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i-mybrunettelady · 2 years

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Say hi to yourself

Preface: Hello, hi, I wrote this as a neglected character prompt and decided it was good to share, so have a moment I’d been wanting to write about for a while now! I missed ya Ren. It’s kinda a long boy. It’s spoiler free as well. Enjoy <3

1316 AE

She almost doesn’t respond when her name’s called. A flinch escapes; after all, she’s been with the Order for only a few months and these people have been perfecting the art of not reacting all their lives. Still, she can’t escape the feeling of failure that she has to manually stomp. These people are understanding. They’re not going to reach for violence just yet.

They’re spies, a part of her screams. And mesmers can’t read minds.

The name again. The new one, not the old one. In full, with the first syllable accented. It’s an order. A moment passes yet again and she has to remember who they’re calling.

“That’s me,” she says, standing up. “I am Renira Sulver.”

She tries to sound secure in that knowledge, but everyone here can say it’s a lie. She does get a sympathetic little smile from the agent by the door, though.

“Yes, that’s you,” the agent says. “Come.”

A curt nod - she walks up to him, emboldened by his smile from earlier, and looks him in the eye. She’s faced worse - no, Vera’s faced worse. She’s not Vera anymore. Vera’s dead, death by suicide. And she’s alive, no? Breathing still, with some softness on her bones. She’s trying to push Vera away and bury her (herself?) but she keeps coming back.

It really fucking sucks when you have no idea who you are.

“You’re quiet,” he comments.

“Just observing my surroundings and taking in hints. I’m not supposed to be noticeable, remember. Spies usually aren’t. Good ones, anyway.” She’s lying, she wasn’t paying attention, but she learned she could lie pretty well when she was a child. There’s confidence in her answer she can easily fake without anyone even noticing. This wall of lies feels powerful, to be able to trick highly trained spies like this. She might’ve been poor and hungry and in danger, but she could lie through her crooked teeth and not get caught.

“Almost had me fooled,” he laughs, tapping her on the back. She gets a good look at him, a scrawny charr with spotted black fur. Charr expressions are tricky, but he bought it. He bought the lie. She smiles.

“I’m trying,” she says. “But - you know h- my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Opi,” he offers a paw. “I don’t have the fancy legion names, I’m just a Lion’s Arch variety charr. So just Opi.”

“And you’re just enjoying my company, Opi? Just Opi?”

“As humans go you are a pretty fun one - your accent for one, sounds so Krytan, but if I were taking you somewhere fun, would I be waking you up at 2 in the morning?” She opens her mouth to respond, but he beats her to it. “No. You’re one of those new identity guys, right?”

Vague sense of power shatters like fine glass on a nobleman’s window. Here she is at square one, not even having the power of anonymity to her. It irks and irks and irks and she can’t shake it away, much so it almost bleeds into her face, the second blunder in the last five minutes alone. “What of it?” she asks, easing her face into a neutral expression.

“They usually change your faces, you know that. Hence the mirror ban? It’s your turn.”

Maybe it helps me not feel nameless. Gods, I hate feeling nameless. Excitement from the very suggestion colours her voice, she can’t help it. There’s been confusion in her mind for the last few months and she’s been trying to remember what she looks like, what Vera, or Renira, or whoever the fuck she may be looks like, but all she gets are outlines. Fingers may be sensitive to a lot of things, but they can’t replace sight. She wonders what colour her eyes are that so many people have to say they’re beautiful. Her hair’s red, she knows that much, and her nose is crooked from having healed badly after being broken. What else? What about the brows, the lips, the chin, the cheekbones? What will they keep? What can she charm to look like something else?

Instead of all that, she just says, “They’ll do it tonight? This morning?”

“Dunno. I’m just supposed to deliver you.” He looks her over. “You’re excited for it.”

“This isn’t my face anymore,” she admits. “Or I think it isn’t. Shouldn’t be. I don’t know. I just think it will help. The new face. I’m a new person so I need a new face.”

“You’re getting there, cub,” he says fondly and she feels oddly proud. It’s supposed to feel like a blunder, which it is, a flood of what the self feels where it should be a private affair, yet it doesn’t. She’s not there yet. Maybe the new face will help?

The new face. What a wild idea. A new face. My new face.

“There we are,” Opi says. “Good luck in there. They’re good, trust me. I knew some people who went through their hands. They’re very, very good.”

“Before you go,” she grabs his hand as he turns to leave, “what colour are my eyes?”

“Golden,” he replies. “Why?”

Her lips curl in a smile. “Just so I know what to never change.” She lets his hand go and waves as he disappears into the hallway. Her heart’s beating wildly. She takes a moment to mourn whatever’s left of Vera and/or herself and opens the door.

1317 AE

It takes months. And it hurts. Yet the pain is nothing against the backdrop of anticipation, the lack of knowledge. She doesn’t know the final image - she vividly remembers being asked if she trusts them, to which she nods, and then they give her sound-dampening headphones. She sees lips moving, tries catching words, but they move too fast and they’re probably saying things she doesn’t understand so she gives up at some point and imagines all the beautiful women she’s seen in her life and wonders if she would ever look like one of them. She remembers their features, wonders how they’d feel under the velvety touch of lips, and if any woman would want to kiss her the same way.

And she trusts them, she really does. So when they finally say yes to starting, she’s eager to do so. The face she expects to see is a blur, a mixture of all the things she passed by and wanted to have in more than one way, and only the anesthetic brings down the barely maintained dam that prevents a smile from spreading.

