#fast DIRTY rough sketch

[its-dannie-yo]

ad victoriam or whatever

[bubblesgarden]

— day one.

PAIRING. carpenter!rafe x reader CONTENT. young!carpenter!rafe. just a man with a dream. supportive girlfriend!reader. rafe doubting himself. rafe & his progress. this man had an idea and ROLLED with it.

the shop wasn’t much.

a beat up unit behind an old hardware store, equipped with a leaky roof and one flickering light over head. it smelt like dust and pine shavings, and the walls were so thin that you could hear the freight trains pass three blocks away.

but it was his.

cameron’s carpentry and cabinetry.

he hand painted the sign himself. no frills; just block letters, a phone number, and the tagline he’d thought of in the middle of the night at 2am, hastily scribbled down on a napkin.

built to last. made for home.

you were there when he flipped the light on for the first time.

he didn’t say much, just stood in the doorway for a second with his dirty work shirt still on, and a bruise on his thumb from a misfired hammer. his jaw clenched, brow furrowed— like he was bracing himself for disappointment before it even had the chance to come.

you slid your arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. “it’s perfect.”

he let out a breath. shaky, quiet. but when he kissed your hair, he smiled.

day one.

the first few months were rough.

he worked jobs other people passed on— deck repairs in the rain, fence rebuilds in hundred degree heat, tiny projects that barely covered gas. some clients lowballed him. some didn’t pay on time. some didn’t call back at all.

he’d come home with blisters, cuts from tape measures, and a truck that coughed more than it ran.

but he never complained.

never asked why this wasn’t working.

just kept showing up, full of pure determination. kept sketching blueprints at midnight, practicing tongue and groove joints until they were seamless. you’d bring him coffee in the mornings and kiss the scars forming on his knuckles from sanding too hard, too fast.

“this is gonna work,” he’d say, more to himself than to you.

and you’d nod every time. “i know it is.”

it started with a table.

custom built, dark walnut, hand carved details. a woman down the street posted about it online, mentioned him by name— by number.

then came a dresser. a matching crib. a porch swing that went viral for how ‘intimate’ and ‘handmade’ it looked.

suddenly, the phone didn’t stop ringing.

people wanted his touch. his name. his work.

“i heard you’re the one to call.”

���saw what you did for the thompsons— think you could do something similar?”

“i know your waitlist is long, but im happy to wait. worth it, right?”

you’d catch him at the shop sometimes, staring at his calendar, once empty, now full of penciled in jobs, material orders, client meetings.

“you did it,” you’d say, smile big and voice proud.

and rafe; dusty, tired, arms always sore, would lean over and kiss you slow.

“we did.”

these days?

hes built half the town.

his trucks are all over the island. his crew wears his logo like armour. real estate agents brag when a house features a “rafe cameron custom built deck.”

but you?

you still remember day one; when it was just him and a dream no one took seriously. when his hands shook unlocking that busted door for the first time. when he whispered, “please work,” to a silent room and kissed your knuckles like a promise.

and now?

he still comes home with sawdust in his hair, pulls you into his arms like you’re the reason he made it— and maybe you are.

because for every long night, every slow month, every short paycheck, every splinter and rejection and empty voicemail.

you were there.

and now, so is everything he ever built.

requests are open !

if you enjoyed reading this, please don't hesitate to like, reblog, and/or comment ! i always appreciate the support x

[honeekyuu]

talk too much. [suna rintarou x reader]

eight. stick hand

previous || masterlist || next

a/n. SUNA RINTAROU POV FOR THE FUCKING WIN

warnings: swearing, a LOT of kms jokes

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

Rintarou stares down at his phone, bouncing his knee anxiously while he chews on his lip. You’d gone offline four minutes ago, asking him to give you ‘just a second’. He doesn’t know what that means, and it scares him. 

He’s sitting in the kitchen of his tiny studio apartment, charcoal sticks scattered haphazardly on the table in front of him and several sheets of sketch paper trapped under his elbows while he glares nervously down at his phone. His skin is dusted with black carbon, and the rough sketches of you – the way he sees you in his memory, in the space behind his eyes that drifts often to you throughout the day – stare up at him from the paper.

