#i spent too much time on those fishnets

[tksubby]

um

happy belated easter

[mingsolo]

before you go

san x reader (afab) / genre: smut, pwp, established relationship / warnings: unprotected sex, cursing, hair pulling, oral (m receiving), spanking, slightly possessive san but its for the fun of it, jealous san, creampie, pet names (baby), wc: 1.1k / r: 21+

unedited but delicious, also done for the jealousteez collab club project @pirateeznet — have fun hornies!

“Why do you have to go so early?” 

San’s pouty voice resonated from the living room all the way to the bathroom, where you were finishing with your makeup, ready for tonight´s concert. 

“We talked about this Sanie, you can’t convince me to stay, you know how much I spent on the tickets?!”

He was about to reply with another plea, but he shut completely when he saw you got out of your bedroom, doing a spin and showing your finished concert assemble. San stood up, looking at you with wide eyes in admiration. “What do you think?” you said, spinning again, making your pleated skirt dance against your thighs, making the chains around your waist dingle. 

“Fuck! You look so hot, no! you can’t go like this, baby” he got closer, grabbing your waist and admiring your form. His eyes turned sparkly and his pout became almost cartoonish. “You've been talking too much about that Jake guy, and now he’s going to look at you like this, bounce like this, for him…” he added, sounding rather sad.

“Don’t be silly San, he won’t even notice me!”

“He would be an idiot if he doesn’t” He said, pulling you back against his chest.

You giggled, finding him amusing but knowing he is actually being serious. Truth was San couldn't handle you going to concerts, even less, guy concerts where a dude you won’t shut up about would be performing. 

“That’s sweet Sanie, but I doubt it,” you said, kissing him and throwing your arms around his neck. “Let’s make a deal, go home and after the concert, I’ll crash a your apartment and make it up for you, I promise”

San looked at the ceiling, considering your offer, but after a moment of deliberation, he thought of something. “I would be less mad about those guys seeing you dance in this outfit, If I get to fill you up good before you go, that’s my condition.” 

“Huh?!” you knew he was joking, he wouldn´t put conditions on you for going out or not, but this was cruel from him. He knew how fucking hot he was when he talked tried dirty talk on you, and what it provoked.

“Choi San, you wouldn’t” you glared at him.

“I won’t ruin your pretty outfit, I promise.”

Moments later, you were on your knees, soft pillow under them not to hurt you or ruin your fishnet tights. You look up to San, your eyes search for him and he looks down with drowsy eyes. “You look so pretty, baby,” he groans, and curses when you increase your pace, dick hot and heavy in your mouth. You gag and his teeth press onto his bottom lip, if you didn’t knew him better, you would say, in agony, 

He grabs his base and urges you to go one more time with all you got. The sounds you make as you suck him up are driving him insane and you can feel it on how his dick throbs against your throat. He is so loud you swear all your neighbors know what you are doing, but you don’t care. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, hearing you gag on him, “Shhh, baby, look at me” San lifts your head gently and your lashes flutter, “Fuck, are you crying?” He gasps but you don’t stop, taking him all in until he hits the back of your throat again. 

“You want me to load onto you in all places huh?” You nod and he curses again, “Crying because you want my cum on you so bad? thought you were in a hurry to leave, baby” You shake your head slightly and he giggles unable to resist how your lips and tongue work on him. 

Just as you are about to need to grasp some air, San thrust three times into you rather harshly. San sees that you need air and pulls out, “I love fucking your mouth, but I don’t want to ruin the makeup you spend so much working on” He then takes your arm and pull you up, immediately turning you over and bending you over the arm of the sofa, lifting your skirt, realizing is not tights what you are wearing, but stockings. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?,” He grunts and presses against you, dragging his cock against your folds, hearing you whine and whimper, until he’s satisfied. “Where are your shorts?”

“Sanie, I haven't finished dressing up!” you cry. 

“Sure thing,” He chuckles darkly, pushing himself into you with ease, “Such. A. Slut” he said, pushing into you harshly with every word. You moan, feeling how San turns your face towards him and kisses you sloppily. It’s so messy and the angle is awkward but the both of you need to be connected in every way. 

when San breaks the kiss, and grabs you by the hair, it’s harsh but at the same time he doesn’t want to mess up your recently done hair, and despite spit dripping out your mouth thanks to the kiss and San slamming into you like a fucking starved man, you feel so enamoured by him that you start to tear up again. 

One hand on your hair and the other on your stomach, keeping you close to him as he slams in and out, while sucking on your neck, making sure to leave some kind of mark for you to display later tonight. “Baby, you like that you're gonna be jumping and dancing with my cum inside you all night, right?,” you nod frantically, and San feels like exploding at any second. “Want to be sure you don’t forget about me baby, gonna fill you up so good” 

You moan and he takes the chance to leave your hair and stick two fingers into your mouth. Wasting no time you start sucking them, at the same pace of San’s thrusts inside you. San hits your sweet spot and you sob into his fingers, accidentally taking them out.

“San please, please!” 

“What baby, you wanna come already?” 

“Please baby, I want to come”

San increases his pace and it's becoming rather sloppy, so you know he’s close too. “Fuck then come with me, let’s come together bab— yyy!” San lets out a whiny moan that you sure resonated in the entire building. He pressed himself against you and you rode your release at the same time that you felt San’s hot cum filling you up. “Just like that,” he breathes out, moving a little to see if his cum is leaking out of you as he wished. “Mine, mine only.” He says, spanking you loudly.

You moan and San chuckles, helping you stand up. He smiles, kissing your temple before he goes to pick up some tissues to help you clean up before you need to change stockings. 

“Now go for those shorts, or else I’ll fuck you again until the concert is over.” 

“Sanie!” 

He huffs, dimples showing as he smiles again, and then he squints. “I mean it.” 

@mingsolo please do not re-upload/translate to other sites

[banquetwriter]

can u write a smut of an insecure plus sized goth reader x johnnie please? she's a virgin and after being together for a few months she asks him could they do it, and he eats her out n fucks her n stuff 🙏🙏 make it really soft pls and thank u i love ur work btw 🖤🖤

୨୧ Batty love ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ goth!fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ smut, losing virginity, getting eaten out, general shenanigans

summary: ʚ johnnie isn’t gonna let you being inexperienced stop him from devouring you ɞ

Words: 2234

An: i know this isn't the best but I'm legitimately do sick rn 😞

SUPPORT ME

You haven't stopped looking at your phone for at least two days. Johnnie, your boyfriend, had just hard-launched your relationship for the first time on Instagram. And to your shock, 95% of the comments were so positive. Everyone complimented your goth appearance.

This much praise was addicting. Being plus size meant a lot of insecurities made by the pathetic losers of society. There were of course a few nice comments… those weren't the ones you kept staring at. Criticizing your looks or body.

Johnnie had warned you about this happening, and you promised him the world knowing about you two was worth it, and it was, but god did it hurt. Johnnie Was out streaming with Jake today so that left you alone for a good few hours.

It was useless trying to wait around crying over some loser online who couldn't handle the fact their celebrity crush didn't pick them. You sat up rubbing your face carefully not trying to hit your piercings at all. You scrolled around on your phone’s playlist before connecting to a speaker.

You started to shift through your closet to come up with an outfit. Maybe you and Johnnie could go out tonight? It was hard to get dressed in full goth normally, especially when you weren't feeling good about yourself.

You settled on a long black skirt with silver shiny bats that were sporadically speckled on it and paired it with an ‘i ❤️ emo boys’ t-shirt with a corset. You put your outfit on by pairing your black stockings and fishnet top for your arms.

You sat down at your desk singing along to your beloved playlist. You turned your light on your mirror searching for your hair clips. You managed to locate them by clipping your hair out of your face. Your music was briefly interrupted by a text notification.

You pick up your phone and it is from Johnnie, ‘should be done soon. Just filmed for Jake's, we're gonna do mine now. Probably just dick around Walmart or something. See you soon love 🖤’ you smiled at his text.

You responded back within seconds ‘Have fun filming (but not too much fun without me lol) 🖤🖤’

You sat your phone down, adjusting your shirt, and you started on your makeup. You put on primer, then foundation, the concealer, and to finish your base off you pack on some powder letting it sit on your face. You pulled out your phone and snapped a selfie of your half-done make-up.

You stuck your tongue off a little for the picture. You posted it on your main Instagram story with a goth song of course. Your Instagram gained quite a few followers from Johnnie’s post. It was exciting and also very scary.

You decided the powder baking on your face was about done so you brushed it off. You grabbed your contour brush and packed some onto it. You started to carve your face onto the white base using the black powder.

Now it was time for your eye makeup. It was the hardest part. You spent a good while meticulously adding your eyeliner and eyeshadow. Once you were done, sufficiently looking like a bat, you finished it off with black lipstick and some setting spray.

You put on accessories and teased your hair to high heaven. And you were all ready. You sprayed some perfume on and looked in the mirror. Fuck did you look good. You posed a little admiring yourself, you took your phone out again and decided to take a few pictures.

This time you posted them as posts and not a story so anyone could say anything. It scared you but you couldn't hide forever. You were dating Johnnie and no one could change that.

It took only a few minutes before the comments came rolling in. All of which were positive, it made your heart soar with all the compliments. You were smiling until you read one: ‘Johnnie eating good tonight’ . It was a nice comment and funny naturally.

There was just one issue. You and Johnnie haven't had sex yet, and furthermore, you have never had sex. Ever. Sure you used a few toys here and there but never has another person shared such an intimate moment with you. You had already worried yourself sick about this. Johnnie Was sexually active and therefore, inevitably he would want to have sex with you.

You were ready… you think at least. You wanted to, of course you did, have you seen your boyfriend? He was such a fucking hottie. You had plenty of dreams of ripping his clothes off and going under the covers. You were just nervous.

You did actually weigh a lot more than your boyfriend and no offense to him he wasn't exactly built to handle all you could offer. The nerves rattled through your body. But you were a full-grown woman and there wasn't anything wrong with taking your time to have sex.

If Johnnie didn't understand that (which you're sure he would) then this wasn't the relationship for you. You shook your thoughts of breaking up with Johnnie away. This wasn't a time to worry.

It was only a few more minutes before Johnnie came home. He stepped into your apartment, and he stopped when looking at you. His jaw faltered open. “Wow, how are you mine?” he asked, closing the door, his hands wrapping around your waist.

“From your strapping good looks and charm of course.” you purred, moving a strand of his hair from his face. You planted a small kiss on his now-exposed skin. “Yeah sure,” he murmured against your hair, planting a small kiss on the top of your head.

You smiled at him, your eyes holding each other. His eyes seem to almost darken looking at you. You pull him into a kiss, one he gladly returns. His hands are holding onto your corseted waist. Even through the thick fabric, you can feel him clutching your body.

Your kisses got more heated as he started to move his hands down your body. You had done this with him before. It didn't scare you much anymore. Of course it was nerve-racking, but not scary. His touch felt so nice even if it was through your clothes.

He slowly moaned into your mouth as you gently tugged his hair. “Fuck,” he muttered slowly pulling away from you. He wrapped his hands into your pulling you towards your couch. Your nerves jumped into your throat knowing what was coming.

And yes you wanted to so fucking bad, you needed your hot boyfriend inside you. He gently pushed you onto the couch, you fell back ruining your cute decorative pillows. He positions himself between your legs, his mouth hungry to devour all of you.

You wanted to enjoy him you really did but your heart was pounding out of your chest with nerves. “Johnnie-” you asked quietly against his lips. He pulled back sensing your worry. “We haven't done anything yet-” you started, unsure how to keep going you stayed silent.

“It's fine if you don't wanna, you know, tonight.” he spoke softly, “No trust me I want to. It's just that I've never done that before. I've never had sex before.” you confessed. You could see his eyes widen. You felt like you were holding his breath.

“Woah, really?” he asked, leaning towards you, a small cheeky smile plastered on his lips. “Yeah, not that I’m waiting for marriage or something but I don't know I just haven't yet,” you said shrugging. “That's ok, are you still down to or?” he asks, staring at you sheepishly.

“Of course I am, I just need you to be slow I guess,” you whispered to him. He glances at your lips for a minute, “I can do that.” he says before your lips crash onto one another.

His hand crept down to your ankle and slowly started to run his hand up your legs, he reached the end of your stocking. He hooked his fingers over the clothing and pulled them off your body repeating it for your other leg.

