#fanfiction writer wednesday

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🪱🧠

(This one ran away with me, whoops)

Batboy_Kas: Um ... dude, what? 🤨

This is the dm that greets Steve when he pulls his phone from his back pocket to check his Instagram. One confused frown, some scrolling, and one near-heart-attack later, he concludes that he forgot to lock his screen when he put the phone away earlier.

Which caused him to somehow end up on this random stranger's profile.

And go to his DMs.

And send him a GIF.

Not just any GIF. One of a grotesquely round and jiggly, animated ass. There's a text beneath the GIF. It reads: 2iggnag lg9gajdgka hfhdgjy.

"Aw, fuck!" Steve swears, neck prickling with heat as he types his reply.

Steve_Hairington: Shit, sorry. My ass typed that 😅

Batboy_Kas: Fitting choice of gif 🍑

Steve_Hairington: Yeah I guess

Batboy_Kas: You could say it's a ... smart ass

Steve snorts a laugh. What a dork! He's still debating if he should reply or leave it at that when Batboy_Kas sends his next message.

Batboy_Kas: So ... not even the tiniest chance you were flirting with me?

Steve_Hairington: Sorry dude. I prefer my men-

(He pauses to squint at the guy's profile pic. A cute little cartoon bat.)

-a little more human-shaped.

Batboy_Kas: Hey! That's just bc you've never had a creature of the night b4 🦇😉

Steve_Hairington: 🤣🤣🤣 Nice try, bat boy!

They end up texting (and flirting) regularly. Kas - named after some vampire dude from that dungeons and dipshits game Dustin enjoys - is a huge fantasy and music nerd, can keep up a string of banter for hours, and his dms quickly become the highlight of Steve’s days.

He knows better than to meet random faceless and nameless strangers from the internet, he really does. But when Kas says he's in town for work some two months later, Steve is a bit embarrassed at how fast he agrees to a date.

Kas doesn't really beat the vampire allegations when he shows up at their meeting point, skittish and nervous, clad in an oversized Metallica hoodie, drawn all the way over his head inspite of the sunny weather, dark shades obscuring his eyes.

He's cute, though. Sweet and almost shy without the distance and a screen between them, but still with that quick wit and edgy sense of humor Steve has come to like so much. A deep, rich voice that makes something inside Steve’s belly tingle, a hint of dark curls spilling out from his hood, and strong, calloused hands covered in rings, the edges of black tattoos disappearing into his sleeves. It makes Steve wanna take the stupid hoodie off him so that he can see all of him.

Which is exactly what he does when they take it to Kas's hotel room later that night. And God, the man is gorgeous. Dark, messy curls framing a pair of insanely dark brown eyes and the poutiest lips Steve has ever had the pleasure of kissing. An intricate web of tattoos that are just begging to be traced with his tongue.

Later, when they're lying together in an exhausted tangle of naked limbs and sweaty sheets, Steve snaps a photo and saves it as his phone background. He doesn't think much of it.

Until a week later, when Dustin opens his phone to read out a message while Steve is driving and starts shrieking so loudly they almost crash into a tree, bc why the fuck does Steve have a selfie of himself and Eddie Munson - frontman of the world famous metal band Corroded Coffin - on his phone and are you both naked, Steve???

Tagging some friends to share a brainworm of their own:

@cuips-not-cute @steddiecameraroll @postmodernau @oh-stars @steddie-island

@wynnyfryd @pennyplainknits @medusapelagia @hotluncheddie @sidekick-hero

[actually-phoenix]

Every ship needs an imagine about their tongues changing color with candy or slushes for the culture it never gets old

[creativepromptsforwriting]

What is... dead dove?

Dead dove, do not eat - this is often found in the tags or the notes of a fanfiction. It is basically a warning sign.

What the author means with this is that the reader should take a closer look at the title, the summary and the other tags, because what they can see there is exactly what's going to happen in the story. These stories mostly contain themes that are sensitive or can be disturbing for a reader.

It's an author's way of saying: "I tagged what's going to happen in the story, so don't be surprised if those things happen."

[teencopandthesourwolf]

"I'll text Stiles," Scott says, grabbing his backpack. "Then I'm gonna go see Allison.”

When Scott turns back around, Derek's lips are a thin line and they are the only part of him that moves when he asks, through his teeth, "Are you going to talk to her, too?”

Scott just squints. Because—huh? 

"Derek, what do you mean, am I going to talk to her, too?” He narrows his eyes even more, suspicious. “Why else would I be going to see Allison, if not to talk to her? I don't just, like, watch her from afar like some creeper, you know." 

Scott isn't about to admit that he has, embarrassingly, done just that on occasion. Alright, occasions, plural—but only once or twice! Five or six times, tops. And only ever when he thought Allison was, or could possibly be, in danger. It's not weird, though. It's not! It's noble, okay? It just sounds weird when you say it out loud. Even if he hasn't actually said it out loud. Well, at least not just now anyways; he's said it in front of the mirror a couple times and it turns out your reflection can be pretty hurtful and judgemental which, honestly, is a little upsetting.  