He’s worried he’s crossed a line. He’d been a little rash, frustrated with the way you’d spoken about yourself, the way you’d avoided speaking about yourself. He’d just wanted you to see. To understand that he means what he says and he’s never once spoken without meaning. That when he calls you beautiful, what he really means is that every picture you send makes him want to bury his face in his hands and scream – because he’s overwhelmed with the need to touch you and hold you. To know you, to be in your space and in your way, because you make him feel nervous in ways he’s never felt before.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running dirty fingers through his bangs and pushing them out of his face. The time ticks past another minute, and regret forms a pit in his stomach. His knee bounces with increased irritation. He must have fucked up.

And then you call.

His phone lights up in his hand, screen flashing with ‘Incoming call from Pretty Girl’. 

“Oh, shit-” Rintarou drops his phone on the table, standing quickly and stumbling over the legs of the chair as he backs away.

He’s never spoken to you on the phone before. He’s sent the occasional voice note, and he’s heard your voice in the same way, but it’s never been this. He’s too scared to do it like this.

He shouldn’t be – he’s never been as comfortable around someone as he is around you. He’s been begging to see you, to meet you. He’d even called you, too, just a few days ago when you’d sent him the pictures of yourself. But he’d done it without thinking, too busy freaking out over the development in his friendship with you to even consider that talking on the phone – hearing your voice – might be too much for him.

He’s scared to fall for you. Scared because he already has. He doesn’t know how to be good for you, how to be someone you can trust with anything. You still fight to accept the things he says to you, and he worries sometimes that it’s because he’s not good enough at convincing you. At showing you that you’re all he wants. 

He’s scared that he’s falling too fast, that he’s going to fall alone. That it’s too early to think that you’re perfect – because he knows that you’re flawed, but God, he thinks you might just be perfect for him. But he’d be insane to give into that thought. It’s only been six weeks.

It’s only been six weeks, and he’s completely hopeless.

He doesn’t know if he can answer your call.

It goes to voicemail. He regrets not answering it.

You text.

‘please pick up, suna’

He’d do anything you say.

Hopeless.

His phone flashes with the incoming call again. He picks it up with a shaky breath and presses it to his ear.

“Hello?” His voice sounds gravelly in his own ears, rough with underuse after spending all day home alone. There’s quiet on the other end, quiet that lasts long enough to make his stomach twist. “Y/n?” 

“Hi,” you breathe. “Hi, Suna.”

Falling in love is painful, he thinks.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he whispers, entirely alone in his apartment. Entirely incapable of speaking any louder than this. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Walking to my next class,” you say, and Rintarou hears the splash of cars passing in the background. 

“Still raining?”

“Pouring.”

He swallows. “You didn’t have to call. I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

Another pause. His stomach turns and flips anxiously. He runs his fingers through his bangs again and chews on his lip.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He breathes out a laugh, the air shaky as it leaves his lungs. “In that case, I’m perfectly happy to interrupt your day.” When you laugh, soft and gentle in his ear, he takes a very firm seat on his couch, knees close to giving out. “God, you have a pretty laugh. That’s no fair.”

“You’re so stupid, Suna.” 

“Yeah,” he says, propping his elbows up on his knees and smiling down at nothing. “You kind of have that effect on me.”

“Did you really draw those for me?” you ask, and he hears the quiet beep of the crosswalk behind you. 

“Got the charcoal fingers to prove it,” he says, smile widening when you laugh breathily.

“They were really pretty.”

“That’s because you’re really pretty.”

You inhale sharply. He waits for you to reject his words.

“You really think that?”

His heart surges with hope, and he clings to it. “With every fiber of my being, Y/n. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” You swallow audibly and make a sound like you’re going to deflect the compliment, but he doesn’t let you. He pushes, because he doesn’t know when he’ll get this chance again. One where you might just hear him. “You’re so pretty it makes me nervous. I’m literally nauseous right now. I’m almost terrified to meet you in person – that’s how pretty you are.”

“No one’s ever thought that before.”

“I think that,” he says, urging you to listen. “I do, Y/n. I’ve thought it from the very beginning.” You’re further from the street now, he notices — the sounds of traffic have faded. He glances at the time. He only has five minutes left with you. “Are you at your next class?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. “Math building.” And then you take a breath, pausing for a moment before speaking. He does his best not to panic about the time ticking away. “You might get bored of me, Suna. You might find another girl.”

A prettier girl, is what you mean. He hears it in the silence. 

