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usedtobecooler · 1 year

Text

Pairing | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), DUBCON, dark themes, monster fucking, cunnilingus, fingering f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild anal play f receiving, dirty talking, degradation, squirting, crying, pussy slapping, spanking, face slapping, creampie, praise kink, biting, blood play, blood kink, no aftercare.

Word Count | 3.7k

A/N | just a lil something since it's halloween, it's only fair we delve into something a bit spooky and out of the ordinary. can't lie i've mortified myself this time but i'm so into it.

"Where have you been all my life?" A figure slides up beside you where you stand at the drinks table, cup in hand filled with some gross 'Halloween Punch' that Harrington had promised tasted good (it didn't), some shitty Blondie tune playing loud in the background, mostly drowned out by the rowdy noise of the party.

You turn your head to glance at said figure, to find Eddie Munson standing there with a smirk on his red stained lips. He's a vampire (you think?), albeit a fantastic one. You had to admit his costume was great as you drank in his appearance. He really had gone all out, red horns poking out from beneath his bangs, large black bat wings fanned out across his back, fingers dusted charcoal and he'd even gone to the trouble of sticking on impossibly long talon-like nails.

His actual outfit could be considered normal, a black button down silk shirt on his torso, two buttons open to reveal a chain dangling from his neck, what looked to be fake bite marks chomped into the surrounding skin. A simple pair of ripped jeans and white trainers to finish the look off, but you could forgive him for the lack of detail in the actual clothes with how good his prosthetics were.

"What are you supposed to be?" You ask, furrowed brows as you brush your hand out to touch his wings, feeling the soft, leathery texture under your fingertips. It feels expensive, which was weird because you were so sure Eddie was dirt poor. Maybe you were wrong.

"I suppose you could call me a vampire-bat hybrid?" Eddie smirks, and you bite your glossy red lip when you see the two crystal white fangs sparkle in the light. Fangs had always done it for you, really, there was something about vampires that got you all hot and bothered.

"Looks good," You say eventually, voice strained as you bring your cup up to your mouth and swig a little of the absolutely vile concoction. You screw your face up in disgust as you swallow, trying to ignore the way the liquid almost comes back up as fast as it goes down.

Eddie crowds into your space, leaning over you to grab a bottle of Bud sat just inches from where you were. Your breath hitches at the feeling of him so close to you, his scent and the cold coming from his body enough to make you feel dizzy.

There was something off about him that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You admittedly hadn't seen Eddie Munson since you graduated in '84 and left Hawkins rather abruptly to study across the country. But you remembered him being a little warmer than this, a little shyer, a little more human.

You stand there awkwardly for a moment longer before excusing yourself to the bathroom, feigning that you needed to rearrange your costume - a party city zombie cheerleader outfit, not exactly enough to leave much to the imagination, and not really an outfit that needed fixing, but Eddie takes your word for it, and you bounce off without another word.

Knowing Steve well enough, you sneak into his room to use his own private bathroom, any party goers being schmucks and using the main bathroom that had a queue the size of Hawkins outside of it. You were surprised he wasn't in there himself with some girl, the room completely void of human life.

You give yourself a second, brushing out your skirt and pulling your ponytail tight. The costume wasn't a far cry from your days at Hawkins High, you were an it girl in those days after all. Not head cheerleader, but on the team - people had liked you more for other reasons.

You unclick the lock on the bathroom door, pulling it open to come face to face with the person you'd ran away from. You jump out of your skin a little, Eddie's face lit up with a little smirk at the reaction he elicits from you. You furrow your brows and shut the door behind you, making to leave without a word, but he won't let you.

It truly was dizzying being up this close to Eddie, his body crowding in on yours and backing you up against Steve's door, and you swear you see his wings curl in too but that could be from the one too many drinks you'd plied yourself with.

"Are you scared of me?" Eddie asks, picking up on the way your heart races and thuds loudly beneath your ribcage, making his fangs ache and his head cloudy with need to sink in and taste the wet, metallic gush of your blood.

"N-no," You stutter, head lulling to the side a little to invite him in, to let him nuzzle his nose in and smell you properly, which he does so gratefully, the pointed edges of his fangs sliding out to graze at your goosebump riddled skin, making you shiver, "does... does anybody know?"

Eddie huffs out a little laugh against your skin, fangs disappearing so he can press a sweet kiss to your neck, "Know what? Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

You gasp out loud at the feeling of Eddie's lips on you, the way his big hands come out to grasp at your hips and hold you in place, "I don't - I don't know, Eddie. You don't seem like yourself. You're not the guy I remember."

Your head is hazy, a mixture of alcohol and whatever weird spell Eddie was putting on you enough to have you confused and doubting yourself. Maybe you truly were just crazy and making this up in your drunk brain, but you were almost positive you knew what was going on here. It terrified you, and you wanted to back away, but it was like your feet were planted firmly in their place, glued down and rendering you unable to run.

Eddie smirks against your neck, hand running from your hip to brazenly slide under your skirt, and you can't help but notice his nails have somehow disappeared, soft pads of his fingers running along your clothed folds, "Your soaking wet pussy tells me you like this though, sweetheart. So wet you're drenching your panties for me."

You shiver, a moan escaping your lips as he moves your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cool air. His cold fingers expertly find your clit right away, rubbing it in slow, hard circles that have you mewling.

Your whole body feels like it's on fire, a sensation you've never felt as Eddie assaults your cunt with his fingertips, you're trapped in a trance that you can't pull yourself out of, all of your senses rushing with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Your hands come out to grip at his hair, fingertips accidentally knocking one of his horns and he growls, snapping back from his place in your neck to stare you down with hard eyes, fingertips stuttering on your clit and suddenly he's slapping your cunt hard. You let out a shocked, high-pitched moan at the harsh sting vibrating through your folds and your bundle of nerves, leaving you in a cold sweat and your legs almost buckling.

"Hands to your fucking self, I'm in charge here." Eddie's voice is quiet, but his words come out so harsh and venomous that it frightens you, though your cunt clenches uncontrollably, like it has a mind of its own, "Go lie on the fucking bed and spread your legs like the whore you are."

You do it wordlessly and without question, your legs moving before your brain can comprehend it, like you're under a spell. At this point, you're wondering if you are, because the real you wasn't like this - she doesn't let herself be bossed around, she doesn't allow men to touch her without her say so. You know it's bad, yet you can't stop it, because it doesn't feel wrong in the way it should.

Steve's bed is big and plush, nothing less could be expected of him really, and you sink into it, propping yourself up on your elbows so you didn't feel so vulnerable, spreading your legs wide like Eddie commanded of you. He creeps towards you like a predator stalking his prey, his dark eyes almost black now and something behind them that you can't quite pinpoint.

In the dim light Eddie's skin appears to be flushed a deep red that almost looks supernatural, like he'd covered himself in oil paints. He grabs a tight hold of your ankles and pulls them, yanking you down the bed until your ass is almost over the edge. You watch him in awe as he kneels on the floor in front of you, head going under your short skirt.

"You won't be needing these." He mutters against the insides of your thighs, then you feel and hear him ripping at the lacey material of your panties. They fall in tatters to the floor, discarded to be long forgotten about.

You gasp as he plants wet, sloppy kisses to the insides of your thighs, and you feel the points of his fangs brush the skin just hard enough to feel like a papercut. Your fingers clench into the sheets, blown away by how even the slightest touch has you a wet, whimpering mess for him.

"Your cunt smells so fuckin' good," Eddie groans, nestling his nose in between your folds and inhaling deep, "so sweet, just like the rest of you. Good enough to eat."

"Wha-" Your voice dies in your throat as Eddie's long pointed tongue comes out to lick a stripe up the seam of your pussy. He finds your clit as fast with his tongue as he did with his fingers, latching on and suckling at it hard.

The noises escaping you are sad and pathetic, truly, for all it is he's actually doing. You're moaning like you'd never been touched in your life, begging and pleading, "Eddie, please, fuck."

Your hips buck into his face of their own accord and Eddie growls against your cunt, his big hand coming up to shove your hips back down, forearm laying across the width of your pelvis to hold them down so you couldn't move. You can't even focus enough to brace yourself for two of his fingers from the opposite hand circling your entrance and sliding in to the hilt until it's too late.

The slick sounds of your wet cunt being assaulted by Eddie's mouth and fingers fill your senses, making you gush even wetter and clench around his thick fingers. They're so deep you can feel his rings catching on your hole and breaching slightly, it's enough to have you feeling dizzy with want and need.

Your arms finally give out and you fall flat against the bed, mewling and eyes pricking wet with tears as the pads of Eddie's fingers run along your spongey spot and don't let up. You can feel your orgasm building quickly, tummy winding tight and the hot heat spreading through your whole body.

Eddie's mouth is utterly sinful, his tongue working your clit expertly like he'd done this a thousand times before, like something straight out of a porn flick. Your body succumbs to him like you're his for the taking, like his fingers were meant to be buried deep in your cunt forever and his mouth was made specifically for you.

You come so hot and fast you're crying, sobbing wetly, moaning and thrashing uselessly as Eddie's fingers are forced out of you from the sheer power of it - all he does is bury his face harder in your cunt in retaliation. You gush wet and hard enough that you hear it trickling onto the hardwood floor in front of Eddie's knees, feel it run down your ass.

Eddie licks you clean, sharp tongue running all the way down to your asshole and even sucking you dry there, big hands moving to spread your cheeks and shove his face in. In your state you can't find it in you to be embarrassed or feel disgusted, your body feeling like jelly and placid enough that Eddie could do whatever he wanted and get away with it.

You're so out of it that you don't realise Eddie moving you up the bed and tearing your shirt off until he's hovering between your legs and your tits are on full display. He leans down to lick and bite at the round of your left breast, his large hand grabbing the other and kneading it. His wings are encasing you both now, enough to shield you from view if anyone were to walk in.

The wetness of your tears roll down the sides of your face and pool in your ears and hair. Somewhere in your subconscious you're begging him to stop, but your body is keening into him, and your lips betray you with the noises of content that fall from them.

You make to lift your hands up to shove him away, but Eddie's reflexes are incredible and his own hands come out to grasp at your wrists and force them down onto the bed, holding you down tightly. You try to thrash around but it dies when Eddie bares his fangs and sinks them into the flesh of your tit.

The feeling that overcomes you is something you'd never felt before, your body flushes hot like you have a high fever, your skin prickling with want as your tummy coiled up in knots. Eddie drinks from you in silence, the only noises to be heard are the slight slurp of wetness from your dripping blood and the moans escaping your lips.

You come again. Hard, hot and fast. Not a single part of Eddie's body near your cunt, yet you're shuddering and gushing wet on the bed, enough to soak the comforter beneath your legs and ass.

It feels wrong, your pussy clenching around nothing and your body wracking with aftershocks. Eddie's fangs retract and he's smirking against your skin, tongue lapping up the blood still trickling from the wounds on your breast.

"Dirty fuckin' slut, coming just from my fangs in you. You're so fucking easy for it, what a silly little girl." Eddie laughs at you and you're crying again, squeezing your eyes shut as he mocks you, but you like it, you're so ashamed you can't stop the tears from falling.

Eddie roughly grips your chin, shaking you a little until you open your eyes. You're mortified by the sight in front of you, your blood dripping down Eddie's chin and neck, spreading down the open neck of his shirt.

He looks like a monster, the facade gone and his true form on display in all of its glory. He looks deranged, eyes as black as the Devil's, skin flushed crimson and his fangs on full display. The only thing reminding you that it's Eddie perched in front of you is his curly hair, looking out of place on his body. You should be scared, turned off, trying to back out of the door and run for your life.

Yet, you still lie there, with your legs spread for him and refusing to budge. You hazard letting your hands come out to grasp at his silk shirt and he surprisingly lets you, lets you unbutton it with nimble fingers until the front is open and exposing the bites in his toned chest and stomach.

Something had done a number on him; you know that much. Chunks of flesh are missing, deep enough that he should be dead. Through the fog of your brain, you're aware now more than ever that he probably is in fact dead - the undead.

Time was a mere concept to you in your hazy state, as you watch Eddie unbuckle the belt on his jeans, sliding them down his thighs with his underwear to expose himself, hard cock springing out into the cool air, making him hiss.

You shoot up from your place on the bed, sitting up properly to get a good look at what was in front of you.

It was like nothing you'd ever seen in your life.

It was a dick, that much was obvious, clearly. But it matched the rest of his undead body, flushed deep red from base to tip. Where there should've been veins, there were now symmetrical ridges, all the way down to the fat head. The head itself was curved upwards, almost like it was made for stroking a gspot.

And, to put it bluntly, it was fucking huge. Your mouth watered uncontrollably, the urge to reach out and touch it tugging at your gut.

Eddie reaches out and slaps you with a flat palm against your cheek, the connection loud enough to snap you out of your trance, "I said, get up on your knees. Be a good girl and ride me."

Your body moves subconsciously, trading places with Eddie and swinging your leg over so you were hovering just above his hard cock. You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. At this point, you're so far gone that even the voice niggling at the back of your head had died down, leaving you a wanton, submissive mess.

He makes the first move, grabbing his cock by the base and running the head between your folds, getting himself nice and wet. Eddie makes no noise as an indicator as to whether he's genuinely enjoying this or not, just breaches your cunt with the tip until you're gasping and rocking your hips a little.

It's wide, a ridiculous stretch that you're not used to and probably could never get used to. Eddie grips onto your ass with his free hand, slapping it hard enough that you slide down another inch, your back arching a little and tears forming in your eyes.

