#eats writing

[catspawcreates]

RRARGSHRHHSHSHFHSARAGRARGRAHRGAH

EATING UR ART WHILE CHEWING ON U

Hi Ily /p

Not me also eating up your writing… ^_^

I’m so tickled you like it enough to nom on it~

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere knight who wants you instead of the princess.

Dead dove Do not Eat Tw. For noncon, MDNI, Fem pov

Yandere knight who has been training in the palace for a very long time. It's an honor for a commoner like him to even set foot into the castle walls, so he works earnestly.

Yandere knight who's been catching glimpses of not only the lovely princess throughout the years, but her handmaidens as well. You're a daughter of a somewhat lesser noble house, and therefore you have essentially been given to the royal family until you're eventually married off to another courtier.

But of all the noble ladies, who often ignore him, he finds you to be the most approachable and kind to him and the other squires. He's developed a bit of a crush on you over the years, and he eventually found it in himself to express his feelings. They were innocent and pure then, and he stood there blushing and awkward waiting for you to accept or deny. He would've taken a no from you. Really, he would have.

But then that pompous bitch got in the way.

The princess had you pulled away by her other attendants before you could answer, and she all but sneered at him.

"My maids are not for common rife like you to sully," she spat, a look of disdain carved on her delicate features.

Yandere knight who was deployed to the battlefront soon after. He spent years in misery knowing it was that royal woman's meddling that had both sent him here and stopped him from knowing how you truly felt.

Yandere knight who carved through foe upon foe with the flash of his sword while thinking of you. He would wipe blood from his face and wonder what it would take to have you. He resolves to become so renowned that he could have you and the respect he deserved all those years ago anyways.

Yandere knight who comes back as the hero of the nation. A parade is thrown for him upon his return, and flowers are thrown at his feet by the masses of people. He is awarded a noble title, a duke (impressive), a territory of land to manage, and the blessing to have the hand of any eligible lady in the land from the king.

The implication was for him to go for the princess, sitting there in a gown befitting of an engagement party. She wasn't the heir to the throne, and having a young, impressionable Duke to have and father a potential crown prince or princess was certainly a draw for her to act so sweet and lovely despite her previous attitudes. He had to use all the will in his body to hide his disdainful glare towards her. Instead, he strode up with a near giddy grin, breezed past the waiting royal, and knelt before you.

"[Name], I shall have you as my wife," He says with a beaming smile. You try to protest, but he's already sweeping you into his arms. The king seems surprised by his choice, but as he stares between Yandere Knight, lovestruck and beaming, and you, squirming and utterly shocked, he realizes that he cannot simply go back on his word. The king waves his hand, and your fate is sealed.

Yandere knight feels bad for not giving you a proper wedding. In fact, he feels bad about not taking you to your new home before he's pulling up your skirts. He's a dog, he knows, but you're just so tempting now that you're all his. He shoving you down onto the plush upholstery of the carriage seats, and you let out a startled cry.

Yandere knight who cannot claim he's chivalrous. He wishes he could, but he loves the way your breasts look pushed up so tightly in the laced bodice of yours. He lets out a groan, petting your hair and shushing you as you whimper under his wandering touch. Button after button becomes undone.

"Love, you'll never wear such stifling clothing again. You hear me? All robes and lace from now on. None of this nonsense," He murmurs into your skin. He pulled your corset and chemise from your body, and he pressed fervent kisses to the crook of your neck. He grasps at your breasts, kneading them experimentally. He's had time to experience women on the battlefield. A fling or two in some field on the outskirts of a freshly liberated village. He would think of you the whole time and imagine what he was latching his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple while a random girl cried out underneath him. But this was real. Your warmth beneath his much heavier form was on of the most beautiful feeling he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

He parted your legs, and he could feel you shy away from him. He laughed. As if you had a choice. He knew you would love him eventually, but for now you can't blame him for how ravenous he was as he felt between your shaking, parted legs. He smirked as his lips met yours. His fingers slid against your folds, gathering slick arousal on his digits with a curious hum. He grinds his thumb against your clit as he slowly pushes his way into your warm, spongy walls.

"Oh? Is it good there? Or here? Where, love? You gotta use your words," He teases and licks the tears rolling down your cheeks, peppering your soft skin with kisses. He feels you pulse and stretch around his hand, and he relishes the way your back arches when he curls his fingers just right against that sweet little spot. Desperate noises tumble out of you, and he smiles.

He pulls his fingers out, and you cry out at the sudden sensation. Your chest is heaving with small moans, and your pretty pussy is drooling onto the carriage cushions. He pushes your legs up to your chest for a better grip, and his shudders at the way your twitching feels against the head of his cock.