“I told you,” he says, scrubbing his brow with one knuckle. “There’s only one girl for me.”

“It might be too soon to say that.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah. I know. I know it’s soon, but I also know how I feel, so I don’t know what else to say.” By the time he's done, his voice is nothing more than a whisper again. He'd lost his confidence. He's too nervous.

You stay quiet, and his knee starts to bounce again. He’s worried you’ll hang up. That you won’t address the words that had just come out of his mouth.

“I know how I feel, too.”

The air is pushed from Rintarou’s lungs in one blow to the chest. The butterflies he’d been trying to tamper down are back, rushing through his blood and his veins and making his skin prickle with sweat. He laughs once, and then he keeps laughing – delirious and disbelieving, because he’s never once been this lucky in his entire life.

“You mean that, pretty girl?” he says through his insanity, the question bubbling out of his mouth while he cards his fingers roughly into his hair and tugs hard at his roots. Harder, until it hurts, just to check that he’s not dreaming.

“I’m not gonna stop being difficult and frustrating,” you say, as if that could ever drive him away. “I’m doing my best, but it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Everything about you is pretty,” he argues, grinning wide when you giggle on the other end of the line. “And I already know that. I already know that I might never be able to convince you to feel differently about yourself.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “But I’m not ever gonna stop telling you how I feel about you. And to me, you’re-”

“The prettiest thing you’ve ever seen – I know,” you say, your eye-roll obvious even through the phone. “Keep it up, and I might just start to believe you.”

Rintarou jumps up, throwing his fist and screaming silently to himself. Like an idiot, he cheers to no one. Because that’s what he is for you, over and over again, willingly and gratefully. An idiot, one who falls fast and hard and with all his feelings, hoping you’ll do anything and everything with them.

Idiocy’s starting to feel a little like falling in love.

i'm here again, talkin' myself out of // my own happiness

talk too much [renee rapp].

[latenighttalking00]

A Work of Art

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.

Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Hi! def not proof read, apologies if it's a bit rough. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!

Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.

As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.

As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.

"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.

"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.

"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."

You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.

You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.

Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.

Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.

Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.

He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.

He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.

“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.

So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.

As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.

“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in

his family home.

“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.

Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.

“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.

“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.

Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.

As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.

Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face

“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.

time skip

Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.

While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.

“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.

“Repeat what you said.” he orders

“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.

“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face

You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.

Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”

“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.

The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.

“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”

“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.

He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.

Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.

The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict… you’re going to be the death of me.”

He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”

He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.

Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”

A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)

[one-boring-person]

Ah I’m so sorry to send another prompt request so soon but I suddenly thought - no 7 (the secluded space at a fancy party one) with bodyguard Henry x F!reader 🤤🤤

No need to apologise! I love every request that comes in! 😁 I hope you like this! ☺️💛

7) finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (coat closet, empty office, secluded corner on the big balcony, hedge maze if we wanna get dramatic, etc) 

Masterlist

Warnings: smut, nsfw, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, public sex, wall sex

Tag list: @pleione-sketch , @justanothercomedynerd ☺️💛

Like this? Feel free to send me a request! 😁

The wall his hard against my back, my head knocking against it a little with every frantic movement of my body. My fingernails scratch desperately at the cold surface to no avail, no match for the way in which I'm being pounded into the wall by the man pinning me to it. One of my hands is laced in the hair at the base of his neck, trying to anchor myself even as he slams into me, fucking me hard and fast. He holds me where he wants me, gripping my left thigh and pushing it up to expose my soaked cunt to him, his other hand digging into my hip and keeping me against the wall. In this position, I can't do anything other than take the ruthless fucking he's doling out to me.

Henry has his face locked in the crook of my neck, breathing wetly against me as he thrusts into me. He muffles grunts and growls against my skin, trying to keep himself quiet despite the obscenely lewd sounds resonating from my cunt, the open door of the balcony only a few feet to our left where anyone might hear if they stand too close. The thrill sends sparks flying through me, making me clench hard around his relentless cock. Henry practically snarls against me, digging his fingers into my thigh enough that I know I'll have a line of bruises adorning my skin in the morning.

