A heavy body lay over half of my torso.

A dark-haired head lay on my chest, rising and falling slightly along with my breaths.

Noah.

I reached my hand up and stroked his hair away from his face gently.

He stirred and looked up at me with worried eyes, before lunging up and engulfing me in a crushing bear hug.

“I was so worried about you!” He exclaimed into my hair.

I didn’t know what to say, so I settled for pulling him in closer.

“The doctors think that you’re burned out and exhausted. You’ve been working yourself too hard with doing assistant tour manager, assistant photographer as well as working for other bands on top of Bad Omens. You need to lighten your workload.” Noah explained.

“But-“ I went to argue but he cut me off.

“I understand you love what you do. Trust me I understand how much this sucks. But you seriously need to slow down. I have been so worried about you all tour, and now you’re in fucking hospital. Let me help you.” Noah pleaded.

“I-“ I tried to argue, but he was right.

I was pushing myself far too much, therefore I was exhausted.

Being burned out explained why I had been sleeping so much on this tour. it explained why I felt so awful constantly.

And worst of all, I had been worrying Noah.

“Fine. I’ll slow down.” I sighed. “But promise me that no one will get mad at me.”

“Baby, nobody is mad at you.” Noah comforted, rubbing my arm with his large hand.

“Really.” I asked quietly.

He simply nodded his head and pulled me into his chest.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re safe with me.” He whispered, kissing the top of my head. “You need to take breaks sometimes, you told me that yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” I laughed.

Noah always knew exactly what to do or say no matter what the situation was.

He just understood.

[silverzoomies]

Monster Mash

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, zombies, biting, undead, undead!reader, gender neutral reader, zombie kink

word count: 11,996

a/n: first of three peter-centric halloween fics!! hopefully i'll get them all posted before the month ends!! timeline here is extremely fuzzy, and might not fall in line with canon. it's kind of super ambiguous.

the usual apologies: clunky writing, potentially ooc peter/other characters, inconsistencies, ending's super meh, etc etc etc. idk if peter would realistically be down to bang a cute, zombified reader. but hey, it's fiction. why the heck not!

tag list (i remembered this time!!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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October. Just a week before Halloween.

Peter didn’t celebrate the holiday too often these days. Not like he used to. Ever since he took up teaching at the X-mansion, he only participated in a handful of Halloween activities. The staple being - playing escort for mutant kiddos on trick-or-treating ventures. An activity he enjoyed a lot, since the kiddos referred to “Mr. Maximoff” as “the school's most awesome trick-or-treat buddy.” Which had nothing to do with Peter swiping a little extra candy - for the kids, of course - when the other teachers weren’t looking. Swear on his life.

Another Halloween festivity he loved? The school's annual, X-family Halloween party. The team generally left Peter in charge of decorations, considering it took him no time at all to set them up. Professor Chuck himself - legendary baldy - always played host at those parties. As per tradition - after the party died down - Peter cozied up in the living room with the team. They’d gather together to watch everyone’s favorite horror flicks on VHS.

He really couldn’t wait for this year’s festivities. Peter looked forward to those after-party, horror movie marathons every year. Movie nights with the team? Pretty freakin’ awesome. If only for two reasons: The abundance of sugary garbage to snack on. And the way Ororo loooooooved snuggling up with him on the couch. Being so hot natured helped. Living life in the fast lane - operating like a human furnace - sure had its perks sometimes. ‘Ro’s cuddling made an excellent distraction from Peter’s unbridled loneliness. Haha...

C-...Consider that a topic for another day. Moving on.

On horror movie night, Peter inevitably saw the jumpscares coming leagues before anyone else. It never failed. He’d call them seconds ahead of time. With ‘Ro lying at his side, and his arm wrapped around her waist. Peter would exclaim, “Jumpscare!”, breaking the tension heavy silence amongst the group. Spoiling whatever movie played. Everyone hated it, of course. Kurt growled at him. Animalistic, but nowhere near intimidating. Jubilee pelted Peter with popcorn.

Peter just couldn’t help himself. Those scares were so predictable and boring sometimes. Sure, he liked horror movies enough. With all the gnarly gore and twisted kills. But they never freaked him out, since he didn’t spook easily. His incomprehensible reaction time made terror a tough game.

All that being said...

Even with his totally outrageous bravery streak, Peter - guilty as charged - sure had his candy-ass moments.

This current mission proved, without a doubt, one of the spookiest situations he’d ever landed himself in. He could feel it in the air tonight. And not in the groovy, Phil Collins way either. An ominous sense of uneasiness crawled across his skin. Eerie vibes sent chills creeping up his spine like spiders through a web. Peter wished he could fast forward to Halloween night on the couch with ‘Ro. Heck, he'd even take decorating duty over this any day of the week. At least he could go all out, and have his own fun with it.

For an October’s night, the weather seemed uncannily coincidental. Drops of rain showered from a mass of black clouds. A sharp crack of lightning struck the ground, with a roar of thunder following in succession. It rattled the very foundation of the abandoned lab Peter found himself exploring. As part of a last minute, late night mission.

Below his feet, tiled floors laid in disrepair. Dirtying the mismatched laces of his untied sneakers. Peter snuck his way through murky hallways, his heightened senses buzzing on edge. Fight or flight kicked into high gear, making him all the more sensitive to any outside stimuli. Another echoing roar rumbled through the building, threatening to topple its cracking walls. Peter worried the ceiling might cave in at any moment.

A terrifying thought. But it happened to be the exact reason Hank chose Peter for this mission to begin with. Should shit hit the fan, Peter could skedaddle at the speed of light unscathed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Unlike his other team members, who might risk being flattened like a pancake. Under the weight of, not one, but two floors above.

…Speaking of pancakes. Peter should definitely drop by a mom ‘n pop diner before heading back to base. He could really go for a fresh stack of late night hotcakes right about now. Warm and soft. With chocolate chips melting on the inside. Caked in sticky syrup and slathered with butter. Oooooh! And a little bacon on the side. Not too crispy, not too flop-

His mouth watered, and Peter blinked. Wiping his jacket sleeve across his lips, he redirected his attention to the task at hand. Focus, Quickie. He had a job to do, and he didn’t wanna be stuck doing said job all night.

The lab sat nestled off the coast of some island with a foreign name. Super hard to pronounce. Peter couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. Prior to this assignment, he’d never even heard of the place. But apparently, neither had anyone else. Hank sent Peter in search of what he dubbed leads on a mystery project. Something to do with scientific documents.

If he found any, he’d read their info over to Scott. Who would then relay that same intel back to Hank. Like an insanely boring game of telephone. Why Peter couldn’t speak to Hank directly was anybody’s guess. Too busy with his super secret project thingy-majig, possibly?

Hanging from Peter’s stereo belt alongside his old Walkman, a walkie screeched with a shrill chirp. A shock of alarm shot straight through Peter’s veins, making him jump. Scott’s voice crackled from the speakers.

“Any updates, Pete?” Scott asked, “Tell me anything you got. Even if it seems boring. Just hit me with it. It’s gotta be better than waiting around here in the lab, doing nothing.”

Peter held a compact flashlight in one hand, searching the lab’s pitch black halls. Most of the rooms he passed looked desolate. Barren and dusty. Save for the odd desk or empty cabinet. Peter wondered if they’d all been ransacked when the place closed down. The ceiling leaked rain from the floors above, dripping onto Peter’s bomber jacket. At the edge of his vision, he caught a rat scurrying by. But otherwise, not much else.

Pulling the walkie from his belt, he brought it up to his lips, “Uh. It’s dark and kinda spooky here. Saw a rat. Storm’s not gettin’ any better. It keeps shakin’ the whole place.” Peter shook his head, “If it doesn’t let up, I’m gonna have to split. Don’t wanna wait around to see what happens next, y’know? Over."

On the other end of the line, Scott breathed an annoyed sigh. Even through low-quality speaker fuzz, Peter could tell the sigh lacked any real spite.

“Peter. We’ve been over this. We aren’t using decades old, two-way radio communication. You really don’t have to say over. ”

Peter drummed his free hand on an empty desk. Following the beat of Sweet Poison by Naked Eyes, as it played from the only earbud he wore. He wanted to keep one ear open, just to hear Scott clearly. And mayhaps because he felt the teensy weensiest bit paranoid by his lonesome in the lab.

“Copy that. Over.” He grinned to himself.

The further Peter explored the lab’s halls, thick layers of mucky green seemed to take over. If he had to guess, he assumed Hank didn’t consider masses of moss “key intel.” Every few feet Peter stepped, he tore his way through another wall of cobwebs. Lots and lots of creepy cobwebs. Reduced to undying boredom, Peter took to karate chopping them. Might as well have fun in the face of ennui.

Half second flickers of lightning cast the lab in gleaming flashes. Bringing Peter’s attention to more rooms he missed. He wandered through some old offices. Or what he thought were offices, anyway. The trashed state of the rooms made it hard to tell. Nothing within them had withstood the test of time. Peter even tried poking around with some clunky computers. No luck. Dead as doornails.

“Found some computers. C64’s, I think. Haven’t seen one ‘a these bad boys since forever ago. But they’re totally busted.” Peter reported into the walkie, banging a fist onto one of the computers, “Yep. Busted. Over.”

Before leaving the room, Peter fucked around. Knocking over a computer monitor for no reason at all. He snatched a few, grubby pens from a lone desk. As well as a cracked coffee mug that read “I try to tell chemistry jokes, but there’s no reaction.” Just for the heck of it. Why not swipe some keepsakes, eh?

After what felt like a geological age of scouring, Peter eventually stumbled upon more filing cabinets. Stuffed to the brim with research documents and science-y records. Sighing, he pulled each drawer open one by one. Peter read the dusty files, sharing intel with Scott over the walkie. For every document Scott dismissed, Peter tossed them carelessly aside over his shoulder.

Antsy to wrap the mission up, grab some pancakes, and race home for a game of GoldenEye; Peter rushed through the last few folders. In hopes of finding whatever specific file Hank needed. But upon the last one, Scott broke some totally bogus news.

“Sorry about this.” Scott sighed, “Those files? Yeah. Hank says they’re all duds. No dice. You think it’s safe to keep looking? You might have to check the second floor.” He mentioned, to Peter’s dismay.

Peter bumped his head into the filing cabinet, groaning aloud. With a kick of his foot, he closed the last drawer and trudged onward. Oh well. The speedster could totally manage. At least he brought mix-tapes to keep his mind occupied. Along with extra tapes stashed in his belt pockets for good measure. Without music, he’d be so outrageously miserable on a mission like this.

Shining the dinky flashlight, he scanned the first floor area one more time. Just to be sure. The flashlight’s glow passed a set of double doors, leading to-

Wait. Back it up a sec. Double doors? Quietly singing New Order’s Blue Monday to himself, Peter moonwalked backwards to observe the doors again. Knitting his brows, he blinked. Stumped.

“Yo. Scotty. Got another room on the first floor. Gonna check it out real quick. Over.” Peter reported, clicking the walkie into place on his belt.

Another echo of thunder rattled through the lab, shaking the floors above. Lightning illuminated the halls in temporary flickers of white. Peter stared at the large set of doors, totally bamboozled. He couldn’t comprehend how he missed them before. When he knew for a fact he checked every nook and cranny. Inching closer, he eyed a sign pasted on one of the doors. In a rough scratch of permanent marker, the sign read:

Reanimation experiments in progress. Do not disturb!!

Reanimation? What, like…of the dead? Pfffbt. No way! Could this spooky place get any spookier? Peter swallowed an uncomfortable wedge in his throat. Shaking off any chills threatening to overtake him, he shined his flashlight through one of the door’s windows. Peter scanned the area for anything useful.

Inside, he clocked an operating table. Close to that, a lone cart cluttered with rusty, surgical tools. Cracked computer screens lined one of the walls, more advanced than they should’ve been. At least for the era they originated. Tangled cables ran along the floor, leading to something in the shadows. Peter couldn’t make it out.

He arched a brow, finally locking his sights on - Aha! Jackpot! More filing cabinets. Hopefully, they held his ticket out of this creepy place. Fingers crossed. Peter burst into the room in a flash, kicking up dust in his wake. Tearing through another wall of cobwebs, he surveyed the area again. Making a mental note of every cabinet he could see. Enough to keep him busy for the next hour, he guessed. Peter slumped his shoulders, huffing an aggravated groan.

Talking to Scott through the entire process made it more bearable. Being so no nonsense and straight forward, Scott had no problem retaining the info Peter shared from every file. Which saved the speedster any hassle of repeating himself, or having to explain things he didn’t understand. Science? Not really Peter's area of expertise. He thought himself more of a tech, or music guy.

Luckily enough, Peter found whatever documents Hank sent him after. A deep dive into every folder, in every drawer, in about a dozen different cabinets were all it took. Had Peter aged another thirty years? He sure as hell felt like it. No sweat! Mission accomplished. Time to bid the old lab goodbye.

Peter flew through the rest of the cabinets in less than a second’s time. Triple checking for any intel Hank might find compelling. He skimmed some records documenting the “reanimation of dead tissue.” Hm. Actually, blue beastie might potentially find that fascinating. “Reanimation” of the dead didn’t exactly sound too commonplace in modern science, did it?

In a folder, Peter discovered a file. Clipped with a photograph of - hellllllllooooo there! Someone…kinda cute. Very cute. Peter whistled, piercing the quiet thrum of distant rain. He read on.

Oh. The cute someone. They died. Tragically perished. Hit by a car back in the 80’s. What a bummer. One of the scientist's brought them to the lab as a test subject. Used for some twisted experiment in reanimation. The kicker? They proved to be the lab’s first and only successful trial run. Of around fifty different, reanimation trials. Yikes. That's...a lotta dead bodies.

These scientists successfully revived the dead? Peter doubted it. Over a decade had passed since then, and no one ever used the technology mentioned in the files. This lab's research couldn’t be as successful as they documented. Or something must've gone wrong, for them to give up and shut down the lab's operation completely.

