#(i just can’t post something without context)

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Tweeted From the Lap of the Woman I Fear” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Everyone Ships It Except Them (Allegedly).

You weren’t trying to start discourse.

You weren’t trying to come out.

You were literally just sitting in Reneé Rapp’s lap, trying to find the charger under the couch without dislocating a rib, when your thumb slipped, and you sent the tweet.

[@/you] PROTECT GAY MARRIAGE

No context. No thread. Just… vibes.

And it would’ve been fine.

A normal tweet. Maybe even brave. Maybe people would think you were finally stepping into your truth—after years of dodgeballing the question with ironic astrology memes and chaotic fanfiction—and they’d clap, send flags, drop the gay-flag-heart emojis like it was digital confetti.

Except.

You weren’t done.

You just typed too fast.

[@/you, reply] SORRY I TYPED TOO FAST I MEANT PROTECT ME FROM GAY MARRIAGE 🚫🏳️‍🌈

Silence.

Then: the internet explodes.

You don’t even notice the chaos at first because Reneé is literally under you, laughing so hard she chokes on the cinnamon popcorn she just tried to sneak from your bowl.

“There’s something so psychotic about tweeting that while sitting in my lap,” she wheezes.

“I was unwell,” you mutter, scrolling with your other hand. “And also, your thighs are not structurally made for tweeting.”

“Excuse me—”

“You jiggle. My accuracy was compromised.”

Reneé tries to toss a kernel at your head but misses and hits her own knee. You ignore her.

Instead, you glance at the tweet again and that’s when you see it.

Over 1,500 likes in under ten minutes. Quote tweets rolling in like a tide of unhinged sapphics and confused allies.

“The bisexual urge to fear both commitment and women.” “no bc what does she MEAN by this 😭” “why is she literally sitting in Reneé’s lap in the tagged pic while tweeting this 😭😭😭” “girl WHAT” “this is what compulsory heterosexuality looks like y’all” “someone check on Reneé.”

You lower the phone slowly.

“I fear I may have tweeted a little too strongly.”

Reneé snorts. “You sound like a southern grandmother.”

“I have scandalized the timeline. They think I’m either a raging internalized homophobe or someone who wants a gay wedding with you but not too soon.”

“They’re not wrong.”

You side-eye her. “Which part.”

She shrugs. Grins like a gremlin.

“The wedding. I’d let you fake-cancel on me three times before we get married in a lesbian Home Depot.”

“That is oddly specific.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

You blink. Her hand is still on your hip.

You shift slightly on her lap, definitely not because your heart did something stupid and fluttery. Definitely not.

“I’m not gay,” you say flatly.

“You’re literally wearing my shirt.”

“This is just laundry efficiency.”

“You’re straddling me.”

“Because the remote is right there and I didn’t feel like moving around you.”

“And you tweeted about gay marriage while seated on me like a throne.”

“…It’s called nuance, Rapp.”

Your phone dings again.

Another quote tweet.

“not her sitting in Reneé Rapp’s lap typing ‘protect me from gay marriage’ like she hasn’t already emotionally married that woman four times and divorced her six”

You show it to Reneé.

She howls.

“No because that’s SO true,” she gasps, tears in her eyes. “You literally filed emotional divorce papers after I didn’t watch your favorite movie on your birthday.”

“Because it was Jennifer’s Body and you aggressively said Megan Fox was mid—”

“I was trolling! I love hot women!”

“So love me properly, coward!”

You’re yelling now. Over popcorn. From her lap. Your legs are tangled with hers. Your phone’s somewhere in the cushions, buzzing like a broken bee.

The timeline is full-on spiral mode now.

People are making memes. Screenshots. Threads dissecting your dynamic like it's queer theory in real time.

One of them posts a screenshot of your tweet with the caption:

“can’t decide if she’s closeted or just mentally unwell in a gay little way”

And honestly?

You retweet it.

Because yes.

It’s not like you’ve ever said the words. Not to your family. Not to the public. Not even to Reneé. You just kind of... existed. Drifted into her life like a post-credit scene. Fell into routines, jokes, glances that lingered. You don’t know when she became a constant. You just know she is.

You don’t need to define it.

Not when you’re like this.

On her lap, in her hoodie, screaming at your own tweet while she wipes popcorn grease from your cheek.

She leans in eventually.

When you’ve both stopped laughing.

When the room has settled.

When the sun’s nearly gone and your phone’s face-down.

“You scared of gay marriage?” she asks softly.

You smirk. “Only if it’s not you.”

Her mouth twitches. “So you admit it?”

“I admit nothing.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Then:

“But you do realize that typing ‘protect me from gay marriage’ while my hands were literally on your waist is kind of the funniest way to not come out.”

“You say that like I’m hiding something.”

“I say that like I know something.”

You look down at her. She looks up at you.

She doesn’t kiss you.

But her hand does slide up your thigh, warm and steady.

And you don’t stop her.

[icanexplainwhythisnameisbad]

DUMB@$$ DELTARUNE 3&4 (really dumb) WHAT IFS

these are in no way directly related but basically dumb thoughts I had that since I have poor story writing skills (like I can conceptualize a story but I can’t describe an environment or write dialogue which is 2/3rds of any good story (only half if you include art as well I mean I have decent art skills… but it’s a kindergartener’s drawing in comparison to most art on here )

the point is I’m putting ideas here (some of which others may have also come up with but I’m putting my own spin on it )

spoilers ahead (while most who see this probably have played both new chapters and don’t care. Just in case.)

-Toriel wakes up early in chapter 3. V1:

this version has her wake up during the Tenna boss fight and that’s a whole confrontation as the tv with abandonment issues is losing his mind

-Toriel wakes up early. V2:

this one has her wake up relatively early in chapter so The $#@* Squad/Fun Gang/Lancer Fan Club & Tenna (separately but they both do it) kinda try to keep the whole “end of the world / the knight wants to kidnap you + your divorce & abandonment of me has caused me a ton of issues” thing(s) away from Toriel (meanwhile literally everyone else there (anyone who isn’t the 3 heroes & Tenna) doesn’t care and tells her anyway ) meanwhile Toriel is just confused, curious & kinda worried that her own TV got issues from her (and the others but they aren’t here right now )

-Tenna burns a woody doll (expy) at the stake.

-Gerson ends up in castle town:

(the old man is too powerful to be bound by death & a mere meta video game’s depressing story progression )

-Susie takes Tenna “home” with her instead:

(I know I know Mettaton & Tenna is a whole thing but while we haven’t seen Susie’s house in canon yet. it can’t be a good place from the context clues hidden in some of her actions & dialogue throughout the chapters (as faking calling home isn’t normal (plus a bunch of other things but this isn’t about that (well this part is but not this whole post ) so that’s a thing and a half alone let alone if a fan made dark fountain appeared

-Jackenstein shows up again/survives:

(as from what I saw after he disappears he doesn’t show up again but isn’t directly stated to have died and while this could be a thing in a later chapter … 🤷)

-the soul ditches kris to possess noelle instead:

(as in a pacifist or neutral route the soul wouldn’t like being beaten up for trying to prevent the end of the world & everyone in it & just being curious in general. or for a snowgrave version, the soul decides it’s a better course of action instead of using kris (sure there’s the whole “your choices don’t matter but the game itself talks about you as if your kris and kris is you. so what if it’s “Kris’s choices don’t matter “ & not “the soul/player’s choice don’t matter” ) )

-noelle decides for whatever reason to visit Kris’s house in the middle of the night:

and therefore ends up in TV world (aka a reason for Tenna to get depressed again & dess is mentioned )

-Susie stumbles upon something she shouldn’t have…:

aka she ends up unintentionally watching kris play the hidden game and sees the snowgrave route portrayed (especially the “used up” scene ) and/or sees kris rip the soul out at the end of chapter 2 and is too stunned/shocked to do anything about it and doesn’t bring it up directly

-ralsei & Toriel meet and that’s pretty self explanatory

-Toriel wakes up early V3: she wakes up somepoint early in the chaoter but separate from kris, Tenna & the others & ends up going on her own adventure (kinda like the second one but without kris & the others there to give even more focus on Toriel meeting the tv world darkness (minus Tenna)

-the soul copy pastes Kris’s code into a genocide route in undertale to let them kill sans:

(meanwhile frisk+chara+the undertale player (its a mix of players being legitimate players in a game + being outerworldly beings so yeah. Multiple ) are just watching in confusion as a teenager kills sans on their own as another soul just floats there menacingly )

-since Gerson is technically a lightner reborn as a darkner he doesn’t have a theme… so potentially like ralsei couldn’t he potentially go anywhere (ignoring what ralsei said about reborn lightners turned darkners needing very specific conditions to even form cause gersons just too OP for that):

so basically (ignoring what I said in another post about something keeping the dark sanctuaries separate from the other dark worlds ) Gerson gets to be OP everywhere in every chapter

-Queen sees noelles search history:

(technically a chapter 2 one but I’m surprised nobody else had this idea) basically queen ships Susie & noelle meanwhile berdly is berdly & ralsei is confused by most of berdly’s even saying (meanwhile meanwhile kris is eating moss in a dark alley )

-asgore shows up in chapter 3 when he finds Toriel left something of hers behind (technically another attempt but she did legitimately leave something at the church (before chapter 4. I know it’s at the church but -) (this one would technically have to wait for chapter 5 as that one’s implied to be the asgore chapter but it’s mainly chapter 3 so 🤷

-something something Elnina & Lanino (and potentially roulxs) related:

no explanation needed here (well maybe one is needed but assuming this gets atleast 7 hearts/likes/whatever tumblr calls em. in 2 days I’ll reblog this with the explanation added )

(;

[maxdibert]

The thing that gets me about that one post is where they said Snape *needs* to be straight and white because his reasons for bullying Harry are petty. Like, what does that even mean?? If James truly bullied Snape because he was already a blood purist and death eater like they claim, then what does it matter if he's black and gay? If it really was just a rivalry over Lily's attention, then there shouldn't be a problem right? Why are Snape's actions petty if he's white and straight, but somehow more legitimate when he has a different race and sexual orientation? Is pettiness only a white, straight trait? Are other people not allowed to be petty? Are white, straight people not allowed to be traumatized by bullying? They can only acknowledge it was traumatizing if its done to a marginalized group? Lmao I need their thought processes explained to me.

Yeah, so, there’s something really messed up going on with all this, because what they’re saying has like two layers, two different readings, and both are pretty disturbing if you actually stop and think about it. On the one hand, what they seem to be implying — without saying it directly but definitely suggesting it — is that someone who isn’t white and/or straight can’t do bad things. Like, that’s the takeaway. According to this weird logic, if you make Snape queer and racialized, suddenly nothing he does matters. He could literally be Voldemort, he could turn into a serial killer like Ted Bundy, and somehow he’d still be… untouchable or something, because that’s the unspoken rule. Since he belongs to a historically oppressed group, his actions automatically stop being questionable. And that’s incredibly dangerous, not just because it’s essentialist to the core, but because it basically means you're assigning ethical or moral capacity based on who you sleep with or how you look in the mirror. It's completely fucking absurd on every level.