Just as Scott realises that Derek must know he just told a lie—half-lie!—the Alpha's face does a thing that Scott has never seen it do before. Ever. The dude looks almost… Human. 

And, what the hell? 

Derek clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and worries at his bottom lip a bit and now Scott is feeling anxious because who is this guy? And what has he done with Derek ‘I Will Never Give A Single Thing Away About Myself Ever Other Than The Fact I Am Eternally Pissed’ Hale? (that's one of Stiles's). 

Just the possibility of Derek ‘Emotionally Open and Vulnerable’ Hale is, like—it's just way too much for Scott to handle on a Sunday morning when he's supposed to be at the veterinary surgery in less than fourteen minute's time and has to somehow manage fitting in seeing Allison on the way.

But it seems Scott is also too nosy to just move on from this and let sleeping dogs lie. And both of those things are really annoying because strange old phrases and being overly curious is usually a Stiles thing, not a Scott thing, so Scott really doesn't know what he's supposed to do! 

W.W.S.D. 

What Would Stiles Do?

"Um, Derek, have you been—"

"Firstly, McCall, following somebody around and watching them from a distance is not creepy if you think that they need to be tailed for their own safety, alright?" Derek starts and—well.

Exactly!

Scott actually genuinely likes Derek, for just a moment, because he knew he'd been right about that! He gives himself an internal high-five and an imaginary congratulatory pat on the back because being kind to yourself is never a bad option. Unfortunately, Scott now also has to admit to himself that it does, in fact, sound weird when you say it out loud. Or, well, think it out loud. Whatever, he knows what he means.

He realises that Derek is still speaking.

"...because Stiles is human and also the biggest danger-magnet in the pack, so it makes sense that one of us should be keeping tabs on him. Thirdly, I—“ 

“Someone, Derek!” Scott blurts, “I was going to ask if you've been creeping on someone!" he interrupts because—honestly, in the most way possible—what?! The hell?!

Scott is both stunned and annoyed at hearing that Derek has been following Stiles (hiding around dark corners and slinking about the place like a wolf ninja. Scott should know. Shut up.) 

Because Stiles! Is Scott's best friend! 

And, like, how long has he been doing this? And for what purpose, really? Because Derek's heart just skipped about twelve beats, never mind one, so reason number two was obviously at least a half-lie of his own. 

That's when Derek's mouth clacks audibly shut. 

Scott just stares. And he knows; there is more going on here than meets the eye.

Then it's obvious that Derek knows that Scott knows and then everybody is knowing and looking and looking and knowing and Scott just—he can't stand it, okay? He needs confirmation. He doesn't necessarily want it, but it's like his mom always says: Life's tough sometimes. 

Eventually, he manages to say, "Are you stalking Stiles, Derek?" and hopes to hell he's wrong because he now feels somewhere in between being affronted on his best friend's behalf, totally grossed-out because it's Derek, ugh, and maybe just a little bit amused. Or is it bemused? Possibly confused. Scott is definitely some of those words. 

And again, seriously, what the hell?  

Has Derek honestly been creeping on Stiles because he's concerned for Stiles's safety? And, if so, why? Like, does Derek even get concerned for humans? Or other wolves for that matter (apart from maybe his own betas which is probably only a biological thing anyway, Scott reckons). Does Derek care about anybody? At all? Dude doesn't even care about himself, Scott doesn't think.

Scott now tries his best to come up with another reason, any other possible reason, that someone might have to follow a person around, but he can't seem to land on—OH, GOD! DOES DEREK HAVE A CRUSH ON STILES? Oh, shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! He can't. But he—nope. No! Because what. The actual. Hell! He just—no. No, no, no. He can't! Can he? Oh, my God, what if he does?! And if it is true... ew! Derek Hale crushing is just gross! And on Stiles?! Just, no. But also, why? And also-also, how the hell did Scott not notice something sooner?! 

And another thing: Did Scott somehow wake up this morning having somehow travelled in his sleep to one of those Affirmative Universe places that Stiles is always banging on about?

Man, Scott has, like, so many questions. 

Derek still hasn't said anything and is just standing opposite Scott with his stupid arms folded across his stupid chest with his stupid beard in his stupid loft looking really, really stupidly sheepish, and Scott thinks, yep.

Affirmative Universe. 

He doesn't know what to do and Stiles isn't here to ask, so he waves a confused (and maybe amused and bemused) arm in the air and says, “Derek, what the hell is going on? Have we travelled to an Affirmative Universe or something, because—”  

“Don't you mean Alternative Universe?”  

“—you never just, I don't know, don't throw something offensive or at least defensive back at me when I'm talking to you about Stiles. Or, you know, anybody else. Or anything else, come to think of it!”   

Derek now looks, for real, actually scared.

And Scott? Well, Scott is now officially terrified.  

His phone starts ringing and, as it's already in his hand, he just answers it without looking, eyes still fixed on Derek The Imposter. 

“Yooooo, amigo, what's the plan?” 

It's Stiles. Of course it's Stiles. 

