#thank you for entertaining my silly little fic ideas

[leiandroid]

day three - if i was you, i'd wanna be me too collab with fic by kawwwaritai + a bonus 4th illustration within the fic !

“Hell, yeah, I’d wanna be me too!” He yells to the nearest bystander who, oh, shit, happens to be that kid. 

The kid who, he notices way too late, is already looking upset, and now that Yuri’s gloated in his face, is starting to cry. His stomach lurches. And oh, shit, his English sucks, but he’s pretty sure the attendant is admitting to Otabek that the kid had been trying for the bear all day. 

read on AO3 🍁 @yurisbirthdaybash

[seoulmatez]

— 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 3.8k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ a few suggestive bits ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ ) ﾉ brief mentions of food

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ the end!

we have come to the of of little miss city girl, the farmhand boothill series :') thank u so much for the support u have shown on these fics! i could not have ever imagined one of my silly little thoughts entertaining so many people. while this is wraps up the plot, i will continue to write little extras of fh!boothill, just in ways that aren't linear to the main series ❤︎

your room looks like a hurricane ripped through it—all the clothes from your closet scattered messily over your bed, makeup products and hair appliances strewn across your vanity, and at the center of it all is you. your fingers are tangled in the roots of your hair and a groan that sounds like it came from another person penetrates the air. unlike a hurricane, there’s no calm in the eye of this storm. you thought your stress was supposed to be subsided by now—the hard part has passed, so what the hell is this?

the date hasn’t even started and everything seems to be going wrong. you have no idea what to wear and boothill has been absolutely no help on that front, not budging even an inch when you asked for a hint as to where he was taking you. the answer you got was, “patience, darlin’,'' accompanied by his signature smirk and wink before he left you to continue with work for the day. 

just as you consider tracking the farmhand down to ask him again and force him to give you something a little helpful, your phone dings. you ignore it for a second and then another before you remember that you recruited help from meg a little while ago. you practically dive for the device, quickly unlocking it so that you can read over her long-awaited advice.

go with the white babydoll dress!!!

the one she’s referring to and a few other options lay atop the mound of clothes that you’ll have to put back later. it caught your eye earlier but you had wondered if it would be too dressy for the occasion. there’s only so much to do in town and half of those things involve getting dirty but if you and meg both have your eyes on it, then the dress must be the one.

thank you, love you!

with one less thing to worry about, you hop in the shower a little more carefree than you have been since waking up this morning. the nerves that have had you on edge for most of the day are slowly but surely turning into ones that are itching for time to move quicker.

the rest of your preparation is considerably less taxing with meg’s input and your gradual decline of overthinking. you’re able to style your hair and paint on some makeup without any trouble, your foot mindlessly bouncing up and down as you hum the melody to the last song you listened to. soon, the only sign that you had experienced any turmoil at all is the state of your room. you’ll deal with that later.

you’re packing your bag with the essentials—chapstick, mints, hair ties—when there’s a knock at your door. the sound makes you jump and suddenly the nerves come rushing back. you can’t let boothill see your room like this. luckily for you, he’s content talking through the door.

“i’ll be waiting for you outside, darlin’. no rush.” his voice is a little muffled but despite the obstruction, you can still hear the smile in his tone. you can see it in your head—soft pink lips curling up at the corners, a little higher on the left, and sharp, pearly white canines of display. the sight once ignited annoyance in you but that feeling has all but died down, replaced with something closer to fondness.

“okay!” you yell back.

he assured you that it was no rush but you find yourself hastily gathering the rest of your things. before you tuck your phone away in the bag, you shoot meg a text that you’re about to head out. the device buzzes with a notification before you’re able to put it away and you quickly read over meg’s reply.

have fun and be safe! update me as soon as you get home… or not ;)

your lips part in surprise at her thinly veiled implication. the thought alone of anything even remotely intimate like she’s suggesting is enough to make your cheeks burn and the tips of your ears heat up. you put the screen of your phone to sleep and shove it into your bag, hoping the thought will disappear with it. 

you make your way down the stairs and stop at the doorway to slip on your boots before you pull the door open to meet boothill at his truck. the vehicle is pulled up right in front of the porch. he leisurely leans against the passenger door, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest. he looks like a still taken from a romance movie and the corners of your lips turn up as you wonder if that was his intention.

he’s never struck you as the type to watch those kinds of movies but as you look at him, you realize that there’s a lot you still don’t know about boothill. you bite back a smile at the thought that a little part of you is looking forward to learning more.

“well,” boothill starts, standing up straight and stuffing his hands away in his pockets. irises like stormy clouds look you over from head to toe before finally stopping at their destination—your eyes. “you look mighty pretty—as usual.”

“thanks.” you suck in your cheeks to stop yourself from puckering your lips in embarrassment. it’s nothing you haven’t heard before but the compliment feels different when you’ve put in the effort to look nice, and for him, at that. you clear your throat and gesture to his figure, moreso the outfit he’s dressed in. “you clean up nice.”

his outfit is simple, a plain white t-shirt paired with jeans and the pair of boots he reserves for occasions outside of work at the ranch. there’s a red bandana tied around his neck and one of his favorite hats, a brown beige, sits atop his hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail. it’s nothing out of the norm for him, though, the dirt and sweat that typically stain his attire is absent. he’s clearly put in a bit of effort for the experience.

boothill grins at the courtesy. he could get used to receiving a little bit of praise from you. even such a simple statement makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. all his patience seems to have paid off. “i hoped you’d think so.”

a strange sense of ease overwhelms you knowing that the farmhand also had you in mind while he was getting ready, was compelled to try and impress you. though, you’re sure his room didn’t end up looking anything like yours in his pursuit of the goal.

thankfully, boothill doesn’t allow much time for your mind to wander and for you to get self-conscious all over again. he’s moving before you, spinning on his heel to open the passenger’s door of his truck. he turns to face you once more.

“your chariot, m’lady,” he swings his arm out in a gesture full of flourish that makes you hide a laugh behind your hand. your suspicion that boothill may have taken some inspiration from a film only grows stronger with the motion but you play along, not minding feeling like the main character of a romantic story as you walk down the couple of steps from the porch to meet boothill.

you catch a whiff of him as you slide past to take your seat, clean with soap and the subtle scent of earthy sandalwood. it’s a heady smell that drifts away too soon as he cautiously closes your door and rounds the vehicle to join you on the driver's side.

your head is practically swimming with the pleasant scent of him when boothill takes his spot beside you and even more so when he turns on the air conditioning. your thoughts are bound to roam if you continue to focus on it so you close your eyes and shake your head before turning to boothill. “so, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”

“nope,” he tells you as he pulls out of the driveway and onto the main road. the man spares you a quick glance with his next words. “you’ll find out when we get there.”

you force out a dramatic sigh that earns a chuckle from boothill. despite your theatrics, you don’t push the issue. he seems hellbent on keeping it a secret and maybe the surprise will have been worth it not being spoiled by your curiosity.

so, while boothill drives, you settle for fiddling with the knob of his radio, switching between stations until you land on one that’s playing a song you like. boothill playfully ridicules you for skipping past so many decent songs but you stand your ground, arguing that the radio is the one thing you have control over since he insists on being so secretive.

he can only smile and agree.

one full song plays before boothill pulls off to the side of the road. a crease forms between your eyebrows, confusion written on your face. other than a house a little farther down the road, there’s not a building in sight. what around here is worth stopping for? “what are we doing here?”

“quick pit stop,” he tells you, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing the door open. cluelessness must be evident in your expression because boothill tips his head down to laugh. he explains once he lifts his head. “stay here, i won’t take long—promise.”

you don’t question him, you just let your eyes follow his figure as he sets out to the field beside the road. you have no idea what business he has in the grass but you don’t question it, choosing instead to change the song playing over the speakers. warm air from outside the truck flows into the vehicle through the door boothill left open and while it’s not hot enough to make you sweat, you lean closer toward the vent. with your attention focused on a multitude of other things, you barely notice boothill’s return, not taking note of his presence at the open door until he clears his throat.

your head whips in his direction and you find him bent over the seat, his feet planted outside the truck and his arms resting on the seat. it takes you a moment to register that there’s a bunch of something colorful in his hands—flowers. they’re wildflowers, a pretty blend of orange and yellow, not nearly as neat as a professional bouquet but just as thoughtful.

“for you.” he holds the homemade bouquet out to you. it reminds you of a time a little while ago when he said those exact same words. he was handing you flowers from miss alma then but the more you thought about it after the fact, the less sense it made that the lady didn’t give you the flowers herself—you were right there, after all. the thought had nagged at you—the possibility that they may have really been from boothill—but you paid it little mind, choosing not to read too deeply into the gesture for your own peace of mind.

unlike then, you don’t hesitate to take them. the bunch is held together with a hair tie and it’s only then that you realize boothill’s ponytail has been freed from its confines, hair flowing freely over his shoulders and down his back. “from you this time?”

“of course.” he smiles. if he picks up on the fact that you’re onto him, he doesn’t show it, simply boosting himself back into the truck and closing the door behind him. you gently run the pads of your fingers over the soft petals as boothill makes his way back onto the road. a soft smile pulls at your lips, one the boothill catches out of the corner of his eye. he doesn’t mention it, just cherishes the short glimpse of the sight he’s beginning to think he’d move mountains for.

several minutes pass before the environment shifts, the tires of boothill’s truck going from riding smoothly on the pavement to roughly over uneven dirt. it makes for a bumpy ride. that paired with the fact that you’re unsure where the two of you could be heading is enough for you to speak up. “are we allowed to drive down here?”

boothill shrugs, keeping his eyes ahead. “what’s a broken rule here and there?”

you frown at that. it’s doubtful that anyone will see you out here—it’s secluded enough—but you can’t help but wonder if you’ll end up getting in any trouble. sure, it would make for a memorable first date but you’d rather the occasion go off without a hitch. “you didn’t say we’d be partaking in illegal activities.”

“it’s not illegal,” he tells you with a laugh, one that he tries to conceal under his breath but is loud enough for you to hear. “just frowned upon, maybe.”

you click your tongue in response.

“wow, a city girl and goody two shoes. i’ve got my work cut out for me with you.”

“oh, shut it.” you slap his shoulder which earns an entertained chuckle from the farmhand. your annoyance at yet another nickname is short-lived as you look out your window. boothill is driving down what you imagine is meant to be a hiking path, far too narrow to have been intended for anything larger than a park ranger’s utility vehicle. the only thing you’re passing by is trees, and plenty of them. “what the hell could possibly be out here?”

boothill grins—partly at you swearing but mostly because his goal of surprising you can now be considered a success. “you’re looking at it, sweetheart.”

you send him a questioning look but he only points ahead in answer. following the direction of his finger, you peer straight ahead through the windshield. underneath the sun’s glowing rays, the soft waves of a creek glisten. the densely wooded area has thinned out to make way for a clearing, one of dusty dirt and tiny pebbles that crunch beneath the tires as boothill maneuvers the truck so that the rear faces the body of water.

he turns the key in the ignition, the engine dying with the motion. gray eyes flit to his right to catch your gaze. “meet me in the back?”

you nod, unbuckling your seatbelt, opening the door, and hopping down to the ground. the slam of the door alerts two birds and sends them flying. you watch their wings flap as they flee while you make your way to the back.

boothill is busy opening the trunk when you arrive, pulling down the horizontal door and peeling back the topper that covers the bed. once it’s open, he rounds the back and effortlessly climbs onto the open space. he looks down at you and offers his hand. his fingers wiggle in invitation before you take hold of him. with his support and the step on the bumper, you’re able to join him in the bed.

at the new height, you see that the bed looks different than it did when you last saw it. instead of being lined with the protective mat and filled with groceries, a blanket covers the surface. there are pillows propped against each other, a wicker basket filled to the brim with an assortment of snacks and boothill’s guitar is even laid out amongst the things he brought.