She listens to them for recovery, beams a little whenever they say how well she’s doing. There are glances and looks, but she doesn’t care - each step feels closer to herself, to this new goal of Renira that still feels distant, yet within arm’s reach. If it will save her from death, she’ll take it, all of it.

And finally, the moment’s here. She is to meet Renira Sulver, at long last. She puts on her cleanest Whispers uniform, marvels a little at how she’d have to get a bigger size, this one’s getting kinda tight, dreams about her the night before and about herself and there’s hope, at last, that she might see herself. That’s all she needs, hope. If not, well, there’s more to be done. But today, she meets Renira Sulver.

Her shoes are slightly heeled, a hand-me-down from another initiate, and she clicks her way to the mirror room. She stops by the door, feeling butterflies in her belly that pokes through the too-small uniform.

“I’ll really need to get a more comfortable one,” she says and her voice sounds about right, for the time being. She doesn’t know if it will in a moment. For now, it does. And there’s safety in that.

But she can’t live mirrorless her entire life. One breath, two, three, and she opens the door, only for it to leave her open mouth in a long gasp.

The girl she sees looking back doesn’t look like herself at all. She looks like a total stranger, someone who, by sheer chance, has red hair and golden eyes. She’s repeating her own movements, tightening and relaxing of a fist, blinking, the same shocked emotion, as if she’s surprised to see her as well.

It takes her shamefully long to fully realise she’s looking at Renira Sulver.

Her nose is smaller, straighter, nostrils wider and the tip full, looking up. As if to match it, there’s a slight pointiness to her chin, but it doesn’t look out of place on a fuller, more rounded cheeks. There are no discernable, sharp cheekbones, but they would just break the symmetry of roundness that is her face, perfectly youthful, plump, fresh. Even her lips seem to fit, full and pink. Only edge is the curve of her eye and the sharp pull of the eyebrow, and she forces the face into calmness to see how it looks.

The first word that comes to mind is rich.

But not just rich, but also refined. She feels like a finely crafted dagger, one you’d give as a gift to a king, artistry in the form of a human being, a painting, Lyssa’s own likeness. Renira looks as if she has never had trouble in her life, as if everyone wanted her hand in marriage for the honour of having a wife as striking as she is, as if she wears lacy dresses and heels and takes girls to fancy dinner dates.

“Fuck,” she says. It sounds wrong, too quiet for such a striking face. “My gods.”

Renira echoes her words. Maybe, she is Renira. She looks like her. Her name’s too rough for a face like this. This is a face to put on a pedestal and keep from getting a speck of dust on. In a moment of sacrilege, she notices a nearby dagger and gently runs the tip over her cheek in a thin line.

It bleeds red, causing yet another gasp. The cut disappears as soon as it forms.

And she looks at her as a whole, her soft body, soft hips, thighs. They said they hadn’t done anything to the body. This was all her. She’s a creature made of beauty, not a dirty mesmer from the streets.

Her eyes fill up with tears. The face in the mirror twists and constructs as they fall down her cheeks. So it wasn’t a doll. This is a real face she gets to keep. It can make expressions, it can function, it’s a mask that she’ll eventually feel at home in. Or should she now? Is it even a mask? Or maybe a destination?

She continuously wipes her tears as she ungracefully plops down to the floor.

“Hello,” she says. “I finally get to meet you.”

“Hello,” the face replies in a different tone, and it’s a mesmer illusion of her own make, and she laughs with such glee she hasn’t felt in years.

She is one step closer to her permanent home.

#gw2 #inspo birb has come to town #guild wars 2 #gw2 writing #gw2 fanfiction #renira sulver #nero's artsy corner #gw2 human #gw2 mesmer #order of whispers #fanfiction #gw2 oc #enjoy <3

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alicesvalentine · 1 year

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✧ oc, background picture by marianna rothen

#oc poem #oc poetry #writing #girlblogger #girlblog #girlblogging #vent #whisper #book blr #bookblr #poem #short poem #this is awful i know but no one looks at this page anyway #and i also have to just. force myslef to write #i am awfully bad at tge artsy stuff #alicealice #alice oc

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modestfashionqueen · 1 year

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This just in, Whisper is an absolute boomer. And Rahim is happy to teach her new things. BONUS:

Way to go! She's proud of you.

#rahim tag #whisper tag #artsy fartsy #line art #traditional art #oc #original characters #original character

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ukitakejuushiro · 2 months

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I am still enjoying a lot of manga and anime (especially Frieren and Apothecary Diaries), but my mind has been mostly plagued by my and @mochidoodle 's OCs nowadays 🥹

But yes, I still draw! And here's a lil joint sketch dump of what I've been up to

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junebuggeryy · 1 year

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take your desktop computer clothes shopping TODAY✨

#eGor cherenkov #artsy whispers #robotcore #tv head #how did all my art turn adorable.

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sminny-wew · 1 year

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I’m a little hesitant to share some of these concepts for.....reasons, but after asking friends about it, I decided to just go ahead and share what I have, with captions for context <3

Sonic OCs Part 1

Sonic OCs Part 2

Sonic OCs (Silver & Gold)

#sonic the hedgehog #idw sonic #cream the rabbit #marine the raccoon #princess elise #princess elise the third #whisper the wolf #tangle the lemur #lanolin the sheep #diamond cutters #sonic fan club #amy rose #sally acorn #sonic oc #sonic fan character #artsy fartsy

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writingoddess1125 · 5 months

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Simon with his Triplets

Simon and how he is with each of his triplets.

