#since i’m posting fanfics on tumblr

[catiecat1320]

Alone

This is a continuation of Gone. (It was supposed to be a one-shot, but my brain decided to make this up in the middle of the night. There’s one part left.)

…………………

Atop Temple Mountain, there is a hollow. A hollow created by Eggman in his mad grab for the Paradox Prism. It was in that hollow that everything had started; the prism had been broken and the Shatterverse had been created from its remains.

It was in that hollow that Sonic had destroyed everything, everyone he'd ever cared for.

Sonic was there now, perched near the entrance, staring at the only remaining shard of the prism and remembering the many things had happened in this cavern.

It seemed like only yesterday when Shadow had led him here and a fight had broken out between the two of them. It seemed like only yesterday that Shadow had been okay. 

Why did things keep getting worse?

It was now that Sonic finally understood what Shadow had meant that day. Because everything Sonic had ever known had been snatched away. Because Shadow was gone now, the only thing left of him a mirage. And, spread out through the shatterspaces, three alternate, distorted versions of him.

Those versions weren’t real. They weren’t real like Shadow was— had been. They didn’t act like Shadow, they didn’t fight like Shadow. They didn’t know Green Hill like Shadow did, and they didn’t want to bring it back. 

Sonic wants Shadow back. He wants all of his friends, his real friends, back. He wants his home back, his life back.

Tears rolled down his face, dripping onto his lap. When had he started crying again? As Sonic wiped at his eyes in a futile attempt to stem his tears, the voices in his head stirred. 

 Stop crying, idiot.

 You should be fixing this mess.

(They sounded sharp; accusing.)

You should have listened to them. Tails. Amy. Knuckles. Rouge. Shadow.

 Nothing would have happened if they’d been in charge.

 This is all your fault.

(They… they sounded like his friends.)

 You took them us all for granted.

 You destroyed everything.

 Yet you call yourself a hero?

 Disaster.

 Disgrace.

 Failure.

  You

 Deserve 

 To

 Be

 Alone

 Alone.

“N-no,” Sonic whispered, his voice trembling. He clamped his hands over his ears and curled up tight. “S-stop. Please. I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” 

Tears streamed down his cheeks. He made no attempt to stop them now. He felt like he was suffocating; unable to breathe, or think. The shadowy cave seemed to press in on him. Everything seemed to fall away.

The voices grew louder, more persistent, filled with animosity and blame.

I know, Sonic wanted to scream.

I know it’s my fault. 

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did.

But sorry isn’t enough, is it?

I wish I could take it all back.

I wish I’d never known you.

Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Then maybe things would be okay.

Then maybe you’d still be here.

And I would be the one to suffer.

I’m sorry.

So sorry.

…………………

Sonic had no idea how long he sat there for, panic rendering him immobile. He’d eventually cried himself to sleep, his friends’ hate-filled voices still ringing in his head. 

When he came to, Sonic felt… better, for lack of another term. The voices had receded, reduced to whispers that tugged at the back of his mind, urging him to hurry up and go. 

He felt numb, both inside and out, as he stood up and stretched. 

Sonic took one more glance at ghost prism, along with the yellow shard, before jumping out the mouth of the cavern. As he zipped down the side of the cliff, straining to build up prism energy, he whispered a promise to nothing and everything.

“I’ll fix my mistakes. I’ll bring this reality back. No matter what it takes.”

[theoryofwhatnow]

like minds shitpost (20/24)

[strawberrywinter4]

Honestly, I could imagine John taking up boxing.

Just like… think about it. Him only wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts (or maybe sweatpants).

I feel it would be an impulsive decision, you know? He just decides to wake up early one morning and head to the gym, feeling a burst of adrenaline that he just has to unwind.

And I feel like once he starts, he’d begin to enjoy the exercise. It would allow him to release any tension building up in his shoulders or maybe a lingering thought that annoys him to no end.

And most importantly, he’d like the feeling after he’s done continuously punching the bag, feeling fresh and his thought process being replaced with a new mindset.

Sherlock would notice after a little while, seeing how his muscles are a tad more defined or how his grip has increased whenever he cups Sherlock behind the neck to place a kiss to his lips.