“didn’t wanna overwhelm you with anything fancy or nothin’,” boothill explains upon taking note of your silence. 

you think about how awkward it would have been to share a meal with boothill alone. though, the thought of boothill dressing up in something more formal than his typical attire and hating every second of it is a humorous one. despite missing out on the opportunity to see a whole new side of the man, you’re grateful he had your comfort in mind when it came to planning this. “no, no, this is nice. this is great.”

you take a seat on the cushioned bed, not-so-subtly eyeing the spot next to you in a silent gesture for boothill to do the same. he follows your lead and sits down with his legs crossed. your shoulders bump in his attempt to get comfortable and the accidental movement reminds you that there’s no center console separating the two of you now. without the air conditioning, your closeness makes it much easier to feel the heat radiating from boothill. it’s not unpleasant but, just like his scent, it makes you a bit lightheaded.

 “so,” you start, tilting your head toward him so you can get a better look at the farmhand from the corner of your eye, “what are we doing besides taking in the scenery with snacks and music?”

“talkin’.” 

you turn your head fully so you’re facing him, waiting patiently for the rest of his sentence. the subject never comes. “about what?”

“well, you haven't really jumped at the opportunity to tell me about yourself.” 

you can’t argue with that—you’ve been fairly private in terms of your life when it comes to boothill. other than the little bits your grandpa has let slip and the few things he’s picked up during your interactions together, there’s a lot boothill doesn’t know about you. first dates are all about getting well acquainted with each other, right? “okay… what do you want to know?”

he smiles a soft smile at your willingness to share. “whatever you wanna tell me.”

it’s a broad ask—lets you keep certain things to yourself and expand freely on others. so you do. you tell him about your summers on the farm—how you’d pester your parents to drive you down practically the second school let out for summer break. you tell him about the tree climbing, the horse rides, the fruit picking—everything you got up to during those warm months off. you tell him about your summers at the ranch coming to an end, traded in for internships and job interviews. you tell him about how all the stress you tried to ignore over those years caught up to you, how you finally bit the bullet and came back to find some solace.

boothill listens intently, nodding along to your stories, smiling at the parts where you find yourself speaking through giggles, hanging off your every word. he says it's a bummer that something so crummy led you back here but that he’s glad it did—otherwise, he wouldn’t have met you.

that part makes you bite your cheek in a failed attempt to hold back a smile. being the sole subject of his stare is intimidating. it feels as though he’s seeing you—really seeing you, beyond the walls you put up that he’s actively tearing down brick by brick. it feels almost selfish that the spotlight has been shining on you all night. you take the break in conversation as an opportunity to turn the focus on boothill, to ask him what he asked of you; to talk.

he tells you about his days in high school—how he used to help his dad out at his auto repair shop and how he took up guitar at his mother’s insistence. he plays a song his mom used to like—the first one he learned—for you before opening the floor for requests. you ask for “a crazy little thing called love” by queen. the implication of the song’s title doesn’t hit you until boothill’s eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise. your mouth opens to explain but he cuts you off with a little ah-ah-ah, fingers finding their place on the strings and beginning to strum.

you lose track of how many songs he plays, how many pieces of popcorn you’re able to toss into his mouth, how much time has passed in this peaceful little bubble boothill created just for the two of you. by the time you question any of it, the sun has bid you goodnight and left you with its glowing white counterpart. bright stars speckle the sky and crickets chirp amongst blades of grass when boothill finally checks the watch on his wrist.

“gettin’ pretty late,” he informs you, wiping the palms of his hands on his thighs. he turns to you with what looks like a sleepy grin—he must have woken up for the day a while ago. “about time i get you home. if that’s alright with you, of course.”

you nod. as nice as these few hours have been, it wouldn’t be fair of you to keep him out here because you’re not ready for the night to end. 

he stands up with a grunt, offering you a hand to help you do the same. you accept it and let him pull you to your feet. the warmth of his hand disappears as he lets go to hop down from the bed. he beckons you forward with two fingers, holding his arm out to help you down.

such a gentleman, you think, smiling and shaking your head as you take a couple of steps toward the edge. before you make it, the toe of your boot catches on the blanket. the mishap sends you forward with a shocked squeal but your shins don’t scrape the bed and you don’t hit the ground with an ungraceful thud.

you’re safe in boothill’s hold, his arms wrapped around your thighs, your chests pressed closely together. it’s a compromising position, though, despite the frantic beating of your heart, you don’t bother telling him to put you down or fighting your way out of his grasp. you simply look down at him and swallow the nervous lump in your throat.

he smirks. “you alright?”

“fine,” you tell him. the reassurance comes out a bit breathy.

“good.” he doesn’t put you down. “did you have a nice time?”

“yes.” you nod. “i did.”

bathed in the dim moonlight, you gaze into boothill’s eyes. he stares back into yours. neither of you make any effort to move. it’s like you’re frozen in time, or maybe it’s moving slower, you’re not sure, but there’s only one thought circling in your mind at the moment.

you have no idea where it came from but you act on it before you can think any better of it, leaning down, your nose bumping his. you’d barely consider it a kiss—more like your lips gently brushing against his, but the shockwave that courses through your body at the contact hits all the same.

boothill’s lips stretch into a smile underneath yours but he chooses to keep them sealed, not teasing, not escalating.

you don’t go back for another, nothing deeper, nothing more passionate, nothing more raw. you’ll have plenty of time for that after tonight. instead, you bring your hand up to run your thumb over his lower lip. your next words come out as a whisper. “how about i plan the next one?”

you can feel his chuckle against your finger. “i expect you’ll show me a good time, little miss city girl.”

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[almostempty]

What’s Love Got to Do with It

(oberyn x f!reader)  wc: 4.6k | other fics 

note: hey y’all it’s me ya gurl, here to defile another prompt with a silly idea <3 Sooo, from the three brain cells that brought you fuckboy!joel and divorced dad rock dilf!joel 🫡i now humbly present …. Frat bro Oberyn, Aka The Red Viper, aka the Prince of Pong, aka the Slut of Delta Psi (i did steal the frat name from the film Neighbors—in which they do sing a line from Creed in their frat chant, so in some twisted way, they’re kind of all connected right??) 

I fear this may have just been funny to me so feel free to skip, but thank you to everyone who tolerates my shenanigans <3. 

ANYWAY, The lovely @baronessvonglitter bestowed upon me Oberyn x What’s Love Got to Do with It for fucktober (happy belated bday babe) but naturally, i made it weird. Thanks to @sunshinehaze1 for reminding me that modern AUs exist when I got scared of the GOT universe and to @auterdelabre for reminding me that the answer is always fuckboy. Don’t blame them for anything else.

Summary: You attend a fraternity toga party, and you catch the eye of Delta Psi’s notorious Red Viper. He shows you how he got the nickname and then he shows you something else he’s known for. 

tags/warnings: explicit 18+ smut, alcohol/partying, gratuitous flirting, piv, fuckboy behavior aka on to the next one, infidelity, i couldn’t bring myself to write his dialogue in frat bro™ –aka i didn’t fully commit to the bit bc that man just had to be smooth and had to fuck no matter what universe i put him in, apologies if that ruins your immersion in my pwp, per usual: no y/n, f!reader is able bodied otherwise no specifics, unprotected piv as if it’s no biggie because it’s fiction (don’t do that irl), no beta/limited proofreading sorry for all mistakes 

“Oh my god, that’s him!” Your best friend shouts into your ear as you walk down the sidewalk. You blend into the sea of toga-clad college kids, sandals slapping against the pavement. Liv leans on you, pointing out the guy she’s talking about. You can hear the music pouring out into the street and people inside yelling and chanting over someone doing a keg stand or something equally as exciting and alcohol-related, you assume. 

The guy she pointed out is leaning casually against the banister, letting some ripped blond dude entertain him on the porch. “That’s the guy your roommate was talking about?” you question your friend. Liv agrees with a smile as you walk towards the front steps. 

Everyone else on the porch looks like a frat bro wrapped in a wrinkly bedsheet, but for some reason, he seems almost godlike. He’s luminous under the warm lights. As if he knew you were checking him out, he turns his head just as you walk past, and his eyes sweep over you, making your face hot. Something sparks between you before he turns away, taking a swig of his drink. 

Liv had given you a rundown on what to expect at your first Delta Psi party. You had argued that you knew what college parties were like. You transferred this quarter as a senior, and you just didn’t have Greek life at your other school or your best friend to convince you to go out. But now, you’re here, dressed up and entering a party that really does feel a little more intense than the ones back at your small-town university. 

Liv’s roommate had given you the rundown on the guys she knew in the fraternity, but you didn’t pay much attention to her descriptions. You figured there was no way a Brad, Dylan, Connor, or a Brent would actually be hot. And then, when she started with the ones with nicknames, you completely checked out after Viper and Rooster. It has to defy the laws of nature for a frat bro that goes by Rooster to be able to find your clit—even if he IS hot. 

Yet, now you realize you might be eating your words because you get it. You were too quick to judge, whoops. “Which one was that?” you ask in Liv’s ear as you both make your way through the people sloshing drinks and dancing. 

“Viper!” 

You can’t help the immediate grimace that emerges on your face. “That’s so douchey!” you shout back over the noise before she pulls you down a hall toward that kitchen. She leans in close to your ear, telling you that her roommate swears she got the best head of her life from him. “No fucking way,” you argue. 

“Way,” she smirks back. “He’s got a girlfriend now, though. They’re, like, totally in love, it’s all over social media.” She mocks puking at the idea, and you share a laugh.

You explore the party together. The house is huge; one room on the main floor is blasting EDM, and another is blasting top 40 hits. There are a couple of beer pong tables in the backyard and a detached garage filled with stoners on old couches giggling to themselves. You know that Liv is itching to park her ass on one of those sofas and find a girl or guy to whom she can woo with her French inhale and makeout with for the rest of the night. 

But, she’s a loyal ass bitch who wouldn’t abandon you. You circle back through the house. You spend a little while dancing together and taking your time to see if there’s anyone else who catches your eye. Nobody really sticks out to you in the first room until you catch his eyes again. You have to do a double-take as you circle your waist and roll your body against Liv. 

He’s semi-shrouded in the corner; with the dim lighting and the packed house, it would be easy to miss the two of them altogether. But when the girl clinging to him turns around to grind her ass against him, he locks eyes with you, and you swear that fucker winks at you before a group of girls prance into the room, shouting oh my god, it’s our song! You try to shake it off. You were definitely just seeing things with the lights. 

You signal to Liv, and she follows you into the other room. You dance together a bit longer. She offers you a swig from her rhinestone-encrusted flask, but you turn her down, staying sober tonight. You feel euphoric enough with the strobe lights and the thrumming bass from the EDM remixes blasting in the room. 

You turn down a few wasted white dudes who try to dance up on the two of you. Too drunk. Not your type. Too handsy. You’re not afraid to punch a man in the throat or the nuts if they don’t get the hint, but they back off when you give them a gentle shove and a shake of your head. The most recent suitor is turning and scoping for another girl to approach when you see him again. 

He’s moving towards you, looking right at you, but there’s no girl on his arm–or crotch, now. For some reason, it makes you feel too hot. You’re sweating from the dancing anyway, so you ignore the electric look in his eye that makes your clit twitch and grab Liv’s arm to make a dash for the backyard to get some fresh air. 