Hazel

• His fighter and his attitude, Wrapped up in the beautiful bundle that was his Hazel.

• Hazel was the most like him in terms of his fighting spirat, While he had simmered down greatly over the years he saw it everyday in his daughter.

• She carried herself with a sense of pride and strength that he couldn't be more proud of.

• Hazel was the defender of the triplets, being the one to fight if anyone dared pick on her other siblings

• Simon had to pick her up from school far too many times for fighting-

• Simon did had to teach her how to control herself, Having to show her different ways to channel her temper- And the best way he found was Boxing

• Simon still kept in shape, not wanting to get weak as time did him in- So he kept up some heavy workouts. So he had the two of them go to the Boxing gym together

• There she blew off steam and trained with him. Well into her late teens she did this picking up MMA as well on her own.

• "Dad I want to go into the military-" She said, firmly as she lowered her arms from the boxing bag. Her fist still in the skull hand gloves he bought her for her 18th birthday. Simon freezing mid set and looked at her-

• "No-" He said simply, before going back to the bag.

• Hazel glared at him but didn't say anything else but went back to the bag herself. Simon assuming the conversation was over.

• He was going through the mail and sees a Royal Marine letter, assuming it's his he opens it and sees its an acceptance letter for Hazel and her date to start basic.

• Was he proud? Of Course

• Was he also angry that she had hidden this from him, went behind his back and disobeyed him? ABSOLUT-FUCKING-ELY

• Him and Hazel have the argument of the centry- But he was able to calm down enough to hear her out and makes her promise that she won't do anything dangerous as a job- She agrees..

• Then immediately goes in for Special Forces Operations like he did and Simon damn near has a stroke and is ready to drag his daughter by home when he learns of this.

Rose

• Rose- His little princess. His sunshine and rainbows child.

• She is the dreamer of the trio, Always imagining new things.

• She is also the artist- Has Simon cleaned enough crayon, paint, pencil from the floors and walls to last a lifetime? Yes- Has he bought thousands of dollars worth of supplies and made his credit card cry.. Absolutely

• But Simon loves every painting, statue and drawing imaginable. Keeping them in his office- Even if he doesn't understand artsy things he will smile and thank Rose

• Rose is also his hiking buddy- The two taking a weekends to explore new hiking trails together. Which he uses to rip his daughter away from the grips of the crows of boys that seemed to drool over his precious girl.

• Due to her naturally bubbly and sweet nature she gets a lot more attention from boys then Simon would like-

• "I don't like the boys that try after you, You know what they want-" He said in a warning tone, already irritated at the idea of them sniffing around his little girl.

• "W-Well...Daddy what would you say if I didn't like the boys either-?" She said softly, almost at a whisper- The irritation Simon felt damn near flying out his body.

• Simon looks at her quietly, trying to gauge her reaction only to see she was doing the same-

• "So- You don't like boys? What about girls?" He asked softly, unsure of any other way or working it. Her cheeks turning a flushed pink at this-

• "I see-" He said calmly, Patting Rose's shoulder as they made it over the steep hill of the hiking trail. The two looking over the beautiful scenery before them

• "Same rules, We have to meet her and her parents and No closed doors" He said simply and with a hint of a smile on his face. Rose smiling as well and nodding-

• Simon is secretly overjoyed to learn his daughter likes girls, he finds it mentally easier. Meets his daughter's girlfriend and will take her along with him hiking.

• She ends up as a Art Teacher, While he didn't understand he absolutely supported it happy she had found her calling.

Johnny

• Johnny is his Mini-Me and his lad.

• Seeing as your genes didn't even fucking try with Johnny it was just like you copy and pasted Simon. Blonde hair, light eyes and only a shade or two darker then his father. Other then that he got nothing from you-

• He adores his Son and feels proud of him everyday he lived and breathes.

• Johnny still refuses to speak, remaining mute but Simon is fairly certain it's by choice which he respects.

• Simon and him sitting next to each other as you argue with Hazel about something stupid, Johnny discreetly reaching up and taking off his hearing-aids to not hear anymore.

• Simon has to suppress a laugh-

• Johnny often goes hunting with Simon, especially since he's the most into the outdoors besides Rose.

• Is oddly a perfect hunter- Has very quiet steps and is smart with a gun.

• Him and Johnny are sitting in some trees waiting for the elk to go by, Johnny staring out into space a bit as he holds his rifle and thinks.

• Simon seeing this grabs a piece of bark and tosses it at him to get his sons attention. 'Whats wrong?' Simon signs, Johnny sighing lightly.

• 'I guess, just thinking-' Johnny signed. Simon nodding his head for the teen to continue.

• 'Do you wish I wasn't deaf? I could have been military like you, I couldn't have done a lot of things. Like speak.. Does it bother you?'

• Simon felt surprised by this- Shaking his head quickly. 'No-'

• 'No- I do not care about if you are deaf or dont speaak, it doesnt matter to me. You are my Son- I'd have never let you go into the military either way, I don't want any of you to experience what I have. I want you to live good lives, and long ones not just for me and your mother. But for your name sake. So no, it doesnt bother me' Simon signed, feeling the burn in his chest at remembering his fallen comrade and his sons namesake.

