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messrmoonyy · 1 month

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-What they’re like as your bf/gf (Hcs) 18+

Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Sadie Adler, Molly O’Shea

Request- Hi if it’s okay could I ask for some hcs of some of the gang and what they’re like dating with you? NSFW ones toooo🙈🙊 could you include Arthur, John, Dutch, Sadie, Javier and maybe any of the other girls Mary-Beth or Molly or Karen? Thank you 🙏🏻

A/N- I didn’t include Javier cause I like barely speak with him in camp or anything idk I don’t vibe with Javier tbh. And I saw my chance to word vomit my Molly brain rot and ran with it so she’s the girl I picked. Hope this is okay! Enjoy :)

Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur Morgan

- We’ve all seen how he was with Mary. He’d be besotted with you

- His journal would be filled with sketches of you, entries talking about how much he adores you, little notes about how you looked that day or musings about his plans for your future together.

- Definitely doodles a little heart with your initials too <3

- He’s touch starved. So he loves physical contact. A hand to your knee, your back, arm around your shoulders or your waist. He likes keeping you close.

- Brings you stuff from his little travels. Picks flowers for you, finds little trinkets for you.

- Keeps a picture of you by his bed.

- Forehead kisses!!!!!

- Kisses your hand. And kisses to your wrist. He loves when you reach up to cup his face and he can turn to press his lips against your wrist.

- He’s so much more than a tough, burly cowboy. He’s quiet, caring, considerate. And he adores you

NSFW

- takes his time. Likes to work at you until not a single tense muscle is left in your body. Worships you.

- Loves any positions where he can see your face, needs to be close enough to constantly kiss you and tell you how good you are for him

- “ there’s my girl, doin so good for me darlin “ “ jus’ like that darlin, let me take good care of ya “

- Not incredibly vocal, but the noises he does make he ensures are right by your ear.

- Refuses to finish before you ever.

- Loves to finish inside tho. He knows it’s risky, but he loves the closeness. And if he’s feeling particularly risky he’ll definitely push his come back into you with his fingers “ don’t waste it now “

- Grips The headboard.

John Marston

- he’s stupid. He really is. He’ll be head over heels for you, with you clearly reciprocating those feelings and he’d still think you didn’t like him like that.

- Like. You could kiss him and he’d still be like ‘ what are we? ‘

- When he does finally put two and two together he’ll have no shame or cautions in showing you off.

- He’s handsy. Likes coming up behind you when you’re washing dishes for Pearson to rub at your shoulders.

- Or pull you down to sit on his lap before you can even think about taking the empty spot on the log next to him by the fire.

- Overprotective. One tiny snide comment from anyone and he’s ready to start swinging.

- Definitely knows how to push your buttons and wind you up, and will do it just for fun and to get a rise outta you.

- And then spend the rest of day grovelling and apologising.

NSFW

- Loves going down on you. Like. Loves it. The man could spend hours there if you’d let him and Lord has he tried.

- Not very serious most of the time.

- Pretty vocal. And doesn’t really care if anyone’s listening either.

- Like i said, he’s handsy. His hands are restless and will grab at whatever part of you they can.

- Loves when you ride him and has absolutely made a cowgirl joke more than once.

- Will grab at your hips and guide your movements as you do. Told you he’s handsy.

- But also isn’t opposed to you on your back, legs over his shoulders. Presses kisses to your ankles and makes jokes about how good the view is.

Dutch Van Der Linde

- he’s not the most attentive of people at times. He’s constantly in his head and constantly thinking about things that aren’t you.

- But when he does allow himself time alone with you he is disgustingly charming.

- He always knows what to say, always knows the right words to have you melting into a puddle at his feet. You could be in the worst mood with him but a few whispers in your ear and it’s all forgotten.

- Has a million terms of endearment for you. My angel, my dear , my darling. He rarely ever uses your actual name, only when he’s mad.

- Loves to give you gifts, the more expensive the better. And he likes you to show them off too. He likes to show you off.

- Reads to you a lot.

- PDA is afraid of him. He doesn’t care where he is or who’s watching him, he’ll loop an arm around your waist to kiss your neck, pull you onto his lap when he’s reading beside his tent and kiss you. No shame.

NSFW

- will take his time with you but in a far different way to, say, Arthur

- He’ll edge you and overstimulate you for hours, because be gets off on the fact that you simply let him. That you obey his every command.

- Degrading and humiliating 🤝🏻 Dutch Van Der Linde

- He’s never too mean. And his degrading comments are more often than not laced with something sweet.

- Dacryphilic. 100000%. He loves watching you cry because he’s worked you into such an overstimulated mess.

- He’ll swipe your tears away or kiss them from your cheeks “ well isn’t that just a pretty sight? “ “ those tears for me, my angel? “

- Definitely has some kind of authority kink. Likes you calling him sir for sure.

- Loves you giving him head. Just loves you on your knees. It’s a power thing. And he’s a cocky son of a bitch.

- Sat back in his chair and won’t lift a damn finger to help you out, won’t even unbuckle his belt. And don’t tell me he doesn’t smoke whilst he watches you.

Sadie Adler

- She is absolutely not shy about her feelings when she finally accepts she has them.

- Shes just so sweet to you.

- Around camp she’s stuck to you like glue. Her arm is permanently around your waist or your shoulders, or her hand laced with yours and is ready to snap at any intrusive questions from anyone else about it at the drop of a hat

- Love language is gift giving. Just taken in a bounty but found a shiny lil necklace in his pocket? Well. It’s hers now. Or should I say, yours.

- If your hairs long enough she’ll braid it like hers, any excuse to be able to sit close to you and whisper sweet things in your ear.

- Would teach you how to shoot better, she wants to make sure you know how to defend yourself. but also wants the excuse to stand behind you and show you how to hold her rifle properly.

- Big spoon.

NSFW

- Sadie’s gained control over literally everything else in life, and it doesn’t change in the bedroom

- She trusts you whole heartedly but she’s not about to give up any sort of control to you for a While

- Makes sure she can see your face at all times, loves watching your face contort and relax in pleasure that she’s giving you

- Full of praise “ ain’t you just the prettiest thing? “ “ oh look at you! D’ya know how pretty you look from here? “ “ always such a good girl for me “

- Has a thing for putting her fingers in your mouth. Especially after she’s just fucked you with them.

- Having you on your knees eating her out drives her crazy. Will pull at your hair a little too hard but will soothe the sting with a thousand words of praise about how good you make her feel.

- And now hear me out. Loves to watch you. Will book you a hotel room together just so she can sit across the room and watch you touch yourself for her, encouraging you the entire time

- It’s never long before she absolutely has to have her hands on you though in the end.

Molly O’Shea

- sheeeee has some trust issues. And abandonment issues. She’s just… she’s a lot at times.

- But she is fiercely loyal and will love you with every fibre of her being

- And she wants to be loved as fiercely in return. She’ll spiral without constant reassurance “ d’you even love me anymore? “ “did I do somethin wrong? Haven’t told me you love me today “

- She knows deep down you do love her. She’s just afraid.

- She is such a romantic. She loves holding your hand, sitting close to you, doing your makeup like hers and stealing kisses in between painting your lips red

- She’ll write you sappy romantic poetry and leave you lil notes

- You’ll often overhear her gushing to other people about how in love she is too. She just loves to talk about you and how deeply she adores you.

- Likes when you give her forehead kisses.

NSFW

- Pillow princess. End of story.

- She’s not completely submissive though. She’ll tell you what she wants and what she likes

- She just wants to be taken care of okay. She needs to be taken care of.

- Makes the softest, sweetest sounds and will tell you she loves you a million times over.

- Enjoys when things just… naturally happen. Cuddling with you at night, but pushing her hips lightly back against you. Which usually ends with your hand slipping past her waistband and making her come on your fingers.

- Likes to be on top of you sometimes, simply so she can show off whilst she strips. Not to really do anything. Shes really not that much of a giver. She likes being watched. She likes to know she’s desired. And usually it ends up with you dragging her to sit on your face.

- You have to shower her with praise. She wants to know she looks beautiful, that she’s doing well, worship her. Which is incredibly easy for you cause like fucking look at her she’s gorgeous.

- Wraps herself around you when you cuddle after, legs intertwined and arms around you, head buried in your chest or neck. Pls my sweet baby needs to be held.

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joshym · 1 month

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Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness.

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive.

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client.

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work.

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs.

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless.

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice.

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands.

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work.

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being.

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once.

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura.

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now.

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight.

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk.

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck.

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over.

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric.

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging.

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going.

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door.

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago.

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.”

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently.

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath.

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head.

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette.

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light.

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body.

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade.

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet.

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence.

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips.

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body.

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression.

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you.

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck.

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known.

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice.

“It’s…incredible, Jake.”

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body.

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them.

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp.

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands.

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity.

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth.

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you.

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions.

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being.

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him.

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock.

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.”

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him.

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you.

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure.

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.”

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release.

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax.

