#dinner dessert and midnight snack

[cosmoboba]

[foreveralbon]

ᯓ⭒ LIYAH’S 500 FOLLOWERS CELLY !!

thank you so much for 500 followers!! every single one of you are so cool and so sweet for taking the time to read my little fantasies/thoughts-turned-stories and liking them. it will never not be crazy to me that people enjoy what i put out.

to @disneyprincemuke, @angsthology and @localwhoore, thank you for being my first friends here, @amaranthineghost and the logan sargeant defenders, my number one people, don’t know what i’d do without you all <3

i’m still the most swamped i’ve ever been but i’ll try my best to write anything and everything that get requested!

feel free to order something for…

ᯐ 🥞 BREAKFAST! start your morning with a vision for the rest of your day and send me a driver + any scenario of your choosing and i’ll make you a mood board!

ᯐ 🥪 LUNCH! let’s play a game while you have the midday munchies, like fuck, marry, kill; top 5...; would you rather; cast your moots, etc!

ᯐ 🫖 TEA TIME! take a little break from the business of your day and just have a chat with me about absolutely anything!

ᯐ 🌮 DINNER! if you’re eating alone tonight, have no fear! tell me a little bit about yourself and i’ll tell you which driver will keep you company + a small blurb to go with it

ᯐ 🍡 DESSERT! end your day with something a little self-indulgent, like a short fic (~1k) inspired by any of these [ one two three four five ] prompts!

ᯐ 🍦 MIDNIGHT SNACK! can’t sleep? that’s alright, just ask for any kind of movie, book or fic rec and i'll give you something i think you’d like!

[winniemaywebber]

I didn't say "girl dinner" for nothing

[jentlemahae]

[faithinlouisfuture]

[rosesradio]

.

[atticrissfinch]

The Morning After | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

Part 5.5 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: The morning after Valentine’s Day. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), daddy!kink, oral (m receiving) (we did it folks it only took 5 parts to get a blowjob), joel being weak as shit for bjs, degradation!kink (use of slut/whore), smoking, brief mentions of past consensual sex under the influence, mentions of weed, some more fluff ig word count: ~3.3k | ao3 a/n: not many notes, just enjoy some cute sexiness ♥️

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

You’re not in your own bed. That much you can tell right away. The sheets are too scratchy and smell too musky. And when you shuffle under said scratchy, musky sheets, you bump against something. That’s when you remember. 

“Mornin’, Sugarplum.”

A few sleep-saturated sounds work their way from your throat as you stretch your arms above your head and roll to your opposite side. Joel is beside you under the covers, an arm behind his head on his pillow as he looks up from his phone with a lazy smile. 

You squint at the time on his screen. 9 AM. “Why are you awake?”

Joel breathes a laugh out of his nose. “Sleep schedule’s a little different than yours, darlin’. Drifted in and out all night.”

You scrunch your eyebrows and rub the heel of your palm over your eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I guess I just kind of passed out after…”

Joel smirks at you, “After the third round of Jill and the Beanstalk?”

You give him an unimpressed look. “Think you got a whole beanstalk, huh?”

Joel shrugs with a cocky little grin. “Been climbin’ me like a tree since we met. Figured a beanstalk might be more true to size.”

“Arrogant old man,” you mutter sleepily, turning back to your other side. 

“Mmm,” you hear him hum, and he presses up behind you, just as naked as you seem to be under his bedding, judging by the notable hardness prodding at the small of your back. “Didn’t hear you hollerin’ anything different last night, did I?”

Your answering scoff lacks conviction as he hooks his bare leg over yours and breathes deeply into your hair. 

“Don’t think I did. Just heard a helluva lot of oh, daddy, that dick is so big. Fuck me with that huge cock, daddy,” he mocks in a horrid interpretation of what you actually sound like with a smile you can feel plastered on his lips against your skin. You’re unsure whether you’re more embarrassed by his impression of you or from remembering all the shit you said after he’d danced with you, fed you his come straight from your dripping cunt in the middle of the street, and subsequently got the both of you fairly crossfaded before falling back into bed together. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, burying your face in a pillow. 

“Don’t get shy on me,” he sings in your ear, smoothing a hand down your side and squeezing at your hip. His dick twitches at your back, and your ass presses back of its own accord in response. That pulls a groan from Joel directly into your ear, and just that sound has your pussy blinking awake in intrigue. 

You feel the ache there from last night. You probably should’ve known better than to take his cock — his ungodly large cock — three times in one night, but he just felt so good and he kept saying the right things, the perfect things, and that masochistic traitor between your legs wouldn’t calm the fuck down. 

And here she goes fucking again. Whispering that she wants him for breakfast, despite having him for dinner, dessert, and a midnight snack. 

You huff and crane your head around to meet his eyes, flooded with good-natured humor. The softness in them makes you sigh, cup his scruffy cheek in your hand, and capture his lips with yours. He moans into it with ease, moving with you in drowsy tandem. As his tongue clips the inside of your mouth, you taste mint, and reality hits you. 

“You brushed your teeth?” you ask, pulling back, suddenly self-conscious about your own morning breath. 

He strokes a thumb over your cheek with an unbothered smile and says, “Been up for a couple hours now. Was hopin’ I’d get lucky again. Wanted to boost my chances.”

“How about you get a girl some breakfast and we can talk?”

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice gritty and already dipping lower with arousal. His hands slide around you as he presses a kiss to your throat. “How d’you like your eggs, sweetheart? Fried or fertilized?”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, shoving his face away from your neck, and he chuckles at your disgust, placing a peck on your shoulder instead. 

“Alright,” Joel concedes in a sing-song voice, untangling himself from the sheets and straddling you for a quick second to kiss you on the nose before sliding off the bed, his cock bobbing with the movement. “You doze off for a minute. I’ll make breakfast for the pretty girl.”

He doesn’t even put on underwear, he just waltzes out of his room and down the hall, presenting you with the perfect opportunity to admire his ass on the way. That is, until he brazenly scratches and tugs at his ballsack as he walks and you have to refrain from ridiculing him. He is in his own home, after all. You’re a guest. He can scratch his balls all he wants. 

So. You’re in his bed still. You’d slept in his bed. That had not been your intention when you drove here last night, thirsty for attention. But it had been the safe thing to do after smoking and drinking and fucking throughout the evening. And, to be truthful, you didn’t mean to fall asleep. You were on orgasm five, or maybe six, of the night. The pot didn’t help the sleepiness factor. And after going multiple rounds with Joel, you conked out. Anyone would’ve done it. And you slept like a baby, anyway. You can justify this. 

You spot your phone on Joel’s nightstand next to a pack of cigarettes, a crumpled receipt, a cluttered ashtray, his keys and wallet, and various loose change — a small peek into what is clearly Joel’s post-work dumping ground. And in the brief moment of blackness before your phone screen alights, you catch a look at your reflection and realize that you never took off your makeup. Jesus, you must look like a fucking wreck after getting the shit fucked out of you an irresponsible amount and then sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. 

And Joel didn’t say a goddamn word about it. 

