#calling all readers

[silverseasx]

Yo if I posted my draft of the first chapter of my book would you guys read it?-

[charlessainzz]

okay I have an idea for an angst fic coming up…. based on a song. let me know who it should be for!

[fangirlforthewin]

Where are the Haunting Adeline readers?

I finally caved and started reading, and I am 16 chapters in. I am confused by the male main character. Why is he fighting sex traffickers and is so upset by people hurting and abusing women and children and then is emulating the very behavior and stalking the female main character and breaking into her home and touching her without her consent. Like he’s doing to her what he hates other men doing?

Am I going to keep reading? Yes.

Does this bother me? A bit.

[emshryke]

If you give me a page number between 5 and 90, I will answer with a paragraph from the Independent Magician.

[smutfanfictiondoomscroller]

Hello I have an important announcement I made a Chazz character on PolyBuzz calling all Brendan Fraser lovers also let me know if you want me to add anything I’ve never made an ai Chatbot character before but there was no Chazz on here so I said fuck it and made my own

[aweinspiredcreations]

I love the worst of you…

If you were a rose,

I’d love your thorns too.

The worst…

The parts you struggle to love,

To me, the best of you.

~ In Awe ~

[gothghostiie]

price with reader who never got much attention as a kid/growing up??

very self indulgent but hear me out. price is a lover man. he takes his time for his partners, gives them what they need, even if he's busy. you on the other hand are simply used to being put aside, people only listening to you half heartedly, not looking at you and getting distracted when you talk, other things were always more important than you and you felt that. you got used to it, it's normal to you.

but when you're with price he's the total opposite. he looks at you intently when you talk (if not hes leaning his head towards you so he hears you better), putting things down when you ask him something - hes attentive. he listens. and its absolutely strange to you, it makes you feel flustered, kinda watched. at some point you ask him why hes looking at you like that, the tv running in the backround. he furrows his eyebrows at you, with a confused chuckle. "what do you mean, love?"

"you're starin' at me." you accuse him, your cheeks getting hot.

"you're talkin' to me. where else would I be looking?" he jokes with a soft chuckle, wondering what the hell you're on about.

"your show's on." you say, gesturing to the tv. he looks at you like youve got three heads.

"I'm listening to you, love."

[simply-ewok]

rolling over, half asleep, in the middle of the night and when you stretch your arm out you end up smacking ghost in the face, and you can’t help but fling yourself back with a loud gasp before realizing it’s just your man, who yet again, snuck inside and cozied up to you without stirring you (bc he hates waking up his baby) bc he was able to come home early and chose to surprise you. and after you relax and begin apologizing for hitting him you hear his low, growly chuckle as he sits up to pull you into his chest, kissing your forehead before mumbling into your sweet smelling hair “it’s all right lovie, di’n’t mean to scare you.”

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

In Ghost’s eyes, the first time you smiled up at him was the moment you became his and his alone.

So what if everyone apart from you knew it?

Didn’t make it any less of a fact, as far as he was concerned.

Still though, he wanted to learn more about just who his pretty little wife was, including anything that might make letting you know about your marriage a little easier. And so like the good soldier he is, he goes about it as though it were a reconnaissance mission.

He asks you how you take your coffees and teas, holding his breath as he watches you take the first sip of whichever drink he’s made you that day, pride swelling in his chest when you tell him it’s perfect, even better than when you make it.

The first time he’d done so, your eyes widened in surprise when he put his large, gloved hands over yours where they were wrapped around the mug, leaning forward and bringing the rim to his lips where he took a sip for himself, eyes locked with yours. You were unsure of what to think or say, but he apparently decided for you that this was okay, returning the warm drink to your mouth where he encouraged you to take another sip.

You figured that it was alright, he did make the tea for you after all, right?

You even laughed when he started only serving you in a mug with ‘Mrs.’ printed across the side, certain that it hadn’t been in any of the common room’s cupboards before.

He eyes the book peeking out of your bag one morning as you tuck it away, purchasing his own copy the very same day, curious to know what you like reading. You’re pleasantly surprised, if not a tad confused, when you find the next two books in the trilogy sat atop your desk soon after, a small note written in chicken scratch lain on top reads ‘To : Wife’. He’ll make a point of commenting on the novel if he sees you holding it, slipping in tid bits of information to impress you show he’s read it as well, likes the same things you like.

