#this was to try prepare me for writing fanfiction

[secondwatchers]

hiii! i really enjoy reading your purecacao fanfiction you’re one of the only people on tumblr feedjng me right now ☹️ your work is amazing!!

also uhhh sneaky request perhaps a purecacao fic where they both try and train each other in their respective fields? it would be really cool to see the contrast between them, warrior, healer etc also it could be some cute bonding time!

thanks and keep writing :3

New Talents

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Dark Cacao Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie were both respected and honoured in their unique abilities. A king who could wield a sword like no other, and a healer that could mend broken bones within minutes…

Yet, there was one recurring problem in the Dark Cacao Kingdom; a lack of medical herbs. Learning a little magic never hurt anyone, right..?

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

PART 1 - HEALING

“Your Majesty!” A servant came rushing into the king’s office, startling the latter into looking up. “Your visitor has arrived, sire! He is earlier than expected-”

“Of course he is,” Dark Cacao Cookie said with a sigh, rising to his feet. “He always is. Lead the way.”

The servant nodded nervously, having to jog slightly to keep up with the long strides the latter took.

The servant and his master parted ways only when they arrived at the grand courtyard of the Citadel, where a massive cacao tree grew. It was both the biggest and oldest tree that grew in the entire kingdom; it had served as a primary income of cacao beans for many centuries.

There, under the shade of the tree, waited a figure that stood out against the cold and dark of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. His hair was blonde, his robes as white as snow and his cape a cheerful golden brown.

The newcomer’s eyes, opened just now, appeared to be mismatched; one as blue as a clear sky, and the other as yellow as the sun that shone in it.

“Dark Cacao Cookie, my friend!” Pure Vanilla Cookie said happily as the taller approached. “Oh, what a pleasure it is to see you healthy!”

“I wouldn’t describe my current state as ‘healthy’,” Dark Cacao hummed in reply. “These are the hardest months of the year… we cannot afford to waste resources on small injuries, even if said injuries start to infect.”

“Oh.” Pure Vanilla was silent for a second, before smiling again. “Well, my dear, how about I teach you a little trick? Everyone can learn magic, and the only resource it takes is your patience!”

“Yes, because I have so much of that,” Dark Cacao said drily. He removed his left glove anyway.

Pure Vanilla sucked air in sharply. The injury wasn’t large and could definitely be treated, but he could imagine the pain it brought the king..

“Accidental stab wound,” Dark Cacao murmured. “Held my blade the wrong way when sharpening my sword. It cut my palm.”

Pure Vanilla tsk-ed, holding Dark Cacao’s hand in his own. “Watch very carefully, and I’ll show you what you must do.”

Dark Cacao nodded, trying to focus on the magic and not on the fact those pretty eyes had closed again. “I’m listening.”

“Hold your hand above the injury, but do not touch it! I want you to imagine the energy streaming from your very core to your torso, to your arms, to your palm. Imagine using the energy to heal the wound, imagine your body fighting to close again.”

Dark Cacao grunted in reply, all his focus on the tingling of magic he could feel in his palm.

“Very good.. and now, for the final step..”

Dark Cacao’s eyes sharpened, fully prepared to do whatever was asked of him-

“Say ‘abrakadabra’.”

“No,” Dark Cacao deadpanned. “I’m not an idiot, Pure Vanilla. I know that is not how it works.”

“Worth a shot,” Pure Vanilla giggled, his eyes squinting in amusement. Dark Cacao felt his anger seep away. Damn that healer.

When Dark Cacao started repeating the earlier (valid) steps, he was mildly amazed to find his wound actually closing up. He knew Pure Vanilla was an extremely powerful healer, but he wasn’t aware of his teaching ability.

“..thank you,” Dark Cacao said, the corners of his mouth raised ever-so-slightly.

“Anytime, my friend!” Pure Vanilla said, beaming with happiness at the small smile he had been graced with.

PART 2 - FIGHTING

Dark Cacao had promised he’d repay Pure Vanilla when the latter left for his homeland, and he was a man to his word. So, here he was, on the training field, pulling out the old practice dummies.

Pure Vanilla sat on a nearby bench, watching him prepare the area. Sure, the healer was very innocent, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate his partner’s nice physique as he worked.

“These,” Dark Cacao said after he was done, tapping the eyes, the neck and the torso, “Are the best places to hit an enemy. A stab or punch to the eyes will momentarily disoriented and blind them, giving you a chance for a new attack. The neck is very important, too; a well-placed stab through the vocal cords or the windpipe, and you’ve won your battle.”

Pure Vanilla nodded, studying the dummy in front of him with a slightly tilted head. His orchid-like staff rested on the bench beside him, its eye focused on the explanation up front.

“There are multiple weak spots on the torso,” Dark Cacao continued. “The middle of the chest might seem logical, but it can be very hard to reach the heart; if you do it exactly right, your weapon might slip through the ribs, but it’s unlikely.”

Pure Vanilla hummed softly, indicating he was listening. It had been ages since he heard his lover talk so much and so passionately about something; they both knew Pure Vanilla wouldn’t need this information all too much, but it was nice to listen to Dark Cacao’s rant.

“Instead of going for the heart, go for the groin or abdomen. You, being a healer, know where the vital organs are - when faced with danger, always aim for those.” Dark Cacao threw Pure Vanilla the wooden sword trainees would use. “Go ahead, give me your worst.”

Pure Vanilla raised his eyebrows. “Am I not to practice on the dummy?”

“Ah, I doubt you can do much harm with that sword. I have a protective layer under my hanbok.”

“Hm.. very well, then,” Pure Vanilla said, standing up. He circled Dark Cacao for a few seconds, like he had seen the latter do so many times in battle, before striking. The blow was easily deflected.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes narrowed. Dark Cacao wasn’t going easy on him, then. Well, if that was the game they were playing…

Pure Vanilla lunged again, aiming for the other’s stomach - only, at the last moment, he changed his direction and went for the back of Dark Cacao’s knees. The usually stoic king let out a yelp as his legs gave in.

Dark Cacao clearly hadn’t expected such a strategy from a beginner, his eyes wide in surprise as he was knocked to the floor. He only realised what was happening when he felt Pure Vanilla sit on him to hold him down.

With a quiet (and very rare) chuckle, Dark Cacao pushed him off. “Okay, okay, enough, we’re not wrestling.”

Dark Cacao stood up, straightening his clothes before looking back at a proud Pure Vanilla, and he wasn’t shocked to feel pleased instead of angry.

“That was a very nice attack,” Dark Cacao admitted. “But if I had known what you were doing, I would’ve stopped you-!”

Pure Vanilla laughed, a joyful sound. He picked his staff again, throwing his wooden sword at Dark Cacao’s feet. “If you say so, my dear.. I can see you didn’t expect me to have any talent, hm?”

“That’s not- I did not-” Dark Cacao protested.

“I know,” Pure Vanilla chuckled. “I’m only joking..”

Standing on his toes to reach Dark Cacao’s cheek, Pure Vanilla surprised him for the second time that day; a small kiss was pressed to his face.

Despite the cold around them, Dark Cacao could feel a warmth rising to his cheeks…

[glitzybunny]

A Mock of Morality

or “You are my hero” (which was part of the prompt I think, or something close to that sdjhbgshjkdf)

Can’t really decide on a name for this short little thing dfkjhbgfdhbjg

Um parts of this are really vague but I would like to reiterate that it wasn’t supposed to be anymore than like something even shorter than this thing and was supposed to be for practice, however, I got carried away-

Well uhhhh here pffff AAAAAA

--- The battle was finally over.

What had felt like a centuries-long feud between the utmost good and the utmost evil had finally ended.

“How do you yield?” the villain stood over the hero’s limp and almost lifeless body laying flat on the ground, their face muddled in the dirt and ash, eyes closed. The villain, almost confused by the lack of response, nudges the hero with the tip of their long pointed boots. “Hello? I said, How. Do. You. Yield.” they said in a frustrated tone. Still no response.

The villain let out a long, drawn-out breath, pulling their face down in annoyance, “Come now, you’re better than that; don’t just leave me hanging here! This is history in the making!” the villain yelled in a mock of manic enthusiasm and hysterics, throwing his arms in the air, laughing crazily like no tomorrow.

As his laughter slowly pittered out, the villain looks down at the hero. He had still not moved a muscle; the villain’s eyes, once brimmed with mischief, were now filling with a touch of concern.

“I know you’re there...”

He crouches down, turns the hero over, and gently moves the hero’s head to face him with one of his hands, and they drop their sword in the other, checking the hero’s pulse.

‘Hmm, good... He seems to be alright.’ he lets out a relieved sigh. ‘Just unconscious, they’re probably going to suffer from a nasty concussion once they wake up,’ the villain thought as they rubbed off the blood that had stained the hero’s cheek.

The villain looks around the surrounding area, the now abandoned part of the city covered in a flurry of flame, ash and rubble. The scent of burnt wood and the sound of distant police cars honestly gave them a sense of serenity and calm.

It looks like no one is around; better be quick before that changes.

The villain carefully puts his arms under the hero’s own arms and legs, picking them up into a bridal carry—time to get a move on.

The villain wasn’t sure what he was doing at this point; it was quite a feat to be able to defeat the hero like this. Despite officially achieving what could only be called ‘every villain’s best dream’, they didn’t really want to finish the job.

A part of them had become acquainted and fallen in love with the routine of creating ridiculous plans in order to face off against this world’s most powerful. To watch the effort of his arch nemesis go through the effort to take him down to save whatever place that had inevitably just been caught in the crossfire to face each other off.

Even though the villain had lost, a part of him was filled with joy; a part of him felt like he was the one that truly won. But now, now is a different story.

Now by the actual definition, he had won. But it didn’t feel right.

“You’re lucky that it’s just me and no one else. Had it been some other conniving maniacal villain, you may not have secretly made it out alive… hmm...” He quietly breathed out.

The hero quietly stirred in his arms. “Shhh shhh shhh, don’t worry, I’m getting there, hush now”, the villain cooed at him. A fancy limo with the villain’s signature dark red and purple hues pulled up before them.

“Sir! Congratulations on your big success!” They take a small party popper out of the front pocket of their suit and pop it, getting confetti all over the front passenger seat. ”I never doubted you for a second, boss! I knew that this was gonna be the one!” the villain’s enthusiastic henchmen exclaimed and whistled in delight; however, their expression dropped into confusion when they realised what, and more importantly, who, the villain was carrying.

The villain quietly and cautiously attempts to open the door with the hero in his arms, shifting slowly into the back seat so as not to further harm or wake the passed-out heroine. Not yet saying a word. He lays the hero onto the seat, letting his head rest on their lap.

The curious henchman looks into the rear-view mirror as the villain dramatically moves his finger to his lips. “Shhhh~” He exaggerates whilst winking at the henchman. The loyal henchman turns back toward the road and shrugs as she shifts out of park and goes into drive.

The villain supposed that they were probably to be asked many questions once they arrived safely at their destination.

-

The hero had finally arisen from his slumber, or maybe more so, from his small coma; for he had nearly been out for a week.

He was unaware of where he was or what he was doing here, but it was not because he hadn’t been here before.

The villain strolls in, full of enthusiasm, dressed head to toe in his best outfit. However, every outfit they had was really his best outfit. Despite the gusto, he had held quite a sombre expression.

He put his head in his hands, letting out the loudest sigh known to man; once he did so, he removed his hands, and he had wholly wiped any trace of sadness and concern on his face off like it was never there.

The villain slowly turns to the bed and jumps in shock. “Ah! You’re finally awake! I thought you were about to cross the border into the heavens. I’m glad you’re alright, sweetness~” he stifled a giggle, giving the hero a weirdly soft look. The hero looked around the room, confused.

“Oh, you might be wondering what you’re doing here in my guest chamber, I suppose.” The villain hummed. “Well, you see, I thought I would take matters into my hands and decided to take care of you instead of some petty old hospital.” He crossed his arms, distaste for hospitals marking his words. “They probably would have given you special treatment, but I think my treatment is a WHOLE lot more special~ Don’t you think?” He waited for the hero’s response.

“���Who… Who are you?” the hero said with a shake in his voice.

“I beg y- excuse me? Who am I? WHO AM I??? HOW DARE YO-” a tear drips down the hero’s cheek.

“I’m… I’m really sorry; it’s just- I’m having trouble even remembering who I am… Who- who am I? Are you my partner or something?” More tears streamed from his eyes; he felt so embarrassed and lost.

Was he joking? Did… Did the hero really lose all his memory after the battle?

What… What does a villain even do in this situation? What would anyone say in this situation?

The villain was at a loss for words. He adjusted his glasses as he walked over to what was supposed to be his arch-nemesis and sat next to him on the bed. “I-” the villain thought about his words carefully. What he says next could ultimately change everything if he so wished.

He could recruit them, but who would they fight? Would it be right to even lie to them like that? Why was he even questioning the morality of the situation? He was the villain, for crying out loud! He could be a non-stop evil machine! He could achieve even more than he already has. He could do anything he ever wanted!

But what did he even want?

“I guess you’re concussion has struck your memory… And here I thought you were completely alright or at least going to be… This is all my fault” All the sombre and sadness rushed right back.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault-” the once hero moved closer and softly rubbed the back of the villain’s back in small circles. The villain laughed at the comment.

“I see it hasn’t kicked your naivety. I liked that about you” they gave him a quick look before ultimately looking away. “You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of, not anymore, at least...” there was a long silence. A silence of contemplation. A silence of indecision. A silence of confusion and a flurry of mixed emotions.

“Perhaps we can get your memory back in due time, for now. Let’s get you some food. You’re probably starving! And very dehydrated!” the villain stands abruptly, making pace to the door. “Are you alright to get up?” The villain looks at him, and the hero thinks about it for a second.

“I think I’ll be alright, yes… But you didn’t answer my question. Who am I?” He replies, now sitting upright.

The villain stifles another laugh and beams a smile. “You are my hero.”

[heywriters]

Details That Convey Intimacy

Developing fictional relationships that feel authentic takes more than dialogue and grand gestures. Every detail below can be used to show platonic, familial, agape, or romantic love depending on context.

cooking a meal for someone, bringing them food, or spontaneously sharing a snack

sharing body heat/warming someone with outerwear like jackets and scarves

fanning them with something if overheated

getting a cold/hot drink for them

offering to carry something, whether it's heavy or just a jacket, to lighten someone's load or free up their hands

more below the click!

changing the subject of a group conversation that will be personally discomforting to someone in the group

making sure to include someone in a group conversation, especially if it's a topic they have special knowledge of

waiting for someone to catch up when the rest of the group has walked ahead

remembering preferences/allergies ahead of time when preparing/ordering food

planning trips, whether in a pair or as a group, that provide something positive for every individual to enjoy

procuring personal healthcare items like sunscreen, moisturizer, lip balm, pain relievers, or a snack and keeping them on hand for that friend who frequently needs them

making room for someone in a crowded vehicle or on public transit

making room for someone under an awning or in another limited space to help them avoid bad weather

warning or wordlessly covering for someone with a wardrobe/cosmetic malfunction

remembering a small luxury someone mentioned they enjoy, and getting it for them the next time it's convenient

running an errand for someone to make their day easier ('importance of errand : depth of relationship' ratio should be explored)

escorting someone to safety in a sudden unsettling event

escorting someone who is drunk, sick, infirm, injured, or emotionally compromised

asking if light, noise, or other sensory factors are bothering someone and taking steps to make them more comfortable

getting gag gifts for someone to show you reciprocate their sense of humor or quirky self-expression (not everyone does this, not everyone appreciates it, and some people predominantly express love through humor and gag gifts; works well with some characters more than others)

holding someone's hand or arm as reassurance, especially when they are afraid*

using their body to block someone from wind, rain, or heat

picking up a dropped item, or carrying a train or other dragging garment for someone else

returning a recognizable possession to someone who may have lost it

This is an inexhaustible list as humans have many ways of showing love for each other. If you are writing spec fic with non-human characters, you can play with variations on these by remembering three core values the "lover" has to consider:

physical comfort of others

emotional comfort of others

social reputation of others

I'd add "sensory comfort" though I think it's tied to physical and emotional comfort.

