#ama writes

[pupwashing]

daddy’s little sweetheart!

ft. dante sparda x fem!reader

tags: 18+ content, DDDNE, daddy daughter incest, dubcon, thighfucking, slight scent kink, spit, slight pussy inspection, unfulfilled reader

a/n: day 1 of reposting my drabbles.. feedback, comments, rbs are all appreciated :3 I think I need to do more dante drabbles but I’ll see how this one does

divider by @/cafekitsune!!

thinking about.. dad dante. he’s always been weird, but he’s always been present. you’re a daddy’s girl, and it was all his fault. he’d be damned if there was anything his baby girl wanted that he didn’t buy. he’d been wrapped around your finger ever since you could talk. you guys are extremely close..

..so it’s a not strange when he comes into your room late one night, but it’s not for one of his usual interrogations about your personal life. no, he’s come to persuade you to do something you hadn’t even thought of before.

“c’mon, baby.. aren’t you curious? daddy can do a lot more than the guys your age can. daddy’s experienced. girls your age like silver foxes, don’t they?” he cooed, large hands gripping your thighs. he parted them, grateful for your preferred sleepwear of just a shirt and panties. that made things way easier for him to get you naked.

dante dipped his head between your thighs, getting close to your clothed cunt. he took a deep inhale, breathing in the scent of your most intimate bits. he could do this forever if he wasn’t eager to get on with his plan. a good father wouldn’t be doing this to his daughter, but dante’s never claimed to be a good father. only a present one.

dante’s fingers hooked under your panties, sliding the fabric down your legs and flinging it across the room. it was now time for main course.. the entire reason why he came into your room in the first place;

your pussy.

it’s the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, especially when he spreads the lips with his fingers and spits on it, watches as his saliva drips down from your cunt to your asshole, a smirk on his lips. at this point you were whimpering, dumb moans tumbling out of your mouth as you watched your dad play with your pussy.

he prodded at it with his thick fingers, but never slipped one in. he spread the lips, then held them together, giving your clit a featherlight kiss when it poked out. he wasn’t here to eat you out, though. not tonight. he was here for his own pleasure.

he made quick work of getting his pants unzipped and boxers pulled down, allowing his thick cock to stand proudly.

he could tell by your widened eyes that you were getting the wrong idea. “don’t panic, sweetheart. i’m not putting it in tonight.” his smooth words reassured you, causing you to relax again.

dante adjusted himself between your thighs, holding onto the plush flesh as he began to rut his cock between your thighs. this felt like a strange dream you’d have once in a while when you had eaten something spicy before bed, but this was real. your dad was fucking your thighs, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as your skin provided lovely friction for his length. you felt even better than his pocket pussy. maybe he’d have to retire the toy in favor of having you around for his needs.

he fucked your thighs until he came thick white ropes on your tummy, using his thumb to smear it with a sly grin. he knew you were soaking wet and needy by now, but he was far too tired (read: lazy) to do anything about your current state.

“i know you’re needy, but daddy’s tired, okay? you understand don’t you? that’s right. you understand because you’re my sweet girl. my good girl.” his excuse was shitty and barely thought out, but he praised you enough for you to go along with it. he’s glad you accepted his half-baked excuse because right now, the game is on, and the couch is calling his name.

[amaranthinius]

a short drabble-ish

As the groom, Madara wears a black yukata. It hides nothing— the large gap at the front stops near his stomach, revealing the valley between his pecs and the shadows of his abdominals, tinted by the beginnings of a dark trail of hair.  It wraps tightly around his arms, showing off even the tiniest shifts of his muscles.

His hair is in a high ponytail, flowing like a dark river onto his right shoulder. His black eyes twinge with an eerie red. It's the tiniest hint of Sharingan laying dormant behind them.

