#I know it’s not easy following someone who barely posts new content

[hithoeshi]

—so apparently I hit 200+ followers without realizing it? it def has to do with the fact that I’m rarely on here lately lol

But I’ve got a long fic in the works as a thank you (think shinsou x kisses!) & I’m opening my requests ! even for rantings about bakugou or shinsou or any other character really lol

I love you all and thank you for sticking with me through my disappearances and late postings! 😭

[purple-babygirl]

yours to hurt, yours to love

Pairing: (dom)!Bucky Barnes x (sub)!f!reader

Word count: 8,050

Summary: They had a deal. She would surrender her control; he would take it. Love had no place in such a relationship, did it?

Warnings: 18+ Content: friends with benefits, blowjobs, lots of cum, cum eating, cum in pussy, unprotected vaginal intercourse (don't do that), mentions of cheating, angst, crying, dom x sub dynamics including a sir kink and the use of puppy as a petname, BDSM features including begging, following orders/instructions, mentions of ropes, being tied/suspended, mentions of edging and overstimulation and the use of toys, ass whipping with a belt, mention and use of a safeword, chocking, two insecure idiots being in love, metal arm kink, fingering, rubbing of cock on pussy, multiple orgasms, aftercare. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: this is a self-indulgent fic I wrote simply because I wanted to read and now it's finally done so I'm sharing it with you, babies:"💜💜 I just started at a new job and it's very tiring and energy and time consuming so I thought I'd post something before I get swept up in the real world of numbers and targets and not being broke. I really hope you like this one and I love you all with every bit of me💜

~

As most one-night stands start, they had met at a bar.

She was sitting all alone with her palm hugging a beer bottle, her face carrying the saddest look. She had turned down every guy that had tried to approach her that evening.

Bucky had been watching her all night, lost in deep thought as she barely raised the warming bottle to her lips, the melancholic look marring her features never leaving.

She had only smiled once that night, and it was for Bucky.

She was snapped out of thought when a louder song abruptly came on, startling her back to reality and that was when she saw him.

The most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on had his eyes on her from the other side of the crowded nightclub, and she found herself smiling at him.

He quickly turned his gaze away, suddenly shy that he was staring.

She wanted to ignore the man, telling herself she had a lot on her plate already, that it would likely be a mistake to go talk to him; that she needed to keep her distance from men for a while at least. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t ignore him.

Even with his back to her, his presence was too strong to simply be ignored.

So she disregarded her minds’ screams and went to talk to him.

Bucky almost chocked on his drink when he saw that it was her who had approached him, but he managed to compose himself.

“Were you ever planning on talking to me?” She teased with a smile as she sat down next to him at the bar.

And just like that, they were talking.

They talked about anything and everything, the deepest things as well as the silliest.

She was so easy to be around and she actually made the man laugh.

She had no idea, but Bucky didn’t think he had even cracked a smile in weeks.

Before she could decide what was right and what wasn’t, she had her lips on his, and before he could overthink it, Bucky was taking her back to his place.

It has been a long time since the man had had the chance to like someone, and he liked her even more when she didn’t make him feel bad about himself that night.

The metal arm didn’t faze her.

She didn’t ask intrusive questions or even let her gaze linger. She treated it just like his other arm, wrapping both around her back as she straddled Bucky on his couch, making out with him like she has been waiting for him her whole life.

But that wasn’t the only reason Bucky appreciated her so much that night.

She had gotten on her knees for him, both of them fully naked at that point, her boobs swaying lightly as her hand pumped his hard cock, lubing him up with his pre-cum.

Her hands were magic and he didn’t want to tell her that he was too close to exploding just from her soft hand palming his tip.

She had barely gotten Bucky in her mouth when he had started cumming all over her.

The sight of his fists clutching the couch, mouth open as groans left his chest while copious amounts of cum covered her mouth, chin, neck and boobs had her wetness dripping down her bare thighs.

When he was back on earth again and his vision was no longer black, Bucky started apologizing profusely when he realized what had happened.

He had come way too fast. All over her. Without her getting to finish even once. He didn’t even get to touch her down there.

Bucky thought she was definitely going to leave.

“It’s okay,” she said with a kind smile as her clean hand caressed up and down one of his thighs, “I don’t mind.”

And before Bucky could explain that it has been a long time for him, she was collecting his cum off her skin with her fingers and slipping them into her mouth, maintaining eye contact with the man and almost giving his old heart an attack.

Bucky stared with parted lips, cock already hardening again, as she shut her eyes and moaned over the taste of him.

She had managed to eat every bit of cum that had gotten on her face and neck before Bucky unfroze and lost it.

He grabbed his shirt and hastily wiped her chest clean of his cum before eagerly carrying her to his bed.

He thought her surprised giggle as she called him a “caveman” had to be the sweetest sound he had ever heard until he pushed his cock in her and her wail of his name echoed throughout the quiet bedroom.

Bucky was hooked on the sight of her, the taste of her, the smell of her, and the feel of her.

Her walls were hugging his cock so tight that he thought he wouldn’t be able to get the rest of it inside. Her hands were scratching at his back as she tried to adjust to his size with a silent scream on her face.

“Relax,” Bucky had told her softly.

It was a simple word, but it was the most exhilarating thing when she had immediately listened, her pussy muscles relaxing for him at once, thighs spreading wider to accommodate him better.

Bucky was amazed by her ability to listen to instructions; it awakened an unmatched feeling inside of him.

Once he was buried to the hilt inside of her, Bucky wanted to see what else he could make her do; how much she might obey, so he stayed still.

“I’m ready, you can move.” She had nodded to him, thinking he was waiting on her.

But that wasn’t why Bucky wasn’t moving. He knew she was ready, her juices were ruining his sheets for heaven’s sake.

“I mean, if you ask nicely enough…”

He was just giving it a try, and if she didn’t go along with it he would still give her what she wanted—

“Please,” she begged, eyes pleading as she wiggled her hips, “please fuck me, Bucky.”

Fuck.

Bucky couldn’t think much after that, his body moving of its own volition as he pulled out and slammed back inside her pussy.

It was one thrust. One single thrust had her arching her back and shouting out his name.

He completely broke down, fucking her with abandon, just wanting to hear more of her; feel deeper inside of her.

The bedpost slammed against the wall repeatedly as she screamed with every hit of Bucky’s cock to her g-spot.

The way she was scratching his back, whining, wailing and writhing under him as he pounded her into his bed should’ve and could’ve been enough for Bucky, but he couldn’t help but want more.

“Open your eyes,” he gave her another command, knowing it might be hard for her to manage that one with how deep he was giving it to her.

But her eyes were instantly on him, fighting to stay open as his fat cock filled her up again and again.

“Keep looking at me,” Bucky had told her, his right hand coming up to wrap around her neck.

He was slow and gentle, just waiting for her to stop him or refuse what he was doing.

But she had managed to surprise him again because instead, her hand had come up to his, fully wrapping his palm around her throat before showing Bucky the right amount of pressure to apply.

Fuck, she had to be an angel sent specifically to him from heaven. It seemed like whatever god was up there had finally had mercy on him.

She wasn’t only okay with Bucky’s hand being on her neck, she was showing him how to choke her as his cock fucked her raw within an inch of her life too.

Bucky felt his thrusts stutter as he almost came at the sight of her: mouth open with nothing but his name coming out of it, throat held in his palm and eyes battling to stay open as they rolled back in her head, her pussy chocking his cock.

And when he thought she couldn’t get anymore perfect, she started screaming out a request, “can I please cum? Please, Bucky!”

She was asking his permission to let herself feel the pleasure he was so willingly giving her.

Bucky felt high as he groaned, “cum”, and watched her hand hastily come down to rub her clit once, twice before she fell apart around his cock.

Her thighs involuntarily clasped around Bucky as they shook with the rest of her body, her orgasm hitting her like a thousand trains, making her back bow.

Bucky’s hand tightened around her throat the slightest bit as he felt her pussy shutter around his cock and felt himself get closer to his own release, thrusts becoming erratic.

“Please cum inside me, Bucky. Fill me up with your cum, need it,” she pled and the man could only take so much.

Bucky came and he came hard, proving the cum he had painted her body with earlier to be just a sample of what his cock really had to offer.

When they could both breathe normally again, she found herself in his arms, pitching him an idea, too satisfied and full of cum to stop herself and rethink.

And to her happiness, Bucky actually agreed.

~

When they first started that type of deal, she said she didn’t want a relationship.

Bucky respected that and he was okay with it because although he liked her very much, he knew he wasn’t the relationship type himself. He didn’t believe himself fit for romantic relationships. He thought he was too messed up for such stuff.

And she was just like him.

She didn’t know how to be loved; didn’t know how to receive love. She didn’t think she deserved it. She didn’t think she was worth it. Never thought of herself as beautiful enough or attractive enough or lovable enough.

So the dynamic they came up with was their best option.

They were going to be friends with benefits. Except, the benefits were much more extreme than the usual, vanilla sex that would come to mind. So friends with benefits with a fun twist.

After being manipulated for so long, Bucky wanted nothing but to be in charge of his life, body and mind; to be in a position of power where he had the upper hand.

She, on the other hand, needed her freewill to be taken away from her. Being as responsible as she was in her everyday life, she would get too exhausted; drained. She wanted decisions to be made for her as she only obeyed and conformed. She wanted to be used until her head held no thoughts of her deadlines or tasks.

She wanted choking and spanking and bondage. She wanted domination.

Bucky needed to feel in control, and she needed to give up control.

Take mine, she said, take my control away and make it yours.

It was a perfect match. They had clearly communicated their boundaries, wants and needs. They had established their roles, likes and dislikes. And they had agreed on a few simple rules:

It was strictly sex; only sex.

No kissing on the lips no matter what.

No cuddling afterwards even if aftercare took place.

No strings attached.

The safe word meant they stopped; no questions asked.

Bucky wasn’t exactly on board with number 2 because he knew what her lips felt like on his and he wanted more of that. But she said it would only complicate things; that it might get feelings involved and they couldn’t have that.

So he agreed. He really just wanted her to be as comfortable as possible.

And they had almost done it all in 6 months. She had let Bucky tie her down, spank her, choke her, use toys on her, edge her, overstimulate her, fuck her in every position known to humans and on every service that could take their weight and Bucky’s pace.

But deep down, Bucky knew that she still needed more even if she had claimed otherwise.

He knew that she was frequently going on dates in between their sessions, desperately searching for the one that would manage to sweep her off her feet and magically change the way she looked at herself with his unconditional love.

So when she sat with him that one day and told him she wanted to stop what they were doing because she wanted to commit to her new boyfriend, Bucky wasn’t surprised. He was heartbroken, but not surprised.

And so he let her go.

He didn’t want to. He never wanted to. But Bucky knew that he couldn’t give her what she wanted, and so he was going to let her have it with someone else. He needed her like the air he breathed, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand in her way.

Bucky was addicted to her, yes, but he wasn’t going to be selfish and get in the way of her possible happiness with that new boyfriend whoever he was. He just hoped that that new man deserved her.

~

The real surprise came when Bucky opened his door one day and she was standing there looking like an abandoned puppy three months after their last meeting.

Three months without her that have been torture. Three months during which Bucky couldn’t bear the mere idea of bringing another woman to his bed. Three months of replaying their intense scenes in his head with his hand down his pants.

Oh how he missed seeing her choke on his cock. He missed her begging for him to touch her, to relieve her heavy shoulders of everything they had to carry. He missed seeing her come for him so hard that tears would start rolling down her face.

But now she was here, and she didn’t look okay. And it made Bucky realize that he has mostly missed her being her.

“I need you, Buck,” she whispered and he instantly opened the door wider for her.

Bucky let her inside and she climbed on his lap the second he sat down. He held her in his arms on his couch for as long as she needed, internally aching to know what had gotten her looking so dejected.

He knew it had to do with the new man in her life and he could only calm himself down by imagining his fist slamming against the faceless man’s nose.

“What did he do?” Bucky finally broke the silence, making her pull her face from his neck and look at him.

God, she looked so hurt, so broken.

He wished he could fix it, but how could he when he himself needed fixing?

“If I ask you for a favor, would you do it for me?” Her faint voice asked instead, pulling away from their hug.

“You know I will,” Bucky replied without reluctance.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He would do anything for her. He would kill again for her, burn down whole cities and cross oceans on his bare feet for her if she asked him to.

She got up from Bucky’s lap, getting down on her knees before the couch just like the first night he had brought her home, “I want you to punish me, Bucky.”

“What?”

Where did that come from? She wanted to start a session? Now? In that state?

“I want you to spank me. Punish me.” She repeated calmly.

“Doll, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky tried to remind her, wanting her to know that whatever that man did to ruin his relationship with her wasn’t her fault.

And he wasn’t seriously about to give her a spanking when she looked like that, so small and worn out and wounded.

“Please, Bucky.”

Damn, she begged so sweetly. But he just couldn’t.

Bucky never thought he would say no to a scene with her, especially a passionate one, but he couldn’t hurt her even more than she looked to be hurting.

That was not what they did this for.

“Doll, get up. Sit down and talk to me,” Bucky said softly, trying to lift her up by the shoulders.

“Buck, you said you’d do it.” A sad frown settled upon her delicate face with a look that Bucky knew well.

She was getting more heartbroken at his rejection. She really did want this. She needed it and she could only come to Bucky for it. How could he keep turning her down?

“Okay, doll. How many?” Bucky asked despite himself, rubbing his palms together.

“Not with your hands,” she said with a smile, getting up and walking inside the bedroom to his closet.

Bucky carded a hand through his long hair as he waited for her to come back with whatever item she was choosing, knowing this was going to be the hardest time he has ever had to cause her pain, even if it was pain she wanted and asked for.

“With this.” She left the belt she brought on Bucky’s lap as she got back to her place by his feet.

“Doll, this is the thickest belt I own,” Bucky told her, wanting to intimidate her into changing her mind.

He needed her to change her mind. He couldn’t hit her with that thing. Not today. Probably not ever.

“I know.” She nodded with the same sure smile.

“Doll, why?” Bucky touched her cheek tenderly, desperate to understand.

If she would just talk to him, he would do his best to fix it. He probably couldn’t, but he was ready to try.

“Please, Bucky. For me, I need this.” She, again, avoided answering his questions.

“This is gonna hurt, doll,” Bucky warned, examining the belt in his lap.

Damn, it was heavy.

“I know. That’s the point.” She nodded in acceptance, “I need it to hurt.”

“Doll.”

“C’mon, Buck, we’ve done this before. You’ve had me dangling from your ceiling for god’s sake!”

He remembered that day. It was a week after she had gotten promoted and everything was becoming too much for her.

She had Bucky suspend her upside down from his ceiling as he spanked her rear raw before getting her down and fucking her into oblivion until all she could worry about was if she would be able to take another orgasm.

She looked even sadder today, and she was asking for far less.

Maybe he could give her what she wanted.

“How many?” Bucky asked again with a clenched jaw, seeing that there was no way he was going to change her mind.

“As many as it takes for me to cry,” she replied and her answer sent a pang into Bucky’s chest.

So that was it. She needed to cry and she couldn’t. She just needed to cry; to give release to her pent-up tears.

Bucky knew that crying was something that she struggled with. He knew that one of the things she loved about what they did was the fact that she could cry during it all; during a spanking, an edging or even an intense orgasm.

But couldn’t it be done any other way this time? Maybe he could make her watch a sad movie or something?

“Doll, if it’s about you crying—”

“Bucky, please,” she stopped him, shaking her head with determination, “please give me this. I need it.”

If she could, she would have cried to get him to say yes faster.

Bucky sighed, glancing at her one final time before asking, “do you remember your safe word?”

“Red.” She smiled gratefully, adrenaline already pumping through her blood in anticipation.

Bucky slipped the hairband on his wrist down to his fingers, pulling his hair in a low bun before taking his shirt off, leaving himself in his white tank top.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he ordered: “strip and get on the bed, puppy. You know your position.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” She jumped up, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“What was that?” Bucky’s tone was deeper and his eyes darker.

It has started.

“Thank you, sir,” she quickly corrected herself.

“Go.”

One nod of his head and she was running to the bedroom to do as she was told.

As she took her clothes off, folding them piece by piece and leaving them on the chair in the corner of Bucky’s bedroom, he was outside readying himself for what he was about to do to her.