He looked into your eyes as he slipped his hands back under your skirt, hooking delicate fingers over your panties and slowly pulling them off your body. The feeling of his hands on your thighs was sending waves of pleasure to your core.

You've been horny before but nothing compared to the feelings you felt as your boyfriend slowly lowered to his knees. Kissing up and down your legs. “Are you doing ok?” he asks between kisses up your thighs.

“Y-yeah I'm good,” you said quietly, eyes watching Johnnie like a hawk. He smirks against your skin. He slowly pushes your skirt up your body revealing your bare legs. He placed a tender kiss on the top of your cunt.

You swore you could see stars with the amount of pleasure That coursed through you. The end of your fingers and toes felt tingly and cold. Johnnie moved up to face again, he slowly started to kiss you again. “M’gonna move my hand now. Like my fingers ok?” he said against your lips.

“Ok,” you whispered back, and you spread your legs widely for him. He slowly dipped his finger into your sopping cunt. You let out a gasp at the sensation. He slowly pumped his finger in and out of you. It felt good but it wasn't enough for you.

As if Johnnie could read your mind, he pumped out of you once again. When he entered back in he had two fingers this time. It stung for a second or two then pleasure returned to your body as he started to curve his finger into you.

“Oh fuck.” you moaned out, you can guess how people get addicted to this feeling. You felt like a little pervy teenager with raging hormones. The feeling of Johnnie hitting your G-spot repeatedly was sending you over the edge.

“Johnnie.” you mewled out, to nothing in particular. “I need more please,” you begged, having a sense of missing something. “If you insist on it my love.” he pulled out of you, his fingers dripping wet. You watched as he crouched down further.

He kissed slowly on your thighs before reaching your clit. He pressed a soft kiss right on your spot. You felt yourself clench over nothing and it drove you wild. He continued kissing down until he reached your hole. He slowly prodded his tongue into you.

Very gently at first to help you get used to the feeling. You felt the pleasure tenfold as soon as he began to rub your clit, fully pumping his tongue in and out of you. “Oh fuck hold on,” you murmured to him.

He stopped cocking his head slightly. You quickly snap off your corset, immediately releasing tension in your gut. You quickly pulled your shirt off, your bra going with it.

You were now naked minus the skirt bunched up around your waist. “M’fuck.” he whispered looking at your tits. He had what looked like a painful erection at this point. His skinny jeans looked like they were gonna burst open.

“You ready?” you asked him, gesturing to his painfully hard erection. “Fuck yeah,” he whined undoing his studded belt, he started to further undress himself. You followed suit pushing your skirt down.

Once he was completely naked, he leaned down and started to kiss you again. He wrapped his hand around his cock and pumped a few times attempting to get ready for your body. After about a minute he lined up his leaking cock to your entrance.

He slowly pushed into you. You let out a wanton gasp as he bottomed out. “Fuck.” he growled into your ear. He fumbled around trying to find your hand and brought it down to your clit. You started to rub to your pleasure.

At the same time, he started to push into you slowly at first then after a minute he began to push into you at a quicker pace. “Fuck your so tight. So glad I get this pussy all to myself,” he whined into your ear. You couldn't hold yourself anymore. The coil in your stomach was going to snap.

You felt The familiar feeling bubbling in your stomach and your limbs. “Im gonna fucking cum.” you whined out, grabbing at his torso and leaving a long scratch. Johnnie held your eye contact nodding at you.

The coil finally snapped, your walls clenching around him. “Johnnie-” you whined, your back arching. Your body shaking from your orgasm, sent him completely over the edge.

Hit ropes of cum splattered inside you as he fucked you through his own orgasm. Your breath slowly returned back to your body as you saw Johnnie cleaning your body up with a damp towel.

“Are you ok?” he asked quietly, tossing the rag into the laundry basket. He misses but he just took his girlfriend's virginity so he isn't particularly worried about where it landed. “Yeah I'm fucking great right now actually,” you murmured.

He giggles pulling his clothes back on. You did the same, pulling out your phone to see your makeup completely fucked. Your eyeliner and mascara dripped down, the sweat sucking your makeup into your skin, your lipstick beyond fucked.

You pulled out your phone and snapped one last photo for your Instagram

[slocumjoe]

Previous relationships

Excluding Curie and X6, as I don't HC them as having experience.

Cait; The other woman's name was Power, a caravan mercenary. She was gruffer than Cait, but quieter. Older, too. Power had been around longer than a lot of fucking people in their circles, but still had the wild-eyed frenzy of youth burning in her almost black eyes. Cait liked her because Power made her feel safe. Power was big and mean and didn't let anyone fuck with Cait, not even Tommy. Even Tommy was on his best behavior when Power was around. Power said she just saw a young woman still figuring herself out. Power said she'd be back one day, with money and guns and she'd take Cait with her. She joined the Minutemen. Only one Minuteman survived Quincy. Power joined the Gunners. She didn't forget Cait, but it was a dog eat dog world. Cait would have to feed herself.

Danse; When he was still a Knight, shortly after Cutler's death, he did everything he could to not look like the mess he truly was. He socialized like anyone else, hid his drinking, spent his few caps on makeup to cover his eye bags and worsening health. Anything to look normal, to look like other young men his age. What they did, often, was talk to civilian ladies and go talk in private. There was one lady in a town he'd been stationed in for a few months. She came up to Danse, first. Her name was Eliza. All they did was talk. She told him all of her secrets, her drunk mother, dead father, little brother she cared for, the bar she worked at, her mishaps in the kitchen. He told her about how he felt like nothing without the Brotherhood, the emptiness behind his armor. He babysat Henry a few times while he was off the clock. Eliza held his hand many nights. He left thinking of marriage, of fatherhood. He still thinks of her freckled hands.

Deacon; Before Barb, there were a few. Sasha sticks out to him. She had bright green hair that was always thinning and falling out, fake teeth she'd made from mongrols, and a knife bedazzled with pink jewels. Deacon saw her across the town and all but ran after her, desperate to know what kind of mechanisms made that clock tick. She was fun incarnate. Sasha had a good spirit about everything, and told Deacon that to really make it in this world, you had to be happy being a fuck-ass loser no one would understand. He broke up with her when he found out she was involved in chem rings with raiders, but it was on good terms. He didn't want to deal with that life, she gave him a hug and told him to live as quietly as he found fun. He thinks very fondly of her. Last he heard, she was a ghoul in Goodneighbor with her own beauty salon.

Gage; By all accounts, Robert was not Gage's type. Unfortunately, Gage has a type, and that type is Fucking Awful. Robert was a rich brahmin baron from a big city who was clean, spoke nicely, dressed nicer, and looked like he walked off one of those old world billboards. That's what he looked like. But he wouldn't have met Gage if he wasn't as black as soot underneath all those shiny bits. Robert had a taste for free labor. Gage's gang at the time was more than willing to help him find it. Occasionally, he paid them to escort him to business deals, be hired muscle. Robert liked Gage immediately, found him smarter and funnier. Took him aside for drinks. Said he'd look good, if he could eat more and put some meat on his bones. Robert kept them hired for years, just to buy Gage steak dinners, just to fuck him once he filled out. Gage liked the meals, but out of all of his partners, would rank Robert as one of the most unsettling people he's ever met.

Hancock; He never got her name, but she was blonde, short, had a foul mouth, and fished off the river for money. He watched her wrestle a mutant fish-thing and fell in love. They had so much public sex, Hancock paid someone to try and figure out how many Boston locals had seen his dick and/or her tits. His name for her was Netty, because she wore fishnets and....well. She fished. With nets. He wrote her poems, she told him to shut up and get between her legs. Netty kept him off chems for a while because she could taste them on his breath and despised the taste. Eventually, Netty told him, naked and beneath the moonlight, that she was going to this old war fishing Hotspot, some place the Americans called Maine. He got a letter months later with fish bones and a lipstick stain, telling him she was getting married to an Atom cultist and asked if he wanted a boat ride up for a threesome. Hancock sent her a letter back, politely declining but wishing her a happy marriage.

MacCready; In Goodneighbor, he occasionally shared a drink with a cute guy named Peter. He was a Triggerman, but had a scrappy charm, nice teeth, and looked good in the suspenders. They hooked up here and there, but mostly they'd just make Kent come out of the Memory Den and talk about comics in the sunlight, playing cards on a bench and debating who was a hotter Mistress of Mystery, or if a certain comic run was good or not. Peter was sweet, and Mac really liked him, both as a friend and as a potential step dad. Peter liked kids, and wanted to meet Duncan. Eventually, Peter fucked up on a job, and the Triggermen didn't kill him, but ran him out of town. MacCready heard he was up in Bunker Hill last, and still occasionally thinks about rekindling that friendship. He knows Kent took the loss real hard.

Nick; Despite his hang ups with his current body, a man's desires are not so easily swayed. Nick has a type. That type walked into Diamond City with a sway in the hips, a cig on his lips, and a well-kept mustache. He was a cattle rustler, a cowboy for local farms. His name was Derek. He heard about Nick and came to see the metal man for himself. Derek was quick to say he didn't look bad at all, no, he was rather easy to look at. Said his eyes reminded him of the orangest part of a sunset. Nick weighed his options, if he was truly willing to drop his pants for someone he met 10 minutes ago. He said no. Derek stuck around and quickly proved to be a good guy. Nick dropped his pants the second proposition. For a farmhand, Derek knew his way around robots. Nick blames it on too many years since his last horizontal-tango, but still heats up when he thinks about the encounter.

Piper; Fell for a male stripper in Goodneighbor and still questions her sanity. She was ovulating, okay? And he was kind, and was patient when she fumbled with her caps and told her she was just fine, and played with her hair while he said by her, and...Piper has a soft spot. That soft spot is hot people who just stare at her and smile while she embarasses herself. He was ghoul, his name was Garret and he smelled like expired floral perfume, but God damn it, Piper likes expired floral perfume. They were mostly just fuck buddies, but Piper genuinely thought he was fucking hilarious. He was a pre-war pastor and a lot to say on the matter, though his opinions pickled over the years. Garret sends her letters about hot gossip or useful info regularly.

Preston; met a dominatrix for pay. Preston is not a very sexual person. He doesn't have a lot of libido. Queenie liked that, a lot. She liked being able to just talk and talk, and not have to worry about sex at the end of it. Preston thought she was fascinating, having met so many people through her work and seen such weird sides of them. You brought up any topic, Queenie had a story for it. And she was killer at tailoring and sewing, so she patched up his gear while she rambled about how one of her clients got married, again, and how his new wife tried to kill her, and how she had to fend her off with a sack of potatoes. She was constantly flustered and baffled, once her work-mask slipped off, and her turns of phase were hilarious. Once the Minutemen get rebuilt, Preston got a letter, telling him she'd become a professional tailor, now, asking if the new General needed someone who knew her way around the uniform.

[nerdraging4point0]

The Scorpion and the Scales //Chapter One// Poly-AU

Header photo by @ladyveronikawrites

Tropes and Tags: MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only MDNI, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Active taglist: @ladyveronikawrites @tearfallpixie @beaker1636 @circle-with-me @synthetic-wasp-570 @itsjustemily @thesazzb @vinyardmauro @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @letmeadoreyoux @starsomens @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @thatchickwiththecamera @mysticdoodlez @chels3a-smile @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @roley-poley-foley @ravieisunhinged @dethronetheveil @to-be-written @somewhere-diamond @somebodyels3 @sacredthefran

My ears are still ringing from the concert, a lingering reminder of the band's raucous performance that seemed to rattle the very walls. But as I stand outside the venue waiting, the cool Colorado night wraps around me, calming my ringing ears. I take a deep breath, letting the crisp mountain air soothe my senses. Looking up at the starry sky, I can't help but smile, the adrenaline from the show still coursing through my veins. My body may be tired, but my spirit feels alive. This is exactly where I want to be.

I scroll through the photos and videos on my phone, reliving each moment - the crush of the crowd, the first electrifying guitar riff, the encore chant that shook the rafters. I smile as I post clips to Snapchat, the glowing screen casting a soft light on my face. These are memories frozen in time now.

I glance down at my outfit, suddenly self-conscious - dark shorts with fishnets, my favorite Adidas shoes, a cropped long sleeve tee to show off my wrist tattoo. My dark curls bouncing around my shoulders, framing the natural makeup look I had spent so long perfecting. My heart pounds at the thought of meeting the band looking like this.