I desperately bite at my lip, fighting back the pitiful moans of sheer, unadulterated pleasure that are threatening to spill forth with every ravenous thrust, my composure unravelling by the second. One especially rough thrust into my sweet spot has me gasping, a pathetic cry escaping before I can stop it. Instantly, the hand on my hip disappears and reappears at my mouth, clasping it shut. Henry leans back, locking his eyes on mine.

'Keep down for me, (Y/n). Those sounds are for me and me alone,' He smirks, watching me flounder under his intense stare, 'Another sound from you and you'll have to wait to finish this until we're home.'

Instantly, I'm shaking my head, wrapping the leg he's propped up around his waist to pin him against me. Enticingly, I squeeze my cunt around him, relishing in the guttural growl that forces its way past his gritted teeth.

'Christ, you'll be the death of me. You and your perfect cunt.' He lowers his mouth to my neck, licking along my pulse.

My eyes roll back into my head as pleasure crackles along his wake, my arms flying to wrap around him tightly. Henry chuckles and kisses the column of my neck, clearly battling the urge to leave his mark on me for all to see. His breath fans out over the wet trail he's leaving, goosebumps rising under his lips.

Suddenly, a pair of voices interrupt the euphoria clouding my mind. Henry stills, freezing as his head snaps around to face the door. A couple have appeared, clearly arguing with one another. They don't seem to have spotted us, but one look around and we'll be the spectacle of the evening. My blood turns icy, eyes wide as I stare at them, unable to think clearly through the syrupy need still floating in my head.

A minute ticks by, then another...and another...

And then Henry moves again.

My eyes meet his, panicking as he looks at me with a devious smirk. Cocking a brow, he fixes me with a challenging stare, a dare clearly playing in his irises as he rolls his hips into me. The pace is much slower, but with the deeper angle, he's now rubbing over my sweet spot with each and every grind into me. Pleasure crashes through me, my grip tightening on him, my cunt unable to stop from clenching around him, swallowing his throbbing cock deeper and deeper into me.

Furtively, I glance back at the couple, relief flooding through me as I see them heading back inside, hopefully completely unaware. When my eyes return to his, Henry just winks. It's the only warning I get before he starts slamming into me again, ravaging my dripping cunt for all its worth.

He leans back up to my ear, letting his tongue trail over the sensitive skin before speaking, letting his voice wash over me.

'I hope you realise this won't be the last time I fuck you tonight.'

I whimper under his hand, trying to roll my hips against him in approval. He grins, removing his hands from my mouth to slip it between us. I bite my lip hard as his fingers reach underneath my skirt and find my clit instantly, rubbing it mercilessly.

'If you can keep quiet when you cum all over my hand and cock, I'll let you cum again as many times as you want later,' He promises, giving me a conniving look.

I press my own hand over my mouth in his absence, biting down hard to stifle the cry of his name as he finally brings me over the edge with one last shove of his cock into me.

[caramelcandycookietwt]

Butter Roll Cookie !! :DD It meant to be simple lazy rough sketch buuuttt..I guess I just zoned out-

Bonus !! Some story (whole fricking fic,,) I made for fun!!! :333

Chars:Caramel Candy Cookie (oc),Affogato Cookie,Butter Roll Cookie,Researcher Cookie (idk which one,,Ig you can pick yourself)

Warnings:Probably bad english (not my native language),long ass text

Notes:Yep,Affo is siren in my AU :D

Footsteps sounded in the very depths of the Laboratorium..Caramel Candy Cookie was walking around it,analyzing everything she sees.What she paid most attention to was the life powder.

"M-miss Caramel Candy Cookie!" - Called her out one of the researchers.

"...!" - She turned to them with a crack and creepy smile.

"..." - They gulps.

Caramel Candy tries to appear less creepy,making her smile more friendly. - "Oh,hello! Did something happened~?"

"N-no,miss Caramel Candy Co-" - The researcher was about to finish their sentence but Candy stopped them.

"Just Caramel Candy,please.Soo..how's research going?" - It was barely noticeable,but Caramel was kind of..pissed off someone add 'Cookie' to her name.

"Great! W-we're already on the 664 step-"

"Puurfect~!" - She suddenly leaned closer to them,grinning teethy again. - "You know,father doesn't like when someone makes him wait for TOOO long~.Finish the research as fast as you can or there will be some..consequences.It's a little warning from me and father,got me~?"

The researcher quickly nodded,sweating heavily.

"Good cookie~" - Candy simply pulled away and patted their head cutely.