But the second point is even more fucked up. What’s being implied —almost unconsciously but very clearly— is that if a white, straight, working-class person like Snape is humiliated, bullied, stripped in public, and subjected to systematic psychological abuse during his teenage years by a bunch of rich, powerful kids —because let’s remember, James and Sirius weren’t exactly struggling— then suddenly it doesn’t matter. Apparently, according to these people, that kind of abuse only counts if it happens to someone who fits into a particular identity category they’ve decided is worthy of empathy. In other words, trauma is only valid if the victim is part of an oppressed group. But if the victim is a white, straight dude, then he had it coming, right? Then it’s not bullying, it’s not trauma, it’s not something that could scar you for life or mess you up psychologically.

And that’s where it all becomes a complete mess. Because if we start from the idea that only certain people have the right to be hurt, to suffer, to have trauma, or to react badly to the things that happen to them, then what we’re doing is accepting a worldview that’s incredibly dangerous, one where morality is distributed based on identity categories instead of actions or context. And I’m sorry, but that’s not social justice, and it’s not fighting oppression. That’s just swapping one arbitrary system for another equally unfair one, just dressed up as progressivism.

And finally, what pisses me off the most about all of this is how deeply dehumanizing it is. Because denying someone the capacity to do wrong just because they’re not white or straight is just as absurd as denying someone the capacity to suffer because they are. Both things reduce people to symbols, to archetypes, to puppets in some ideological narrative. And that, to me, is the most dehumanizing thing of all. Because every single one of us has the right to be complex, contradictory, vulnerable and yes, sometimes petty or even cruel. There’s no identity that automatically makes you a better person, and there’s no skin color or orientation that exempts you from doing horrible things or from experiencing horrible things.

So yeah, I’d love for these people to explain their thought process, because either they haven’t thought it through at all, or —if they have— then where it leads is kind of terrifying.

[corvusalbus93]

Oh, I remember us touching on this conversation after Astarion’s siblings vanish, in some posts a while back.

As a player I was disappointed and annoyed, because of the character development so far, especially in the second half of Act 2. Of course, taking a step back, like you said OP, it makes perfect sense he’s regressing at this point in the story, for all the reasons you’ve listed.

Of course any Tav, doesn’t quite have the luxury of taking the cosy outsider’s view, looking at everything and every possible dialogue tree at their own pace, so I pictured Nizana specifically, as the Tav romancing him, quite frustrated. Angry even. Deeply hurt above all perhaps that he would use her and her feelings for him like this.

This is not a happy Nizana:

I figured she sees him not only falling back into old patterns, but actively trying to manipulate, guilt-tripping her into doing something that goes against her very nature. Sacrificing souls to a devil, not limited to, but including the spawns. Astarion only ever speaks of his siblings, but Raphael very clearly said “including”. We and our characters (should) already know it’s more than seven.

I honestly can’t say which dialogue branch is the worst; he comes across as manipulative in all.

Astation: You're not getting sentimental, are you? I thought you were with me on this. Tav: I just want you to be happy.

Astarion: Then you help me in this. Nothing would make me happier.

Back when I first played this, I wasn’t sure how his questline would continue, I had seen some context-less clips here and there, but was mostly blind. At that point, my thoughts were: “This is going to strain their relationship so much... I think they might break up.” I was seriously considering to roleplay a break up, if I felt the relationship didn’t make sense anymore. It really depended on how things continued.

And let’s imagine for a moment Astarion could have done the rite without help. Like even if turning into a full vampire didn’t bring out the worst in him and amplify it, if Astarion’s personality hadn’t changed at all afterwards – I still think Nizana would have broken up with him for doing something so morally abhorrent.

Even as players, getting to Rivington & BG can be a bit overwhelming with all the quests vying for your attention, everyone reminding you of how there is little time until the brain breaks free and I figured it wouldn’t be better for a Tav unaware of a player’s quicksave-powers.

After all, this conflict isn’t happening in a vacuum; there is so much else going on simultaneously that Tav has so manage... and look, Lae’zel/(insert alternative party member) just got kidnapped by Orin. So, my interpretation of this and the later post spawn-attack dialogue was that it was make-or-break for their relationship, with both on edge & stressed, both sides desperate to sway the other. Juicy, narrative drama – heartbreaking to roleplay.

This moment in the conversation they had after meeting Pale Petras and Dalyria at Fraygo's Flophouse was very frustrating for me, to be honest.

Not in a bad way, more like: “ohh what are you doing?!” ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

Last time I played I probably didn’t check all the lines, but now that I found this branch I need to vent a little.

If you suggest Astarion to just run away he (understandably) argues he doesn’t want to spend eternity as a fugitive, constantly fearing the shadows. And this ritual might allow him to walk under the sun, even after they deal with the tadpoles. But then…

Astarion: And you want what’s best for me, surely.

Just look at his eyes. He is being so obviously manipulative with this line it feels like a stab, especially after everything they’ve been through.

And yes, he says something similar in other branches, too. But this particular phrase sounded the worst to me, especially with that look in his eyes.

Look at her face – she’s not having it too.

But here… I think he understands this as well.

But he can’t help falling into safety of the familiar patterns he’s been using for so long. He is back in the city where everything remind him of his life before. He has just had to face his siblings. And his old self reflected in them. He is back under Cazador’s suffocating presence. The inevitable final confrontation is right ahead.

And the pressure he’s under is immense. He wants to be safe, to be powerful and free. Maybe even to be able to give something back to the person he loves.

He has barely started his path to the healing, but this all is too much too soon.

It hurts to see him like that. Maybe I should be angry. And yet – I just can’t hold it against him. Not when I see where it’s coming from.

I’m sure Roanael knows that too, and she’ll just keep being there and asking the right questions, gently reminding Astarion that there’s another path – the one that leads to light, not darkness.

[sukirichi]

PLEASE STOP COPYING FICS ‼️

I am by no means gatekeeping concepts or tropes. We all know that it’s normal to see the same tropes or AUs be used differently, and that is not plagiarism. However, I recently found a fic that was oddly similar to my old (and discontinued) Gojo x Reader series, Reckless. The CEO! Gojo is nothing new, and neither is an accidental pregnancy trope. The only reason I am concerned is because this Gojo series I found has the exact same themes as Reckless that consists of: a playboy CEO Gojo with a very notorious reputation, a poor reader who is an employee and asset to the company (someone who works closely with Gojo), reader getting knocked up from a one night stand with Gojo, reader with a seemingly dead/absent mother yet still in contact with her father, Gojo with a very traditional family who does not like reader, and Gojo with an ex he struggles to let go of - which are all elements of Reckless.

The first chapter of that Gojo fic is also eerily similar to my first chapter with the same flow of: YN finding out she’s pregnant and her friend being there for her, Gojo saying he’ll take responsibility because ‘they both made the baby’, YN having to move in with Gojo to take care of the baby, and both of them coming to a mutual agreement that their ‘relationship’ will be purely for the baby’s benefit. The flow of events and specific details about the characters’ backgrounds are too similar to mine.

Again, I am not gatekeeping concepts, just as how I’ve had other writers ask me if they could write their own stories or takes based off of the NAOYA’S TROPHY WIFE COLLECTION or the BONTEN HUSBANDS EXCLUSIVE, and I’m fine with that. I’m even happy people are inspired by what I write. But being inspired is completely different from taking someone’s story and posting it as yours. Please trust your own creativity and skills in writing. You can write amazing stories and have people love them without having to steal from others.

It’s sad to say this is not the first time I, and other writers, have been plagiarized. It’s even more upsetting to know that a friend of mine who has also written a Gojo series (that I’m sure you all know and dearly love) experiences the same issues with the same person. The fact that this is happening to many writers out there is disheartening. We work hard and pour a lot of love in the stories we create. None of us are getting paid for this, and we simply want to share our passions with others. So please, let us be kinder with one another and show love and support the right way. If you love a fic, you give feedback and rb/comment + show support to the writer. You don’t steal their ideas and play it off as your own because you liked it.

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

..

[no1ryomafan]

Sometimes I wish I was into getter sooner because the curse of “being in a small fandom of a series that’s been around for decades” is there was always fans before you even if the difference is only by a couple years yet those people do eventually stop talking about it. Not leaving the fandom persay but they got different interests so they don’t feel inclined to stick to this one thing, they’d still talk about it if someone brought it up to them it’s just something that isn’t on their radar a lot until something new comes out. Which is why so many people came back when arc aired but either choose to stay or just left after it died down. I missed out on a lot even if it’s only because I’m younger and a lot of earlier fandom days would’ve been bound to have some doom posting about the mangas ending-there’s still people arguing arc anime didn’t technically “resolve it” bc some people are that salty how it turned out but I don’t wanna imagine how it was prior-and it sucks I’ll never get to know some of these people-

But I also not only realized I still have more than enough getter friends as is to make up for that, if I was exposed to this series in my early teens I think the results for how I would’ve turned out as a person would’ve been far more worse so it’s probably good it didn’t happen💀

[polaritydisturbed]

I’ve seen some posts floating around saying things like, “Belinda was always a mom, the Doctor just corrected the timeline,” and I genuinely cannot stress enough how little that addresses the core issues people have with how her story was handled.

First of all, if that was the intention—if the idea was that Belinda was always meant to be a mother and the timeline just needed to be “set right”—they did a poor job of executing it. A twist that major, one that fundamentally alters a character’s identity or arc, requires setup. Foreshadowing. Emotional groundwork. You can’t just spring something that massive on the audience in the last five minutes and expect it to feel meaningful instead of disorienting.

And here’s the thing: Doctor Who has done that kind of plot before—successfully. A great comparison is Amy and Rory. The show literally did the “someone you love was erased from time and the universe needs to be corrected to bring them back” storyline already. And while I’ve got my own qualms with how Amy’s arc was handled overall, that particular beat actually worked.

Why? Because there were signs. The cracks in time. The missing memories. A sense of loss Amy couldn’t place. Little inconsistencies that made the audience lean forward and feel that something was wrong. Not to mention: Rory was introduced before he disappeared. We knew him. We saw his dynamic with Amy. We cared about him. We barely see Poppy in these two episodes, other than "child missing bad" we really have no attachment to her.

Now imagine if we never met Rory. If Amy had been introduced as a fierce, independent woman with no attachments, someone whose refusal to be tied down was a defining trait—and then the show suddenly revealed, in the finale, that actually she was about to get married the whole time to a man we’d never seen, and now she’s a devoted wife. No buildup. No context. Just surprise! emotional transformation. That would feel bizarre, right?