You stumble out of Joel’s bed and are immediately met with much cooler air than you’d prefer. You spy one of Joel’s tattered t-shirts on the floor along with his sweats from last night, so you pull them on to combat the chill. Through his open bedroom door you see Joel streak across the living room in his birthday suit, rummaging a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and standing with his back to you as he lights it. You see him raise his arm to take a puff and tilt his head straight up to billow the smoke into the air. 

Stupid, hot-blooded fuck. Strutting around all naked and…upsettingly sexy. Like he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat swinging from his crotch. One that had him sliding right into your home plate last night over and over and —

You press your eyes shut and shake your head. Fuck no. That old fuck is not infiltrating your mind with dumb metaphors. He’s not infiltrating it at all. 

When you’re done scrubbing your face as clean as you can without your usual supplies and fixing your hair into something acceptable, you meander to the kitchen and lean against the entryway. 

He’s facing away from you, braving the feat of cooking eggs and a few sausage links on the stove with his whole bare chest out and his dick gone mostly flaccid. Joel prods at the pan with a spatula with one hand, poising a smoldering cigarette over an empty shot glass to catch the ash with the other. 

“Are you smoking over my breakfast?”

“I’m smokin’ over our breakfast, thank you very much,” he sasses, his eyes fixed on the scrambling eggs while he taps ash into the tiny glass and then takes another drag. He turns his head to look at you, but when he does, his eyes blow wide and the smoke shoots from his mouth all at once in surprise. “Good golly goddamn. You deadset on givin’ me a heart attack this whole visit of yours, Sugarplum? Sluttin’ around in my clothes like that?”

“Watch your sausage, Chef Joel,” you brush him off with a muted smile, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“Oh, I already know exactly what he’s doin’ right now,” he quips with arousal ablaze in his stare.

You roll your eyes and saunter over to him, just to pluck the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers with a wink and wander to his couch to finish it off for him. 

Back in the kitchen, you can hear him mutter over the sizzle of the skillet, “Hail Mary, full o’grace…”

You giggle to yourself and settle into the now-dry site of one of your many debaucheries the night before, lying back just as you were around twelve hours ago, but this time with a cloud of cigarette smoke looming overhead instead of weed. 

You hear the clinking of silverware and the scrape of a pan. Then Joel calls out, “Get back in here, little temptress. Food’s ready.”

You tamp the cigarette and join him at his tiny two-seater table against the wall of his kitchen, decidedly not acknowledging the way his eyes devour you along the way, if only for the sake of your nether regions. You sit opposite his still-naked figure, appearing entirely nonchalant in nothing more than his skin, so you keep your amused smile to yourself.  

Joel seems more interested in staring at you donning his clothes than having any real conversation, so you eat in relative silence, metal against plastic plates until they’re picked clean. 

You prop your elbow on the table and cup your chin. “Thank you for making breakfast. That was very sweet.”

“I’m sweet as apple fuckin’ pie, baby. ‘Bout time you pick up on that, I think,” he teases, resting one arm on the table while the other ostentatiously slips under it to pull at his cock. “We gonna discuss the other half of this little deal we got goin’ on?”

“What deal? I didn’t agree to anything,” you smirk, watching the shift of his bicep as he strokes himself. 

“Bullshit you didn’t,” he scowls, falling back in his chair enough that the head of his cock peeks over the table, disappearing and reappearing in the grip of his leisurely fist. 

“Doesn’t feel good, does it? Being cheated out of your end of what you thought was a deal,” you say, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Should’ve had me shake on it, old man.”

“Oh, I’ll have you shakin’ on it, you little slut. Come thank me properly for your breakfast,” he purrs back at you, scooting his chair out further to make space for you. 

You suck a rogue piece of food free from your tooth as you admire your nails in disinterest before looking up at him through your eyelashes. “She needs a break.”

“I’ll take any hole you’re offerin’, sweetheart.”

You consider that, tossing it around in your head, and you push yourself up from the table. You take your sweet time rounding the tiny thing until you’re standing in front of him. He tilts his head to the side with a broad smile, waiting for your next move. You clear your throat and unceremoniously drop to your knees between his legs. 

“How about this one?” You pose to him as you wet your lips and plant your hands on his thighs. 

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, tapping the leaking head of his cock at your bottom lip. “That’ll be just fine.”

You dart your tongue to taste the smear of precome on your lips, and the moan you let out might be a little exaggerated, but the roll of his eyes in sheer ecstasy has you thinking it was worth exaggerating. 

“Shit, baby. Lemme see this cock between those pretty lips.”

You don’t torture him as much as you maybe should. But you wouldn’t be honest if you said your mouth wasn’t salivating at the sight of him. So you open as wide as you can and close your lips around his tip, laving your tongue over his slit as you suck at him. 

“Fuck,” he groans out, already sounding destroyed at what you’re doing and what’s to follow. “So pretty, sweetheart.” He moves a hand under your chin and indents the flesh of your cheeks with his fingers. 

You moan around him and hollow your cheeks, sucking harder at his head and tasting more precome dribbling out onto your tongue. You lick it up and pop him out of your mouth as you look up at him. “You taste good, daddy.”

He hums a rumbling sound and pinches in the sides of your face with his fingers again. “Let daddy feed you a little more then, huh?”

You nod your head at him and drop your jaw, descending on him again, but deeper. The stretch required to take him this way is even more than you had imagined, but you’re determined to take as much of him as you can. You think it’s time to show some gratitude to your pussy, for her faithful service in servicing Joel, and take the bullet for this one. 

The prominent veins of Joel’s cock feel thicker when pressed against your tongue. His scent is so much more concentrated here, and it has you a little dizzy. You allow your eyes to flutter closed as you inhale through your nose and start to bob on him with concave cheeks. When he nudges at the back of your throat, Joel’s voice pitches up in a way you’ve never quite heard him do before. It’s unsteady and uninhibited and hot as fuck. 

He slips free of your mouth and spit adorns your lips and his cock as you catch your breath. “You’re kind of a little bitch for blowjobs aren’t you?” You tease him as you gather the saliva in your mouth and spill it in an obscene display down the length of his cock. 

“Fuck me,” Joel grinds out, tipping the glistening head of him toward your mouth again impatiently, “How could you tell?”

“Sounds are different,” you mutter with a proud grin. “Talking less shit,” you add with a wink before diving back down onto him again. 

“Smart little slut,” Joel grunts brokenly as he skims against the back of your mouth again, rocking his hips gently in time with your bobbing motions and threatening the stretch of your throat with his thick head. You feel your eyes watering as you fight back a cough, your nails digging crescents into Joel’s tense thighs as he wages his own battle to control the thrust of his hips. 

You come up for air, licking up the underside of him and flicking into his slit just to watch his cock jump. “There’s so fucking much of it, daddy,” you whine as you mouth at the circumference of him. 

“Daddy knows that’s how you like it, baby,” he rasps, drawing spit across your cheek with his thumb. “Knew you’d be a slut for this big cock the second I split open that little hole the first time.”