Please do not try and force any of these into the mold of the misogyny-based "Love Language" trend. Human emotions and expressions of love are diverse and endless.

*While hand holding can be construed as romantic, in reality it varies. Some cultures do not see this as romantic, and some individuals only mean it as a sign of support or compassion. Same goes for long embraces and kissing, both can be done platonically and of course naturally between close family members or friends.

---

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[acatinabox]

A collection of cultural and food suggestions related to Antiva

From an Italian amateur writer.

Big disclaimer: I am not trying to claim Antiva or his characters as Italian, if you want to see it more Spanish, be my guests. Things in the setting are ambiguous so let's make the most of this vagueness and make space for each others' headcanons.

That said, I'm Italian, and these are the things I can relate/speak about confidently, so I will. I do write Lucanis more Italian in my fanfiction because he was written as such in the Wigmaker Job and it was such a boon to feel represented in a piece of media I loved but I support fan creativity so do whatever you want.

Also these are generalisations. People are not a monolith, goes without saying.

Nobody asked for this, but I hope maybe it helps someone or is interesting.

With that out of the way, here's a collection of themes/suggestions that speak to me, and that might be useful if you want to write them in in your fanfiction and that aren't coffee or organised crime related.

The smell of soffritto at lunch time in the streets. People cook with their windows open when the weather allows it, and the smell of their food permeates the air. You can smell it from the street. Soffritto is the base of many Italian preparations and sauces, so it's a very familiar smell at lunch and dinner time. It's a mix of onion, celery and carrots minced and put in a pan to stir fry with olive oil. If you add a little bit of tomato sauce you make the most basic pasta sauce. Congratulations.

The smell of freshly made bread is fragrant and unique. Every region has its own type of bread and you can easily find a variety of them in most cities. Italian bread is fluffy and light and sometimes a bit dry. Potato bread is made in mountain areas. In the south, bread has a thick dark crust and an airy centre. We eat bread almost at every meal, it's just as iconic and pasta.

I can easily see Lucanis make his own pasta sauce and bread from scratch.

Speaking of bread, I can also see Lucanis make "scarpetta" after he finished eating, which means scraping the sauce from the plate with a bit of bread.

People make small talk in the streets or in the stores, sometimes with complete strangers. It's not a strict social rule but it happens quite often.

The Lucanis/Illario conversation in wigmaker job about not eating Antivan food abroad is the quintessential dynamic between the expat and the relative visiting who expects to not go out of their comfort zone. It happened to me more times than I can count.

Family functions can last all day, we can meet for lunch on a Sunday and spend the whole day together. If you get out of the table before 5PM on a holiday like Christmas or Easter frankly it means you failed as a host (harsh but true). More often than not you'll find yourself staying for a lighter dinner too.

The usual composition of a big meal is antipasto, first course, second course with a side, dessert, fruit, caffè ammazzacaffè. On normal days we only have a main, though.

Ammazzacaffè is the sacred ritual of the digestive after coffee (it literally means coffee killer). I mention it because it's mentioned in the game and in the short stories. It can be I think any strong liquor. We have it after a big lunch or in the evening, usually not at lunch on a working day. It kinda resets you, closes the meal.

Drinking wine has a big convivial function. Drinking alone is not something most people do often, we reserve it for social occasions and usually with a meal.

Dressing up is kind of expected in certain family functions and situations. Not in all families and not at all occasions but I can see it would be expected especially in high society.

Veneto, where RL Treviso is, is known for their creative swearing against god. I can absolutely picture Lucanis shout "by Ghil'an'ain's saggy boobs" or "by Elgar'nan's dried balls" when angry. Honestly go wild, please make up some insults for them and tell me about them (also sorry for the apostrophes, I don't know where they go).

We have a chocolate bonbon, Baci (means kisses), that have paper slips with sappy, romantic quotes in them. Some of Lucanis's phrases remind me of that. I think he'd be a fan and note down his favourite quotes. It's a dark chocolate bonbon with a soft heart and a hazelnut inside.

I said I wouldn't mention coffee but I lied. In some Italian cities there's the tradition of caffè appeso (hung coffee). Someone pays for coffee for themselves and for someone else they don't know that might want one and not be able to afford it. It's adorable and I can see Lucanis do it exaggeratedly all the time because he seems quite generous.

I think I'm done for now and maybe more people will jump up in the mentions or the replies to add their own useful things. I'll try to add some if they come to mind!

[jimmybutlrr]

Missed or Licked

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Average Height Thick brown-skinned Women

Warnings : 18+, Mature Content (Cursing , Teasing and smut), Missing good dick.

Summary: Missing dick could be dangerous

A/N: I have decided that I will be releasing my smut fanfictions first, then fluffy, Drama etc. just because it's easier and as always, feedback would be appreciated😁*Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future writings.

“Do I really have to work? Why can’t I just quit and life would work itself out..…....nevermind, I sound dumb as hell, let me shut up and get out of this car”. She said laughing at herself, Alisha started getting ready to exit her car when she heard a knock on her driver's side window. She looks to see her co-worker Terry Richmond (Who by the way is in a tight fitted shirt, showcasing his big veiny arms and thick chest ). Winding down her window “ Terry, hi”  she said confused, wondering why the hell he was at her window.

“Sorry to bother, I was just wondering if you're alright” He wondered staring into her eyes, “I’m good just.. preparing myself, for the long ass day ahead of me” she said feeling a little flustered, as he continues to stare into her eye’s not daring to look away. 

Alisha and Terry had a bit of a complicated history together. They met in a Walmart parking lot, when she was clearly struggling to fit her tv into her car. Which brought the attention of Terry, Sparking up a conversion between the two which ended with her bringing up that she wanted help moving some items into her home. Terry agreed, asking to swap information. After a few days of talking, Terry was in her living room and  helped her move furniture where she wanted it, putting up her tv etc.

Time went on and Terry got tired of the unspoken tension, which ended up with Alisha’s legs on either side of her head, being filled to the brim with dick and hot tears falling down her face. A memory she remembers so vividly. 

Their situationship came to a stop when he left the state and stopped answering her text, which left her a little broken because you can’t find dick like that just anywhere. Time passed, she moved, switched jobs and found out that Terry was one of the warehouse workers while she worked as the receptionist in the building beside it.  

Throughout the time they worked there, they had stolen glances at each other and greetings but never daring to engage in a conversation. 

A few minutes went by before Alisha broke eye contact, the need to let him spread her open was too great to start ignoring. “Sorry, but I have to get out of the car, so if you could move” Alisha said trying to open her door “I just wanted to say I'm sorry for leaving you, there was some family business that I had to take care of” Terry said hoping that what he said was taken into consideration.

Alisha pushed her car door open and stood up as Terry walked backwards giving her space to get out of her car. Reaching forward to grab Terry by his arm, she pulled him in  closing the space between them believing what he said. If it were her family, she would have done the same no doubt. “I believe you, I was just a little heartbroken that you filled me to the brim, Touching spots that no other man is able to reach, then decided to leave a day after that”. 

She said, whispering in his ear while staring into his eyes, seeing a shocked expression on his face, moving to the right side of his face,she grabbed his body to support herself on her tiptoes.  “I’m just a little hurt because I wanted you in my throat but I guess…… that fantasy will no longer happen”. The feeling of her breath tickling his ears as she spoke, Alisha  looked down to see him wrapping his big, veiny arms around her body, he bent his face down to level their faces going as close as possible to her face that  if you were a person just a few feet from them, you would think they were kissing.

“Who said that can’t happen here, hm”. Terry mumbled, his eyes moved from her eyes to her lips feeling bold, she closed the space between them, pulling his face towards hers. She open mouth kissed him, making Terry press his body even more into hers, pushing his tongue in her mouth, roaming her mouth with his tongue endlessly trying to lick every inch of her mouth. They both stumbled back into the open door of the car Terry pulled back, picking Alisha up with one arm and his hand squeezed her ass, moving to kick the door closed while simultaneously opening the back door, laying Alisha down, kissing down her neck.

 “Terry, wait” Alisha breathlessly said  “Sit down, I wanna you in my mouth” “Are you sure” “Yes, I want to show you how much I missed you”. Terry kissed her, lifting her on top of his lap her hands roamed his body. She slowly removed her lips from his, bringing her body down between his legs. Staring at him in his eyes, she pulled his belt buckle open while her mouth was practically slobbering, waiting to be filled with his pink tipped dick. She pulls his pants to his knees with the help of him raising his hips and freeing the one thing that she truly missed.

She stared at the sight before her,  admiring his pink fat tip dripping with pre - cum, her eyes making its way down his thick hard dick with prominent thick veins littering his dick with fat heavy shaven balls. Alisha took one long lick from the base to the tip, circling her tongue around the tip slowly sucking “ohhh fuckk, mmhm”. Terry moaned looking down from half opened eyes at the complete brown skinned goddess taking his dick in her throat. Alisha continues to suck the tip, slowly inching down his thick dick down her throat.

“Stop playing with me, open your throat” he demands, putting one of his hands  under your chin making you look up into his eyes “ Open your mouth as wide as possible” he said trying to stuff her mouth with his dick. 

As his dick reaches the back of your throat, you gag, making him inch out. “When I go in, take a deep breath, when I retract, you exhale, understood”. “Yes,” Alisha tried to say with her mouth half full. “You ready,” Alisha nodded, ready to take whatever he gave her. Terry inches back down her throat, Alisha following his instructions, suppresses her gag reflex. Terry roughly starts to fuck your face, grabbing your $500 raw bundles.

When he gets to the back of your throat, he holds your head there for a few seconds moaning at the feeling “Shiiitt, this throat is so good, fuuck”. He continues to fuck your face, tears start decorating your face, with the help of your silva falling down your chin. 

His moans motivating you to swallow and moan on his dick causing him to let out a string of moans. He starts fucking your face faster making the car shake, creating a rhythm between the two of you. “ oohhh, ssss, i'm gonna nut, you ready for it” Alisha nods her head ready suck this man dry as soon as his grip gets weak, “Shit , Shit, Shit, hmmmhmhmm” He groans, busting a fat nut. Alisha takes the opportunity to grab his hands, pinning them into the seat of the car. 

Twisting and sucking his tip with the help of her tongue, she sucks up the mess he made while staring him in his eyes. Terry ‘s eyes roll back, he bites his lip and moans ”my god”  he overpowers her grabbing her head pushing it back and a deep exhale. He finally feels relieved that she is no longer trying to push him past more than he can take. Terry stares up at the ceiling as Alisha pulls his pants up, tucking his dick back into his pants.

“I left you speechless, didn’t I big boy” Alisha laughed. Terry drops down his head, grabbing Alisha pulling her in for a kiss. “I'm so glad that I” and before Terry could finish his sentence, there was a knock on the window making them turn there heads towards the notice, “THE FUCK, YA’LL DOING IN THERE”.

Tags -

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[nerokoma]

heads up! – chat, am i cooked? (19/30)

1.5k wc

If it weren’t for the intense dryness in his throat that felt like someone was clawing at his insides, Kuroo would be fast asleep. Unfortunately, he found himself wandering the school late at night, the sounds of his footsteps echoing the hallways as he used his phone’s flashlight to guide his way. He could’ve just borrowed one of the others’ water bottles, but on the chance that he was actually sick, he didn’t want to risk passing his germs onto anyone else.

The only water dispenser in the school was located in the cafeteria, though as Kuroo turned down the hallway leading up to it, he immediately caught sight of the light emitting through the gaps in the doorway. Frowning, he slowed his approach to a tiptoe, carefully making his way inch-by-inch while trying to soften the sound of his footsteps as best he could.

He stopped in front of the doorway, peering through the glass. Although foggy, he could barely make out the figure of a person sitting at one of the desks. Curious, Kuroo slowly slid the door open and silently stepped into the cafeteria.

“Y/N?” his voice sounded before he could fully react. You jumped at the sound, immediately whipping your head around with wide eyes.

“Jeez, you scared the shit out of me,” you said, a small laugh escaping your lips as Kuroo approached.

“Could say the same for you.” He drew closer, placing one hand on the desk as he leaned over your shoulder to take a look at what you were working on. Though as he did so, you immediately flipped the paper over, using your arm to shield the contents from his prying eyes.

“Sorry, secret.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, letting out a chuckle. “I don’t judge. You could be writing fanfiction about anime characters for all I care.” He glanced over and tilted his head slightly. “You don’t have to tell me what you’re working on. But I would like to know why you’re working on it in the middle of the night.”

You stared down at your concealed papers for a few seconds, eventually letting out a sigh. You moved your arm, allowing Kuroo to see the messy handwriting scribbled across the pages.

“They’re guides for the future,” you said, taking a page and handing it to him. Kuroo looked over the sheet of paper, eyebrows raising as he nodded. “When Yoko and I first became managers, there was no previous manager to train us. It was really hard because we had to figure out everything on our own. We’re trying to prepare Yachi as best we can, but I can’t help but worry about her. I at least had Yoko with me to bear some of the burden, but Yachi’s all on her own.”

“These are really detailed,” Kuroo commented, omitting the fact that he couldn’t decipher some parts of your handwriting. ”But isn’t this something both of you guys should be doing together?”

You pursed your lips. “Yoko’s already doing so much. She’s a lot more organized than I am when it comes to training, so I thought that this would be the best way for me to contribute since I’m not really helping otherwise.” A frown made its way onto Kuroo’s face as he pulled out a chair, taking a seat beside you.

“What are you talking about? You help Karasuno so much.”

You let out a single laugh. “I try, but I’d honestly be a mess without Yoko. She really picks up for me on the parts I’m lacking.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” Kuroo said. “Just from what I’ve seen, you’re always there for your team with whatever they need— and I’m not just talking about snacks.” A small smile made its way onto his face. “I’ve witnessed firsthand how much your team loves you, and you’re a big part of why they’re so determined to succeed.”

“I am still so sorry about the quote retweets,” you laughed, making Kuroo chuckle as well.

“I’m serious though. Karasuno wouldn’t have succeeded if they didn’t have such great managers backing them up. And sure, you might not be ‘the perfect manager’ or whatever you say, but you’re a pretty damn good one, and they’re lucky to have you.”

