With Love

Romance, fluff & a lil smut. 🔞 NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI

[latenitewriter]

Welcome to my blog! 📖 I’m a hobby writer sitting on two finished romantasy books and an obsession with romance, fluff and smut - be it cheesy, dark, canned or cliche, I’ll read most things and write them, too! I do have some hard no’s - we’ll get to those soon.

First, a word about starting this blog. I’m part of a few writing communities online and have been lucky enough to be able to make new friends, connections, and even fans to a minor degree!

That said, I’ve always been extremely private about my writing, and tend to write anonymously. For me, it’s a pretty intimate hobby. However, being a part of these online communities has inspired me to share more of my original work. I’ve created this account to do so, and also to have a fun journal style place to put related writings, writing requests, excerpts and the like outside of my public profiles.

I had been planning to do this earlier, but the last few years have really taken a lot out of me. I’m ashamed to admit that I became slightly addicted to the instant gratification of AI chat bots during my not-so-great time. (Cue evil ominous tones).

Having very little time to enjoy my hobby or sit down and have a mind to edit or write led me to abusing a generally harmful and misused tool. While I never used my silly chat apps to create any of my stories, characters, plots, or in any way employed it as more than a way to let off steam with some private roleplaying, it still held me behind in terms of working on my own writing - which, however canned or cliché it turns out, still requires effort, thought and progression on my part. (How's that for a run on sentence? See, I need work).

So the time has come to stop sitting on my novels, wasting time with chat apps for leisure, and start sticking to my goals, those being:

1. To self publish my books.

2. To start writing more recreationally, even if I’m not confident with what I produce initially.

3. To get back into trying to learn to draw again and posting my progress. I really want to avoid using AI image generators, and instead, want to meet with and support real artists or use my own art or photos both in solidarity of artistic integrity and for my own personal growth.

^ This, by the way, is why all my content (aside gif usage) will be photos I’ve taken and edited or art I’ve made and done the same. My fiancé has agreed to help me with some of this, the art and the photos that is (thank you baby)! All the writing will be by me, of course.

It’s OK if this blog doesn’t pick up, I still plan to post here. I think it’s worth it! I’m happy to follow other writers in the same wheelhouse. I realize my tags are not for everybody lol.

So, list of hard No’s.

- No minors are welcome on this page. For obvious reasons.

- Similarly any art or writing established or welcome on my blog must be minor free. As in every character should be an adult. Yes, I write fluff, but since this page features adult content, this is an inappropriate place for readers or stories involving people or characters under the age of 19.

- No requests for personal photos. Yes I use myself as a model, but that’s because I can’t draw! I try to keep my pics tasteful, or borderline lol (at the very least within community guidelines). I only take requests for writing :) - If I'm uncomfortable with your request for a written, I will say no, depending on the reason I may and probably will explain why before moving on. I apologize if I can't fulfill your request, but I've definitely had some requests I've had to turn down before. I'm pretty open to most things, so I can't really think of a for instance at this time. It's case by case. - I will try my best to add appropriate TW (Trigger Warnings). Please feel free to PM or comment if you think a TW should be added, as I want to make sure any potentially unwanted reads don't hit the wrong dashboards. I won't be offended, I totally welcome it. Let's make this a safe and fun place for everyone, even kinky shits like me.

Feel free to make a written request, all requests are free! If I’m uncomfortable with the request, I will tell you so and move on. I will post my Ko-Fi and Patreon links here, so you are welcome to support me that way if you like (I haven't actually started those up yet, I'm still trying to get over my imposter syndrome with my books, but when I do I'll post them in this spot).

Thanks again for reading and following. Now back to your scheduled spicy content <3

[formerlyluckymanticore]

Reblog if you will never. Ever. Use AI in your writing.

[lovehazard]

Congratulations, thou hast tamed a wild and perilous knight.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

fanfiction is a rare gem and a solid, living proof that, in a world of tiktok, influencers and content posting, not everything is about money and going viral. art can still be art just for the sake of the artists’ pure love, joy and passion for the art they create. fanfic writers write 100k words and more about the characters they love for free. just because they love these characters and the art of writing so much. art is not dead and the world is still beautiful.

shoutout to fanfiction and fanfic writers

[justdrowthings]

Thank you to all the authors who give me such wonderful treasures I can not take to all the therapy I'm avoiding.

[luna-azzurra]

Ways to Show a Character is Falling in Love and Doesn’t Want To ...