Yeah. Treating human corpses like science fair projects for school? Super warped. Hank, wacky in his science ventures, totally found macabre shit like that interesting. Shrugging, Peter tucked the manilla folders he gathered under an arm. He grabbed his walkie, and reported to Scott.

“I got somethin’ else Hank might be into. It's totally messed up, he'll love it. But-uh…if that’s all he needed? I’m gonna jet now, ‘kay? I can’t take another minute in this scary ass place. Over and out.”

Before making his leave, Peter glanced around the room one last time. He appeared near the operating table in a picosecond, his brown eyes scanning the cart next to it. Curiously, Peter picked through some rusty, surgical tools.

Upon finding a scalpel in fairly okay condition, he swiped the tool and slipped it inside his back pocket. Whistling to Oingo Boingo's No One Lives Forever - in hindsight, kind of ironic - playing from his Walkman, Peter raised a foot to kick the cart. Watching it roll away into a nearby wall. Hasta la vista.

As Peter steered away from the operating table, a monstrous shadow loomed at the edge of his vision. His heart rampantly pounded in his chest, his senses still high strung. Jumping back with a terrified gasp, Peter climbed halfway onto the operating table. He fumbled for his flashlight, pointing the glow at the massive bundle of darkness. The light shook in Peter’s trembling hand.

But it-...oh. Phew! Nothing to be afraid of. Hah. What the heck was Peter gettin’ riled up for?

Like something straight out of science fiction, Peter’s shadowy monster proved nothing more than a giant pod. He squinted, moving towards it until close enough to observe it more clearly. The tech appeared big enough to hold a person of his size. Or, hell, maybe even someone of Beast’s size. Peter ran a hand along the surface of the pod, gathering a layer of dust on his fingertips. Scowling, he shuddered, wiping the dust on his jeans. “ EUGH! Eck-” Peter exclaimed to no one, “What’s up with this dusty, old thing??” Glass encased the outer layer of the large machine. It might've been see-through, if not for the unsanitary grime blanketing the entire thing. Years upon years of soot build up. Peter tried wiping the dust away with his elbow, to no avail. He couldn’t see inside, even with the aid of his flashlight.

Puzzled, Peter darted around the room in a silver blur, searching for clues. A switch of some kind? A secret code? He tampered with everything from the cracked monitors on the wall, to the colorful cables lining the floor. Peter even tried prying the pod open with a rusty hammer he found. Still, it refused to budge. Even with the power of speedster strength. Was it made of adamantium or something?

Sighing, defeated, Peter tossed the hammer away. It crashed into one of the screens hanging against the wall. Shattering the crystal display upon impact. Whoops. Oh well. How much more damage could be done to the place? Not like anyone would be making renovations anytime soon. Not in the middle of buttfuck nowhere island.

Making an accidental misstep, Peter slipped on his untied shoelaces. His ankle entangled itself in a circle of cables on the floor, and he lost his balance. Tripping, Peter stumbled backwards into some busted machinery, knocking his head. His back collided with the hard, metal surface behind him.

“ Auuugh. Shit.” Peter muttered. He didn’t understand how he could be so goddamn clumsy all the time, given - what the professor called - his mutant gift, “Ow. Dammit.”

He must have triggered a switch when he tripped. Suddenly, a loud hiss seethed through the air like a bus braking to a stop. A slow moving cloud of smoke rose from inside the pod. As it spread, filling the room, the fumes turned radioactive neon in color. It swarmed Peter’s nostrils, overflowing his senses with an earthy scent.

“Uhhh…uh oh.” He mumbled, “Is that supposed to happen?” Acting in haste, Peter scrambled to free his ankle from the cable’s tight grip.

A corpse reanimation research lab.

Nope. Noooope. He’d seen Return of the Living Dead enough times to know - whatever the hell’s happening now? Bad news. Couldn’t be good. Peter suppressed the urge to scream like a frightened child. A buzzing voice chimed from his walkie, startling him further. Dammit all, Scotty! He almost sent Peter into cardiac arrest for a hot second.

“Peter? Hey-uh, are you there? You alright? You didn’t stop somewhere for pancakes again, did you?” Scott crackled through the walkie, but Peter didn’t respond, “Better bring enough back for the whole class.” He joked, sarcastic.

Peter gawked at the sight before him in a mix of horror and confusion. Completely petrified, as Oingo Boingo played through his ear. The neon smoke emitted from the pod began to clear, revealing a body inside. A dead body.

Your dead body, to be specific.

Somehow, Peter recognized you. But that didn’t make any sense at all. He knew for a freakin’ fact he’d never seen or met you a day in his life. Unless… oh. Oh, holy shit. He hurriedly grabbed the extra folder he’d taken and opened it, just to glance between you, and the photo inside. And sure enough… The first and only successful trial run in reanimation.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Peter’s eyes blew open wide. His stomach dropped twenty thousand feet through the ground, plummeting to the Earth’s core. Swallowing thickly, he observed your slumbering body from his position on the dirty floor.

Your skin appeared ashier than it naturally should be. Y’know, on account of being dead and all. It more closely resembled a subdued, greenish color. Kinda Frankenstein-esc. Stitches lined each and every one of your limbs. As if some psycho nut job took you apart and sewed you back together again. Judging by the info in your file, they probably did. Embedded into your neck, were two bolts on either side. Also very Frankenstein-esc. You reminded him of a wax dummy on the set of some low-budget, horror flick. It’d be kinda funny, if he didn’t feel seconds away from screaming in horror.

You could be a dummy, if Peter had any luck. Yeah. This mission? Surely just a super elaborate prank set up by the team. Like a haunted house tour, made to scare the silver pants off him. Those sly dogs think they’re so slick, huh? ...R-Right?

Peter took a deep breath, keeping his terrified gaze fixed on you. In his ear, the funky tune came to an end. The lab fell into a deafening silence. Only broken by the faintest pitter patter of rain, and a quiet clamor of thunder now echoing at a distance. Signaling the passing of the storm. One less thing to worry about.

Though, he’d much rather agonize over a building’s foundation crumbling. He could handle a weather-related disaster wayyy better than a zombie coming to life, to - potentially - gorge on his flesh.

Raising his flashlight, he pointed the glow at your lifeless body. Again, Peter breathed a long sigh to ease his panic stricken nerves. An interference of crackling static ripped through the walkie then. Loud, and shrill enough to cut glass. At that very moment, your eyes - once locked in eternal slumber - popped open freakishly wide.

Oh. Oh hellllll no. Fuck that. Fuuuuck that.

Peter’s hunch proved totally right. You weren’t just dead. You were undead.

“ Mmmmmm nope.” Peter mumbled to himself, swiftly shaking his head, “Nuh uh. Nope.”

Shaking with adrenaline, he glanced between your dead-eyed gaze, and his trapped foot. Okay! No problem-o! Not a problem at all. For an X-Man, zombies made an easy foe, right? Peter could totally just-...

Just vamoose! Make a break for it! Right now!

Like, now.

Peter hadn’t run away yet. Why hadn’t he run away? Hellllloooo? Ground control to Quickie! Time to make a quick exit, and head for the hills. Lest he become zombie chow.

Stunned, Peter remained petrified. In an uncannily slow movement, you rose from the pod like Nosferatu out of a coffin. Peter cursed under his breath, willing his terror to take a one way ticket outta there. He needed to come to his senses, and fast. Even as Peter tried to move, his paralyzed state caused him to fumble again. His movements lacked their natural fluidity, and his blood ran cold.

Like a total doofus, in his failed attempt to escape, Peter tangled his foot even deeper through the cables. Sometime in the last thirty seconds or so, he dropped his flashlight. Within the inky darkness, he could barely make out your shape as you moved. You groaned a long, croaky sound. Guttural, like an eldritch abomination.

Another crash of lightning showered your living corpse in a white luster. Peter made direct eye contact with you. A gaze between life and death.

A yell vibrated through his lungs and bounced off the walls of the room, as Peter finally screamed. Your slow moving, zombified body climbed from the pod much like a spider. Stumbling at first, you connected your bare feet with the dirty, tiled floor. Once you found your balance, a cracking sound erupted from your limbs. Your bones clicked and popped audibly into place. Peter scowled, physically cringing.

Another scream tore from the depths of his chest, “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” He shouted.

You dragged your feet in a limp, moving towards Peter with a slow gait. Stitched arms reached out for him in an unhurried motion, “ Luhhhhhhhh- ” You choked on a groggy gurgle.

Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. You definitely wanted to feast on his juicy brains and smooth flesh. No denying that. It had been, like, a decade since you last ate anything. And Peter probably looked like one hell of a snack right about now. Not even in a totally kinky way.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! Hold yer horses there, baby! Yer gettin’ a liiiitttle too close fer comfort now! C’mon, huh? Do you really think I’m on the menu? ‘Cuz trust me. If yer gonna eat somebody? I shouldn’t be yer first choice! I really don’t taste all that great!” Peter yelled, throwing a hand out momentarily before returning to the tangled cables. He huffed an uneasy laugh, “SHIT! Yer not listening, are you? Ahaha! Yer gonna eat me. Totally gonna eat me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-”

Peter tore at the cables wrapped around his foot. Acting as quickly as his petrified state would allow, he pulled the scalpel from his back pocket. But the dull razor’s edge refused to cut through the wires. Dropping the useless tool, he ripped into the cables one more time using all his strength. Only to free himself a millisecond too late. Always late. You lurched forward, making grabby hands. 

Quicksilver vs. an actual, real life zombie. If he made it out alive, that’d make one helluva story.

But-

Wait a damn minute. Hold the freakin’ phone. Why were you…looking at him like that?

The glazed over eyes of a living corpse opened up, all big and doe-like. Gazing at Peter in - no mistaking it - infatuated fondness. Your supple lips parted with a wide smile of pure delight. Like sunshine peeking through hazardous, storm clouds. You leapt forward unexpectedly, squeaking a raspy squeal. Burrowing your face into the warmth of Peter’s chest, you linked your arms around his neck. Holding onto him tight.

“What the-” He whispered, looking down at your messy head of hair.

Uh. Okay. So, that just happened. Weird. Why weren’t you feasting on his flesh? Wasn’t he supposed to be your first meal since zombie hibernation, or something? Didn’t you wanna go chomp chomp chomp, and turn his guts into mush?

Peter realized, looking at you up close, you appeared perfectly clean and preserved. You didn’t reek like a dead body. The earthy scent on your cold skin wasn’t too unpleasant either. It smelled herbal. Floral, even. Your smooth skin lacked any signs of rot. Aside from one or two lesions revealing rib or arm bones. Kinda...freakishly cool. The surface of your skin looked see-through, with veins weaving underneath like intricate wiring.

A little spooky, sure. But not all that scary to look at, surprisingly enough. Not like Peter expected, anyway. As you snuggled closer into Peter’s body, he began to realize how oddly affectionate you were. Very out of character, for a zombie. You squeaked an unintelligible noise, attempting to communicate. But you just couldn’t form the words. Maybe your speech capabilities fizzled out after years and years of unending silence.

Peter creased his brows, lowering his defenses and calming himself down. Another thirty seconds passed. His brains remained intact, and you hadn’t made him your next meal. He pulled the earbud from his ear, hooking them around his neck and pressing pause on the Walkman. Craning your neck back, your glassy eyes met Peter’s own. You grinned so big and joyful, gleaming the innocence of a pure-of-heart, golden retriever. Despite being totally bizarre, Peter found your sweetness...sorta...weirdly cute.

“Uhmmm…hi? Hey. Uh-why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” He laughed, a little uneasy.

Maybe your affection stemmed from something simple. If Peter were locked up in a cramped pod for so many years, he’d be ecstatic if someone finally freed him. You were probably just uber thankful he’d broken you outta that pod thingy. And you showed gratitude through touching, since you couldn’t exactly flurry him with thank yous. He could accept that. Sure. For now.

The walkie hanging from his belt droned a buzz, and Scott’s voice called out. Peter finally reached for it, maneuvering between his body and yours. Your arms stayed around his neck, your body hanging like a stubborn monkey’s from a tree.

“Peter? Do you copy? Peter, are you there, man? Talk to us. Please. Should we send someone over to assist?” Scott asked, his voice itching with alarm. “Yeah! Yeah, nah. Uh-hey, Scotty! Hey, I’m here. I’m oka-...dude, it’s fine. Nothin’ to worry about. Seriously. But…I do kinda have a situation here? Over.” Peter replied.

Scott exhaled a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. In the crackling background of the walkie, Peter heard Jean’s voice. She asked, “Did he say over ?” Followed by a series of hushed chuckles. Peter smirked to himself.

“Oh! Oh my god. Thank goodness, Pete. We were all getting pretty worried about you over here. What’s going on? Are you still at the lab? You said there was a situation. What kind of situation? Did that old place finally cave in?” Scott asked. Many, many questions.

Peter heard even more frantic, muffled conversations in the background. While he couldn’t understand them, he recognized the voices. The entire team had gathered, just to make sure he made it out alive. Awww. How sweet. They were worried about lil ol’ him? If Peter hadn’t had the bejesus scared out of him not even five minutes ago, his heart would’ve melted.

“Heyyyy, guys! Uhhhh…soooo…I might’ve found, like, a zombie? No joke. Like, a real zombie. But it’s not tryna kill me. It’s-” Peter paused, raising a brow. You fluttered your lashes, giving him a coquettish look, “Bro, I think it’s makin’ eyes at me. Legit. Kinda weird, right? Definitely not what I was expecting. But it’s totally fine. I got it all under control now. Over.”

A long silence fell amongst the walkie’s noise. Until Scott finally responded in monotone.

“Did we hear you wrong, or did you just say you found a zombie?” He asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. As if expecting Peter to say - Psych! Fooled ya!

Peter parted his lips to confirm. But the abrupt tickle of a chilly kiss on his neck silenced him. You stood up on your bare toes, giggling sweetly. Across his hot skin, you peppered your chapped lips. Instantly, Peter froze in place again. Shudders rang through his body. He reached for one of your arms, tugging you to try and pull you off him.