I can hardly contain my excitement. Getting a photo with the band tonight will be the perfect addition to my prized collection of memories! My scrapbook is absolutely full of photos with bands and celebrities - it's my most prized possession. But the photos themselves are nothing compared to the actual experiences behind them. I smile to myself remembering all the crazy adventures over the years - the VIP access, celebrity run-ins, wild nights out in Vegas and LA. I live for these thrilling moments and have to document every single one. This show tonight will give me yet another trophy photo for my scrapbook of fame.

I can feel the crowd stirring, a buzz of anticipation in the air. Around me, fans jostle for position near the stage door while security guards confer, ready to guide the band through. I'm so tempted to rush the door with some of the other die-hard fans, but I know that's crazy - I'd probably just get trampled. So, I stay put, heart racing, barely able to contain my excitement. 

The crowd roars as Folio and Jolly emerge from backstage, basking in the post-show glow. Folio's got on his favorite tour tee, that vintage New York cap perched just so atop his mop of curls. And Jolly - man, that dude looks like a rockstar with his hoodie and beanie combo, those long brown locks flowing free. They pause to snap a few pics with fans, gracious as ever, before huddling up to recap the epic show.

When I see Noah, my heart stops. His towering, muscular frame moves with a feline grace and his soft brown locks fall perfectly over his chiseled features. This triple-threat talent radiated magnetism, his lethal attractiveness gripping me in its thrall. I was helpless, I was his, utterly and completely.

I see Jolly and Folio sitting off to the side of the fans. They aren't too far away, but I feel the nerves build in my chest, and I gather my courage to call them over.

"Jolly!" I shout, my voice cracking with excitement. He turns, and I start flapping my arms like a madwoman, desperate to catch his eye. This is it. My chance to meet one of my idols in the flesh. I scurry over, my legs jittery and unsteady beneath me. "Can I get a picture with you guys?" I blurt out in a rush, the words tumbling over themselves. I'm practically vibrating now, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Just breathe, I tell myself. Play it cool. But my fangirl glee cannot be contained.

He saunters over, hands in his pockets, with Folio trotting behind him. I fumble a bit with my phone, trying to find a good angle for a selfie.

"Mind if I help?" he asks, reaching out his hand. I hand him the thin device with a shaky hand. Extending his arm, phone in hand, facing the three of us so we were all framed up perfectly. I flash my best smile, leaning on the fence post for support. He snaps a few shots to make sure they came out clear, then hands my phone back.

"Thank you so much!" I squeal excitedly.

"Not a problem at all," he replies with a gentle smile, his accent coming through each word.

Folio turns to me, but he doesn't sound too thrilled - more like he's feigning the enthusiasm. "So, did you have fun?"

"Fun? Are you kidding me? That was amazing!" I gush. "Has anyone actually ever said no?" I quip playfully.

Folio chuckles and Jolly just laughs, making me feel good - at least they get my sense of humor! "I suppose it depends on who you ask," Folio says, chuckling again.

Nick shows up out of nowhere, trying to join our conversation. But his voice is drowned out by the shrieks from Noah's fans at the door. I sneak a peek and see Noah's tall figure in the center of the chaos - signing autographs, snapping selfies. I whip back around to Nick.

"What did you say?" he asks again.

I have to yell over the noise. "We were wondering if anyone's ever told you they didn't like your show!"

He lets out the most dramatic sigh. "No one's ever asked if I enjoy doing the show." I roll my eyes hard.

I roll my eyes as he pouts dramatically. "You're literally the star of the show," I point out, barely holding back my sarcasm.

He shrugs, unaffected. "Still, no one's cared to ask little ol' me about my feelings." He places a hand on his chest, channeling a wounded Victorian damsel.

I have to resist the urge to mimic gagging. "Alright, Your Highness," I say, my voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. "Do you enjoy being on the show or not?"

He taps his chin, pondering with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Hmm...maybe I don't. Have you considered that?"

"Wow, so brooding and mysterious," I deadpan.

I whip out my phone with a grin, waving it teasingly in front of Nick. "Mind snapping a quick pic for me?" I ask. He's happy to play along. I shuffle as close to him as I can with that barricade wedged between us, and he snaps off a couple shots before handing my phone back.

"Looks like you just need one with Noah now," Nick says, glancing over his shoulder. Noah's still surrounded by screaming fans begging for his attention. I give Nick an appreciative look - he's so chill and down-to-earth.

I sigh, my voice trailing off. "He seems a bit busy." I glance around at the mob of people crowded around Noah. I'm not sure I'll get that photo with him after all.

"Just hang out, we'll make sure he stops by," Jolly says, flashing me a reassuring smile. That makes me feel a little better.

"You local?" Nick asks me, clearly trying to keep the conversation flowing to avoid an awkward silence. I nod, "Yeah, born and raised here."

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold onto the warmth from the crowd. The breeze starts cutting through my shirt.

Nick, Jolly, Folio and I are still chatting away while everyone else heads home. Folio's glued to his phone, only half listening. Then security starts shooing people away, saying Noah only has time for a couple more photos. The last of the fans rush to the front for their chance.

When Noah finally makes his escape to the tour bus, Nick isn't having it. He waves Noah over, pleading, "One more, bro. I promise." Noah chuckles and ambles over, his long legs crossing the parking lot in just a few strides. Up close, he's even taller than I thought!

"Hello." His smile makes my heart flutter.

"Hi," I squeak out, unable to summon any other words. Just getting that single syllable out feels like a triumph.

"This is..." Nick hesitates, looking adorably flustered. "You know, with everything we've talked about, I never even asked your name."

"Eve," I manage, though my voice comes out high-pitched and timid. I cringe internally. I should know my own name, at least! But something about him makes me tongue-tied in a way I've never experienced before. Eve. It's not a complicated name. But looking into his eyes, I can barely remember such a simple word.

"Nick mentions something about a picture?" his voice is so low, I almost forget it's me he's talking to. We move against the barricade standing close to one another as Nick takes my phone from my hand to take the picture for us.

When the camera flashes, I blink hard, almost hoping the picture will turn out blurry. Just so we can try again.

"What cha think?" Nick asks, turning my phone screen to show me the photo. I mean, it's cute and all, but mostly I'm hyperaware of how close Noah still is to me.

"Hmm, could be better," Noah's voice is suddenly right by my ear, making chills run down my spine as he hovers behind me.

"Here," he says, stepping back and reaching for my hand. "Step over."

The moment our hands touch, my heart flutters as if a flock of butterflies has just been released inside my chest. I can't take my eyes off him, his warm smile making my knees weak. As I climb over the barricade, my movements awkward and clumsy in my nervous excitement, security rushes over. Noah holds both my hands in his, turning to look over his shoulder at the security guards rushing our way.

"It's cool, I got this," he says, his voice gentle and soothing.

My attention snaps back to him, those kind eyes telling me everything will be okay. I trust him completely. Once on the other side, I straighten my shirt, run my fingers through my hair, hoping I look presentable for this boy who has stolen my heart. Being near him is intoxicating, sparking a giddiness I've never known before. I want this moment to last forever.

His eyes lock onto mine, sending a jolt of excitement through my body. "Nick," he says, gaze never leaving mine. He reaches out his hand to his friend, "Phone."

Nick places it in his open palm, as Noah passes him the energy drink he'd been holding.

As Noah reaches out to me, my heart flutters. His arm finds its way around my waist, pulling me close. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and chills tingle down my spine at his touch. But I face the camera with him, tossing my dark curls over my shoulder and flashing a peace sign. Noah's smile lights up his whole face. I can't help but mirror it with my own grin. We take a few silly selfies together, giggling and making faces. With his arm wrapped around me, I never want this moment to end. Being this close to Noah makes my pulse race and my stomach fill with butterflies. I am absolutely smitten.

I am so excited that Noah has taken such a nice photo for me. "That should do it!" He jokes as he hands my phone back. "Much better than the others."

Suddenly Nick suggests, "Group photo!" Before I can even reach for my phone, Noah snatches it back and turns to the security guards by the door.

Jolly, Folio, Nick and I all gather together. Nick wraps his arm around my waist and I put mine around his shoulders. Then Noah comes over to fill the space on my other side, putting his arm around me too. I reach around and put my hand on his lower back, laughing.

The security guard takes our photo. I smile big - this will be the main one for my book! A memory I'll never forget. Two quick flashes and we're done.

When Noah helps me over the barricade, I feel a spark as our hands touch. His strong grip lifts me effortlessly over the metal rail, setting me gently on the ground. I turn back, not wanting our moment to end, and see him give me a little wave goodbye before he disappears into the tour bus. My heart flutters as I watch him go.

When I finally get to my car, I slide into the driver's seat with a sigh of relief. As the heater starts blasting warmth into the cold cabin, I pick up my phone and scroll through my photos until I find that selfie of Noah and me. I know I don't look my absolute best in that pic, but none of that matters - it's a photo of the two of us together and that's what's important. I set it as my new screensaver and just gaze at it for a moment, my heart fluttering. Then I open my playlist, queue up some music, and pull out of the parking lot to head home. All I can think about on the drive is how dreamy Noah looks in that photo, and how lucky I was to have met someone so wonderful. I can't wait to get home, crawl under the covers and relive every magical moment we shared today before drifting off to sleep with a smile on my face.

[starlightsearches]

requesting reader asking bf eddie to do his eyeliner n he says yes but only if they will sit on his lap while doing it!! if it gets spicy i absolutely dont mind!! also no rush!!!

AO3 Request: What about one where the reader is painting Eddie’s nails black for him after watching him struggle and somehow in between them drying they start making out and it turns a little NSFW and something about “Don’t, you’ll fuck the paint up.”

Looks That Kill

Thanks for the request, friends, and even more thanks for your patience!! Hope you enjoy 😚

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

Warnings: very very horny but not really smutty (18+ only please), language, Eddie is a SIMP always and forever, hints at sub! eddie, finger sucking, I know licking nail polish to smooth is out is gross but sometimes it's just what you do, okay??, mentions of impact play, some unfortunate cockblocking, and i think that's it! If I missed anything let me know uwu

"Jesus- fuck."

The eyeliner pencil slips from Eddie's fingers, again, clattering against the basin of the sink and leaving little black smudges around the porcelain before it slowly comes to a stop. He rubs the matching smudge off the corner of his eye with his thumb, smearing black down his cheek.

Normally, this is the point where he'd give up. If this were a gig at The Hideout, he wouldn't have even bothered to try with the makeup— would have rolled out of bed an hour before, still half high for another fucking show of watered-down covers.

But this is not just some show.

"You good, Eds?"

Your head pops into the shitty motel bathroom, drying your nails with pursed lips painted dark, perfectly-lined eyes meeting his own. Eddie shivers like you’ve got your hands on him, even though it's just the slow up and down trace of your eyes.

He knows what the look you give him means. You're trying to figure out what his problem is.

There's an immediate reminder of the secret he's been trying to keep from himself—that he's got more to be nervous about than this show and maybe a record deal and trying to put a little, black crayon by his eyeball.

"How do you even do this shit?" Eddie asks, holding the eyeliner in a tight fist like he's trying to choke it.

"It just takes practice."

You lean up against the door frame, unphased, because nothing ever gets to you. Not nerves, not shitty guys at shows, not late nights spent driving or hours in the van with nothing to look at but corn fields.

With Eddie, it's the opposite. Everything gets to him. Especially you.

He knew it was a bad idea, letting you take Grant’s spot when he went off for college. The guys were a second family to him, and the idea of replacing any of them always felt weird, like finding out your dad has a new girlfriend, and he wants you to call her mom.

But Corroded Coffin needed a bassist. And you could play—could play so good he’s pretty sure he’s been in love with you since that first note hit him in the chest.

It doesn't help that you're so fucking pretty, with your over the knee boots and those short, short skirts and fishnet tights that have him biting into the meat of his palm when you're not looking.

It doesn't help that Jeff and Gareth know way too much about his little problem, and still took the other room, leaving him high and dry.

"I don't have time for practice," he grumbles, mostly to himself, capping the eyeliner again and planting his hands against the counter.

It's not like anybody in the crowd would care if he had eyeliner on or not. Openers never got that much attention anyways. The record studio guy might be too high to even notice the name of the band, let alone what any of you looked like.