You looked over at the boy, meeting his gaze. After a couple seconds, you let out a chuckle, nodding. “Alright, alright. Thank you for the ego boost.” You glanced over at the countless sheets of paper spread across the desk, letting out a sigh. “I should really finish these—”

“I heard that the managers have to wake up extra early to help with breakfast,” Kuroo said, cutting you off. “Might be a good time to hit the hay, don’t you think?” You narrowed your eyes, staring at the desk for a couple seconds, which prompted Kuroo to speak up again. “I promise the guides will still be there when you get back to them, but I don’t think Yachi would be happy to know you’re neglecting your health for her.”

After a couple more seconds of contemplating, you eventually let out a sigh and nod. As you began compiling all your papers into a somewhat neat pile, Kuroo took the initiative of gathering all your stationery and placing them back into your pencil case. He zipped up the case and placed it in front of you with a smile.

You looked up at him curiously. “So why are you here in the middle of the night?”

“Dehydration.” He held up his water bottle with a chuckle. “Let me go grab water real quick.”

Without waiting for a response, he walked over to the water dispenser and filled his bottle. By the time he was done, you had already packed up all your things and were waiting for him at the entrance of the cafeteria.

You exited the cafeteria first, Kuroo following close behind and closing the door as he stepped out. The two of you began walking the dark hallway together, illuminated by the small light from Kuroo’s phone.

“Do you know what you’re planning on doing after high school?” Kuroo asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though it felt ten times louder in the complete silence of the hallway.

You just shook your head. “I haven’t even thought about it yet, and I honestly don’t really want to.” You glanced over at him, tilting your head slightly. “What about you? Are you going to keep playing volleyball after high school?”

Kuroo shook his head, causing you to raise your eyebrows in surprise. “I’ll definitely play for fun; maybe go to drop-ins at the rec centre if I have time, but I don’t think I’m built for the pro-player life.” He looked over at you, laughing when he saw the look on your face. “I know, I know. I live, eat and breathe volleyball, but I feel like there’s another way for me to pursue my love for it without being on the court.” He shrugged. “I’ll figure that part out eventually.”

You smiled, nodding at the boy as you continued to walk, though Kuroo picked up on the slight strain in your expression. “Everyone else seems to already have their whole lives figured out. Suga’s going to school to be a teacher, Daichi wants to go into law enforcement, and Yoko and Asahi have already picked out the schools they want to attend. It hasn’t fully hit yet that in a couple months, we’ll all be going on our own paths.”

“And you’re afraid of being left behind?” Kuroo asked softly, studying your reaction. You pressed your lips together, giving a small nod. “It’s ok to not have figured out what you want to do yet. I think it’s better to wait and find out what you love doing instead of getting stuck doing something you hate.”

“I guess I just don’t want to make the wrong decision and end up regretting my choices,” you said with a shrug.

“I don’t think there are any wrong decisions,” Kuroo said. “Just learning opportunities. At least after, you’ll know what you don’t want to do, and that’s better than not knowing anything at all.” He suddenly stopped in his tracks, glancing at the door in front of him. “Well, this is your stop, isn’t it?”

You glanced at the door in front of you, not having even realized that he’d walked with you straight to the room that all the managers were staying in. Turning to the boy, heat rose to your face as you smiled at him.

“Thank you, Kuroo,” you said, blinking gratefully. “Not just for walking me back, but for everything else.”

Kuroo smiled back, nodding. “Good night, YN.”

You opened the door to the room, glancing back at the boy and nodding. “Good night, Kuroo.”

Stepping into the room, you closed the door behind you. A quiet sigh left your lips as you listened to the sound of his footsteps growing fainter on the other side of the door.

Well shit.

kuroo’s got his priorities straight: make the battle at the garbage dump happen, win nationals, go to university, and maybe win the heart of the rival team’s cute manager along the way.

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[fraugwinska]

A very incomplete list of Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction Authors/Geniuses

I cannot believe the awsome, talented, absolute magnificent people I've met through this fandom. Writing FF for Hazbin Hotel has become one of my greatest joys in life, and reading the stories and creations of my fellow friends and idols is something that can brighten my whole week - and we don't gatekeep. So, if you're in search for a good read, here are a few of the SUPER AWSOME people I stalk (and I want to stress - this list is never going to be complete, but I'll try to edit it as there are just SO MANY GODDANG MASTERS out there!) @bapple117 If you love #RadioStatic, you have to read 'Bluest Monday' (completed) and the follow-up 'Say Hello, Wave Goodbye' (WIP) She'll break your heart in the most beautiful way. If you don't fancy that but Alastor is your go-to, then you will want to dive in head-first into "If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All" (complete). But as before, be ready for a rollercoaster of emotional moments and extremely spicy shenanigans.

@hazelfoureyes Goddess of the smut, Hottest writer in Hell - If you're horny, Hazel has got you covered. Especially her 'The safeword is Radioapple'-Mini-series will make you sweat like a Zumba-Instructor on crack. Be prepared to blush, tremble, die and immediately ressurrect, because yes. She is THAT good.

Clover/corruptedteacups on AO3 With whooping 75 chapters and 300k+ hits, her Fanfic 'The Red means I Love you' is one of the best, most detailed slow-burn-pining-angsty-smutty-will-they-wont-they Masterpieces I've read so far. Alastor is magnificent and I guarantee you'll fall in love with Clover, the bunny who captures the heart of you deerest red demon.

@melodyonthewireless Highly underappreciated (imho), her fic "A Match made in Hell" (WIP) follows her OC Sybil down to hell, into the Hazbin Hotel and consecutively the arms of Alastor - but don't you dare underestimate the pink, harmless looking doe. Sybil's witch powers and her sassy, witty personality is quite the match to the established readio overlord. It's such a read, and the wait between chapters the sweetest agony!

@macabr3-barbi3 She delivers every. single. TIME. Her Short stories and One-Shots are like Pringles - Once you pop, you can't stop. I'm deeply in love with 'Dream a little Dream' (WIP), 'Nothing I can't Handle' (WIP) makes me run for a cold shower and did I mention the countless one-shot-candies that make you mouth water and your toes curl?

@slutforalastor/InconspicuousBosch on AO3 Whether it's the One-Shots on tumblr (omg the PRIEST ALASTOR BIT *fans face*) or the incredible Choose-your-Path-Fic "Say it with a smile" (completed) - you will be both amazed at the artistry of the wording and storybuilding and blushing at the sheer craft of the smut and sexual tension.

@impale-me-radio-daddy Founder of the kink #antlerplay, his series of 'The Lookalike' is steamy, outrageous, utterly magnificent and filthy down to the bones. Be prepared for some serious questioning of your own preferences, because you WILL get some epiphanies. And that's a PROMISE.

@hurthermore Listen. LISTEN. Bimbo is the mini-series that had me on a friggin CHOKEHOLD. It takes a special talent to make one so invested in THE radio demon, gentleman a la carte Alastor believably pining after and pounding a lovable, dumb airhead sinner with a fable for skimpy dresses and leave you at the end wanting for seconds and thirds!

As I said, this is a highly incomplete list, and I'll absolutely edit this list as I go. But I needed to put this out in the world. To all of the above, and all of those which I didn't include YET but most certainly will -

I ADORE YOU, I PRAY AT YOUR FEET, YOU ARE AMAZING BEINGS AND I LOVE YOU.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[somnoir]

Inspired by that one person who continued a fic after their best friend died...

Jason Todd had an ao3 account. Jason Todd had balls of steel and logged into the batcomputer. (Trying to figure out his username but I keep thinking BlueBird or CrimeAlleyBoy)

Bruce was well aware of this. He didn't think to log it out of the batcomputer, keeping the tab open just for Jason. He's read some of that stuff that Jason has written (mind you, the kid was an avid defender and writer of WonderBat). He found it rather cute and it wasn't like Bruce has never read fanfiction about himself (both Bruce and Batman).

And Jason? He wasn't really sure if Bruce knew but he didn't really care that much. And besides, being Robin made sure he was prepared for anything the Ao3 curse was going to throw at him. If that damn curse sent Riddler then his fist would be the solution.

There were around 20 fics in that damn account, ranging from his OTP that was WonderBat, some SuperBat, and the crack fics of Bruceman. (Jason would never allow himself to tell Dick his username but he sure as hell has his older brother beta read all the Bruceman fics. That man was one of the OGs and he wouldn't disgrace his brother.)

He avoids the Ao3 curse until it appears in the form of the Joker.

When Jason dies, Bruce keeps the tab open, making sure that the account doesn't log off. Because that was a part of his son. (When he missed Jason a tad too much at times, he'd read one of those ridiculous fics that would make his two eldest sons laugh.)

When it's around two months after Jason's death, Bruce gains the courage to post an announcement on his son's account, making sure his fans were well informed and not anticipating for the next chapter.

I'm sorry to announce that this account will no longer be posting any updates. This is the author's father and I must unfortunately inform you that my son has passed away. Thank you for being there for him and reading his stories...

The post is along those lines.

(Tim was an avid reader of that account and was utterly devastated when Robin's death was further confirmed through this post. Yes he knew this was Jason's account. Of course he did!)

But Jason comes back from the dead.

Sees his account again after getting out of the league. Sees Bruce's announcement and maybe it makes him feel a little better.

But Jason's a menace and the day he started posting fics was the day he vowed that he wouldn't let the Ao3 curse take him. He even announced that to his readers in his first story (WonderBat obviously)

He posts an entire fic of oneshots consisting of Batman with numerous members of the Justice League. In his end notes, it says:

Not even death can stop me. I write WonderBat in the face of Death and told him to fuck off.

The next few posts consist of Batman/Justice League, even a few Bruce/Justice League (yes, that includes Batman). And Bruce, with Jason's account still logged into the batcomputer, is mortified when he sees Tim shamelessly read a 5+1 fic of BatLantern on that huge ass screen.

[marypsue]

So if you follow me (and aren't just stopping by because you saw one of my funney viralposts), you probably know that I've been writing a bunch of fanfiction for Stranger Things, which is set in rural Indiana in the early- to mid-eighties. I've been working on an AU where (among other things) Robin, a character confirmed queer in canon, gets integrated into a friend group made up of a number of main characters. And I got a comment that has been following me around in the back of my mind for a while. Amidst fairly usual talk about the show and the AU and what happens next, the commenter asked, apparently in genuine confusion, "why wouldn't Robin just come out to the rest of the group yet? They would be okay with it."

I did kind of assume, for a second or two, that this was a classic case of somebody confusing what the character knows with what the author/audience knows. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like it embodies a real generational shift in thinking that I hadn't even managed to fully comprehend until this comment threw it into sharp perspective.

Because, my knee-jerk reaction was to reply to the comment, "She hasn't come out to these people she's only sort-of known for less than a year because it's rural Indiana. In the nineteen-eighties." and let that speak for itself. Because for me and my peers, that would speak for itself. That would be an easy and obvious leap of logic. Because I grew up in a world where you assumed, until proven otherwise, that the general society and everyone around you was homophobic. That it was unsafe to be known to be queer, and to deliberately out yourself required intention and forethought and courage, because you would get negative reactions and you had to be prepared for the fallout. Not from everybody! There were always exceptions! But they were exceptions. And this wasn't something you consciously decided, it wasn't an individual choice, it wasn't an individual response to trauma, it wasn't individual. It was everybody. It was baked in, and you didn't question it because it was so inherently, demonstrably obvious. It was Just The Way The World Is. Everybody can safely be assumed to be homophobic until proven otherwise.

And what this comment really clarified for me, but I've seen in a million tiny clashing assumptions and disconnects and confusions I've run into with The Kids These Days, is that a lot of them have grown up into a world that is...the opposite. There are a lot of queer kids out there who are assuming, by default, that everybody is not homophobic, until proven otherwise. And by and large, the world is not punishing them harshly for making that assumption, the way it once would have.

The whole entire world I knew changed, somehow, very slowly and then all at once. And yes, it does make me feel like a complete space alien just arrived to Earth some days. But also, it makes me feel very hopeful. This is what we wanted for ourselves when we were young and raw and angrily shoving ourselves in everyone's faces to dare them to prove themselves the exception, and this is what I want for The Kids These Days.

(But also please, please, Kids These Days, do try to remember that it has only been this way since extremely recently, and no it is not crazy or pathetic or irrational or whatever to still want to protect yourself and be choosy about who you share important parts of yourself with.)

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Sharing

A/N: This is my one year anniversary of writing fanfiction for Elvis! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with my posts, enjoyed reading my stories, helped me with ideas and proof-read my work. To celebrate, I've written this sequel to Dolly. It is absolutely unbridled filth, PWP, a smutfest etc.

Pairings: Dom!Elvis x Dolly!Reader

Joe x Dolly!Reader

Jerry x Dolly!Reader

Sonny x Dolly!Reader

Word count: 3.8K

TWs: Dolification, objectification, Elvis is dominant and reader is very submissive, dubcon, possessive kink, praise kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, little bit of choking, gangbang/orgy, name-calling/demeaning language, reader is fucked stupid, kind of size kink, copious amounts of cum.

You’re sitting in your bedroom, carefully brushing your long blonde hair when you hear Joe start talking to Elvis. Your door is half-open and you can sometimes hear things the guys talk about in the living room, but this seems unusually clear. 

“That little girl of yours was sounding real fun the other night.”

Your ears prick up at his mention of you and you try to lean slightly closer to the door. 

Elvis laughs. “You been listenin’?”

“Hard not to, the noise she was makin’.” That’s Jerry. You wonder how many of the guys are out there. 

“What were you doin’ to her, EP?” Sounds like Sonny, although you can’t be sure. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Elvis chuckles. 

“You uh… you ever think of sharing her, boss?” Joe asks. 

There’s a long silence, where you almost fall off your chair from leaning so close to the open door. You cross your legs and rub your thighs together a little. It’s not like you’re interested in Joe, that’s disgusting. But something about the way they are all talking about you is getting you all hot and bothered. 

“What about Joan?”

You bite your lip. Elvis hadn’t said no. 

“What about her?”

“Well, she not good enough?”

“She doesn't have a body like that. And your girl just seems so… obedient.”

Elvis snorts. “‘Course she is. She’s well-trained.”

“So whaddaya think, boss?” It sounds like Sonny again. “Any chance of, y’know, letting us find out just how obedient she is?”

There’s another long pause, and you wonder what exactly Elvis is considering. 

“Maybe.”

You actually do lean too far this time, and when you overbalance you end up dropping your hairbrush on the floor trying to catch yourself. 

“Dolly?” Elvis’ smooth baritone calls out to you. 

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Come in here a minute.”

You take a deep, steadying breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a little flushed already, just from listening to them talk about you, but your make-up is all done nicely and you had almost finished brushing your hair when he called. Smoothing it down, you stand up and check your dress is sitting where it should. Then you open the door and walk across the corridor and into the living room. As you stand in the doorway you look around, realising that you had successfully identified all of the voices, and their owners are now all looking back at you with ill-disguised lust. 

“Good girl. Come and sit on Daddy’s lap.” 

