#depending on the fic

[neowinestainedress]

since my following grew i'm curios

#poll #this is out of curiosity 'cause i think i will keep using all styles #depending on the fic #but i also want to know my target audience better

[skyhon]

Me, looking at Papyrus: I love him. *Hands him one of my debilitating mental illnesses* here ya go big guy :)

#my paps is bipolar and nearly always hypomanic #this is my god given right #one of the only perks of the job #Sans gets my depression anx ADHD #reader gets my absolute shamelessness #depending on the fic #nm(btt) has like. the most stable reader of all #BUT she is an. disaster. #Sans sees her with rose colored glasses #she is a menace to regular society #and he’s like #😍 god shes so perfect. she commits so many small crimes 🥰 #her knack has some sway over more than just cards #she gets away with a lot of shit because of her family magic #and she fuckin knows it

[rafeandonlyrafe]

orange peel theory (dark! and soft!rafe)

words: 1k (about 500 words each)

warnings: name calling, suggestive

orange peel theory: girlfriends ask their boyfriend to peel an orange for them, as a test to see if they are willing to help with small tasks that the girlfriend can do herself

dark

you quickly set your phone in a discreet spot, already recording as you move back to your chair, pretending to be reading your book as rafe walks in.

“what are you doing?” rafe questions, looking at you with concern, not sure if he’s ever seen you read before.

“nothing.” you shake your head, shutting the book and setting it down, glancing at your phone to make sure it is still recording. “how was work?”

“fucking tiring. dealing with idiots all day.” rafe spits the words out before toeing his shoes off and leaving them in the center of the room.

“im sorry.” you pout, standing up as rafe takes a seat on the edge of the bed. you move to stand in between his thighs, pressing a kiss to his lips. he sighs with satisfaction, wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, rubbing over them, tucking his fingertips under your shorts to feel your bare skin.

“can you get me an orange rafe? i’m craving one.” you move away from him, setting back on your chair to make sure you are centered in the camera.

rafe gives you a confused look but nods, mainly because he also needs to get a glass of water for himself. he re-enters the room, tossing the orange towards you, which you catch easily.

“thanks.” you smile as rafe takes a sip of water and then sets it on the nightstand. “can you peel it for me though babe?”

“what?” he questions, moving to kneel between your legs, an amused look on his face. “my stupid little slut not able to peel it on her own? too much of a baby?” “rafey.” you whine as he takes the orange out of your hand, unpeeling it and tossing the peel into the trash. he pulls a piece and then hovers it in front of your mouth.

“open up whore, i know how much you love to do that.” rafe taunts you before you lean forward, taking the slice of orange into your mouth and pulling it out of his fingers, letting the citrusy taste flood your mouth.

“you are so mean, this was supposed to be for tiktok.” you point out your phone, making rafe turn to look at the screen opened and recording.

“what?”

“for tiktok, its some trend about asking your boyfriend to peel an orange for you to see if he will do small tasks for you, and you totally failed!” you whine, stamping your feet on the ground in annoyance.

“but i peeled the orange for you.” rafe says with confusion.

“while also calling me a stupid whore!” you stand up, grabbing your phone and stopping the recording, knowing you won’t put it on tiktok.

“are you not my dumb little slut?” rafe asks, standing and stepping close to you, hovering over with his intimidating height.

“i mean i am, but-”

“exactly.” rafe cuts you off, pressing his lips against yours as he backs you up towards the bed.

soft

you quickly set your phone in a discreet spot, already recording as you move back to your chair, pretending to be reading your book as rafe walks in.

“hey baby.” rafe leans down and gives you a kiss on the top of your head, which you quickly tilt up to have him press a second one to your lips.

“how was work?” you ask, setting your book to the side, glancing at your phone to make sure its still recording.

“exhausting.” rafe sighs, rubbing his hand over his face, making you pout.

“im sorry bubs.” you comment as he sits down on the bed to take his work shoes off. 

“no big deal. how was your day?” rafe asks.

“good…” you shrug. you usually go into more detail, and rafe knows it, so he sits quietly, waiting for you to continue. “but i’m actually really hungry.” you blurt out, figuring you shouldn’t delay any longer as you look at your phone again, lucky that rafe doesn’t follow your line of sight.

“what are you hungry for? we can order delivery.” rafe knows you like to cook, but he also doesn’t force it on you, leaving the option to get takeout open whenever you are tired or simply don’t feel like cooking.

“i actually just want an orange.” you shrug.

“thats not really food, darling, but okay.” rafe stands, setting his shoes on the rack next to the door before heading out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.

you can’t help smiling at the camera as you wait, covering your mouth as rafe reenters, already knowing that he’s going to pass the test.

“here ya go.” rafe hands you a bowl instead of an orange, making your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, before you take it and realize that the orange is already peeled and pulled apart, ready for you to enjoy.

“raaafe.” you whine.

“what?” rafe kneels down in front of your chair, placing his hands on your knees.

“i wanted a whole orange.” you complain, pouting your lower lip out as rafe looks at you in complete confusion.

“why, were you gonna eat the peel or something?” rafe laughs.

“no, its supposed to be a thing for tiktok.” you point towards your phone, which takes rafe a second to see from its hidden position. “you’re supposed to bring me an orange and i ask you to peel it to see if you’ll help me with a small task.”

“should i bring you back a whole orange then so you can ask?” rafe questions.

“no, i don’t even really want an orange to be honest.” you admit. rafe looks down into the bowl, taking a piece and putting it into his mouth, chewing it up. 

“what do you want then honey?”

“can you get me a banana?” you tilt your head to the side. rafe nods, grabbing the bowl from your lap before heading back to the kitchen.

you grab your phone and set it closer. “he’s just too good of a boyfriend.” you sigh as rafe comes back through the door, handing you a banana.

you smile at him in thanks, taking it out of his hand before he leans to press a kiss to your cheek, glancing at the camera, still recording when you realize how you can still test the theory.

