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humanjarvis · 4 months ago

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caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something.

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest.

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home.

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled.

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think.

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.”

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.”

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.”

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you.

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend.

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone.

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her.

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white.

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom.

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving.

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts.

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs.

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks.

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him.

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower.

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied.

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you.

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss.

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him.

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk.

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.”

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air.

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses.

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress.

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core.

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole.

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you.

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt.

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace.

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.”

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion.

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry.

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.”

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs.

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you.

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease.

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?”

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!”

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders.

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say.

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule.

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers.

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him.

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—”

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script.

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions.

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call.

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin.

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again.

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does.

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once.

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.”

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying.

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him.

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.”

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt.

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.”

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him.

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.

#iris writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #caleb x reader #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads #lads x reader #caleb smut #lads smut

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 30 days ago

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🕳️ What to Write When You Have No Idea What Happens Next

aka: you’re staring into the creative abyss and the abyss is not only staring back, it’s asking for a rough draft

hi writer. welcome to that fun little liminal space in your project where ✨absolutely nothing✨ makes sense. you wrote the last scene. you know you’re not at the end. but suddenly your characters are just standing there like NPCs waiting for a quest marker and your brain is doing the spinning beachball of death.

so. what now?

let’s break down some actually useful strategies for when you hit That Point™️. not vibes. not ✨manifest your way out✨ energy. not the “just keep writing” slog. here’s what to do when your story is refusing to tell you what happens next:

———————————————

zoom out: do a “scene audit” ———————————————

you don’t need a full outline to do this. take five minutes and sketch a bullet list of every scene that’s happened so far. not just what happened, but why it mattered.

like this:

MC lied to their boss (sets up stakes re: trust/power)

antagonist shows up at cafe (establishes tension + location crossover)

best friend gets suspicious (emotional complication, adds pressure)

this gives you a birds-eye view of what you’ve set in motion. often you’re stuck because you’ve lost sight of the threads you were pulling, your own story has momentum, you just need to feel it again.

—————————————————————

try “ghost drafting” (aka fake writing) —————————————————————

open a doc. start typing what would happen, if you were writing. super casual. something like:

“okay i think the next scene is maybe them at the train station?? or wait--maybe we need to see the fallout of the argument. i don’t really know what x character wants rn but i think y might be planning something…”

this trick works bc it removes pressure. no fancy prose, no perfect structure. it’s literally you telling yourself what might happen. and weirdly? your brain will often finish the scene for you without asking. (the number of times I’ve ghost drafted myself into 800 usable words… witchcraft.)

——————————————————————————

pin your characters to a corkboard and interrogate them ——————————————————————————

not literally. (unless you're into that. i don’t judge.)

but seriously: when you’re stuck, it’s often because your character has no immediate goal or emotion. pause and ask:

what does this character want right now? like, in this moment?

what are they trying to avoid?

what’s keeping them from getting either?

character-driven scenes are rarely static. even if it’s just an awkward dinner or walking to the store, someone’s always trying to do or hide something. if everyone in the scene is just reacting or waiting, you’ve got fog. bring in the fire.

—————————————————

don’t skip the “boring” stuff--weaponize it —————————————————

sometimes we’re stuck because we think the next scene is dull. like “ugh i guess they just… travel to the manor” or “they regroup at the safe house.” but these slow beats are GOLD if you embed purpose.

try giving the “boring” scene:

a time limit or interruption (they’re hiding but someone knocks)

a secret (someone is lying about something small but important)

a reversal (what they expected is the opposite of what happens)

even if it’s a quiet scene, layer it. conflict isn’t just yelling or action. it’s discomfort. it’s misalignment. tension between what’s said and unsaid.

—————————————————————

when all else fails: write the next emotional beat —————————————————————

strip it back. forget plot. forget pacing. ask yourself:

then write that. a monologue. a journal entry. an outburst. a line of whispered dialogue.

sometimes it’s not that you don’t know what happens next. it’s that your character hasn’t processed what just happened, and until they do, the story can’t move forward.

✨✨✨

the void is normal. getting stuck doesn’t mean you failed or picked the wrong idea or that the muse packed up and left for a better writer’s house. it just means your brain needs space to regroup.

writing isn’t linear. stories aren’t built in perfect lines. they loop. they stall. they circle back. and that’s okay.

if you’re in the middle of nowhere, here’s your sign to sit on the side of the metaphorical road, open your weird little notebook, and write anyway. write wrong. write messy. write ghost drafts. the path shows up when you start walking.

🕳️ you got this, writer.

tag me if you end up crawling out of your stuck scene with a little victory paragraph. i’ll bring snacks for the next one 🧃✨

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

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scarletcomalies · 8 months ago

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may i request something??. nat having f!r in all fours, taking her w her strap. all soft, vulnerable. please? need her domestic possessive side (you can create a plot if you're up to, but that's pretty much it!!)

all of you, all of me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 1,608

Warnings: 18+ content, strap-on usage (R. Receiving), fluff.

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Hope you enjoy <3

After a dangerous yet successful mission, Natasha Romanoff returned home to you, her loving partner.

Your thumbs gently ran over the once smooth skin of your beloved, now stained by a few scrapes and bruises to which she gave very little importance.

The woman before you was immune to any stimuli, except your caresses, or you as a whole, for that matter. It was obvious from the way she sighed and closed her eyes as soon as you had placed your hands on her cheeks.

After each life-risking mission, the only thing she needed was to feel your touch, and she wouldn't let some silly superficial wounds to deprive her of this delight.

"Oh, baby," you cooed, tracing a path with your hands from her cheeks to her ears, ending at her red hair. It was tangled, and you could even feel the powdery texture of dirt within. "Would you like me to run you a hot bath? Or would you prefer me to bring the first aid kit? Or would you rather rest?"

"Don't 'baby' me," Natasha grumbled, pulling you closer and wrapping her hands around your waist. "I'm not fragile, I don't need to rest," her tone indicating irritation, as if it was an insult that you simply offered to give her the care she deserved after such hard work. “I just want you, okay?” She added lowly.

You hummed disapprovingly, scratching her scalp in circles to soothe her usual high-defense demeanor. She rolled her eyes slightly, and threw her head back so your hands could continue to run through her scarlet locks.

"You're like a kitten," you commented with a chuckle. "A kitten that needs a bath, a massage, and a good night's sleep."

"I don't need any of that, you know I've had worse," she protested, stubbornness shining through. And it's true, Natasha's been through worse. Much, much worse. "What I need is to get you out of these clothes in the next five minutes...—" she stated, her lips moving to kiss your neck as her hands gripped your hips, pushing you tighter against her.

"Whatever makes my love feel better," you agreed, and it was your turn to tilt your head back to give her more access to that area, to let her slowly give in to the intoxicating need for more of you.

Natasha had given you a fair share of small heart attacks whenever she returned unexpectedly from missions at the most ungodly, unpredictable hours known to human kind. The first time, you had given her a bruise on her torso when you felt an extra weight on your shared bed, thinking someone had broken in.

It took some time for you to become accustomed to the fact that an additional weight no longer signified danger, but it rather indicated the return of your partner from another successful mission.

"I want to touch you," she pleaded, mewled against your ear.

"Well, nothing's stopping you," you whispered, your voice full of desire.

"Damn right!"

One of the things that characterized your relationship with the redhead was her ability to elicit a strong physical response from you, regardless of whether you had been sleeping, or had experienced a rough day, she just had to say the word, and that was sufficient to prompt a readiness on your part to comply.

Natasha's hands exerted pressure on your shoulders, guiding your back against the matress. She observed your body from an arm's distance, her eyes tracing the outline of your skin.

"You have no fucking idea how badly I've longed for this," she murmured.

Her lips captured yours for the first time in three weeks, her tongue exploring your mouth passionately. Said kiss was deep and hungry, chanelling all the longing that had built up during her absence. Her hands desperately traced the contours of your skin beneath your shirt, roaming up and down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

As the kiss intensified, Natasha nibbled at your bottom lip, pulling it gently between her teeth before releasing it with a soft pop, proceeding to begin a journey southward, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. She paused at your pulse point, sucking the sensitive spot, and in consequence, eliciting a soft moan from you.

Her hands, meanwhile, had found their way to the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it upwards. As more of your skin was exposed, the redhead's kisses followed, intending to cover every inch of your upper body with her touch.

She paused for a moment, looking up at you with a brief vulnerability.

"I've missed this," she whispered, her voice raspy with need. "And I've missed you."

With a gentle but quick maneuver, Natasha gently turned you onto your stomach, her hands caressing your back as she did so. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs.

When the fabric pooled at your ankles, her hands returned to your hips. She leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses along your exposed skin, from the small of your back up to your shoulder blades.

"You're beautiful," she murmured against your skin, her breath warm and even comforting in comparison to the already present winter. "So perfect,” she added, as she lifted your hips to position you on all fours.

Natasha sat back on her heels, her eyes never daring to leave your ready body as she slowly began to undress. She started with her sweatshirt, pulling it off to reveal her toned abdomen and the simple black bra underneath. Her fingers then moved to the clasp behind, unhooking it with ease as the garment fell down.

Subsequently, she stood up, taking out of her pants, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them. Her underwear followed, sliding down her toned legs to join the rest of her discarded clothing on the floor.

Now fully naked, Natasha stood before you, her soft skin adorned with a few bruises and scratches. Perhaps it was wrong to admire the marks of such physical exertions such as her soul-draining missions, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the way she wore those bruises with pride.

She allowed you a moment to appreciate the sight of her, a small smirk playing on her lips at the obvious hunger you displayed shamelessly.

She then reached for a strap-on dildo from the bedside drawer, and fastened it around her hips, your all-time favorite black silicone perking up and adding to her already alluring form. And so, like a lioness eyeing her prey, she positioned herself behind you.

She started slowly, easing the toy into your hole with gentle, shallow thrusts. Your body welcomed the intrusion, already primed and prepared due to her earlier teasing.

Her hands then gripped your hips firmly as she began to thrust with more force, each movement driving the toy deeper. The room filled with the sound of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"Mine, mine, mine," she remarked accompanied by each thrust, making you cry out in response.

They became deeper, more forceful, each movement causing waves of pleasure to drown you more and more, threatening to leave you breathless and defeated. The only sound present in the room was that rhythmic, familiar one of skin meeting skin.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" You cried out, followed by high-pitched gasps.

Your eyes were shut tight, your hands gripping the bedsheets with such force your knuckles turned white, anchoring you to reality.

Your back arched involuntarily, pushing you further onto Natasha, seeking more, always more. The clenching on your walls, and the tension on your core built to an almost unbearable level, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Hers, hers, hers. Utterly and completely hers. With each thrust, each caress, each burning kiss, she once again branded you as her own.

“Nat! M’ gonna…” You weren't able to finish the sentence, for your body went rigid, as the pleasure of release overcame you.

Nevertheless, her hips continued to move, albeit slower and gentler as she helped you ride out your orgasm.

Her lips found the sensitive skin of your back, trailing soft kisses along your spine. This moment, this connection with you, was what she had craved during every lonely night on during her mission.

The feeling of your skin against hers, tte sound of your voice, your addictive scent that was uniquely you, it all reminded her of why she fought so hard to come back home in the first place.

As the aftershocks subsided, you collapsed onto your back, and Natasha took the opportunity to snuggle against you, the last bit of energy gone.

She had the presence of mind to be slightly embarrassed by how quickly and intensely you'd managed to affect her, excessively so, if she was being honest. But she was too drained, too satisfied to care much about it.

"Feeling better, baby?" You asked, your voice soft and filled with affection. Your fingers traced lazy patterns on her back, soothing and filled with tenderness.

Instead of a verbal response, Natasha managed a weak nod against your skin.

Her hands moved languidly, cupping your breasts in a delicate manner that contrasted with her earlier fervor. She let out a contented sigh as she settled her face more firmly between them, nuzzling against your soft skin. She could perfectly fall asleep right there and then, all spent and completely at peace.