Bucky had pledged months ago that he would give her anything she needed or wanted during their sessions.

Leaving her fulfilled made him feel fulfilled and the first time he had his bare cock in her, Bucky knew he was wrapped around her littlest finger. It seemed like he was the one in control of those meet ups but control was actually always in her hands.

Now, if what she needed was a spanking to make her cry, Bucky knew how to give it to her, but he didn’t want to. He knew this belt was going to hurt a lot and he wished she would’ve chosen something less bad.

But a deal was a deal and he couldn’t back out now that he knew she was waiting naked on his bed.

She heard Bucky’s heavy steps coming closer and tried to regulate her breathing, reminding herself that she wanted this, that she begged for this, that she deserved this.

She trusted Bucky with her life, not just her body. She knew he was going to stop the minute she said her safe word and that made her a little calmer.

“You ready, puppy?” Bucky asked, gliding the tip of the belt across her bare ass from one cheek to the other.

She shivered, fixing her gaze on Bucky’s bedpost as she whispered, “yes, sir.”

And just like that came the first spank.

But it didn’t hurt, not like she had expected, not at all.

Bucky was going easy on her; too easy.

She didn’t like it.

“Harder, please,” she begged, lowering her head and sticking her ass out.

“Doll—”

“Bucky, please, you promised,” she pled, her voice thick with frustration at her inability to get what she needed from the one person who could give it to her.

Another spank came, a little stronger than the first, but still not enough.

“Did your arm get rusty in those three months?” She threw angrily, raising her eyes to glare at Bucky, “hit me like a man!”

Bucky knew she was just trying to rile him up, make him angry enough so that he would actually hurt her and even though he didn’t want to, he decided he would finally give her what she came for.

“Fine,” Bucky growled, pushing her face into his pillows by the hair and she immediately gave him a full view of her lower half, ass in the air and thighs spread.

He wasn’t going to be able to look at her face as he hurt her this time.

Bucky took a deep breath before finally giving her a real whip and she gasped at the force of it, “is that what you wanted, puppy?”

“Getting close,” she moaned, her words muffled into the pillows as she wiggled her ass for him.

Another similar spank hit her and then another and another until suddenly her body was getting hotter and her butt sorer.

She needed more. Just a little more to break the dam and get suffocating thoughts and burning tears out.

“More, please, sir,” she begged, voice so desperate that it had Bucky swallowing.

He gave an experimental whip on her thighs and she let out a startled scream.

“What’s your color?” Bucky asked at once, hesitant that he might have actually hurt her.

“Green.” Came her reply as she looked up to Bucky, “green, sir, please.”

She was begging for more of this.

Bucky recomposed himself and spanked her thighs with the belt again and she wailed out a “yes, thank you, sir!”, urging him on.

For the first time ever, however, Bucky was not enjoying this. He was not enjoying causing her pain and he was not enjoying knowing that he was supposed to make her cry by the end of it all.

His whips got faster and harder as his thoughts ran wild with worry, just wanting to get this over with as her moans and cries egged him on.

“Color?”

“Green!” She would answer every time he checked in with her.

Pictures of her boyfriend in bed with another woman flashed throw her mind and she stuck her ass out more, hiding her ashamed face in Bucky’s pillows. He let her touch him the way only she was supposed to touch him. He made her shout out in pleasure the way she never did with him. He made her scream his name; the name that was supposed to only roll off her tongue during intimate times.

Her mind kept replaying it all, making her squirm and stick her butt out further. She wanted it all to stop.

She needed this. She deserved this. She was stupid.

“Thank you, sir,” she muttered, a lump finally forming in her throat.

It seemed like whatever had happened this time, had been so bad that the normal amount of whips weren’t enough to get her mind off of it. She was still her, well out of sub space and still very much aware of the ache in her heart.

She needed that ache to move somewhere else, preferably to her ass.

“More, sir, please.”

Bucky’s shoulder started to slightly ache as he kept whipping her, again and again, just wanting it to be over so he could comfort her after as he heard her sniffles, and finally, with a particularly harsh spank on her lower thighs she screamed out, “red!”.

Bucky’s arm stopped immediately, dropping the belt on the floor as he listened as her soft cries get louder.

She burrowed her face in his pillow and let it all out, sobs wracking her entire body as she cried her bleeding heart out.

“Doll,” he whispered, regret filling him at the sight of her body trembling with each wail she let out of her chest.

He looked at her lower body and her ass and thighs were a crime scene, her skin painted in angry red welts all over.

“Please, leave me alone, Buck,” she wept, her face still hidden in his pillow.

“Let me take care of you, doll—”

“No, no. Just leave me,” she pleaded without turning to him.

“At least let me put something on your skin—”

“Please just leave me alone. Please, Bucky,” she sobbed harder, her fingers clutching the side of the pillow as she let her tears flow.

Bucky reluctantly left the room, giving her the space she asked for as guilt ate away at his heart.

He shouldn’t have listened to her. He shouldn’t have done that to her.

It was only when he sat down on the couch outside that he had realized how hard he had actually whipped her. His right shoulder ached, a few strands of his hair were out of place and sweat had forced by his hairline. All the realization did was make him feel more terrible about himself.

He knew he has done it before so many times, but this time was different.

She came to him hurt emotionally and instead of helping her feel better, he ended up hurting her physically too.

She did ask for it, but he could have said no. He could’ve insisted on not doing it.

The sound of her cries seemed never-ending and was absolutely heart-wrenching to listen to. Bucky could all but cover his ears to prevent it from reaching him as he beat himself up for causing it all again and again.

She winced as she sat up on the messy bed, hand on her naked chest as she tried to calm herself down, still hiccupping while her cries slowed down.

God, she had needed this so bad. She had needed it for days and she was so grateful for Bucky for giving it to her.

Being able to cry and let everything out was a blessing that people didn’t appreciate enough; one she was kind of deprived of and had to do a lot to get to enjoy.

When her heartbeat was somewhat slower and her tears have ceased, she slowly pulled herself down the bed and on her wobbly feet.

She looked out to the living room from the bedroom door to see Bucky back on the couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands and she knew he was blaming himself.

So she wiped her tears as much as she could and went back inside. She opened the drawer she knew too well and pulled out the Calendula cream Bucky had bought specifically for her.

She carefully walked to Bucky. She didn’t want him to feel guilty so she made sure not to wince as she took her steps.

She had wanted this. She had asked for it because she had needed it and he only helped her. She wasn’t going to let him berate himself for that.

She left the cream on the coffee table and gently removed Bucky’s hands from his face, guiding him to rest his back on the couch so she could sit herself back across his lap.

Bucky stopped her, standing up to take his pants off so that the material wouldn’t rub against her sensitive skin.

She smiled, her heart lurching at his gentleness and thoughtfulness.

He let her manipulate him into position, closely watching her red-rimmed eyes and swollen nose and lips as she made herself as comfortable as possible on his lap, the new lashes covering her behind out of his sight for now.

Bucky hugged her close, his hands stroking up and down her bare back as she pushed her nose in its place in the crook of his neck, “thank you.” She breathed gratefully.

Bucky only patted her back, pulling her closer in reply. He knew she meant her thanks, but he was still mad at himself for doing it.

She pulled back and let him take her in for a second before leaning in, making Bucky swallow.

“Now fuck me,” she whispered on his lips, grinding down on his covered cock despite the pain it gave her every time she rubbed her inflamed skin on Bucky’s boxers.

“Doll, I think you’ve had enough for today,” Bucky sighed, softly trying to get her off of him.

“Please, just once. I won’t ask for anything else.” She pleaded, her hands clutching the material of Bucky’s tank top, not wanting to leave his lap.

She didn’t want to be away from him. She just got here.

“Doll, give me the cream so I can take care of you,” he demanded, trying to maintain a stern tone so she would listen.

“You can take care of me this way too!” She whined, needy and desperate as she ground herself harder, smiling when she found him hard beneath her.

“I can’t, doll. I can’t. You’re hurt.” Bucky shook his head, gently pushing her to the side and getting up before she could straddle him again.

“Please, Buck,” she croaked out, on the verge of crying again as she grabbed onto his waist, “please don’t walk away.”

“Do you promise not to try anything if I sit back down?” He asked although he knew the answer.

“But I need you!” Anguished tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, “just one orgasm. Please, just one.”

Her constant begging was making Bucky’s cock leak inside his briefs, hard as a rock as he tried his best not to give in.

He had missed her so damn much, but this wasn’t right.

“Doll, come on, quit it. You’re hurt—”

“I haven’t cum in three months.” She cut him off, sniffling as more tears left her eyes, “he— he couldn’t— please.” She begged yet again, her hands cravingly clawing at Bucky’s tank top, wanting him to be close again.

“What?!” Bucky sat back down, wiping her tears away as he took her back into his arms.

She nodded in shame as she cast her eyes down, burrowing her face in his shoulder, “he couldn’t make me cum”.

“Not even with his mouth?”

“Especially not with his mouth,” she muttered, hating the memory of a different man touching her.

“And you didn’t get yourself off?”

She shook her head, still embarrassed as she hid from him.

“Why not?!”

“Couldn’t touch myself without your permission.” She looked up to him, her teary eyes sincere.

Bucky let himself just look at her for a beat longer.

She was with another man that she supposedly wanted to be committed to, but she still followed Bucky’s rules during that relationship.

“I can make you cum, doll,” Bucky said, his gaze darkening, “but I have one condition.��

“Anything,” she whispered, desperate for his touch, his lips, his cock.

She had missed Bucky beyond compare.

“Allow me to break a rule.”

“What—”

“I need to kiss you, baby.”

She smiled, her heart relieved despite its fluttering as she answered by pressing her lips to Bucky’s.

He laid her on her back on his couch, careful not to rub himself against her lower region as he devoured her lips. Bucky sighed on her lips, the first taste always the best.

He hasn’t tasted those lips in nine months, since their very first time together. He remembered them tasting of beer back then, but today it was chocolate lacing her tongue.

It was Bucky’s turn to be desperate as he ate up her whimpers, his tongue dancing with hers as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to gobble her up, get as close to her as possible, taste every inch and swallow every whine.

He realized he couldn’t get as close as he wanted without his boxers scratching the welts on her sore skin.

Bucky pulled away for a second, leaving her to chase his mouth as he chuckled.

She whined, making grabby hands at him.

When he was done taking his boxers off, he got back on top of her, tenderly pushing her legs to her chest to keep them from bumping against the couch before slotting himself between her open legs as his mouth found its way back to hers.

“I can’t believe I let you take this away from me for so long,” he groaned, biting down on her lower lip.

She moaned in reply, pushing her hips up so she could get his cock to stroke against her.

She couldn’t believe she had deprived herself of those kisses either because she knew that she had fallen for the man anyways.

One swipe had Bucky hissing as he felt how wet she was under him. He has needed her for so long, not letting himself find any kind of relief with another woman in her absence.

“Do you want my fingers, doll?”

“No, no, gimme your cock, Bucky, please,” she pleaded, squirming on her back on the couch, pushing her hips up.

“I can’t do that, baby. You know it. It would be too much,” he sighed, his thumb stroking her cheek.

“Bucky, please. I can take it. I’ve taken worse!”

“I can’t. I can’t hurt you anymore, doll.” Bucky admitted, his hand sliding her hair behind her ear.

“Bucky,” she whined and his eyes gave her a firm look, making her shut up at once.

“It’s either my fingers or you get nothing, puppy. What do you want?”

“Your fingers, sir,” she replied obediently, pulling her legs further against her chest to give him all the access he would need.

“That’s a good puppy.” Bucky smiled, thumb circling her swollen clit.

“Please,” she breathed, already throwing her head back at the simple touch.

Bucky chuckled, though he was internally fuming at the fact that she was with a ‘man’ who didn’t make her cum for three whole months, “ready for the first one, puppy?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded quickly.

Bucky carefully slipped two of his metal fingers inside of her dripping cunt, groaning at the tightness he has missed so much, “I know this hand’s your favorite”.

“I thought you said one!” She moaned in surprise, pushing down on his fingers still.

“I meant first orgasm, puppy,” Bucky laughed, scissoring his fingers inside of her, opening her up exactly like he knew she liked.

And when he curled his fingers just right? She was wailing out the yes’s and thank you’s like it was the last time she would ever get fingered in her life.

“Fuck, baby, squeezing my fingers so hard already,” Bucky groaned, the tips of his vibranium fingers nudging her sweet spot with every indulging thrust, massaging and abusing until he saw her thighs quiver with her first orgasm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she squealed as Bucky let her come down from her high, fingers slowing down their movements without leaving her leaking pussy.

“Thank me when we’re done, doll.” He smirked, twisting his fingers inside of her.

Bucky got them out for a second only to slip back three fingers instead of two, feeling her cunt hungrily swallow them as she cried out at the delicious stretch.

He bit his lip, shaking his head as he got to business, “fuck, I’ve missed you so much”.

~

“How we feeling, puppy?” Bucky asked her as he saw her legs tense again.

“So good, so so good, sir. Thank you,” she sobbed in pleasure, feeling her thighs shake for the fifth time that afternoon.

“You’re such a good puppy, cumming so hard for me,” Bucky groaned, feeling the pull of her pussy as he tried to take his fingers out, moving them on her clit instead, “keep cumming baby”.

“I can’t take anymore. Please, I can’t.” She shook her head as she tried to squirm away from Bucky’s skilled fingers.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky chuckled, raising one hand up in surrender as his other went into his mouth.

She was gasping for air as she let her legs go, grimacing when her ass touched the couch. She raised her thighs back up, opening them when Bucky hovered over her body for another kiss.

His cock swiped against her sensitive pussy, making her clench when she felt how hard he was. Bucky was so hard it must be getting painful by now.

“Bucky, I can do one more,” she said against his lips.

“Oh you getting greedy on me, puppy?” Bucky smiled, instantly complying as he brought his hand down between their bodies.

She shivered at the mere tracing of his fingers on her pussy lips, “not with your fingers.”

“Come on now, baby, I thought we’ve already talked about this,” Bucky said, ready to pull away from her body.

“You don’t have to put it inside.” She held onto his waist with all her might, “just rub it on me. I can take that.”

“Baby,” Bucky hesitated, his resolve getting weaker as he imagined the feeling of her silky, drenched pussy under his cock.

“Please, Bucky, just rub it on my pussy. Use me. Make yourself cum.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Bucky whispered, getting hold of his cock.

He swiped the tip between the lips of her cunt, moaning lewdly at the feeling he had missed for months.

She was so wet, so sensitive and so soft.

Bucky was never one to cum fast; not after his very first time with her. But she looked so good under him, already fucked out of her mind. She felt even better and he could only handle so much.

He couldn’t believe she was going to make him cum this quick just by letting him nudge her pussy with the tip of his cock.

“Fuck, baby, this beautiful pussy’s gonna make me bust and I didn’t even get to fuck her!” Bucky groaned, feeling his abs get taut as he tried to hold off his orgasm for as long as physically possible.

He didn’t know where to look; she looked gorgeous everywhere and it was making it harder for him not to cum right then and then.

“I’m cumming,” she gave a shout before shaking underneath him for the sixth time.

“Fuck, yes, cum for me, doll.” Bucky groaned, squeezing at his base to hold his orgasm off.

“Slip the tip inside me, Buck,” she begged, still catching her breath and writhing underneath him needily as if he hadn’t just given her five mind-blowing orgasms on his fingers.

He shook his head, trying to focus on not cumming.

“Please, Bucky, just the tip.”

“Shit, don’t say stuff like that.” Bucky’s head tipped back as he closed his eyes for a second to keep from staring into her imploring ones.

“Please, Bucky. Give me your cum. I missed being filled up of your cum so much.” She begged further, “I’m clean, I promise.”

“I never doubted you, puppy.” Bucky opened his eyes, pressing his lips to hers at once.

“Then give it to me,” she moaned on his lips, holding his face close to hers by the cheek, “give me all of your cum, Bucky. Fill me up until I’m leaking all over myself and your couch.”

“Fuck, doll, I can’t hold back anymore. You wanna be filled up? I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled, popping the fat tip of his cock inside her pussy.

She arched her back for Bucky, desperate to feel more of him, “thank you.”

She missed this cock stretching her to her limits so bad. She missed its girth and its veins and the hot cum it paints her walls with.