Stiles is on the phone and Derek Hale might-probably-definitely have a crush on him, and Scott may or may not be in an Affirmative Universe but can't know for sure and can no longer speak or think or breathe.

“Uh, Scottie? Scottland? Sir Scott-A-Lot? You there, ol’buddy, ol’pal?” 

Derek can obviously hear who is on the other end of the phone. He looks positively constipated, his brows knitting together even tighter than before, tighter than ever before, and his lethal jaw is ticking away like it's being controlled by the World Clock in Berlin that Scott learned about in middle school.

Scott sighs, heavy, like he's seventy years old instead of seventeen.

Derek is now giving his best version of Scott's own speciality Puppy Dog Eyes (something Stiles and Allison always accuse him of), with a definite flavour of please, don't tell…

And Scott wants to cry. Like a baby. Like, throw himself onto the floor and scream and shout and kick his feet in the air. 

Instead, he grits his teeth together like the mature person he is, feeling very firmly smooshed between a best friend-shaped rock and a werewolf-scented hard place. 

Ugh, his life is just so unfair!

He mouths YOU OWE ME to Derek, and Derek's whole body visibly sags with relief. 

Then he takes a deep breath and answers Stiles—who is now chanting ScottieScottieScottieScottieScottieScottieScottie down the phone—with, “Dude, shut up and listen, will you! I think we might have a very real problem with Affirmative Universes!”

[ficwip]

In honor of fanfiction writers appreciation day, this week’s word is…

✨ WRITE ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[elliewlums]

xavier and littering kisses all over your face my brain is fuzzy help

HELP I LOVE HIM

content warnings: pure fluff honestly, pda, xavier gives r all the luv, no pronouns used for r!

note: this was so so fun to write! pls remember to reblog, it helps a ton and comments are always appreciated<33

you giggle as soft pillowed flesh meets your right cheek first; xavier’s head dips down, mop of brown swaying and tickling your exposed neck. your eyes follow the fluid movement of his chin length hair, the way the light catches it, the way each bob of his head has it flying about his face.

“xavi!” you squeal as he pecks at your jaw, teeth protruding to graze against the bone before going back to his ardent mouthing. the low vibration of his content humming makes you warm, your chest almost bursting with adoration.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs back, his lips now working back up to your forehead, pressing to your temples and then right between your crinkled eyes. you’re soft and melting, boneless in the crowded cafeteria surrounded by your friends; you couldn’t care less, too enamoured with your boyfriend to take much notice of their disgusted stares. his lithe fingers are a welcome sensation against your scalp, a gentle scratching that has you leaning into his touch and practically purring like a little cat.

his lips next find a home at the corner of your mouth; he’s so close, narrowing the gap between the pair of you further until all you can feel is him. his body pressed against yours, his perpetual warmth engulfing you along with his affections. you turn your head, determined to catch his lips in a real kiss, only to be disappointed when he pivots away once again, swooping down to nip at the other side of your neck.

your lips push out into a pout at his aversions and you scrunch your nose, a complaint on the tip of your tongue. he senses it, catches your lips between his before you can utter a single syllable, and laughs into your mouth as the whine dies in your throat.

he pulls away with a wet smack, unsurprised when you chase him and needle your way underneath his arms. absentmindedly, you begin to twirl a strand of his hair between your fingers. he flushes, a subtle red creeping across his cheeks and up to his ears.

you don’t think you’ve ever loved a person more.

[morallygreyintrovert]

I was a book signing a few months ago and in the Q&A section, the author answered a question about writing advice and said ‘you need to really edit yourself, don’t include scenes just because you like them, they need to move the story forward’

That was the moment I realised I had become more of a fanfic reader than trad pub books because the notion of not including silly little goofy scenes between you’re favourite characters because it makes you laugh or writing the most sickly sweet, fluffy moments just because it brings you joy to imagine your characters finally getting the love they deserved absolutely baffled me.

So just a little PSA write whatever you want wether it’s the filthiest of a smut or the fluffiest of fluff.

Yes this thought did come to me because I was writing the most stupid string of dialogue between my characters and I nearly deleted it because I was like cmon that’s so ridiculous but it made me laugh so it stays.

[celticwolf55]

Chapter 28 is now out!

[the-yellow-birdy]

I come at this hour, only for you

AN: IM BACK, okay so your girl can't stop and she's incredibly indecisive, so forget the post from yesterday (except the recommendation of the other tumblr) and know that I have returned. Truly hope you will enjoy this L.O.L - Yellow bird

// 18+ audience only! - Heavy dom/sub dynamics - Dom!LarissaWeems x Sub!FemReader - BDSM - Power dynamics/Power play - consensual manipulation - Lesbian yearning - All characters are above the age of 18\\

Click clack, click clack.

The sound of your spool heels hitting the cobblestone floors, was penetrating your ears as you sauntered down the empty firelit halls. It aligned untempered with the beating of your heart, which was already on its way up your throat, trapping your breath, preventing you from deeply inhaling the cool air around you. The pencil skirt you wore, made it fairly difficult to walk at a fast pace, but it was probably for the best. Your hands were clamped with sweat and the white blouse you wore was already getting damp from your warm body and doing a small marathon right now would make your sweaty nervousness visible to anyone. To her. Merciless her.