Tobirama's yukata is white. It's large on him, protecting Tobirama's modesty from everyone's eyes, including Madara's. And, unlike Madara, Tobirama is adorned with trinkles that reek of Senju alphas and omegas. Even now, as Hashirama prepares to announce the hunt, another omega comes forward to tie a band of cloth on Tobirama's wrist.

“You’re lucky,” an Elder muses, “to receive such a blessed omega.”

“I don't follow,” Madara grunts, turning around to salute the Senju Elder. It's another protocol that Madara has to follow. 

“It's an old tradition,” The Elders explains, “We used to offer trinkets to the omegas who were challenged in marriage hunts. Another way of begging the Gods to let them return into the clan. As Lord Uchiha sees, Tobirama is a beloved member of the clan.”

Flowers have been waived into his hair, which is now arranged into a braid. His wrists and ankles carry bracelets and anklets made from cloth, beads, and metal. 

[friendly-neighbourhood-archon]

I’m crying, a few months ago I was about to quit writing for good and in a last ditch effort I wanted to write a short genshin fic, maybe 2-3 chapters.

That genshin fic has now 19 chapters and is still ongoing and it hit 10k views yesterday, checking back after updating yesterday it’s 15 new comments and over 400 new views over night. 

I haven’t written this much in over ten years. I always loved writing but I didn’t think i was any good. All those sweet, sweet people, you changed my life. You gave me back my spark, my love for writing, my confidence in my writing. 

[amarald-sky]

The Shadows Know Me By Name a short Drabble made when I had a headache,,, much pro writing

A moth shivered in the corner behind a jagged rock. It hid from the darkness prowling around the area. Eden was a dangerous place with many warnings, but sometimes curiosity can get the best of young ones. All the little moth had to protect them was a small fire pot they found that was left behind. It flickered weakly, barely keeping the shadows at bay.

A dark figure peaked out in front of the moth and they scrambled to their feet. An outstretched candle lit up in front of them and they lit it. The person held out his hand and the moth desperately grabbed it. The older skykid hid the moth underneath his black cape and ushered him along. The moth looked up towards the guide's face and saw an unmasked face with bright white eyes and dark stars in the middle of each.

"What were those?" the moth asked cautiously.

"Don't worry little one," the tall man replied, "the shadows know me by name."

[angelicspaceprince]

Beetlejuice Headcanons - Him Reacting To The First Time You Say ‘I Love You’

So I’m in the a Beetlejuice rabbit hole atm and have been talking to @trelaney about things and yeah these headcanons were born as a result. I’m hoping to have more out later this week and maybe a NSFW and SFW alphabet by tomorrow morning if I get time tonight but for now, enjoy this. I might also do some Dewey Finn ones if I feel up to it, I gotta watch the SOR musical first. Also, a conversation with @snake-cadaver about what Beetleboi would call his dick lead to a line in this headcanon - my aim is to later write a fic about it but ya never know.

Also warnings for sadness and Soft Boi!Beetlebug because he needs love.

You had been dating Beetlejuice 🐞 for maybe three months before it happened, but you had known since the third ‘date’ that you loved him

He wasn’t the easiest person to date, even to get him just to wash his fucking hands was a nightmare but you made do

Your declaration of love just happened by accident

You were eating dinner and watching TV, Beetlejuice providing a running commentary which had you in stitches and it just slipped out

“God, Beej, I love you.”

It killed the mood in less than a second as Beetlejuice when from his usual, upbeat and somewhat cocky self to something you didn’t even recognise

He goes quiet, and almost seems to want to curl into himself

“You….you do?”

His voice seems broken, nothing you’d ever heard from him before

“Yeah, of course I do?”

“You sure?”

When you look up to see him properly, you realise that his hair is mostly pink with faint streaks of blue – your boyfriend was like a friggin mood ring. Blue was not a good colour for his hair to be

“B, you constantly go around calling your dick your Beetlebulge and I still let it stick it in me. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

His usual cocky sell returns as his chest puffs out.

“Of course you do! I’m the best in the Netherworld, babes, and don’t you forget it!”

