#and yes. you already know. i am drawing this

[eupheme]

ahhh I’m in love with the way you write oldman!logan! Lately I’ve been thinking about dom!logan bending his girl over his knee and giving her a couple spankings, and of course rewarding her for her good behavior later ;) love ur page so much!

oh! 😳💖 dom!old man logan has my heart and he for sure wouldn’t hesitate to put you over his knee - I love this so much!! I hope this little blurb did your idea justice because I am obsessed!! (and thank you so so much!! for the kind words and this awesome ask! 💕)

lessons | old man logan x f!reader

550 words | impact play, spanking, sub/dom vibes, teasing, begging, fingering

He can hear each sound that slips from you. Every gasp and whine. The sharp, inhaled breath you hold, with the twist of his wrist.

Bracing for impact.

If his eyes were to shut, he thinks he’d hear more. The hammering of your heart beneath your ribs, the creak of your fingers as they fist in the fabric of his trousers.

Feel more - the hot exhale of your breath, buried against his thigh. The shift of your knees as they inch wider.

Your scent rolls off you in waves. So much of him has diminished over the years - the once-sharp shine of his claws now dulled. That silver gleam now scuffed up, matted.

But not his senses. Helpless with the way you overwhelm him, all that want and desire building to a crescendo.

It’s supposed to be a punishment, and he can’t pretend it’s not torture.

“How many left?”

It’s more gruff than he means to be. Demanding - a hard edge to the words.

A breath, before you’re answering, “F-five.”

“And you got it through that head of yours?”

“Yes.”

The syllables draw out - the slightest flinch in anticipation, when his hand lifts from the armrest. The cool roll of his now-empty whisky glass against a cheek, the liquor now faded from his tongue.

Followed up the cup of a broad palm. The skin warm beneath, where he’s already begun. Ten, placed swiftly.

Resisting the urge to twist his wrist once more. Let his fingers drift against your seam, knowing they’d come back slick. Tilt his head down enough to drag his tongue against the glossy ring of condensation left against your skin.

But, you’d never learn that way.

“Good,” He rasps, “Gonna finish them out.”

Fingers curling, unable to help the slightest squeeze. You clench with your sigh, his thumb stroking skin just above where your leggings are tugged down, framing the pretty curve of your ass.

“Not gonna take it easy on you, just ‘cause you said yes.”

You nod. An arch to your back, as you breathe out a, “Thank you.”

His jaw ticks. A curse bitten back as his cock throbs, where it presses against his trousers - your hip rubbing against him each time you jolt forward.

It’s enough that his hand is swinging again. A sharp crack, punctuated by the gasp as the air is pushed from your lungs.

“Count ‘em, sweetheart.”

“Five.” You pant.

Then four. Then three, two. One.

Logan’s rougher than he needs to be. A real cry pulled on the last one, a punctuation to the lesson he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

Your thighs flex, where you’re bend over his knees. Eyes half-lidded and tear-rimmed, when your head turns - cheek pressed against a thigh.

His own admiring his work. Unable to help the drift of his hand, now. Thumb denting your skin, tugging.

“Please.” You squirm - always wanting, “Logan-”

His own name, whined out. None of the pretty names you call him, dripping with submission. Forgetting yourself with your need, and it does something to him.

He sinks into heat. Two fingers tucked together, burying between your slick thighs. Feeling how you give around him, a pitched-high moan that has the edge of his lips twitching.

Giving you what you need, once more. A reward, for how well you took him.

Because along with the rest -

Maybe he’s grown a little less patient over the years, as well.

thank you so much for reading! 💕

[tsukis-marauders-microfics]

microfic biased off this post by @we-were-starss because why not

It had been a brilliant idea.

After all, they’d already planned to brew Polyjuice, and what else to use to for other than pranks?

Right before class, James had put his glasses on Sirius’s face, and then James had pulled off a strand of Sirius’s hair, and Sirius to James. They put it in their cups and drunk the whole bottle, causing both of them to crumple in pain.

When they arose from their fetal positions on the floor in their dorm, Sirius looked up, shocked to be met with his own face.

“Bloody hell, Potter. This brilliant!” Sirius said, examining his arms his arms, and flexing.

“Merlin, Sirius, how do you deal with your hair this long?” James brushed his fingers through his (Sirius’s) hair.

“How do you deal with glasses?” Sirius asked, taking off James’s glasses and squinting across the room. “Your eyesight is fucked, mate.”

“Are you two ready to go to class?” Remus asked, coming out of the bathroom and straightening his tie. Peter had music blasting in his ears as he attempted to put his shoes on. Remus walked over to “Sirius” and was about to kiss his cheek before James jumped back, and Remus looked at “Sirius” confused.

“It’s me. James. I’m James.” James said frantically “He’s Sirius” Remus’s brow furrowed before a wave of realization flooded his face.