The skirt could be seen as a bit inappropriate and you were starting to wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have worn it.

Or maybe you should.

What if she says something? Would she look? 

What if you want her to look.

Definitely not. You definitely don’t want her to look, she shouldn’t look. Surely she won’t look. Perhaps she will have stopped with these foolish games. Maybe she will like it and not say anything. 

Or maybe she won’t.

You were nearing her office taking a couple of deep breaths as you swiped your bangs out of your face, smoothing down your neat ponytail.

You’re gonna be fine. Just, calm down.

 It wasn’t unusual for you to be interrupted in the late evenings by Nevermores headmistress. Whenever your screen lit up as you sat comfortably in your bed about to succumb to sleep, you knew there was no protesting. Well maybe if you weren't so pliable there would be, but you being you, there was no displeasing Larissa Weems. 

But it was at night that things got…

Strange

—

One night she had called upon you as you were closing your eyes to the tv-screen in front of you, requesting your presents. It wasn’t the first time, and the appeal of staying in your bed was grand, but you had of course complied as the reliable secretary you were.

You always did.

She didn’t tell you why it was urgent, yet you expected some immediate reports or mails to be written and sent the following morning, calling you now simply as a favor to your busy schedule, giving you some time to write them. But you were far from right.

She had requested for you to make her tea.

Tea? At this hour?

You thought. But of course your thoughts and thinking didn’t have a lot of time in the company of the woman. So with a single tilt of her head you did as you were told standing in the middle of the beautifully crafted office, and made tea.

The act in itself was harmless and quite pure, actually. It wasn’t like you were already asleep when she texted you and was being completely unfair. You could still get home at a decent hour to get some sleep if you hurried.

“Take off your heels, and come pour me the tea.”, she had said, quietly reading a document in her hand, her reading glasses at the bridge of her nose. Only looking over to see if you had sat them neatly aside by the wall. You didn’t, she thought and looked back down at the paper.

You of course wondered about the demand of your heels, but again, not much time to contemplate when Larissa was awaiting you.

She had you stand by her side the entire night. Having you repeatedly pour her tea when her cup became empty. She had only allowed you to leave, when the tea got cold and you had to make a new brew. Not even a bathroom break was given.

You had definitely seen the benefit she gave you of leaving the heels behind. 

Oh, how kind she truly was to you.

As the night came to an end and the early hours of dawn were showing, small birds chirped outside the office window, your eyes had closed, pot in hand, and you were swaying in the morning lights as if in a trance.

A gentle hand on your hip had your eyes flew open, coming out of the hypnotizing calmness. You couldn't see them, yet you knew there were large gray bags under your eyes.

“Well done, dear.”, she had said, drawing lacy circles on your hip bone. You had no idea why you felt like crying when she smiled at you, but you held the tears back.

She had given you the day off to rest, yet expected you back the next morning with the new student reports.

—

Headmistress - Larissa Weems

You looked at the gold plate engraved into the big oakwood door. The expensive shiny gold against the plain dark wood was a contrast that could only be adored, as you knocked twice on the door.

“Ms. Weems, it’s me Y/n”, You almost didn’t hear her timid reply of you being allowed to enter over the thumping of your heavy heart beats.

Just calm down. Nothing is gonna happen. You can always stop it. She would never if you don’t want to. 

But what if you did?

You entered her office, seeing her tapping away at her computer in the distance. Not offering you a single glance as you made your way towards her desk.

You stood in front of her for a couple of minutes, waiting patiently for a sign, a breath, a nod, a clearing of her throat, anything. When she finally looked up at you, finishing her sentence with the final period, she said nothing as her eyes slid down over your exposed collarbones. They traveled further and further over your curves and creases. The subtle outlining of your visible breasts given the bra you had chosen, the skirt of which was far too short for a respectable woman such as yourself, and finally the almost see-through white button-up shirt tucked into it.

She said nothing. Only after seconds lasting what seemed like eternity, did she take her eyes away from you and down to her desk once more. The hairs on the back of your neck had settled again, yet the tingling feeling of a sugar rush in your veins remained.

She always gave you attention during the day. Walking past you desk with a smile and the occasional 

morning dear 

Or words of affirmation when your job had been executed without flaw.

What would become of me without you and your splendid work my darling? 

You lived for it, a single praise from the woman, could plant a stupid smile on your face the rest of the day. You truly were pathetic. You knew you did a good job and what you were capable of, so why did you crave her approval so deeply?

But when nights came around such as this one, she changed. 

She took a stack of papers on the edge of the mahogany table and stretched her arm towards you. Her tea, placed right next to it. She was now looking you in the eyes, ripping off your clothes and exposing your bare self to her, with just a look. Your cheeks burned and you knew she could see it.

“I would like you to go through these letters from the parents. And I'd be very pleased if you only hand them to me, assuming anything serious was to show.”, She had a shine to her eyes. The beautiful laugh lines around her mouth and eyes prominent in the glow of the fireplace. She was absolutely breathtaking. Terrifying. Fearless. Charming.  Warm, oh so warm. Cold. Beautiful.