"Hmm? Is there someone hereee?" - The voice made Candy's ears perk up as she turned around.

"Ah! I see! You're Caramel Candy,aren't you? Licorice told me much about you!" - He looked curiously at her,but then stopped when he noticed that she stares at him. - "What's wrong,my friend..?"

". . ." - She just continues to stare,seeming to have flashbacks or something.

"Hmm.." - Butter Roll shifts his gaze to the researcher. - "Hey,you! Join the others! Teamwork is the key to success,remember?"

"Y-yes,Director Butter Roll Cookie!" - The researcher cookie left,well..they still didn't want to stay in the same room with this girl.

In that time,Affogato Cookie was wardening around the lab as well,both because of his own curiosity and the fact that it was so amusing to watch those researchers' faces when they fail again.Soon enough,he found them both and immediately payed attention to Caramel Candy and her face..

"Cara..? What that delusional girl doing here,in the place that should reminder her of her past life?? Ugh..Alright,wait here sweetie,your "hot siren twink older brother" (p.s. sorry,It was my life goal to write this,,) is coming to save you.." - He thought as he shaked his head.

"..Hmmm..." - Butter Roll snapped his fingers right in front of Candy's face to 'wake her up',yet there were no use. - "I-" - He notices Affogato. - "Oh,another CoD..! Hmmm..let me guess,you're-"

"Affogato Cookie.Yes." - He simply answered as he come closer to Candy.

"Sooo..do you know what's wrong with her?" - Roll asked with more curiosity in his tone than worry.

"Ah,don't worry,she just..zoned out." - He looked at Candy,making a worried face for a moment. - "..I guess I just take her and leave." - Affo started to drag Candy comedically towards the exit.

"Hmm,so fast already? Prehaps,you could help with the res-"

"No.I prefer not to participate in something so..dirty." - Then,he simply left.

"..Haha! Alright then,I understand! Researching things is not for everyone after all.." - Butter Roll Cookie said,as he came back to the research.

After awhile,when Affogato with Caramel Candy exited Laboratorium,Candy finally 'woke up' and pulled away from Affo.And..accidentally fell on the ground.

"..?" - He turned around in slight surprise when he felt her move.But,when she fell,he couldn't help himself but chuckle slighty..

"Ugh.." - She scratched her head softly,stood up and cleaned her 'dress-coat'. - "Soooo..I did zone out again?"

"..In short..yes."

She blinked twice,slightly embarrassed. - "..Oh." - She then quickly changed her mood back to cocky one. - "You know what..whatever.I'm sure it isn't change any impressions about me~! Hehe.." - Yet,she seems to be still slightly nervous due to her past memories and Butter Roll himself..

"..." - Affogato immediately noticed this,but decided not to tell her about it because he knows there no use to make this stubborn girl open up. - "..Alrighty,if you're already awake..I guess we can simply teleport into our room now.There's no need to waste energy after all.."

"Hmm..you're right..can I get some sweets of yours after~?!" - She started to act more childish as she leaned closer to him with sparkly eyes.

"Haha..yes.Yes you are." - He smirked at her childish behavior,even knowing that most of it all is fake..

P.s. Affogato Cookie the Sillie's protector /hj

[phoenixthefurb]

I decided to make My own designs for the forsaken kids. I also wanted to try a "messy" artstyle (they're more sketches than proper drawings really and I will eventually properly draw them)

Fun facts about the designs!!

Pr3typriincess:

She's the middle height child

Her skirt used to have frills but they got torn off during one of her attacks

While see pretends to be too prim and proper for "boy games" she loves playing rough and running fast without caring if she gets dirty

Her knees are scratched all the time because she tends to attack on all fours the way a wild beast does. She covers her scratches with cute band aids.

Like the others, she doesn't have hair. She wears a wig she chopped poorly styled herself just for fun (the way kids wear accessories when they play).

Loves frilly and detailed dresses but wears simpler ones when playing so she won't ruin them.

C00lkidd:

Shortest and the most "stretched out of the three" (yet even now he's still the shortest)

He doesn't always show his horns and tail, he can hide them, and he usually does because they get in the way of playing.

Incredibly skinny with his skin being visibly stretched out on his body.

His lowers arms are thicker because of the strength the spectre gave him. It's only so he can snap the necks of the survivors.