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested.

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs.

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with.

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth.

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek.

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand.

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch.

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.”

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.”

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fanfic #gvf fics #gvf smut #greta van smut #jake kiszka #greta van fleet

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

Text

I don’t want you like a best friend | Xavier Thorpe x Reader

Summary: You and Xavier have been best friends for a while, but you don’t want to be just friends anymore. Come the Rave’n dance, you decide to tell him

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: suggestive themes

"Say my name and everything just stops I don't want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off"

—

‘’Are you coming the the Rave’n dance?’’

‘’I don’t have a date.’’

‘’You could go with Xavier?’’ Enid suggested with a knowing grin.

You and Xavier have been best friends since your first year at Nevermore Academy. Being away from home for this long and adjusting to a new environment had been difficult. You missed your family and the comfort of home. Making friends wasn’t your strongest, so you ended up very lonely.

Until you met Xavier. Although he was part of the popular crowd, he preferred solitude. He could spend hours on his own, drawing or painting.

One day, his sketchbook fell out of his bag in botanical class and you were amazed by the close to perfection sketch of your mutual classmate, Ajax. You hadn’t been able to stop the compliment that spilled from your lips. Xavier had smiled, a little shy, and thanked you. The next day, he had made a drawing of you sitting in the courtyard, reading a book.

You never talked to him outside of class…until parents’s weekend. You had been anticipating that day for so long — you missed your parents very dearly —, only to hear from Principal Weems that morning that they would not be coming. Sadness had filled your heart and you ended up crying silently between two shelves at the library.

You weren’t the only student whose parents didn’t come. Some parents, like Xavier’s father, were so busy with their work life that they cared very little about their son’s school event. Unlike you, Xavier didn’t come to cry. He was looking for a book. Except he found you instead.

You spent the whole day together, getting to know each other and talking about anything but your parents and, for the first time in weeks, a smile curled on your lips. Especially when he shared with you his little ability of making his artwork move.

Your friendship tightened over the years, friends turning into best friends. You called each other during summer break, and sometimes visited because September was just too far away. The Thorpe manor was massive and Xavier had his own art studio — which was even bigger than his shed on school grounds.

It was nice to have a friend like him.

But since your last visit, some things changed. Your friendship had developed into deeper feelings — non-platonic feelings. You held back from acting on them because Xavier was freshly broken up with Bianca and hurting. You also didn’t want to be someone’s rebound.

‘’I heard he’s going with Bianca,’’ Wednesday butted in, making Enid narrow her eyes at her.

‘’Only because she asked him,’’ the blonde quickly clarified. ‘’It doesn’t look like they’re getting back together though. Like ever. Xavier’s been very indifferent toward Bianca lately.’’

Enid wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t heard Xavier say Bianca's name in the past two months and you were the second person he spent the most time with — after Ajax. He came to you when he had doubts about the genuineness of their relationships, so he would tell you if he was still into her. Right?

That’s how the plans were made.

‘’That means we’re going dress shopping!’’ Enid grabbed her pink fuzzy backpack, looking at you excitedly. ‘’You need a dress that screams ‘stand back bitches, he’s mine’.’’

There weren't many shops in Jericho, so everyone ended up in the same one. It’s gonna be a miracle if two girls don’t show up in the same dress.

The bell above Hawte Kewture dinged as you and Enid stepped in. ‘’The dance committee is suggesting all white to match with the team, but that’s not gonna fly with us. If you want to catch Xavier’s attention and make him see you as something else than a best friend, you need to stand out.’’

‘’I’m not gonna wear bright pink, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’’

You weren’t afraid of colors like Wednesday, but brighter tones and pastels were Enid’s palette. Not yours.

‘’That’s not what I had in mind. Come.’’

None of the dresses you tried were to your liking. Too much tule, too itchy, too plain. You needed something that would make the whole place shimmer, to quote Enid.

Time passed and, around you, your classmates were all finding their dresses. All except you. Even Enid had found hers — a white number with a fluffy collar and cuffs. You were starting to feel defeated.

A sigh left your lips. I'll never find anythi—’’ You cut yourself, catching a velvet fabric smushed between the tule and sequins. You plucked it from the rack and held it before you.

‘’What about this one?’’

Enid stopped flicking through the dresses and turned to you, approval flashing in her eyes. ‘’Yes! This is the dress,’’ she confirmed, squealing excitedly.

You and Enid were getting ready for the dance in her dorm, both of your makeup bags spilled and mixed up on her bed. It was a complete mess — and will probably be staining her comforter in some places because of a missing cap on a lipstick and a broken highlighter. Sorry, Enid.

‘’If Xavier doesn't kiss you tonight, he is the dumbest guy ever. I mean, look at you. If this doesn’t push him to make a move, someone else will.’’

But I don’t want someone else, you thought to yourself as you applied a light wash of color to your cheeks.

You didn’t want to be that girl, but to your eyes there was only Xavier.

His sweet smile that never fails to make your heart swoon, those pretty green eyes you want to stare into all day, those lips you were dying to kiss and taste. The way only he knows how to make you laugh when you're sad and the warm hugs you never want to break from. He is always real and honest with you, even if his thoughts are sometimes dark. The speckles of paint on his shirts and sometimes on his school uniform — which he always needed your help to clean —, the late nights sneaking in his dorm to talk about everything and nothing.

‘’Y/N! Are you listening?’’

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, thankful for the color on your cheeks covering your natural flush. ‘’Sorry. What did you say?’’

‘’You were thinking about him, were you?’’ Enid teased, grinning like a teenage girl in a rom-com.

‘’I was not thinking about Xavier,’’ you denied.

She scoffed. ‘’Liar.’’ Enid held up two lipsticks, asking for your input. ‘’Should I do red or pink?’’

‘’Pink.’’

When you entered the room of flashing lights and buzzing music, all eyes turned to you.

All except Xavier’s.

His were too busy staring at the layered white tablecloths while Bianca was talking about god knows what. Before him was an empty glass, telling you enough about the fun he was not having.

You bit back a smile, secretly happy to see he was not having fun with his date.

‘’Ohh, look, Xavier’s there,’’ Enid pointed out in the least subtle way, grabbing your arm and looking right in his direction. ‘’He polished up nice.’’

He was wearing an all white suit with a thin black bowtie and his hair was pulled back, showing off his features. You sucked in a breath, feeling butterflies in your stomach. He looked so handsome — gorgeous.

‘’I’m gonna get us some drinks.’’ You tore your eyes from Xavier and went to the table where the punch was. With luck, someone will have spiked it and it’ll give you some liquid courage for later.

As you were filling the second glass with blue smoking punch, someone came up to your side. By the whiff of their cologne, you knew immediately who it was.

‘’I thought you weren’t coming.’’

His eyes raked up and down your body and you held back a smirk. Your plan was working, the dress was working. It was nothing too revealing. You wanted to get Xavier’s attention, not get sent to your room by Principal Weems.

‘’I changed my mind.’’ You grabbed your other drink and handed Xavier the second one. ‘’Yeti-tini?’’

It was for Enid, but oh well.

Xavier accepted it with a soft dimpled smile and brought the glass to his lips. ‘’You look…’’ He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes while searching for his words. ‘’Beautiful.’’ A light flush covered his cheeks, quickly correcting himself. ‘’I mean, you look great.’’

‘’Thanks.’’ You brought your drink to your lips to hide your smile. ‘’Shouldn’t you be with your date? Bianca seems a little lonely.’’

He glanced at Bianca who was sitting alone at a table, swishing her drink in its glass out of boredom, then drew his gaze back to you. ‘’I’m not allowed to come and say ‘hi’ to my best friend?’’

Best friend. You tried not to wince.

Xavier Thorpe was the king of mixed signals. A minute ago, he was complimenting you and looking at you the way a platonic friend wouldn’t, and now he was calling you his best friend. The words hurt like a knife in your chest.

You shifted your eyes to the dancefloor and faked a gasp. ‘’I gotta go. There’s a girl code emergency. Someone is flirting with Enid and she’s giving me the help signal.’’

‘’Oh. Okay. I…I’ll see you later, then.’’

You walked away with your drink and searched for Enid. The night was off to a bad start.

Eventually, you got dragged to the dancefloor. Most songs the DJ was playing were normie modern pop, but you tried to not cringe too much. One would think a school like Nevermore would be into more unorthodox music, but they can’t escape the radio hits.

You were dancing with Enid and Yoko, letting go and having fun between girls when you caught sight of an upset Bianca leaving the dance and Xavier sulking in a chair. Abandoning the girls, you snaked through the crowd of students and made your way to him.

‘’I know you are Nevermore’s tortured artist, but you’re allowed to have fun once in a while. Come dance.’’ You extended your hand, waiting for him to take it.

Xavier raised an eyebrow. ‘’With you?’’

‘’Yes. I promise I won’t step on your feet.’’

He accepted your hand with a sigh and you pulled him to the dancefloor as a better song came up. A sliver of a smile curled on his lips as your back was turned to him, hidden from you.