"Little baby can't take my cock, how cute," Eddie's voice is condescending, mocking you enough to have your cunt clench around him, eliciting a hiss from his lips, "you're gonna take it all like a good fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

Another slap to your ass has you sliding down again, taking in another inch. You can feel every ridge of his cock, every weird texture, the fat bulb of the head already abusing your soft spot. It hurt, but it hurt so good, like you were being stretched apart from the inside.

Eddie grows impatient at how slow you're going, grabbing a tight hold of your hips and impaling you on the last of his cock until you're screaming, fingertips gripping at his mauled shoulders as you cry, cunt gripping sporadically around the length of him.

You feel so full it's pathetic, if you poked your tummy you'd be able to feel him nestled in your stomach. Could probably see it if you wanted to hazard a glance down.

"You're such a whiny little thing, aren't you? Crying for me," Eddie coos, bucking his hips up a little for emphasis until you're biting out a wet sob, "your little sobs sound like music in my ears, sweetheart."

He doesn't let you become accustomed to the size of his cock in you, lifting your hips up as if you're weightless and shoving you back down to the hilt. You moan in between your cries, body going lax in his hands as you let him do what he wants with you.

Eddie's demeanor breaks eventually and he moans into the expanse of your throat, massive cock fucking into you relentlessly from below and there's nothing you can do but take it, feeling every bit of him consuming your body, "Such a good little slut for me, taking my monster cock so well. You love it, huh? Love being treated like a little fuck toy."

You nod, tears streaming consistently, "Y-yes, Eddie. F-fuck, m'so full." You cry out, the sounds of your soaking wet cunt sucking his cock in making you clench impossibly tighter around him, "Bite me again, aah, wanna come again, please."

Your wet sobs are almost enough to have Eddie folding, sinking his teeth into you without a second thought, but instead his large hand comes up to grab your ponytail, pulling your head back until you're looking at the ceiling as his hips snap up into your own, "Scream a bit louder. Want everyone at this party to hear you cry and beg for me."

The head of Eddie's cock is relentless on your spongey spot, his hips snapping into yours hard enough you're going to be left with so many bruises, "Eddie!" Your voice is primal, you'd never heard yourself sound like this before, "Pleasepleaseplease, m'begging, let me come."

"Atta girl, begging for me all sweet." Eddie smirks, pulling your ponytail impossibly tighter until your back is arched, he leans over and bites into your neck, sinking his fangs in to the hilt as his hips continue to fuck up into you, the brutal assault feeling like it's never ending.

The hot waves of pleasure wash over you so quick you barely comprehend it, the feeling of Eddie feeding from your veins making your cunt clench around his cock as you come again, squirting wet and hot all over him, drenching his balls and his thighs.

Eddie shoves you onto your back without pulling out, driving into you deep and impossibly fast with his fangs still in your throat. He comes not long after, succumbing to the feeling of your tight pussy and your hot blood dripping down his throat, a deep groan escaping him as he buried himself in to the hilt as your clenching cunt helped work him through, "You're mine now, sweetheart. Don't think I'm done with you, I'll be back."

You pass out with his words swimming in your head, for how long you're unsure, but when you wake up Eddie is gone, the fog that clouded your brain leaving with him.

Your aching neck, leaking cunt and bruised body the only reminder he was ever there.

You wonder if he meant it, if you truly would ever see him again.

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bettyfrommars · 9 months

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A blurb of biker!Eddie posing for reader for a future painting. The painting imagery of your choice, snarky jokes about being her French girl would be icing on the cake.

Thank you so much for this ask, Angie, it made my heart happy❤️

18+Only for mature themes. wc: 892

from the I'm on Fire au

biker!Eddie x fem!artist!Reader

“Babe,” you gave Eddie a look around the side of the big canvas you had propped on a wood easel. “You’re doing it again.”

Forever fidgeting, the man could never sit still. On the couch in front of you, Eddie rubbed his hands down his face with a groan and sat forward, placing elbows to knees. He’s shirtless, in a pair of jeans, with his guitar resting on the floor next to him. The wash of tattoos over his chest, stomach, and arms would be a challenge, but you planned to fill those details in later. You’d considered having him strip all the way down, but you didn’t want to traumatize Dustin’s family when they brought the baby over for a visit.

“I never realized how hard it would be to stay in one place for so long,” he mused, running his fingers through his hair. “How did those people in the old days do it? Just standing there. No wonder they all look like they are all mean muggin’ or trying to take a shit.”

You put the brush down and went over to him, softly taking his chin to make him look up at you, your hand stained with charcoal and white paint flecks. You swept the curtain of his bangs to one side with your other hand, meeting the weariness in his maplewood eyes with love and patience.

“You’re on your bike for hours some days. This is just like that,” you tried to reason with him.

Eddie reached up to settle his hands at your hips. “No but that’s different. On the bike I’m moving fast and the wind is in my face, my mind is clear. Now, all I can think about is everything I need to fix and work on in this house. I want it all to be perfect for you, for us.”

It’d been almost six months since Eddie surprised you with the keys to the old Ferguson farmhouse, the one you’d both had your eye on for a while. Indeed, the place was over a hundred years old and needed a lot of work, but you had your paints and you had Eddie, and the rest just didn’t matter as much.

You let go of his chin and he leaned in to plant a kiss on your stomach before tilting his chin up to meet your gaze again.

“This is really important to me, baby,” you tucked hair behind his ear, and then untucked it, and you could feel him searching your face. “One day, Oliver or one of the other kids will put this painting in their home to remember their uncle Eddie. And they’ll know the person who painted it loved you more than life.”

Eddie’s arms were suddenly around your waist, pulling you down into his lap, pecking kisses all along your neck and face, making you squirm and giggle. He was fresh out of the shower, smelling like Irish Spring; his hair air-dried and fluffy. When he came up for air, you caught his face between your hands.

“Please, baby. For me,” you pleaded. “Just an hour or two a day, I know you can do this.”

“For you, I will,” his lips met yours, brushing them as he spoke, but then a smile cracked the sides of his mouth. “I want you to paint me like one of your French girls.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you beamed, batting your eyelashes, pushing out of his lap and onto your feet. You decided not to remind about the time you rented Titanic, and Eddie was the one with wet eyes, holding you close as if he were about to lose you to the frigid, dark waters. He held you so tight that night in bed, waking up every hour to check and make sure you were still there.

When he felt you shift and knew you were awake, he’d whispered into the back of your neck: “If something ever happened to you, I don’t think I’d be able to move on.” And even though you were not privy to the mysteries the future held, you assured him that you’d both grow old together and pass away at the same time.

Back in the art room, you brushed your hands off on your apron and got in front of the canvas. “Okay, let’s try this again,” you picked up one of the charcoal pencils to sharpen it. “You can have a smoke if you want, baby, just don’t move your legs.”

“Anything for you, Jack,” Eddie chirped, eager to pop a cigarette between his lips, cupping his hand over the end to light it.

In the end, the smoldering cigarette between his fingers made it into the painting. Legs wide, guitar propped to one side, one hand resting on his thigh, the other arm hooked around the back of the couch so he could flick the ash into an empty can of Coke. His jeans were unbuttoned, purple scar on one side of his stomach, and he wasn’t smiling, but the light of love in his eyes was unmistakable as dark hair spilled around his shoulders.

Decades later, Steve’s son Oliver would never tire of telling the story when people asked about the painting. The story of a down and dirty biker named War Machine and the woman he devoted his life to.

#biker!Eddie #I'm on Fire #older!Eddie munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie munson series #Eddie munson fluff

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samieree · 5 months

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Hoi I was wondering if you could do a hiemdall x reader where the reader has adhd or write head cannons? Please

Oh yes! It can be kinda funny thought, because I feel like Heimdall doesn't have much patience in him 😂

I hope I'll write it well, I found behavior of a person with ADHD on the Internet.

So here we go, Heimdall x reader with ADHD headcanons!

When you first met in Asgard, you quickly become one of the most annoying people for him (not more than Thor of Thrud)

He thought he has much patience, really. But after talking with you he had to rethink that.

Heimdall just can't stand when someone talk over him. He may be an asshole, but still believes in culture of discussion.

Not to mention that in your head is almost always chaos. Because of that he often feels confused around you but also intrigued. It's something new to him, not knowing what exactly going on in someone's head.

When he learned you have ADHD suddenly your actions made sense (and he stopped his sarcastic comments on you habits, like tapping fingers on the table or tapping feet. He used to say "Are you sewing something?" when he saw how you leg moves).

Heimdall started looking at you differently and after few days decided to work on his patience (he really needs that).

He got used to reminding you what you were doing/talking about when you got distracted.

Luckily he was already used to explosiveness (thanks to Thor. Okay, Heimdall likes to annoy him, so it's kinda his fault but you know... "He's only speaking the truth, but in a nasty way")

You know, it even became kinda funny for him when you finished the sentence for him. You weren't always right, but when you guessed what he wanted to say it felt like you were reading his mind and he likes that feeling.

Finding you tapping your fingers on the table, he started tapping his but in the different rhythm and like that you were "playing" some songs (Heimdall sometimes starts to hum to himself or even sing quietly. Most of the time you pretend you don't hear it so you can hear his voice in this rare way).

(When you make him aware of what he's doing, he's gonna stop and say "I didn't, you're delusional" or "No, you were").

Okay, we know he is fit, but he doesn't do much to keep his figure (he's a God after all) but with you... He never walked this much.

One day you made around 20 circles just walking on the Wall.

He never was a fan of running and never will be, but he runs after you (Even when Odin told him that he no longer has to watch over you).

Heimdall found himself feeling pretty good in role of your bestie. He is sitting on standing somewhere and you're just walking around him and speaking about your problems, rumours or anything else. He listens, talks back.

Once you asked him to braid you hair.

He didn't agree :(

You looked so sad that he couldn't bare it and next morning came to your room with a brush and hairbands.

Of course he was a bit annoyed, when you couldn't sit in one place. Once he had to start walking after you ("Thank Gods I'm taller than you", "You're lucky I'm skilled at braiding", "Stop or I'm going to tear your hair out and not even on purpose!")

He found a solution for this problem! :D

He noticed that when you draw you always sit in one place and not fidget too much. So apart from a brush and hairbands, he always brings with him sheets of paper, charcoal, pen, ink, paints…

Heimdall got some habits because of you, like taking you by the hand when he feels you get nervous (no matter if you're alone or someone is around).

(Sometimes he even hugs you. Or he playfully pats your head, turning your attention to him)

After a few months Baldur started to joke, that his brother finally found a girl he likes more than his hair (or Odin).

Of course he denied, saying that he simply cares for people in Asgard in general. But inside he couldn't lie to himself.

He began to hug you more often (and he no longer wanted to gain more attention or appreciation from his father).

Once, when you lost your favourite pair of shoes (they were under wardrobe) and he found them... "You're cute when you run like that, looking for something" No, he didn't say that! He's gonna call you delusional, blush and walk away.

He didn't have problems accepting his feelings, he just... Was afraid that you can reject him.

Things changed when he was braiding you hair and you just draw a big, read heart on the paper. You gave it to him, and found him blushing like no one ever before (this sight will never leave your head, he looked kinda cute. Like a beetroot, but cute beetroot).

Not much changed in your relationship after you became a pair, except that you started kissing during the day (and night) and something more... 😏

Teasing remains (but both of you know he's just joking).

Maybe he's even more protective.

Baldur's gonna make fun of him (but he likes you and is happy for his brother's and yours happiness).

In the end, you teached him something (besides how to love and care for someone) - patience (and running fast without superpowers. He thought he was gonna spit out his lungs).

Children? Nah, he has to think about this... (He was just waiting for you to start thinking about it)(He even has names).

-> general masterlist

-> God of War: Ragnarök masterlist

#god of war ragnarok #heimdall #gow heimdall #god of war heimdall #heimdall god of war #god of war #gow #heimdall gow #heimdall x reader #heimdall headcanons

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oepionie · 1 year

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Hi! I'm not sure if this request is odd, but could I request Jamil with an s/o that's skilled at pharmacology and cooking?

CHARMING THE SNAKE. jamil viper

Character/s: Jamil Viper x GN! Reader

Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, slight angst if you squint really hard

WordCount: 700+ |💌 Masterlist

> If you were skilled in pharmacology, I can see him being interested in the research work you do. He enjoys spending time with you in your lab while you work, however occasionally he gets sidetracked and ends up staring at you instead.

Jamil watched you move around the lab efficiently, grabbing papers and test tubes as you went. He sat in the far back, leaning against the wall as he watched you in your element. His half-finished homework was scattered on the desk in front of him. Homework that he had abandoned in favour of staring at you instead.

Your hair was pinned back with two golden snake clips, ones he gifted you himself. You had a focused expression on your face, tongue occasionally darting out to wet your lips. He let his gaze move to the soft line of your cheeks before finally looking into your eyes. They were like sparkling gold coins, pieces of pale, polished emerald, dazzling amber, and intricately carved jade, similar to the gems and jewels he'd seen at the bazaars back in the Scalding Sands. Your eyes shone under the lab's overhead lighting like hidden gems in rich dirt. Jamil wished to stare at them for hours, had stared at them for hours.

"That essay Sir Trein assigned isn't going to finish itself, Jamil." You mused, not looking up from your papers as he stared at you from across the table. He blinked before hastily looking down.

"Ah. Yes of course."

> Cooking dates? Cooking dates. Jamil would put both your culinary abilities to use and convince you to join him in the kitchen. After all, isn't cooking so much better with your beloved?