“Uhm. Y’know what? It’s no big deal. B-But yeah, it’s a zombie fer sure.” Peter tugged your arm with more insistence, urging you to let go. But you persisted, giggling into the crook of his neck, “Like I said. No worries here. It’s not like I’m in da- haaah okayokayokay-”

Your feather light kisses became soft, kitten licks. Flicking Peter’s flesh with your slimy tongue, you squealed, tickled pink. Peter jolted, shivers sizzling down his spine. He tilted his neck to the side, wincing. Over the walkie, he heard Hank’s gruff voice.

“Peter! It’s Hank-” The blue beast said, as if Peter couldn’t already tell based on his growly tone, “Are you a hundred percent sure the undead creature isn’t dangerous?” He asked, buzzing through a scratch of interference.

Coldness slathered and swirled Peter’s neck in slow circles. Fluttering his eyes closed, he replied, “N-Not dangerous. Ohhhh. Definitely not dangerous. No danger here. All good. Over.” Again, he tried to pull you off.

Your discolored arms tightened their hold around his neck and over his shoulders. Cooing noises dripped from your tongue like honey, so sugary sweet. You swiped his skin with your tongue, nuzzling your cold nose into the heated crevice of his neck. Pressing your body closer into his, you squirmed, littering him with zombie kisses.

Peter tensed, apprehensive of your affections. He didn’t want to be too harsh or aggressive towards you. Worried that any sign of conflict might make you snap. For all he knew, you might go bonkers and brain hungry. Really, he should’ve gotten it over with and pushed you away. Before you took things a little too far. And you did. Your teeth sank into his neck, lightly nibbling his flesh. As you pressed yourself even closer into his proximity, your breasts - covered only by a ragged crop top - met the swell of his broad chest. WOOOOOAH! Talk about twisted! Sure, okay, maybe your bites turned him on, like, a little. Flooding his body with a pleasant, all-over shudder of pleasure. But he couldn’t just fold for a zombie, could he? That’d be disgusting!

It’d be gross, right?

A subconscious desire in the recesses of his lonesome mind told him he wanted - no, needed - the attention. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone like this since the pogs fad. Easy, now, Peter! Down, boy.

But…shit. As much as he wanted to give in, he couldn’t. Not for a monster. A living corpse, left cooking in a secluded pod for a decade. Cloaked in discoloration and held together by expertly crafted stitching. Not entirely mindless, but so dense, you hadn’t the forethought to ask - “What happened? Where am I? Who are you?” No. Instead, you went after him the moment you saw him, showering him in bubbly, zombie lovin’.

He…shouldn’t find that hot. His fingers shouldn’t be tightening around the walkie, and his groin shouldn’t feel as scorching as it does. Oh, man. Could Peter be any more doomed? He’d have to be mad desperate - way out of his mind - to reciprocate your affection. Raising the walkie again, he cleared his throat.

“Hiya, Beastie. A-Acutally, I think they-...the zombie really, really likes me.” Peter added for no reason at all. You nibbled him a little harder, and he winced again.

“Well, now! That’s good then, isn’t it? Better than the alternative, I’d say! If at all possible, Peter, you should bring the creature with you. I’d like to look it over. Maybe run some tests. Figure out what brought it to life! This could be the secret to reversing brain death!” Hank chimed, excited.

Peter rolled his eyes. Of course Hank wanted to poke and prod at you like some little, lab rat. He opened his mouth to respond, but choked before he could get a word in. Your dull teeth clamped roughly into his neck. Peter braced a free hand on your hip, his thumb digging into the cool, exposed flesh there. Now, suspicion began to dawn on him.

You could be a clever, little zombie. Capable of luring Peter in with flirtatious wiles and sweet touches. Once he let his guard down, what if you planned on tearing into his guts? Well played, smarty pants zombie. Well played. But Peter caught onto your little game. You couldn’t get anything past him.

Instead of slurping his blood like a 7-Eleven slushie, or ripping your nails into his taut muscles; you suckled his skin lovingly. Pulling tiny hickies into his neck. Squealing and giggling in that girlish fashion, playful with every nibble. Peter gulped, biting his lip between his teeth. No way in hell he allowed a zombie to give him hickies.

…Except he did. So what? No harm in it, right?

“Y-Yeah. Sure. I’m good. Great. Just hangin’ out with my new zombie buddy. It’s totally not gonna eat my brains. Like, zero percent chance I’m gonna die an ugly, zombie death. So, y’know, Beastie, don’t lose any sleep over it.” Peter responded, before following it up with a condescending, “Over.”

On the walkie line, Peter heard a series of groans and faint giggles. Followed by Hank’s voice, as he passed the walkie back to Scott. The X-Men’s laser eyed leader sighed, his tone unamused.

“Whatever, Peter. Just…just hurry up, will you? And bring those documents over for Hank. Thanks.”

Peter tried, and failed to keep his composure. A cutie pie zombie kept macking on him like a lovesick puppy, and he had no clue what to make of it. You sucked more sloppy, violet marks into his neck. Tugging his skin with your teeth and nibbling like you couldn’t get enough of him. Peter’s skin flared up in cold creeps, as you trailed your chilly lips to his shoulder. Pulling his jacket and the collar of his shirt aside, you spoiled him in more undead affection.

“Gotcha. Copy that. Ov- mmm -” Peter whispered a moan, replying with a rushed, “Overandout.”

He clipped the walkie back onto his belt. Attempting once more to pry you off him, Peter gave your arm a strong tug. A little more forceful this time around. As you finally dislodged yourself from his neck, Peter took a few steps back. Avoiding any stray cables on the floor.

Now, with some distance between the two of you, he cleared his throat. Peter brought a hand to his neck, grazing fingers over the love bites you left behind. Tiny splotches of purple pooled with offsets of scarlet. Faint teeth marks left grooves in his skin. He hissed.

Giving you the freedom to pepper him with hickies might not have been the smartest idea. Hopefully, you didn’t infect him with some sick, zombie disease. One with the potential to end humanity as he knew it. He couldn’t cope with the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders.

You gawked up at him with those big, adoring eyes. Excitedly, you squealed, hopping towards him with your eager arms outstretched. Hoping to pull Peter into another close hug, just so you could litter him in more nibbly, love bites. He raised an abrupt hand, maintaining distance. Peter cleared his throat again. His cheeks burned hot, doused in bright pink.

Totally not fair, the way an overly affectionate zombie got him blushing.

“L-Listen. Uh. Yer sweet, but-” Peter started. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted down your body. He observed the stitches sewn into your neck and limbs. His dark chocolate eyes followed the rips and tears in your skimpy shirt. The flimsy garment revealed a tiny peek of your - admittedly pretty - breasts. And Peter swallowed, his throat running dry, “Uhhh…you can’t keep doin’ this, okay? The-” He wiggled his long fingers, gesturing to his neck, “The hickie thing. If yer gonna come with me, we gotta lay down some ground rules. Alright? You get me, babe?”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking slowly. Gazing at Peter with a look that told him you didn’t understand. But you didn’t seem to give a shit either way. You reached for one of his hands, a dazzled smile curling into your lips. Purring a candied noise of affection, you brought his hand to your cheek and nuzzled his palm. Your lips gently kissed each fingertip. Peter pulled a face, knitting his silver brows.

“Why’re you so damn-” He shook his head, “Whatever. Listen. Can you, like, chill out? No biting, you understand?” Peter paused to make a chomping gesture, clicking his teeth. But this only made you giggle. Which, unfortunately, he found super infectious.

Peter chuckled, scoffing playfully, “Stop that! I’m totally serious! No biting. No licking. No kissing. Like this. You see this?” He gestured to the hickies on his neck, their trail leading under his shirt, “No more ‘a that, you feel me? I dunno how I’m gonna explain this to the crew back home. They’re gonna think we got, like, freaky ‘er somethin’. Yeah. Can you imagine that? Like I’d ever fool around with-”

Fluttering your off colored lashes, you tilted your head to the other side. You parted your chapped lips, squealing as you edged his fingertips into your mouth. Pressing the salty pads to your bitter tongue.

“Oh! EUCK! Gross! Don’t-” Peter scowled, jerking his hand from you in less than a millisecond. With a horrified look, he observed his fingers as if they were germ-infested specimens, “Yer a real weird one, babe.”

His guard fell. While Peter kept his perplexed eyes on his fingers, you leapt forward. Burying your face deep into the fabric of his shirt, you squealed. Gleeful and bubbly. Peter groaned, only half-annoyed. He made a move to push you off him again. But your precious, little purring noises changed his mind. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to put his foot down.

Turns out he had a weakness. Cute, overly affectionate zombies. Who woulda thought?

Whatever. Peter had wayyy more important things on his plate. He knew he should gather up those folders he dropped, along with anything else he lost during his freak out session. Once he did, he needed to get the two of you out of this dingy, old lab asap.

“ Mmmmm …n-need…” You hummed your first word, before squealing, “Loooooove~!” Your voice strained, rattling like you’d been pounding down cigarettes by the plenty.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he let his sizeable hands fall to your hips, “Di-...wait a sec, did you just talk? Holy shit! You can talk?” Peter asked, dumbfounded, “Woah! Wow. Uh…so…you got a name? Can you at least tell me yer name?”

Your case file hadn’t listed your name, leaving you reduced to a number. Pretty messed up, if anyone were to ask Peter. Either you still didn’t understand him, or you couldn’t remember your own name. Instead of giving him an answer, you nuzzled your face in his chest. You tittered, so soft and smitten, your ragged voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Cold, tiny zombie hands tickled the back of his neck, raking gentle nails down his torso.

Standing on your toes, you connected your cool lips with his neck all over again. You kissed your previous love bites, as if doing so would heal them entirely. Ashamed of himself for letting it happen, Peter stifled a groan.

"Y-...You don't remember yer name, do you?" He mumbled. Peter's strong arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in, "That is...a seriously messed up situation. But, hey, I'm here fer you. Don't worry, 'kay? We'll get you to a safe place, and you can start over there. Sound good?" His caring nature shined through. But male horniness abruptly overshadowed it, as your wet tongue tickled his skin.

A guilty part of him, overrun with sympathy, felt bad for you. Those scientists hadn’t treated you like the victim of an unfortunate accident. More like a toy. Meant to be ripped apart, played with, and abandoned. It seemed wrong to perceive you in a frisky light. But then again…you wanted love. You may as well have been begging for it.

Love. One of the first words you spoke since your undead coma. Not that much of a surprise, if he thought about it. As a science experiment, loneliness probably consumed you. Even before your decade-long slumber. In a way, Peter understood. He too felt haunted by a longing for affection for far, far too long. In his mind, that made the two of you kindred spirits.

Ahhhh …dammit. Peter just couldn’t resist you and your sweet wiles anymore. His self control steadily slipped from his weakened grasp.

“ Mmmmm! Wa-....waaaant…love~! Neeeed… mmm …lo-....love~!” You squeaked, your cold tongue curling over a fresh, purple mark.

“C’mon, baby. We can’t-...you really have to stop this. We gotta head back to base, like, now. Everyone’s waitin’ on me, and I-” Peter muttered, and you pulled back. Gazing at him with that mystified, doe eyed look. Like you saw the beauty of the cosmos in him, and him alone. Your lips sparkled, wet from your lovin’. Peter clutched your hips firmly. His jeans seemed...somehow tighter all of a sudden, “Would ya stop lookin’ at me like that?”

“Looooooove~?” You cooed, your voice taking on a lustrous, but groggy tone.

“Yeah. I know. But…” Peter sighed, letting his hands feel up and down your curvy sides, “Yer gonna get me in soooo much trouble. But, fine. You win, okay? What kinda love are we talkin’ 'bout here, babe? You wanna hug? Want me to-uhm…to plant one on you? Is that it?”

You perked up then. Peter took it as a sign you understood him, more than you let on before. He arched a brow. At this point, why even hold back? Because you were dead? So what! Who ever said zombies couldn’t be smokin’ hot?

If he messed around with you just a little, no one would ever know. Which…made the concept even more enticing. You could be his little secret. An affectionate secret he’d forever bury in the ground. In place of the grave those scientists never gave you.

Peter fluttered his eyes closed, finally giving in to your closeness entirely. Lowering his big hands, he grabbed your ass. His palms squeezed over the torn, booty shorts you wore. Never did he imagine - upon exploring some horror movie, science lab - he’d feel up a cutie pie corpse’s plump bottom by the end. What a way to end a mission. Life worked in some wildly bizarre ways sometimes.

Kissing a zombie? Not as gross as he thought it’d be.

Okay. Maybe for, like, half a second. But the earthy taste on Peter’s lips didn’t faze him much. Once he pushed past the initial ick, he embraced you fully. Peter decided he didn’t give a flying fuck how unsanitary zombie smooches might be. Uncoordinated lip motions lured him in further. Pinkish teeth grazing his bottom lip between kisses. Soon enough, they turned sloppy, and Peter found himself frenching the living dead.

Zombie make out session. An experience he hadn’t planned to check off his bucket list. But now, he could.

One of his hands gripped your ass. While his other held your face and pulled you in for more tongue action. In the midst of swapping spit, you sought every opportune moment to nibble him. Peter couldn’t help but be super into it. You mewled softly, giggling when he gave your booty a hard squeeze. Chuckling, he parted from your lips to look over your greenish face. Your eyes bulged so big and wide, pupils an off-grey color and impossibly huge. Wonderstruck by his very existence. Darting down to capture your lips again, Peter stumbled forward. He guided your body towards the operating table, knocking you into it. Your hips collided with the edge, causing a loud, vibrating clang. The rough motion worried him enough, he stopped sucking face just to confirm you were alright. Peter feverishly kissed your cold lips, his hands exploring your body. Feeling stitched skin under his fingers.

You pulled from him with a joyous squeal, but Peter followed. Confused as to why you stopped, until you dove for the untarnished side of his neck. Dull flats of your teeth chomped straight into his flesh, grinding a little too roughly for comfort. Peter winced with a start, ceasing his love on your bootylicious bottom.