Natasha pressed a soft kiss to your chest, right above your beating heart. It was a wordless expression of gratitude, of love, of coming home. No matter where her missions took her, no matter what dangers she faced, you would always be her sanctuary, her safe haven in a world of disaster.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natalia alianovna romanova #marvel #marvel fanfiction #scarlett johansson

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elodieunderglass · 3 months ago

Text

Submission by @Zorilleerrant How to Write a Novel

When I make bullet point lists, each bullet point tends to be a couple hundred words, so that’s what I optimize for. But! I find writers usually have a consistent average for that, so everyone should tailor their bullet points to their own experiences. Modify all the numbers as necessary. (And be prepared to revamp them as you go. The outline never survives contact with the writing.) Now how do we turn bullet point ideas into a full novel outline?

Alright. Let’s get down to it.

Step 1: A novel is 50k words.

Let’s break this into smaller sections. 50k is a nice even number, so I like to make 5 parts. A 10k section sounds much more manageable; that’s a normal (long) short story! If you have 5 (or ten) short stories that naturally link up into a novel, this is the final part of the outline. Usually I think that doesn’t happen, though. Anyway, write the 5 high level Events, Inciting Incidents, or Arc Developments. (It could be themes or structural points, if that’s what drives your writing forward, it just has to be The Important Things.)

Step 2: What’s the shape of this section?

So we’ve got our major plot point or what have you. Now it’s important to figure out how to set it up and how to knock it down. I generally block this into a timeline of 10 points (because that’s 1k) to begin with, and then add or collapse bullet points as necessary. The first bullet point should be the opening scene or setup, and the last should be the end of the section or the transition to the next part, but in between is just how to get from A to B. The what is important, but I tend to find why is more helpful to answer so I can figure out how to get characters to do things. If you tend to bang out 1k at a time this is the end of the outline!

Step 3: The Devil in the Details

This is where the bullet point granularity really varies. You can break it up into 10 again (100 words each: a drabble!) or even more if you need to. This can be really helpful because at a certain point you just end up translating the Ideas List into Writer Voice, and once you get the narrative tone down it becomes more consistent. But in general you only need a couple bullet points here: the ones absolutely integral to the scene. Maybe there’s part of the setting you need to describe, or an internal monologue, or a reveal. Put them in order.

Step 4: To write it you have to write it, unfortunately.

Each bullet point should be a fairly short writing section, now. Which means getting all the way through one should be doable in a single writing session. If you know how you want to say it, great! If you don’t, imagine describing it to friends, whether that’s in the silliest way possible, or to try to make it intriguing, or anything else. The beauty of the bullet point lists is you can switch between styles, and you’ll remember during editing why there’s inconsistency every few paragraphs. You can sand that off later; just get the words down.

Step 5: Editing

Throw out the outline. I mean, don’t actually throw it out, in case you need to figure out what you were talking about here or there. But try not to the various sections/segments/bullets as hard and fast rules; some of them will need to be broken up, and others smushed together more. Here’s where you look for the natural chapter breaks. You should also look for any missing scenes, or maybe places where a scene needs to be moved earlier or later. You’ll also, unfortunately, find things that just don’t need to be in the final draft. Save them in a different document, in case people want to see the outtakes later.

Congrats! If you get your novel all the way to this point, it’s ready to be sent to other people to look it over and help you polish it up!

Anyway, for people who like outlining, put all your planning in this part. For people who like figuring it out as they go along, only do the top level breakdown for any section you’re not currently writing; leave most of it blank until you get there.

I hope this helps you or someone write a novel!

-- submission by @zorilleerrant

Thank you so much for writing this!

#eggs for killie

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awesumsaus · 2 years ago

Text

pretty when I cry

wc: 6k

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: what was meant to be a slow relaxing morning after a night out with joel turns into something much more.

a/n: so I’ve been trying to work out the rest of my tlou series but couldn’t get this idea out of my head. it’s entirely self-indulgent, absolute filth, literally inspired by porn (but with feelings). pls skip if you’re not comfortable with anything outlined in the warnings/tags, otherwise hope y’all enjoy :] (and if anyone has any interest in a part two lmk bc I may or may not have some ideas lolol)

warnings/tags: explicit 18+ (minors dni), no outbreak au, softdom!joel, smut with a hint of plot, established relationship, age gap, reader is described as small/little but also curvy, hints of possessive!joel, daddy kink, almost dd/lg dynamics, subspace, oral (f receiving), slight somnophilia (very consensual), size kink, dirty talk, so many petnames (baby, honey, pretty girl, little girl), painful sex but Joel is a consent king, aftercare, fingering, *cough* butt stuff *cough*, unprotected pinv, squirting, barely proofread sorry

It wasn’t uncommon, for you to wake up like this, Joel’s head of salt and pepper curls dipped below the covers, his mouth eagerly pulling an orgasm from your pliant body. So it comes as no surprise when you’re roused awake by the sound of your own whines and whimpers, slipping through your lips like soft little pleas. Your tired eyes shift to the top of his head, the sheets bunched at his wide shoulders, leaving you bare and exposed to the cool morning breeze blowing through the open bedroom window.

He works in slow languid movements, yet he has you gushing around his tongue nonetheless, his mouth warm and wet against your dripping sex, still soft and swollen from the previous night’s activities. You’d fallen asleep, damp and sticky, only after he’d pounded you into his mattress until the early hours of the morning.

Upon waking, the feeling of his cum still dripping out of you, legs wrapped around one of his dense thighs, it drove him positively insane. It didn’t matter how peacefully asleep you were, how steadily you drew breaths between your plush lips, he had to have you the moment his eyes set on you.

He senses you’re awake when your fingers delicately twist through the curls at the crown of his head. He hums contentedly against you, the vibrations making your eyes fall closed once more as wanting sounds slip past your lips. You’d never been one for religion, but seeing Joel for the past several months has you questioning everything. The way his mouth moves against your pulsing core leaves you with no choice but to believe in some higher power, some celestial being that deemed you lucky enough to allow a man like Joel into your life.

He pulls away from your messy cunt and you whine at the loss. Your glossed over eyes meeting his with pupils blown wide. “Mornin’ pretty girl,” he says, his voice gruff and his lips shining with your slick. The sight sends another wave of warmth straight to your core.

“Hi,” you say, tone gentle and weary with sleep. A timid smile spreads across your lips as you run a hand through his scruff. No matter how many times you wake up next to him, how many times he fucks you senseless, you always manage to grow shy under his salacious stare.

He plants a fleeting kiss to your clit and you shudder, you can feel him smirk even as your gaze shifts to the ceiling above you. Your hand unknowingly grips his hair tighter and urges him towards where you need him most, not even noticing your own action until you hear Joel let out an amused chuckle.

“So needy for me, huh baby?” He runs a hand from your thigh over the curve of your hip, his touch featherlight over the certain spot by your hipbone that he knows drives you wild. His fingers end splayed across your lower belly, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Always need you, daddy,” you say, only slightly above a whisper, a small buck of your hips to get your point across. The petname has his already half hard cock twitching against the sheets, his other hand instinctively squeezes the flesh of your hip.

With no warning, his lips are on you again, his pace now fast and increasingly sloppy. He eats at you like a man starved, his curved nose rubbing against your clit with each of his movements. The intensity of it all makes your head spin and your cunt clench around nothing. A ghosting pain lingers in your lower half, another reminder of the evening prior.

The two of you had gone out, like you often did on Friday nights, deciding on a new spot downtown. Joel was hesitant at first, having heard it was more popular with the younger crowd, more catered to people your age. But he’d learned early in your relationship that saying no to you was nearly impossible, with your big doe eyes and sweet pleading smiles, he rarely had it in him to deny anything your little heart desired.

But God, the little black dress you wore nearly had him throwing you over his shoulder and locking you away in his bedroom for only his eyes to ever behold. Joel would never admit to being the possessive type. He knew what other men saw in you, wide eyed and sweet, kind beyond reason, with a gorgeous smile and beautiful curves. He saw the way they’d look at you, saw the way their eyes followed your perfect form, like predators stalking their prey.

He would never admit to being the possessive type, but his incessant grip around your waist in every public space and the death glares he’d send any man that looked your way proved otherwise. And despite your attempts to dissuade his arrogance, there was a part of you that craved to be claimed, to be marked as his.

The week had been long and draining. Your overbearing boss forced you to work overtime into the late hours of the evening nearly every night, and with Joel’s days often starting as early as 5am, he was usually sound asleep by the time you’d managed to feed yourself and drag your exhausted corpse to bed.

To no fault of his own, Joel hadn’t paid much attention to you this week, leaving you feeling neglected and irritated despite his generally relentless attentiveness towards you. And so you decided to toy with him, always testing his limits and seeing how far you can go before he snaps. You wouldn’t admit it, but you kinda liked him a little angry.

And boy was it easy to get a rise out of him, especially dressed the way you were, your ass only just covered and your tits spilling over the tight corset-like top of your dress. You had his blood boiling before the two of you even left his house. When you finally walked through the bar entrance, Joel was like a guard dog, his arm wrapped tightly around your lower waist, a permanent scowl imprinted on his face towards the many male bar goers that ogled you. He had you tucked so close to his body you were nearly tripping over his feet with each of your steps.

After your first drink you were feeling antsy, and a bit too bold for you own good, and so you flirted with them, boys you had not a single shred of interest in, laughed at their jokes and accepted their offers to buy you drinks, all the while glancing back at Joel, biting your lip, trying not to giggle at his grimace and the way redness began spreading up his neck. You’d retreat back to your table, to Joel, prizes in hand, and feign innocence when he’d question what you were up to.

“What do y’ think you’re doin’,” he questioned after you had slipped away to the bar a second time under the guise of needing to use the restroom. You padded up to him, slotting yourself between his thighs, twirling the straw in your drink between your fingers. Even sitting on the barstool he towered over you.

“Nothin’, daddy.” You looked up at him through your lashes, knowing fully well what your words did to him. You brought the hand that wasn’t holding your drink to his upper thigh, you could feel the muscle tense as you slid your way up, up, up.

“Watch it, little girl.“ He grabbed your wrist, hard. You instinctively tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. He jerked you towards him, your chests nearly touching before bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly, a stark contrast to the death grip he still had on your wrist.

His voice was low, a sign of warning. “F’ you want somethin’ from me, all you gotta do is ask, darlin’.”

You huffed and pouted slightly when he released you, ignoring the fact that your actions resembled those of a petulant child. Despite knowing that he would give you anything you asked of him, having proved it to you countless times over the course of your relationship, the neglected feeling in your chest grew. You didn’t want to ask, sick of making decisions and telling others what to do after the week you’d had. You wanted him to take.

It was after your third disappearance, this time to actually use the restroom, that Joel snapped. Passing by the bar, one of the young men that bought you a drink attempted to stop you in your tracks. You didn’t pay him much attention, just smiled and nodded at his words, quietly trying to slip by. But then his hands were on you, grabbing your waist in a way that made your stomach turn. You hadn’t even had time to register a response, to push him away and run back to Joel, before his hands were leaving your body and being replaced by much larger ones, rough and calloused. Joel’s hands.

“We’re leaving, now,” he grunted, pulling you by the back of your arm towards the exit. It was only after he’d practically thrown you into the passenger’s seat of his truck that you knew you were in for it.

You’d barely made it to the front door before he was ripping the fabric of your little black dress from your body, letting the torn pieces fall to the floor. Immediately you’d attempted to scold him, it was one of your favorites, but couldn’t get a word in before he was throwing your bare body over his shoulder and carrying you to his bedroom, promising he’d buy you as many dresses as you wanted if you’d shut up and let him have his way with you, let him fuck you stupid, until the only thoughts going through your head were Joel, Joel, Joel.

He spent the following hours relentlessly pulling orgasm after orgasm from your pliable body, impaling you on his thick cock until hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

“I know, baby,” he said from his place behind you, your limp whimpering form draped across the edge of the bed. “Just needed to be reminded who you belong to, huh?” His voice was mocking, but with a certain sincerity that made your cunt clench even harder around him.