Placing a sheet of phyllo dough into the pan, you quickly grabbed a pastry brush, brushing the sheet with melted butter. Jamil was, unsurprisingly, placed in charge of food preparations after Kalim announced yet another weekend party at Scarabia. You had promised to help, and now here you were, wearing a frilly apron while preparing Baklava in Scarabia's kitchen.

"How is it?" Jamil placed a hand on your hip, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. You jumped, cheeks burning up from the close proximity between his body and yours.

"Make sure the mixture is layered properly." He spoke in a low and deep whisper, eyeing the pan. He clasped his hands over your own, guiding the pastry brush along the pan.

"J-Jamil! I know that! Shoo! I'm trying to concentrate here." As you turned to face him, he gave you a sly smirk and stepped back. His charcoal grey eyes swept over your body before settling on the apron you were wearing.

"Kiss the chef, huh?"

"It was the only apron they had left!"

> Despite the teasing, he would actually melt if you cooked for him, though he'd feel a bit guilty about it. Being the vice dorm leader and Kalim's babysitter retainer leaves him with little free time, thus he hardly ever finds the opportunity to take care of himself. He is incredibly appreciative of your love and generosity, it might just take him some time to get used to it.

"Jewel? What are you doing here? Jamil stared at you bewildered. He was on his way to history class, running a bit late since he had to rush back to the dorm when Kalim once again forgot his homework. That's when you unexpectedly arrived, looking a little unkempt and holding a lunch box in one hand.

"Jamil! I've brought you lunch!" you say brightly, your one free arm raised up to beckon him in for a hug. Jamil closes the distance in less than a second, pulling you in. You pressed a kiss on his cheek, chuckling when you felt his skin burn up.

"Thank you but you really didn't have to." He steps back and coughs into his palm, attempting to maintain his composure. Jamil knew that cooking for him every day was no easy fit, especially when you're practically swamped with all the work that Crowley dumped onto you. Still, as with anything thrown your way, you somehow always go out of your way to make time for him.

"I wanted to! Here, take it!" Ignoring the pang of guilt in his chest, Jamil plucks the lunch box from your hands. He's careful with the meal, lifting the cover to catch a glimpse of what you've made for him today. The meal featured a bed of creamy milky rice which was topped with a butter-coated roast chicken.

"Saleeg? I was just craving this earlier, how did you know?"

"It was just a hunch~"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and motivating on my end !

#twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twst jamil #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x yuu #jamil x reader #jamil x yuu #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland jamil viper x reader #twst

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defsiarte · 11 months

Text

CSP Pencil Brush Sets!

For this one I went through my favorited brushes and just.. am compiling every set that has "pencil" in it because they're so effective for sketching. Some more than others of course, and I also download them because many tend to also come with erasers which are severely underrated on the asset store.

1. Intoxicate Pencil Set

I never really used these pencils because it's a fairly beefy set and I didn't care for the dusty feel of them (it felt like using super powdery charcoal). I did keep the eraser that came with this set though.

2. Artemus Pencil

I used to use this set all the time, it's so fun and has nice pen tilt support. I can't really tell the three apart but maybe you'll be able to. Love and light <3

3. PLOP Pencils★

I love this person's brushes and as of late this set has been my go-to for sketching and doing small detailing. It costs 10 clippy but it's definitely worth it dude.

4. Color Pencil+Color set

I have yet to download these but I'm obsessed with the novelty of a colored pencil set. They look excellent and I liked the palette.

5. punch pencil set

Big fan of pencils that look textured and boy this one does.

#weekly brush post #clip studio paint #csp assets #csp brushes #digital art brushes #clip studio paint brushes #honking

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hexagonspress · 1 year

Text

BE by tothewillofthepeople

Grantaire is earnest in this, and it’s heartbreaking. Enjolras can’t look away. This is just a rehearsal. Grantaire is still wearing skinny jeans. They have lights and phones and textual analysis and thousands of years of history between now and then and yet– When Grantaire speaks, the distance collapses. (Grantaire as Hamlet.)

Title: Middle Ages Deco Headers/Accents: Letter Gothic Standard Body text: Adobe Caslon Pro Case title: Goudy Initialen

38,667 words | 224 pages

Binderary book 1: a long-favourite EXR fic. I love wild Les Mis AUs and I love Shakespeare and this is all of that in such a lovely lovely form. Stage manager Enjolras is inspired. Also, I've been frothing at the mouth to use my special blackletter fonts and go suuuper overboard designing and this was Perfect for that purpose.

More pictures/design/process under the cut.

Design and Construction Case: Flat-back case binding with bradel board covers and spine. The spine cloth is Hollander's pearl linen in charcoal grey. The painted titles were done in Amsterdam acrylic ink in silver, with a pair of scissors because I don't own a painting brush and likely never will. The cover papers are printed on 80gsm white printer paper and glued with a regular Elmer's glue stick and PVA on the turn-ins, and the whole case is sprayed with workable fixatif to (hopefully) preserve it longer-term.

Covers: The front and back covers were designed in Photoshop. The centre image is a William Morris pattern, and the top and bottom little circles are Renaissance printer's ornaments (pngs by the lovely @helle-bored of Renegade Bindery) that I vectorized in Illustrator (Illustrator and I were sworn enemies until this month. Now we're forced friends. Like enemies to lovers).

Insides: Endpapers are a William Morris pattern recoloured in Photoshop to be a richer green and red, obv, for EXR. Printed with inkjet on 80gsm printer paper and glued to gold cardstock, and sewn into the textblock. Endbands are pre-sewn from Hollanders, dyed gold with acrylic ink to match the endpapers.

Typesetting Typeset was done in InDesign. This is a one-shot with scene breaks, so to match the theatre theme of the piece I replaced the horizontal line breaks with flagged scene numbers. I tried to strike a balance in the typesetting between classic Shakespearean aesthetic with the blackletter drop caps and cover fonts versus what you might see in a theatre script book with the monospace accents. The title spread uses a transparent decorative frame, again from Helle's collection; the large box in the middle with the title was part of the original frame and then I duplicated and resized it for the author name and my imprint.

We All Do It, or, the Mistakes Section I somehow managed to print the cover papers nine inches tall and didn't see a problem with it until they came off the printer. Truly who knows how that happened. I was working on the case at two in the morning and cut the spine cloth the wrong length three separate times...earned the measure once cut twice badge big time for that one. The endpapers were an ordeal and a half for real. What I learned: print them too big and glue the cardstock to the back, then trim the paper to size, not the other way around otherwise you'll end up with big ugly gaps where the trimming was a few millimeters off. Whoops.

And...more pictures

I'm particularly pleased with how the covers here came out so here's closeups. Also, the arc on the spine that you can see in the endband on the last one is really pleasing to me lol I fought a war trying to get the flatback hinge calculations right.

#binderary2023 #les miserables #enjoltaire #bookbinding #fanbinding #kvothes #my books

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khoipyan · 2 years

Note

First of all, love your writing (*´▽｀*)

Feel free to ignore this if i'm direspecting your rules or anything.

I got a funny idea for a request: imagine playing octatrio with Adeuce. Ace is Floyd, Deuce is Jade he is trying his best and Reader is Azul. And then, for their horror and cringe, actual octatrio walks in. Fluff for Jade, Azul and Floyd.

are you me?

adeuce + gn!reader playing around as the octavinelle boys, only for the actual trio to come along.

warnings; no warnings. but i’ve never written for deuce so he might be a bit ooc??? i hope either nobody notices (yippee!) or doesn’t mind…

also if you’re one of those people who don’t get embarrassed easily from this type of stuff, that’s good! but reader will get embarrassed in this ^_^

notes; wake up, check tumblr, see this request, proceeds to start a draft. this idea is so funny in my head, TY ANON omg💀 imagine ur playing somebody and they walk in and ask tf you were doing I WOULD DIE. also i may have wandered off og idea too much so im sorry if its not to ur liking 🙁 also i wrote this in school so its not proofread (i say that as if i proofread any of my works…)

notes2; i hate mint this was not relevant at all i just wanted to say IM THE WORLDS BIGGEST MINT HATER 🤬 don’t ask what i brush my teeth. idm toothpaste but i still don’t like the mint flavour. i like charcoal toothpaste bc it's less minty…. (helix if u saw this no u didnt RAAGR GRGWGRDS)

leading up…

“i can’t believe you broke 3 of the dishes, ace. and why is this mop so hard to use?!” you sweat as you push the mop harder across the ground.

ace paused with his own mopping, “it wasn’t my fault! deuce asked me a question which was distracting, and then YOU bumped into me while i was carrying a tray of food!”

“hey, hey. i think we’re all sort of at fault here.” deuce sighs, “doesn’t matter anyways, we’re still stuck with cleaning duty.”

"azul was like," you mimic the action of azul pushing up his glasses, "’i'm going to land you into a weekend of cleaning because even though i can just buy three more plates, i'll just make you suffer.’"

ace grinned, "oh? we're doing impressions now? well in that case," he clings onto you, and you both tumble to the ground. "’shrimpyyy! i'm SOO happy you're here. come entertain me. i’m SOOOO bored!’ come on, deuce! join us, do your best impression of jade."

you laugh, trying to get ace off of you. "trappola, please- you're squishing me!"

"ah, well.. er, if you insist." deuce clears his throat, "’how many i be of assistance to you...?’"

ace shook his head, "no way! he's more confident and scarier than that! seriously, have you seen that guy smile? it's like he'd bite you."

"listen, i'm trying my best, okay?“

when suddenly—

azul ashengrotto

"what exactly are you three doing?”

oh, he’s absolutely just as embarrassed as you are. if not, even more. it's especially not helping how floyd is laughing in the background, using azul's shoulder for support.

you sweat, "oh— err... not really—! it was just, y'know, a more dramatic impersonation of you...?"

"are you saying i'm… dramatic?"

you walk up to him, taking note of his expression. "not at all! look, i'm sorry, azul! please don't be upset! i'll even mop the vip room for you."

azul denied that he was upset in any way (although he was just a tiny bit).

you two awkwardly stare at each other for a few minutes, before azul pushes up his glasses (at least you got THAT part right);

"well, if you perhaps do that AND cover floyd’s shift for tomorrow, then..."

floyd interrupts, "oooo~ i get to have a break?"

"it’s not like i heard you saying you were going to skip your shift tomorrow anyways," azul mumbles. returning his attention to you, he smiles, "so? what do you say? i think i’m pretty lenient this time."

well, what DO you say? to make up for his hurtful impression of him, you have to do extra work…? since you’re embarrassed of your mistakes, you agree.

this could’ve went a whole different way and ended badly anyways, so this was okay for you.

jade leech

jade is greatly amused by you three fooling around.

"i find that description of me quite endearing, ace. although, i believe deuce had the more correct impression."

ace gets startled and tries to play it cool, looking away shamefully as he continues mopping in the opposite direction. "err. yeah, whatever. pshh."

jade turns to you, "prefect, who do you think portrayed me better? deuce, or ace?"

still embarrassed he caught you guys playing out their roles, you're unsure what answer he desired. "...haha, i'm not sure?"

the tall eel feigns sadness, "so am i not flattering enough to have you decide on a proper response? is my personality really that dull that you're unconfident in yourself?"

"no, no! that's not what i meant. uhh, ace's description matches you perfectly...?" you didn't know what answer he wanted, so you took a guess.

ace slaps you in the back of the head (ouch), whispering, "you should've disagreed!"

"ow-!" you look back at jade.

jade smiles at you two (and the fact that ace hit you for saying the wrong answer), “i’m still hurt that you think that way, but your answer is satisfactory.”

so… is he hurt or not? knowing him, he’s probably not very offended, but who knows? you just may never find out.

floyd leech

you heard a laugh, and it’s definitely floyd.

if he was in a bad mood or this was anybody else who worked here, he wouldn’t tolerate you at all. scary to think about.

but luckily, he’s in a good mood!

“ahaha! you guys were so funny, but i don’t think i’m like that at all!”

ace mumbles, but loud enough to hear. “well, you kind of are, actually.”

floyd turns to ace, “get to work, crabby. are you asking for a squeezing?”

“no…” trappola silently weeps while he starts mopping again.

well that was a quick change of mood.

floyd walks over to you and sighs, “i’m bored, and azul isn’t here. so,” he leans on your shoulder, “ditch the work and come play with me! i’m SOOO bored.”

you’re confused, “eh? but what about work?”

“who cares? would you rather leave all the work to crabby and macky, or would you rather play. with me!”

if this means you’ll get out of work, then…

ace and deuce are looking at you, you can already tell they’re silently begging you to stay. however, it’s not like you wanted to do the work anyways.

“bye guys, see you later!” you smile, letting floyd drag you away.

“WAIT! come back—“ deuce tries shouting to you, however you’re already gone.

there’s a long pause of silence and mop noises, before ace speaks up,

“see deuce, my impression was TOTALLY right!”

— due to be edited at anytime —

#writing!🍤#twst #twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader #jade x reader #jade leech x reader #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #scrib.bles🫧

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violettduchess · 10 months

Note

Heya Violet! I'm going to request an ikevamp fic for the first time, so how about either of the Day 4 prompts for Leonardo? I'm excited to see what you come up with 👍

A/N: Hi @scorchieart 💜 Thank you for your request! This is for the Different Universe Same Love CCC hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

This combines scorchie's request with an anon request for Soulmates AU with Leonardo 💜

Leonardo x f reader

WC: 5254

"There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." -Vincent Van Gogh

“I hate this,” you grumble as you check your phone for the hundredth time. Where the hell is this place? It feels like it's been hours of California coastline rolling past your window. Beautiful, yes. But also so inconvenient. You lean forward towards the front of the town car.

