#not sure how to tag this. so i simply will not

[frudoo]

I’ve only had your baker! simon for one day and I already know that I would cause mass destruction if something happened to him 😁 no but seriously such a cute and fun read I loved it thank you so much for sharing!

He is my BABY and I am obsessed <3

Part 2 of this!

Warnings: Simon is healing 🤍 Fem!Reader.

Simon’s heart skips a beat. It’s a scam, it’s got to be. No way such a pretty woman would dare talk to him, business move or not. Although, the more he looks through your profile and sees the amount of posts you’re tagged in, it’s easy to conclude that you are, in fact, real. Regardless, he’s still wary as he finally begins typing out a response.

— No charge? Sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?

Maybe a little harsh, but hey—can never be too careful nowadays. If there’s one thing the military instilled in him, it’s to trust nobody. Simon flops down onto his couch, fingers anxiously tapping along his knee as he watches you type, the ellipses disappearing and reappearing again. He wonders if you’re just as nervous as he is, but if that were the case, surely you wouldn’t have contacted him first.

— No catch, I promise! No offense, it’s just that your pictures are a little grainy and I don’t believe they act as a great showcase for your talent. Really, I just want to show you how pretty your treats can look on camera!

Simon sucks his teeth stubbornly. He knows his pictures aren’t the best, but fucking hell, must everybody point it out? He’s about to type a scathing response and block you, but another message pops up beneath your previous one.

— Please, just a chance. We’re in the same area, so I can just come to you, wherever you want me.

A heavy sigh escapes the big man. His therapist has been telling him he’s too uptight, suggesting that he should balance out his peace by stepping out of his comfort zone once in a while. Besides, when’s the last time a sweet girl has given him the light of day? He’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Simon pinches the crooked bridge of his nose, trying to talk some sense into himself. It’s not like it’s a date, simply just two businesses helping each other out. If it doesn’t work, he never has to see you again.

Yeah, that sounds good. If everything goes up in flames, he can simply block you and move on with his life, continuing to post shitty pictures of his desserts. His thumbs twitch before tapping the screen once again.

— You’ve beat it out of me. When are you available?

Your response comes faster than he can blink.

— Saturday?

Two days. That gives him plenty of time to prepare (and maybe get Price to order an extensive background check on you). Simon can do that, no problem.

— I can be ready for you by about half 11.

Ready for you? Fucks’ sake, what is this? She’s not a bloody prostitute.

— That sounds good! Just send me your address day of. I’m looking forward to it!! :)

Simon smiles. Simon smiles, and he doesn’t even realize it. If he did, he would fix it immediately—but he doesn’t. Instead there’s a pep in his step when he stands from the couch, grabbing his journal and scribbling down his thoughts and ideas for what he’ll make on Saturday. His therapist will be proud.

Simon allows himself to be proud as well.

[nubsdolls]

SYPNOSIS ; g/n reader x sparring partner! bakugou, fluff, not proofread .. matching bracelets , enjoy ! xoxo, jord .ᐟ

A/N; this was supposed to be a lil drabble but this came out longer than i intended .. anywaayss. I PROOOMISEEE im gonna start posting more i’ve disappeared for sosososso long.. in the meanwhile take this, luv u guys !!!!!

sparring partner! bakugou that swears he only bugs you 24/7 to “get your ass to training grounds” because you need to improve. no other reason because of course, he cant stand you.. or anything about you, for that matter.

so no, it doesnt “mean” anything when sparring partner! bakugou comes up from behind you to, “fix” your form. adjusting you by signaling you to rotate to the side by giving your hips a little push, nudging your elbows up so your face is protected by your hands.

sparring partner! bakugou who always insists to be near you, discreetly, if he can. because he obviously doesnt want it to seem like he cares, because he doesnt. even during training or maybe even an attack on the school? near you. covering you and making sure warn you of the sneak attacks from behind you.

and even though you practically hate sparring with him, because hes so damn ruthless, ensuring a trip to recovery girl by the end of it, its weirdly the highlight of your days. hearing the ding! of your phone, followed by the usual message from him.

: training grounds. 5 mins

even when its five in the goddamn morning. you never fail to meet him there.

and after a small while of this cycle, you make the (probably) safe assumption you guys are, friends? acquaintances?..hell, maybe you were even on kirishima’s level of ‘friend’. toleratable? at the least.

so while on one of your free days afterschool, youre shopping with the bakusquad. mina, jirou, denki, sero, kirishima, and obviously, bakugou. god knows how they convinced him to tag along.. you get lost in a cute little merch store, spotting matching all might bracelets. ew, corny. who would even get those?

ca—ching! “aaand heres your change, have a nice day!”

you would.

though, you probably shouldve thought this out.. who were you gonna match with? ofcourse, it could always be mina, but she also didnt absolutely fixate on all might. but, there was, one person you had in mind..

and sometime in the week after the hangout, at the end of your—no less than brutal, training session, you tiredly brought it up.

“the other day—while we were at the mall, i saw these matching all might bracelets—“ pant, “i kinda just bought on it on sight, annnd i didnt really think of who to give the other half to before i did.. but i know you like him, so..”

you trail off, simply suggesting it as you move over to sit down on a bench, taking a drink of water, while also, pulling out the bracelets from your pockets and reaching your free hand up to show him.

sparring partner! bakugou scoffs upon seeing the bracelets in your hand. golden age and bronze age all might bracelets.

“thats stupid. im not wearing that shit.” he growls, crossing his arms. his voice a little panted from training. you were getting better. not that he would tell you that directly, of course.

“chill, dynamight.” you roll your eyes playfully, emphasizing his hero name on your tongue. “i was just suggesting it, if you dont want it its fine.” you explain casually. even if, the sentence did hurt your feelings a little.

“ill just give it to izuku.” you shrug, you guys were friends, pretty close if you did say so.

and you almost swear you saw bakugou’s eye twitch. a glint of, jealousy? in his eyes as you bring up the green haired boy’s name.

he lets out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. “tch. whatever, give it to that nerd. not like i care.” before he reaches down next to you for your water bottle, taking a swing, airsip.

setting the bottle back down next to your thigh, he speaks up again. “‘aight, hurry, we arent done. round two.” he adds harshly, motioning with his hand for you to get back up.

“come on. please? one more minute. its so eaarlyyy.” you whine, almost pouty as you throw your head back. still exhausted from the sparring just a few minutes ago. 6am and hes annoyingly productive.

“hurry or i can blast your ass right here.” he glares down at you, grumbling through gritted teeth.

“im getting uupp, geeez.” you groan, lazily getting up from the bench and almost coming up to meet his full height.

later in the day, during class training, you figure you should probably find izuku to give him the other matching half, one already on your wrist.

you couldve sworn you remembered putting it back onto your other wrist so you wouldnt lose it. maybe it was in your dorm instead? whatever, youd just have to give it to him tomorrow.

today, you were working in partners, testing out new possible moves, strengths, weaknesses, and overall just trying to improve on any weak spots.

and like always, sparring partner! bakugou was next to you. basically having claimed you as his designated partner for anything by now, glaring at anyone who even suggested you work with them and not him.

and as your throwing hits at him, trying to catch him off base with your quirk, you notice a glint coming from under his gauntlet, you pause a moment.

its the matching half of your bracelet, all might’s golden age bracelet.

he notices this. feeling his ears dust the slightest pink from, embarrassment? and he uses this moment of weakness to gain the upper hand, pinning you down on the floor.

and youre completely shocked by the sudden move. somehow flipped on your chest to the ground, arms tucked behind your back with his knee holding you down.

“stay focused.” he hisses, reprimanding you for your bad habit.

“thought you said it was stupid?” you mutter. tilting your head to the side ever so slightly to look at him. a sly, cheeky smirk on your face.

“it is.”

maybe it wasnt so stupid after all.

[wandasdollie]

  ꒰  𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀bisou, bisou!  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀18+! men and minors dni.

 .   ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ balletinstructor!wanda x ballerina!reader

꒰  tags ꒱ 𓈒  mommy!wanda ,  taboo - ish relationship , smut , fingering , r!receiving , wanda speaking french! ( lapine is bunny, and poupée is doll~!! )

 ꔫ  ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ this is my first time writing for wanda , i do hope you enjoy!! based on my previous post!! i... have not proofread this... i am very sorry if it is a mess!!   ໒ ྀི>֯ . <ྀི֯ ̥ ︣ა

 ⁺ ⑅  ꫂ ၴႅၴ tag list ֯݁ต  @emiliaisdead ( pls comment if you'd like to be added~! )

“Bonne après-midi, ma lapine!”

You lift your nose from its position at your knee, lifting up and toward the position of the honey-coated voice. It comes as no surprise to you that your instructor stands at the door, her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her outfit consisting of several layers that she’s sure to ditch over the next few hours. She looks impossibly cozy, and though her nose is pink and her hair is a bit frizzy from a hat that she’s recently shed, she is the essence of winter comfort. She is shivering, as are you. You can think of nothing more than sitting in front of a fire with her, under a blanket with warm tea and cookies, spending your time only focused on your shared nearness. This time of year always floods your mind with these images, it can’t be helped. Alas, you stand in a room with only a few small space heaters to create warmth for your poor, frozen joints.