“Yours, daddy,” was all you could manage before you came around his cock for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Needless to say you were feeling extra sensitive this morning, Joel was hyper aware of this fact, yet the feeling of his tongue repeatedly diving into your abused hole had you begging for more. “Need you inside,” you say despite the hurt. Joel holds back a groan at your pleas, needy little thing. He pulls away just slightly to meet your gaze, his breath still hot against your core.

“Not gonna put my cock in you, honey.” The finality in his voice makes your heart drop and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. You were always like this in the mornings, he had come to notice, sensitive, soft, often emotionally even more so than physically. Joel had always been an assured man, never impulsive or reckless in his actions, always thoughtful and never selfish. But with you he’d learned patience. He’d learned to hold your emotions in the palm of his hand with a certain gentleness he never knew himself capable of. He’d learned you often needed more time than most to become placid, to settle, and so it became almost a sense of his, knowing when to take and when to give, even when you weren’t sure yourself.

“Please-“ you whine, tears in your voice. His big brown eyes soften when they meet yours, his resolve slipping only momentarily while he moves to kiss the inside of each of your thighs.

“Not gonna convince me, baby.” he tuts. “Can’t take me yet.” He moves higher, nuzzles into the soft skin above your clit. You let out a small gasp when he starts sucking harshly, surely leaving a bruise, a mark that only he will ever see.

“I can. I promise.” You wriggle in his hold, feel your wetness drip onto the sheets. He nips the spot and pulls away.

“Quit.” He pins your hips harder, his eyes meeting yours once more. “Maybe if you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease last night I wouldn’t’ve had to wreck this perfect little pussy.” He runs a finger through your folds as he says it and you tense slightly. He raises an eyebrow at you, an I told you so look, you huff in frustration, yet you relax in his hold.

“You ready to be good f’ me, baby?” His voice seeps through your ears like honey, your mind beginning to wander to that all too familiar headspace you often turned to in these moments. You nod your head, eyes hooded. Joel senses the shift. “You’re gonna take whatever daddy gives you yeah?”

“Yes,” you gasp as you feel just the tip of his index finger probe your dripping hole, Joel gauging your response.

“N’ then what d’ you say?” He twists his finger inside you and pushes in just to his first knuckle, the stretch already intense given your increased sensitivity.

“Thank you, daddy,” you sigh, not a single shred of fight left in you. A devilish smirk spreads across his face.

“Good girl.”

His hands are on the backs of both your thighs, hiking your legs up so that they’re pressed firmly against your chest, your glistening folds on full display. You shiver as the cool morning air hits where you’re most vulnerable. He then pushes your knees apart, situating himself so that his mouth is only inches from your core while still holding you in place, your legs spread obscenely wide to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.

He spits directly on your clit and watches as it drips down your cunt, combining with the mess of wet already there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but it’s how Joel likes you, filthy with his cum and spit and your own slick. You tremble as he smooths his hand over your mound, his undivided attention on the mess he’s creating. When he’s satisfied, the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing small circles into the bundle of nerves, making your hips buck once more.

He pauses his movements, his eyes dark and entirely void of any sense of leniency. “Not gonna tell you again.” A tear pools in your lower lashes at the loss of his touch, your breathing goes shaky.

“So pretty when you cry f’ me, honey,” his tone mocking. “Almost as pretty as when you come for me.”

His mouth is back on you, even more ravening and unrelenting than before. You have to bite down on your pillow to prevent yourself from screaming when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his warm mouth. Every cell in your body is screaming for his touch, needing more, more, more. You want to be enveloped by him by not just his mouth, but every part of him. You have the sudden desire to crawl under his skin, make a home for yourself there, where all you can ever feel is him, him, him.

The peaceful sound of birds chirping outside the window is drowned out by your cries and the pornographic squelches of your wet sex. Your vision blurs as his tongue plunges in and out of you.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he pulls away for only a second, his eyes not leaving your center as he anchors his thick arms under your ass and thighs, bringing your cunt impossibly closer to his eager mouth.

Joel knows your body, knows what every twitch and minor shift means, how your breathing quickens when he’s brought you right to the edge, the sounds you make when you’ve completely given in, forfeited all control. And he senses it, when his thumb presses against the cleft of your ass, and a moan slips from deep within your throat, that he’s uncovered something, something that makes his cock twitch and drip onto the sheets below him.

He pulls away quick, too quick, and your face burns, the fleeting sensation prompting a new surge of desire in the pit of your stomach. The feeling was foreign, a bit startling, but in a way that left you longing for more. If you were to trust anyone to delve into this part of yourself, this uncharted territory, it would be Joel. It would always be Joel. He knew how to take care of you better than any man you’d ever known. With him you were safe, you were heard, cherished and adored. With him there was no emotion too big or too small, no desire left unsated.

“Joel-“ you breath. “Joel, baby. I want-“

He pulls away from you, a knowing look in his glassed over eyes. “What is it, honey? What d’ you want?”

He can’t help himself and licks a long strip from your asshole to your clit, moaning at the taste. “Fuck- Joel,” you cry out, a drop of sweat falling to your forehead. “Want- want your fingers.”

“Where d’ you want my fingers, baby.” He says it more like a command than a question, but you can’t respond, your head falling back as he starts lapping at your clit. “You want them in this sweet little cunt?” He prods one of his thick fingers at your opening, but quickly pulls away, leaving you clenching around nothing.

You bite your lip, eyes hooded. “Mm,” you shake your head. His eyes are nearly black now, something unhinged, sinful behind his gaze. He knows what you want, the seed already planted in his insatiable brain, but he wasn’t going to give in to your pleads that easily.

“Dirty girl.” His voice has dropped an octave. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please, daddy” you squirm, tears pooling at your waterline, threatening to fall at any second. His hardened grip on your hips softens for a moment before he’s turning his head and biting the inside of your thigh, hard. You gasp, a tear rolls down your cheek. “Use your words.”

“I wan- I-I don’t-,” you babble, the tears now flowing freely, leaving wet trails down your cheeks. He lets you choke on your words for a moment, not once tearing his eyes away from yours.

“Oh honey, I know s’ hard,” he soothes, sliding his hand along the curve of your ass. Your tears slow. “S’okay. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. No more cryin’.”

You sniffle, a small smile spreading across your face at his words. You always had a way of making him cave.

His expression goes serious for a moment. “What’s your safe word?” Red. “And you’ll use it if you want me to stop?” Mhm. “Repeat it.” His commanding tone sends a chill down your spine. “If I want you to stop, I’ll say red,” you say softly and run a hand through his curls, wet with a mixture of your sweat and his own.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna make you feel so good,” he says more to himself than you. Your brain turns to absolute mush when his mouth meets your skin once again.

Even with his head between your legs, even when he’s on his knees for you, he’s the one in charge, the one that dictates your every move. How your body twists and bends to his will. He decides when you get to cum, decides when you’ve earned it. And there’s a certain feeling that comes with it, this loss of autonomy, a sense of ease and security created by a total loss of control. No other man you’ve been with has understood, most of them only seeking to fulfill their own selfish wants. But Joel knows, having understood this unfamiliar part of you almost as soon as the two of you met, knowing exactly how to satiate that little corner of your brain that craves submission.

You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his calloused thumb return to your tight hole, tensing a bit when he adds more pressure.

“Relax, baby.” And you do, your muscles go lax almost immediately and the furrow in your brow softens. You exhale a moan as he begins kissing your cunt, avoiding your most sensitive areas so that he can keep you focused on the feeling of his thumb pushing into you.

“Fu- fuck, Joel!” You basically shriek when the tip of his thumb breeches the ring of muscle, it’s already all consuming, already so full.

He retracts his thumb and you let out a choked sound before he brings his thick finger to your wetness, gathering slick on the pad of his thumb before resuming his unrushed stretching of your virgin hole.

“More ngh- please.” He prods you painfully slow, assessing your every reaction as his knuckle plunges into you.

“Uh-uh. Don’t care how nice n’ polite you ask, baby. Not gonna ruin this little hole.” He plants wet kisses along your seam. “Not yet,” he says almost inaudibly against your mound before devouring you once more. The promise of more makes something in your brain snap, all the shyness and trepidations from before gone in one fleeting moment.

He stretches you slowly, the speed of his mouth quickening and his thumb beginning to slide more easily in and out of you. You’re entirely lost in the feeling, completely overwhelmed by the pressure and the speed of his tongue on your clit. You cry out when he removes his thumb, replacing it with his middle finger, and dipping his freed digit into your cunt, completely overcome, overstimulated in the best way.

It’s too much, but not enough. But no, it’s too much. He’s everywhere, in your cunt, your ass, your head. All you can think is how anything in life could ever feel this good. How anyone can be this good, this knowing of your every want, every need. The thought makes tears pinch at the corner of your eyes.

His gaze is fixed on you, every twitch, every shift. He nearly comes at the sight of you grinding down on his fingers. That’s it baby, fuck yourself on my fingers. His movements slow, your orgasm begins to fade and you whine. You’re not even thinking when you bring your delicate fingers to your clit and trace small circles against the bundle of nerves. Joel immediately grabs your hand and pins it to your lower stomach, nearly growling against your skin. Any other time he’d have you bent over his knee for not asking permission, but he’s so drunk on you, so dead-set on making you come apart, he lets this one slide.

“Need t’ come so bad, huh baby?” You nod your head furiously, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks. “Go ‘head n’ ask for it then, baby. Nice n’ polite like I know you can.”

“Please daddy, please let me come.” You barely register the words falling from your mouth, but the proud look on Joel’s face tells you all you need to know.

It doesn’t take much to send you over the edge. He sucks harshly on your clit, pulling it into his mouth, while his thick fingers work each of your holes. His hand holding yours presses harder, harder, harder until the tension snaps and you’re screaming, sobbing out as you gush around him, soaking his scruff to the point that your slick drips from his chin and onto the already drenched sheets. He works you through it, curling his fingers into your cunt so that another warm stream of slick hits his tongue. And he takes, not letting a single drop go to waste as he laps at you.

Your head is still buzzing when he finally ceases his movements, the shockwaves of your orgasm still flowing through you making your whole body shake. Your muscles convulse as he slowly pulls his fingers from your core.

With blurred vision you watch him stand at the end of the bed, his cock painfully hard, red and leaking. You hadn’t even considered what all this was doing to him, so lost in your own pleasure from the moment your eyes opened. You have the sudden urge to fall to your knees and take him into your mouth until he comes deep down your throat, but your body is limp, sunk into the mattress below you. You merely watch with hooded eyes as he fists himself, his gaze fixed on your slicked core, the sight makes another pool of your arousal drip onto the sheets.

“Fuck-“ he sucks in a sharp breath, his hips stuttering against his own hold. “Need t’ be inside this tight cunt, baby.”

Your eyes go slightly wide at his confession, yet your lower half shakes with anticipation. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, this wrecked, desperate, this needy. He looks almost pained when your eyes meet his, and you feel as though you may just implode if he’s not inside you a moment longer.

“Will you let me, pretty girl?”

You nod.

“Yes or no, baby?” He squeezes the base of his shaft, staving off his impending release. You can’t help but smile a little, knowing he could come just like this, just from looking at you in your current state. But the need to feel him inside of you pulls you from the thought.

Yes, please, yes.

He grabs your hips and swiftly flips you, shoving a pillow under your lower belly and pushing down on you until you’re laid almost flat on your stomach. He grabs roughly at your hips, pulling you up so that his cock brushes up against your slick folds.

You bite down on your forearm when his wide tip notches at your entrance, basically drooling onto your own skin as you attempt to hold back your cries. He eases into you, still overly conscious of your sensitivity, ignoring the small part of his brain telling him to ram into you, make you feel every inch of him in one swift motion. He knows that you would take it, thank him for it, always such a good girl for him especially once he’s finally inside you, yet he knows the kind of control he has over you in these moments, knows it’s up to him to determine what you can and can’t take.

When he bottoms out you feel as though you may just split in two, something animalistic sounds from deep within Joel’s throat. Tears fall to your arm when your head lolls to the side, your breathing ragged and your whole body on fire from both pain and pleasure.