Elvis is looking particularly good today, his eyes are shining and so is his big, gold belt. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to just above his elbows, and his forearms flex as he grabs either armrest to adjust his sitting position in preparation for you following his instruction. 

You walk over slowly, realising as you start to step that you’ve forgotten to put your heels on, so you end up padding across the thickly shagged carpet in just your stockinged feet. Trying not to look at the other men as they look at you, you settle yourself onto Elvis’ lap and feel his hardness pressing against your lower back immediately. Excitement and trepidation bubble in your stomach. He really doesn’t seem like he’s going to say no to sharing you. 

“Now Dolly, the guys here have a proposition f’ya,” he tells you as his arms wrap around your waist and hold you to him tightly, his breath tickling your cheek. 

There’s an awkward silence in the room, and the men go from openly staring at you to looking nervously at their feet. 

“C’mon, guys.” Elvis’ voice is laced with irritation now, “if you want her ya have ta ask her.”

It turns out that Jerry is the brave one, though he looks up at you nervously, the mass of curls on his head bobbing as he swallows hard before finally opening his mouth. 

“We were, um… talking about you,” he begins, uncertainly. The other two nod and mumble their agreement, encouraging him to continue. “And um… you’re real pretty and you made some er… real pretty noises the other night.” Jerry is blushing now and you think it makes him look kinda cute. 

“And?” Elvis snaps, when the silence after Jerry’s last sentence stretches out for a few minutes. 

“And we want to know just how much of a dolly you really are, Dolly,” Joe announces. 

You frown. “Oh, Joe. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, tilting your head to one side and biting the side of your thumb. You even bat your fake eyelashes for the full effect. 

“H-he… um…” Jerry starts up again, looking for all the world like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him. “He wants to know if you’d like to have a little fun with us…” When your facial expression doesn’t change from the exaggerated look of confusion you’d given Joe earlier, Jerry continues. “Like… with our clothes off. Y’know. Would ya like to please us like you please Elvis?” Jerry lets out a big sigh at the end of the sentence, as if he’s just said the most difficult thing ever. 

“Oh!” You exclaim, putting a hand to either side of your face and making Elvis chuckle. “But Joe, what about your wife?” The question makes Elvis chuckle all the more. 

Joe clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Well. This would just be a one-time thing you know. We wouldn’t need to tell her. Just our little secret, isn’t that right, boss?”

Elvis holds both hands up. “Nothin’ ta do with me, she’s your wife.”

His hands go back to your waist and you lean your head back against his chest a little. Rewarding you with a kiss to the temple, he looks around the room at the three men. 

“Think we need some ground rules ‘fore we start.”

“I didn’t say yes!” You find yourself squeaking, sitting upright again in shock. 

Another, darker chuckle. “I wanted the guys to ask ya ta be polite. Not ‘cause I wanted yer opinion, Dolly.” Pressing his nose against your face, he kisses your cheek. “Yer jus’ my little doll, ‘member. No opinions of yer own.”

You nod, realisation slowly dawning that you’re in a room with four men who can do whatever they want with you. His lips trail down your neck until his teeth find your collarbone, nibbling it a little before moving off you entirely and looking back at the rest of the room. 

“Ground rules,” he reiterates. “She’s my little Dolly. So if I say stop, ya stop, okay?” The three men nod and mumble, “yes boss,” and “yes EP”. “Good,” he replies. “This pretty mouth,” he squeezes your cheeks to make you pout, “and this pretty pussy,” his hand moves to pull your legs apart and give the assembled group a good view of your panties, “are fair game. Her asshole’s mine. So don’t even think about it.”

Elvis waits for all three of them to affirm what he’s just said before continuing. You squirm in his lap under the weight of their gazes, all three trained right between your legs. 

“And one more fer you, darlin’,” he coos, turning your head to look at him. “No more thoughts from now on, sweetheart. Want ya ta be a perfect little doll for me and my friends.”

Looking into those bright blue eyes you nod slowly, but you’re not sure. Of course you trust Elvis, but there are a lot of big strong men in this room. Men who could easily overpower you and outnumber him too. Your lower lip wobbles a little. The hand that’s currently cupping your cheek holds it a little more firmly as he looks back at you, seeming to try and see right into the brain you’re supposed to be emptying of thoughts right now. 

“Daddy will take care a ya,” he murmurs, eyes flicking over your face, searching for clues. “I won’t let anyone hurt ya, sweetheart.”

The tenderness in his voice almost has you undone without any need for him to touch you. A whimper escapes your lips and your arms go around his neck as he kisses you lovingly. Your little audience all seem to sigh in unison. 

“Okay?” He asks, as he pulls back, running a thumb over your plush lips. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you reply, your earlier nervousness bubbling over into excitement again. 

“Good girl.”

You squeeze your thighs together at the praise and as you turn back towards the room you realise everyone saw you do it. You blush and bat your eyelids again, eliciting something that sounds a lot like a moan from Jerry. 

Elvis’ hand sweeps up your thigh, pushing the material of your skirt with it, showing your panties to the room properly this time. Joe is the first to obviously touch himself through his pants but it’s not long before the other two join him, especially when Elvis points out the damp patch you’ve made on your pretty pink panties. 

“She’s filthy, EP.”

Elvis chuckles, softly. “She jus’ likes doin’ as she’s told, don’tcha, Dolly?” 

“Yes, Daddy.”

He slips your panties off and throws them at Sonny, clearly seeing the hungry look on the brunette’s face. You smile at the way he almost jumps when they land in his lap, his attention being completely captured by your bare pussy. Quickly recovering a second or so later, he balls them up and stuffs them into his pocket. 

Elvis kisses your neck as he pulls your legs apart, putting you on display for the other men. The cool air of the room hits your open pussy and you moan a little, feeling his fingers digging into your thighs and desperately wanting him to touch you. 

“That’s a nice pussy, man,” Sonny declares, sounding a little drunk on just looking at it. 

“C-can we… uh… see her tits?” You’re surprised to hear such a vulgar word from Jerry, but the way he stumbles over the words makes him seem cute again. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and pushes you into a more upright position so he can pull the top of your dress down, exposing your pretty pink bra. Jerry groans. Elvis’ fingers slip underneath the straps and slide them over your shoulders, and then he’s pulling your bra down too. The cool air hits your nipples and they stand erect. You’ve never felt so looked at before, and part of you wants to run away, but the other part is bathing in the attention. 

“C-can she come o-over here with those tits?” 

Elvis laughs. “Ya like her tits, Jer?”

The mass of curls bobs up and down as the younger man nods his head. “God, they’re perfect.” His eyes are like saucers and they’re trained on your nipples. 

“Go on, Dolly. Go and see Jerry.”

He gently pushes you off his lap and onto your feet, and you make your way over to Jerry, who spreads his legs wide as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his dick. You watch him stroke himself as he tells you, a little nervously, to kneel down in front of him. Still stroking, he fondles your breasts with his other hand, letting out a little hum of appreciation. 

“Push ‘em together, honey,” he instructs, and you do. “That’s right. Oh God,” he mumbles, still touching himself as he stares at them. “Can I just… E? Can I put my dick between them?”

“Sure,” Elvis replies, and you think you hear the sound of his belt clinking. 

Unclasping your bra and removing it, Jerry rearranges you and him so that his dick is between your breasts, then pushes them together again himself. He groans as he starts to move, sliding up and down as best he can. It's obvious he’s getting very excited, you can tell from his flushed face and the cuss words falling from his lips, but he’s not about to finish any time soon and the other men quickly become frustrated. 

“C’mon Jer, I need this pussy,” Sonny grumbles, from the other side of the room. 

“Yeah Jerry, you’re hogging her,” Joe joins in. 

Jerry sighs and stops what he’s doing. “Alright. Who’s next?”

“I said first,” Sonny replies. 

You turn to look at them and see Joe about to open his mouth to say something, no doubt in an attempt to contradict the other man, and then they’re both silenced by Elvis. 

“She’s my girl. She’s comin’ to me.”

You settle between Elvis’ legs as he guides your mouth over his dick, holding your hair and bobbing your head on him, gradually helping you take more and more until your nose is buried in his pubic hair and you’re gagging. He holds you there until your throat relaxes, and then starts to thrust. Your eyes water a little, but you can hear the appreciative sounds in the room and they spur you on. Gasping for air when he finally pulls you off again, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, worshipfully. 

“Good girl,” he affirms, then looks up. “Who wants her?”

Sonny manages to speak before Joe again, so Elvis instructs you to go to him, on your hands and knees this time. He’s taken your dress off properly, so you’re naked apart from your stockings, and he gives your ass a low whistle as it moves away from him. You eagerly take Sonny all the way in, he’s a little smaller than Elvis so you don’t choke so much when he starts to fuck your throat. 

“Oh God. She’s so pretty, EP. So pretty choking on my damn cock.”

Your eyes are watering again and you can tell Sonny likes it. There’s probably mascara running down your cheeks too. 

“Please tell me I can fuck her.”

There’s a low growl in the back of Elvis’ throat, something protective that makes you somehow even wetter. “Not yet. Give her to Joe.”

Crawling over to Joe, you’re relieved he’s even smaller again, and taking him is no trouble at all. You’re so engrossed in the blow job that you don’t notice the other guys getting closer, and then suddenly you find yourself on your back in the middle of the room, Elvis pushing inside your pussy and Sonny back in your mouth. Jerry kneels on one side of you, stroking himself as he looks down at your body, and Joe is still where he was, on the sofa. 

Elvis’ dick stretches you, making you moan around Sonny, but you’re so wet he slips in and out easily anyway. 

“She loves it,” Sonny declares. “Such a pretty little cockslut you’ve got here, E. Such a perfect little whore.”

You moan again around his dick and he slaps your tits. 

“Such a good little lovin’ doll,” Elvis coos, holding your thighs as he slams into you. 

They keep going in that arrangement for a while, but then after some more complaining from Sonny, shift so that he’s inside you now, and Jerry is in your mouth, his big fat balls slapping against your forehead. Sonny is as sadistic with your pussy as he was with your mouth, jackhammering into you in a way that isn’t exactly pleasurable. After that, Joe comes as a blessed relief. You don’t like him much, and you definitely don’t find him attractive, but he fucks you kind of gently and for a moment or two you don’t have a dick in your mouth and you find yourself moaning and arching your back. 

“Is she gonna cum? Joe, you’re makin’ her cum!” Sonny is clearly shocked at the turn of events, and to be honest so are you, but something about the slightly twisted up position he’s got you in is hitting the right spot and Sonny is right, Joe is making you cum. 

“Ohhhh. Ohhhhh.” You moan, eyelashes fluttering as your orgasm washes over you. 

“Let me go again. I wanna make her squirt. I bet I can make her squirt.”

“No, Sonny,” Elvis’ voice is deep and firm and brooks no argument. “It’s Jerry’s turn. Let him try.”

The angle Jerry was at when he tried to fuck your mouth earlier meant you couldn't fit much in, so you don’t realise quite how big it is until he starts to push inside your pussy. And then you really realise, when you look down and see the bulge it’s making in your stomach, the other guys whooping and cheering about it. Jerry is big enough to hit your g-spot easily, and he’s thick enough to make your head flop back and your eyes close, and you to just generally lose a good portion of your grip on reality. 

“She’s cock-drunk.”

“Look at her, Jerry. You’re fucking her stupid.”

“God, she’s perfect,” the hushed, reverential tone is Jerry, and you try to peel your eyes open again to look at him. “Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

You manage something between a moan and a whimper, and then you feel it. Your second orgasm, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to explode. Jerry obviously feels it too, his thumb starting to rub your clit as he picks up speed, fucking you so hard Elvis has to hold you in place by pushing down on your shoulders. You’re sure your guts are going to be completely rearranged by the end of this. 

“C’mon Dolly, cum for me. I can feel ya gripping me, honey. You can do it.”

Jerry’s praise tips you over the edge and suddenly you’re screaming and squirting and flailing about on the carpet. You can hear all the men groaning and then you feel yourself suddenly empty, Jerry is cussing and then he’s moaning as you feel something splattering over your chest. Unable to manage to open your eyes again, it seems like you're floating as you feel the next dick inside you, somehow recognising it as Elvis’. More wetness on your belly, and what sounds like Joe moaning out your name.

“I wanna cum on her face.”

You finally manage to open one eye to see Sonny kneeling over you. 

“Alright, man.”

“Eyes open, honey. Look at me.”

You do as you’re told, watching as Sonny beats himself off, groaning until cum starts shooting out of his dick, all over your face. You close your eyes again at the crucial moment, but when you reopen them you’re conscious of the wetness beading on your lashes, like raindrops.

“Fuck. You look so pretty with my cum on your eyelashes. Perfect little slut.”

You bat them a little, unable to help yourself trying to look cute even with the state you’re in now. Elvis thrusts inside you a few more times and then pulls out, stroking himself until he cums on your pussy. He groans as he paints you with his release, and you suddenly realise how much of a mess you are, the cum of four men all over you. You bite your lip. You really are a slut. You start to smile, thinking about it, thinking about just how much fun being told what to do was, how much you enjoy switching your brain off and doing what other people want you to. 

Elvis kisses your knee, gently. “Thanks, baby,” he whispers. Then he looks up at the other guys, expectantly. 

“Yeah, thanks Princess,” Joe joins in, tucking himself away and sitting back up on the sofa. “That felt really good.”

Jerry looks down at you with soft, loving eyes. “Thanks Dolly. You were perfect.”

Sonny coughs and looks a bit awkward, like someone suddenly realising how they’d been acting when they were horny and now feeling kind of embarrassed. 

“Thanks honey. Sorry about your um… face.”

You can’t help giggling a little, and you look over at Elvis who nods his approval. You can stop just being an obedient doll now. 

“It’s okay, Sonny. I had fun.”

Sonny rubs his face with his hand and nods, still looking awkward, before getting up and mumbling something about going for a drive. Jerry gets up from his kneeling position too, suggesting he and Joe go out and get some dinner for everyone. Joe looks very much like he’s about to say he’d rather just stay right where he is, but Jerry’s head tilting to the left and his eyes widening must finally give the clue that he’s trying to suggest they clear out and give you and Elvis some privacy. 

Then it's just the two of you, and he scoops you up in his arms and carries you into the bathroom, helping you into the shower and then getting in with you and cleaning you up. You stand there in shock as he dries you gently with a big fluffy towel, and then swathes you in pyjamas and a robe, waiting as you push your sooties into soft pink slippers. 

“Come to my room, Dolly.” 

You’re not often allowed in Elvis’ room, it’s his sanctuary, he likes to repair to it when things get too much for him. Even in the LA house it’s much more decadent than the other bedrooms, and it’s darker than yours, all purple and gold. It’s also freezing, and you shiver as soon as you step through the door. He holds you to him for a moment, humming softly as his body heat warms you, and then helps you into his big brass bed. Settling you into the comforters and pillows, he gets in next to you and shows you the controls for the electric blanket. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking up at him through your normal lashes. Those falsies had gone straight in the trash. 

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and kisses you softly. “Y’okay?”