“Abel, how much longer?”

Your driver glances at you in the rear-view mirror, smiling good-naturedly.

“Another 15 minutes, chérie.”

You flop back into the cushioned leather, sighing. If you had known this would be a part of it, you would not have taken the role.

Maybe.

Ok, fine. You probably would have taken it anyway.

The story of a woman who breaks all tradition to become a famous 19th century painter? You can practically hear Theo’s words in your ear all over again: “You want to be stuck in rom-coms forever or do you want to be taken seriously? Make art that matters?” The Dutchman is a tough agent, too direct for most actors’ fragile egos to handle but that’s why you like him. He is always honest with you.

Outside the town car window, the ocean continues to roll by, a blur of slate-gray and white. Picking up your phone for the hundredth time, you type in the name of the artist you’re on your way to see.

Just like every time you’ve done it before, all you get is his Instagram page which is entirely too sparse and full of only half-finished paintings, close ups of brushes, a few small, charcoal sketches. Nothing about the man himself.

You swipe Instagram away and tap on Spotify, closing your eyes and allowing a podcast about the Golden Age of Hollywood to help pass the remaining time.

“Love the vibe,” you murmur as you step out of the Mercedes, pushing up your tortoise-shell sunglasses in order to better take in the picturesque brown and white wooden house. It really does seem like something out of a Kinkade painting. It's perched on the edge of a plateau, facing a slope of green hillside that disappears into a smattering of gray rock. The rocks give way to a stretch of dark brown sand which leads you right to the blue-gray beauty of the Pacific Ocean. It's here the warm vibes end though. This beach is nothing like the sandy beaches of Southern California. This is something wilder, something sharper. There is no manicured, processed beach feeling here. This is nature allowing you into her world, the crashing of the waves onto the shore not an invitation but a reminder. You’re here with her permission.

Abel comes around, carrying your luggage and pauses, taking in the house. “It’s lovely,” he murmurs.

You shoot him a Look. “It’s miles from just about anything. I hope Vlad knows what he’s doing.”

Vlad is the director of the film you are going to star in. The one who said you needed to spend some time with a real-life artist in order to understand the lifestyle, the thought process, the way of viewing the world. And he knew just the person. A friend of a friend, an artist of some small renown, who made money on the side by working as a consultant for various productions. He had invited you to stay with him for a few days, to teach you basic painting and drawing techniques so it would look realistic on film, and to answer any questions you had. Vlad vouched for him, claiming he was a good man, one he would trust his star with.

You turn to Abel. “Only leave if I give you the sign.”

He smiles indulgently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. But I will wait until I see it.”

Steeling yourself, you gather your bags and make your way down the short driveway and up the dark wooden steps. There’s no doorbell so you knock loudly.

You aren’t sure what you expected. A man named Leonardo made you think he would be older with flowing white locks and a long wizard-like beard. What you did not expect was the door to be opened by a golden-eyed Adonis with ombre hair and one of the friendliest, most open smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Benvenuta, cara mia. Welcome.”

That voice. Your heart is doing tiny backflips inside your chest as a horde of butterflies excitedly flutter their wings inside your stomach. It takes you a moment before you figure out the way words work again.

“Thank you.”

Behind your back, you wiggle two fingers at Abel furiously.

The driver covers his grin with the back of his hand, nodding once to Leonardo in greeting before sliding back into the vehicle. He watches through the car window as Leo takes your bags and you follow him inside, the white wooden door closing behind you.

“Good luck, chérie,” he chuckles softly. Somehow, he is certain you will be just fine.

You are utterly charmed. The main house is small, and the guest house just behind it even smaller, but they are both unique, beautiful in their own ways. Everything is simple, clean. Wide windows keep the ocean in view at all times. In every room there is something to look at. A miniature painting of sunset over the water on the living room table. An antique nautical map hanging on the wall of the dining room. An oversized forest green couch that looks like it's just waiting for you to snuggle into it.

Leonardo has just brought your bags to the guest house, a one room structure with a brass bed, rustic homemade dresser, a small desk and a tiny en-suite bathroom.

“I know you are probably used to more luxurious accommodations.”

“No, this is lovely. Really.” You glance down at your phone, considering whether to post a picture to your socials and hear him laugh softly at the expression on your face. The sound settles itself into your bones, warm and welcoming.

“Reception is a bit shoddy out here. You have the best chance when you go to the living room.”

Tucking your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you flash him a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

He holds your gaze a moment and you feel like sand, being pulled towards an irresistible ocean.

“You must be starving. Let’s eat before I show you my studio.”

With a pleasantly full stomach and a glass of red wine in hand, you step inside the studio and gasp. Gone are the clean lines, the simplistic beauty of the rest of the house. Here is a world of color and chaos, paint and pandemonium, art and anarchy. Canvases are everywhere, paint pots and brushes, charcoal and sketchbooks. And while it may look like mayhem, there is a truth about it that stirs something inside you. This is the man behind the easy-going smile. This is his heart and soul made tangible, made material.

He notices the way you’re looking around, sees the look in your bright eyes and he knows that you see it, the love he has for his craft. You're not some Hollywood actress looking down her nose at a mess. You're one artist taking in another artist’s medium and appreciating it. His heart unexpectedly shifts, sliding closer to some unseen edge.

“This is…incredible.” You walk slowly through the space, stopping in front of whatever catches your eye. A half-finished sketch of a whale breaching the surface of the water. An anatomically correct drawing of the underside of a starfish. A canvas of yellows and oranges and reds, a practice in blending.

“How come I’ve never seen you post a finished painting on your social media?” You stop when you come to a whole row of them, leaning casually against the back wall of his studio. Crouching down, you inspect a painting of a man from behind, his arms spread out wide towards a turbulent, white-capped ocean, daring it maybe. Or welcoming it.

He shrugs, running his hand through his hair, a tick you’ll come to recognize as something he does when he is uncomfortable.

“I sell a few here and there. Not enough to earn a living but that’s what jobs like this are for, yeah?”

You rise slowly back to full height, taking a sip of the rich wine.

“Have you ever showcased your work?”

He scoffs as he lifts a paint-stained rag from one corner of his supply table and toys with it before tossing it right back.

“To what end? I paint for me. That is enough.”

That sounds like someone who is too scared to try. But you keep the words locked in your mind, aware enough to know that might be reaching a bit too deeply into his psyche for comfort.

“So….when do we begin?”

He smiles slowly and it burns through your body, warming you more than the alcohol.

“Tomorrow. Sunrise.”

All those hours you could still be sleeping. Instead of being warm and snug in your very cozy guesthouse, you are shivering on a beach, sitting on a blanket next to Leonardo as he flips open the sketchbook in front of you. He’s in an oversized brown knit sweater and jeans, looking like a model for some outdoor clothing company whereas you, trying to pull your fitted sweater down over your exposed lower back, look like some Hollywood wanna-be who wasn’t prepared for the cold California morning.

He places several small gray pebbles in front of you on the blanket.

“Sketch these.”

You tilt your head. “They’re rocks.”

“There is challenge in even the simplest of forms. Please try.”

You’re skeptical as you yank down once more on your sweater, sitting cross-legged and staring down at the pebbles. It can’t be that hard. Picking up the pencil, you begin trying to capture their form.

It proves to be much harder than it looks.

Your brow furrows as you look from your sketch, which is doing a fantastic job of being horrible, to the smooth stones in front of you.

“You must relax,” he murmurs as he scoots closer. “You’re gripping that poor pencil like you wish to strangle it.” He reaches over, covering your hand with his. You’re immediately hit with the faint smell of tobacco. Does he smoke? And something else….something earthy and rich and entirely too appealing for this early in the morning. His fingers, graceful and strong, carefully manipulate yours, sliding over your skin and leaving small ripples of heat in their wake. He touches your wrist, over the place where your heart is beating so quickly, tilting it just so.

He holds you there, moving your hand like a puppeteer might the wooden cross of marionette. You watch as the pebbles slowly come to life, flowing from the tip of your pencil.

“Let go,” his voice, gentle as the morning breeze, deep as the sea, whispers in your ear. “You must let go and allow the pencil to do its job.”

Slowly he removes his hand and the sudden lack of contact spurs a tiny whimper from your throat. Luckily, he mistakes it for dismay at his lack of coaching and chuckles.

“You continue on your own, cara mia.”

You’ve been called many things: The Girl Next Door, America’s Sweetheart but somehow, that nickname rolling so casually off his tongue suddenly means more than any of that. You’re smiling despite the cold, despite the wind, despite your stupid, impractical sweater.

Inhaling, you try again, the pencil less a tool in your hand as an extension of it. And while your pebbles don’t look amazing, they do look much closer to what you are trying to accomplish.

“Well done,” he says, looking over your shoulder. “You're a quick learner.”

You smile at him, his words washing over you, warm as sunshine.

“Can I try something else? Maybe try the sand and the ocean?”

He nods, reaching for the hem of his sweater. The next thing you know he’s removed it and wrapped it around your shoulders, leaving you surrounded by soft wool that smells like Leonardo. Your heart stumbles.

“Si. Let’s try.”

My life has never been this disconnected from work and yet, so full, you think as you wrap the beige blanket tighter around your body, watching Leonardo paint. You’re sitting outside on the large porch, the breathtaking view of the sand dunes, the boulders, the sand and the endless sea stretched out before you like a slice of paradise.

You’ve been here almost a week and the world has changed. The bright lights of Hollywood seem so far away. Now you’re concerned with daylight and sunrises, the way light falls across an object or a person, how to capture its essence with charcoal and acrylics, watercolor and wax. You haven't even touched your phone other than to reassure Theo you are fine, doing well and learning a lot, soaking in the experience of being an artist so that you can find it again when the cameras are on you. You’ve abandoned your socials, only leaving a message saying something about the life of an actor and secret prep work that you can’t talk about. It’s technically not a lie.

You watch as Leonardo dips his brush into a red that looks far too bright and finds a way to make it exactly the right shade of sunset, adding an element to his painted sky that you didn’t even know was missing until he put it there. He’s relaxed, his body loose, movements like flowing water as he almost lovingly drags the brush along the canvas. He showed you how, a few mornings ago. You’ve been haunted ever since by the feel of his larger body behind you, the way he reached around, gently taking hold of your wrist, and showed you how to hold yourself, teaching your body the dance of a painter. He is patient, always answering any question of yours the best he can. And so intelligent. The other night you curled up on his overstuffed green couch to look through several of his notebooks, filled with sketches and half-finished designs for contraptions that looked more sci-fi than present day. One entire page was devoted entirely to drawing various animal wings. The next was an excruciatingly detailed drawing of his own hand.

He talks about art the way you talk about acting: a way to conduct emotion, to spark a connection between people. You feel like he understands when you explain how acting is a form of devotion to humanity, an expression of love. Most people roll their eyes when an actor begins talking about their craft. His smile tells you all you need to know about how well he truly does understand.

He shakes you from your reverie when he joins you on the bench, wiping his hands on a towel and reaching for his glass of wine.

“And? What do you think?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study the easel with its beautiful interpretation of the actual sunset that is happening behind it. He has not replicated it exactly, but captured the symphony of colors, the dramatic brass of the oranges and romantic woodwinds of the pinks, the clouds with their warmly colored underbellies and of course, the ever present sea, gilded in gold.

“It’s beautiful, Leo.”

“You like it, which means I’m pleased.” He takes another sip. “Consider it a gift, yeah?. It is, after all, our last weekend together.”

Those words carve themself into the moment, slicing away the peace you’ve been feeling. Dismay bleeds from your heart. You were going to have to face it, the fact that your time with him, magical as it has been, is coming to an end. But you had hoped, irrationally, that maybe if no one said it, you could just stay here, in this beautiful house with this beautiful man as long as you wanted.

Your face, the tool of your trade that you can usually control so well, betrays your thoughts.

“Cara mia.” He reaches out, his fingers curling inwards for a moment, hesitant. The man who never has a problem touching you when correcting your hand or positioning your arm now needs a moment of courage. Because this isn’t a teaching moment. Maybe none of them ever really were. He only knows that from the second he opened the front door and you were there, with your smile like sunshine and eyes bright with intelligence and excitement, he felt drawn to you like he's never been toward anyone before.

You turn your face into his touch, reaching up to cup your hand over his. You press a kiss into his palm. The lull of the waves is drowned out by the roaring of your heartbeat. And then he leans towards you, taking your face in his beautiful hands, and he kisses you.

Your heart cracks open and oceans of desire and want and something else, something nameless underneath those wild waves of emotion flood you. He feels so good. This feels so right.

You kiss with the exhilaration of new lovers, wildly and without a care for anything else in the world. The sunset and her majestic colors be damned. There is nothing as beautiful as the wildfire of gold in his eyes, the melody of his breathing. You’re on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pressed as closely as you can be and it isn’t enough. He slides his hands under your blouse, pressing the palms of his hands to your bare back. It isn’t enough.

You manage to tear your mouth away from him long enough to get out one word: “Inside.”

He stands up and you wrap your legs around him, his strong arms supporting your weight as he carries you inside the wooden house on the plateau, impatiently stealing every kiss he can before laying you down on the oversized green couch, covering your body with his. He softly growls your name in a way that sends fire cascading through your veins.

The sky outside darkens as the last rays of sunset disappear. Her show is over. You both belong now to the night.

Heart, say good-bye because you are no longer mine. You lay on your side, facing the open window of Leonardo’s bedroom. The ocean breeze, cool with night’s kiss, waves the pale curtains and skims over your skin, raising goosebumps along your bare arm and shoulder.