You debrief with each other and come to an agreement. You tell Liv to do her thing, urging her to head towards the couch with the skater dude wearing the toga made from a dinosaur patterned sheet and the high-top vans. She agrees to text you if she plans to relocate or wants to leave before you finish taking another lap around the party. 

You sort of lie to her, claiming someone inside caught your eye. They did, but you aren’t planning to do anything about it. Instead, you part ways and head back through the house, past the pledge posing as a bouncer at the front door, and onto the front porch. The music is still loud, but it’s quieter out front. People still trickle in and out of the party. You stare out at the night sky, searching for the moon. In your own little world, you’re basking in your own peace. 

“I haven’t seen you here before,” a rich, velvety voice washes over your shoulder. It should make you jerk away, give you goosebumps, and raise your hackles. But, instead, the interruption stirs liquid heat in your core and makes your nipples hard. Because it’s him. 

You turn your head and confirm. He’s so close to you. 

“You know every girl here?” you challenge him. 

“I know the ladies and gentlemen that pique my curiosity,” his voice is so smooth. He’s a charmer, for sure. He offers you a drink, holding out two plastic cups in one hand. The size of his hand does make you tingly, but his smile falters when you shoot him one of your signature dirty looks. 

Before he can ask about the look, you take one of the cups, give him a cloyingly sweet smile, and pour it out over the railing into the grass below. The tail of his brow quirks, and he gives you a sly smile that widens into a grin and a full-chested laugh. “Oops,” you mock. 

“You’re a bold woman,” he muses, “I like that.” 

He doesn’t back down after you toss out his drink. He doesn’t take it as a rejection. He understands when you explain you don’t take open drinks from strangers at a frat party, but you roll your eyes hard when he gloats about not needing tricks or drugs to find a lover. 

He banters with you as he downs the remaining drink. He’s quick, with sharp wit and a devious smile. You can’t keep your eyes off his exposed chest, his arms, his neck, his eyes. It’s still confusing how he can look so regal, whereas everyone else in the party looks a little…goofy? Cliche? He pulls you back to the present, asking for your name before he gives you his. 

“They call me ‘the Red Viper,’” he gives you a provocative grin like he knows exactly how hot he looks, even with a bedsheet draped over his shoulder. 

You play into his hand, “Is that some kinda of euphemism?” Feeding his ego with a suggestive arch of your brow. Maybe you’re bold, but you don’t think he’s the type to be deterred by a confident woman. In fact, it seems to make him glow even brighter.

His voice lowers, dripping with an enticing challenge, “Are you looking to find out?” he asks. 

His jaw quirks, and you’re mesmerized watching him suck at his lower lip. It looks so perfectly plump and kissable, curling into a smirk as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Come,” he beckons for you to follow him deeper into the party. 

“I thought you had a girlfriend,” you say stiffly, remembering what Liv had said as you walked in. He looks at you curiously before shaking his head lightly. 

“You mean Cora? From earlier? She’s not my girlfriend. We were just dancing.” 

“No,” you shake your head, “I heard it’s all over social media. That you’re loved up.” 

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” he gives you that cocky smile that absolutely shouldn’t work but somehow makes you feel warm like you’re laying on the warm sand on a beach listening to the waves crashing. You don’t say anything else, and he leans in a little closer, “What’s love got to do with it?” he asks huskily. Dangerously. 

It makes you shudder with something warm and twisted. 

“Now,” he guides you gently but firmly, “Come.” You need him to stop saying it like an order before you do. 

You let him walk you through the party. Weaving through the boisterous crowds. They part easily for him, clearing a path like he’s royalty. 

“They call me ‘the Red Viper’ because I’m lethal at any game involving a red Solo cup.” He murmurs it into your ear like it’s a sexy secret. 

You laugh brightly at that, giving him a gentle shove. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard!” 

He gives you a coy shrug. “It’s the truth.” He leads you into the backyard, towards the beer pong tables. “I’ll show you,” he says just for you to hear. The string lights illuminate the yard in soft light; however, the mood is anything but romantic, with the drunk cheering college kids taking their drinking games very seriously. 

You watch, amused, as one team high-fives each other over their trick shot. At another table, both teams heatedly argue about “house rules.” 

“It’s the prince of pong!” one of his fraternity brothers shouts across the lawn. He gives you the most dramatic I told you so glance, and you mouth “lame” back at him. He calls ‘next game,’ and as if he were their lord, one table immediately clears out, forfeiting in a demonstration of fealty. 

“Ladies first,” he offers once he’s set up all the cups to his liking. He’s so arrogant about it, and it shouldn’t turn you on, but it absolutely does. 

You grin across the table at him. “You’re on.” 

He’s merciful at first. You land a few cups, giving you enough confidence to talk shit and tease him. But it rapidly becomes apparent that he’s a man of his word as he easily picks off every cup on your end of the table with precision.  

Despite your rapid descent towards a loss, you eat up his charm. His magnetic energy. He makes the rest of the party disappear when he looks at you. It makes your heart tingle and your pussy flutter. He’s a gracious winner, only gloating a little as he reracks the table and offers it up to other party-goers. 

“Alright, Viper, you won. You can retain your title.” You admit defeat as he slinks up close to you, ushering you along to the side of the house, only a few steps away but more secluded from the rest of the party. 

“And now, will you allow me to claim my prize?” he asks in his smoky, deep voice. 

Despite his clear intentions, you feign confusion as he wraps one wide hand around your waist and tilts your chin towards his face with the other. “I didn’t know we were playing for stakes,” you smile brashly. Your skin blazes under his touch and his seductive gaze as his eyes drop to your mouth. 

He starts to dip towards you, but you swerve away from him. It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask again if he’s in a relationship. He growls softly, almost a purr, next to your ear. “What’s wrong, my lady?” he murmurs. The intimacy of it is heady, and your surroundings fade. 

You want to take whatever he’s offering, no questions, so instead you whisper, “Tell me your real name.”

He sighs softly before giving in and telling you his name. 

“Oberyn,” you repeat back, “that’s unique.” 

He starts muttering about how he’s an international student, but you’ve got all the info you needed. Now you don’t have to add a guy named Viper to your mental list of hookups. 

“I like it,” you cut him off before slotting your mouth against his and making up for ducking out of his last attempt at a kiss with your eagerness. He wraps his arm around you, and you’re transported. One large hand presses against your lower back, urging your hips toward his, and the other cradles your jaw, giving you a sense of stability as he matches your ferocity. 

You briefly wonder if you’d have melted if he wasn’t holding you so tightly before your thoughts are consumed by the sensation of his lips against yours and his tongue running along yours. It’s not a kiss you would’ve expected from a frat guy. It’s romantic and passionate, and you feel your body rolling against his, caught up in the sensation and intensity. 

You keep going, letting yourself enjoy the moment, eating up the flavor of him, the scent of him, and the throbbing intensifying between your legs. You slip one of your hands along the back of his neck into his soft hair, and he groans into your mouth. It makes your knees weak. 

You chase his mouth as he pulls back and looks into your heavy-lidded eyes. Sharing the hot air between you, it feels like a current is looping through your bodies, buzzing with need. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” he urges in a gravelly whisper. You can feel him hardening against you. His hand on your back is firm, keeping you flush, pelvis to pelvis, making you nearly dizzy. However, his hand on your jaw is gentle, brushing his thumb along your cheek sweetly. You still can’t help goading just a little. 

“What for?” you ask playfully. 

“To fuck.” 

It makes your cheeks hot. Maybe there should be red flags popping up in your mind, but you don’t care. He likes a bold woman, and you like a direct man. 

“Unless you’d rather do it in the grass here,” he tilts his head toward the ground. You act like you’re considering the option seriously, making him laugh before he releases you from his arms. “Don’t tease,” he says with a severe look, “It wouldn’t bother me.” 

Me either, you consider before deciding not to say that part aloud. You tell him to take you to a real bed, and he does. Swiftly guiding you into the house and up the stairs, past the pledge guarding the rooms, and into his bedroom. He spins around, pinning you against the door for another searing kiss. It’s more urgent this time. He’s quickly moving to your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your tender skin as you both greedily run your hands along each other’s bodies. 

Before you can get your hands under his toga, he’s detaching from you and sinking to his knees. He moves efficiently, bunching up your toga and asking you to hold it. Then he’s hovering his hot mouth over your mound before kissing you over your lacey panties. 

“Mmm,” he hums into you and traces the crease of your thighs with one hand, following the line until he’s softly running his fingers along the edge of your panties, the tips of his fingers barely dipping beneath the hem as he moves towards your core. You watch, staring down with your mouth parted as he holds your gaze. 

He teases you, running his fingertips along your seam over the soaked fabric, tapping and teasing at your swollen clit through the fabric as he watches your needy expression morph into frustration. You shift, spreading your legs wider, but he stops you with a large hand on each thigh. 

“Hold still,” he orders, and you feel compelled to listen. He pulls your underwear down and off of you, then hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, spreading your cunt open. “That’s better.” 

You can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or to you. You don’t have a chance to ask before he’s burying his face into your soft, wet pussy. Your breath hitches at the sensation and one of your hands flies out to grab at the door frame to steady you, while the other one digs into Oberyn’s hair. 

He’s unbothered by your dramatics. Oberyn moves with enthusiasm, drawing his tongue along your slit and pressing into your sex with his jaw. His facial hair tickles at your tender skin deliciously and his nose grazes over your clit as if his face were molded to maximize your pleasure. He changes his strategy, mouthing at your clit and sweeping his tongue over it like he’s making out with it, with the same passion that he kissed you with outside and a moment ago. 

You can feel it starting to build. Your hip flexors straining and thighs starting to tremble as your breathing gets quicker and more shallow. Closer and closer and closer. He’s perceptive and diligent. Repeating the same tricks that make you moan and dig your fingers into his hair. 

You’re stuck on the precipice, so close but not quite there. Your eyes roam around the dimly lit room, the bed, the bookshelf, the tapestry pinned to the wall, the collection of cologne bottles lined up on the desk, the mirror on top of the desk–pointing right at the bed. 

It starts to frustrate you. Not the decor choices, but the tension and the building pressure. You squirm slightly, hoping the smallest adjustment will somehow bring everything into a sharper focus. You let your eyes close, letting the roar of the party downstairs fade, focusing on the pressure and warmth of Oberyn’s mouth. 

More, more, more. 

It’s all you can think as Oberyn stays dedicated to getting you off on his tongue. He sucks firmly at your clit before releasing you with a slick sound. He hovers, mouth fanning warm air over your core looking up at you. His eyes are lit with hunger.  

“More?” he asks in his deep, rich voice. 

You can’t tell if you were chanting out loud or if he’s somehow reading your mind. “Please,” you respond with a needy edge, “more.” You catch the sparkle in his eye and the flash of a grin. He works you up again, towards the brink, relishing in your responses as you whine with need as he resumes holding you in a purgatory of pleasure.

Mercifully, he does give you more. Oberyn grips your thigh with one hand, steadying you, while he swipes two fingers along the length of your pussy once, twice, coating them in your arousal before plunging them inside of you. The increased pressure and friction from his fingers pumping into you causes you to moan. It’s a lower register than your breathy panting from earlier, layered with satisfaction as you can feel the anticipation starting to crest. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg, “I’m so close.” 

He doesn’t stop, groaning at your words, rumbling against you. That snaps the tension and you cry out his name and a string of curses as your orgasm hits. He doesn’t slow down when your cunt contracts around his fingers and he doesn’t lose focus when you shake and writhe against mouth. Not until you’re pulling him off of you, oversensitive and wrung out.  