“peel it for me babe?”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

#i firmly believe that whether dark or soft rafe will peel that damn orange! #its just how much hes gonna make fun of you doing it lol #really these are the same rafe just depending on his mood that day lmao #rafe drabble #rafe cameron drabble #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #soft!rafe cameron #soft!rafe x reader #soft!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #this kinda shit is how the fic got its name btw. #like yeah obviously it’s also in reference to the contrast between crane and danny’s actual parents #but it’s also about doing what you need to survive vs what is best for the people dependent on you #tshirt that says I love moral quandaries I love when no matter what you do you lose I love torturing characters #Scarecrow: why isn’t torturing everyone who wronged you healing this child. it worked for ME #meanwhile Danny is undergoing the torment nexus #and red hood is doing some doomguy shit #getting swarmed by GiW agents bc he’s one of the only ones showing up on the radar #Tucker voice Wow Mr red hood this is kinda fucked up. can I use the bat computer to hack the pentagon btw

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

#dpxdc #pondhead blurbs #Gotham is very lanky and tall and had dozens of necklaces around their neck #the necklaces are just cords filled with lost things the citizens have lost over the years #like bits of glass or wedding rings or hag stones made from a destroyed gargoyle #actually I have a weird picture of Gotham in my head I might draw it #it’s giving Bloodborne to me but idgaf #basically Danny meets Gotham and is trying to convince them to go with him for medical help because what the fuck #those curses are the equivalent of leaving hundreds of leeches stuck to your body for ten years #Danny is BEGGING Gotham to come with him #there’s potential for angst but if you want crack then Danny probably replaces Gotham #I think there’s already a similar fic where he becomes the new spirit of Gotham but I haven’t read all of that #anyways the Batfam are like #invasive animals that are actually helping the ecosystem recover from an even WORSE invasive species #but they aren’t supernatural heroes and they don’t understand that the issue is deeper #I’m calling this the Curse of Hope because Danny is offering hope to Gotham #but Gotham is just so tired and sick and hurt that they don’t want to risk it #they think Danny is another curse come to plague them #should he just straight up adopt the city at this point? #idk it probably depends on how it’s written #sad course is to let Gotham die. happy ending is where they are treated and returned #crack ending probably has Danny adopting the city and introducing them to his own city spirit Amity Park #oh shit is that a new ship #guys please I can’t keep doing this #Gotham City x Amity Park #how the fuck do you come up with a name for that #Burger Joints? #Wet Pavement? #bro idk I’m putting this down before I make something I might regret #low key wanna write this but like. I have so much to do

[arklayraven]

Ren: I could buy you a expensive ring, you know? To prove my undying endless love for you. It can have a diamond! The prettiest one in the world! With our birth stones too! We could get matching rings in fact! I'll have the stones custom cut to be shaped into hearts an--

Me: No need for diamonds. Just want a cheap colorful cool rock.

Ren: But...I--

Me: Also shiny, but nothing flashy.

Ren: ...

Me: Maybe tasty too...

Ren: ...

Me: ...

Ren: *buys two ring pops, one for himself and one for me*

#;raven's posts 💜 #14dwy #14 days with you #every blue moon i'll share a thingy for y'all about them again. to share in the tags. as a treat lol #but will keep the actual fics on the other blog only for now until I feel ready again. #i feel like the /indefinite hiatus/ on that blog will last maybe two months top...depends...we'll see how things go.

[llitchilitchi]

submitting my paper tonight and then I'm off for a week, so:

for every like on this post I'll add 5 words to my WIP. 10 for every reblog. count stops when I return on Saturday next week.

#litchi.txt #the wip in question is a dh fic #its for my corvosider spirit au #depending on how many notes I get on this uhhh #I will stop counting once the fic is finished #I am guesstimating 50k words for the whole thing and Im at like 15k at this point #so in case we overdo it past the 'this fic is completely finished and done with for good' limit Im ditching ur words sorry #yeah #idk if this makes sense but i hope u get what i mean #word count #(<- tag for me to find this later) #(i feel like this might get 3 likes and a reblog)

[pullhisteeth]

you get a promotion and Eddie wants to show you how proud he is :-) with his mouth :-)

18+ minors dni! fem!reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), gross amounts of fluff, lots of swearing lol. not proofread in the slightest

3k

-

Is it possible to smile any wider?

Your cheeks ache with wonder, smile lines deep and eyes sore. It’s a feeling like no other, and yet you daren’t think about how it’ll feel when you tell him.

You’re eager and light on your feet, quick steps up the concrete stairs. You climb three flights like it’s nothing and almost slip when you reach the door. It takes you one, two, three goes to get the key in before you’re wrenching it open to find Eddie sitting lazily, reclined and dozing, on the couch.

He perks up when you drop your bag and kick off your shoes, eyes opening slowly as he lifts himself to sit upright. You shuffle, tugging your scarf off and your coat along with it. Where you’d ordinarily hang them carefully by the door, above the rack for your shoes, you drop them, far too elated to think about anything else.

“Hi,” Eddie sings, a dopey smile creeping in. He’s in his sweats, and the smell of pot lingering in the room, despite the open window, is proof enough that he’s enjoyed his day off.

“I got it,” you say, breathless, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. You watch as his eyes widen, smile dropping only for a second before he’s beaming just as much as you are.

“You’re serious?” he asks. His voice is louder now, as though you’d slapped him awake.

“Serious,” you respond, “I got it.”

He’s up quicker than you can think to expect, crossing the room in bounds to wrap his arms around your middle and lift you effortlessly off the ground. He’s squeezing you, spinning you, laughing like a mad man.

“No fucking way!” he’s shouting, and the elation in his voice alone could keep you feeling like this for weeks.

You’re giggling, happy noises squeezed out of you as he rubs his face into the pretty silk of your blouse. He lets you down slowly, softly, your socks hitting the carpet as his hands come up to hold your face. His palms warm your frosty cheeks.