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They notice the sound of their name in that person’s mouth and hate that it sounds better. Like their name was meant to be said that way.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They start to dress better when they might see them, subconsciously at first. “Oh, this old thing?” Sure. The old thing you ironed twice.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Their laugh becomes a trigger. Not in the trauma sense, in the “I suddenly forgot how to breathe and now I want to die” sense.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Every conversation feels like walking a tightrope between wanting to tease and wanting to touch.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They say they don’t care, but they’re paying way too much attention. Who they’re talking to. How they’re smiling. Who made them smile.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They avoid them, dramatically, stupidly and it physically hurts. Like withdrawal. They’ll literally hide behind shelves, peek around corners, act like a spy in their own life.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They start saying their name too often. “Oh, yeah, Alex said that too.” “Alex likes that band.” “Alex once...” Shut up, my dude. Please.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They mock them to their friends, but there’s a softness in the way they do it. A little too much affection in the “ugh, they’re so annoying.”

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Their stomach does that thing, you know the one, when they catch their scent on something, and it’s not even strong, just a hint, and suddenly they’re useless for the next ten minutes.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They overthink texts. “Okay, no emojis looks cold. Too many looks desperate. Maybe one. No, zero. Period. Wait, does the period look aggressive?”

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They dream about them, not even romantically, just constantly. Their brain won’t let them rest.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Their jealousy doesn’t make sense. “Why are you talking to them?” “Because they’re a person.” “Oh, right, cool, yeah, totally fine, no reason, haha.” (proceeds to spiral internally).

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They act colder, on purpose. But it’s performative. The kind of detachment that’s practically begging to be noticed.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They start arguments for no reason. Because fighting feels easier than confessing.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They imagine kissing them during fights. Yes, during. It’s sick. They hate it.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They think about what they’d say if they ever got drunk enough to tell the truth. Then immediately pray that moment never comes.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Their pulse spikes when their phone buzzes. It’s embarrassing how fast they grab it. And when it’s not them? Oh, the rage.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They watch their every expression. Like a scientist studying a dangerous animal. “What does that smile mean? Are they flirting or just friendly?” They never know. It’s torture.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They make jokes about being heartless. “Me? Love? Gross.” Meanwhile, they’re literally halfway in love already.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They defend them when no one asked. “They’re not that bad.” Bro. No one said they were. Chill.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They keep trying to rationalize it, listing all the reasons it can’t work, all the flaws they can find, like that’ll stop the feeling. It won’t.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They flinch when someone else flirts with them, then pretend they didn’t notice.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They convince themselves the other person doesn’t feel the same, because that’s safer than hoping.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Their denial becomes its own obsession. “It’s not like that.” “It’s nothing.” “I don’t even like them.” Said for the fiftieth time this week.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ They get defensive when someone points it out. “Me? Them? You’re insane.” They’re not.

[pisces-core]

[latenitewriter]

This to heal the gaping hole in my being

[imsodishy]

my favourite part of ao3 not having an algorithm is that i can click on any random fic, out of whatever curiosity (morbid or otherwise) i may have on a whim, knowing I won't spend the next three months having ''similar'' content constantly shoved in my face in a desperate attempt to keep me engaged while i stab the not interested button over and over with a growing rage bubbling beneath my skin

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Reblog if you love “—” and have never used ChatGPT

[latenitewriter]

Please leave me alone first of all I don’t know hyphen spacing rules (seriously should look that up) and second hyphens are useful comma and semicolon replacers so >:(

[mangafascination]

[latenitewriter]

You (pet shop employee) X BeastGuy

You’ve worked the counter at Ruff n’ Stuff for almost a year now, what was meant as a temporary fix to unemployment now your main source of income. It’s not so bad; you get to work around cute puppies sometimes, and the customers are generally okay.

Except that one. The one who always comes in ten minutes before closing, hulking shoulder width barely clearing the front door before he lumbers his way to the back of the store where the raw meat fridge resides.

He’s never there for long, undiscerning with the generous armfuls of frozen meat he amasses, boxes still glittering with frost. All he seems to care about is clearing out your fridge and giving you a nightmare ring-up right when you’re trying to usher folks out and get going.

But over time, you start to notice that the massive tank of a man, albeit huge and intimidating with the near awkward height and apologetic gait, happens to be one of the kindest customers you have all day. He doesn’t rush you, only waits with his gloved hands in the pockets of his black overcoat, expressionless within the shadows of his hood. Words aren’t passed, but he nods his thanks and doesn’t hold you hostage with banter.