You close your eyes, reveling in the heavy feeling of your body, tempest-tossed and satisfied, peppered with the light marks of your lovemaking. You're a goner. You’ve fallen overboard, heading further and further down into the churning depths of your feelings for Leonardo. And you’re not sinking. Not at all. You’re kicking your legs and diving, excited to explore the deep and all its mysteries.

He stirs in his sleep and you roll back to face him, watching as he slowly surfaces from whatever dream he was lost in. His warm eyes, framed by such dark lashes, flutter open. When he sees you, laying on your side, facing him, he smiles slowly and reaches out a hand.

“Come here, cara mia.”

The thought of resisting doesn’t even cross your mind. You slide over into his arms, marveling at the feel of his body against yours, strong muscles, long legs. He presses a kiss to your temple, then nuzzles your neck affectionately.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You smile, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. Now may not be the right time to tell him everything you’re thinking. You don’t want to scare him away.

“No thoughts. Just....” You slide your hand over his chest, over the lean muscles of his abdomen, and then lower. His golden eyes flare bright with immediate hunger. His lips part as he exhales.

With a groan he pulls you to him and you close your eyes, letting his greedy mouth and wandering hands take you away.

This is only the beginning after all. You have plenty of time to figure out what's next.

A Year Later

“Now that’s just one review! The rest are all like it!”

You listen to Theo’s exuberant voice as he names all the various publications that are writing rave reviews about the film. Funny, everything you thought you ever wanted is coming true. You made a movie that is earning positive reviews across the board, with your performance hailed as a stand out, a tour de force unlike anything you’ve ever done. There’s already talk about awards and other dramatic parts and are you interested in endorsements?

And yet, you’re miserable.

Leaning back into the plush seat of the town car, you stop Theo’s voice message and tap on Instagram and, like a lemming drawn to a cliff, go to his page.

All comments are turned off and there is only one picture posted: a short message thanking people for their interest but he is on hiatus.

The post is six months old.

How did it all go so wrong? You had been so happy.

Your eyes fall closed and memories play themselves out in front of you, like a flickering movie reel from yesteryear.

You and Leonardo on his porch, cuddled together under a blanket as you watch the sunrise. He can’t stop touching you and you him.

Driving with him back to Southern California, his eyes widening when you pull into the driveway of your home, modest by Hollywood standards, a palace compared to his small wooden dwelling.

Your pool. Cold water. Hot mouths. His hand pressed against your lips, stifling your sounds even as he continues moving.

The paparazzi finding you after a few days of blissful privacy, snapping a shot of you two leaving Starbucks, his hand casually resting on your hip, thumb stroking the stripe of bare skin between your jeans and the hem of your shirt.

Your names splashed across gossip sites and social media. He gains thousands of followers in a matter of hours, people hoping he’ll post an image of the two of you together. An older picture of him from several years ago at an art gallery opening in SoHo is all they have and it is everywhere. And it is not enough. They want more.

They follow you home. They follow you to work. They follow you when you go out to eat. They follow you to appointments, to meetings, across town and back. They yell your name, they ask about him. They are relentless.

And then they start to follow him. To your home. To the restaurant where you’re meeting. To his home. They wait by the wooden house on the plateau, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and him. They yell your name, they ask about rumors, they demand to know when the wedding is.

They swarm you both like locusts blocking out the sun, sucking up all your air.

And then his paintings begin to sell. Never has there been such a demand. He can’t keep up. And he isn’t happy.

Because he says he did nothing to deserve it aside from being with you. No one cared before. He has not earned this success. It’s the side-effect of loving you. Side-effect, you repeat one night, staring at him across your marble kitchen island, that makes it sound like loving me is some kind of disease.

He cures himself by leaving. You wake up one morning and all his things are gone. He is a ghost who has vanished back into the nether of sea-spray and morning fog from whence he came.

All he leaves you with is a note, the paper torn from one of his notepads, in his messy, slanted writing: “I’m sorry.”

A note, and all the splinters of your broken heart.

And now you’re almost at your destination. The tiny bed-and-breakfast tucked away in a remote corner of the California coast. Your refuge from the rest of the world. The place you come to heal.

You’ve been here a few times since he left. The owners, Wolf and Jean, are like family. They took care of you before you became successful, when you were a starving artist looking for your big break, and have continued to do so even now, when you could easily stay at any five-star hotel across the globe but always come back here, to warmth and comfort.

The first time you came here after he left, they filled your room with macaroons, your favorite dessert. They must have heard the news from some entertainment program or maybe some celebrity news ticker. You could have killed the Starbucks barista who spoke to the press, saying how you suddenly were coming alone to pick up your coffee and how pale you were, your eyes red from crying.

Another time they subtly laid a newspaper on your bed. At first you weren’t sure why but then you saw the tiny article about Leonardo having a small but successful showing in Denmark, worlds away from the bright lights of Hollywood. Like a 1950’s schoolgirl, you had cut out the small black and white picture of him and folded it, hiding it in your wallet. Doing so felt both pathetic and comforting at the same time.

Another winding road, dipping between tree and rocky coast and then one final turn. The familiar blue and white building comes into sight and you can feel yourself breathing easier already. The car slows to a stop and a moment later, Abel opens the door for you.

“We’re here, chérie.” His champagne-colored eyes have a twinkle to them which leaves you wondering if he knows something you don't.

Forever ago, this place used to scare you with its pointed roof and close proximity to the edge of a very steep cliff. But it’s become your home away from home and you’re soothed by the sight of it.

“I’ll just get my—” Your weekend bag is already on the ground next to you and the town car is halfway down the drive. You frown slightly before hoisting up your bag. Well, he was sure in a hurry.

You bound up the familiar steps, opening the friendly blue door and step into the foyer.

“Jean? Wolf?”

Odd, they would normally be here to meet you, food and drink in hand.

You glance around, taking out your phone to make sure that you had sent them the correct date and time when you spot something hanging on the wall. Your fingers go numb and your phone falls, landing with a harmless thud on the thick carpeting.

Hanging on the wall is a new painting. It’s a woman, sitting on a beach at sunrise, wrapped up in an oversized, cozy brown sweater. Her head is tipped back, eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. It’s soft and romantic. Not a brushstroke wasted nor a color excessive.

The sea is a deep gray-blue.

The sky is a garden of pinks and lavenders and orange.

The woman is you.

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

How....

“Cara mia.”

Like an apparition he is suddenly standing there, in the doorway. Not some memory or picture or dream, but Leonardo, flesh and blood, right there in the same room as you. The sight of him hits you like the full force of a typhoon, draining all the color from your face and sending you back a step.

As you recover from your shock, you notice now how nervous he is. His hands, normally so strong and steady, whether creating art or touching you, are shaking. He has dark circles under his golden eyes, shadows of what has been haunting him.

“Leonardo.” His name is twisted upon itself, hollow and aching when it passes your lips.

“May I speak? I have something to say to you. Please."

You nod, your breath held prisoner in your lungs, your wounded heart limps in circles in your chest, aching at the sight of him.

He draws a deep breath.

“I was a fool. I pushed you away because I was afraid. Your world is so much bigger than mine and instead of joining you, proud to be by your side, learning how to navigate new waters, I ran.” He pushes a hand through his hair, an inhale needed to steady his nerves. “That was wrong. I hurt you. I’m so sorry, cara mia. So deeply sorry for how stupid I was. I…I regretted it immediately but it was too late...Dio, sono un idiota.”

He shakes his head, defeated. The failure of words in the face of what he did is stark and he finds himself unable to go on. Nothing can begin to explain the festering regret he's lived with from the moment he walked out your door. He isn't good enough with words to explain how the minute he was heading away from you all he wanted to do was to turn back. How without you the world was drained of its vivacity, its color. He trapped himself in a gray existence of his own making and now his escape lies solely in your hands.

You breathe in and out, taking a moment before you respond.

"You did hurt me. Badly. But…." You take a second, searching for the right words. "I could have helped prepare you for what it means to be with someone like me. It was so much to ask of you to just be ok with your life suddenly being turned upside down. For that, I'm sorry."

Silence grows between you, thick as brambles and just as thorny. Neither of you can meet the other's gaze. It hurts, every second that ticks by without a word. Neither of you knows what to say, neither wants to leave. It is Leonardo who finally clears his throat, a throat where so many words are bottlenecking in their fury to get out.

"I'll leave you in peace then."

The words are clipped, his accent thick as emotion chokes him. The final, tenuous connection between you is close to crumbling. He's about to turn away when one word shoots straight from your heart like a rocket.

"Wait!!"

He freezes, his sunrise gaze locking with yours. Dare he have hope…..

The minute you start towards him he rushes to meet you.

And then you're in his arms and your cheeks are wet and he's holding you so tightly your ribs feel crushed but it doesn't matter because he's turning and turning, the world is spinning, your heart is rising light as a feather, and then your feet touch the ground again and he's showering your face with kisses, painting you in his love, holding the back of your head, whispering your name breathlessly over and over and over, a song, a declaration, a prayer.

You hold on to his neck, your laughter as bright as sunlight across the waves, returning his kisses with ones of your own, all over his beautiful face, kisses pulsing with hope, with desire, with promise.

He leans back, lowering his mouth to your ear and whispers. His words engrave themselves onto your heart and you pull away to answer him the only way you can answer something like that: with a kiss deep as the sea, tender as the night.

You've found each other again. And you'll never again be parted.

(What did he whisper? This fic is acrostic so check out the first bold word of every section) 💜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

#ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen leonardo #leonardo da vinci #celebrity au #hollywood au #soulmate au #artist au #different universe same love ccc #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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basiatlu · 7 months

Note

@black-occamy here again 🖤

Oh, amazing Artist! Would you be so kind to share some tips for absolute crap beginners?

Love 😘

Helloooo~☆ I took a moment to type this out a little bit ago and to tweak and edit as I saw fit so ty for waiting.

Ok ok so here's Crap Tips for Crap Beginners:

Stop calling yourself "crap, bad, and trash" when first starting out. - You wanna improve and have the drive to make art and feel satisfied at the end of a drawing? Then give yourself the positive reinforcement that most pups need in learning a new skill and trick. Treats and good pets and "nice jobs!" The whole world will fight against you, they'll try to beat you down and tell you what you do and how you do it doesn't matter. You've got to tell them to stick that where the sun doesn't shine. Aggressively support yourself - fake it till you make it etc etc. Pretend everything you do is intentional until you see yourself making more intentional decisions with your artwork.

With the pep talk out of the way - Warming Up is so important. Just like athletes and dancers do beforehand, you need to stretch your hands and arms and shoulders. And then you need to have a healthy back posture if possible. Draw with your whole arm and not just your wrists and fingers. Aaaand then you need to get the squiggles out. By that I mean make marks on your medium/paper/tablet. Little hatch marks, boxes, circles, tornados, silly emoji faces! When learning to draw, there will be 100 bad drawings before you reach a single good one, is what my college professor would say. And damn was he good.

If you can't draw something well or easily then you need to draw it again and again and again.... and again. I was really struggling to draw hands and feet! So I took pictures of my own hands, of my friends' hands, saved pictures from online, etc and made studies of them. Just paid extremely close attention to what I was actually looking at (and not what I thought hands where supposed to appear as). I also studied medical anatomical diagrams on hands to learn the bones, muscles, and tendons in the hands! It's very important!!! Studying can be applied to anything: cars, plants, animals, braids, fabric textures....

You have to refresh your lessons - once you do a study it doesn't permanently install into your brain for you to copy/paste whenever you need it. You have to revisit and keep that muscle memory in your hands for when you go to draw. I fall out of practice ALL the time and need to dedicate time to relearn how to draw things. And this isn't because I'm failing or wasting away as an artist, it's just a simple fact that I lost a little bit of my artist muscle mass and need to work out those muscles again. See?

You don't need fancy tools to draw, but they do help. I always break it down to the simplest form of sticks and mud. You can draw with pencils, twigs, charcoal, paint, on paper, in the dirt, in the sand, on canvas, on your phone, on a tablet. On and on it goes. Have the tools you need so you don't hinder yourself but don't hold back because you need to 'wait for the latest and greatest tech.' Why wait? Brush packs will not instantly make you a better artist, my dude. Printer paper and a sharpened pencil will take you miles.

And that's honestly it! Generally all good tips to keep in mind for when you're first starting. Some of these I have to also remind myself. I get down on my abilities and need the reminders too. Getting down to the basics is really important. Stretch, practice, stay strong, and oh! Also take breaks. ✨️

#art advice #art tips #shushbosh #art #drawing #artists on tumblr

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dreamqueenkala · 2 years

Text

OVERHEARD

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WARNINGS: Mutual H*ndjob; Gr*ping; Voyeurism; Anxiety; Gentle!Dom!Jacob; F*ngering; Internalized Hom*phobia; Hints of Ab*se; Sweet Talk

Male Reader x Jacob Custos

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I shrieked as a familiar bicep coiled around my neck, forcing me to bend over as his knuckles rubbed against my scalp. Squirming, I tugged at his arms and whined, eventually resorting to kicking him in the shin. He yelped and backed away quickly, leaning down to rub his shin with a pout.

"Um, ow!" He huffed, dark eyes glaring at me, though there was still humor on his face. I stuck my tongue out in reply, ruffling my (h/c) hair gently and popping my neck.

"You started it, shithead!" I squealed as he lunged at me, dodging to the side. Taking off at a sprint, I barreled through the forest behind the boathouse, screaming with joy. "Jacob, you're a dick!"