Oberyn stands, wiping at his chin before pulling you in close for another breathtaking kiss. He walks you back toward the bed and you fall into it, pulling him with you. You tangle together, frantically, you want him inside of you now. He laughs softly against your hot neck, sensing your frustration. 

“Shh,” he murmurs as you huff with defeat. He moves deftly, braced over you with one arm, and freeing his cock with the other. Your hands stroke up and down his shoulders and back, and you hook one leg around his hip, encouraging him. “You want me to fuck you now?” he asks and you whisper a yes that turns into a gasp as he runs his tip through your soaked center. “And how do you want it?”

“Hard.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, sinking into you deeper and deeper, and pulling back, all the way out, then all the way in. “Fuck,” he says to himself as he sets a quick pace, slaming his hips into yours making the bedframe creak with every thrust. If the noise from the party didn’t drown everything else out, you might be embarrassed to have strangers over hear, but you would be surprised if anyone could hear a thing. And, even if you were louder than the party, you could care less about being caught as Oberyn fucks you into the mattress. 

“Harder,” you goad him, hoping for more. To your horror he pulls out of you completely, but you swiftly find yourself flipped onto your stomach as he lifts your hips and enters you from behind. You press back, meeting his thrusts, bouncing off of his hips until he presses his palm between your shoulder blades. He forces your chest into the mattress, holding you still so he can fuck you like he means it, with enough force that all you can do brace yourself and ball your fists, twisting the bedding between your fingers. 

With your cheek against the bed you can watch your reflection in the mirror. It’s hot, even with your togas draped and bunched up, you look good together. It makes you grin. He catches you looking and turns, meeting your eyes in the mirror before watching your bodies. He grips your hips firmly and you can barely keep your eyes open to watch as he continues. 

He overwhelms you with his stamina, keeping up a pace that has your mind feeling blissfully fuzzy. He says something else before folding over you and slipping his hand around towards your clit, determined to feel you come around his cock. You’re so close already, it’s only a moment, a few more thrusts, before shuddering beneath him. He tries to fuck you through it, but you clench and constrict around him so tightly that he pulls out while you’re still moaning. 

You can hear the slick wet sounds as he strokes himself, cursing under his breath again, before you feel the warmth as he comes across the swell of your ass and your fluttering cunt. You sink, dropping your hips and relaxing onto the bed while he catches his breath. Oberyn squeezes at your thighs, offering praise you don’t quite hear, then he’s slipping off the bed. He cleans you up with a towel, but you remain still for a little longer, enjoying the satisfaction and the sweet ache from the intensity. 

“Take your time,” he tells you, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. It’s gentle. You murmur a thanks at him before breaking into an airy giggle. It makes your ribcage shake, bouncing slightly on the mattress, realizing that Liv is going to die when you tell her you can confirm her roommates story. Oberyn doesn’t question your reaction. 

He pauses to readjust his toga and his hair in the mirror. Once seemingly satisfied, he turns back towards you, watching you sit up. “I’ll see you out there,” he says with a smile before he slips out of the room. 

You linger for just a little. Allowing yourself the privacy to revel in the sweet satisfaction of the post-sex chemicals flowing through your body. You let yourself grin while you check your phone to see where Liv is at. 

You take another minute, using the mirror to fix your own appearance, aiming for a slightly less obvious version of I just got railed, before meeting your own eyes. For a sobering second you remember you didn’t get a real answer about if he has a girlfriend. He sure as fuck doesn’t act like it, you decide. You shake off the thought. 

He might be a frat bro, he might be a piece of shit, all you know for sure is that he is hot, a good kisser, and he knew how to make you come. Three things you didn’t think you’d find in one guy under this roof. You give yourself a final onceover before heading out of the room and down the stairs. 

You don’t see Oberyn in the first few rooms you pass. You keep looking; he couldn’t have gone far. You’re barely finished that thought when you spot him in the kitchen. The sight makes you stumble, shooting a hand out to the wall to catch your balance. 

He’s leaning casually, with his hip against the counter, as a starry-eyed girl looks up at him, giggling flirtatiously, as she lays a hand along his bicep. 

It’s in slow motion. The way he looks at her hand, the way his eyes trail along her arm, over the curve of her breasts, and down her legs before flitting back to her face with that same sinful smirk you just fell for. 

Your shoulders drop. It’s not like you were planning your wedding or that you even thought a date was on the table—but you didn’t think he’d be on to the next girl before you made it down the stairs. 

You start to recenter yourself, reaching to check your phone again before you look for Liv. 

He sees you before you can mind your business and plan your next move. Catching your eye through the doorway. Before you can formulate a reaction, you’re stuck, held in his gaze. He winks at you again, only this time there’s no question if you were making it up. He winked at you and despite everything, it makes your whole body tingle. 

“I saw that!” Liv shouts into your ear, wrapping an arm around you. “You have to tell me what the fuck that was about. But first can we please get pancakes or cheese fries?”

You don’t bother turning back for a second glance as you follow Liv toward the front door. 

You must understand though the touch of your hand

Makes my pulse react

That it's only the thrill of boy meeting girl

Opposites attract

It's physical

Only logical

You must try to ignore that it means more than that

Oh, oh, oh

What's love got to do, got to do with it?

…..

tags for babes, but no presh:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy 

[charlottecutepie]

stopping by to say how much I love your writing again ;v;!! was wondering if I could request some priest afton content (you know that man would have a god complex) teehee

☥ the fallen one (William Afton x fem!reader)

hi angel! im very happy to know you like my writing! thank u for requesting priest Afton because myself been thinking bout this idea too ᡣ𐭩 im not sure if 2nd part needed but I hope you’ll like this!! also sorry if it’s little, I just wanna write some silly headcanons and blurbs bc big fics take very much strength which I don’t have rn :(

tags: nsfw, smut, au, older man/younger woman, priest!William, William’s pervert thoughts, oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal sex, innaproriate use of cross?, obsessed William, small daddy kink, confessions, church

♡ As the priest, William couldn't help but be drawn to you, the innocent (as he thought) parishioner who often attended his church. Your ethereal beauty stirred something dark within him. Every time you entered the church, William's thoughts were consumed by you. He imagined the feel of your soft skin under his fingertips, the scent of your hair as he leaned in close to whisper prayers in your ear. He knew he shouldn't entertain such impure thoughts, but did he really care? In his twisted fantasies, he imagined you kneeling before him, your eyes pleading for salvation. He couldn't help but imagine you kneeling not in prayer, but in submission before him. That’s not what priest must imagine, right? 

His mind wandered to the most depraved corners of desire. He fantasized about taking you in the sacred confines of the church, defiling the holy sanctum with your shared sin. He imagined bending you over the altar, your body a sacred offering to his carnal desires, each rough thrust ripping off you angelic moans. And yes, he longed to come inside you, the thought of claiming you as his, of filling you with his seed made him feral.

He pictured you kneeling before him, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip. He imagined your warm, wet mouth around his cock, such an angelic sight. He imagined guiding your head, urging you to take him deeper, nearly fucking your cute throat. He could almost feel the tightness of it as you swallowed him whole.

He imagined himself parting your trembling thighs, revealing your pussy to him. He’d eat you out like a man possessed, tongue tracing circles on your clit, sucking and nibbling with a hunger that knew no bounds. The thought of hearing your whimpers of ecstasy, of feeling you arch under him, drove him to the edge of sanity. 

In his thoughts, he pictured you writhing beneath him, your back arched in pleasure as you called out his name in that sweet angelic voice of yours. Your hands would claw at his back as he abused your cunt, your screams growing louder with each hard thrust as he fucks you. 

He imagined circling your cute nipples with a cross, the cool metal pressing against your heated flesh as you let out a sigh, the cool metal sending shivers down your spine. The thought of defiling you in such a manner, of using the symbol of his faith to evoke pleasure, to touch something forbidden, something his eyes mustn’t see.  The sight of you, bathed in the soft glow of the candles, fully exposed in front of him, the devil in saint clothes. That was a sin. 

He heard your voice, soft and pleading, as you begged for more. “Touch me,” you’d gasp. “Use me for your pleasure, daddy. I'm yours, my soul is yours.”

He’d lean in close, his breath hot against your skin as he trails his tongue over your hard nipples. “Do you feel it?” he’d murmur. "Your pussy is so wet for me. Dear God, you're dripping. . .”

His kisses would grow bolder, more aggressive, as his desire for you consumed him. He could almost feel the way your body would respond, the slight arch of your back, the soft sighs and gasps.

William saw himself pulling you closer, your bodies pressed together, his lips moving up to your ear. He would nibble gently on your earlobe, his breath hot and heavy. “You’re mine, every inch of you, every breath, your soul. You belong to me.”

He watched with sinful delight as you moaned in pleasure, your breath coming in ragged gasps. With his other hand, he circled and rubbed your clit sweetly. His fingers danced over your swollen bundle as he watched your needy face. The slickness of your arousal coating his fingers. He’d waste no time thrusting them into you, enjoying the squelching sounds your cunt would made. He’d finger you, at first slow and gently with his thumb on your clit. 

As he felt you clench around his fingers, he closed his eyes and whispered, his voice trembling as his cock hard and throbbing. “Forgive me for i have sinned. But this pussy is just too good, too sweet, too tempting to resist.”

Your moans and whimpers as you take his fingers, echoing in the depths of the church.

William Afton was your master, your tormentor, your God.

However, his idea of you as an innocent being disappeared after one incident.

Taking a deep breath, you whispered. “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

Afton's voice, low and velvety, floated through the lattice screen. “Tell me, my child, what weighs heavy on your soul?”

“I, uh. . .” you stuttered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I. . . touched myself. I pleasured myself,” you confessed in a hushed tone. “I couldn't resist the temptation, Father. The desire was too strong.”

Afton remained silent for a moment, giving you a serious look. “My child, such thoughts and actions are indeed sinful. . .” he started explaining you. “but you are not alone in your struggle.“ although this one he said in his thoughts.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as relief washed over you, “Thank you, Father,” you whispered. “I needed to confess, to seek redemption for my sins.”

“Rest assured, my child,” Afton replied. “Your sins are forgiven, but remember, temptation lurks around every corner. Stay vigilant, and may the grace of God guide you on your journey to salvation.” 

His thoughts were a chaotic blend of obsession and disgust. He wanted to worship you, to kneel before you as if you were a goddess, to drink in your purity and let it cleanse him of his sins. But at the same time, he wanted to destroy that purity, to fuck you rough and make you scream in agony, in pain, he’d lick your tears and order you to beg forgiveness for your sins, beg God to save you. The more he yearned for you, the more he despised you for making him feel this way. Your every movement, every glance, every smile, laughter seemed to radiate a divine light that both enchanted and tormented him. 

But even as he plotted his next move, a part of him knew that he would always come back to you. You were his obsession, his muse, his greatest sin.

[ellecdc]

hear me out - a remus fic but set in come back be here, like maybe a muggle and remus is instantly smitten but has no idea how to navigate but everyone is pushing for him to actually go for it and it’s just chaos but in the best way possible… regardless come back be here was AMAZING

CBBH Remus x muggle!barista gn!reader

(Pretend they have phones for this okay? Thank you lol)

CW: just fluff, swearing, self deprecation, making a fool of oneself - you know, the remus lupin special

Remus would describe himself as many things.

He was a wizard. He was a werewolf. He was a business owner. He was an uncle. He was a friend. He was a war hero.

He was also, apparently, a coward.

He knows this to be true because he’s sat in the same spot that he’s been haunting all week – a chair in the far back corner of the café – pretending to look over ledgers in his notebook while he actually watches you work.