“Hello!” You smile in return. Ms. Maximoff has a penchant towards speaking in French in your presence, as if it is her little secret, one that she will never let you in on. You haven’t learned yet what her little teasing nicknames mean, but you have the context clues to know when she’s greeting you, which is just enough. You don’t really want to know what she’s calling you, it only adds to the tension of your already over-amorous relationship.

You have had an entirely debilitating crush on this woman for far too long, and it is not as though she is necessarily helping you shake it. She is incredibly affectionate towards you, and while it may seem to others in the room that you are nothing more than her favorite student— which you certainly are— Ms. Maximoff harbors those very same feelings for you. She just does not show it as easily as you do. Where you become a blushing, babbling mess, she is stoic, firm, though sometimes she cannot help the dimpled smile when she watches you dance. She has forced her own resolve around you so much that it is starting to crumble, her urges towards you harder to contain. She cannot conceal adoring looks nor wandering hands much longer.  

You slide into your next stretch, attempting a split, which you aren’t nearly warm enough for, and the exasperated sigh that leaves your lips turns a frown on Wanda’s gentle features. You’re not sure how she could have possibly heard it, but she definitely has, and makes her way to stand beside you, pulling gloves off of perfectly manicured hands.

“What’s wrong, poupée?” She speaks softly as she kneels to your side, a gentle hand caressing your thigh. She chews on her lower lip, and you each feel the ripple of nerves shoot through the tense muscle when she places her hand there. There’s simply no helping the buzz of butterflies in your tummy when you look up to meet her gaze in the mirror, the way she so intently watches you, how her thumb caresses you even though you’re wearing awfully thick sweatpants.

“I’m too cold,” you whine, voice a bit pathetic as you flop onto the floor, body naturally magnetized towards your instructor, subconsciously seeking her body’s warmth, her touch. You lower your gaze from the mirror and turn to face Wanda now, looking up to her as if by some magic she could instantly warm you, begging without words for her to wrap her arms around you and hold you close. You want nothing more than to slip your fingers under her large sweater and warm your freezing fingers, and that is just the same thing that Wanda seeks now. But she is in the position of a professional, of a teacher, that she must keep her head about her. That’s what she’s always had to remind herself, since the very first day you enrolled in her course.

 Needless to say, she’s found this very difficult.

Most difficult, that is, when you look up to her, eyes wide and pleading, fingers playing anxiously with the cotton of your own sweatshirt, legs spread so that Wanda sits perfectly between them. She juts out her lower lip a little, looking to you with the pity that you so deserve, and raises her own hand so that she may press the palm against your cheek. You lean into the touch so desperately, not minding that it is likely messing up your makeup— the makeup you always spend at least an hour perfecting before class, all so that she might compliment you like she is so apt to doing.

And it’s that very complimenting that Wanda is so desperate to do now, but she just must force herself not to. She will only look you over, soak in the image of the girl that so clearly longs to be loved, but will not allow herself anymore.

“Let me help,” she hums, voice impossibly smooth, dropped an octave from when she had first greeted you. Her thumb lightly washes over your skin before her hand drops, leaving a warm imprint on otherwise freezing flesh. Wanda backs up a little so that you may spread your legs even wider, a strained hundred-and-eighty-degree angle, though you press your palms into the floor, hovering a little as to ease some of the pain in your hips.

Wanda sidles herself behind you, enjoys all too much the way you chew on your lip, the way the veins in your neck ripple from the physical exertion. She won’t admit it to herself, but as much as she loves to see the smile on your bunny-pink lips, she adores to see you in the least bit of pain. A twinge sadistic, yes, but it’s a natural instinct that cannot be ignored. It is because she so yearns to be the one to ease your pain. She does not ever want to hurt you, will never hurt you, only wants to be the one to kiss you back to health when you’re sick, to put ice on swollen ankles.

She can’t help the craving hands that find themselves to your hips, their pressure firm, fingers threatening below the waistband of your sweatpants. You shiver when they do just that, finding their way onto the lowest part of your hip where your leotard meets tights, pressing you downwards ever so gently until you hit the floor. The stretch is entirely painful, though it’s a pain that’s all too close to being pleasurable. The extension of your muscles, paired with Wanda’s soothing touch, and her hot breath at the back of your neck, is all creating a swimming warmth within you far better than any heater could. The warmth has certainly concentrated right where your instructor’s hands lie now, the very inside of your thighs, the place that should hurt the absolute most, but with Wanda’s hands subtly massaging there, there isn’t a lot of pain at all.

“Good girl,” Wanda hums softly, releasing your thighs, sliding her hands up your side until they land against your back, lightly tracing the brocade velvet lacing of your backless leotard. She smiles to herself, counting the few freckles of your skin, knowing they won’t be gaining any new friends in the next cold months. “So pretty…” She whispers to herself, sure you can’t hear her for the way you count quietly to yourself. She adores it, the way your lips track numbers all throughout class, a very random quirk that you’ve never been aware of, yet it is one of Wanda’s favorite things about you.

You finally quit, swinging your legs forward, nearly falling back into Wanda in the process. In fact, your lack of balance has prompted her hand back to your hip, holding you firmly as you sit up, posture never faltering for the good ballerina that you are. Just as you are about to turn to thank Ms. Maximoff, whose leg has outstretched to mirror your own, to elongate your touch as much as she can, you hear a few chattering voices come down the hall. Wanda sighs softly, always a little too angry when other students dare interrupt your more intimate moments, but stands anyway. This is not before she gives your hip a small squeeze, and when she stands, she gently leaves her hand on top of your hair, gazes at you through the mirror. She could easily stare at you like this for the rest of time, and you her, but you both must move on, must find places at the barre, must move on with your lives. When the few students finally make their way into the classroom, Wanda winks at you before abandoning you in the middle of the floor, leaving so that she can fix her hair and check over her notes for today’s class.

The class is similar to every other that you’ve ever had, though not at all tedious. You do your warm-up as usual, practice for an upcoming recital, try some new things that Wanda has planned. She, as usual, uses you as an example, the teacher’s good little pet who always knows just what she’s talking about, can always maneuver through a combination with ease with only verbal instructions. You constantly worry this will make your fellow peers dislike you, but it is not their approval which you seek. And the way that Wanda always smiles and claps her hands when you’ve finished is more than enough. You have become a girl only living for Ms. Maximoff’s praise, always seeking it, always doing all you can to get it.

Today, you stand at the very far end of the barre, your back to wall instead of any other students, and Wanda certainly takes advantage of this. She lingers near you for far too long, gently pinching the flesh at your hip to make you giggle far too loudly, taking your sweatpants from you when you grow too warm, whispering dirty little phrases to you which make you blush deeper than a tomato. At least, you think they’re dirty. She speaks French, so you’re not entirely sure what it is she teases you with, but of course you blush and hide your face anyway. And, while they are often quite naughty, Wanda often finds herself whispering utter nonsense, be it a lyric to a song stuck in her head or the name of a French pastry she’s craving, just to see the way your knees lose balance. She has never once in her life been a tease, but for some reason, she just cannot help it. She loves to watch you squirm.

The class is over far too quickly for your liking. It always is. Though you spend nearly half of your week’s hours in this studio with Ms. Maximoff, it never ever feels like enough time. You always return home to an empty apartment, prepare yourself a meal that you’re sure Wanda would prepare far better, and do nothing but sulk until you can return to her side. You pull on your sweatpants and thickest wool socks, intentionally taking a very long time so that the other students will leave you and Wanda alone, so that you may have even a minute longer to spend together, to talk about whatever it is she wants to talk about.

“Is that all you have to wear?” Calls that sweet voice, head tilting to the side, sheer worry present on her features. “No wonder you’ve been so cold! You poor thing…” Wanda comes to your side, eyebrows knitted as she tugs lightly on your sweatshirt, looking around the floor, but no winter coat to be seen.

“Oh, I’ll be alright… The bus ride home is short!” You smile sweetly, eyes scrunching a little to convey how happy you are that she’s worrying over you. She evidently cares so much for you, and the fact that she does makes your heart swell oh so much. It’s not often that someone looks after your needs, until Wanda began doing all of the worrying for you.

Wanda is clearly displeased, her hands drifting from only grabbing the fabric of your sweatshirt to holding the body that it conceals, squeezing gently at your hips as she is so regularly prone to. She adores the way you feel in her grasp, so malleable yet firm with muscle, her own little doll. That is, after all, what she so frequently calls you without your knowing.

“This won’t do…” She mumbles softly to herself, shaking her head a little, her discomfort over your own cold growing so great that she cannot focus. She does, eventually, shake it, once you’ve ensued her several times that you have a pair of gloves in your bag that you fully intend on wearing.

“I worry for you, my darling.” Wanda sighs gently, lifting one hand to push a hair out of your face that’s finally fallen from sweat penetrating hair gel. Her hand lingers for perhaps too long, the pads of her fingers stuck to your skin as though by glue. It could be minutes, hours, that you stand like this, the only sound a clock ticking in the distance, the entire building emptied for the evening. Though your mind is empty, barely able to focus, eyes only barely glancing at Wanda’s so perfectly sculpted features with all the amorousness in the world, she is busy considering. She is thinking of all the ways that doing what it is she wants to do will hurt you, will get you both in trouble, will ruin what is already such a wonderful thing you share.