“N-No! Noooo! Hey, baby, look at me.” Peter snapped his fingers to get your attention. Not that he wanted to be so demanding. But you needed to understand his boundaries, before you tore into his flesh and guzzled his blood. Instantly, you reacted, retracting your teeth from his neck. You moved to make eye contact, and Peter fixed you with a soft gaze, “What’d I tell you, huh? Look, it’s not that I can’t appreciate some neckin’. 'Cuz I totally can. And I really dig it. Like, a lot. But you can’t be munchin’ on me! Really freaks me out when you do that.”

You angled your head again, curious. Doe eyes gaped at him with fluttering lashes, innocently confused, “ Mmm. Giv-....Giiiiive…love?” You croaked, pawing at Peter’s chest over his shirt, acting so needy.

He couldn’t begin to understand what you meant, or what you imagined love to be in your head. Were you really so desperate to bite him? Or, were you asking for something else? Wanton, bedroom eyes dawned your pretty face. Plush, ashy lips parting. You pawed his chest again, your blunt nails scraping across his shirt. In your desperation to communicate your-uhm…needs, you jutted your hips forward into his jeans. “L-L…Lo-” You started, throaty voice oozing innocence. Though, the look in your lidded eyes betrayed said innocence, “Loooooove. Need. P-Please?” 

Peter’s eyes popped open, as realization dawned on him. Oh. You meant you needed-... Ah. He understood now. The unreasonably cute, living corpse he found - dormant in a pod for, like, a decade - wanted to bump uglies. Great. Awesome. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? Fulfill your unbridled desire? C’monnnn. Didn’t boning undead cuties come with any moral implications? If he took you to pound town, would that make him a necrophiliac? Peter really didn’t wanna be labeled a necrophiliac.

But hypothetically, what if he admitted his own desperation to himself? He always fumbled every time he tried to step up his game and woo the ladies. Not like he had any game to begin with. And tonight, there you were. Practically begging for him to take you. He should acknowledge the fact that, yeah - no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise - he found you very hot. So, ludicrously hot. Zombie traits and all.

And regardless of how many times he second guessed himself - at the end of the day - his dick didn’t have any qualms about zombie hanky panky.

Peter’s hand traveled up, thumbs curiously tracing the rough lining of your neck stitches. Before toying with the rusted bolts an inch or two above. Testing if you could even feel it. You didn’t react, and Peter wondered if scientists used those bolts to revive you. Did they awaken you Frankenstein style, with sharp surges of electricity? Or did you come to life by other means? A glowing, reagent liquid, maybe?

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Peter tugged the front of your loose top down. A pair of off-green, zombie melons jiggled freely. Stitches circled each breast, and Peter may or may not have thought they looked hot as fuck like that. Call him inhumane, but he really dug your whole monstrous babe aesthetic.

His hands kneaded the softest pair of undead knockers he ever felt, making you squirm under his touch. Peter grinned, pleased with every choked squeak leaping off your lips. He flitted his dark gaze up to your face, then back down to your breasts; back and forth, back and forth. Admiring the delicate expressions you made, your precious face scrunched in pleasure.

“Damn. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? ‘Specially like this.” Peter chuckled, pinching and twisting your perky nipples, “Bet those bad guys never did. Sucks fer them. Yer a total babe. And sooo fuckin’ cute. Makes me want you all fer myself.”

Sooooo…about your…cooch situation. Yeah. Uh…Peter might’ve been somewhat worried about that. Taking your condition into consideration, he felt himself overcome with hesitance. Fearful that your-uh…flower, so to speak, may have withered away after a decade of darkness.

What about diseases? The thought made Peter squeamish. Even though you appeared and smelled relatively clean, you still hadn’t showered in a long freakin’ time. Then again, protection existed. Not to mention, you were so, so needy and cute. Your body looked undeniably amazing, and felt so soft. Fuck it. With some reluctance, Peter willed himself to test the waters. For your sake, but also for his own. Just to make up for the years he spent wishing he could get laid again.

A win-win for you both.

Tugging your tiny shorts down your smooth thighs - finding a little struggle along the way, since the meat of your thighs proved an obstacle - Peter snuck his fingers under the hem of your worn panties. The millisecond before his fingers met the supple curtains of your pussy, he second guessed himself for the zillionth time. Peter’s subconscious doubt pestered him enough, he almost withdrew his hand completely.

But the precious whimper you made gave him enough encouragement to keep going. His thick digits cautiously braved forbidden, undead territory. Finding an overabundance of cool, silky wetness between your lips. Peter swallowed hard, knitting his brows as he scoured for your clit.

“Jesus, baby.” He muttered. Judging by your bubbly squeak of delight, Peter assumed he found what he’d been venturing for. Leaning slightly forward into your proximity, Peter circled your stiff, little nub, “You want it bad, don’t you?”

“G-...G-....Gooooood! Mo-....More? More!” You mewled, clenching fists into his shirt. Mindlessly, you canted your hips, seeking his crotch. “Hey, it’s whatever you want, pretty.” He mused with a smirk, voice tender, “Relaaaax. I gotcha. I gotcha. ”

His fingers drew downwards, teasing for a beat before cruising into your silken entrance. Lush, deathly cold walls welcomed his digits in a loving hug. Beckoning Peter to sink them in deeper. You held his shirt like a lifeline, moaning an angelic, rattle of a noise. Pulling you closer into his warm body, Peter lowered his head to your shoulder. Thin strands of silver hair tickled your cheek. His thick fingers curled, hooking into a cushiony spot inside you. Your near-empty eyes saw hot flashes of light.

“L-LOOOVE~!” You whimpered through hitched cries.

“Mhm?” Peter laughed, impishly nibbling his lip, “Feel that lovin’? Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

Keeping you distracted for a temporary moment, Peter dotted your neck in warm kisses. Subtly easing his fingers in and out of your velvet pussy at a quicker pace. Your knees buckled, trembling the faster he moved. Until his motions became brutal. With a perfect curl, speedy digits rammed repeatedly into that spongy spot you loved. Your sugary sweet, unintelligible whines rose in volume, as your sticky, little, zombie cunt quivered.

You gnawed powerful bites as you came, your teeth digging into Peter’s neck. But this time, he allowed it. He forced himself to muscle through the pain, holding your shuddering body close, “ Shhhh. Shhh. It’s cool, baby. It’s - ahh - it’s cool. That's it.” He cooed with a careful tone, stroking the back of your head and threading fingers through your ragged hair.

Easing his fingers from your cunt, he double checked the digits, making sure nothing seemed off. Your release felt thicker and stickier than any living person’s, but didn’t have much of a scent. While usually he looooved to taste the aftermath of a total cutie’s orgasm, Peter opted not to. Sure, your wetness didn’t appear radioactive or hazardous. But the thought of guzzling zombie honey put him off a little bit.

“G-....Goood?” You ogled Peter with half-lidded, glassy eyes, your lips parting in an irresistible giggle.

Peter bit his tongue. Alright. Maybe he…could give it a shot. Just this once. Zombie love liquor couldn’t be deadly or anything, could it? Disease-ridden, maybe. But Peter knew a hyper-intelligent doctor who could whip up a cure for most ailments. Guess it didn’t matter anymore. By the time Peter second guessed himself yet again, he’d already sucked his fingers clean. A bitter thickness lingered on his taste buds. Peter salivated at the thought of drinking down more.

“ Mmmm … mhm …not bad.” He chuckled, lips humming around his fingers, "I'd go fer seconds." He added with a wink, making you laugh.

Yikes. If Hank only knew how reckless Peter acted in the presence of some zombified cutie. He’d lock him up in the infirmary and run a thousand tests on him. Just to make damn sure Peter hadn’t contracted anything lethal.

Politely pushing you off him, Peter turned his head. He double checked the perimeter for any signs of life, despite the lab being totally desolate. Hopefully Summers hadn’t sent anyone after him, since the speedster took way too long returning to base. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulled his hard length from the fly. Almost immediately, you gasped in elation. Tickled squeals danced on your discolored tongue. Thick, and flushed a dark scarlet, Peter’s cock throbbed in his hand.

"I'm guessin' you like what you see?" He snickered, giving his dick a firm stroke, "I like what I'm seein' too...if you couldn't tell." Every word Peter said, every charming smile he gave, seemed to attract you considerably. Drawing more kittenish giggles from you.

With your freezing, zombie mitts, you ungracefully reached for him. Cold fingers squeezed his cock, stroking in a clumsy motion. Peter drew in a sharp breath, the cool sensation of your hands arousing his nerves. Even if your hand to gland combat lacked any skill, it felt damn awesome to be touched like this again. He stepped forward, his giant hands grabbing your hips. You played with him as much as your little, unbeating heart desired. Tugging his burning hardness with an overzealous grip.

You tried lowering yourself to the floor, your mouth falling open, tongue gliding over your lip. But Peter instinctively stopped you. His hands darted to your shoulders, pulling you into a standing position. He preferred if you didn’t take your biting addiction downstairs. Visitations of the oral variety were closed to any undead visitors. At least, for right now.

“Y’know, I don’t usually like goin’ all the way on the first date.” He spoke, fishing his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, “Like, call me an old soul 'er whatever.” Peter worked quickly, pulling a condom out of his wallet. He slipped the latex over his length, “But I can make an exception. Just fer you, cutie. But this stays between us, yeah?”

You nodded, pushing yourself up onto the dusty, operating table. Peter cringed, curling his lip out of concern for you. This couldn’t be sanitary. Dragging his attention from the filth under your bottom, you parted your knees. With your body angled backwards, you pointed eagerly at your panty-clad pussy. Soaked and dripping under the thin fabric. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Looooooove~? M-Ma…make?” You cooed, scooting a little off the edge of the table. As if tempting him to give in and fuck you already, you wiggled your ass. Like a beautiful, monstrous display of stitches and postmortem skin. All for the speedster's taking.

"I-I mean-uh...sure. If you really want me to. What kinda guy would I be to turn you down?" He awkwardly joked, fighting his nerves.

Peter pushed a strong hand against your inner thigh. Warm on your deathly cold flesh. He pulled your thin panties to the side, teasing your glossy slit with the head of his cock. You whimpered, cute noises bubbling in the back of your throat. Edging you for a beat more, he slid the teary eyed tip over your clit. Before sinking his length through your walls. Inch by pulsating inch, he bottomed out in a flash, tip kissing your cervix.

“ Wohhhhh, fuck.” He groaned. A new kind of coolness enveloped his cock, plushy and soft. Hooking your stitched legs over Peter’s shoulders, you tilted your body. Inviting him to submerge as deeply as your tight cunt would allow, “Oh, baby…yer so-...ah, fuuuuck. ”

"G……..Goo-......Gooood~!" You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your strangled voice erupted in a mantra of lustful squeals.

By some act of divine intervention, Peter could feel the swollen, unyielding lusciousness of your pussy. Walls wringing his cock, like you wanted to suck him dry of everything he had. He swiftly rutted into your cunt, hard enough to make you bounce against the table. Peter’s sluggish eyes followed your breasts as they bobbed. Titties jiggling with such a soft, sexy whirl; He felt his cock twitch inside you.

Leaning down, Peter loomed over you, the rough fabrics of his clothes sliding along your bare skin. He kissed you tenderly, a little heedless. In the midst of fondling your precious, stitched breasts, Peter's hot palm curiously pressed against your chest. Feeling...nothing. No heartbeat, no blood flow. A little spooked, he refocused his attention. Playing with your bouncing, zombie titties again.

"Feels so-...you feel so good, holy fuck -" He moaned, his voice catching in his throat, "So pretty. L- ah ...love how tight you are." Playfully, Peter lost himself in the moment. He pulled a nipple between his teeth, suckling one of your Frankenstein tits, "Loooove these zombie boobies. Hah -oooohhh, shit-"

Lying in slumber for a decade must have left you majorly sensitive. In just a few more, aggressive, bunny humps; you came again. Hypnotic delight burst through your core, pushing you to the point of tears. Your pussy fluttered, sticky wetness gushing around his cock. Reaching up to link your arms around his neck, you clawed little etchings into his skin.

“M-Mmmmmooore~! More, mmm- ...more~!!” You pleaded, coaxing Peter to drill you with all the energy he carried. Not to toot his own horn, but - little did you know - he harbored enough energy for a hundred men. And then some.

"You w- fuck -want more? Want more, baby? God, yer gonna make me-" His voice wavered between moans, "G-Gonna make me lose it-"

Peter’s mischievous eyes met yours, as you gave him that doe eyed look he couldn’t fucking resist. Sharp jabs of his cock sped to a blur, slamming into your cunt in a brutal display of his strength. Keeping himself balanced, hands pressed to the table on either side of you; Peter showed no mercy. Abusing your precious, syrupy walls with a ruthless pace. But not fast enough that he’d tear his means of protection. A harsh surge of heavenly pain flared up inside you, as he tore into your pussy and bashed your cervix.

"LOOOOOVE~! Ah~! Peeeetur~!" In a moment of post orgasmic clarity, you called his name. Slurred, and barely recognizable. How'd you even know? Had you picked it up from his walkie conversations? Damn, his zombie buddy's more perceptive than he thought. Peter snickered, finding your pronunciation ridiculous. But the cute, needy sound of his name on your lips triggered something.

" ’Mgonnacum- ” Peter whined, his brutal pace more inconsistent and sloppy, “Gonna-...feels too good o h fuck oh fuCK -” 

A pearly white burst of thick heat stuffed the latex of the condom full, threatening to make it pop. Burying his nose deep in the crook of your neck, Peter moaned. Guttural whines ripped from his chest, drying his throat. Panting - not from exhaustion, but overstimulation - Peter loosened his muscles. In mellow, post nut bliss, he almost overlooked the sizzle of static buzzing from his walkie.

“Peter? Peter, answer me right now. So help me god. Everyone’s worried sick about you! Do you read me? Peter, I said, do you read me? Please!” Scott pleaded through a mix of agitation and genuine distress.