Yandere knight knows that, as he thrusts into you, he's going to enjoy the luxury of finally having you both under his body and under his control.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

"guys I do not condone any of this in real life" "this is fiction" "consent is key. this is only fiction" "murder is bad irl" — I wish fanfic authors didn't feel like they had to clarify this in author's notes or else they might be accused of being abusers or worse (I admit that such disclaimers are also something I personally use for my own stuff because I feel like I had to make it clear). like... people used to not care if an author wrote dead dove fics because people used to understand that ao3 fics are not a reflection of someone's in real life views or morality in any way. people used to understand that fanfics mean what they mean; fan fiction. none of it is real. maybe it's purity culture that normalizes witch hunt and censorship in the past couple years, and therefore authors feel like they have to clarify that just because they write about violence or noncon stuff doesn't mean they're murderers or sex offenders in real life. and I think it sucks that these things (purity and cancel culture?) have made authors feel like they have to apologize for the art they created instead of being proud of their hard work and all the dedication they put into creating these art. artists should not have to feel like they have to apologize for creating art that isn't all rainbow and sunshine. artists should not have to be made to feel ashamed of their own art if it's not all rainbow and sunshine.

I don’t agree with the “you can write noncon and dark fics as long as you make sure your readers get the message that these things are bad” or “you can write noncon and dark fics if it’s your way of coping with your trauma” take either. because writers do not owe you anything. the message writers want to send to their readers — whatever that message may be, if there’s any message or moral of the story for readers to take from the stories at all — is none of your business. why writers write what they write is none of your business. remember “don’t like don’t read”. no one forces you to read anything you don’t like. dark and noncon fics are a form of creative writing and creative writing is a form of art. you can’t pressure artists into creating art that “fit your moral compass” nor can you apply your own moral compass to artists to determine if they can create dark art or not, if their reasoning behind creating dark art passes your moral compass. like… what artists create and why artists create are none of your business. and you don’t get to shame artists for creating art that you hate / art that disgusts you. what you can do is ignore the art because it clearly was not made for you and that’s okay. what isn’t okay is you harassing artists because you don’t like the things they created.

writers, embrace and be proud of your works. as long as all the trigger warnings are tagged properly, you have nothing to apologize for.

[lazylittledragon]

made a sticker for anyone to slap onto their work if they need to

[ceilidho]

apocalypse au but it's Soap who's desperate for companionship and touch starved to the point of delusion

[foldingfittedsheets]

Jobs don’t always limit the skills you learn to the job itself. For instance, when I worked at Red Robin, they’d offer 30 minutes for an unpaid lunch, or 15 if you wanted to get paid the whole time. If you think that’s extremely shitty join the club.

As a result of wanting money I got really good at eating quickly so I could use my break to read or relax. I’ve always been a fast eater but when I worked there I learned how to eat an entire burger and fries in under five minute while keeping up a conversation. This is not advisable for good digestion, eat slow and chew your food.

There’s a balance to not talking with your mouth full and eating extremely quickly and it was a regularly used skill for years. When I worked at a sex shop I bragged about it once to a coworker.

She watched me with a timer going after I told her about it and we got burgers. I chatted with her the whole time. I was done in four minutes forty seconds.

Afterward she looked haunted and commented, “It was like watching a snake unhinge it’s jaw but you never talked with food in your mouth!”

More recently my beloved and I were catching up with a friend over lunch. I had a sandwich while they’d gotten falafel plates. We were having a lovely chat but after I finished a story our friend said, “I don’t want your food to go cold while you talk!”

I was surprised. I’d been deliberately talking more so she could eat. I turned to show her my empty sandwich box. Both she and my beloved were stunned. It was like I’d performed a magic trick and made my sandwich disappear because neither had even noticed me demolishing it like a snake unhinging it’s jaw.

[onlinedolly]

tw: HEAVY non con

pervy drug dealer suguru who preys on you cuz youre young n pretty, you’re so unsure but all your friends do it n he promised he’ll be here the whole time for you! ‘sweet thing, ya alright?’ he’d ask when you cough and choke on your spit after your first inhale and he’d smile real wide n creepy when you say you’re fine you wanna keep goin’.

testing the waters after you get real high, too high for your own good honestly, by rubbing up your thigh with comforting words. eventually he gets ballsy enough to lean in and kiss your cheek, ‘oh so cute baby’ he’d murmur when you shy away tellin him you’re uncomfortable with that.

but at this point? you’re really to high to honestly resist him, weak pushes and mumbled words as he scoots closer to you. his hand is ghostin your pretty pink panties and you shudder, trying to clench your thighs around his big hand. you’re cryin at this point, hiccuped sobs and soft pretty little ‘no’s that egg him on.