Eventually, her heart wins the battle, and she gently tugs against your cheek, reaching so that your lips connect. Though the heaters in the room have turned off, she is so impossibly warm. Her lips, the matte pink becoming messy from the fervor of her kisses, are hot against your own, which have already begun their winter chapping, but Wanda does not notice. Even if she did, she would not care. She kisses you with so much passion you would believe it has been building up for years.

You lift your hands as well, and they settle on her hips, tugging gently at her leggings, which are so tight and accentuate her curves so well that you find yourself at her for far too long. Her body is such a source of distraction for you, that you often seem spaced-out in the middle of class when, in reality, you are simply entranced by the subtle swing of your instructor’s hips as she walks. You grip her waist now, though your fingers have grown cold again so much so that they barely find the grasp that they so desperately want. You have spent far too long wanting this very touch, wanting to feel the weight of Wanda’s chest against you so desperately, the warmth of her tongue forcing apart your lips. You have spent so long wanting this, that its final arrival has overwhelmed you all too much.

Wanda pushes you backwards until your back hits the wall, a bit uncomfortable for the way that the barre forces a curve in your spine, but Wanda’s hands coax you into comfort. Her hands stray beneath your sweater, looking for any flesh beneath the skin-tight leotard and tights that you wear, incredibly frustrated at the lack of touch. She wants nothing more than to strip you of your clothes, to replace them with her hands, but is not quite sure that you are entirely alone, so instead snakes her hand under material the best she can, kneading the flesh that she is able to, pressing her warmth there.

You are practically helpless under her dominating hold, her weight over you, combined with her desperate kisses, nearly suffocating, but you do not mind one bit. You are hers to grope as she pleases, high from her vanilla perfume, your own hands seeking her own skin beneath her layers of athletic clothing.

You whine gently when she pulls her mouth from your own, her lips shining from your lip gloss, though you cannot admire them for long before she attaches them to your neck, gently licking you there while your head throws back, gently hits the wall beside you. Wanda has positioned herself so that her hips align perfectly with yours, though she stands between your legs, one of which has lifted to wrap around her, pulling her ever closer. Your hips have begun to buck as if on instinct, which only makes Wanda laugh softly, has her hands grabbing at you, assisting in your desperate rocking for pleasure.

“Does that feel good, princess?” She whispers roughly against your ear, though her voice still carries her signature sweetness, only a bit lower, darker.

You nod quickly, words not forming in your throat, hands flying up to tangle in her hair, and though you’re barely thinking clearly, you force the hair tie out, allow her strawberry curls to fall over her shoulders, so that you may cling onto her hair. Wanda adores the small whimpers that fly from you, but she forces her hand up to cover your mouth, to muffle your perverted little moans that echo in the room.

“The door is still open, lapine,” she whispers again, her breath bated and shallow. “Don’t want anyone to catch us.” Wanda lifts her head, looks into your eyes until you nod your understanding, and she drops her hand. “Good girl.”

When her hand drops from your mouth, it drops back to the waistband of your sweatpants, which she slides beneath, finds the spot in your panties that has grown so wet that it has soaked through your leotard. This makes her grin against the skin of your collarbone which she has begun attacking with her kisses, her teeth grazing against what is sure to become a dark bruise come morning. She presses gently against your clothed cunt, fingers slipping beneath the leotard yet still barriered by tights and panties. She is angered by this, yes, but the way you begin to moan from even her smallest presses to your clit makes Wanda dizzy from need. After a moment of finicking she is able to rip a small hole in your tights, the material so thin that it does not take much effort. She makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

Wanda finally pushes away your underwear, once again smiling into your skin when she finds that it is so very lacy, not at all what she would expect for a two-hour long ballet class. She does not know that she is the very reason you’ve chosen this pair, that for some sick reason you always dress from head to toe the way you’d want her to see you, including underwear and lacy bra, no matter how unlikely it is for her to see it.

The feeling of your warmth elicits such a deep moan from Wanda that it forces one of your own, which you end abruptly for the way that your breath hitches when she slides one finger inside of you. She whispers something once again, again speaking in the language that makes your knees incredibly weak, but that does not matter for the way that Wanda holds you so tight. Her finger pumps into you so gently, as though you are made of porcelain and might break if she does any more. And though her kisses are so fervent and her grip on you is so strong, she holds you delicately, like you are just a sweet little thing for her to take care of, not only the subject of her lust.

“Can you take another?” She muses, voice salaciously kind, so protective and dominating as she presses a few gentle kisses to your jawline. You can only nod in answer to her question, your hands falling once again to grab at her ass, to pull your bodies closer both by your hand and the leg that has hooked around her waist.

Wanda does as she’s promised, though her pace is still slow, still coaxing the small, high-pitched moans from your lips as she desires. Your muscles are incredibly tense, and though you’ve spent the past hours warming and moving them, you feel so shell-shocked with pleasure that your body is hardly able to move, other than the instinctual rocking of your hips.

“Look in the mirror, princess.” Wanda whispers into your own lips before placing a kiss to them. “I want you to see how good Mommy is making you feel.”

The nickname that she’s claimed for herself has sent another shock of pleasure through you, the butterflies in your stomach only heightening in their flapping. You flutter your eyes open as instructed, always the most obedient for Ms. Maximoff, and though your eyes are blurry, you find yourselves in the mirror.

The image, Wanda enveloping you, her focus so intense on fucking you, her hair messy down her back, the sleeve of her sweater all bunched up around her elbow, makes you tense up. You’ve never felt anything quite like it, and as Wanda’s thumb gently caresses your clit, you feel all of your muscles tense, your squeezing of her ass sure to leave some sort of bruise of its own. Wanda gently kisses you a few more times, her lips grown swollen from the dedication of her kisses. Her fingers continue to glide into you, as she allows you to ride her until your body grows overtired from it and falls limp against the wall.

“Good girl,” Wanda repeats, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before she backs up only a little, looks over you, sees how flushed your skin has become, how heavy your eyelids are. She adores the little mess of a girl she’s made of you, and as she removes her hand from your pants, licks it clean, she cannot help but feel proud of herself.

By the time you open your eyes, Wanda has returned to her typical worrying self, though she looks so impossibly relaxed. Her skin is pink from your shared warmth, her lipstick so very messy, it makes you giggle a little.

“Please, let me drive you home?” She practically begs, but you take no convincing. You assess your appearance for only a moment before racing to her side, looping your arm around hers and grabbing your bag. You shyly press a kiss to her cheek as you step out into the winter, the air bitingly cold, yet you don’t feel it, for your entire body is still radiating from Wanda’s heat.

[unboundprompts]

Hello! I’ve never really used this ask thing before— so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. I love your prompts and other works and was wondering if you could help me figure out how to write and describe accents? My characters have very specific accents (Australian accents, British accents, etc.) and I’m having trouble figuring out how to show that. This is a fantasy setting so I couldn’t just describe their accents as an Australian accent and such y’know? I’m so sorry if this doesn’t make sense. Would you be able to help?

How to Write a Character with an Accent

-> How to Write Character Accents

-> How to Convey Accents in Fiction Writing

Make sure your character’s speech isn’t distracting

When writing dialect or a particular accent, it can be tempting to write a character’s dialogue using phonetic spellings. However, this use of dialect can distract your reader. If your character is French and is constantly saying “ze” instead of “the,” the reader will be focusing more on decoding the line of dialogue than they will on plot or character development. When writing fiction, your reader’s attention should always be on the story, and anything that distracts from that probably isn’t worth including.

Slang and Colloquialisms

Incorporate regional slang, colloquialisms, or idioms that reflect the accent. Each accent has its own unique phrases that can suggest the character's background.

Include Snippets of their Native Language

 If you’re writing a character who speaks a foreign language, one way to communicate their accent is to simply include snippets of their native tongue in their lines of dialogue. This will demonstrate the character’s native language and implied accent without resorting to the distracting eyesore of phonetic spelling.

Don't Stereotype

Writing different dialects indelicately can make you appear condescending towards non-native English speakers or people who use the English language differently than you do. One of the most common offenders is the use of “eye dialect,” which refers to using misspellings or nonstandard spellings in order to depict a character’s accent (for instance, writing “fixin’” with an apostrophe instead of “fixing” in order to demonstrate Appalachian or Southern accents). By focusing on the “otherness” of regional dialects and non-native speakers, a writer may give the impression that they are making fun of the way people speak. When writing different accents, keep eye dialect to a minimum.

Rhythm and Intonation

Accents often have distinctive rhythms and intonations. Pay attention to how the accent changes the flow of speech. For instance, British accents might have a more clipped and precise quality, while Australian accents can sound more relaxed and drawn out.

You might describe this in your narrative, saying something like, "Her words rolled out with a casual lilt, the vowels stretching like lazy waves."

Character Reactions and Context

Show how other characters react to the accent. If a character speaks in a heavy accent, others might lean in to listen, nod in confusion, or make a comment. This helps highlight the uniqueness of the speech.

Physical Description

Consider linking the accent to physical traits or background details. Describe the character’s upbringing or location, giving hints about their accent through their surroundings or lifestyle.

Example: “Raised in the bustling markets of Evermere, his accent was a musical blend of the old tongue, softening the hard edges of his words.”

Subtlety in Dialogue Tags

Instead of writing out the accent in every piece of dialogue, you can subtly hint at it through the dialogue tags. For example, “he said, his voice dripping with the easy lilt of the southern coast” can convey the accent without explicit phonetic spelling.