 Peter drew out a long, hard groan. Pushing himself up a little, he fumbled lazily for his walkie. A sluggish grin curled into his dimples, as he nibbled his lip and winked down at you. His eyes half lidded and hanging heavy.

 “Mmmm…’M fine. ‘M fine. ‘M fine.” He chuckled, overcompensating for himself. He knew he’d be in mega trouble with the crew by this point, “It’s all-uh…all good. Jeez, Summers. Did ya think I was dead ‘er somethin’? Haha…” Peter drolled, his tone slower than usual. He withdrew his softening cock from inside you, watching while you squirmed. On your back, you appeared a blissful, fucked out mess. Ultimately satisfied. Mission accomplished, “Don’t worry so much, bro. I was only takin’ my new, zombie buddy out to-uh…tooooooo…an arcade. Yeah. An arcade.”

On the other end of the line, a silence fell. Peter filled it with an, “O-Over.” to compensate again.

 “...You took the zombie…to an arcade?” Scott responded, an edge of irritated disbelief in his tone, “Peter, are you out of your damn mind? Do you not realize how much of a risk that is? I can’t even-...your priority for this mission was to retrieve those documents for Hank. Doesn’t it seem irresponsible to be dragging an unknown, undead creature around a public place? I can’t even believe you!” He heard Scott scoff, “Now, will you please return already with those documents? We’re all waiting on you. Bring the zombie too.”

“Uhhh…yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Dunno what came over me. Sure. Okie dokes. Lemme, uh-” Peter spoke, playfully fighting you off. You reached for his neck, trying to pull him back down for post-sex cuddles, “Lemme grab ‘em. They’re goin’ hog wild with skee-ball right now. Crazy, right? They scored, like, sooooo many points. You should see all the tickets we got, man. We could totally get one ‘a those jumbo prizes. Say, Scotty, do you want, like, a giant Mighty Mouse?”

“Maximoff.” Scott replied sternly, without a beat of hesitation. His frustration oozed through the speakers, and Peter could feel guilt itching at his conscience.

In the background, Peter overheard someone - though he couldn’t guess who - mutter a, “Is Mighty Mouse even a thing anymore?” Oh. Once Peter returned, he’d be in for it. Royally fucked. Figuratively, and, thankfully, literally. In the short, momentary instance of silence between walkie communication; Peter disposed of the condom and straightened himself out. He disappeared for a millisecond, snatching a fresh towel from some luxury bath shop all the way in Paris. Dousing the cloth in warm water, he wiped you clean upon his ultra speedy arrival. Before helping you redress, making you look…somewhat presentable. 

“Fine. I totally get it, okay? Look, man. I’m sorry. But can ya really blame me fer wantin' to hang after the experience I just had? Doesn’t matter. Be there in a flash. M-Maybe don’t tell Hank, though. If you can hel-” Peter rambled sheepishly, slinging the towel over his shoulder. He stepped backwards, extending a hand for you to take. 

“Pietro Maximoff, I am beside myself with you!” Hank started, clearly agitated, cutting Peter off.

Peter groaned, mumbling quietly to himself as you took his hand, “He told Hank. He did it. He fuckin’ told him. Shit. I’m so fucked. I’m so, so fucked.” In a motion to guide you off the operating table, Peter pulled you forward by your hand.

“I have several questions. Why would you bring an undead creature to an arcade? What were your motivations behind taking the creature out, on a recreational activity? The potential danger or damage to the arcade and its patrons is far too high. And, furthermore, Peter, is there any scientific value to observing a zombie around arcade equipment? I understand you have this insatiable need to act out, but this is ridiculous! It is our duty, as members of the X-Men, to protect humanity from all threats. Including potential zombie related incidents at public arcades. Now then, please return the specimen immediately for further observation.” Hank ranted on and on and on and on-

A noise, like fabric tearing, cut uncomfortably through the air. Weak stitching around your elbow ripped loose, and Peter pulled your forearm clean off. Hank’s tirade met an abrupt end, as a blood curdling scream rocked the entire room. “Peter? Peter?? What’s happened? Peter, are you alright?” Hank panicked over the walkie.

Past the edge of terrified, shocked to the point of nearly pissing himself; Peter screamed. He wiggled his hand, trying to let go of your lone arm. But your hand held his tightly, your grip refusing to ease up. Once he finally freed himself, he expected your arm to drop to the floor. But your little fingers moved, crawling like spider legs. A zombie’s dislodged arm creeped up Peter’s shoulder over his jacket. Some real, Evil Dead kinda shit. He smacked at it, shouting like a housewife frightened by a mere mouse.

“YEAH!I’mfineI’mgreatI’mawesomesorryit’snothing.” Peter responded, rushed and unclear, “O-Over?” He cringed, scowling as you hopped off the operating table to retrieve your missing arm.

“...Pardon?” Hank asked, tone puzzled. Peter swallowed, shuddering while you pulled your freakish, deadite arm off his shoulder, “Are you…sure you’re alright, Peter? What’s going on? You’ve been acting awful strange tonight. Is there something on your mind?”

A lot. Peter had so much on his mind. Like, the totally real fact that he boned an undead, Frankenstein babe, for one.

“Uhm. It’s-...it’s nothing. Seriously, don’t even worry, Beastie. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Just-uhm…lab’s still-...there was some thunder, and the building-uh-” Peter nervously rambled, struggling to find his words, “Over.”

Another pause drew out long enough for Peter to realize his mistake. He cursed, smacking himself on the side of the head. How could he be scatterbrained, to forget his own lies in a matter of seconds? He had a feeling, deep in his gut; Hank would rip him a new one tonight once he got back. “...The lab? Peter…didn’t you just tell us you were at an arcade?” Hank asked, reasonably suspicious.

Peter’s voice broke as he replied, “I mEAN-” He cleared his throat, “Uhhh-...heh. I-I ran back! Forgot-uh...there was somethin’ I forgot. Like I said, doesn’t matter. I’m totally fine! I’m juuust peachy! Hang tight. I’ll be right there. Over and out.” Peter took a second to collect himself, clipping his walkie to his belt. He silenced the device, ignoring any further questions from Hank. Subconsciously, Peter took a step back as you reached for him again. His veins vibrated with a buzz of adrenaline. With your arm dismembered, you moved abruptly forward. Nuzzling your face into Peter’s chest, the same way you had all night. Still just as smitten with him. Groggy purrs rumbled in your throat.

Rolling his eyes, Peter patted your head, smoothing out your ragged, messy hair, “What am I gonna do with you? Yer nothin’ but trouble, y’know that?” He teased, pinching one of your cold cheeks, “Whaddya say we get outta here already? But I gotta make a couple ‘a pit stops. And you gotta behave yerself. Don’t get any funny ideas about eatin’ anybody.” Peter wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close. Pointing at you with an accusatory finger. 

You tilted your head, confused again. Peter really couldn’t get enough of that cute, clueless look. Hank and Scott had no idea what they were talkin’ about. His zombie buddy? Totally harmless. You’d never even hurt a fly.

Okay. First order of business. Find a Mighty Mouse plush, just to really sell his arcade story. After that, he planned on snatching you some nicer clothes. Anything to protect your modesty. Thirdly, Peter wanted to teach himself some gnarly makeup tricks. Cover up his hickies. Yeah. No sweat! He could do all that in a flash.

Oh. And late night pancakes. Peter refused to skimp out on those. He’d been craving them all night, and his body desperately needed to replenish its energy. Surely, the gang back home wouldn’t mind. After everything, they totally wouldn’t be supremely pissed and fed up with Peter’s bullshit. And the waitress serving at whatever diner he picked? She wouldn’t bat an eye at some undead, zombified customer, would she?

Why's he even kidding himself?

Gathering Hank’s files, Peter tucked them under his arm. He zipped around in search of whatever other knick-knacks he lost, including his fallen flashlight. Stepping towards you, Peter brought his earbuds to your ears. He exchanged the tape in his Walkman for another, aiming to keep you entertained with music while he traveled at superspeed. As soon as the tune graced your ears, you leapt in place. Squeaking a surprise chirp. Your shoulders bunched, and you darted your hazy eyes around.

“Hey, easy, easy-” Peter reassured, cranking the volume down low so you could still hear him, “It’s just music, baby. It’s nice, right? You like it? You like-uh…you like the Monster Mash? Crypt Kickers? Bobby Pickett?” He gestured with his hands, suggestively raising his brows, “We had a graveyard smash, didn't we, eh?” You simply stared at him, clueless as usual. Huffing, Peter pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Seriously. What am I gonna do with you?”

You clutched your dislodged arm tight, cradling the appendage close. Throwing a quick glance your way, Peter shook his head. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and braced a warm hand at the back of your neck. The few seconds before he took off, he leaned in close. Hearing that Halloween melody playing from the earphones you wore, he quietly sang along.

As much as he liked cuddling ‘Ro on Halloween, horror movie nights; A new idea crossed his mind. He might just snuggle up on the couch with someone special this year. 

[sorenphelps]

standby mode

Again a little detour on the timeline, this time back to the very beginning of The Bodyguard AU, cause we realized with @goldenlionprince & @neverenoughmarauders that we got so focused on the big finale that there's no proper introduction to the story 😅 This very early piece (picture 3) gave us the idea and I attempted to write it (see below), but I'm still an artist first and foremost, and I wanted to have another little cameo again (hello, Kingsley!), so of course I drew a loosely connected illustration too... Anyway, after the mandatory tagging of @lovelymasks & @diamondmeadow, check out the ~250 words I wrote below!

~*~

James doesn’t think he really needs a bodyguard, but he promised Minerva to at least consider it. She is the only family he has left, after all, and the most badass person he knows, yet she was just put under constant government protection. If she needs a little extra security too, James might as well look at the options Horace Slughorn, an old friend of his parents, though he’s never really liked the guy, referred to him earlier. Maybe not all of them will be utterly boring. He opens his laptop and starts to dig. Unfortunately, as expected, all the options are dull, except for one guy. James was not able to find anything significant about him besides the recent renewal of his premium gym membership, which he apparently visits every day, according to the gym’s record system. He’s only two workout sessions away from reaching a 50% discount on his next platinum membership fee. James checks the IDs again, the guy is handsome. Hell, he’s one of the best-looking men James has ever seen. He has no right to look this good on his IDs, that’s just not fair. And if he really works out as much as his gym membership indicates, he’s probably pretty fit too. James just has to see this man with his own two eyes. He looks at the attendance records again, he has a session booked in an hour. James can be at that gym in 50 minutes. It feels like it’s meant to be. * Months have passed since his last assignment ended, and Sirius is constantly nagged by Remus to start working again, but he can’t help it, he thinks he’s just not ready to have a new client yet. His last one was so extremely boring, he needs to recharge his batteries first to even consider looking at his options. So instead of working, he works out, finally utilizing his premium gym membership to the fullest, gaining the extra discount points too beside all the muscle mass. He has always been fit, but now he is probably in the best shape he’s even been since he left the military or maybe ever. Too bad he will probably have to let it go to waste again, as accompanying rich ladies to shopping or worse, following them at formal social events can hardly provide an opportunity to fight. If fighting against the overwhelming boredom doesn’t count, obviously. Sirius remembers that Remus has mentioned a problematic IT guy before as a potential new client. Maybe he should really consider having a male client this time, for the sake of variety, if anything. He likes nerds, after all.

[galaxy-winged-angel]

Hello hello 👋

First things first, welcome! This blog of mine is for reblogging vore and g/t that I like and, as of recently, for posting a story that's been in my head for years now. I figured that now that I'm posting content of my own, I need to set some boundaries and explain some things about me.

To begin, I am an adult! Early 20s. But despite that, my content is nonsexual and so is the stuff I reblog. So any sexual blogs or folks that see G/T or vore in a sexual sense? Please do not follow me or interact with my content. I really don't want to have to block people for making me uncomfortable. I think if I saw any of my funky little g/t vore dudes on a sexual blog my aroace ass would die on the spot 💀💀

That being said, despite my content and reblogs being nonsexual, I do not want any minors interacting with it. Quite frankly, I don't mind because I was into vore as a minor myself (was writing vore stories as a 8-9 year old that never touched the internet 😂), but with the way voreblr has been acting lately I don't want to risk anyone's safety. If I see your blog in my activity feed and it says you're a minor? From this point onwards I'm blocking you. So stay out of it 👍👍Consider this an 18+ nonsexual blog. Likewise I'll be paying more attention to blogs to try and not reblog from y'all either 👍👍

Now, with that out of the way, for anyone interested in my art and OCs, I would like to direct you to #my art and #my oc (very original tags I know). Whenever I get around to naming my story, I'll add the name here! For my original posts and reblogs with comments, I'll call it #just'a yap-yap-yappin' because its funny 💀

EDIT: Went back and added in tags for other people's writings and artwork. Make sure to check out #other's writing and #other's artwork for that stuff!

Any other extra info like my intentions for my story and fandoms I'm into, I'll add below.

(Oh! And expect to see safe vore, soft vore, g/t, and fearplay here! I've never really liked digestion or foodplay but to each their own.)

Fandoms I'm into:

Transformers

Pokemon

FNaF

TLoZ

Hollow Knight

Undertale/Deltarune

Spider-verse

Marvel (to a very small degree)

Bendy

Though I ask you not to expect vore reblogs of FNaF, Spider-verse, Hollow Knight, or Undertale. There's some fandoms I'm either real picky about or don't want to see vore content of at all. Expect a lot of Transformers though 😂

As for my story, the story I want to tell isn't gonna be like the stuff I reblog. I tend to reblog a lot of fluff and comfort vore but its hard to come across stories that feel grounded in reality if that makes sense. That's what I want to make. Something where vore is a plot device or overhanging danger and rarely if ever a comforting situation. I want it to be a story about trust and breaking said trust and how you rebuild from there (assuming you can). One of the most important scenes for this story will have gore of all things in it but I don't intend to draw it anytime soon. But expect a lot of fearplay.