eventually he’s got his fingers under your panties and for a little thing that’s resisting so much he can’t help but note how wet you’ve gotten. your hand is barely gripping his wrist in a half ass attempt to pull it away, you’re hazy and all you can smell is the sour stench of weed and cigarette smoke wafting from getous clothes. it made you feel sick.

getou’s got his fingers spreading apart your pretty pink pussy, testing the waters as he grazes your clit. getou is usually a mean, rough man, all groping and vulgar words during sex. but you were such a cute little thing, clearly inexperienced and way too high, how could he truly be anything except sickly sweet.

he keeps going then, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck, running his fingers up and down your pretty cunt. ‘i wanna go’, you’d cry out, ‘won’t tell anyone i promise!’ but it’s a little too late for that isn’t it, really? not when he’s this deep, not when he wants nothing more then to see you cum around his fingers. he ignored your pleas, working his middle finger into your tight cunt. and god were you tight. you found a little more of your voice then, wailing in pain as he attempts to get his middle finger knuckle deep inside of you.

‘sweet thing, keep cryin just like that.’ he coos at you, pressing his thumb against your clit. suguru asks if you want another hit then, when you shake your head (as much as you can) he’s already pressing the joint to your lips, fucking his middle finger in and out of you hard making you force an inhale.

getou laughs all mean when you cough again, and after a few moments pass he’s got your pretty little tits exposed pinching your nipples with his free hand. you’re so close to coming around his thick finger, he can feel it in the way you pulse around it. you’re still a sobbing mess, embarrassed at the involuntary moans leaving your lips.

‘gna pee i think!’ you gasp, way too high to understand what was truly happening. getou laughs again, hes got a ruthless pace going, in and out hard as he rubs your clit. when you finally cum it’s the most he’s seen your body moved in a while, you spasm and cry and all he can think is he wonders if you’ll come smoke with him again.

[mischievous-thunder]

Bonus:

Because when these freaks are gentle their emotional floodgates open

[soapcloth]

Corporate office worker!Ghost. The big guy huddled over the computer in the cubicle next to you muttering to himself, fingers too big to reasonably use the allotted keyboard, always in and out of HR because every time he opens his mouth at the water cooler he’s spouting a new morbid joke, but his work speed is unmatched and he’s incredibly competent so they can’t get rid of him— you’re almost sure he’s losing his mind and every lunch he’s staring at you across the break room through hollow, tired eyes like you’re the thing he really wants to eat.

[existennialmemes]

Apocalypse movie where the World Ending Event is just the working class rising up together. And the movie is from the perspective of a rag tag group of NY billionaires trying to get to the coast so they can escape on their yachts.

And it's a classic horror/thriller in that most of them do not make it, but at the end one or two actually get to the coast. And they set sail on their mega yacht. Making plans to just live at sea for a while until they look different enough that they can sneak back into society undetected.

And then you just hear this loud THUD and the whole boat shakes and the camera pans over to reveal like a 100 orcas lining up to ram it.

The boat cracks in half and you hear their screams get swallowed up by the waters and then it just cuts to the end credits.

Thinking about this for absolutely no reason.

[vaimetanyx]

There is no stopping a star from burning itself out of the night sky

Words taken from - you can love him, but you can’t keep him (Sylvie j.p.)

[mariswxt]

where CLARK becomes obsessed with eating CINNAMON.ᐟGIRL’S pussy in a week.

DAY ONE.ᐟ

It wasn’t even a thought at first, with his track record with girls he wanted to take it slow so he knew it was a safe bet to fall head over heels for your pretty ass. Most he thought about was kissing your permanently balmed lips, kissing your cheeks, admiring your smile, playing with the folds of your clothing and how you always smelled like cinnamon.

An innocent thought.

And now, the end of the school day. When Clark could just come home, say hi to his mom and dad, then head up to the barn where he knew his girl would be waiting. And sure enough, as he jogged up the stairs to the top of the barn, there you were, readily waiting, dressed in your usual little baggy-looking top with the poofy sleeves that he didn’t know the name of — wait, it was a bustier top, as you’ve reminded him — with a little white skirt, a bow in your hair, bows on your gorgeous stockings with your lace-ups abandoned by the side of the bed.

Gorgeous.

But you were also working on the bio homework you’d got that day, so he raised an eyebrow, chucked his bag onto the bed and instantly got on to hug you to him and nuzzle your neck. “Clark!” You giggled, squealing and swatting his shoulder before your lips were caught up in his, hand resting gently on your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you started without me.” He pouted, pulling back to look at you with puppy eyes, but a peck from you earned his winning smile again. “C’mon, what are we lookin’ at?” He shifted you so you were on his lap, chest against his back, inhaling that natural scent of spice and sugar syrup from cinnamon buns.