• Johnny sat there, his hands twitching as he tried to think what to say but couldn't. Instead just smiling softly with a nod, turning back to see some elk coming into the clearing.

• The two hunted in peace that night not a word spoken between the two of them.

• "Why the long hair?" Simon ask, noticing the lack of haircut from his boy in the last few months. Johnny shrugs and signs 'Growing it out, Going to see if I like it'

• Never cuts it again- Much to Simon's annoyance

• When Johnny goes to University for Aero Space Engineering he almost cries- while he understands absolutely nothing his boy is saying to him when talking about his homework

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captain-hawks · 7 months

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BEST FRIENDS & BAD IDEAS

♡ — jean kirstein x f!reader

Big aspirations and even bigger dildos—in which a poorly thought out plan makes it incredibly hard to act like your feelings for Jean Kirstein are platonic. Not when they’re anything but. And especially not when you’re half naked in his lap.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.7k

prompt — cockwarming, creampie

additional content — NSFW, 18+, best friends to lovers speed run, dildo use, implied masturbation, unprotected p in v, praise kink, jean kirstein’s big dick

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” Jean growls, and his low, rough tone sends you off-kilter, shoving you headfirst over the precarious edge you’ve been foolishly dangling from.

In retrospect, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.

–

In the long list of questionable decisions you’ve made today, one of the first catalysts guaranteeing inevitable disaster was your lack of foresight to lock your bedroom door before stripping off your shorts and underwear and preparing to lower yourself down onto the ridiculously large dildo that had been delivered in an even more comically large Amazon box this morning.

Your best friend of many years and college roommate, Jean Kirstein, came home just as your makeshift “stand”—you’d hastily attached the suction cup at the base of the dildo to the last clean plate in the cabinet for lack of a better surface—went flying across the rug, ripping the few inches you’d manage to ease down onto right out of your lube-slick channel. You’d hit the floor with a thud, growling in frustration. This, understandably, had the unfortunate effect of attracting the concern of said roommate, who swiftly burst into your room as if you were in the middle of being robbed.

The concern quickly morphed into hysterics as he spotted the giant purple dildo wiggling uselessly a few feet away from where you were lying on your stomach, punching the carpet and yelling at him to get out with as much dignity as you could muster.

“That’s my shirt,” he commented dryly, ignoring your pleas for him to forget everything he had just seen.

“Well it was in my drawer,” you spat back, trying to push the dildo-plate behind you, although the damage was already done.

Jean leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I have so many questions.”

“Our business hours are between 8 and 5, so you’ll have to call back tomorrow. Sorry,” you said with a dismissive wave, subtly kicking the plate and dildo beneath the bed.

The suction cup chose that moment to pop off, and all ten inches came rolling back into view right where a bar of sunlight was stretching across the floor from the window. It would have almost looked artsy.

If it weren’t a fucking dildo.

“I thought you ordered a lamp,” he observed mildly, motioning to the huge cardboard box you’d yet to take out to the recycling bin.

“I’m gonna order you a fleshlight if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, shoving on a pair of sweatpants.

Jean crinkled his nose, running a hand through his hair. “That thing’s so big, the landlord might start charging us for three tenants if he sees it. Is this a cry for help?”

“I’m trying to prepare myself for seducing Eren at the party Saturday night,” you whisper-yelled, as if anyone else was going to overhear you in your otherwise empty apartment.

“Jaeger?!” he barked out with a disbelieving laugh.

“Everyone says he’s huge. I don’t want it to be a disaster.”

“He’s not that fucking big!” he exclaimed incredulously.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can you like, go be somewhere tonight? Go get so high with Conny you forget you saw anything? I’m gonna go try in the bathroom instead.”

“You’re kicking me out of my own apartment so you can shove a giant, sparkly purple dildo inside of yourself imagining it’s Jaeger’s dork ass?”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Jean.”

He groaned. “The bathroom sounds like an even worse idea. You’ll slip, hit your head on something, blood will go everywhere, and we’ll lose the security deposit.”

“Or my plan will work, I’ll get laid this weekend, and you can stop complaining about how grumpy I’ve been lately,” you reasoned matter-of-factly.

Jean’s hand came to rest on your shoulder as you attempted to push past him to leave the room, aforementioned dildo jiggling menacingly in your hand. “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said a little more softly, raising a brow as he cast another look at the offending object.

“I have lube!” you shot back defensively.

Jean glanced up at the ceiling, muttering something about regret under his breath before exhaling, “Let me help you.”

–

In all the years that you’ve known Jean, you’ve done an excellent job at keeping your little crush on him your best kept secret. A secret kept under the most formidable lock and key, buried deep in the depths of your psyche. Tucked away in the very back of a dusty, old cabinet like an expired can of corn.

Objectively, you know Jean’s handsome. You’re well aware.

With his intense, hazel eyes—ones that see everything.

His tall, solid form.

His sinfully curved, pink lips (and his habit of idly sliding his tongue along the bottom one).

His long, dexterous fingers—a dangerous thought.

That fucking mullet he let grow in, which shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it is when he rolls right out of bed and leaves his room looking like a pillow-rumpled supermodel.

He’s hot, okay?

And sure, you’ve drunkenly kissed at a few parties over the years. Jean’s seen your ass more times than you can count. Definitely your boobs that time he ran into the bathroom to puke while you were showering. Sometimes he has a habit of putting his head on your lap when you’re both on the couch, nudging you till you card your hands through his soft brown hair like a damn dog.