“You,” he says, using his grip to look you square in the eye, “are so amazing.”

He kisses you on the mouth, hot and heavy and possessed by joy, and then begins an assault on the rest of your face. Each kiss is sweet and lovely and makes you giggle, and he dots them between gasping declarations: you are incredible, I love you, I love you so much, I am so proud of you.

That last one is what does it, sends your knees weak as you buckle. His arms are swift and secure, pulling you up and across the room to the couch. He’s still kissing every part of you he can reach: your temple, forehead, the crown of your head, and finally your nose. He lays you on the cushions and his fingers move quicker than his hazy brain, still a little cloudy with the remnants of the afternoon’s joint. He unbuttons your blouse, deciding it looks far too pretty on you to risk popping any buttons. His lips aren’t far behind his hands, dotting kisses over the skin between your collarbones as he tugs the shirt down your arms and pulls it out from underneath your body. He’s warm and lovely and your fingers can’t help but take root in his hair, tugging softly but never too rough.

“You’re amazing,” he repeats, breaths filled with love. “So amazing.”

“Eddie,” you whine, squirming under his hands and mouth, your insides bubbling with pride and love. You’re delirious with it, still giggling and humming contentedly when the pads of his fingers brush over the lace of your bra.

He’s riling you up in every way he can. With your shirt on the floor he can make quick work on your chest, tugging material down so he can dote on the swell of flesh. He leaves reckless marks, blooming purples of pride, and as his warm hands inch around your back to the clasp you arch into him, against his hip and the ghost of the way you’re making him feel.

“I know,” he coos, light and airy as his breath hits your face. “Shit, I know.”

Swiftly, he pulls the bra off and out of his way, but it’s too much - why are you like this while he’s bundled in a sweatshirt? There’s too much between the two of you, too many layers, and your skin is burning and you need to know that his is as well.

Your impatient fingers paw around the bottom of his sweatshirt, where the hem of his t-shirt peaks out. With a kiss clearly aimed at your nose - he misses by an inch and lands an awkward one beneath your eye - he leans back onto his knees, eyes tied to yours, and tugs both tops off in one quick movement.

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself if you tried. You press tough palms against his stomach, fingers splayed over ink and skin, pawing at flesh like you’re dying. He laughs at you, a smug and breathless noise, as he tosses the material across the room. You hear it land with a thud just as he kisses your jaw, lips leaving a hot trail down your neck.

You wriggle, hands back in his hair, mewling at his kisses and this reaction to your own hard work. Eddie couldn’t be prouder of you, you knew this anyway, but to feel so appreciated, so acknowledged, and for him to feel pride for you, sends you dizzy.

“You’re amazing,” he tells you again, words scattered between more kisses to your sternum, stomach, waist. “Worked so hard, y’deserve all of it.”

You hum as he looks up at you from under his lashes. He kisses a straight line from one hip to the other, over the waistline of your trousers, which he pulls between his teeth. You laugh, reeling from his softness and his silliness, and wriggle your hips impatiently. He scrambles to get the button and the zip undone, and you writhe around as he pulls the fabric over your thighs, knees, calves, finally pulling it off your feet and throwing it to join the mess already scattered across your living room floor. His hands leave goosebumps in their wake and you cave for him, body drawn to his carnally. 

“G’na show you how proud I am,” he tells you gently, his hands framing your hips. He tugs at the faded cotton of your underwear and you nod for him, desperate for whatever he’s about to give you. There’s a chill from the open window and it distracts you from whatever he does with your pants - you squeeze your thighs together to hide from the cold and he tuts, tinged with something condescending but entirely playful. Prising your knees apart, he leaves kisses on his journey, up the warmth of the insides of your legs and past where you want him. He kisses your hip, and then the other, and when he looks up at you, he says, “Good girls get rewards, hm?”

You keen, whining again, eyes squeezing shut because he’s taunting you, teasing, and it’s unfair. But then his fingers find yours and he holds your hand tight, squeezing, as he kisses between your thighs.

The moan that rips from you is ungodly. You feel him echo it and the vibration is just as sweet. His mouth is everywhere at first, uncoordinated and frenzied, until he settles where he always does. His tongue makes tender shapes around your clit, drawing whimpers from you, and then you feel the fingers of his free hand.

It’d been around your thigh, rings twinkling in the light of the lamp on the sideboard. Now, though, it’s slinking underneath and joining his mouth. He prods gently until he finds what he’s looking for, and breaches you with two cautious digits. You’re fussing, a darling mix of giggles and whines, fingers pulling less than kindly at his hair now, moving him as you please. His fingers curl in a come-hither gesture inside your walls, encouraging the precipice; his mouth, his tongue, is kindling flame with obscene noises that you’re quickly going deaf to as the blood pumps quicker, thicker. You can feel him trying to dirty talk against your wet, but it’s no use. You couldn’t hear him even if your eardrums weren’t buried beneath rushing, because he’s too preoccupied to make himself audible. He’s doing his favourite thing, and he’s so nearly got you there.

“Eddie,” you moan, “please.”

He hums in response and adds a third finger, slow and attentive just in case, but you’re loving it. The electric current is sizzling around your centre, your stomach tightening in knots, and god, you’re nearly there.

Eddie lifts himself from you and your displeased whine is interrupted by his thumb replacing his tongue. He pushes deft circles there, in rhythm with his fingers.

“You’re so good,” he tells you, “So smart and strong, you’re such a clever girl.”

He shifts up the couch to your level, his hand still busy.

“‘M so close,” you tell him in a whisper. He kisses your cheek and the corner of your right eye, where a tear has broken loose and is making a run for it down your temple. “So close, Eds.”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you, hm? Gonna come for me?”