You swayed close to him, moving your arms, hips and shoulders to the music. Xavier chuckled and followed automatically, dancing as he pleased and fully letting go. He pulled silly moves and even made you twirl, making you both laugh. A perpetual smile etched itself on your face and pieces of hair were coming loose from Xavier's hair tie, forgetting about the people around you.

The music switched to a slow song and you both stood there, not knowing what to do. His eyes flicked down to you, looking at you in a way he never had before. You've never been nervous around Xavier before. He was your comfort person, the only one who you could be unapologetically yourself with. But the way he was looking at you sent nervous butterflies in your stomach.

Your hands shaking from holding back from him. You didn't want him like a best friend anymore. You didn’t want him to touch you like a best friend anymore.

As if he had heard your thoughts, Xavier stepped closer, so close not even a sheet of paper could pass between you. So close you could smell his cologne, a mix of pine notes with a softer undernote. His hands found the courage to rest on your waist, his gentle touch sending electricity through your body. ‘’Is this okay?’’ he asked, gulping as his eyes bore into you, the close proximity making his hands sweaty and causing his heart to pick up.

You nodded. It was more than okay.

‘’Xavier?’’

He hummed, his green eyes shimmering from the mirrorballs hung to the ceiling, reflecting the party lights. You curled your fingers around one of the tails of Xavier’s bowtie, wishing you could undo it and attach your lips to his neck and fastening yourself to him like a stitch.

‘’There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while.’’ He motioned for you to go ahead as you swayed to the slow music. You took a last breath and allowed the words to leave your lips. ‘’I...I don't want us to be friends anymore. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with us being just friends when all I think about when we're together is closing the space between us and kissing you.’’

‘’Like this?’’

Xavier leaned down and when his lips touched yours, all pieces fell into place. You melted into him and slid your hands around his neck, as if you were afraid he would break the kiss and run.

You were both out of breath when you pulled away, eyes filled with desire.

‘’I take back what I said earlier, you look fucking beautiful tonight,’’ Xavier said, his mouth overing over yours. ‘’And that dress— It's killing me.’’ His hands moved up and down your sides while his eyes stalled on the swell over your breasts. He was trying to be respectful with all the chaperon professors around, but his pants were getting a little tight.

There was absolutely no subtlety in the way you and Xavier snuck out of the room to go to his dorm. Your red dress stood out like a sore thumb among all the white.

Your dress hit the floor the moment you made it to Xavier’s dorm and remained there all night. After all, it was the reason you had bought it.

—

Xavier Thorpe taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #wednesday #wednesday netflix #percy hynes white #wednesday imagine

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leviathanspain · 11 months

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hi!! can i request a smutty benedict bridgerton x reader? where they’re married and while the reader is relaxing in their home library, reading, benedict comes in and starts to beg for attention. once he realizes that his darling wife isn’t planning on putting their book down, he starts to tease her and it ends up with him going down on her while she tries to continue reading.

i love your writing!!

oh my love

benedict bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you can’t get enough of your book and your husband can’t seem to get his hands off of you

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you didn’t even hear him come in. you had been too enthralled in your novel, toes curling as the pages got spicier and spicier. yet, the clamor he had made drew you out of the fantasy, and left you slamming it shut.

“can i not have some quiet time? this is a library after all, for reading..” you spat at benedict, who was busy turning to a new page in his sketchbook. he cleared his throat, and took out a piece of charcoal, “i’m going to pretend as if you didn’t say that.” he hummed, and began to sketch.

“why?” you picked up your book, adjusting the way you were sitting in the chair.

“because it hurt my feelings.” he didn’t even look up from his sketchbook to catch the sight of you rolling your eyes.

you didn’t even respond and minutes later, benedict got up, setting his things down.

he walked over to you, and you glanced up, shutting the book again, “can i help you?” you were getting annoyed. as much as you loved him, sometimes you couldn’t stand him.

and this was one of those moments.

“benedict!” you shrieked as he grabbed the book from your hands. you stood up and ran to grab it, but he had thrown it up in the air, and you were struggling to reach it. your face was buried in his chest as you strained an arm to grab your book.

but he wasn’t budging. he held it tightly in his arm above you, “come on, you know you want it..” he teased you, a finger booping your nose. but that only got you even more mad, “we don’t have kids yet and you won’t be able to if you keep this up.” you threatened him, and it worked, as benedict with a frown on his face, handed you the book.

“thank you.” you spoke breathlessly and went to sit at the large loveseat in the center of the room. you kicked your slippers off and relaxed on it, head on the armrest with your feet just on the top of the seat.

benedict huffed and walked back to his chair.

you hoped it would stay like that. the two of you existing in silence. until you realized that benedict had been slowly scooting his chair closer to you.

“what are you doing?” you set the open book on your chest and watched him, hands still in the pages.

he shrugged, “trying to spend time with my wife. like i’ve been trying to do for the past hour!” he threw his hands up in exasperation and you sighed, “fine! do whatever you want, just don’t let it disrupt my book.”

if he wanted to coexist in the library with you, that was fine. if he wanted to just sit there with you, that was also fine.

but his fingers trailing up your legs was on the border of fine.

“ben..” you said his name lazily as you felt the cool air hit your thighs, but he didn’t say anything.

you continued to read, but benedict was being too quiet, and even more so when you realize he was pulling your undergarments off. you grabbed his hand, the one that was holding the plush of your belly and peeked out from the book, “you said as long as it doesn’t disrupt your reading..”

he was right. you had said that, and he was being ever so quiet. so you let him continue.

moments rolled by and benedict was pushing your legs apart, tongue already on your cunt as he did so.

“fuck.” you muttered, surprised at the feeling, you focused, knowing this was exactly what he wanted.

benedict hummed, and you twitched slightly. he wanted to laugh, but he was determined. his tongue swirled around and he tasted you, he wanted to take you right here right now, but he had to wait. he had to wait until you finally discarded that book and focused on him.

you moaned softly, unable to stop yourself, you tried your best to keep them quiet, but benedict was too good.

benedict was so good, that on your wedding night, you had let the entire ton know just by your screams and your cries of pleasure.

benedict felt the hard slam of a book against his head and he pulled back, “ow!” he rubbed his head and you were so weak that you couldn’t even react.

the expression on your face told benedict that he had won.

“sorry.” the word was mumbled as the book dropped to the ground, and benedict’s fingers were taking over the absence of his tongue.

he rammed into you, and you were moaning, head falling harder into the armrest, you were so close.

benedict could feel it, you were tight around his fingers and he knew he had to get you there.

his mouth was on you again in an instant, and as the pressure built up, your moans got higher and higher until it snapped.

you were shaking, cursed and strings of moans echoed into the room and benedict was enamored with watching you fall apart.

“oh my love..” you were panting, chest falling hard as you blinked. benedict was clearly pleased with himself, and kissed your thighs, “mhm..more?” you didn’t even finish nodding before he was on you again.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton smut #bridgerton x reader

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acourtofquietdreamers · 21 days

Text

“Why don’t you ship Elain with her mate? Don’t you know Sarah is a fated mates author?!”

Let’s take a look at Elain’s mate vs….

The person Feyre pictured with Elain and smiled.

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”…Lucien caught me cringing at him when her words replayed for the tenth time an hour later…I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that…fire.

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.

The person willing to save her himself.

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

The person who made her feel at ease during their first meeting.

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him

But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.”

The person she can sit in comfortable silence with.

It was the most uncomfortable thirty minutes I could recall.

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it.

The person who knew she didn’t need anything.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

The person who understood her and saw her when no one else did.

“Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek. Whatever he’d felt, it wasn’t what we were looking for.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not…Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.

The person Elain enjoys spending time with.

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left.

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea.

The person she has palpable chemistry with.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

The person who gives her a gift that she wants to wear right away.

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings.

“It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?"

The person who looks at her and only thinks of her.

But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda.

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

This supposed “fated mates author” has made it really difficult for me to ship Elain with her mate when a much more compatible option is right there. Four books with moments that solidify Azriel as the person for Elain, mate or not.

#pro elriel #elriel #anti e/ucien #Elriel rambles

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echo-bleu · 3 months

Text

shine still brighter (2/?)

Chapter 1 | On AO3. Deaf!Artanis bullet-point fic.

And I'm back with some linguistics! I barely have an idea where I'm going, but writing this AU is a lot of fun.

Three weeks later, Arafinwë brings little Artanis to Fëanáro’s office. She’s immediately entranced by all the shiny gems and strange little contraptions that are everywhere and she tries to touch them, and Arafinwë is terrified that she’ll break something and Fëanáro will explode.

“Let her,” Fëanáro shrugs. “There’s nothing in there that I can’t afford to replace. It’s mostly old prototypes, anyway.”

Right. His twins are a year younger than Artanis. He’s used to little children running around and being curious.

