#my fingers are itching to write something

[dollgxtz]

Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim.  A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light. 

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

[ashthesalamipiece]

This might be a bit specific but I’d like to request a fic where reader and Bakugou have twin boys who are already teenagers in like high school age (they can have more if you want, but these two are the oldest ones) where one of them does nicely academically, behaves properly, never disobeys his parents and the other —who’s the younger twin— is the complete opposite, basically a teenage Bakugou who likes to revolt and worry his mom and dad.

Anyway, it would go something like this; it’s like in the middle of a school night, maybe 2 to 3pm and reader feels like something is wrong and goes to check on her children finding out that the younger twin sneaked out. She wakes Bakugou up and they wait for him while he tries to calm her worries down. When he gets home they bicker until it turns into a full argument, both guys are screaming at each other and the son lets something out about how he thinks reader is not a good mother, that he hates her and that she favors his brother more (something like that) she has to hold her husband down for him not to jump on their kid and he runs to his room, she calms the man down and goes to talk to her boy and they talk, even with him being reluctant at first he apologizes and things turn out fine, but he was kind of an asshole still so she can’t help but cry when it’s just her and Bakugou.

I’m so sorry if this is too much I just needed to get it out of my mind, it will be totally fine if you prefer to ignore this love your writing💕

Thank you so much♡

enjoy♡

"We’re Still Learning"

Bakugou x Reader | Family Drama | Angst & Comfort | Long One-Shot

It was 2:46 AM when you woke up, heart pounding for no clear reason.

You sat up in bed, eyes scanning the dark room. Katsuki slept beside you, one arm stretched across your side protectively, his face soft in sleep — a rare sight. But something gnawed at your chest. An itch in your ribs. A mother’s instinct.

You slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded down the hallway. First stop: the twins’ room.

The older one, Haru, was sound asleep, arm flung over his head, mouth slightly open. But the other bed — Kaito’s — was empty.

Blankets pulled back. Window slightly cracked.

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed back into the room and shook Katsuki awake. “Katsuki—wake up.”

He jolted up immediately, eyes sharp even in half-sleep. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Kaito’s gone.”

It only took two words.

He was out of bed in seconds, tugging on a hoodie, checking the hallway, the back door, the garage. You called his phone. No answer.

“God, what if something happened to him—what if he’s out with those older kids again—”

“Oi, stop,” Bakugou growled gently, grabbing your shoulders. “Breathe, baby. We’ll wait. He’ll come back. You know he always does.”

But your mind spiraled. Kaito had been distant lately. Angry. Cold. He snapped more. He was only fifteen, but it felt like he carried the weight of the world on his back and refused to let anyone help.

You sat on the couch, fingers twisted in your shirt. Katsuki sat beside you, holding your hand, his grip steady but firm.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” you whispered.

“Tch. Don’t start blamin’ yourself for his shit. We’re doin’ our best.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at the clock.

3:38 AM.

The front door creaked open.

Kaito stepped inside, hoodie up, earbuds in, expression hard.

You shot to your feet. “Kaito—!”

“Don’t start,” he muttered, brushing past you.

Bakugou’s voice cracked through the room like thunder. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Out.”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat. Do you know what time it is?! Your mom's been losin’ it over here!”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Kaito said, loud. “It’s not like she actually listens when I’m here anyway.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You only care about Haru. You always have,” he snapped, voice rising. “He gets better grades, he talks more, he’s easier, right? So why would you ever wanna deal with me?”

“What?! Kaito—”

“I hate coming home to this! I hate how you look at me like I’m always the problem!”

Bakugou surged forward, voice like a war drum. “You don’t talk to her like that—”

“Or what?!” Kaito shouted back, stepping toward him. “You’ll hit me?! Do it! Just get it over with!”

“Katsuki—!” You grabbed your husband around the waist, stopping him before he lunged. His muscles were coiled, trembling with restraint, jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.

“Let me go,” he growled.

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t be that kind of father.”

Kaito’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in challenge. But when he realized you weren’t letting go, that Katsuki wasn’t going to blow, he scoffed and turned on his heel.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I should’ve stayed gone.”

He slammed the door behind him.

---

Ten minutes passed before Katsuki finally moved. He sat down hard on the couch, hands on his knees, breathing heavy. You knelt in front of him, touching his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No. I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I almost lost it. He said that shit about you and I just—”

You kissed his knuckles. “I know. You were protecting me. But he’s hurting. I need to go talk to him.”

“I don’t know how you’re so calm.”

“I’m not,” you said, standing. “But I’m his mom. If I fall apart, he’ll never learn how to put himself back together.”

---

You knocked softly before entering Kaito’s room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring at the floor.

“Can I come in?”

Shrug.

You walked in anyway.

Silence.

“I don’t love Haru more,” you said quietly. “I love you both. Differently. Equally. But I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.”

He scoffed. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” you said, kneeling in front of him. “You said you hate me.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He stayed quiet for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he muttered eventually. “I just… I always feel like I’m messing up. And you’re always disappointed. Even when you’re not saying anything, it’s just… there. In your face.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Kaito, I’m not disappointed in you. I’m scared. Because I see you pulling away and I don’t know how to reach you.”

His eyes welled up. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

He wiped his face angrily with his sleeve. “I don’t know how to not be angry all the time.”

Your heart shattered. “You’re allowed to feel angry. But you’re not allowed to use that anger to hurt the people who love you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I feel so lost.”

You wrapped your arms around him, and for a moment, he let himself be held.

“I’ve got you,” you said. “We’ve got you. Even when you’re lost.”

---

Later, when the house was quiet again, you crawled back into bed beside Katsuki. He was awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“How is he?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Better. Still angry. Still hurt. But… he apologized.”

He turned toward you, pulling you into his chest. “You’re too good at this,” he mumbled.

You didn’t answer.

Because the moment his arms wrapped around you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled. You buried your face in his shirt and cried quietly—out of relief, exhaustion, and heartbreak.

Katsuki stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re not perfect,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

He held you tighter. “None of us do. But we’re not quittin’. Ever.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the night settling over you both, you realized something: being a parent didn’t mean having all the answers. It just meant loving your kids enough to keep showing up.

Even when it’s 3 AM.

Even when it hurts.

Even when they say they hate you.

You’d still be there.

Always.

[calebsg1rl]

You were Younger!Calebs bestfriend, for as long as he could remember you’d been there. Of course as bestfriends you shared the occasional kiss, and as you grew into your bodies, the odd hookup. Of course he was pathetically enthralled with you, he did anything you asked. He’d lied then, made up fake names for fictional girls who didn’t exist. As shocking as it was, even as a horny, hormonal teenage boy, he’d never looked in the direction of another girl, not really. Yours was the only body he cared to know, the only eyes he cared to stare longingly into, the only hair he cared to twirl around his slender fingers. He would’ve given anything then to have you, he was stupid, nervous, a boy.

Colonel!Caleb isn’t that. From the moment he returns from his supposed death, and he sees you again, you know he isn’t the same. Before he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the axis his world just happened to spin around. Now, his eyes are more calculated, more predatory. Even after you start seeing eachother more casually.

Colonel!Caleb has done things, seen things. He’s not the boy you knew, and he loves to remind you. But one thing you know hasn’t changed, is his jealousy. His capacity to feel it. The difference is that now, he does something about it.

You’re a hunter now, he’s proud of you for it, he appreciates that you can take care of yourself when he isn’t around, knowing it makes him worry less. But of course he still worries. What he doesn’t appreciate is the disgusting, degenerate bastard (your coworker) that tried to hit on you, right in front of him.