"I know!" Holy shit, he's right on my ass! I yelped as his muscular arms embraced my waist, the force of his tackle carrying us both to the dirt. I gasped from the force, cradling my head as it had smacked the ground pretty hard.

"F-Fuck, shit, I'm sorry, (Y/N)!" Jacob stammered, sitting upright to get a better look at my head. "Dammit, okay, t-there's no blood, at least." I blinked and light rubbed the bump already forming on the back of my skull, pushing myself up onto my elbows. As I did so, my face was suddenly inches away from Jacobs broad chest, the boy leaning over me slightly to worry over my bruising skull.

Completely oblivious to my predicament, Jacob caressed my hair gently, attempting to assess the damage. My eyes raked slowly down his torso, hesitating on his wide, strong hips and his powerful thighs that straddled my hips. Straddled. Holy fuck, Jacob's on top of me right now.

Every hormone in my body immediately reacted, blood rushing to my shorts and causing a tent to begin to form. My heart raced and my breathing staggered, (e/c) eyes wide with shock. My skin flushed a bright red and I yelped, quickly forcing the guy off me with both hands to his chest.

He gasped as he fell back, resting on his elbows as he glared at me. "Dude, what the hell—" Jacob's exclamation fell short as his brows furrowed, eyes settling on my red face and flustered expression. "Dude? You good?"

I didn't respond, my brain short circuiting as I attempted to rid myself of the dirty thoughts lingering behind my eyelids. What would it be like to have those thick, muscular thighs wrapped around my skull, those strong hands smacking my ass—I groaned and covered my face, lifting my knees in an attempt to shield my crotch from view.

"Dude, (Y/N), what's wrong?" Jacob leaned forward, brushing my hair to the side. He was worried, that much was obvious, but whether or not he noticed what was really happening to me was unknown.

"N-Nothing!" My voice cracked and I winced, squirming away from him. "I-I'm fine." My awkward demeanor was a common thing as I had severe social anxiety, especially around attractive or outgoing people. Though I was normally quite comfortable around Jacob, the crush I'd slowly developed over the past month on the guy made me flustered and provided me with more than just one problem. Problems I, unfortunately, had to deal with alone.

Shifting in place, I pushed myself back against a tree, my gaze flitting around rapidly. I could see his larger form moving closer to my thin self, kneeling over me as his shadow cast over my face. "(Y/N), dude, look at me." I shook my head, keeping my face buried in my knees. His firm hands squeezed my calves and I gasped softly, recoiling at the unintentionally intimate gesture. "Dude, let me see your face, c'mon—"

"N-No, Jake—!" My face grew ever warmer as he pulled my legs down, his eyes immediately flicking to the little problem I'd developed. I whimpered slightly at the wide eyed stare he'd given me upon noticing, tears pricking at my eyes. "D-Don't look at me like that."

His gaze snapped back up to meet mine, (e/c) clashing with deep charcoal. I squeezed my eyes shut and sniffled softly, hiccuping. "G-Go ahead. F-Fuckin' hate me, l-like everyone at home—"

"Woah, woah, woah! Dude, why would I hate you?" I snapped my jaw shut, eyes still screwed shut as my fingers dug into the dirt. "D-Did...did I...?" With a swift, but hesitant nod from me, Jacob inhaled sharply, his hands leaving my bare calves as he leaned back. I felt my heart sink and had to bite back a sob, the sound a choked whimper in my throat as I covered my face with my hands.

The dark thoughts invaded, memories of my fathers drunken anger and the abuse I suffered at home lingering behind my minds eye. I could feel the glass shattering on my skin, hear the angry slurs and threats, the banging of his fist on a door. Without realizing it, I began to hyperventilate, my breathing staggered and my heart rate accelerated as I struggled to focus. Ugly. Evil. Stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Useless. Disgusting. Disgraceful.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Warm hands cupped my jaw, two thumbs wiping the tears trickling down my skin. "It's okay. You're beautiful. You're kind. You're funny. You're smart. So beautiful. So brilliant." I hadn’t realized I’d spoken my thoughts aloud. His sweet words slowly calmed my thunderous thoughts, my breathing slowing to an even pattern. Blinking my eyes slowly, I leaned into his palm, exhaling softly as my hands fell to my lap.

"'M sorry." Jacob shushed me, petting my cheeks as he moved to sit beside me. Maneuvering my body, he placed me between his legs, head resting against his chest and my own legs draped over his left thigh. He cradled me close for a moment—obviously he was used to my anxiety attacks, having helped me through them more than once before so far this summer—and gently caressed my spine lightly.

"You're okay, (N/N). Seriously, you don't have to be so worked up." Jacob hummed after a moment. "I meant what I said, okay? I could never hate you just for being gay...your dad’s a dick, dude." I snorted softly and nuzzled his chest, exhaling as his heart thumped loudly beneath my ear.

"Thanks Jake. You're my best friend, you know that?" Jacob smiled and rested his hands on my back and thigh, hugging me closer.

"Well, duh, but I think I'm more than just your best friend if you just popped a boner for me—"

"Oh my god, shut up!" His boisterous laugh was infectious, a wide grin on both our lips as the tenseness of the previous situation died down with ease. His eyes sparkled with mirth and adoration as they examined my happy expression, lingering for a moment longer on my lips. "What...?"

"Nothing. You're just hot." His cheeky grin had me groaning, falling backwards over his lap as he snorted.

"Woooooow, so smooth, Jake." I huffed, despite the pink hue painting the apples of my cheeks again. I reached up and poked his shoulder, the guy smiling down at me.

"What? I can't flirt with you?" I deadpannned and pursed my lips, narrowing my gaze as I sat up.

"You're fucking with me."

He gaped at my blatant accusation, lifting his hands up in defense. "Um, no? Why would I do that?"

"Don't be a dick."

"I'm not! Wha—(Y/N)!" I moved to stand up, shuffling onto my knees with slight discomfort due to the semi-hard-on I still sported. Before I could move any further, Jacob's hands grasped my waist, pulling me back and forcing me to face him, straddling his hips. His expression was that of a kicked puppy as he held me in place, genuinely hurt by my accusation. "I'm not fucking with you."

Pursing my lips, I hesitated, searching his charcoal gaze for a sign of any deceit or deviousness. When I found none, I caved, placing my hands on his chest gently. "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise." Jacobs hands squeezed my sides lightly, my body shuddering as his thumbs brushed under the hem of shirt my slightly. His eyes flickered down, watching my hips twitch in his lap, before flickering up to gauge my reaction. His hands slid lower, warm fingers threading under my shirt and tickling my cool skin lightly. I sat up straighter, suddenly aware of how close we really were, our noses practically brushing as our breathes mingled.

"Jake..." I mumbled, eyes flicking to his lips as my heart hammered in my chest. He swallowed thickly, leaning forward so our lips brushed.

"Yeah..." Jacob closed the gap, pulling me closer as his hips brushed up against mine. I mewled softly against his mouth, feeling his hand slide down to palm my crotch, squeezing the length and rubbing the head with his thumb.

"J-Jacob—" He shushed me with another kiss, his fingers digging into my waist and his hand squeezing my crotch lightly. His tongue slipped past my parted lips, losing itself against mine while his knees bent slightly, rolling our hips together. Soft mewls and whines escaped me between kisses, my hands grabbing at his defined chest and broad shoulders, squeezing and kneading the muscled flesh.

He chuckled slightly, soft grunts pressed against my lips as I groped the athlete, his hands guiding my ass over his lap. I could feel him pressing against my rear, the thick outline of his cock tented in his khakis. I pulled away with a breathless gasp, a string of saliva bonding our lips as we panted and gazed at each other, pupils blown. "I-I thought you were—"

"Interested in Emma? She's hot but she's not you."

My heart warmed at his words and I found myself grinding over his lap, pressing down against his cock whilst his fingers squeezed my waist. "F-Fuck..." He groaned and let his eyes flutter shut, cupping my ass in his large palms with a nice squeeze. "You keep doing that and I'm gonna lose it, (N/N)." He warned, eyes dark as they opened to settle on my hips, watching me roll them.

"Jacob..." His name came out as a breathless whine, his eyes meeting mine with surprise and lust as he took in my expression of utter submission. My nails dug into his shoulders as I leaned back against his bent legs, lips parted and slightly swollen from our kisses whilst my pupils consumed the ring of (e/c) that once rested there. "I want you. Jacob, please." I begged, disheveled (h/c) locks falling loosely in my vision. A deep groan left his throat and his hands moved further down my ass, grabbing firmly at the plush clothed flesh. His lips found my neck and sucked at the skin, tongue swirling lightly over my pulse point. As his teeth nipped at my pulse, I cried out and bucked my hips hard, slamming my ass back against his hard clothed cock.

"Jesus Fucking—!" Gripping my ass tightly, he lifted me up onto my knees, shuffling to remove his belt. Popping the button, he slid his khakis and boxers down just enough to let his cock stand, the bulbous red tip bounding against his clothed abs with a harsh smack.!I swallowed thickly and struggled to remove my own shorts, tossing them along with my briefs to the side. My shirt still present on my body helped me relax slightly, feeling incredibly shy as my smaller length lifted the hem with its pulsing. "You're beautiful." The ravenette mumbled against my throat, licking his fingers lightly. That hand made its way down my spine, slipping between my cheeks and prodding at my entrance.

I gasped and gripped his shoulders, whimpering as he slipped his middle finger in to the first knuckle. It felt different with his hand, his digits thicker than my own. Despite the temporary discomfort, I felt extremely satisfied by just the one in my ass, keening as he buried it deeper. "Is that good?" Jacob asked, genuinely curious as he'd most likely never fucked another guy before. I nodded, unable to find words in the moment, and let my head rest on his shoulder. His ring finger slipped past the rim, following the first as deep as two knuckles, then he slowly pulled them back out only to push them back in just as slow.

"Faster..." I murmured, tightly gripping at his shirt as I did so. He made a soft noise of confirmation, his fingers moving faster as his freehand slid to my front. Between my legs, he grasped my cock in his left hand, my muffled yelp of surprise pressed against his skin. Rubbing the tip with his thumb, he stroked me lightly, other hand still thrusting into my ass as he held me. "O-Oh fuck, J-Jake...!"

"Say my name again." His voice was hoarse from lust and pleasure, leaning back to watch my expressions as he toyed with my body. His cock throbbed against his abdomen, a bead of precum forming at the tip.

"Jake!" I all but whined, head tossed back as I rolled my hips against his hands. His breath hitched and he bit his lip, dark eyes watching me with awe. Deciding to return the favor, one of my hands slipped down his chest and enveloped his length, his size much larger than my hand. I stroked him in time with his movements, watching his brows furrow and his jaw clench.

"F-Fuck, (Y/N)..." He grunted, voice cracking. I perked up slightly and moved my hand a bit faster, still rolling my hips into his hands. My thumb swiped over his tip, spreading his precum, and I squeezed the base lightly, earning a whine of pleasured protest from him. "Fuck yeah, ah..."

I leaned forward as he rushed his movements, thrusting his fingers in my ass rapidly as he fisted my cock. His lips brushed over mine as we both moaned, his hand replacing mine on his own cock and pressing our two lengths together. I mewled and thrusted into his fist, coiling my arms around his neck and threading my fingers through his hair. He kissed me aggressively, stroking faster as he dipped three fingers into my ass, altering the angle and brushing my prostate. I screamed against his mouth, his lips pulling into a smile as his tongue swallowed my cry, fingers aiming for that bundle of nerves on every thrust in. His strokes grew sloppy, our cocks rubbing together as they throbbed and our balls clenched, climax growing near.

"So beautiful. So sweet." Jacob cooed against my lips, his eyes half lidded as he gazed at me with such adoration and love, chest heaving. I whimpered softly and bit my lip, back arching as I cried out once more, my vision a blinding white. I could hear him groan, his hips bucking against mine as we both came, the warm stickiness of our release mixed between our shirts and dampening the soft cotton cloth. Panting, I rested my head on his shoulder, wincing as his fingers slipped from my ass and tugged my shirt hem down to cover it.

"Holy shit, you guys are loud." I yelped and scrambled to hide myself further, Jacobs hands wiping themselves clean on his shirt before coiling around me protectively. Nick snickered as he stood nearby, hands on his hips whilst Kaitlyn hailed a disapproving expression, her arms folded over her chest. "You guys need to clean the fuck up and thank Ryan for taking all the kiddos canoeing."

"Yes ma'am." Jacob mock saluted the short woman, receiving a roll of the eyes and a scoff before she turned on her heel. Nick waved, a coy smirk on his face as he followed after her, disappearing beyond the treeline. Jacob chuckled lowly and pressed a kiss to my temple, hugging me gently.

"We really should get cleaned up." I nodded, my face ablaze, but the dopey smile I carried had yet to fade. Even though we'd been caught, I didn't regret a thing.

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therealvampira · 7 months

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may i request gregory violet x reader but childhood friends to lovers please? (and reader has similar interests and personality as him too) have a nice day/night :]

Hi!! You have a fantastic day/night yourself, as well! My apologies for the delay, I've been really busy the past few weeks (like really busy), but thank you for your patience! I'm always happy to take up requests, so without further ado, here you go dear:

Word Count: 1512

Warnings: None?

“We may be stuck here for a while, I fear,” you spoke, looking outside the lengthy library window before you, resting your face in your palms. The boy next to you said nothing, but gave a little nod whenever you spoke.

Violet was always considerably quiet, especially before you formed a friendship with him. However, it was almost like he had almost no awareness of the world around him whenever he was drawing, which he did- a lot.