He brandishes a sheet of paper. “This is just a very rough sketch, and sign language is terribly frustrating because you can’t really write it down, but I’ve thought of ways to go beyond the basic mimic gestures and into the symbolic, which is really what you need for a language to express complex thoughts. We can use spatial variation to express basic grammar, such as tenses. A flexible word order can also take us a long way. Using the entire body opens up an incredible number of fascinating options, think of facial expressions alone! A smile or a frown could be used to modulate any statement into a question or an affirmation, or even something else entirely! We could have a specific mood for reporting speech whose origin is doubtful, for example. And the potential for spatial morphology! I really need to talk to some dancers about this, they might have new ideas. Or theatre comedians, maybe. Oh, and I’ve also devised a signed alphabet based on my Tengwar, for direct translation. It won’t be immediately useful, of course, but you’ll be able to teach her to read and write more easily, and it can be used for names and maybe homonym disambiguation.”

Arafinwë has not understood any of that, except that Fëanáro is very excited.

Fëanáro has never been excited at him before.

It’s a very intense experience.

“…can you teach us?” he asks, a little winded.

Fëanáro once spent a decade learning the languages of various wild animals, one after the other, so he could in turn teach them to Tyelkormo. Of course he can teach them.

“It’s not a complete language yet,” he warns. “I can’t make a language for her. She’ll have to make it her own.”

“…okay.”

“I’m calling it Mátengwië.”

‘Language of the hands’. Fair enough.

He goes to sit cross-legged in front of Artanis.

She puts down the shiny brass model of a windmill she was playing with and looks at him.

She doesn’t instantly scream in his ear, which is a good thing, because Arafinwë has clear memories of Fëanáro excusing himself from meals because of the noise he and his siblings were making.

“Hello,” Fëanáro says, deliberately moving his hands into signs. “I’m your uncle and I’m going to teach you some signs.”

Arafinwë’s heart jumps at “uncle” (Fëanáro has never forgotten the “half” before, when he even bothers to acknowledge them as family).

Most likely he hasn’t invented a sign for “half” yet, but that seems like a strange oversight on his part, given his insistence.

Artanis is fascinated.

“We’ll start with simple words.”

Fëanáro is speaking slowly, because he’s not fluent with the signs yet, but he doesn’t baby-talk. Arafinwë isn’t sure what Artanis actually understands of this – she can recognize some words from their lip-shape, but not consistently, and definitely not whole sentences.

The signs don’t seem to look like anything, not like the ones Findaráto made up. Those were all easily understandable in context.

But within a few hours, Artanis and Arafinwë both have a handful of new signs for everyday items and tasks.

Fëanáro uses clever ways of mimicking and pointing to explain them to Artanis, and she seems to catch on immediately.

Then she spends the rest of the lesson pointing at various things around the office for Fëanáro to name.

Artanis’s signs are a bit sloppy and simplified, because she doesn’t have much dexterity yet, and Arafinwë’s are self-conscious (because doing literally anything in front of Fëanáro makes him self-conscious), but they’ve communicated more in one afternoon than they have in the last two years.

And it’s thanks to Fëanáro.

Ñolofinwë is never going to believe it.

And Fëanáro was bearable the whole time.

Scratch that, he was nice. He teased a little, but it was never mean, and never directed at Artanis. And he laughed at his own mistakes just as much.

Arafinwë actually had a good time.

They go back the next afternoon.

And the next.

They get to basic grammar and full sentences.

Artanis is opening up again.

She still gets frustrated a lot, and she’ll slam the door and lock herself in her bedroom whenever that happens, but she retains and uses each sign that Fëanáro shows her.

Arafinwë does his best to keep up.

Findaráto is still not doing too well, but he notices the changes, and after a couple of weeks, he begs for permission to come with them.

Fëanáro seems a little doubtful at adding a teenager to the mix, but Findaráto, if he has sufficient motivation, is an excellent student.

He takes to signing like a fish to water, faster than Arafinwë, and faster even than Artanis, who doesn’t have the benefit of translation.

Within a few more weeks, Fëanáro and Findaráto, and Arafinwë to a lesser degree, are capable of basic conversation in the sign language, allowing Artanis, by imitation, to start moving beyond naming objects and easily demonstrable actions, and into the abstract.

It’s beautiful to witness.

It’s still not a complete language by any means. Fëanáro repeats that warning several times per session, though Arafinwë doesn’t completely understand why it’s important.

It’s important because as they make up more and more sentences, they’re starting to hit at the limits of what Fëanáro has built.

It is not long before Artanis and Findaráto are inventing their own words, at first by combining signs or miming things, but soon enough they’re using their instincts and coming up with brand-new signs. And sentence structures. And grammatical elements.

It’s fascinating to Fëanáro.

(Contrary to popular opinion, he’s not a prescriptivist. The thorn issue is specifically sensible to him because it relates to his mother and he’s entirely irrational about it, but he’s otherwise endlessly happy to watch language evolve and he’s tracked all of his sons’ linguistic progression from when they were born, with charts and all, well into their adulthood, recording all the teenage innovation that other elves tend to scorn.)

Findaráto’s innovations in sign language are mostly based on Quenya, making up signs to translate words from his mother tongue.

Artanis’s innovations are astonishing. Entirely new ways of expressing concepts, of stacking signs on top of each other, of using space and her body to explain abstract ideas.

She takes Fëanáro’s basic concept and elevates it in a way he would never have thought about.

He hasn’t felt the rush of shared creation since he was Mahtan’s apprentice.

He can feel it with Nerdanel when they try something entirely new that isn’t either of their fields (like, say, making children) but in his chosen fields, everyone else is too far below his level to follow him.

And now this tiny child, who is far from being able to keep up with his linguistics knowledge, is making leaps and bounds that he would have never imagined.

He is obsessed.

Arafinwë is getting a little concerned.

He’s also getting frustrated, because he was never good at the word invention games that many of the Noldor are so fond of, and now he’s getting left behind in his children’s learning.

Angaráto and Aikanáro are learning signs bit by bit, enthusiastically, uncaring about having atrocious grammar and form in the way only children can. Artanis frowns and corrects them with a serious face that’s absolutely adorable.

Eärwen is struggling because of her fatigue, but she’s better than Arafinwë at getting to the essentials, at mastering the phrases and signs that she needs first without getting into complex, abstract things. It means that she misses some of Artanis’s rapid development, but at least she can tell her daughter that she loves her

And to stop screaming in their ears to get their attention.

Generally, things are getting better. Findaráto is coming out of his shell, Artanis gets frustrated far less often, and astonishingly, Fëanáro is being nice to Arafinwë even outside of the lessons.

The lessons are really more of an excuse for Fëanáro to document Artanis’s progress, she doesn’t actually need his help any more, though she’s surprisingly open to his suggestions to make a turn of phrase more elegant, or a sign more economical.

Surprisingly, because she’s not taking anyone else’s advice.

On anything.

Being able to communicate hasn’t made her any less stubborn.

She insists on doing everything herself, and now that she has a language of her own, she’s started to resent people who don’t sign.

Findaráto’s translations, even though he tries hard, aren’t good enough for her.

She refuses to play with anyone who can’t sign to her satisfaction.

Understandable reaction—but unfortunately impractical, because she has little patience for anyone who don’t sign as well as she does, which means the only people she’ll voluntarily spend time with are Fëanáro, Findaráto and maybe Arafinwë, on a good day.

Fëanáro has shown an incredible amount of good will so far, but he’s very busy. Mátengwië may have become one of his special projects, it’s still only one of them.

Specifically, aside from his princely and fatherly duties, he’s working on ways to capture light inside gems.

He can’t spend all of his days with a child that isn’t even his.

Findaráto is about to start university and needs to focus on his studies, however much he loves his sister. And socializing exclusively with a child isn’t very good for him, coming out of several years of depression.

“Eärwen and I have been talking about tutors,” Arafinwë tells Fëanáro one day. “Artanis is more than old enough to need one now, but none of them can sign with her. And she doesn’t read or write yet.”

“Reading will be a challenge,” Fëanáro confirms. “She doesn’t know Quenya, she will need to learn an entirely new language and medium at the same time. But she’s very bright, she’ll pick it up.”

“But who can teach her? I tried to start, but didn’t make any progress, she lacks any patience for what she doesn’t understand.”

“That’s not strictly true,” Fëanáro chuckles, remembering hours-long conversations with little Artanis about subjects as varied as which of her brothers is the most intelligent and what should be the right hand-shape for the word “turtle”. “But this particular challenge is understandably frustrating. I will teach her.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. As for tutors, I suggest Tulcasar, once she’s proficient with writing.”

“The loremaster? They’ve always refused to tutor any of us, I know Father asked them.”

Fëanáro laughs. “They tutored me before you were born. They will only accept the brightest students, they dislike children who cannot keep up with them. They lasted two weeks with Findis.”

Arafinwë tries very hard not to feel offended. Fëanáro isn’t even saying it as an insult, he’s so confident in his own superiority that it doesn’t register to him that it might be belittling.