Dominant

Mesmerized, you glared a second too long at her elegant hairdo, snapping your eyes to her face.

“Uhm, yes Ms. Weems. I-Is that everything?”confusion was visible on your face, she loved it. Is this it? No more games? No more long nights, no more stares or touching. No more awaiting atmospheres of what's to come, what she wants or does next, that erupts butterflies within your whole body?

“Yes. That would be everything, Ms. L/n”, She gave you only the tint of a smile as she redirected her attention to her screen once more after you took the papers, leaving you utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes Ms. Weems, goodnight”, she gave you a small goodnight as you made your way to the door. Eyebrows wrinkled and the feeling of fireworks in your veins dilapidating.

Was this it? no more?

The endless taunting, lessons, reprimandings and taut praises gone? It was as if your heart felt lighter, almost too light. As if something was fading and dissolving from it.

Your heartbeat fell into its normal, monotone rhythm. Maybe it was good. It surely was. All you had to do was leave and do your work. Simply take ahold of the door handle and…

A thud.

“Oh my, I’m quite the klutz. Would you mind helping me for a minute, my darling?”, her voice was calm, unnervingly calm as you listened to the woman behind you. It was sweet, bittersweet as she spoke the words in her thick accent. The hairs on the back of your neck had risen once more. Your heart, leaving its once peaceful rhythm.

You turned around. The principle was staring daggers at you, without having moved an inch from her spot. Eyes fixed on the price as her hand held onto the edge of the desk, head tilted slightly as she looked at you with a faux hopeful expression of your service. 

The now empty teacup laid on the expensive Agra rug. A dark patch of the liquid had formed on it as a result of the small accident.

“Come here.”, she straightened her head and morphed her expression back to one of seriousness. 

Click clack, click clack.

You came to stand in front of her again.

“Would you be a dear and clean the mess. I am terribly fond of this rug and I would hate to see it ruined by a simple cup of tea.”, she wetted her bottom lip, tongue sliding over the plumb flesh, leaving you with vivid imaginations and a horrible need to cover yourself in her expensive lipstick. She didn’t give you a smirk or even a hint of a smile, but the smugness, the eye contact and the feigning helplessness was drowning your mind.

“Yes.”

“Oh aren’t you too sweet.”

You timidly smiled at her, face lighting up in rosy colors at the exaggerated praise.

She blinked a couple of times, the kind features she displayed, coming to an end.

What do you do? Wait? Leave? Speak?

“On your knees, Y/n.”, It wasn’t mean nor a request, rather a polite demand. 

What? Knees? You won’t! There's no way you heard her right! Of course you heard her right, she’s insane. You’re insane. You shouldn't even be here at this hour, cleaning her mess, let alone on your knees as she feasted her eyes on you. You shouldn’t. Should you? 

Your mind was blinded by fog and uncertainty. But in the end you knew that when one eyebrow lifted slightly, eyes narrowed at your soul, there was no reason to resist. Like butter on a burning pan, your destiny was to melt.

Hypnotized, you got on your knees, putting the papers beside you. Your gaze not faltering from hers, seemingly kneeling in front of the dark spot, but in reality you were kneeling before an entirely different darkness.

Larissa’s breath raked, she had waited so long. She had too. There was no springing this on anyone. It had to be developed, a process of trust leading up to this exact moment, letting her know that her patience had paid off. You truly were hers. Look at you, such despair you showed, thinking she was gonna give you no more recognition. You were absolutely perfect, especially in this exact view with your skirt bunching so far up it covered nothing of your creamy thighs, and you didn't even notice.

“What are you waiting for, hm?”, She raised an eyebrow at you.

You blinked, “I have no cloth, Ms. Weems.”

She looked at your doe eyes, her body was about to give in. About to help you find a cloth, rip it off of you, providing you with the guidance you clearly needed in your state of haze. Tell you just how to do it, how to clean, how to sit, how to breathe, eat, look, dress, please.

Her eyes moved from your face to the white button-up. She could see the top of your pleasing breasts. How long until you’d beg her to simply brush a gloved hand across them, she thought.

She looked up at you once more, slowly trailing her eyes down onto the white fabric.

You looked at her with doubt, could it really be true. You needed to be sure. But deep down, you knew what she was asking. Demanding. 

I have no intentions of giving in to your puppy eyes, sweet girl.

You slowly grabbed the top button and freed it from its restraint. You looked down to see what you were doing, wanting it done properly and agile. You felt ashamed, bare, fragile, but at the same time the feeling of being free was the one dominating, making all the doubt disappear.

yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, such a good girl

“Look at me.” Her voice dropped and she had shifted on her office chair, so that she sat right in front of you. Head to chest. Her hands had folded over her soft stomach, an elbow on the edge of the desk and elegant, pale, long legs crossed.

Blue orbs observed you, as you gradually revealed yourself more and more to your employer, the headmistress.

It’s wrong. You have to stop. 