That’s exactly what happened with Belinda.

The final minutes of the finale reframe her not just as someone who once had a child, but as someone whose true self is supposedly defined by that role—and we’re meant to believe that this identity has now been “restored” to her, and we’re told it’s been restored to her as a reward. But it doesn’t feel like a revelation. It feels like a contradiction.

It’s like they wanted to write her as fierce and independent, but didn’t also want to imply that she wanted kids or thought about kids—because society still tends to associate maternal longing or caretaking instincts with weakness, or with not being a “strong” woman. So instead of exploring that complexity, they just didn’t. They wrote her as a fully autonomous character, with no visible yearning or absence, and then stapled a child onto her arc at the end.

And just to be absolutely clear: the problem is not that Belinda is a mother. You can write a fierce, independent, female-presenting character who’s also a parent. Those things are not mutually exclusive. The problem is that the story didn’t earn it.

Writers often avoid giving powerful women maternal traits because they assume femininity and strength can’t coexist—but that’s a separate conversation. The real issue here is that the show never showed us that this part of Belinda was missing. It never laid the groundwork for that emotional restoration to resonate. It didn’t feel like they revealed who she truly was—it felt like they replaced her with someone else.

It’s not that you can’t tell a story where a forgotten child or a missing family is recovered from a broken timeline. That kind of emotional twist can be powerful. But if that’s the story you want to tell, you have to earn it. You have to make the absence felt before you try to fill it. You have to let us sense the missing piece and ache for its return. Without that, it doesn’t feel like a twist—it feels like a contradiction.

And no, Poppy showing up once in The Story & the Engine is not proper setup. If this was truly the intended arc from the beginning, then it needed clues. Give us subtle signs. Let Belinda hesitate when asked simple questions. Let her glance at a photo and seem unsettled. Let her correct someone’s memory and then immediately second-guess herself. Plant a sense of wrongness in her own life that even she can’t quite name.

There’s even a interview with RTD about reshooting the beginning of The Robot Revolution to give Belinda roommates, because he thought no one would buy her owning an entire house by herself.

But if this twist with Poppy was truly planned from the start? Then leave her in that big, echoing house. Let it be part of the unease. Let there be a child’s toy tucked into the back of a drawer she doesn’t remember buying. A room she avoids, too pristine and untouched. A lullaby she hums under her breath without knowing where she learned it. Give us texture. Give us silence that feels too quiet.

Let us feel the shape of what’s missing before you tell us what it was.

That’s how you write a twist that resonates—by trusting your audience to notice the gaps, to feel the ache, and to recognize the truth when it finally appears. Not by pulling a rabbit out of a hat and calling it destiny.

[dakusan]

Y O U T E X T “ I M I S S Y O U ” O U T O F N O W H E R E

stray kids ot8 x reader | quiet confessions, sleepy chaos, and hearts that ache before they answer

🌙 synopsis: You don’t mean to send it. Not dramatically. Not with tears in your eyes. Just…“i miss you.” Quiet. Honest. Unfiltered. And suddenly—They’re not okay. This isn’t just texting. This is emotional freefall in three words or less. This is “i miss you” turned into “i love you” without either of you saying it.

💌 a/n: this was supposed to be short. just a little “what if you texted ‘i miss you’” post. and then chan said “i wanna hold you while the track renders” and everything spiraled. i hope you feel held. i hope you feel insane. i hope you text someone “i miss you” and they drop everything to say “get here. your side’s cold.” thank you for reading this 8-piece set of emotional damage disguised as fluff. p.s. reblogs = forehead kisses p.p.s. if one of them ever actually said this to me i would simply dissolve into a memory and haunt their laundry.

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "All About You" — Taeyeon

Bang Chan // 방찬

It’s 1:13 AM when you send it. No emoji. No context. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it between takes — fingers hovering above his keyboard, cursor blinking on the same half-finished vocal comp he’s looped for 40 minutes. The studio is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of his screen and the flickering ‘recording’ sign outside the booth. His hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows. There’s a half-drunk bottle of Pocari on the desk. Lo-fi is playing quietly in the background — something soft, without words.

He stops.

Just… sits there for a second, staring at your message like it reached into his chest and gently pressed there.

Because you never say it out of nowhere. You’re careful. Thoughtful. Always timing your affection like a gift. And now, when you’re apart and quiet and distant—You miss him.

He exhales, thumb brushing over the screen. Smiles, crooked and slow, like it snuck up on him.

Then he does what he always does with feelings too big to hold: he turns to the mic. Doesn’t even rerecord the verse. Just switches on the track, leans into the mic, and softly hums something new — something with warmth, with ache, with the kind of sound that curls like a blanket around everything he can’t say yet.

When it’s done, he sends it.

[1:24 AM] (1 audio message) “miss you too. enough to put it in a song. come over if you can. you don’t have to say anything. i just wanna hold you while the track renders.”

Lee Know // 리노

You send it at 10:56 PM. No warning. No dramatic lead-up. Just:

i miss you.

He’s in bed. Not asleep. Not even trying. Just lying there in the dark with his phone balanced on his chest, a drama paused mid-episode and a cat curled up by his legs.

He sees your name light up, reads the message twice — once with his heart, once with his overthinking.

Immediately: suspicious. Out of nowhere? From you? At this hour?

His first instinct is to roll his eyes. His second is to reread it. His third is to sit up, grab his pillow, and clutch it in his lap like it’ll stop the way his stomach just turned to something embarrassingly warm.

You don’t say it unless you mean it. You don’t say it unless you need something. And suddenly, he hates that he’s not there — that you miss him and he can’t fix it, can’t hold you, can’t act all unimpressed while secretly tucking you under his arm like you belong there.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a while. He types and deletes twice. The third time sticks.

[11:02 PM] ...what happened? [11:02 PM] did someone say something? are you lonely? do you want me to come over or do you just want attention? [11:03 PM] ...because if it’s attention, you have it. idiot.

He throws the pillow across the room right after. Then spends the next hour watching your typing bubble like it holds the moon.

Changbin // 창빈 💪

It’s 8:14 PM when you send it. You don’t say anything else. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it halfway through a workout — hoodie tied around his waist, arms flushed and pumped, headphones in, breath ragged from a set he absolutely overdid. His phone buzzes on the bench. He wipes a hand on his towel, glances at the screen—

—and freezes.

There are a few people still in the gym. He barely hears them. Because something about that message punches the air straight out of his lungs.

You’re not usually the one to say it first. Not without a reason. Not unless something’s aching a little too much. And now you miss him — and he’s here, lifting weights like that’s gonna hold you together.

He grabs his phone and walks off into the hallway, chest still rising and falling like he just sprinted. It’s not even just the message. It’s the way his heart reacted — instantly. Like it’s been waiting to hear that from you all day.

His thumbs move fast:

[8:16 PM] you do?? 😭 [8:16 PM] pls tell me you’re free tonight i’ll cancel everything [8:17 PM] srsly. i miss u so bad i almost tripped doing lunges bc i started picturing ur face like a loser.

He stops, stares at his own text, groans into his towel.

And then:

(1 voice note) “if you’re free, come over. if not… call me? i’ll sit in my room like a lovesick sitcom character until you do.”

He puts the phone in his hoodie pocket after that. Heart loud. Arms sore. Entire soul? Yours.

Hyunjin // 현진 🎭

It’s 12:01 AM when you send it. Simple. Soft. No punctuation, no drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s painting. Alone in his apartment. A candle flickers beside his easel, wax dripping slowly as strokes of deep indigo curve across canvas. There’s music in the background—something orchestral, echoing, probably a little sad. His sleeves are rolled. Fingers stained with muted color.

The message buzzes through his speaker. He pauses mid-stroke. His breath catches.

Because you say it without pretense. You say it like it’s just true. You say it like you couldn’t hold it in any longer, like your heart blurted it out without consulting your pride.

And it ruins him.

He sets the brush down. Gently. Like it might shatter. Wipes his hands on a cloth. Looks at your name glowing on his phone like it’s the first star of the night. His throat is tight.

His first text is typed and deleted. Too dramatic. He rewrites it. Softer.

[12:04 AM] i’ve been aching to hear that [12:04 AM] i miss you in every quiet moment between brushstrokes [12:05 AM] do you want to facetime or do you want me to come stand outside your window with a candle and recite pablo neruda

He stares at the send button like it might bite him. Then presses it anyway.

His heart is a cathedral when you reply.

Han // 한 🌀

It’s 2:06 AM when you send it. No buildup. No emojis. Just:

i miss you

He was literally just lying there. Hoodie on. Face half in his pillow. Watching some dumb video on mute. Laughing at something he won’t remember in 3 minutes. He’s got crumbs on his hoodie and like, four unread messages in his group chat. He’s vibing. Barely thinking. Just static.

Until he sees you on his screen.

And suddenly — he’s wide awake.

He sits up like a corpse in a horror movie, staring at your message with the kind of intensity people reserve for bomb countdowns. His heart does a full Olympic gymnastics routine. His brain? Gone. Offline. In heaven. On fire.

He starts typing and deleting. So fast.

First message: too clingy. Second: too cool. Third: accidentally a marriage proposal.

He hits send before he can regret it:

[2:07 AM] What do you mean 😭😭😭 do you miss me like... miss me or like miss my memes [2:08 AM] bc if u miss ME i am currently free and emotionally compromised [2:08 AM] if u call me rn i’ll answer like it’s a drama and say ‘you finally called…’ i’m not kidding

Then, because he hates himself but also needs you to KNOW:

(1 voice note) “hi. i miss you too. like. so bad. like ‘watching our old tiktoks and tearing up’ bad. ok i’m gonna go cry into my cereal now bye 😭”

And then he rolls over, buries his face in his pillow, and kicks his feet like a 16-year-old girl in a coming-of-age movie.

Felix // 필릭스 🌻

It’s 9:36 PM when you send it. Soft. Unassuming. Just:

i miss you

He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, gaming headset half-on, controller resting in his lap. His monitor’s still glowing with the lobby screen, but he hasn’t clicked “ready” in three minutes.

Because your name popped up. And those three little words didn’t just land — they sank.

He re-reads it, smiling like he can’t help it. Like your message reached through the screen and gently cupped his face.

He’s not the type to question it. Not the type to pretend it doesn’t matter. You miss him — and he misses you too. More than he’s said. More than he knows how to say sometimes.