[eilaafterhours]

HEATED [Xavier]

Content: Smut, Misuse of Evols, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Undertones, Mating Press, Xavier has a Big Dick, Penis in Vagina Sex, Breeding Kink, Coming Inside, Come Eating, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Creampie, Lactation Kink, AFAB Reader, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None (AFAB)

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

Remember: I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity! 2130 blocked and counting :)

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

You thought that the situation with the cats would stop at the ears, tail and slight change of mannerisms. However, despite this being a sudden yet common occurrence, your Evol resonated with the cat’s, and now you had a grown man in heat ready to bend you over in the streets. 

You struggled to get him home, but managed. The moment you closed the door, he dragged you into the the living room and threw you on the couch. Dropping to his knees, he shoved the skirt of your dress away, revealing the wet patch of your panties and stockings. 

“Can I? Please?” He asked as he nuzzled against your thigh, hands fumbling with his belt. 

You wanted to move to the bedroom, to give him more room to move, but seeing his dick already hard and red as pre-cum drooled from the tip. 

“Okay, sure. Lemme just—” The second you gave him consent, a quick flash of light blinded you, and your heated lower half suddenly felt a lot cooler. “Xavier—fuck!” He had already thrown your legs over his shoulder before shoving his tongue in your cunt. 

“You’re so wet. All for me…” Whispered to your glistening folds, followed by the filthy symphony of your folds conducted by his tongue.

You couldn’t hold back from singing for him. “Mmmh…fuc—ah…” 

The heated haze that clouded his mind was not indulgent. He was not eating you out as a means of foreplay, but because he needed to get you off. He needed his cum to mix with yours, be he knew that he would not last in your tight heat. 

So when you did come, he wasted no time in adjusting your position. Though, he still had enough sense to ask for your permission (despite having you on your back, with your thighs pressed against your chest). 

“Can I come inside?” He was already rubbing against your folds, quickly gathering enough of your slick to easily glide against it. “Please, Master?”

His thick tail was thumping against the edge of the couch. His cat ears were flat against his head, while his human ones were a burning red along with the rest of his face. He was pouting, and you could have sworn that the moonlight had reflected against the tears lining his waterline. 

How could you ever say no to him, when you were oh so very willing?

You beckoned him closer with a finger, “Come closer, Xavier.” Once he was in reach, you snatched him by the tie, licking the shell of his red ear before commanding him. “Please your master well, Xavier.”

He whimpered, his bucking against you, and it took everything in you to not ruin your moment and moan. That all fell apart the moment he entered, however. You understood why Xavier threw his head back and groaned—that was his heat working on him. 

You, on the other hand, did not expect the change in size. Not that you were complaining—of course not—but how could something so big slide in so easily. 

There was no rhythm or reason to the movement of his hips. He was simply racing to reach his peak. It wasn’t a far race, since he had patiently taken care of you before himself.  

The snap of his hips were pounding sloppily into when he asked, “I wanna come inside—can I? Please, Master?” 

“Ah—Are you asking to breed your master, Xavier?” Your hands found his cat ears, smirking as they fluttered between your fingertips. “Shouldn’t I, as your master, be breeding you?” His words became incoherent, but you’re sure you heard a “yes, please” in there somewhere. 

You shelved the thought for now, instead granting him mercy. 

“Fill me ‘til I’m dripping.”

Finally, with your permission, did he come. Pushing himself as deep as he could, he pressed against the spot that had you breathless. Even after you had calmed from your high, he was still coming, and coming, and coming. His body made sure to follow your command to as instructed. 

But neither of you were done yet.

Far from it. 

While partaking in your combined ambrosia, his fingers played you for more. 

“Does Master’s pussy love me?” He pulled away, then pulled your folds open, watching your cunt pulse around nothing. He groaned, diving back in. Despite him coming in you, both of you were ready for him to do it again. 

But he wanted more of your juices before he filled you to the brim again.  

Shoving three fingers into your cunt, he curled them, making sure to assault that spongy spot. You didn’t have enough time to realize what exactly he had pulled from you until his mouth had clamped back on your cunt. 

“Xavier, what the fuck—” Your eyes widen. Despite his face being dripping in your slick, his blue eyes were glazed with that heat.

He was not yet satisfied, and you were becoming more sure that you were being influenced by his heat because you weren’t either.

He didn’t even bother wiping the slick from his chin as he aligned himself, but then he paused and blinked.

“...milk…”

Another flash of light and you were completely exposed to him, your dress split in two on the floor (the stockings were staying on, however). Now, he was sitting up against the couch with you on his dick (when the hell had that happened).

One hand groped one breast while his mouth worked the other, and his hips thrusting into you. 

You were a mess,

but not as much as him.

“If you’re pregnant, you’ll have milk, won’t you, Master?” He sucked hard on your nipple, trying to pull the nonexistent milk from it. “If you get pregnant, can I drink your milk, please?”

You knew you didn’t want kids now in your life, but the way he was talking seriously had you thinking about it. 

Unconsciously, you clench around him. 

And that was your reckoning. 

There was only one thing on his mind:

Feel the heat of your cunt around his dick, let its vice grip milk him for everything he’s got and more.

One good snap of his hips had you coming, and him rambling, damn near praying to you. 

“Yes, fuck! Yes, Master! Milk me for everything! It’s all yours, everything I’ve fucken—fuck! Let me fill you—I’ll make sure my Master is filled up so good…” 

A prayer so deprived that you were sure it was one-of-a-kind.

“Can—shit—can I come in you again? Right after this? I…I wanna see how it looks. Your puffy pussy still wanting more even after I’ve got you leaking out my cum—Fuck! Fuck—Y’ll let me clean you up, right? Let me go done on you one last time?” At the end of that deprived man’s prayer, his gaze met yours.

You closed your eyes, resigned. Who were you to deny your kitten’s deepest desires.

“I want them to hear me beyond the Deepspace, Xavier.”

“Yes, Master.”

Breeding Kink with no uterus? More likely than you think!

Now that my uterus is gone, you'll probably be reading more from me from now on (not my own uterus being my ovaries fucking inhibitor LMAO (FUCK THAT UTERUS THO IT WAS TRYING TO KILL ME, THAT BITCH).

Anyway, shout out @/javacat person on Twitter for making me insane. Let's also thank my usual possession for the Master shit to come out, that shit blindsided me (a lot of this fic blindsided me tbfh).

I might try to do something with the other three but DO NOT HOLD ME TO IT.

Anyway, oh wait chile, I just realized I was supposed to quote the last thing he says in his kindled. SEE, SEE! THIS IS HOW BAD THE POSSESSION GETS. Head in fucking hands.

Edit: I'd like to thank my bestie for reminding me to add "Come Eating" tag SKSKSKSKSKSKSK

Masterlist

[chimimon]

Your Words

Astarion x f!Reader

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: suggestive, like more so than I have previously written, I think… jealously, biting, and it ends pretty abruptly because I don’t plan on posting smut here, so sorry about that y’all. If I missed any tags let me know! Please! Like fr send an ask my way and let chi know!!

& what I have to say is… This game has me in a chokehold. Baldurs Gate 3 has me in a headlock. Like unimaginably so. I’m hyper fixated all over again but this time a stupid fruity vampire calls me beautiful and asks to bite my neck and I asjdjwwsjidkekwakksdnb :) oh, and trigger warning for Halsin mention. <- E.P.

No eyeful sufficed; it was not enough to simply imagine being intertwined when the sudden ache began a week or so ago while Astarion had been playing with a blade. It was one of those things he did often enough to be called routine, ordinary, or unsurprising. What did not happen as often or routinely was how keen your attention had been on such fixed activities. A dozen times over you had traced his veins, memorizing when they were most defined on his knuckles, his forearms and whether it led to the toss of his knife or not. Worse than that, his sleeves were rolled up and around the two-minute mark he noticed your hypnotic gaze. 

Curious, Astarion decided to see for just how long he could keep your attention as he made a show of stretching his fingers afterwards, adjusting his sleeves, rolling his wrists and shoulders before sitting onto the floor with his head in his hands to watch the fire from his tent. Only then did he turn his attention to you with a raised brow and all-knowing smirk. It was obvious you were unaware of your staring as you quickly turned away. 

But it felt as though every ten minutes you would find something new about him to gawk at, and Astarion read you all too well. In frozen observation you hardly blinked in between shallow breathes. The deeper into thought you dove, the more your shoulders sunk, and the more your shoulders sunk, so dropped your eyelids. 

The attention was reminiscent of your behavior at the Tiefling party. After he made his tipsy proposal, he carefully studied just how aware you were of the events to come in every interaction you had before the night ended. How restless you seemed when you lied coyly on your rolled bed. Or just how often you touched your face and neck as you met him in your shared hidden place. Astarion loved how clearly he took up your mind, how blatant it was. He reveled in your tunneled attention and patiently waited for you to give him the word, or a signal of sorts, feeling that it would be nice to have you initiate intimacy as he was secure in your thoughtfully lustful desire. 

But no move was made. 

Tonight, it seemed Gale had no issue making conversation with you from across the campfire as you two were loudly going over alchemy notes from a journal Astarion picked up just for you. You began to pull out leaves and branches from a pouch in your lap, holding them to fire for light as Gale leaned in studiously. It didn’t mean anything, Astarion was sure of it, but if he thought that if he was newly recruited or hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought you and Gale were a thing within this flame lit scene which burned into Astarion mind as he replayed the last six days. 