You nod quickly. “I’m good.” Moving your legs a little, you squint. “Pussy’s a little sore.” 

“Mmm.” He kisses you again. “Ya were so good, Dolly. Such a good little girl for me.”

One of your hands rests gently on the back of his neck. “I um… I liked it.” You look down, biting your lip a little. “I shouldn’t, should I?”

His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up so you have to look at him again. “I’m glad ya liked it,” he murmurs, conspiratorially. “Though I hope ya didn’t like any of the guys more ‘an ya like me…”

Your heart leaps in your chest. You’ve never known him to be this vulnerable. “I could never, Da- Elvis. I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand envelopes your whole cheek as he pulls you in close for a proper kiss. “My precious, perfect little doll.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2

[the-peak-tmnt]

Hey The Neon Void readers, quick update from the author's sister!

(art commission by @kaysdenofchaos)

Hi readers of The Neon Void fanfic. This is the author’s older sister. She’s been getting a lot of fan art and asks lately. She’s sent me screenshots of a few unanswered ones looking for advice on how to respond.

While all the love and support of TNV is genuinely appreciated, my sister @sugarpasteltmnt is not equipped to respond to a small handful of these asks/comments that are, quite frankly, inappropriate.

Sugarpastels is not a therapist, and she’s certainly not an internet stranger’s therapist.

She’s an adult with an extremely demanding and stressful job for a very large client. Some of you have already experienced and enjoyed her work IRL without knowing it. Her company is close to finishing another project that will bring a lot of joy to hundreds of thousands of people every year, but working on a project of that scale is extremely stressful.

She is writing this fanfic for fun. TNV is a way for her to decompress and put her creative energy towards something other than work.

What’s not fun is coming home to asks/comments from readers who are projecting their own struggles/mental health onto TNV, and even Sugarpastels herself, and demanding some sort of attention from her over it.

Let’s be real: it’s fun to watch our blorbos suffer! So much of fandom is just us putting our favorite characters in Situations because it’s fun. Simple as that. But I think another reason TNV has resonated so strongly with readers is because of the way Sugarpastels writes the internal struggles of these characters.

We are both aware that TNV deals with mental health topics. Since the early days of “modern” fandom, fanfiction has been a way for people to explore complicated, difficult and sometimes even taboo subjects. There’s no shortage of complex feelings being explored in TNV, which is why we’re all having so much fun reading it.

But that’s all it is; an exploration. Sugarpastels is not a mental health expert. I’ve read a handful of books on PTSD and mindfulness for research while writing my own fanfic, and I would never consider myself prepared to help someone else.

It’s okay if you relate to things from TNV. I know I do! Again, fanfic has always been a way to read about things rarely dealt with (or handled poorly) in published fiction/tv shows/movies. I will always argue one of the greatest things about fanfiction and other fanworks is being able to see ourselves and our own struggles through our favorite fictional characters.

But Sugarpastels is not a fictional character. She’s a real person. Most importantly (to me at least) she’s my little sister, and this big sister cannot handle watching some of her readers expect more of her than is appropriate.

So I’m asking you to please be mindful of what you ask/say to not just her, but literally everyone on the internet. Unless you’re chatting with someone regularly, they do not know you. Whether it’s friends, family, teachers, coaches, etc, there are people in your life who know you personally, and are therefore better equipped to help you than a stranger on the internet.

Sugarpastels is so full of empathy that it’s hard to not feel for you when you send things like this. But it just isn’t fair to put that kind of unnecessary pressure on someone who is, at the end of the day, just trying to have some fun writing about ninja turtles bein’ sad.

(That being said, PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED TO SEND HER ASKS AND FAN ART!!! They make her day every single time and are seriously so, so appreciated. She’s texting me about it constantly how much she loves all of TNV’s readers. This whole post is really directed at an extremely small percentage of her readers, but there have been enough I felt something needed to be said.)

[pigeonp0st]

Could you do an angst Agatha x reader one shot with happy ending? Maybe reader feels Agatha is losing interested in her (reader) in Westview

pleaseeeeeeee

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings:

Can’t think of any, but if you read this and have a thought to one I could put, let me know and it will be added.

Words from the author;

Hi guys. Went on a long train ride and decided to write this. Agatha’s show inspired me. The joy she gives me is unmatched. I want to ask that we all use are imagination and pretend WestView was a thing longer than the few weeks it was, as to give an explanation and a sense of realism to Readers and Agatha’s whole romance and love story. I also ask that we ignore the additional emotional scarring that would’ve given the town. Thanks a bunch! Now…

Enjoy!

—

Agatha had a plan. A plan that hadn’t, and was never supposed to include you. It had everything to do with Wanda, and Wanda, it turns out, had everything to do with you.

That part of it hadn’t mattered. Yeah, Agatha had originally only been prepared to deal with one Avenger, and you coming in would prove to make things more complicated, but she was sure she could handle it.

And she had, of course. Until…until she developed a relationship with you and emotions towards you that went beyond the limits of what she had planned. Not just plannned for this little mission of hers, but planned for her life—after how her last relationship ended.

She loves you. Wanda’s Maximoff’s best friend. The one that’s been keeping Wanda from going even more off into the dark end. The one that’s been interfering with Agatha’s plans by trying to pull Wanda out of the Hex before Agatha has delved deeper into the amount of magic needed to create it.

You. Infuriating— you. Since the moment she met you it was like you had seen through all of Agatha’s facades. Not just the Agnes one.

She made a point—a stupid emotional driven point—to be honest with you, and only you, from the beginning. The thing is… though she had even told you about her interest in Wanda, and the hex, she had left out her plans of draining Wanda of her powers and killing her.

Which is probably an important thing to mention

…Which is definitely an important thing to mention. As much as Agatha hates to admit it— and she absolutely hates to admit it— it’s been eating away at her.

More than she doesn’t want to lose you, she doesn’t want to hurt you. Well, that’s not completely true…she’d rather not lose you…but it’s a close competition.

This relationship with you was supposed to be fake, but her heart doesn’t seem capable of understanding that. She’s been pulling away from you, acting distant, avoidant, and just as it’s been hard on you—it’s been hard on her.

She can’t imagine a world without you in it, but she needs this power…needs to see if it’s capable of—ahem, anyways— she just needs it. She’s sure you need Wanda similarly. That you can’t imagine a world without her. That’s what the gossip magazines, twitter posts, or even tumblr fanfictions want to guilt Agatha into believing at least.

She’s bitter, hates with a burning passion how much the world likes to advertise you and Wanda as this amazing duo pair, hates even more how unknowing fans like to speculate on some sort of secret affair you’re helping Wanda commit, but she’s willing to admit to some truth in it;

Agatha’s supposed to be very fake relationship, used at first to only get close to Wanda—to learn and kill her—has turned into a real one, and the very person she’s in love with is Wanda Maximoff’s platonic soulmate.

The guilt,and thus; avoidance and emotional distance doesn’t take long to be noticed by you. It all comes to a head rather viciously in a way Agatha had expected.

Which is to say; all the avoidance has led to a rather ceremonious break up….she hadn’t had the guts to do it, so she’s sort of forced you into it. That’s what you believe, and it is the truth. Not in the way she guesses you expect though.

Agatha doesn’t want to do this. She really struggles doing things she doesn’t want to do.

She has to do this though. It’s what she’s convinced herself of.

It aches.

“If that’s what you want, okay. Now If that’s really all you had to say…” Agatha hints, turning to make her tea so you can’t see the way her eyes water and betray her, “well have a safe trip home, and don’t forget your things dear.”

“I am not going to beg you to want me.”

Agatha’s jaw tenses. Her heart feeling heavier than anything she’s ever carried. She wants to scream, to break all of the windows in the room. Wants to say, desperately; I have never not wanted you. I have never wanted to be worthy of anything more.

You’re good. Good in way Agatha’s never been capable of. You’re nothing she expected, but everything she’s wanted, and it hurts more, somehow, like this.

Because she can’t give you everything you want, and as that fact kills you, it kills her too.

Agatha glances over her shoulder and looks at you. Your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re shaking with emotion. With the urge to fight. There is a large part of you, Agatha guesses, that knows Agatha doesn’t want this. Conscious or not. She turns away again.

“I know that’s what you want, for me to beg, but I won’t, not anymore. I can’t,” you whisper.

“Then don’t,” she growls, and then winces because even as she’s turned away she can picture the way you wince. The way you hurt.

All Agatha wants to do is protect you, but it’s like no matter what she does you’ll end up hurt. She’s been pulling away slowly so that when she ends up betraying you to kill Wanda, hopefully it’ll hurt less. All it seems to be doing though is prolonging the pain for the both of you. It’s clear to the both of you the war that’s happening in each of you. The want to fight for this. It’s what makes this worse.

“Don’t”, you repeat with a scoff. Agatha hears it right next to her ear and startles, turning around sharply.

You’re standing right behind her, looking down at her with fiery eyes. Agatha moves to use her magic, but you grab her wrist to stop the thought. It makes her heart skip a beat. Makes her smirk.

She loves you. Loves you always, and wants you just as much when you look at her like you are now. You must sense it because you immediately let go of her wrist, with a look of confusion.

“Do you want me or not?” You ask harshly. And despite herself Agatha can’t help the small flicker of annoyance that crosses her face. Annoyance directed at herself.

She masks it a second later with a smirk, gripping your chin. “Of course I do,” Agatha purrs, her voice dripping with seduction. You tense. Eyeing her with complete betrayal.

When Agatha had imagined the moment in which she betrayed you (and she had imagined it a lot), it hadn’t gone like this. It had gone with her standing over the Scarlet Witch, your best friend, and you frozen a couple feet away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it’s better this way. For you to realize who she is now, rather than later. She needs Wanda’s abilities, and she’ll do anything to get it. She thinks it to herself, and it’s almost like a reminder. ‘She’ll do anything to get it.’

You hold her wrist so gently though, even as your eyes blaze with all type of hurt, and Agatha feels deeply who she’s hurting. She’s hurting you. Her love. Her heart. “My heart,” Agatha says gently, and to you she imagines it’s a stab in the heart from the way you wince. Agatha’s face drops further. “I want you,” she admits, despite herself, finding herself not capable of hurting you like this.

“Then why…?”

Agatha kisses you suddenly on the corner of the mouth. Gently. Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her mask drop, because now it seems impossible to put back on. It feels real the moment she stops playing pretend…what a surprise. Still, she herself feels vulnerable. Like a puppy just waiting to get kicked. As she feels both her and your despair she feels a wave of self loathing too.

“Down the road Wanda’s going down now she will hurt you. Down the road I’m doing down, I will too.” Agatha whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. “When I told you I was going to take her power, I meant I was going to kill her, baby.”

Agatha doesn’t expect the laugh you release at that, but more than that she doesn’t expect the simple way you leave. Her hand hands in the air where you once were, as if she had dreamed the memory of you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

—-

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Couldn’t have gone any worse. Every expectation Agatha has—every time she thinks she can predict what will happen you manage to change everything.

That blast was for Wanda, but you had jumped in front of it like it was your plan from the start. It stops both her and Wanda instantly. The blast would have sent you flying into the house, but Agatha had reacted quickly enough with her magic to prevent the collision. Still, as soon she drops the magic holding you, and begins running towards you, you fall.

Agatha sees it a slow motion but she knows it happens much faster than that, because she’s running with everything in her and still doesn’t make it before your head hits the ground. “My heart, my heart, my heart,” Agatha begs with a trembling voice. Her hands are shaking but she moves your head onto her lap and presses her hands into your side to try and stop the bleeding.

Why did it have to be this spell that hit you. Why did it have to be any? It’s been hundreds of years since her heart has hurt like this. Her mind whirls for a spell, for an anything. All she can do is slow the bleeding, and she does, but you still look up at her with fading eyes, and it kills Agatha.

“Ag-”

“Shh, lovely. It’s going to be okay,” Agatha whispers to you, kissing your head. She doesn’t even notice Wanda’s hand on her shoulder, or her coming up behind her at all.

“I’m transporting us to a Hospital,” Wanda says, looking uncertain and scared. Agatha pays no mind, just takes Wanda’s hand and guides her through the spell with her magic.

“Agatha,” you force out, Agatha returns your gaze, too distracted by the spell to stop you again. “Was power…was it that much more important?”

Suddenly you’re all in the hospital, your eyes are falling shut, and Wanda is shouting for a doctor. “No,” Agatha answers. brushing your hair back. Her chest aches deeply at the streak of blood her hand leaves. She wants to say more, wants to curse at you a bit, just to let it out, but a bunch of medics push Agatha to the side and start touching you.

It’s been a long time since Agatha felt this helpless. She wants to protect you, wants to insert herself into the commotion as the doctors pull you away and command that she gets to stay with you, but she’s scared to take even a split second away from their saving.

She’s paralyzed, watching as they roll you away out of her sight. Wanda, of all people, rests a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out it. “She’ll be okay,” Wanda assures, even as she sounds uncertain.

Agatha can’t bear it any longer. The uncertainty, and the assurance coming from the person she envies the most. She turns on her suddenly, eyes blazing with magic, and this is no longer about stealing Wanda’s magic. This is about Agatha, wanting to grab Wanda by the neck and shout that this is all her fault.

Except it isn’t. It’s her own fault. It was her magic that hit you. Hers that caused you so much pain. Agatha feels the blame so deeply she almost refuses to hold it. For your sake, for your words; was it that much more important? She decides to.

She sags into herself just as suddenly as she had turned towards Wanda, one hand waves her off, and the other presses against the burning in her eyes. “Leave.” Agatha says, her voice hoarse and emotional. And Wanda doesn’t.

She just tilts her head and looks at Agatha like a sad, lost animal. Wanda has no where to return to, not after the scandal she pulled, and the one person who would have probably accepted her (the one person that accepted Agatha herself) is now in a hospital bed.

Agatha sighs.

——

They’re sitting side by side. Agatha threatens to kill the front desk lady 3 times, but never once does she threaten to kill Wanda. Agatha doesn’t mind her. She understands the feeling inside her more than Wanda will ever know. In another life, she would have been her teacher.

If you survive, perhaps in this life too. If she can’t take Wanda’s power, maybe she’s able to watch and learn from it as much as she can.

Agatha can’t believe she’s giving up…she has planned and studied for this for so long…but she’s always been spontaneous, always been ready to plan and shift, always been good at changing track. She’ll get what she wants. She’ll get it another way.

It’s a promise she makes herself, sitting in the waiting room of the hospital waiting to find out if the person she loves is still breathing. It’s a promise she makes herself sitting by the person she’s planned to kill since she first pieced together her ability. A promise she makes herself because it means she gets to have you.

—-

“Agnes?” A nurse calls.

Wanda looks at her, her face reading seriously?. Agatha pays no mind to it, she just sits up violently, and holds tightly onto Wanda’s arm.

—-

When Agatha walks into the room it’s like her heart starts back up again and she can breathe. You’re hurt, but you’re okay. Agatha is in shambles, and she won’t be able to sleep without reliving you bleeding out on the floor—but you’re okay.

She breathes out. Once, twice, then she’s crying; hit with the force of her emotion.