“They’re tutoring Morifinwë and Curufinwë part-time right now,” Fëanáro continues. “My eldest two were never as interested in academic pursuits. Tulcasar will enjoy the challenge of learning Mátengwië, and Artanis is bright enough to keep them on their toes.”

“Alright,” Arafinwë says carefully.

“In the meantime, for the other subjects, you might ask Nelyafinwë or Morifinwë. You know Nelyafinwë adores her. And Morifinwë could use the challenge. I think he’s been feeling a little inadequate since Turkafinwë was accepted into the Hunt and Curufinwë got me to promise him an apprenticeship. He hasn’t found his craft yet.”

“Does he even need a craft?” Arafinwë asks. “I don’t have one. Findaráto is showing no sign of choosing a single field, and neither has Findekáno. Or Father, for that matter.”

“He thinks he does, at least,” Fëanáro says. “Perhaps Nerdanel and I have encouraged that a little too much. He persists in learning to paint, thinking it will please his mother, but I doubt it will ever be more than a hobby. If tutoring Artanis could help him realize that his strengths are more in academia, I would be grateful.”

“Fine, I will ask him. On one condition.”

Fëanáro raises an eyebrow—they both know that Arafinwë isn’t the one doing him a favour, here. But Arafinwë persists nonetheless, because he’s been meaning to bring up the topic.

“Let Maitimo finish his apprenticeship with Ñolofinwë. You know Father is not a good teacher, and he dislikes statecraft, for all that he is the King. Your hang-ups with our brother are hindering your son.”

He fully expects Fëanáro to get angry, only hoping that he’s accumulated sufficient goodwill that it won’t be the end of what friendship they have managed of late.

But Fëanáro laughs.

“You have been away from court for too long, Ara. Nelyafinwë has been shadowing Ñolofinwë for years.”

Arafinwë frowns. “The change hasn’t been acknowledged.”

“Does it need to be?”

Maybe it doesn’t. Let Fëanáro keep his pride and his misplaced grudge intact. He’s been fairly quiet about Ñolofinwë lately, no need to push him into another bout of paranoia.

And so Artanis starts taking reading and writing lessons from Fëanáro in the morning and spends many afternoons with Maitimo or Carnistir. Arafinwë and Findaráto come along the first few times, but it quickly becomes clear that she’s in good hands, and that their presence is hindering her more than helping. Arafinwë starts spending more time at court, since the family are now in Tirion a lot more.

Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë are actually being polite to each other. It’s quite a sight to see.

Things are going quite well, really.

#shine still brighter #galadriel #feanor #finarfin #finrod #silmarillion #silm #the silmarillion #tolkien #tolkien fanfiction #silm fic #echo's fanfiction #disabled tolkien characters

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quibbs126 · 10 months

Note

Helooooo, can I have espressoline fankid

All right, this is Opera Madeleine Cookie

Fun fact, technically this isn’t the only or first person to request Espresso/Madeleine, as someone else commented a request on the original post I made asking for requests. I believe the name was @cerulaenfunkz. It’s actually listed as my third request, but I guess I just never got around to it. I was originally trying to make it, but I was having so much difficulty figuring out what to do that I just went on to other ones, and I guess it just went to the back of my head. So yeah, of all the fankids, this is probably the longest time coming

Anyways, so Opera Madeleine is named after opera cake, because it’s a cake with coffee in it, but I changed the “cake” to “madeleine” since she’s part of House Madeleine, similar to Choco Madeleine’s name. Also I just think it sounds better

The original name I gave her way back when was Coffee Cake, but I didn’t like that and when I eventually discovered opera cake, I changed it

Opera cake:

I’ve already made my design struggles with her known, basically in that, I had the hair, hairpieces and gloves down, and I like those bits, but wasn’t sure what to do with the rest of her. And to be honest, I like the scarf and boots, but I kind of flubbed with the coat. I thought she’d look cool with a coat, but I also wanted to show off the boots, so I made it high up, and I don’t think it worked all that well. Not to mention I don’t really know what her upper half looks like, as you can see with the admittedly pretty bad sketch

You know what, I may just go back and edit her later to make her coat look better, it’s just bugging me

Edit: I did do that

Originally I gave her blue eyes like Madeleine, but I changed it to pink so she’d look closer to Espresso. Also because I wanted more brown/warm tones, but didn’t want to give up her blue outfit color scheme

All in all, I liked most of drawing her, but I flubbed the last bit and it looks kind of eh. I just didn’t know what to do for it, but I didn’t want to keep her in development hell for eternity and I wanted to do her hair, so I just went with something

Anyways, let’s get on to her

So Opera Madeleine is the heir to House Madeleine, however she is not a Paladin like her father Madeleine and instead chooses to use coffee magic like Espresso. However she still follows Madeleine in that she’s a warrior, she just prefers to use magic instead of a weapon. Granted I’m sure Madeleine still taught her to wield one just in case. And also she’s good at hand to hand combat

Chances are she went to school in Parfaedia, given they have a whole school for magic and from what I can gather, Espresso once went there himself

Unlike Madeleine she’s more of a no nonsense kind of person who’s more focused on her duties as a warrior. Not saying Madeleine doesn’t care about being a warrior, she’s just not as…prideful as him, not caring much about appearance. However one thing she refuses to publicly admit is that she takes great pride in her hair and goes through great lengths to keep it as pristine as possible. But that is the only thing

She’s a hard worker, but not as much of a workaholic as Espresso, as she doesn’t have nearly as much coffee in her dough to maintain that lifestyle. Also Madeleine made sure that she didn’t follow in his footsteps

I feel like I’ve talked a lot about Madeleine but little about Espresso. I imagine the two talk about coffee magic and such, but due to her differing interests in careers, she probably spends more time around Madeleine

I imagine when she was younger, Madeleine just showered her with adoration and tried to be a loving father. But if you asked her which of her parents was the coolest, she would say Espresso, much to Madeleine’s dismay (more like he gets moody that he’s not the favorite more than anything). She’d probably learn combat with Madeleine, but would also just wander off to find Espresso and just watch him do his work for hours on end, quietly sitting in his lab

Hmm, I think that’s all I have to say on her. I wasn’t expecting to write that much to be honest. But yeah, hope you like her

Edit: so as said earlier, she’s been edited, and this is the original if you’re curious

#yeah I think the outfit is just a mood killer for me #it’s the one thing I don’t like #ah well #maybe I’ll fix it later #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #madeleine cookie #espresso cookie #espresseleine #cookie run oc #fankid #fanchild #my ocs #my art #requests #answers #opera madeleine cookie

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hey-hamlet · 1 year

Text

BNHA AU Idea: Information Warfare

Analysis is Midoriya Izuku’s only hobby. He could almost count sketching, but considering all he drew were heroes, it was probably a stretch. Still, he didn;t think anything would come of it, but when he sees the news reporting about a villain at large with a telekinesis quirk when he knows it’s gravity manipulation - well. He has to tell someone. Bad info could get them killed.

Sir Nighteye very rarely receives fan emails, even with his history of being All Might’s only sidekick, so it’s still agency policy to read each one. When what is clearly an information broker pops up in his emails, sending packet after pack of analysis on active cases, he sees it. He isn’t stupid enough to dismiss it either.

When the information saves his young intern’s life, he gets invested.

It’s been a while since I’ve written one of these, huh? Lets hope I’m not too rusty.

So, set when Izuku is in his second last year of middle school, about 13 years old. His father told him his mother left when he was 8, they up and left Mustutafu and he hasn’t seen her since. Midoriya Hisashi is negligent and mean, doesn’t care where his son is as long as he can’t see him and no cops or heroes end up at his door.

Not a villain because it’s too risky, but he works as a laborer and doesn’t really care about how dodgy the job is. Make enough money for himself to live comfortably in a low income area. Doesn’t make enough to live comfortably with a son - so he pays the bare minimum heeded to keep social services off his back.

He considered sending the emails to All Might, but he knew they’d get buried under all the fan mail he’s constantly sent, and he trusted Nighteye to not brush it off instantly.

Hes not exactly shocked when the man assumes hes an information broker - technically he almost is, he’s just not charging for it. And only sending information to one person. Ok so he’s probably more an informant, and being associated with villains is kinda rough, but it lends him a lot of credibility if they think he has better connections to the underworld than a wifi hotspot, a house in a shady area and some security cameras someone else hacked into.

Nighteye asks if he’d be willing to meet up, which Izuku declines. Undeterred, he asks if Izuku would instead be ok with joining in on a briefing via video. It’s a terrible idea, but he can’t help but say yes. He keeps his camera off and taped over, and downloads to voice modulation program.

He also spends a solid hour trying to think of an alias. He picks Snitch. Thats what they think he is, and he’s been called as much before for asking for help. It’s different, this time.

it takes him a while to feel comfortable chiming in - he’s use to what happens if he tries. but he’s not Deku right now, not here. He’s an information broker. He’s Snitch. He could blow the underworld right open if he set his mind to it.

He helps plan their attack better, draws maps through floorplans for the most effective routes to check the rooms of interest, marks the most likely places for the goods to be hidden. With his information they are in and out in 20 minutes. It’s shockingly effective.