You tapped the page with your pen, relaxing into it and beginning to explain the task, but something else caught his eye. It was a small thing, but he saw a flash of something, it was— it was white, and lacy, and he could see it from under your skirt—

Oh, God, your panties.

He had to drag his eyes away from the magnetic pull they had to that small glimpse of lace, casually sliding his hand up your outer thigh to push your skirt over that little sliver of white lace, that… tantalising view, there— God forbid your dignity be jeopardised if someone came up here.

Whew. Crisis averted.

DAY TWO.ᐟ

Crisis #2 was due soon — because obviously, no one could give him a damn break — when he was helping you tie up this pretty lil’ pair of heels you’d bought that were tied up by a ribbon. His fingers glided across your smooth skin as he wrapped the soft fabric around your ankle delicately, and it wasn’t until he gave you a gentle smile from below did he see up your skirt, and he nearly felt his heat vision activate from the sight.

Your choice of clothing was always so sexy, the pink lace that looked like a scrap on your skin, your supple thighs that he just wanted to— ay, woah, stop there. His thoughts screeched to a halt, and he sufficed that train of thought with a delicate press of his lips to your ankle when he’d made the bow to tie the last shoe and the whole ensemble together.

Why did his head feel kind of fuzzy?

There y’are.” He grinned, taking your hand and brushing his lips over your knuckle— your own Prince Charming, it gave you butterflies. Honestly? His head felt kinda heavy as he stood up and planted a gentle kiss to your lips— see, totally innocent. Totally, no alternate story or subconscious thought here.

DAY THREE.ᐟ

This felt wrong, but he couldn’t help it.

Something as simple as sitting and chatting with Lana and Chloe— you were sitting with your legs spread, skirt hiked up enough, your amiable look between him and the other three doing absolutely nothing to stop him feeling drunk on the position you were in.

Maybe if the others weren’t here, he could kiss up your legs, starting from your ankle. Why was he thinking all this— to combat it, he just gently tapped your foot with his, and you happily climbed onto his lap, legs around his waist and arms around his neck like you were a koala with a giggle.

He let put a sigh of relief, taking one for the team as he stroked your hair, inhaled your natural scent and took one for the team by taking the brunt force of all the good-natured ribbing from Lana and Chloe. All while his brain pumped oxygen back into it and made him stop feeling so goddamn light and airy just by seeing how you were seated, it felt so strange.

“Lovebirds.”

“I hear wedding bells!”

“Shut up, guys.” Clark’s jab wasn’t only to himself, it was to the rest of him which thought that being permanently brain dead around you was a good idea. God, this was not normal at all.

DAY FOUR.ᐟ

Clark found himself to be thirstier than usual. Literally, and figuratively.

He’d be hanging out with you, watching a movie, and when you did something like bite your lip or your skirt would hike up a little, he would mutter an excuse to go get water— not really an excuse, his mouth felt like it was two Saharas in one mouth. Glass after glass, and you’d seen him return after his fifth, which came with the mental reminder to lecture himself to not pop a boner. He had more control over his… anatomy!

Even with all the tall and endless glasses of water, something felt missing.

He went with you to the Talon to get lunch, and as he was sharing an apple pie with you, he couldn’t help but think his sweet taste buds weren’t satiated, and even as he looked up, his eyes got stuck on your pretty legs, where your skirt ended at your mid-thigh, and all you’d do was tilt his chin up and kiss him softly with a giggle, oblivious.

Oh, dear Lord, what was happening to him?

He was licking his lips more often, and his brain was more adept and conjuring thoughts of having you straddling something that was not his hips, or having you laid down on the couch and hearing pretty sounds come from you that he’d only heard when his mom and dad got too loud or when his mom and dad were watching an adult movie.

Guess Martha and Jonathan might be the common denominator.

Even so, he forced himself to avert his eyes when you bent over the table to give Lana and Chloe their coffees, your skirt lifting up just that bit— oh, mama, just drink the water, drink the water.

“Hi.” You giggled, perching yourself on his lap, and things would’ve been totally fine had his hand not autocorrected to find your ass— nope, he instantly moved it up to the small of your back and kissed your cunt cheek. He meant cheek, he wasn’t thinking about anything else, who ever— nobody— his brain was gonna shut up now.

His jaw clenched briefly, and he swallowed, deciding to give the farm boy smile like nothing was raging inside of his brain and peck your pouty, cinnamon-stained lips, fingers brushing across your soft cheek. “Hey, there. One’a those for me?” He’d been getting into cinnamon lattes now that you’d introduced him to them, so you were holding two piping hot cinnamon lattes that he looked down to.

And as he looked down, he could see your perfect thighs, and contrary to his drying mouth, he now had too much saliva in them.

He swallowed. Shit.