—-

POV Switch

—-

Everything hurts, but when the doctor lets Agatha in with Wanda following— for a moment it doesn’t. For a moment it’s Agatha, the woman you love, standing next to your best friend and not killing her.

Then Agatha is crying, and all you feel is concern. “Ag, lovely, are you hurt?” You ask, still full of drugs and delirious enough to be confused about it all.

Agatha who gave up on you. Agatha who you weren’t good enough for. Agatha who you love, who you could never meet the needs of. Agatha who put you in a hospital bed. Agatha who you love so fully despite the heartbreak she’s caused you.

It all comes back to you suddenly, but Agatha is crying— and none of any of it seems very significant compared to that. Wanda looks between the two of you, and says to you, softly, in a language only the two of you understand; “self-sabotage seems to be a language both me and this one speaks. You are drawn to damaged people, huh?”

You look down and Wanda laughs, but she looks like she also wants to cry. She opens her mouth to say something else, but you already know what she’s going to say so you cut her off. “It wasn’t your fault, Wanda, I am glad it was me and not you.”

Wanda looks like she wants to protest that, but instead she nods her head with tears in her eyes and whispers, after glancing at Agatha, “I’ll give you two privacy. Good luck.”

Then she leaves.

Agatha seems lost in her thoughts…well lost in something. Her eyes are distant, tears still running down her face. “Agatha.” It’s only a whisper but Agatha’s eyes snap towards you. She looks…terrified? She quickly tries to wipe her tears but more just fall.

“You idiot,” Agatha seethes, looking overwhelmed. She breathes heavily and you just let her, even as you bristle and begin to feel your defenses rise.

It’s probably best not to add wood to her fire, you think to yourself.

Agatha stalks towards you, angry, kisses your forehead and then sags into the chair next to your hospital bed. “You idiot,” she repeats shakily, her voice and face lined with a sort of devastation you don’t know how to comfort in her. “What do you think would’ve became of me if I killed you”Agatha presses. “Huh? Did you think before you—“

“Usually when people accidentally almost kill someone, they apologize instead of blaming the person.” You aren’t mad at Agatha, not for hitting you at least, but hearing her act as if you had been the one to fuck up was aggravating.

She fucked up. Not you. “You really think I was going to let you kill my best friend?” You ask, angry now too. “You really think I would’ve let you let me go for some stupid reason like that? I don’t know why power is so important to you, but I support you. I would’ve supported you on finding another way, because I support you when you aren’t hurting innocent people to achieve your self motivated ends. I have given up a lot for you, Agatha, but I will not give up that.”

You release a coughing fit after that. You have more to say but your body won’t allow you to. You have an endless amount of words for Agatha. Agatha who you love. Agatha who you don’t quite know how to be enough for.

Agatha who grits her teeth and looks down. “I will not give up power for you. It is more than that I want, which is something I’m not able to explain to you right now, but I hope you understand,” Agatha pauses. Her eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to find another way. I won’t hurt Wanda. I won’t hurt anyone that will make you—or most humans flaky moral code— ache. By that, I mean anyone ‘innocent’” she uses hand quotes then, and rolls her eyes.

The mild bitterness is clearly something Agatha can’t help. The way she changes tract though was something you never thought she would do for you, and you’re not quite able to understand it.

“Why?” You ask softly. It’s what you want, of course it is, it’s even what you asked, but Agatha doesn’t do anything for other people, nothing if it doesn’t come with her own sort of personal gain.

As if reading your mind Agatha straightens awkwardly in her chair and says simply; “I love you. I don’t want to hurt or lose you.”

“But…but power is important to you.”

“So are you,” Agatha says, tilting her head.

You don’t know why you’re almost trying to convince her it’s more important, but perhaps it’s because you struggle to accept or fathom your own importance in her life. It feels like a fever dream, one you’re trying to pinch yourself to get out of.

If you believe it and then are disappointed, it hurts more than if you had never believed it at all.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha says, pulling you out of your thoughts. Not by her voice, but by the tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I was so scared of my own affections for you I denied myself them, and in turn made you feel denied. I love you.” She repeats. “I love you, and you’re important to me, and there’s a billion things I’d sacrifice for you, and I never want to lose you, and—“

“I love you too,” you rush out, shocked by Agatha’s desperation and wanting to reassure her. Agatha breathes out heavily, a breath she must’ve been holding, and shakes her head at herself, wiping at her eyes.

This time, at the quickness of how she composes herself you don’t think of it as her not really caring, but instead as a defense mechanism she’s mastered. A part of your heart hurts for her.

“Thank you, Agatha. For trusting me with your heart.”

Agatha rolls her eyes at that, but she’s smiling and it’s all apart of her recovery. You let her have it. “My heart,” she sighs, leaning over to give you a lingering kiss. When she pulls away the both of you stare at each other. You, trying to commit this moment to memory. Agatha staring like she’s trying to be sure this is real.

“The witch is still mine,” Agatha whispers, completely breaking the moment. “If she thinks she’s off the hook for the amount of emotional instability she has, she has another thing coming. Unstable emotions and magic are never a good combo.”

You snort. Mumbling under your breath, “funny…just learned that lesson.” Agatha glares at you, just as Wanda walks in.

“If we’re all good now I think we should go,” Wanda rushes.

“What did you do?” Both you and Agatha question.

Wanda smiles nervously, surrounding the room in an aura of red magic.. someone walks over to the barrier of it and begins banging. You’re beginning to wonder if it’s a talent of witches to ruin your peace. Especially when about 4 more armed people start trying to shove themselves into the force field. And oh, there are the guns.

Agatha sighs very deeply, and you release a very dramatic groan. Wanda tilts her head sheepishly. “I should go. I released westview but looks like my consequences are still knocking at the door,” she says quietly.

Agatha agrees. “Yes, you should.” She pauses, most likely waiting and taking pleasure in the pointed look you give her. “I probably should go too though, there’s no telling how people want to paint a witch. Most likely another villain…maybe a hero after the scene we pulled. Still, I shouldn’t be in the public until I find out.”

“We’ll see you soon then, Y/N.”

You give them a look, a look that both Wanda and Agatha know to mean; are you absolutely batshit crazy? You don’t need to say it, but you do; “you two are not going anywhere without me.”

Agatha smirks, and Wanda smiles, then a wave of Wanda’s hand and the three of you are somewhere else much more safe. At least until the media and Avengers manages to get the media to unfairly paint what happened in westview as something much more innocent.

This new journey with the three of you should be…fun until then. At least you have your favorite people, and they have you.

[wolfiesmoon]

Who is who again?

Riddle, Vil, Idia (seperately) x gn!reader

i was thinking and thinking and then i remembered that basic overdone fanfiction tropes do in fact exist, so here's a silly lil bodyswap fic for the soul

yuu is a little silly prankster goofster who likes messing around and trolling people in this fic, just saying in advance that i did inject a bit of personality in them

also i apologise if the fanfic becomes confusing to read at any point, it's kind of hard writing the reader's actions while in someone else's body, especially when interacting with the person you're swapped with haha

‧₊˚✩��� Riddle Rosehearts

"Okay, so you're tellin' me that you're Riddle, and you're the Prefect?" Cater pointed to each of you respectively, still trying to grasp the situation. Trey, Ace and Deuce seemed equaly stumped.

"Yep. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I'm in Riddle's body now." you replied, shrugging casually. "You shouldn't have told them so early on, Riddle, I wanted to mess around a bit."

"Oh, now I'm very glad I told them so early. Knowing you, you'd cause far too much trouble for me to be able to uphold my reputation." Riddle shuddered, imagining the silly pranks you'd pull on everyone while in his body. Well, I suppose they wouldn't be very silly to him.

"Wait. If I'm in your body, does that..."

You quickly took out Riddle's magical pen and pointed it towards Ace, yelling out "Off with your head!"

To your surprise, it actually worked and Ace had a collar around his neck. So you can use magic now.

"HEY! Why did you do that!?" Ace called you out.

"It's revenge for stealing the bit of food I was saving for last on Friday. And also, I needed someone to test out whether I can use magic now." you smirked mischeviously at his annoyance. Now this is fun.

"This still feels unreal. I cannot believe I'm looking at myself talking to someone else. And fooling around like an idiot, too." Riddle did not seem amused.

"Listen, okay, I finally have magic now and I'm gonna take advantage of that. Which means you better run, Cater." you rubbed your hands together evilly.

"What?! Why me?!" Cater was not prepared for this attack.

"Too much magicam. Not enough reality. Collar needed." you explain like a robot overlord and point Riddle's magical pen at Cater.

"Now, now, let's not do that, okay?" Trey gently wrapped his hand around the magical pen in your outstretched hand, smiling at you.

You were about to shake his hand off and proceed with your collaring plan, but you got a better idea.

"No, no, you're right." you shook your head, lowering your hand. Cater breathed a sigh of relief.

"Since I'm Riddle and all, I have to uphold a perfect test score on every test." everyone looked at you, wondering where you were going with this.

"This might be an awkward time to mention that I haven't studied for tommorow's test at all."

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. You are coming with me." Riddle was not about to let his grades slip by such a wide margin. He'll make you memorise things until atleast a 90% is guaranteed, as much as he would hate to get one.

Originally, he was going to try and figure out how to switch you back as soon as possible but that'll have to wait after tommorow it seems.

"WAIT, CAN YOU LIKE, ATLEAST REMOVE THIS COLLAR BEFORE YOU LEAVE?!" Ace yelled behind you but you just whistled innocently, not paying attention to his despair.

.

"That's how the Queen's succesor managed to- are you even listening?"

"You know, it looks kind of funny when I'm being scolded by myself." you yawned, placing your chin on your arms which were currently crossed on the table.

"This is NO laughing matter. My grades are at stake here." Riddle scolded you some more. You nodded sleepily and he took that as a sign to continue.

"So as I was saying- What are you doing now?" Riddle followed your line of sight, his gaze falling on the mirror inside his room. You were looking at him?

"Woah... You're, like, actually pretty cute." you turned back to him, excited at your discovery.

"...What are you blabbering on about? This is NO time to be fooling around, as I have been telling you for the past- Wow, you really are hopeless." Riddle sighed, watching you examine his face in his mirror and still not listening to the magical history lesson.

It does not help at all that you made him lose composure with that "cute" comment.

"Your eyelashes are nice." You comment, smiling at your own reflection.

"What an oddly specific compliment." Still, Riddle felt all weird inside when you said that. This is not fair. Now he can't focus on teaching you anymore.

"It's not oddly specific, really. Guys have really great eyelashes sometimes." You batted your lashes at the mirror and then at him, trying to showcase his charm.

"That is... very strange. Please stop that." Riddle still felt weird about seeing his own face make such silly expressions.

"Hey, if I were in my own body right now I would be swooning over you. Just for your information." You rolled your eyes playfully, entirely insistant on getting out of studying by flustering the hell out of poor Riddle.

"Wha- That's it, off with your-" Riddle reached for the magical pen which would normally be in one's pocket, only to realise that you don't even own one. Of course.

"Oh, Riddle. You silly goose. I'm the one in power here." You intertwined your fingers like a supervillain.

"Please, let's just get back to studying." If Riddle were in his own body right now, his face would be red all over from embarrasment.

"If you insist." You sighed in feigned defeat, your mind already cooking up more plans to embarrass Riddle while you're in his body.

How very fun indeed.

"Why are you smiling at me like that? That kind of smile does not suit my face." Riddle seemed concerned about his body's fate.

"Hmmm, I wonder how many drinks I can order at the Mostro lounge in one sitting." You wondered aloud on purpose.

"What?!"

"What? I didn't even say anything this time." you faked your innocence.

This is going to be a nightmare for Riddle, isn't it?

‧₊˚✩彡 Vil Schoenheit

"Oh. My. God." you lightly slapped your cheeks while looking at yourself in the mirror to make sure this is reality.

Well, you suppose they aren't exactly your cheeks. You're currently inside Vil freaking Schoenheit's body and you have no idea how it happened.

You do suppose all logic kind of gets thrown out the window in a world where magic exists, so swapping bodies with someone might not be that outlandish. Now you wonder if you're the only one who this happened to, and what your body is up to.

Speaking of being Vil Schoenheit now, does that mean you have to uphold his insanely strict daily routine now?

Nah, who are you kidding? You're going to cause as much trouble as you can for this pretty boy. He wakes up much earlier than you thought, so you don't know what to do right now. You walk around his room, inspecting every corner for some prank ammunition.

Rook knocked on the door all of a sudden, telling Vil that he's worried since he's taking longer than usual. You let him into the room.

You decided that you're not going to tell anyone that you're actually not Vil and and act as him for as long as you possibly can.

"Oh, I was just... thinking about something." you grinned evilly at the mirror, before turning back to face Rook.

"Oh my, it seems you were so lost in thought that you've completely forgone doing your hair and makeup. Quite the unpleasant surprise. What troubles you so?" Rook seemed utterly hearbroken.

Wow, he's blunt sometimes. Not that you care about that right now.

"I was just thinking that I'll probably skip all that today. You know, going for a natural look." You twirled a piece of Vil's hair in your hand.

Rook tried convincing you otherwise but you shooed him out, not wanting to hear anything about how 'a natural look also involves doing subtle, light makeup'. You're on a mission here.

Speaking of, you just got a great idea.

You opened his Magicam after getting dressed, briefly gawking at the follower count before clicking on the 'new post' button.

You placed Vil's phone horizontally against your chest, taking an unflattering chin photo and posting it to magicam with the caption "#chinningtime😍😍😍😍", giggling like an idiot all the while.

Within a minute, your post has already gained about 2 thousand likes and loads of very confused (and amused) comments.

What great encouragement to post another one.

You placed the selfie camera of his phone close to your forehead, taking a forehead touch perspective pic. You added the caption "what my kitten sees😈💯🔥" and posted it.

You were laughing your ass off at all the comments when someone knocked at the door. "Roi du Poison, this is an intervention. I am very concerned about you."

Hahahaha, of course he would be one of the first people to worry about you.

Rook joined you once again in your room, explaining how concerned he is about your behavior this morning and how it's very unlike you. I mean, jeez, is Vil allergic to fun or something?

However, Rook wasn't the only one that had concerns with you, it seems.

"Would you care to explain what these are?" you were surprised to hear your own voice, turning your gaze back to the door where you were standing with a very displeased face, holding up your phone with the two selfies you took earlier. It feels dystopian to see yourself standing right in front of you. Out of body experience, for real.

"Wait. Before anything, just who are you?" you wanted to know just who was in your body, though you were already about 90% sure of it.

"Ah, Trickster. What brings you into Pomefiore?" Rook questioned internally how Vil doesn't recognise you.

"For your information, I am Vil. That other person next to you is not Vil. I'd assume you're the prefect, then?" he looked you with authority, leaving no room for stalling or avoiding his question.

"Yeah, yeah. You got me. But like, it's funny, right?" you shrugged, smiling goofily.

Vil dragged you off to the headmage's office, promising to explain things to Rook later and giving a firm scolding to you.

.

"Now that everything is finally sorted and we're excused from class for the day, would care to delete those... unflattering posts, please?" once the two of you were back in Vil's room, he immediately brought up that topic.