But it’s always been platonic.

Friendly.

Two people who are just very, very comfortable with one another. Comfortable in knowing that neither intends to ruin their stable, solid friendship by carelessly sprinkling feelings into the mix.

Comfortably going so far as to share the sordid details of your sex lives (or lack thereof, lately) while leaning against the kitchen counter eating take out food without batting an eye—though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t try to one up him sometimes when you feel that familiar, unwelcome twinge of jealousy yawning awake inside of you.

But this?

This is asking too much of your restraint to keep your heart walled off and your mouth clamped shut. In your defense, it was already left in pitiful tatters after grinning-and-bearing it throughout the seven-month-long nightmare that was Jean dating fucking Pieck.

—

The next phase of your slew of terrible ideas today began with Jean sitting at the head of your bed, back against the wall, holding the dildo between his legs. Like your own personal fucking dildo holder. Grinning like this wasn’t the single most awkward thing the two of you have ever done (save for the time you both fell asleep with your head in his lap on the couch and woke up to his accidental boner poking you in the ear—neither of you ever mentioned that again).

And it would have been totally fine if it worked out like you imagined in your head the moment he pitched it—you sinking down onto the silicone schlong a few times, stuffing in as much as you could while he held it still. Then letting him carry on with his day while you lay there in bed for a little while with it lodged inside of you, getting yourself used to the stretch. Totally fine.

The reality of the situation was far different, entailing a sticky, slippery mess of lube coating of your hands and a dildo that bent and flopped in every direction as you tried to carefully impale yourself on it while maintaining some sense of dignity.

You had given up fairly quickly, butting your head against Jean’s collarbone and sighing as you asked if he thought Eren would go slow.

He was quiet for a moment.

“…do you trust me?” Jean had asked carefully, like his next suggestion wasn’t going to send you spiraling.

Like “Just sit on my dick, as a friend!” wasn’t the most fucking confusing statement your heart, brain, and vagina had ever heard.

–

Which is how you find yourself in your current predicament, straddling Jean Kirstein’s lap with far more inches of him than you’d realized he’d been keeping tucked away buried to the hilt in the velvety heat between your thighs. Raw, skin-to-fucking-skin, because you’re both in a miserable dry spell with not a single condom to be found between the two of you. And somehow the combination of “known you for half of my life” and “just got tested” and “IUD” sounded better than one of you being tasked with trudging to the pharmacy.

Or, god fucking forbid, going down one floor to ask Conny for one.

Nope.

You have three days to prepare yourself for whatever may come with Eren, so sitting on your best friend’s intimidatingly large dick sans condom the least of your worries. Even if it feels so incredible you’re literally silently choking on the moan threatening to spill past your lips.

Even if you fucking swear you heard his breath hitch when the thick head of his cock began to slip past your entrance, stretching you open wide as he breached your damp channel.

Even if he hardly had to touch himself to get hard for this.

Even if his gaze darkened when you choked out, “Jean, your dick is huge.”

This was a terrible idea.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

“Doing what?!” you ask, exasperated.

He rests his hands on your waist, “Doing this,” and squeezes firmly, “on my dick.”

“This isn’t even sex,” you tell him, ignoring the way the close proximity of his hazel eyes sets a flurry of emotion stuttering in your chest. “It’s like, cockwarming at best. You can’t come from cockwarming if you’re not even turned on.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know how tight you are?”

“That’s obviously why I was worried about Ere—”

“It’s like this,” he cuts you off, wrapping a hand around your throat. It’s a loose hold, only meant to prove a snarky point, but a spark of arousal seeps through your body anyway at the mere suggestion. His eyes widen a fraction at the traitorous way your walls clamp down on him even harder in response. “What, you into being choked?”

“I’m into a lot of things, Jeanie,” you tell him haughtily, trying to ignore the heat blistering beneath your skin.

“Like dumb idiots named Eren Jaeger?” he counters, making to grab for the tongue you’re currently sticking out at him.

If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think Jean sounds like he’s jealous.

Which he definitely isn’t.

But you poke the bear anyway.

“What, are you jealous?”

He shifts slightly, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan as your cunt spasms around the pressure from his cock.

If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, his brow furrows as the corners of his mouth tilt downward slightly. “I just think you deserve better.”

You tug on his earlobe, letting out a weak laugh in an attempt to dispel the sticky, messy feeling of hope trying desperately to cling to the arousal stirring in your gut. “Says the guy who’s currently fucking me.”

Jean scoffs and deadpans, “I thought this wasn’t sex.”

Who are you kidding? Certainly not the tension coiling ruthlessly in your abdomen.

You move a little, trying and failing to relieve the sensation of hot wax dripping down your spine. Instead, you let out a tiny, strangled noise when your throbbing clit presses down against his pelvis, the resulting flood of pleasure setting every nerve ending in your body on fire.

The way he growls out your name through gritted teeth is a warning, but his low tone only serves to stoke the flames licking their way up between your thighs.

You move again, inhaling sharply through your nose.

“Fuck,” he groans quietly, head hitting the wall behind him with a resounding thud.

You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, but his hands find their way back to your hips, calloused fingertips pressing directly against your skin as he slides them up beneath your shirt. His shirt.

The next time you rock against him, his grip on you tightens. And then, you feel it—he tugs you forward.

You lean further into him, without really meaning to, forehead coming to rest against his. “What are we…”

“Just keep going,” he murmurs.