I will still draw fun little future or spinoff comics/images where vore is used more freely with less consequences behind it. I'll create a tag for them later once I start actually posting story stuff.

[bluestar22x]

Holsters

The Rockford Files - Holsters

Summary: You and Rockford are home from a long night at work and are ready to blow off some steam. You let slip that you love his gun holsters.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (Both in their late 40s)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 396

Warnings: Hints of smut, biting, reader has a gun holster kink

Author’s Note: Didn't have a place for this in the main fic so we're making a one shot (you do NOT need to read the series to read this, but it takes place between part 2 and 3 in my head). I saw @trulybetty and co talking about Tim's gun holsters and got inspired. I also saw this post and thought, hey now, I can write at least 100 words for this, and I did (it's not filthy, but it's on my level).

xxx

"Did I ever tell you that I love these?" you murmured into Tim's ear, grasping at the two gun holster straps he was still wearing over his shoulders despite having already stored his guns safely away for the day.

"No," he said quickly before dipping his head to suck on your pulse point, one wide hand stroking up your bare spine as the other cradled the back of your tipped head.

For a moment you lost your train of thought, moaning as you closed your eyes to focus on the sensation of his lips pressing against your neck, his teeth grazing the surface as he pulled away to pay attention to your chest.

"Well, I do," you gasped, clutching his head as he nipped at the sensitive skin over one of your breasts.

"I'm sensing a but," Tim guessed as he straightened up to kiss you on the lips sweetly, holding back.

"I love how they make your shoulders look even broader," you told him between kisses. "I love how they kind of look like suspenders. I love a man in suspenders...but I need them off now. It's not fair your shirt's not off yet."

He chuckled. "You know I can take off my shirt and leave the holsters on if you want."

Your stomach flipped. You honestly hadn't considered it before. The holsters had always come off before the shirt, it was that simple. You'd never thought about having him leave them on while...

"There's not some work regulation or something about using them at home?" you asked, feeling silly as the words flew out of your mouth. They were just straps, after all.

He grinned against your lips. "Even if there was, which I doubt, not like they'd find out about it, honey."

Your cheeks heated. "True."

He gently grabbed one of your wrists and guided your hand to the top button of his white suit shirt. "Now make things even," he grunted impatiently.

"With pleasure," you hummed, smiling, setting to the task immediately. It wasn't very often you got to indulge in a kink and you were overwhelmingly excited, your center already throbbing in anticipation.

It took a little extra effort to get Tim's shirt off with the straps on, but they stayed on most of the morning, and you clung on to them very wisely.

Safe to say, it was worth it.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[thegingerwrites]

✨✨Fic/Stats Game ✨✨

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fewest words.

1st most Hits: never too late to start again

My obikin magnum opus! This fic possessed me in February/March 2023 when I wrote most of it. It is the longest fic I have ever written, with the most chapters. I still really, really love it.

2nd most Kudos: worry me

I think of this as my empowering heterosexual blow job fic 😂 I read, amongst other things, a decent amount of romance, including regency romance (though most of it is queer) and after watching and obsessing over Bridgerton series 2, I really wanted to have Kate to suck Anthony's dick while he sits at his desk trying to work on the estate finances and what not. I love reading queer romance where that particular sexual position isn't seen as degrading, where the character A giving gets to feel almost powerful as character B comes apart beneath them. And I think Anthony would look really pretty undone like that. I guess other people agreed?

3rd most comments: Solitary as an Oyster

This stat owes everything to one person who went and commented on every! single!! chapter!!! last month and made my whole entire year 💕 There are a couple of really great advent challenge type fics in the drarry ship that I adore and I wanted to push myself to write something prompt based in a short amount of time. It felt a little bit like I was working in a vacuum over the course of the two weeks of daily posts but it definitely made me appreciate every bit of feedback I got on that fic. I think the title might throw people off a bit because it doesn't sound Christmas-y even though it's a quote from A Christmas Carol but I was too in love with the idea to change it at the time. That description of Scrooge seemed perfect for desert hermit Obi-Wan and I decided it had to stay.

4th most bookmarks: i guess you're all mine

This was my first ever obikin fic and at the time was like my thesis for the pairing. I was rotating the two of them in my head like 'why are they like this' and this fic was the result of that meditation. If there is a thesis statement for this fic, it is the two of them realizing that they already belong together, that a romantic relationship between the two of them coming to fruition is just a matter of looking at what is already there from a different angle. A few inches of space, a tilt of the head, everything changes while staying exactly the same.

5th most words: Solitary as an Oyster

I couldn't believe this stat. I feel like I have three wips that are about to blow this word count out of the water, including the Suddenly A Sith fic I'm almost done editing that grew legs and is probably going to be three chapters long. No wonder I burned out a bit after writing this one 😂 24k in two weeks, posting daily was too much for me 😅

Fewest words: Fireside Chats

I have a tendency to fall into the trap of thinking a piece of writing isn't worth posting to ao3 if it's not like 1k long. I think it's like the extra step of formatting or something. I'm not going to link this particular fic but it is posted on my ao3. It's a kylux prompt fill from 2016 (almost 10 years ago jfc). My writing has grown and changed a lot since then but I find it interesting to keep a record of that growth alive there. Maybe I need to make more of an effort to post shorter works to ao3?

This was such an interesting way to look at these fics. Thanks for the tag @teaandjumpers and @ragnarlothcat!

I've been offline a bit over the last few days so I'm not sure who has done this already. But if you want to do this and haven't been tagged, consider yourself tagged! And give me a tag so I can see you talk about your fics 📝

[thesilliestofgals]

Ok silly little people in my computer, "yes" won for a Rosabella Beast drabble poll so, I started writing... and it ended up way past 100 words.

Oops.

I hope it's enjoyable! I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I took my best shot! A little warning: The characters that appear will likely be OOC!

And also, a quick note: if you've stumbled upon this and have absolutely no clue who or what Rosabella Beast is, I suggest checking out my rosabella beast tag, or my hypothetical eah rewrite tag! If you do, however, be careful, as there are spoilers within those tags!

Now on with the story!

Rosabella was all too familiar with the phrase don't judge a book by it's cover. It'd been implanted by her mother before she was conscious enough to understand what was being said to her. She'd made the mistake of not listening to that advice, and she'd paid dearly for it. Since then, Rosabella had held that as her mantra, swearing to never make such a foolish mistake again.

Now, as Blondie Lockes stood in her doorway, she couldn't help but wonder if she was going to just that. Rosabella hated to admit it, but Blondie was one of the few people she couldn't read. Even when peering over her glasses, the big haired girl's colors were constantly changing and melding together. That frustrated her to no end.

Her anxious and angry musings to herself were broken by Blondie giving her a smile, one that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Can I come in?", she asked, but it didn't really sounds like a request- more like a demand. Narrowing her eyes, Rosabella stepped aside, allowing her entry.

She slammed the door shut, turning to face the blonde as she surveyed the dorm. Taking a deep breath, Rosabella replied to Blondie's question with her own, being sure to lace it with extra sweetness. "How can I help you, Blondie?"

The other girl rolled her eyes and scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, drop the act," she huffed, "you don't need to be a Beauty here when it's just the two of us."

Rosabella's train of thought crashed and burned into a fiery grave as she gawked at the amateur reporter. What, she wanted to roar, are you talking about? But instead, she clasped her hands behind her back and tilted her head slightly. "Whatever-after do you mean, Blondie?" she asked through gritted fangs.

Blondie smiled again, and this time, Rosabella felt a genuine twinge of... discomfort. The blonde seemed to staring her down like a predator with prey. Ironic, Rosabella mused, considering my heritage.

"I've been watching you," Blondie began, as if that wasn't the most creepiest thing someone could say to someone else. "and you may have everyone fooled, but not me. I see that look in your eyes, when you're talking to any of the Royals... or even some of the Rebels. Anger and disgust, like you know something about them that nobody else does. I was also about to figure out your own little secret, but I must admit, you're fairy good at hiding it."

Rosabella's stomach dropped. "Hiding what?" she all but snarled. The amateur reporter giggled behind her hand. "The fact that your destiny calls for you to be the Beast, of course!"

She couldn't take it anymore. Her self control snapped, and she lunged, feeling her human form give way to what had been carefully hidden away underneath. With powerful, clawed paws grasping her shoulders, Blondie was pinned against the farthest wall. Rosabella curled her lips back, showing off the fangs Blondie had remarked about. "What in Ever After do you want, Lockes?" Rosabella rumbled, tail lashing behind her, "Tell me, or you might have to put your stupid little podcast on an indefinite hiatus!" Her voice rose to a fever pitch, and she could feel the fabric of Blondie's sleeves begin to tear.

Impressively, Blondie remained physically unbothered, but her aura told a different story. A quick flash of fear- but before Rosabella could sink her teeth into that, the confidence quickly won out. "I don't need to be bribed," the blonde scoffed, lifting her chin, "I came to you with a proposition."

Rosabella arched her brow at that, and with great reluctance, released her and crossed her now-furry arms. "A proposition?" she grumbled, shoving the beast back in her cage and pulling the beauty from her prison. That was... a surprise. Rosabella hated surprises. "I'm listening," she growled, "but don't dawdle."

Blondie observed the transformation with a hum, the corners of her lips curling upwards. At Rosabella's demand, the blonde rolled her eyes. "Yes," she huffed, brushing a loose curl behind her shoulder, "I have a feeling that you and I both have very similar desires. I'm always searching for the next scoop of truth, and while you don't always show it, you're quite the... humanitarian.

I think we'd make quite the good team, you and I. Nobody can bear being five feet in my vicinity, but with you? You just be the Beauty, and everyone's spilling their guts to you. Am I wrong?" Rosabella cursed to herself. Blondie was like a nagging gnat in everyone's ear, but she could be quite observant if someone didn't know she was around, or let their guard down.

"...Not exactly, no." The brunette grumbled, eyeing her over the lenses of her glasses. Blondie's mouth split into another unnerving grin, and she clapped her hands. "That brings me to my proposition: you and I could work together. We could reveal everyone's dirty secrets, you know? Dust off all the skeletons stored away in those musty closets and display them for the world to see. Not for entertainment, no- for justice. I'm sure some people have some skeletons stored away that they would kill to keep hidden just because of how sensitive those secrets could be! And that's just not right, is it?"

Rosabella pursed her lips in thought. Blondie was crass about it, but... she had a little bit of a point. She could see some particularly nasty auras in passing conversations sometimes, camouflaging particularly nasty nuggets of information. It would be gratifying to see those sinister and secretive students get their just deserts.

"What's in it for you, though?" Rosabella hummed. The amateur reporter flipped a strand of hair again. "I'm a reporter- or a journalist, whatever after you want to call me. It's my narrative given duty to gather details and deliver these to the public in a fair and unbiased perspective!" She said this with a dramatic flare, waving her hands about. "Also, I like seeing people squirm. So, what do you say?"

Rosabella stood as still as one of the statues in her mother's garden, thinking. Don't judge a book by it's cover. She squinted, looking down through her glasses. Once again, she was met with a murky, swirling mess of colors. Working her jaw, she pushed them back up. "Okay," she rasped, stepping closer to the other girl again. "let's do it." She held out a hand, and Blondie firmly grasped it. Quickly, Rosabella pulled her close. "But I swear to Grimm," she sneered, "if you even try to stab me in the back in any way, shape, or form, you'll regret even knowing my name. Understood?"

Blondie's grip tightened, and she nodded. Huffing, Rosabella pulled away, releasing her hand. "So," she asked with an arched brow, "do you have any actual idea on how exactly we'll work together?" Blondie's eyes gleamed, and she pulled out her Mirrorpad from her messenger bag.

"Oh, I do." She tapped at the screen a few times before handing it over to the brunette, and as Rosabella scanned over what she'd been given, she realized that she had indeed made the same mistake as she had years ago, but this time, under completely different circumstances.

But maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't regret this.

[theearlgreymage]

It's still Wednesday in some places, so, we can still call this a WIP Wednesday. And if you disagree, consider this a Thirsty Thursday post since I only know how to write explicit content apparently.

Most of my projects have been revealed since my last posting - both COBB projects are officially up and in progress. And I've uploaded both of my gift fics!!

So now it's onto keeping up with updates and planning for COTTA.

Any who - shout out and thank you to the folks that keep on tagging me even when I fall off the face of the planet!! @ic3-que3n @ivelovedhimthroughworse @artsyunderstudy @shrekgogurt @fatalfangirl @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @nausikaaa @wellbelesbian @confused-bi-queer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and @blackberrysummerblog

Now, without further ado, enjoy some snippets from some of my current WIPs (there are more, but we need to keep some things a surprise, right?)

Aster & Narcissus

(COBB Project with @ivelovedhimthroughworse that you can start reading here)

I’m used to being alone and having my life decided for me.  But I still never thought that my mother would go this far. To arrange a union behind my back and bind me to another. Effectively snuffing out any potential freedom I dreamed of in the dark of night.  No.  I won’t let them decide my fate anymore.  Running down the temple steps, I call upon years of brutal lessons. Calling to the grass beneath my bare feet to hide my footprints as I race across my mothers land. Heading towards the only individual that might hear my pleas for help and actually listen to them.  Ebb.  She’s a dear friend to my mother. I’d be a fool to overlook that, but she’s also the only one who isn’t afraid to chastise my mother in her treatment of me.  After I learned that the Nymphs under my mothers direction would never be my real friends, my mother left me with Ebb for a time. Entrusting the kindhearted Goddess of the Hearth to make me feel at peace. And she did. Ebb let me cry about how I only wanted to understand who I was and master the power I wielded without telling my mother my every word. Instead she stood up for me, trying to convince my mother to tell me the truth.  It didn’t work. But hearing Ebb take my side let me know that I would always have a second home with her if I ever needed it.  Right now I need it. Need her.