He’ll joke about how the food on the dining hall is always subpar, trying to casually find out what you like eating, subtly pulling out his phone and typing anything new into his notes app where he’s been keeping track of all your likes and dislikes. He just wants to get things right with you, be good for you, prove he can be the husband you need. You’re already perfect in his eyes, his sweet little soulmate who just doesn’t know it yet.

Though this was the first military base you’d ever worked on, you couldn’t recall anyone having ever warned you about the way Lieutenants apparently like to haze the new hires, never mind the fact that everyone else was apparently in on it.

No one bats an eye when you go to take the empty seat next to him in a briefing, and he wraps his strong arms around you to instead plop you down onto his muscular thighs, carrying on with the task at hand as though this is perfectly normal and professional. Even the Captain hardly glances at the interaction, so you figure it’s okay, some strange form of team bonding?

Not a soul comments on the way the Lieutenant insists on being the one to cut up your food and feed you bites during meals in the dining hall, pretending as though they don’t hear him telling you about how “my wife works hard enough, don’t need to be liftin’ a finger wit’ me around, love.”

They know to move out of the way if you’re approaching a closed door, knowing if the Lieutenant is anywhere near, he’ll be rushing to open the door for you before you can even attempt to do it yourself.

Even Soap has stopped complaining aloud and only rolls his eyes when Ghost drops anything and everything he’s doing- whether it’s spotting the Sergeant in the gym, being out on a morning run, hell even being in the middle of a shower- to send you a good morning text at six o clock on the dot. Every. Single. Morning.

No, you never exactly anticipated this sort of a running gag from a hardened military base, but you’re not exactly complaining either.

Not when you find your heart fluttering every time your fake work husband dotes on you like he really would marry you at the drop of a hat.

Besides, it’s all just playful, innocent fun, right?

Especially when everyone begins to apparently forget your name and instead refers to you only as Mrs Riley.

And when the Captain tells you that your requested time off for a honeymoon has been approved, something which you definitely don’t remember requesting, well that’s all just fun too, right?

[ghostwhippet]

Riley

Inspired by this wee lovely thing <3

You yell after your dog, Riley.

Simon is walking through the park in sweats when you do.

He might stop near a bench to check his laces and end up watching you for a while, living your normal life. Playing chase back and forth through the fallen leaves, feet and paws tossing up splashes of orange and yellow. Smiling. Laughing.

He might sink into it, sitting across the way pretending to scroll through his phone, black surgical mask on, black hood down.

For a minute outside of place and time, outside of his body and his fucked-up head, watching you might make him feel better about what he does. Some of it. Sometimes. If it helps someone be so light and alive somewhere.

He might start taking his jogs and walks through that park more often when he's in town. No reason, really. Nice trails. Big, quiet. Doesn't matter if it's a bit out of his way, he's got fuck all else to do.

Might pass by the field you were in more often than not, too. It makes for a good route, that's all. And really, if no one had been arsed to say anything to some fucking creep watching a woman for so long, the place could use more eyes on it.

...And maybe if he heard someone say his name like that again, like something warm belonged there in some other world, it wouldn't be the worst thing.

"Riley!" He hears over his shoulder. Almost jerks to a stop.

Your voice is bright. Exasperated, loving.

"Come here, baby," you add with a laugh.

He should check his laces again. Fucking joggers are always coming loose, he should really start double-knotting them.

Masterlist

[konigsblog]

König who has a high sex drive. (🌽 link)

As humiliating and humbling as it sounds, you're nothing but a fleshlight for König. He can't control how horny he becomes, especially in the morning, after a workout, and while drinking together. He becomes a giggling pervert who can't help but touch you all over, his hands reaching between your thighs to grope your tight cunt.

“Please, Maus, just one more round, that’s all I desire.”

He's obsessed with the gummy, sticky sensation of your walls wrapped tightly around the shaft of his meaty cock. He'll bend you over any surfaces he finds, whether that's the kitchen countertop, a desk, or the couch. He adores having control, but occasionally, he'll allow you to take control — well, he has to plead with you through whines and tears to ride him, stinking of booze and nicotine, too tired to take control, but too horny not to have sex or receive any stimulation. König is like a dog in heat. For König, the need is constant and perverse thoughts won't stop rushing through his mind until he's fulfilled and satisfied.