You hum against his length as you lick and suck at him. You can’t bring yourself to fully comprehend how much you’d have to practice to take every inch of him into your mouth. So you resign yourself to employing what you have in your current skill set. Maybe you’ll put in some more rehearsal time with the new silicone dildo you have in your nightstand, which you’re loath to admit you purchased primarily to fill the void shaped like Joel when you’re alone. But he doesn’t need to know about that, and his ego certainly doesn’t either. 

Despite your lack of ability to suck this man into your throat as deep as you’d like, Joel does not seem disappointed in the slightest. In fact, he already looks and sounds like his resolve is shattering with every passing minute. You bounce your head up and down on him, moaning and sucking at his thickness while his noises grow more needy and insistent and so unlike what he typically sounds like when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you. 

You allow him to fall from your mouth just so you can glide your lips along his shaft, lower and lower until you meet his balls. You fix your eyes on him as you encase one of them in the warm wetness of your mouth and do your best to stroke the length of him with your hand. 

“God fuckin’ damn it, baby,” he grits out, running harsh fingers through his hair and wrapping a large hand around your own to help you jack him off. “Shit, I’m not gonna last, you gotta…”

You giggle a little as you suck his other ball into your mouth and run broad strokes of your tongue over it. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he whines, his voice cracking midway through, and yanks at your head with urgency. “In your mouth, darlin’ girl. Need it in your mouth.”

You spring up and take his head back in, sucking around it with vigor as you jerk him off in tandem. 

“Fuck, like that. Fuck, like that, shit,” Joel says, his voice almost begging with desperation, until he gives a ragged shout and you feel the first shot of him down your throat. Joel’s breaths are vocal and heavy as rope after rope of his come floods your mouth. You whimper around him as drops fall free from the corners of your mouth with the incessant pulses of his cock. 

When he’s finally spent, he slips out of you with care, and you seal your lips shut to keep what he’s given you inside. His eyes are tired, his chest heaving as you lock onto his gaze and make a show of swallowing him down, swiping at the stray drops and sucking them clean as well, and presenting your empty mouth to him. 

“Jesus, why have I never had you do that before?” Joel pants, raking his fingers through his sweaty curls. “So obsessed with that diamond cooch of yours. Never thought that sassy little mouth could compete.”

“Well, that’s your fault for underestimating me,” you say, placing a chaste kiss to his tip and hauling yourself off the floor to give your knees a reprieve. 

“Hell if it ain’t,” he says, gripping your hips and holding you hostage between his legs as he gazes up at you with the kind of affection one only really sees after giving newsworthy head. He rucks his shirt up over your stomach and presses a kiss there, right above the band of his sweats. “Thanks for keepin’ daddy warm last night.”

You shake your head in dismissal of his sentiment but thread your fingers through his hair. “Thank you for letting me crash.”

“Can crash my party anytime, sweet Sugarplum.”

You sway with a hint of bashfulness at the implication of his words and decide it’s better to derail than continue on the current track. “I’m gonna hop in the shower if that’s okay.”

“S’okay if I can join,” he stipulates, hooking a finger into the band of your pants and pulling it outward, peeking down inside them. “Miss her already.”

“Shut up,” you say, batting him away and breaking free toward the hallway. “She’s overworked and tired.”

“How’s about I give her a nice Joel Miller spa treatment,” he offers, trailing after you

“A spa treatment? For my pussy?” you ask skeptically over your shoulder, “The fuck would that even entail?”

Joel shrugs a shoulder and grins devilishly. “Pretty much just me eatin’ you out while it’s all steamy.”

You pause with your hand on the doorknob, eyeing him from head to toe in all his naked glory, weighing his offer. Ultimately you shrug back with a little upside down grin as you push into the bathroom. “Alright. Sign me up for one Joel Miller Pussy Spa Treatment.”

Joel gives a two-finger salute with a cheeky grin and follows behind you. “At your service, ma’am.”

Next Part _______

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[erwinsvow]

thinking about being rafe’s new stepsister—your mom marries his dad and you move to tannyhill right before summer starts. at first he doesn’t care about it at all, doesn’t even talk about it with wheezie n sarah, more annoyed than anything that he has to deal with yet another girl in the house.

then he sees that you’re real pretty, shy and sweet the way he likes, never talking back to anyone, always doing what you’re told. he thinks he could have fun with you, the way you get so pleased with he actually volunteers to drive you around and give you a quick tour of the island. you were gonna go ride around on your bike but there’s a nail in the tire. rafe tells you “get your ass in the truck, kid, i’ll show you around.” you leave your useless bike where it is and so he ends up taking (really more parading) you around, showing you the beach and the country club and the good ice cream shops.

he thinks he’s going to have a good time trying to get into your bed, that it’ll take some sweet talking and latent touches and his devilishly handsome smile to urge you into thinking that this is a good thing, that you should want to be spend such quality time with your new big brother. rafe thought it would be such fun… until he ends up wrapped around your little finger!

he doesn’t realize when exactly it happened, somewhere in between driving you to the kook parties and feeling mildly irritated when he sees you talking to some boy and then feeling beyond ecstatic when you abandon the conversation to talk to rafe instead, the sulking boy taking off the second he sees rafe walking over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. that boy thinks the two of you are dating, and when you do nothing to quell that idea, he starts feeling like he’s never felt before.

the pair of you leave from the party when you want to leave, despite his friends telling him how early it is and that they had people lined up to buy. what you say, goes, and so he takes you to get ice cream after leaving and the two of you eat it in his car in the parking lot, and before long, this is happening every other day. walks on the beach after dinner with the rest of your new family, midnight runs to get snacks when you get hungry—first you’d knock on his door or send him a text but now you two are basically together until midnight every night anyways, so it doesn’t take more than a tug of his arm to get his attention.

“shit, kid, got me running in circles for your crap-” he’ll tell you when he comes back to tannyhill with take out from one place for the two of you to share for dinner and drinks from another place, the new water bottle you wanted in yet another bag, but you had asked rafe so sweetly to pick it up for you, he couldn’t find it in him to disappoint you and say refuse.

in front of the others, it’s all pg-rated, movies on the couch sharing a blanket, but once they’re out of eyesight you lean against rafe and he holds you like a boyfriend would, carries you to bed when you fall asleep and gets in right beside you. presses a kiss to your forehead and says “sleep tight baby, m’right here” in his sleepy, low voice and you feel like you’re in heaven.

one time ward comes to wake you up and your bed is empty, and he goes to rafe’s room to ask if you went out last night after the two of you left to get dessert—which was really just an hour of making out in the backseat of his truck and returning before anyone got suspicious—and he sees you sleeping in there and just is speechless and about to get so angry at rafe. but you jump in and lie to his face, saying you saw a spider that disappeared and couldn’t sleep in there so you just came straight to rafe’s room because he was awake. (ward half believes it, rafe tells you he loves you right after he walks out because you defended him without a second of hesitation.)