“Polyjuice.” he muttered, as Peter pulled out his earbuds.

“Polyjuice?” Peter asked, standing up.

“Those two idiots took Polyjuice.” Remus sighed waving his hand between James and Sirius. Peter stared at both of them shocked.

“Smart as ever, Moony.” Sirius winked at Remus.

“I am not kissing you until this wears off” Remus called over his shoulder, walking out of the dorm. Sirius sighed lovingly, before continuing to examine his body and Peter bombarded them with questions.

☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆

Sirius and James had decided to just go to the others classes to draw less attention to themselves. They enjoyed walking around Hogwarts, nobody else knowing that they weren’t who they were supposed to be. They agreed to continue to take it throughout the day, but to have it end before quidditch practice (Sirius drew the line at him and James’s swapping positions).

The day started to get interesting after Potions, when Sirius said that he had to go grab something he forgot from his dorm. The others waved him goodbye and headed off to lunch, while he made the trek back to the Gryffindor common room.

Nothing interesting had happened, until he suddenly felt someone pull his robes. He yelped out of surprise, which was only heightened when he was shoved into a broom closet. Once in, the person moved their lips closer to his, but he was able to push the person off him with little effort. His eyes widened as he looked at the person in front of him.

“What the hell Reggie??” Sirius shouted. Regulus shushed him, and was beetroot red.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“Sorry??? Why did you do that?” Sirius recoiled, very confused.

“You said I could.” Regulus seemed to be making himself smaller as he adjusted his clothes.

“Why in the name of merlin would I say that? You’re my bloody brother!”

“What?” Regulus’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“I’m your brother! Why would you try to snog me?” Sirius repeated himself.

“You’re not my brother. You’re James.” Regulus tilted his head to the side, just as confused as Sirius. Suddenly, Sirius’s mouth dropped open.

“Fuck. Regulus, have you been dating James?” Sirius asked.

“James? Yes. You are James. Stop playing with me, Potter.”

“Regulus, I’m Sirius. Me and James took Polyjuice.” Regulus’s eyes widened in horror.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Sirius grumbled, his mind still spinning from the realization.

“I’m sorry. Actually, no. I’m not sorry. Me and James are together and if you don’t like it then that’s your problem.” Regulus snapped, his eyes aflame.

“I never said I had a problem with it, Jesus. Give me a second.” Sirius adjusted his (James’s) glasses. “I’m going to go talk to James.” Without another word, Sirius fled from the broom closet and ran all the way down to the great hall.

Once he was there, he scanned the hall, and then ran up to the table where the other three marauders sat. Once he got there, he stood over himself (James) and crossed his arms.

“Hello pads-prongs.” James corrected himself. “Care to join us?” Sirius stayed where he was and narrowed his eyes at James before shaking his head fondly.

“You brother-fucker.”

[ddejavvu]

omg I BEG of u to write a fic about the thing anon mentioned about dbf obi-wan 😭 /nf maybe reader is like anakin's age and her master is yoda.

i also think it would be really interesting if reader tends to be quite similar to her master yoda where she's usually calm and collected and zen and all that, but just cant keep her head clear when obi-wan's around NFNAJFJSKDB i'm already blushing just thinking about it!!! i just know you'd write this beautifully!!! /gen

Brewing and serving a perfect pot of tea is something inescapable as Grandmaster Yoda's padawan. You'd been trained in proper steeping rituals before you were ever trained in lightsaber combat, and you take a bit of pride in your craft even though it's a skill most might consider less-than-impressive in the overall catalogue of a Jedi's skills.

All of that is why you should not have dropped the teapot you'd been carrying upon seeing your master's houseguest, but Master Kenobi catches it with wide eyes and a steady hand. The teapot hovers mere inches above the ground, giving you a measly two seconds to gather your composure before a twitch of Master Kenobi's hand lifts it back up onto the tray you're miraculously still carrying.

You have very un-Jedi-like feelings towards Master Kenobi. You'd never thought much of him- nor anyone for quite some time, but you'd travelled outside of the temple, spent time on other planets, socialized with hundreds of different people in the galaxy, and the auburn-haired man in front of you has recently topped the charts of people you would be attracted to, if you weren't a Jedi forbidden from attachment.

"Sorry." You stammer, heart hammering in your chest from a mix of adrenaline and something else you refuse to name, "I- I lost my balance."

Your master snorts from his place on his tea cushion, a tiny thing at the head of the coffee table where you set the tea tray, "Uncoordinated, you are today, Padawan."

"Yes, Master." You agree miserably, pouring tea for Masters Yoda and Kenobi before pouring your own cup. You want to come up with an excuse, overtiredness or a troubling class assignment on your mind, but there's nothing your master won't see through.