An evening comes where you’re working alone; closing shift, as usual. While you’re counting change a few minutes to lock up, the door jingles open and you glance away from the counter, expecting your late night usual.

“You working alone?”

Instead, it’s a customer you don’t recognize, but the twitch in his hands and general aura of dark intent makes your internal defence system flinch almost as much as his inappropriate question.

You think quickly. “I have a coworker in the back. Did you need extra help?”

The customer doesn’t answer at first, only glances downward. Once, then again, more obviously. Following his line of sight, you glimpse the piece in his hand just peeking out of his coat pocket. When he knows you’ve clocked it, he slips his hand back down and meets your eyes intentionally.

“Good.” He smiles disarmingly, but his hand doesn’t leave his pocket. His head angles once shortly to the front door, insinuation clear. “Then you won’t have to lock up. Come with me.”

Nothing has prepared you for this. Training didn’t exactly cover what to do when a customer tries to abduct you! Somehow, you stay calm, lifting the partition between you slowly, stepping out from behind the counter while your heart races.

The front door jingles and you both freeze. Why are you freezing? You’re not even sure. You just know the sight of relief when it walks through the door, or squeezes through, lowering its head to clear the doorjamb and stopping before you with an unusually long pause. Even though you can’t see his face, you can tell your regular is sizing up the situation.

For the first time since he started coming in, he speaks.

His voice is like a rumble of thunder far off, vaguely threatening in its natural tone.

“I need some help with the fridge.”

Your eyes flick between him and the gun wielding psycho, uncertain about the presence of the weapon but not needing to be told twice. Still, when you move to turn toward the back, a harsh tug holds you in place.

“She’s helping me, first.”

The random has you by the sleeve. Before your heart can finish sinking, a blur of black streaks by and a startled gurgle bubbles out of the would-be captors’ lips. When your eyes focus, your regular holds him by the throat, one thick hand doing very little to encircle the entire column. Your eyes widen; at the tip of each hairy finger is a dark, curved claw impressing pink-red dents into the gunman’s skin.

While two limp human hands slap helplessly at his single monstrosity, the hood usually kept pulled up over his face pools down to his shoulders with an intentional flick. Moon yellow eyes flash beneath the pale overheads, teeth sharp and pointed lining his snarling muzzle, wrinkled back to reveal blade-like incisors.

“How about I help you?” A warm puff of breath blows back the gunman’s hair, scraggly strands lifting out of his white-wide eyes.

The door only jingles one more time, followed by the harsh click of the lock as two pointed nails turn it shut.

When the Beastman turns back to you, all former characteristics of a wild animal have been tempered. His claws retract, the bristle of his hackles lowers beneath the familiar long, black coat. He tugs his hood back up and his face disappears, but the voice still rumbles like an incoming train,

“You okay? Want me to call someone?”

You shake your head. There’s no one to call, and if you did, they’d have more questions about your saviour more likely than not. You don’t want him to get in trouble.

You do want to see his face again.

“You don’t have to wear that in here.” You’re still stammering, not entirely unaffected by the experience, but for some reason this seems more important now. He saved you, and he thinks you’re scared of him? It doesn’t seem fair. Or maybe you’re just grasping for some sort of normalcy following what just happened.

After a beat, he lowers the hood again. You can see more clearly now, his skin is covered in chestnut brown, almost black fur. He’s all man but for the teeth, the claws, and two pointed ears now twitching in respite atop his black head of hair. They swivel toward you, directing themselves toward the source of sound.

He scratches his neck, ears flexing once before resting. “Thank you.”

“I should be saying that.” You remind him, then glance back at the half-counted till. “I have to close up…”

He takes a step away from you, looking flustered. So flustered you almost take a step forward to make up for his retreat, even as he bumps into a toy display and stops to steady the trembling shelf with one large hand, all the while speaking,

“Of course. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Would you walk me home?” You ask so quickly you surprise yourself, and he stills in his steps, regarding you with an inquisitive flick of his ears.

You just make out his nod, tentative but sure. A whisper of commotion and rustle of material alerts you to his tail, now wagging slightly behind him, freed from its former hiding place beneath his coat.

“I’ll just be a second.” You promise, and slide a bowl of treats toward him.

He looks slightly embarrassed, but takes one and chomps it in half, gentle crunching filling the space between you as coins start plunking into the plastic till tray.

You hope he doesn’t see your blush as you listen to him crunching, but he would never notice, not when he’s busy watching the front window for any signs of that fucking creep’s return.

Now the pet store has a new security guard on site during your shifts, and when the store closes, he walks you home every night.