Sherlock would also begin to notice how John’s step has a little more power, a little more of a stride than a walk. Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated John’s obvious confidence before and he fell in love with the soldier’s assurance, but now he seems more happy with himself.

John allowing himself to clear his head in the morning with a healthy workout has made him feel better, Sherlock can tell.

Of course John wouldn’t have every day to do his boxing exercises and some days he’s content on taking a full day of relaxation, which Sherlock adores. John decides when he wishes to put his body to work and when to give it rest, not rushing any specific process. Sherlock is glad to see John simply taking the reigns of his mentality, assertive of what he wants when and where.

It’s quite hot, Sherlock thinks.

John is a holder, enjoys touching Sherlock any way he can to show affection (mostly in the comfort of their flat), which Sherlock has learned to become obsessed with.

A hand on Sherlock’s lower back when leading him through a crime scene, a grip to the chin to press their lips together when John’s about to leave for the surgery, or a simple cuddle session on the sofa, John’s arms wrapped around the detective as he absently watches the television.

And Sherlock doesn’t miss the stronger holds, the tighter squeezes. He sucks in a shaky breath, his cheeks flushing at the slight change. He wouldn’t say anything, only appreciate John’s new routine.

Sherlock loves John’s body in every way. He has a bit of a stomach that he can snuggle into and specific birth marks that he’s memorized. Sherlock will love John no matter the circumstance and just seeing John happier with his exercise decision makes him happier.

[kybee1497]

even in my worst lies (you saw the truth in me) by kybee1497

Good, you’re listening, Caleb thought smugly. Pay attention, Nicholas. This is important.

Nick blinked, nodding his head in acknowledgement even if it wasn’t necessary. Caleb had heard it as soon as the thought had appeared, he heard everything. But Caleb didn’t tolerate rudeness. Just because he could hear every thought as they were formed didn’t mean Nick was allowed to slack on the niceties. Manners were what separated people from animals and Nick may be a largely useless tool but he wasn’t an animal, there were rules to follow.

I’m afraid our time has come to an end, Caleb interrupted. You’ve been a subpar host at best but a host nonetheless and it is considered rude to slip out the door without so much as a farewell. So goodbye Nicholas, do try to be less of a failure in the future.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@a-tomb-with-a-view @williexmercer @itsthebooks @thegirlfulloffandoms @afoldintime @angelofarts @jatpfs @julieandthequeers @imastrugglingartist @curvesomesunsets @michelangelinden @caswellseyes

[cha1cedony]

Haven’t interacted with people outside of my office or family or music ensembles for like a month. Think I am going to go bonkers

[vietbluecoeur]

Happy belated International Lolita Day! 🖤🤎🎪✨

Coord breakdown below:

Alice and the Pirates x Sentimental Circus collab JSK I, "Little Red Riding Hood Behind the Tent" (beige/brown)

Infanta's "Rose Sanctuary" velvet bonnet (red)

Tiny Garden's half-sleeve cotton blouse (black)

Dawn & Morning Dew's floral beaded wristcuffs (black)

Thrifted offbrand/Dansko leather shoes (brown)

Offbrand UTK socks and jewelry

[awkwardtypeos]

Tempest - Heizou/Kazuha - Mature - 7k

The Archipelago gang visits Inazuma for essentially a three-day holiday weekend, and Kazuha gets flirted to within an inch of his life in a rather unconventional way.

[mage]

Are there two seperate eda/camila ones or one? Cause on the masterlist it says there's 5 parts of the meetcute but then I saw some other ones scrolling through your blog and found more and im not sure if they're connected or not

Hmmm for the fanart, all the Eda/Camila stuff is in the same continuity. The gen stuff are all one-offs and unrelated to anything.

I haven’t bothered to add links to the comics-for-the-fanfic-that-spawned-from-the-comic to the master-list… I should probably get on that once I figure out a way to organise it. Honestly, I just kinda posted it here and mentally filed it under secondary to AO3 so I totally just. Forgot that I should organise my art. Since it is all organised already on AO3 🙃

[starfruit-tart]

Magical Mirai 2022

Future Eve is genuinely one of my favorites from Sasakure.uk

I don’t trust Twitter to not harvest my art for AI use and I know y’all chased away any prospect of that.

Any (constructive) criticism would be really appreciated!! I’m trying to get better with overall composition and making my works more interesting to look at!