"It's quite alright, dear." Master Kenobi places a hand over your own where you set the teapot down, and your eyes dart towards his own. Your trained Jedi composure allows for you to keep your face in a neutral expression, but there's very little hiding the slight shake to your hands as you reach for the sugar.

"Anakin has a habit of spreading his mechanical projects over our carpets like we live in a junkyard. I know that they're there," The bearded Jedi master smiles, "And every morning I still step sure-footedly out of my bedroom expecting not to be impaled through the foot with a jagged wire. Jedi agility cannot completely remove natural clumsiness."

"Remove clumsiness for me, it did." Your master huffs, squeezing the sap out of some deadly looking berries and into his teacup, "A better Jedi I am, than you two."

"You tripped over your own walking stick yesterday," You point your spoon accusatorily at him, and you nearly lose your conviction when it draws a warm chuckle from Master Kenobi's throat.

"Hmmph. Disrespectful, you are." Yoda gripes, but you see through his stern facade, "Sleep outside tonight, you will."

"Master!' You shriek, nearly choking on both your laughter and your tea, "That's not fair!"

"Don't worry, dear." Master Kenobi stretches his leg out beneath the coffee table to rest against your own, "You're welcome to stay the night in my quarters if your Master kicks you to the curb." He winks, "Anakin is gone on his first solo mission, so the two of us will have plenty of room."

You know the whole thing is one big joke, and you also know that Master Kenobi's offer is nothing but platonic. But still, the invitation, the assurance that you'll be alone with plenty of room- room for what? - you're barely able to nudge his leg back teasingly and glare half-heartedly at your master.

"I'm reporting you to the Council." You decide, but your threats come out weaker than intended due to the continued press of Master Kenobi's leg against your own beneath the table, "You may be the Grandmaster, but the neglect of a padawan is serious business."

"Two nights," Master Yoda snickers, "Two nights, you will sleep outside."

You let out an exasperated groan, but the last of your composure slips away upon meeting Master Kenobi's kind gaze, his eyes twinkling with gorgeous mirth, "You can stay with me for as long as you'd like."

[yslende]

ask and ye shall receive!!! context + fic clipping below

context: both bruce and clark are AFAB in this au. bruce's deadname is antigone, clark's i haven't actually picked yet but whatever! antigone wayne isn't out publicly, clark kent is; batman is batman and kal jor-el is supergirl. woohoo!

(this isn't edited, sorry for grammar or weird plot stuff. i like to think that i write with good grammar, but idk. the stuff in bold is footnotes (yes i do footnotes. fight me) but tumblr doesn't support those. enjoy!! :) )

—

One miasma and crime-coated night, not to say that all days and nights in Gotham aren’t like that, the Bat sees a flying woman. She’s dressed in blue and red with a giant S on her chest, roaming around Gotham, looking for something. Presumably. Batman does a quick search online.

Supergirl, a superpowered alien native to Metropolis, became active around a year and a half ago. She fashions herself a hero, and Metropolis residents certainly aren’t complaining. The Daily Planet has several interviews with her on record, though in every single one the interviewer was Lois Lane. She has a multitude of powers, not limited to invincibility, superstrength, laser vision, and flight. He’s almost jealous.

Of course, he already knew all of that [He keeps tabs on everything that could threaten Gotham—the database already spans 12 terabytes—and a superpowered alien definitely applies. He already has four fully constructed contingency plans with phases, steps, and instructions prepared, but another four couldn’t hurt. [Yes, they could, but that’s to worry about later.]], but why she’s come to Gotham is still a mystery. The Bat plans to find out.

She lands a few roofs away from the Bat’s current stakeout spot, seemingly frustrated, but he knows better. She’s pointedly not looking towards where he’s watching, instead faux-searching the previous row of buildings that she’d already searched. She, quite literally, twiddles her thumbs.

He can’t get out of this, can he. He quickly adds super senses, x-ray vision? to the powers list before standing, silencing the click of his boots to try and stay hidden as long as he can, knowing that it’s a futile effort. To her credit, Supergirl does a good job of pretending to be fooled.

“What do you want,” he intones, standing with shadows draped over him like blankets. Right now, to a normal human, he’d be a pair of white slits where his eyes are. He has no idea what Supergirl sees. 

She pretends to startle. “Dear—Rao, you scared me!” She rubs a hand on the back of her neck, smiling sheepishly, before flying over to stand in front of him.

Her eyes are inhumanly blue, with glowing white irises. They’re enchanting.

“Leave Gotham.” He narrows his eyes.

“Woah there!” she says, holding her hands up, palms out. Is she trying to look less intimidating? Does she think that he’ll think that she’s, what, cramping his I am a terrifying vigilante style? “I just want to talk to you! Can you spare five minutes?”

“No.”

“Three minutes?”

“No.”

“One minute and you consider what I say?”

He considers. “No.”