By now, they had to have gathered about 70k likes, right? Hehehehe.

"Do not smile at me like that. Or I will take back my phone and delete those horrid photos myself. Do you even realise what a PR nightmare this could be?" he placed his hands on his hips. You feel like you look completely different now that Vil's mannerisms are reflected on your own body. Body language really makes a man, huh?

"Oh, come onnnn, your fans love it. Everyone's laughing and saying how surprising it is to see you post something like this. See, they even got the hashtag #chinningtime trending!" you showed him pictures of his fans taking the same unflattering chin photos.

"What joy does someone derive from selfies as horrible as that? You made me look utterly horrible with those angles." You watched your own face contort with cringe. It's amusing how funny you look.

"People love silly things from time to time. For a celebrity as serious and professional as you, occasional silliness makes you look more relatable to your fans. A celebrity with a good sense of humor is the best kind in my opinion." you gave him a happy thumbs up. It was also for your own amusement, but you really don't feel like getting scolded even more than you have on your way back to the dorm.

"That is... the smartest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth." He sighed, "I suppose it would cause people to talk about it even more if I deleted them now. But I am still not happy about them."

You ignored the jab at your intelligence, turning around to look at yourself in the mirror. "You know, Vil, you can let loose from time to time. Smile and goof around without worrying what someone might think." your eyes travelled down the sculpted jawline of your new reflection.

"In a way, you're right for suggesting that. But I'm not someone who enjoys your sense of humor or relaxed philosophy to begin with." he was right. He only jokes on occasion and his jokes aren't very goofy.

"You're right..." now that you technically are him, you can see first hand how much he cares about his body. His skin is soft and gleaming, his hair is healthy and shiny and his body is nice to move around in.

"You seem lost in thought. It's unlike you." you looked back at him through the mirror.

"I just thought about how admirable you are. Like, damn, I could nevaaa." Vil inferred you were talking about his strict daily routine. You seem different now. More quiet and thoughtful than usual. And he definitely didn't miss the pink dusting his cheeks on his own face through the mirror's reflection.

"Thank you." 'admirable' is a compliment slightly rarer than the usual ones talking about his beauty.

"By the way, your smile is beautiful. Not the one in all the movies, the one you don't consciously make." you closed your eyes, recalling that exact face of his. Too pretty for his own good, that man.

"Thank... you. You seem in a great mood to compliment me. Surely you don't think this will be enough to make up for the selfies, because it is not." at this point, even Vil didn't know what to think. The smile he doesn't consciously make, huh...

"Nah, those were just random ones I wanted to get off my mind. Oh, by the way, I don't know how to do your makeup look. Care to do it for me, pookie bear?" you sprung up from the chair at the vanity table, already getting excited about messing him up on purpose by opening your eyes when he tells you not to or moving your lips away from the lipstick, making it smudge.

You got way too sentimental for a moment there. And you're sure he noticed.

"Back to your regular self, I see. Fine, I will make myself look beautiful, as always." he smiled confidently. Though he himself has become curious about that side of you now.

Do you really think of him as a victim of your little pranks like everyone else, or are you hiding something else behind your silly smile?

‧₊˚✩彡 Idia Shroud

You were surprised to find a different voice calling out to you in the morning and telling you to wake up, one that sounded more cheerful, peppy, childlike.

And sure enough, it was Ortho's face that greeted you instead of your usual furry friend Grim.

As it turns out, you woke up in Idia's body this morning. What a lovely surprise.

You mean that both sarcastically and in the regular sense.

While you were explaining what was happening to a confused and worried Ortho, Idia's phone started buzzing somewhere in the bed. This dude sleeps with his phone inside his bed? Well, you suppose you have no time for judgement when the phone call might be important.

You rummage through his bed and eventually extract his phone. It was your number calling him.

When you pick up, you hear your own panicked voice on the other end. "U-Um, is this- Are you- How do..."

"Yes, I'm the Prefect. Looks like we switched bodies overnight." you inferred that he wanted to know who exactly just picked up the phone.

"How exactly do you think that happened? I mean, that's NOT normal." your voice on the other end seemed much calmer now.

"Hm, I have no clue, but I do know that I'm going to have loads of fun..." you grinned widely, catching a glimpse of yourself on Idia's dark phone screen and flinching slightly. You're definitely not going to get used to looking like someone else for a while. Especially if your new appearance is as unique as Idia's.

"What do you mean by that? Seriously, wha-" you ended the call before your voice could finish the sentence.

"Hehehehe... I bet he's panicking so hard right now." you giggled to yourself, still feeling a little weird about the fact that it's Idia's voice coming out of your mouth instead of your own.

"Brothe- No, Prefect. Who was that?" it was adorable how worried Ortho was over his brother. Or you, you suppose.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it..." you patted Ortho's head, hand moving over his flames with interest. "Go ahead and have fun, I'll be here if you need me." you gently shooed Ortho out of Idia's room to execute your master trolling plan.

You sat behind Idia's computer, booting it up. His computer works really fast, which isn't all that surprising considering his skills. He probably built the whole PC from scratch.

Surely, Idia won't mind if you play his games for a bit. You just want to see how far he's gotten. How many items he's saved up.

Hehehe.

You opened up one of the games you've been dabbling in yourself a bit, giggling to yourself about the random anime girl backround.

"Jeez, he's basically pro at this point." you went through his obtained characters and all the stats on most characters were maxed out.

But, since he still hasn't obtained the new character AND he has loads of gems in his inventory, he surely won't mind if you do the work for him, right?

You started pulling for characters in the gacha, waiting for the little indicator that you got a rare character. The flames of your hair flickered more and more with each pull, knowing you were getting closer.

Just when you got the pull animation you were looking for, the door to his room burst open and you saw yourself, all panicked and panting. Took him long enough, jeez.

"Oh, hi, me! I was just pulling for this character on your behalf, and-" you glance at the monitor "Looks like I won the fifty/fifty, hehe~" you acted cute and innocent.

"W-W-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! I didn't- I didn't want this character! I was saving up for the re-run, and- Agh!" Idia pushed you away from his keyboard, and he stared at the screen with pure horror in his eyes. You wonder what color his hair would be if he were in his body right now. But as it stands, his flames are flickering happily above your head at a succesful trolling attempt.

"Just buy more gems, bae. Money solves all your problems." you pat his head, kinda cringed out by the way your face can contort when it's making faces candidly. You really look like that when in despair, huh?

Idia ignored the way the casual pet name made him feel. He's supposed to be furious at you right now, not flustered.

"Noooooooo, this is the worst day of my life...." he hid his face in his hands.

"You know what, though? Look at the bright side! I get to figure out how your hair looks when it's wet. I doubt you'd do it yourself and I've been morbidly curious for a while." you patted his shoulder in an overly cheerful manner.

"Wha- Abso-freaking-lutely not. You're a weirdo of the third degree." he crossed his arms, still feeling a bit heartbroken over his videogames being tampered with.

"Is it that weird that I find your hair pretty?" you run your hand through his hair for the thousandth time this morning. It just feels so strange, yet nice under your fingers.

"Finding out if I become bald when my hair gets wet doesn't seem like something a hair admirer would do, but IDK, maybe my definition is different from yours." Idia shrugs, scowl still as big as ever.

"But really, I am an admirer. I kept looking at myself or, well, you in your phone camera this morning because your hair is just so pretty. Watching your hair fluctuate with your emotions is always a fun sight, too. Like damn, your hair is literally on fire, how cool is that?" you explain your thoughts, twirling a piece of his hair in your hand and smiling at it.

"If only I could cuddle up to you and use you like a heater. Too bad your hair's just a normal temperature." Idia's heart almost exploded at the mental image that formed in his head when you said that. And it was even worse because it was coming out of his own mouth.

"T-This is not okay... You can't do this to me...!" he mumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You don't get it, you just dealt 99999 damage to his falling-in-love-resistance shield. Just how do you manage to do that?

"Actually, now that I can look at it up close as much as I want, your face is like, really well proportioned too. Like..." you bit your lip as a joke, wanting to look overly flirty. "That's all I'm gonna say."

Okay, now you've done it. He might just pass out, right now.

[angel-sweets666]

Cast me spell

Barbarian bakugo x witch afab reader

warning : smut

part 2

read part one here first before reading this, then it will make more sense

a/n I’ve heard your prayers and I’m writing part 2 bc I’ve been asked to. I genuinely didn’t think this fanfiction would actually be good to read bc I don’t think I’m a good writer but some people like it and I’m going to try and get better. I downloaded grammarly so I could get better at writing for you guys

You slept well that night, cradled in the arms of a certain blonde barbarian. Bakugo kept you safe as you lay on his chest, his hand tangled in your hair. You whined softly and buried your face into his broad chest, his skin scattered with scars. Carefully, you traced the marks with your fingers. "Can I try something?" you asked softly, looking up at him with big doe eyes. "Yeah, go ahead, darlin'," he replied groggily, his voice raspy and deep. Your index finger began to glow as you pressed it against a scar that stretched across his chest. Suddenly, the scar began to glow around the edges and slowly closed up, starting from the left side and moving to the right. Bakugo watched in awe. Witches could do magical things, but he didn’t think they could do this! He looked down at his chest, then back up at you. "How did you do that?" he asked, puzzled. You snickered and placed your head back down on his chest. "Magic…" you murmured.

Bakugo accepted your answer and stared up at the ceiling. The silence was comforting, not awkward at all. He rubbed your back soothingly, occasionally tugging softly at the ends of your hair. He smiled down at you and kissed your forehead. "So… will you take me up on my proposal?" he asked.

"Didn't I already answer that?" you replied.

"I want an answer when you're not all sexed up, a sober answer," he said, his voice serious.

"Oh… then… yes, I will marry you." It felt like a big step to be honest, but to him, this was completely normal. It was a part of his culture. Perhaps it was strange, but this was what he knew. Maybe you could understand him better if you did this? You reached up to play with a lock of his blonde hair. It was soft, but it was clear he didn’t take great care of it as you picked pieces of dirt from it, probably from all his time at war and hunting.

"You will…?" he asked, needing to be sure.

"Yes, I will." His face lit up and he grabbed your waist, suddenly standing and spinning you around. You squealed in excitement, wrapping your arms around him for security. He slowly placed you back on your feet. "Sorry…" he murmured.

Many preparations were made for the wedding of the future chief. After this marriage, Bakugo's parents could step down, allowing Bakugo to step up. Becoming the chief was a big deal to him since it was all he was expected to be; it was what he was raised to be. Knowing that it was so close was… scary to him. He would have many responsibilities, and so would you. He was expected to be strong for his tribe, to protect them and keep them in line. You were expected to cast spells for the tribe because you're a witch, in addition to fulfilling the usual expectations of a spouse to a chief.

The day of the wedding arrived with the tribe bustling with excitement and activity. The air was filled with the sound of drums and chanting, a rhythmic melody that echoed through the forest. Colorful banners and decorations made from woven fabrics and wildflowers adorned the central clearing where the ceremony would take place.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the area , you stood at the edge of the clearing, dressed in a traditional gown made from soft, flowing materials and adorned with intricate beadwork and feathers. , your fingers tingling with the familiar hum of your magic.

Bakugo stood at the center of the clearing, dressed in ceremonial garb that highlighted his powerful physique. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, he looked angry most days however his gaze held a softness meant only for you.

The tribe’s shaman, an elderly woman with wise eyes and a staff decorated with charms and bones, began the ceremony. She spoke in the ancient language of the tribe. As she chanted, the flames of the central bonfire danced higher, casting flickering shadows around the clearing.

You stepped forward, guided by a gentle push from the shaman’s assistant. Bakugo extended his hand, and you took it, feeling the rough calluses of a warrior against your soft skin. Together, you walked to the center, where the shaman held a bowl filled with sacred herbs and oils.

With a nod from the shaman, you and Bakugo knelt before the fire. She anointed your foreheads with the oils, muttering incantations . The flames flaring brightly and then settling into a steady, calming glow.

Next, she handed you a small, intricately carved knife. With steady hands, you made a small cut on Bakugo’s palm, and he did the same to yours. You pressed your palms together, allowing your blood to mingle—a symbol of your unity and shared strength. The shaman wrapped your hands in a strip of cloth, binding the wound and sealing your bond.

As the final words of the ceremony were spoken, the tribe erupted in cheers. Bakugo leaned in and pressed a fierce, tender kiss to your lips, sealing your union. For the rest of the evening, the tribe feasted and danced, sharing stories and laughter under the starlit sky. You and Bakugo remained close, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist.

you showed the tribe witch craft, potion making and doing spells, but the night of the wedding was mostly partying and drinking, youyou and bakugo stayed sober however. You two spent most that time dancing and leaning on each other, cuddling and kissing. Even after knowing each other for such a short time you seemed to be happily in love. The night was over before you knew it and you two were walking back to your hut, he couldn’t keep his hands off you the whole walk there. His hands groping you, your face turning pinker with each grab and caress. The moment you were inside of your tent and in your own space he picked you up by the under arm and threw you on the bed “why are you so pink? This is was spouses do on their wedding night~” he leaned down and kissed your neck, you whimpered and grabbed his hair. The space between your legs feeling a familiar warmth or… wetness..? He grabbed your thighs and massaged them with each kiss and suck of your neck, he left purple hickeys all around the side of your neck. He reached down between your legs “already so wet huh..?” He slowly got down on his knees, sitting himself right between your legs “want me to keep going..?” He asked “mhm…” you nodded, giving him consent. Bakugo pulled you by your hips towards his face, licking your clit softly. You moaned and grabbed the bed sheets under you, he managed to slip his tongue inside which only intensified the feeling. Bakugo used his hands to keep your legs apart, the buldge in his pants getting larger and larger. He began to get impatient and stood up, pulling away from your pussy “hey… why’d you stop..?” You whines before he slipped a finger inside “wanna… be inside you” he grumbled, you moaned softly at the finger wiggling inside of you “is that good…?” Bakugo cooed to you “mmmph.. nghh.. y-yea…” you reached down and gripped his wrist. Feeling him slip a second finger into your hole, you held tightly onto his wrist. He slowly pulled his hand out and stuck his fingers in his mouth, tasting you on them. “Good girl, that’s a good girl.. tell me when it hurts” and before you know it, bakugo had the tip of his dick at your already wet hole and was slowly pushing inside, he groaned and laid his head on your chest. Gripping your thighs tighter with each inch that was sinking inside you, he bottomed out and he paused to catch his breath. Bakugo pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into your pussy, you moaned loudly and buried your face into his shoulder in a attempt to muffle out the loud noise of your voice, the huts don’t exactly drown out loud noise… he put his hands over your head for balance, the bed shook with each thrust and he was grunting lowly ontop of you “is that good…? That’s what I thought” he smirked and pet your hair “my wife..” he leaned down to kiss your head “ good girl..take it like a good girl” he pressed his forehead against yours as he continued his deep thrusts into you, the pleasure resulting in moans and grunts from you two. After what felt like hours of teasing and pleasure, the knot finally snapped. He buried his cock deeply inside you and then came. He panted softly, bringing you to his chest “you did so good, I’m so proud..”