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[mobbothetrue]

mmm I’ve been in kind of a weird headspace lately about my writing and how I’m perceived

Gonna put this under a cut cause it’s mostly just me being introspective

like. I’m just Some Guy, yk? And my writing is good. I’m trying to get better at acknowledging that my writing is good, not that, I dunno, it’s all some cosmic fluke. I enjoy what I do. I’m good at it. I’m also just some guy. I’m trying to figure out how these pieces fit together

What’s the picture of me that people get from my words? Is it correct? I’m just me. My writing is just mine.

Recently I went back and counted every single comment I’ve ever gotten. Over eight hundred— eight hundred comments, across various sites, and even then, that number isn’t necessarily accurate. The closer number is around 56,000, which is a scarily large number to think about, especially when I cannot think of a single negative thing said to me. Weird things? Sure. But no one has ever called my writing bad. I’m good at it.

So why do I struggle with it? Reconciling me, the author, and me, the person. They’re both me. I’m not trying to be anyone else. I dunno.

[canthelpit0]

Enemies (with benefits)

Pairing: Cold!Chris x Reader

Word count : 1,489

Summary: Chris and reader have always been enemies ever since they’ve known each other. neither knew why they had this burning feeling in their gut. So one day they decide to fuck it out. Until, eventually doing it regularly

Warnings: smut, p0rn with plot, a LOT of plot, angst, name calling (bitch, slut, etc.), p in v, rough x, mentions of safe word (not used), rude/cold!Chris, degration, friend with benefits, awkward, (implied) RichKid!reader, no love (😔), unprotected, creampie, no after care, no use of y/n, no oc

(A/N: this is my first ever fanfic that I’ve posted on tumblr. So ya, I’m shitting bricks. Please give me feat back on my writing, and what I can improve. Also English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like it!! :D)

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 FINAL

Ever since I can remember, I’ve known the triplets. The sturniolo’s and my family were always really close. And ever since I can remember, I’ve hated Chris.

Now, enemies was a harsh word. A bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like we were at war for opposing countries. We were more like rivals. In every aspect.

Sometimes it felt like the only reason Chris studied for school, was to beat my grade. He wasn’t really stupid, but he was definitely not book smart.

The problem wasn’t that. We’ve always lived normally, simply hating and avoiding each other. After all he was my longtime nemesis.

Until that one fateful night where we’d been at my house. My parents have a big business so they’d frequently be on business trips. And it just so happened that that night my younger siblings were not home, both of them being at their separate sleepovers with friends.

We’d been paired for some project. And naive me thought, that it’d be fine. We could be civil for a few hours. But I thought wrong. The hatred was too strong and the tension was too thick in the air.

Seemingly everything I did made him agitated. And vise versa.

Until he finally snapped and we got into a full fledged argument, wich turned into a yelling match. However it all went quiet when he crashed his lips onto mine.

Breathing heavily I had kissed back, hard. It was easier to battle about with a kiss, rather than screaming. And like hell was I gonna be dominated by Christopher fucking sturniolo.

So the night progressed. He had me, my face buried in the sheets babbling out nonsense and screaming his name. But not in anger like I usually would.

It had been months since that happened, and it still haunted me. The idea that it even happened. That his lips had been on mine, his dick literally inside of me, that I was literally under him, disgusts me to my core. But it didn’t matter. It was one of many times.

Sometimes it was a quickie, sometimes an all nighter. Sometimes Chris was dominant other times he was not. Sometimes it was at my place other times at his.

And it wasn’t like those cliché stories of friends with benefits where one fell in love. This felt more like an urge. Like neither of us wanted to actually hook up but we were irking to. This was better than having a yelling match. And on the rare occasions I was dominant it felt great making him shut up and take it. It felt equivalent to winning an argument. The whole point was to teach a lesson, and express annoyance and anger without directly doing that.

“Chris-“ I let out a sharp cry, even the pillow that my face was buried in didn’t really make the scream sound quieter.

His hips keep drilling into my core hitting all the right spots to make me weak in the knees.

Sex with him, objectively, felt good. In the moment. He knew how to please a woman. But he also knew that he was pushing it right now.

“Don’t fucking tell me to slow down.” He snaps his tone, and words as harsh as his breathing. “You have a safe word. Use it if you need to. And other wise, shut, the fuck, up.”