DAY FIVE.ᐟ

“Oh, my God, shit—” Clark couldn’t think straight, his nerve endings on fire, cause it felt so damn good, it felt so, so— he had no words. All he knew was that his eyes were rolling back, his mouth was open, his cock was most definitely leaking, and if his parents came up here they’d be very concerned.

He panted, the veins in his neck popping as his jaw clenched and a strangled grunt broke past his sealed lips, along with a needy whine. “O—Oh, sweetheart, that’s— don’t you stop, ok? Don’t you stop.”

He was getting images as his free hand clenched in the sheets, images he’d never had before until this week, of peeling your panties off your soaked pussy like they were the bow to your sweet present, of rubbing his nose against your clit as he gripped your spread thighs (or they’d be over his shoulders, he was not fussed at all) and lapping at you, licking you and letting his tongue delve and taste every bit of you until you could no longer comprehend that the outside world exists.

Judging by how much cinnamon you had, your cunt would probably be sweeter than your mouth. Just his luck that he’s got a tooth for that.

He tightly clamped his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle any sounds, but that didn’t work, it slipped out due to a shuddering gasp that shook his very lungs, your mouth— no, his hand, you weren’t here right now, his hand moving up and down his cock, which felt extra sensitive today.

Well, of course it felt extra sensitive, he’d practically been accidentally edged all day by your gorgeous ass when you sat back to his chest and way too high up his lap during the study session at the Talon, and so he’d shimmied you down to stop a moan from leaving his mouth.

Even as he moaned, he licked his lips and swallowed, like he was tasting something above him— oh, god, your pussy. It was so pretty, he knew that from the times he’d gotten his fingers there to soothe you after a bad day or when your brain wasn’t working on hard homework and just needed a reset. But he’d never tasted it or anything, he’d just wiped them on a tissue, and now it was the one thing — oh, God, just stop, this was objectifying, and Clark was a strong believer in a woman’s privacy.

“Sh—Shit—” He wanted to lick his fingers from now on, not waste a single drop of you, and that thought was the thing which sent him into a white hot fucking orgasm, head falling back against the pillows as he quickly caught the come that came from his cock with a tissue, panting and revelling in the ignorance and pure bliss that came before the reality that he just objectified his girlfriend.

He knew better, and you were so darling to him, he couldn’t. He should stop.

Your pussy—

DAY SIX.ᐟ

Was Clark on top of you, no shirt, forearm braced beside your head and lips attached to your neck a hot sight?

Yes.

It was a sight that made your thighs rub together despite yourself, and you couldn’t really ignore the growing ache growing inside you, along with the slight throb in your clit at the repeated, open-mouthed presses to your neck, jaw and behind your ear. His hands were on your waist, your hips, over your tits and thighs, then moved to the buttons of your cardigan, pulling back to look at you.

Eye contact was big with him.

“Can I?” He murmured, and when you nodded, he slipped the buttons off and gently took off your camisole, coming face to face with no bra. A small grin flickered across his lips as he looked up to you, head dipping down to kiss over your tits and briefly suck then into his mouth, pressing small, worshipping pecks which had you moaning softly, fingers threading through his hair.

The quiet whimpers that came from your mouth could only be frowned out by one thing— his mind repeating the word pussy and his body rewriting like it was the one thing he couldn’t live without. “Need to try somethin’, pretty, but you can tell me t’ stop, at any time.” He murmured, kissing your stomach gently.

You ran the possibilities in your upstairs brain, but your downstairs brain had the reins right now. “Yeah,” you mumbled in response, stomach flexing under his lips — ugh, so hot — as they slowly travelled downward, his fingers skimming down your sides to gently undo your sweats and hook his finger in your sweats and panties’ waistband, pulling them down and off your legs.

The wait to it was excruciating, he’d checked to see if you were wet as a sign that yes, you were enjoying this (which you were, you were soaking), and if the butterfly kisses were doing anything, they were making you impatient rather than easing you into it. “Clark, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay! I’ve got you,” He chuckled, then started with it. He began in slow, languid strokes, tongue flat and gathering all the taste of you on his tongue that instantly hit his taste buds— oh, my.

Oh, Lord.

The taste was heavenly, it was ambrosia, it was salvation, so much that he was already moaning at the taste and pulling you closer by how his strong arms were wrapped around your plush thighs, biceps flexing to the delight of your eyes from further up the bed, grinding against the mattress. Not to mention how he’d turned from hesitant to slow, burning, devouring in half a second, drawing the pretty moans from you that’d plagued his head the whole week.

The whole thing was new to you— you were a virgin, and you’d certainly never had anyone go down on you before, so Clark’s tongue between your legs had first been something that your body wanted to jump away from on reflex. But when said tongue slid into your pussy?

You could’ve died and gone to hell right there.