“Great!” Supergirl looks inordinately pleased with herself and her technicality. She takes a deep breath, one that seems to make a slight rattling purr. “So!”

One excruciating minute later, the Bat has a rudimentary understanding of the superhero club Supergirl’s trying to start and an unwelcome reminder of why he stopped watching most videos on 2x speed. He squints his eyes further.

Supergirl’s stopped floating, holding her hands behind her back and looking cheery. Even standing at his full height with his boots, she’s taller than him.

To be fair, it’s not a completely unsalvageable idea. Having an alliance already set up for world-ending threats with other superpowered people saves the ideological arguments for drawing the contracts up, not when something’s trying to absorb all oxygen from Earth or something similar. [Simply a hypothetical; Ivy doesn’t work at as large of a scale.] Supergirl already has a roster in mind, including him for some reason, but that’s about all that’s been prepared in advance.

There are several flaws with this plan: first, he doesn’t have superpowers. Supergirl had explicitly said “superhero team,” and he fits on none of the counts. Besides that oversight, the logistics weren’t thought out at all. Where would they be operating? What are they planning to do? Who’s taking responsibility for this? How are they going to settle the power structure? Conflicts of interest? The governmental alliances alone deserve an entirely separate discussion, and funding—dear God, funding.

All of it is incredibly idealistic. Did Supergirl come all the way to Gotham to propose a first draft to the Bat of Gotham? That’s an insult, even disregarding the fact that she’d interrupted him on patrol.

“Why now decide to make a team?” As good an opener as any. Supergirl seems to mistake his skepticism as curiosity, looking pleased.

“So, the United Nations contacted me—” she grimaces for a split-second— “and asked if I could be their interplanetary defense person. Basically. And I’m totally not against that!” She holds her hands palms-outward again, bashful. “But I don’t think it’s a job I can do totally on my own. And I felt like it was right to ask, since you’re kinda the first superhero, y’know?”

He did not know that. Some quick mental math reveals—yeah, he was the first. Supergirl made her debut a few months after he did, Wonder Woman revealed Themyscira shortly after, and now it’s a tossup of which superhuman will come out of the woodwork this month. Fuck, and he started it. Shit.

He grunts. She hesitates, before taking it in stride. “What do you think? Questions, comments?”

Plenty, but he doesn’t care to give her the entire roadmap. “Short-sighted. This ‘Justice Party’” —some vicious, clawed airquotes are employed— “will starve to death even with my involvement.” What did she think was going to happen? Her and her tea party sing kumbaya while he duct tapes the entire operation together?

Supergirl winces. “So that’s a no?” She sounds disgustingly hopeful.

He glares at 52% intensity. “No.” 

As her face falls, the Bat fades into the darkness, jumping off the building almost faster than the human eye can see. He doesn't have any data on what Supergirl can and can't see.

As he makes his exit, he hears a faint, frustrated “Goddammit,” alongside a sniffle.

It’s good for her to be disappointed now, Bruce tells himself. The world is disappointing, cruel, and unkind, and it’s best for her to shape up before she actually puts it into motion.

He tells himself that, listening to Supergirl fly off crying.

( @securitycapecreature wanted to be tagged when the fic was posted; i think this counts at least a little)

[futuristicanoe]

nightfall's descent

When you're observing me, who do you think I'm observing?

This time, it is you, who's been left wide awake for far too long.

mature themes; implied insomnia, age gap, issues. nsfw content, but there is no actual smut.

The crackle of thick paper crumpling in your hands makes Alex’s arm twitch. It must be very late, or very early, it is hard to tell the difference because the sun has already gotten into the habit of being distant at all times. It is cold. The outside world is freezing, all shades of blue and uncomfortable.

He is snoring softly. Lying on his stomach, one leg bent, his face is squashed against his forearm. He would feel his eyelashes tickle his skin if he were to open his eyes, that’s how bad it is. He looks relaxed, almost miraculously so. His stubbly chin rests on his other hand and it makes you smile. You are not sure if there is an actual smile on your face right now, but it makes something deep in your chest pulse with aching fondness and that is enough. More than anyone else could make you feel just by existing, that is for sure.

You can’t sleep.

This is normally his problem. It’s not that your sleep schedule is divine, but he needs much more sleep than you do, you have come to find out. He’ll never pass an opportunity to take a nap. On the sofa, on his favourite armchair, sitting at the dinner table —

it is, a breathy whisper of “tired today...” when he stretches his arms and sighs, then yawns and his eyes are visibly more droopy by the time he closes his mouth. Or, “I am gonna need to rest me mind after this...” when you ask him to stir the pot and he can’t tear his gaze away from everything swirling and spinning effortlessly. You know, you always know, you are gonna find him later just like this. Heavy and content, snoring softly.

Alex will do anything to avoid going to bed alone.