I only let out a sharp whine when he seems to pick up pace even more. He’s made a mess of me. We’ve been at this for hours. Literally.

I’ve come more times than I can count and Chris wasn’t showing any sign of stoping anytime soon.

My back arches perfectly, but I’ve been in this position for too long for it to be comfortable. Him leaning over my back occasionally leaving harsh slaps on my ass while his other hand stayed firmly im my hair.

His hand being tangled in my hair as he was both pulling it, but also pressing me down into the pillow under me.

I feel the ache in my cunt subside again, as a knot starts to form. I’m close, again, and I don’t know if I can keep going after.

“Chris” I scream his name loudly panting and moaning. “I’m- close” I can barely form a sentence. His thrust are hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs every time.

“Oh ya?” He harshly slaps my ass causing me to moan loudly. “How much more you think this pussy can take?” He huffs his tone ever so cocky.

He always did this. He liked being dominant and absolutely wrecking me as much as he can. And he knows I’m close to breaking, and that’s what makes it worse. I just know he gets a wired satisfaction out of exerting me.. using me, like this.

His hand stays firmly in my hair tugging harder. His other hand trailing from my ass to my clit as he starts to rub on it harshly.

I clench instinctively, my whining and moaning getting even louder. “I’m gonna-“ a harsh slap on my clit catches me off guard.

Chris keeps going. “Fucking slut. You like getting destroyed like this?” he mocks, his tone condescending as his pace doesn’t let up.

“Go on bitch, cum on my cock. Come again.” He urges. And the rubbing of his fingers on my clit and the relentless torture to my cunt is threatening to push me over the edge.

“Can I come in that pussy again?” He asks his voice coming out strained and harsh from the pleasure.

“Yes-“ I’m cut off, again. As i am physically not able to speak with the pace he’s going at.

And the combined pressure of everything pushes me over the edge. Suddenly the knot in my stomach snaps and my body goes limp after loud moans. He goes for a few more thrusts before I feel the familiar hot liquid fill my cunt.

After a minute where we catch our breaths he slowly starts to massage my scalp knowing he’s been pulling on it for at least half an hour straight.

He pulls out not really gently, but not harshly either.

Hook ups with Chris always felt like one night stands, when they were really regular.

I let my body fall limp fully laying on my stomach as I sigh, content in my position, not attempting to move.

I can practically feel Chris watching me.

Normally I wouldn’t be this much of a mess. But than again normally we didn’t go for hours. Normally Chris used a condom. But today was not one of those days.

Sometimes chris had enough common sense to at least pretend to care.

But right now he was just staring.

“You okay?” He asks his tone gentler and more quiet than usual. He knew he was pushing it, but did he really care tho?

I shiver as I feel his hand start to rub over my back. Ever so gently pinching the skin to ease some tension.

“Ya”

My breath is short as I’m still calming down not doing or saying anything else.

After a while I turn around slightly, wincing as I lay on my back. My back hurt from the previous uncomfortable position I was in.

I opened my tired eyes, looking up at him, my eyes meeting his. I knew I probably looked like a wreck right now. My hair a mess because of all the moving and position changes as well as his pulling. My face having dried mascara and tear stains on it from when I’d been crying.

I was too tired to even hide my body. I just turned around not bothering to hide my chest as I did, I was too fucked out to care.

His lips pursed, looking over my face. But he wasn’t concerned. But rather disgusted at the sight. He was glad he made me look like shit, but I could see in his eyes that he would much rather be anywhere else right now.

After sex was the worst for us.

The arguments leading up to it were normal. The sex itself was great. But afterwards…

Usually he’d leave. But today he had gone far. He’s done worse before. But every time he did he felt like he should give me proper after care. But I can see the annoyance radiating off of him, and I just know he does not want to be here.

And as harsh as it sounds, he couldn’t really care less what state he left me in. He’s told me multiple times.

“You can leave.” I mumble sighing. My throat felt horse from all the screaming, crying and moaning, that I’d been doing. I’ll need to get a water soon.

He gives me a simple nod, quickly changing, then going to my bathroom to fix his appearance.

And than he leaves.

The room is quiet. Nothing to be heard, nothing to be said.