The lower parts of his limbs are slightly darker than the rest of the body. It makes him look dirty (the way a kid looks after lots of outdoor playing) although he isn't. He can't not smile but the insanity forced upon him by the spectre doesn't allow him to be sad anyway. He's too caught up in the playing and adrenaline to feel anything else.

Bluudud:

The tallest.

Can't spell for the life of him.

Incredibly disproportionate. Big head, long neck, super long arms (due to disconnect bones) [result of the car crash]

His upper half looks like it's very veiny, but that's his sweater fused with his skin. [result of the car crash]

Really pale bc of no blood circulation, he was brighter colored when he was alive

He wears a headset he never takes off, only thing connecting him to his past life. It was a gift from his mother. It's the only way he remembers her even slightly because the spectre blocks his memories.

He says "chat is this real" every five seconds.

His bones are completely shattered and he forgets how a normal body works. He constantly makes really weird motions (like walking with his knees bend backwards) and his body parts make a constant cracking noise. [result of the car crash]

He likes to scare survivors by walking like a spider with his broken limbs. After scaring them (and usually attacking them) he always yells gamer slang (for example: skill issue)

He has the most insane headset dent [result of the car crash]

General fun facts/headcanons :

they're all kinda like demons now due to the spectre's power so they have weird demon feet.

they love playing outdoor games and competitive video games together. Especially tekken because of the variety of characters that fit each of their tastes

When winning games

Pr3typriincess : Has a paper crown she wears and frolicks around dramatically

Bluudud : yells at the top of his lungs, makes fun of the other two

C00lkidd : happy because he is playing

When loosing games :

Pr3typriincess : finds excuses for why it was unfair and that's why she lost

Bluudud : ragequits and calls the others cheaters

C00lkidd : happy because he's playing

[dentiststoothfairy]

Aaah! Just kidding lol, I wanted to say that I’m really glad to see the contributions you have brought to the idv fandom. I recently got into idv, and stumbled on your page because of it 😅 I wanted to ask if you would at all be interested in continuing that artist so x Norton? Really loved it!Maybe a part 2 on there growing relationship, or even how Hunter Norton see the reader after turning? I don’t want you to rush or feel obligated to do this! I saw your recent post about being in pain for a few months, so don’t push yourself. And I hope you feel better 💞

🍩 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥 🍩 & ⛏️ 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝 ⛏️

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐒/𝐎

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

Afterwards, Norton was a lot more... Out of his usual character around you?

He seemed to be a little more gentle with you, a little more awkward. It was almost cute.

Its giving "his eyes softened" trope.

Don't get me wrong. He's still pretty stoic and stuff, he doesn't uproot his entire personality for you. But there are uh, very subtle changes.

He's less snappy first of all. He doesn't assume the worst instantly when you stare at him and depending on the day, he either acts like he doesn't notice or he freezes a bit.

"You're still doing that?"

Give him some time, he's not used to the positive light on his appearance <3

But he'll find himself looking around to see if you're around, just so someone familiar is in his general vicinity.

He'll stand up for you if anyone gives you any fucking issues about the fact you're incredibly shy.

He can shut Freddy up so god damn fast. He usually would've turned a blind eye but he sort of developed a bit of a sweet spot for you.

And if anyone asks him about it, he either just sends them a dirty glare, tells them to piss off or just doesn't say a word.

But once he turns into Fools Gold, you do see him less.

Honestly, he finds himself disgusting.

He was turned into a psychotic monster of the rubble that killed everyone he knew.

That's twisted.

But, to be honest. You didn't give up on him. He was a diamond in the rough, but a diamond nonetheless.

The sketches never stop piling in. You drop them at his door so that he can still admire them. Not gonna lie this way is a little easier for you to face him hehe

In fact, you even incorporate a little bit of charcoal to give a nod to his new shape.

Originally he would've thought that was an insult of some kind. But. The way you draw him..

Do you..

Do you really see him like that?

But as you notice. Your papers that usually stack at his door are disappearing.

He's taking them.

Hopefully they're teaching him to continue to love himself

and maybe

they're teaching him to love you as well.

[nerdieforpedro]

The Brave, the Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 4

All fanfics on this list are for readers age 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they're there so you know what's in them. Read at your own risk.