Jonathan and Martha (our famous common denominators) would’ve been traumatised by the obscene noises coming from you both, the groans and murmurs of encouragement from Clark to “keep it comin’”, about how you were “doin’ so well” and how you “tasted s’good”, all things that made you moan, gasp and whimper — now in that order — add a sprinkling of whines when his nose bumped your clit.

All he could think of was pussy, pussy, pussy, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips and thighs slightly, aiming to bury himself down there and suffocate if need be with your thighs pressed around his ears— it’d be a good way to go, now that he thought about it. A great way to go, abandoning all homework, your softness the only thing he could feel, your sweet taste… on his tongue…

Ok, his rational brain would be right back, after a long break.

“Cl—Clark!” You whimpered, hand tightening in his hair, the other making a fist beside your head, back arching, brow furrowing in bliss. It was such a gorgeous gasp of his name, the only thing he could give back to you was a needy whine. That’s right, needy.

He’d become an expert between three licks, his superhearing picking up on the small cues, the little tremble, the difference in this gasp and that gasp, until he felt you come on his tongue with a cry of his name and a loud whine, quickly sucking all of what you offered him up like his mom’s cooking. But sweeter.

As for him? If you weren’t too delirious from the new feeling, you would’ve seen a telltale stain of how he came in his pants— he couldn’t help it! You’d felt too good, his brain had fuzzed over, he’d ground against the mattress, there was no way he wasn’t getting off to you getting off.

”You did so well, pretty,” He grinned, lips and chin covered in you, the word pussy still ringing in his brain as he collected it all with his thumb and sucked it off, closing his eyes at the taste and moaning before leaning up to kiss you gently.

Only then did you taste yourself on his tongue— and you kind of saw the hype, what with how sweet it was, and even though it felt kind of weird to taste yourself, it was Clark. You trusted Clark.

He pulled away, grinning a saliva-lipped, winning smile and rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb, kissing your nose. “You ok, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No.” You shook your head, voice quiet, still in a bit of a daze— oh, his pretty baby. That earned you a kiss to your forehead, and before you knew it, he was creeping off and coming back with a warm, damp rag.

“Let’s just get you comfy— attagirl,” He mumbled as he gently got you more comfortable on the pillows with his farm boy strength (or so you thought), shushing the whine of sensitivity when your thighs rubbed together. “Shh, baby, I know, I know, we’ll get y’cleaned up.”

Still keeping you pacified with a stroke of your hair or a peck to your lips, he managed to clean up between your legs with the damp rag without any pain, thank God, and chucked it in the washing basket before anyone noticed.

He also covered it with a bunch of clothes. Like, in the middle of the pile in there, before his mom saw it.

“C’mere.” He said softly, gathering you into a cuddle, tucking both of you in a blanket, whispering how good you were, how well you took what you got, how pretty you sounded.

Y’know, all words that made your pretty, empty head fuzzy enough to be lulled to sleep.

DAY SEVEN, TRANSFORMATION COMPLETE.ᐟ

A normal night of doing your English homework, steady essay writing that Clark wasn’t exactly equipped to help with, it was an essay on personal opinions about a set text. And it was going great, you were halfway there, your back would’ve been aching but no, some Lord above blessed you with an untouched back. Overall, things were going— your bedroom window opened.

Just as you were about to use your English essay as a weapon, you saw the familiar shoe of Clark, and you relaxed further into the bed, knowing you were safe. “Hey, babe— oh!” You gasped when he suddenly climbed onto the bed on top of you, nuzzling right between your legs as he kicked off his shoes with a low moan. “C—Clark, what’re you, what—”

“Shh, just please, baby, I just, I— shit.” He only responded by yanking your pretty sleep shorts with a bow on the top down, licking over your panties to taste you before yanking those down too— oh, you couldn’t hold back how you moaned and melted back into the throw pillows, panting as you let him do his thing.

You’d only had a break from him going down on you for a day, and even then you’d been asked by Chloe and Lana why you were so dazed lately. Now you had Clark mouthing and licking over your panties, until those were practically ripped off and his mouth replaced them. That was the reason why.

“Oh my, oh, gosh—” It spilled from your mouth in waves. Sucking, licking, at a much faster pace than a day ago, add a plethora of different pitched moans and whines, even more so when your hand buried in his hair. His fingers came up to toy with your clit, because he’d learnt that you dripped more when he did, and he was proud to say that he’d learnt everything there was to know about you, inside and out.

“Oh, Clark!” You gasped, hips arching off the bed, but then he suddenly pulled away, lips and chin covered in you, yanking off his jacket then lying down on the bed. He pulled you up, so you were straddling his face and your cunt was all he knew, yanking you down and holding you by your ass while he made you forget all sense of reality. It’s like he was obsessed with eating you out.