“Caleb—” you try to reason, really you do, but he doesn’t care for reason. Not when he could be pressing you up against the nearest surface.

“Pips.” He only just barely recognizes that you’d said anything at all, dragging you by your hand into your apartment. He’s frantic, impatient, itching to get you out of your clothes.

As soon as you’re inside he’s all over you, hooking his hands under your thighs, scooping you up with a concerning lack of effort. His mouth pressed shamelessly on yours. It’s sloppy, irresistibly so.

“Caleb— Shoes,” you just barley manage between his onslaught of kisses.

“Don’t care.” He’s practically panting, carrying you to your bedroom. He knew your place like the back of his hand by now. There isn’t a moment between when your upright, and when your back is pressed into your mattress that Caleb isn’t on you. As soon as your head hits the plush surface he’s taking the liberty of unbuttoning your shirt, fingers pulling roughly at the delicate things. He wants to see you, feel you.

“You’re so—..” Having accepted your fate, you reach around your torso to unhook your bra, not wanting him to damage it in his fervour. “Worked up.” You can’t help laughing at him a little. “Is this because of Daniel?” You grin as he pauses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” He murmurs lowly, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.

“Didn’t know you were this serious about me..” you tease, only to gasp out as he nips at your skin.

“You wear my goddamn dog tags around your neck…” He slinks back, kneeling between your legs, pulling his hoodie up over his head. Revealing delicious pale skin, toned muscle, a happy trail that acts like a magnet for all your most sinful thoughts.

“Not serious my ass.” He scoffs.

And Colonel!Caleb shows you just how serious he is, he still is, about the girl he’s loved all his life.

A/n : this was going to be a full length fic, but I started it and couldn’t get the motivation to end it. I hope you like it anyway. Probably going to be writing a lot of lads content coming up here(I hope). How would we feel about a darker theme with Caleb?(I’m obsessed with him).

[sakascal]

Thank you for the tag @angie-words.

I'm mostly in outlining mode right now but even so, I do write something less involved here and there because there's this constant itch in my fingers to write. This is from something very unfinished, not even in its alpha stage yet, and the sentence wasn't even done. At least there was no punctuation mark. Probably got interrupted in the middle. It happens.

When even Crowley had had to concede the fruitlessness of his efforts and had slept the decades away

17 words. Why can't I ever get one of the short sentences for these things? (And yes, I know, there aren't that many of those. I'm wordy! 😄) Don't think I can name that many people who haven't been tagged recently for this, but I'll try to come up with some.

No-pressure tags for @nosferatini, @bohoteacher, @angellilou-art, @valesyart (I count lines written for comics as well!), @kt-mighty-odd, @bl0ndwave, @mielpetite (again, I count lines written for comics - and I'm trying to come with more names! 😄).

Note to self: Work on ending EVERYTHING on a three-word-sentence in case you get tagged again. 😉

Last Line Tagging Game

Rules: Share the last line you wrote, then tag as many ppl as there are words.

Thanks for tagging me @the-written-wyrm :)

This truth Aziraphale hadn’t been able to explain, not to Crowley, not even to himself, loomed between them now, just like that.

Way too many words for tagging (I really should learn how to write shorter sentences), but maybe you'd like to share @rcreveal , @theriverspath, @luv4thethindarkduke, @catsteinbooks, @metalmiez? No pressure :)

And of course if anyone else who wasn’t tagged wants to share, go ahead!

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎRose Blush (Part Two)౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x coriolanus snow thank you my darling @phantomamour for proofing!! catch up on part one here

“Not even a chance?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Snow.” The receptionist smiled sympathetically. “It’s not something we do often. You understand.”

“Of course.” Coriolanus drummed his fingers on the counter, sorting through his options. He’d come down here to fulfill his end of the bargain the two of you had struck. After all the nights he’d cost you in the last few weeks making public appearances, he figured he owed you. This was the only thing you had asked for. The clothes and shoes and perfumes were a given part of the deal. Any other girl likely would have jumped at that alone and not asked anything in return, but he’d picked you because you weren’t like every other girl.

He escorted you to dinner, to classes, to the ballet. You hadn’t returned to study in the library since the day he’d asked you to embark on this journey of deception with him- he saw to that. It wouldn’t do any good for you to be accessible, so to speak. It was as if he’d tricked his brain too, because it seemed to think you actually belonged to him.

You studied with him at the penthouse now, lying across his bed with your feet propped up at the knee as you highlighted and jotted notes with the pink pen he’d purchased for that purpose. Each time he brought you home you insisted he didn’t have to inconvenience himself this way and each time he told you not to be silly. Besides, he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like seeing you bite your lip in concentration as you reread a paragraph of your textbook. Yesterday he’d lost nearly an hour all together in all the glances he’d snuck in your direction

It was visionary seeing you in a sweater and skirt that fit, your hair neatly styled. You still wouldn’t give up your glasses even though he’d offered to pay for contacts, insisting that was far too much after everything he’d already given you. There was a sort of charm to it though, and it paired nicely with everything else he’d gotten you. Last night when he’d been drifting off to sleep he’d realized he could smell your rose perfume on his sheets.

Leaning on the counter again, Coriolanus addressed the receptionist again. “Is there any way someone, say myself, could pay a portion of the tuition?”

She hummed, sorting through a stack of papers. “I suppose so. Most people just like to take care of it all.”

He blinked, considering. It was a risk to even pay part of it, let alone the whole bill. That hadn’t been the deal. You’d been counting on him being able to sweet talk the offices into a discount. Not foot the whole thing. Coriolanus had brought it up casually once and you’d shut it down. “I don’t want to be in greater debt to you than I already am.” But maybe if you didn’t know…there could be a way around it.

“What are you writing?” he asked one night, coming to sit beside you on the bed. Your eyes had a certain sparkle in them he hadn’t seen before. Usually your face was tight with worry, occasionally a smile, but this was better than that.

You looked up, a strand of hair falling into your face. His fingers itched to brush it away. “Oh…just something little. I write short stories sometimes in between assignments.”

“What kind of short stories?”

“Oh…” you were blushing a bit now. “Just little imaginings. Nothing too serious.”

“I see.” He watched you flip the page you’d been writing on, covering it up. “Have you ever thought about doing anything with them?”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head quickly. “They’re not as good as that. I just amuse myself with them.” You reached for the essay you’d abandoned, laying it atop your notebook. 

He caught a glimpse of a sentence before you hid it. ‘Victory was but a bitter afterthought, something they’d remember later with all the same regret as a morning after drinking too much.’

The line haunted him long after you left, even as he fell asleep with your perfume in his nose.

“I’ll make a payment,” he decided, and the receptionist nodded, pulling out a fresh form.

“Will it be part or full?”

He knew he should do as you’d asked and just shave a little off the full amount. You didn’t have to know how you’d gotten such a good deal

“I might like to write professionally someday,” you mused over a glass of wine. The restaurant was fairly uncrowded, and while he’d picked this place because of how busy it tended to be, he found he didn’t mind being able to actually hear you and not fight a lull of chatter.

“You’d do well,” he said, remembering the line he’d caught with little difficulty. Coriolanus had written it down on a page of his journal, flipping to it every now and then whenever he felt like it. 

“It’s just a dream.” You waved your hand, taking another sip of wine. “Maybe it’ll happen, but I’d have to use a fake name. I don’t know who’d-” you cut yourself off, shaking your head so slightly that it looked like a shiver. “Well. It doesn’t matter.”