You make a gorgeous, strangled noise as you do, riding his hand and chasing his mouth with your own. You taste yourself and lingering peppermint until you can’t kiss him back any more because you’re gasping for air and telling him Eds, enough, please.

He retreats gently and brings his hand up to his mouth. You look at him from under drooping eyelids as he goes all salacious and dramatic, all three fingers in his mouth like it’s nothing. It’s stupid, because he’s winding you up again, but he’s so damn good at it. The sight is downright erotic and you keen, eyes widening in want.

“Hm?” he hums, pulling his hand away. “What d’ya want, pretty girl?”

You say nothing, choosing instead to open your own mouth, tongue sitting happily on your bottom lip. He smiles down at you and relents, laying two fingers on your tongue. You take them between your lips happily and suck, eyes fluttering closed, as you feel him shifting beside you. You take your cue, using your free hands to tug at his sweats. He’s hard as stone, prodding you through the soft jersey, and you’re desperate to feel it for real.

He moves to help you as you pull them down to mid-thigh, low enough that you can get your greedy hands on what you want. You hear him suck in a breath as you wrap around him and slide up and down, up and down, pleasantly humming around his fingers.

“Shit,” he hisses, “gotta- Shit, gotta stop, I gotta get inside you.”

Never one to deny him, you let him have his hand back so he can rest himself over you. He takes your thigh in one, lifting it up to his hip, as you continue to reach down and line him up.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, mouth by your ear.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum.

Eddie decides here, as he pushes into you, that he’s going to treat you like you’ve just had a promotion every single day for the rest of your life. He concludes that this is what you deserve, to be handled tenderly like this, and nothing less.

“Christ,” he pants, “I- fuck, I’m so proud of you, god-”

“Eddie,” you whimper, “please move, fuck, I-”

“You’re so good,” he repeats. It doesn’t stop, the praises - he calls you every word he can think of: amazing, incredible, smart, clever, pretty, tight. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, high on his devotion.

“Good girl,” he says as he pulls back. He thrusts in quicker and rougher, but his words are too kind to think he’s anything but a boy in love. “How’d I land you, huh? Amazing girl, so clever.”

You’re going dumb on him, mouth agape, so he seizes his chance. He taps your cheek lightly, just once.

“Open up.”

You open your mouth wider, knowing what’s coming and greedy for it. You stick your tongue out again and he replaces his two fingers, but you’re too far gone to suck, so he leaves them there, heavy and grounding.

It riles the tightening in your stomach and you arch your back into him as he thrusts in, out, in, out, a steady rhythm that matches the pretty grunts he’s making above you.

“Eddie,” you breathe, “I’m so- I’m close again, fuck-”

“Can feel it,” he says, “so tight, shit, feels so good.”

“You’re so deep,” you whine, “can feel y’in my guts, fuck.”

He groans at this. “Shit, sugar, y’can’t say shit like that, g’na come.”

“Please, wanna feel it, Eds.”

He’s stuttering, hips faltering, the fingers in your mouth unsteady so he removes them and uses the wet from your tongue to ease the friction on your clit. His hand travels down and when he finds purchase there, he moans, feeling you tighten around him at the contact.

“Fucking hell-”

“G’na come, Eds,” you manage.

“Come on,” he encourages, “Come again, fuck, y’can do it. Know you can.”

It’s getting hotter, hotter, hotter, winding and winding and snapping before you can warn him. You come hard and quick, limbs going limp and teeth biting deep into your bottom lip as you moan. He keeps going, eyes opening to check over you for any sign that he should stop but he finds none before he goes, too.

“Shit, Eds-”

“Christ-”

You feel him stiffen and rest on you as he paints your insides. He’s panting just as hard as you are and your skin is slick with sweat and spit.

He pulls out gently, easing you through it when you whimper at the feeling, and settles with his face at your chest. As you heave breaths, you stroke the damp hairs away from his forehead.

“Fucking hell,” he says again. You giggle.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He shifts so his chin rests on your breastbone. “For what?”

“For being so lovely.”

You see his already flushed cheeks brighten with a new redness. “Shut up,” he says, smiling and resting back on his cheek.

“I’m serious.”

“Just proud of you ‘s’all.”

“Thank you,” you repeat.

After a few minutes of quiet, save for your breathing and the hum of the fridge on the other side of the wall, he lifts himself up to rest on his forearms.

“How’s a celebratory takeout sound?”

You open your eyes and look at him. He’s staring down at you, wide, brown eyes like ebony. His cheeks are still flushed pink and his hair’s a state.

“Chinese?”

“Anything you want.”

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss before he lifts himself off the couch. He’s only gone for a flash, and returns wearing new sweats and a t-shirt. He brings you your favourite pyjamas, fresh out of the wash, and a damp cloth. After he’s cleaned you up, you hop to the bathroom to pee.

The clothes are gone from the floor when you return. You pull on thick socks and listen to Eddie on the phone in the kitchen, reciting your order to the kind lady at the local Chinese restaurant. It arrives quickly, with a bottle of wine you didn’t know about, and you eat noodles and drink with him on the couch while you tell him about your meeting.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you a small foil package.

You tear it open and he does the same. You look at him and he nods, so you crack open the cookie to pull out the paper inside.

“The one you love is closer than you think,” you recite. Eddie looks up at you.

“How can I be closer?” he asks, brows furrowing, looking down at where your legs are resting on his lap. “You’re practically sat on top of me.”

“You were just inside me,” you say, smiling at the way Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, what’s yours say?”

He looks down at the paper held between his fingers and grins. “Before you receive, you must give.”

You laugh, loudly, and he looks back at you.

“Well,” he says, leaning over to put his plate on the floor, “I did give, so…”

You gasp and swat at his arm, but you can’t help grinning. Your cheeks are aching again, your chest glowing golden with love. He holds your calf with one hand, squeezing, and reaches the other up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I really am proud of you, y’know.”

“I know.”