A Slice of Life Day by @linzels-blog (Din Djarin x GN reader)

Bakers are killing it with Pedro boys this holiday season. Our reader shows the clan of two how to bake some goodies for Life Day. Cue all the feels.

Loser by @kiwisbell (Frankie "Catfish' Morales and Fem reader)

The reader is friends with Frankie and helps him celebrate his birthday. Teaching Frankie is it's own reward as he's a hands-on and enthusiastic student. Catfish needs all the help he can get.

Exposed by @maggiemayhemnj (Ezra x GN reader)

Out of a haze, feelings that neither of them thought were reciprocated were made clear, as were events from before things became murky. It reads like an epic poem.

Face to Face by @bluebeary-jay (Din Djarin x Fem Mandalorian reader)

The reader and Din are riduurs, as such the helmets can come off. But are they ready? All the fluffy fluff.

Frankie & Din by @avastrasposts (Din Djarin x Frankie Morales)

Who would have ever pictured these two meeting? It's genuinely sweet and funny. They should have their own sitcom with Grogu "Two Pilots and a Foundling."

Don’t Drink the Punch by @wildemaven (Dave York x Fem reader)

Soft Dave York needs his own warning. He does make boring work parties 100 times better. Complements to the tie.

Watercolor by @iamskyereads (Pero Tovar x Fem reader)

The reader hopes to one day capture the Knight she pictures fore herself in her sketches. Taking over for the bath girl was an enlightneing experience.

Sex on Fire by @katiexpunk (Firefighter Joel x Fem reader)

The reader had moved to New York into her aunt's apartment. Her aunt was neighbor's with Joel, now she is. Let the burn start.

You Belong With Me by @lowlights (Dieter Bravo x plus size Fem reader)

Let no one ever tell you that Dieter Bravo wouldn't give all the toys you want. Any type of toys you asked for, and will ensure you try out every single one.

At the Garden Inn by @batdarkladyvampir (Dieter Bravo x curvy Fem reader)

The reader is a manager of a B&B in Arizona. Not a place one would expect to see Dieter Bravo. She didn't expect that Bravo would take more than a liking to her either.

Sky Drabbles by @frenchiereading (Frankie Morales x Fem reader)

The sky keeps changing and so do the reader's and Frankie's feelings for each other. They roll on like the clouds, growing into something more maybe? Might find out beyond the horizon.

Linger On by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Joel Miller x fem reader)

To the reader, Joel is like a bad penny, he keeps popping up. Maybe she wants him to, maybe she's mad that she wants him to. All the angst. Rambler's a master at it.

Resting Eyes by @frenchiereading (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Frenchie is having a blog milestone celebration 🎉 A cozy celebration. I sent her an ask with a Pedro boy and a prompt (reader and Joel reading aloud to each other) and this sweet domestic fic is what she created with that little of information. I love her ❤️ I am biased, but this applies to the entire list (maybe Frenchie a smidge more 😘)

Yours by @wheresarizona (Dave York x fem reader)

Hot smut + possessive Dave with a generous slathering of Soft Dave. Read this and enjoy, you'll thank your eyes later.

White Christmas by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Dieter Bravo x fem reader)

Not everyone has happy holidays with their family because it's more stress than it is worth. So get away from it all and diddle your Dieter fast, slow, rough, with a dash of red or however you enjoy your diddles. Diddle deep and scream. 😝 Stay hydrated 💦

Give to me by @sp00kymulderr (Dieter Bravo x fem reader)

Dieter Bravo has feelings, a lot of them about our reader. He's running through them in the aftermath of the night before. He's all in, consumed and doesn't want to talk about it. Just wants more time. So sweet.

Please check out the fics on the list and support them by liking and reblogging. Authors enjoy interactions about their work. 🤓

[majimaisms]

Your Majima and Saejima’s art are incredibly neat, I hope to learn to paint like that, can I ask what brushes do you use? And do you think to do other portraits beyond Majima?