It did matter to him. You were talented, that much was clear, but you were also self aware. Capitol society had a long memory, and if they knew anything about your family it was unlikely anything would really come true. He imagined the disappointment in your face at rejection letters and it tugged at his heart.

More and more, he was finding you deserved good things more than anybody else. Your hard work was merely tolerated, not rewarded. He wouldn’t have cared before- he had his own issues. But something here reminded you of himself, how he’d starved and stuffed himself into too-small clothes to get to where he was now. You not only suffered from lack of fortune, but a reputation you hadn’t even earned. It was enough to keep him up at night, and it had ever since he’d thought it.

“Full,” he said, voice firm. “I’ll be paying in full.”

Your leg was bouncing up and down repeatedly, and you were staring at your feet. The dress he’d helped you pick out was spread around you on the seat, overlapping into his. It was white with silver beading that fell in pinstripes down the skirt but swirled into intricate designs around the bust and upper legs. Pearls dangled over your shoulders from the straps and decorated the neckline. He’d insisted on the pearl and diamond necklace that accompanied it even though you said it was too much. 

Folding and then unfolding one leg over the other, your skirt fell to the side and revealed your white shoes that tied around the ankle with silky ribbons. Your hands were curling over each other, fidgeting with the silver ring on your index finger that looked like a bow, a pearl studded in the middle of it. He knew that you would have opted to play with a strand of your hair but it was in an elegant updo, a white silk ribbon threaded through it, the tails dangling down your neck.

Coriolanus reached over, holding his hand out and you didn’t hesitate to take it. He asked before he could regulate into something better. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, the demons dripping from your ears bouncing. “Of course.”

“Did…?” He didn’t want to ask so crudely. “Is everything alright…at home?”

The way you hesitated told him what he needed, but he appreciated how smoothly otherwise you covered it up. “Yes. It’s fine.” You turned to stare out the window. “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he said, hitting himself on the inside. If only it were that simple! “You’ll be okay. You just need to stay by me and everything will be fine.”

“Yes,” you said softly, shifting to look at him. His heart skipped a beat at the angelic sight of you in front of him. Even though it was dark, you were shining just as bright as the moon in the countryside. It was as if you’d been beamed down to sit beside him in this moment. In your eyes there had been a wild look of panic but the longer you stayed watching him, it lessened. 

“We won’t stay the whole night,” he promised, squeezing your hand without thinking. “This is about appearances.”

You nodded, taking in a shaky breath. He watched as you leaned back in your seat and kept attempting to stay calm. Whatever had happened at home, he was going to make sure you didn’t have to think about it tonight. Coriolanus searched his mind for something to cheer you. “I talked to the tuition offices.”

Turning your head to look at him again, there was a brightness to you. “Yes?”

“It’s taken care of,” he said, and you smiled wide, squeezing his hand. Coriolanus set his other hand over yours and nodded. “They were very accommodating.”

“Oh-” You leapt forward and flung your arms around his neck, your face pressing to his chest. His arms automatically wound around you, and he relished the feeling of having you pressed against him. The happiness you were feeling was practically tangible, and he couldn’t have described how beautiful you were in that moment. Now just in physical being, in soul. It made him want to tease the joy out of you over and over until it was constant. Maybe it was an impossible thing but he wanted to try. For you he would try.

“Thank you, Coryo,” you whispered into him. His chin settled on your head as he held you, and his body screamed to never let go. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I can help you with more semesters than just this,” he promised, resisting the urge to stroke your hair. “You won’t have to worry about paying for school again.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you murmured. “This is enough. After all you’ve done for me.”

“You’ve done more than you think for me,” Coriolanus said softly, and you pulled back meeting his eyes. There was something brewing within you that he wanted more than anything to hear. He’d listen to whatever you had to say, give you anything you wanted. The car came to a stop before he could hear it, and he looked out the window to find the front steps of the building hosting the gala.

You withdrew even though that was the last thing he wanted, and the driver opened the door on his side. Already, Coriolanus could hear the clicking of cameras and see the flashing. They were like bloodhounds, the lot of them. Like a gentleman was supposed to, he got out first, smoothing the front of his crisp maroon suit and then extending a hand to help you out. Gracefully, as if you’d done it a thousand times, you stepped out of the car, minding the train of your dress and shielding your eyes from the photographers. His heart leapt when your soft hand slipped into the crook of his arm.

He helped you up all the stairs and covered your hand with his when the two of you reached the doors. The instant you walked through the door, heads turned. Even though there was music playing, he could hear all the whispering. Your eyes darted around the grand space, taking in the rich decorations and well-dressed population.

Coriolanus held his head high, guiding you to find a drink. When he put a glass of champagne into your hand you smiled, taking a delicate sip. Pride bloomed inside of him. You were perfect. He couldn’t have chosen better. You took to Capitol society easily, more of a lady than anybody else here.

When he guided you to talk to a few of his colleagues and people he knew from University, you played the part, clinging to his arm and blinking shyly. It was obvious how many people recognized you, but his confidence shut down any direct questions. You didn’t seem to notice, and he was glad for it.

“Another drink, sweetheart?” he asked, watching you blush. You shook your head and he squeezed your hand, surveying the room. The whispers were growing louder, so much that they were nearly suffocating. He gently removed your hand from his arm and pulled you into him. You started to ask what he was doing but he shushed you quietly. “Come here. It’s alright.”

Giving in, you leaned your head against his chest, and he centered his hand on your waist, his other on your shoulder. Coriolanus started to sway back and forth slightly, his eyes sweeping the room. The judgemental looks were lessening just a little, which was the intended effect. You relaxed against his chest and he focused on holding you, reclaiming the time he’d lost in the car. In his opinion he’d spent far too much time not doing so, whenever he could.

“Coryo?” you whispered, and he looked down to see your soft smile. “I think I’m starting to like this?”

Despite himself, a grin quirked his lips. “Endless parties?”

“No,” you breathed. “Being with you. Surviving together.”

“Surviving together,” he repeated, feeling himself soften. The more time he spent with you the more he found how truly poetic you were. You saw the world in a different lens than everyone else. Everything contained good in your eyes, and everything had a story. What he wouldn’t give to live the life that you saw.

You nodded, reaching to cling to the lapel of his suit jacket. He breathed in your rose perfume, the same scent that rocked him to sleep every night. “I like being together.”

“Me too,” he said, the fear he’d held before about saying the wrong thing disappearing. His vulnerability was not a vice with you, it was a gift. You coaxed it back into being. He stood there with you for not nearly long enough until you looked up at him again.

“I’m going to go find the ladies room,” you whispered, pulling back. 

He nodded. “Do you want me to help you find it?”

“I’ll be alright.” You reached up to kiss his cheek before leaving. Even though he knew it was mostly for the cause, he felt it as real. Maybe you meant it that way too.

Coriolanus used to have a steady hold on what to do at parties by himself, but it seemed that a few hours with you had derailed all of it. He chatted aimlessly with a few more partygoers, looking over his shoulder every few minutes to see if you’d returned. Was it just his imagination, or were you taking a long time? He excused himself to do a lap of the room, searching for the stunning woman in the white dress who’d taken his breath away when he saw her. That dress had been nothing without you.

He even asked a few people, but nobody had seen you. None of the masses had spotted you for awhile, even though they knew who you were. There was no way he could miss the look in their eyes that told him they didn’t recognize you the way he would have it. That was a thought for another time. Right now he needed to focus on finding you.