“Fuck- not gonna last, baby.” He starts moving in and out of you slowly, and god, it hurts, yet your tight cunt sucks him back in with each of his thrusts, a delicious burning sensation spreading along your slick walls. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him not to worry himself, to beg him to come inside your aching cunt. But all that escapes your lips is a choked sob in the sound of Joel’s name.

“Shh I know,” he coos. “You’re just so little, huh sweet thing? Little fucking cunt squeezing me so good honey.”

You keen at his praise, gushing around his massive girth. You’d never get used to it, the thickness of his cock, the weight of him deep inside your cunt. No matter how much he prepares you, it’s always a stretch, always just short of too much to bare.

His thumb presses into the cleft of your ass as his pace increases. “Gonna let me fuck you here, baby?”

“Yes daddy,” you say and he freezes for a moment, your words nearly sending him over the edge.

“Not today, little girl,” he growls and rocks back into you. A feeling of combined relief and disappointment washes over you. You’re not sure you could take it, not now, but part of you craves to be reduced to nothing but Joel’s fuck toy, fucked deep and full until you can’t even think, nothing but a few holes to be filled.

“You’d let me though, wouldn’t ya?” He pulls you from your thought. “Dirty fuckin’ thing.”

“Mhm, yes daddy.” Your vision goes black at the feeling of his cock pulsing against your cervix. He was close, you could feel it in the way his thrusts went erratic, sloppy and slightly hurried.

“Let me do whatever I want to ya, huh?”

“Yes daddy,” you say the only two words left in your brain.

“Fuck, so fucking perfect, baby-“ The feeling of his warm release shooting inside of you makes you twitch around him and your brain go fuzzy. You can barely hear Joel’s grunts and moans nor his incessant praises over the ringing in your ears. This is what you craved, beyond the physical gratification brought on by these moments, but the way the world around you disappeared and you were filled with nothing but the content of being his, being Joel’s. The safety you felt beneath his large form, it leaves no room for worry, no thoughts of the stress of everyday life, no decisions to be made. Just him, just Joel.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like this, long enough to feel your combined release dripping from Joel’s cock onto your trembling thighs, long enough that you feel yourself dipping in and out of sleep, in and out of consciousness.

When he finally pulls out of you, he lets your hips softly fall onto the bed, your body sprawled across the damp sheets. You feel the mattress shift behind you as he stands, immediately heading for the en suite bathroom. At the loss of his presence, you’re reminded of the open window, the now midmorning breeze dancing across your damp skin. You can’t help but wonder if the echoes of your morning endeavors made their way to the street below, if a neighbor passing by could make out the sounds of your shrieks and screams, if perhaps it’d been a cause for concern until it became apparent that your cries were derived from a place of pleasure and not pain nor fear.

Joel returns and takes quick notice of your shivering, immediately making his way to the window and shutting it. You smile to yourself at the sight of his bare backside, so strong and sturdy, the muscles in his shoulders sculpted from years of working on various job sites, tapering down to his waist, the dimples right above his ass. It’s truly a view you would never tire of.

“‘S impolite to stare, y’ know?” He catches your eye, a playful smirk spread across his face. You giggle at him, still laying on your belly, your head tucked into the crook of your elbow. He chuckles when you make grabby hands at him with your free hand, to which he quickly concedes, bending over at your side and planting a kiss on your lips. You sigh against him, carding your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

“Hey baby.” He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your nose. He tucks fallen pieces of hair behind your ear. “You okay?”

You nod your head tiredly, unable to muster any more of a response, and he doesn’t attempt to pull one out of you, kissing your nose and rising back to his feet.

He disappears once again, this time returning dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a damp washcloth in hand. He sits next to you on the bed, moving to clean between your legs, but your thighs clamp shut. It’s a purely physical reaction, your body on high alert due to the sensitivity.

“Hey hey-“ he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine then leans over to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Just want t’ clean you up sweet girl. I’ll be so gentle, promise.” His soothing makes your legs instinctively relax and he brings the washcloth to the apex of your thighs. He’s gentle just like he promised, yet you still hiss slightly when the warm material meets your sensitive skin.

When he’s finished, he grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts from the dresser, quickly returning to your side and urging you to turn onto your back. He dresses you, your body like putty in his hands, his touch gentle and warm. You can’t deny the aching feeling in your lower half when he slides your shorts on, but it’s a good kind of ache, an ache you’ll crave as soon as it dissipates.

You grab at him again when he moves to pull away, but he makes it easy for you, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, careful not to bare any of his weight on you. The little whimpers that slip past your lips as your warm mouth moves across his make his spent cock twitch.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity with which he felt for you, the depth of his affections. It scared him, the thoughts he had, of what he would do to those who meant to hurt you, to those who have hurt you. It scared him, the thought of losing you, the lengths he would go to keep you safe, keep you here, here with him. But it was in these moments, when you’re laid beneath him, so soft and so lovely, that all those fears melted away.

Before things move any further, he hooks his arms under you and lifts you from the bed with ease. You don’t protest, not sure you could even if you wanted to, instead you latch onto him, curl your face into his neck and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you downstairs to the living room.

He attempts to set you on the couch, but you cling to him like a koala, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Let go,” he says firmly, a smile behind his words. “Don’t wanna,” you mumble against his skin, whining as he unfurls you from his torso and plops you on the couch. He places the TV remote in your hand, telling you to put somethin’ on, whatever you want.

He disappears into the kitchen and you attempt to sit up on the couch, your body going slack against the cushions. Your brain is still buzzing, it’s almost like you’re floating, not yet fully aware of your surroundings, but you can slowly feel yourself coming back to reality. You turn the TV on and set it to your latest recording.

Joel returns a few minutes later, your favorite water bottle and a plate of peanut butter toast in hand, a bottle of Advil in the other. He sits on the couch, immediately urging you onto his lap, and you don’t object.

“The Bachelor?” He says, a hint of judgement in his voice as he unscrews the cap of the Advil.

“You love it,” you respond, beginning to lose focus on the show as you squirm and slither against his body, making yourself comfortable as if he were part of the couch. Joel softly chuckles, wrapping an arm loosely around you.

He holds a few of the pills in front of you. “Joel I’m fine. I don’t-“

“Not asking, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, but take the Advil from him nonetheless, swallowing them down when Joel holds the straw of your water bottle to your mouth, knowing your body would thank you for it later.

“Good girl,” he plants a quick kiss to your temple, before grabbing the toast from the coffee table, heat rises to your cheeks at his words.

He feeds you the toast, taking bites for himself while you chew. You hadn’t realized how depleted your body was, now feeling the haze lift with some food and water in your system. Every time it’s like coming back to earth, but fortunately you know that Joel will always be there to catch you.

y'all I’m not good at endings pls forgive me

but hope we enjoyed the rest :p

part two

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #joel miller au #tlou au #joel miller fanfiction

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hans-wh0re · 11 months ago

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You could never resist the tempting opportunity to tease and taunt Chan with your insatiable lust whenever possible. Even something as simple as going for an impromptu nature drive together had your perverted mind racing with naughty ideas.

"Hey babe,m gonna pull off up here," Chan murmured in that deep baritone that never failed to make your thighs clench. He nodded toward a secluded fork in the deserted country road you'd been winding through, tucked away under a dreamy canopy of budding trees.

You bit your lip to suppress a smirk as Chan slowly steered his sleek black Jeep off the main path and rumbled over the grassy embankment into a small clearing framed by twisted oaks and wildflowers waving lazily in the breeze. This looked like the perfect private little hideaway for all sorts of indecent shenanigans.

As soon as he killed the engine, Chan swiveled in the driver's seat to fix you with a sultry gaze, the corner of his plump mouth kicked up in a sexy half-smirk. He knew that mischievous glint in your eyes all too well - you were already plotting some sort of erotic surprise.

"So what naughty thoughts are running through that dirty little head of yours, princess?" He rasped in a gravelly tone, large hand drifting across the center console to palm your bare thigh with a possessive squeeze. "You've been squirming around and giving me fuck-me eyes ever since we hit the road."

A shameless giggle bubbled up in your chest at Chan's playfully blunt assessment. You always did get unbelievably riled up whenever he pulled out his dominant bedroom voice. Feigning innocence, you parted your legs wider in a bold invitation while batting your lashes coyly.

"Who, me? I don't know what you're talking about…unless you were the one picturing me on my knees choking on your big dick in the woods like a filthy little slut?"

Chan's eyes flashed warningly at your brazenly dirty mouth, an almost feral growl rumbling up from his chest. In one smooth movement, he unclicked his seatbelt and lunged across the center divide to capture your lips in a rough, messy kiss.

"Such a bad girl, trying to rile me up," he groaned against your mouth between bruising smashes of his full lips. His tongue plunged past your parted lips greedily, chasing the sweet taste of you as his broad palms roamed over your body with shameless gropes. "You know how quickly you can get me riled up and ready to rail you into next week."

Whimpering into the deliciously filthy liplock, you rutted your hips up to grind your dewy slit against the rapidly forming bulge in Chan's jeans. His thick cock throbbed and strained against the unforgiving denim, leaving a tempting damp patch for you to press into.

"Mmm, feels like someone's excited to play too," you purred sultrily once he finally released your mouth with a final nip at your plump lower lip.

Chan let out a low chuckle that bordered on a growl, shifting backwards to blatantly palm and adjust his confined erection through the front of his pants. "Can't say I mind you teasing me like a needy little cockslut. In fact, I'd love to see those pretty lips wrapped around my dick, slobbering all over it right here in the front seat."

Your mouth practically watered at the tantalizing visual of bracing yourself in the cramped footwell and bobbing up and down on Chan's delicious length, his strong fingers tangled in your hair to guide your rhythm. With a needy whine, you immediately scrambled between his spread thighs to fumble with his belt buckle and zipper.

"Anything to make you happy, daddy," you purred, nuzzling your cheek against the impressive hard line straining against the front of his boxer briefs. The heady musk of Chan's arousal made your head swim and your cunt gush fresh dampness to soak the flimsy cotton.

With a theatrical swirl of your tongue, you mouthed a torturously slow trail along the shaft outlined beneath the soft fabric, savoring the taste of his salty precum already beading at the tip. Chan released a guttural moan, his hips twitching upwards instinctively to chase the hot suction of your lips. By the time you finally tugged his length free, his cock sprang out flushed, engorged, and glistening at the swollen head - undeniably aching to be buried in your velvety heat.

"Shit, look how fucking thick and pretty it is," you practically purred, wrapping one hand around the girthy base to stroke him from root to tip with teasing kitten licks following your snug fist. "Not sure I deserve such a nice treat…."

Hooking one toned leg over your shoulder for leverage, Chan carded his fingers through your hair to tilt your face upwards under his potent smoldering gaze. "Why don't you put that smart little mouth to good use and suck daddy dry then, hmm?"

Your tongue slipped out to drag a fat, messy stripe through the pearly beads of precum gathered on his cockhead, circling the engorged crown with torturous slow laps. When Chan's dick jerked heavily in your grip, you giggled and latched your lips around the tip in a tight suction to tongue at the sensitive bundle until he was thrashing beneath you.

"Fuckkk that's it, take it all down like a good girl," He groaned, head rolling back on the headrest as you slowly sank your jaw further to stretch your puffy lips around his considerable girth.

With a hand still fisted around the base, you eagerly worked the rest of his impressive length past your lips, swirling your tongue indecently and hollowing your cheeks to draw him deeper into your throat with filthy, gagging noises. Chan cursed vehemently, hips pumping off the seat to meet each sloppy down-bob of your head as the blunt head prodded into your convulsing throat.

"Such a cockslut for me, choking yourself sloppy and stupid on my dick…" Chan slurred through gritted teeth, one hand twisting in your hair to set a brutal cadence of forcefully skull-fucking your stretched mouth.

The sting of tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, coupled with the sharp burn of being deliciously impaled on his throbbing length. But the grotesque sound of your noisily suctioning mouth, your saliva-slickened chin, and Chan's punishingly deep shoves into your gullet made your cunt throb with unbridled arousal. You keened around his cock with pleasure, practically humping the console in search of much-needed friction between your neglected legs.