Nighteye was interested before. Now he’s invested.

Snitch is clearly a social outcast, but hes practised enough at social interaction that hes not totally isolated. Unlikely to have any strong social ties, which reduces the likely hood of him working for any specific group. He’s probably a contract worker, maybe didn’t choose villainy but fell into i. He could still be helped. He could get an information hero license, really help. But first, he has to find him.

In Mutsutafu, a mother looks for her son, kidnapped by his father when he was 8 years old. An angry boy feels crushing guilt for letting it happen - Deku was right there and he just let the bastard take him and run.

They still search.

#bnha au #information warfare au #i like this one its fun #good mix of angst with the capacity for a very happy ending #bnha #midoriya #sir nighteye

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princelylove · 6 months

Note

Interesting headcanon for yandere Jotaro and yandere Noriaki, I also agree that both of them are very competitive, I think they will even use stand to "fight" each other behind your back or just simple using it to gain attention from you. I see Noriaki might use Hierophant Green to trip you so he can be the one help you stand up and take care of you. For Jotaro, I have this headcanon for him, he actually a good artist, do you remember how great his drawing about the fly in Egypt. I think he will use Star Platinum to help capture your beauty in his art and he will give you the best art to show how he adore and love you (after so many drawings, I headcanon he has a sketchbook full of art about you).

I know you said it's not high chance they will corporate together but I think if they do it, they will be unstoppable. The protective side of Jotaro and the manipulate side of Noriaki combine perfectly together. Do you think they will corporate if some special situation happen, for example another person also interested in you and try to steal you from them?

P/s: I enjoy talking to you very much, looking forward your answer >v<

How adorable, anon.

Really, the only thing stopping them from being an unstoppable force together is their differing views on what to do with you. If they weren’t so firm on their position, you’d be sitting between them every day for lunch listening to Noriaki like he’s a podcast.

You’re so right about Noriaki tripping you so he can play prince charming. He might even grab you with hierophant green to move you as he sees fit. Too handsy with someone else? Hands are suddenly kept to yourself at your sides. You can’t see stands, he thinks, so it’s harmless. It must be a little muscle tick or something. Are you feeling well? He doesn’t mind giving you some extra attention and care.

That’s a cute headcannon for Jotaro, actually. He probably taught himself how to draw alone in his room. I don’t really think Jotaro was into videogames or sports in his youth, canonically he knows how to play neither of them, so he spends his free time drawing and listening to music or watching movies. He probably learned how to draw from those books about airplanes and ships he reads, he sketches like an engineer would. When he meets you, his sketchbook slowly goes from ships and fish to teaching himself how to draw humans, with you as his main model. It’s entirely from memory, so your nose might be a bit off, or maybe the length of your nails, but he’ll get it eventually. Suppose it doesn’t matter, since he hides his sketchbook in all of his school things so his mother doesn’t find it and fuss over her baby finally having a crush.

Noriaki hates that. He hates it so much that he’s adamant on actually showing you his own “sketches.” (Completed pieces with thirty hours put into them.) Look, he got every detail about you perfect. Isn’t it lovely? He loves painting stills of you doing what you love. This way, if Jotaro ever does show you his little drawings, it’s like he’s copying Noriaki’s hobbies at a beginner's level. He's happy to give Jotaro some tips if he asks!

They absolutely would work together if someone else tried making a move on you, undeniably. Noriaki only lets Jotaro have his little fantasy of playing hero and protecting you because he’s useful for keeping lowlifes away. Jotaro allows Noriaki’s crush because he thinks Noriaki isn’t bold enough to really tell you how he feels. It’s like a “enemy of my enemy is my friend” kind of situation, to them. Their friendship was going very well before you came into their life, they bonded enough to respect each other, but you’re certainly a stressor on whatever sense of friendship they had.

Noriaki is fairly happy to let Jotaro do the dirty work and claim to be nothing like him. Jotaro scares off any potential suitors with his presence, his body language is practically screaming “Fuck off.” If someone’s stupid enough to persist after Jotaro’s initial warnings, then they’re in for a beating. If they STILL persist after that, Noriaki will step in.

Since controlling outside elements isn’t working, it’s time to work from the inside out. He’ll make passive aggressive comments to you about the person, but mask it as just regular social shaming. You can’t blame him for talking badly, he doesn’t mean to be rude, it’s just.. Have you seen the way they talk to our teachers? They don’t participate in classroom cleaning at all, either.

If that still doesn’t work, and their darling doesn’t pick up on their “hints”... Well, they suppose they can make a deal of some kind.

#yandere jjba #yandere jotaro kujo #yandere noriaki kakyoin #request granted

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emmyfairy · 11 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could write some head-cannons about giving the slashers the silent treatment for Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Billy & Stu, Vincent Sinclair

Thank you!!!

Requested

Hi I’m Em and I am in love with Vincent Sinclair (i’m imagining all ya’ll saying ‘hi em’)

reblog if you enjoy! any other ideas?

Uh oh, big boys are in the dog house. What are they like when their lovely gives them the silent treatment?

Bubba

As soon as you skip your usual “Good Morning” he’s in tears

Once you step out of the bathroom, fresh faced and ready for a day of ignoring your man, he’s in your personal space, whining and crying, a fistful of wildflowers gripped tightly in his hand, roots still shaking dirt onto the floor

You'd have to clean that up so….

Honestly, just take the flowers and forgive him sweetie, he’s just gonna cry and whinge until you do, and no he won't admit he did anything wrong because he doesn't care

Not in a bad way, but your anger is too distracting for him to remember properly

Thomas

Notices right away

Is worried right away

He’s so used to and in love with your babbling, nodding his head along with you, so when it’s sudden radio silence, when all of a sudden you won't even look at him? Instant heartbreak

Did he do something? Say something? Did someone else? Don’t you love him anymore?

It hasn't even been an entire day and you have this 6’5 hulking giant of a man literally at your feet

Im serious, after a few hours he can't stand it, bails on his chores, finds you and immediately drops to his knees, hugging your legs and burying his face in your tummy

He only peels himself away when he feels your hand start running through his hair (i've decided no one can stay mad at him he’s too soft)

After you coax him off of his knees the two of you have an open conversation and communicate your feelings in a healthy way, solving all the problems and boom sunshine and rainbows baby

Billy & Stu

We all know these two share a brain cell, and once ya’ll are together its split amongst you three

They do NOT catch onto your mood for a whileee

Honestly it’s probably one of your friends, or even your mom, that clues them in

They’re used to you being a bit on the quiet side, heaven knows the pair can entertain each other for hours with dumb boy stuff, and they spend their nights, well, ya’know…

When they do realize your unhappiness and silence these boys go the wallet route

Im talking flowers, chocolate, nice dinner, shoes, that outfit you were eyeing at the mall last week, and more flowers

You do eventually forgive them, but they honestly aren't much wiser afterwards

Vincent

Ngl he doesn't notice at first, not in a bad way, it’s just he gets so invested in his art

There are many nights he stays in his workshop, meddling away at his latest project, often skipping meals unless you bring them to him

I love this man okay, but baby can be a little bit of an airhead at times

Bo and Lester have both noticed by now and let’s just say dinner time is Awkward✨

By now Vinny is catching onto your cold shoulder

Good thing he wears that mask because if you could see the pout on his lil face? All anger would be gone with the wind

Vince doesn’t really know what to do, his brothers sure as hell aren't helpful, so he does the only thing he can think of

Art, art and groveling

He sketches a portrait of you, far too well done to be a quick one, and it almost encaptures how gorgeous he thinks you are

Once the sketch is in your hands, he’s slipping into bed with you, not bothering to move the covers, just smooshing against you, every inch of him on every inch of you, holding you close

When you look down to where he is parasitically attached to your chest, his eye is shining so sadly, there is no way you could stay mad at him

He’s just too cute, sorry I don't make the rules

#my wriitng #slasher drabble #slasher fanfiction #thomas hewitt drabble #bubba sawyer drabble #vincent sinclair drabble #billy loomis drabble #stu macher drabble #thanks for the request!

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starlighthan · 2 years

Text

[21:05] ALWAYS SAFE — hwang hyunjin

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: none

word count: 1.4k words

note: this is for @neo-shitty’s collab, 24/8! i am so excited to read other’s works! i enjoyed writing this, thank you so much for this opportunity <33

tag list: @plutominho

“Do you have any plans on getting out of here?”

“It’s still early!”

“Shush! We might get kicked out!” The man beside you covers your mouth right away.

Even at this hour, the two of you spend time in the library. Hyunjin sketches random things he sees around or whatever idea pops up in his head, while you—having drawing abilities that are not on the same level as Hyunjin's—read novels and comics on these four walls.

It’s a calming atmosphere for both of you. You satisfy yourself and complete your books-to-read list by reading almost every material here, and Hyunjin gets to pour all of his creativity on paper in peace. Occasionally, you talk about what just happened in the middle of your leisure—like an exciting and breath-taking chapter that flashed right before your eyes or an amazing detail that Hyunjin got to accomplish without scrapping his first attempt on his drawing.