After a full ten minutes of searching he decided to go into the hallway, maybe ask someone to go into the restroom for him. He didn’t need to walk far before he saw you leaning against the wall, arms wrapped around your torso. Your chest was heaving as you drew in sharp breaths. All his instincts kicked into action as he hurried toward you, steadying his hands on your shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You lifted your eyes to his, full of tears. “You paid my tuition?”

It was like someone socked him in the chest. Coriolanus didn’t deny it, holding firm and focusing on you. “They wouldn’t offer any discount.”

“So you say that you tried. You shouldn’t have just taken care of the whole thing.” You seemed so distraught that he was worried you’d pass out. “You weren’t supposed to give me money.”

“This isn’t the same as paying you,” he tried to explain, but you shook your head sharply, so your earrings smacked your neck. Two tears slipped down your cheeks and his fingers ached to brush them away.

“Do you know what everybody’s been saying about me tonight?” you asked quietly, and he watched you lift a shaking hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. “They’re wondering if I’ve taken up the same profession as my mother. If the only reason I’m here tonight wearing a beautiful dress is because I’m sleeping with you. It’s the only explanation, they said.”

“Who said?” he asked instantly.

“A group of women in the restroom,” you replied, starting to pace. Your arms were folded, hands splayed out over your upper arms. With a sniffle you said your next words in a broken tone. “And the worst part is that they’re right.”

“No,” he started but you cut him off.

“The only difference is that we’re not sleeping together,” you burst out, voice full of tears. The only thing he could do was stand there and watch you. He was worried if he reached for you that you’d push him away. “I’ve been seen with you all over the Capitol. You’ve bought me clothes and jewelry and shoes. It fits, doesn’t it?” 

He couldn’t contradict you. As always, you were right. Still, he tried to smooth it over. “It isn’t like that-”

“The only thing they couldn’t figure out is why you chose me,” you said, shaking your head again. “Why would you choose me when everybody hates my family? And I don’t have an answer for that.” Your shoulders slumped and you stared at him with so much hurt in your eyes that he was afraid you’d break. “I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

“Why wouldn’t I choose you?” You took a step back, lips parted, eyes wide. His head would have screamed at him to take it back but he wasn’t listening to it. Another shaky breath was drawn from your lips and then you squeezed your eyes shut, and the tiniest cry he’d ever heard echoed in the hallway. 

Instantly he stepped forward, holding out his arms for you to fall into. You were crying into his shirt now, murmuring things he couldn’t understand. “I know, I know,” he whispered, starting to guide you down the hallway. “We’re going to go home now.”

“I don’t w-want-”

“My home,” he clarified and you fell silent. 

The whole car ride home you stayed that way, tucked into his side crying with no noise. He managed to get you out of the car and into the elevator, taking you all the way to his room. Tigris and the Grandma’am would be asleep at this hour, so he kept his voice at a whisper. Once the door was shut he sat you down on his bed and helped you take off your dress.

Kneeling, he unwrapped the shoes from around your ankles and set them to the side. Coriolanus removed your jewelry and set it on his desk. He retrieved one of the pajama sets you’d left here after that first shopping trip. You lifted your arms when he asked and complied when he started to lay you down. Your crying had stopped and now you were just sniffling every few minutes. He pulled the covers over your shoulders, thumbing your arm. “Just sleep. I’ll stay nearby.”

“Don’t leave,” you mumbled sleepily, and he couldn’t resist moving a strand of hair from your face. 

“I’ll stay close,” he promised. “It’s okay.” At that you finally closed your eyes and relaxed into his bed. He knew from experience that it was a far cry more comfortable than what you were used to. Coriolanus wouldn’t be surprised if all you had was a blanket and pillow and your mattress was just the floor. 

Pulling up a chair by your bed, he tossed his suit jacket over the back and removed his tie. He undid the top three buttons of his shirt and slumped as he sat down, shutting his eyes and listening to you breathe. You were safe here. 

Nobody’s words could hurt you right now.

When he set the breakfast tray in front of you, your eyes were a little less red than the night before, and you reached for a strawberry, he was relieved to see you smile even just a little bit. He poured you tea and held it out, which you took and sipped at. 

Coriolanus sat beside you, holding a cup of his own. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say about last night. Did you remember any of it? You hadn’t had too much to drink from what he’d seen. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, eyes on your tea. “I…I’m sorry about last night. I was so…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wouldn’t let you think he was upset over it for even a second. Straightening, he tried to subtly smooth out the pain in his neck. His head had lulled to a strange angle during the night. “I just want you to be safe.”

“Coriolanus,” you started, lifting your gaze to him. “I said some things last night that I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to come across as ungrateful, but I truly don’t understand still.”

“I know.” Coriolanus put his tea on the nightstand. “Things didn’t go the way I’d intended, and I apologize for putting you in such a position.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you murmured, tracing a shape into the covers. The strap of your sleep set was dangerously close to falling off your shoulder, and you had a glow to you as the sun breathed through the curtains onto your skin. A good night’s sleep in a nice bed was doing wonders for you. He imagined how things might be if you were able to do so every night.

He straightened, what he wanted to say pouring out of him easy. “I didn’t choose you because I felt sorry for you. That wasn’t the whole reason. After the first day I took you shopping I considered calling off the deal and just letting you keep everything I’d gotten you.”

You blinked at him, not seeming surprised. “Why didn’t you?” He watched you deflate. “I would have understood.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said simply and you shook your head.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Throwing back the covers, you stood up and ran a hand over your hair. “You know who my family is. You know why nobody in school will even look at me.”

“You’re different,” he said, shaking his head and standing with you. “I know you’re not what they say you are. You’re smart and brave and-”

“I need to go.” You started to gather your things, but he caught your wrist. 

“Don’t,” he pleaded, catching your eyes. “Please.”

“Our deal is over,” you whispered, something breaking in your eyes. “I’ve been helping you for nearly a month and you’ve taken care of my tuition.”

“I don’t want it to be over.”

“Why?”

“I…I…” Coriolanus was grasping for something to cling to. He said your name and it came out more desperately than he meant it. “I want you to be close to me. I want to take you shopping and watch you try on a million dresses and buy out the whole store if that’s what you want. I want to do homework together and graduate holding your hand. I want to be the one with you when you publish your first book and I want to be the first one to read it.”

You looked so shocked, frozen in front of him. He straightened, deciding to go in for it. “And I want to protect you from anybody who dares say a word against you, including your family.”

There was a beat where he was worried he’d said the wrong thing. He shut his mouth and watched your eyes flicker with unspoken emotions. Whenever he thought he’d figured it out a new one appeared. You swallowed, lips parting gently. Then in an instant, you surged forward, arms winding around his neck as your lips found his.

He didn’t think, just leaned into it, clasping his elbows to hook at your waist and bring you closer. You were warm and soft and safe and right where you belonged. With him, in his world. He’d color it every color you saw. Your lips moved against his, and when he went in for more you responded eagerly. Never had Coriolanus had a kiss like this. It was so different, but that shouldn’t have been surprising. Everything about you was a startling thing that tipped his carefully crafted world into the unknown. For the first time in his life he didn’t care that he wasn’t in control. You were the one guiding his compass.

“I love you,” he whispered when he pulled back, thumbing your cheek. “I know I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated, eyes sparkling. “Coryo, everything you said…I want it too.”

He cupped your cheeks, bringing his lips to your forehead. “You’ll have everything you want. I’m making sure of it.”

“Right now I just want you.” You leaned into his arms and settled there, and he realized he finally had his wish. He could hold you now and never let go.