He shifts again, sinking down lower so his back is pressed against the mattress, and you realize the angle gives you more purchase to grind down against him when he pulls at your waist, thumbs lazily skimming your hip bones.

“Jean…” you whisper, not really sure what else you intend to say.

“I want you to feel good,” he says softly, pushing his hips against you, even though he’s snugly bottomed out.

It feels so fucking good—

—laying atop Jean while he stares back up at you, pupils clearly dilated in arousal—

—watching his eyes fall shut as you run a hand along the stubble on his jaw—

—knowing he’s well aware the slickness between your legs is no longer from the lube, your cunt gushing with arousal at the feeling of being stuffed deep with his thick cock.

So you tell yourself you’ll figure the rest out later when you start to shamelessly grind down against him.

“You don’t have to be quiet for me,” Jean teases when you cough to cover up a gasp.

Your answering moan is nearly a whimper, and Jean’s muscles tense beneath you as he continues to guide your hips. He doesn’t try to pull his cock out from where it’s lodged inside of you, doesn’t start thrusting and fucking up into you. He just lets you chase the clitoral stimulation you so desperately need while you’re cockwarming him, groaning along with you at each needy drag.

“Good girl, that’s it.”

This is far more intimate than you bargained for, the gentle slide of his hands up your back scraping your heart out bit-by-bit.

“Holy shit, you don’t know how close I am to coming right now,” he moans in a gravelly, unsteady tone.

All you can do is whimper his name when the rubber band suddenly snaps in response, your body trembling as a wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you.

And then Jean’s hands are cupping your face, his lips crashing into yours. He kisses you fiercely as you whine and shudder through your orgasm, moaning into your mouth as you card your fingers through his hair. You can feel his cock throb inside of you, pulsing with need as your tight cunt spasms and contracts, relentlessly squeezing his shaft while you soak him with your release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s groaning, both of you too drunk on pleasure to move when he suddenly climaxes, cock pumping thick, hot ropes of cum deep in your pussy.

Chests heaving, Jean slowly sits up, forehead falling against your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist.

After a few minutes of silence, he finally murmurs, “Don’t fuck Jaeger.”

You tilt his head upward, finger resting just below his chin, skimming the stubble that’s there. Too many emotions are swimming in his hazel eyes, more than you can identify—save for one that you recognize with a jolt of clarity. It’s the way you look at him, when he’s not paying attention.

Longing.

Desire.

Soft, gentle, unfiltered affection.

This time, you’re the one to close the distance between your mouths, brushing your lips against his.

“Who?” you ask, smiling into the kiss.

Jean chuckles, the sound like warm honey, and he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding to the back of your head. Though you remain seated on his softening length, cum begins to seep from your slick heat, pooling on his balls and abdomen.

He goes to move, but you don’t budge. “You wanna get cleaned up?”

You shake your head, the corner of your mouth tilting upward with a smirk. “I’m comfortable.”

Jean bites his lower lip, huffing, “My cum’s dripping all over, and I’m two seconds from getting hard again if you keep squeezing down on me like that.”

Feigning a look of innocence, you flex the muscles in your tight, soaked channel one more time for good measure. He chokes, and you grin.

“Good.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #aot smut #attack on titan smut #jean kirstein smut #dee writes

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arillusionist · 2 years

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✨tHe PoWeR oF lOvE✨

#raeda #lumity #luz noceda #amity blight #raine whispers #the owl house #toh #toh comic #eda clawthorne #toh spoilers #featuring ponytail eda because why didnt we see her in one more often #one episode!!! isnt enough!!!#anyways season finale tonight i'm so excited #hope it doesnt end in a cluffhanger!! haha...hahah #*cliffhanger #toh fanart #artsy art

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kkami-writes · 7 months

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waiting for us — chapter thirty two. masterpieces wc. 611 + 2 SS

Hyunjin is nothing but incessant in holding your hand the entire time you guys walk through the gallery. You happily oblige. He all but drags you from painting to painting, literal stars in his eyes while he admires the art. It’s a different look compared to when he’s doing his own sketches, the way his perfectly sculpted eyebrows pinch together and his tongue pokes out.

You will never admit how often you stared at him during your shifts at love stay. Nor are you blind to the others who stare at the pretty boy. For once you’re thankful for your resting bitch face as you glare at them for making Hyunjin uncomfortable under their attention.

Your heart broke when Hyunjin told you about how before he turned 16 people would try to get at him simply for his looks. They had all wanted to wear him like he was a purse, showing him off like he was some trophy. Even after finding his soulmates, people still tried to use him. Some people were shameless.

Yes. Hyunjin is handsome, you’d have to be blind to not think so. But you want to see all the different sides of Hyunjin, learn more about his passions and his hobbies. Even the bad parts, like his caffeine addiction or the constant procrastination on projects.

He’s guiding you through the paintings and statues, leaning close to whisper his own thoughts, analyzing each and every piece. Yet you can’t pay attention to what he’s saying, the way he’s so close that you can smell the floral cologne he’s wearing and it’s making you just the slightest bit light headed. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, eliciting a shiver running down your spine. You’re pretty sure the boy is doing it on purpose, if his smirk is anything to go by.

You’d like to wipe it off his face.

Preferably with your lips.

Still, despite not being the most artsy person ever or even really know much about fine art you enjoyed looking at all the pieces. An argument could be made that fashion was just another art form and you had enjoyed dressing up, making outfits. It had been the only way you could express yourself and as a bonus it did boost your confidence if not just a little bit.