It was as though you were scared to be near Astarion, to get close to him, to talk to him, but with him alone. Watching him the way animals watch prey, but without any stalk in your stride, without a wiggle or means to pounce. Just heavy glances and light sighs. Karlach had snapped you out of this state a couple of times as it was in her nature to melt you into an easy, giggling mess. Wyll found something that reminded him of some grand adventure while walking a trail and you two seemed to bond over the found item, making Astarion snort. Shadowheart had also decided to warm up in your company and grew intent with whatever you had to say. The way she looked at you seemed far too soft and sticky for friendship and her demeanor buzzed inside of Astarion’s memory. 

But the straw that broke the camel's back was Halsin. Despite you currently seated across Astarion, now handing over some mugwort to Gale, he could no longer ignore having overheard Halsin’s request to keep you company, and how inconsiderately close he was to Astarion’s tent moments ago. By then Astarion was just waiting for you to stop by to talk about it, unsure and indifferent to whether you wanted his permission to canoodle with Halsin. But when you b-lined to the campfire, a suspicious creeping feeling pushed him onto his feet to be seated on the log in front of you. Since he became aware of your careful watch, he noticed how keenly you avoided him and began to wonder if you watched him the way rabbits watch dogs; to run. 

Gale would not stop talking, so Astarion took it upon himself to quietly appear beside him, peering over his shoulder with a tilted stare at you. When your eyes met and widened, Gale slowly, and unknowingly turned to Astarion before he could be cartoonishly and audibly spooked by the elven vampire's sudden appearance. Gale took it as a sign to leave and politely excused himself from your company. Those blood-soaked eyes followed Gale until he was hidden behind a couple bushes toward his tent. 

Astarion seemed to be squinting, his eyes moving from yours, down to your mouth, before landing on your lap. You scrunched your nose when his gaze returned and he rolled his eyes before letting out an annoyed, airy laugh. “My love, should I be concerned?” 

You were obviously uncomfortable with your lap sewn shut, and your posture too taut. “Concerned? About what?” Your brows furrowed before opening. Every muscle melted as you tilted your head, mirroring him. "I mean, I haven’t taken Halsin on any offer to play hunter and bear.” 

He leaned back, deepening his stare, annoyed at your stiff disposition when that stupid wizard got to have you malleable and full of conversation. 

You nervously smiled and averted your eyes. “You know I would ask if I ever wanted to-” 

“Would...” He interrupted. “Of course, you knew I overheard his little, steamy proposal. But that’s not why I’m hurt.” 

It was written all over your face that you were replaying the conversation with Halsin, trying to figure out where you may have gone wrong or if you sounded too open to the opportunity. Asatrion continued when you began to chew on your bottom lip. “Darling, you hardly look me in the eye anymore.” His chest deflated as he huffed out another whiny plume of air. “I mean, before I at least knew that you could talk to me about, well, all of this.” 

All of this swiftly caught your attention. 

“Astarion.” You calmly said, ignoring the ache you pressed between your thighs as you ran your hands over your lap. “What do you mean by ‘this’?” You could swear your heart was beating loud enough to let everyone in camp know that Astarion was the item of your mind consuming lechery. Gods, you could knead dough with how hard your palms pressed into your thighs in some feeble attempt to calm a carnal throb. 

“This.” He whined with his hands apart, referring to you two. “Don’t be coy. You’ve been keeping an awfully close eye on me, and more than that you’ve kept your distance.”  

“Oh.” You whispered, ripping away the steady eye contact. 

“Oh? What do you mean oh-?” 

“Astarion.” You stood up, awkwardly fidgeting your feet before you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes. “Astarion can I... I can, um.” 

Everything stiff and cold was interrupted with nervous stretching, like you were forcing yourself to warm up in his presence, and he was unsure if he should be bothered or relieved by it. 

With mean sarcasm he said, “Your words, darling." 

“Don’t- I mean.” You softly snapped, making him nervous. “Could we um… can we maybe speak somewhere private?” 

Astarion shrugged, lifted off the log before motioning that you lead the way. When the way led to his tent, he got anxious. To him the conversation could go a couple of ways. One of them being you were too nervous to ask to be with Halsin, and that despite him willing to grant his permission, given his current mood, it would be reluctant permission to say the least. The other way was that you were unsure how to tell Astarion you couldn’t do it anymore. It meaning to be with him, and for that he couldn’t blame you, at least not honestly. The fear of you abandoning him after one good night, in what felt forever ago, grew as you motioned him to sit across from you, both of you on your knees as he watched you struggle once again to look at him in the eye. 

He could practically hear it in your inhale, see it in your clenched fists over your knees, and in your eye contact as you finally faced him. 

In your mind, everything felt intimate, close, hot even. You could feel your fingernails dig into your palms and you were sure you’d bleed if you balled your fists further. “I’m not sure how to word this without...” 

He held in a vain breath, slowly nodding while you searched for the words. 

“This is so stupid.” You grimaced, bring a knuckle to your teeth. “Astarion can I just-” 

“You can see him.” He said with feigned relief. 

“Who?” Your hands relaxed. 

“Halsin.” 

“What? No, wait.” Your whole body melted as you tried so hard to read the man in front of you. “What the hells are you talking about?”  “You don’t have to be so embarrassed, I mean,” Astarion leaned back, sighing more dramatically as he had already come to terms with surrendering you over to him. “I mean who would I be to keep you-” 

“Stop.” You held out your hands, shaking them with the same vigor used to shake your head. “Good hells Astarion, no.” You laughed, finally feeling ready to be open about your needs. 

Astarion shot back up with a raised brow, tilting his head again as he drummed on his lap. “Okay, well now I really don’t know what you want to talk about.” 

The growing silence was easy to bear in the sight of your smile, shy and bashful, making him a little hopeful that this was going to be an easier conversation. 

“Great because I’m going to sound stupid.” You sheepishly smiled. 

“As if I just didn’t.” He sucked in his teeth. “Come on darling, spit it out.” 

“Not if you’re going to ask me to spit it out.” 

“My sweet.” The snap in his tone caused you to really look at his face, and he looked anxious. His brows were together and lifted, he may as well have been pouting but you were finally noticing it. “If it’s distance you want, I can provide.” He looked down past your head before his eyes trailed around his space. “I mean you don’t have to go as far as to fighting battles as far from me as humanly possible.” 

“Oh, good gods no.” You leaned down to catch his gaze once more. “Wait no that’s not what this is.” 

“Then what the fuck is this?” 

“I’m just feeling very…” you flicked your hands in the air like you were pushing away the anxiety. “I’ve been feeling rather needy lately.” 

“Needy?” 

“I don’t want to spell it out.” 

“I think I need you to.” 

“Damn it, Astarion.” It was clear he was going to quietly wait, as he was also sitting in front of your exit. “Needy, needy meaning… aroused... I’ve been very horny, lately.” With both hands on your face, you hunched over. “I’m sorry,” was muffled into your palms before your hands slid down to see his reaction. 

Astarion had a bashful but at ease smile on his face. He let out a sharp laugh until he finally really looked at you. You were gripping your thighs, your eyes dilated and round. The animal like stare and careful distance kind of made sense. “And I thought I scared you away, sweetheart.” 

“Quite the opposite.” You whispered, unable to maintain eye contact “So, if you’ll excuse me-” 

 Astarion hummed as he dropped in. His hands planted themselves on either side of your lap, his nose inches away from yours. “And if I won’t?” 

Paralyzed, you held your breath and could feel your resolve snapping. “Astarion, I just… I said… are you sure?” He coyly rolled his eyes, pretending to think about it. “I can be patient.” You breathed, leaning back before he quickly scooted in, catching your chin in his hand before you could retreat. 

“Oh, don’t go running away again. Not when I want you.” He was studying your eyes and lips. You seemed so lost in his tent. “Not when I need you.” 

“You’ve had me, and I promise I can wait.” You whispered. “Please don’t tease me.” The quiet begging pulled at his chest and his desire. 

Then Astarion smiled wickedly. “Don’t think I can’t smell the arousal from less than a foot in front of my nose.” Quickly he snatched your wrist. If your hand were a rabbit, and your wrist its neck, he nuzzled his cheek against its head, playfully biting the neck of the rabbit before you could try to pull away. “And I don’t care to tease pretty things like you,” poisonous desire spilled from his mouth as he asked, “But when you say needy, what exactly to you require of me?” 

Mindlessly you shook your head as you feebly fought to take your hand back. 

“Your words, darling.” 

“Astarion, please this is-” 

“Embarrassing?” He purred. 

You held your breath as he faced your palm, from the corner of he could feel the heat in your face emit on his as he sighed again. “This couldn’t be nearly as embarrassing as the competition I have, my love.” A shit eating grin plastered onto his face as confusion appeared on yours. “You know... when your hand gets more of affection than I do.” 

Humiliated and hot. You were completely humiliated and hot as he waited for you to respond. 

“I mean your I’m sure your fingers can only do so much for so long in my place.” 

Past embarrassment you felt it necessary to say “Astarion, you know that I need you beyond anything you can do for me.” 