So he picks up his phone, pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and texts back with all the warmth he has:

[9:38 PM] angel :( i was just thinking about u too [9:39 PM] i miss u in like. the way stars miss the sky [9:40 PM] wanna call? or i can come over w snacks n cuddles n a playlist titled ‘us time’ 🫂💛

And because that’s not enough — not nearly enough — he sends a voice note too. His voice low, soft, wrapped in honey:

(voice note, 0:08) “i miss you so much it kinda makes my chest tight... but like in a good way. please come over. i’ll make hot chocolate. with the cinnamon u like.”

Seungmin // 승민

It’s 11:22 PM when you send it. No flourish. No drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s brushing his teeth. Pajamas on. Sleep playlist already playing low from his Bluetooth speaker. The apartment is still. Lights soft. Everything quiet — except his brain, which goes static the second your message appears.

He pauses, toothbrush halfway out of his mouth. Stares at the notification like it personally insulted him. His heartbeat? Loud. Chest? Tight. Eyes? Suddenly way too focused on the “i” in “i miss you.”

And of course—he has to respond the only way he knows how: with sarcasm and a mild breakdown. He rinses, spits, towels off his face, and flops onto bed, one arm dramatically over his eyes. Then, thumb to phone:

[11:24 PM] wow. desperate much? [11:25 PM] should i feel special or r u just lonely n scrolling ur contacts [11:26 PM] jk. unless.

He stares at those texts. Chews his lip. Rolls over. Sighs. Then types again — slower this time.

[11:28 PM] ...i was literally just about to text you [11:28 PM] this is annoying [11:28 PM] i miss you too

And because he knows you’re probably pouting, he sends one final message:

(photo attachment: his pillow with space beside it) get here. your side’s cold.

I.n // 아이엔

It’s 10:01 PM when you send it. Simple. Sweet. Just:

i miss you

He sees it while leaning against the balcony railing, earbuds in, hoodie unzipped, cool night air brushing against his skin. The city glows beneath him — golden windows, blinking lights, soft hum of life continuing below.

He reads your message and smiles — not wide. Just a slow, knowing curve that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You texted first. You cracked first. And he loves that.

But what he doesn’t say — not yet — is that he’d been about to text you the same thing. He’d been replaying that last voice note you left him. He’d been standing out here thinking about the way your hand feels when it’s tucked inside his hoodie pocket. He’s not cocky about it. Just… calm. Quietly wrecked.

He replies:

[10:02 PM] you miss me already? [10:02 PM] i thought u were tougher than this 🤭 [10:03 PM] ...good. i was starting to think i’m the only one losing sleep over you

Then he sends a photo: His shadow on the balcony, city lights in the distance, and the caption:

“you’d look better standing here next to me.”

And just like that — you're done for. Because so is he.

[gardezamour]

i saw a post with this scene the other day. ⬆️

a lot of people had commented this and that about their depictions of vi being jealous and shocked that jinx was up there with vander instead of herself.

and (as a troubled eldest daughter myself) that broke my heart a bit. although, i think it is realistic for vi to have shown a moment of vulnerability with the audience and then be ripped to pieces by individuals declaring it resentment and selfishness. no shade.

personally, i latched onto that tiny moment where her face falls. the animation of such a flicker of something akin to disappointment is astonishing.

i do think she’s seeing the mural for what it’s lacking. because it is lacking her. but, i think it has more to do with the fact that jinx and vander are there, but she’s not with them. not even necessarily including the political context. just the fact that even a random painting on a random wall lacked her presence just as much as real life.

she should have been right next to her little sister, but she wasn’t. she had both lost that choice, and then made the wrong one.

i can’t help but wonder if the years of being an imprisoned child so incredibly scared that she’d never get another chance for see her sister flashed before her eyes.

i think that mural shackled her to the fact that her world had continued on without her. and she wasn’t needed around to make it function anymore.

vander and their parents’ deaths had instilled in her that her sole purpose was to keep the earth spinning and to keep jinx safe. but, in the end, jinx had adapted. vi hadn’t.

lol

sorry for ranting! i could be entirely wrong, don’t take this to heart. it’s just what i took in and reflected on, and i wanted to share my thoughts. i find it so strangely comforting to see an oldest daughter go through so many punches and such heavy emotional strain and still keep her head up.

she’s so imperfect and i love her.

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : ISAGI YOICHI

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : isagi yoichi x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 543

⊹ warnings : reader is referred to as “girl” with she/her pronouns, suggestive, mentions of oral sex, if I’m missing something pls lmk!! MINORS DNI

⊹ A/N : this is a repost from my prev blog bc i wanna continue this series and i cant post the next part without the context from this one so if it looks familiar, thats why. ALSO if anyone has a reblog of bachira's part somewhere pls send me the link!!

⊹ bachira’s version | kunigami’s version

“Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s do this”

“@/isagisbbybgrl asks How big is your dick?”

Isagi had practically choked on his own spit at the question.   “Wha—why is this the first question?!”

“I’m just reading out what Twitter wants to know?”, the interviewer laughs at the shock in his face. “Now answer the question.”

Isagi, Kunigami and Bachira were currently sat side by side across from their interviewer. They had been invited to guest star on LockX , one of the most popular podcasts to date relating to everything and anything Blue Lock. And today they were asked to answer a few fan questions from Twitter all while hooked up to a lie detector. Up first was Isagi, who looked like he was already regretting coming today.

“Like 10 inches” he sighed out. All heads turned to the polygraph examiner— Milo was his name.

“There’s no way—“

“Truth”

Bachira laughs out at Kunigami’s disbelief while the latter mumbles to himself. Something about not believing it till he sees it himself.

“Wait, now I’m curious” Bachira scooted forward and turned to Isagi. “How much of it does your girl take in her mouth?

“What the fuck Megs? Nope. I’m not talking about Y/N here. Not like that.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but more than half these Twitter asks are about her,” the interviewer adds.

“Come onnnn Yoichi”

“Fine. All of it. Next question”

“Milo?”

“He’s telling the truth” Milo nods back, while the room fills with whistles and cheers to Isagi, who’s hidden his face behind a hand but can’t help the proud smirk that grows on his face at the thought of you taking all of him.

“Okay okay” the interviewer laughs before he directs his next question, “User @/mysagiballs asks where is your favorite place to kiss a partner?”

“Hey at least this one’s not about Y/N”

“Ehh it technically is,” Bachira counters.

“It basically is,” Isagi sighs once again, finally accepting that this is what the rest of the interview will be like. “Her lips, that’s my favorite place to kiss her”

“He’s lying.”

“Wha- No I’m not!”

“Another lie”

“I feel like of all the questions you’ve been asked, this is the most mild.” Kunigami speaks up.

“But you’re lying about it, which means there’s something juicy you’re hiding” Bachira teases.

“Fine, her cheek”

“Still lying”

“Seriously Milo!”

This continues on for a few minutes, Isagi calling out a bodypart and Milo calling out his bullshit.

Her neck. Lie. Her shoulders. Lie. Her hands. Lie.

Meanwhile Bachira and Kunigami have practically fallen off the sofa in tears, laughing at how frustrated Isagi grows with every call of his bluff.

“Between her legs, alright?! I’m not getting any more specific than that. You can figure the rest out yourselves I’m sure”, he glares at Milo as he grumbles out his final answer.

“That was the…truth”

It takes a few moments for Bachira to calm down from his hysterics but then he’s teasing Isagi for being so naughty, giggling at the sight of his friend aggressively ripping off the cuffs and sensors connecting him to the polygraph.

“Yeah yeah, laugh all you want now but you’re going next.” Isagi grins at him, excited to see his friend suffer the same as he did.

[gravity-barbie]

There's only one bed HCs

Featuring: Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Viktor, Lila, Sparrow!Ben & Sloane

A/N: This isn’t a request, I just had to post the fluffiest prompt I could after s4. Also, the umbrella’s characterisation in this is very s1 inspired.

Masterlist

Luther Hargreeves

-Luther is immediately very flustered, you’d think he just stumbled out of the middle ages with how concerned about propriety he is in this situation, and he can barely form a coherent sentence

-He offers to take the floor, but if you do the same and/or insist on sharing he’ll quickly compromise on the latter if for no other reason than not wanting to disagree with you, but that decision has his heart racing a mile a minute

-He feels very self-conscious about taking up most of the bed, so any reassurance from you that you’re comfortable, or better yet, like his closeness absolutely melts him

-He stays half awake all night, too afraid of doing something embarrassing in his sleep to get any proper rest, but his contentment to just enjoy your nearness still makes it one of the best nights of his life

-Since he was already awake (and he’s a total sweetheart) he gets up early to scavenge you two up a breakfast in the morning, enjoying this slice of domesticity with you a little longer

Diego Hargreeves

-Diego says he’ll take the floor, but if you even slightly question that choice he gets embarrassed and defensive, suggesting you two share the bed just to prove that he ‘doesn’t care’

-Obviously he does care, outwardly he keeps his cool, but on the inside he’s swarming with butterflies like he’s a teenager

-As much as he tries to appear aloof, he’s actually being so considerate, checking if you’re comfortable more than once and making sure he isn’t touching you at all

-He’s not the easiest sleeper, tense and alert, and at first lying next to his crush doesn’t exactly help, but as the two of you talk and banter a little, the tension starts to defuse and he actually finds your presence very soothing

-He’s the type to get cuddly in his sleep, much to his shame and annoyance in the morning, he doesn’t let himself enjoy the amazing feeling of holding you in his arms for even a full minute before he’s scrambling back to his side of the bed and pretending to be asleep

Allison Hargreeves

-Allison can be a grown up about this, there’s only one bed, why wouldn’t you share it? She’s not indifferent but she doesn’t overanalyse the situation either

-She gladly embraces the domesticity of the scenario though, drawing out her nightly routine, and getting chattier than usual, trying to savor this experience that she’s wanted for so long

-She’s also trying to make sure you feel at ease too, figuring if you do feel awkward, that’ll fade as the two of you talk and unwind

-She is prone to nightmares, so don’t be surprised if you’re startled awake in the middle of the night and put in the unenviable position of trying to ease her, but she for one is very glad that it’s you she wakes up to

-Speaking of waking up, sunrise is the peak of this experience for her, feeling yours and her tangled limbs, seeing how peaceful you look while you sleep, it's the kind of moment she understands the importance of cherishing

Klaus Hargreeves

-Klaus suggests sharing, he’s slept under way more awkward circumstances next to people he’s felt way more uncomfortable around, it’s really no big deal

-He has to remind himself to keep his thoughts PG a couple of times and can’t get through the night without making at least one innuendo but overall he is respectful and won't likely make you uncomfortable

-Though he can keep his thoughts clean it's harder to keep them platonic, the longing he feels being so close to you is nearly overwhelming and he wishes so badly that the context was different

-With you by his side he sleeps more peacefully than he has in… ever, it actually kind of amazes him

-He's in no rush to leave your side in the morning, the sleep clouding his brain making him all too willing to forget his reservations and cuddle up to you for as long as you'll have him