Bucky could all but let go at the first clench of her pussy, feeling his cum shoot inside of her until it had filled her up to the brim.

He watched her sigh in satisfaction, a smile spreading on her sweet face as Bucky’s hot load filled up her pulsating cunt.

Bucky reluctantly slipped out of her, watching his cum leak out of her ruined pussy, “oh thank you, doll.”

She couldn’t keep her thighs off the couch anymore, body limp and exhausted. She hissed once again when her raw skin touched the rough couch but didn’t pull her legs back up.

Bucky sighed, kissing her forehead lovingly before going to the bathroom to get a wet cloth to clean her up.

He tried to be gentle as he moved around her skin, wiping away the cum and the sweat. He went to leave the cloth in the bathroom and when he came back, she was tiredly perching herself on his lap.

Bucky smiled, taking the calendula cream from the coffee table to finally rub some against her marked butt and thighs. Aftercare was the most important part and he wasn’t about to forego it.

“How the hell did he fail at making you cum?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask as his palm rubbed circles on her sore skin.

“I guess it was me and my unorgasmable pussy.” She chuckled, making Bucky even madder at the man.

He had caused her to think there was something wrong with her and her body?

“Seems pretty orgasmable to me, doll. He’s the one with a broken penis.” Bucky grunted, focusing on keeping his touch gentle on her skin.

“Could make the other girl cum just fine, so not that broken.” She mumbled into her forearms as she rested her chin on them, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

“What?”

Now Bucky really was angry.

“He cheated on me.”

Her voice was so sad, so shattered.

“Doll,”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if there was even something to say to make this better.

“Yeah, found them together in his bed and everything. They do try to cover up with the white bed sheet just like the movies.” She chuckled again.

She was making jokes, trying to make light of her pain like she always would, but Bucky wasn’t laughing.

“Doll, I’m so sorry. He’s an asshole.”

“It’s fine, really. Doesn’t come as a surprise to me that I wasn’t enough for him.”

“It isn’t fine and you are enough. You’re everything.”

“Bucky, you don’t have to—”

“Be my girl.”

“What?” Her head whipped back so fast, thinking she must have imagined the words.

“Forget about the rules and the deal and forget about our fears. Be my girl, doll,” Bucky repeated.

“Buck, I—”

“I know I’m messed up beyond repair, but if there’s one thing I can’t mess up, it’s loving you, doll. And if I suck at it, let me die trying my best for you.”

“Why’d you have to go and talk about dying now!” She sat back up, not waiting for her skin to fully absorb the cream as she straddled him again.

Her body was hot all over as she took it his words; words she had imagined him saying while standing alone in the shower so many times before that she’d lost count.

“Be my girl.” Bucky smiled, “let me love you like you deserve, doll.”

“You—”

“Yes. I love you,” Bucky admitted, shrugging, his blunt nails clawing at the small of her back nervously.

“You love me love me?”

“I love you love you.” His palms flattened against the small of her back as he nodded with a bigger smile.

“I love you love you!” She exclaimed angrily, “why didn’t you say anything!” She punched Bucky’s chest.

“Ow!” Bucky laughed, holding her hand midway before she could hit him again, “I didn’t think I deserved you.” He kissed her fist.

The gesture left her quiet as a smile formed on her face despite herself.

She cupped Bucky’s cheek and kissed his lips softly, “you’re an idiot.”

“Still think I don’t deserve you, doll. But I can’t pretend like I’m not madly in love with you anymore.”

He tried to deepen the kiss but she pulled away, shocked.

“Bucky, what are you talking about? If anything, I don’t deserve you!”

“Baby, you deserve the whole world.”

“I don’t want the whole world!” She threw her hands in the air, “just one idiot who would hold me on his lap after a good spanking,” she mumbled shyly, making Bucky laugh.

“This one idiot is all yours if you’d have him, doll.” Bucky’s smile was for once reaching his eyes as he brought her in for another kiss.

“I love you,” she repeated, throwing her body around his, holding him tight, fearing it might be a dream.

“I love you too, baby. I don’t deserve you but fuck I love you so much it keeps me up at night like a teenager,” he confessed in her hair, his big hand pressing her closer to him.

“Stop saying that.” She looked him in the eyes, “you deserve everything good in this whole universe and then some. I just hope I could be enough.”

“Could be enough— doll, you’re enough. You’re just right. The exact amount. You’re it. You’re the best for me and the only one I want.”

She didn’t know what to say to that so she put her lips on Bucky’s again and let the kiss demolish her fears and insecurities.

She was in Bucky’s arms and she was enough. She was safe and loved.

This was Bucky. Bucky, who was never intimidated by her professional success. Bucky, who has met her at her worst. Bucky, who has never done her wrong. Bucky, who has gotten to see the real, raw her and never turned away.

It was in that very moment that she realized that running away from Bucky to find love with other men was the worst crime she had committed against herself because now the mere idea of being out of this man’s arms and heart was too illogical and incredulous to even consider.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated on her lips as they caught their breaths.

And she could see it all in his loving, blue eyes as they adored every inch of her face: she was home and she was never getting lost again.

~

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[writingjourney]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

!!! this fic contains spoilers for RHRN, do not read on if you wish to remain spoiler-free!!!

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Or: Copia is taking up his new position. It’s not an easy feat.

content: 1.8k words, gn!reader, angst, grief, hurt/comfort, some fluff and kisses, post!rhrn so spoilers, established relationship

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 – White dust sheets cover the furniture like ghosts of a life left behind. The path forward is hidden underneath layers of insecurity and grief but as he packs up years of work in pre-used cardboard boxes it almost feels as though he cannot see the path at all.

His new office is just down the hall. It is a fast job. Two trips and his desk has become another ghost. One more trip and he has emptied out all personal belongings from the dusty shelves. The rest stays, not useful to him anymore in his new function.

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Unlike his brothers he had no way to prepare who follows his footsteps and perhaps that is where the ache in his belly comes from – the uncertainty.

He cannot quite bring himself to unpack the boxes in his new office yet. But it is not his office anyway, Copia thinks. No, it is his mother’s office and he feels like an intruder placing his things on her desk. Her smell clings to the old fabrics, clings to him, a strong perfume that Copia has not been able to get out of his nose ever since he covered her body with yet another white sheet.

Yet another ghost.

It has not been long, he tells himself, a weak comfort. As he stands here with an old card she wrote him – Welcome Home, C! – he can hear the clicking of his mother’s shoes on the tiled floors like a faint echo that haunts the hallways of the Ministry. Everyone is busy preparing for this transitional period, mourning their Mother Superior, but now it is Copia who has to guide them, navigate them through this darkness.

He realises that he himself has footsteps to follow and that he is just as unprepared. A new era, for all of them.

“Love?”

He turns and his world lights up for a brief moment. You occupy the doorframe in a black mourning habit, the one all Siblings chose to wear in honour of his mother. Of course he finds that it suits you better than anyone else. But perhaps that is because he has felt the sturdy fabric against his wet cheeks so many times now that it means comfort, home.

“Do you still need help with the boxes?” you ask.

All he can do is shake his head. You approach and he wants to close the card, hide it away, not even sure why. You have seen the fallout, you have held him through the worst of it. Perhaps he is ashamed, in a way, that he cannot move on as fast as his new role demands of him.

“Was this from her?” you ask, nestling up to his side.

“Mhm.”

His hand is trembling lightly as you lay yours to rest on top of his. The swipe of your thumb against his bare wrist sends goosebumps down his spine and when you wrap the other arm around his waist his eyes are watering.

“Perhaps you can frame it, together with some photos,” you suggest.

He nods, leaning into your embrace as a solid rock forms in his throat. You hold him and he lets the silent tears run down his cheeks, gathering at the dip of his chin. Your thumb continues to draw slow crescents over his pulse. He can’t speak. He does not have to.

✦ ✧ ✦

2 – He is glued to the mirror.

You try not to fuss, he is nervous as is. It is first official day, after all.

“I didn’t know you had a new uniform,” you say with a lint roller in hand, joining him in the bedroom. The jacket is brand new, all black but unusual in its ornamentation, satin lapels that run from his neck towards his armpits. A clerical collar underneath sparkles against his Adam’s apple.

“I eh… splurged,” he says, cheeks dusted a bashful red.

He says it like he is wasteful, does it whenever he treats himself to something, but you also know he is wearing the same black winklepickers he wore as a Cardinal ten years ago, never replaces any pieces of clothing until he finds holes in the fabric, that he only bought new jackets when he could use them on stage to look his best for the audience. The suit is no different, it is as much a boost to his confidence as it is a display of his new status. A performance.

“It is a rather nice suit,” you note, running the lint roller down his back.

“Mhm.” He pauses, looks down at himself and tugs at the sleeves. “It is… unfamiliar.”

“You wear it well, Copia.”

He smiles and his confidence resurfaces. You find that he looks handsome in a completely new way. You have seen so many facets of him that you can tell he is beginning to mold himself into this role, even if he might not see it himself yet. In the mirror, a stranger is looking back at him through black-rimmed eyes but in time he will see himself again, a grown version.

“It is not all,” he says. “I… found something. In the desk drawer.”

He points to a velvety black box on the dresser. Inside, you find a beautiful ornament, two ruby brooches holding a bejewelled black grucifix, another ruby at the bottom. It is one of the most beautiful, elaborate pieces you have ever seen.

“A gift, I think.”

He looks uncertain when you glance up. But you have no doubt that it was meant for him, meant for today. You carefully take it out of the box, delicate as it looks it feels sturdy and well-crafted. One brooch to each lapel and the grucifix dangles over his heart. Light from the window catches in the gemstones, a prism splitting the ray into sparkles that reflect in the mirror, a spectacle of multicoloured beams flickering across the walls.

Copia watches the dancing lights, mesmerised, until the sun hides behind a cloud and the room is gloomy yet again. When you focus back on him a tear pearls from his left eye, running down his cheek and leaving a black streak in its wake. The piece is more than jewels – it is a memory, a promise, a token of trust.

“It is beautiful,” you say. “As are you, Copia. So beautiful.”

His smile is tinged with sadness but there is hope, now, too. You smooth out his jacket, admiring him for a moment, unconcealed, and he must see it in your eyes because the smile shifts until one corner of his mouth pulls into a lighthearted smirk.

“Do I get a kiss?” he asks.

You grab the satin and pull him close. One day you are going to peel him out of this jacket and it won’t feel heavy anymore.

✦ ✧ ✦

3 – You gently wipe at his under-eye. The black smudge is persistent and you stop when the skin turns red. Copia’s eyes are closed even as he holds you. Wrapped around you he feels hot to the touch, almost feverish. He has gone non-verbal since he came home and you give him the space he needs, soft touches, rest and quiet.

The tension of the day still sits in his muscles, you can feel the knots when you run your hands over his back. The hot shower did not help, nor did the pasta he barely touched for dinner. He did well, everyone said this to you today. Whether he feels it you are not so certain.

You lean in and press a kiss to the round tip of his freckled nose. He blinks at you through tired, reddened eyes, lips curving into a lazy half-smile. His hand tightens at your waist, slides underneath your shirt to feel your skin. He’s your whole world molded into the shape of a man. Love, stored in the crinkles of his crow’s feet, every line on his face, in the brushstrokes of grey at his temples, an endless supply.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, trailing the curve of his spine.

His eyes open and you feel guilty for disrupting his peace. But then he pulls you ever closer, squishing, the softness of your bodies mingling with a comforting warmth.

“I don’t…” He stops, brows pulled together. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I have no doubt that you can.” You study his features, move your hand to trace the lines of tension and smooth them out. He lets you, eyelids fluttering at the soft touch. “Every day from now on will be easier, Copia. My baby, I have such confidence in you. Unshakable.”

The words stir something in him. Some wetness gathers in his odd eyes but he blinks it away. You have to fight your own tears, good tears, for how far he has come. Then Copia nods, nods again but with more conviction. A deep exhale through his nose and he swallows the doubts away.

“You are right, always,” he says. “I was Papa Emeritus IV, eh? I did that.”

“You did.” A smile, proud and amused. “And now you are Frater Imperator.”

“Mhm, I am.”

“You are the head of this church, they are still your flock, adoring you, admiring you, trusting you. None of this has changed.” You cradle his face in both hands, a firm press of your thumbs to his cheekbones. “And you are still the man I love.”

“I am?”

“Forever.”

He closes the gap himself, a grateful kiss, seeking. You try to give him what he needs, firm and soft kisses, hands roaming, legs entangles. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, deeper still until all air escapes you and a dizzy fog fills your head. He is all you know, all you want for the rest of this life you live together.

The kisses slow down, not any less deep, and he cradles your head, keeping you pressed together. There is some need building, a languid wave that fades out in ripples. You feel him stir against your leg but he is not quite here with you, not entirely, and it subsides after a moment.

He breaks away with a heavy sigh, keeps his eyes closed.

“Perhaps not tonight,” you say, stroking his hair.

He nods and rests his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your nose, the embrace tighter than before. It feels easier now, somehow, and you can picture it so clearly. The future, him, and even in your head the world is quiet as you hold him close.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[taylor-titmouse]

Shrinking Violet is out! another of @petitemortality R/L Monroe's wonderful erotic shorts, with another cover by yours truly >:) i've been saying it on nearly every promo post i make for this but if you're one of the people who has wanted me to write f/f, you're legally obligated to read this one. below is the sales copy, and then below that some discussion of the process for designing the cover!

Nobody at college knows that shy, nervous Maya had a 'bad boy' reputation in high school - and Maya is the only one who knows tough, rebellious Nasrin used to be a sweet-tempered teacher's pet. Mutual attraction is rekindled when their paths cross again, but the two find their old dynamics have been flipped on their head. Maya finally knows what she wants, and Nasrin is bold enough to give it to her...that is, if she can bring herself to ask. Will their first time be perfect the second time around? 7k words, EPUB and PDF format. This is the second in the Fuck Yourself Friday series of shorts. New stand-alone erotic stories are released on the last Friday of every month. FYF 1: Go Fuck Yourself These stories contain explicit sexual content, and are intended for 18+ audiences.

Contains: -F/tF -transfem sub -outdoor sex -praise kink -soft penis stimulation -non-penetrative sex

THUMBNAILS

this one was very straightforward with the request: "the image I have in my mind for a cover is someone's fingers knotted in a skirt spread out against wildflowers. but more in the sort of gripping your own skirt gently kind of way, somewhere between anxious and excited if that makes sense. I'm thinking like you know the classic soft grunge tumblr aesthetic photo vibe. type of shit you'd post next to a closeup of a skinned knee in long socks"

very easy instructions to follow! so while i usually prefer to do 3 thumbnails, i only ended up with 2. there's only so many ways you can depict a hand on a skirt, after all. and we decided that we wanted to continue with the style i established with the first one, with silhouettes, lineless art, and bold textures. we liked the first one more, but wanted to get some leg in there.

i proposed adding black pantyhose to the narrative to make it work on the cover (i have changed prose to match what i drew for illustrations Many times) but we went with bare leg in the end

FINISHING

so i didn't actually do a sketch for this one, just went straight to rendering. as we all know i use gradient maps a lot in my work, so i gave lee a choice between a bright, springy palette, and a wetter, darker palette. i also offered it with the border, or with the skirt going over it. personally i like the skirt going over it, but the border keeps it consistent and more book-cover-y, so we went with that. lee chose the darker palette, which suits the story much better

but the font didn't fit! too vintage for the story, which takes place in modern day.

fonts time :^)

we went with the third option for the contrast. and also added a raindrop to the flower (which got moved to the right petal in the final draft). gently touching petals, wetness, This Is Yuri.

and the final result is as above!

anyway you should all read this story, it's incredibly sweet childhood-best-friends-to-lovers and in itself a love letter to trans femininity. i highly recommend it, and it's only $3!

go and get it!

[sxmpfxrortega]

an: soo this is my first time posting a fanfic before so please go easy on me ;( i usually just write them for myself but ya know... where's the fun in not sharing? i want to start doing g!p soon so if this doesn't completely bomb, i'll definitely do more!

5 Sheets to the Wind

"Max, this party doesn't seem like the best of ideas" You say, rubbing your temples at the very thought of blaring music.

Max rolls his eyes and gives you a deadpan, "You and I both know that this is much needed time away from the shit show we've endured."

You raise an eyebrow at him and his antics, "...you mean, work?" You retort, laughing slightly at him.