[muqingslover]

Rafayel being forced to kill the person he loved the most because MC commanded him is peak angst. I can say with ease that I fucking CALLED IT and I love that they went with that

The way he holds her in his arms with such desperation and tenderness knowing it will the last time, allowing himself to shed tears just before she literally slips away from his arms.

"I'll become one with the sea and stay with you forever." Oh they're sick for this and I love it.

MC is the only one who could make a God pray and fall apart.

btw I looooove that he cries pearls I think it's my new favorite thing.

[spicyspiders]

was looking at these of hugh jackman kissing rafael casal in bad education and i noticed at the beginning of the second gif there's a string of spit connecting their mouths. do with that information what you will.

[604to647]

Oy! Adriana!! THIS IS ILLEGAL!!

Mannnnn…. I was très excited when I read the summary, looking forward to Reader getting a little rough punishment from Lucien for being so badddddd 🤭🤭🤭

But omigod, the deliciousness when I read that they had a past!! (present?? future?! 🤔😜😜) All the callbacks to their trysts in the past were so filthy and the bite of degradation to these flashbacks scratched my favourite itch 🫠🫠🥵

As soon as you're settled he shoves his middle and ring fingers inside you, turned down so his thumb can play with the puckered ring of your ass. Lucien spits on it, gently easing his thumb inside while his other fingers slowly piston in and out of your sopping pussy.

"Daddy!" you cry out, clenching in both places, so wet that it's dripping down to alleviate his entry into your ass. And his fingers are so thick that it's both a pleasure and a pain to take them.

"Why are you weeping like you're a virgin?" he tuts. "Don't act like no one's ever come through here and played before. Remember Puerto Vallarta? And how you let me fuck this tight little ass right there on the beach? You weren't crying then. In fact you loved it. You even called me Daddy back then."

EXCUSE ME?!?

The dirty talk about why his son left, how maybe she's not actually here to win him back but here for Lucien, not even sure if it's true, but the way he grits it out is so mocking and taboo, I WANT it to all be true 🤤🤤 and I think they both do too 🫠🫠🥵

"Lick all this off, baby," he commands. "Make me sticky with something else."

You lick the cherry lip gloss off, smiling to see some of it's gotten in his thatch of hair as well. You comb your fingers through it, knowing he likes it, gently pulling it up to watch him squirm. "Little bitch," he grunts, his voice playful despite the uncomfortable sting you gave him.

UGGGH He's so mean and horny and affected 😫😫😫 I need them to keep sneaking around and being so right nasty with each other foreverrrr 🥹🥹

In conclusion, this was sooooo good babe! Thank you so much for writing this gem 😘- Imma be like this for the rest of the day:

The Wedding Crasher

Lucien de Leon x f!reader | WC: 2.6K

Summary: crashing your ex's wedding reception lands you in hot water with his dad Lucien..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. TW: dub-con due to reader being tipsy. Reader is a toxic, slutty, hot mess. Mentions of drinking alcohol. Age gap (reader is 20-30, Lucien is in his 40s). One bed trope. Infidelity. Secret Relationship. Fingering. Degradation. Daddy kink. Ball worship. Oral (m receiving). Pube pulling. Anal play/analingus/references to past anal sex. Spitting. Unprotected piv. Facial. Reader wears makeup and a dress and has hair long enough to put in a ponytail.. y'know.. for BJ reasons.

A/N: may I introduce my submssion for @mushgloomz PPCU Smut Writing Challenge ✨Kia assigned me this prompt and lemme tell y'all, I got EXCITED. I haven't written for our guy yet and I know nothing about him because I haven't seen the movie yet, but I was happy to explore some darker elements because that's just where my mind's been lately. The smut would. Not. Stop. And so I let it continue 😅 Enjoy!

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

Lucien's grip around your arm is tight as he leads you down the corridor. He's been quiet since you left the elevator, ignoring your tears and your pleas that you'll just go home quietly and everyone can forget all the fuss you've made.

And what a fuss you made.

You found out where your ex-boyfriend's wedding reception was being held and made it Priority Number One to crash it. All decked out in your sluttiest little dress that showed off all your curves and left little to the imagination, you maxed out your credit card to get a room at the hotel venue. After downing some liquid courage you marched down to the reception and confronted him and his bride as they sat at their grand table, feasting and drinking champagne, as if he'd never broken your heart and chosen some "good girl" over you.

Grabbing a glass of bubbly, you loudly tapped it with a fork and made your announcement. Both bride and groom's family looked at you in horror. They'd heard the stories of your toxic relationship, the things you'd done to keep him from leaving you. But it appears not even a restraining order could keep you away. Tears overflowing and ruining your makeup, you call him out on his general shittiness. He left you high and dry, broke up with you over text and the next thing you knew he was getting engaged with this stupid prissy girl on a beach in Mexico.

You were in the middle of your speech when someone pulled you away. Assuming it was security, you were fully prepared to spend the night in jail if you had to. You did what you came here to do.

But when you got outside to the hallway you saw it was just your ex's dad Lucien, his handsome face set in a grim countenance as he dragged you away from the party. "Come on," he'd growled, "gotta make sure you stay put."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he mutters, finally bringing you back to your room. The AC has been left on and it's freezing, your nipples already hardening under your dress. Lucien pretends not to take notice as he sits you down on the single queen-sized bed and hands you a bottled water from the minibar. "Don't worry, I'll cover the cost," he says, and notices you've already plundered it. Emptied mini bottles of Crown Royal are all over the dresser. "Jesus, sweetheart, you're a fucking mess. I'm gonna have to stay here and make sure you're okay."

You lean back on the bed and cry, your hands over your face. "He said he loved me! He broke every single promise to me! He'll never be happy with that stupid little bitch!"

"Come on," he soothes, sitting next to you, propped up on one arm. "What do you expect? He's young and dumb. Every guy his age is." His fingers delicately trace over your exposed thigh, your short dress riding up. "Isn't that why you kept coming to me?"

A shock goes through you at his touch, zinging straight to your cunt, growing wet just by him being here. "It was a mistake," you tell him, still unable to face him.

"Maybe the first time was, but every other time after that?" he teases. "When he wouldn't come home after you fought, who did you call when you were lonely and scared? Who came right to your aid and gave you tissues to dry your tears, a shoulder to cry on, and a nice big cock to make you feel better?"

"Lucien!" you moan in frustration.

"Nuh-uh, let me finish. Who snuck into my room when I took us all on vacation to Aspen, and my son was too tired to fuck you? You were lucky my wife was in the shower that long. What if she'd come out and seen you face down and ass up, taking my cock like the little slut you are?" Despite his words, there's no sting behind them. You're well aware of your nature and your strong desire to be fucked.

"Stop," you whine, but you're bringing his hand to your dripping pussy, shoving your thong to the side, eager and desperate for a release.

"That's why Alejandro broke up with you. Not because of the way you dress, or how you want to take a swing at everyone when you get a little bit of whiskey in you, but because you're a slut for his old man."

He grabs you, moving you how he wants you on the bed, your legs splayed obscenely. The black thong with tiny hot pink bows on the waistband does little to cover your dripping slit, folds already puffy. Lucien watches as you clench around nothing.

"Jesus, mija, you really need it bad, don't you? Now tell me honestly: did you really come here to win back my son, or did you want to show off in the hopes that I'd fuck you again?"

With his thick fingers he gently moves the string of your thong out of the way and runs his knuckle along your gash, bringing it to his mouth for a taste. "That's why he broke it off with you, baby. He found out about us. You left one of these little lacy fucking things in my car and he threatened to beat the hell out of me. Can you imagine? I love my son but he's a skinny little prick."