Eirlys

(COBB Project with @shrekgogurt and @artsyunderstudy that you can start reading here)

24 December 2020 It’s been five years since the world as we know it changed forever.  Five years since I lost Simon at the top of the White Chapel. Five years since I lost Vera, Daphne, Sophie, and Petra. The girls would have turned eight this year. The same age that Mordelia was when this all started.  After the incident with Gareth, I stopped going out on runs. Even if I wanted to, the whole lot of us were barred from leaving the QZ for nearly six full months. I didn’t protest. Enough damage had been done without my insistence to go back out into the wilderness of England.

Infinity In Your Chest Pocket

(To be updated soon. Feel free to start reading it here)

I’m going to strangle her.  Of all the things she could have chosen to say, she just had to remember the singular time that I told her what Snow looks like.  Speaking of Snow, his cheeks are flush with embarrassment at Delia’s comment. If I could blush, I would be - one of the few perks of vampirism. It unintentionally ups my poker face. The sight of a flustered Snow is one I am thoroughly enjoying now that I’m properly looking at him.  The extra color brings out his freckles even more, and makes the blue of his eyes stand out. It makes me want to swoon and fall into his arms so I can look at them even closer.  Instead, I try to give us both an out before Delia can continue to harass either one of us. “Come on, we can eat in my room.”  At this, Delia immediately pouts. “No fair! Why do you get to eat wherever you want, but I have to eat at the table?”  I just roll my eyes at her petulance. “Because I’m older.”  The fact that I’m older has nothing to do with it. My parents only allow me to excuse myself from family meals because of my fangs - they pop when I eat and it’s noticeable. So, they don’t mind if I take my meal with me to my room from time to time. 

Surrender to Your Lead

(Not a WIP or SnowBaz - but I just uploaded it this week. Based on art by @ic3-que3n So, enjoy a little snippet of it. Feel free to read it here)

My response only serves to rile him up further as he grabs my chin between calloused fingers and forces my eyes to meet his. "If you can't follow basic commands, maybe I need to put you on a tighter leash." At that, I let my eyes drop down to the leather that is in Erwin’s other hand. We’ve never done this before. It makes my mouth water. “Eyes forward, Captain.” Erwin orders. His breath is hot against my cheeks as I snap my eyes back up to his. With my focus back on him, Erwin leans down while pulling on my chin. Forcing me onto my toes as his lips find the shell of my ear. “Now you had better listen, and listen well,” his voice drops to something low and sultry. It makes me want to dig my fingers into his shoulders and drag my nails down his chest. “I am going to give you very explicit instructions tonight, and you are going to follow every single one of them.” The end of the sentence is punctuated with a teasing lick to the curve of my ear. Followed by a light bite to the skin just beneath the lobe. It’s taunting - I know he can bite far harder when he wants. “Is that clear?” Words seem impossible at the moment. So I simply nod my head as Erwin draws his own head back up without releasing the hold on my jaw. “I need an answer, Levi.” Licking my lips to buy myself a fraction of a second, I force my mouth to work. “Yes.” Wrong answer. I think to myself as Erwin frowns. His eyes darkening as he tightens his grip. Fingers sliding down and digging into my throat. A threat, a promise, of what’s to come. “Yes, who?” Erwin prompts again. The patience in his voice is wearing thin. “Yes, Commander.” I reply instantly.

Tags and Hello's to everyone I secretly admire below the cut ❤

@aristocratic-otter @bazzybellee @bookish-bogwitch @captain-aralias @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @foolofabookwyrm-activated @gekkoinapeartree @henreyettah @hushed-chorus @ileadacharmedlife @ionlydrinkhotwater @j-nipper-95 @johnwgrey @krisrix @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @moodandmist @mostlymaudlin @onepintobean @orange-peony @palimpsessed @prettylightsbigcity @skeedelvee @stardustasincocaine @stitchyqueer @tea-brigade @theimpossibledemon @thewholelemon @whogaveyoupermission @yellobb

[ecosystem-administrator]

WIP whenever!

Thanks @plounce for the tag!

tagging in turn @vitaecryptid, @tehjai, @starsandauras, @msviolacea, @gachabastard any of you who have some scraps of a thing to show off, consider yourself called on! and also you who's reading this wishing I'd tagged you instead, you're tagged now, too.

back at the end of FFXIV Write 2023, I was feeling much more ambitious about writing more Maxima/Riol and probably Maxima/Riol/Thancred, and as usual didn't manage to actually finish or publish anything. So here's a snippet and an unpublished vignette under the cut.

“Thanks for agreein’ to help with this,” Riol said as he spread the reports over the table. “I can handle the fieldwork fine enough, but I just ain’t as well-traveled as Thancred.”

“And while military transmissions are standardized, communications between political cells tend to have an extra layer of obfuscation,” Maxima nodded, leaning over the Hyur’s shoulder to peer at the documents. “They expect the government to be listening, so they make sure that what they’re saying is hard to understand unless you’re reading the same books and listening to the same broadcasts…” His gaze fell over a line in a specific document, and he quickly pulled it out of the pile. “This one.” It was a communication intercepted from a group whose name Maxima recognized as being noisily extremist about the need for Garlean territory to remain in control of pureblooded Garleans alone, and a brief scan of the contents chilled his spine. Had they grown so bold since he’d last been home?

Riol grimaced. “We’re not in touch with that group - they don’t want anythin’ to do with us, an’ it’s all kinds of mutual. We just try to keep tabs in case they’re ready to start makin’ stuff worse…but I can’t work out what their aim is in this last one.”

“They’re about to start a campaign of violence,” Maxima answered, letting the dread and horror soak into his tone. “This line here, about pruning roses… there’s a drinking song from that area that compares non-Garleans to a local breed of Morbol sometimes called ‘overgrown roses’…”

“So they’re lookin’ to start actin’ on what they’ll consider ‘pest extermination’.” Riol responded grimly, nodding his understanding. “We knew it was a matter of time, I’ll get the recall orders issued ASAP. The agents we’ve got in the area will try to warn any locals at risk, too.”

--

Maxima and Riol are lying in bed, tangled in each other. Or rather, given the difference in their sizes, Riol is somewhat engulfed in Maxima’s embrace, with an arm around his lover’s waist to communicate that the comfort is mutual. They are silent, just soaking in the moment, enjoying the warmth and comfort of skin against skin.

Maxima is thinking of how easy and comfortable this is, how he sometimes forgets to be afraid of what others will think when they’re together. And then the memories of his past come crashing back in along with all the acquired shame, and the proud defiance of that shame, and a profound sense of guilt for having escaped all of that into a place where it doesn’t matter that he’s only ever had an interest in men. And it’s maddeningly unfair that he should feel so guilty for allowing himself to be happy for once, but the emotions cycle in waves until Riol, feeling the tension in his body, leans up to kiss him and snap him out of it.

Riol is used to this. He’s thinking of how rarely he falls in love, and even when he has he’s never been inclined to do anything binding about it. Social formalities have never been high on his list of priorities, and he knows plenty of others from Limsa who feel the same way about it anyway. It’s enough to be here in the arms of this man, who is handsome and troubled and kind and so much more passionate than he lets most people see, and just enjoy the glow of love that makes him imagine their hearts are beating in time like some kind of sappy poem. He’s getting soft as he gets older, but he can’t find it in himself to mind.

All their discussions of their relationship have been on an entirely practical level; they haven’t spoken the depth of their emotions out loud. That would feel too much like a promise neither wants to make, an expectation neither wants to set. It’s enough to be here, for this moment, however long it lasts before they inevitably move on to whatever comes next.

[hotluncheddie]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

ty @steddieasitgoes !! this was fun!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

16!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

26,316 (wtf)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

steddie / st only 😤

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Tiny Green Shorts 

2. Seasons change, but people don't.

3. extra credit

4. that's when boys kiss

5. pretty boy

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES! i luv comments! its one of the best parts of writing anything and makes it extra fun! its connecting with people!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

mmm i don't really like angsty endings. i guess Little Lamb has the most general angst but tbh that's not even gonna be a sad ending once its done - its gone have a lot of hope. maybe just high masking but again the connected part is comfort heavy

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

everything :) happy endings only in this house! 🍓 is maybe the most good vibes all the way thru piece

8. Do you get hate on fics?

its honestly a dream of mine to get cyber bullied one day, so no but if anyone wants to u can just this once

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

ya - mmmm mild d/s dynamics and graphic descriptions of bellies :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no - sometimes i think about doing like film inspired steddie but idk if i'll ever get around to it (like school of rock au or dead poets society au)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no???

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no! but that would be cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no :) i think having to consider someone else's schedule when writing would be stressful - i am slow

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

steddieeeee 😤👌🫡💪

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i'm working on a openly bi steve / queer eddie fic and it needs a lot of editing and keeps growing and it could honestly never get done but i really hope i work it out one day (i wanna incorporate music into the like theme of the scenes somehow but i dunno if i'm capable enough for it to be good - plus rewriting is hard bc what's there is good its just not right for this)

16. What are your writing strengths?

i like to think i can write my rancid sewer goblin dream boy eddie munson pov well

and maybe dialogue, or like metaphors?? i also have a thing about rhythm when i write so hopefully that come through, like pace and flow of sentences or whatever.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i have like pictures in my head and i never know how much to describe, like do i go full setting and facial expressions but then that feels like too much so idk. but ye that - the stuff around the dialogue

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i dumb baby i wouldn't even try bc it would just be google translate n that's embarrassing

19. First fandom you wrote for?

this one! i only lurked before hehe I've used ao3 for like over 10 years and this fandom was the first i ever wanted to make anything for

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

uhhh i think unmasking is very dear to my heart. but also Seasons change, but people don't. just bc its still my longest fic to date

that was fun! no pressure tags!! and sorry if you've already been tagged don't be mad a meeee!!!

@pearynice @numinosmoon @2btheanswertothequestion @flowercrowngods @aringofsalt @scarcrossdlvrs

[nightcolorz]

tagged by @molloytheboy Ilysm king thank u for the tag <3 this is so fun

How many works do you have on AO3? 10

What’s your total AO3 word count? 74,616

What fandoms do you write for? right now just the vampire chronicles + amc iwtv. I used to write Batman fan-fiction about the rogues gallery but I stupidly deleted them from a03. I wrote one fic that’s still up about hazbin hotel, and I used to write a lot for our flag means death but for some reason never published any of that

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? You can lean on my arm as you break my heart, Millennia Gate, A Slave For God, церковь в огне, and Must Have Been the Wind

Do you respond to comments? I try to always respond to comments! I love comments so so much and if someone is taking the time to tell me how they feel about my fic then they deserve to hear back from me ❤️🙏‼️ often times all I can think to say is a heart felt thank u, but I want the ppl who get something from my writing to know how much it means to me

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? this is a tough one bcus a lot of my fics are straight up heart attacks. I usually end up defaulting to a small bit of hope to end things off when I go rlly dark, and the only time I didn’t do that was with “You can lean on my arm as you break my heart”, which is probably my darkest fic anyway. A handful of my fics end ambiguously bleak like that but I think the intensity of that one makes the sort of ambiguous sort of bleak ending extra upsetting. But most of my fics end badly

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Definitely “A vile hunger for your hammering heart” haha. That is one of my favorite fics I’ve written but it’s so niche and stupid it rarely gets any attention 😭🙏

Do you get hate on fics? I only ever got a hate comment once on my tiny Drabble collection, for tagging it as bpd cuz lestat was displaying some heavy bpd traits and they didn’t like that ig. I deleted the comment and vagued them on my tumblr and they showed up in my ask box so I hope this doesn’t summon them 💀. It was funny tho! Rlly rlly confusing stuff😭. But nah otherwise not rlly, which is surprising to me cuz I write some stuff definitely hate worthy 🙏but I don’t think hate is super common on a03, at least in this fandom

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yeah sometimes. I only can rlly write smut that’s traumatic and unhealthy 😭. I wrote happy smut once in my life, in “it must’ve been the wind”. Otherwise I write evil smut

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I honestly am not a fan of crossovers 💔

Have you ever had a fic stolen?I hope not! 😭. But no I don’t think so.

Have you ever had a fic translated? I wish!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? I consider my claim to fame “millennia gate” to be co written, but it technically isn’t written by two ppl lol. I write it and my boyfriend helps me brainstorm and edit

What’s your all time favorite ship? Daniel x Armand, for sure. Weirdly enough I’ve only ever written and published Drabbles about them. I’ve been planning to write more of them tho 🙏‼️

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I hate this evil ass question 😭 I don’t want to say millennia gate bcus I love her and so many ppl love her but I’ve rlly been struggling to find motivation to write her lately. Millennia gate is a reflection of such a specific time in my life and I used it to vent a bunch of issues I was having, and it’s hard for me to tap into that now that I’ve grown sm as a person. I think and hope that inspiration will come back to me tho cuz I hate the idea of abandoning her 🙏 my love child truly.

What are your writing strengths? I’ve been told I’m good at writing dialogue, themes, and pacing. Ive also been told im good at understanding and portraying characters in a way that’s true to the source material+ compelling, which is good cuz I write fanfic lol. A lot of ppl read my fics cuz they like my metas, so I think that’s a strong suit. I’m also a freak for metaphors 😭 oh my god I use elaborate figurative language in casual conversation, it’s bad. The best praise I ever got was from a teacher, she said I write like Anne rice but way better 😭. I don’t rlly think that’s true, but I love it.

What are your writing weaknesses? I find it hard to be subtle and let my writing speak for itself, I tend to hammer things home a bit too strongly so that the effectiveness wears off. I always fight the urge to write big blocks of unnecessary text just so the audience knows what I’m getting at, over explaining and stuff. I struggle with writing sentences that aren’t super long and clunky. I’m rlly bad with grammar. I can’t spell 😭. I also am blind to the quality of my own writing and tend to over edit unnecessarily cuz I find it hard to open up to beta readers

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I do it all the time. I don’t use google translate, I try to use more deluxe sources when I write in languages I don’t speak because I’d be so embarrassed if I got something wrong 😭. But I rarely write in a language I don’t speak for more then a sentence or two. Once someone who speaks French commented that they loved that they could read the French in my Lestat fic and I was so happy and relieved it was coherent to someone who speaks the language 😭

First fandom you wrote for? The first fandom I wrote for was technically the how to train your dragon books in my childhood notebook, but the first fanfic I ever published was for Harry Potter. I remember it was an angsty backstory fic about Remus lupin, lmao.