“You deserve it. I’ve never known anyone who works as hard as you do.” He curls a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you give, leaning into his palm and letting your eyes close. “Wanna go to bed?”

“Mm-hmm. Will y’carry me?”

“On one condition,” he says through a sly smile. You open one eye and narrow it, glaring at him.

“What?”

“You make my fortune come true in the morning.”

You bite down a smile and close your eyes again.

“Nice try, hot stuff.”

-

#I have absolutely no idea where this came from #one minute I was cooking the next I'm typing out smut like my life depends on it #enjoy anyway x #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie fanfic #eddie fic

[localravenclaw]

Well, there goes my Sunday morning

#my level of productivity is severely dependent on how many fics these authors drop in a day #i don't know words so i shall express emotions through memes #sebastian sallow #ominus gaunt #garreth weasley #andrew larson #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy meme

[hellaephemeral]

preferably tell me the reason as to why for whatever option you choose for the best results thanks <3

#i know it heavily depends on the fic but just choose whatever you do most #ao3 #fanfiction #polls #writing #fanfic #ao3 fic

[talkdrarrytome]

Everyone after being without AO3 for almost 2 days and realizing how much we took it for granted 

#THANK YOU TO THE VOLUNTEERS #pls show your favorite authors and fics some extra love #i didnt realize how dependent i was on ao3 #pls never scare us like that again ao3 #ao3 #ao3 is down #ao3 outage

[kabutoden]

bug trolls… i am interested in kankri vantas. if that isn’t too much trouble. your buggy guys are so silly and interesting and i am a fan

here is kankri and his baby brother…. they don’t get along!! i wish they did though id love to see these two go on an adventure together where they look out each other. since kankri is a beforus troll and a vegan, his shell is pretty thin because he’s not getting enough iron. on the other hand, karkat’s shell is heavier then it should be due to stress. thanks for the RQ!! im soooo glad ppl like my sillies :D

#kankris picking up karkat because karkat said fuck you im going to come over there and cram my scythe down your ignorance shaft #kankri said no you arnt. you’re not going to do that. im not letting you do that. #karkat vantas #kankri vantas #homestuck #trolls #buggy trolls #want to see these 2 depending on each other to survive in alternia. i think it would be very hard for them to do #but i think they could grow and develop in interesting ways if they got to be brothers who fight #enrichment in the isopod tank #redbloods #these two are natural drama that’s engaging story!! ive never really read a fic i liked that rlly got into their companionship as brothers #like there’s quite a few abt dirk and dave as brothers #most fics that have both of them focus more on their bonds with the sufferer #if anyone has a recommendation I’d love to hear it #give them crabdad no sufferer make them struggle in this cruel world. highly protective kankri grumpy wrathful karkat #they can’t stand each other but also rely on each other. redblood moment #given that isopods are comparatively social and good natured to many of the other troll buggy species I’ve picked out #that’s what I’m SAYIN #^silly #ok bye

[gojonanami]

prof geto (4) tomorrow at 8 PM EST!

…there is gonna be a part 5

#sab speaks #sab series [prof suguru] #part 5 will be the last part though #aside from the extra credit fics lol #I just hit 10k in the fic #I have like four to six more scenes left #I also may have some tweaking to do depending on Hannah feels

[your-soup-overlord]

Another Tiny look into It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To), from the first chapter! I've been jumping around in where im writing, but the first official chapter is just about finished.

Shoutout to @dcxdpdabbles too, their oneshot called Magic Older Brother since they gave me the idea to place this during Tim's birthday and inspired the first part!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain was pelting on him as he walked, the fog starting to get tick and heavy. Danny was just with his parents, walking from the parking lot to the ghost convention they dragged him along to. Jazz was at home, her friends letting her sleep over for the trip, but Danny was 5 and his parents didn’t trust anyone to watch him. So, they packed up his bags and dragged him along.

Now, though, his parents had run off and left him alone on the sidewalk. Danny thought he knew where he was going, his parents ran off in a straight direction, but he hadn’t reached the convention center yet. He has seen no ghosts, and now the sun was starting to set as well.

As it got darker, the shadows seemed to twist and turn. He was too scared to go down the dark paths, unsure of what could be in that darkness, so he followed the light.

As he kept walking, Danny eventually wandered into a neighborhood filled with mansions. They seemed to tower over him as he kept walking. Most of the lights were turned off, but there was this one he saw in the distance. Deciding to trying his luck, Danny walked up to the house to knock on the door. He knew he shouldn’t talk to strangers, but at this point he was soaking and cold, and it was so dark outside now.

Knocking on the door, Danny stood back and turned to peer through the windows to see anyone coming. As he stood on his toes to try and see inside more, the door swung open to reveal a kid bigger than him! He smiled up at him, glad to see another kid instead of an adult.

“Hi, I’m Tim!” the big kid began, “Are you here for the party! Did you see the signs outside! It’s my birthday party!” He said as he bounced up and down on his toes.

“Really?” Danny asked, Tim’s excitement infecting him. “That’s so cool! I’m Danny! I’d love to come in but I got soaked by the rain, and I don’t want to get you and your floors all wet.”

Tim held out his hand, “That’s ok! You’re the first to show up, so I’m sure we can get you some clothes before anyone else comes! I’ll have to get you some of mine though, my parents are away and I don’t know what happened to my old clothes.”

Danny grabbed his hand, getting pulled in by Tim. “Thank you!” Danny smiled. As Tim pulled him along and through the halls, Danny couldn’t help but be sad for him. This big kid was so happy, but he didn’t seem to have a Jazz to spend his birthday with like Danny did! That was unacceptable, Danny decided once Tim sat him down by his bed and began pulling out clothes for him, shooting him a bright smile as he gave Danny the clothes. As Tim pointed him to the bathroom and he began changing, putting on the big shirt and shorts he was lent, Danny knew what he had to do. Yes, he would be his Jazz! And he would be the best Jazz ever and help Tim have the best birthday ever!

#dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #tim drake #dc x dp crossover #it's my party (and i'll cry if i want to) #this will be in the first chapter #the eariler will either be in chapter 2 or 3 #depends on how much i write #I dont think I've ever seen a big brother tim fic so i'll be the first! #super excited

[sanatomis]

cw. suggestive content.

something about nanami offering to provide for you gets me all hot and bothered. that man. that reliable, caring and considerate man sees you struggle at your job—the job that you hate, and sends you home in tears all the time—and decides to simply drop the question.

“would you like to stay home from now on?”

he’d respect each possible answer you give him. if you’d like to keep working, he’d help you search for a different job—one you’d actually enjoy. but, if you would like to stay home, then he’ll make sure every need (or want) of yours will be met.

he makes enough money to support you, him, and then some extras. while you take care of the home, he takes care of you. in more ways than one. nanami takes care of all the bills, and buys you every little thing you’d want to have—perfumes, jewellery, pretty clothes, and even prettier lingerie sets.

the only thing he asks in return? for you to be happy, of course. . .and for you to show off your cute new set when he takes you to bed.

#ꕤ — sanatomis darling: nanami kento #might make a full fic about this ngl 😵‍💫 #confession time: i lowkey want this irl #but i’ll never trust a man enough to depend on him #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader

[cloudcountry]

breaking the mold

Genre/Tropes: Mutual Pining if you squint very hard.

Summary: Vil has always been cast as the villain. With a new writer working with his club, he learns that not every director will see him that way.