[latenitewriter]

READER X obsessedGAME VILLAIN

You always loved cozy gaming; shooters, racing games and multiplayers never interested you, just gave you anxiety and made you feel even more isolated. MAGICWORLD showed up in an ad on your social feeds, promising comforting gameplay and cute romance based plots. You were all in, and quickly discovered your new favourite game.

Usually when playing a new game, you like to rotate through all the main character options, but one character in MAGICWORLD has dominated your save files. DarkPrince is written to be a challenge character, a gentle opposition that wreaks havoc on your small farm with magic ice storms and silly intrusions, like turning all your gnomes upside down or stealing all your points. It was only on the second playthrough that you realized DarkPrince had a hidden romance option triggered when you offer him kindness instead of counter attack.

When you first offered the towering digital royalty a meal as he approached your crops on a dark and boiling black cloud, he froze in the air, fingers hovering where they meant to send waves of sharp crystals to decimate your stalks. His head tilted, hood falling back and allowing you a first glimpse at his face. That’s when you noticed how attractive you found him.

Now you’re on your sixth play. The game unfortunately ends when you bring prosperity to the land, and with DarkPrince completely devoted to you, MAGICWORLD reaches peak prosperity pretty quickly. Your new interest is attempting to make your time with DarkPrince last.

You didn’t know that DarkPrince had also had enough of being torn from you. So when you wake up in the familiar chill of his dungeons instead of your own bed after a night of gaming, you know this time is different. This time, he’s real.

He’s every bit as intimidating, in fact, more so, even without the billowing black cloak. He steps up to your side where you’re shackled to the stone wall, boots clicking evenly against damp cement. Even when he kneels, he looms, but his large hands are gentle and warm when he cups your cheeks, torch light flickering against the naked ridges of his chest and face.

“You keep disappearing,” he murmurs, velvet voice hiding threats in his throat, as it works down his disappointment. “I won’t let you run this time.”

Because before you could figure it out, he did. A way to keep you together, forever. You tug the iron bracelet that he reaches behind your heavy head to unclasp from the wall. He fixes it to himself, right next to the sheath at his belt.

This time, there are no heart containers, no save points, peace meter, no screen. Your life is now existing as the DarkPrince’s pet, his lover, his everything. He only takes off the chains on special occasions, and even then, guards are kept posted at every entrance and exit of his castle. He won’t risk losing you, not again. You’re his. You always have been. Now, you always will be.

[soluksuret-deactivated20260516]

[latenitewriter]

🥹 Have I mentioned I like being picked up?

[luna-azzurra]

Tips for Writing Injuries

✧ Broken ribs suck. You don’t just “walk it off.” Breathing hurts. Laughing hurts. Existing hurts. Characters with rib injuries won’t be doing heroic sprints.

✧ Concussions aren’t instant naps. Dazed vision, nausea, dizziness, maybe even personality changes, but they’re not going to collapse neatly like in the movies.

✧ Blood loss is sneaky. It’s not just about dramatic pools of blood. It’s dizziness, confusion, and the body getting cold as circulation tanks.

✧ Adrenaline lies. Someone can take a serious injury and not feel it until the fight’s over. That “I didn’t realize I was bleeding until later” trope? Very real.

✧ Twisted ankles are brutal. One bad step and suddenly running is off the table. Even walking hurts like hell. Perfect way to ground a chase scene.

✧ Burns linger. Even small burns hurt more than most people expect. Blisters, infection risk, constant pain, it’s not just a cool scar later.

✧ Dislocated shoulders = useless arm. Characters can’t keep swinging a sword or firing a gun. They’re basically fighting one-armed until it’s fixed.

✧ Shock is a thing. Pale skin, trembling, rapid heartbeat, and eventually disorientation. A character might not even realize how bad their wound is.

✧ Stitches aren’t magic. Getting sewn up is painful and recovery takes time. They’re not instantly battle-ready after a needle and thread.

✧ Scars tell stories. Some fade, some don’t. Some stay sensitive forever. Don’t forget the aftermath when the wound becomes part of the character.

[goth-queen]

[latenitewriter]

♥️ 🌹 Story & Shorts requests now open! Request for free through my ask anything. Read my pinned note for a little more info ℹ️ I posted my first of many short stories today if you’d like an example; the story features one of my favourite OG characters! 🌹♥️

[latenitewriter]

I’m still waiting for you to fill my pages. Write whatever you want 🥀

#foundinthewild

[latenitewriter]

Fine I’ll take a nap 😾