[l-in-the-light]

About his "trigger warnings"

I mentioned here on tumblr that I used to have a number one favourite book writer. I guess not anymore. After all the SA allegations and other stories that got leaked by people around him (his collegues, co-workers etc.), I realized he's an abusive asshole and I owe you all to say that openly here. And some of the assaults date back decades now, which means he didn't just wake up one day and changed into an asshole, he most likely was always one.

I read the foreword to his book Trigger Warning again. I feel like I took a peek beyond his fake persona there. He writes about trigger warnings like it's some exotic curious little trend that kids on the internet came up with, finds it a bit peculiar like a daddy trying to understand their kid's hobbies, then proceeds to use them like a funny teasers for his short stories ("can you find the big tentacle hidden among the pages somewhere?"), only to finish it all up with a punch straight to your face: real life doesn't have trigger warnings, so always watch out for yourself. On the surface level? This all sounds like a slightly misguided, maybe even witty intro. Nothing is said with malice, right? And yet, the message underneath it all was always to discredit trigger warnings as a concept. That's why that delivery line is at the very end of that intro. You're supposed to be lulled into agreeing how silly it all is. I dunno if he did it on purpose or did it without thinking much about it, by habit, but that intention is there and it's disguised with concern and attempts to sound kind. A peek beyond the nice guy mask. No wonder I could never finish that anthology of short stories. The cognitive dissonance caused by the foreword sticked with me like a bad aftertaste. My intuition told me this was all wrong, I just couldn't find the words to express it.

And you know why it works so well as a disguise and why we tend to believe he didn't do it on purpose? Because hey, he just said the facts, the truth! Reality indeed doesn't have any trigger warnings, what's wrong with saying that! Yes, that statement is true. Using real statements in carefully woven context to sell a lie, is an example of an excellent manipulation. So allow me to untangle it or, in other words, to reveal the magic trick behind it.

Why do trigger warnings exist? Isn't Gaiman right, aren't they counterproductive, you might think, because by avoiding triggers you will never get better at dealing with them? Indeed, here's the catch, because the answer isn't a simple yes or no here. Yes, often to recover from trauma, you need to expose yourself to it in some way - like for example, through exposure therapy (or even just classic psychotherapy). But also No, because there's no rule that says you will officially recover only after you're fine reading fiction about sexual assault (for example)! Some triggers will dimnish, some will not, and the best you can do for the latter is to avoid them altogether. Triggers are extremely personal, but you can learn to manage them, in ways that respect your own boundaries, but never by giving up your right to selfcare. You see the difference?

Back to therapy bit for a moment. To recover, often you need to go through with it. But here's the thing - you do it in *controlled environment*, accompanied by a specialist that is there to help and calm you down afterwards. And you only start to do that once you feel *ready* to face it. Now compare it to a situation of reading a book (yes, a book, which usually never has any trigger warnings, because that's such a silly fanfiction thing). You come upon your trigger without any warning, preparation or support around you, you're left with the aftermath of possible panic attack or other symptoms completely on your own. It might take you weeks to recover from it, because perhaps you weren't yet in any therapy that could help you manage your triggers more effectively. But then you tell yourself it's fine, minimizing your own emotional reactions, because *it was just a book*. But, you realize, even years later you still remember it and you might finally accept the harsh truth that you're still not fine with it.

Now imagine same situation, but the book did have trigger warnings listed. For example, about sexual abuse. You would see that and leave the bookstore without the book, because you would know you're not *ready* for that. And it's fine not to be ready, be it yet or ever. This is about consent and selfcare, both are essential to process through trauma and recover. The books without trigger warnings rob selfcare, consent and a choice from us. They teach us we should always ignore our triggers and push through. It's sadly a reality that is widely accepted so Gaiman is right, nothing in reality will flash you a warning. But he's also wrong: it doesn't mean we can't make the life a tiny bit easier for those of us who are traumatized, instead of leaving them with all of that on their very own. This part, he doesn't want you to even consider. He doesn't want you to imagine the positive side of living in a world in which real books warn you about triggers, because then it would prove that it *can* become a reality in which real things (like books) warn you of triggers. They can't shield you from everything, but that's also not the point: it's just to make some things feel more safe, for everybody.

(As a side note, being triggered is not the same as stepping outside your comfort zone - those are two different matters! Though yes, stepping outside your comfort zone in an extreme way CAN become traumatic as the result as well).

I guess Neil Gaiman just thinks some people are too sensitive and should just get over themselves. You don't need those warnings, they won't protect you anyway. Have you tried not getting traumatized? How dare you think your selfcare is more important than reading my questionable fantasies? You're missing out if you skip my book (that has no proper trigger warnings) and you have only yourself to blame! I provide you a safe environment to explore your traumatic triggers, you should be grateful! And how is your book providing a safe environment exactly, author? Did you even try to put a safety net there for your reader? Do you even care? Of course you don't. But you will pretend like you do: by providing a very ingenuine effort that is mostly meant to be a pat on your own back for cleverly dismissing the very concept of trigger warnings, while pretending to play along with it and exposing their lack of power in the process. Disguised as a coincidence, lack of understanding or unskillful attempt written by a slightly ignorant daddy-like figure. What an irony that you do it by nearly surgically focusing on the blind spots of the concept, proving at the same time you do know the mechanism behind it pretty well. You knew what you were doing and how you were doing it.

Or at least, this is how I see it: I might be wrong on the details, but I'm sure I caught the gist of the manipulative behaviour there. An abuser always wants you to step out of your comfort zone, get surprised by a trigger, and to make sure you're outside your safety net. Because then you're an easier target, more likely to agree to harmful things (be it real actions or just harmful beliefs delivered to you by the author of a book, like in case of *trigger warnings being pointless*). They want to groom you into thinking that you're just being silly and see things that aren't there.

Trigger Warning's foreword is exactly that and I feel disgusted, now that I finally recognize my own feelings about it. I probably didn't find words for it before, because I wanted to believe Gaiman had good intentions behind it, they just didn't work out very well. Except that was never the case and that's why it never felt right. That good intention was never there, but it sure *looked* like it was. Also it took me way too long to realize people do things like that on purpose. You know what, Gaiman? Thanks to gaslighting efforts like yours it took me also way too many years to accept that selfcare IS OKAY.

So many people now think nothing was ever genuine about Neil Gaiman because his nice guy mask slipped. A mask he used to hide his autism behind and appear neurotypical/feel accepted thanks to it. Whenever a really advanced mask like that slips, the cognitive dissonance becomes a huge gap between a mask and actual self in perception of other people. Still, your autism is not an excuse for things you do and say, and definitely doesn't excuse assault as simple miscommunication - and yes, he did try to justify lack of consent this way. "I'm autistic, I read the body language wrong and wasn't even aware of it". Hey, you could have, like, asked. There's no shame in getting confirmation in words :P but it's just a poor excuse anyway, the truth is he didn't care if it was wanted or not, as long as he got adoration and powertripping thrill out of that, and that's the best case scenario here.

I believe the allegations. I won't be able to read Gaiman's books anymore, I honestly can't see them the same way I used to anymore. I loved Coraline and The Graveyard Book, and Smoke and Mirrors. I feel disgusted knowing that he openly claimed to be a feminist while at the same time assaulted so many people and used emotional manipulation so they won't #metoo him. He even went as far as to claim "always believe the victims", but once the allegations flew his way, what did he do? Blamed the victims, even called them mentally ill! I also feel now like his books are also just full of deception, meant to hide harmful beliefs under quirky words and imaginative tales. And I might never be able to stop feeling this way and I don't owe him a second chance anyway.

Good Omens stays in my heart though, because sir Terry Pratchett put a lot of work into it and it shows. I feel like I would show him disrespect if I discarded it. Let's say it becomes a Gaiman Who Might Have Been But Never Was, for me.

[elaemae]

The premium version of human is here to wreck house, mfs.

Twst x Obey me!AFAB!reader

(Reader is Ob's MC)

CW:

•NO APPEARANCE SPECIFIED FOR READER.

•Poly.

•Cursing.

•Reader is referred to as "you" or they/them and even "he/him" because NRC boys refer to any living humanoid in the school as a male by default.

•Crowley.

•It's my first time writing a fanfiction, pls tell me if I should continue writing this.

(Random pic go brr—)

What will happen when a perpetually hungry-for-cuddles and tired-of-this-shit hooman gets kidnapped by a motherfucking horse and decides (kinda? Yeah nope. This wasn't by choice.) to enroll in a school full of problematic kids and their irresponsible af headmage?

Chaos. Pure and utter chaos with a lot of high-end simping in the mix (Along with the slightly unhinged urge to commit arson and burn a bitch to crisp)

So read as [y/n] tries to run away from the school-life while trying to just get back to their goddamn harem family (God saw this thought and decided that giving y/n more harem members is the appropriate course of action), all while juggling the harsh responsibilities of being a guardian, babysitter, therapist, healer, protector, local crush and celebrity for poor Yuu and the entirety of NRC.

("Pls send help" — y/n)

• • • • •

Disclaimer: You may have been kidnapped to a whole 'nother world and you may be on the verge of a mental breakdown, but you're sure as hell gonna look hot and serve cunt while you go through all your problems.

Prologue: 1

IMPORTANT: Mc will be referred to as they/them in this story, but in these beginning chapters a lot of people will refer to mc as a dude because y'know; NRC is an ALL BOYS school and nrc students came to expect that those in the school are all boys.(this'll change dw)

In order to avoid confusion, every time that the MC is addressed by others as he/him or more; I will color it blue. why blue? I find it easier to read.

Sample; 'He turned to them.'

The "He" in this passage is referring to MC because the character referring to them thinks that they're a guy.

REMINDER: This is Fanfiction! Not everything will be the same as canon because of this thing called the 'butterfly effect'.

• • • •

The Dorm Leaders + lilia were just about to call this Opening Ceremony over.

So close to getting out of this hall and finally being able to go on their merry ways to escort the new students back to their respective dorms before the hectic-ness of preparing for hours starts to catch up to them.

Though, things are never quite that easy in NRC.

A commotion with the students quite far from them leaves the majority of them annoyed/disgruntled. (Kalim is just confused and curious)

The headmaster rushes to check what was wrong only for a student to point out that there is an unopened coffin floating in a shadowy part of the hall.

Armed with the desire to get this shit over with and to avoid embarrassment from missing a coffin when he was going around opening them and also, with Yuu waiting near the mirror, the headmaster opens the coffin to wake the new student inside.

The dorm leaders walked closer to be able to quickly usher the new student to the dark mirror only to notice that the headmaster froze up.

"...Headmaster? Are you alright?" Azul "Boutta-do-sumthin-devious" Ashengrotto asked with faux concern.

"Ah– Ah yes! I'm alright Mr. Ashengrotto."

Crowley the bitch cleared his throat and reached inside the coffin to wake the student up.

"Hmm..."

The dorm leaders subconsciously or not, peaked inside the coffin before getting gobsmacked by the sleeping student.

Sure, the student looked quite cute ("New potential apple locked in" — Vil.) even with half of his face obstructed but what really drew their attention were the jewelries that he was wearing.

Three luxurious looking earrings on each of his ears, all unique from each other, all with a respective color and design except for that one earring with two gemstones connected to it, orange and indigo. Seven gems, six earrings

An ornament on his forehead that looks to be a combination of a circlet and a Ferronnière made from gold, with intricate black bat-like wings surrounding the red gemstone in the middle.

And that's just the jewelry on his head.

There's also the sleek black choker with a golden sheen on his neck with a teal gemstone surrounded by small diamonds hanging in the middle.

They don't know if this guy has anymore but the jewels they can see for now is more than enough for them to make the deduction that this student has some alot of money on his hands.

No wonder the Headmaster froze up.

Azul subconsciously starts fixing up his appearance when he starts to wake up, wanting to make a good impression on a potential, rich victim client.

• • • •

"Mmh... What the hell.. Why is the bed so hard.."

You mumbled as you stirred, feeling someone lightly shaking you awake.

You opened your eyes, expecting maybe the brothers, solomon, dia, barbs, simeon or luke but you were instead met with a face obscured by a dark bird mask.

"..."

"..."

"You have two seconds to unhand me before you lose your hands." or your life. Depends on who I can summon first.

You made your voice as cold and unwelcoming as possible as the man with the bird mask squawked and backed away a bit in shock.

"H– How rude..! I'll have you know that I was only–"

"Where am I?"

You cut off the weird looking bird-man as you scanned your surroundings and moved to come out of the coffin why were you in a coffin? you were in, in fear of it closing and locking you inside.

You glance warily to the bird-man while keeping an eye on the huge number of robed individuals that you can see. are you in a cult? Damnit, did one of the Brothers' crazy cults decide to kidnap you out of jealousy again??

Especially the seven (reminder that lilia is there with the Housewardens) closest to you and bird-dude.

Some solomon-kinnie motherfucker is currently eyeing you down like he's about to sell your kidneys to the black market or something.. Hmm... Your fight or flight instincts are telling you to sell HIS kidneys instead.

*Ehem*

Burd-dude cleared his throat and addresses you.

"It seems that the teleportation magic has left you disoriented... No matter, I can forgive your offense of trying to threaten me for I am gracious!"

He then looked weirdly like a combination of preening peacock and a proud chicken.

"I repeat. Where in the unholy trinity of the three realms, am I?"

Now that raised a few eyebrows.

You feel for the necklace under your clothes that Thirteen gave you, filing the question of why you're also wearing the same robe as these people away, in your head.

While the guy that you now dub-thee as "bird-bitch" started gawking at you and going on a tangent of being disrespectful, you scan the big hall/room you're in looking for ways to escape.

• • • •

Hmm... This new student seems to be a knowledgeable individual.

Lilia kept his gaze on the student, studying how he took on a defensive stance the moment he got out of the coffin.

They need to calm this student quickly before something happens.

The student seems to be confused on why he's here and is looking for a way to get out.

If the way his eyes moved around the room in quick succession is any indicator.

Not the first time that something like this happens but add in the magicless student's appearance, he gets the feeling that something strange will occur once again.

Seeing him take out and grasp the palm-sized gemstone of a whole 'nother necklace hidden under his robe how many trinkets does this boy have??, Lilia got ready to jump in the fray should something happen.

There's a possibility that the student can use that necklace as a weapon if that was what he chose to hold in this situation and not his other shiny ornaments.

Lilia was proven right when the necklace and the gemstone glowed and formed into a fancy-looking staff that the student quickly pointed towards Crowley.

He looked at the dorm leaders around him to see if any of them will do something.

...

yeah no. If anything, they look like they're watching an amusing show. Especially Schoenheit and Kingscholar..

Though it seems more like Riddle is still assessing the situation before he brings out his infamous collar.

Haahh.. Youngsters these days..

Chapter list | → PROLOGUE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

Elae: Sorry if my grammar is off, English isn't my first language.

Btw, Thanks for reading this far! Hope you enjoyed it😊

Srry if my format is also off, I've only been using tumblr for a few days now...

MOST IMPORTANTLY; Should I continue reading this fanfic? I wanna know if people still read Obey mexTwst stories here...