He kinda was.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding on his tongue, English essay clattering off the bed, breathlessly calling out to your parents that everything was ok so they didn’t come in and see… this. And even as he was devouring you like you were the tall glass of water he’d been looking for, you couldn’t resist reaching up, pressing your hand to your chest, playing with your tits over your thin camisole.

“That’s good, pretty, play with yourself.” Clark panted amid moans and licks and moans some more, “I’ve got you.”

Pussy. It was the only word that he could understand right now.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

“you can write non-con and dark fics as long as you’re not romanticizing it”

“you can write non-con and dark fics as long as it’s your way of coping with your trauma”

“you can write non-con and dark fics as long as —”

actually, anybody — including you — can write non-con and dark fics, and any other fucked up things, however they want, for whatever reasons.

wanna romanticize the fuck out of your non-con / dead dove do not eat fic? go ahead. don’t let anybody stop you from creating the art you want to create.

wanna write non-con fic even if you were never a victim? go ahead. you don’t have to meet any specific criteria in order to create the art you want to create.

just tag your works properly so that you don’t accidentally expose those who might not want to be exposed to such topics to the topics, and you’re all good.

art does not have to be for everybody.

art has never been strictly about rainbow and sunshine. art can also be about the horror and the macabre.

art can be outright disgusting and messed up, and being disgusting and messed up can be just what makes the art a masterpiece.

write whatever you want to write and say fuck you to censorship.

[venusbyline]

Sleep ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 26, oct.

(late post) Prequel to Nine Moons

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: creampie

— summary: Jacaerys was determined to make you his wife, forcing his mother to marry him to you, even against her will. Or against your will too.

— word count: 1.3k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 26th day, female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, creampie, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), dubcon somnophilia, rape/non-con, vaginal sex, breast worship, butt worship, breeding kink, degradation, praise kink, corruption kink, loss of virginity, blood licking, squirting, cum eating, cum swallowing, dacryphilia, crying, watersports, doggy style position, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, Referenced Targaryen/Velaryon Incest (cousins), implied/referenced cheating, underage sex, ambiguous/open ending, non-consensual drug use (herbal tea), drugged sex, forced orgasm, forced pregnancy, marriage of convenience mentioned, butt slapping, biting, hair-pulling, manipulation, sexism, possessive behavior, implied breastfeeding kink, implied lactation kink, implied pregnancy kink, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, dark content, sadism, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @dearjardim

— crossposting: AO3

— high valyrian words used: Idaña (twin), Hāedar (younger sister), Lēkia (older brother), Muña (mother).

Jacaerys was fed up with his mother's stubborn and boring behavior. Rhaenyra's refusal to break off his betrothal with Baela and refusing to let him marry you, his twin sister, was only making the fucking war even more stressful. As if the death of his little brother Lucerys was not enough, Jace still had to deal with Baela's constant interference against his angry thoughts and the fact that she did not understand why he hated these stupid Dragonseeds so much. It was easy for someone who was children of a Targaryen King Consort and a Velaryon princess to say he was being too arrogant or spoiled.

Either way, Jacaerys did not want a damn betrothed who was barely fit to support him during the outbursts. Even though she was extremely delightful and an excellent warrior, Jacaerys needed more. He needed a caring wife. And he knew you could play the role very well.

His anger towards Rhaenyra and Daemon was growing, to the point where he sometimes wished that his mother would actually recover her rightfully Iron Throne, but only because then he could rule the Seven Kingdoms soon.

He asked and even begged his mother to change the betrothal, explaining that the bond between the two of you had grown since Luke's murder and he needed you. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra remained a woman of her word, refusing to change the agreement.

Perhaps it was really a spoiled and cruel attitude on Jace's part, but he was determined to make you his wife, forcing his mother to marry him to you, even against her will. Or against your will too.

"Idaña, please..." Your whimper sounded too loud for both of your own good and Jacaerys whispered for you to moan lower, his large hand went straight to your mouth, sticking his index, middle and ring finger there to muffle the sounds that followed as he continued to slowly move his hips back and forth.

Each time he took himself out and put it back in, Jacaerys enjoyed the sight of his cock wet with your juices and also the blood of your innocence, as well as the sight of your voluptuous ass shaking when he fucked you a little rougher than before. He was trying his best to be careful with you, taking advantage of your drowsy dubious consent. Of course he did not want to hurt or scare his little twin sister in any way. He just wanted to left you filled with his seed, making your future heir growing in that soft womb.

"Shhh, Hāedar... You do not want to wake up our mommy, do you?" Jace murmured, pressing his bare sweaty chest against your white satin nightgown-covered back. He really wanted to rip that stupid fabric off and fuck his sister until you barely remember your own name. Until you beg for his cock. Until you were practically brainless. "Mother does not want me to marry you. But you want to marry me, do not you want to, my dear?"