When all the buttons had been freed you paused, she gave you a tiny nod of her head, the only sign you needed. You slowly took off your shirt and placed it in your lap, your eyes faltering slightly of a new found shame bubbling in the back of your mind. You must be looking incredibly silly.

Oh dear. You were doing it again.

Your lack of obedience didn’t pass the principle. What to do with you? She brought the tip of her stiletto to your face. She placed it under your chin, lifting it and making you look at her a second time.

Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

Your mind went blank with only her as your epicenter. No idea of what to do, you simply looked up, mouth agape, baffled by her impotent behavior leading to the uncivilized act.

She looked so serene from this angle. Stoic. You were looking at her smooth calves, not able to look higher, the fabric of her skirt in the way. Dainty stockings protecting her skin from the cold, you, had to endure. Her elegant ankles, framed by elegant black heels. Flawless.

She was an angel. A devil disguised was probably the right answer. You never knew hell could taste, look, feel so sweet. And how could you deny it, when it was breathing you in right above you, like an addict. An addict fighting the urge to consume their drug, the thing bringing them simple, addictive ecstasy. Her eyes almost dazed and shoulders moving with her shallow breath.

Won’t be long now, my sweet

“Go on, darling.”, the touch of her smooth plastic heels left the skin of your neck.

There was only a millisecond of halting in your movements before you started soaking up the dark spot with your blouse. The white pious color, changing to one of light brown. You have to admit it was one of your more favorable shirts, but you didn’t object to any of it. You knew it would lead to nowhere.

The chilling air of the office, had goosebumps erupt on your arms and back, yet the glow of the fireplace gave you warmth in the coolness and made it almost refreshing.

Why did she like this? Watching you clean her floor. Naked. Sacrificing your favorite shirt, just for the sake of her rug. She must be ill. Really ill. But who are you to talk? After all, you are the one feeding it to her, giving in. moremoremoremore

You tried not to think about it, but a heat within your lower stomach was no longer a single burning match, it felt like flames were burning you up on the inside as you felt her gaze on you and nothing and no one could help, except the woman in front of you.

I know.

Larissa looked over your body. She had of course never seen this much of you, yet it wasn’t a lot she had seen of you before. How come you don’t show more of that beautifully freckled skin, maybe a bit more cleavage and collarbone. The only thing she really was able to vividly imagine at night, was your neck and how it bobbed with nervousness everytime you were in her presence. 

She didn’t worry too much about it at the moment. There would be time for changes later, but right now all that mattered was you.

youyouyou

Her fingers itched and tapped over each other in excitement. She couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe she could indulge, just this once. She was so desperate to caress and claim your skin. Oh how she desired you from the very first times she had spent with you. So full of life and curiosity that could surely kill the cat, which it did. Your passion for what you did, your hobbies, your future, others. Her. It sent her into a place of admiration no one ever had before, and now here you were. Right beneath her, half naked and the best part of it all, was that you loved it, just as much as she.

A firm hand reached for your chin. Disturbed from your ministries your head was turned. You were enraptured by her touch and your eyes closed with a whine from your throat. Her fingers pressed onto your cheeks, squeezing. You let go of the wet fabric and opened your eyes - crystallized lilly’s of the nile -

though it didn't seem to help much, as your vision was showing a thick fog, while everything seemed to move at lightspeed.

Click clack, click clack. Breathe, just breathe.

"Crawl."

________________________________

Can't find the taglist, my bad

[crazyoffher]

ETERNAL BLUE.

warnings: nightmares, sarcastic commentary.

-

The night was gloomy, and window blinds were open to try and illuminate some light in the dark room, but only a light gleam from the moon shined through, barely enough for you to make out Jenna’s body some days. 

Every night you’d go to sleep safe and sound in the arms of your wonderful girlfriend, and you’d never have any interruptions in the night, always waking up in the light of day to her humming a tune rather loudly in the shower. This night, however, was different.

You shot up, sweat coating the collar of your shirt, your entire neck, and your forehead. You panted hard, as if all of the wind had been knocked out of you, and you knew exactly why you were like this at 3:25 in the morning.

You had a nightmare, easy. They never happened when you were sleeping in the presence of Jenna, though, and it confused you just as much as it confused the shorter girl feeling you jump out of her arms in shock.

“Holy sh- (Y/N), are you okay?” She shot up as fast as you did to meet your level, her brown eyes darting all around your sweating figure. Her hand found it’s way to your back, disregarding the dampness of your shirt and rubbing in circles to comfort you. Your breathing was still irregular, your mouth agape as you turned to her, giving her a small smile.

“I’m doing spectacular. Why do you ask?”

Her hand left your back and joined her other hand in pushing you aside—almost off the bed at that. “Now is not the time to make jokes! What the fuck happened?” Concern was written all over her tone and face, and you felt a little bad at your joke.

“I have nightmares, duh.” She pushed you again, this time leaving you to fall off the bed and have the wind knocked out of you… again. Jenna mumbled an apology before pulling you up and pushing you back on the bed.

