This Is Why I Can Never Write Smut - Blog Posts

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻,

𝑮𝑬𝑻 𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑵.

A/N: okay bear with me, this is a ‘poem’ (i don’t know what else to call it) that i wrote and when i read over it i realised some girls here would appreciate this imagery with their own infatuations, so whilst its not written like fan-fiction i felt generous enough to share it and i hope at least 1 of you will like it, best part is that you can picture any one of your favourite girls!!! Instead of a name i call the other character “Pretty”, so keep that in mind while reading, and again, this isn’t written like fan-fiction, but still i would appreciate it if you gave it a shot and told me what you think ♡

tags: lesbian only, think anyone!, femme!r, metaphors, suggestive, nsfw undertones but they are so slight and hidden beneath the wordplay that i can’t really count this as nsfw, sadomasochistic in a way, did i forget something? Let me know!

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I don’t want a cottage, i don’t want a life in simplicity and independency. I want a castle, i want an abandoned mansion adorned by vines hugging it long after solitude fell cold and loveless upon its very walls.

I want to hear the floors creak with every step, i want to hear the tremble of the floors effortlessly mirror the tremble of her legs, i want to have her, Pretty, and i want to keep her on her toes. I want, behind her gaze, to be as unpredictable as the grass around the mansion, a neglected ring of hues of green. Tall, short, eaten, rotten.

I want to give her the world, and i want to make her spin in the middle of it, i want to give her everything and make her feel like in a moment she could have nothing.

I want to make her dizzy and i want to make her euphoric, i want to see her scared and i want to hold her close, be the one to comfort her, Pretty.

I want our clothes to dance against each other when the weather drops and i take her out on walks, on the endless garden we’ve named ‘our hearts’ that no matter how long it’s been there for, untouched, unloved, uncared for, it just never seems to end.

I want her to let me tear her cotton fabrics apart and off, torn by grinding teeth and claw-like nails, hungry like a centuries-old vampire, lifetimes of self control and respect disintegrated in the very same time span Pretty’s clothes get ripped. Carefully laboured fabric, soft as freshly laved hair, made with the selfish, miserable thought of this granting them extra bread on their dinner plate.

And she would, she would let me tear her apart in one shared gaze. She would let me hold her and scratch her open, she would let me wound her because she knows i’ll be the one to heal her up again. And she knows i’ll do it before she can build the thought of asking me to.

She would let me darken her vision under the noon sun, heating and blinding. She would let me bruise her neck, violet splats trailing down her body like a rosemary. She would let me reach her depths and spin them around, it’d be nothing new to her, as long as her world is intertwined with mine she’s always spinning, she’s always dizzy. She would let me cradle her head as i treat her like fresh meat in aching, starved hands, because i’ve done so another hundred times, and each one she only seems more unwilted than the last.

Because she knows she’ll get me back.

Because she plans on making my darkest nights luminous, and she knows i’ll let her. The story is always the same; she unwraps me like a one-of-a-kind royal heirloom, her touches vigilant, precise on what she unfolds, what lies beneath her hands. And she knows i don’t fancy peace, her words forming clear juxtaposition to her touches, there are no blurred lines, my sense of touch and my sense of hearing are in two completely different words, and yet they co-exist in the pits of my stomach.

But like every child asking their parent to tell them a bedtime story, it doesn’t matter if its always the same, they always enjoy it the same. At the end of the day they fall asleep to it every time.

I’ll let her unwrap the lace off the corset, i’ll let her loosen every layer, watch the silks fall off my form, i’ll let her tell me the harshest things that leave my throat closing in on itself, as her hands soothe around my flesh getting me to ease up. She’ll rock me back and forth from being velvety to being cruel, i know it, and i will let her.

Because it takes two to dance, if you’re unable to match the other’s rhythm what’s the fun? It’s only enjoyable when you’re both having fun. 🫀