You know virtually nothing about art though so you’re all the more happy to listen to the boy drone on and on. How can you not when he looks so adorable trying to explain 17th century aesthetics. Honestly it all goes over your head because wow, how can you pay attention to anything when his lips look so enticing? Was he wearing lip gloss? Or were his lips just this shiny?

Jeez, when did you become such a simp? You were simply losing your mind and you’d 100% blame the boys for that. Not that you were really sane in the first place. That’s a different story for another time though.

It only takes about an hour to walk through the entire exhibit, Hyunjin beaming even as you two leave.

“May I escort you home my dear princess,” You rolled your eyes playfully at the boy, slipping your hand into his.

“Of course my lovely prince, I would love nothing more,” His eyes shine a little more as you play along, absolute adoration swimming in his eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat.

And if you kiss him on the cheek before getting out of his car? Well, you’re sure the other boys will know because if you know anything, it’s that Hyunjin will absolutely rub it in their faces.

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blueberryarchive · 12 days

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thoughts on 80's slasher!jk...♡ (18+)

more here

(because i can't stop thinking about him)

There was something so cruel and fun about being part of a sleepover. The sweet aroma of vanilla and nail polish compacted in the room covered in colors. The muffled laughter of 2 in the morning, Steph's mother sleeping on the other side of the wall where the Billy Joel poster is. The yellowish silhouettes move slowly as they write on small pieces of paper, concentration makes them frown, smile flirtatiously at the ceiling.

“Can it be any guy?” Bobby Joe asks, tossing the piece of paper in the corner to grab another one, Steph rolls her eyes knowing full well why she would ask such a question.

If Bobby Joe was talking about any guy there would be no problem but the three girls, including you, knew perfectly well that sweet BJ wanted to put the philosophy professor's name in big italics.

“We're not going to call Mr. Hogg, Bobby Joe. I don’t want to hear him pull his old and saggy out just because I said the word ‘wet.’”

“I thought this was a game.”

“Exactly, it's a game. I don’t want to develop an infatuation with men over forty-five.” Liss attacked folding her game papers into four.

Your fingers fidgeted on the piece of paper on your knee. You couldn't write your boyfriend's name, obviously, it wouldn't be as fun since Jimin knows your friends' voices and it wouldn't be as fun to see one of your friends flirt with Jimin on the phone.

“Come on, Boo. Don't you know another man besides Jimin? Steph laughed. Bobby Joe and Liss put the names inside Elmo's mug.

No, you wanted to answer. But what's so fun about that. Now that you think about it, you should have brought your Monopoly or the old Ouija that your brother hides. It wasn't a good thing to ever leave the games to Steph.

Liss sat her face on your shoulder looking at the yellow paper, empty, desperately empty. You can put the name of someone who isn't in college, she whispered to you, taking pity on your sorry male record. And that's what you did, you chose your neighbor, only two people know how long you and Cooper haven't seen each other: God and your mom. And that was perfect, he wouldn't know your voice if you called him to ask him what his favorite position was.

Dan Cooper, the “o”s looked like long zeros and the ink pooled at the edges, demonstrating your hesitation in looking for another man in your life you wanted to call for a prank. But it was too late, Steph took the paper and crumpled it before you finished the R.

“Who dares to call first?” Liss held the cup, turning the papers over with a spoon.

Bobby Joe sighed looking into the darkness of the room. You noticed her nervousness, perhaps regretful.

“I want to change the last name…”

“Don't be a pussy, BJ.” It gushed from your lips, the Malibu bubbling in your throat with the taste of the Caribbean islands and the triple cheese pizza you had for dinner. None of the three expected to hear your babbling so early and in so few milliliters of rum.

“Well, you start, take a piece of paper.” You heard her mumble something about putting your stepfather's name on the cup, you ignored her as you took the paper that first fell on the carpet.

“Wait, let me turn on the camera.” Liss got up taking the camcorder that her father gave her for her new career in communication. Now the lens focused on the college antics of your group of friends and, occasionally, the artsy pornos that she and her boyfriend tried to sell on college corners.

Of the ten papers, the one you took seemed to be folded with the delicacy of origami. You unfolded until you undid the little cube and found a name that you have rarely heard or even thought about.

“Jungkook Jeon?” You feared you had said the name wrong but the looks between your friends were not looking for a good pronunciation but rather who dared, in fact, who even thought of trying to flirt with such a specimen.

Steph let out a squeal as she almost dropped her drink on her favorite sweater.

“God, Liss surely wrote that.”

"Why me?"

“You've always liked weird men.”

“You like octogenarians, you bitch.”

“Who the fuck is Jungkook?” You were starting to get desperate and the tiny flickering light from the camera was starting to feel like needles in your pores.

Steph takes another drink before proceeding to explain.

“He's a guy in econ class, a complete loser. He doesn't look anyone in the eye and walks around like he wants the earth to swallow him all the time."

“And why do y'all put it in the pile?” If you were going to call someone, it had to at least be worth it.

Bobby Joe and Liss look into each other's eyes and smile knowingly. BJ's bubblegum-pink coated index fingers come together and then spread alongside her smile.

“Several of the guys on the team have seen him in the showers.”

“I don't believe any of the men on the football team, that's what they said about Marc and he had a micro dick.” Steph looked pointedly at the camera. “Plus he doesn't even get up from the stands, I've never seen him play.”