Viktor Hargreeves

-Ever the gentleman, Viktor immediately offers to take the floor, but he feels quite heart-warmed by you insisting on sharing

-Even platonically the intimacy of sharing a bed means so much to someone as affectionate starved as him, but with the added context of you being his crush this experience feels like a mini miracle

-He's pretty nervous though, triple checking that you're okay with this and minimizing his own space as much as possible when he gets into bed

-He relaxes with some reassurance and the two of you quickly get comfortable, starting up a random conversation that's meant to segway into sleep but could keep you talking all night if you're not careful

-As opposed to the anxious start to the night, waking up next to each other feels like the most natural thing in the world

Lila Pitts

-Lila's thrilled, she doesn’t immediately suggest sharing but she makes it clear she’s not sleeping on the floor and is all too happy to accommodate you if you won't either

-If you do try to give her the bed and take the floor though she stops playing coy and basically tells you to grow up and share with her, insisting it’s no big deal

-But to her it is a big deal, honestly she can't believe she didn't plan this herself it's that perfect, she can barely fight back an unending smile

-Though keeping things sfw she does lay the flirting on thicker than usual and pays close attention to how you react to that and the situation you're in throughout the night

-As bold as she is she isn't actually used to this kind of closeness and the intimacy of sleeping next to her crush does start making her slightly nervous, but luckily your presence has a way of making her feel better

Ben Hargreeves

-Ben’s not exactly a go with the flow type, if you’re put in a position where there’s meant to be two beds and there’s only one, he’s gonna try to get his other bed

-Ands it’s only after all his demands fall on deaf ears that he even registers the implications of sharing the one, nervousness quickly sets in but he tries not to show it, avoiding looking at you and giving his usual sass

-He does offer you the bed, sounding more begrudging than he actually is, it’s actually his preferred solution, cause as spoiled as he acts he could never sleep comfortably at your expense

-But of course you insist on sharing and as soon as he’s laying next to you, he confirms what a bad idea this was, he’s just as flustered as he feared he would be, maybe more so

-He pretends to fall asleep as soon as possible so you won’t catch on to how he’s feeling, but actually he’s awake and on edge for hours

Sloane Hargreeves

-Sloane has encountered this scenario in more than one romance novel before, so her brain just goes wild with the possibilities

-You’re the one to suggest sharing the bed, and it absolutely melts her heart, it's sweet and it's a relief to know you're comfortable being this close to her

-She always has a hard time hiding her crush on you, but she’s never been so flustered before, the butterflies in her stomach verge on painful

-But she's also giddy and her contagious enthusiasm guarantees the two of you will have a good night, your energy is half 'slumber party' and half 'married couple's nightly routine'

-The experience is wonderful for not just Sloane but you as well, because even if you didn't have a crush on her before, spending a night with her surely makes you realize you want to spend many more with her

[artstennisracket]

dilf!Art with a lil belly after he retires…he gets a new lil gf and UGH just the way he fucks is so gentle and goooood. He spends so much time trying to please you, and when you want to please him he gets soooo into it, moaning and whimpering, PRAISING YOU

dilf!art with a lil belly will always have a place in my heart🙂‍↕️ he’s so cute just enjoying being retired but also dicking you down so good hehe. wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a request so im just gonna cover all the bases and make jt a request lololol i hope you like it :)

why tf am I always adding unnecessary context wtf just get to the smut mel🙄

dilf art x fem reader

cw: nsfw (18+)

You still couldn’t really believe you were dating Art Donaldson. Sure you had just graduated college so you were an adult but he was still so much older so you thought he’d never go for someone your age.

It was all thanks to that fateful night at the very fancy cocktail bar you went to with your friends to celebrate your graduation. He had sent you a drink, another one of whatever you were already drinking. When you ask the waiter who sent it, he points to a blonde man sitting on the opposite side of the bar.

You vaguely recognize him but can’t quite put your finger on it. But your friends convince you to go talk to him so you do. The conversation goes something along the lines of

“you’re very beautiful, celebrating something tonight?” Art asks.

To which you respond “my college graduation.”

Art lets out a huff saying “jesus fucking christ,” under his breath.

“what?” You giggle.

“you’re— you’re too young for me.” He says definitively, but the half smile of his face is betraying the words he just said.

One thing leads to another and now you’ve been dating for 3 months.

Art is very different from any other guy you’ve ever dated. At first you think maybe it’s just because he’s older, but the more you get to know each other the more realize it’s just who Art is.

He’s very gentle and kind. He’s so attentive, remembers all the little things about you. Makes sure that every time you go out to eat, the restaurant knows your food allergies before you get there. Anytime you mention any little thing that you’re remotely interested in or want to buy for yourself he always remembers.

You mentioned once how you’d love to get more into the fashion space so you can develop your career in fashion marketing, and next time new york fashion week rolls around you have front row seats to all your favorite brands.

You mentioned once how the lululemon jacket you wanted had been sold out in your size for months. Two days later it shows up at the front door of your apartment.

There were also subtle displays of dominance that weren’t even meant to be sexy but were just such a turn on for you. He paid for everything. It was never a question or an awkward “do you wanna split it?” type of conversation. Most times he didn’t even let the bill come to the table. He would say he has to use the bathroom and meet the server so he could pay the bill discreetly. This way you never saw the bill, and you never felt rushed by a server bringing a bill unprompted.

Everytime you guys travel anywhere he makes sure to be the one carrying your bag, or rolling your suitcase alongside his own.

He took care of you in ways you’ve never been taken care of before, the intimacy was just the cherry on top.

There were times where he was more dominant, taking control, manhandling you into different positions without asking. Really fucking into you, with bruising, punishing, strokes. Whispering things into your ear like “this pussy is mine” and “don’t try to run away now, isn’t this what you wanted?”

But other times he would be in a really soft and sappy mood which led him more to “making love”. Like today. He was a feeling a little insecure recently due to the weight he’s been gaining post retirement.

You were sitting up against the headboard while Art laid next to you. You scrolled on your phone with hand, the other hand softly running through Art’s hair.

You could tell he was feeling off so you ask, “hey, feeling okay?”

He nods with a sigh, “yeah I just- does my stomach look like, bigger?”

You direct your gaze to his naked torso. He likes to sleep in his briefs only. His abs weren’t as prominent as when you met him and he did have a little bit of a tummy but you thought it was cute. You move your hair from his hair to rub his tummy.

“your tummy looks perfect,” You say smiling towards him.

He groans shaking his head no. He moves so that his head is on your lap and his arms are around your waist. “you’re just saying that, but I guess we all can’t be supermodels like you,” He says before he blows a raspberry on your stomach where your pajama shirt had ridden up.

You giggle moving a hand to his hair quickly to pull him away. You were incredibly ticklish. “im serious,” you say a little out of breath, “i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

He looks up at you with a small smile on his face. He starts slowly kissing down your abdomen and continues kissing over your panties as he makes his way down.

Eventually he laying on his stomach situated between your legs. He licks over your folds through your panties which elicits a small gasp from you, “ah-Art.”

He smirks before moving your panties to the side and really diving in. He kitten licks at your clit, keeping eye contact.

You keep a hand in his hair, pulling occasionally when it feels really good. He sucks on your clit lightly before he starts going to town. Licking your folds, lapping at your clit, not forgetting to fuck his tongue into your wet hole lapping up all your juices. You keep your grip on his hair as moans continue to fall out of your mouth.

He sticks two fingers in. Pumping in and out while simultaneously licking and sucking at your clit. It doesn’t take much longer until you finish with a “oh fuck Art, i’m gonna— gonna cum fuck fuck,” pulling on his hair harder.

He cleans you up using his tongue, making sure not to miss a single drop. He sits up smiling and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. You pull him in for a kiss, your tongues roaming each other’s mouths.

You bite his bottom lip pulling away smirking, “now it’s your turn.”

You push him down on the bed so he’s lying on his back. You pull down his boxers with haste and he’s already hard from eating you out.

“no baby you don’t have to do that, just like making you feel goo—holy fuck,” Art groans as you swallow him down.

He holds your hair out of your face, always so considerate. You can tell he’s trying really hard to hold back to you pull off to say, “don’t hold back, wanna hear you,” then you go back down to lick up his shaft before sucking on his tip.

He groans bucking up into your mouth,

“feels so good baby, oh my fuck. please—please keep going shit.”

You choke a little trying not to gag, sucking hard while moving up and down his length.

“you’re doing so good for me, look so pretty with my dick in your mouth fuck,” Art whines.

He continues looking down at his cock going in and out of your mouth, your plush lips wrapped around his cock, “baby i’m so fucking close— don’t stop, fuck, please-“

But you pull off instantly, you don’t want him to cum just yet. You sit up looking at him with a slight pout on your face, “but I want you to fuck me.”

Art bites his lip, letting a deep breath out through his nose, “whatever you want sweetheart, gonna give you the world.”

He lays you down gently, lining up in between your legs, before pressing himself into you slowly. His presses kisses along the length of your neck and gently nibbles on your ear. He whispers, “you are so fucking tight jesus christ, squeezing the fuck out of my cock.”

He continues with his moderate pace, making sure to take his time with his longer more sensual strokes, “fuck baby,” he whines.

You let out a long whine initially and then a moan everytime he bottoms out, “feels so good, fucking me so good.”

“ah- ah just wanna make you feel good baby,” He moans out.

You can tell by how much he’s moaning and whimpering above you that he’s already close. He starts rambling, “please fuck baby please can I cum inside you? feel so good, fuck, just wanna make you feel good, your pussy is so fucking tight baby, so good, please baby i just— “

You cut him off using one hand to hold the side of his face making sure to keep eye contact, “of course you can, cum inside me, wanna feel you fill me up.”

He groans closing his eyes and moving his forehead to rest on your shoulder before he speeds up his last couple of thrusts, coming deep inside you.

His fucks you through his orgasm before pulling out slowly. He usually loves watching his cum drip out of you but this time you say, “i think you’re gonna have to clean up the mess you made.”

And Art is never one to say no to eating you out, no matter how many times a day it is.

[gf2bellamy]

hihi :p

i was wondering if you could write at halloween, reader accidentally matches with spencer with a costume that they made!

cant wait to see what you do <33

-🦔

costume — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hii 🦔 !! love this idea <3 also i fight the urge to mention john steinbeck in every fic but this time i didn't fight it ( also i found this in my drafts so sorry for posting this so late </3 )

Garcia had made it very clear: no one was allowed to show up to her party without a costume. And Spencer wasn’t about to miss out on those mini quiches and fancy pastries, even if the idea of sitting at home watching his favorite halloween movies sounded tempting.

So, he’d complied. 