With a guttural snarl, Chan hilted himself fully in the convulsing wet heat of your throat until your nose brushed coarse curls and your lashes fluttered with lack of air. The fat, leaking crown stretched your poor lips obscenely wide, pearly drool and stringy saliva dripping down your chin to soak your tits.

"F-Fuck, gonna fill your tight little throat with so much cum," Chan rumbled through gritted teeth, harsh grunts punching out in time with the debauched bobbing motion of fucking your sloppy face. "Going to drench you in a hot, thick load right down your throat like the cumdump slut you are…"

At his lewd words, you whined out a pathetic plea around the thick cock spearing your gullet. The prospect of being so thoroughly defiled and used as nothing but a jizz receptacle had your core gushing fresh arousal. Your muffled whimpers and gags only seemed to spur Chan on to jackhammer his hips upwards in sharper, more erratic thrusts. Every withdrawal left a fat trail of spittle and precum painting your chin before the fat cockhead stretched your lips wide yet again.

Out of nowhere, Chan delivered a stinging slap across your cheek, leaving a crimson handprint blooming along your face as more tears sprang up. But the harsh sting only made you moan deliriously around his member, angling your neck to take the next fierce thrust deeper, harder, sloppier. You were absolutely transcendent on the degradation, serving as his fuckdoll to relentlessly throat and use like a cockwarmer.

"I'm cumming, I'm fuckin' c-cummin'…" Chan growled out a final warning in a wrecked, guttural tone.

The first hot, viscous ropes of his seed erupted out into the back of your gullet before you could react, thick cream painting the insides of your throat and dribbling back out around your poor abused lips in a filthy mess. Your body shook with the desperate urge to swallow down each spurt of cum, only for Chan to sink his nails into the crown of your scalp to still your movements and pump his hips. More and more of his spend coated your tonsils, gushing down your sputtering windpipe and draining back out around your spit-slick oral cavity…

By the time Chan's pulsing cock started delivering its final weak spurts of seed down your raw throat, every inch of your pretty face was a sloppy mess of drool, tears, and thick globs of his potent release. Jets of cum continued to dribble from the plump, distended shape of your overstuffed lips even as he dragged his softening length from your mouth with a final groan.

Chan didn't give you more than a moment to gasp frantically for air before he was hauling you up into a bruising, possessive kiss. You keened against his mouth, allowing him to chase the musky taste of his own spend flicking over both your tongues in a nasty, unrestrained makeout. The erotic flavor made your head swim, pussy throbbing with need to be similarly painted with his seed.

"I want every drop cleaned up, baby girl," Chan husked in a low rumble against your spit-slick lips when you finally parted for air. The promise in his smoky gaze was undeniable - he planned to use and defile every part of your body until you were a slutty, trembling mess well into the night.

With needy whimpers tumbling from your puffy lips, you obediently scooped up the pearly strands and globs of potent cream smeared across your jaw, chin, and down your heaving chest with petite fingertips. You held Chan's heated stare as you unabashedly lapped the tangy puddles of cum from your skin, swirling your tongue around each digit with obscene slurping noises to polish them clean.

"Good girl…such a nasty little cumwhore for me," he groaned approvingly, thick cock already twitching back to engorged interest from watching your erotic show. "Get it nice and slick for round two now."

Chan spread his muscled thighs obscenely wider, nearly sprawled in the driver's seat while his slick, heavy prick lay gleaming and exposed against his defined lower abdomen. He was putting himself on unabashed display, shamelessly baiting you to make a sloppy mess of his gorgeous body next, and who are you to not fall for his bait…

#skz #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #bangchan stray kids #christopher bang #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #stray kids bangchan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan stray kids #bang chan imagines

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

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Writing Notes: Novel Outline

Novel outline - a document that includes important planning information about your novel’s structure, plot, characters, scenes, and more. It is the skeleton of your novel.

An outline can be anything from a one-page written document to a comprehensive visual mindmap that uses diagrams to represent the link between information and ideas.

If you have the space, you can write your sentences on index cards and post them on a wall to make it easier to view and manipulate the parts.

Each event should be a single, short sentence (e.g. Danny gets shot in the leg).

How to Create a Novel Outline

Grab your notebook (or index cards) and follow these simple steps:

1. Craft your premise

This is the underlying idea for your story.

A good way to find the premise is to ask yourself, “What would happen if…?”

For example: What would happen if a young man who survives a shipwreck spends months in a lifeboat with a large Bengal tiger? (Life of Pi, 2001) Or: What would happen if four strangers met in an Italian villa during World War II? (The English Patient, 1992).

Next, it might help to try and answer a few key questions to help expand on the premise and generate new ideas. Things like:

Who is the main protagonist?

What is the situation?

How will the protagonist change from the beginning of the novel to the end?

What is her/her objective?

What does he/she want?

How does he/she get or not get what they want?

Is there an opposing force that is stopping the protagonist from achieving this objective?

What is the central conflict of the novel?

What about the central theme—what are you trying to say?

Once you’ve worked out the answers to these questions, write a 1-paragraph summary of the novel. Think of it as an elevator pitch.

2. Determine your setting

In a novel, the setting (time, place) can be just as important as the characters. Readers need to feel a sense of where things are happening, just as much as why they’re happening.

Planning setting can depend on a number of things, depending on what kind of novel you’re writing. Get to know your setting intimately. Do as much research as you can. If your novel is set in the real world, find photos, descriptions, and other materials to inform your ideas.

Is your novel set in a boarding school? During a particular period in time?

Find as much information, both written and visual, about boarding schools in that time. Picture your settings in your mind, and write down as much detail as you can: everything from how something looks and sounds to how it might smell, taste, or feel.

3. Get to know your characters

Write character profiles. Visualize them. Pretend you’re introducing these characters to your friends. What would you say about them? What details would you include, and what details would you omit—and why? What kind of journey will each character undertake in the novel? Where will they start, and where will they end up? Who will be central to the novel’s plot, and who will just serve as color and background?

Develop character backstories. Think of the moments in each character’s life that have led them to the point where they are introduced in the novel. What elements have shaped their personality and progression as characters? Do they have unresolved issues crucial to the plot?

One method is to conduct a Q&A with the most important characters, as a way of finding out more about them. Ask your characters a series of questions (get as personal as you want) and have him/her answer in his/her own words.

4. Construct your plot

Construct a timeline of events. Write down everything that happens in the novel, from the beginning to the end. Include details where you can, such as where the events take place, and who is involved. If you know the outcome of the events, and how they will impact the novel’s overall plot, include this as well (these can help form the foundation of additional subplots).

Beginning: The beginning of your novel has to accomplish a lot. It must introduce the hero, the villain, and the world of the story, as well as the story’s sole dramatic question, and it must do this with enough energy to grab your reader’s interest right away. A prologue can be useful for seizing the reader’s attention.

Middle: Often, tension evaporates in the middle of a novel, so it’s a good idea to figure out your ending first. It may not be perfect, and you can always change it later, but it’s useful to know the climax to which your characters are headed. Having that destination will help you stay focused during the “middle muddle.” Write as many short sentences as you need to describe the pathway your characters will take to reach the climax.

End: While it may seem daunting to figure out the ending so early, just return to your sole dramatic question, which already has your ending hidden within it. For example, if your question is: Will Ahab catch the whale? Then your story’s finale will be the moment when he does.

5. Write your scenes

Once your plot outline is in place, you’ll have a better idea of what scenes will need to be placed where. Add them to the outline. Flesh them out as much as you want—everything from where the action takes place to who is involved, even dialogue if you already know what you want your characters to say. Don’t worry about things making sense at this point, you’ll have time later to go back and highlight anything that feels out of place. Just focus on getting everything down so you can see it in front of you.

Once your outline is complete, you’ll be free to start writing your first draft with the knowledge that if you falter, you can always turn back to the outline to see the big picture. As you begin the writing process, watch out for gaps in logic. Refer back to the outline, and update storylines, plot points, and the timeline as you go along.

While it’s necessary to have a basic grasp of your characters and your world when you start writing, it’s not essential to know everything up front. In fact, even with the most meticulous outlines, you may still find that your characters do things to upset your plans. When this happens, follow your instincts. Don’t be afraid to toss your outline or significantly revise it mid-way through your novel. A good rule to remember is that outlines involve plotting what will happen to your characters, but in the end, your characters should determine your plot.

Classic Methods for Creating Novel Outlines

No two outlines are ever the same, however there are myriad methods to kickstart the novel outline process.

Synopsis outline. This involves the creation of a short document, usually one or two pages long, that gives you a rough idea of the novel’s structure but also leaves room for flexibility. Think of this as a synopsis of the book, hitting all the major beats: what happens in the beginning, middle, and end? What are the major plot points and twists? What is the climax? What is the resolution?

In-depth outline. This is a more evolved outline that usually involves writing chapter summaries and outlining the different scenes within those chapters. This is more comprehensive and can take a lot more time. However, some writers swear by this method to stay on track. Some in-depth outlines can almost be mini-novels themselves, hitting around the 10,000-word mark.

Snowflake method. This method was created by author and writing instructor Randy Ingermanson. It begins with a one-sentence summary of the story you’re trying to tell. For example, the sentence could be something like: “Two teenagers discover a secret cave that contains treasures that a group of criminals has been hunting for.” The snowflake method would then require you to build that sentence into a paragraph, and then use that paragraph to create a series of character descriptions, and from there a series of storylines that involve those characters. The process spans outward until you have a fully outlined novel.

Bookend method. This method is for writers who prefer to leave some things to chance. It involves plotting the start and end of the story, as well as each of the main characters—but nothing more. This method is usually recommended for writers who already have a strong grasp of the characters and the kind of story they want to tell.

Basic Questions Every Outline Should Answer

Besides listing characters and plot points for story structure, your outline should give you a general sense of the direction of your story as well as the primary conflicts and tensions that will make it intriguing for readers. Keep the following questions in mind while creating your outline:

What is the main contract of the story? You must resolve the promises you made to your reader by the end of the novel.

What sort of time pressure is working on your characters?

What is at stake for the protagonist of the novel? Does the pressure on the main characters grow more intense as the story progresses?

Pros & Cons of Creating an Outline

Some writers are comfortable creating a detailed outline for a novel. New writers in particular find it helpful to have a road map.

Others feel that writing an outline diminishes the pleasure of discovering the story along the way. They argue that working from an outline means you’re not creating anymore, you’re translating your ideas.

In the literary world, novelists who use outlines are referred to as “plotters.” Example: Ernest Hemingway.

Those who don’t are known as “pantsers” — a reference to flying by the seat of their pants. Famous pantsers include Margaret Atwood and Stephen King.

While every writer is different, there are some general pros and cons to consider before creating your novel outline.

The benefits of creating an outline:

Helps visualize the big picture

Keeps the story on track

Logs which scenes go where

Clearly presents character arcs

Acts as a guide to ease writer’s block when you’re stuck

Clarifies the middle, to avoid the “muddle”

The drawbacks of creating an outline:

Can create a stilted narrative

If followed too closely, can feel formulaic

May lead to more showing rather than telling in the actual writing

Characters may seem to make inauthentic choices, solely based on plot points instead of natural results from narrative action

Bestselling author Stephen King supposedly swears by putting interesting characters in difficult situations and just seeing what happens. He famously said: “Outlines are the last resource of bad fiction writers who wish to God they were writing masters’ theses.”