It didn’t escape your attention that he didn’t say that he loved you back but that’s ok

It hurt, but maybe he wasn’t ready for that yet

Two weeks later, you both collapsed into bed, drunker than you thought was physically possible

And suddenly, the insecurity from that event two weeks prior reared its ugly head as you and Beetlejuice 🐞 just stare at each other’s faces, him with a stupid grin on his face that was either an effect of the alcohol or simply the fact that he had a stupid pun coming up in his head

You ruined that smile with one question

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunches up in confusion.

“Of course I do baby!” You wince as he shouts his overexcited answer followed by him putting a finger to his lips and continuing his sentence in an overdramatic whisper. “Shhh babes, people outside, don’t yell.”

You giggle which makes him smile again. “I’ve loved you since day dot, dollface.” He goes to kiss your nose but misses and lands face down on the bed, where you can hear a faintly muffled ‘shit’ against the covers before he pulls back to look at you again

You smile at your very cute (and very very drunk) boyfriend and move to put your chin to his chest. “That’s good, because I love you.”

You hear him hum and when you look up, he looks like he’s about to drift off to sleep. But you still wanted answers.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Beetlejuice hums as a hand moves up to trace faint patterns on your back (you are 99% sure he’s tracing dicks, but you’re too tired and drunk to really care)

“Well, sugar tits,” – you roll your eyes at the nickname – “it was the first time someone’s ever said that to me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.”

Everything seems to pause as you sit up to look down at your boyfriend. “No one has ever said to you that they love you?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ as he squints to look up at you. “It’s too late, let’s go back to sleep babes.”

“Not even your mother?”

He scoffs. “She called me an annoying little shit, does that count?” He shrugs. “Babes, its no issue, really. Everyone thought I was annoying and painful, even when I was alive. I was a hard breather to love, even harder dead guy too I guess.” He pulls you down closer so you’re lying down again, but you slide to the side so you can still look at his face, hair still green but with the tips faintly blue. “Go to sleep babes.” He finally whispers

You can feel your heart break as you realise Beetlejuice 🐞 hadn’t been loved in a very, very long time. You weren’t really sure how to make the situation better. You finally resolve to say the only thing that came to your mind

“Hey. Hey. Hey Bug. I love you.”

His face breaks out into another large, dopey ass smile as he turns to you. “I love you too.”

He reaches over to kiss you, but somehow manages to miss epically and, with a loud crash, fall onto the floor beside your bed

You look over the edge in a hurry, seeing him currently face planted to the wooden floor, laying flat with his arms splayed out comically

“Uh….Beetlebug? Are you ok?”

His response is a loud snore so you figure, he’s ok

You quickly get a pillow under him and a blanket over him before climbing back into your own bed and mentally preparing for the massive hangover you no doubt will receive in the morning

Hey, Beetlejuice is too heavy for your drunk ass to lift and you don’t want a bad back in the morning. You love him, but you’re not stupid

In the morning, you wake up with a searing headache, limbs wrapped tightly around your body, pulling you close to a relatively cool body and loud snoring echoing through your head as Beetlejuice’s snores continue to grumble out his body and into your ear, his head firmly pressed against your shoulder

You groan and try to move with no success, so you pull out your phone and start scrolling through your various social media

You hear a grumble next to you and your boyfriend’s head moves so his eyes are buried in the crook of your neck

“Is too early babes, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t, I have a pest snoring in my ear.” You tease as he huffs a small laugh and kisses your neck gently

“You love it.” You hum in agreement as he shifts again. “Ugh, it’s too bright.”

You roll your eyes and dim your phone which leads to a content sigh before more snoring

When you finally do manage to get out of Beetlejuice’s grasp and set out on your quest for coffee and painkillers, it’s not long until two arms wrap their way around your shin

“Babe, come back to bed?” Came the pathetic whine, large eyes trying to convince you to pity the man attached to them and to return to the bed

“I need coffee.” You wince as your own voice echoes in your skull. “And Tylenol.”