The unexpectedness of it had caught you off-guard at first, making you wonder what else you had assumed wrongly about him. He says he does not wanna get used to it, sleeping alone, because he has a habit of turning things into habits, and that has never been a good thing. You take it as a compliment, really, when he waits for you like a good little pet, and you didn’t even need to teach him a thing. To be more specific, it makes you want to grab him and kiss him all over, eat him up in bruising bites, and isn’t that just the best thing you could do for him? He has everything else, doesn’t he? Money, reputation, even love — adoration, fascination, obsession, — might not be the healthiest forms of love, sure, but it’s still much more than you ever got.

He is always tired after making love, too.

Making love, apparently that is what you call it now. It is just what it feels like. It’s not the bad kind of love, either. Everything he touches turns to gold, and you are just happy to be underneath him, on top of him— he is never out of reach. You are never out of his head.

It feels like a privilege to see him this way.

You put your sketchbook to the side, shutting it closed and instinctively holding your breath for a mere second to hear the soft click it makes. You reach out for him with your hand, the one you had been holding your pencil and smudging the ink with. It makes your skin rough like ash would, although, it could not be more obvious how this is not ash or dust, not the remnants of finality, but rather the opposite of it — you wanted to draw him. Couldn’t sleep, and observing him like this is as close as you can get to dreaming without shutting your eyes and falling backwards into the darkness people call “sleep”... but, no... sleep isn’t like this...

This is not still and lifeless, it is pretty radiant here.

”Dreamland?” Oh, yes. This is it.

Bizarre, pretty, yours.

Your fingers touch the softness of his eyebrow, and his eyes tremble slightly, before he sighs and moves his head to the side a bit. His eyebrows furrow. So expressive, even in sleep, even when everything outside is cold and grim, it makes your lungs ache and rattle your ribcage a tiny bit.

Nothing new.

He is mostly bare underneath the covers, you are pretty sure.

A small part of his thigh is exposed from how his leg is bent. Firm, yet soft, kissable. You pull back the covers slightly to see his knee and– there it is. The bruise.

You had bitten him in the afternoon.

He was busy coming back down to earth. You had kept him all safe and tender in your mouth for long enough to make some part of him believe in the sacredness of this thing. That it wasn’t fucking or any kind of animalistic instinct when he held your head down and an obscene noise escaped his throat. Without his permission, too, he always tries to be quiet when your mouth is full of him. As an act of showing empathy, or maybe it would feel dangerously close to silencing you, and he doesn’t want to get used to that either.

The bruise makes his skin pretty like the sunset kissed it.

You lean down to kiss it now, softly, gently. He squirms.

“Hm?”

You watch his face as he slowly wakes up. Stretching modestly like a house pet.

“What time is it?” His voice sounds somehow even rougher than usual, you feel a shiver run through your spine.

“I don’t know.”

That sobers him up, for some odd reason, and his eyes search for your face. Alex holds a hand up before he drops it next to yours.

“I was waiting. For you to come back to bed when you got up in the middle of the night. But I couldn’t‐ could not keep my eyes open, you know? I tried, though...” his voice trails off into a quiet mumble. He is apologising for something you have never even mentioned or thought about.

“I know, Alex.”

“What are you doing?”

You pick up the sketchbook again, handling it with an air of carelessness that does not belong to you. As if this part of you, which you are holding in your hand, has somehow become less important now that he is watching.

“Nothing, really. I couldn’t sleep again.”

He moves closer to you, still on his stomach. Lazy boy.

“Wanna show me?”

Your hesitation is undeniably palpable and thick in the air, he could cut it with a knife. You’d pay him to do that if he could.

Your numb fingers grip your sketchbook a tad bit tighter, with his sleepy eyes following the movement, he takes a deep breath.

“I want to see, love.”

Alex looks more awake now than he did when he woke up in the morning. He loves the sun, but it is not always there for him. It is cold now, even in the morning. Especially in the morning. Still dark, still freezing, and you weren’t there. It felt like the day after a perfect day, and he woke up not with a hazy, blurry mind but a very clear head and thoughts so sharp that they hurt.

He grows amusedly suspicious when your eyes widen with hesitation. This is not the first time.

“Is it– mmm–“ his voice turns into a soft croon, the cartoonish quality of it making his own eyes twinkle. “Is it me? In there...?”

“Huh?”

“Were you drawing me?”

You let out a huff at the accusation. “I've not drawn anything for so long. And it is literally just a rough sketch, I don’t even like it. I’m not trying to hide, it is not a–“

“But it is mine, isn’t it?” He crawls again, just wanting to be closer to you. He does this thing, getting closer to you so you can hear him more clearly, instead of just raising his voice like everybody else does. He is pressed up against your form now with a smirk on his face. Only a second or three passes as he is observing you, expecting you to hand over the sketchbook, and then he is chuckling, his face scrunching up. “Are you hiding me from myself? Come on... that is my job.”