That aside, both plotters and pantsers agree on one thing: there is no correct way when it comes to novel writing. It simply depends on what kind of writer you are, and what works for you.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#outline #novel #writeblr #literature #writing tips #writing advice #on writing #writers on tumblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #fiction #writing resources

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sunlight-shunlight · 6 months ago

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thinking about veilguard and bioware in general, i think we are reaching a point where people need to grapple with the inherent limits of what stories can be told in our Current Society and in AAA gaming companies.

on a labour level: mass layoffs, tons of developers leaving despite previously talking about how passionate and happy they were to be involved, not even paying severance, and crunching employees to the point of burnout. this is unfortunately pretty standard for AAA game companies.

on a cultural level: it is SO white and SO centrist-ly Canadian. i wrote up these asks outlining how. it is a repeated pattern of writing in which they go into tortured racial oppression allegories at best, while constantly peppering in a "but BOTH SIDES were wrong and made mistakes :( :( :(", in between their fictional atrocities that are clearly mirroring irl genocides and enslavement. or at worst, it's "the qunari are radical islamic borg" which has even less nuance. i personally thought, since dai came out in 2014, and a lot has changed since then about the world and in public awareness, that this would have filtered into the narrative and resulted in more satisfying and historically grounded writing. unfortunately not the case. it's shocking if you compare it to how sharp and aware and unflinching something like disco elysium is.

so what does this mean?

under these conditions, it is unavoidable that we get development by people who are rapidly cycled out of the company or demoralized into burnout. we get digestible, easy little soundbites of lore without much substance, because any complexity needs more time and coordination rather than the process of "quick, we have these assets, a lot of people involved in making them just got laid off, we need to make Something by next quarter to show the CEO". we get very little cohesion between games, despite the clear intent from dai to have so many plot points set up to follow through in a sequel, because the team and development are so chaotic that they can't hold onto a vision and complete it.

we also get this inherent caution and "conservatism" from the narrative, because on an ideological level, they're largely white people who want cops to be included in pride. so any major change to even a fictional society is Bad and Scary, and shouldn't be done without making sure that every character finger-wags appropriately at non-state violence. there is clearly not much ideological or even ethnic diversity within the leadership; or at least not enough that anyone there felt comfortable even speaking up on minor issues like the Incredibly Orientalist Isabela Outfit, let alone anything larger.

i don't personally think there's too much value in trying to analyze veilguard's plot or lore at this point. the final product is chaotically developed and does not seem to reflect the goals of the creators as set up in prior games, it's basically a ship of theseus in terms of the people and ideas involved in making it. this is sad for all of us, who were interested in the story, and attached to the characters, and were creatively fulfilled by engaging in the fandom. it's probably worse for the developers who have lost their jobs, burnt out, or feel unhappy with the game that they spent years of their life working on. it's certainly miserable as an indictment of The Industry, as well as the general societal climate of white Canadian centrism.

the solution is to create a society where people can develop games in peace and prosperity and stay on projects for longer, rather than constantly getting turfed out without severance pay. and to get some genuine leftists, poc, and indigenous people on staff who can weigh in and provide significant input, rather than a Council Of Liberal White Edmontonians every time.

in the meantime, at the very least, let's please stop preordering AAA games and supporting companies who notably abuse their employees.

#veilguard critical #bioware critical #txt #or...! people get really into godot or renpy or something and create an incredibly high effort unpaid project of dubious legality #if anyone wants to do that blink twice.#really the disappointment about dragon age (to me) is that interactive narratives have so much potential as a method of storytelling #but they did not really even scratch the surface in this one #and probably never will again bc the company seems to be hemorrhaging staff like crazy #if you compare this to something like supergiant games it's wild #they've been retaining their staff for like 15 years and you can SEE them building and progressing from each game and learning from it #and their games are beautiful and incredibly innovative and well written #and from what i know they prioritize work-life balance and refuse to crunch even if it's 'voluntary'#and meanwhile bioware is going from uhhh. me3 to anthem to andromeda to veilguard.#with the crunch being a compounding issue all the way through and probably contributing to a lot of mistakes and talent loss #anyway my only experience in game dev is fooling around by myself on dumb ideas but #i think even just from a general project management perspective it's clear that it's not possible to have good output #under these types of chaotic situations with a lack of leadership and retained knowledge

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revelboo · 4 months ago

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Hey! No request, I just wanted to ask: Do you plan the length of any of your stories or do you just plan to write until you're out of ideas

Love your writings by the way :)

Pretty much just figuring out the stories as I go. These were meant to be rough drafts to figure out the plots and rewrite later, but things got a bit out of hand. I usually have a vague idea of the story’s direction that I’m working toward, but I don’t make outlines for any of these since they were just for fun

No Strings Pt 5

Rainmakers x Reader

• Hair floating and sticking to Blue, you squirm in his grip when his servos tighten around you. Hearing him growling alien gibberish at his two brothers and you frantically push at his servos to get loose. “Let go!” Not wanting to be in his hand if they’re about to start fighting. And then the tension bleeds out of Green’s expression as he heads toward you and Blue, hands outstretched. The grip on you immediately easing as Blue and Green speak to each other. And Goldie still looks furious when you glance at him, his optics flicking between his brothers then at you.

• Wings drooping as Acid Storm holds out his hands, Ion Storm glances at Nova Storm uncertainly. Because he knows how far Nova will go to protect all of them, to stay free. And they haven’t had you very long. In Nova’s optics you might be expendable. His brother would feel bad about destroying you to protect them all, but he’d do it. Grip tightening on you again to send you chirping in alarm, tiny hands pushing at his servos, he backs up a step. “A frag toy?” He asks, frowning at Acid. You’re so tiny and helpless.

• Grimacing at Ion’s hurt tone, Acid Storm risks a glance at Nova. Registering their leader’s tension. That ultimately, what they want won’t really matter. Nova will decide for them like he always does, doing what’s best. Their voices lost in Nova’s drive to keep them safe and it chafes at him like it always has, but he’s always went along with Nova’s will. Never argued. But staring at you squirming in Ion’s hands, he can’t just go along with Nova’s will this time. “I wasn’t going to use Rain for that after seeing them,” he mutters, embarrassed. “And I’m not letting you destroy them.”

• Staring at you chirping and looking up at Acid Storm, Nova Storm vents softly and approaches. Frowning when Ion Storm backs up a step, cradling you closer to his chassis and Acid shifts slightly as if to intervene. Protecting you. From him. “I’m not going to harm Rain,” he growls tiredly, watching you hang on to Ion’s servos, little head turning to try and track all three of them, obviously picking up on the tension. But what is he supposed to do about you? Hurts that his brothers assume the worse. Even if it had occurred to him that you’re so tiny. So easy to just get rid of to hide the evidence of wrong doing.

• Uneasy, you try to keep an eye on all three of them as they growl at each other in their alien nonsense. Whatever the argument was about, it seems to be over. But with the way Goldie is staring at you, there’s a sense that you’re the cause. Fighting over you? Maybe Goldie isn’t sold on keeping you and wants to take you back to the Sleaze-bot? Shuddering at the memory of the kennels, you stare up at him, pleading with your eyes to not go back there. You’d seen Sleaze-bot dosing other people, the ones who screamed and refused to eat, with stuff in little vials before handing them over to be carried into the back by other giants. Don’t know what happened to them back there while those awful videos kept looping on the screens. Don’t want to find out.

#transformers x reader #rainmakers x reader #ion storm #nova storm #acid storm

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darkmuffinstudios · 5 months ago

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hiiiii! i know you probably get like a million of these asks, but is the if blue joined the bad sanses comic still being continued? you dont have to answer if it's too annoying, but i just love it so much and after the last cliffhanger i can't wait for the next part hapfhsuds

ok so

so the series is sort of in a weird limbo/hiatus/VERY VERY slow update schedule

I do tend to get this ask quite often, and have tried to clear up confusion with a FAQ or such, but I thinkkkkk I need to put this up again ^^'

Blue Joins The Bad Sanses was a series I made years ago that I've been slowly, very sluggishly been updating for years now! It's arguably one of my most popular series that I was working on ^^

And I had a lot of fun working on it- still somewhat do.

It's just not my main focus at the moment

I still am working on it- I still am making some small efforts on continuing it! But I also got other projects I want to focus on at the moment

On top of that, I have a few other IRL obligations and circumstances that have not only impacted this project, but also all of my series/art in general!

So- TLDR: yes. I'm still working on it- but it's sort of on hiatus/at the back of my mind.

If anyone wants to take a similar idea and do stuff with it (for those which can't wait for my slow updates haha /nm), please do! I'd love to see what you create

I'm working on my BJTBS story (that's had a vague outline of the entire plot for YEARS now- it's just a matter of drawing and writing dialogue) at my own pace ^^

Thank you to all of you who have been super patient with me! It warms my heart to see this series touch the hearts of many, and for people to still have an interest in it after all these years!

If you wanna see my current project/obsession, feel free to check out @shit-hell-no-radio ! (A collaborative AU between friends with our OCs) (prommy we don't bite hehe)

#darkzyx #asks #ask #bjtbs #sighs #I am a little burnt out on the series due to the increased amount of asks I have about it #but that's completely okay to check up on things- especially since its been years hehe #it's just a shame I'm too focused on gay people right now sighs /lh #Like I haven't had a UTMV bad sans thought in 4 months chat #that's how rotted I am with these new buggers #LIKE MY ROT IS SO BAD I HAVEN'T THOUGHT ABOUT KILLER SANS IN THE LAST 4 MONTHS #WE ARE COOKED #BURNT EVEN #please go check out the gang they mean so much to me (you don't have to but iosdjgiosjgosjgiosd)#skitters off

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kamospeach · 12 days ago

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(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: you? need tutoring? of course not! unless it's statistics...

content warning: little angsty for my poor kenny

dean's (aka peachy) yap: na na na nanaminnn

this situation was so embarrassing. you never needed a tutor. not once ever in your life; you were too smart for that. but the way kento effortlessly explained statistics to you made you rethink your life.

"are you alright?" he asked, looking up from his paper and seeing the way your face looked as if you'd be sick. your head was spinning, and you were stressing just from seeing the numbers on the paper.

"it's just... a lot..." you admitted, and he nods in understanding. he knew math could be a lot, and you were the first person he'd ever tutored, so he wasn't exactly the best at it. he was trying because it was you.

he never really had a crush on you, but he did have a strong, friendly attraction. before you even asked him to tutor you, he had always found you to be a nice girl. wave, even if you were with your friends, giving him a hug whenever you both found yourself in the same building on campus.

most people weren’t as nice as you, they weren’t mean but not that nice. he liked it. he liked being treated like a normal person and not just a braniac. he also liked the idea of not telling anyone he was tutoring you per your request. he declined so many people that it would be quite awkward if they found out.

“i know im not the best tutor, i'll try to get better for you,” he said quickly, and you shook your head rapidly. you didn’t want him to think he was at fault for your lack of math skills.

“no, it’s not you. i’ve never been exceptionally good at math. just good enough, i guess,” you admitted, and kento hummed, leaning his chin into his palm. he wished he could say he was listening to you ramble about your complaints, but he wasn't.

nanami was studying your face, never realizing how beautiful you really were. your melanated skin and surely perfect eyebrows your eyes that seem to suck him in like a whirlpool. the way your braids fell in front of your face and the way your perfectly manicured nails moved them out of the way. nanami was in a daze.

“math is kind of like a puzzle-“ he started, and you snorted jokingly, cutting him off.

“a 1,000-piece puzzle!” you exclaimed, which made a small smile spread across his usually neutral face.

“sure, let’s say that, but eventually, once you do the outline and figure out some pieces inside, it gradually gets easier. right?” he offered, and the more you thought about it, the more you agreed. he was right. you slowly nodded and he slid his notes over to you. “same with statistics let’s focus on the outline and basics and then we’ll work on the actual problems.”

“you’re so smart, ken,” you said, admiring him as a slight blush ran across his face. of course, he has been called smart before, but not by a pretty girl. "i feel like you're tutoring me and yourself."

"how so?" he asked, brows furrowed, not sure exactly what you meant.

"well, you said you're not the best tutor, but you found a strategy that works for the both of us, no?" you asked, tilting your head, and nanami nodded in realization.

"i guess i did," he says as the two of you get back to work. this was your 4th time meeting with nanami. tomorrow, you have a test and a day off from tutoring. you promised you would take him out to dinner for all he had done for you.

"what did you want to eat tomorrow?" you asked, and he sighed, not really for the idea of you buying him anything. he packed up his bag as he thought of a good place to eat.

"i'll let you pick since i already don't like the idea of you spending money on me," he huffed, and you smiled, finding his disapproval attractive.

"sounds good." you smiled, leaving out the library before him. keeping the same routine you've had for a while now. you leave first, and he waits 5 minutes to leave out to go about his way.

the next day, you were giddy and excited to see nanami; you never were the type to be nonchalant about a crush. although you wouldn't exactly call this a crush, you just thought nanami was good-looking. you didn't even try to hide your excitement as you skipped to his car.