it’s really funny because he really did just want to see if he could get into your panties but he’s so whipped for you now—feels like you get him and support him and clear up some of the fogginess in his brain. you keep him out of trouble and you’re good for him, and he’s trying hard to be a good boyfriend to you, even though he’s not your boyfriend, could never be your boyfriend.

drives you up to norfolk for a weekend trip—you lie and say your friends are meeting up there and rafe offers to take you since you don’t drive much (you don’t drive anywhere because rafe takes you everywhere). your mom happily agrees while ward is suspicious, still, but doesn’t voice anything since he doesn’t want your mom to worry. takes you on a real date, where he can hold you by the waist and kiss you and do anything he wants since no one knows you two.

books a cute hotel by the water and fucks you for the first time there, because he’d once thought getting caught only added to the appeal of seducing you, but now it just makes his blood run cold. you don’t care, though, and you tell him as much—that no one in the cameron family could make you stop seeing him unless you decided other wise. after all you knew that would be a part of the deal when you decided you had to make your new step brother yours until any circumstances and stuck that nail in your bike’s wheel so you could find an excuse to spend time with rafe.

that night in the hotel he holds you close and talks quietly to the ceiling, to you, to no one in particular since he thinks you’re asleep.

“don’t have to worry about getting caught, baby. i’ll just marry you and then no one can tell us what to do. just wait until we get back, then it’ll be fine, ‘jus us two forever, hm?”

<3

[moremaybank]

girl breakfast girl lunch girl dinner girl dessert girl midnight snack girl-

@rafesthroatbaby

[miinatozakiii]

all mine

hirai momo x fem!reader

summary: your dinner reservation might have to wait until next time because momo looks too good.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: smut ; cursing

a/n: i haven't been the same since I saw the first pic ^, had me on the ground.

girl breakfast girl snack girl lunch girl appetizer girl dinner girl dessert girl water girl midnight snack girl-

-

you're going to be late. you're going to be so incredibly late.

sana had invited you out with the rest of the group, of course, you accepted the offer and promised you'd meet her in the evening. seems like the plans had changed.

i mean, how could you resist when your girlfriend looked so fucking amazing, even in that simple outfit. her jeans were so casual, some washed out dark gray color, and her hair was really cute tied up like that. what got you was the way her abs were exposed, and you couldn't stop staring while you watched her use her phone as she waited for you to be done. she just had to look so fuckable, and you were unexpectedly craving something else at that moment.

you're going to be so late; actually, you don't even know if you'll make it.

momo sees you eye-fucking her and it's as if she read your mind. one thing leads to another, and momo has you against the counter of your shared dorm, her lips are working at your neck and the gasps that leave your lips arouse her even more. it's hard to focus or even choke out words while she's biting and nipping at you relentlessly, but you manage.

"momo- fuck," you groan, eyes shutting as she sucks on your sweet spot. "shit, we're- we're going to be late- ah!" you yelp as she pushes her knee into your core, and your knees feel so terribly weak. 

"you started it," momo says in between kisses. "do you want me to stop?"

you whimper in response, momo smirks against your skin.

momo pulls away and your lips meet again, your arms link around her neck, pushing her deeper into your lips as you savor her. your senses are overwhelmed; momo's hands fumble with your shirt and waist band, and her fingers make contact with your skin so lightly, it makes you so incredibly weak. your nose is filled with her scent and fuck, you need to know what perfume she uses because it's intoxicating and you've never smelled any peach fragrance that was this tempting.

momo lifts you onto the counter with ease and you settle down, sitting on the marble and continuing to kiss her. your tongues messily move against each other, swirling around, exploring each other's mouths. 

you're biting momo's lower lip to slow down everything, trying to recompose yourself even as you stare at her messy hair, flushed cheeks, and bruised lips. you kiss her again, this time it's slow and not rushed whatsoever.

"sana," another peck to momo's lips.

 "is going to-" another kiss.

"hate us." you finish, and you kiss her again but it's longer now that you've finished your sentence. momo kisses back and her hands roam your body – she can't get enough of you.

"the rest are going to be there," she mumbles, kissing down to your jawline, "just let her know something came up." 

you let out a shaky breath as she latches onto your neck again. "they're going to know we're," you grip her shoulder tightly, "that we're, you know." and you barely manage to let out your words properly.

"that i'll be fucking you so hard you can't walk?" momo smirks. you bite your lip – she's driving you crazy.

you motion for momo to move over so you can get off the counter; you desperately need either her mouth or fingers in you and immediately – you don't even care – you just need to do something about the throbbing in your core.

you lock lips with momo again, her fingers digging into your skin – just above your waist – and you lead the way to the couch in the living room. 

you push momo down on the couch and she looks up at you with hunger. momo props herself up with her arms as you lower yourself onto her lap, and she licks her lips as she watches you quickly slip off your top. your lips are parted and your pupils are incredibly dilated from the way momo had been arousing you earlier, your chest moves up and down as your breaths get heavier. 

"fuck, y/n." momo mumbles. she gazes at you for a moment, savoring all of you. her eyes gaze into yours, down to your lips, to your marked up lower neck, and down to your bra-covered chest. momo can't wait to have you completely undone. your lips make their way back to momos, they're like magnets and there's such a strong force of attraction when it comes to momo's lips, they're the only lips that draw you in.

the two of you kiss for a while, soft, small touches from momo tend to make you wetter by the second and fuck, you're so hot and bothered. you pull away and momo whines a little, her fingers on her neck tighten, but they let loose as you move yourself off to slip off those damn pants you had been wearing. 

the pulse in between your legs gets worse, and you need to do something about it now or you're going to fucking lose it. momo seems to notice your neediness and works at her jeans with her thin, nimble fingers and slides them off, just down so that they catch at her ankle, but before she had done so, she takes her phone out the pocket and sets it on the couch.

momo's hands travel to your hips and she guides you so that the throbbing area in between your legs is just above her tense, toned thigh. 

"sit." momo says, and you do. 

your breath catches as soon as your core hits her skin, and your panties are fucking soaked. momo smirks at you and bites her lip, she moves her thigh just a bit for you to get started on relieving the problem in between your legs. you groan lowly and throw your head back as you start to grind down, putting a hand on momo's shoulder for support, she can't get enough of you.

"fuck momo, oh fuck-" 

the dark-haired woman watches you with amusement, and she watches you so hungrily as you get off from just her thigh. momo reaches for the phone that's near her and you look at her in confusion, and with furrowed brows from the way you're about to reach your high. 

she taps at the phone a bit and holds the phone to her ear, 

"momo what- shit, what are you?" you can't even form a coherent sentence, so you slow down the pace which you had been rubbing against her.

"did i tell you to stop? keep going," she orders lowly, and you do as she says. the room is filled with your low whimpers, groans, and pleas as momo continues to hold the phone to her ear, and when she finally speaks again you stop grinding against her completely.

