#wes borland x oc

[weswhoreland]

Heavy Glow Snippet

A very short snippet of what I've been working on lately. It's a prologue of sorts, for the fic I'm tentatively calling Heavy Glow. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! Thank you for all the engagement and for sticking around even though I haven't written in months. This has been so fun to work on, and I'm hoping I can whip out some Wes x readers for you guys soon too. I'm really hoping I've finally conquered this Writers Block, and this gives me hope.

yes, this is a very self indulgent Wes x OC fic. Sue me. I'm having fun.

Ship: Wes Borland x Original Male Character || Rating: G || Words: 536

It’s a terrible idea.

Daniel Kincaid knows this from the moment he sees the promos for the show. He knows it as soon as he buys a ticket. And he knows it the second he steps into the venue. Really, this fact is something he’s known for the last decade; that this is all one big, horrible idea. A mistake waiting to happen. Something he can’t win, that will only get him hurt.

And yet, here Danny is, out on the floor of this venue. He’s two drinks in – a Vodka Red Bull to wake him up, and an Ultra to calm him down. So far, it hasn’t worked. He’s been nervous and jittery all night. The openers were a good distraction, decent bands that he’s never heard of, but enjoyable nonetheless. But the closer it grows to the main set, the more Danny’s anxiety mounts.

What if he doesn’t remember him? It’s possible, Danny knows. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other in person, and Danny’s… well, different. Much different from the last time they were together. And as well as they’d known each other in the past, that’s what it is. The past. It’s been ten years. A long fucking time, in the grand scheme of things. A long time for them to grow apart, to change. There’s every chance he won’t remember Danny, and every chance that even if he does, they’re just too different from who they used to be. And if that’s the case…

Well, Danny isn’t really sure what he’ll do. He takes another sip of his drink, letting himself get lost in his own thoughts. The truth is a hard thing to swallow. 

He’s still stuck on that fact when the lights finally dim. The crowd cheers, a swell of anticipation washing over the room. And it’s there, between the heavy glow of the lights above and the moment they fade away, that Danny feels like he can’t breathe.

He could leave. He could turn tail and run, slip out the door and be out of this forever. He could go back to his normal life, the one he’s been living for the last decade, and pretend none of this ever happened. It would be so easy. He could just–

And then Danny sees him.

Wes looks good. Older. His hair’s longer, a little unkempt. But even with the slight differences, with all the years that have changed both of them, he’s still Wes.

Danny holds his breath.

The band – Black Light Burns – launches into their first song. It’s one Danny’s heard briefly before. Mesopotamia. It’s energetic, and Wes is just as good on stage as he always was, prowling around as he sings. Danny stares, can’t take his eyes off him. And suddenly it’s 1997 again. Danny’s nineteen, and he’s in love with the man he met at the record store. It’s 1997, before all the fame and the money, before the obligations and commitments. It’s 1997, and all that matters is the two of them.

And I’d give it all up just to be with you.

It’s been ten years since Danny met Wes Borland. And tonight, he just might talk to him again.

[villavampyr]

some nu/industrial metal icons + my oc :D

[weswhoreland]

behind the mask

wes borland x gn!reader

482 words explicit read on ao3

Whenever Wes gets off stage, he’s ravenous.

You’ve come to accept – to anticipate – this. You watch the entire show from the stageside, watching as Wes does what he does best. This close, you can feel every note of every riff in your chest. You’ve missed when you could do this more often, before obligations and commitments got so overwhelming for the both of you. Still, you cherish this. And every time Wes sneaks a little glance over in your direction and smirks, you’re reminded why you love this man.

He finds you the moment the set’s over. You two have done this hundreds of times, danced this same dance in venues all over the world. It never gets old. He takes you by the hand immediately, weaving through countless people and leading you back to one of the dressing rooms. The guys have gotten smarter over the years. No one will bother you. They all know what the two of you are doing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You just want Wes inside you.

The moment the door closes, his hands are on you. He’s taller than you, and his hands feel good against your bare skin as he presses up your shirt. His fingers are rough (guitarist fingers, you think to yourself) and you can’t help the chills they send through you. He gets rough after performances, exactly how you like it. You want him inside you, want him to fuck you until his name is the only thing you can remember. But first–

“Keep it on.”

Wes doesn’t stop. Not entirely. Still, it’s clear he doesn’t understand at first. His hands travel lower, blunt nails digging at your skin.

“What? A condom?”

Definitely don’t keep that on, you think, but don’t say out loud. Instead, you roll your eyes.

“The mask, asshole. Keep the mask on.”

It’s not the first time he hasn’t gotten out of costume before fucking you. There have been numerous times over the years when you’ve been covered head to toe with his bodypaint as it rubbed off on you. (That had been fun to explain to Fred once, the time he’d caught you two sneaking back to the bus. You’re pretty sure he’s never made fun of the two of you as much as he had in that moment.) Still, this is a new desire.

New, but definitely not unwelcome.

Apparently, Wes thinks so too. Because when you look up at him, his smirk is wide.

“You want the mask on?” He teases.

You know this man. You love this man. He’ll humor any of your desires, whether he understands them or not. But by the way he’s looking at you now? You can tell he’s into this, too. So you put on your sweetest, most innocent smile, fully intent on getting what you want.

“Please.”

It's going to be a long night.