He was dressed as a knight. Not an elegant, shining armor knight from medieval legends, but more like a knight who had taken a few shortcuts—just enough to make it work.

He wore a simple grey tunic, a belt with a fake sword slung around his waist, and a pair of metallic shoulder pieces that looked like something you'd find at a costume shop.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

When he arrived at Garcia’s apartment, the door swung open to reveal the tech analyst herself, in a cat costume complete with ears, a tail, and whiskers drawn on her face.

Her eyes lit up as she took in Spencer’s outfit, but then she tilted her head, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Look who decided to show up! But, uh… where’s your Juliet, Romeo?”

Spencer blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question, as he stepped into her living room. “I’m… not Romeo,” he replied, his voice soft and slightly confused. “I’m a knight. You know, from King Arthur’s court? Chivalry, quests, the Round Table…?”

Garcia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She gestured dramatically at his outfit. “Sweetcheeks, you’re giving me major Romeo and Juliet vibes. Like, all you’re missing is the tights and a feather in your cap. Admit it—you’re Romeo.”

Spencer frowned, his mind racing. “No, I’m not. I’m a knight. Knights and Romeo are from completely different time periods and literary traditions. Knights are medieval, whereas Romeo is a Renaissance-era character from Shakespeare’s—”

Garcia cut him off with a wave of her hand, laughing. “Okay, okay, Professor Reid, I get it. You’re a knight. But seriously, you’re totally giving off tragic romantic hero energy right now. It’s kind of adorable.”

Spencer stared at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But I’m a knight, not Romeo,” he insisted, his voice tinged with a hint of exasperation, the plastic sword at his side wobbling slightly. “Knights and Romeo are from entirely different contexts. One is a —”

“You know,” Garcia interrupted him, holding her hand up , her cat ears twitching as she tilted her head. “You can’t have a Romeo without a Juliet. It’s like, basic literary law. It’s science. Or… literature. Whatever. You get it.”

Spencer opened his mouth to protest further, but before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.

Garcia’s eyes lit up, and she shot Spencer a look. “Hold that thought, boygenius,” she said, wagging a finger at him before skipping over to the door.

When Garcia opened the door, her smile widened into a full-blown grin. “Look who decided to grace us with her heavenly presence!”she cheered, her voice dripping with excitement.

There you were, standing in the hallway in your angel costume. The white fabric of your dress shimmered softly under the light, and the delicate wings on your back seemed almost ethereal. You smiled warmly at Garcia, who immediately clapped her hands together in delight.

Spencer, who had been lingering by the snack table, froze mid-bite of a mini quiche. His eyes widened as he took in your costume, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Garcia, ever the matchmaker, seized the opportunity. “Reid!” she called out, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the entire room. “We’ve got your Juliet!”

Spencer’s face flushed a deep shade of red, and he nearly dropped his plate. “I’m not—” he started, but Garcia cut him off with a dramatic wave of her hand.

“Oh, hush, Romeo. Look at you two! You’re practically a matching set. Knight in shining armor and his angelic muse. It’s like… destiny or something. Very poetic. Very romantic.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Garcia’s theatrics, though your cheeks warmed at the implication. Spencer, meanwhile, looked like he was trying to decide whether to argue further or simply disappear into the floor.

He settled on awkwardly adjusting the plastic sword at his side, his eyes darting between you and Garcia.

“I, uh… I’m not sure angels and knights are historically accurate pairings,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, angels are celestial beings, and knights are, well, terrestrial. It’s not exactly a common literary trope.”

Garcia groaned, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. “Reid, honey, it’s a costume party, not a history lecture. Just go with it, okay? You two look adorable together, and that’s all that matters.”

You stepped forward, your wings brushing lightly against the air as you moved. “I think it’s kind of fitting,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “A knight sworn to protect, and an angel sent to guide.”

Spencer’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.

He felt a strange flutter in his chest. “I… suppose you could look at it that way,” he admitted, his lips curving into a shy smile.

Garcia clapped her hands together, clearly delighted by the turn of events. “That’s the spirit! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure Morgan hasn’t eaten all the guacamole. You two… mingle. Or whatever.” She winked before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving the two of you standing there.

You glanced at Spencer as you tilted your head. “So… a knight, huh?”

He nodded, his fingers nervously fiddling with the hilt of his plastic sword. “Yeah. I, uh… I’ve been reading The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights. It’s by John Steinbeck. It’s not his most famous work, but i like it.”

You chuckled softly, stepping a little closer, noticing how flustered he looked. “Well, I think you make a very dashing knight,” you said gently, trying to ease his nerves.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening as if he had something to say, but then it quickly shut again, a nervous laugh escaping his lips instead. His cheeks were now definitely flushed, and his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his costume’s sleeve, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment before he finally looked up at you.

Maybe being Romeo wasn’t so bad after all. 

[valeriehalla]

I have gotten a lot of messages saying that they really love the presentation of CURSE/KISS/CUTE. Often the commenter in question can’t say what exactly it is about the formatting that they appreciate, but that it just reads well and looks good. Well!!! Allow me to bare my wealth of secret knowledge for you once and for all:

I sorta just did some research into book typography...?

Here’s something you should know about web development, alright: typography on the web is really, really bad. The tools we have at our disposal—HTML and CSS—are incredibly powerful, but they are set up to fight you every step of the way towards Good Typography. When you know what you’re looking for, you can fix all the common issues quickly and easily. But it’s not easy to know what to look for, because

problematic typography is overwhelmingly the norm on the web, and

good typography is invisible.

Here’s a screenshot from CURSE/KISS/CUTE episode 0:

Now, I don’t want this post to come across as prescriptive. It is not my intention to tell you, “This is what good typography looks like, so follow my lead exactly.” I made a lot of choices with the typography of my web novel: many of those choices would not make sense in other contexts. What I want to convey to you is what those choices are, so that you will know they’re available to be made.

I mentioned that the web “fights you” when it comes to good typography. What do I mean by that? Well, check this out:

This is how that passage of text renders “by default.” In other words, this is how a web browser would render that text without any input from me about what styles to apply. It kind of sucks ass! But it also looks pretty familiar, right? This is not that far off from how a lot of websites—even websites full of prose (looking at you, AO3)—render text.

I think the most illustrative thing to do here would be to walk you through my thought process and show you, step by step, what decisions I made to turn this unstyled text into the styled version you see in the novel.

So, first things first:

1. We have got to shrink that text column.

Computer monitors... are wide. They are wider than they are tall. They are so wide, and they have so many pixels. This means you can fit a lot of characters on them. If you wanted, you could just have a wall of characters from the left side of the screen all the way to the right side. Talk about efficient!!

You should never, ever, ever do this.

This is one choice that I actually will make a prescriptive statement about, because it’s supported by quite a lot of research: fairly narrow text columns are more legible. Specifically, research seems to support the idea that a width in the range of 50 to 70 characters per line is the most comfortable for people to read*. Every font is different, so it takes a little doing to turn that “characters” figure into a pixel measurement; I went with 512 CSS pixels for the maximum width of my text column:

Isn’t that just so much nicer to read already?

*A commenter reminds me that I’d be remiss not to point out that the research on column width legibility isn’t completely conclusive. You do want to limit the width of your text columns, but going over the 70 character-per-line recommendation isn’t necessarily the end of the world, and you might have good reasons to do so. I did not: as mentioned, one of my goals was to mimic book-style typography, and books by nature have fairly restrained column widths, on account of they’re books.

2. Picking a font.

I’m not going to give you the blow-by-blow on how I decided what font to use. The short story is that I asked some designers, and one of the recommendations I got was the free font Crimson Pro, which I took a liking to immediately:

It’s just an all-around attractive serif font, but one thing I really like about it for use in a novel is its highly-visible quotation marks. They’re just kinda jumbo! They’re real big! Easy to see! In a novel, those things aren’t just ornamentation. It makes a great deal of practical sense for them to stand out just a bit. It also has a fairly large x-height, unlike a lot of the more traditional options, which is good for legibility on a computer screen.

3. Adjusting the line-height

Web browsers default to a line-height of about 1.2em, which, as you can probably tell, is quite cramped. If you go and Google “optimal line height for legibility”, you’ll get a number of results right off the bat suggesting 1.5em. Sounds good! Let’s do that:

Well... hmm. That’s definitely an improvement, but between you and me, it actually looks a bit too spacey to my eyes. I wonder why?

I’ll cut to the chase: the 1.5em recommendation makes some assumptions about the font you’re using. In Arial, the letter “A” is about 0.6em tall; in Crimson Pro, it’s about 0.5em. That means that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution to spacing your lines, because different fonts have different amounts of empty space baked in. How annoying!

Let me tell you something about the kind of nerd I am. When I had this realization, I grabbed some books off my shelf and pulled out a literal micrometer. I started measuring the line-heights against various font features to see if there were any patterns I could spot in professional typesetting. Here’s what I found:

Almost every book on my shelf spaces lines such that the distance between one baseline and the next is about three times the x-height. How cool is that? I clapped my hands like a seal when I put this together.

Adjusting the line-height to match what I observed in the wild gives us this:

It’s a subtle difference, but to my eyes it feels just right. It’s almost like magic!

4. Paragraph spacing...

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Probably the most controversial choice I made with CURSE/KISS/CUTE’s typography was to opt for book-style paragraph indentation rather than web-style paragraph spacing—like so:

I did this for a few reasons:

It’s what I’m used to. I’ve read a lot of books, and this is just the way that books are formatted. I think for something aspiring to the title of “novel”, there’s value in making it look the way a reader probably expects a novel to look.

A novel has a lot of paragraph breaks in it. A paragraph in, say, an encyclopedia entry might go on for half a page or more; whereas it is unusual for a paragraph in a modern work of narrative prose to run for more than a handful of sentences, especially in any scene with dialogue. Because paragraph breaks are so common, spacing between paragraphs in a novel results in a lot of wasted space. Also, subjectively speaking, the additional space seems to me to lend an undue amount of weight to paragraph breaks. I’m just starting a new thought; there’s no need for a 21-gun salute, you know?

Having said that, here are some good reasons you might decide not to do paragraph indentation anyway:

Doing it right requires a bit of extra legwork. Notice how the very first paragraph in the image above has no indentation. That’s because it’s the start of a new section, and the first paragraph in a section traditionally goes unindented. This is an easy detail to miss, and it can be difficult to wrangle CSS into doing it for you automatically.

Web users don’t expect it. For the first decade of the web’s existence, there was no good way to do paragraph indentation; by the time CSS rolled around and made it easy, paragraph spacing had already become the norm. And while CURSE/KISS/CUTE may be a novel, it is also, specifically, a web novel!

But it’s my house and I get to make the rules, so I went with indentation. Incidentally, there seems to be a dire lack of research into the question of whether indentation or spacing is more legible for readers—but the data that does exist appears inconclusive at best. So, the choice really does come down to vibes.