"sana? hey, hi. sorry, we can't make it, y/n is feeling sick." momo says, and she narrows her eyes at you, mouthing a keep going as she continues to hold the phone to her ear. you bite down on your lip to muffle the low moans as you whimper, and momo speaks again. "yeah, y/n can tell you, she's with me. why don't you tell sana how sick you are?" momo suggests, and she's handing the phone to you, her brows raised and a smirk apparent on her lips. you catch your breath,

"hey y/n! how are you feeling?" sana's voice is heard from the phone in your hand – which, you can barely hold properly. momo holds your hips down and grinds you against her thigh herself, since you're so occupied talking to your best friend. you bite back various noises as she presses against your clit with her thumb, putting a bent finger in your mouth to bite down on it.

"h-hey sana," your breath is shaky, but you figure it's fine since sick people might sound like that, right? you can't even think clearly.

"god, you sound so wobbly, everything okay?"

"yeah I just-" and you almost moan so fucking loudly right then and there from the way momo slides her finger against your folds. "i-i'm, i'm so tired, my temperature, everthings so-" 

you groan into the phone.

"y/n?"

"s-sorry my head hurts really b-bad, my stomach, i-" you pant into the phone once more, a small groan escaping your lips. "i'll call you back, i-i need medicine, bye, sorry." 

you hang up immediately and throw the phone down on the couch. momo chuckles in amusement.

"god, you're so- fuck!" you practically shout as momo circles her finger on your clit, making you tighten the grip on her shoulder, you close your eyes and your mouth opens.

you're so fucking close, you're at your tipping point. your whole lower body is aching from the way your high builds up, and you're grinding down against momo's thigh so desperately, you need her. momo gropes your bra-clad chest and rubs her thumb against the material, that's when it gets to you.

"come on baby," momo coos, "you're so cute."

there's a loud curse that you practically shout out as you cum on her, and momo's thigh is completely soaked from all of your juices. your head drops down to momo's other shoulder, whispering her name and cursing under your breath as your grind down slowly to catch your breath, and recompose yourself in general.

you're trembling and fuck, you're already sore, momo smiles at her work.

"shit," your girlfriend mutters as she digs her fingers into your skin. you pull away and then kiss her lips sloppily, putting a hand in her tied hair and pulling the hair tie off. 

you part away from her and your breaths are still heavy, though you're looking at her so hungrily and you need to eat something now since you basically threw away your plans to eat with sana and the rest. you're aching but that doesn't matter, you'd rather be aching and full. 

the words that come out your mouth the next second make the area in between momo's legs pulse.

"get the fuck up and sit on my face, now."

momo bites her lip, she nods obediently. it's going to be a long night, especially with that craving of yours.

[urdadsnewgiirlfriend]

GIRL BREAKFAST BRUNCH LUNCH DINNER DESSERT MIDNIGHT SNACKS

[saltofmercury]

Oh you König domestic works are absolute bliss, hun <3

Might I request some more domesticity with König x reader perhaps baking together? I could see this being absolutely adorable.

Cheers,

"Chocolate crepes"

You searched for anything throughout his pantry, mouth watering, stomach grumbling, and patience thinning. It had started as a small craving, small bits of chocolate that you wanted to indulge in. It was around eleven at night, your body was in desperate need of chocolate —something. Chocolate ice cream, chocolate cake, even a brownie would suffice right now but there was nothing remotely close.

“Shit” you mumbled to yourself. Seeing the pile of dirty dishes he had left in the sink, then a rattle in the background. 

You heard the footsteps down the hall, thumping their way over. His face still swollen with sleep, his eyes barely opening up. He wore black sweats, his red-blonde hair sticking everywhere. One eye was rubbing sleep out of his eye, as the other rubbed his stomach. 

“Are you alright? I can hear you slamming cabinets and drawers from the room. Could’ve sworn it was another burglar.”

There was a sheepish smile, growing at the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m fine, I just need a midnight snack”

“A midnight snack? Well there’s plenty of cheese and salami from that board you made..”

The two of you had ordered multiple cheeses, salami, pepperoni, and prosciutto, to make a fancy board for dinner. The two of you laughed at the board being devoured before you could even make it to the dinner table. 

“Not that kind of snack, like… a treat.”

His eyes perked up. 

Treat was the “secret” word you two used to describe sweets. It was the funniest thing when you heard it from his mouth. A 6 foot 7 man calling a slice of cherry pie a treat.

His eyes widened, he had a special rule. Dedicated to the gym 6 out of the 7 days of the week, he had no sugar after 12pm, only on special occasions such as birthdays or anniversaries. You were tempting him, he had gone almost two weeks without sugar to really try and make his goal.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Chocolate”

“Oooooof you know you’re a bad influence.” Though it was enough to get the gears in his head moving.

He picked you up and set you on the island of the kitchen. Settling both hands around you, he asked,

“What kind of chocolate treat?”

You made eye contact with him, knowing that for sure if he wanted some sort of dessert, he was going to make it happen. 

“I don’t know, I couldn’t find anything.”

“I was even hoping for some brownies?” 

You had wanted anything. Oreos at this point would maybe make you feel better too.  

He turned to you, playfully said in disgust

“a brownie? For a chocolate treat?”

He had turned around to get things out of the pantry. Flour, eggs, cornstarch, cocoa powder, butter, and milk. He brought out silver bowls, mixing together ingredients, and heating up a pan.

You stared at him, unsure of what he was making. It wasn’t chocolate, except for the cocoa powder so it threw you off guard. Sensing how confused you were he began talking.

“You know who taught me how to make crepes? My mom.”

“Really? Is that an Austrian thing?”

“No it’s French…” he smirked at you, sometimes you could be so clueless. As he began to pour the batter into the pan, he swirled it around, covering every surface of the pan, then flipped it immediately. The crepe had a few light brown spots on it, but for the most part was plain, almost undercooked. Though you didn’t want to nag, you just kept observing him listening to what he was saying.

“Mom used to make crepes for breakfast or sometimes as a small treat after dinner. My god, she used to add things like berries, chocolate, vanilla, caramel sauce, but my favorite was always chocolate.”

He continued adding the batter into the pan, flipping, then placing it on top of the other.

“So my mom, I think because my dad was very insecure about her weight/looks, she really limited herself to treats. She loved sweets. So she would trick herself into having a crep with as much powdered sugar, strawberries, and blueberries, then saying it was a small dessert.”

He looked at you, smiling, the memories of his mom were the best. He always smiled when he talked about his mom. Even when he told you about when they had a small fight, he would laugh about how stupid it was saying that they could only tiptoe around each other for 30 minutes until one of them apologized.

He finished making enough crepes making the stack of at least three pancakes. It took you by surprise when you noticed how many he actually made. He went into the fridge and got out heavy cream.

“This one birthday, for some reason my dad didn’t want to buy a cake saying that 12 years old is too old to celebrate birthdays. So she scrambled up this chocolate crepe cake.”

He turned around and grabbed out the sugar, heavy cream, and cocoa powder. He placed it all inside a bowl, grabbed a whisk and began to whisk away the ingredients. It soon formed a thick, chocolate paste. 

He could see you about to ask the question –

“Lots of practice, my mom broke her hand mixer so we took turns beating this mixture together.”