But Eddie cares. When he steps out on that stage, he wants to feel like he belongs there.

He catches you staring at him in the mirror, chewing pensively on your bottom lip, brushing a few hairs back behind your ear. You've got it just barely secured—like you always do before a show—knowing by the end of it you'll have all the loose strands sticking to your sweaty skin, making sure that everybody in the audience (and at least one of the guys on stage) can't think about anything else but fucking you.

There's a moment of prolonged eye contact between you that has Eddie glad the shirt he's wearing is black, so you won't see him sweat.

You push off the wall behind you, sliding up beside him at the counter. "Scoot over."

Eddie does, watching you take a little hop up onto the counter, shimmying the hem of your dress back down over your thighs, the fabric tight enough when you spread your legs he wonders if it'll pop at the seams.

Jesus.

"C'mere."

And Eddie gets what's going on—or he thinks he does—but it's like he can't get his legs to listen, stumbling toward you like a baby deer until his legs are just brushing your knees.

You roll your eyes at him. "Closer."

He lets out a little yelp when you tug at his wrist, pulling him in, widening your legs until there's enough room for his hips. There's a quiet sound, like fabric tearing, but maybe that's just leftover brain-rot from all the porn he watched in high school.

Your thighs close around his hips, and they're so fucking pillowy, molding against him. One of your ankles curls around the back of his knee. Eddie wonders if you can feel how close he is to buckling.

You're so fucking chill about it all, though, taking the eyeliner in one hand, gripping his chin in the other until you're almost nose to nose. It's just clouds of your shampoo and the smell of cherry-scented lip gloss Eddie'd snatched from the counter the second you stepped out of the room. Spread over the back of his hand, watched it shine in the light before immediately licking off. He needed to know what it tasted like.

You've got the pad of your thumb pressed into the soft skin under his eye, swiping away the evidence from one of his hundred other attempts.

"Look up," you tell him, catching his lashes gently under your finger when he obeys, "and stay still."

He's got no other choice. Eddie knows if he makes the slightest move, he'll feel your body move against his, and that'll have him popping a boner so fast he might lose consciousness.

One eye, and then the other—you swipe the pencil around his lash line so fast it would make him dizzy if he dared to look. The cap snaps back over the top of the eyeliner, and you drop it back into the bag.

"All done, rockstar," you tell him with a tap on the cheek, "check yourself out."

Eddie leans around you, trying to get a good look in the mirror, but his balance is all off. He's gonna fall on his ass, a thought almost too embarrassing to name, and he catches himself on the closest thing he can grab at.

Your thigh dents too pretty underneath his fingers, the backs of his rings snagging against one of the strings on your fishnets.

Fuck. Eddie's gotta play it off or he'll look like a tool—fucking about to faint because a girl is touching him—which means he's gotta keep his hand there, even if his vision is going dark at the edges. He can hardly see his own reflection.

"What d'you think?" he asks instead.

You're smiling, but in that way that has Eddie questioning everything you say, like it's all some fucked up riddle designed to torture him.

"It's sexy, Eds. You look great."

He just rolls his eyes. It's sexy, Eds. You're so fucking sexy, Eddie, and I need you to take me on this motel bathroom sink and fuck me for hours or I'm gonna claw my eyes out.

Yeah right. In his dreams, maybe.

But you didn't push his hand away, either. Let him cop a feel and you didn't even shrink away from him, or hurl. So maybe he's just being a mean little bitch to himself for the fun of it.

"Anything else?"

Yeah, Eddie thinks, slap me hard across the face then kiss it better.

But that's not really in the cards for tonight, so his eyes flash around the bathroom, landing on the black bottle of polish you brought in with you. Eddie raises his free hand, the one not on your thigh—which will stay there until he dies if he gets his way—spreading his fingers wide. "How 'bout a manicure?"

Your fingers grip at Eddie's hand, coating each of his nails with one clean swipe of the polish, breathing in deep and slow while the room floods with the scent of acetone.

"Blow," you command, placing his nails in front of his lips before you grab the other hand. Eddie's more than happy to do what he's told.

He watches you, watches the way your brows knit together, totally focused on perfection.

"You know," —your breath puffs against his knuckles, voice all quiet, "you don't need any of this shit, right? You're gonna blow it out of the fucking water, like you always do."

Eddie hopes his nails are dry already, because he's got no more breath in his lungs, just barely managing to gasp out a word.

"Oh."

You glance up at him through your lashes, and past your cool exterior and the twenty layers of apathetic irony bassists always seem to have, he knows you mean it.

Eddie flinches, hand slipping against yours. When you pull back, there's a big black smear across your thumb.

"Oh, damn, sorry."

He's left a dent in the polish on his middle finger, pushed some of the already-dry paint around until a sliver of his real nail was visible beneath.

"Don't worry about it."

If Eddie had a thousand years and unlimited guesses, he still wouldn't have come up with what you do next—taking his middle finger in your hand, pulling it toward your lips.

Your mouth is wet, and warm around his finger, and maybe Eddie moans when you suck at his skin but the roaring in his ears is too loud for him to be sure. All he knows is that he'll never need another dirty magazine or porno for the rest of his life. He's gonna be jerking off to this exact feeling forever.

Your tongue drags flat across his nail, and when you pull the digit from your mouth—all wet and shiny with your spit and stained purple with lipstick—the polish looks good as new.

"Tastes like shit, but it works," you tell him, leaning over to spit in the sink.

There's a smirk on your lips when you turn back to face him. Eddie feels like such an idiot.

All those times you'd bent over in those short skirts, gripped at his thigh while you reached for a pencil, or one of those discarded pages of lyrics on his bedroom floor and he'd sit there, staring at the ceiling and trying to name all the state's capitals so he wouldn't be sporting a boner hard enough you could see it through his jeans.

You were fucking with him this entire time.

He could have been fucking you this entire time.

"Jesus," he says, "you're a fucking tease."

You smile wider, tightening the grip of your thighs. "Maybe I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to get the fucking hint."

Eddie braces himself against the counter with both hands when he leans forward, nudging your mouth towards his with the tip of his nose and just diving in, no backup plan, no parachute. He's all in, crushing his body against yours until his hips ache against the sharp edge of the counter.

You're kissing him back, cupping your palms around his jaw, smearing that cherry lip gloss all around his mouth with the way you get into it. Breathing heavy against his cheek, slipping your tongue past his lips and tapping it against the edge of his teeth.

He grabs at your thighs—desperate and totally indifferent if you know it—pulling at you until your hips bump against his, skirt riding up again until it's sitting in the dip between your stomach and the tops of your thighs.

He slides a hand up the lattice of your tights, climbing higher and higher, so close to your cunt he can feel the heat caught up in the space between your legs.

You drop a hand from his face, press against his wrist, gasping out the words between the harsh crush of his mouth.

"Don't. You'll fuck up the paint."

Eddie shakes his head. "Don't care."

You pull back, scrunching your nose at him indignantly.

"I do."

There's a knock on the door, timing so perfect it's like you summoned it. Gareth's voice calls out through the thin walls, saying something along the lines of, "showtime, motherfuckers."

"Fuck that," Eddie lets out a hard sigh through his nose as you slide off the counter, but he makes space for you to slip out from between his arms. He watches you, leaning back against the counter while you wipe off the smeared lipstick with a washcloth, moving in close to reapply.

He couldn't give two shits about the show now.

You snap the cap back on the tube, hand him the stained rag so he can clean himself up. It turns his skin red where he rubs at the sticky stain, but he gets his first real glance at the eyeliner. It looks pretty metal.

You catch Eddie by the collar just before he's about to step out of the bathroom, two fingers sliding against his skin, pulling him close.

"Listen," —and Eddie is, feeling your lipstick brushing over the shell of his ear— "you get us this record deal, and you can do whatever you want to me tonight."

[popcornforone]

OCTOBER

From the Marcus Pike Fan Fic Diary

Day 28 of Pedrotober (Any Marcus Prompt)

Pedrotober Masterlist

The Diary Masterlist

September

I was very very tempted to do this away from Pedrotober & just do it as a usual post, but this had been my plan for this month before I knew I was gonna do Pedrotober, so it made sense. If you want to catch up on what’s gone on in the dairy please click for the diary link above.

Synopsis:-You show Marcus his Halloween costume.

Word count:-600

Warnings over & above:- oral sex, teasing, swearing, fantasy’s.Remember this is a diary so it’s written as I.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, my heart of full with all the love you have given me this month it’s the confidence boost I needed. Thanks @norththelemon & @alyssamariag for the prompts. Sorry that they all got smutty.

It’s Halloween diary… already? How are we here… well I know it’s in a couple of days time, but I got to show Marcus his costume today. It arrived in the post well the main part did. I was buzzing for him to look at it & let’s just say he couldn’t contain his laughing.

“The fuck” he cackled. “No im not doing that”

“Why not” i said.

“Because it’s not scary”

“It will be when your make up is done”

“Make up?” He always moans every year that I turn him into a vampire or zombie version of what he actually is. He puts up with it though, just for me, I’m not sure he would for anyone else.

“Come on Marcus”

“I mean I’m still not sure what it even is”

“Make up is actually minimal you can either have your hair done & a little bit of make up or you can put the mask on”

“There’s a mask as well!!” He shook his head wondering how much I��d spent on his outfit when we are meant to be saving.

“Yes” he reaches into the bottom of the bag & looks back at me.

“Seriously”

Out he pulls the mask. Skin colour. Bits looking like it’s about to drop off, woodland deadly vibe, eye holes covered by mesh.

“So I’m either meant to be Joel Miller or an infected from the last of us?”

“Yes”

“I mean I knew you had a thing for Pedro Pascal, but seriously, I look nothing like him”

I then pull my sulky look at him. I’ve mentioned a few times that he’s got a very close resemblance to the actor, especially the eyes hair & how broad he is.

“Please Marcus” I beg.

“Maybe, I think I need some convincing though baby”

I drop to my knees & unbuckle his belt in the middle of the kitchen. He hadn’t even bargained with me. I wanted to make him feel good.

“Would this help you change your mind” I unzipped him in a few seconds.

“Hmmm could do”

How he moaned & griped the kitchen counter as I took his entire length into his mouth.

“Fuck baby, I love it when your so needy”

“Finally got an apitite for something”

“Better than bananas on toast”

All of those words he said we met with long drawn out moans.

I was so sloppy with my blow job, he didn’t care. His eyes were rolling, he just kept moaning my name telling me to not stop. I wasn’t going to. He was in seventh heaven. I’ve not seen him looked this blissed out since the Bahamas, that waterfall will never be forgotten. As water streamed from my eyes & I gagged for what felt like the 50th time, salty liquid seeped down my throat. He’s always so tangy. He’s a real treat to taste. I swallowed it like a good girl. Licking my lips loudly to make him continue to twitch as I cleaned him up too.

“Oooh baby” he moaned as he helped me up onto my feet. “You still got it”

“I never lost it”

It took him a few seconds to regain composure & return to reality before he asked me what I was wearing for Halloween.

“Your favourite baby… I’m going as a zombie Lara Croft but with fishnets”

His jaw dropped. That is not an exaggeration.

Let’s just say our kitchen worked up lots of appetites, what’s he gonna be like when I put that costume on in a few days time… will we even get to the party?

November

[toobz-drawz]

Save Your Love - Ace Frehley

Ace Frehley x Female Reader Warnings: Oral sex, daddy kink??, 0% proof reading, Ace Frehley is a lazy son of a bitch here, men whine and moan🤩

Additional information:

Y/HC - Hair Color 

Y/EC - Eye Color

Y/N - Your name 

summary: You bought a backstage pass from a band you’ve been dying to see, “KISS”. You’ve been day dreaming about a certain member from the band, but have no clue of what’s going to come next. Characters: 14,410

You can’t say you remember much, but god the things from the night before still have you on the edge of your seat wanting- no, begging for more. Let me fill in your curiosity and questions you have.

You had bought a backstage pass with your own hard earned money you had been saving for what seemed like years, hoping the ticket would be a good as you had dreamed. Though your mind would slip to more sinister and unholy thoughts when you thought of the ticket you had gotten. 

You pondered if you would get to get up close, and personal to the man that filled cluttered your mind with something a normal human being who had never even met or seen the guy be worried about. 