5. The tragedy of justification.

You’ll note that one way in which I did not make my web novel look like a paper novel is the text alignment. It’s un-justified: the right margin is ripsaw-ragged.

This is because it is not possible to justify text on the web.

Oh, you can try. Look right here: there’s a CSS property for it and everything. Just turn on “text-align: justify” and...

Nightmare! The interword spacing on that first line is almost as wide as the indentation!

Reader, I’m afraid that your web browser is simply too dumb. That’s not the browser’s fault: robust algorithms for justifying text without creating these distractingly huge gaps between words have existed for many decades, and modern computers are powerful enough to run them in real time with little performance impact. It’s just, uh—nobody has ever bothered to implement them into web browsers. It is the damnedest thing.

I tried, I really did. You can mitigate this problem a bit if you enable automatic hyphenation, but browsers are unfortunately also kind of dumb at hyphenating. Firefox, for example, will refuse to hyphenate any word containing a capital letter, so any sentence with a lot of proper nouns in it is a lost cause. I tried manually inserting soft hyphens with a text preprocessor I wrote myself, but still these overjustified lines plagued me: when the text column narrows, for example on a phone, even hyphens can’t save you. The line-breaking algorithm is simply too naïve to optimize for well-justified text, and that’s not something you can fix as a web developer.

As a result, my heavy-hearted recommendation is to never use text justification. It’s just too distracting.

6. And then some extra stuff just for me

I added drop-caps because it looks neat and I made the ellipses spacier because I think it looks good when it, uh, when they are spacier. I think that looks pretty good that’s just my opinion though.

That’s all! Hope you learned something bye!!!

[stargirlygirl]

Hey, how you doin baby girl?😏

Soooo, since you are the master of writing realistic smut fics, I’m gonna leave this request queen.

Like u know how every vagina is different and stuff. I think people who struggle w having sex don’t get much representation (crying rn). I’m obviously not a virgin anymore but honestly my himen is so strong and my space inside is pretty small that even when I did it several times I still don’t feel much pleasure and it annoys me a lot, like I feel invaded and so annoyed (or it’s the men I slept with, idk). It also doesn’t help that I can’t feel relaxed.

So Caleb, Sylus, both, or which one you want (ik both of them are probably packed down there). With a reader that struggles w being relaxed and her body not helping either. The reader insisted they are not a virgin and they can get to the good part but oopps. So they/ he are/is already inside but it’s clear as day that reader feels more discomfort than pleasure and idk, either stopping and getting to a pretty good aftercare or just continuing w some good old oral and dope aftercare. Your choice.

Or not do this ask. I don’t mind. Just wanting to tell you that you are wonderful and beautiful 😽🫶 may you wake up w Caleb next to you, amen.

star girl's initial words: thank you so much, girlie for requesting!! i hope you like this one. i went with your idea as the context and then built on it (i hope that's okay).

you're not alone in your experience, and i can relate to how frustrating it must be that penetrative sex hasn't been an enjoyable experience for you. because we expect p-in-v to feel amazing, right? it's made out to be THE most sexually pleasurable experience, the ultimate end game, if you will. media (cough porn in any format cough) and a lack of awareness for women around penetration plays a big role in this.

from personal experiences (sorry if this is tmi just skip if it is), it's pretty ridiculous to expect penetrative sex to feel great when you've had no practise. i'm still a virgin (literally 19; i'm still baby) but like... yo ain't nothing of that size is going in there without weeks of coaxing.

AND, often when you (as a woman) don't enjoy penetrative sex, i feel like others make it out to be a problem. like there's something wrong with you, when there's nothing wrong at all. we're all different, and some of our bodies need to be accommodated for differently.

however, how much of this do i actually capture in the fic? it's debatable. but i hope i've captured enough so you feel some comfort when reading this.

you find sex painful

sylus x fem!reader

summary: based on nat's req, you're mid-sex with sylus when he finds out that penetration is painful for you. so, he tries his best to help with your pain.

contains: nsfw, smut, sexual touching (f!receiving), squirting (first time), swearing, fluff, sy buys dilators for you, 3.4k words

note: i've shifted the focus to sylus helping you, rather than how penetration is painful. this post is not meant to be prescriptive.

“Just put it in, Sy,” you whine, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Kitten.” He’s been trying to pump you with a second finger for the past ten minutes, but every time he slips it in, you squirm in pain. And now, you’re insisting that he just shove his huge cock in.

“Please, Sy. It’ll be fine, I promise,” you try to persuade him. Your hips are propped up on a pillow, dripping pussy glinting in the warm candlelight. He’s sitting on his haunches, tip leaking at the sight of you. Spreading your legs a little wider, you notice Sylus’s crimson eyes dropping to your cunt.

Battling himself, he counters, “And what if I hurt you, sweetie?”

“You won’t!” You exclaim in your desperation. “You won’t, baby, so please, just fuck me already,” you plead. His jaw tenses as he considers your eagerness.

At last, he agrees, “Alright. But if it hurts, we stop, darling.” You nod fervently, your heart rate spiking as he shifts over you and grabs a condom from his bedside table.

Sliding it on, your boyfriend positions himself between your legs. With a final few rubs to your clit, he slides his covered tip up and down your folds. You moan, back arching slightly at how good it feels. But once he’s dipping into your hole, all of that pleasure dissipates.

It’s like you’re being split open; he’s so thick. You bite down on your lip, stifling your screams as your fists clench the black sheets.

“It’s too much, isn’t it, kitten?” Sylus stops, barely inside, and stares at you. You shake your head energetically.

“No, no, it’s fine, baby! I’m fine, really,” you insist, but he can see right through you. Pulling the head out, it slaps against your clit, making you whimper.

“Syyyy—”

“No. I refuse to hurt you, sweetie,” he murmurs, yanking off the condom and tossing it into a nearby bin. Leaning over you, he places his large hands on either side of your head.

Your boyfriend kisses your forehead and mumbles against it, “We can do anything else you want, but not this.” You know you should just accept his words and move on, but something drives you to retaliate.

“I’ve done this before, Sy. It’s fine, like,” you shrug. He shakes his head, silver locks tickling your skin. His nose brushes yours, hot breath dousing your lips.

Sylus’s voice is a deep rumble as he asks sternly, “You’re telling me that your previous partners have… gone ahead when you’re clearly in pain?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Sy—”

“It is,” he grumbles. “It’s a very big deal, sweetie.” Drawing back, he lowers himself onto one elbow while his other hand cups your cheek.

Stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, he says firmly, “Your pleasure comes first, is that clear? I won’t hurt you, even if you’re used to the pain.” Your resolve immediately falters.

“Sy…” you whisper, a loving warmth spreading throughout your body.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him into you. His cock is sticky against your inner thigh, and he’s so heavy, but you don’t care. His rare sincerity is what you live for, especially when he’s so sweet during moments like these.

“I love you,” you confess quietly, rubbing your cheek against his. Those muscular arms hold you tightly, reassuring you that not even death can pry him away from you.

“I love you, kitten,” he says low, peppering featherlight kisses on the shell of your ear, and down to your lobe before nipping at it affectionately.

You spend the night being pampered by Sylus. He showers with you: cleaning you up, drying you off, and moisturising your skin before you can do the same for him. You sleep in his meaty arms, your cheek squished against his broad chest, so you can listen to his soothing heartbeat.

The next morning, you wake up to empty bed sheets, which smell like leather and oud.

Sighing, you roll out of bed and freshen up. By the time you make it to the kitchen, there’s a note on the countertop. You pick it up with curious fingers and read your name in Sylus’s handwriting. Flipping it open, the note reads:

Good morning, sweetie.

Breakfast is in the oven. Text me when you’re ready. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.

Yours truly, Sylus.

Giggling to yourself, you set the note down and crouch to the oven’s level. The light is on, a golden pastry glittering beyond the glass.

You pull the door open by the handle, sugary heat rushing out. Slipping on an oven mitt, you pull out the baked goodie and shake it onto a plate.

“Awww,” you pout. He got you a croissant from your favourite bakery and kept it warm. You almost tear up from the tender gesture while making yourself your morning non-negotiable beverage (for me, it’s peppermint tea, but I know y’all might like coffee).

Setting your mug down on the island bench, you haul your croissant over to you and take a bite. The puff pastry is crunchy and deliciously sweet. It melts on your tongue; the butter is rich. Your tastebuds relish in the delicate flavour, a low moan falling from your now sticky lips.

Humming fondly, you finish your croissant and enjoy your drink before texting Sylus that you’re awake. He responds immediately with Come to my office, kitten.

After rinsing your plate and mug, you scamper off to your room and throw on a decent outfit before heading to Sylus’s office. There’s no sight of the twins as you navigate the halls, nor as you stop outside the door. Rapping on it a few times, you hear your boyfriend’s muffled voice permitting you entry.

Pushing the door open, you’re greeted by the sight of your handsome lover. Fitting black button-up, tousled silver locks, and rimless glasses perched on his sharp nose. He beckons you to come closer. Once at his side, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Morning, babe. Thanks for the croissant,” You chirp. He hums low, pecking your jaw and encircling your waist with his arm.

Pulling you onto his lap, you squeal gleefully, “Sy!” He shifts you so that you’re facing his monitor, your legs dangling over his. It makes him chuckle, seeing how cute his girl is.

Grabbing his mouse with one hand, he starts clicking away on the screen while explaining, “I’ve been thinking about last night, sweetie.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, your heart rate accelerating a little. Typing away on his keyboard, those arms encase your frame. You barely have time to register his search before he hits ‘Enter’.

“Dildos?!” You exclaim.

He smirks, “Don’t act so innocent, sweetie. I know you’ve used one of these before.” Twisting your back, you slap his chest playfully, earning an uproar of laughter from him. His chest vibrates against your back, making it difficult to frown as he clicks on a sex toy website.

“I’d like you to pick a few,” he grins cockily.

“Sy,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

He drawls, “Let’s start with a small size, and then you can work up to my size. How does that sound, kitten?” His tone is gentler than usual as he heads to the filters tab and adjusts the results. You know he’s trying to help, and you appreciate it… But it’s just so embarrassing. Covering your face with your hands, you groan into them wordless frustrations.

“How about this one?” You hear the click of his mouse, your face heating up with the knowledge that there’s a dildo being enlarged right now for your inspection. Dropping your hands in your lap, they hit your thighs with a faint slap. You stare at a clear dildo.

“Look,” your boyfriend says. He expands the specifications and reads them aloud to you, “Great for beginners. Glass. Five inches—”

“Five inches?! They don’t have anything smaller?” You ask anxiously.