Hyunjin, being a nocturnal and a homebody, often asks you if it would be fine to spend the rest of the night at home. You'll be doing the same thing, except that you’re in your very comfortable apartment a few blocks away from this library. He doesn’t like staying outside way too long—the two of you might be in danger when the darkest time of the night falls.

Yes, he’s also concerned that he’ll be in danger. Not just you. The two of you are very clumsy, so nobody’s safe.

The two of you look around. There aren’t that many people in the library compared to earlier this afternoon. Luckily, nobody held any of your shoulders and complained about the noise you made. These people are too busy with their work, all of them drowning themselves in papers and books, just like you. The only difference here is that you’re not doing it out of stress.

Your hand under his, he smoothly rubs the top of your hand. He always thought that your hands were as soft as a baby’s. It always feels like he’s in heaven with your touch.

“Shall we go?” His question makes you look at him. His eyes shining from the dim lights above you gave you a thought that maybe you’re in an indie romance film. Everything feels so secretive and full of passion. It’s just between the two of you only.

You nod, trying to hide a big smile on your face. You know that there will be a thrill later once you’re out of this library. No matter how simple or challenging your way home, something fun and absurd happens.

Pulling your bags and putting your things back in a dash, Hyunjin pulls you towards the doors. With an abrupt stop on his feet, you accidentally trip on the steps towards the cemented ground outside. Fortunately, you did not fall face first this time.

“_____! Are you okay?” He gently slips his arm on your waist, the other arm slowly caressing your face. “You’re lucky that you didn’t fall that hard. I’d be so mad at myself if you get any wound on yourself.”

“Don’t worry. It happens once a day, at least,” you chuckle. You pull down his entangled hands around you, giving yourself a chance to clean yourself and brush off any dirt from your clothes.

You did not feel electrified by Hyunjin’s touch on your face and body—you did not. The lack of any sensation in yourself feels so unusual. But you cannot deny that his touches did something to you, aside from his immediate concern over that incident. Stop denying that happened.

“You’re getting red. We should head home.” Hyunjin slips his hoodie out of him and hands it to you. You’re blushing, nice. You cannot believe that you still get flustered because of this man.

Pushing away from the hoodie and his hands, you shake your head. “I’m all good. You didn’t have to remove that. We’ll head home soon anyways. I could heat myself after our little trip.”

His hand is on yours again, and you feel that buzz again. There it is, for another time. Is it because it’s chilly tonight? “No, we’re not going to walk home. I’m going to get a taxi.”

“Are there any cabs in this hour here?” You slowly follow his steps, his hand still entangled in yours. The street in front of the library is narrow—you’re not sure if any vehicle passes here. There isn’t even any space for parking.

Hyunjin glances at you. “Of course, there is,” the two of you walk past the library gates, pointing to the intersection nearby, “we’ll always do something to make that happen.”

With a satisfying sigh, you are impressed. Hyunjin doesn’t usually respond like this and resorts to asking you about your plan and panicking. Nodding, you respond, “Right, right. You’re correct this time. We’ll do something, yes.”

“Finally using your brain, Hwang?” You bump your hips to him, teasing him. Do you think you’re going to take this seriously? Of course not!

Groaning, he bumped you back with his hips, almost making you trip once again on the pavement. “I’m so sorry! _____, we shouldn’t form a streak of tripping, please.”

“Yeah, you better. It’s a miracle that you haven’t messed up tonight,” you pinch Hyunjin's cheeks, receiving a dramatic whine from him. “Maybe the skies are telling you that you’re too cute which is why you haven’t gone to any accident tonight. What an advantage.”

Your comment leaves Hyunjin a long round of giggles, swinging your hand while walking to the end of the road, meeting the intersection.

The adorable look on Hyunjin right now makes your heart leap. The jacket he took off on top of his shoulder, a big smile on his face, his cute shoulder bag hanging around, and his hand on yours. He has no idea that he affects you by simply existing. The buzzing from his touch is coming back once again.

You thought that you wouldn’t dare to walk at the pedestrian here near the intersection. The city is so alive in this area. You did not know about this, especially since you usually go in the opposite direction on your way home.

A taxi stops in front of you, Hyunjin got to hail a taxi right away? You hold on to his hand more, making you feel more flustered than ever.

“Get in! Let’s go!” Hyunjin enthusiastically says, carefully placing his head over yours. He tries not to make you hit yourself on the door frame like you always do. He often says that he wouldn’t be surprised that there would be lots of dents on your head in a few years because of this. “Lower down, don’t hit your head as usual.”

Smirking, you got to sit down comfortably in the taxi. Patting the seat next to you, your boyfriend slowly gets into the taxi.

When the driver asks where you’ll be going, Hyunjin answers for you and proceeds to put your head on his shoulder. “We’ll be going to Maya St. We’re gonna get some dinner before going home.”

“I thought we’re going straight home already?” You tilt your head to see Hyunjin above you. “What are we ordering?”

“Let’s get some noodles, baby. I don’t want you starving,” he pats your head. “The last time you ate was earlier this noon before we went to the library.”

Reaching out for his hand, you respond, “That’d be nice. You're tired of my panini?”

Chuckling, he gets your hand and traces whatever on your palm, “I don’t, _____. I just want to get something different tonight, you know?”

With his touch lulling you to sleep, you mumble, “Yeah, great idea. I’ll pay for that later.”

Lightly shaking his head, Hyunjin whispers, “I’ll cover it, don’t think about it.”

Smiling, he glances at you and looks back to the window beside him. He seriously wouldn’t know what to do without you. You’ve been the most caring and you made him feel secure. He’s secure enough with you, and he’s very contented with that.

He hopes you wouldn’t mind the seafood noodles later, he brought some antihistamine just in case you’d get the allergies. He even thought it’d be entertaining to see you suffer from the very spicy noodles he might order for himself later. Either way, he’s gonna take care of you whether you like it or not. He’s in love with you for way too long to let you take care of yourself.

He chuckles and decides to say it to you directly, “I love you very much, _____. Thank you for being with me always.”

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birdstooth · 1 year

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Drawing MASTERCLASS

lol jk thought I’d show some of the process here in case your other favs aren’t online and u have a couple of min to waste while waiting for the bus

🎵Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair🎶

On the left, u have janky first draft, and on the right, u have less janky second draft😅. Depending on how much time I spent on draft 2, I might do a final cleaner version, and then then add colours :)

My hard limit for a doodle/comic is 3 drafts for reasons that I will go into below, but basically I find that if I try too hard, it triggers the perfectionist demon and then it’s not fun anymore lmaoo

For me, 2-3 drafts is the balance between making something I can look at without cringing, and still have fun drawing lines and shapes.

Also it’s ok to have a very very, objectively bad first draft. My brain is like Swiss cheese so if I spend too long trying to get something down on (virtual) paper by making it look nice, half the idea floats away before I can make a record of it.

So first of all, since this is the unofficial website for ppl with crippling anxiety (roll call! 🙋‍♀️), just thought I’d say: if u are on the fence about posting your [content] online, go for it!!

I used to look at all this really cool [content] (art, writing, photography w/e) and be like “wow, that’s some good content! I’ve got a long ways to go before my content can reach that standard!”.

Or sometimes, I would see amazing content with very few notes and think “whoa, if this extremely accurate recreation of the Mona Lisa made with used gum found under park benches has only 12 notes, it’s not really worth posting what I have, right?”

But then at some point I decided that it was easier (for me) to make stuff that was vaguely funny instead of “good”, so I stopped trying to draw the perfect shapes with the perfect shading, etc. and just went with like, the minimum accuracy required for an object to be recognizable lol.

I’m not saying don’t chase your dreams or whatever, but try not to force yourself into a style or content type that doesn’t suit you. I have a short attention span and a zillion ideas, so for me, it’s actually much more satisfying to make these goofy little doodles bc I can do quick sketches between procrastinating at work, or while I’m watching my dinner rotate in the microwave 🥲.

When I was in my “every drawing must be perfect” phase, I would spend hours on making sure the proportions were realistic, and the lines were clean, and spend days or weeks in a single piece. Some people are suited to this kind of work and have the patience to see it through, but for me it was very unsatisfying and sapped my motivation so I decided to be realistic about my abilities + the time I have available to improve my skills (I think this is very important bc u might have the patience and the work ethic to practice, practice, practice until you are at the top of your game, but if you have a job or school or other obligations, it might not fit into your schedule) and do a kind of compromise.

Yeah, I’m still envious of other people’s content and no, I don’t think my content is the BEST I can do, but it’s a balance between doing what I like and getting satisfaction out of it. Sometimes, if you push yourself too hard, you end up hating what was supposed to be a hobby, u know?

#very tldr #sketches #wips #thx for coming to my ted talk #how the sausage is made

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twilightknight17 · 2 months

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Yesterday on P3R: like three hours in Tartarus, Secret Meetings, and spending more time with Koromaru than anyone else.