That man being Ace Frehley himself, god every-time you saw that man on the television screen made you god head over heels in almost seconds, you’d even dig your nails into your couch so hard it would leave marks. Look you couldn’t help it, the guy was out of this world, and he knew it. 

You couldn’t even be left alone without daydreaming about how his hands would feel slowly running up your body, you know, getting real touchy just the way you liked it. 

The day of the concert had finally arrived, you’d been excited all day. You spent maybe more than an hour dolling yourself up, knowing that your hard work would come to waste in the end.

You dressed yourself up in fishnets, a leather skirt that was threatening to flash your ass if there’s was one wrong move, a black tee, and the black leather jacket you took almost everywhere. Fuck it, sure you’ll be sweating your balls off, but god you took one look at yourself in the mirror and you swore you saw someone else. You looked like eye candy, someone that didn’t give a damn in the world on how anyone thought or felt about them, and sure did rock someone’s world. 

Your Y/HC hair had been curled and teased, I mean you wanted to feel and look like those girls you saw on those magazines you’d get at the corner store for a quarter, the 80s were definitely a time and place to look like a rebel. 

You nervously waited, watching the clock tick by, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like years. You sat in your black Pontiac Firebird, gripping onto the wheel, waiting just another minute until you had to drive off to the concert you had been dying to see for months. 

In the background played a song that most definitely did not help your thoughts that song being, “Animal (Fuck Like A Beast) by W.A.S.P”. There was just something about that song that made you go feral, it started something inside of you that had you itching just for a bit of friction- but it was too early for that. When the minute finally went by, you started up your car and made your way to the concert. You sang your little heart out to songs that came onto the radio, hitting your pointer fingers against the steering wheel with the beat of each song. 

It seemed as if time had by quickly, because now you would be in line to get into the stadium they were playing in, it sure was a long line of all ages. 

You earned a few stares and whispers for the clothing you wore, but you just kept your chin up and thought of what the concert would be like. 

Soon you’d find out, but that came at a cost with your ticket that you had purchased.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, now walking into a room where you were directed to go to after the concert. There were a couple of other women who were there as well, all talking about what they’d do after this. You couldn’t help but feel like eyes were digging holes into your head, turning your head around to see if anybody had been really talking you in, and low and behold your pretty y/ec eyes were met at the sight of Ace Frehley himself. 

You could feel your palms start to get clammy and your face start to heat up. You wanted to punch yourself in the stomach, hating how you were already such a mess and nothing had even started yet. 

The girls that had been talking rushed over to Paul, Peter, and Gene who were taking these women like champs. 

Ace had walked up to you, which seemed strange, but it would only make sense because he was the only one that wasn’t being praised over as if he was a god. 

Your throat got a dry, so many thoughts were rushing through your head. You didn’t know what to say, you were put in the spotlight and were already freezing up until Ace had broke the silence between your two.

“I hoped you enjoyed the concert, babe. I mean I caught a glimpse of you jumping up and down having the time of your life on the floor.” Ace had sprinkled a little bit of charm into what he had said. Only making you tense up more, before blurting out the first thing that came mind. “I only jumped so you would mess up.” You could see you had sparked something inside of him, Ace took a step forward, leaning closer to you, just close enough no one else would hear the conversation the two of you were having.

You gulped, knowing that you had been dead meat right then and there for not watching your words.

“I would’ve messed up if I hadn’t looked away from your boobs bouncing up and down. You know damn well, you had everyone’s attention around you. Yet you’re so clueless and unaware of your surroundings.” Ace’s hand came up to cup your cheek, “I know you were here for me, baby. Every time you looked at the stage, you just stared at me…wishing that I would notice you from afar, well you were correct, I did notice you by chance.” His face was awfully close to yours, you could practically feel his breath brush against your glistening skin. “How would you like to come with me to my dressing room for a little tour? I mean it’s my treat for the Little Missis.” Ace pulled himself away from you, removing the hand that he had bestowed upon you. 

“I would like that, I mean at least it’s some where private so I can some you something I would only dream of.” At this point you had no clue on what you were saying nor doing, you just blurted things out without thinking.

Ace took your hand, god no one ever tells anyone on how just holding hands can send someone bliss, his calluses on his fingers and palm brushing against your soft hand gave you goosebumps. 

Not even a second later he would be leading the way throughout the building to get to his room, there was many doors in each hallway, each being an important key to show. 

When you two had arrived at Ace’s door, you could tell there was tension between the two of you. Ever since the gut feeling of someone staring into the back of your head to now, something felt off, but all answers would soon be answered.

Ace pulled his hand away from yours, to open the door, letting you walk in first before he did. With first glance you’d say this place is just a tad bit messy, all the makeup scattered everywhere on the vanity, and throughout the room you’d see a beer can tossed to the side.

You’d hear the door lock behind you, you were too busy to be staring at personal items of Aces to notice that he had slipped his hands onto your hips and pulled you in. It was a shock to you when you looked up into the mirror and saw the beautiful sight lay in front of your eyes. 

Ace placed his head between your neck and shoulder, taking in a whiff of your scent. His nose brushed against your neck, only making you squirm in his grasp. 

“Are you scared at all, baby?” He asked, before not too long getting a shake of the head from you. 

“Do you want me to do more than just a silly old touch? Perhaps something that you’ve been dreaming of for me to do to you? You’d like that..wouldn’t you?” 

As soon as he gets as about to finish his last word you nodded, never in your life have you nodded to something so fast. 

As you started at yourself in the mirror, you could see Ace smile at your response, and to the sudden touch of your hands on top of his. You guided his hands slowly up your torso, his finger would latch onto the hem of your black shirt, slowly lifting it up as you guided his hands up your body. 

The both of you got to hasty and forgot clothing items that would get in the way of this unholy act that was brewing up. Ace pulled his hands away once again, your shirt now bunched up, before he would pull your leather jacket off of you and tossed it to the side with his beer cans that laid on the floor as well. When finished with that he pulled off some off the items of his costume that would potentially get in the way. 

His hands would grip onto your shoulders, and would turn you around so you’d be facing him. 

In the heat of the moment you placed your hands onto his chest, crashing your lips against his, not even giving a damn about anything else but the buildup to something so beautiful. Aces eyes would widen before relaxing. He didn’t expect you to make the first move before he did. It wouldn’t take long for Ace to push himself into the kiss and make it deeper. Both of you were fighting for air, too busy being drunk on nothing but “sex”. 

Your tongue would prod at his lips, before Ace took the hint and let your tongue slip on in, tasting a bit of alcohol on his tongue. That was the final straw for you, you broke and started doing things you’d only peruse in your dreams. You’d pull away from the kiss, taking a deep inhale of fresh air that wasn’t toxic to the either of you. You pulled your shirt over your head, revealing the bra you decided to wear to the concert which happened to be laced the best bra you had at the moment. Not long after you started to unclip the bra and slide that off too. You felt Ace’s eyes stare at your breasts, he acted as if he was a teenager seeing a pair of boobs for the first time. 

You looked up just in time, before Ace smashed his lips against yours, his hands wondered up farther than last time, now grabbing your tear drop breasts and massaging them. His thumb and pointer finger started to pinch that sensitive bud causing you to moan into Ace’s mouth. 

Ace removed one of his hands from your breasts, now running that hand into your y/hc hair before grabbing a good handful of your hair and yanking your head away from the kiss. “I wonder what else that pretty mouth of yours can do..Be a doll for me and get on your knees.” Ace demanded, as he forcefully pushed your down onto your knees. You obliged, getting down onto your red, weak, and tired knees. You placed your hand onto his thighs, feeling the stinging pain of Ace’s yanking go away, you’d watch as Ace started to pull down his tight black pants, soon revealing that he did not wear any underwear underneath his costume. He’d pull out his cock from out of his pants and started stroking it in front of your face. 

You couldn’t help but stare at the sheer size of this thing, I mean he’s gotta be bigger and girthier than the other dicks you’ve seen . “Are you going to sit there and look all pretty or are you going to get to work, baby? You know I’m so tired from putting on a show for you. How about you show me how much you love Daddy.” He didn’t have to say that twice, your soft hands found their way onto his length, giving him a few pumps, before opening your mouth wide open for Ace, slowly letting his dick enter your mouth. You loved being such a tease, seeing how men would get frustrated and upset with you for being so slow just drove you crazy. 

For instance, Ace was getting real tired with you for taking all the time in the world, he’d thrust into your mouth, making you take in ever inch, which made you gag. The vibration from that only made Ace hungry for more, his dick felt as if it were being mistreated from the lack of action. 

Your eyes locked with Ace’s, you wanted to impress him, instead of just being what he called “a pretty thing that did nothing”. You pulled your head backwards, before taking it all in again. It wouldn’t be long before you started to pick up the pace, making your gag even more, your throat tightened up around Ace’s length every time it had entered your throat. Ace had his head thrown back, moaning like crazy, who knew getting a man to moan for you was so addicting, knowing that you were doing such a good job already, your hands grabbed a hold of his family jewels and started to massage them. “God, keep this up and I’ll reward you with a little treat, baby”. His hand made its way back to your hair. 

You had drool running down your chin, dehydrated foam ran down Ace’s balls and got all over your hand that had been squeezing his balls. Your other hand that had been laying against his thigh, had to be put up to hold use, so you placed it at the end of his length, pumping him as fast and as tight as you could possibly go. You pulled yourself away from his swelling dick that was covered in a combination of your spit and his juices, now laying soft kisses against his red tip. “I bet you’re all pent up inside…no one has given your dick enough attention and so you chose me out of all people to do your bidding..” All he could do was stand there, nod, and whine from being so close to releasing. “How about you be quiet, babe, and help daddy cum in that pretty mouth of yours.” You shut up after he spoke, going back to worshiping his tip that looked untouched compared to everything else. Your lips enveloped his tip, your tongue ran up and down it, while you sucked him off, trying to get him to the point where you would be awarded with something no ordinary person would be bestowed upon, this was a gift, you had to be really special to be picked out of the field of thousands of other drooling girls to get this special treatment. 

You’d hear Ace whisper sweet nothings and praises over your work, the both of your were sweating your balls off and you two had barely even fucked yet, you had Ace whimpering and cursing under his breath, and that’s all you needed to be drunk on sex. Ace all of a sudden grabbed the back of your head, shoving every inch back inside of your whore mouth, and cumming deep with in your throat. His hot seed ran down the walls of your throat, the taste of his cum was out of this world. 

Ace would pull himself away from your mouth, pumping himself, and as if it was second nature you stuck your tongue out and open your mouth wide for him. Ace came on your pretty little face, watching your makeup being smeared and ruined by his seed. “You look ten times better with my cum all over your face than you did without it..” You had some dopey smile on your face, as your were still swallowing the cum that was still in your mouth. 

[ifhymona]

٭* Not Too Late *٭

Chapter 7 | chino moreno x reader

chapter 6 ~ chapter 8 | AO3

912 words

i can’t sleep. the gig is tomorrow and my mind was racing. not about the gig, but about chino. well a little about the gig too. but for the most part, i couldn’t help but think about all the things abe told me.

this isn’t supposed to be happening. chino’s my best friend. why does he have to make my heart race all the time?

i started thinking back about my feelings for him back in high school. i felt like i was my teenage self again. dumb and naive about love. i haven’t felt like this in years.

i thought i was over chino. you’d think that i was given enough time to get over him. but apparently not. ever since chino has been back in my life, i always feel an intense wave of emotions wash over me around him. he’s just so effortless. it’s fun having a crush but i had a bad feeling about this. chino is a rockstar, someone worthy for the entire world to see. me on the other hand, what do i have to offer? i sighed to myself. i need to get some sleep.

~

the long awaited gig is now here. they haven’t toured or done any shows in a awhile since they’ve been working on around the fur so much. so this is pretty big. plus more coverage.

chino was supposed to pick me up first so it was time to start getting ready. i put a little black eyeshadow on and put eyeliner on my waterline with some mascara. i combed my hair and grabbed the clothes i was gonna wear. i put on a black tank top with my black shorts and fishnets. to accessorize, i wore a studded belt. i put on my green sweater and tied the laces to my green converse.

i heard a honk from outside. chino’s here. we still had around five hours before the show so we can prepare the venue.

i walked out looking down at my feet nervously. i hope chino doesn’t think i look bad.

i opened the car door and closed it as i sat down. as i was putting my seat belt on, i felt a certain pair of eyes on me. i turned my head to chino. he had frosted tips and heavy eyeliner around his eyes. he was wearing a grey shirt with some black cargo pants and had spiky bracelets on both of his wrists.

he looked me up and down. i started growing nervous. i spoke before he could. “copycat. why’d you have to steal my makeup look?” i smirked while pushing his chest back.

he put his hand over his chest. “cmon baby, don’t do me like that.” he smiled while leaning in towards me. my heart started beating out of my chest. i impulsively turned my face away. oh god i’m such an idiot! why did i turn my face?