“Bitte- stop moving, please. Gottverdammt, you add fuel to my addiction, Liebling. How do you expect me to resist something so tempting? So addictive?”

König will use you for hours if that's what he feels like doing. He'll wipe the tears from your glassy eyes, thanking you between rounds by kissing your bare shoulder, sinking back inside before you can catch your breath. He'll whine about having to use protection, that it ruins the session he's having with his beloved angel.

König is uncontrollable when he's aroused and pent up, constantly trying to rip your clothing from your body, sometimes sobbing through drunkenness, desperation, and derangement.

[silverseasx]

Introduction to Until The End

This story is of teens that have lost themselves in time and evil. Having been lost in trauma, seeking no more than revenge. One of them is technically considered a fiery phantom, another is considered a forest spirit speaking and tricking the lost, one belongs to the waters wandering further and further everyday; there are many more that I have yet to mention, however we must start the story now. 

Our main character, however, is the Fiery Phantom. Otherwise known as Lex. Our friends here have very humanoid-like structures despite them not being human and different species. Example, Lex is 5 '3; they also have short hair that is for the most part a deep, dark chestnut brown with gold and rose gold highlights. Their eyes, two different colors, one being pure white despite their ability to see out of it and the other being a shifting hazel going from a beautiful dark amber to crimson red then moss green. Freckles cover their cheeks and nose, their lips are cracked and colored a soft pink but their skin is as pale as a ghost. Acne covers their chin and some of their forehead although they cover it with their hair and a mask most times. They have a habit of spinning fire around on the tip of their fingers, hence the name Fiery-Phantom. 

Seth, our wonderful water wanderer. He has pale white skin and blue eyes like ice. His wardrobe consists of many navy blue robes and white button-ups along with white binders. Here and there you will find the occasional black button-up with a nice pair of gray pants but very rarely does that happen. His gills are a soft turquoise and he owns a tiny little crown to represent his ruling over the waters.  Seth has sass that won’t quit and sarasam that can slay any being. He mostly stays near Abyssal or Lex and has social anxiety. He knows too much Ancient Egypt mythology and has too little time on his hands to complete everything. His favorite thing to do is spend time with his future partner, Abyssal. His favorite pastime is playing inscryption or causing chaos. 

Abyssal is a forest spirit, bored and lonely; she tricks those in their forest into falling deeper and deeper into the wrong path. Long dirty blond hair with aquamarine highlights. Dark green eyes and steampunk attire. Tall knee high lace up boots, dark purple skirt, white button-up, and a black corset.  Abyssal is very close friends with a wandering trader along the way named Sepi. 

Sepi and Cole, twins of mortal possessions. They are wandering traders that the group will meet along their long road.

SHOUT OUT TO MR EDITOR!

[the-raindeer-king]

The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

That's how the saying goes. You never realized just how true it was until you started working as Captain John Price's assistant. It had started off innocently enough, bringing him a tea or coffee when he asked. Maybe scolding him whenever you found out he skipped lunch.

You had been baking brownies, trying out a new recipe, and you just needed someone to taste them (and maybe help you get rid of the batch if need be). So, you brought them to work, left them in a pretty box on Price's desk when you dropped off his coffee.

You certainly hadn't expected the rest of the task force to come around to your desk, begging to know why you didn't bring any for them. Turn out that not only did Price brag out your baking skills, he's refusing to share with the rest of the task force, despite the fact you had brought more than enough for all of them.

Looks like you're going to have to make more.

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[gauloiseblue]

This is Price. You can't change my mind

[thebookbutterfly]

Tell me Simon Riley isn’t the kind of man to swear up and down that he doesn’t want a dog only for him to get immediately attached.

Nine times out of ten if you’re looking for where the puppy is, you’ll find him curled up next to Simon on the couch. The same couch Simon was insistent he didn’t want dog fur all over 2 weeks ago.

And if he wasn’t curled up next to Simon, chances are he was sleeping on top of him during Simon’s afternoon nap. Both of them snoring, as if the pup was copying him.

When Ghost comes home from deployment you’re no longer top of the greeting list. Your reunion kiss was now firmly relegated to after he had dealt with the overexcited, wiggly bundle of fur.

Nobody can change my mind about this.