He then went over to the drawer, grabbed a spoon out, scooping some of the mixture out for you to taste. 

“What do you think?”

“Tastes great.”

He smiled, then turned to the small stack of crepes he made, and began to evenly spread a thin layer of the chocolate cream on each one. He proceeded to do this with each one, until you saw what he was doing. He had formed a small cake, with thin layers of chocolate cream. He spread the remaining bit on the top of the last crepe, then sprinkled cocoa powder on the rest. 

He grabbed a knife, cut a big piece, then handed it to you. He leaned on the counter, watching you taste it. 

It was something so simple, that had felt so familiar and satisfied your craving.

“Wow” you said as you watched how he completed a small chocolate cake right before your eyes. “Holy shit this is so good!”

He laughed, finishing up his last bite, then offering you another slice.

“No thanks, I’m pretty much stuffed.” 

“Good.” he smiled at you, then wiped the chocolate powder on the bottom of your lip. He eyed the pile of dishes he forgot, trying to sneak out of them.

“Well since I did cook, I think it’s best you get the dishes.”

[bellyasks]

All-day stuffing?

ok so for this one instead of Scenarios you gotta assign your character an itinerary for the day, during which the goal should be for them to eat as much as possible, intentionally or not:

💝 breakfast in bed -> fresh fruit -> fancy candy -> homemade soup -> homemade cupcakes -> steakhouse -> chocolate-covered strawberries

🍛 midnight snack -> fancy brunch -> bakery -> sandwiches at home -> Thai restaurant -> smoothie place -> movie night snacks

🚗 diner -> rest stop -> diner -> rest stop -> convenience store -> nice Italian restaurant -> homemade dessert

🍔 bakery -> convenience store -> mall food court -> smoothie place -> different bakery -> newly opened burger place -> midnight snack

🎢 nice cafe -> amusement park snacks -> amusement park lunch -> amusement park snacks -> fast food -> homemade dinner -> ice cream place

and some potential dialogue to pair it with, if you need extra inspiration:

"Oh, god, do we really still have to go out for dinner? I feel like I've eaten enough today to last the week."

"You look like you've been eating well!"

"I'm just gonna get something small. I'm still full from breakfast."

"Are you sure you still want to get lunch? We can always save it for another day."

"Oh, come on, you can't tempt me with those when I'm this stuffed!"

"Aw, please, come with me? You know I hate going by myself."

"God, I can't wait to get out of this car. The seatbelt is killing me."

"Oh my gosh, look at your tummy! How much have you eaten today?"

"Oh, my belly… I really overdid it today."

"Is that a hungry rumble or a full rumble?"

[lunarw0rks]

HIII saw your requests were open and idk if this sounds strange but uh. how would you rank 141 in terms of how well they can cook 😭 like i just know at least one of them relies on lunchables and instant noodles to get by

『 PRICE 』

☆ a pretty good cook, just doesn't have a lot of time to showcase it.

☆ but when he does, your tastebuds would be amazed. it's never anything extravagant, mostly fattening one-pan meals or bakes his mother taught him to make.

☆ brushes off the praise, but you end dinner having to unzip your pants from being full and satisfied, so it's a success in his eyes.

『 SIMON 』

☆ decent if he has instructions, but rarely cooks.

☆ he eats to survive and isn't home enough to have perishables ingredients on hand (at his place) — usually one big meal and then powers through the rest of the day with small bouts of protein (shakes, yogurt, fruit)

☆ but with you? he'll eat pretty much anything you put in front of him. and for you, simon would attempt making your favorite. you're not going hungry on his watch.

『 SOAP 』

☆ has caused multiple fires. truly a danger in the kitchen. NEVER give him a knife, no matter how puny the blade.

☆ he tries, he really does. but... It's just safer for society if he sticks to something he only has to preheat the oven for or pop into the toaster.

☆ what he is good at, though — desserts and food combos. sweets, baked goods, fucking delicious, but the presentation is sloppy. and his food combos, they seem strange at first, but when you cave and try them — it's your new favorite midnight snack.

��� GAZ 』

☆ average cook with everything except breakfast.

☆ you'll be satisfied, and full, but it's never going to be a mind-blowing lunch/supper. his presentation skills are superb, though<3

☆ mornings are his best work; toast, jam, eggs, ham/bacon, veggies, yogurt with toppings — goes all out at least once a week when he's home with you.

『 ALEJANDRO 』

☆ the best cook out of all of them, it's almost irritating.

☆ childhood dishes, ones from his culture, ones he's tried in restaurants but wanted to have again — so learned how to protect the recipe. his favorites aren't the flashy ones, though, he prefers belly-filling, nostalgic dishes (soups, things like that.)

☆ you'll be so spoiled with his cooking. probably even makes large batches and puts them in Tupperware so you can take them to work :)

[em-dash-press]

Tons of Reasons Why Writer's Block Happens

Lately I've seen a few posts on social media platforms being shared that are (supposedly) quotes from well-known authors. The quotes generally stick to the theme of: writer's block isn't real! No worries! It's just in your head!

Like...

That is so unhelpful for me and if I had seen those people (again, supposedly) saying that when I was much younger and newer to writing, I would have thought something was wrong with me.

So here are a few reasons why writer's block IS real for many people and what you can do about it. (Warning—this is a long text post but I tried putting all suggested solutions in bullet points and have lots of resource hyperlinks!)

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Tired

Sleep affects the entire body. There’s no question that when I don’t get enough of it, my brain isn’t working as well as it normally does.

Let’s start this section with what everyone should acknowledge—mental health conditions absolutely prevent people from being able to use tips like Just turn the lights off earlier! or Think calming thoughts while taking deep breaths!

If those work for you, great. Fantastic! But if they don’t, your doctor is the best person to get advice from. They can work through symptoms with you to rule out conditions like depression and insomnia so you get the best help possible.

Besides your mental health, there are a few other ways you might not be able to fall asleep or stay asleep:

You enjoy drinking afternoon coffee (most have a half life of 3-5 hours, so the caffeine doesn’t actually leave your system for a long time!)

You have a diet soda with your lunch or dinner (most diet sodas have the same amount of caffeine as a half cup to a whole cup of coffee)

You eat a midnight snack or a dessert after dinner (the extra digestion works against your body’s circadian rhythm and prevents a normal sleep cycle)

Potential Solutions

Swap your afternoon coffee/sodas for caffeine free sodas instead

Eat high-protein snacks shortly after or during dinner (protein keeps you full longer so you can eat them earlier in the evening)

Follow some tips from sleep experts with the Sleep Foundation

You Can’t Write Because: Your Routine Is Changing/Has Changed

When my life has gone through routine changes, my creativity has always slowed (if not stopped altogether). Switching from high school to college, from college to graduate life, and even from apartment to apartment is a big deal. My writing slows when I change jobs, see my friends less/more often, and even when the holidays come and go.

If you think this might be a repeat experience in your life, my best advice is to give yourself grace. Your brain is only trying to conserve energy and process everything that’s going on. 