"Uh, duh, what else could I possibly be talking about that is so mentally and physically draining???" He fires back, eyes bulging out from his skull.

You sigh and ponder the thought of the party; you didn't know many people attending and it wasn't like you were too socially awkward, just enough to not be able to meet new people well. "Fine, I'll go to the dumb party with you" You gave up, having enough of his pleading puppy dog eyes.

Max fist bumps the air and yells cheerfully, "Sweet! Do you want to meet there or?"

"I can pick you up, dork. What time does it start?"

Max looks at his phone, "Uh, 9 I think?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose and look at the time, 7:35.

"Okay dude, if I'm going, I need to be ready so...skiddaddle out and I'll be at your house at 9:30"

Max raises a questioning eyebrow at you but you wave him off before he says anything, "Late is early, ya know, I don't really feel like being the first ones to be there, now shoo" You say, swatting at him to leave your apartment.

You lock the door and make your way to the bathroom to shower, putting your music on shuffle for the time being.

After what feels like forever, you make your way back to your room, your short hair damp and a towel draped around your tall frame.

'Ugh, why must I have so many clothes but never know what to wear?' You think to yourself, growing slightly frustrated.

You opted for a black and white striped shirt, ripped black jeans, and white high top vans.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you put some coconut oil in your hair to make your curls look good.

While putting your deodorant and cologne on, you check the time.

"Damn, 9:15 already? Time flies when you try to make yourself look presentable" you say aloud to absolutely no one but yourself.

'Phone, wallet, keys... am I forgetting anything?' You mentally make a check list as it dawns on you.

"Oh yeah!"

You were an avid pothead, so going to a a party without bud just seemed like a major party foul.

You head out of your apartment and lock up, jumping into your Jeep, you make your way to Max's house.

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

Finally arriving at the house party, you notice that there is indeed a shit ton of people here.

"Uh, Max? Who exactly is throwing this party, because this seems like a banger." Your palms get slightly sweaty at all of the people gathered outside; god only knows what the inside looks like.

He thinks for a moment, "Honestly dude, I'm not really sure, someone semi famous, but that's all I got." He shrugs and hops out of your car, you follow suit, stuffing your hands into your pockets.

Max takes the lead and heads inside the house, the music so loud you can barely hear your inner monologue, but hey, at least it's good music.

"You want a drink to loosen up?" Max yells to you, even though he's right beside you.

"Sure, if they have beer, I'll take it" you yell back to him, watching him disappear into the kitchen for your drinks.

A sigh escapes your lips as you make your way into the big ass living room, you plop down on the sofa that surprisingly isn't taken.

Max appears from out of no where with a bottle of beer and a sketchy looking solo cup.

"What's in your cup, dude?" you ask curiously, sniffing the contents, your nose scrunching up at the mixture of alcohol.

"Jungle Juice" was all he said as he gulped it down like it was water.

"Now that's sick, bro" you say laughing at the face he made after.

"Says the one drinking hotdog water." He claps back with an eyeroll.

"Touché" you shrug, "but, I like it so, it's an acquired taste."

Max finishes off his concoction and gets up from the couch, "Mingle man, it is a party after all, I am going to try to find some girls and see how good my skills are." He says, flexing his biceps.

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your mouth, "Oh, please, save some for the rest of us, lady killer."

He huffs out and mumbles something, walking away.

You chug the rest of your beer, getting up from the couch to grab another one when a pair of brown eyes catches your attention.

'Oh damn, fuck, what the hell'

Ahh, there it is, your internal monologue, you thought the bass was too loud but apparently not for what you've just witnessed.

Standing there in all her 5'1 glory, The Jenna fucking Ortega.

Your eyes are practically out of your head at the moment and your jaw is on the floor, how the fuck and who the fuck is person who threw this party?

Not wanting to seem like a creep, you stalk your way into the kitchen, pushing past several bodies to get to the cooler that has a plethora of beer in it.

You opted for a Corona, wanting to feel it fast, you chug half the bottle.

"I like your outfit" a voice says behind you.

You spin around and look down.

No. Fucking. Way.

Jenna fucking Ortega is talking to you, and she likes your outfit.

Gay panic is setting in and you're trying so hard not to let that show.

"Oh, uh, thank you, I didn't really know what to wear" you chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

'Why the fuck would you say that, you gay bitch?!' your brain is screaming at you and all you want is the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

She giggles sweetly and looks up at you, "You wanna go to the backyard, they have a fire going out there and I'm sure we could hear each other better too."

Your voice feels trapped in your throat so all you do is nod dumbly.

She takes your hand gently and leads you through a large crowd of people.

Sitting on the swing in the backyard, you look at the flames from the fire, it feels as if you're dreaming.

You can definitely feel the alcohol creeping up on you, but you only chug more of your beer.

'Don't even say it.' your brain is scolding you but you aren't listening, "Sorry, I'm a little uh, starstruck right now and on top of that, I'm pretty socially awkward at times." you ramble off, not wanting to scare her away.

She looks at you and you feel like you're being hypnotized, she's absolutely breathtaking and you cannot believe you are in this situation.

"Starstruck huh? There's a good amount of famous people here, but I'm the one you're starstruck over?" she says with a mischievous glint in her eye and a smirk playing on her lips.

Before you can stop yourself from saying something stupid, your mouth opens without warning, "Well, they aren't you so, very starstruck would be a better way of saying it." you say back to her, looking into her brown eyes, getting lost in them.

She takes a drink from her solo cup, keeping eye contact with you doin so.

"Did you get the jungle juice too?" you ask with the curiosity of a child.

She laughs and scrunches her nose up, "God no, I'm drinking Hennessy, jungle juice is too chaotic for my taste buds"

You're about to say something when a guy comes to the backyard yelling, "Spin the bottle is goin' down in like, 5 minutes!"

You look at her but she's already looking at you, her eyes roaming your body.

"You wanna play?" you ask her smoothly, thanking the stars that you didn't stutter that out.

She raises a perfect brow at you and smirks, "Come on, we aren't children who plays those games."

You squint your eyes at her and challenge out, "Sounds like something someone would say if they were afraid."

She feigns shock, putting her hand to her chest, "Me? Afraid? Let's go then, you get to lead the way this time, though."

You give her a goofy smile, standing up and offering her your hand, the alcohol definitely helped you loosen up more.

You both made your way into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa, she's sitting so close to you, so much so that she's basically in your lap.

Some random dude starts talking and then asks who wants to go first, it's a pretty big group so someone definitely volunteers.

It's Jenna's turn to spin the bottle and you're praying to every god you can think of that it lands on you.

She spins it gracefully and it goes on for a good amount of time, slowing down, it lands on you.

You feel your cheeks heat up at a fast rate and you clear your throat.

'Thank you, power of manifesting, you are amazing'

"U-uh, so, heh, m-may I kiss you?" you say, stuttering almost every syllable.

God you were a mess at this point but that isn't at all what you were thinking, what was on your mind was one thing and one thing only; trying to not faint if she says yes.

She looks at you with something in her eyes, but the alcohol isn't quite letting you decipher what that would be,

"You know, they say chivalry is dead, here you are asking consent for a spin the bottle game." She says with a sly smile playing on her lips.

Your face heats up and before you can start stuttering out a retort, she grabs your face and kisses you passionately.

Stars.

That's what you saw, stars.

She pulls away but not without biting your bottom lip.

"W-wow I uh-" before you can finish your sentence the game is continuing.

You look over at her and she's blushing softly, she leans into your body and whispers in your ear, "maybe it could happen again, if you can find me." She ends her sentence with a smirk and the next thing you know, she stands and drifts out into a sea of bodies.

"Fuck." was the only word you could manage to get out.

[kingdomhate]

First Glance (First Part)

Anakin was wandering the halls of the Jedi Temple, looking for nothing in particular. His eyes scanned the marble and granite flooring, walls and ceiling. The mere patterns of the natural rocks brought a feeling of serenity to his soul.

Anakin was so caught up in admiring the natural beauty of the decorative suit of the Temple, that he did not notice you in front of him, also grazing the hallways at this late hour. "Oh, hello." You greet him softly, nearly running into him. His head snaps to you, his padawan braid jerking violently as his head turns to you. "What are you doing up?" He asks, his voice apprehensive. He didn't recognize you. "I'm a Padawan," You tell him, attempting to reassure his apprehensiveness. "Of who?" Anakin demands, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Mace Windu." You say simply, gazing at the young teenage boy with an air of interest and immense curiosity. At your words, he relaxes. "I'm Anakin Skywalker, padawan to Obi-Wan Kenobi." He smiles at you. "Oh? I'm Y\N." He nods, listening attentively to your words. "So, what are you doing out this late?" Anakin tilts his head, curiosity entering his tone. "I couldn't sleep." You gaze at him, trying to gauge him. He nods once more. "You?" He smiles. "I find myself coming back to these hallways to think." He begins walking down the halls again, beckoning you to follow. "About what?" You question, walking alongside him. He shrugs. "Anything. It's easy to get lost in my thoughts." You nod understandingly. "Do you come down here often?" He inquires, wanting to start a conversation as he walks.

"Yeah, whenever I can't sleep or need to think." You sigh. Anakin stops and turns to you, showing you the view of Coruscant through the windows. The sight takes your breath away, barely any speeders in the sky, the millions of stars in the sky, the few lights of people's houses. "Wow. You never really appreciate something until you see it up close." Anakin stands next to you. "I'm actually from Tatooine." He analyzes you. "Oh, really?" You glare at him, curiosity pushing you to ask more, but also wanting to examine the city. "Yeah. I and my mom worked for a Toydarian. We were sold to him. But then Obi-Wan's master, Qui-Gon came, and he freed me."

You process this information as Anakin focuses on the lights and midnight beauty of Coruscant. "What's it like being Master Windu's apprentice?" He queried. "I like to imagine it's normal. I mean, he's frank and always speaks his mind. Believing there is room for improvement at every turn." Anakin smiles. "Obi-Wan is overly critical, I don't think he realizes I'm actually ahead of him in many ways." You gazed at him, a slight smile on your face. "I think all masters are like that at times." A fond smile spreads across your lips. "It always frustrating when they focus more on your flaws rather than your perfections." Anakin gazes at you, his eyes understanding and clearly knowing what you mean through experience.

"It's upsetting." He chuckles. You nod, snickering. "It sure is. But, how would we learn otherwise?" Anakin sighs. "Yeah. I guess it is going to be how I teach my padawan, and it makes sense, but it's frustrating." Looking down, Anakin fiddles with his fingers, seemingly sucked into thought. "Well, I'm going to turn in. Nice meeting you, Anakin." You smile at him before walking back to your quarters. Anakin watches you go, feeling a sense of friendship between you both now. And with that, he's content. A new friend.

On your way into your room and settling yourself in to sleep, you grin at the notion of knowing you got to meet someone today. Someone both unusual and quirky, but unique from the boringness of just being a padawan. Satisfied with that, you close your eyes.

.

.

.

Tags:

@sweetcheesecakesblog

@haydenpookiebear

(Let me know if you want to be taken off or added to my taglist!)

A\N: Part two will be posted sometime tomorrow. Also, this is going to go into a series of the Star Wars characters meeting you for the first time!

[cophene]

xii. piano.

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pairing : p. fugo x gn reader summary : after finding a pensive, choleric ghost, a sales clerk must do everything in their power to help him cross over. but that becomes unfairly difficult when it's so easy to forget that he's already dead. notes : 20th century au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.5k+

⊱ LIBECCIO’S MIGHT HAVE SOUNDED LIKE a family restaurant, but it turned out to be a smokey, elusive bar tucked into the crevices of the town. Even with a concrete address and Fugo’s hazy memory, you wouldn’t have been able to find it without relying on your Stand. You would have missed the bar entirely if it hadn’t been for the unassuming wood sign hanging under one of the building’s windows.

There was a kid sitting on the outside stoop, working a wad of gum in his mouth. He squinted up at you as you approached, a mean look on his face.

“What’s the password?” he drawled. You almost laughed but the kid was dead serious.

You flicked your eyes toward Fugo. Under the brim of his hat, you could see him muttering to himself.

“Try on the rocks,” he murmured.

You repeated it to the kid, who sneered at you. 

“Don’t waste my time. You’re just making yourself look stupid.”

What kind of bar had a kid posted outside as security? You could have just kicked him over and walked right over him.

“I don’t remember there being a password,” Fugo said. “I would’ve written it down in the journal. Why don’t you just ask the kid if—” A slow smile spread across Fugo’s face.

“No. I remember now. The password is Spice Girl.”

You wrinkled your nose, confused. Still, when you told the boy he sniffed grudgingly.

“Should’ve just led with that. Go on ahead. It’s been pretty slow today. You should be able to get a seat.”

The kid let you and Fugo through. The entrance didn’t lead directly into the bar like you’d expected, but to a descending staircase.

“You go first,” you said to Fugo.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I won’t be able to protect you from anything, right?”

“Still. Just go first.”

As you went down the stairs, the lighting became dim and moody. You heard the faint rise and fall of conversation, chairs creaking and the clink of glass. It smelled like smoke and whiskey—smooth, illicit things.

The bar was smaller than you expected. It might actually have been a restaurant at one point, as the chairs and tables appeared to be refurbished. Peculiar paintings hung on the walls, blue-grey landscapes and people stretched out of shape. You weren’t one for drinking, but the liquor and drinking cabinets were to be envied, shining brightly enough to hurt. Off to your left was a small stage, a microphone set up and waiting for its performer.

There was only one bartender behind the counter, filling glasses with the efficiency of a machine. His white shirt and grey waistcoat were impeccable, a sharp red necktie knotted at his throat. His motions were graceful and well practiced; he barely paused what he was doing to talk to a new customer or say goodbye to one leaving. He neatly swiped away the glasses in front of you as you sat down. His gaze was intelligent, and his dark hair, cut bluntly at the chin, was dark enough to gleam blue.

“What can I get for you?”

“I don’t drink,” you said, catching sight of yourself in the mirror behind the bartender. You had to remind yourself that you wouldn’t find Fugo there, even as he stood beside you. 

“People only say that when they haven’t found their tastes.”

“Give me a recommendation, then.”

“A Bellini,” the bartender said, studying you for a moment. He smiled at Fugo. “And for you, sir?”

You would never get used to the way your chest clenched whenever someone recognized Fugo. Hope and fear and anxiety wrapping fingers around your heart. It didn’t seem like Fugo was used to it either. He stood perfectly still, his violet eyes wide.

It was only then that the bartender seemed to realize who he was looking at. His olive skin turned ashen, and the glass he had been holding slipped through his fingers to shatter on the ground.

The bar quieted. Everyone turned to look in your direction. Fugo only had eyes for the bartender.

“Apologies,” the bartender said. He retrieved a dustpan and brush and stooped to clear up the broken glass. “It’s been a long day, I’m afraid.”

Conversation in the bar resumed. Once the glass had been cleared, he gave you and Fugo a hard glare.

“The back,” he said. “Now.”

Wordlessly, you and Fugo followed the bartender as he left the counter and then slipped into a small room behind the stage. You closed the door behind you, blinking at the costumes and makeup strewn about. This was someone’s dressing room. It was uncomfortably warm here, the bare bulbs flickering around the single vanity mirror.

“Who are you?” the bartender asked. Barked, really. His demeanour was no longer pleasant.

“Can you see him?” You gestured to Fugo. “You were talking to him, right?”

Again, the bartender asked, “Who are you? How are you here? You disappeared weeks ago. You shouldn’t be back.”

He could see Fugo then, directing his questions straight at him. Annoyance flashed across Fugo’s face, but beneath it, he was relieved.

“My name is Pannacotta Fugo,” Fugo said. “We’re trying to figure out what happened to me. Something is preventing me from passing over. I have no choice but to remain here as a spirit until I deal with whatever is holding me back.”

Something cracked in the bartender’s gaze. He reached out a hand as though to graze Fugo’s arm before he dropped it. 

“So the rumours are true,” he said. “You’re dead.”

Fugo pursed his lips. “Yes.”

The bartender closed his eyes. He drew in a deep breath. 

“I suppose I should have expected that. We didn’t hear from you for a while, but we always thought … I’m so sorry, Fugo.”

“Unless you’re the one who killed me, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Fugo has slowly been regaining his memories,” you said to the bartender. “He remembered this bar. We thought it might be of some significance to him.”