“You have nightmares?” You nodded, biting your lip and wiping away the sweat beads that sat on your forehead. “Have they always been there? (Y/N), we’ve been dating for almost a year now; why haven’t you told me?”

“I never wanted to worry you. You’re always busy with work, and I didn’t want to add any more stress.” You wiped the sweat off your palms before taking her hand and interlocking your fingers together, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, ba-”

“What are they about?”

“Hmmmmm?” You darted your head forward, dragging out your words, and Jenna pushed your head back. “Answer me.”

“It varies.”

“And what are the varieties?”

“Well...” You bit your lip once more, chewing on it slightly while you found the right words. Despite pressing you, Jenna remained patient as you collected your thoughts.

“Some of them have to do with Jonathan and some of them with my dad.” Jonathan was your ex-boyfriend who did things that a normal boyfriend wouldn’t do to you, and your dad wasn���t the best guy growing up, leaving you with permanent scars and more bruises than you could count during your teenage years. Jonathan was long gone in prison, your dad was dead, and the only way they could now haunt you was when you were asleep.

You hated it.

“I take medication for it, but it doesn’t always work. And now that I’m thinking back, I might have forgotten to take it earlier.” Your hands roamed your sweaty hair, pushing it back before falling back on the bed. Your arms sprawled out while Jenna eyed you with sympathy.

“You want to talk about it in the morning?” You nodded. Jenna got up, making her way to your shared closet before pulling out a shirt, shorts, and underwear and setting them in your lap. “Take a shower; you’re sweating like a maniac.”

You barked out a laugh despite the conflict in your mind, taking the clothes she handed you and giving your girlfriend a gentle kiss before heading for the bathroom. Jenna wasted her time scrolling through Instagram, her fingers creating a mind of their own, and scrolling through your account. She’d gleam at the pictures you’d post of you and her whenever you were together.

It was when you came back that she shut off her phone, immediately taking you into her arms despite your damp figure and burying her face into your shoulder. Her hand repeated the same motion as earlier, rubbing soothing circles on your back and humming a song that she knew was your favorite. Before she could process it, she could hear the soft snores that you’d generate whenever you were in a content slumber.

She didn’t wait too long before allowing the darkness to take her, her hands gripping your figure softly but firmly, as if she were afraid that something or someone would take you. But you were hers; she knew that, and she’d comfort you any day of the week if it made you content and happy. Because that’s what girlfriends do—they love you.

☟ ☟ ☟

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @annalestern @jennas-10 @rhythm-catsandwine @yara124 @daryldixonsw1fe @alexkolax @red1culous @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @n0vabug @idkwimdtbh

[midnightbluebells03]

Wednesday doodles for my new fic

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🧠 🪱

I was tagged by @runninriot - thx love ❤️

Today I'm thinking of ...

...Eddie, stupidly high and with a mad case of the late-night munchies, stumbling his way up to the fast food counter. The guy behind it has his back turned, talking and laughing at the freckled girl in the kitchen, but when he hears Eddie approach, he turns. 

“Hi,” Eddie mutters. “Can I have a- fuck!” 

“I'm afraid we're not that kind of business,” says the apparition behind the counter. 

“... huh?” says Eddie. 

The apparition laughs, a sound like bells. “Never mind, what can I do for you?” 

“Are you an angel?” Eddie blurts, and scowls when he gets another laugh in reply. He thinks it's a fair question. Regular humans don't have eyes with golden flecks of toffee and hair like spun honey and sun-kissed, caramel skin that looks good enough to lick, and fuck he is so hungry!

“No, man,” says the guy, gesturing at his name tag. “I'm Steve. I work here.” 

“Steeeve,” Eddie slurs. Even the name tastes sweet. “Hi, Steve, I'm Eddie, it's a pleasure to- … Wait, is God, like, in trouble or somethin’? Forcing his angels to work in the service industry? I've never been much for organized religion, but-” 

The girl in the kitchen doubles over laughing, sending a large, silver tray rattling to the ground. It goes boioioing. 

“Okay, listen,” says Steve. His voice is so gentle and slow, Eddie could listen to it for hours. “How about you just let me take your order?” 

Right, food. He needs food. Like a whole truck full of it. 

“Stevie,” he declares, letting the v sound linger on his tongue, soft and velvety. “I'd be forever grateful to you if you could fast forward me one of your finest Whoppers. No, you know what? Make it a Double Whopper.” 

“Oh,” says Steve. Those pretty eyes go serious, and oh no, Eddie has disappointed him! “I'm afraid I can't.” 

“What?” Eddie croaks, blinking tears from his eyes. “Wha- … Why not?” 

“Because, Eddie,” Steve smiles, and taps his name tag again. Or the logo on it, more specifically. “This is a McDonald's.”

He gets Eddie a Big Mac. Eddie returns a few nights later, more sober, to discover that Steve is still just as angelic. Him ordering a Whopper becomes their little running gag. Their first date is at a Burger King.

🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟🍔🍟

Tagging: @rozzieroos @stervrucht @arelliann @dartlekey @eyesofshinigami

[bipolaritysucksbutslaps]

I DID IT BITCHES– I THINK I'VE FINALLY FINISHED THE FUCKING FIC THAT I'VE BEEN WRITING FOR OVER A YEAR

[creativepromptsforwriting]

What is... smut?