Potential Solutions

Resting and gently reattempting to write without expectations of what will come out of that writing session is sometimes the best thing to do until life settles back down.

If you can’t come to peace with changes, I’d suggest talking with someone. You can access help for free at:

7 Cups of Tea (chat with volunteer listeners and professional counselors)

Get in-person or virtual therapy through Open Path ($30-60/session with a one-time membership fee; aims to close the financial gap that keeps people from accessing mental health professionals).

Check out other budget-friendly therapy options recommended by the medical community.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Grappling With Indecisions

Indecision is a creativity killer for sure. I’ll address a few ways I’ve experienced it and how I know my friends have struggled with it:

You only have a few story ideas and don’t want to commit to any of them in case some idea comes along that’s more interesting (I hate leaving unfinished drafts too!)

You wonder how you should format your story and never start because you can’t decide (it might be the point of view, past/present tense, etc.)

You can’t nail down how a character looks, what sets them apart, what drives them.

You can’t decide on a theme because there’s so much you want to write about.

You don’t know how long the story should be, so it never starts.

Potential Solutions

Try new things to come to peace with unfinished drafts (I have a folder on my computer specifically labeled “Unfinished Stories” because I’m more comfortable when they have a home).

Practice writing one page within your story’s world from a different point of view or tense. See what feels most natural or authentic to you.

Do character research by looking at pictures of people on stock photo websites or Pinterest.

Story length is often found after someone just starts writing. You’ll naturally find a rhythm and come to a conclusion at the right length for your first draft. Revise/add if needed!

My most important tip might be—

Give your gut 24 hours (go with your gut on whatever you’re trying to decide, then set your work down. Come back in 24 hours to see if you feel as strongly about your creative decision).

You Can’t Write Because: You’ve Got Too Many Ideas

When there are too many creative ideas in your brain, it leads to anxiety and potential writer’s block. I know I’ve had the fear that I’ll commit to the “wrong” story and another one will come to life in my mind, but then be gone by the time I’m ready to write it.

Potential Solutions

Write all of your ideas down in a list (bold, highlight, or star whichever ones seem super promising at the time so they stand out when you’re ready for a new project)

Try stream of consciousness journaling for 30 seconds (set a timer! Whatever you write will reveal with emotions/thoughts/issues are on your mind and may create stronger stories with similar themes)

Write 500 words of a story idea (or another number you’re comfortable with; if you don’t like what you write, you know you can move onto the next idea).

Flip a coin (assign one idea heads and the other tails—then flip a coin or use a coin flip generator).

Number your ideas and use a random number generator to pick one for you.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Not Eating a Brain-Supporting Diet

I’m not here to tell anyone how to structure their diet. Everyone’s body is different and what you eat will change throughout your life. Your doctor and/or a licensed nutritionist are the best people for that job.

However, I can give you a few pointers that I definitely didn’t learn until way later than I would have liked:

Iron: if you don’t eat enough iron, you can feel super sleepy or stuck in brain fog. Iron comes from meat, but it also comes from these foods like spinach, watermelon, beans, whole wheat bread, and many more!

Vitamin D: vitamin D enhances brain function, especially for people with major depressive disorder. Drink that delicious Sunny D juice from your childhood or get it from foods like salmon, tuna fish, dairy fortified with vitamin D, and egg yolks.

Omega-3s: omega-3s are also known as fatty acids, which improve communication between brain cells by fortifying their membrane health. Fish is an excellent source of fatty acids, but you can also enjoy more omega-3s from foods like chia seeds, kidney beans, walnuts, and fortified foods. 

You Can’t Write Because: Your Responsibilities Are Too Important Right Now

As you get older, you’ll have varying responsibilities that sometimes you have to take care of on your own. Maybe you’re taking on new roles at your job or you’ve just become a parent. You might move into a new home and have a long list of projects to finish before you settle in.

Sometimes responsibilities are acts of self-care during challenging times. Those are all valid. It’s okay to step back and take a break if your situation is going to drain your energy until your routine becomes normal or you get used to the responsibilities. You’re a writer even when you’re not actively writing. Nothing can take that skill and passion away from you!

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Uninterested In Writing

It’s totally normal to sometimes feel like you’re completely uninterested in writing. That feeling might last for months or even years. I went through a good 5-6 year period where I didn’t think I’d ever write again just because I didn’t care to.

That may indicate that you’re in a period of self-growth. You might be discovering new parts of yourself that result in new hobbies you’d rather spend your time doing. That’s okay too!

Possible Solutions

If that’s not the case for you, ask yourself—are you still reading? My writing always grinds to a halt when I’m not reading a good book. Ask a friend what was the last book they couldn’t put down. Find out which books are currently taking the internet by storm and find them at your local library.

You can even research “Books like ___” and insert the title of a book that’s incredibly special to you. I promise there are going to be articles looping it in with other titles that you might enjoy more than branching out into a totally new genre.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Bored of Your Story

Life can get boring. People are sometimes boring. Stories get boring too.

It’s okay to step back from an idea if you groan at the thought of spending time in that world or with that character. You can always come back to see if the feeling has passed.

Possible Solutions

If your story is still dull when you come back to it, what can you add or change about it? You might need a plot twist to get things going in a new direction or another character to shake up existing character dynamics.

When all else fails and you still don’t care to continue writing what you’ve got, go ahead and scrap it. Consider what you’ve learned from the experience and move onto your next creative adventure.

You Can’t Write Because: Your Story Is Stuck

Maybe you’re writing a story and it reaches a point in the plot where you don’t know how to move your characters forward. They may have gotten themselves into a sticky situation you can’t think a way out of or the plot device that was working isn’t relevant anymore. Getting stuck is a form of writer’s block, but it’s not permanent.

Potential Solutions

Give your protagonist a different goal at the start of the story or a new goal after accomplishing their last one.

Add a new character (they’ll naturally make different choices than your protagonist and challenge them in various ways that are relevant to your themes).

Pull the rug out from under your protagonist (maybe they think they’re an incredible parent, but overhear their child complaining about them to a friend during a sleepover while walking past the living room).

Other Resources

12 Techniques for Getting Un-Stuck

17 Ideas to Continue Writing Your Novel When You Get Stuck

6 Methods to Unstick Your Story

You Can’t Write Because: Your Characters Aren’t Real Enough to You

Sometimes characters don’t feel real enough and it makes writing about them boring. Everyone encounters this eventually! Think about if your writer’s block is happening because you don’t enjoy spending time with your characters.

If that’s the problem, it’s time to make them more real. There are a few ways to do that! (If you try these solutions or others like them and your characters are still uninspiring, it might be time to walk away for a while/permanently.)

Potential Solutions

Give them something inspired by a real life person (add a personality trait that you love about your best friend, hate about a public figure, want in yourself, etc.).

Add a few flaws (perfect characters don’t feel real because no one is perfect)

Give them a face (this goes back to character research—save a stock photo that looks like your character or draw them. Post the picture on your wall where you write or in your phone for continual inspiration.)