“You’re his tether,” the bartender said, looking at you.

“Yes.” You were surprised. “How did you know?”

“My mother used to tell me stories of spirits and the people they clung to. There always had to be a tether, to keep the spirit from drifting.”

If only that was all you were doing, you thought bitterly.

“You’re right that this bar has some meaning for you,” the bartender continued. “For a time, you were our main pianist.”

“I played the piano?” Fugo looked down at his hands. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“Yes. You were talented, although you told us you’d never taken any lessons in the past.”

“You always gave me too much credit, Bucciarati.” Fugo’s eyes widened when he said the name. The bartender only smiled. 

“It’s coming back to you,” you said excitedly. “That’s good. It means we’re in the right place.”

“What did I play on the piano, exactly?” Fugo asked.

Bucciarati inclined his head at the sudden hush that had descended over the bar. “You should go out and see for yourself.”

Back in the bar, someone had ascended the stage, smiling easily as her accompanist tuned their guitar. She was small and slender, her hair a dark strawberry pink, and her eyes glittering like faceted emeralds. She wore a gorgeous blue gown that glided over her curves, the neckline cut daringly low. Fugo immediately went still when he saw her, his jaw going slack.

“Evening, everyone. I have a few special songs lined up for you. I hope you’ll have a fine evening tonight.”

Her voice was like liquid, golden smoke. You instantly felt yourself going soft.

And then she began to sing.

The way she sang was soft, a private conversation to which you were a rapt listener. She sang as though the lyrics hadn’t been written, but as though she created the words herself, imbuing each with a pearl of meaning. She sang like it was the only thing she had ever known, her voice nothing without a thread of song.

She was achingly lovely. When her songs came to a close, you almost cried out. You wanted more. The applause as she slipped off the stage was deafening, hoots and wolf-whistles all around. The singer waved a slender hand before she disappeared back into her dressing room.

“Who was that?” Fugo breathed. He was still staring at her empty spot on the stage.

“Trish Una,” Bucciarati said, just the slightest bit smug. “The only reason this bar is still in business, if I’m being honest.”

“She was wonderful. I’ve never heard someone sing like that before.”

“Surely you remember her. You two performed together for nearly a year. She always said you were her favourite pianist.”

Fugo looked awed. More than that, he looked like a man who had just seen the sun after weeks underground. You were glad to see such an obvious sign that he remembered her, but something else pricked your chest at the same time. 

Did he have to look at Trish so adoringly? She wasn't the one who had spent the past few weeks with him, combing through his life and trying to fit pieces together. She didn't even know he was dead. 

Why were you being so bitter? Couldn't you just be glad that Fugo had found someone important to him?

I should be the one he looks at like that. I'm the one who's going to help him pass on, not her.

“Can we talk to her?” you asked flatly.

Bucciarati shook his head. “The other patrons will be sore with me, thinking I’m playing favourites. You can meet with her after we close up. You’ll have more time to talk.” He began drifting back to the drinks counter. “I'll make a few more drinks to keep you occupied in the meantime. On the house.” 

Fugo seemed too nervous to drink, instead going to drift around the bar and peer into its nooks and crannies. You felt no such qualms, downing drinks almost as quickly as Bucciarati could set them in front of you. 

The bar did not close until the wee hours of the morning. Trish came out twice more to perform, and while Fugo seemed to grow more infatuated each time she came out, you only got more irritated. It would be just your luck if she turned out to be the key to unlocking Fugo’s past.

Finally, once everyone had cleared out, Bucciarati allowed you to speak to Trish.

“You were wonderful tonight,” Bucciarati said as he entered the dressing room. He handed her a glass of something you couldn’t identify. “That’s more people than we’ve seen all week.”

“I was wonderful, but that guitarist was dreadful,” Trish said haughtily. “It was a good thing I was covering his playing. He can’t play half as well as…” She trailed off, and you knew she had caught sight of Fugo.

He stepped forward, the smile on his face soft. He held his fedora against his chest, almost bashful.

“Trish. It’s good to see you again.”

Trish stood up so abruptly her chair toppled over. She stared at Fugo, openmouthed, her eyes wide.

“How … how are you …?”

“I’m a ghost,” he said. “We’re trying to figure out why.”

Trish’s eyes welled with tears. To your dismay, they only made her prettier.

“We should give them some privacy,” Bucciarati said, nudging you. Reluctantly, you followed him back out to the bar.

You shook your head when he pushed a glass toward you. Your vision was beginning to spin slightly, and you were pretty sure it had more to do with the drinks you’d been downing all night than your Stand.

“How do you know Fugo?” you asked. “How did he start playing for you?”

“Fugo came to us a little over a year ago,” Bucciarati answered. He ran a hand through his hair. I asked him if he was any good at performing and he said he could play the piano decently. Kid was a damn liar. He’s a natural.”

“Did he tell you anything about his personal life?”

“If you’re asking whether I have any suspicions about his death, I don’t. By all accounts, Fugo was a nice kid. Had a bit of a temper, but he always made up for it after the fact. I don’t know of anyone who would mean him harm.”

It was a predictable answer. A safe one. Except it had been given too quickly, and Bucciarati didn’t look at you as he said it.

It could have been you, you thought, perhaps a bit drunkenly. You could have killed Fugo.

“How long ago did you find him?” Bucciarati asked.

“Less than two weeks ago. We haven’t learned much since then. We know he went to college. He’s not very close to his family.” He’s a bit of an insomniac. He likes to read. And he can play the piano, apparently.

“What’s it to you? Why are you Fugo’s tether at all?” 

“It’s just the way things turned out. I found him and so I’ll help him cross over.”

Bucciarati pursed his lips. After a while, he asked, “Are you a Stand user?”

“I’m a psychic by way of dizziness,” you said, and grinned stupidly. You were very drunk. “So, yes. Are you?”

“It seems we have a habit of finding each other,” Bucciarati said.

“What’s your ability?”

“I’m afraid I don’t trust you enough to tell you.”

“You’re a Stand user. Giorno is a Stand user. My neighbour is a Stand user. I bet that cop is one too.” You laughed. “Everyone is a Stand user.”

Bucciarati frowned at you. “I shouldn’t have given you so many drinks.”

You were about to reply when you noticed Trish reemerge on the stage, Fugo just behind her. It wasn’t until Fugo sat down that you realized a piano had been hiding in the shadowy corners of the stage. As he stretched his fingers over the keys, Trish leaned over the frame, grinning at him.

Your heart lurched.

Fugo was out of practice, the song he played halting and hesitant. It was difficult to hear too, as though Fugo wasn’t applying enough pressure to the keys. You could see Fugo getting frustrated, but then Trish murmured something to him and he relaxed.

You strained to listen. The song that Fugo played now was a slow, jazzy number, the notes tinged with melancholy. Perhaps another memory overtook Fugo then, as he closed his eyes and allowed his body to move with the music. As the song swelled, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world for Trish to begin singing, her voice blending with the piano like lovers in a dance.

It was strangely intimate. You realized that although you had known Fugo for weeks, Trish had known him for over a year. Not as a ghost, but as a boy still living, with colour in his cheeks, the stage lights catching gold in his hair, and his slender hands moving across the piano keys. She would have heard him laugh, felt his touch, shivered at his breath stirring at her ear.

As you watched Fugo up on the stage, you felt your heart breaking for the boy you would never be able to meet.

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[b-biltz]

Tips and classes for Drawing and painting!

Hi!

The other day I saw a comment on Tumblr from someone who was just starting out in drawing and was using AI to help study their drawings. I decided to put together some resources that I know can help artists study and use as a reference without feeding this algorithm that is being so harmful to so many people in the artistic field.

Feel free to add more in the comments and reblogs!!!

Note: Some YouTube channels and profiles mentioned here I don't follow for so long or/and I didn't have time to analyze the content posted in full, but they were recommended by other people. Some channels/profiles are on these lists because of these recommendations or because they were useful with a post/video/tutorial at some point in my life. If there is any controversial/questionable conduct, I make it clear that I didn't know before posting! (We never know, right? hehehe)

LET'S GO:

1. You and your environment:

That's right, YOU. Your person and what you have available at home can be great references! Photos of family or friends, your pet, everyday objects that you barely pay attention to, the landscape around your house (even if it is not considered the most beautiful landscape or if it is just a wall), your food, the forgotten plant in the pot, your shoes, your clothes, your own body! They are physical objects, in YOUR hand, where you can rotate, position, arrange as you wish, and as a bonus you can do light studies on them with your cell phone's flashlight or natural daylight.

2. Follow your favorite artists and styles you like:

By following profiles of artists you like on social media, you can study their drawings, to understand how they do what they do, and, little by little, develop your art with your personality based on the styles you like!

Just be careful not to plagiarize! There's a difference in taking art from your artists to study, and keeping it for yourself and posting copies of other people's art or copying someone else's design! Study, understand and end up developing yours! DO NOT base your studies purely on the arts of others, but complement with them!

3. Follow photographers:

Photographer profiles are a treasure for anyone who likes to draw! There are photographers who capture images of people, animals, plants, landscapes, cities, etc. There are several categories! And different styles! Black and white, evidence in the shadows, play of colors and perspectives! It can be a fun exercise!

4. Follow model profiles:

Templates also provide good references. Today there is great variability in model profiles (if you know how to look well), and it can be a good exercise to design clothes and accessories on people! Study of fabric, movement, makeup and pigments in skin, hair, pose, among others

5. Media:

You can pause and take a screenshot of scenes you like from series, films, documentaries, cartoons, anime, or even take a panel from your favorite comic and draw it in your style, or study that image and try to copy it before applying in your style!

6. Pinterest:

The classic of classics! Great for references, using PHOTOS, of REAL people, animals, objects and landscapes. In addition, there are also several posts with drawing and painting tips, and even several mechanisms about various objects and elements, which can allow you to better understand the dynamics of what makes up your drawing, making your drawing, design and painting easier! There are even ready-made folders shared by other artists with several images, but you can make your own, in your own way! Mine have more than 60.000 pins!

7. Tumblr’s focused on tips for drawing and painting:

There are several names that we can mention and it is very easy to find these Tumblrs!

8. Follow artists here on tumblr:

These artists often share tips, techniques and brushes!

9. YouTube channels focused on drawing and painting:

There are several channels focused on art, tutorials, classes and drawing tips!

Some are: New Masters Academy; FZDSCHOOL; Proko; Alphonso Dunn; SamDoesArts; Marc Brunet; HABOOK; Brad's Art School; KeshArt; 조맹 Chommang_Drawing; NIRO; Sinix Design; Mmmmonexx; Draw like a Sir; fjordwind; Angel Ganev; Desenho Mestre; Pikat; One Pencil drawing; Bluebiscuits; SulaMoon; Uncomfortable; Bob Ross; Kevin Oil Painting; Fine Art Academy; Sycra; Moderndayjames; Kaycem; Tim Mcburnie - The Drawing Codex; Swatches; Ahmed Aldoori; Jordan Grimmer; Justin Donaldson

10. DAZ Studio:

It is a free program that allows you to model characters. You can customize and position the avatars however you see fit. You can even work with light incidence. You can also set up scenarios.

The free program already comes with some basic elements and on the website you can download more elements to compose your scene, such as other avatars, animals, objects, clothes, textures, among many others. However, it should be noted that some of these elements are paid. But the free basic elements already help A LOT in reference position, proportion, anatomy, scenery and study of light and shadow

11. Sketchfab:

It is a website that has several 3D elements generated by other artists. It has a free basic plan, with certain limitations, but it helps a lot when photos and other drawings are not enough for the pose you want!

12. PixelSquid:

It offers 3D models that can be useful for reference.

13. Floorplanner:

Allows you to create 2D and 3D house plans with a free account. This can help you with references to compose the scenario!

14.Dimensions:

It allows the notion of the dimension of different objects and figures.

15. Comparing Heights:

Website that allows you to compare heights between two figures

16. SculptGL:

Free basic 3D sculpting tool

17.Textures.com:

It has 3D molds and textures. There are free options in its gallery

18. Justsketch.me:

It has a free version with basic human models to create positions for reference. They are somewhat reminiscent of the articulated dolls used in the past.

19. Reference Angle:

Offers photographs of people that match the position of a 3D mold. You can select facial expressions

20. Photo reference X 3D model:

It gives you some 3D molds of human and animal skeletons and correlates the position you leave with photos

21.Bodies in motion:

Provides several stop motions of people moving. There is free and paid content

22. Sketchdaily:

A website that offers several reference photos for drawing, with different poses. You can select whether you want photos of structures, vegetation, animals, body parts, people and other specifications. One cool thing about this website is that you can choose to set a timer for the image, allowing you to leave it exposed for you to draw for 30 seconds to 1 hour (or not, you can choose to leave it without a timer).

23. Line-of-action:

It has an interface that is very similar to Sketchdaily, but the maximum time for displaying an image is 10 minutes. It has the categories of human figures, animals, hands & feet, faces & expressions and scenes & environment and basic shapes & still life.

24. Reference.pictures:

Site with several posed photos. However, there is paid content.

25. Croquis.cafe:

Various reference photos of people. Paid content

26. Pose tool:

Selection of multiple reference images that can be selected according to a filter

27. Clip Studio Tips:

Various digital drawing tips provided by the clip studio website itself

28. CecelyV:

Blog created by Cecely Valderrama (CecelyV) where she provides free tutorials

29. Drawawesome:

It has free content for artists

30.Will Kemp Art School:

A blog with free painting and drawing lessons

31. Blog Art Instruction:

Offers free art instruction. Created in 2007 by Ralph Serpe.

32. Draw Mix Paint:

Offers a series of tips, classes, videos and content focused on painting and drawing for free

33.The Dimensions of Colour:

Material created by David Briggs for coloring

34.Guide To Drawing:

A guide from Bill Martin

35.Artyfactory:

Offers some tutorials for free

36.Art Lessons Online:

This website has some free content

37. Ctrl+paint:

Offers a range of free and paid content

38. Drawspace:

It has free and paid drawing and painting courses

39. Paid classes:

Domestika

Sketchbook skool

Proko

Teacups

The Virtual Instructor

40. Color Palette Cinema:

Instagram account that creates and publishes palettes based on scenes from movies and series

41. Canvas color palettes:

Create color palettes from an image upload

I can do a drive collecting books for drawings too, but that's for another post or for someone's reblog hehe

[bugtastic]

first post on this blog! woohoo! simple wolfwood x gn!reader because there's barely any wolfwood content, and i just combusted and wrote something myself. this is written for my friend who personally requested this, and I, the great friend, have delivered.

I've written this with Stampede's version of Wolfwood, but you can imagine any version of him you want since he's a teasing bastard in all versions.

warnings: none, pure fluff, crack, bits of angst? nothing heavy tho, wolfwood being a little shit as usual

enjoy!

Annoyance.

Meryl and you were best friends.

Where you went, she would follow. Whether it was walking down a simple street or miles towards the middle of who-knows-where, Meryl would be close behind you. 

And you were just as loyal as she was.

It was the same case when you both chose your professions. When Meryl went to go and achieve her dream job of becoming a journalist you followed right after her, undaunted by the trials and tribulations ahead. So long as you both were together, there was little to nothing that could go wrong - even if you both were just two newbies in the profession.

The moment you both were accepted at Bernardelli News Agency, you were assigned to work under a rather observant and dishevelled man by the name of Roberto De Niro.

Roberto was anything but easy to work with. You would even go so far as to say that he was beyond difficult, as he was always finding reasons to bicker with either you or Meryl and his rough exterior was far less welcoming for someone who worked in such a public profession.

Unfortunately for you, Meryl was gifted with a feisty personality, which meant that most of your time with her and Roberto was spent calming down your high-spirited best friend if Roberto said anything remotely insensitive in her presence. And once Meryl was red with rage, Roberto was quick to follow and the arguments would begin.

You would have to be the one to keep the peace between them, lest they decide to rip each other’s throat out. The threats have already been made more than once though they were never carried out, much to your relief.

Suffice it to say, travelling with Meryl and Roberto was not all that bad. 

Through your travels with the argumentative pair, you were fortunate to meet the one and only Vash the Stampede, or as he is more commonly known as the ‘Humanoid Typhoon’, a name which he had garnered for himself due to the utter chaos and destruction which seems to follow him. 