Jace's question made you moan incoherent words around his hand, impossible for him to understand anything, so he took his three fingers out of your lips, wet with your spit and stuck them in your head, pulling your dark wavy hair just like his, despite the difference from length. You were like a reflection of him. The hair, the eyes, the nose... You were like a pure and innocent version of Jacaerys, the version he could never be. You were a true pure soul. You were everything he should have been and he was everything you could become.

He fucked you deeper, slapping your buttocks hard and making you scream softly, while he took the opportunity to pull your hair back, leaving your neck exposed to nibble and kiss. "Answer me, little sister. Do you want to marry me? Do you want to carry the future King or Queen of the Iron Throne inside your belly? Do you want me to turn you into a Muña?"

Perhaps it was your still slightly asleep state, perhaps it was how his cock was fucking you too fast and brutally for your virgin cunt to handle, or perhaps it was the special herbs that Jacaerys had put in your drink during dinner... But you just could not say no to him. You did not even want to say no. All that was going through yourself mind was that Jacaerys needed to keep doing what he was doing, even if it hurt so bad.

"Do you want me to breed you, sister? Beautiful little dark-haired babies sucking milk from your breasts while I sit on the Throne?" His question did not get a verbal response, however, Jace understand it as agreement due to the way your walls tightened around his member. "That is, that is my fucking good little girl... So innocent and obedient." Jace growled between moans, taking his hand out of your head and moving it to the softness of your clothed breast, squeezing roughly over the fabric. "You are taking me so well, Idaña. You are going to look so beautiful pregnant with our children. I am going to fuck my seed into you every year, I will never get tired of that warm and tight little cunt..."

You cried out and felt a sequence of slaps on your ass again, noises so loud that the entire castle was probably already hearing you two. "Lēkia... S-stop... I need to pee!" You suddenly screamed groggily when you felt your lower belly start to ache. You hoped Jacaerys would stop what he was doing and release you, but all he did was chuckle mockingly and grip your hips tighter. "PLEASE, JACE! Brother, please... I really need to pee right now!"

Even though you could not see Jacaerys' face because he was fucking you from behind, but you felt his breath in your ear, his teeth nibbling on your earlobe before he purred. "Then do it." He teased hornily. "I am your twin and some minutes older than you. Also, I am the one who will be the future King, so I am ordering you to do it."

Your eyes widened, coming out a little of your sudden trance and drowsy state when Jace continued holding your hip with one arm, but brought the other to your belly, pressing hard on the place where your bladder was. Tears began to fall desperately from your face and you struggled under your twin brother body, the hot liquid wetting the sheets and both of your legs and the Jace's too. "Well... I thought princesses and big girls did not piss on themselves. Now I guess I was wrong, you are a cute bedwetter, my dear. That was so horny."

The mockery turn everything more shameful and you sobbed, just crying when your cunt began to spasm intensely until you came, a clearer liquid splashing out before you fell face down on the pillow completely, your consciousness fading for a while after the orgasm and something else.

You did not know how long you were unconscious. Probably just for five or ten minutes. When your eyes opened with difficulty, you were still breathing heavily, your face pressed into your soft pillow, hearing Jacaerys growl and feeling him pull his cock out of you after his release, spreading your buttocks to enjoy the view of your bruised ass and reddish and sore cunt, full of cum and drops of your blood and wet with your own pee and your sudden squirt.

"Both of us will hope my seed catches as soon as possible. Right, Hāedar?"

You sniffled and nodded, not protesting when Jace pushed his finger into your sensitive hole and brought it to your lips, forcing you to lick up the disgusting mixture as he smirked, stroking your dark hair too. "My dear little sister. My true future betrothed and wife. You will be such a good mother." He placed a kiss on your shoulder, caressing your sore ass and laying down next to you, ignoring your confused and sleepy cries. "Seven Hells, do not be pathetically dramatic. Just go back to sleep, dear sister. Go back to sleep and then we can rule Westeros together very soon, I promise this to you. Nothing will separate us, not even Mother, Daemon or Baela. Not even you."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[ghostbsuter]

"One second," Danny held up a finger, pausing Bruce from speaking more.

"Vlad." He calls once the call went through. "I need you to disown me or something."

There was quiet before the ghost spoke up again.

"Look, I found like a much better billionaire. Even his basement is better. I wouldn't mind getting kidnapped by this one, but your adoption papers are interfering with my fantasy here."

The voice on the other side of the call picked up, yelling now and Danny winces.

"Yeah, I might just call this one Dad, who knows."

More yelling, Danny, at this point, just taunts the other man more.

"Don't worry Brucie, i'll come over sooner or later, your mansion is much better looking than Vlads."