"how do you afford a car like this as a college student?" you said in awe of the shiny black car. he didn't show it, but her liked when you noticed little things about him.

"well, im a scholarship student, and to keep my scholarship, i have to work in the business office doing numbers," he said, and you nodded.

"you always surprise me, ken!" you laugh, sitting in the door that was opened by nanami himself. he closed the door behind you and made his way to the driver seat. before you could talk yourself out of making an embarrassing statement, you went ahead and said it anyway: "this feels like a date."

"do you want it to be a date?" he asked, not being able to talk himself out of the embarrassing statement either. you pretended to think about it, which made nanami laugh a little.

"i wouldn't be against it, but i'm paying," you pouted, and he shrugged, taking this as an opportunity to offer to pay.

"i'll pay," he responded urgently and scoffed, shaking your head at his audacity.

"as if! you've been tutoring me with no pay; you deserve this!" you exclaimed, but nanami still denied that he deserved to be paid.

"i told you i'm tutoring because i want to, not just because you asked," he says as he parked the car in front of the restaurant you both agreed on last night. he climbed out of the car going around to open the door for you.

"should i start calling you nanamin like yuji?" you asked, and he sighed, running his hands over his face at your statement. he knew finding out that you knew yuji would be the bane of his existence. bad enough you had been cordial enough with gojo to hold a conversation. now you knew two people who made fun of him (in an adoration way, of course).

"absolutely not. keep calling me ken," he said, but it only exposed his love for the nickname you gave him– that of course he acted as if he didn't like when you first said it.

"aww, you actually like being called ken?" you asked, teasing him, and he cleared his throat. after spending days with him, you knew that meant 'leave it alone,' so you did all while giggling to yourself. that meant he was either embarrassed or flustered, and from the pink tint on his face, it was clearly both.

you both sat at the table ordering your food and engaging in light conversation. you were trying with everything in you not to talk about math. it seemed like the only thing you two had in common. you being bad at it, and him being an absolute genius with numbers.

but as the dinner went on, you found out you had much more in common. like how you both enjoyed pastries or how you wanted to travel. him noting your interest in paris and you noting his in malaysia. you both enjoyed rom-coms, which he was nervous to tell you, but he recommended so many you hadn't even heard of.

you bonded on your love for anime and how he was in the anime club that was run by gojo. he even convinced you to come to the meeting next week. he said that they usually talked about mutual anime interests and collectively watched an episode or two of an anime.

somehow, you went from anime to your favorite genre of music. you weren’t surprised to hear that he liked classical, but thoroughly surprised to find out that he dibbled and dabbled in neo-soul.

"ken~ don't let me find out you're seasoned!" you laughed, and his brows furrowed in confusion. he wasn't exactly sure what you meant, but he went along with it.

"i'm not sure what you mean, but i guess i'm 'seasoned,'" he said in a questioning tone that made you laugh at how proper he sounded. you were having a lot more fun than you expected to, simply laughing and smiling at whatever nanami said. sometimes, you even pulled a chuckle out of him.

after you both finished your food, nanami, although reluctantly, watched you pay for the food. after that, he offered the two of you to go to the ice cream parlor down the street. of course, your sweet tooth couldn't deny an ice cream sundae.

nanami made it a point to pay for the ice cream. you both agreed on sharing a 4 scoop sundae and sitting at a table by the water. you hummed at the taste of the ice cream as nanami just stared at you. you didn't notice, though; you were too engrossed in the ice cream.

"you know... this does feel like a date. i'm terribly sorry that i wasn't the one who paid," he says again, and you sigh.

"ken, i told you over and over that it's okay. this was for all your hard work, plus i think i did really good on my test today. it was easy, and i wasn't stuck on any of the questions," you admitted truthfully. you hated that he was beating himself up for something you wanted to do. he helped you a bunch, and you wanted him to feel appreciated.

“okay, i’ll try to get over it,” he said, going back to eating the ice cream the two of you shared. at this point, you sat in comfortable silence, watching the sunset. your phone was blowing up your girls asking you how it was going, and you told them it was going great. after the sun had gone down, the two of you walked slowly back to his car. you both weren’t ready for the day to be over, but you couldn’t deny that the last 3 hours were eventful.

throughout the afternoon, you both randomly blurted out, ‘i’m having a lot of fun’. the feeling of this much fun was different to nanami. he usually hung out with gojo, higuruma, yuji, or ino. so, to make a new friend like you was worth going out of his comfort zone. he even had fun on the ride home, where you let him listen to music that you enjoyed.

“i like this song,” he said, and you smiled.

“this is one of my favorites, so i’m glad you like it!” you both basked in the music on the way back to your dorm. once he pulled up in front, he repeated the same routine of getting out the car and opening the door for you. “thank you for spending the day with me, ken. i know you’re a homebody and all.”

“it’s no problem; it was definitely worth it,” he said as the two of you hugged. you waved at him as you went inside your dorm. he got back in his car with a smile on his face, yes a smile. he drove home with the same smile, took a shower, and washed a pile of laundry, all with a smile. he even was smiling into the next day when he went to the supermarket to get groceries. he had the same smile when he went to the mall looking for new clothing. he actually thought about what you’d like to see on him.

until… he heard that laugh, the one he’d know from a mile away now. it was yours, and it was louder than yesterday. ‘whoever this is must be real funny,’ he thought to himself as he walked past victoria’s secret, seeing you and another man looking at lingerie. you held it to your chest, giving him a sexy pose, and he nodded. there was that laugh again, louder than before and louder than when you were with him.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @keraawrites

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freeasthewesternbreeze · 4 months ago

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My good lookin’ boy

Hey babes! I’m sorry I’ve been radio silent. I’m currently trying to get an outline of a story with my own plot line and my own characters written down and that’s been occupying so much of my brain, so please forgive my absence. I haven’t forgotten about all my ideas for our beautiful cowboy and will still be writing my angsty and fluffy things about him. But for now, I wrote a little blurb about our dear reader doting on our sweet blue eyed man. Enjoy!

The beauty of Arthur Morgan could simply not be described in a few words. His beauty is rugged, like aged wine and whiskey. He presents as someone who has lived a hard life, but a gentleness creeps into his eyes and smile every once in awhile. The type of beauty that to most wouldn’t be noticed, due to his intimidating size and worn scowl on his face, but to those who truly take the time to see him in his fleeting moments of laughter and relaxation, can appreciate.

Arthur Morgan doesn’t know it, but he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You often notice the way his freckles begin to warm his face as he works in the sun in the summer, and the way his shaggy hair begins to twirl at the ends when he doesn’t get it trimmed. The way his full lips twist into a smirk when he teases you about being sensitive to his presence. Even the way his hands are thick with scars and callouses, revealing years of hard work.

The hands that could be used to take the souls out of men, or pick you a flower out of a tree he thought you might find joy in.

The juxtaposition of Arthur Morgan was all that and more.

Behind the harsh words threw out at his fellow brothers in arms, there was a thoughtful worry. Simply wanting what’s best but not knowing how to express his worries in a gentle manner. His beauty transcended just his looks, and seeped deep into his bones and soul. He crossed your mind every minute of every day, and would oh so sweetly visit you in the depths of the inky black darkness within your dreams. The minute you started to dream of Arthur and his beautiful blue eyes- you knew your were a goner.

You often would leave love notes in his satchel for him to find later, leaving words of loving reminders on why he’s yours in your perfect script. You knew Arthur appreciated personal things like that, feeling like it brings you closer.

You used to sneak behind a tree as he would open the notes to see his reaction. You were pleasantly surprised to see his face break into a soft smile and the tips of his ears go red. He sat there for the next 15 minutes reading it over and over.

‘There’s my gentle cowboy…’ you thought as your heart paced in a gentle rhythm.

His presence at one point made you nervous. As with many people, he wasn’t the kindest man to be around at one point. This was never directed at you, but you saw how he was in the field on jobs. The way he could kill a man with just his words and hands thereafter.

Before you got to know Arthur he was just another killer.

What a funny thing time was. How could someone I was so afraid to be around change into someone I can’t live without?

Arthur kept every single hand written note you ever gave him. Whether it was a detailed love letter or a simple thank you note, he kept it. These weren’t just pieces of paper, to him, these were pieces of you and your personality. Your voice would peel off of the page while he read the notes you gifted to him, enveloping his mind in a beautiful fantasy. He had the real thing in front of him and still dreamed of you, discovering new layers of his love for you. He even bought a special box just to keep them in, along with the other trinkets you would pick up for him.

At night when it was just the two of you, you would gently run your nails up and down his arms and shoulders. Observing the way his freckles and sun spots were pulled taught against the firm muscles below. This was your favorite thing to do as a.) it allowed you to touch him and b.) you knew it relaxed him. You would sometimes rise up in conversation, inquiring him about where certain scars came from, or how he even survived some of his wounds.

He would entertain your questions as the soft lull of your voice pulled him into a state of almost a childlike exhaustion. Delusional but conscious enough to know that his person was giving him tender love and affection. The feeling of your nails could have him dying a happy man right then and there as well.

He is wrapped all around you in every sense of the word. The words of love and affirmation that pour out of your heart makes him feel like he is rising out of waters, with his sins and guilt being washed away. Freshly baptized for just this moment, forgetting all of his regrets.

You’re very being bringing him into a state of Nirvana when it’s just the two of you like this.

You would creep up on top of him and gently sit on his lap. While this usually turned into a night of passion and excitement, you took the time to cradle his face into your hands and admire him in the glow of the lantern beside you.

“A man like you deserves to have his face in museums… I’d stand for hours just looking at you.” Your chest blooms into a light heat and his shimmering blue eyes take you in, and his mouth curves into a smile. He won’t admit it, but he loves to be worshipped by you. He grabs your arms and kisses the inside of your wrists as you continue to shower him in words of adornment. “Can’t believe I got so lucky with you Morgan.” You leaned down to give him a sweet kiss on his full lips.

“And these goddamn lips…. Can’t get enough of them.” You breathe out with a giggle. His lips begin to tug at the sides as he moves his head to the side, becoming bashful at your praise. “Darlin’ you better stop or we ain’t sleeping tonight.”

“Maybe that’s the plan..” you replied as your kissed up his neck. You knew this couldn’t go any further due to the early morning you both had, but by god was it tempting.

He knew this as well and gently pulled you off of him. “I ain’t dragging your sour ass up in the morning, so get to sleeping baby girl.” You huff out dramatically finally taking your leave, shuffling into his side. “Goddamn chores and jobs. Hate this shit.”

He barked out a laugh and gently patted your hip as he turned off the lantern at his side. “Join the club pretty girl. We’ll catch up on our own time. For now, just get some rest.”

You quietly waited for Arthur to finally get comfortable in bed before your nighttime tradition began. Every night since you two have gotten together, Arthur would lay his head on your chest and silently listen to your heartbeat. The steady beat of the drum within your body lulled Arthur into a deep sense of comfort. It was his way of knowing that you’re here, you’re with me, and you’re safe.

You were his entire world, just as your were his.

He was your good lookin’ boy.

—

It’s short and cheesy like a hallmark movie! Please let me know how yall like it! I’ll freely take constructive criticism as well, I just want to get better at writing. I’m still a total newbie. 🩵

Inspired by

#arthur morgan 🩵#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x you #fluff #romance #Spotify

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stagtorccio · 5 days ago

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tongues and teeth

natalie scatorccio x gn!reader

request: vampire!nat x reader? summary: she lets him buy her another drink. doesn’t touch it. she’s not stupid. she wasn’t stupid. she wouldn’t be so stupid. or: when something horrible happens to her, nat goes to the first person she trusts. warnings: vampirism as a metaphor for assault, non-consensual themes, body horror, canon typical blood and gore, angst (you know it) word count: 2.4k author's note: if you have ever experienced themes explored in this work, here is a resource for you. stay safe, readers! also credit to the discord server for giving me the plot (spoons...) I love my fellow angsters

[AO3]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

Natalie’s drunk. Not the fun kind.