From the get-go, you and Vash got off rather well, easily trusting him despite Meryl’s attempts at convincing you otherwise. It took a lot of encouragement and late-night talks between you and Meryl for her to even tolerate his presence, but that was old news now. Now, they got along just fine, which eased your worries tenfold.

After a while, your little trio turned into a grand quartet which made every single day a new adventure. Yourself and Meryl would banter, laugh and poke fun at one another and Vash would tease the two of you whenever he could, sometimes annoying Meryl or yourself - but that was the beauty of friendship, wasn’t it? And, the quiet and observant Roberto would scoff at the three of you and take a large swig from his flask. Yet, even he could not deny that he was relieved to see the three of you getting along - though he would not dare to say it out loud.

However, the day came when a problem would arise - and it came in the form of Meryl quite literally running someone over as you all made your way to your next destination.

It started out as a normal day for you. Meryl and Roberto were - for the most part - speaking civilly at the front of the car while you and Vash slept on the back seats, the blond’s cheek pressed against your shoulder and your head resting on the backseat, his light snores soothing you.

Just as you and Meryl were utterly devoted to one another in the most platonic way possible, the relationship between Vash and you were akin to that of siblings, but without the constant death-threats towards one another.

You were all at peace, and it was shattered the moment Meryl’s shrill screams echoed in the vehicle and she panicked, hitting the brakes, harshly sending both you and Vash forward into the back of the front seats.

Meryl panicked, worried that she may have hit a person and you, in your half-tired and somewhat grouchy state, had to reassure your best friend that the worst thing she could have hit in the middle of nowhere was an animal or a stray bag.

But you were utterly wrong. 

Oh, so utterly wrong.

When Roberto went to go and check what Meryl hit, his blunt response made not only Meryl panic, but you and Vash also entered the screaming match. “Nope. That’s definitely a person.”

You scrambled out of the car and gasped at the sight of the curled-up body, the handsome face of this unknown stranger captivating you in that moment, nearly making you forget that he was just hit by a damn car.

The first thing that you and the others had to do was get this man someplace safe to treat his wounds.

„Vash! Give him some water!“ You shouted, tossing the water bottle towards the blond with a sense of urgency. You eyed the container worriedly, pinching your lip between your teeth. There wasn’t much in the bottle, and knowing Vash, he’d try to give him the whole lot. „Just don't give him too much - we don’t have much water left.“

Vash nodded, and in his panicked state, he brought the water bottle to the man’s lips, only to gasp when he heard the wounded stranger speak.

„Not much of a charity person, are you, Pipsqueak?“

You sat there in shock, your mouth agape and your hands clenched into fists by his head, prepared to punch him for actually complaining at that moment.

„You’re kidding me, right? ‘Not much of a charity person’ my ass! You’re lucky we didn’t just leave you out there to die, prick!“ You grumbled your words of disdain at him as you held him upright while Vash gave him some water.

That was the day you met him, Nicholas D. Wolfwood. 

And you both despised each other with a great passion. Or was it tension? Who knows at this point.

From that day forward, you and Wolfwood would argue like an old married couple, throwing insults and threats towards each other. It got so bad sometimes that Vash had to step in and intervene, as you both were ready to tear each other to pieces.

You hated him. Utterly. Passionately.

As did he. 

But was it still hate when you felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach whenever he’d sneak a glance over at you or you him? 

Meryl said that it would be a good time to rest after travelling for so long and that the group should settle in town for a few days. You sighed at the thought of sleeping in a comfy bed after sitting in a car cuddled up to Vash only to wake up with your back feeling like you've slept on rocks. Don't get me wrong Vash is really comfy to sleep on. The problem is Wolfwood constantly kicking you with his feet trying to make space for himself.

---

The town was peacefully quiet as everyone split up and went their separate ways. Earlier, Meryl stated that it would be a good idea to rest after travelling for so long when she spied the nearby town. You sighed at the thought of sleeping on a comfortable bed rather than Vash’s shoulder or the uncomfortable and sticky leather seats of the car. And with the addition of Wolfwood, who’d kick at your legs to make more room for himself - as the kind and wonderful gentleman that he is - only irked you further. 

Unfortunately, there was still work to do and you and Meryl were left with organising the majority of it.

First stop was to find a store and replenish your low supplies, while Meryl searched the town for an inn or a tavern to rest at.

„Water… Cigarettes for Roberto… Oh, we also need some snacks…“ You listed outloud to yourself, perusing the shelves for the required items. Unbeknownst to you, were being watched by him.

„What’re you mumbling about over there, Pipsqueak?“ Wolfwood made his presence known as he leaned over shoulder to see what you were looking at on the shelf, his fingers barely brushing over your shoulder. Heat washed over your face, but you did not dare to look at him.

If he saw how red you were from just the slightest touch, he’d be on your case all day. 

A shiver ran up the arch of your spine and you grumbled to yourself, stepping away from him and peering up at him with a heated glare.

„None of your business, asshole! And why the hell are you following me? How about you go and make a dime for yourself instead of walking around like a creepy idiot with some stupid cross on your back?!“ You sassed him, ignoring the growing glare on his face. You had just about enough of Wolfwood and his presence and his good looks and-

No. You stopped yourself. What the hell am I even thinking about? 

You scoffed aggravatedly and turned away from him, only to bounce back and throw a pointed look at him. „And don’t even try and bother to reason with me. I’ve had enough of your shit in the car last night with all of your damn kicking!“ 

„Oh? And what about you and your moving around? You only seem to quiet down when that Needle noggin' is squeezed up against you.“ Wolfwood spat back, a shite-eating grin forming across his face.

You dramatically turned around to face him and you pointed your finger at him. „First off, Vash is super cosy and we’ve gotten used to sleeping like that. Second, even if you were as comfortable, I wouldn’t sleep on you even if you were the last man on No Man's Land!“ 

Wolfwood barked loudly at your words, amusement glinting in his eyes. „Oh really? His prosthetic arm is better than my real arm? Your excuses are a load of shit, my dear.“ 

You growled loudly at him. „WH-! YOU IDIOT! I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF-!” 

You were more than prepared to throttle him then and there when the shopkeeper came up to you and Wolfwood and told you both to tone it down or leave, as the other customers were beginning to get scared from your altercation with the priest. 

Feeling a pang of guilt, you muttered a small apology to the shopkeeper. Wolfwood simply scoffed, kicking his heel into the ground as he turned on his heel and walked out of the shop, your eyes trailing after him, your brows creasing with annoyance.

„What an asshole…“

-

Night fell on the little town. 

Much to Roberto’s delight, there was a filled bar at the hotel in which you all were staying in, and he suggested that you all have a drink together. You found yourself agreeing, needing a drink in order to forget your and Wolfwood’s argument at the shop. 

Meryl was more than happy to drink as well, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the bar. “Ahh! We can finally unwind and relax!” 

Vash sat on the stool to the otherside of you, pressing his hand into your shoulder to reassure you. He wore his signature smile, and you immediately felt yourself ease quite a bit. 

Wolfwood followed behind the blond, his dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes which glared at the hand on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at him and scoffed, downing the shot glass in front of you just to feel the satisfying burn slide down your throat. Wolfwood growled and Vash chuckled nervously.

At the bar, everyone sat in  their respective seats. Vash and Wolfwood were in the middle of discussing something that you didn't really care about, while you sat with Meryl and Roberto. 

You were talking about the report you had to write back to the news company, remarking that you needed to inform them of the details of you and your friends’ current journey.

Wolfwood’s eyes stared at your face as Vash rambled about something he simply didn’t give a damn about. He noticed as you spoke, that you looked to be bored out of your mind, and even with the presence of alcohol in front of you and the way your cheeks turned red from the intoxicating beverage, you still looked out of it. 

He wanted to see you smile more. You only seem to smile when you said the occasional joke or or argued playfully with him - but they were always forced when they were directed at him. He never could understand why. 

He yelled loudly to get your attention, smirking when he saw you turn around with a small smile on your face, only for your expression to turn sour upon realising that it was just Wolfwood calling out to you. 

You yelled back, asking him what he wanted but before he could answer, Meryl grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you aside, whispering something into your ear that barely sounded like English to your intoxicated mind.

Wolfwood stared at you with a quizzical expression on his face before turning to Vash for an answer, though the blond could only shrug in response.

After some time and a few drinks later, you abruptly got up and left. Wolfwood watched you, his eyes trailing after your disappearing form and he got up, clicking his tongue with dismay.

Where were you going?

He sauntered over to Meryl, whose cheeks were as red as a tomato and her words were as slurred as a drunken sailors’.

„Hey, where'd they go?“ He asked Meryl, feeling slightly tipsy himself. 

Meryl looked up from her drink and shrugged lightly. „They said they were feeling sleepy and they're not in the mood to socialise tonight.“ She then looked left and right as if she was looking to see if anyone was watching. Meryl then gestured for him to come closer and she whispered a small suggestion. „Maybe you should go see them.“ 

Wolfwood’s brows furrowed together in confusion, watching as Meryl turned around and faced Vash, her conversation with Roberto over the moment he slumped over the counter and fell asleep. 

Wolfwood sighed, clicking his tongue once again. „That pipsqueak will be the death of me.“

-

You found yourself gravitating towards your room after having too many drinks, the conversation between you and Meryl echoing loudly in your warm ears. 

You felt beyond exhausted from the busy day you had, particularly from walking all around the town to resupply and avoiding Wolfwood as best as you could, though he seemed to be nearby whenever you looked. 

Maybe you both should stop arguing so much? Neither of you really seem to like it.

Her echoing words made you groan lightly as you pressed your head against the wooden door of your room, fingers barely brushing over the brass handle.

Meryl was right. All of this arguing was starting to get boring after a while and it was hard to tell where the line was drawn between playful banter or just flat-out arguments. And it was no doubt starting to affect everyone else.

Argh, I can’t deal with this right now. I need to go to bed. You moved over to the very comfortable looking bed across the room, knowing that you were going to have a killer hangover by the time morning comes.

More than prepared to simply keel over and knock yourself out, you paused when you heard knocking at your door.

„Oi, Pipsqueak! What the hell happened?“

For fucks sake.

You sighed, running a hand down your tired face. Grudgingly you walked up to your door and opened it slightly, staring into Wolfwood’s dark eyes. 

„What are you doing here, idiot? It's late and I want to sleep.“ You were not in the mood for whatever antics Wolfwood was about to cook up. You closed the door, only for it to be stopped by the tip of his shoe. „What the hell are you doing?“

„We need to talk. Something is bothering you and it's affecting my mood. Not even a cigarette can fix it.“ He growled in response, hoping that it would be enough for you to let him in.

You glared at him, before sighing and opening your door wider, and allowing the priest entry.

Wolfwood’s eyes scoured the room as though he was checking it out, and you didn’t question him on it. Though the rooms were all the same and he had no reason to, you were far too tired and drunk to ask him about it.

You simply closed the door and walked over to him, your arms crossed over your chest. He stood in the middle of the room, wearing the same stance as you. He expected an answer from you.

„Wolfwood, I…„ You inhaled deeply, running your fingers through your hair. „We should tone down the ‘arguing’ a bit. It's tiring and I think the others have had enough of it as well. Vash can't stop us from biting each others head off forever.“ You exhaled quietly as you shifted your gaze from the floor to and then up Wolfwood. 

Your eyes widened at his expression.

He wore a look that resembled defeat - or was it disappointment? There was an underlying emotion in his dark orbs which flickered behind the defeat very briefly that you thought it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You wanted to ask him what was going on in that head of his, to try and understand what he was thinking behind that defeated expression, but you found that there was no use in pressuring him right now.

Not when you were enjoying the rare moment of peace which you were sharing with Wolfwood, of all people. And you could admit that it was nice.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and averted his gaze from you, reluctant. He didn’t know what to say. 

„Wolfwood why do we fight so much? I'm so used to throwing comments here and there with Vash and Meryl - hell even Roberto! - and it’s all fun and games. When I try to do the same with you I… I go overboard and my emotions overflow so much! You…„ You sighed. „You annoy me. But I care about you. I don't hate you. You saved my - our - lives when the worm tried to eat us.“ You slowly moved over to the hotel bed as you spoke softly, your eyes plastered onto the dirty floor. 

You couldn't bear to look at him, at Wolfwood - at Nicholas. You didn’t want him to see just how red you were from your sudden confession. 

„You know, Pipsqueak, I care about you too.“ His voice was soft, uncharacteristically kind and you were surprised to hear that he wasn’t teasing you. Your eyes shot up to look at Wolfwood as he slowly removed his vest and sunglasses, his eyes never leaving your face. The moment felt rather intimate and your heart thundered against its boney cage. „You know, I don't remember the last time I actually had so much fun teasing someone. I know why I do it - but you haven’t figured it out yet, have you?“ 

He placed the cigarette between his lips. He flicked his lighter on and burned the cigarette, watching you intently, with purpose. Even in this dark room, you could see the intensity in his eyes. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, confused. What did he mean by that? Was this another one of his jokes? Well, if it was, two can certainly play that game.

Confidently, you rose to your feet and gave Wolfwood a lazy smile, your arms crossing together. „Huh… From the way you’re looking at me, it almost makes me think you want to kiss me.“ You looked to the side and laughed a little, bitter.

You were certainly going to regret that in the morning. Why the hell did I say something so stupid - so suggestive?! Idiot!

Surprisingly, Wolfwood stepped towards your shorter form. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, threw it to the side and stepped on it, not even finishing it. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his warm fingers brush gently against her cheek, tracing the line of your jaw. He chuckled lightly when he moved his fingers lower, feeling your rapid pulse beneath the tips of his digits.

Gently, lovingly, he pressed his fingers beneath your chin and tilted your head so that you were forced to look at him. You did not dare to move, especially as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip suggestively and adored the way you looked up at him with a mixture of shock and want.

Oh.

How long have you wanted this and simply could not realise it? 

„And what if I do want to kiss you, Pipsqueak? Will you stop me?“

Oh.

You were dumbstruck, fallen too far down the rabbit hole to say a single word. Why can’t I say anything? 

His arm snaked around your waist as he brought you close. He was waiting for any sign of resistance, any sign that you didn’t want this - but he couldn’t find any in your wide eyes. And he felt his own heart swell at that.

Your bodies moulded together perfectly, as if you were both made for one another. Wolfwood held you tight, almost worried that you were going to disappear if he dared to let you go. He simply couldn’t risk it - not when he was this close to his own happiness. To your shared happiness.

You stepped up on your tip-toes, closing the distance between the both of you. Your lips crashed together, moulding together just as perfectly as your bodies - if not more.

It was electric.

You both could taste the alcohol that danced across your tongues and lips, the warmth growing within the both of you in that moment. You tantalised each other with warm lips and soft sounds, beating hearts thundering for the other in an unfamiliar, exotic dance. You cupped his cheeks in your cold palms, feeling his lips curl upwards in a victorious smirk. 

He wanted to do this for so long. 

You and Wolfwood pulled away from each other to breathe for a moment, foreheads pressed together as you both tried to regain lost breath. His thumb ran over your bruised lips once again and he opened his eyes slightly to look at you, a light chuckle leaving his lips which made you smile.

„I win.“ 

[pixelated-whump]

@ailesswhumptober Day Thirteen - Crushed

TWs: Child death, Minor Whumpee, Kinda graphic violence and stuff, please be careful and don't read if you can't handle this kind of stuff

Contents: Aside from everything up there, broken bones, suffocation, all that jazz, and again, Mabel is a minor and dies in this

Characters are Mabel (Aka M, She/Her, Around 12), Riley (Aka R, She/Her, Around 12), C (It/He/Whisker, Around 15), and F (He/Him, Around 14), all refs can be found here.

Also posted on Ao3!

Final warning, I rated this as Mature on Ao3 for a reason, please proceed with caution.

There’s a creak above Mabel’s head. She looks up nervously, gently tapping her sister’s shoulder. “Riley, we really shouldn’t be here-”

“It’s fine!” Riley huffs, tossing something to the side. “I’m almost done, anyways. Like I said, we’ll be in and out in no time at all.”

It takes a few more minutes for the fox hybrid to get done gathering supplies, flinging the front door of the abandoned house open and walking out. Mabel pauses for a moment, and hears the sound of wood cracking. Oh no.