It’s fucking pathetic, is what it was.

He watched as you smiled politely at every customer in line – even the ones who weren’t as polite to you as Remus thought they ought to be.

He felt silly, really, watching you like a creep. He shouldn’t be here to begin with. He had stumbled upon this café completely by accident two weeks ago whilst in the city to pick up more muggle literature to add to his bookstore on Diagon Alley.

It was here he saw you, as if you were a siren calling him to this sodding caffeinated inlet to damn him to hell.

What a willing victim he was. 

But he shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t get caught up with you. It was unthinkable. Most witches and wizards would have a hard time coming to terms with someone like, well, someone like him. 

He was a burden. A risk.

It was selfish to think he could entertain the thought of you.

Suddenly, as if she’d known he was talking poorly of himself, his phone buzzed.

Remus tried to steal himself as he took a deep breath. 

Right Lupin, you’ve done scarier things before. He thought to himself. You’ve run with wolves, you’ve gone undercover into enemy bases, you’ve deceived the dark lord right in front of his slimy fucking face, and you’ve even told Sirius once you thought his hair looked weird. By all means, you can talk to a barista.

Except...well...he really kind of couldn’t talk to a barista. He had made it all the way to the counter, even smiled politely at you as he stepped up to the cash register and...

And then words left him. Failed him. Completely abandoned him. He even thinks there may be a little stickie note in his brain that says ‘resignation effective immediately’ where words should be because he’s staring right at you with your gorgeous eyes and lovely hair and perfect features and for fuck sakes why isn’t he saying anything!?!?!

“Is there something I can get for you?” You asked so sweetly like this bloke wasn’t standing with his mouth agape at your cash register making a sure and utter fool of himself; like you had all the time in the world for the poor bastard.

“Uhm, uh...” He tried finally as if only now realizing he had functioning vocal chords. 

“Uhm, fuck, I’m so sorry uhm...”

You chuckled at him. Holy shit you chuckled at him. It was the most beautiful sound Remus thinks he may have ever heard. He hoped you’d do it again, though, at the rate he’s going it was really very likely. 

“I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not usually like this. Uh,” He apologized awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck. 

“I hope this isn’t too forward, but I think you’re lovely and would, uh, like to get to know you. You don’t have to say anything now!” He interrupted as you began to interject. “In fact, for my pride's sake, I’d prefer if you didn’t. But I’d like to leave my number here for you, in case you’d like to text me some time.” 

He offered you the kindest smile he could muster as you took the now crumpled and sort-of-damp-from-his-sweaty-palms note in your hand with a smile of your own.

Now, Remus wouldn’t say he ran out of the café, per se. He would describe it as more of a jaunt, or perhaps a brisk walk. But he did nearly take out a woman with a pram as he all but flung the door open in his haste to get away. 

You stupid ridiculous bastard. He scolded himself as he made his way to the closest apparition point. If Sirius could see you know, you’d never hear the end of it.

His phone buzzed and Remus nearly dropped it in his haste thinking it might be Sirius having somehow actually seen what just took place.

Then he nearly dropped it again as he saw a new text from an unknown number.

Perhaps Remus wasn’t such a coward after all.

[cartierdreamx]

Fire and Desire (18+)

Hey loves! Hope you’re well <3 Just a little fic, I got the idea at 4am LOLLL, it’s my first time writing smut, and angst so I’m so so sorry if it’s bad 😭, but I do hope you guys enjoy, maybe I’ll write a part 2 if you guys enjoy these enough. The fic was also inspired by two songs, Fire and Desire - Drake and Wish You Were Sober - Conan Gray, two different genres of music but I love both songs soooo, which is also one of the reasons why I named the fic “Fire and Desire.” Sorry about the angst in advance hehe. 

If you would like to be apart of a taglist so you know if or when I drop PT2, comment down below too!!

Anyways sit back, relax (well maybe not after reading the angst LOL SORRY), and enjoy the fic!! <3 J 

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader

Warnings: SMUT (sex, fingering, eating out, dirty talk), ANGST!! 

This fic is STRICTLY 18+, as it involves adult themes, minors DNI, you are responsible for your own social media intake, which includes reading entertainment which this fic falls under, so one last warning- this fic is 18+. Thank you!

~~ 

Her body was my altar where I laid my hands on her sacred space, my body is her holy grail where my oceans is her gift to behold.

If the stars ever aligned for anybody, they aligned for you, for you and Jenna that is. Two naïve women who sought love and lust but could never tell the difference. Jenna was your co-star in a yet to be released romance movie “The Language of Love,” and to your delight, you were each other’s love interest, beforehand, you hate to admit it, but you did have a slight crush on Jenna, I mean, who wouldn’t? You never sought after it though, it was just a silly celebrity crush. Or so you thought, Jenna took a liking to you quickly and the connection you guys developed spread like wildfire, it was like you knew her in another dimension. Of-course, you being you developed feelings, love, or lust? You could never tell the difference, but the stars were aligned for you remember? Jenna felt the same, the only thing is she felt lust, she had an intense desire for you, for your sanction, but most importantly, for your soul. And this intense desire for your soul is why you couldn’t tell if what you guys had was love or lust. Lust. It became lust quick, maybe it was wrong because you wanted more but you had to keep her, you had to have her, and she had to have you. So, you guys did, friends with benefits that is.

 ~~

“Fuck y/n… you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Jenna breathes, hot, upon your skin.

 She sat on top of your lap; you were seated on the couch, she had control, you were taller and bigger than her, but during sex she had power, a power so strong she made you feel small, she was a goddess, and you were just a worshiper.

 “Y-yes” you panted, you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed her in you. You escape the grasp of her hands that was holding your wrists down beside you and grab a hold of her cheeks pulling her into your taste, she tasted sweet with a hint of salt from the lone sweat that squeezed through gaps onto your tongue, your tongues fighting for power turned into delightful dancing, both organs swaying with each other.

 “Fuck, Jenna, I need you in me.” You pleaded.

“Not that easy, amor, be a good girl and beg, beg for me or I leave.”

 You scoff, looking her up and down, at the same time calling her bluff.

 “Well okay, if that’s what you want.” Jenna kisses your sweaty forehead and hops off your lap, as she starts to walk away you grab her wrist.

“No wait, Jen, please stay.” Staring to beg.

 She walks slowly towards you, enticing you with every step she takes closer. Knowing she wants more, you keep going.

 “Jenna Marie Ortega, I’ve never needed someone so bad, your heat is what I want upon my body, the taste of your tongue is my craving, you run through my mind like a marathon and if anyone could read my mind, they’d think I’m insane, please baby, I need you, I need you inside of me.” You begged.

You begged and she provided.

 “My good girl. Your wish is my command.”

 She sat on top of you once more and spread your legs wide, allowing yourself to welcome her in, you laid soft kisses on her neck as she traced her slender cold digits on your folds, making you whimper.

 “Patience is a virtue, baby.” She states.

 You keep placing soft baby kisses upon her skin, with tracks of your cherry flavoured ChapStick running from her collarbones to the edge of her jawline and your most favourite, her neck. And without warning, she dives in, propelling her ring and middle finger into you with exertion, making you buck your hips and

 “Fuck, Jen, you feel so good.” You praised.

 “Yeah? You like that don’t you, y/n?” She continues, using a come-hither motion, reaching your g-spot every time, with every stroke, your moans grew in decibels. Your ocean lubricates her fingers, making her ease into you even more, your insides pulsate with heat, grasping her as she continues, and for the cherry on top she placed her thumb on your throbbing clit, making you gasp.

 “Mhmh, Buena niña, that’s it, keep moaning, I know you’re close.”

She was right, you were close, your sinuses opened, your muscles tensed preparing for your orgasm.

 “Jenna, oh my God, please, I need to cum, keep going.” You begged.

“That’s my little slut.” She praised. “Say my name, y/n.”

“Jenna, please. Jenna, Fuck.”

“Nope, wrong name.”

“Mommy, fuck, please, let me cum.”

“When I get to 1, hold it in for me, baby. “

“Mommy.” You pleaded.

“5.” She quickens her pace; how could you hold it in till 1?

“4.” She slows down her thumb, making sure to get every angle of your clit, you have to hold it in, you can’t cum before 1.

“3.” She sticks her tongue down your throat, taking her soft organ in.

“2.”

This is it.

“You got this baby, nearly there, say my name, my actual one. 1.”

 Your orgasm crashes into you like a semi-truck, making your legs shake that she bounces up and down.

 “FUCKKK, Jenna, fuck.” You praised and panted at the same time.

 She giggles, and kisses your forehead, slowing down her pace, helping you ride out the high. Once your muscles relax and she hears you gasp for air, she takes her fingers out of you and runs your slick along your jaw and over your mouth, before she places it into her own, licking every bit of you off, but she missed a spot, your mouth. She giggles even more and goes in for a kiss.

 “You were so good, baby.” You praised her more.

“Always for you.”

 She sits next to you and caresses your hand, waiting for both of you to catch your breath so aftercare can take place. But you had other plans. You couldn’t let her have all the fun tonight. So, without warning, you tower over her and grab her neck, each finger found its place around her body part.

 “My turn.” You snicker, she licks her lips and bites it making a soft tut sound, knowing she’ll be in for a ride. Your tongue glides in her mouth, allowing her to take you in, that doesn’t last long as you glide your tongue down her neck, licking her every flavour, slowly making your way down to her abdomen where you spread her legs wide open so your tongue can meet with her clit. You lay your tongue flat on her tongue, making her gasp with delight.

 “Yes, y/n, you feel so good.” She praises you, making your heart beat faster.

 You flick your tongue up, making her jerk with excitement. “Fuck, yes, keep going.” She urges, now her turn to beg, allowing your hunger for her to grow stronger. You feel a warm slick coat your chin.

 “Hmph, you’re wet already? How pathetic.” You tease.

 You continue to suck on her clit, taking her in with fire and desire, with every suck, her moans deepen, her speech stutters, rendering her speechless with every move you make.

 “Shit, baby, I’m close.” She exclaims.

“Already?” You speak with pride.

“Your performance last round had me riled up, but anyways, keep going, don’t stop.”

 You leave her pulsating and wet clit, her being so wet, her juices spread to your tongue. You make your way to her entrance; she welcomes you in by pushing your head closer to her pussy entrance.

 You tease her more, “patience is a virtue.”

 “Baby, please, I’m so close.” She exclaims, while grabbing your hair, the sting hurts so good. You stick your tongue in, going in and out while devouring her juices and folds, sucking with every might you have. She likes it, loves it. Her pulling gets harder and harder, as you go down on her harder and harder.

 “Fuck, yes, right there.”

 And with one final insert, you hook your tongue up, hitting her g-spot.

 “OH MY GOD Y/N, YES, FUCK.”

 You kiss her pussy, helping her ride out the orgasm, as she did you.

 As you both sit up, both of you guys start laughing,

 “hahaha, fuck what a night.”

“I agree, I’m so glad you came over.”

“Always, for you.” You stood up throwing on your sweats, the same ones, Jenna eagerly tore off when the night started, you head towards the kitchen and grab two waters and a few snacks.

 “Here, love, drink and eat up.”

“Thank you, amor.” She reaches out for you, taking you in so your head rests upon her chest, hearing her heart beat with might.

 Your heart matches hers, well to be fair, she has yours, but did you have hers?

 “Jen?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re so beautiful, you know that.”

She smiles, “I made you cum that good? Haha, you’re beautiful too.” She says back, kissing your forehead.