“maybe next time.” he smirked and drove away.

~

after our little moment, we picked up the rest of the band and moved all of the instruments over to the venue. i spent most of those hours bringing in boxes full of their merchandise, setting up the merch stand and making sure everything was in place. i was able to hire some people to work the merch stand so i can watch the show.

we were all backstage. everybody else were making sure their instruments were perfect since there were around ten minutes left before the show starts.

“are you nervous?” i asked chino. he was peaking out the curtain, looking at the vast crowd. it was loud from everybody waiting for the show to start. chino turned around to me.

“yeah a little. even if i’ve done this dozens of times, i think i’ll always be nervous before a show.” he looked down at his shoes scratching the back of his neck. i stared at him. when he looked back at me, i didn’t look away this time. we held eye contact.

he looked me up and down. “you look amazing.” he said breathlessly.

i couldn’t help but look down making my hair cover my face. a growing feeling in my chest made it hard stand straight. leave it to chino to make my knees weak even when i try not to.

“thanks.” i softly laughed.

“no seriously y/n, you look good.” i felt his eyes piercing through me. has he been staring at me this whole time?

before i got to say anything, i got cutoff by the sound guy. “five minutes guys!”

i changed the topic. i never really liked being talked about, good or bad. “i’m excited to see you guys perform! this will be a first!” i grinned.

“i’m excited for you to see us. i hope you enjoy seeing us on stage.”

“of course i will!” i look out the curtain to really see the crowd for myself. “wow, that’s a lot of people.” my jaw slightly drops looking out into the crowd. i didn’t truly realize how big of a following the band has created until now.

“yeah well, good thing i’m only trying to impress one person.” he teased.

i turn to him, curious on who he’s trying to impress. i don’t ask. “i hope you dazzle them with your wits.” i teased back. we were staring at each other again.

“sorry if i suck tonight.” he chuckled.

“i’m sure you won’t.” i smiled.

a/n: i hope everyone enjoyed today’s chapter ! new chapters will be posted every friday but i will be taking a break soon to catch up on my writing so i hope you guys understand. lots of love <3

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Happy Birthday, Roman! Last year when I wrote to you, I was days a way from moving away from home and now at the end of this week, it'll have been a year since I moved. Which is...kind of mind blowing to think about. It doesn't really feel...real exactly. Maybe it's just the ADHD or the dissociation or both, but it doesn't feel like a lot has changed. Life is...carrying on like it always has.

But it was a big move and, at the time, it was scary. I spent days wondering if I had made the right decision, staying up late wondering if I did the right thing, trying to figure out if I regretted that choice. There's a lot that...I haven't figured our yet and there's a that...hasn't worked out yet.

Roman, I mean this so sincerely when I say, you were a big part of why I was brave enough to make that change. I love where I live now, I love the trees and the sky and a lot of the physical features of this new location have been something I've wanted. The job I have now isn't something I ever thought I'd do, I was terrified of having the job I do now. But I kinda love it. It's still a job, still not what I want to be doing full time, but I'm surprisingly enjoying myself.

Roman, if there is anything you have taught me over the years, it's that it's okay to want and to yearn for things. And maybe that seems silly to some, but that was such an important lesson for me to learn. I spent so long not letting myself want anything because...there was no point to it. Things couldn't happen the way I wanted, so why bother even entertaining the idea? Why bother trying or starting things? They can't happened. It was all too big and too far away. Now I still feel that way....a lot of the time, but I'm getting better.

I actually think I have a chance at some of the things I've dreamt about for years. Maybe not as immediate as I'd like, but...I can actually fathom that they might come to pass. And you gave me that hope, Roman, you taught me to believe. I can't thank you enough for that.

Even little things! I bought myself a space themed baby doll dress for kicks and giggles and a corset for Renfaire, I've bought a pronoun necklace, a fishnet top, a black mini skirt, so many little things that I always wanted, but never allowed myself to dwell on because I didn't think I was ever going to get out and be able to have them. And now I do!

I own witchy shit! I have a tarot deck and a pendulum and witchy books. Not just that, but I actually now have little covert shrines up in my room for deities I was taught aren't real, and I've learned that they are and now, I own and do special things to honor them. All because you taught me that wanting is okay.

I have so far to go still, I know that. But I have also come so far. Both in general, but also in...letting myself believe that maybe dreams do come true.

I hope yours for birthday come true too, Roman. You deserve it. Thank you so much for teaching me that dreaming and wanting are okay and even safe things to do. Thank you for teaching me to never give up on those dreams that to others seem silly or insignificant. Thank you for being you. And happy birthday.

And thank you to @thatsthat24 for sharing this character and this series with all of us. It's truly changed my life for the better.

[devil-doll13]

Inspired by @rottent33th and her OCs to create my own! I hope you all like her lol this is kind of a WIP I just wanted to get my ideas down.

Abigail Williams 🖤

Name: Abigail Williams

Meaning: ‘Joy of the Father’

Alias(es): Abby, The Witch (I only call her this for convenience but that’s basically what she is lol)

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 23

D.O.B: November 1st

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Current Residence: Unknown

Occupation: N/A

Appearance Description: She is a young woman with pale skin, long wavy black hair reaching down to her hips, and green eyes. On the slimmer side, a little angular and bony.

Style: Black dresses. Black boots. Lace. Fishnets. Chokers. Silver Jewellery. Dark Makeup. On lazy/hot days band tees and black jeans/shorts/leggings.

Height: 5,1ft

Eye Colour: Green

Hair Colour: Black

Notable Features: Eye-bags from lack of sleep, little scratches on her hands from cats. Also has numerous scars on her arms and some on her legs. A more notable scar is from a knife near her ribcage where her heart would be, faded with time. Her veins are dark and prominent. Twirls her hair as a habit. Smells like mist and petrichor.

Personality: An introvert. A little shy. Calm & quiet. Private and can be secretive. A gentle lady, can be very sweet towards those she cares about. Creative and passionate, can get stuck in her own head with her thoughts. Thinks a lot. Feels deeply but this isn’t entirely obvious, as she is generally subtle about it. Artistic, has a great appreciation for aesthetics. Sentimental with a love of the romantic and a flair for the dramatic at times. Enjoys dark humour, can be quite grim in general. A bit whimsical, prone to flights of fancy that may seem to come out of the blue. She has the capacity for intense love and attachment but isn’t sure if she can trust anyone that much anymore. Can be destructive, vindictive and revengeful at her absolute worst.

Likes: Cats, The Moon, The Night, Candles, Roses, Graveyards, Spiderwebs, Autumn, Forests, Snakes, Ravens/Crows, Bats, Thunderstorms, Cinnamon.

Dislikes: Alcohol, Sand, Peanut Butter, Extremely Hot Weather, Being In The City For Too Long, Religion/Priests, Gossip, Parrots, Large Crowds.

Hobbies: Drawing/Painting, Reading, Dancing, Writing Poetry, Collecting Bones, Cooking/Baking.

Rough Backstory

Tw: Death

The circumstances surrounding Abigail’s conception are still unclear, as no one knows who the father was, or how her mother got pregnant. What is known is that her mother Lucy gave birth in a local cemetery on the 1st of November, probably just after midnight. She had most likely died from a combination of malnourishment, injuries (from some kind of beating she’d apparently had) and the strain of giving birth, but the baby girl was healthy. Her cries alerted the elderly undertaker, who rescued her and got in contact with the rest of her family.

Named Abigail after her deceased grandmother, there seemed to be a black mark on the girl since the day she was born. Her mother was a dark secret of sorts, cast out and disowned for some grave sin that was never to be spoken of again. Abigail was similarly a black sheep, down to the colour of her hair, which was a pitch black. This was unheard of in the women of her family, all blondes and redheads. It must have come from her father, they said. (although he was never found out…) Still, her relatives were under obligation to take her in as their own.

Abigail was a quiet child, and whimsical in her ways. Not a bad one by any means, but very strange, with strange little habits. Mysterious, some might even say supernatural occurrences were common around her. She was already distant from the rest of her family, but this made it even more difficult for any of them to connect with her. Abigail also had a hard time making friends with other children, and so instead she spent her time alone.

As time passed, the mysterious happenings started to become more prevalent. More sinister. Someone would fall down a flight of stairs and break their neck, or become horribly sick and then suddenly feel well again, only to become sick yet again... (It was noticeable because she never became sick alongside them.) Doors and cabinets would slam shut and lock themselves, furniture would be set ablaze without warning, a deathly chill would follow her in a bad mood. Death, illness and misfortune seemed to follow her around wherever she went. This led to her having to move around to different relatives during different periods of her life. Some of the more superstitious ones held the belief that she was cursed, whether they said it aloud or not. No one could prove anything either way. Only one called an exorcist, and died soon after from an accident.

Around the time of puberty, the innocence of her childhood had been lost and she began to become more aware. She would think it all over and soon became very interested in the circumstances surrounding her mother as well. All she knew (because it was never spoken of, as a rule) was that whatever it was, it had apparently killed her Grandmother, the one whose name she shared. She learned to become secretive, not openly speaking about or showing what she would do in the past. Abigail would become very interested in the occult around this time, although she always had knowledge of such things deep inside, as if it was as easy as breathing. She remembered one time a blackbird she had been preserving had suddenly sprung to life, just after the death of her aunt. Then came back all the times she had spoken to the children up in the attic of an old house she once lived in, and how their names were etched on a gravestone from 1907. She did not think much of it as a child, but it had all begun to add up. Abigail realised then she was not a normal person at all.

All of this would culminate in a particularly horrific incident near her 18th birthday, and after this she would disappear altogether. Now she wanders all over America in search of shelter, a purpose, to know why she is the way she is, to find others like her. There is something off about her that people still pick up on, something otherworldly, so when she comes into town there is always a sense of foreboding and doom that comes with her…

Fun Facts

Her favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.

Her favourite film is Evil Dead

Her favourite bands are The Cure, Siouxsie & The Banshees, Type O Negative, Bathory and Mercyful Fate.

Her favourite colour is Black (No. 1) But she is partial to red, green and purple as well.

Her favourite foods are apples and pie. And apple pie lol

Her favourite drink is coffee

She doesn’t like anyone calling her Abby except someone she’s very close to. It feels too personal. And there’s really no one like that anyway.

She did not know her mother but still loves her despises anyone insulting her. Abigail will always believe she was a good person despite what anyone else said.

It’s most likely her mother was involved in a cult or a witch coven or some kind, at least from what she’s found out in her investigations.

As a child she was very attached to her dolly, and even today she secretly enjoys cuddling stuffed animals. She’d be mortified if anyone knew about this though. (The doll was given to her by the man who found her as a baby, but was stolen or lost at some point. She was devastated about this)

Is sentimental in general, and with things she has emotional attachment to she always takes very good care of. Any gift is treasured.

Has a small collection of animal bones in a box she’s been keeping since she was a child.

She likes dogs, (she likes most animals really) but they don’t like her. They seem to sense something off about her and will either become unusually aggressive or afraid, whining and cowering away. On the other hand, cats adore her and even the most antisocial ones will approach her for scritches and pets. The feeling is certainly mutual. She has an affinity for crows/ravens, bats, reptiles and frogs/toads as well.

She has undergone an exorcism before. It didn’t work. (It did leave her with some trauma though.)

Has a touch of insomnia. She’ll often wake up past midnight for no explainable reason, filled with some strange energy.

Her dreams are often vivid and intense, they are strange to the point where she would keep note of them in a diary to try and understand them. Not nightmares necessarily, but they really knock the breath out of her and leave her in a state. Sometimes the feeling is more euphoric, because they were wonderful dreams.

She is good at sewing and handicrafts, having been taught by one of her relatives as a child. Has made/modified some of her own clothes as well. Finds the process quite calming.