The slight pitter patter of raindrops hitting the windows that you heard just moments earlier now turned into a great storm, rain falling heavily as the trees danced around in the gray horizon, lighting occasionally lighting up the room. As inconvenienced as you were by the storm suddenly coming and taking over the sky, it felt almost peaceful. Hearing the sound of the thunder rolling lightly and the wind whirling almost lulled you into a light doze, before a loud crack of lighting lit up the room, the mighty sound causing your heart to stop for a fraction of a second. As you looked to your left, you were surprised to see the boy next to you hadn't even flinched a bit or looked up from his paper.

Did he even realize there was a storm?

“How long do you think we will have to stay here?” You asked, trying to break the almost deafening silence. Normally, you didn’t mind it, but you were starting to dread the idea of sitting in plain silence while you waited for a storm to pass.

Eventually, you started to give up since all he’d given you thus far were just a few shrugs, and very minimal responses. You got out your own book from your bag, flipping through it to find an empty page, moving one of the candles closer to yourself in order to see better. You reached for your charcoal pencil, realizing you didn’t have it on you at the moment.

“Damn..” you muttered under your breath. As you sat up again from digging through your bag, you were slightly surprised to see Violet holding another pencil out to you, waiting for you to grab it.

“Oh, I…thank you,” you spoke, feeling relieved. It was strange, how such a small gesture, such a simple act of kindness coming from him made you feel so content. Even being friends with Violet for so long, it made you feel special whenever he’d do something for you, even as miniscule as handing you an extra pencil. You couldn’t resist as your lips curled into a smile as you took the instrument from him. Your hands brushed against each other when you grabbed the pencil, making it difficult to not blush.

It was something you’d never wanted to admit, but you did in fact have a crush on Violet. You couldn’t help but love all of his quirks, and his unique style and way of seeing things. In your eyes, there was nobody like him, and there never would be anyone else that lights a candle to him. You watched him as he stroked the pencil across the paper, a look of deep focus spread across his face. Your eyes unintentionally drifted from his sketch, up to his face as you quickly tried to look at him, admiring his beautiful features. For the first time in your life, you genuinely believed your heart was going to stop when, before you could look away, his gaze ever so slightly shifted to you, a small grin on his face as he briefly glanced at you, looking back down at his paper.

Like him, you were also into art yourself, but seeing how detailed, precise, and creative his drawings always were, you always felt a bit inferior as far as your art skills. You watched as he drew carefully and meticulously, trying to pick up any techniques that he used. He caught onto this, now turning to face you, the same grin from earlier on his face again. You smiled back at him, and even chuckled a bit- both out of embarrassment, but also the simple fact that you were just happy to be spending time with him.

“Would you like some help?” Violet asked, seemingly already knowing the answer. You nodded, and fought back a small laugh again, noticing that your heart rate was a bit quicker as he moved his seat closer to yours. He grabbed your hand while it still grasped the pencil, carefully guiding it across the paper.

“What are you drawing, now?” you asked, given that you didn’t really have much to build off of yet, anyway.

“I’m trying to finish what you started,” he spoke, starting to add more depth to your drawing from earlier, which was of the cloudy and stormy view from outside. It was remarkable how easily he could add so much life to any simple sketch.

“See? You’d want to do it this way, instead. Don’t shade too much at once, a little at a time will do, so you don’t sabotage it,” Violet explained, still holding your hand in his as he moved it across the paper.

“Right, I see,” you replied. He was sitting so close to you that it almost made you shiver, and the feeling of his hand holding yours made you weak. You didn’t even want to draw anymore, you just wanted him to guide your hand across the paper forever. Not only that, you wanted to kiss him too. For so long, you wondered what it would be like to finally press your lips against each other’s, but you couldn’t. It was nearly impossible to tell if he felt the same way that you did, and you didn’t know how he’d take it.

He withdrew his hand, moving back to his original position, leaving you to finish the drawing at your own pace. You felt an emptiness where he was sitting closely behind you, and you were suddenly brought back to reality once you realized he moved back. You lazily stroked the pencil against the paper, your mind going completely elsewhere as you kept taking brief glances at him.

As you looked at him another time, his gaze shifted towards you again just like earlier, only this time it lasted much longer. It felt much more intentional, surreal almost. Your eyes stared into each other for what seemed like hours, until your gaze shifted down to his lips, the black lipstick painted onto them made it all the more tempting to just lean in and kiss him. He was so perfect.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed him doing the same, his gaze moving down to your lisp for only a second. Before you could even fathom what could possibly come next, the both of you leaned in slowly, and with only a few centimeters left between the two of you, you wasted no time closing that gap and pressing your lips onto his own. It felt better than you’d imagined, almost making it worth the tremendous wait. The two of you barely pulled back for only a few seconds, only Violet made the first move this time.

Multiple minutes flew by as the both of you basked in each other’s affection, coming up for a breath every so often. You and Violet pulled away for the last time before footsteps could be heard coming your way. After you both sat in anticipation, you saw the librarian walk through the shelves, putting things in place. The two of you glanced at each other, and without a second thought, grabbed your things and headed out. You didn’t even realize the storm had died down until now.

As the two of you walked back to your respective dorms, you felt Violet’s hand slowly caress yours, like he was trying to ask your permission without saying anything. You grasped his hand a bit more firmly, letting him know you were okay with his gestures.

“(Y/N)?” he spoke, making you nervous to hear what he was going to say.

“Yes?” you replied, anxiously waiting to hear what he was going to say, while still keeping your calm demeanor.

“I love you..” he spoke, briefly pausing in his tracks as he turned to look at you.

“And I love you too…in case you were not aware,” you spoke, making the last part sarcastic. You felt your heart flutter again as he chuckled a bit, leaning slowly in to kiss you again. It was so gentle, you almost barely felt his lips press against yours. You practically melted as you felt him still smiling ever so slightly as he kissed you. Wrapping your arms around him, you briefly brought his body closer to you before pulling away.

“So…I’ll see you to-morrow?” you spoke.

“Surely you will..” He said, still smiling. It made you feel special, being able to see him smile and laugh when almost nobody did. Something about his expressions of happiness evoked a sort of contentment in you- something you didn’t think you’d be able to find anywhere else…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖇𝖞 𝖉𝖆𝖞 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖟𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖆𝖙 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙...

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #gregory violet #black butler manga #sebastian michaelis

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liminsendhelp · 24 days

Text

Hannibal AU because my lastlast post was liked by one person and now I'm obligated to show it off

An excerpt from my fanfic where Will is a girl, a psychiatrist (and something else), cooperates with the FBI, wears dark glasses to quietly glare at everyone.

Hannibal is two or three years into BSHCI.

Will is about 25, Hannibal about 33.

Again, writing through a translator, if something translated badly, don't be sad.

Enjoy

"The right of exclusivity of the kindness. I see what you want."

Hannibal was distracted from erecting the walls of the Sistine Chapel on the sheet in front of him. A quick glance in Will's direction was correctly interpreted as a request to continue.

"You want my good, attention, interest in private. You long to remain the only speck of light." Hannibal watched Will spread out the papers on the table in front of the cell. He seemed to recognize Randall's work. Such an ambitious, lively, but utterly sloppy subject.

All the sheets fell into place. Barimore Howard, Randall Tirr, Arne Palertin, Travis Tesvair, Francis Dolarhyde.

All of his former patients.

In the last five years.

Considering he'd started his official practice five years by the time he'd been locked up... The fact that the potential of so many of his patients turned out to be free (at least for a fraction of what was possible) was gratifying. Animal rage pulsed beneath their skin, hidden in a vain attempt to be duller than they were at their core. Even though they'd been caught up in the outcome, Hannibal knew the real number of people he'd helped with self-acceptance before and after BSHCI.

He raised charcoal gaze to the doctor's. Will watched his attempt to hide his pleasure with a frown.

"In a world of people sorted second-rate from tolerable to vile, you see yourself as the primate of consciousness."

"Trampling on my view of the world or your view of me?"

"Don't."

Will put her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants. Hannibal waited for whatever it was. Today she felt more excited than ever. Despite the control over her body that was clearly held by her, Will's mind was not with him.

She sighed:

"You asked for a job." Hannibal hummed. Will raised an eyebrow, her pupils (if the glare from the lamps hadn't thrown off his perception) narrowed behind the glasses. "Asked." she nailed it. Will walked around the table, turning to face him.

"What can you say about them?"

In the second it took Hannibal to decide between "About the pictures?" and "Depends on what you want to hear," Will cast him an eloquent glance. Amazing ability to burn a hole with her gaze through her dark glasses. Hannibal almost twitched his cheek, smelling the unfurled scent of darkness behind the glass of the cell.

"I know they're all former patients of yours. I don't need to form a charge to throw a couple dozen on your sentence and change the conditions of confinement a bit, it would be enough to slip a hunch to our mutual acquaintance." she touched a finger to her right shoulder, clarifying." So I won't pretend I don't know who influenced them, and you won't stall."

"Threats. Again. Did you not sleep well?"

"Deadly."

Given her nightmares, Hannibal had no doubt the dream really could have been a dead one.

They looked at each other. It was as if the glass hadn't even been there. Will bowed her head. An unruly curl fell across her forehead, brushing her cheek. Soft carpet pad the austere monolith of her marble skin. His gaze traveled farther, to where the long grace of her neck was hidden behind the thick material of a dark hoodie.

She quietly gave him some time, for a closer look, watching the curve of his gaze.

"Hannibal."

A patient reminder of her unquenched anticipation.

Hannibal's gaze remained on her lips.

"I believe that the similar is drawn to the similar and greater. The strong to the strongest." He said.

#limin #hannigram #hannibal #hannibal nbc #will graham #hannibal lecter #dr lecter

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bluravenite · 11 months

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Hey I know I'm a total stranger but I follow you and I think your art is really cool! I wanted to ask what brush is best on Procreate? New to digital art and I'm trying to make art of my own characters. Taking a lot of inspo from you!!

I am of the firm belief that most basic brushes are real good!! I came from clip studio so i was mainly used to charcoal/pastel feeling pencils, as well as REALLY smooth/textured inking brushes and LOTS of opacity, which i think has changed but you can still see the influence??

I am also an avid hater of procreate brush settings which is why I sorta chose to modify most of my basic brushes!!

Mainly i usually pick two brushes per drawing... Sometimes I'm not feeling the same sketch brush so i tend to switch between script, Sean sketcher, hb pencil, and peppermint!

For inking i tend to do script or gesinski ink but i recently inked zephyr with the marker brush!! It was so fun!! I also sometimes ink/clean up with my sketch brushes, it can be faster.

I started using peppermint and spectra because of @purlty though i have kept spectra as a texture brush rather than for coloring :D i like it a lot

My brushes really aren't special but i have the odd habit of changing EVERY setting until i find one i enjoy so I'm going to link my brush set below!!

Make sure if you want all the brushes in Raven's set, you only download that file, and additionally you will need to download HB pencil block, and Script Sketch, to have all of my brushes, but otherwise you can pick and choose which you want!

There's also some resources on how to modify brushes/import them and some REAL good tips and tricks i have found to make the program more usable, however!! It's a learning curve and it will only get easier with time, I've been using procreate as my main program for a year now and I still sometimes have to go back to clip studio or traditional art to be able to get a grasp haha!!!

↓ ↓ ↓ !!

youtube

These videos are A LOT OF INFORMATION but will likely help you get a good grasp of BASIC procreate functions! My suggestion is, don't take everything to heart, because you actually won't use a lot of the things they show, just stick with what you understood and are interested in using!! You don't have to master it right away :D

Most importantly i am very happy to be able to help you with this, even if you are just a stranger, so am I! And when i started with art programs and digital art I had to spend YEARS trying to figure out how to be like the artists i looked up to without being able to buy so many of the cool brushes and expensive software, so anything i can do to help, even if it's just sharing my already modified basic brushes so that you don't have to fidget with all the settings!! I'm more than happy to do!! And i really hope this helps you and anyone else who might need em!

#raven helps with art!#bluravenite resources #raven rambles #sorry this was so long #art resources #brushes #procreate resources #procreate brushes

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demondamage · 11 months

Text

MediwhumpMay Day 21 - Field medicine

This was written on my phone and is not stellar so warning

Cw: broken bones, nothing graphic tbh

"I dunno doc, I ain't ever see nothing like this before."

If Jonah hadn't seen it in this forest before, no one else would have. You only ever really saw the Wildman on the rare occasion that he hurt himself too bad to fix with a little duct tape and spit.

"Shouldn't this be a job for animal control?" You ask, looking forward into the bramble thicket Jonah had lead you to. There was definitely something there, you could hear the wheezing and growling.

"It had horns like an animal sure, but it ran like a man. I'd call the police but, well, I still got warrants. Anyways, it's hurt. So I called you."

"Of course." You sigh, adjusting the doctors bag on your shoulder. "So you shot someone and need me to patch them up so you don't get a manslaughter charge?"

"My shot missed!" Jonah grunted. "Something else did that."

"Sure Jonah. Look, might be best for you to back up and let me deal with it."

"You sure you don't need me here? Gun could be useful.

"Or that gun will scare whoever it is off. Go home." You dismiss the older man, who grumpily dissapears into the woods. Alone at last.

The thing in the brush groans again, this time you can hear it sputtering and coughing. That was distinctively not an animal, and as a doctor it was your place to help whoever it was.

"Hello?" You call out to the thicket, hoping to get a response. Silence. Not simply a lack of response but complete silence. The rustling and groaning ceased, letting you truly hear the lack of any other wildlife. "I'm a doctor, are you injured?"

"Don't touch me." A voice snarls back, suddenly on the defense.