“Jimin started calling him Junghood.” BJ played with her gum, twirling it around on her finger.

Jimin had never mentioned the guy to you.

“Junghood?”

“He likes to play with his bow and arrow in his free hours, like a Robin Hood.” Liss looked for another light, she wanted tried to see every line that formed on your forehead.

“The name is so stupid…no offense.” Steph finished her drink and handed you the heavy book.

You grabbed the phone directory and headed to J. The last name was easy to find and the dial easy to rotate, until your nerves choked you listening to the buzzing on the other end of the line. You wished he didn't answer, but you were also intrigued by the description. How is it that one of the players on the football team, who was supposedly well-hung and caught the attention of your little elite, was so relevant? And why didn't you know about him?

Your friends didn't focus on dragging unfortunate people through the mud, that's a high school girl thing. In college it was a matter of continuing to climb the ladder, maybe marrying a stockbroker from New York or becoming an intern at Vogue just so you could rub it in other people's faces.

And unfortunately for you, it was a Saturday night and of course this Jungkook guy would take the call. ‘I Can’t Quit You, Baby’ reverberated softly in the room, his breathing hitched and heavy. Had you woken him up? Suddenly, you were aware of all your senses, of the sense of the cassette filling up with frames of your stupid face trying to do a function as human and basic as talking, of the two shots running through your system. But oh…

"Hello?" His voice was raspy, sweet, a little nasal and whiny.

BJ squeezed your chin shaking it from side to side, enjoying your cowardice. Your face was toasted with a simple word.

“Jungkook?” You swallowed, your finger curling around the phone's pink cord.

"Who is it?" Complainant moved between the sheets until he was silent. “Fuck, it's two in the morning. Is this another one of the evangelical whores trying to sell me Bibles? I already told you what I would do to y'all if you called me again.”

And the threat sounded like a foreign promise that you wish you had heard alone. You looked at Steph who was drawing a cock next to his name, her eyes closed sensually as she stuck her tongue out.

“I just heard a rumor a couple of days ago and, you know, I haven't been able to sleep thinking about it being true.” Your voice turned to molasses, your eyebrows curled and your shoulders tensed in acted innocence.

“No, I don't sell pot. Is that it, princess?”

“Is it true that you have a big dick?” Steph, Liss and BJ were shocked. You stole the Malibu from one of them, you didn't even have the courage to talk to Jimin like that when you two were alone.

The girls ran as quietly as possible out of the room and down the stairs, opening the other phone to listen to Jungkook. But it was useless, since the person questioned did not respond. The camera already forgotten on the bed, you kneeling on the carpet hugging Liss's pink Care Bear between your legs.

A small laugh, the click of a lighter, a drag.

"What?" You could hear him reposition himself in his pillows. " You would like to know how big the weirdo in your class is, you fucking slut.”

No, ew.

“Yes, I say, if it is true.”

“How much would you like to know, mm?”

This wasn't the answer you were looking for, you thought maybe he would hesitate on your question or just hang up out of embarrassment. Maybe you should have stopped five more minutes and brought Clue or Guess Who? that was in your closet.

You thought about every face in the college hallways, about your boyfriend's friends, and about those you met at the mall or behind the movie theater on Sundays. None matched his voice.

“I told you I haven't been able to sleep for two nights, isn't that enough?”

“Maybe with a proper fuck you would relax, don't you think?”

You swallowed, letting your eyelids droop. Your hand approached the camera and you turned it to the wall so it could record its own reflection in the mirror.

“Can't talk, love? I thought you were the one who was going to play a lil' prank on me and leave me hard as a log on the other end of the line. What happened, do you really want me to crash this dick into your pretty pussy?” His laugh was mocking, he knew what he was saying and how he said it: with his hisses, deep tones; all through the smoke of an improvised cigarette in the late night.

You squeezed the bear between your legs and sighed.

“I've never been so…”

"Dirty? Badly spoken? Pleb?"

“So direct.”

“Isn't it so fucking good, though? Being able to say out loud that you think about my cock at night” The bass solo repeated itself like an angelic tune intertwined with his words.

It was hard to follow the joke when your panties started sticking to your lips with every word that came out of his mouth. Your friends had abandoned you so theycould listen downstairs and in the darkness of the room you could only imagine a headless body stretching your legs up to your shoulders, your pussy trying to make room to choke on the throbbing veins of an unknown dick.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” His question sounded like a command and your hips leaned forward, rubbing against the rough carpet.

"No."

"Ya' sure? Because just with your absence of words you have me squeezing my base. Can you imagine if you could take it all like a champ? I know whores like you, they dare to take on a whole team if they feel like it.”

His sly laugh was the last thing you could hear before hanging up the phone. You rose from the carpet searching for the cassette in Liss's camcorder, your thin fingers trembling as you destroyed the evidence of your pusillanimity and lust.

The three girls walked slowly to the room, all grouped on the bed like judges of the case. Looking for an explanation in your features but there was only one order.

“Nobody talk to Jimin about this, okay?”

The judges looked at each other, nodded in unison. Apparently bedtime approached earlier than expected and you were grateful that the alcohol had knocked out your friends so quickly.

You ran to the bathroom with the memory of his voice still fresh. The humidity still warm between your legs, you held onto the sink while you held back your moans, your forehead pressed against the mirror and your drool falling into the drain with the voracious hunger that only imagination can give.

#jk.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡#❗slasher! jk thoughts #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you

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