You can’t help but laugh with him. “You always say I see you somewhat differently, though... I wouldn’t want to end up making a fool of myself or whatever it is that I'm so afraid of."

Something glimmers in his eyes, just a subtle flicker of it, and it is almost as if he never slept, once again. “Never have I said that to you.”

“Not to me, maybe, no... Does it matter?”

“Are you– hold on, tell me when was the last time you slept properly, and don’t lie.”

You almost comment on his tone, but you decide to answer him, only to realize that you can not.

His eyebrows furrow, and he sits up. It is difficult to handle this, you don't think you are ever gonna get used to it. Being so close, he looks too real. His skin is shiny under the moonlight, the tan is gone, pale again from the way he has succumbed to solitary lifestyles similar to those they teach you about in the bible. His scent... Cigarettes, is it? Something bitter-sweet and addictive like thick honey on his skin, too, and it ought to make you crave more when you let your teeth cut loose.

Not again... what was he talking about?

“Honey?”

You look at him. Alex. Al. God, he is going to get actually old one day, isn’t he? You almost wish he isn’t. You almost wish you had met him when he was younger, he could have broken your heart that way, the casual way, it certainly would have been easier. All kinds of leather were tight over his muscles back then, hair slippery and tousled and apparently perfect. Dark, but shiny like jet, steel, something solid and useful. Something you definitely wouldn’t have seemed, if you had been the one standing next to him in those messy, flashy polaroids and countless paparazzi shots.

You always had this thought about how his hair and his leather jackets shone the same way, and that thought used to make you giddy then almost teary. At least you never forgot how to fantasise and daydream about and do everything but avoid men like him, because he is actually right here now and he is... different.

“Yes.” You talk in a whisper, your voice soft and quiet like the rustling of your sheets underneath him as he shifts to caress your neck with a gentle hand.

“Where did you go?”

“I’m here.”

“Hmm. Yes, you are. I believe you now.” Alex hums, smiles. Looking thoughtful for a second before his face is hovering over yours, and he leans down to press a kiss to your neck. There is a hushed mumble against your skin. You nudge his shoulder.

“Honeysop,” he mumbles again, but this time, a giggle makes his voice sound chirpy.

“What the fuck?”

“I said... I’ve got a new nickname for you.” Alex looks down at you. (Studying your face with the expression of a man who knows he doesn’t have to tell his kid that Santa Claus isn’t real or something along those lines.)

You smile — a toothy, sweet thing to make his eyes shine even brighter. You can not help but notice the way his chain is dangling from his neck. Why must every single part of him shine like that? You touch it gently, soft fingertips warm against the cool metal. There are tiny pink marks left on his chest from how the chain had pressed into his skin in sleep. You find it soothing to watch it rock back and forth above you, and you are very sure that he is amused by that fact.

Suddenly, you find your voice again. “I think, had this been some other time, any other time, I would have asked you to fuck me right here. You know, it’s midnight, you are all just the perfect amount of wound up and silly. I can’t sleep. But... can I...” You impulsively kiss the tip of his nose just because it is the part of him closest to your lips. His eyes are wide and sweet, intrigued.

“You could pose for me... I want to draw you. And when I’m done, I won’t hide it from you, no... I could even draw it in your notebook. I know you prefer the ones with blank pages, I do, too.” Alex ducks his head slowly, listening intently, but all of a sudden, too busy leaving loving bites on your throat and pressing his lips against your heart. You grab his hair firmly, hoping to keep his eyes fixated on you.

“Then I’ll let you fuck me. I want–," You giggle when his stubble tickles the softness of your chest accidentally, but you keep going. He can feel your heart thumping faster and faster. "I want you too tired and distracted after you're done, just– too stupid to care for finding whatever the hell I drew in there. Be- because God knows it is gonna be horrible, Al, don't even..."

Alex grabs your face with a firm hand, his thumb digging into the skin near your mouth and the rest of his fingers wrap tightly around your jaw.

"Shhhhh... dove..."

You whimper quietly at his cooing, the contrast between his soft murmurs and the strength in his hand causes your mind to get filthier with each breath. And not just your mind, really, you would be pressing your thighs together right now if he wasn't straddling them so rudely. He presses his cheek against yours, his mouth just hovering over your ear. Tilting his head back for a few seconds, just to see your pretty earring up close. It makes him smile, even though he can barely make it out of the darkness.

"You've got to stop it, love, stop hiding. I need to keep seeing you, all of it, okay?"

You nod the best you can, chest trembling and hips twitching from the intensity of his words. Alex keeps hushing you as his touches travel down your torso, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. Tracing the hem, tapping his blunt fingernails over your stomach like he might do to the strings of a guitar he's yet to be familiar with.