Due to her wanderings she isn’t employed, but she has her own ways of getting the money she needs generally. She’s never really had a stable home anyway so she’s used to it, although some part of her longs for a home to call her own.

She can drive and enjoys doing so, there’s something peaceful about it. She prefers it to taking public transport or hitchhiking.

As a child under the custody of her relatives she travelled mostly around the mid-west of America. The graveyard she was born in was located in north-central Massachusetts however.

Abigail doesn’t like big crowds, but that dislike seems to not matter when it comes to music. Her trips to larger cities often have her searching music venues and goth clubs to go dancing in. It’s something she’s always enjoyed.

Has a distinctive laugh, like a cackle. A little embarrassed/insecure about it.

Her name was inspired by Abigail Williams, one of the girls involved in the Salem Witch trials.

Her cousin, Judith Bell, is a hunter of the supernatural. She became one after an encounter with Abigail. (I’ll probably write a story about this one at some point! She’s sort of like her final girl)

(Credit to @decayedgrave for gif)

[buttsniffingdyke]

And some asks for you, 12, 20, 26, and for this or that 4, 6, 17

12. What’s the weirdest thing that turned you on? Did you masturbate to it? Would you do it again?

that’s a really hard question. a few of the things i’m super into, like sniffing buttholes, used to seem weird to me. but then I spent time here and found lots of people into those things. but if I had to pick one thing, it would be uhhhhhh the first time I self harmed. and yes I masturbated to it. and I did do it again but for purely sexual reasons after that

20. What hairstyle do you find attractive?

you know vi arcane… or Caitlyn arcane when her hair is in the ponytail… or Maya bl2 hairstyle “alkaline mistress”. I’m a slut for women with short dykey haircuts

26. What’s the most flattering thing someone’s said about your naked body?

I’ve been called a beautiful woman by a couple of ladies. that’s the most wonderful and gender affirming thing

this or that 4. Take erotic photos of you or let someone take erotic photos of you?

probably take the photos. I am a big photography enjoyer and also I love looking at erotic pictures of women. On the other hand, maybe the right photographer could make me like erotic photos of myself too

this or that 6. Creampie or throatpie?

ohhhhh this is a tough one. I LOVE throating and I love cum but there is just so much wonderment in the phrase “cum in my ass”. so i’m gonna say… what’s that outside your window! it looks like aliens!

this or that 17. Nylons or fishnets?

personally I’m not really a fan of either in a sexual context but I’m gonna go with nylons bc there is so much fashion potential there that appeals to me personally

thanks so so much for asking I hope I haven’t bored you with my many words! 🌸

[velvetdivinity]

EXHILARATE

Ch. 1 — Madelyn

“Oh — em — gee, have you seen Ryder lately?!” Masie gasped. Madelyn studied her best friend as Masie continued her usual gossip. She was beautiful. Long blonde hair, a pointed perfect nose, slender shoulders. Nice tits, small waist. She was the epitome of the all American girl. She was what every man wanted, what every woman aspired to look like. Madelyn was nothing like her. Actually, quite the opposite. Dark hair, an exotic look some would say, tan, dark eyes. She looked more like the mistress where as Masie was the perfect Kate Spade wife.

Madelyn didn’t mind though. She was never jealous, she admired Masie.

“Maddie??” Masie snapped, literally, fingers snapping in Madelyn’s face.

“What?”

“Are you even listening? Have you seen Ryder?”

“No, I haven’t”

“Well he’s totally hot now AND he is single! Right on time for school starting back” she giggled.

Ugh, she had to remind her. In just a few days they would be starting class again. Juniors. Not that this summer break was interesting though. Masie and Madelyn both spent it binge watching Euphoria and wasting their lives away on social media. Instagram mainly.

“Well … why don’t you DM him? See how he is” Madelyn suggested.

“You’re joking. There’s no way — ”

“Girls!” Madelyns mom interrupted, walking into the room. She continued, “are either of you hungry?”

Her mom was beautiful. She resembled Masie, but older.. laugh lines from aging. She was a little taller.. Madelyns dads genetics won, clearly.

“No thanks” they synchronized.

“Anyways” Masie continued, “There is no way I’m going to message him and ask that. Besides,” she paused to finish off her lipgloss, “I’m sure he has plenty of other options that are better than me now anyways.”

Madelyn rolled my eyes, saying nothing. As much as She loved Masie, she know how much masie loved complements just as much. She has the need for validation and Madelyn wasn’t giving in. She was hot and she knew it. But, she was her best friend. She loved her. She always would. Madelyn scooted close to her and put her head on Masies shoulder, looking at her in the little hand held mirror she was holding for her lipgloss.

“Are you nervous for school?” Madelyn asked quietly.

“Babe, we have been over this. There’s no need to be nervous. You’re so smart Maddie. You’re going to kill it this year. We are going to glow up, be hot ass bitches.”

Madelyn could only let out a sarcastic laugh, imagining herself as a ‘hot ass bitch’ was comical to say the least.

An hour later Madelyn and Masie were finally done getting ready. Masie, per usual looked like she was going to a rooftop bar in Atlanta. A short pink dress with a white blazer and white heels. Maddie dressed well also but in her own way. She was wearing a black and white plaid skirt, with a black tee that read “Nirvana” and biker boots. Her tan showing through her fishnets. She touched her neck imagining how good this outfit would look with a choker, but her mom said she was too young to wear those. She disagreed, being almost 17 literally next week was plenty old enough.

“Let’s go girls” Masie sang. A Miranda Lambert dupe. She acted like they were going to a club but really they were just heading to lunch with two of their friends.

20 minutes later Maddie and Masie were in the car singing to Billie Eilish. Masie had been driving for quite a while, at least 15 minutes. She loved to drive ever since her mom had bought her first car for her; a 2016 Nissan Altima. Sure it was used and the mileage was getting up there, but it was hers and she loved it. She took care of it. It smelled like her favorite black ice air freshener and a faint hint of Marlboro blacks that she often stole from her dad. The amount of perfume the girls put on overwhelmed those smells though.

“I’m a baddddd guy” “duh!” They sang. Madelyn watched out the window, admiring the view. Well not necessarily a nice view. They lived in Nashville, Tennessee. Their once underrated town was a now a bustling and lively city. Tourists roamed the streets and live music seemed to be on every corner. It may be a fun place to live, if they were 21 and able to partake in the partying and alcohol. But they weren’t. So it seemed there was simply never enough to do here. Madelyn’s mom moved here after her parents divorce when she was 3. She couldn’t remember her parents ever being together since she was so young, and her dad basically dipped and never came back. His name was Ray, he was a musician and he liked motorcycles was all she knew about her dad. On the other hand Madelyn adored her mother. Sure she wasn’t the best but she was there. She tried. She did the best she could do under the circumstances of being a single mom in a quickly growing — including costs- economy. She made sure Madelyn was taken care of. Sure they wore secondhand consignment clothing and Maddie didn’t have the nicest car, but she made sure they looked more expensive then they really were. Mary, Madelyn’s mother, worked from home just to ensure she was always there when her father couldn’t be. She was responsible. Loving. Kind. Analytical and decisive. She was strong and independent. Everything Madelyn aspired to be but clearly took after her dad in more ways than just her appearance. She was artistic. She loved to write. She loved creating something from nothing and Maddie was abrasive and short tempered. She was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder at just 16. She just felt so deeply and her emotions would take the best of her.. but when she loved someone, she loved to the fullest extent, and she only truly ever loved two people. Her mom and Masie.

“We’re here — FUCK” Masie gasped. Gaping out the window. “Oh my god oh my god Maddie look that’s him!” Madelyn followed her stare, and sure enough it was. Tall, athletic, tan, muscular. Ryder clearly hit puberty late and it was damn good to him. There he was, walking in with a girl who was about 5’1 and had hair that reminded her of the girl in Game of Thrones. Daenerys, she thought.

“Damn he’s actually.. really hot” Madelyn mumbled.

“Right?! Told ya! Come on let’s go”

They walked into the little eatery. It was one of the only ones left that tourists hadn’t totally taken over. Lockeland Table, the sign read. Here you could find all American cuisines, chill vibes and locals. Unfortunately that meant running into acquaintances from school but the fact was the short waiting times and atmosphere was just too good to pass up. A rarity in Nashville that had became.

They sat down at their table and right on time Astrid and Heat came walking in. Odd names I know. Astrid was born with her name. Her mom just was in a hippie phase. Heat chose his name a few summers ago because nobody could pronounce his actual name, Bartolome. Apparently everyone pronounced it wrong and he just got kinda tired of it, so he decided to change it. That’s about the time he came out as gay. He really just wanted a new identity, a change. So Bartolome became Heat and it stuck ever since.

Madelyn studied them as they came walking to the table. Astrid was a heavier set girl. Short. But she pulled it off nicely. At 180lbs and 5’2 she really looked more like 160. It was how she dressed and also her stunning facial features really took away from any extra weight she had. Not only that but Astrid was heavier in all the right areas. Her breasts and hips. Her thighs. Her stomach was average and her arms were just a little chubby. She flaunted a crop top showing some cleavage and high waisted skinny jeans. Her long brown hair flowed in waves and her makeup was an entire mood. Smokey eye, her favorite.

Heat looked just as amazing. A white jacket that had flames coming up it. Black jeans and a Calvin Klein t shirt underneath. His highlighted hair perfectly gelled up and a little bit of lipgloss on.. they looked fantastic, nothing new.

“Hey bitches, you guys look amazing. Are we going to a bar or eating here?” Heat looked, mainly at Masie. She rolled her eyes.

“No this is my new style. My mom said to dress for the life you want, not the life you have.” She flipped her hair and flaunted her outfit.

Astrid smiled, “I like that. You guys look great. Missed you girlies. I know it’s only been like a week but I have so much to tell you both!”

“Oh God what now?” Madelyn laughed. Astrid’s stories were always wild, like her. If she were to ever write a book on a persons life it would for sure be Astrid.

“She’s selling feet pics to horny old men” Heat gagged.

“WHAT” Madelyn and Masie gasped at the same time.

“You we’re supposed to let me tell them! Fuck, Heat. Remind me to never tell you anything again”

“Couldn’t help it sis” he rolled his eyes in response.

“Wait but what” Madelyn said, urging her to complete the story.

“So — ” Astrid began, grabbing her phone out of her light blue purse. “Yeah technically he’s right. I am. BUT, it isn’t as bad as it sounds. I met this man online and he is paying me $30 just for a single picture of my feet. No nudes, nothing. Tell me you guys wouldn’t be doing the same.”

Maddie and Masie looked at eachother and shrugged their shoulders. She was right, they’d be doing the same. Clearly something Heat disagreed with as he looked at them in disgust and disappointment.

They continued chattering and that’s when Madelyn noticed him. There he was, in all his glory. Ryder was sitting there, now alone, and he was staring directly at her.

[texshire-books]

How a trip to a dentist started a book series - books with an edgy theme

My name is Anietta Strong, and I wanted to introduce myself and the characters in my books. All my characters meet up at some stage and when it is all boiled down just two main characters emerge. Okay, there are many sub-characters, and some might argue a few should be considered main characters, but that's life. I did write under a male pen name earlier, I'm unsure why I chose that, especially as most of my books have an LGBT theme. Maybe it was also the BDSM leaning too and perhaps I felt that more matched a man. Like all mistakes those can be corrected and now I'm writing how I feel best suits me.

All my books are based in two locations. The west of England, predominately Bristol and Bath. Write about what you know was what has guided me, just as writing without fear. I write for me, nobody else. I know this part of the world just as much as I know North Yorkshire, another part of the world I've spent a lot of time. Rosedale, Pickering, The North Yorkshire Moors, Whitby too. Bram Stoker country where Dracula was created.