 “Well, I should probably go, early day tomorrow.” She says to you, while sitting up.

“Wait Jen, why don’t you stay the night?”

“That’s nice of you, love, but you know I can’t”.

“You know,” you start, about to take a very big leap and confess your love to her. “If we were to make us official, we wouldn’t have to hide and sneak around.”

 With an apologetic gaze, she furrows her eyebrows and looks down at her feet.

 “What?” She questions.

“Us, official, no one occupies my heart but you.”

“Y/n… You’re a great friend, and I love you so so so much, but we can’t, I’m sorry.”

 She scrambles for her bag and starts heading towards the door, she turns the handle and as you hear the click, she turns back at you.

 “We’re just sex y/n.”

 ~~

It’s been a week since your unrequited love mishap and not even an ‘I’m sorry from her’, work has been awkward, you’re an actress and so is Jenna, so hiding the way you both truly feel was an ease, feeling the sorrow was another thing, the only contact you and her made was during scenes, however, it didn’t help that you’re each other’s love interests. But lucky for you, it’s Friday, meaning you could wallow in self-pity for the entire weekend, you know you should try to get over her but when the stars aligned for you, how could you get over her?

 That night, after drowning your sorrows in pistachio ice cream a bunch load of gummy candy, chips, and takeout, accompanied by a Twilight marathon. Just before you call it a night, you hear 3 loud knocks, who could be at your door at nearly 2am in the morning? With caution, because you weren’t expecting anyone, when your sight aligns with the peep hole, your heart and stomach drops. Jenna. Confusion takes over you, what was Jenna doing at your apartment at 2am? She didn’t text you either, you see a mixture of rain and sweat on her forehead with loose pieces of hair sticking to her, making you giggle. You open the door.

 “Jenna? What’re you doing here.”

 “Hi, hi.” She says shivering, her arms hugging herself, to keep herself warm, her leather jacket wasn’t doing the job.

 “Oh, yes, sorry, come in, I’ll get you a blanket.”

 She takes a step in and takes off her wet shoes and stumbles her way towards your couch. You on the other hand make your way towards the guest bedroom and grab a spare blanket from the dresser, too occupied to see her stumbling. You make your way towards her and wrap her in the blanket.

 “Jen, are you okay? What’re you doing here?”

 “Hmmm,” she smiles and leans towards your shoulder, “I miss you y/n, baby.” She slurs.

 You scrunch your eyebrows as your realisation sets in, “Jen, are you drunk?”

 “Mhmhm, what a detective you are.”

 “Love, are you okay? How’d you get here?” You raise your concern.

 “Yesssss, duhhhhhh, and UUUUUBERRRRRRR, c’mon baby. I was at the local bar, and the bartender was my therapist, and as each second lingered, the thought of-.” You see her cheeks inflate, that’s not good. You know that sign all too well.

 “Oh! Jen here, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

 “No, I’m fine.” She assures.

 “Okay, fine, but here drink some water and eat something.”

 “You’re too good to me y/n. I don’t deserve you, anyway, the thought of you grew strongerrrrrrrrr.”

 Your heart races, does she know what she’s telling me? You try to brush it off, but your heart grew stronger and the blood in your cheeks rises, making you heat up and your cheeks blush. When you thought she couldn’t make you blush even more, she grabs your face, bringing you an inch away from hers, you can feel her breath and hear her breathing.

 “Y/n, I’m sorry for what I said, I-I was just scared, I love you.”

 With those three words, you were sure your heart stopped.

 “Jen…”

 “Shh don’t speak, just kiss me.”

 “No, baby, I can’t, you’re drunk.”

 “Boooooo, I miss your lips, but like you said, my heart is yours, and yours only, the love I have only speaks your name and the stars aligned for us that day, no soul could compare to yours, the one that fulfills mine.”

 You were silent. So silent, you swear your quickening heart beat filled the room.

 “Y/n, say something, please.”

 “Jen,” you pause, “you don’t mean that, we’re just sex, remember?” You see the light in her eyes sadden, you feel sorry for reminding her, but to be fair, she broke your heart first. “Come here.” You embrace her and provide her with comfort, her scent was heaven, like a vanilla soft serve or freshly baked cookies. She kisses your neck, with her soft plump lips, that alone had you weak in the knees, that alone nearly made you fold, that alone brought your sorrows back knowing she’s drunk and doesn’t mean what she’s saying, it’s just her guilt talking. You keep repeating. You feel her head relax, which means she fell asleep, you giggle, lifting her up and you make your way towards your bedroom, placing her down gently, taking off her jacket and placing your hoodie on her, which was always too big for her. You place a water bottle on the side table and some snacks, in case she got hungry or thirsty, which is a guarantee when drunk. You take a deep breath and take her beauty in, no words could exult her beauty, as you turn away you hear her mumble,

 “Y/n, stay.”

 As much as you want to, you know you can’t, you couldn’t, she wouldn’t remember tonight and she can’t wake up confused in your bed with you right next to her, God, what would she think then?

 “Goodnight, amor, sleep tight.”

 And with that, you leave your room with a heavy heart, you take another deep breath and with that, you pass out on your couch.

 When you woke, you take a second to remember the events of last night, lucky for you, Jenna wasn’t awake yet, so you decide to make some breakfast for the two of you, preparing yourself for any awkwardness that will ensue. You whip up waffles, eggs with spinach, bacon, and some chicken tenders to go with the waffles and a cantaloupe smoothie.

 When Jenna woke, she had a raging headache, no shit, she drank so much last night it could knock a few people out but despite her small stature, she was no light weight. However, there was one feeling that ached her, that was worse than the headache, despair, regret, sorrow, every connotation, she felt it, the smell of sweet cinnamon and savoury bacon calmed her down, knowing it was in your nature to do this for her, it felt like home, maybe this is home, but she shakes the feeling away as embarrassment seeps in. Fuck. What did I do, what am I doing here.

 As you set the food out onto the table she walks out of the room and glances at you with a soft smile.

 “Morning,” she says softly.

 “Morning, Jen, uh, here have some food, and there’s Panadol in the cabinet for your headache, I know you have one.” Taking a soft hit at her.

 She couldn’t help but giggle, she knows you know her too well, and she knows you too well as well, she knows you were watching Twilight despite it not being on when she stumbled into your living room.

 “Uh, look, y/n.”

 That’s not good, last time she said that she was rejecting your love, but either way you brace yourself for what’s about to happen.

 “Thank you for all this, I really do appreciate it, but.”

 “I know.” You cut her off. By now, you don’t know what takes a hold of you, but you don’t stop speaking.

 “We’re just sex, well we were just sex, I don’t know what we are anymore Jen, you haven’t spoken to me this entire week.”

 “Only because you’ve been avoiding me y/n.” She stabs back.

 “And whose fault is that?” Instant regret sets in. You see her eyes water. Fuck.

 “I don’t even know why I came here; it was a mistake.” She exclaims in monotone voice.

 “Well,” you keep going, omg, y/n shut up, before you make this worse. “Let me remind you, you come to me, unannounced, drunk, and a mess, the first time we’ve properly talked in a week, and you pour your heart out, telling me how much you love me and how your love is only meant for me.” You try your hardest to keep the tears in, but Jenna? Tears were rolling down her face.

She sniffles, “yeah, okay, you know what? I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have said those things, I don’t even know why I did, I DIDN’T MEAN IT.” She raises her voice, making your heartstrings snap.

 “What?” You quiver.

 “Yeah, that’s right, I never meant a single thing, my love isn’t yours, I. AM. NOT. YOURS. I never loved you, I was just drunk, nothing I said was the truth, so don’t get your hopes up.”

 Silence.

 “So, now you’re quiet? Pathetic.” She spits. She grabs her jacket and starts heading towards the door, “the stars never aligned for us. It was all in your head, I never loved you, in any way. I just used you, used you for sex, mediocre sex, might I add.”

 “You don’t mean that.” The tears building up, you don’t know how long you can hold it in.

 “Yes, yes, I do. Nothing I said was real, no I love you was. Everything I said was a lie, everything I said last night was an even bigger lie, I just wanted sex and plus I was drunk, did you really think I shared the same feelings?”

 You gulp.

 “You’re pathetic and I’m just a good actress, and apparently an even better one when drunk.” And with that she slams your door shut.

 Your body is filled with so many emotions you can’t even begin to name one, anger, hatred, lust, love, sorrow, despair, regret. But there was one thought clear in your head, even when your heart is collapsing on itself.

Wish you were sober.

~~

@pimpcesskm

[fayes-fics]

Hi honeyyyy ❤️ I wanted to know how you think Benedict would react to him learning that his wife is considered a milf amongst his son’s friends? I can totally see him getting jealous me possessive but what are your thoughts

Thank u

Hi there Nonny! 🫶

Ooh I’ve never thought about this sort of question before. 🤔

Yknow I’ve never headcanoned Benedict as that jealous. Yes he’s a little insecure about himself and his place in the world in the show, but I think once he meets the woman who loves him as much as he loves her, he grows more sure of himself and is confident and comfortable with their bond.

I definitely could see him roleplaying as jealous/dominant as sexy fun time with his wife of course (“all those men were looking at you tonight, but you are mine, say it” etc).

I think once they are older and have teenaged children, he would likely find it amusing if their son’s friends fancy her (“they are not wrong my love, you have always been very sexy” and then proceed to ruin her), but he knows, even with greying temples, his wife isn’t going to stray to these silly little boys when she has him, a real man, between her thighs every night. Ya get me?

Also from her perspective she is MORE than satisfied by her husband. Cos if there is one other thing I do headcanon Benedict as, it’s the best fuck ever (he’s all about sensual experiences) - so why would she even entertain the idea of crappy fast food when she has gourmet prized beef at home??! Even into their 50s, she is clutching the headboard every night and screaming.

Anthony on the other hand…. hooo boyyy, he might as well pee a circle around his wife when anyone so much as looks her way, especially teenage boys. Which she finds utterly hilarious. And sexy.

Sorry I wittered on there. I could talk for ages about how I headcanon these boys lol. I could well be way off-base, especially for Benedict as he hasn’t taken central focus yet, but I have a very clear version of them in my head that I of course use when writing fics.

Thanks for your ask, it was fun 😁🧡🧡

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Hi!.🥺💔🤲 for the emoji asks, please!

Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

When one of them, usually James, comes up with some silly little bit (first thing that springs to mind is the "stolen diamonds" exchange after Lily buys James the coffee in WATJP) and the other one immediately picks it up and runs with it. It's such a fun little snapshot of compatibility and playfulness, and also one of my favourite ways to push back against an awful headcanon that I have frequently seen bandied about on Tumblr, which is the idea that Lily and James have a parent and child-like dynamic in which she's constantly sighing and rolling her eyes at his silliness. No thank you. Any time I can squeeze in a moment where she doesn't just entertain his mad notions, but actively appreciates and participates, is just...sigh, chef's kiss for me.

Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Probably Filthy Animals, because I came so close to the finish line but let my own self-doubt pull the ending I had planned to shreds, and now with the way I feel about the police being what it is, the idea of them being coppers isn't even enjoyable to me anymore.

Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

James Potter: so you'll know

Remus Lupin: Know what?

James Potter: that she's not upset

Remus Lupin: Lily?

James Potter: yeah

Remus Lupin: You don't really believe that.

James Potter: yeah i do believe it in fact i don't think she ever was

Remus Lupin: I don't know how to respond to that, except to say that I just don't think that's true.