He swiftly inserts two fingers, watching the shock on your face quickly turn to bliss, your eyes closed, lips parted as he starts pumping his hand.

"This is what you needed, huh mija? Need to be stuffed just to be happy.. now say that sweet little word that drives me fucking crazy.." he whispers, his smoky voice tinted with perversion.

"D-daddy," you stutter out, taking a deep gasp of air as he curls his fingers inside you.

"Daddy what? Come on, princesa, use your words.."

His rhythm is steady as he continues to glide his fingers in, dark eyes on yours as he patiently waits. That's one thing you hate about Lucien. He's never in a rush; he makes you come to him, crawling, begging, pussy weeping with pure need. And he fills that need every time.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," his rough, baritone voice beckons to you, daring you and mocking you all at once.

"I wanna come," you confess. tears streaming down your face as if you're confessing to a crime.

"Oh yeah? Wanna come real bad, don't you? Haven't been stuffed in awhile. I can tell. So fucking tight." As a reward for your honesty his thumb swipes over your clit and he smirks as your hips raise up, tight cunny constricting around him. He leans in, wide body over you, crowding you in every sense of the word, his lips ghosting over yours. "Tell me again, but this time say it properly."

Your throat feels hot and tight as you try to swallow. Your mind is still a little fuzzy both from the alcohol and from the way Lucien's fingers are pistoning into you. "Daddy," you tell him in your sweetest voice. "Daddy, please make me come."

"That's more like it," he says with pride in his voice, giving you a few more gentle flicks of his thumb on your clit. "You think you've earned the right to come after the stunt you pulled tonight? Showing up where you're not wanted?" His touch grows rougher, insistent, fingers plunging deep inside.

"No.. I don't know! Just please!" you beg him, helpless against his tough love.

"Maybe I'll consider it if you get on your knees and stuff that little puta mouth with my cock."

Desperate, you slide to the floor, the hotel room carpet not the kindest on your knees as you settle down before Lucien. He's already undoing his pants, his dress shirt and jacket still on, including the boutonnier still pinned to it.

You're dirty, disgusting, filthy for wanting him more than you ever wanted Alejandro. When Lucien's cock springs free from his briefs you're already droooling. He brings your hair to a makeshift ponytail as you lick up the bead of precum from his slit, teasing the tiny hole with your tongue.

"Fuck, you little tease. C'mon, that's not how a real puta does it," he goads you. Eyes on him, you spit on it, letting the thick saliva run down before you wrap your fingers around him and stroke him, determination in your veins as you tug on his cock, lifting it to get to his balls. You curl your tongue around the smooth shape of them, popping one between your lips and gently sucking, feeling validated in Lucien's grunts and groans.

"Getting me all sticky," he comments, pulling you back by your hair as he sees your sparkly lip gloss on his balls and the base of his cock. It's your way of marking him, of letting his wife know you were there. As if she'd care. She's only with him for the money and you're only seeing him for his dick.

"Lick all this off, baby," he commands. "Make me sticky with something else."

You lick the cherry lip gloss off, smiling to see some of it's gotten in his thatch of hair as well. You comb your fingers through it, knowing he likes it, gently pulling it up to watch him squirm. "Little bitch," he grunts, his voice playful despite the uncomfortable sting you gave him.

Your tongue glides across him, pulling the foreskin down further, getting yourself ready to take him. You're an old pro at this, and no one's ever taken him as deeply as you do. Working past your gag reflex you slide him into your mouth, generating as much saliva as you can, taking him out and stroking him when it's too much, only to get him down your throat again, breathing through your nose as he presses your head down, attempting to keep you there gagging on his cock.

"Perfect little hole for me," Lucien mutters. "But I don't want to come down your throat this time. Get those panties off."

Obediently you pull the soggy material down your legs, twisted up, and kick them off. Lucien moves you onto the bed, your dress hiked up, showing off your fresh wax job. "C'mon, baby, ass to the edge. You know the drill."

As soon as you're settled he shoves his middle and ring fingers inside you, turned down so his thumb can play with the puckered ring of your ass. Lucien spits on it, gently easing his thumb inside while his other fingers slowly piston in and out of your sopping pussy.

"Daddy!" you cry out, clenching in both places, so wet that it's dripping down to alleviate his entry into your ass. And his fingers are so thick that it's both a pleasure and a pain to take them.

"Why are you weeping like you're a virgin?" he tuts. "Don't act like no one's ever come through here and played before. Remember Puerto Vallarta? And how you let me fuck this tight little ass right there on the beach? You weren't crying then. In fact you loved it. You even called me Daddy back then."

He leans down and tickles your asshole with his tongue, spreading you open with his free hand, chuckling darkly when you squirm and shake before him. He spits on it some more, delving in a bit deeper with his thumb, watching you with a predatory look.

"You going to apologize for crashing my son's wedding?"

"No," you gasp out, brows drawn together in a vision of ecstasy.

"Thought not." He removes his hand and teases your puffy cunt with his cockhead until you're begging him to put it inside. When he does he only feeds it into you inch by agonizing inch, retracting when you ask for more. He loves the control he has over you, the way you, like a perfect doll, will do whatever he says, and even when you fuss about it you'll give in because you both know no one can fuck you like he does.

"Please, daddy," you groan, desperate in your own skin, feeling like you're drowning without having him inside you, stretched and filled, more than anyone else ever has done to you. Lucien loves to toy with you and you let him because he does it so well. "Not yet, mija," he purrs. "Open wide for me. Come on."

Like a good girl you open your mouth, tongue hanging out to receive the glob of his saliva as it strings between his lips, and your tongue curls around it, housing it for a moment before you swallow. Alejandro would never spit in your mouth; Lucien insists upon it.

You almost choke when he slams into you, his hands supporting the backs of your thighs as he spreads you out around his hips, finally using slow, shallow strokes, barely moving inside of you, watching your face for when he hits that sweet spot deep inside. You're angled just so that his tip brushes against it, and when you clench down on him, your girl juice dribbling out onto him, he knows he's there.

He starts a steady rhythm, eyes on you as you pull down the top of your dress, fondling your tits, bringing a nipple up to your mouth to lick it into a perfect pebbled hardness. Lucien's eyes go dark as he watches you, continuing his unchanging motion.

"So fucking tight," he groans. "How does a puta like you stay so tight, honey?"

You don't give him the satisfaction of telling him his dick is just that big. He knows it. You've gushed over it, literally and figuratively, dozens of times before.

Now is no different, the lewd, sloppy squelching of your pussy as he brings your knees over his shoulders, folding you in half like a fucking pretzel. You haven't come yet and he's in his element, edging you, holding off when he feels you start to tighten, hips bucking beneath him. He could fuck you like this for hours, bringing you so close and keeping you just hanging on to the brink.

"Lucien," you mumble his name over and over, like a prayer that will snap you out of the haze of need you're trapped in. "Please, pleasepleasepleaseplease.."

"Fuck," he hisses. "All right, come on my cock you little whore. Milk me good, baby."

Your pussy pulsates around him, choking his dick like it owes him rent. "Daddy!" you gasp out one more time, nearly blacking out at the sweet release he's finally giving you.

"Hey, hey, eyes on me," he commands, twitching inside you. "C'mon, tell me where you want it."