It all started in a dentist waiting room. I was reading Readers Digest - (is that still around?) while I awaited treatment. There was an article about a woman who led a double life. By day she operated in the London High Court as a successful barrister. By night she donned her leathers and a basque with fishnet stockings and men would visit her to be abused and beaten. I thought - Oh my God what a theme! I imagined some blonde goddess figure whom men worshipped and would pay her a fortune to be their abuser. It also struck me how dangerous such a profession might me? Like a prostitute, although the risks taken were the only comparison between professions, they would both work alone, either visiting men in hotel rooms or providing the venue themselves. But, what about the day job for my main character? Surely, like the barrister, she would have an innocent job and her nighttime activity would be her closely guarded secret. A name too? Blonde suggested Scandinavian, of Swedish or Norwegian origin, so I came up with Petra Larson. The surname borrowed from the author Steig Larson who wrote 'Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' She had to be dangerous too and what better way than to make her a champion karate expert who represented England at the junior European Championships. (I learned later; karate is not an Olympic sport.) The first book was The Ice Queen, it briefly had another name with its male author, but I changed that when I decided it needed a woman at the helm. Her innocent day job was working in a Bath estate and lettings agency and here she meets a man with whom she has a brief but ill-fated affair. The shady job outside the property business is not the only secret Petra keeps closely guarded. Equally so, is the massive, opulent apartment she lives in on the outskirts of Bristol. This apartment becomes centre stage in the second book we are close to revealing.

Soon an event takes place which turns her whole world upside down. An act of sadistic brutality which defines her life thereon. It also develops the theme which runs throughout all the following books I wrote. The second book, The Weekend introduces a character who appears only in a very minor role within The Ice Queen. Petra's clients have always been men. Quite a mixture too, from company executives to bishops and Members of Parliament. So, when she is contacted by a woman seeking atonement it is quite a shock! What follows is a steamy torrid affair which centres around a night of savage and brutal sadism which brings both women together in a fatalistic way which is later sealed one stormy night when together they stand naked and exposed to the raging elements of a storm lashed beach on the south coast of England. The book ends with just Petra leaving to recover in the wilds of Montana USA with her life in ruins. Petra's story continues in the next book, The Choice and this places her in Yorkshire, located where I described earlier.

Petra tries to pick up the wreckage of her life, but even so she is dragging baggage with her, and her old ways are not far out of sight but following behind her at a convenient distance. She meets an older woman who likes to ride the moors late at night on a huge white horse. Meanwhile, Petra is trying to seek a release from her former lover. Petra quickly engages with a young, pretty but lonely teenager who become infatuated with her. There is a sizeable age gap between them, and this arouses Petra as their physical closeness creates the inevitable opportunity to become lovers. Eventually, after a tragic fire with fatal consequences, they leave and return to Petra's huge Bristol apartment. I wasn’t sure at this stage whether to continue with Petra as a character? I’d left her with her new teenage lover and as she’d had such a harrowing time over the course of three books, I wondered if it was best to give her a period of long overdue happiness and introduce a new main character.

Jasmine Crealey or Jaz as she preferred, was the solution. I wanted a main character who was very different to Petra. Jaz was married, with a teenage daughter, she had an interesting day job as a counsellor. No secret nighttime job as in Petra’s case. I chose a job which created openings to meet other interesting people which would create other storylines. In the first book, The Scorned Woman, Jaz meets a troubled teenager, who is in the care system while her mentally deranged mother was being treated after having been sectioned under the mental health act. Jaz meets a new man in her life who sweeps her off her feet and provides hope for future happiness with her marriage on the rocks. A lot happens in a fast-moving story which ends in a way she never expected. This book was followed up by The Killing where Jaz meets a battered and broken woman client trying to escape from a violent, abusive relationship. It also focuses on a modern mother’s greatest fear, that of on-line grooming and the risks teenage girls face when a predatory paedophile identifies them as a willing victim. The end creates for Jaz what is a satisfactory solution but one which will leave doubt in the reader’s mind.

At this stage I wondered about introducing a new character into Jaz’s life. Then I had a far better idea. I had characters in abundance in my six previous books, so why not engineer a situation where we bring ALL the characters together in any following books. Jaz is on a railway station platform waiting for a train in The Letters. Petra is literally on the edge as her life has spiralled out of control and she now feels alone and unloved. The two women meet as Petra prepares to throw herself under a passing train. Through a series of letters, left behind in Petra’s huge apartment, Jaz tries to repair the pieces of a fragmented life only to put Petra in danger from events within her own past life rising like a phoenix from the ashes.  Jaz now goes on the back burner having left for a new life in Boston USA. I choose that location for a lot of my books because I frequently travelled there in a previous life before I took up writing.

Resurrection, my fifth and final book in the series, brings Petra back centre stage and sees a surprising return from an unhappy past event. Briefly, there is hope for happiness and soon characters abound, all emerging out of the shadows from many of my previous books. It sounds chaotic but it is all very logical, and the meetings are carefully choreographed like a well-rehearsed dance routine.

I sensed my connection with Petra Larson had run its course. How long could this woman struggle with her relationships. Surely everyone was entitled to love, albeit a long way down a well-trodden path.

I wrote The Lover’s Wall and explored one man’s quest to find someone from his past after ruthless ambition had driven him into a corner from which there is no escape, unless he looks at his life and takes a fresh approach. There are many parts of this book which reflect me own life

 All of my books are also available on Amazon

Visit our website too Texshirebooks.com

Thank you for reading this,

Anietta Strong

[promiseiwillwrite]

INTERVIEW # 2

Daemeon: Good morning Critters and Creatures! Happy Christmas from under the rock! Are you eating cookies and wearing those new socks so the Yule Cat won't eat you?

Daemeon: Good Job! Today we are pleased to welcome Derrik, Our headmate that has shown some marked developments since I showed up. From the stories I've heard it is very strange and tragic, but this is a happy continuing of a story that started out badly.

Derrik: ::chuckles:: Thank you for having me?

Daemeon: ::giggles:: Tell us where you're from.

Derrik: Originally from Southern Russia, I spent a life in the early Scandinavian kingdoms, but I have since had lives in Italy and Spain.

Daemeon: Fascinating! So I feel compelled to describe you and your mode of dress for our Audience. Derrik is seated across from me in a costume that looks like a cabaret drag version of the phantom of the opera and Doctor Frankenfurter, with dashes of Luchador and Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, mainly in the form of those six inch heeled ruby slippers. What inspires this level of presentation? I know you used to be more, um, let's say monochromatic.

Derrik: I Blame Kalok.

Daemeon: ::nods:: They are a perpetually bad influence.

Derrik: but seriously, the whole Goth Viking thing no longer fit when I returned from my prolonged absence. I spent quite a lot of time bemoaning what I thought was unrequited love instead of becoming my own person. I had dwelt too much in the past, and did not place enough importance on my own potential. Blah blah blah. But I spent several months merged with Kalok and they are such a wild thing. They broke me out of whatever existential funk I had been in. I looked at the Phantom of the opera, and I wanted that maximalist aesthetic for myself. The gold and black and velvet, and music. But I also decided that Tim Curry was a National Treasure, and decided that the outfit needed a corset and fishnets. I also never could sit right with the opera ghost mask, but the Luchador mask seemed whimsical and I could adapt it to a Gimp Style to imply other entertainments. The Ruby Pumps just round out the Ensemble.

Daemeon: you seem much happier.

Derrik: I really am. I never knew that there could be this much comfort and joy in being so audacious. But it is Delicious.

Daemeon: So, what about the Draconian Fursona?

Derrik: ::Streteches out a black dragon wing:: That was rather a surprise to me too. But it just sort of happened as a part of the progression of becoming. I had figured I would be some kind of demon or vampire, and I never imagined that what would come out would be the Dragon instead. But it makes all the gold and rubies make a bit more sense.

Daemeon: So you started out with a lot of difficulty in the early stages of the establishment of the plural framework for the psyche. How did you overcome that?

Derrik: To be flatly honest, I didn't. I was essentially eaten, stripped of my sapience and autonomy, and merged into Rath for years. I'm my own reincarnation, essentially 20 odd years down the road. Amy has since gotten a better modus operandi for handling things that frighten them. But it took a while to fight my way back and integrate into the group, even after I returned. Imagine being still scared of the big spooky guy that you ATE and salvaged for parts.

Daemeon: So are there hard feelings?

Derrik: Yes, of course. But that is how relationships are. They are not all roses and golden stars. They involve history and conflict. They involve fucking up irreparably and then dealing with it anyway. All involved parties have to individually decide that they still want relationships and then they have to act like it. Being in continuous relationship is an ongoing choice. It is an expression of choosing to make a relationship a priority in one's life, even when that relationship has flaws.

Daemeon: Do you ever worry about whether or not that plays into toxic or co-dependant behavior?

Derrik: of course. But I think there is a line where ideals and actual practice factor in hugely. I think the Idea a lot of people have about Healthy Relationships and what those supposedly look like is very toxic. It includes a huge amount of unnecessary confusion and miscommunication and conflict about the stupidest shit. And yet the idea of relying on one another emotionally is the flag people see as potentially dangerous. If you are not questioning every once in a while whether or not your relationship could use some adjustments, perhaps a little tidy up, a little TLC, a little back to basics re-visit of basic tenets, then you may be off track. Relationships have to grow and flex as people grow and change. Anything else is unsustainable in the long term. And Yes, it Does mean you have to love people when they are not at their best, and that Sometime that is going to look and feel and be Shitty. But as long as you are aware that another person's problems are not your problems, it should be enough to let you know when it's time to call the whole thing off. There does come a point where a relationship is harmful to you, and that is when you just leave.

Daemeon: Wow, Derrik, I never knew you were like, actually this wise. I thought you were all emotional and weird about stuff, but maybe you have grown both inwardly and outwardly.

Derrik: ::smiles:: thank you dear. But I blame Kalok there, too.

Daemeon: And what IS your relationship with this monstrous wonder?

Derrik: ::cocks an eyebrow:: wouldn't you like to know!? I am sure it is every bit as skeevy and wicked as you're imagining. We started out as Hunting partners, and it ::coughs:: got very BrokeBack from there.

Daemeon: I see. Well. To change the subject entirely, What is your dream dinner?

Derrik: Hmm... ::sits back in the chair:: an Italian Mansion dining hall with a long fire and a six course meal, pheasant under glass, a perfectly paired wine, followed by a brisk night ride in summer, and extracurricular activities in the vineyards.

Daemeon: ::blushes:: well folks, I think on that rather warming Note, we will leave it there. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good Romance novel!

[fckrcky]

—— spotted at the met steps, RICHELLE ‘RICKY’ BAMFORD, most likely listening to CHERRYBOMB BY THE RUNAWAYS with her airpods pro.  the TWENTY THREE year old gained quite a reputation, known to be QUICK-TEMPERED yet DARING to anyone who knows her. you’ll easily spot her when you hear about BUSTED KNEES, EMPTY CIGARETTE BOXES, RIPPED FISHNETS and BOTTOM SHELF VODKA STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE, followed by AXE BODY SPRAY. latest nepoupdates article talks about RICHELLE SPRAY PAINTING ‘EAT THE RICH’ THE GOLF COURSE, but i guess any reputation is good reputation. [ PINTEREST! ]

richelle was born to a up and coming model and a man that had too much money for his own good. her parents’ relationship was a disaster, and before long, so was she.

she hated everything the woman that birthed her stood for, and father too, though she didn’t have to deal with him very much after her fourth birthday. she was so caught up in first world problems and staying beautiful to realize there were far more important things out there, and at first, ricky began to rebel – starting with refusing to answer to her given name, since it pissed her mother off so bad.

what started out as hanging with crowds of people she knew her parents would never approve of for the hell of it, turned into realizing for the first time in her life, she fit in.

ricky despised the events she was taken to growing up, forced to dress up and interact with spoiled brats while her mother flirted with people that acted famous despite being talentless no names – in her words, anyway.

though she did take money for granted, and never had to want for a thing in her life, she never wanted anything expensive. she didn’t care about getting a shiny new car for her sixteenth birthday, she would have preferred a beat up old rust bucket that at least had personality. the only thing she blew money on was clothes, which she preferred to get at the thrift store, and whatever could get her wasted enough to forget who she was momentarily.

she had the time of her life in her teenage years, going from one extreme to the other. most of her time was spent ditching school, sneaking out to parties, drinking too much, getting into fist fights, jumping fences, graffitiing the police station and so on, and though she’s calmed down some as an adult… she’s never shaken any of those bad habits.

she recognizes that she could do more for people that aren’t as well off, but honestly, she’d rather complain about everyone else not doing enough. not to say she doesn’t donate a chunk of money to charity whenever she can. the main problem is, getting her parents to hand over cash with no strings attached rather than showering her with materialistic gifts to buy her love, is almost more trouble than it’s worth.

additional note: if you call her richelle, you better run.