James Potter: no no it is true she's not upset at all, she doesn't care about how i'm doing or how i'm handling this or how it would make me feel to see those photos if she did she wouldn't have let beatrice post them, would she? i'm stuck here dying and she's in paris drinking champagne and eating escargot or whatever and and laughing and posing for photos with a famous actor's arm around her waist as if everything is all so brilliant and that's not what upset people DO

Remus Lupin: That's what a lot of upset people do, mate. To save face.

James Potter: but SHE doesn't do that! not with me

Remus Lupin: Right, but she doesn't really have you at the moment.

James Potter: i'm right here!

[arliganzey]

Hello!

First of all, I'm living for your Rep Com musings. 😍 As a relatively new fan to the series, I've been wondering how the Skirata gang would handle some of the "official" canon stuff like the inhibitor chips. If you ever have time or inclination, I'd love to know your thoughts. 🥰

K'oyacyi! 😊

Thank you, vod!! I have DO have a lot of thoughts. I've only just bEGUN with my Repcomm BS

So new canon and Republic Commando/Legends canon...

I think a lot of what’s in current SW canon is just incompatible with Repcomm/Legends. Like even entertaining the idea of inhibitor chips in Repcomm, I think the Nulls would have found out when they hacked the systems on Kamino. That derails like a looot of the book plot. Even if they didn't know what the chips would be used for, the idea that there's a way to control all of the clones against their will would make it impossible to continue supporting the war.

I also don't like the inhibitor chips. I think it's a lazy plot device. It also ignores the very easy totally applicable reality that by the third year of the war, there could have been widespread discontent with how the war's been conducted and talk of clones being a 'slave army' to the Jedi.

I think Repcomm did a really good job laying out how Order 66 was totally possible just based on the conduct of the Jedi during the war. And I'm not a Jedi hater! The Jedi Order had its motivations and loyalty the Republic for many reasons. And the moral high ground of thinking they're 'doing the right thing' by keeping the Republic intact.

TCW was a kids show that didn't dig into the morality of the situation and slapped inhibitor chips in the clones.

I have thoughts about the Jedi pertaining to Zey's storyline/motivations, but another time!

The only current SW canon stuff that could have been interesting to see written into the Repcomm series if it was written now is if we had the New Mandalorians/Kryze government and also the diaspora of surviving exiled True Mandalorians with Jango Fett as Manda'lor calling upon the Cuy'val Dar to train the clone army for the Republic. There would be a loooot of explaining to do, I think it would be really hard to argue Jango would do something like that for the Republic when they instilled a 'pacifist' government on Mandalore, even if it was for revenge on the Jedi. But with the right motivations/set pieces it could have been a way to tell the story of the true Mandalorian's cultural genocide and the after effects.

All right, that's enough, getting off my soapbox now~

Idk, I am very happy writing my silly little fics, OCs, and headcanons in the Repcomm/legends canon.

[hopelessdelusional]

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

all of the girls you’ve loved before

EDIT: just realized i fucked up one of the text messages, that migraine was ROUGH

the title kinda doesn’t fit the chapter but it kinda does but i’m so dehydrated and sleep deprived idk

anyways welcome to season two!! thank you all to the folks who have been around for a while-and if ur just now stopping in hello! i’m Ro and i write smaus and fanfiction! rn i’m writing a lot of mha bc brainriot but i pinky promise i’ll do some more fandoms once this series is over 🫶

pls enjoy i love u all💚💚💚💚💚💚💚 once again i’m asking for ideas for fics or just questions abt me!!! if you wanna know what fandoms i’m in or what ships/ x readers i’ll write and make smau’s over i can answer!!! just send me a note for my inbox and it’ll be answered!!

fun facts! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

- GUESS WHO FIGURED OUT HOW TO ADD MORE PHOTOOOOOOOOS “prepare to be sick of me”

- y/n and bkg have been talking non STOP bro like texting calling all that shit, hitoshi is SICK of walking out into the living room or kitchen and seeing y/n on the phone with bkg (even tho she has to deal with him and kaminari but whatever)

- whenever bakugou doesn’t know how to respond to anything he SPRINTS to his friend group, it’s very amusing

- hitoshi and y/n are best friends and spend a lot of time together, thus they are slowly becoming the same person! including their set of questions they like to ask ppl bc it’s “fun”

- when momo is super busy her assistant sometimes reads her messages just in case there’s no emergency or anything and always giggles when it’s one of her friend’s having a meltdown (especially with the gc name, very entertaining to see ur boss be in a gc like that)

- bakugou also asked y/n a bunch of questions one night and that’s what lead to them ranking all the t.s albums (it ended in chaos)

- (bakugou listened to taylor swift after that call)

- hitoshi and shoto know literally everything abt each other, either as dirt or just out of love, no one knows

- (it’s out of love)

- mina and kirishima have been going on a lot of dates recently….who knows what will happen………

- i did random users guys 😁😁😁😁 how do we feel😁😁😁😁

- y/n sees said tweet and… goes a little silly if you will

- yeah toshi and kami are so gay even random strangers can tell bruh

-kami is a bit of an idiot for not just, texting, toshi but whatever we still love him

←Prev˚✧ Next →

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·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ TAGLIST IS OPEN just message or comment: @iiilovemilfs @0anodite0 @bakugouswh0r3 @amethyst123 @nijirosz @bakugoukatsukiwifiu @allnamesredacted @ch3rryhaze @ectoplasmictoast @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tati-the-fangirl @autumnfay @call-me-prodigy @chuugarettes

[bjarkanart]

I've read A LOT of Imodna fanfics (no joke, I have 90 tabs worth of Imodna content open on my phone, don't ask me how I got to this point) and one of my favourite fics has Laudna as a florist and Imogen as a tattoo artist, the title of this fic is "I build my house up on this rock, baby (every day with you)" check it out, it's great.

Anyway, right as I was trying to fall asleep it made me think of an idea:

Imodna AU where Laudna's a baker and her shop would be called 'Form of Bread'...

I don't even know what Imogen would do, but maybe she'd be new in town and she'd live close to Laudna's bakery or something. Laudna would be kinda famous for baking delicious but horrifying and oddly cute looking cakes (cause kids like fun scary, right?), so Imogen would go from time to time, until she'd go pretty much everyday cause she'll start having a crush on her and Laudna would start baking extra cute things for Imogen but as the useless lesbian she is, Imogen doesn't get the hint that Laudna's interested, so you can guess how it goes, and the rest of Bell's Hells would be both entertained and annoyed and try to help.

Man, I had no idea where I was going with this 😂

Anyway, that's just a silly little idea I had and what brought this on was really just the idea of a bakery being called Form of Bread that was so funny to me and my fried and tired brain at the time.

Also, I'm not a writer so I wouldn't really know how to go about writing this fic, but in my head, the story is fun.

(I've been trying to write a fanfic for the last two years for another fanbase and I've been stuck at 16 pages, I suck at writing, art is definitely more my thing)

But yeah there you go! If you went through the whole thing, I don't know how you did it, but thanks a bunch and have a good one 😂

And if anyone finds this and decides to use this idea, please let me know I'd love to read it (if I haven't already found it, of course)

[wetcatspellcaster]

I hope this isn't too personal. If it is, I apologize and you can obviously ignore it! But you've mentioned how there was a period where you were going through some stuff and stopped writing. I had the same thing happen, and things are better (yay for both of us getting through Stuff), but my writing still hasn't come back, and it's been years. I know you said BG3 itself helped bring it back, but did you do anything to help force yourself back into writing mode? Just wondering if you had any tips or anything. Thanks!

hey anon, I'm really sorry to hear that you're struggling to write. I'm going to do my best to answer but I've found writers block to be a highly personal thing so I'm not sure what I did works for everyone!

I've had two periods of writing block - one was years long due to having a high pressure university degree and then general life stuff after (18-26) the other was due to depression and something in a fandom upsetting me to the point where I didn't want to interact anymore.

So the first piece of advice I have is, work out what the root cause of the issue is, and address it! Which sucks! It's basically therapy! It feels very silly to even be advising it. But for my first writers block I realised I was putting too much pressure on myself - I wanted everything I wrote to be Meaningful and Perfect - so I devised the silliest and most entertaining writing project I could ever imagine for myself and got rid of expectation, and this broke through the block entirely. I began thinking of writing as a hobby I do for fun rather than a vocation or future profession, etc. I came to this drug late, so people who've been writing fic for longer probably won't find that novel - but I did! For the second issue, I took a break and then I readjusted how I interact with fandom. I probably seem quite antisocial at times to others, but I've just changed my boundaries to make it so I'm comfortable and so I keep writing. I realised that I didn't like the grounds on which I'd been operating on ao3 so I changed them - the block shifted again.

Often, it's not the writing that you're struggling with, necessarily, it's something else in the mix that's preventing you from doing it. See if you can find out what that is!

The second part of your question is 'how do you force writing back'... I don't think you can, honestly. Placing pressure on yourself, I've found, always backfires. But my advice for getting started writing again after a break is as follows:

Make a really fun project, as silly or cringe or self-indulgent as possible. Something you are genuinely excited about putting down on paper. Something that feeds you specifically. from a favourite maladaptive daydream, to a silly one shot, to a laundry list of all your favourite fictional things.

If you feel like you literally can't write sentences, bullet point something instead. This means that you won't feel guilt about losing the idea you've had, but also i've found that whenever I return to bullet points, it's easier to start writing bc it's not a blank page. Whatever your notes are, I promise they will be useful. If you write them in a low energy time and come back to them at a higher energy time, even better, bc past-you has literally set up a little springboard for you once you have the bandwidth to jump!

Reduce pressure. This one is very personal so it'll seem vague. Reducing pressure could be not publishing anything until it's finished. Reducing pressure could be publishing or sharing with friends immediately, so you get support and motivation to help you keep going and don't feel like you're working alone. Reducing pressure could be to pick the easiest project you have first, so you do something that maybe feels simplistic at the time, but it helps you build confidence for facing more ambitious projects later.

I don't know if any of that is helpful, but I've honestly found that for me, keeping writing as fun as possible has been what allows me to keep doing it. Any time I feel anxiety or stress creeping in, I try to remind myself of that by any means necessary.

[vostok3-ka]

For the ask game hehe ❌💖✨

Hi hi howdy! Thank you so much for the ask <333 I hope you are well :D

❌ - Heh so, one trope that I will never, ever write is anything sexual. I just- feel uncomfortable doing so. I will gleefully jump at the chance to write horror, psychological drama, and intense angst, but sexual, that's where I dip. I also won't write Reader tropes, as it simply isn't to my taste at all. Another thing I won't write, and I don't know if this counts as a trope, is Stucky. I just can't write them like that. I see this mostly as brothers, as really close, tight friends, and although I will read Stucky sometimes (i have a few fics in mind that i would absolutely devour) I simply am not able to get them as a romantic relationship into words. They're forever friends to me, really close friends. Friends who will die in the other's arm simply to save them, friends who will cuddle up together to keep warm, and bring comfort to the other without it ever going further. I cannot express how much delight it brings me when I find fics like that!