Before she can even get her limbs to move, the wooden supports of the building collapse in on themselves, and wood and brick comes crashing down onto her. Mabel vaguely hears the panicked voice of her sister, but it’s overshadowed by the painful pressure on her entire body, minus one arm. She screams as there’s a sickening crunch of various bones.

The cat hybrid screeches as the debris shifts slightly, ending up with more burying her. She can barely breathe, hyperventilating uncontrollably and sobbing.

A hand grabs her own exposed one, trying to pull her out. Mabel screams again, panic washing over her in waves as her breathing gets shallower.

“Mabel!” Riley sobs somewhere in front of her, pressing Mabel’s hand to her face. “Oh my god, Mabel!”

In one brief moment of clarity, Mabel realizes that this is it. She’s dying, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Tears slip down her cheeks, only able to hear the sounds of her sister’s sobs and her own shallow breaths.

She closes her eyes and waits to die.

---

“-ello? ...Hello?”

A voice makes its way to Mabel’s ears. It doesn’t sound like Riley, not at all. She lets out a groan, opening her eyes and lifting her head.

There’s a black- no, very dark blue cat looking down at her. She’s in a plain white area, though the ground underneath her is solid. The cat smiles in relief. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten a new... visitor to the Void.”

He reaches out his paw and she takes it, stumbling as she stands up. “Who... Who are you? Where are we?”

“I’m C. You’re in the Void, although...” He pauses, pursing his lips. “Do you remember anything?”

“I thought I died,” She says, gasping and looking around. “Riley? Riley?!”

C rests his paw on her shoulder. “Easy, your body is still recovering.”

Mabel stares at him with wide eyes. “I need to find my sister!”

“She’s not here, as far as I know,” C explains, voice gentle. “Can you tell me your name?”

She falls silent for a moment. She doesn’t even know where she is. “It’s- It’s M-Mable.”

“We usually take one-letter names around here,” C says, gesturing for her to follow him. “How’s M sound to you?”

“It’s... fine, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” C reassures her, though it doesn’t really work. “It took me a hell of a long time to get used to it, too.”

“How did you find me?” M asks, tail swishing behind her.

“Well, normally I’d find you while doing my daily rounds, but...”

“Why hello there, my good friend Copycat!” A creature interrupts him, someone with sharp teeth and seemingly no eyes, but with a closer look, it seems they’re just hidden.

C sighs. “Hello, F. I’m showing our new friend around, if you’ll kindly buzz off for a bit.”

F hums, floating around M and almost examining her. “Oh, now I remember!” He exclaims. “You’re that cute butterfly-cat-human-thing I found.”

“...Butterfly?” She asks, head tilted. As if on command, wings on her back flutter.

“Yeah, the Void tends to corrupt its residents,” C explains, giving her a pitying smile. “It’ll take some time to get used to. C’mon, let’s go finish the rest of our tour.”

And M follows, because... she has nowhere else to go now.

M, Mabel, Mercy, was now a resident of the void.

And as selfish as it sounds, she hopes her sister will join her.

[maelstrom007]

"Pavlov and His Dogs" - Pt. 1

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Male!OC (Markus 'Pavlov' Cooper)

Summary: New recruit Sergeant Markus 'Pavlov' Cooper joins the 141 as a K-9 specialist. Can Ghost keep his mouth shut? Or will his snide remarks make him the object of Markus'. . .special attention.

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags/Warnings: Descriptions of military dogs in training and involves a dog biting a padded arm guard, do not interact if that makes you uncomfortable. Currently SFW, although some installments in the future will have NSFW content which will be tagged accordingly.

A/N: Not currently posted to AO3, you guys get to see this first! Markus Cooper is a new OC that I invented for the sole purpose of this fic, but he may come up more often if I end up liking writing him. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, as it is the first fic writing I've done in a long time. I'd love to hear your guy's thoughts on where to take the story next, or anything else!

Masterlist: Here

*Do not republish my works to another platform without credit and permission from me*

Ghost’s boots had barely hit the tarmac before Price was greeting him, “Ghost, glad to have you back. Trust everything went smoothly?”

“Aye sir, like butter,” Soap said, revealing himself from behind Ghost’s bulk as he caught up with his long strides.

Ghost hummed and nodded an affirmative. It was one of those missions where it was easy, but relaxing for even a second could jeopardize everything they’d been working towards, and his emotional and mental reserves were at their limits. All he had to do was make it through their de-briefing, and then he could finally relax. 

“There’s someone I’d like you two to meet,” Price continued, turning on his heel and beginning to walk back the way he’d come, not even checking to see if they were following.

“Guess we’re not done yet huh L.T,” muttered Soap, clapping him on the bicep and starting to walk away, “Let’s see who the old bugger want’s to show us”. 

He sighed, steeling his resolve and began following in their wake, catching up with them quickly. If Price noticed Ghost’s grumpy aura, he didn’t comment on it, and Soaps mindless chatter filled the space enough for the both of them. Before they even reached the main doors, the distant sounds of. . .whistles? pierced the air. They were sharp, high pitched, and for all intents and purposes sounded sporadic and chaotic. 

“The fucks that,” Soap said, finally picking up on the sounds as well. 

“S’ a fuckin migrain in the makin ‘s what it is,” muttered Ghost, “that your surprise Price?”

“Sorry it’s not wrapped up in a bow for ya Ghost, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

The whistling sound grew louder and louder as the trio rounded the outside of the compound towards the yard, and with it came the accompanying sound of barking dogs. Ghost hadn’t heard that sound in a long time, what with always being deployed and the 141 rarely, if ever, working with dogs. They turned the final corner, the yard coming into full view and finally revealing Price’s surprise. 

The yard was a wide open space, covered with mainly dirt and the barest shrubs of grass that managed to survive the daily trampling and abuse. There was a semi visible track that was made purely from the consistent path made by soldiers during morning conditioning. The center featured multiple man made obstacles meant to simulate real things they may encounter in the field, windows, stairs, tunnels, high drops, corners, essentially urban terrain. He followed Price as he continued on towards the obstacles, revealing a scene that finally put the chaotic noises they’d been hearing into context. 

Naturally, the first thing Ghost’s eyes were drawn to was the german shepherd trying his damndest to rip the arm off of a poor recruit. It growled and held on tight, twisting and tugging and making sounds that had adrenaline spiking even through Ghost’s well trained gut. As the soldier twisted and was dragged along by the weight of the dog the angle changed, and he could see clearer that the soldier's arm was thoroughly padded, although the grimace on their face told him it didn’t do much to relieve the pain. The dog continued its one minded pursuit, even as the soldier gently hit them with a padded baton, seemingly simulating a resisting opponent. 

Suddenly, a high pitched whistle sounded from the other side of the field. Instantly, the dog let go and began running away, despite having only just previously been growling so low and deep that it sounded like it had been possessed. Ghost’s eyes snapped to the source of the sound, and noticed a previously unseen man hiding in the shadows of a half wall in the course. The dog did not lose momentum, barreling towards the man at top speed. Just before the dog reached him he pulled a toy out from behind his back that was attached to a string and tossed it out up and to the side, allowing the dog to jump and catch it with a victorious bark. He briefly played with the dog, tugging and rough housing as he play growled and laughed his praises. In the next instant he was standing tall, giving a terse command that stopped the dog completely in its tracks, sitting down and panting happily. 

“Gentlemen, meet our new operative,” Price said next to him, sounding a little smug at their stunned silence as he beckoned the man over. Ghost was able to get a better look at him when he stepped from behind the half wall and into the late afternoon sun. He could already tell that he was tall, not quite as tall as himself, but he knew that the man would be closer to his eye height than most could ever hope to be. While his physique was slightly smaller compared to Ghost, he had fought enough people to know that he shouldn’t be fooled, especially if he had gotten this far in his career. By far the most interesting feature though, was the large, well loved cowboy hat perched atop his head. He sauntered over, stride confident and unrushed with his dog attached to his left leg like they were glued there. 

“Ye know I’m startin to feel left out with all these out of reg headgears I’m surrounded by,” Soap commented, pointedly looking at Ghost’s mask, Prices bucket hat, and the newcomers cowboy hat, “Feelin the urge to go hat shoppin next time we’re on leave.”

“No,” Ghost and Price said in unison. 

“Augh, yer no fun,” he muttered, scuffing the dirt with his shoe. 

When the man finally reached them he reached up and grabbed the crown of his hat, tipping it and briefly nodding his head as he greeted them. 

“Evenin sirs, names Sergeant Markus Cooper, and this here is Beau,” he said, absentmindedly reaching a hand down to pet Beau’s head, who was staring up at Markus as if he hung the moon. 

“As you may have guessed,” he continued, “ I am a K-9 special operative. It’s a pleasure to be joinin your team.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, and with a subtle lilt to his voice that betrayed an upbringing in the southern US. 

Ghost also noticed that he was right in his initial assumption about Markus’ height. The man barely had to tilt his head to make eye contact, solidly landing himself in the position of second tallest on the task force. 

Soap immediately reached a hand out, “Names John MacTavish, but you can call me Soap. Yer dog’s mighty impressive.”

“Thank you kindly, we’ve been workin together for some years now. Know eachother like the back of my hand,” he said, taking the compliment with grace. 

Markus then turned his gaze to Ghost, “And who might you be?” His eyes were a deep, dark brown, and his smile was wide and easy, charming and full of self confidence. 

The exhaustion from the mission and the unexpected attention from this newcomer left Ghost embarrassingly slow to react. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, Price spoke up, patting his shoulder gently. 

“This here’s Lieutenant Ghost. He’s not one to talk much, but don’t let that deter you. Soap’s certainly not.”

Markus reached out his hand this time, extending it towards Ghost, “Pleasure to meet you sir.” 

This time Ghost was more prepared, and he met him in the middle, shaking his hand firmly. It was large and sturdy, and for once Ghost didn’t have to worry about accidentally crushing someone’s fingers. 

“Likewise,” he murmured, and was surprised by the man's smile growing even wider. 

“Well boys, shall we bring this inside? Dinner’s ready soon, and I’m sure you two could use a good meal,” Price said, leading the way to the mess. 

Ghost stepped in line behind him, but quickly turned his head back around as Markus said something behind him, “Did you say something?”

Markus gave a confused little hum, before saying, “Ah, no I wasn’t talking to you. That’s Beau’s que to follow in a heel.” And sure enough Beau was diligently attached to his leg again, keeping in perfect pace with his steps. 

Soap tried to imitate the sound, to no avail, which got a chuckle out of the other man, “Hah, nice try, but that ain’t gonna work. I’ve practiced long and hard to keep my commands unique, and Beau here is a very good listener.” 

Ghost turned back around, content to let the other two chatter amongst themselves. 

—

Markus chuckled as Soap continued to attempt to mimic his commands. He wasn’t worried in the slightest. Beau was a smart dog, and Soap was massacring the words to no end, allowing himself to space out a little bit as they followed behind Price and Ghost. He could already tell that he was too invested in Ghost. There was something about his aloofness, the way his warm brown eyes peered through the holes in his mask that drew him in. What was it with him and wanting unattainable men? He needed to keep himself in check. Joining the 141 was a serious milestone in his career, and he couldn’t afford to mess it up. Despite his nonchalance earlier during their introductions, Markus had of course recognized Ghost as soon as he saw him. His reputation made sure of that. Surely messing around with a man of his caliber would land him dead or worse. 

As they entered the mess proper Markus reflexively reached up and took off his cowboy hat and turned in search of a peg, but found none. Shaking his head, he rested it on his knee under the table, off-handedly releasing Beau from his heel in favor of a lie down between his legs. He ensured his legs were spread wide so that they clearly defined the extremes of Beau’s lay down, serving as a buffer between his dog and the people walking past. He’d rather get kicked in the shin or have his toes stepped on than risk Beau getting hurt. 

Next to him Ghost failed to hide his scoff, “Whatever happened to no dogs at the table?” 

He did his level best to hide his irritation, turning to face Ghost. They’d only just met, he’d cut him some slack, especially considering he was his superior officer, “Where I go. Beau goes.” 

They stared each other down for a brief moment, but whatever Ghost saw in his eyes must have convinced him as he finally turned away. “Fine, but he better not beg.” 

Markus didn’t even acknowledge the comment, shaking his head. He briefly waited for Ghost and Price to start eating before starting at his own plate, sure his mom was feeling an odd sense of pride somewhere in the world for him remembering his manners. 

The silence didn’t even last long enough for it to become awkward before Soap was filling it again, “So Markus, you got a call sign yet?”

He sighed, giving an awkward chuckle as he answered, “Well, I have one that was given to me by the first team I ever been on.” He paused, “But I never knew how to feel about it.”

Soap rocked forward in his seat, leaning over the table and almost getting food all over his shirt as his eyes gleamed, “Well! Spit it out then!” Peaking out of the corner of his eye revealed a completely relaxed and unfazed Ghost and Price. This behavior must be commonplace for Soap then. 

Markus sighed dramatically, “Pavlov. Markus ‘Pavlov’ Cooper.”

“Shit, isn’t that the guy that got his dogs to drool just from a bell ringin?” Soap said, mouth full of food as he continued to eat. 

“Yeah, it is. He’s not the best guy to be named after, considerin how messed up his experiments were, but we don’t pick our names, we earn ‘em. I’ve always had a special bond with dogs, can train ‘em like no other. Mine are the best of the best,” he reached down to pet Beau once again, sneaking him a small morsel from his plate. 

Ghost snorted unexpectedly next to him, and he turned with surprise. Markus thought that if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see wrinkles at the corner of his eyes through the holes in the mask. 

“Got somethin’ to say sir?” Even he was surprised by the slightly icy edge to his voice, and Soap visibly froze across from him, eyes wide. 

Ghost turned in his seat, facing him more directly. Jesus he was a big fucker, shoulders broad and commanding the room with his presence. Whatever emotion he thought he saw earlier in those eyes was gone, replaced with bored indifference. 

“What, can’t be that hard to train a dog,” he said, “they’ve been bred for generations for obedience afterall.” 

He sighed. This was a common misconception. Years of breeding contributed to obedience, but that meant nothing without constant reinforcement and structure. In the case of working dogs it was even worse. Without a job, an outlet, they could become destructive and more of a hindrance than they were worth. 

But how to tell that to someone who seemed completely disinterested in you and your line of work? 

“I can assure you Lieutenant, it takes skill and dedication to make a dog ready for war. It’s not unlike training a soldier, every person needs something slightly different to make them succeed in their field.”

“And what, you provide that something different Sergeant?”

“Yes sir I do. And if your Captain didn’t think I was the best of the best I wouldn’t be here.”

The way Ghost looked at him after he invoked Price's judgment made him wonder if that hadn’t been a mistake. But silence fell, and considering the fact that his head was still on his shoulders, he considered it enough of a win. 

Like clockwork, Soap filled the silence, “You mentioned soldiers earlier, ya think you could train some funny responses into people Pavlov?” 

“S’not how it works Johnny. People are much smarter than dogs, wouldn’t work on them,” Ghost said dismissively. 

Markus let the conversation fall away from him, letting Soap entertain himself with this new line of thought with Ghost. The man continued to not entertain the idea, keeping his responses short and dismissive as he absentmindedly ate his food. It was amazing how infuriated he was at the man's ability to close himself in behind a metaphorical brick wall, letting nothing get in or out. This man could afford to be dropped down a few pegs. 

Markus returned to his food, hiding a small smirk as wheels began to turn in his head. 

He had some experiments to run.