Author's Comments: I wrote something similar to this for another character that was normally portrayed as a villain (2p!America cough cough) so it was kinda funny writing something like this again but I really enjoyed it!! Also, in Epel's SSR vignettes this club apparently doesn't have auditions? Vil just picks someone and is like "you're good" so I put Reader in that same role.

~~~~~

“For our next play, I’ve opted to let our newest member write it. They’ve proven themselves efficient at directing the stage crew and have shown me various samples of their writing.” Vil announced, locking eyes with you from in front of the small crowd of club members, “Come to the front, director!”

Murmurs swept through the crowd as you jumped up, rushing towards his side with a huge smile on your face. Vil looked upon your smiling face with pride, confident that he’d made the right choice. It only made you more motivated to please him.

“A new member? Writing for us?” someone muttered from the group, “That’s unheard of.”

“You must push boundaries to progress.” Vil responded, “I’ve made my choice. I only hope the rest of you are willing to give them a chance.”

“I won’t let you down!” you proclaimed, standing even straighter in hopes that the club would accept you.

“Let’s try it out. What’s the worst that could happen?” someone else said, “Besides, Vil will still be overseeing everything, Nothing will go wrong!”

Another murmur swept through the crowd as people started to nod. Vil turned to you with a small nod, and you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

They don’t believe you can do it by yourself. Prove them wrong.

👑

The next day, Vil walked into the small room the club had set aside for you. The table was cluttered with papers and pencils, and in the middle of it was you, writing down one last note before you looked up at him and beamed.

“So, how’s the cast list coming along?” he asked, trying to make sense of the messy writing scrawled over the papers nearest to him.

“I’m so glad you asked! I’m planning on casting you as the main character, of course.” you hummed, pouring over the script on the table, “I want to start off my first play with a bang, but you’re also the safest option because of your experience.”

Vil watched you work, scribbling down notes for the plot and little details you wanted added to the set. The passion and personalization you were giving to this production was admirable. Vil often had to remind his fellow club members to do exactly what you were doing when directing productions and designing sets. All of the actors and crew should be represented in their own special ways when on stage.

“Just so you know, I refuse to play a villain role. If you opted to play me in that role, perish the thought. I refuse.” he declared, pulling out the chair opposite of you and sitting down.

He was prepared for a barrage of complaints and reassurance. He was prepared for ‘but you’d do so well!’ and ‘it’s a great opportunity!’ and ‘what do you mean? Do it for the play!’ His agent’s voice echoed in his ears as he waited for your response, and he shook her away.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the villain. Not every hero is warm and soft, you know?” you laughed, shaking your head, “Heroes can be cool and tough too. If I wanted to write something with a wimpy hero I wouldn’t be casting you in the first place.”

You passed him the list of characters from across the table, pointing to the bright HERO title with stars doodled around it. His name was written in your all too familiar handwriting, a little smile stretching across the bottom of his name that used the two i’s as eyes.

“If this is your verdict, I’ll respect it.” he nodded, passing back to list.

“Oh, but you wouldn’t have if you were the villain?’ you snorted playfully, “I’m just kidding. I’m not here to write something cliche and stupid. I’m here to explore a side to heroes that the productions we’ve seen so far don’t want us to see.”

“Elaborate.” he said, lacing his fingers together on top of the table.

“All of the productions I’ve seen in Twisted Wonderland portray heroes as happy and soft and sweet. But heroes need to be smart and strong and resilient, you know? I don’t understand why people think those attributes are more villain-like. It’s like they want their heroes to be joyful and handsome instead of genuinely strong.” you met his gaze and beamed, “Not that you aren’t handsome. Obviously. You know how good looking you are.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Vil rolled his eyes, gesturing for you to continue.

“Right, right. I’ll keep talking, Your Highness.” you snickered, scribbling a few more notes down on the character page, “I actually cast Rook as the villain this time around. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to share the stage with you. Also, doesn’t he have that dramatic villain vibe about him? I figured he’d be able to play the tyrannical king role pretty well.”

“You’re definitely right about that.” Vil nodded, lifting up the set design from your pile of papers, “Is there a particular reason why you chose the mirror to be here, in the corner?”

“Ooooh, I’m so glad you asked!” you nearly leapt across the table to look at the diagram with him, your hand resting on his arm for support, “You see, the tyrannical king ends up trapped in the mirror at the end of the play. I wanted to pay homage to the Evil Queen and her magic mirror while also giving the impression that the king’s punishment is a result of finally being cornered. He spends so much of the play in the middle of the stage, but once the hero and his allies find him he gets backed into that corner with no escape! He’s hidden away from the audience’s view and then the lights go out and boom! He’s trapped in the mirror for all eternity!”

“It’s very hard to come up with an original story, so I don’t blame you for referencing the Evil Queen.” Vil hummed thoughtfully, “However, are you sure the mirror design is your best work? If it’s truly a symbol to pay homage to the Evil Queen, will the audience get that message from this design?”

He handed the design back to you, watching as you poured over it. Your pursed lips slowly lifted into a smile as you jolted back into your chair, scribbling away at the paper once again.

“I got it now! This next one will be the one that knocks your socks off!” you proclaimed, waggling your pencil at him.

“I look forward to it.” he chuckled, leaning over to pat your head before leaving the room with a swish of his cloak.

You shot up in your chair, brushing a hand over where he had touched your hair. He really did know exactly how to motivate people, didn’t he?

👑

“Why did you cast Vil as the hero?” Epel asked, tilting his head as he read through the cast list.

“He’d be a lovely hero. That’s why.” you replied, waiting for the rest of the cast and crew to read over the list.

“That’s…an odd choice.” someone else piped up, “I mean, Vil is more suited to be a villain, you know?”

The group mumbled in agreement, nodding their heads. You furrowed your brow, holding back the twinge of annoyance in your chest.

“Do you want to have a play with a hero that’s soft and gentle? Or do you want a hero that’s tough and reliable? Do you want someone who only focuses on the princess, or a hero that rallies people together? Do you want a hero that nobody cares much about because they’re so vapid and uninteresting, or do you want a hero that everyone will remember because he’s the one that sent chills down their spine?!” you narrowed your eyes as the club listened, allowing you to explain yourself, “Vil is perfect for a hero role. It’s a disgrace that nobody has cast him in that role before.”

The room was silent for a moment before Epel sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

“If that’s what our director thinks, then I agree. They’re pretty convincing too, when they want to be.”

“Thank you, Epel.” your gaze softened as you relaxed, making sure to make eye contact with as many people as you could, “I’m willing to hear your input on this, but I’m not going to put Vil in a role that I think would be ill-suited for him.”

“I think Rook as the villain is a good casting choice.” Someone offered, “We’ve never seen him in a role like that before, but seeing you make that decision has made me curious.”

“Yeah! I know he’s in the science club, but there’s no way he’d pass up a chance to perform with Vil.” you nodded enthusiastically.

“He has no qualms about getting people not in his club to participate.” Epel mumbled, “I miss Spelldrive practice for one of his plays once…if I missed the play he would’ve killed me.”

“You were our main role, Epel. Our leading star. The play would have been ruined if you didn’t show up.” Vil replied, stepping into the room with grandeur.

“Housewarden!” Epel yelped, “How long were you there?”

“Don’t yell. I’ve been here the whole time.” his eyes flickered to yours, gratitude in his eyes, “I heard your discussion about the roles. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.”

“I’ll run them by Rook later.” you shot up out of your seat, gathering your papers quickly, “I still have to finalize that mirror design, and then I’ll show you that too. Let me know what you think!”

“Wait.” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, eyes only for you as everyone else filed out, “I want you to stay back for a moment.”

“Hmm? What for?” you asked.

“I want to talk to you. That’s all. Do I need a reason?” he replied, a challenge clear in his tone.

“Of course not, handsome.” you laughed, sitting back down, “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to show you my gratitude.” he began, sitting in the chair beside you, “You have been the only person that has bothered to take my thoughts into consideration. It’s such a simple thing, but since you are the first to show me such thoughtfulness, I feel the need to let you know the impression you’ve made on me.”