"Wherever.. ah! wherever you want," you respond, going through the aftershocks as Lucien absorbs the quivers and convulsions. With no hesitation he pulls out of you and straddles you, hurriedly stroking himself until he comes, spilling over your face, the saltiness of his cum finding its way into your mouth when you gasp.

"All that pretty makeup ruined. Probably paid good money for that lash lift," he smirks as he tucks softening cock back into his trousers. With a sick kind of pride he surveys your wrecked form, face covered in his jizz, dress fitting snugly around your midsection, tits and pussy on full display. He admires the glistening between your thighs, your sweet and musky scent still in his nostrils.

"Damn, maybe you should've been the one to marry my son after all," he says thoughtfully, giving your thigh a good smack. "I would have loved having you as a daughter-in-law."

(Spanish terms: mija = daughter ; princesa = princess ; puta = whore)

tagging some peeps I think might be interested: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @tateypots @sunshinehaze1 @cxrsed-angel @everybodylovedcontractors

@thedilfdiaries @milla-frenchy @joelalorian @604to647

@slimybeth69 @aurorawritestoescape @inept-the-magnificent

[zazima]

the sirius&harry tag on ao3 ain't hitting like it used to can someone drop a banger pls

[jichanxo]

date outfit kitakata save me......... save me....

[theflyingfeeling]

#like the cute olli/allu one i imagined last night while listening to a raging storm outside 🥺

hiii, would you mind sharing this? 🥺💕 i love your ollli/allu headcanons and ship thoughts 👉👈💕

thanks for asking!! 🥰

I was just thinking of an AU in which everything is the same except Olli and Allu live in the same city (i.e. Helsinki), and they often hang out at Aleksi's studio to make music together (or to just talk <3). One evening when they have scheduled another hangout, the weather is absolutely horrifying with pouring rain and raging wind, so Aleksi assumes Olli's gonna cancel (he doesn't have a car and religiously prefers his bike over public transportation), but then Olli shows up at his door completely drenched, yet a smile on his face because he's so happy to see Allu and to finally be there after his journey (he couldn't ride his bike properly because he could barely move forward upwind). Aleksi then has to lend him some dry clothes and wrap him up in a blanket and give him something warm to drink, and as Olli is sitting on his studio couch sipping on some tea his cheeks an adorable shade of pink, Aleksi has a ✨ realisation ✨ ...🥺

(were Olli's cheeks pink because of the strenuous exercise, or because of the fact that he was so completely soaked that he had to borrow everything from Aleksi, including underwear...? 😳)

I had another idea related to the same/similar AU today, this time about the two of them just practically spending every evening together at Aleksi's studio and growing closer day by day, also physically. One time they almost kiss but they snap out of it, the next day they kiss a little but they still laugh it off and Olli makes his exit sort of hastily, the next day they kiss a little bit more (by then they're maybe looking forward to the prospect of kissing rather than making music), until idk how many days in they start making out practically at the door already. Also included in this scenario is Olli ending up stradling Aleksi on his studio chair as they take a break to snog the heck out of each other (cue some "accidental" boners 😌)

[souenkun]

I changed the plot of my aokabu fic not even halfway into my first attempt, and I'm still mourning the fact that I couldn't include these two paragraphs in the new fic 🥲

Read my published aokabu fic here.

[jubshead]

I want to write, but I don't, bc I feel like it's not gonna be good enough, even though I know that I will only be good at it if I write

[finemealcreates]

If you asked Estelle, she would tell you she has no idea how it started. It was a lie, of course, she was the first worker who had encountered the ghost after all.

She had been going through her closing cleaning duties, listening to an audiobook on her headphones to help the time pass faster. A sudden chill had entered the room, causing her to shiver.

When she looked up, she spotted a boy there.

Confusion had filled her. Why was there a boy in this room? They've been closed for almost an hour, maybe someone missed him when doing a sweep to make sure all the guests had left?

She opened her mouth to say something, before she stopped.

The boy ... he was floating. He's laying down, almost touching the floor, but not quite. He's ... hovering.

Wait, she recognizes this boy. White hair? Black and white suit with a "D" on it? Isn't this that ghost boy ... Phantom the newspapers had talked about?

She had heard a mix of good and bad of the kid, but she had never encountered him before. Should she encounter him now?

Before she can decide to do anything, he looks up at her. He offers a small smile, it looking almost like a wince.

"Sorry," he says, "didn't mean to bother anyone."

"It's no bother," Estelle responds automatically, her customer service brain acting instinctually for her. "Just uhh ... do you mind hovering over there for a second? I haven't quite swept there yet."

Phantom nods, offering a smile as he floats over to the section she had already swept.

Wordlessly, Estelle moves and keeps sweeping, mind running faster than she can even process. She'll have to backup the book, she has no idea what's been happening and has apparently missed a crucial part.

Yet she can't even think about her book right now. What the hell is happening? Why is the ghost boy here? And he wasn't even doing anything bad! He was more polite than most of the guests Estelle had encountered today. And he's not causing any actual fuss. As long as her manager doesn't find out it should be fine?

"Alright, all done," Estelle eventually states, offering Phantom a smile.

He smiles back at her, going back to his original spot.

"Thanks," he says kindly to her.

"No problem. As long as you don't cause any messes or trouble for me to have to deal with, I don't mind," Estelle tells him. And she realizes that she means it. She doesn't get paid enough to make these decisions, so she won't.

His smile widens at her, and he extends a hand.

"Phantom," he introduces.

She takes his hand, resisting the urge to shiver at how cold his hand is.

"Estelle," she says back.

Phantom's smile widens to an impossible size.

"Nice to meet you Estelle."

+

Of course, none of her coworkers believe her. They all say she's crazy, that she made it up, and maybe she should catch up on rest.

She huffed, but she knew what she saw. They would meet Phantom or they wouldn't, but best not to push it.

However, she wouldn't have to. When she comes back after a couple days off, a bunch of her coworkers come up to her pressing her for details about Phantom.

"I thought you didn't believe me," Estelle snarks at them, putting her items away in her locker.

"That was until Danica and Astra also saw him!" Alex tells her, practically vibrating in place.

"He came back?" Estelle asks thoughtfully.

"Apparently! He was really nice, didn't cause any trouble. He's honestly a better guest than anyone else we get."

Estelle smiles at them as they head out onto the floor, heading towards their sections to begin their shifts.

"Welp, you should've believed me when I was talking about him originally," Estelle taunts with a slight smirk. "Told you guys I wasn't lying!"

+

And that's how it begun. Phantom didn't come every night, but he came most nights. He was nice, would chat with them to help pass time. Hell, even Estelle's managers loved Phantom.

Sometimes Phantom would even help them out, even if he technically wasn't supposed to. No one knew if free labor counted for ghosts too, but Phantom would insist he was volunteering ergo it was fine for him to help.

Estelle and the rest also learned pretty quickly that Phantom loved to talk about space. Everything and anything space. He would talk to them about the latest discovering from NASA, explain in detail the different mythological stories about certain constellations, or even listen to them prattle on about space.

Point is, Phantom had slid his way into their lives.

More and more people began to want to work the evening shifts just to get a chance to talk to Phantom. Luckily, those with the evening shifts don't have to drastically change their schedules. Once or twice there'll be a day or two of a morning worker working in the evening, but it's mainly the same. Helps closing go faster, that way. Plus, if too many people find out about Phantom it could be dangerous.

Estelle had talked to Phantom once about why visits the planetarium so much.

"The obvious answer is I love space," Phantom teased. "But the other answer is so that I can relax. Being a ghost isn't always the safest thing to be in Amity, ya know?"