Beetlejuice 🐞 refuses to let go and you end up dragging a (very heavy, clingy) demon out of your room and into the kitchen to get the coffee going

You weren’t even going to look behind you to the destruction his body being dragged behind you left until after you were awake

As you brew the coffee, Beetlejuice stands and quickly makes his way to rest behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he continues just to lazily hold you and kiss random parts of your skin that he can reach

Whenever he went to cop a feel, you’d slap his hand away. Too early for that bullshit

Your headache clears as Beetlejuice shuffles in closer, ignoring the cup you made for him that sits there in the sandworm mug you managed to commission for him

“Don’t leave me?”

His voice returns to the same emotionally unsure and vulnerable one that he had three weeks ago

You move to run your fingers over his arms as you start to sway

“Never, Beej. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slaps Beetlejuice’s 🐞 ass This bad boy can fit so much abandonment issues in it.

[itsanerdlife]

Talking out new parts for the series with Kaitlyn... gets excited.

Me: “Oh I have Satan ideas!”

Kaitlyn: *sweats nervously* “oh boy...”

[thepriceofrealityisfantasy]

I swear to fucking god I’m going to need to start a gofundmepage in order to do this Alex Brightman cross stitch. Am I going to do it? Yep. Am I an idiot? Most likely.

[guiildenstern]

so you're in this car and you've stopped at a spar on the edge of town, you're on your way home from something, some outing that has left you bursting with exhaustion, and in the front seat is your uncle, your weird uncle, the uncle who's not technically your uncle and who you're not allowed to be left alone with, and he's the boniest person you've ever met, just thorn tree hands on the chewed up steering wheel and there's a cigarette hanging from his mouth and you know he spoke in grumbles and shouts but looking back you will never remember the specifics, only the smell that you would later learn is weed, twisted and fowl in his breath.

and you've stopped at this spar. it's just a row of four buildings, chipped paint in formerly bright colours, on a long stretch of potholes and you're parked round the back. your uncle has gone in and the doors locked, and you're not sure when he's coming back or how to get the window down, all you know is that the air is hot and the seat is hot and the road is hot and you can see the heat rolling off the tarmac you're so tired. the most tired you've ever been.

and then you're moving again, and the air creeps through the cracks and it's choking, dusty dry but it's air and and it's new so you're leaning as far out the window as the gap will allow just gasping when the front of the shops come into view- all hand painted signs. chipped paint, formerly bright. and a croc charm kiosk, the charms hanging of an old white grate, twinkling in the sunlight. and you swear you could smell the melting rubber as little blue car turns the corner, crashing into a pothole with a jaunty grace as it flings you against everything burning and your skin screams as you squirm away from the hot black door and then you see a boy, about your age. shorts checked in those classic early 2000s pastels and a rusting harmonica in his hands. looking back you'll think about tetanus and bacterias and how many times you should have died as a child but in that moment it's just you and him and that screeching note. long, arduous, a task that would never be finished, a sound like no other, that could hike to to the clouds and demand they rain, shrill and visceral and angry and deadly cold.

like i swear the metal in his hands was chilled. i swear the puffs in his cheeks held ice, and the stagnant air condensed as he repelled it. and if you were there you'd remember the way your palms pressed against the black door, trapped in silence, all notion of pain forgotten as they hold, still and waiting and you'd remember the way your breath caught on the air, sudden in its freshness, and you'd remember tightness in your chest - heavy weight, the knowledge that something was lingering ahead of us, sat on the corner of a road not unlike this, just waiting for something, for someone, and you'd know how the shepherds felt, confronted with people neither like nor unlike them, know exactly their thoughts their bewilderment, because you'd be seven, peering out of a car window, and you'd know that god was made in your likeness and no one else's, and that he screeches his sermons, breathless and hoarse and screeming to be heard, beside a timeless croc charm kiosk wearing orange charmless crocs.