The bar is greasy, everything jaundiced in low light, the kind that make everyone look fuzzy. Polaroids half unfocused, lens flare swallowing the importants in the wash of a halo’s purifying ring.

She’s already four shots in, maybe five. Lips numb, tongue more than that. Her face and body are concepts now, abstract ideas— not something she can feel.

She doesn’t know much, not really. Not where she came from, not where she’s going.

What she does know is that there’s a man.

He’s tall. Just the wrong side of pale. Nice mouth. The kind of man who watches more than he talks. Leers more than he watches. So she lets him buy her another drink. Doesn’t touch it. She’s not stupid.

She wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t be so stupid.

But she doesn’t remember leaving the bar. Just the nip of the air and the thump of her boots on cement sounding far away, like her head was submerged underwater. She remembers how the alley swallowed them whole. Remembers his mouth was on her neck before she could even tell if she wanted it there.

She remembers laughing. Then choking. Then nothing.

The next part comes in flashes. The taste of iron. Something slick in her throat. A scream, maybe. Hands on her face, holding her still. Something warm trickling down her chin.

Then everything. Like a switch being thrown inside her head. Like someone poured lightning down her spine and forced every nerve awake at once.

Her eyes snap open.

The world is loud. Too loud. Her heartbeat– no, not hers, someone else’s– thunders in her ears. Her skin stings like it’s been peeled back to let the air in.

She can see everything. Not like before. Not shapes and outlines, not colors, not even lights. She can see the heat of things, the warmth in them, like her irises have fractured into spiraling kaleidescopes and she can’t find her way right-side-up again. Like the world is singing and she can’t stand the frequency.

Her teeth ache. She’s starving.

She doubles over, mouth open, gasping like she’s drowning in oxygen itself. Her throat burns like it’s trying to birth something new.

The man crouches beside her, too calm. Bloody at the mouth, but with his hands clean.

“It hurts at first,” he says soothingly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Natalie lurches away, crawling backward on shaking limbs.

“What the fuck did you do to me–”

Her fingers reach up to her mouth, press against the new shape of her teeth.

She sobs once, ragged and animal, then runs.

The first knock isn’t so much a knock as a slam.

Wood splintering. Metal hinges whining. You’re halfway to the door when the second one hits. Harder, louder– and then a voice shatters through it, hoarse and broken:

“Please– please, it’s me– just– fuck, I don’t know where else to go–”

The chain’s still on, and that’s what saves your door from tearing out of its frame when something throws itself against it–

Natalie. Messy, bleeding, wild-eyed Natalie.

You haven’t seen her in weeks. Maybe months. The kind of absence that feels tender as a bruise, silence you both know how to weaponize.

Last time, she’d left your bed at 4 AM without saying goodbye.

She’d been curled against your side just hours earlier, one arm thrown across your stomach like she was claiming territory. And you, foolishly, had thought maybe, maybe, she'd stay that time. That she'd wake up and make coffee and tell you she’d try. That she’d get better.

But when you woke, she was gone.

No note. No goodbye. Just a half-empty pack of Reds on the nightstand and an old scratched-up Bic that didn’t even work anymore. The sheets were still warm where she’d been.

You didn’t call. She didn’t either. That was your pattern: you always hurt each other in silence, like it meant less that way. Like the unspoken didn’t dig just as much as any old knife.

And now she’s here. Why the fuck is she here?

You try to ponder this clear universal anomaly, but then she slams the door again, the wood creaking in protest under the sheer force of impact. Her next words are a snarl, visceral and vile:

“Open the fucking door!”

You fumble the lock, unhook the chain. The second the latch clicks free, she falls through. Literally, like her body gave up the second she felt the door give. She stumbles in, catching herself on the wall, smearing something dark across the plaster.

Her hair’s soaked, clinging to her face. Her shirt is ripped at the collar. Her mouth is red, but not lipstick red. She smells like iron. Like animal. Like death.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes, staggering past you. “I didn’t know where else– I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t go back, I think I– I think I–”

She doubles over on your floor and gags. Nothing comes up. Just the gut-wrenching sound. You stand frozen, heart pounding, watching her press her forehead to the tile with choked sobs.

“Natalie?”

She flinches at her name. Doesn’t lift her head.

“I didn’t—” she whispers, raw and fraying. “I didn’t— he—”

The words fizzle out mid-sentence. She swallows and her throat works overtime, bobbing like a buoy. She wipes her mouth with the back of her shaking hand and it comes away wet, slick with spit and blood.

“I said no,” she chokes. It isn’t a TV sob. Not the kind they write into melodrama. It’s quieter. Her whole body folds in like paper left out in the rain too long.

You kneel beside her carefully. She looks like a cornered animal. Like any sudden movement might make her bolt. Or worse, attack. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, wide and wild and red-rimmed. And for a moment, you can’t tell if she’s afraid of you or for you.

“It’s in me,” she gasps. “It’s fucking in me– I can feel it moving–”

She digs her fingers into the fabric over her chest, like she could tear it out with her own hands. Her nails leave red crescents in the skin.

“I don’t know what happened,” she says, almost hysterical now, “I don’t– I don’t–”

You reach for her. Slow, with both hands open, showing her it’s safe. That you’re safe.

“Nat,” you say, soft and steady. “Hey. Nat. Look at me.”

She does, eyes glassy and huge. Her pupils nearly swallow her irises now– an unnaturally dazzling green in the darkness of your apartment. Her lip is trembling.

“You’re okay,” you say. “Whatever happened, it’s over now, okay?”

She lets out a breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob. She presses her fists into her eyes.

“You don’t get it,” she whispers. “Fuck, I don’t even–”

You touch her knee. Light. Just enough to ground her. She makes a sound, hoarse and low, like the beginnings of a scream. And then, without warning, she crashes into you.

Her body's trembling, her hands clutching at the back of your shirt like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. You hold her careful at first, then tighter. Her breath hitches again and again against your neck. The blood on her mouth smears against your skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she mumbles.

You lean back enough to look at her. Her eyes are huge, flooded with fear, face blotched red and pale in streaks.

“What do you mean?”

Her jaw trembles. Her mouth opens, closes. “I don't know,” she croaks. “Something's wrong, really wrong, I don't want to—”

It breaks into a sob again, bitten off and desperate as she gasps for air. You shush her gently, reach up and brush the hair from her face, wipe a streak of blood from her jaw with your sleeve.

“Breathe, Nat.”

You’re surprised by how fast it happens. How easily it comes back, the urge to comfort her, to soften your voice. You thought you’d buried that instinct months ago, somewhere between the fourth unanswered call and the voicemail she left that ended with her hanging up without saying so much as sorry.

But here you are. Cupping her face like it’s muscle memory. It’s almost pathetic, how easy it is. Like your body never got the memo that she shouldn’t belong here anymore. You don’t know if it’s habit or hope or just some leftover softness, but the caretaker inside– folded up and shoved into the back of your ribs– is already crawling out.

“You’re drunk,” you soothe, just like so many other nights. “And I know you’re scared. But you’ve gotta breathe.”

Natalie flinches at that. She wants it to be that simple. A bad night, too much whiskey, a hallucination she’ll forget in the morning. Her lip wobbles. She won’t meet your eyes, even after her breathing steadies to shallow wheezes.

“I feel wrong. Everything’s wrong,” she whispers, voice hoarse.

“I know,” you murmur, and maybe you don’t know. Not really. But you say it like you do, and that seems to be enough.

“Come on.”

You help her up slowly, letting her lean on you, her whole body trembling with every step toward the bathroom. The lights are too bright when you flip the switch, and she flinches again, as if it burns.

The blood on her mouth is starting to dry, flaking at the corners. Her hands shake so badly that she can’t grip the edge of the sink.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Let me.”

You run a washcloth under warm water, check the temperature against your wrist. She watches you in the mirror, eyes wide and glassy. She’s not talking anymore. It’s like she’s slipped into some other space behind her own reflection.

You clean her face gently, carefully. The blood comes away in streaks, pink and diluted. Her skin is cold and clammy to the touch. You can see goosebumps prickling along her arms. She looks hollowed out, drained dry.

When you move to her hands, she stiffens again.

You pause. “Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head, barely a twitch. “No. Just… be careful.”

You are. You take each of her hands in yours like you’re handling glass. You don’t scrub, just hold the cloth to them, warm and firm, until the red fades, then disappears entirely.

“There,” you say softly. “See? All clean.”

She doesn’t answer, but her shoulders sag. You lead her out again, to the bed. She resists at first, stands stiff by the frame like the mattress is a threat.

“Just lie down,” you coax. “I’ll stay right here.”

She blinks. Her mouth opens. No words come out. Then, after a long second, she lies gingerly. You pull the blanket up around her, touch her hair again. Softer this time. Her eyes flutter shut.

Finally, you slide in beside her, careful not to crowd. She shifts toward you anyway, burrows her face into your shoulder with a soft breath. You stay awake long after she drifts off, her body curled against yours.

You try to ignore that even under the blanket, clinging to your side, she’s still freezing cold.

The clock reads a blinking 3:15 when you wake up to the distant sound of something wet.

You blink, disoriented, head fogged with sleep and the faint outline of a dream you’ve already lost. It’s still dark out, but not fully. That colorless hour just before sunrise. The shadows haven’t gone yet, but they’re getting softer at the edges.

The bed beside you is empty. Sheets twisted, a faint indent where she was. The bathroom light’s off. So is the one in the hall.

You sit up, pulse already picking up before your brain kickstarts. You pad out barefoot, rubbing your eyes, calling her name under your breath.

“Nat?”

No answer.

A thin line of pale light cuts across the kitchen tile like a wound. The fridge is open. Just a crack. She’s crouched in front of it. At first, you don’t register what you’re seeing. Your brain tries to protect you, offers other options. Maybe she was restless. Maybe she’s getting a drink. Then you see the blood. It coats her hands. Her mouth. One of those shrink-wrapped steaks you bought two days ago is splattered on the floor, torn open like roadkill. She’s got the other half in her fist, raw and dripping.

You freeze.

“Natalie, what the– what the fuck are you doing?”

She turns her head slow. Her pupils are pinprick sharp now, irises a sliver of feral green slicing through the dark. Her lips glisten wet. Her jaw works, throat bobbing as she swallows the chunk whole.

She blinks at you once. Then drops the meat with a squelch and lunges.

You scream.

She moves like nothing human. You don’t even make it past the living room before she’s on you, knocking over a chair, teeth bared, breath coming in ragged gasps. You manage to shove her off, just barely, scrambling toward the front door.

She hits the wall, snarls like an animal.

“Nat– Nat, what the fuck!”

She doesn't respond— just bares her teeth, rushing forward. You throw a lamp. It explodes behind her. Doesn’t slow her down, but it gives you enough time to shove open the door and make a break for it down the apartment building hallway.

You’re running blind now, heartbeat splitting your skull, every step a prayer you don’t trip as you skid to the staircase and take it two at a time.

You can hear her thudding behind you– fast, barefoot– and then you turn to see her, mouth open in a growl, spit frothing around monstrous teeth, eyes hollowed out and catching on you like a crosshair.

You make it halfway down the stairs when the sun rises.

It starts with a soft gleam. Just enough to creep through an overhead window, a streak of gold splitting the dark. It doesn’t register to you at first.

Not until Natalie shrieks like she’s being burned alive.

She slams into the wall hard enough to crack plaster, clawing at her face. Her skin smokes wherever the light touches it. She reels back, shielding herself, stumbling for a hiding place– anywhere with shadow.

You’re too stunned to move. The whole stairwell reeks of blood and sweat and something fouler, like burned sugar.

She meets your eyes one last time, and it’s not Natalie looking back. It’s something wearing her.

When she jumps the railing, you rush to look over it, expecting to see her mangled at the bottom, but she’s just gone.

Vanished. Not even a speck of dirt left behind. You stand there, barefoot, bleeding, panting in the quiet.

You should've known. Natalie never stays for the morning after.

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #this kept getting longer and longer the more i worked on it until it became like a whole universe in my head. so im forcing it out #writing 🪶

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