Five inches might not seem like a lot in today’s climate of booktok romance and fanfiction misinformation (myself included to an extent), but for you, who struggles with painful penetration, five inches with a good girth is not feasible for you just yet.

Sylus says gently, “Let’s have a look.” Hitting the back button, you watch red-faced as he scrolls through numerous dildos. Some are realistic, others transparent and streamlined. Six inches, eight inches, nine inches.

“Anal training kit. What about this, sweetie?” He hovers his cursor over the image, zooming in on three dildos ranging in size.

“Can you click it?” You ask, hand reaching for his covering the mouse. Your boyfriend releases it and allows you to control the mouse. You click on the product and read through the specs.

“Four inches. Made from PVC,” you recite.

Sylus remarks, “PVC isn’t body-safe, dear. Why don’t we browse another store?” Regaining control of the mouse, he closes the tab and searches for small dildos this time.

You two spend who knows how long going through several stores’ dildo selections. Finally, you settle on a set of dilators made from certified medical-grade silicone.

Your boyfriend happily pays the exorbitant price with a sincere smile and a promise: “You’re not alone in this, alright? I’ll be right here, kitten. If you have any issues, you know where to find me, yes?” Shifting in his lap, you nod and lean in, kissing him lovingly.

“Thanks, Sy. Thanks for supporting me,” you murmur. He nods slightly before returning to typing in his black card’s information.

Ever the accommodating partner, he lets you sit on his lap as he goes back to arranging shipments and taking business calls. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his Adam’s apple as it bobs, completely relaxed and content to stay like this for hours. He holds you tight when possible, but there’s no need with how securely you’re clinging to him.

“Something wrong, sweetie? You’re clutching me like a baby sloth does to its mother,” he teases.

You giggle into his neck, “Mommy Sylus.”

“Tch.”

“You were asking for it,” you grin, defending yourself. He rubs your back soothingly, his dark office silent. Until his ringtone blares.

Sylus reflects, “I suppose I was,” before answering the line.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

“Your fingers are like—mhmm— this size, right?” You breathe out, clutching his wrist. You’re on your back, your boyfriend on his haunches as he eases a medium-sized dilator in and out of your cunt.

You’ve been using the dilators Sylus bought you most days of the week. It’s become a habit for you two to shower together and then insert a dilator before bed. Usually, you spend around 15 minutes adjusting to the size. But since you’ve been progressing quickly, your boyfriend wanted to try something different tonight (with your permission, of course).

He smirks down at you, “Curious, kitten?” You nod, your lip drawn between your teeth harshly.

Slowly, he pulls the dripping dilator out and sets it on a nearby towel. Climbing over you, he catches your lips in a tender kiss. The way he presses against you, the emotion in the rhythm, he’s asking for consent.

Drawing back, Sylus hovers close as you give your answer, “I want to try it, Sy. I think-I think it’ll feel good this time.” He hums, the sound reverberating deep in his throat.

Stealing a peck, he shifts and grabs the water-based lube that goes with the silicone dilators. Squeezing a decent amount on his rough palm, your partner smears the cool gel all over your pussy. His fingers slip up your folds, causing you to buck your hips. You moan quietly, heat rising to your cheeks like it did the first time he helped you insert a dilator. He chuckles low, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and rubbing it in like lotion.

“Alright, darling. Shall we start slow?” He teases, his silver brow arched. You hum in agreement, shimmying your hips closer to his lubed-up hand. Those slender fingers make contact with your aching cunt again. His fingertips roll over your clit; your breathing shallows.

“Sy,” you pant, encircling his wrist with your fingers once more. You slide his hand down to where you need it most.

With his signature grin, your boyfriend prods at your entrance. His other hand brushes your hair back, your eyes finding his in the disarray of anticipation. He slips his middle finger in slowly, whispering sweet encouragement as he does so.

“My, my, look at how well you’re taking me, kitten. Does this feel good?” You don’t respond as he pushes in knuckle deep. Already, you feel so full of him, but his lack of movement is torturous.

Gazing up with lustful eyes, you whine, “Sy, please.”

Leaning down, his nose ghosts yours as he repeats himself, “Tell me, darling. Does this feel good?” Arguing for the affirmative, Sylus curls his finger up, the tip pressing against your ridged walls in the most delectable way possible.

“Sy!” You squeak. “Feels really good. Please—” You rock your hips on his finger, desperate for more.

He chastely kisses your nose before steadying himself on his elbow to keep close to you. Sliding his fingertip down, your lover repeats the come-hither motion, shrewd eyes trained on your face. He observes every single detail, from your frequent lip biting to your eyes clamping shut from ecstasy.

The pressure in your tummy builds. But it’s not just in your tummy, it’s a little lower, too.

Drawing his now-drenched finger out of you, you mewl at the loss, “Sy, baby. Why-why’d you—”

“Quiet, sweetie, or you’ll miss the best part,” he murmurs. You open your mouth, about to ask him what he’s referring to, when you feel it. Two fingertips poking at your fluttering hole.

“Relax, dear,” Sylus instructs. A small whimper escapes your teeth-marked lips as he manages the tops of his two fingers inside. He remains there for a moment, letting you clench and unclench until you’re ready for more.

Pushing them in at a leisurely pace, he reminds you, “Now’s not the time to act all tough. If it hurts, kitten, you need to let me know.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes on the lewd sight of his fingers sinking deep into your pussy.

A couple of months ago, you were in this position. Sylus’s fingers buried in your cunt, stretching you out. Then, he had been preparing you for his dragon dick what’s to come. But now, he was focusing on your reactions to ensure your pleasure.

Pulling his fingers out halfway, he eases them back in.

“This alright?” He asks lovingly. You nod, a quiet whine tumbling out of your lips.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Say it, darling,” while kissing the corner of your mouth. His fingers curl, making you gasp and moan. You gaze at him like you’re etching every angular feature into your memory (you already have).

“Feel really full, babe,” you manage out, pleasure wracking through your system as his fingertips hit your g-spot again.

Sylus clarifies, “How so? A good kind of full? Or is it overwhelming?” Your lips press together, muffling a sweet moan as he continues fingering you oh-so-deliciously.

“Good. ‘S good, Sy,” you whimper.

Turning your head, you nuzzle his neck with your nose. Sylus has never cared for when you hide from him, especially at a time like this. When he needs to see you, to pick up on all of the little things you tell him with your eyes and incessant lip bites.

Kissing your hair, he mumbles into your scalp, “Won’t you look at me, kitten?” Whatever you hum into his skin is lost as a guttural moan tears through you.

One good thing about you being so close to his ear is that your boyfriend gets to hear your pornographic sounds like they were amplified by state-of-the-art speakers.

He groans, cheeks rubbing the side of your head affectionately while slipping his free arm beneath and around you.

Rolling you onto your side, Sylus whispers, “Throw your leg over my hips.” You obey, doing exactly that as he pulls you flush against his chest. His scent alone makes you moan, and his body is so warm it makes your insides all gooey. Or maybe that’s from his fingers. Probably both.

The squelching of your sopping cunt fills the dark bedroom. Through the window, the stars gaze upon your intimacy. Perhaps they cheer for you, rejoicing in the pleasure you’ve been able to find in something so daunting months prior.

“Sy— fuck! I—” Your moan cuts you off, arms tightening around his neck.

You hold onto Sylus like you’re stuck in the middle of the ocean, fighting for your life, so you don’t drown in the depths. But your ocean isn’t filled with water. Abundant are the sensations rippling throughout your body. Every movement of his fingers sends more and more arousal gushing from you.

Pressure accumulates in the pit of your stomach once more. It feels like he’s pushing down on your lower tummy, but you know he’s not. Drawing closer, you feel like you’re gonna wet yourself.

“Sy, wait! Wait, fuck, feel like I’m gonna pee,” you exclaim. But your boyfriend doesn’t heed your warning. If anything, it spurs him on.

“Do you now, sweetie?” He murmurs all seductively, his breath fanning your ear. You try to respond, but all that pours forth are broken whimpers and breathy moans.

He chuckles, “Don’t be afraid, darling.” You cry out into his chest, one of your hands flying to his working forearm, and he presses into your walls harder.

“Sy! I’m serious, Sy! I swear ‘m gonna—”

“You won’t. Now, let go,” he commands, his voice all gravelly.

It only takes a few more pumps until you’re diving headfirst into oblivion. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You can feel the mess you’re making, but you can’t seem to care as moans rip through you and your body convulses like you’ve been possessed.

“Fuck,” Sylus groans, watching as you squirt all over his hand and arm. It sprays onto his clothed thigh and drips onto the inky sheets. He’s never been more proud.

Your boyfriend praises you, “Look at how good you’ve done for me, kitten.” He kisses your sweaty hairline, your thighs clamped tightly around his still hand. Slowly, he slides his fingers out and draws them up through your folds. You whimper as he rubs a few lazy circles on your cilt, making your body jolt.

“Sy, please,” you rasp out. You’re exhausted, your limbs as mushy and pliant as he chuckles. Sylus gently maneuvers you onto your back and kisses your lips reassuringly.

He says low, “Stay here, sweetie, while I grab another towel.” You nod feebly, too weak to protest. Like you’d want to, anyway. The last thing you want to do is move right now, let alone follow your long-legged boyfriend off to the linen cupboard. And good thing you don’t, or you would have seen the wet patch at the front of his sweatpants.

Listening to the rustling of the bedsheets and thudding of his footsteps, your breathing grows steadier. Your eyelids feel heavy, as does your body. Next thing you know, Sylus’s callused hands are caressing your thighs, pulling them apart before he wipes you up with a damp towel. The soft, cool cotton is refreshing.

You sigh as you feel your partner’s warmth shift, his body hovering over yours. Plush lips place longing kisses on your brows, then your eyelids, cheeks, and finally, your lips.

He mumbles against them, “Was that your first time squirting, my love?”

“Mhmm, maybe,” you grin tiredly.

“Maybe?” He repeats before pecking your lips.

You giggle, “Yes.” Slowly, Sylus bundles you up in his arms and pulls you on top of him after lying down. His now-dry fingers stroke your hair, and his short nails occasionally scratch your scalp.

In his embrace, you release all your fears and doubts about this entire process. Never did you think this could happen. That you could 1) enjoy penetration and 2) squirt from it. But Sylus has shown you that through his love that anything is possible. Even though you’re not where you want to be, the improvements along the way have been nothing short of magical.

embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments m.list

star's final words: oh the vaginas ahem hymens i looked at in prep for this. not that i didn’t know what they were beforehand, but i def know a lot more now.

helpful links for your education:

cleveland clinic ⟶ what is the hymen? healthline ⟶ does it hurt when your hymen breaks? bien australia (these are the dilators i was talking about; i haven't used this product and i'm not promoting this product; i cannot attest to how effective they are) ⟶ vaginal dilators