So it was a man. Or… if Jonah was telling the truth, man enough.

"If you're hurt, I can help you." You call out, stepping closer to the thicket. Sharp thorns snag your clothes and scratch your skin, but you manage to pull the brambles apart.

It definitely was not human.

The form of the creature mimicked a human's, arms legs and head all in the places they should be. But the limbs and digits were just a little too long, stained black to the torso. It's eyes blinked black, as if filled with charcoal, which only distracted for a moment from the third unblinking yellow eye in its forhead. And when that maw opened to snarl at you, there were unmistakably too many teeth. This creature was not of this plane or existence, and it wanted you to know it hated you.

Yet, as evil as it was, the longer you looked at it the more you realized it was broken. Thick leather restraints bound it's wrists together with a matching band collared around its neck. It's ankles must have also been bound, marks from broken bonds still visible on its legs. And then there were the gashes, sliced across its back in an immistakable criss cross pattern. Whip marks.

Did your hippocratic oath apply to this thing?

Maybe it was your years of training. Maybe you just felt bad for it. But, you couldn't just leave it here unattended.

"Hey, hey you're hurt." You quietly set down your medicine bag, getting down on its level. The collar was locked, but retrieving a large knife from your bag you were pretty sure you could cut the leather. "Stay still I can get you out of that."

At first the creature hissed, but as you lift your knife to cut its bonds, that anger fades to something else. Eyes closed, body crunched, waiting. Bracing for you to hurt it.

It even whimpered as you slid the knife under it's collar, straining and pulling to break that thick leather. It was as if any moment you would turn that blade and slice its throat. It wasn't until the collar finally gave and you pulled away the kine that the creature opened its three monstrous eyes.

"I can probably get your hands free too if you let me."

This time the creature obliged, holding its hands out to you and letting you cut the bonds. Rubbing it's now free wrists, the creature finally spoke again.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." You pull back, letting it sit up with some space. "Look, you're hurt. Let me take you to a hospital, those gashes look deep."

"No!" It was a slight hiss as the creature pulled away, gasping in pain. There was definitely something broken in those legs based off how it crawled. "I appreciate your help human, but i won't let you take me."

"Look I can't just let you go like this." You chose to ignore the human comment. "If you won't let me take you back, let me patch you up here."

It took a moment for it it agree, testing it's broken leg before speaking.

"Y-yes please."

At least this creature had some semblance of manners. You pull a long bandage from your bag and decide to address the leg first. It was definitely broken, and if you had it your way you would be setting it in a cast. But for now you would have to make do with a bandage.

"Alright, I'm going to have to re-set the bone into place. It's going to hurt like hell since I don't keep anesthesia on hand. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I– will it help me walk sooner?"

"Yes. Although you will still need to rest it for a while."

The creature paused for a moment, then finally nodded. "Do it."

You grip the foot tightly, noting the rough texture of the blackened skin. Hopefully it's bones were similar enough to do this right.

"On three. One…" You position yourself. "Two…" It curls itself, ready for the pain. "Three."

You've reset plenty of bones in your time, and heard plenty of screaming along with it. But nothing could match the animalistic roar emanating from the pained creature. It was low, guttural, something between a roar and a moan. You managed to pull the shattered leg bones into a workable place just before it pulled away from your grasp.

And then came the teeth.

Hot breath and fangs locked around your neck, forcing you to the thorn coated ground. A tangled mess of black hair curtained your face, moving slightly as the creature huffed and gasped, teeth pressing your throat.

Yet it didn't bite.

"I still need to wrap it." You whisper, careful not to even swallow less it cause the teeth to pierce your fragile throat. "Can I do that?"

"I'm sorry." It murmered through the mouthful, loosening it's grip slightly. "I'm sorry, I can't control it. I shouldn't have let you do that."

"It's alright. It's alright." You gingerly pull away, the creature releasing your neck. It hadn't occurred to you how loud your heart had beaten in your ears. "That's the hard part, it's all easy now. I just have to wrap it."

"I can't let you touch me again." It shook its head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"And I don't want you to fuck it up again." You lift the previously discarded bandage. "Lay still.

The creature paused for a moment before obliging, sprawling out on the thorns with it's foot in front of you. Every moment as you wrapped it, you watched those stained teeth for movement. But to the creatures credit, it only bit into a branch it had grabbed.

"I'm guessing you won't let me touch your back?" You ask, tying off the bandage.

"I wouldn't risk it." It shook its head, pulling away from you. "I can't- I cant control myself. And I don't want to hurt you after all you've done."

Under other circumstances you would have protested, but with teeth marks still fading from your neck you didn't want to test your luck.

"I'll stop by tomorrow with antibiotics then."

"I won't be here."

"You won't get far on that leg of yours."

"Maybe not. But if I don't try, they'll find me." The creature sighed. "Thank you. I won't forget this."

@mediwhumpmay

#whump #whump writing #mediwhumpmay2023 #MediwhumpMay

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 10 months

Text

The 24th One

TW: Blood, guns, attempted murder, fear, pain, stitches, painful wound cleaning, emotional breakdown, threats, slightly flirtatious drama queen villain, male whumpee

"Take it easy," a firm, but somehow saccharine voice called out from Civilian's living room.

Treading lightly and letting out an involuntary sharp gasp, her gaze flitted over to a figure mostly hidden by the shadows, like a charcoal drawing, the first rays of the sun peeking through the sheer, half-open curtain outlining his edges.

"Who are you?" she questioned, going back into her room to fetch a gun from the safe.

She tiptoed into the room, fingers tightening on the weapon as she flicked off the safety.

Civilian was met with a soft, amused chuckle. "I thought the spandex would be telling," the man she now identified as Villain replied, practically slouching in her armchair like he owned the place.

Her breathing went shallower, and her face paled. The all-too-happy figure in a dark, form-fitting suit with heavily mussed up light brown hair lounging around in her living room was one of the city's most dangerous criminals. And she was all alone with him and a gun she barely used. She wished to curse the fact that she'd chosen to live somewhere quiet, right on the outskirts, closer to her job. It didn't seem all too convenient now, did it?

"I'm gonna need you to put that down, love," the villain crooned, voice gentle and silky, but the hint of warning in it wasn't lost on her, much like a rose with thorns scattered across its stalk in a subtle manner, but still not invisible to the keen eye.

"And why should I do that?" she challenged, strengthening her death grip on the gun, defiance ablaze in her eyes. She wished she was as brave as she might have looked.

Except that didn't matter because the criminal seemed entirely amused with the situation, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft laugh, greyish blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight with mirth. "Ah, as much as I admire the courage, I'm not in the mood for any games, so put the gun down and don't even think about calling the police. Not that it would save you anyway," he growled. The playfulness was still there in his demeanour, but he didn't make an effort to mask the threatening air of his tone.

"I hope you don't think I'm joking," he drawled lazily, pulling out a gun of his own and training it on Civilian's face.

"No," she stage-whispered, trying to ignore the nausea washing over her and the tightness in her chest. She mentally cursed herself for not shooting him the second she'd recognised him.

But killing people was not like the movies. It isn't something you walk away from, something a good night's sleep, if you could even afford such a luxury, would help you forget. Only truly terrible people, like the villain in her armchair, she presumed, could treat murder as a mundane part of their daily routine, like how one regards brushing their teeth.

But now, she didn't hold an inkling of power on the crime lord because while the civilian might hesitate, might back out completely, he wouldn't.

And besides, he had goddamn superpowers at his disposal; he could create wind. She would have to be extremely lucky to get a hit on him, and that was never something she was willing to gamble over when it came to her life.

She pried for any weaknesses, anything to use against the villain, but all she saw was a calm, almost relaxed person and a deadly weapon in his merciless grip.

"You know I really didn't want to do this. In all honesty, it's been a while since I've seen a girl this cute," he supplied, and if she didn’t know better, Civilian would've sworn he actually sounded disappointed, "but I don't like having to repeat myself," he concluded, a slight downturn of his lip being the only indication of any negative emotion he may have felt, with nothing behind those cold, steel-coloured eyes.

He rose up from the chair, and panic gripped the civilian. Both of them shot and missed, except the villain cried out, letting out a sharp gasp as he fell to the floor, holding onto the chair's leg like a lifeline. His gun was hurled across the room with a loud clattering noise, far away from his grip. A nasty laceration across his his abdomen spurted out blood.

She wondered how he'd gotten hurt if no bullets had hit him, and when the sunlight moved further into the room, she noticed that he'd popped some poorly executed stitches with his sudden movements. He tried to use his powers to pull his gun closer but to no avail. The pathetic, little breeze he'd created could barely move a leaf. Apparently, his injury had affected his power tremendously.

For a moment there, Villain looked terrified. Frantically groping around for his gun, looking two seconds away from howling out in agony as he moved as fast as his injured body could handle. There were bruises on his face, no doubt from a previous fight, and his eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing laboured. He was now at Civilian's mercy, and he knew it. This was his end, no way around it. For a man the heroes said claimed to 'dance with death', he seemed incredibly frightened of it. For the first time that night, he looked unbearably human.

She didn't understand why some sort of misguided empathy had led her to crouch down to his level and ask, "Can you walk?"

"What?" he choked out, snapping his head up sharply at her. And as though the fear from before had never been, he clenched his jaw, contracted the muscles in his face to pull it into something stone-hard and expressionless, trying his hardest to pull his form up into a semi-standing position, holding onto the coffee table with a white-knuckled grip. He tried again for his powers, but they failed him once more. Still, she could see the hint of wariness in his eyes as his gaze trailed over to her gun.

She got up and threw it aside. "Goddamn it," she snarled, drawing in a sharp breath and exhaling slowly. Well, if she died for being foolhardy, at least it would be a noble death. However, she'd made sure to keep both guns in her room. No more chances.

The villain's eyes widened again, not out of fear, but out of shock, clearly not being used to any displays of kindness. She walked over to him, letting him put his arm around her shoulders, struggling to shoulder his weight. He was incredibly tall, lean muscles outlined by his suit. The civilian finally managed to get him over to the couch. "I'm a med school student, final year," she supplied, and he let out an overly exaggerated sigh of relief.

She would've smirked, but she caught herself. Don't get too familiar. "Friendly reminder that I don't have any anaesthesia on hand right now."

He simply responded with a scoff, rolling his eyes at her.

"Alright tough guy, how would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?" she asked, looking for a needle, thread and some antiseptic.

"Seven," he answered coolly. It still surprised her how he managed to preserve his composure while wounded like this, no wincing or shivers. But she reminded herself again that he was not a normal person.

Civilian unzipped the suit down to his abdomen, and the villain gave her an unbearably cocky grin, somehow managing to do that with blood snaking down from the ugly laceration on his body.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scolded, and she didn't understand why she'd said that, as though they were old friends used to exchanges full of banter. The civilian wondered if she'd become so secluded and terribly lonely that human interaction with anyone seemed appealing to her.

"Don't flatter me yourself with those eyes, love- ahggg!" The velvety tone and the lazy, half-lidded gaze were swiftly replaced with a sharp hiss as the villain squeezed his eyes shut, contracting and relaxing his muscles rhythmically to distract himself from the agonising sensation of the alcohol seeping into his wound, leaving his skin feeling like it was on fire.

"Easy, it'll be over soon," Civilian soothed awkwardly, unable to conceal the pang of sympathy she felt for him right now.

"Don't coddle me," he snapped, clearly more concerned with his wounded ego above anything else. Even beneath the smug smiles and stoicism, he clearly loathed the vulnerability. He hadn't been afraid of dying, she realised; he was afraid of dying in such a humiliating state.

Tragically poetic how he had the words 'Pride is my sin' tattooed on his right arm in all capitals, dark ink and a stylish font.

The civilian got him through the stitches, years of intensive studying and practice overriding her nervousness, stopping her hands from shaking the way they desperately wished to. Villain barely shivered or flinched during the process, and while he raised a sceptical eyebrow at her when she offered him a glass of water and painkillers, he swallowed them readily.

She washed her hands and threw him an icepack for the swollen bruises.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, and you should be uh, fine here," she supplied, gesturing to the couch with one hand as she zipped up the criminal's suit with the other.

"I guess this means I owe you a favour," he stated bluntly, a thoughtful, enigmatic look in his steely eyes.

"What?"

"I'm a crime lord, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete bastard," he reasoned, "you didn't kill me even when you had the chance. It's only fair."

"Why would I need a favour from you of all people?" She raised an eyebrow at him, moving a strand of ash blonde, wavy hair away from her eyes.

"In this city, you'll never know when you might need a favour from a guy like me. Anyway, take care of yourself, love." He sounded genuinely concerned, and the civilian hated it, so she awkwardly nodded at him.

When she got into the shower, finally away from the villain, her emotions came crashing down on her shoulders like solid rock. Her brave face in front of the villain had been a facade. She was terrified, incredibly guilty, all of the worst outcomes tormenting her mind in flurries of terrible thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. There was no going back now.

Civilian may have preferred to stay awake after sunrise, but she was too exhausted. Or actually, she wished to escape her hellish thoughts, and this was the fastest and easiest way to free herself from her shackles.

We all dream of being kind, of offering help to those in need, yet in an imperfect world, acts of kindness come with an expensive price, one not everyone is willing to pay. This hour's enemy is the next hour's victim, today's proud and cruel are tomorrow's weak and defenceless. But the beautiful irony of life is that no matter how far one runs away from it, vulnerability is a destined fate, written in stone, an unavoidable risk. It is the one thing in a person's nature that marks a human being as such.

Almost forgot, tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

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