Alex sits back, pulling away from you entirely with a huff. He grabs your sketchbook from where you left it earlier. A twitch in his bicep and a weary sigh on his lips, as if he's been forced to pick up some of kind of evidence.

You try to touch his knee, or just any part of him that you can possibly reach, but your fingers accidentally curl over him right where a bruise is still blooming and tender on his thigh and he hisses.

Cool cat... or is he, really?

It is something of a blur after that. Like you pressed a button and you are waiting to find out if it was the good one or not.

Alex takes your sketchbook and lets the poor thing covered in charcoal marks rest in the drawer of your nightstand.

The sheets he has tangled himself in bother him way too much. And they smell like you, as always, it is messing with his head right now and more importantly, it makes him want to mess with yours. He pushes them away, your relentless pawing at the worn white fabric anything but helpful.

Alex tugs at your shirt to pull it up, too, so he isn't the only one feeling cold and exposed. He clutches your waist, settling lower on the bed this time and resting his cheek on your hip. You can feel his chain touch you. He looks up.

"This– can you feel it?" He gently caresses, presses down on your lower tummy with his fingers, before moving his face slightly and planting a soft kiss right there. "This is where I need to be."

Just that sentence, the last one — it makes you cry out, your shaky hand coming down to grip his hair.

"No need for any... paper or ink or cameras. It is just us, dove. Even put the sketchbook away for you, so just let me, huh? It'll feel much better, 'cause it is more special."

A muffled keen leaves your lips when he starts to slowly slide your underwear down your legs. You didn't even realize you were biting down on your knuckles until now. Until you see the red mark you have left on your hand and the string of saliva connecting your parted mouth to it.

Alex stops when he hears the desperate noise you make, frowning. Something felt off. He lies down beside you now. Face to face. His touches turning delicate and patient, instead of demanding. "What's wrong?" He asks, sweet and every single thing that makes your heart ache all over again. He strokes your cheek, gentle warmth spreading over the parts he had grabbed and got a bit close to bruising earlier. Your eyes grow softer and so does his.

"I'm cold, Al. But if you put a blanket over me... I'm gonna get sleepy, too."

He kisses your lips once. A reward for not hiding from him again, perhaps.

Alex studies your hazy gaze for a moment. He grabs the blanket you had apparently used as a pillow when you hopped on his bed a few hours ago. Pecks your collarbone, covering the both of you with that warm blanket and he smiles as you move lazily to curl up against him properly.

It is easy for him to adore the way you cling to him, let out a soft noise when you are shifting to your side and swinging your leg over his, remembering that the only thing you are wearing is your shirt not exactly right on time.

"Pardon me, if I sound too crude, but..." He chuckles against your neck, the sound scratching his throat. "You were– well, are, fucking dripping, girl."

You giggle. "What was that word? Ah, yeah. Honeysop."

"You are ridiculous." He shakes his head and tuts when you try to move away from him, wrapping an arm around your torso and hugging you even closer than before. "No. No hiding, stay here."

There is a soft smile on your face, your mind full of fuzzy, messy bits and you are sure that feeling his warm breath on your skin must be something from your personal heaven.

Your voice comes out as a quiet, soft murmur. "I don't know what it is, but, sometimes you say things in a certain way and it just... there is this moment after I hear you, when I feel as if you could do anything you wanted to me and it would– nothing else could possibly be better than that."

Alex kisses your temple, carding his fingers through your hair. "That's a lot."

You squirm. "Maybe that's what makes it special... no? You said it was–"

"You pay a lot of attention to what I say, you know? I think that's exactly what makes it special." Another kiss. "That I trust you to see me... like I want to be seen. Not differently, you used that word, and I got a bit silly over it. It's never about differences between us. I try not to make it about them, at least."

"Always had a thing for that," you say, a bitter-sweet tint to your tone. "Contrasting subjects, juxtaposition... maybe that's why I got into painting, too. And oh, yes, there we have another difference for us to avoid admitting to, I guess," you laugh.

"Is this funny to you? Or are you just... amused by it?"

"Why?"

"You are laughing."

"I'm tired."

He could close his eyes and he would still be able to see the smile and that hidden yawn in your voice.

Alex sighs, delighted.

"I guess you're just gonna have to sleep now, then, honeysop."

[kwillow]

regarding romance involving your characters, im aware you've talked about how you likely wont engage in making content surrounding that topic (WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY FINE obviously), but do you mind if others do? i personally find a lot of enjoyment in those kinds of scenarios and itd be good to know if thats something you're fine with when it comes to your own creations. (im sure you get enough asks about romance already, apologies!!)

and related to this, are there any strict boundaries or hard lines youd prefer not to be crossed when it comes to fan content of them? even anything that just makes you uncomfortable; if youre alright with sharing, that is <:-} i would really like to know just to be certain

Hi there! This is a very kind and conscientious message; thank you for that. ^^

Short answer: sure, I don't mind if people want to make romantic-themed art or writing with my characters. It's flattering!