Masterlist

A/N: hope you liked it, this was literally my first time writing smut🫣 also I don’t have a taglist yet, so i just added my moots. Tell me if u wanna be added, or removed :D

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist : @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns

[orangsodiepop]

EDIT: hi guys… I originally was gonna draw more with this but the amount of attention this post gets vs my other more refined art kinda bums me out so I will no longer be engaging with comments or reposts/notes or making a part 2 etc!!! Hope u guys understand.. if u want to though feel free to do whatever with it (draw, write fanfic, etc.) if u like the headcanons!! Sorry :,3 but if u enjoyed this pls check out my other stuff!!!

I have tried muting notifications on this post but sadly it doesn’t seem to work. But thank you for the love and attention this has gotten!

HELLO TUMBLR!!! Since u guys liked my last tf2 related post I’m tossing y’all this that Twitter seemed to LOVE. Me & my friend @quinn-tessetial were like “what if WE just continued tge tf2 comics and renamed it tf3 lol” so here. Feast. Basically 83% of the ideas were hers, I’m just illustrating it lol. There will be a part 2 soon! I’ve just been so busy lately hehe. Anyways all of these are based more off of like. The canon lore more than they are personal headcanons (sorry soldier & demo shippers) (but congrats speeding bullet fans..?) but honestly take this as you will and headcanon whatever idc. This was made for fun. Do with this info what you will. Everyone say thank you Quinn for doing all the lore work

[p4ison1vy]

This may leave a sour taste in some peoples mouths but I’m saying it anyways

I keep seeing certain posts floating around talking about how it’s “disrespectful” and “degrading” for people to ask for a part 2 (or multiple parts) in fanfics or ask to be in a tag list….

Do y’all realize people ask this because they LOVE what you wrote?? People don’t ask this because they’re DEMANDING you to pump out more content (excluding people who are actually rude). For y’all to make this a problem NOW when people have been doing this since forever really irks my nerves. If you don’t want people asking for multiple parts or ask to be apart of a tag list, then state that on your account or state it in somewhere in the fanfic cause 90% of y’all literally state in y’all’s content:

“[insert what to do here] to be a part of the taglist!”

“leave your @ in the replies to be added to the taglist”

“like this post to be apart of the taglist”

“reblog this post to be added to the taglist”

(this including to be tagged in multiple parts as well)

And now y’all are complaining that people are asking…when y’all are the ones who have been encouraging it?????

I swear there’s always something y’all complain about every single fucking week. Is this even a community anymore? Like damn….

If someone for example asks “part 2?” or says “this was so good! are you making a part 2?”, that isn’t a sign for you to accuse them of degrading you…they’re simply asking you this question because they like your work and would like to see more.

And I’d like to state that I KNOW how it feels to create content when there’s a lot of personal issues or just a lot going on in your life. I used to write, make edits, and do digital art and it can be very overwhelming when you see multiple people ask for something all at once. I’m in college and I rarely have the time to do any of that anymore. But I ALSO know how to react when it comes to a situation like this. For example, I’d edit my post saying that I’m too busy with personal issues in my life or I’d reply to people in the comments telling them I can’t do what they’re asking of me. If someone one’s being rude (which that has happened to me many times before), they’d get blocked. It’s something that simple to do instead of making an entirely too huge of a deal to be making multiple posts about.

I WILL say this, if you are someone who rudely demands writers on here to pump out content for you, you can go fuck yourself because people have lives outside of tumblr or writing content.

But to say someone is “degrading” you or “demanding” you when they are asking a simple question and/or complimenting your content is shitty as fuck.

I will also like to state that I will always compliment a writer for their work (and anyone who reads ffs and wants more content from said writer should too!). It’s something to do out of generosity and it can keep a writer motivated.