[ozrena]

come to think of it, facebook might be the superior social network, obviously if it weren’t for the issues re data protection. but speaking solely in terms of its framework, i think it was such a good concept.

adding friends is far better than following/being followed by anyone. it’s really a *socialising* network, as in based around the people you know irl, which makes more sense. it’s intended to keep you in touch with ur friends and family, instead of becoming a passive observer of someone’s life whom you don’t even know. you get to socialise online with people who are already ur friends or acquaintances, keep them posted on life updates and see what they’re up to, as opposed to having just anyone see what you’re doing or being overly exposed to someone else’s life. another thing is, it adds a level of intentionally, as in by the fact that one click is not enough (like the follow button) but you have to give it a second thought as to whether you want someone in your circle.

but then if you want to be part of a community based around ur interests, there’s always groups and pages. you get to share ur thoughts, discuss ideas, even meet new people/make friends outside ur irl group. amazing. and in that regard, even though it’s got the typical issues of an online platform, facebook still allows for more meaningful exchanges, in that twitter’s character limit is the reason you can’t even have a proper discussion on there, hence it’s so toxic 99% of the time.

the events feature. need i say more? absolutely unmatched, the only reason i still have my fb account. again, the idea is to have you socialising, staying up to date with what’s happening in your town, it makes finding cool activities and happenings sooo easy.

you can post literally any type of media, long-form written content, videos, photos etc. and people can still share that if you allow public access, so it’s great for spreading words, projects and stories around if that’s what you’re looking for.

also, idk if this makes for a valid point, but facebook games were fun! there was at least one that had us all in a chokehold at some point in our lives.

didn’t think i’d have so many positive things to say about facebook since i barely use it lol but the point is - all this drama lately has really made me wish we can just ditch both instagram and twitter and go back to fb.

but then of course, with all the privacy concerns there, i guess that’s not happening. mark zuckerberg scares me and between him and elon, idk who i feel *less* safe with so…

p. s. obviously tumblr remains the superior social media platform, but i still sometimes think of it as a blogging tool, rather than a social network as is facebook, hence i’m only comparing between ig, twitter and fb.

[bainhardt]

Watched Folding Ideas' video about James Rolfe tonight and I thought about it a lot. I don't know how well I'm able to articulate what it made me think. I've been on a long streak of piddling ideas away into oblivion but I still have a blog on this funny website so I figured might as well use it for a change. I guess even the contents of my comment didn't feel like everything I had to say in reflection.

In a broader sense, I realized after the video I find it really compelling to have seen by now more than a handful of videos "dissecting" various aspects of James Rolfe's career on Youtube, the broad and incalculable influence AVGN had on the platform and content on it. Whether he "fell off" (or was ever especially good in the first place), et cetera

Thinking about this one, I began to wonder if maybe the core problem, one not even about James but more highlighted by him, is that the internet confers fame and success in ways inconsistent with institutional expectation of those things

It's easy to determine that James is not a genius, not a visionary creative or some kind of prodigy. His body of work doesn't hold up to much rigorous critical scrutiny (although I still love a good chunk of it). It's even arguable whether he's especially hardworking or persistent because the nature of internet content is there are simultaneously too many and too few contemporaries to draw direct comparison with. There are no good standards to apply when trying. At bare minimum, it can be said that he appears to love what he does... or did at one point, depending on who you ask.

The thing is that whoever has succeeded in the age of the internet is totally random. And this feels like a wrongness, a violation of the maxim that what should succeed in the world of art is that which is good, or better yet, "great." Work that is thoughtfully crafted and purposefully designed. Work with meaning. Something at least superior to something else. But that isn't how the internet has shaped culture in the modern age. Anything can work. Oftentimes it's what you think shouldn't work. It's like we want it to follow rules and make sense, and it doesn't.

It's not a strictly internet issue either... I'm old enough to remember when I first heard backlash about people like Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian "being famous for being famous." Reality television schlock. The ever-present judgment that someone successful doesn't deserve it. But it feels like a gradual shift that has become louder in the era of post-2000s pop culture because of the internet. I guess it's possible there's actual analysis of this I'm not aware of. Potentially on an even longer scale of time. It sounds really interesting. The breakdown of the instincts that can assess not necessarily what should be "popular," but even just what will succeed at all. The way this feels alienating for a certain subset of people.

I don't know what to say about it on a grand scale. I don't think it's suddenly become wrong to employ critical techniques or try to assess whether works of art feel quality. But I can see a pattern of disappointment emerge in those who do so when applied to the broader cultural landscape of the internet. I definitely think the internet is the catalyst. It's like a new frontier where attempts to stratify standards are endlessly futile, frustrating, and bewildering for creatives.

[hollow-prey]

thinking about that post making the rounds talking about the interaction dilemma in the self ship community, and I have some Thoughts but didn't want to lump it onto the main post bc some of them are a bit petty and, well, this turned into a lengthy train of thought.

I do agree that there is definitely some uneven distribution of interaction around the self ship community. Bigger/more popular blogs tend to get more attention, asks, validation, and yes, sometimes even uncommissioned fanart and small fics of their self ships. I won't lie, I do get jealous sometimes seeing popular blogs getting heaps of attention. And it can feel frustrating (and sometimes a bit condescending) when bigger blogs make posts saying "the popularity of your self ships shouldn't matter! You should be doing this for yourself! You don't need any outside validation for your self ships to be important :)", yet most of them don't have to worry about that since they're the ones frequently getting outside validation and asks and whatnot.

That sounds petty as hell, I know. And yeah, it is petty and silly to feel that way about something like this. But it's so easy to feel jealous and bitter and even discouraged when posting one's self ship content and getting little to no response, while the same handful of popular blogs in your orbit seem to be raking in the notes and interaction all the time.

To be fair, it is true that self shipping should primarily be about and for your own enjoyment. Each self ship is something created and maintained solely for yourself, you make the rules, you can tweak and rewrite and eliminate canon as you please, you can do whatever makes your heart happy. But also, as the original post said, we are social creatures and we like sharing stuff we make with others. We like knowing that other people see and enjoy our work. We like the interaction and the validation. And it can start to sting when we constantly put ourselves and our self ship stuff out there in the hopes of someone noticing and saying something, yet getting nothing at all.

I know no one owes me anything. I'm very shy and I keep to myself and I rarely post in the main tags. People are busy, myself included, and when it comes to supporting self ships, most people are going to prioritize their friends and mutuals over some rando small account they have no connection to. I get that, and I'm not faulting anyone for it.

The easiest and most obvious solution to this dilemma is, naturally, for blogs (regardless of size) to interact with people more (also regardless of blog size), especially if they're not a mutual or a friend or even a familiar account that you follow. Find other small blogs! Reach out! Send a message! Find self shippers who enjoy the same content as you!

Easy enough in practice, but I can also understand why some people are hesitant to reach out to strangers. Speaking for myself, I'm very shy. I have anxiety. Talking to new people, both online and in real life, often makes me nervous. I'm afraid people will hate me immediately for something I like. I'm afraid people are going to judge me for my taste in f/os. Some people might seem intimidating to talk to, even though they're just another regular person! So I realize it would be bold of me to request interaction from others when I'm so shy and barely interact with strangers as it is.

I want to try and be better at reaching out to different self ship blogs and sending messages or prompts. Mostly because it's just a nice thing to do, and in theory, it should set the wheel of "interaction karma" in motion, where (in theory) something you do (like sending an ask) comes back to you in a similar way (receiving an ask), repeat the cycle and keep the interaction flowing across the community. You know, "you must give if you want to receive" and all. It keeps things from being one-sided, where a chain of people keep taking prompts and posts from the last person who reblogged it but never giving anything back. Like when people post those ask games and say to practice "reblog karma" i.e. send a message from the prompt list to whoever you reblogged it from, or whoever reblogs it from you, so they get something in return. This is, of course, a wonderful idea when it works. But that can still feel one-sided at times when people (especially small blogs) follow the "reblog karma" rules and send asks/prompts/messages upon reblogging an ask game or prompt post, only to still get nothing in return.

And again, I know, people are busy and they have lives outside of tumblr, ultimately no one owes anyone anything, and most blogs are going to prioritize friends and mutuals when it comes to interaction and ask games and the like. Interaction is important, and I think increased activity from all corners of the self ship community would be awesome. But it's also important that we don't burn ourselves out or spread ourselves too thin trying to interact and send stuff to every self ship blog we come across. Sending asks and the like to other blogs shouldn't feel like a chore or some endless daunting task.

TL;DR though I'm a very small blog and often keep to myself because I'm very shy, I want to try and be better about interacting with other self ship blogs, especially ones I'm not already familiar with. Hopefully others will do the same (without burning themselves out). And hopefully this post made some sense despite being all over the place.

[thoselettersto]

The Set-Up

I couldn't take another rejection, so I decided to close myself off - it was easier than having my hopes crushed. I was finally getting to a better place, letting go of all the men that came before you - they were all in my head anyway.

So how did we get to you?

The chances of meeting someone new were slim, and I knew that. I didn't want to go out, didn't want to try. Part of me thought maybe I would change my mind once I had my life a little more together, but another part of me had gotten used to being on my own.

For the longest time, my friends and I had this running joke that the perfect man did exist. His name was Benjamin Owens, and he could do no wrong. We constantly referred to him by his full name because that's just the kind of guy he was. Whenever a man was a little bit creepy? "Benjamin Owens would never do that." When we met another man named Benjamin and he didn't treat us right, he got the "The Benjamin that I knew would never" treatment.

Benjamin Owens was a fictional characterization of the man we once knew. He was based on the very few things we remembered about him but mostly on how he made us feel because it's true - it's so easy to forget the words but the feelings last so much longer. Ben was funny, but more importantly, he was SO nice and a safe presence to be around - he was our favorite person to be around for the short time we had together.

One summer, a few years ago, I made the only bold move I had in my arsenal: I added a couple of men I hadn't spoken to in forever on social media in hopes of rekindling something.

Of those men, I had a more recent and more delusional crush on a man, Jayson, that was so wrong for me. Jayson liked a picture or two but never really interacted much with my profile before he ultimately deleted his account; I was scared he blocked me for whatever reason, but we had sleuthed out that his profile had fully gone kaput.

Ben was the other man, and like Jayson, he also barely interacted with my content. In the first few days, he was the first person to view my stories, and he liked a few things, but that quickly fizzled out, and suddenly, we were back to square one.

I was still very aware that he could see what I was sharing, but I stopped trying to view my content through his eyes… until a few days ago. Because I am more of a lurker and less of a poster, I was even less likely to post pictures of myself. Somehow, with a sudden surge of confidence, I shared an image within a story grid specifically chosen for him. Did I actually think he'd see it? No, but it was a good picture regardless, and considering how out of place it felt for me, I thought it was pretty funny.

I've been on a fitness journey recently, and to make healthier choices for my body, I changed my workout time and went to bed before midnight for the first time in months. I felt a little more refreshed than usual as I rolled over to turn off my alarm - shutting off the gentle sounds of Niall Horan singing "Flicker." I went back to sleep until my last alarm sounded a half hour later - cue Jon Bellion's "Good Things Fall Apart." My eyes were half open as I shut the alarm off and unlocked my phone. A quick banner appeared with a social media notification. What had I just read? I wasn't sure if I was actually awake or dreaming this, so I double-checked, and sure enough, I received the most surprising notification.

Ben had seen all my stories, including from a secondary account he doesn't follow, and responded to the picture I had on my main account - at 1 in the morning. Let that sink in for just a minute. He replied to the story at 1 in the morning.  I would later learn that he may have been in a different time zone for that, but the point still stands.

In a panic, I message one of my closest friends who knows all too well about the Benjamin Owens of it all. We were both in a panic, but I eventually responded, and that's where the story really began.

[neko-nemesis]

As the Nobleman's newly wedded wife~

Ayato Kamisato x afab-bodied reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+) so MDI (MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT), Con-noncon, Mean dom!Ayato, mentions of powerplay, mentions of impregnating, overstimulation, she/her pronouns used, impact play [face and pussy slapping (kinda)], praising, fingering (f-receiving), pet names, rough sex mentioned, creampies and I think that's it, lmk if I missed anything. (Note: not proof-read yet)

Picture source: [Mangaka: Shunjou Shuusuke]

A.n: Hello my lovelies! It's been awhile, I've been barely ever posting, I'm so sorry </3 been busy with college and life in general tbh but I think I'm back for now, I mustered up some courage again and motivation in my bucket of mess lmao!! Thank you for 600 followers in like 2 fucking months? Jesus, that's crazy. Thank you for the insane support, I'm truly grateful <3 ily guys sm <333

Interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated!!

P.s: this was very very self-indulgent pardon me. 🧍‍♀️I couldn't help it sksksjdhdjekd I've been going mad for this man istg, saving up like crazy. I'm guaranteed and I hope I'll have saved enough to pull this man in my arms<3

Important: check out my pinned post for the link to my carrd, I've provided helpful sources and links to educate yourself and donate to help Ukraine. Idk if I can do much as a Tumblr damn fanfic writer gal but I want to help as much as possible.

You were just a mere commoner, trying to make a living for oneself in a little cozy home in the outskirts of Inazuma city. It's almost comedic how fast the night can change, one day you're watering your crops on the other you're a Nobleman's newly wedded wife. You grew up alone, having little to nothing to your name yet was blessed with such a miracle. Or so, you'd think..

News spread like wildfire around the town, hushed voices speaking of the new ditzy commoner who suddenly happens to be Kamisato's beloved wife. Oh the man couldn't help but simply blow more smoke on the rumors, whenever someone dared to walk up to him and ask, why her? It's only common sense to think the man would court another Noblewoman

"Oh it's love in first sight, I only knew I had to have her all to myself you see."

Only If that was the case, you think. Pondering over the what ifs while your dear husband spread you out until your thighs felt the burn from the stretch. You cry out when a gloved hand smacked down, hard on your clit. Sending shock waves throughout your body as your pretty eyes swelled up with tears for the nth time again.

"can't have you distracted now, my wife" He'll say with an innocent smile but from the hours long abuse he inflicted on your poor body and cunt for hours, you'd know better. Rubbing his thumb down rather harshly to sooth the pain, though it did the opposite for you, his lips would curl into a mocking pout, "What is so important for my beloved that she can be so out of it while I'm here, hmm?" He sang, you could only stutter out apologies but both of you knew, it's too late for that.

"And here I thought I will let you off easy this time, tsk." He pretends to be disappointed in his poor wife and the more you panic, the more his cock throbbed. He was getting off to your fear. "What should I do to you now, huh sweetheart? I need to teach you a lesson now?" He'll squish your tear soaked cheeks with his hand, making your lips turn to a pout as you continuously whimper from his hands fastening up it's pace on your cunny. "My lord- s-slow down, too much" "you don't have a say in what I give you my love, you just have to take what I have to offer, alright?"

Finally though he would show some mercy but temporarily as he lets go off you, only to have his slick covered hand fisting his leaking cock to give himself some ease,"So, tell me my dearest, what is it that has your mind clouded when I'm making love to you?" He asks, he guides the tip on the folds of your cunt, rubbing it up and down on your already overstimulated puffy clit as you could only whimper, oh how he loved your broken voice but naive you failed to notice the more you took time to answer, the more agitated he was becoming. "M-My lord, it's t-too much, please" you beg, knowing your pleas are hardly getting through Ayato's head. The man has enough when he raised you by your thighs, having only your head and shoulders on the bed and rest of you high in the air and around his waist. He wasted no time further as he slammed his cock inside of you again, leaving hardly any time to adjust and you gasp and thrash, the pleasurable pain being unbearable and stretch from his cock only overstimulating you further considering how he has been already fucking you since the night took over the sky, "don't run from it, beloved." He spoke with his gritted teeth and you know better than to push him off, being unaware with the consequences of saying No to your Lord afterall. "you stay and you take what I give you, you want this no? I haven't even gotten close to breeding my pretty wife's cunt. Isn't that right huh?" He pants, there's a dimple on the side of his cheek when he grins, "Afterall, didn't you vowed to carry the next heir of the Kamisato?" His eyes glint in dark and you can't remember anything but then again, your mind has gone blank, all you can really think of is Ayato's cock and the pleasure you were feeling, eyes rolled back and only cracked moans made out of your body. You nod absentmindedly, too fucking dumb already to think straight anymore. That makes Ayato grins even more, he pats both of your cheeks rather harshly, almost slapped you, whether with pride or to keep you awake, doesn't matter anymore. "That's a good girl~" he purrs, lifting you up more only to bottom out, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix as his hips thrusted harder with each moment."Don't you fall asleep on me now my sweetheart, I need to fill you up with my cum, right? Tell me you want it, my wife" bitten lips of yours trembled as you weakly spoke out "f-fill me with your cum my Lord, I'll do a-anything" and he let's out a broken chuckle, face flushed pink. Oh your voice is so much more pleasant like this and it has affected the man more than he thought it would. "Good girlll~ now shut up and take my fucking cock." He snaps, as he proceeds to bruise your hips by digging his hand into your flesh and fasten up his already cruel pace.

I hope there's no important events you'd need to attend to as the Lord's wife, since you wouldn't be leaving the bed until filled to the brim with his cum and have his slender fingers fuck the leaked cum back into you with no ends.

xxx

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