I don't really have much in the way of hard limits when it comes to depictions of my characters (not counting nsfw/kink art, where I'm also pretty permissive but want to be communicated with in advance), but here are some personal boundaries when it comes to how people treat me, the human:

My characters aren't able to be "claimed" by people for exclusive shipping purposes (either with other characters or for self-shipping). When people get jealous of either other people who want to ship themselves or their characters with mine, or jealous of the characters' in-story love interests, it creates a highly uncomfortable situation for me.

I'm happy for people to enjoy their romantic fantasies with my characters, but I am not included in that bargain. Liking my character does not mean one knows or is in any kind of relationship with me, platonic or otherwise (especially not otherwise).

Likewise, I probably won't reciprocate a lot of self-shipping or Your OCxMy OC type stuff. Of course I'll comment and appreciate the effort and the expression of being interested in my silly stories! But I won't necessarily make a lot of ship art in return or trade head-canons or what have you (again, I just am not super into shipping and I have my own story stuff I already don't have time to draw orz).

My characters aren't made to be boyfriend material. I also have not drawn/written/shown every part of their awful personalities or actions. In the future, I might reveal something about them that makes them unappealing or unsexy. People can ignore the unpleasant qualities I give my characters in their fantasies/fics, but I won't change how I write or draw the character to make them better suited to someone's tastes (yes this is something people have asked me to do).

I feel like stating some of these things makes me look a bit neurotic, like "oh come on, that's not going to happen," but unfortunately all of these things have happened to me before when people got, I guess, a liiiittle too romantically invested in my characters.

So really, I don't have many boundaries in the way of content. Go forth and write or draw or just imagine what pleases you (general you). Write them getting married, having unrequited crushes, being one of the last survivors of the Titanic and sacrificing themselves so that the other character can live her best life beyond their doomed romance, etcetera.

All I ask is that the appreciation is centered on the character as an imaginary being, and I, the real and very boring human woman, am largely ignored in the equation and not pulled in to do matchmaking, officiate any weddings, or act as a conduit to manifest a tulpa.

[iindigoeyed]

So hear me out: post-wish nathalie whose illness never fully goes away. where even if gabriel sacrificed his (sick, dying) body to return nathalie to life, it wasn't enough to negate her illness. nathalie who is left permanently disabled after using the peacock miraculous in its damaged state. nathalie who accepts the consequences of those actions and learns to live with it because disability can't always be magically wished away. post-wish nathalie who has to take meds, who has to use her leg braces most of the time, who gets dizzy spells and migraines and chronic fatigue but can take precautions for them, who has to spend some days in bed, who walks with a designer cane to match her pantsuits. post-wish nathalie who will never be back to full health but is still just as hardworking and takes care of adrien and who learns to be comfortable with herself, and is alive and happy-- and still disabled and that's ok. do you get me

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[phoenixmetaphor]

serennedy week 2024 valentine’s edition - day 6 - cowboy au

even more cowboy au comicsssss woooooo!

phoenix, did you draw a whole ass cowboy au and not draw a single cowboy hat? yes. yes i did. it’s not my fault the ganados took leon’s hat, ok?

the vague idea is that leon is under the impression that luis is a snake oil salesman. which isn’t an entirely wrong impression to have, but luis’s reasons, as ever, are a little more complicated. you get into debt with some bad people and they ask you to spread some weird tonics around and then bad things happen and you run away and start a new life somewhere, okay? and then maybe somewhere ends up under the influence of a cult! time is a circle. it’s fine. it’s whatever.

anyway sorry if things start looking like i exported them as low quality .jpegs, we are experimenting with anti-ai glazing.

details below

[danielleargentino]

farewell, my shooting star

[flo-n-flon]

"We can fight, Leane. As long as we are alive, we can fight."

Massive spoiler for The Shadow Rising.

Probably my favourite chapter of the whole series so far, if only because it was one of the most striking and extreme turns, an absolute game-changer. It was also gloriously prepared by the start of the book. I am so excited for what comes next for them.

[cheaploafs]

late night cuddles

[mildcicada]

[sysig]

@vernors tags are so incredibly correct (Patreon)

[somerandomcryptid]

@calamari-minecraft-corner @cleofast300

You run into a conversation that you don't think you were supposed to hear....

Wilbur's frantic excited rambling to the snake hybrid cuts off as he notices you. His smile doesn't reach his eyes when he addresses you. He seems almost.... Annoyed at your presence. Yet keeping the overly friendly tone.

Hmmm why don't you take the reigns on this one? Do whatever you please, and I shall tell you how it goes. Don't worry about messing things up. Their code is not hard to replicate.

[thedrawnherbarium]

forgot to post this