I really wish that this community in whole could communicate more efficiently. I’ve seen so many amazing and talented writers deactivate because of the toxicity that’s circulates around this fandom…

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

there needs to be more lucy gray stuff on tumblr i swear 😭😭 it’s actually hurting me, im in love with her. anyways…could you write some fluff headcanons w lucy gray and a fem!reader pls? thx :)

I ❤️ Lucy Gray

Lucy Gray Baird x Fem! Reader (headcanons, fluff, romantic)

She is likely the type of person to not care if someone is a man or a woman. If she likes you, you're around her age, and you're kind, you might as well date

Before dating, she was very willing to drop hints. If there was a sign of interest you had in her, she took the opportunity

After dating, she is just as sweet as before, a bit toned down but still loving

Lucy Gray expects you to go to her shows, all of them if you can

Piggybacking off the last one, she'll write songs for and about you. They'll be ballads talking about your kindness and the things you give her

Roses are some of her favorite gifts, she loves the taste and they always smell good. Another good option is handmade gifts, letters, poems, hell, food is all she adores

If you give her poems, she is very willing to turn them into songs. But only sings them for you since they're special

She has sung to you and played the guitar for you. But in a cool way

She NEEDS to feel like she can trust you. She couldn't trust Billy Taupe and she couldn't trust anyone in the arena, so you still have time to prove to her that you're trustworthy

After the Games, violence was an absolute no in her life (it was a no before but it's absolute after everything). If you find a way to bring that brutality back into her life, she'll leave as quickly as she had come

If you get her gifts that are a bit expensive, she'll send you some goat cheese for free!

__

To all that have requested before this post was, I’m working on several longer fanfics and plan to release the headcanons first then the full fanfics when I finish them!!

Link to my tbosas masterlist

[dark-fics-4-you]

Sophie’s World

⋆ 18+ Only ⋆

All of my works contain dark themes, including dubcon, noncon (aka rape), abusive relationships, forced pregnancy, incest, and possibly more (each fanfic will have individual content warnings)

DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THE ABOVE THEMES

Recent Fics

After Hours Lesson - After class dinner, your professor, Coriolanus Snow, offers you a ride home

Faking It - Rafe gets pissed off after he realized you faked an orgasm

Love Plus One - After you get pregnant with your boyfriend of 3 years, you start to notice him becoming much more controlling of you

Silent Treatment - Your older step brother, Rafe, can’t stand being ignored by you

StepBro!Rafe takes Reader’s virginity (drabble)

How a Girlfriend is Supposed to Act - After Rafe catches you texting your friend and saying that you want to break up with him, Rafe decides to remind you of your place

Equal Exchange - After accepting help from a stranger on a back road in the dead of night, you realize Rafe Cameron expects you to pay him back, one way or another

Keeping the Peace - Your life is uprooted after a cocky peacekeeper takes notice of you and decides to stake his claim. Also features dark!Sejanus Plinth

Crocodile Tears - You and Coryo are academy students who were both selected to mentor tributes in the Hunger Games. Coryo becomes competitive and refuses to realize that his unreturned affections have begun to affect his performance. Frustrated by what he perceives to be you leading him on, Coryo delves deeper into his obsession and eventually gives in to the desires he tried so hard to deny.

CT Drabble - Coriolanus finds out Reader was a virgin

CT Drabble 2 - Coriolanus tells everyone that he saved Reader from her attacker

Just This Once - stepbro!Rafe is sick of you being the perfect child in Rose and Ward’s eyes, so he decides to make you a disappointment too

About Me

I go by Sophie! I’m 23 years old and I use she/her pronouns.

I have been writing fanfiction since I was 14 (yes there is an incredibly cursed blog full of kpop fanfic that I wrote in middle school still floating around on tumblr to this day). I first got into reading dark fanfics when I was 19 or 20 and I’ve been writing and posting my own dark fanfics for about 2 years.

Who I Write For

Sophie’s Masterlist

I mostly write for Rafe Cameron and Coriolanus Snow, but I have written for Loki and Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) in the past.

In addition to my Rafe Cameron fics, I have also featured Topper Thorton as a character in a smut. I have one Coriolanus Snow fic that features Sejanus Plinth, and I am planning on having Sej come back in future Coriolanus fics.

Requests

Requests are allowed and encouraged but I can give no guarantee that I will get around to writing all of them. I currently have over 100 messages in my inbox, so if I don't end up taking your request, it's nothing personal, I just have a lot of them :)

Here is a list of what I will not write about

Recs!!!!!

I reblog many fics written by other authors onto this blog but here are just a couple of my favorite authors on tumblr that I have to rec

@cherienymphe

@rvfecamerons

@perlelune

@blueicequeen19

@quin-ns

@proactivetypaperson

@spideyhexx