“So, you have been touching yourself, naughty girl,” he kissed your middle and ring finger without breaking eye contact. 

“I- Astarion I wouldn’t have,” you balled up your hand in which his thumb smoothed it open again. With little force you pushed forward to cup his face with him still latched in your wrist. “I just- gods I just worry you wouldn’t say no if you didn’t want to just because I’m asking.” 

“I do say no, & I have.” His hold loosened as he pulled back, taking in the soft concern on your face before the thought of that hand between your thighs flashed in his mind. Astarion’s eyes lids dropped, your kind concern caused him to be hard with arousal while his ruby eyes glistened. “Must I worry you won’t ask even if I’ll honestly say yes?” 

Your bottom lip was white between your teeth, so he reached out to hold your jaw, his fingers pressing in as you went doe-eyed and dazed. He was so close to your lips, so he whispered on your mouth. “Go on, my sweetheart. Ask.” 

“Astarion…” his breath tickled your bottom lip as your stomach dropped. 

“Yes, darling?”  

“Please…” you voice trailed off as the humiliation of it all set in. 

“Please what?” Astarion lifted you up as he lifted on his knees, looming over you as he brushed your hair behind one ear with his free hand. “I don’t think I know what want.” 

With all the excitement this brought, you quietly asked. “I want you to please kiss me. Please kiss me, Astarion.” And without a second lost, he pulled you into his hungry kiss, cupping your face with both hands as he pushed into you. 

© 2024 chimimon

[ollyissleppy]

𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 | kaeya x reader

diluc's and venti's confession summary: Keaya confessing his lvoe to you while drunk tags: reader is a captain in the Knights of Favonious, Diluc for once does something for his brother, cw: drinking, mentions of killing someone

Knock on the door, woke you up. It was so late into the night that at first you weren't sure it wasn't just a part of your dream. As you were about to fall back asleep, you heard it again. This time you were sure it was really happening. In a slight panic, you rushed your way to your front door. You assumed it must have been an emergency due to your line of work. Surely that had to be the reason; why else would anyone wake you up so late at night? Before you made it to the door, you heard one more knock; this time it was much quieter, as if someone that was behind them was starting to change their mind. 

"So sorry to disturb you" was the first thing you heard the moment you opened the door. Standing in front of you was clearly distressed, Diluc. 

"Don't worry about it. Is everything alright, Master Diluc?" You rub your eyes to relieve your stubborn sleepiness. "You look stressed." 

"He's stressing me out," Diluc says, moving out of the doorframe for you to check behind him to see who he is talking about. 

"There you are, cutie!" Keaya's drunken expression brightens at the sight of you. He barely makes it to where you're standing, his legs failing to coodrinate just as he reaches you, before falling on top of you. 

Lucky for everyone involved, the hard training you went through in order to become a captain paid off, and you managed to remain on your feet, only ever so slightly stumbling back due to being caught off guard. Diluc steps in, dragging away the drunk Cavalry Captain, which earned a whine from his brother. You move out of the way so Diluc can bring him into your home. The man follows you to our living room, with Keaya's drunken self being dragged along with him. You help Diluc lay Keaya down on your couch. While still remaining by Keaya's side, you watch Diluc leave after quietly apologising to Oyu once again. You look back at your coworker, unsure if he's still conscious at this point. You decide against leaving him without any cover; you don't want to be dealing with sick Keaya. As you start to move from your spot next to the couch, a hand catches your wrist.

"Don't leave; I'll die without you by my side," Keaya says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"I just want to bring you some blankets so you won't get cold," you try your best to sound comforting, assuming his drunk mind is simply scared of staying in a place it doesn't recognise in the dark. You try to carefully remove Keaya's hand from your wrist, but with no success. 

"I don't need blankets; I just need you," and with that, Keaya pulls you closer to him; in doing so, he makes you fall on top of him, your head edging up on Keaya's chest. 

 

"Alright, I'm not leaving anywhere," you assure him, moving ever so slightly in order to make your current position any less inappropriate. You're surprised at how strong Keaya is; you despise his drunk state when the iron grip he has on you makes it impossible to adjust your position. 

"Thank you" 

Your living room falls into somewhat comfortable silence. If it weren't for the smell of alcohol that accompanied the both of you, it would've felt like all the times you imagined cuddling with Keaya felt like. You sigh, as your body was starting to get more comfortable in Keaya's presence. The atmosphere was so calming that staying awake seemed unachievable. You knew that falling asleep like that, knowing your companion is drunk and will likely not remember any of it, was highly inappropriate. With that in mind, you focused on the smell of alcohol, which was more intense with every breath that left Keaya's mouth. 

"You make me feel like I truly belong here." Keaya spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you. "I feel like I don't thank you enough for that, so thank you. You're always so kind to me."

"It's nothing really. Even when you annoy me a little bit at times, I simply can't find it in me to be mean to you." You say, feeling you beating so hard you're worried it'll break your ribs and run away. 

"That's why I love you, you know? You have so much kindness in you. Makes me want to kill everyone that even looks at you wrong."

[shellxrls]

i blocked you for the sake of both our behalves. i had nothing to say in response because i did not want to get into a personal discussion nor hurt you if personal trauma was involved (as it often ends up being forced into such conversations). what you have to say about what i choose to write isn’t going to change anything about me doing it, & so i didn’t see the value in getting into a pointless argument that wld end with no opinions changed and a whole lot of upset.

in regards to other comments, of course i blocked them ? if someone is outright telling me my writing triggers them why would i not do them the favour of removing all potential triggering content from their dash entirely and leaving it at that.

but since you chose to make such a post, i will now address it and start the argument you so clearly desired in which i justify having a rape kink & why i will continue writing about it despite this:

1. first i want to clarify that this fic was dubious consent, not hard rape nor cnc. rafe does roofie reader however she never explicitly tells him to stop nor outright voices discomfort, in fact she seems to want in initially. there is a lot of ambiguity about consent and it’s not categorised as something entirely consensual nor entirely non-consensual within both their dialogue, hence: dubious consent. i made sure to tag all possible triggers in the description & in the tags. not my fault people choose to read (& not filter) what they know will trigger them.

2. to say you aren’t judging me nor kink shaming when you make a whole call out post is frankly ironic, especially suggesting what i could’ve written instead. by that logic i want to establish that it is entirely okay for you to have strong emotions about this, so do i, simply on an opposing scale. however i do not believe because of this you are owed to a right to tell me exactly what i shouldn’t be writing — instead you should reflect on your own emotions and how you can handle them outside of being authoritarian for a vein of fiction (darkfic) that has existed for decades.

now, are you aware that there is a significant statistical correlation between dark media/fic communities & rape/abuse/trauma survivors ?

such writings provide people with a lifeline to reframe trauma and explore taboo situations in a safe and fantastical manner, ensuring that nobody gets hurts and instead everything is practised in a supportive community instead of shameful exile. nobody within these communities pressures others to enjoy it either, most works are strictly tagged and clearly labeled in the most blunt manner possible, we are never propagating such fantasies, we are providing a safe space. to put it in the most simple terms possible i’d like to direct you to the points made in this post, summarised:

When you oppose darkfic because it "harms survivors", you are talking directly over large crowds of survivors who will tell you they find darkfic to be a validating, healing experience.

When you claim that darkfic is self-destructive and unhealthy, you are privileging your personal beliefs over the lived experience of other people.

When you accuse darkfic authors of glorifying and supporting real-life abuse, you accuse survivors of glorifying and supporting their own abusers.

When you blame darkfic for supporting rape culture, you are making victims responsible for the actions of their oppressors.

When you set conditions around the creation and enjoyment of darkfic - aka "it's only okay if you're a survivor" - you create a culture of coercive disclosure, where survivors are expected to trade their right to privacy for the right to live free of harassment.

When you criticise darkfic authors for using survivor status as an "excuse", you are locking us out of our own communities and denying our past traumas for the sake of a political argument.

as i predicted from the beginning, i can assume despite reading this your stance on my writing has likely not changed. however i hope it has at least provided you with some clarity on why you should stop harassing darkfic writers, and at the very least start filtering ur tags.

the way this author genuinely got mad and blocked me because i RESPECTFULLY key word RESPECTFULLY gave my opinion on her literally writing R*PE EXPLICITLY and i was so nice about it and they blocked other peoples comments too and are only leaving the nice ones complimenting their amazing R*PE writing skills please tell me if i came off rude or condescending

this is what i commented their @shellxrls

[afternoondreaming]

No Business Like Show Business (5/?)

Finally! Back to another showing, folks! Things are slowly getting more interesting. What exactly is going on with the strange scenery? Will you figure it out? Will you ever grow used to your boss' antics? Stay tuned to find out! Also, a special thank you to @just-j3ster for the recommendations on tags!

Waving back to your apparently ‘benevolent’ boss, you straightened yourself out before going to greet him. “Hey, Mr. Puzzles!” Your tone was rather chipper despite the long drive, turning to look at the moving truck before returning your gaze to the TV head in front of you. “You sure you wanna help? I could’ve just asked my work friend.” While it was rather kind of him to offer, you wouldn’t want to impose on your newfound superior. 

“Of course!” His voice was sing-songey, screen turning to a joyful yet uncanny face. “I said I would help, and a good mastermind always helps their sidekick.”