Rework your plot (maybe you’re not starting them at the best possible point in their journey—start with an action scene, shift events around, or add a new twist that challenges their growth in some way.)

Complicate their relationships (maybe they have a fight with their best friend, clash with their teacher, form different opinions than someone they admire and learn from that experience, etc.)

Other Resources

9 Signs Your Main Character is Boring

5 Ways to Make Your Characters More Realistic

4 Bland Character Problems and How to Fix Them

Easy And Effective Ways To Make Your Characters More Memorable

You Can’t Write Because: You’ve Set High Expectations for Yourself

Your creativity will stop feeling as natural if your expectations of yourself or your writing are too high. 

When it’s time to write, where do your thoughts go? You may need healthier expectations if your thoughts center around:

Getting every word or scene perfect

Knowing exactly where the plot goes in every chapter

Worrying that your story won’t be receptive to future readers

Wondering if you’re the right person to talk about a certain theme

Making your characters or story the first of its kind

It’s good to challenge yourself, but not with unreachable expectations. Give yourself room to try things, to possibly fail, to learn from your mistakes. 

Every chance you have to write is another opportunity to hone your skills by learning from the experience.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Burnt Out

Burnout happens all the time, creatively or otherwise. Creative minds can push themselves too hard, just like you can throw too much of your energy into work or school. 

See if you’re experiencing any of these common symptoms of burnout:

Constant exhaustion, even after a “good” night’s rest

Headaches

Changes in appetite

Frequent illnesses

No motivation

A general negative outlook on life

Feeling trapped

Loud thoughts of self-doubt or failure

Not feeling satisfied with things that used to bring you joy

Feeling alone

Starting unhealthy coping mechanisms

Isolating yourself from people, even your loved ones

Potential Solutions

Talking with a therapist is a great way to handle burnout. Here are the resources for budget-friendly therapy again:

7 Cups of Tea (chat with volunteer listeners and professional counselors)

Get in-person or virtual therapy through Open Path ($30-60/session with a one-time membership fee; aims to close the financial gap that keeps people from accessing mental health professionals).

Check out other budget-friendly therapy options recommended by the medical community.

I have absolutely been the person who can’t afford therapy. I get it. You can also get some mental health help with these resources:

Self care apps—I use the (free) Finch app every day to redirect negative thought patterns!

Burnout recovery strategies recommended by health care professionals

Burnout resources recommended by the American Psychiatric Association (APA)

You Can’t Write Because: Your Writing Routine Isn’t Working Anymore

I used to write short stories literally every day while I was in grade school. Being stuck in classes for 8 hours a day was great for my creative writing because the sounds of the teacher talking, whiteboard markers writing, and students asking questions became background noise that tuned me into my stories. (I highly recommend paying attention to harder classes though 😂)

When I had fewer daily classes in college, my writing basically stopped. After I graduated, the environment that helped me write most easily completely disappeared.

It took a long time for me to learn why I had writer’s block—I wasn’t experimenting with my writing environment.

Potential Solutions

Try changing when you write to see if it’s a time issue. Get up earlier in the morning, write after eating lunch, or sit down after you’ve completed your responsibilities for the day.

Switch your scenery. You might write better at a coffee shop, the library, a park bench, your living room, your bed, or even your bathtub.

Change what you’re hearing. Try writing in complete silence. Use noise-blocking or canceling headphones and listen to lyricless music. You can also try background noises that often help people focus, like:

Background Noise—Coffee Shop

Background Noise—Tavern Fireplace

Background Noise—Rain Shower

Background Noise—Cozy Fireplace and Rain Shower

Background Noise—Forest Sounds

Background Noise—Blizzard Sounds

Background Noise—Interior Plane Cabin White Noise (The pleasant hum of a plane cabin is what I often write to—weird as it admittedly is!)

Background Noise—Christmas Music From Another Room

Background Noise—Lo-Fi

Ambient noise apps

Background noise apps

You Can’t Write Because: You Don’t Feel Motivated

Your story may not feel as captivating as you thought because you’re not as motivated with this one. Does it have a centralized theme? You can always search for your theme or pick one while figuring out what your story is supposed to convey to readers.

Some popular themes are:

Coming of age (discovering something about yourself/the world/both)

Survival

Corruption

Power

Courage

Love

Heroism

Death

Prejudice

You may find your motivation by writing about something very personal to you or something you want to tell other people. Write to the person in your life who needs to see something from your perspective or needs to learn from another person’s perspective.

Write about the thing you can’t stop talking about. Write about what you’re going through or want to figure out. Even if your story goes from a novel to a short story to flash fiction (anywhere from 4 words to 1,000 words), you’ll likely find it easier to write.

Other Resources

10 Most Popular Literary Theme Examples

Story Themes List: 100+ Ideas to Explore in Your Novel

100 Story Ideas Categorized by Theme

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Doubting Yourself

Self-doubt can pull the emergency brake on your brain. You may not think you’re good enough to write a story the moment you think of it. Self-doubt can come into play after you start writing or just before you finish a manuscript.

No matter when it hits you, it can cause another form of writer’s block. You’re the only person who can figure out where that doubt stems from and address the root of the problem, but everyone can practice daily positive affirmations to encourage themselves. With daily practice, you’ll chip away at your writer’s block.

While talking to a mirror or writing in a journal, tell yourself things like:

Writing is my hobby because it’s part of me.

I’m always a writer, no matter how often I actually write.

My voice and ideas deserve to exist.

Every word I write makes me better at writing.

No matter what comes out of my brain, stories are always my artwork.

Other Resources

Positive Affirmations for Writers

60 Affirmations for Writers, Authors, and Creatives

77 Positive Affirmations for Discouraged Writers

336 Affirmations For Writers Who Needs Support​

60 Affirmations for Authors, Writers, and Poets

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Literally Out of  Ideas

Ideas come and go. Sometimes your brain just can’t think of anything. There’s nothing wrong with your creative spirit—you may just have other things going on (like one or more of the above challenges).

When you really want to write something but can’t come up with anything off the top of your head, use a few generators to get things started.

Potential Solutions

Prompt Generators

Writing Prompt Generator by Genre

Prompt Generator

Random Prompt Generator

Story Generators

Plot Generator (Twists, First Lines, and More)

1 Million Plot Combinations

1000s of Plot Ideas Generator

Character Generators

Character Generator 

List of Character Generators (Zombies, Fairies, Ghosts, Murder Mystery Victims, etc.)

Character Profile Generator

Plot Twist Generators

Plot Twist Idea Generator

Randomized Plot Twist Generator

Either/Or Plot Twist Generator

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I hope this helps someone feel more at peace with their writer’s block, even if you can’t think your way through it yet. Sit with the uncomfortable feeling and it will gradually lose its power over your creativity.

You’ll start writing again sooner than you think. 💛

[pen-umbrella]

here is wilford on paper because he was originally supposed to be part of the paper but due to reasons, he has somehow clipped out.

anyways, still, happy birthday mark! 🎉🎉 have a good morning/afternoon/evening/midnight/dusk/dawn/breakfast/lunch/snack/dinner/dessert

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