Smut refers to a category of stories, mostly fanfiction, but also regular books, that contain sexually explicit scenes. It can also be used as a term to describe drawings of a sexual nature.

These types of stories used to be called differently, but those terms are not as widely popular as smut anymore. If the story contains graphic sexual scenes it can be called lemon. If it is sexual, but it isn't as explicit, then it can be called lime. The opposite of it is vanilla.

[galvanizedfriend]

WIP Wednesday

Posting something for WIP Weds in the hopes to get back on my writing horse. It's been tough lately, friends. This is another snippet of Speed Dating. Not directly after this, but some time later.

Anyway, hopes and prayers for me, my dudes. 😔 I need to write again. Also, about this snippet: jealous!klaroline is my not-so-secret guilty pleasure, I shall not apologize.

Conversation began to flow more freely. Rebekah and Elijah started poking at Camille as though she were a creature from a different planet, both evidently curious about Niklaus' girlfriend. Rebekah knew of her, but they were yet to meet. Cami is graceful and smart and lovely in ways she’d never been before, not to Caroline, and they all seem fascinated. Fits right in with Klaus’ family. Fits right in next to Klaus, with a hand around his elbow.

It makes Caroline sick to her stomach. She hates it. More than she hates Dr. Saltzman’s lectures, more than she hates last week’s tofu, more than she hates getting puked on by drunkards during her shifts. She hates it with every fiber of her being, so freaking much she can almost feel the revulsion singing her bones.

Above anything else, she hates how it makes her feel found out, exposed, rubbing the truth of her feelings in her face until she can no longer deny it: Caroline is infected with jealousy.

Up until that moment, she had felt it in short bursts - acute, but fleeting. It was manageable. Debatable, even. But tonight, has completely destroyed all of her defenses. The harsh, cold truth of it crashed down upon her like a giant wave. Every time Klaus even so much as looks at Camille, speaks to her, whenever his hand accidentally brushes up against hers because she’s sitting way too freaking close to him, Caroline feels an irrational spike of murderous anger, followed by an insane and uncontrollable need to throw something heavy across the room. 

She wants to scream.

Something nasty balls in her throat and makes it impossible for her to continue to socialize. The forged indifference she’s worn all night is about to crack. She is locked in battle for her dignity and being positively massacred.  

She needs a drink. Six drinks. Maybe more. Fast. Anything to dull out the brash reaction threatening to come out.

Before anyone can point out that she could just order directly from their booth, she excuses herself and slips out. Funny how she seems to be the only one to notice how utterly unbreathable the air is.

Away from prying eyes, she abandons the cocktails in favor of something more effectively numbing. She downs a shot of whiskey all at once, and then asks for another. When she signals for a third one, the bartender gives her a look. The lonely girl getting hammered at the bar is looking for trouble look.

"I just had dinner with my roommate, whom I may or may not have feelings for, and his siblings, while they get introduced to his girlfriend, ok? I'm having a really bad night, so I'd appreciate it if you could just pour me a shot and kept the judgment to yourself."

The guy shrugs. "Suit yourself."

"Thank you."

The alcohol is meant to melt down the anxious knots in her stomach, dial down her spiking nerves back to acceptable levels, but the first immediate effect is a different one. The prickly discomfort morphs into a kind of ache, dull but heavier. This sudden uncontrollable need to be the object of Klaus' attention, the reason behind his smiles, the theme of all his stories, gains sharper, clearer contours.

The extreme anxiety she's experiencing, she concludes, is illumination. The kind that comes with a heavy object falling on your head and cracking your skull wide open. This visceral reaction is the answer to all the questions she's been mulling over incessantly for months now. Suddenly, Caroline no longer feels crazy; she feels heartbroken.

[winchesterride]

So, here it is, my first Wincest fic 🥳

It wasn’t Sam's fault that serial killers excited him. And wasn’t Dean’s fault he would do weird stuff to please Sam.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Rape/Non-Con (Actually doubt con)

Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

post series, POV Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, rough sex, Objectification, possessiveness, light bondage, serial killer kink, marking kink, role play, knife play, light blood play, rape play, light Break Me!Sam¹, light Tamer!Dean, mention of cannibalism, mention of necrophilia, Incest

Okay, thats PRETTY dirty, one of the dirtiest things I ever wrote, but I enjoyed it a lot, so hope you guys enjoy it too.

Please read the tags and warnings before reading!

PS: I put it only to registered users because it's mature, hope this don't prevent anyone from reading

¹Break Me submissives in BDSM play with physical struggle, they resist if not restrained, appealing to physical fights and runaways, making the scene look like a rape

²Tamers in BDSM are doms that deal with disobedient subs and have to discipline them

Credits of the Moodboard:

Photo by Jon Tyson na Unsplash – Taxidermy Deer

Photo by Akinori UEMURA na Unsplash – Chains

Photo by Igor bispo on Unsplash – Knife