“Really? Still on about that ‘sidekick’ thing?” Sighing was all that statement could be met with, turning to walk to the back of the truck as you dangled the keys. “Let’s get to work then, Boss.” Despite the sarcasm dripping from your voice, Mr. Puzzles didn’t seem to notice. Simply following after you, every single step for him being three for you. The bastard really was tall. With a turn of the latch you shoved the door upwards, gazing at all your earthly possessions. “Ready?”

“Surely! Ah- however…” The look on his screen went awkward, turning slightly away from you in what seemed like embarrassment. “While I have moved before, I just…Haven’t helped someone else.” He coughed to cover the last statement up, switching his picture back to normal. “I’m sure it is similar enough, right? Moving couches and getting stuck in tight stairwell corridors having to pivot and all that?”

“Are-… Are you referencing Friends?” Your arms went slack, looking up to him in disbelief. “Are you being serious and referencing Friends?”

“It… Is my main frame of reference.” With how he slouched in disappointment… He must’ve actually been serious. 

“Well, we have one singular loveseat to move, first of all. Not a whole couch.” You pat the man on the back in an awkward attempt at reassurance. “Second of all, you don’t really need a frame of reference for it. You and I are just gonna move furniture and then in the end, I’ll get some takeout to pay you back. Simple.” Without giving him enough time to protest you picked up a box from the moving van, surprising him by suddenly putting it into his arms. “Let’s get to work! We’re losing daylight.”

“Right! Yes-aha! Onwards!” He recovered from the surprise quickly, holding the box strangely in his long arms and making his way towards the stairwell entrance. 

All in all, it would take around three hours to move most of everything from the moving van into your new apartment. And, despite you once asking for the keys and him throwing your whole printer at you, it went well enough! You were on the last of the boxes as your phone began to ring, excusing yourself to answer it as you watched Mr. Puzzles work. 

“Yo yo!” Tori’s voice rang through the other side, bringing a weary smile to your face. “What’s goin’ on? You regret not taking up my offer to help you move now~?”

“Hey, Tori.” You leaned against the side of the truck, grateful for the moment to relax. “It’s been going well enough, so no, I don’t regret it.” Despite the statement your tone was obviously joking. “Besides, I did end up getting help.”

“Really? What, now that you’re a big shot you decided to hire some moving company?”

“No, I didn’t hire anybody…” You were trepidatious about your answer, but didn’t want to lie to your friend. “My boss decided to help…?”

“…Nah you’re lying.” Tori was understandably shocked. “The head of Puzzlevision just… Decided to lend you a hand?”

“Yeah- I mean, I guess?” You watched Mr. Puzzles, currently struggling to find the best way to hold an awkwardly shaped box. “He’s weird but nice enough.”

“But-like-” Your friend stumbled over her words. “He’s the head of the studio! Why does he give a fuck?!”

“Listen, listen” You replied calmly, getting her to quiet down so you could speak. “Things at Puzzlevision are… Weird. Even just here is weird…!” Turning your gaze from your boss to your surroundings, you once again acknowledged the strangeness of the scenery. “Everything is… Color corrected. Saturated. Even how he moves is over exaggerated!” Case in point, the man was over dramatically trying to keep his balance while making sure the box didn’t tumble down the stairs. “It's just really Twilight Zone around here, man. I can’t go into it right now, but…”

“You’re going to have to dish the gossip later, okay?” Tori said assertively, managing to get a chuckle out of you. 

“Okay okay, sure. We’ve still got more to move, so I can’t talk for long.” After all, you didn’t want your new boss moving your things by himself. That would be taking advantage of his kind offer! “I’ll talk to you later, you snoop.” 

With some short goodbyes you hung up, returning to the TV man’s side. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No need!” He replied, fixing his rolled up sleeves and dusting off his gloves. “This was all quite fun! A true bonding montage between mastermind and minion!” Another one of his dramatic poses were struck, prideful look on his screen.

“Well, it's not over yet! And- yet again- Screenwriter.” You corrected him habitually as you grabbed the last box, pulling down the back door of the moving van and locking the car with a click. “Now’s the time where I pay you back with takeout. Now, ‘you more of a pizza or Chinese food person?’ He’d follow behind as you walked over to the stairwell entrance, trudging back up the stairs for the umpteenth time that day.

“I…” Mr. Puzzles began, that awkward look washing over his screen once more. “Don’t really eat, Starlet.” Oh… Right. He had a TV for a head. Of course he wouldn’t eat. You felt so stupid, finally reaching your apartment door and bumping it open with your hip.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I hadn’t even thought of that… Why didn’t you tell me earlier when I mentioned it!” You dropped the box in the inside hall, groaning as you walked to the loveseat the two of you had moved today and allowing yourself to fall into it.

“Well, I simply didn’t want to rain on a trope!” The man fretted in attempts to console his new sidekick, trying to dismiss it with the wave of his hand. “If it was a veritable tradition, then who am I to deny the audience?!” Who was he to deny the tried and true trope when it worked so well? And, partly, it was selfish. He never had the opportunity to help someone like this before, so the thought of being able to bond with the one who would hopefully turn his ratings around was an enticing thought. After all, loyalty was earned and he had to assure that you wouldn’t be swept away by SMG4 and his group of simpletons when he inevitably came to ruin it all.

“Well I can’t just eat without you, that’s plain rude!” You tossed your arm up in emphasis, letting it fall limply in your own frustrations.

“Not at all! We could do something else if you want to repay me! We could-ah…” Mr. Puzzles looked around before snapping his fingers, coming up with an idea. “We could watch a movie! Aha! Yes, that would be the perfect activity for my newly acquired Starlet Sidekick to partake in with me.”

“...I guess it's thematic.” You replied, sitting up as you looked over to your television set. “I haven’t set up my DVD player or internet, though… I could do it now, I guess.” Shrugging, you got up from your seat, starting to make your way over to the various unpacked boxes.

“Ah, no need for all that! I can play whatever you’d like!” He chirped, happy face flickering onto his monitor.

“...You can play it? Like… On your face?” You weren’t exactly sure what you expected. Logically, it would make sense that a TV could play movies, but… That was his face. “So, what, do I just stare at your face the whole time…? Can you even talk when you’re doing that or am I just basically alone?” Were these questions insensitive? Possibly, though, you couldn’t tell. Luckily, Mr. Puzzles just met your questioning with laughter.

“I suppose you’d be staring at my face, technically. And, no, you wouldn’t be alone~! I can talk through it just fine while I’m playing a feature.” He could sense you were impressed and subsequently got more smug, causing you to roll your eyes. “My precious TV head is much more useful than just displaying my magnetic features~”

“...Uh, yeah, sure, casanova.” You couldn’t possibly roll your eyes any harder at his self aggrandizing antics, but he didn’t seem to care. “Come over here, then.” You waved him over, patting the empty space on the chair and seemingly confusing him.

“Uh, pardon you?” Mr. Puzzles asked, pointing at himself.

“Well, I’m not gonna have you sitting on my coffee table.” Shrugging, you got up and walked over to the kitchen. “Sit down and face where I’ll sit. I’m gonna make some popcorn. You got any movie recommendations?”

You wouldn’t see it, but for a slight moment, a line of bright pink would flicker across the producer’s face for a moment. His plan was to just retract his body into his head and rest on the coffee table, but… You actually just wanted him to sit with you. He’d… happily oblige if it meant earning the loyalty of his new sidekick. He’d take a seat you had assigned him on the small loveseat, fixing his face lest you returned. “Of course I’d have movie recommendations!” He began, glad to focus on it. “I’ve seen everything! We could go strictly classics if you’d prefer: Casablanca, Psycho, The Godfather, Gone with the Wind…” He listed off titles as the sound of popping popcorn lightly rang out from the kitchen, only stopping when you came back with the bowl.

“Let's go with Casablanca, yeah? Been a while since I’ve seen that.” You replied, sitting down cross legged while you situated yourself to lean against the armrest and watch the TV man.

“Ah, you’ve seen it~!” Mr. Puzzles said happily, his head tuning off his face and onto the opening as his hand fiddled with the volume knob. “I knew I made the good choice of hiring someone with taste~! I hope you don’t mind Puzzlevision commentary throughout, then.” He adjusted himself a final time on the couch, resting his head in his hands as he directed it at you.

“As long as you’re correct, it's fine. Hell, I’ll pitch in too when I remember something.” Popping some popcorn in your mouth, you smiled as the familiar intro played. Mr. Puzzles was eccentric, there was no denying that. But, thanks to today, you didn’t find his eccentricities as annoying. “Thanks, again, Mr. Puzzles. For the help.” You kept your voice low so as to not disturb the movie too much, becoming rather transfixed on the screen in front of you. “You’re… Quite welcome.” He replied, similarly quiet. “Oh! Now, you see, they used this shot because…” Mr. Puzzles would ramble on for a while about fun facts, the awkwardness of staring at what was eventually his face fading away when you got engrossed with swapping facts and opinions.