I have made it to floor 100! It was like floor 109 by the time I left, but I was very proud. And kind of surprised that there was nothing weird on floor 100. But hey, bringing Koromaru along is reward enough.

Also did a bunch more persona fusions, so I’ve got a new fusion spell. All of my fusion spells so far other than Orpheus’s are Frosts. It’s very silly. XD

He’s so big. XD

Anyway, it’s been like 3 hours, everyone is low on stamina, time to head back and get back into the social link grind.

...are you serious??? We were literally there ALL NIGHT, when did someone wander in???? Ffs. X’D

Oh well. Later. Right now we’re going out for ramen with my rival track bro. Apparently every single restaurant in the mall lets him eat for free.

Dude, seriously, what the heck? Although… I’m getting some vibes that this guy probably doesn’t have a great home situation. So it’s probably a good thing that he’s at least getting regular meals. There really are good people in this city.

Junpei is off hanging out at the mall, and has noticed someone new and interesting! There’s a girl sketching, and she basically brushes him off and tells him to move out of the way when he goes to see how she’s doing.

She wasn’t with Takaya and Jin when they locked us in the military base, so poor Junpei has no way of knowing that this is one of Strega’s members. :/ He has a point about her outfit, though. Even Mitsuru was complaining about how hot it is today.

I arrived home to find Aigis engaged in a stern discussion with Koromaru about how he is not allowed to take himself on walks. Apparently Akihiko was supposed to take him, and has not returned home yet, so because Aigis ALSO can’t go out without supervision yet, it falls to me to take him.

Which is not a hardship at all because he is the bestest boy.

However, on our walk, we ran into Takaya, who is just… openly wandering around without a shirt and carrying a gun even during normal hours. Koromaru doesn’t like him instinctively, but he says he just wants to talk, so we head up to the shrine. He wants information.

It’d be a lot more fair if you’d get your hand off your gun. I know that one is real.

But, he says I can ask him a question first.

Well… they don’t really seem to have some grand goal in mind. And they’re getting in our way because they don’t want us to destroy Tartarus and the Dark Hour. So…

Hahaha, very funn-- Okay, actually, he’s joking, but it would be funnier if it was true and only Minato thought he was shirtless.

Basically, he wants to know why we’re so determined to throw away our powers. He says that if it’s because of the shadows, that’s the wrong way to look at it. He explicitly compares shadows killing people to car accidents. Plenty of people die in car accidents every year, but we’re not trying to destroy cars.

(Which is a half-valid point if you ignore the fact that the Dark Hour only exists because of mad scientists, and also some of those people who die during the Dark Hour are because of Takaya shooting them.)

...funny you should say that, since out of everyone in SEES, Mina is the least likely to care about anything, at least in the beginning.

Not wrong, technically. Like, yeah. You don’t have to help. But you’re also not the sole arbiters of what to do about everything, and your opinion would probably have more weight if you hadn’t already locked us in an underground facility to starve to death.

He does note how special Minato’s power is compared to everyone else. He really doesn’t get why Mina, specifically, would want to give all of that up.

……it’s not the blessing you think it is, my dude.

Anyway, he hands off a piece of paper with some info as repayment for helping him out before, and heads out. He really did just want to talk, which is… refreshing. Like, Strega is not a bunch of indiscriminate madmen. We’re still going to be enemies, but they’re not monsters.

“Test subjects”, huh? So Grandpa Kirijo was into human experimentation, too. Great.

Fuck it, I’m going home to brush Koromaru.

He’s soft and shiny~ But we can’t stay here all night, sadly. Time to stop, boy.

...okay, fine, a little longer.

The bookstore isn’t ready to rank up yet, so I head out again with Mamoru. I’m learning a lot more about his family situation.

I’m assuming he’s pushing himself so hard because he wants a scholarship. I get the vibe that the family doesn’t have much money. And unfortunately, his father is dead. Which, dude, I’m so sorry. That’s terrib--

…………okay I might be going to hell because I snorted a little bit. It’s just so abrupt. A cliff? Where are there cliffs?? X’’’’D I’m still sorry for your loss but omg.

Having Koromaru in the dorm means you can pet him and shake paws. 10/10, no notes.

And I opted to spend the next day with him, because he likes to chill out front and people-watch.

An old man who used to be friends with the priest came by, and he told us that Koromaru had been taken in by someone else once before, but he always kept going back to the shrine. Now that he’s staying with us, it’s because he’s chosen to be here. We’re his family now.

He makes us promise to take care of each other, and… I can do that. For sure.

#Li plays P3Re

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gardensofthemoon · 3 months

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Capodopera

👉🏻 read on ao3

Warning: No archive warnings apply

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Curufin/Finrod

Characters: Curufin, Finrod

Word count: 6755

Tags: Nargothrond, Cousin Incest, PWP, Porn with feelings, Jewellery, Lingerie, Light Choking, Anal fingering, Anal sex

Summary:

Finrod rises in an elegant motion, conscious of the way Curufin’s eyes rake over his body, and catches his stare as he unwinds the sash at his middle. The rich velvet nightgown slides from his shoulders and pools at his feet.

Curufin doesn’t start when Finrod enters the chambers dressed for the night, but merely lifts his gaze from the sketchbook, acknowledging Finrod with a crinkle in his eyes, then turns back to his work. He has been working on a scale prototype adjusted to measure small quantities, a relatively recent but pressing necessity for jewel smithing. His last three designs were faulty — Fëanor would have succeeded from the very first try — and he’s playing around with the balance. There has to be a detail that has escaped his—

“As much as I like how you look when you’re completely focused on a project, I’d prefer your attention on me tonight.”

“Not now, Ingoldo,” Curufin interjects.

A miscalculation, a forgotten variable in the series of equations. Curufin reviews them again, flips a few pages back to reread the operations from the beginning, and then returns to the point where he’s stuck. He threads one hand through his hair, the elbow resting on the table, and raps his fingers on the polished wood.

A sigh comes from the bed. He ignores it.

“If I added another counterbalancing weight here,” Curufin mutters to himself, fidgeting with the graphite pencil. He hesitates, then folds a sheet of paper and breaks it carefully in half. One of the pieces he places over his last sketch and retraces the contours, adding more lines to the previous design. On the other, he scribbles the newest method he wants to try.

Outside, the sun has long gone beyond the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of blue. A full moon rises, bright and gleaming white light like a multifaceted gemstone. The rays sift through the high-arched windows in Finrod’s bedroom, coating the chamber in a faint silver glow. Next to him, propped on the corner of Finrod’s desk, a fat candle flickers. Deep shadows trail behind the flame, growing longer, until he can no longer discern the letters written in the notebook.

With a groan, Curufin snaps the sketchbook shut and stretches. Stiff muscles ache when he straightens his spine and cocks his head, left, right, and left again, loosening the tension knotted in his back. It’s not the first time he spends excessive hours hunched over the work table or the anvil. He didn’t notice the time passing until the fall of night.

“It was about time,” Finrod says, a little offended, from where he sits on the edge of the four-poster bed, resting his chin on steepled fingers. In the dimness, his golden hair catches on the low light and gleams.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for what?” Curufin suppresses a yawn. He rakes a few fingers through his hair, a little peeved when he catches on the snarls in his now disarrayed braid. Restless hands, Fëanor used to say, have to be put to work, and then: “Focus, Curufinwë, stop messing with your hair.” He’s never quite managed to get rid of this habit, to his father’s disappointment. With efficient movements, he rebraids his hair, pulling tighter than usual until his scalp tingles, and the ink-black plait whips over his shoulder, neat and proper.

“Really, Curvo.”

“I am tired,” Curufin replies sharply. It’s not a lie, though his weariness has been easily assuaged by Finrod in plenty of previous instances. Still, he raises from the chair, dragging the heavy mahogany against the stone tiles, pleased when Finrod frowns at the screech. He snuffs the candle wick with a pinch.

“Goodnight, Felagund.”

“Oh, no, you will not.”

Finrod leaves the bed, draping the lavish robe closer around his figure. He pads barefooted on the cold floor; one of his silk slippers has been forgotten under the bed.

“You had been here for a good few hours already when I arrived from council.” Frankly, Curufin doesn’t remember anything beyond the crumply paper and the weight of the pencil in his hand. “You made me wait, wither here before you—”

“I only came here for a maintenance check; I saw to the lamps — didn’t you complain about the lighting? I had work to do.” Curufin looks placidly at the Fëanorian devices for a few seconds, then nods. “In pristine condition.” They’d better be, as Curufin himself made them based on Fëanor’s instructions.

If he used that excuse to come and write at Finrod’s desk, well, Finrod doesn’t need to know about it.

“I made you do nothing. Do you lack the wrist mobility required for scratching that which nags you? Do not blame your concupiscence on me.”

The rest is on ao3 👀👀

#curufinrod #curufin/finrod #curufin #finrod #elio writes #silm fic #silmarillion #baby’s first pwp!!!#nsft

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