Estelle didn't know. But she made sure to spread the word to everyone about any potential threat to Phantom. Telling them what he admitted to her.

Perhaps that's why they were so prepared when one day, after closing, the doors were smashed open.

Heads turned as a strangely dressed couple with weird machines came strutting in.

"Where is Phantom? We know he's here! Our Fenton-tracker told us a ghost is here!" the man shouted out, brandishing a ... was that a bazooka?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Estelle spoke first, crossing her arms as she glared at them.

Of course, it was a lie. She had just been talking to Phantom not ten minutes ago, and she's almost positive he's still here.

"He must be hiding, we have to find him and capture him for everyone's safety!" the woman insisted, beginning to move forward determinedly.

Estelle blocked their path, doing her best to portray calm and sternness as she raised an eyebrow.

"If he's as dangerous as you say, wouldn't he already be causing destruction by now?" Estelle questioned.

"Yeah, we would have heard it if he was here to cause trouble," Alex pipes up, pretending to lean on her mop casually.

Estelle saw the action for what it was. Alex was prepared to hit them over the head with her mop. Estelle grabbed her own arms, wishing her broom wasn't out of reach. If anything, she'll punch them if she has to.

"If he's hiding you wouldn't see him," the woman argues.

"Yeah, but wouldn't there be cold spots or something?" Estelle retorts, rolling her eyes. "Lady we've been cleaning for over an hour. Been in every room in this place. There hasn't been any cold spots. Your machine must be malfunctioning."

The woman frowns, looking down at the machine. The man looks over her shoulder, also frowning.

"I could have sworn we calibrated it all correctly yesterday," the man comments, grabbing the machine out of the woman's hand.

He gives it a couple of shakes, pounding on it's side. In doing so, he accidentally breaks the thing.

"This girl must be right! If it was finished it wouldn't have fallen apart like that," the man says, oblivious to the fact that he was why it broke.

With a sigh, the woman looks away from the man and to Estelle.

"Feel free to send the bill to Fentonworks for the door, sorry for the inconvenience."

And with that, they're gone. Out of the planetarium as quickly as they had arrived.

Estelle shook her head, turning towards Alex, mouth open.

An oof escapes her as arms wrap around her.

"Thank you," Phantom whispers in her ear, squeezing her tight.

She smiles as she wraps her arms around him.

"Of course. You're our friend," Estelle tells him as she squeezes him back.

"I'm going to call Morgan and tell her what happened, perhaps we can get those two permanently banned from here," Alex says, already raising the phone to their ear.

Phantom shakes slightly in her arms, and Estelle realizes she can hear him crying slightly.

She squeezes him even tighter, rubbing his back and cradling his head with her hand.

"We're not gonna let anyone hurt you, Phantom. If you ever need help, you can come to us."

Phantom doesn't say anything, but she can feel him relax slightly in her arms.

Estelle meets Alex's eyes.

Just what the hell have those two done to him?

Guys, I need “people working at the planetarium having a good bond with Phantom because he goes there so often”! It’s mostly the people on night watch who get to see him. He goes to the planetarium for some peace and quiet, he usually just lays on the floor as if it’s the first break he’s had all day. Sometimes he talks with the staff, but it’s mostly him just casually haunting the place.

They eventually figure out that space is his obsession, and since he’s very polite and they don’t know just how important it is for a ghost’s health to indulge in their obsession, they have no problems with him being there. No one says a thing to any ghost hunters. Once, the Fentons came suspecting Phantom was there. They were right, but the workers teamed up to convince them it was a malfunction in their inventions.

Once they were gone, Phantom turned to the nearest one like they just saved him from death and hugged them. They were not released for a solid ten minutes.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

(Disclaimer: this is not the normal kind of thing I post, there's nothing bad with it but its a little more personal? I've been exploring art forms and kind of really enjoy creative nonfiction and I kind of wanted to write and Tumblr was looking at me funny so here I am.)

My Experience with fandom

So... I feel like one of those youtubers who don't consistently post and always comes back after a few months to say something silly like, "So... I'm back" to only disappear for months after posting maybe a handful of videos after saying they won't leave.

I've once again been busy with college, and I've had the urge to write. But what I want to write is unknown. I haven't had much time to get into any hyper fixations (as well as there isn't anything that interests me). I've been working on myself (a lot) this past year and so much has changed.

For one, I no longer use fandom as a crutch. I haven't for a long time, and I think I've kind of shifted out of the era where escapism was charming, for me at least. Yes, I still partake in thinks that fall into the category of escapism but not nearly as bad as I did when I was younger. Apart of me misses spending hours upon hours a day writing on my computer, talking to others and reading fanfic after fanfic. But now, I'm more content with the way I am now.

I also, now at twenty, can recognize that some, if not most, of my behavior on Tumblr was always seeking attention rather than seeking fulfillment with the things I wrote. This is one of the many reasons why I believe I've never finished a piece I've been super into. I enjoy writing, and for the most part I was and still am proud of most of the work I've written. But I do have to admit, around seventy percent of what I was doing was based on numbers. The digits that told me how many reads I got on a piece. How many comments. How many subscriptions. Whether it be from Wattpad or ao3 I found myself constantly checking. It got so bad that at one point I would spend more time checking the numbers then actually writing. Though it wasn't just these numbers that influenced me, it was also word count.

All the more popular pieces of work I read typically had long chapters. Ranging from 5k words to sometimes even 20k. Because this was the form of writing I enjoyed reading the most I put the pressure of writing that much in every chapter I produced. And well. I would get burnt out pretty quickly. I would end up writing 10k a chapter and felt like I never got anywhere.

If I could go back in time, I think I would really try to seek more fulfillment with what I wrote. There isn't necessarily anything wrong with wanting attention or recognition when it comes to your pieces of art. But when that desire mixed itself into the writing process, I personally believe that will become an issue. I'm sure there are acceptations to this but for myself it does cause problems.

I began writing and reading on the internet when I was ten or eleven. I was introduced to Wattpad by a very chronically online individual. The first piece of content that I ever saw was a five nights at Freddie's smut. (And it wasn't by choice.) Shortly after I would dive into the internet. Starting with Darly Dixon fanfics. Then Justin Bieber. Then One Direction. And what could possibly be my last and most recent Stranger Things. When I started this journey, I was a nervous and insecure preteen girl. Now, I am guy who happens to be an adult. And somehow I now have a girlfriend? Despite being convinced that I was gay?

As I write this I enjoy the words that are filling up the white space on my screen. I know deep down that I don't really give a shit if anybody sees this or not. I, for once, wrote this piece for me and me alone. If anybody happens to read this, great. I hope you've had a nice day. If you're someone who relates to what I'm saying then I have one think to ask from you. Look around you. Or go somewhere that you feel comfortable, and look real hard. Try to name and place things around you that are important to you. Feel them. Take a deep breathe in and out. And once you feel comfortable come back to the screen. And let your thoughts unravel on a blank piece of document. Or if you don't want a screen write on paper.

Trust me when I say that this will help. If you give it time. It may not work for everyone, but if you are open to it, it may help with whatever problem you have. Anxiety, writing block, or pretty much anything if you're determined enough. If you don't have the energy to do any of the things I said, that's fine. Try doing something that you do have the energy to do. And do it for yourself. Not for anybody else.

Heres an adorable cat for your feed

[cynicalmusings]

i actually NEED to write for boothill and empath!reader again (was rereading some of the snippets and… not gonna lie the vibes are kind of on point with some of them) but i don’t know WHAT to write and it’s really, really frustrating