[fairy-writes]

Vampire!Viktor x Female!Reader 06

all parts of this series are tagged under cryptid!viktor

cryptid!viktor also includes my pieces with merman!viktor

taglist (lmk if you wanna be tagged!):

you realize you are in love with viktor a full year after you first stumble upon that decrepit old mansion. 

three months after he had lent you his journal.

six months after he drank your blood for the first time.

because how could you not fall in love with him?

you fell in love with the way he was tirelessly working until you came by. because after a while, he’d set down his tools and inventions and research and walk the estate with you. you’d tell him about your day, and he’d slowly begin to tell you about what he was working on. 

you fell in love with the way he was so inexplicably gentle when he didn’t have to be. whether that was taking blood to survive or putting gears together, he handled everything as if it were porcelain and about to break. 

you fell in love with him.

but you never said anything because you knew he’d never reciprocate. because why would he? he was viktor, and you were you. a lowly seamstress. someone he used to berate for breaking and entering into his home. 

he probably loathed you.

but… if he did… why did he put up with you?

sure, he was kind. but he wasn’t that kind.

if anything, he was grumpy and sometimes irritating

but you loved him anyway.

“what are you working on today?” you ask, rubbing tiredly at your eyes as you knock and enter viktor’s bed chambers. it had been weeks of late nights when visiting viktor. because, of course, he can’t go out during the day, so you resort to sneaking off and visiting him during the night time.

but of course, that means you get very little sleep.

and as always, viktor notices.

“i’m just tinkering. but never mind me, are you alright?” viktor asks, setting down his tools and spinning in his chair to look at you in concern. you hide a yawn to the best of your abilities and nod.

“just a bit sleepy, is all,” you mumble and take a seat on the edge of his bed nearest his work desk. you had asked at one point why he didn’t sleep in a coffin like you had heard stories about. he had simply rolled his eyes and said he would never do something so stupid.

viktor returns to his work desk but doesn’t pick up his tools.

“you can rest, you know. i don’t mind.” you shake your head at that.

“then you’ll be lonely,” you say and he rolls his eyes, but you see a slight smile curling just the corners of his lips. 

he could smile?

“of course, i can smile,” he says, a flash of offense coloring his voice, and you realize you had spoken aloud. you duck your head sheepishly and apologize. 

viktor sighs and gets up, taking the three steps over to your side, and nudges you over with his cane so you wriggle into the middle of the bed. 

“what are you doing?” you ask, and he rolls his eyes, 

“making you take a nap, obviously. now scoot over,” he says with another jab of his cane. you yelp and scoot over until you are lying on the bed properly. 

“but i’m not tired!” you try and argue, and he raises an eyebrow as if to say, “really?”

you eventually hang your head, 

“fine… but only for like ten minutes!” you relent, and his smile warms just a tad. 

as you fall into dreamland, you can’t help but remember the look of the smile lighting up his eyes. 

he was handsome when he smiled. 

it was one of the things you loved about him. 

[tnbsecretsanta]

Welcome to the Advent Calendar 2024!

Didn't make it to Secret Santa due to lack of time? Don't worry! This year, there will be a complementary event called "Advent Calendar" where you can spread your love for the series without sticking to a schedule!

What is an Advent Calendar? Traditionally, an advent calendar is a special type of calendar that counts down the days until Christmas Day, starting from 1st December.

How do I participate? Simply create a Tumblr or Twitter post with the activity indicated for the day and use the tag #TnBAdvent24, and we'll reblog/retweet it!

Do I have to participate every day? No! The point of this side event is for you to spread your love for the series without the pressure of a schedule like in the Secret Santa! You can participate any day you want: one, two, ten, all of them! Your choice!

Can I participate in the side event if I joined the Secret Santa? Yes! This event is entirely free, so that you can participate at your leisure.

If I missed an activity from a previous day, can I still post it? Yes! Just use the tag we'll reblog/retweet it! We just suggest that you don't use an activity scheduled for a later date and wait until the indicated day to publish it.

Happy creating!

See below the cut for the text version of the activities indicated

1st - Start reading a Fanfic (emphasis on start, no need to finish it the same day)

2nd - Create a NEXT power

3rd - Which Proverb would make for a good episode title?

4th - Share your favorite piece of official art

5th - Post a WIP (This can be any work-in-progress related to T&B, a merch collection, a shrine, a cosplay, art, MMD video, ita bag, progress of your read-through of the manga, that stuff!)

6th - Share your Favorite Tiger & Bunny-related song (This means any song made for Tiger & Bunny specifically, including character songs and music used in the episodes and credits)

7th - Re-watch any episode of Tiger & Bunny (and then feel free to post a review of it)

8th - What do you want Tiger & Bunny to collab with next? (Collaboration in this context is a collab with another property, such as a company like Sanrio, a store chain like 7-11, restaurant/fast food chains, games, and similar)

9th - Make a fancast for a hypothetical Live Action Adaptation of Tiger & Bunny

10th - Share a headcanon - new or old - that you have

11th - Share an instance of "Tiger & Bunny Spotting" you've seen IRL (T&B Spotting is seeing things like their colours or associated animals-theming in unexpected places. Pets can count for this; If it's not your pet, ask for permission before posting.)

12th - Come up with a food or drink themed around a character. Actually making it is entirely optional!

13th - Come up with an 'Alternate Universe' (AU) plot. You don't have to write anything beyond a plot synopsis or roles.

14th - Ramble about your favorite character or pairing!

15th - Share either a "hidden Gem" fic, or your favourite fanfic! Maybe it's both?

16th - Pitch a Season 3 or Third Movie plot

17th - Post a meme you really like, or make a meme from scratch

18th - Share your favorite OR your most wanted piece of Tiger & Bunny Merchandise

19th - Tell us about your favorite Villain

20th - Picture/Write about yourself as if you lived in Sternbild

21st - Assign a song you like to a character or a pairing

22nd - Share your favorite piece of fanart! Make sure to credit the artist, or repost the art directly through reblog or retweet or similar features.

23rd - Share your favorite piece of trivia about any Tiger & Bunny character

24th - Tell us what Tiger & Bunny means to you

25th - Free Day! Happy Holidays!

[hyperfixationcritter]

I'm thinking it's representative of the fact that Mel's the only one onto Ambessa's shenanigans and actively trying to fight/defend against them.

We see Caitlyn consumed by vengeance and focusing on Jinx, falling back on her privilege and not caring who she hurts along the way. She's also paralleling Jinx in some ways as people pointed out so it fits the framing of their faces and their eyes. The red thread of her conspiracy board also frames her like someone caught in a spider's web which is fitting given Ambessa's influence on her.

Vi is completely blinded by Jinx's hands which speaks to her tunnel vision when it comes to her sister, trying to do the right thing and coping with all the changes in her life that have left her VERY vulnerable.

We also have Viktor, who's hand cover's one of his eyes and I'm actually not sure what that means just yet though we know there's gonna be some form of consequences to his hexcore revival and what that means for his livelihood. Also his priorities have put him in the literal lowest part of the Undercity, the furthest removed from Piltover but we know Ambbessa's going to make her way there in act 2.

In comparison, Mel's seeing the big picture in a way that the other characters simply aren't and her being taken out of Piltover at the end of act 1 is already showing how that's going to negatively impact things.

I'd argue it's kinda like how Ekko's approach to the Undercity's problems was the one to actually help heal/organize people to their benefit

vs Silco who got Piltover's attention/threatened them through Jinx's actions but method of advancing the Undercity hurt and exploited people in the process and on purpose

and Vander's method which tried to protect people by keeping the status quo/being stagnant because he was tired of fighting.

But whereas Ekko's insight deals with the societal issues within and between the Undercity and Piltover, Mel's insight deals with threats and factors OUTSIDE of the sister cities in regards to Ambessa, the Black Rose and the factor of the arcane itself which she contributed to the presence of through her sponsorship of hextech.

In both cases Mel and most likely Ekko/the nerd trio are stuck in the shadow realm/eeby deeby/wherever they are, lol, so i'm curious as to where that's going to lead the both of them.

I was initially gonna put these in the tags and then this got longer than I intended. But those are just my two cents on things.

On a side note, I'll also add that I'm on the fence about what it means for Mel to have the ring back on VS Ambessa who's holding it in front of her instead of wearing it. Like I've seen and can make speculations of the posters on their own but juxtaposed together I'm not sure what to make of it if that makes sense?

EVERY character has had shadows on their face in their posters, or their faces partially covered, but Mel's is not. Mel is surrounded by light and her eyes are not covered or shadowed. And then the hands? What do the hand placements mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN.

[obsob]

the accolade ( the...the cat-olade...)

[stealingyourbones]

Out of all of the people The Ghost King Phantom expected to relate to, it definitely wasn’t the scrawny red headed photographer of the Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen has gotten so many temporary superpowers over his time being Superman’s friend. Hell, he once gained a 4th dimensional being’s reality warping abilities when he was given said dimensional being’s powers during a fight. Sure there’s a dozen or so heroes with the same amount of powers he has, but none as suddenly granted to them as a all powerful god that can relate to a teenager.

[sevenines]

i saw this tweet and found it interesting for two reasons. one is that some people base how good cartoon network would be to toh by how it treated su, and despite the fact that su’s treatment by the network was considered poor at the time, now its thought to be exceptionally good in comparison to modern shows.

two is how exactly su got impacted by a limited budget. a common criticism is how characters like connie, peridot, and lapis are left out of missions. but balancing a lot of characters is not only hard but also costly (extra animation, extra voices—it’s been revealed that the show is limited to a set number of characters per episode otherwise they’re over budget). animation mistakes are not uncommon since retakes cost extra. the entire reason the original show got cut short was due to loss of funding!

[burningfaith]