Favorite fic you’ve written? it changes, but right now it’s церковь в огне, because I re read and think about it as if it’s a fic I haven’t written 😭. But I have my favorite memories attached to “must have been the wind”, “A vile hungering for your hammering heart” and Millennia gate. Those last three have started inside jokes with me and my friends, and r often quoted to me 😭 so definitely I consider them favorites thank u again for the tag Finn!! Tagging @oopsallvampires @discomfort-character @lestatslestits

[lunar-years]

Re: that ask about Jamie being a team player under Pep and your answer - it's actually not that new, referencing Pep, which is the weird part. The team notes from season 1, the stuff the writers gave Arlo White to make his "cheat sheets" for the season 1 finale match where Jamie makes that extra pass? They list Pep as the manager, and Ted and Jamie both mention him in their interviews in the episode as well. So when giving Jamie that extra pass moment, they did it with full concurrent awareness, in writing the season 1 finale, that Pep was Jamie's manager. Creating a fictional manager was never going to happen- Sudeikis is a big Pep fan, and obviously the show's production had to have struck up a good deal with Man City to feature them so much before they had rights to other teams, so they tend to show the team in a positive light even if they're Richmond's adversary. Anyway my point is, Pep as Jamie's coach isn't retrofitted or retroactive, rather, they knew Pep was Jamie's coach even when they had Jamie make that extra pass. So it IS a weird hole they've dug, because they're never going to claim Ted is a better coach than Pep (not only tactic wise but personally/how he treats players, he is beloved) but the implications of that about Jamie's career are very weird in that regard! But they've known it all along, and I can't imagine they don't consider the impact of it on Jamie given the way Sudeikis has talked about Pep before and also given how much backstory they've been said to have imagined, like how much Sudeikis apparently thinks about what informs all these characters. Theyve painted themselves into a corner where the text of the show confirms that Pep informs Jamie massively. Which I personally enjoy, but does detract from Ted's alleged influence on Jamie which I frankly have never massively cared about anyway. I much prefer Pep 😂. I do think they absolutely know Jamie was a small fish in a big pond at City and things changed for him at Richmond - he was top dog for the first time ever there, is what I think they were going for. But maybe we will learn more when they play City away.

Okay I know this was so not the point of your ask so sorry for the pivot lol but how on earth did the show convince the irl West Ham to agree to having their club portrayed on the show as the evil Rupert Mannion run Star Wars Death Star club ??? how do the West Ham fans feel about this? lmao.

To address your actual ask I just feel like they included Pep without thinking it through, because the narratives of what they're trying to do with Ted and what can be reasonably inferred about Jamie's backstory with Man City just are not adding up for me, lol. Definitely agree they're not going for "Ted is better than actual irl coaches," but they're certainly trying to portray that Ted was the exact right person for this particular group of guys at the particular time he landed in their lives. I do think they want us to believe there's something special about Ted that cultivated the team's success in a way other coaches couldn't have done in those particular circumstances of what Richmond was at that time. (And yeah it doesn't necessarily make much sense, but I just suspend my belief on that bit, because what about a goofy Kansas man with no prior knowledge of football and seemingly little desire to dig into it further leading a professional football team to victory does? )

wait edited to add: I also think you're 100% right about Jamie being a small fish in a big pond at City and things changing for him at Richmond in that it was the first time he was really in the position of being the best. Definitely!!! And that is such a good point. There were really excellent tags on a reblog of that last ask that were basically paralleling Jamie to Nate in that it's how you treat people who are powerless when you're in a position above them (whether that be actual authority or, like Jamie, just being the best player on the team) that is most telling.

[commaclear]

Campaigning for most deranged Ao3 author of the year

♡ Ko-fi link ♡

Hi! I’m Comma! I write many things, usually in English. Sometimes these things get big numbers and oftentimes they are gay. On tntblr, they call me appa as I am a parental figure and notable purveyor of nonsense there. I also dabble in stranger forms of nonsense.

I consider myself a gender hobo, and I’m very content with it. You may use whatever pronouns you feel fit me, including it/its because honestly I fuck with the vibes they give off.

Sideblogs are against my religion, so instead I just tag things. If you followed me for one thing, but you don’t want to see the other stuff, block those tags!

Readers of my fanfiction to asking questions and tormenting me (#anons my beloved)

Inbox City i.e. a massive nonsensical Gotham City-esque anon rp with wtnv vibes (#inbox city news)

My own personal Tumblr, random reblogs aren’t tagged but my personal posts are (#comma rambles)

I’m not really one for self promos, but I guess I’ll link my Ao3 if you want to check out my nonsense (and if you can’t get enough, I have a bunch of extra content on available on my ko-fi for the low low price of whatever you want to pay /nf)

I never know which cw/tw tags people actually use, but if you follow me and there’s a topic you want me to tag so you can avoid it, just send me an ask or a dm. I never ever want to make people uncomfortable, so I will do my utmost to tag it correctly. It can be anything. You just have to let me know.

Current tags:

cw abuse: this one encompasses general/sexual adult/childhood abuse and pedophilia, I can’t have a separate tag for anything sexual bc Tumblr will straight up erase the post from existence if I tag it properly

Other links you may have been looking for:

join my Discord to meet like-minded goblins!

The post-mortem for Close to the Bone

Hi Thirsty I’m Dad 50k Celebration Video

[woundedheartwithin]

All right, folks, my ko-fi shop is set up and ready to go!  I’m still uploading products, so if you don’t see your favorite double exposure, be sure to check back later!

You can also tip me if you like my writing, my virtual photography, or just wanna help me out in general!  I’m thinking about opening commissions on my double exposures and virtual photography only, but we’ll see how the shop does first.  If that’s something you’d like to see in the future, please don’t hesitate to drop me a message.  In the meantime, if there’s any particular game you’d like to see, or any specific images from my virtual photography tag you’d be interested in purchasing a print of, feel free to let me know!

I’ll post a breakdown of why I price the way that I do under the cut, if that’s something you’re interested in seeing.  I know a lot of folks want to see exactly what they’re paying for!

So why $20?  I price all of my prints this way so that shipping is always free!  I use WHCC to fulfill all of my print orders because they can do a much better job of printing and packaging a perfect product for you than I ever could.  This ensures that the process is as efficient and cost effective as possible, and you get a beautiful, professional quality print delivered straight to your door in packaging that will keep it safe and protected.  This also ensures the lowest possible cost of shipping internationally.  They’re also just wonderful folks in general, and their customer service is second to none, not to mention the print quality is absolutely stunning, so I trust them completely with handling your orders!  Of course, if there is an issue, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me, and I will take care of it for you.

Drop shipping through WHCC has a flat rate of $7.95 in the U.S., and $7.95 international shipping plus additional possible fees depending on the country, though none of the countries I entered into the USPS shipping calculator had any additional fees.  USPS international shipping is actually very reasonable, and because you will be getting a flat envelope, standard postage rates typically apply.  I’ve also been using USPS international shipping for years with my goat halter business, and have never seen any exorbitant rates come through on any of my orders.  

Additionally, the cost of printing your 8x10 luster print (semi-gloss) is $2.75, bringing the total overhead cost to $10.70.  Given that most of my double exposures take a minimum of three hours to complete, not including time spent in game capturing the images used in each edit, that brings my hourly compensation to $3.10, give or take, for a total profit of $9.30.  I don’t include time spent in game because, well, I’m playing a video game!  I enter photomode as the spirit moves me, often with no real idea in mind for a potential double exposure.  Usually I just stop and say something like, “Oh wow, that’s neat,” and then spend half an hour taking pictures.  It’s fun for me, and I enjoy it immensely, and that’s payment enough for that part of the process.

By and large, I consider each of my double exposures a labor of love, and I do them because I enjoy them and I want them to exist.  But, to be perfectly frank, I could use the extra income for my medical bills, so I decided maybe a print shop wouldn’t be such a bad idea, since so many folks were interested in them on Twitter.  Admittedly, I haven’t had much luck with selling my prints with my other shop, so even though I will be making less in terms of profit with ko-fi, it does seem to be a more user friendly option.  The other shop is still open if you’d prefer to purchase from there, though the shipping is not free (which I think might be some folks’ issue with it).  

Either way, thanks so much for reading and for supporting me!

[shenzuul]

What got me out of that reading pattern - looking for kudos to hits ratio, or number of bookmarks, etc. - was taking a moment to consider, if everyone was doing the same thing as me, how new fics would ever get to me. Because if everyone was always waiting for proof that a fic was well liked before reading it...it would never get read.

The people who spend the time reading new fics, or going in for fics that seem to have low stats, are doing a service for the community at large by building up their stats in the first place. And, if you're entirely reliant on their judgment, they are controlling your taste entirely. You will only ever like what's popular, because you are only giving what's already popular a chance.

That said, I don't always have the time or emotional capacity to filter through a lot of works to find even one that I like. Especially if I've already clicked into a dozen fics that I couldn't get through.

So my compromise has been to try to vary my strategy as much as possible.

I try to spend some time on the first page for my fandoms. This is me putting my dues for belonging to the fandom space. I try to be extra generous with kudos and comments when I'm doing this, to help these authors get extra eyes down the line.

When I am supremely, superbly burnt out, I filter fics by most kudos, bookmarks, etc. I try to add a bunch of other filters as well - interesting tags, fic lengths, etc. - so that I'm not seeing the same dozen fics over and over again. But this method has a bias for older and longer fics. And of course, because other people use this method too, the fics that reached the top with the best timing tend to stay there, because more people see them, give them a chance, and then add their love.

I cannot recommend enough using the date filters to get snapshots of different time periods. This is a great way to see fics that are neither old enough to be in the already-loved-therefore-get-more-love loop, nor so new that you've already passed them by a dozen times on the front page. If you're on the tired end of your spectrum, use your kudos/bookmarks/whatever method here, and find out what the most loved thing of March 2019 was. If you're feeling generous, give some love to the idiot who posted a ficlet on Christmas 2022 that no one spotted.

Sometimes I filter for completed only. I try to make sure to sometimes give things that aren't finished a chance - especially ones that don't have a target chapter count. Not just that particular writer, but writers in general, will be more likely to write and complete long works if it's the fandom culture in general to reward it with kudos and comments.

Not saying you have to always be an adventurous reader, but I encourage you try it whenever you can. Remember you're not alone in fandom. You benefit from what the rest of the community is doing, and your choices have an impact on it as well, as personal as they seem. Have fun, spread the love.

Another AO3 thing I’m curious about, how do yall decide if something is good enough to read? Usually I follow a rule of 1 kudos for every 10 hits. One because it’s easy math and two it’s yet to fail me. Thoughts? Do you just go for it and pray it’s good?

[cmgirlie]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by: @dilf-in-peril

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13 plus a fourteenth that's part of an exchange and hasn't been revealed yet.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

25,112

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it's all wrestling.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Despite the Snow, Despite the Falling Snow — American Gods (TV); Mad Sweeney/Shadow Moon

Like it Rough — Our Flag Means Death (TV); Israel Hands/Lucius Spriggs (this one isn't very good and I thought I had deleted it until I checked to make this post. only lands here because it's a big fandom i guess)

Poison on Our Lips — Saw (Movies); Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon (this one's been getting a bit extra traffic now with the Saw fandom resurging)

The Lies We Tell Ourselves — Insidious (Movies); Specs/Tucker (this was never finished. it's also been getting some spillover attention from leigh whannell fans)

In the Dead of Night — The Terror (TV 2018); George Henry Hodgson/John Irving

(my most popular wrestling fic, my collected kinktober fills from last year, just barely misses this list)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I should. I try to. I used to. I rarely do.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

eh I usually don't write super angsty endings. I guess the Specs/Tucker one is pretty dreary since I abandoned it at a little cliffhanger.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

excluding orgasms, Despite the Snow, Despite the Falling Snow is my only genuine angst with a happy ending. and it's a pretty cute get-together.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, my fics aren't popular or controversial enough for that

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep. Usually kinky stuff, and often stuff I myself find sort of weird. Gotta exorcise it i guess.

Funny enough, I used to write a fair bit of smut as a teen, deleted it all and spent years not writing any, and then it's been naught but smut since 2021.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

no, I don't enjoy reading them either.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm pretty certain Despite the Snow, etc. was translated into Chinese back when I first posted it but ao3 doesn't show any related works. Maybe it got deleted?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm pretty fickle so I usually just stick to my favs in my current fandom. Right now it's CMJF with Joepunk contesting it for #1. My Stormpilot shipping would rear back up with every new Star Wars release so it was probably my longest-lasting ship.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My Punk/AJ/Ace Steel fill for kinktober was supposed to be part of a longer fic that never got farther into than the very beginning and that extract I posted.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I feel like I'm pretty good at showing characters' feelings through action, without much internal monologue. I've been told I balance comedy and smut well which. I don't consider myself a funny person but I do like to lean into the absurdist premises of porn i guess

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Visual description. Partially because I'm bad at it, partially because I think it adds too much fluff and avoid it. Problem is I have a very visual imagination so fics that feel super detailed in my mind end up being 200 words long with no plot, because it's all just mise-en-scène that I can't get on the page.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've never really done it but I tend to enjoy when it's there. It may be cheesy but I love a good pet name in the character's native language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I dabbled a bit in Phantom of the Opera fic, but really got going in the Hannibal fandom.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

around 2017 I was really trying to make my fics feel ~atmospheric~ and I feel like I achieved that best in Despite the Snow, etc., even if it's partially adapting a scene from the book that never made it to the show (that I know of, I didn't watch past s1). I feel like I'm still plopping around awkwardly in wrestling fic so I really couldn't pick a favourite.