“It’s no big deal at all! I just did what I thought would fit you best.” you stumbled over your words, face warming at the praise.

Since when did Vil praise you for silly things like that?!

Amused by your reaction, he laughed. How was one man so pretty? His hair fell into his eyes before he brushed it away, meeting your gaze again. You swallowed thickly, nerves twisting in your stomach.

“I trust you will do your best.” he said, hands clasped in his lap, “I believe in you.”

With that said, he left, leaving your mouth hanging open in shock.

If Vil Schoenheit wanted you to focus, he’d need to stop praising you like that.

👑

The day of the play was fast approaching as you watched over the rehearsals. The costumes had come together a while ago and the set had been built completely. The paint crew was still touching up on little details of the castle and mirror, each golden swirl and apple motif painted with extra care. Some of the club members that had worked on the set even picked up a paintbrush for the production. It warmed your heart to see everyone try so hard for the sake of you and your production. Even Epel came in to work hard when he didn’t have Spelldrive practice, his painted apples shining more radiantly than anyone else’s. Before you knew it, the show was being performed for any NRC students that wanted to attend. You extended personal invitations to all of your friends, making sure Malleus in particular had the date memorized so he could see your vision come to life. Cater had spammed his Magicam feed with promotional posters for the show, and Vil had also done some advertising to a lesser extent. The nerves were starting to settle in as you watched the people file into the theater, the low rumbling of conversation making your stomach do flips. Pacing around, you took deep breaths as your heart pounded. Today was the day of your debut as a director for Vil Schoenheit and the entire Film research Club. You only hoped you could do him and the rest of his club justice.

“You’re up.” Vil said from behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder, “I know you’re nervous, but you’re ready for this. I would not let you walk out on that stage if I didn’t think you were one hundred percent ready.”

“Thank you, Vil.” you smiled, hands shaking as they took the mic from the nearby stand, “I’ll…I’ll go break a leg out there.”

His eyes shone with affection as he offered you a smile, gently pushing you into the bright lights of the stage.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the new lighting, a chorus of cheers and whoops erupting from the crowd. Your stomach twisted itself into an even bigger knot as the darkened blurs wriggled and twitched with movement, but you reminded yourself of Vil’s words and breathed deeply.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight!” you said, putting the biggest smile you could on your face.

The sentiment was met with another round of applause and a loud yell of “THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND,” which you could only assume came from Ace.

“Thank you, thank you! Um…” you clutched the microphone tightly as the applause died down, taking in another deep breath, “This is my first time producing a play with the film research club. Being a director has been hectic, but it has also been very rewarding. As you all know, I got to work with the amazing Vil Schoenheit on this project-”

An even bigger applause erupted from the crowd at the mention of his name, to which you responded by looking backstage for him. He was standing just behind the curtain, a smile on his face as he listened.

“I know, I adore him too. He spent hours and hours with me, pushing me to do my best on set design and costumes and storytelling. He wanted me to make this play personal, and because of that, there are bits of him in the story, too.” you stopped to take a breath, the audience silent as you continued, “Thank you all for coming out tonight to support the work we do. Without further ado, I present to you, Poison’s Heir!”

The audience burst into applause again as you rushed off stage, waving to everyone that had come to watch your show.

“You did so well.” Vil whispered as the lights dimmed, “Now go take a breather. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Break a leg.” you whispered back, beaming at him.

👑

The second the auditorium doors were opened after everyone had taken their final bow, you were jumped on by Ace, Deuce, and Grim. A strangled yelp escaped your throat as you begged them to let you go, but they refused.

“You never told me you wrote in your spare time!” Ace yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at you, “I can’t believe you wrote something like that and didn’t tell us! What is wrong with you?!”

“It was really good, Prefect.” Deuce said, looking at you with stars in his eyes, “I’m so impressed, it must have taken so much work to build everything.”

“That’s why you kept sneaking off! That’s why you had all those late nights! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Grim grabbed your leg and shook it vigorously.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!” you yelped, shaking them off, “I’m surprised you guys even came!”

“Of course we did! You always come to my basketball games and I know you go to Deuce’s track meets too! Don’t act like it’s a burden for us to show up!” Ace crossed his arms over his chest and glared, pouting like a child.

“Hello, Child of Man.” Malleus interrupted, appearing behind you unexpectedly, “That was a lovely production.”

“Hornton!” you jumped, placing a hand over your heart, “You scared me! Don’t just teleport behind people like that!”

“But I didn’t.” he mumbled, a confused look on his face, “I just walked up to you.”

“Ah. My bad. I was occupied.” you sighed, smiling at him, “I’m glad you liked it!”

“I brought you this.” he hummed, presenting you with a bundle of orange roses, “I was told by Lilia that directors and cast members of plays often receive flowers after a play as a show of appreciation. He stressed that I should not give them to you before the play, since I would be bestowing bad luck upon you.”

“Dude, we so got one upped!” Ace quipped, but you ignored him.

“Aww, thank you so much.” you gasped, gratefully accepting the flowers from his arms, “They’re beautiful. I’ll be sure to treasure them for as long as they live.”

“Don’t worry, Child of Man. I’ve enchanted them so that they will not die.” he smirked, “You don't even have to water them. Those flowers will remain stationary, halted in time, just like the memory of your first production in my mind.”

You almost cried with how moved you were, but settled for giving him a huge hug. He returned it, holding your gently before he gave you a final smile and moved on.

The next person to throw themselves on you was none other than Cater.

“Hon!” Cater screeched, throwing his arms around you dramatically, “Oh, that was a gorgeous production! I wish I could have recorded it!”

“Thank you so much!” you laughed, wrapping your free arm around him to hug him back.

“Would you mind taking a picture with me? I’d absolutely love a photo of the director themself!” he begged, hands itching to grab his phone and take as many pictures as possible.

“Of course you can.” you pulled away, putting on another one of your director smiles.

Cater whipped out his phone and took a bunch of quick pictures, trying out a few different angles. You felt your crowd pleasing smile grow into a genuine one as your face warmed, feeling all the love all of your friends were sending to you.

“You don’t mind if I post these to Magicam, right?” he asked.

“You ask every time Cater. My answer is always no. I don’t mind at all!” you laughed, thankful he’d go through the effort of checking every time.

“I just want to be sure! I’ll send you the ones I want to post just so you can go through them.” he said, pulling you in for one last hug, “Great job, hon. I’m so proud of you.”

The crowds slowly died down as time went on, and the club was finally allowed the step back into the auditorium. That’s where you found Vil, standing by the doorway in his costume.

“I was waiting for you.” he said, hooking his arm through yours and pulling you away from the group, “Come with me.”

You allowed him to lead you outside into the cool night air. He sat down on a nearby bench and gestured for you to do the same.

“So how many flowers did you get?” you asked, still clutching the orange roses to your chest.

“I received many flowers from adoring fans.” he said matter of factly, “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“What is it?” you asked, scooting closer.

“Magicam. The production is blowing up.” he murmured, unlocking his phone and pulling up his Magicam feed.

You watched as he scrolled through post after post of happy, celebratory photos, all tagged with #Poison’sHeir. Your heart warmed at the display and the fact that Vil had taken the time to show it to you.

“I dare say your first show was a success. I’m looking forward to the next one you direct.” he chuckled, expression soft and caring, “I’d love to work with you again.”

Pride welled up in your chest at his words, the knowledge that this would not be your last show and that you’d impressed him enough to earn his praise forcing a wobbly smile to bloom across your face.

“Wait…Vil, is that Neige?” you gasped, the laughter catching in your throat as the moment was shattered.

His nose wrinkled in displeasure as he rapidly scrolled away from the post.

“Don’t pay attention to him-”

“Noooo, Vil! I wanted to see his post!”

“Stop trying to take my phone-!”

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit fluff #neige leblanche on his way to steal vil's love interest #thats a joke #maybe #depends on who you like more ig