💖 - OOH I like this question. Honestly what made me start writing was the need to put my emotions into words, to put what I feel onto paper, which is probably why I started out writing poetry, about four? years ago, so that's what I feel most comfortable with honestly. Prose is fresh to me, which is why I struggle a little with pacing, and dialogue more than I do with imagery and description. Also, more recently, what made me start writing fics, was the despair I felt at not being able to find what I want to read, so I simply decided to write what I want to read for my own silly entertainment. That's about it really! The urge to put feelings into paper, and the want to read fics I cannot otherwise find ;D

✨ - This is such a sweet ask to receive, and yet probably the hardest. I am incredibly insecure when it comes to my writing and I feel so bad complimenting it, as I don't have a lot of experience with prose, but I have to say, I like how my fic ideas can be a little different than other fics. I haven't seen a fic getting Bucky hooked on morphine before, and I haven't seen a fic based around the Trans-Siberian express either, as well as a fic exploring Rumlow and Bucky's relationship post TFAWS (Rumlow is alive in my mind hehe) while they wrestle with supernatural elements. I also like my characterization of the Winter Soldier. I know that's a bit weird to say, but I like the way I don't make him incompetent and, to be very blunt, an idiot. He is a well-trained assassin. Sure, Hydra treated him terribly, and he is eternally confused and taken advantage of, dissociated half the time, etc., but in the scenes we see him as the Winter Soldier, he is commanding other agents, he has emotion, and he speaks normally, even going as far as cursing. I like to think that he has SOME form of autonomy and own thoughts, as twisted and little as it is, and I try my best to convey that when I write him as the Winter Soldier.

Thanks again for the ask, this was so much fun, and expect some your way as well ;)

[harpywritesfic]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Occupational Hazards has taken up my writing brain for so long that I barely remember what else I’ve written 🥲

Wait, new problem. I’m looking at my ao3 and most of my fics are old and I don’t even like them that much anymore 😭 looking back on old work is always tough but it’s because I’ve improved, right? I hope that’s why.

Occupational Hazards

(7k, Ironstrange, h/c, comedy)

I worked HARD on this one and I’m proud of it. It’s my longest fic at 7k and it’s got 69 kudos right now. My favorite tag on it is “Petplay mention (approved by management)”. It’s a gift fic and the recipient okayed my petplay joke.

2. When you’re drunk, every idea is a good idea

(1k, Tony and Scott, crack-ish)

I had so much fun writing this one but it hasn’t gotten much attention. Uncommon pairing I guess. It’s just Tony and Scott getting drunk and doing dumb shit. It’s fun. Favorite tag: “non-sexual whipped cream”.

3. Is Garlic Bread A Concern?

(3k, Ironstrange, h/c mostly?)

This one’s two years old but it gets extra points for being a vampire fic. For all my obsession with vampire Stephen, I’ve only written one vampire fic. Favorite tags: “Blood, obviously”.

4. Pain’s an old friend

(2k, Ironstrange, h/c)

One of the old ones but I don’t hate it. I mean, two years isn’t really that old but it feels old to me. That’s when I started posting things. This was like, my fourth fic. This one has one of my favorite comments, “I think I found the single most depressing Stephen Strange line ever...”.

5. Ulterior Motives

300, Ironstrange, smut that serves as comedy and is not sexy at all

Did you know that 50% of men over 50 have an enlarged prostate? Do you want to read what I wrote after learning that? Favorite tag: “I want you to remember this when I inevitably climb on my bottom Stephen soapbox”.

You know, when I started posting I thought I’d write a lot of h/c since that’s my favorite thing to read. But I’ve written so many silly little fun things. I have a million h/c wips, so I think it’s because I’m more likely to finish something exciting and funny. Curse my adhd! I can finish fun, quick, entertaining stories much easier, I guess. I get a shiny new crack idea and it takes over my mind. If you catch me writing a long fic it’s safe to assume I’ve been possessed.

Thanks for the ask!! Sorry I’ve been gone lately, I don’t even have a good reason.

[gumnut-logic]

Sweetapple Slices - Slice One

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way

I posted one of the OC questionnaire meme thingies and when I received some asks, I realised I could only communicate with my OCs through fic.

So for Alex, introducing Sweetapple Slices - short fics I can answer questions with :D

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

@idontknowreallywhy asked:

If your character had to get a tattoo, what would it be?

This was written between work shifts so done in a massive hurry. i hope it works. Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the quick read through :D

-o-o-o-

“No, Erry, no.”

“Aw, you are a spoil sport. Here I was thinking I could get a little apple in support.”

Alex starred at her. “It’s permanent, Erica. What if you end up hating me, you’d have to burn it off or something.”

She stared up at him, quite frankly as if he was a silly moron. “Don’t be silly.” Well, he was half right. “I could never hate you. You are just too adorable.” She reached up as if to pinch his cheek, but he ducked away.

She grinned and grabbed one of his fries instead and stuck between hot pink lips. “Wuss.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because we are a good together. We make excellent multifunctional polymers. And without me you would never have thought to, much less approached, the mighty Scott Tracy with your brilliant idea.” She stole another fry just for emphasis.

He stared at her, but ultimately he had to smile. How could he anything but? Erica was multicoloured today - pink lips, blue hair propped up in pigtails, and a shade of sparkly green eyeshadow that just added to her overall level of glowing radioactivity.

“You’re dangerous.”

“And don’t you forget it.” He lost another fry.

“You do have your own, you know.”

“Not as entertaining.” She swooped in for another, but he moved the remainder out of her reach.

She pouted a moment, but then grinned at him. “See, you can learn.”

He fought back the urge to throw all his fries at her head.

“But, come on, seriously, you wouldn’t want to get a tattoo? Not even one that says ‘Virgil forever’ or ‘He’s my thunder’…oh, oh, ‘Rescue me, baby’ with a love heart.

He found himself staring at her again. None of those were worth any comment at all. “So do you have a tattoo?”

“Of course.” She suddenly found the street outside the cafe much more interesting than poking fun at him. In that direction lay the tattoo parlour that had started this whole discussion.

“Well?”

“Nope. Not telling unless you get one, too.” She snuffed her nose at him. “No tatts, no tales.”

“I could ask Fireman Fred.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!” But then she realised how much she was revealing and she settled back. “He doesn’t know anyway. So, hmph!”

“Really? You have all the eyes for him, Ery. No action?”

“Mind your business.”

He burst out laughing. “So you can mind mine, but I can’t yours?”

“Exactly. Besides, if I didn’t mind yours, all sorts of things could happen.” Her hands were gesturing about as if she was trying to contain and enunciate the concept.

“Like what? The end of the world as we know it?”

“Pretty much.”

And that was the end of that because he happened to look at his watch and apparently talking about getting tattoos had eaten their entire lunch break. They were now five minutes late in getting back to the convention centre.

Damnit.

There followed the jamming of fries in his mouth, sculling the coffee that was barely passable - he wouldn’t be coming back here again - and dashing out the door like a pair of teenagers late for class.

He did eye the tattoo parlour one more time as they ran past, though…

If he did return three days later, after the dregs of the convention had finished, on the last night before flying back to Māhia, when Erica was otherwise occupied, he certainly wasn’t going to mention it.

And if sitting down at work for the next week required just a little extra care, he still wasn’t going to say anything.

It was worth it.

Because if Virgil ever did get around to discovering the tiny silhouette of Thunderbird Two on his right buttock, he was hoping it would get kissed better.

Much better.

-o-o-o-

[waytooinvested]

fanfic writer questions

Thanks for the tag @sssammich! I haven't done one of these in years, I'm excited :D

1- How many works do you have on AO3?

Only 11, but a couple are long ones (100,000+ words)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

406,700 and counting - one of those is a WIP that will have a lot more to add so I MAY make it to 500,000 in the coming months, if I write another couple of short ones on top.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now I'm just writing for Supergirl (and supercorp specifically). In the past I wrote a lot for Call the Midwife (Patsy x Delia, my beloveds), and I have written one small one for Strange the Dreamer, just because I had an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I got it out.

I tend to be a bit all or nothing with fandom, so I am usually only in one at a time.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Hands I Used to Touch (Patsy/Delia - Call the Midwife) by a landslide. It also (briefly) had the most comments of any fic in the fandom which was very cool (it was the one I was writing for longest during the peak engagement era for the pairing, but still it is my crowning achievement as a fic writer haha)

After that Vengeance, Victory and Undying Love (Supercorp), Little Things Mean A Lot tied with A Paper Bag of Pick n Mix (both Patsy/Delia), and Storybooks and Siren Suits (also Patsy & Delia, but as children so not a romantic pairing)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Definitely! I try to respond to every comment, because they mean so much to get and I want the people taking the time to write them to know they are extremely appreciated. Also I have made some wonderful friends that way!

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

I am allergic to angsty endings! Angsty beginnings? Almost inevitable. Angsty middles, sure. Angsty ENDINGS? Never. So angstiest: maybe "The Static of Distance" from my Paper Bag of Pick n Mix, because they are still half a world away from each other during a threat of nuclear war. But even so it's only an angsty ending if you squint really hard.

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

They all have pretty unambiguously happy endings honestly, I'm not sure I could pick between them!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I don't think I've ever had hate as such. Some maybe less than whole heartedly positive responses, though most of that was when I was teasing an apparently dark character arc before a twist and making people worried about what I was up to. But see above re: all of my fics having absolutely unambiguously happy endings, so we got there eventually.

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

Not so far - I think the closest I have come was my wife and I writing a silly crack fic together that involved smut, but it was not at all meant to be actually sexy and we never posted it anywhere, sooo...

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

Not typically, but there was A Misplaced Midwife, in which Barbara from Call the Midwife (a fairly sheltered young 1960s midwife played by Charlotte Ritchie) traded places with Hannah from Siblings (a modern day selfish, chaotic disaster human also played by Charlotte Ritchie) and how they got along in each other's lives. It was silly and crack-y but a lot of fun to write.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, thankfully!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Alas, no

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

The aforementioned crack fic with @cynicalrainbows but that was just for our own entertainment. She also contributed several lines/ideas to A Misplaced Midwife. I don't think I have apart from that.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I only really have two that I've been invested enough to fic about it, and while my current all consuming obsession is Supercorp, I have only been in it for a couple of months compared to the years long love affair with Patsy/Delia that also led to me meeting my wife and many good friends. So for now, Patsy/Delia still reign supreme. We'll see if that is still the case in a few more months!

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

I try to always finish my fics, but I do have one unfinished wip on my conscience, and that's Storybooks and Siren Suits. I still open it and do battle with progress now and again just in the hopes that I will manage to drag it across the finish line and put it to bed once and for all, but so far nothing doing. It remains stuck on the same chapter it has been stuck on since 2021.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Oh no don't make me pay myself compliments... Angst with happy endings? That is not really so much a writing strength as just a description of the type of story I write, but shh. I guess I got a lot of compliments on characterization back in my Call the Midwife days. Whether that follows through to Supercorp remains to be seen. I like how I'm writing them, at least!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My dialogue transitions tend to be clunky, at least so I'm finding lately. Also I am a total feast or famine writer, so any kind of sensible process or schedule discipline is completely non existent.

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

I avoid it for the most part because I would certainly make a mess of it, though I have one or two very very brief bits here and there. I think the longest piece was a character recalling their own long distant school french, which contained deliberate mistakes the character was making that acted as excellent cover for the genuine mistakes I no doubt also made.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I'm trying to recall if I ever wrote anything as a young teenager for Buffy The Vampire Slayer (Willow/Tara, naturally), but I don't think I did, and if so it definitely stayed as tucked away in an old notebook never to see the light of day. The first proper/definite one was Call the Midwife, just after they decided it would be a good idea to hit Delia with a car and give her amnesia right at the moment she and Patsy were about to move in together.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Well right now it's Forgotten Not Forgiven for sure, because that's where my obsession is currently living.

Of all time though? Probably still The Hands I Used to Touch, because I poured everything into it at the time and it played such a big part in me finding my feet in the fandom world. No pressure to do this at all of course but tagging @cynicalrainbows @fabulousglitch, @shut-up-heather-d and @fazedlight as people I know write fic and may enjoy this if you haven't done it already. Anyone else interested feel free to claim me as your tagger, I would love to see your responses!