AW thank u anon!! i paint in krita (which is free and open source!) and i'm still (always. tbh) experimenting with brushes so it's a bit of a mess, but here are the brush packs i used for those paintings:

"flat rough wash" and "flat dry" from the this one

"2b details" (for sketching) and "powder shader" from this one

"dry textured creases" and "blender rake" from the default krita 4 brushes. also "texture reptile" for the snakeskin

"dry smooth" from a bundle called RZV that i *believe* is included in the default krita brushes? the artist who made it has uploaded a newer set of brushes here btw (if you cant find it anywhere, shoot me another ask and i'll share the file, but i usually just use that one for tattoos anyway)

"basic" from this one (also for tattoos)

i think i used almost entirely different brushes for my first majima painting, the one in my header, maybe "bristles-2 flat rough" from the default brushes? i often use that for hair anyway. and "blocks: hairy" and "old classic-texture" from this one. download link here. (i also really like the "bristles: dirty" brushes and the "splatter" brushes from that one.) and i think i also used "hard texture grain" from RZV again

as for whether or not im going to do other portraits besides majima, good fucking question lmfao. if you mean the disco elysium portrait, i have to admit ive literally only considered doing *more* majima portraits KJHGJDFKGF but listen. in my defense. i really like his y3 suit... but it was really fun to do and actually quite fast? only took me a few hours in total. so like, maybe! i'll definitely be thinking about it now

[ebonyslasher]

Spicy Alphabet: Daniel Lamb

Make sure to read Daniel's character information post I made if you're unfamiliar with his character.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

“Are you okay? Did you like it?”

Daniel takes the time to catch his breath while holding you. You feel his kisses scatter on your body, his lips finding your nipple as his tongue swirls your areolas. They harden more, excited with his actions. Moist pink lips suction on them, eliciting a small moan from your form.

At some point, it’ll be time to clean up....or not. He doesn’t mind sitting in the product of the coupling for a bit.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Daniel: Torso. The running, hiding, and killing has built up Daniel’s body over the years. He used to have a broad, but undefined chest and stomach. Now he has pecs and a sketch of abs. 

You: Your face. He gets entranced by your beauty. He loves looking at your facial expressions, hopefully you are expressive type! If he can, he will keep a picture of you with him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Ejaculates an average amount, but his refractory period is shorter than average. Daniel can pile cum on or in you throughout back to back sessions. He likes his cum on you, in you, and on himself.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he would go on his fishing trips with Michael, his mouth would be filthy when he talked about sex and who he was attracted to. Michael was no different. If you worked or interned at the workplace, you were definitely on the list of ones he would talk about. Maybe a bit too much. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

No, but yes. He had a wife, so obviously yes. But, he doesn’t remember her, so technically no. Muscle memory will kick in and will build his sex skills back up quickly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He would rather sex be serious. But, he’s open to be humorous.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not groomed, he doesn’t have time. If Daniel is at your residence, he will groom at your place before any sexual activity. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Pretty intimate, Daniel can’t get off without some emotional attachment. Especially with the trouble of preserving his memory. Daniel believes in the phenomenon where the more attached he is, the more likely he will remember the memory for a substantial amount of time. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The scenes he’s forced in are too tense where consistent focus is on surviving; therefore, it won’t be on his mind. Even outside of surviving, Daniel has tunnel vision on any interesting topics. When he’s actually relaxed is when he will be open to play with himself. He keeps it quite simple, quick and easy.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Being flashed, Nice fragrances or aromas, Erotic images/art, Medical Play/Roleplay, voyeurism, squirting, cumplay, comfort sex. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your place or a random hotel.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your smiles, High intellect, being helpful to his situation, strength (emotional,mental, or physical), strong loyalty, a little bit of obsessive behavior (towards him). 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Don’t mention Leo during intimate moments, it just seems wrong. If you’re trying to get close to him, Don’t be mysterious about who you are and your intentions. No talk of The Project, or threatening to turn him in. No sadistic cruelty (unless the person deserved it) and no trying to control him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both. Daniel savors the taste of you and is desperate for you to taste him whole. With a lot of saliva.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Hard, moderate to fast. Will like slow, but does it to drive you or him crazy

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is open to them, although it is not his key preference. He does often wake up with morning wood and wants to solve it quickly.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, as long as no one gets hurt.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

High, He hides, stalks and kills for hours and days at a time. 3 in one go, 30-40 minutes (depending on foreplay).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, can’t. Before the bridge, he only had one pocket pussy hidden in the house. Of course, that’s torched now. Although a bit overwhelmed, Daniel will be interested in using it on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Sometimes, when he wants you to act/look desperate or wants a big release

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud. Daniel sounds like a delicious nerdy mess.

“Y/N…mmmnnn”

“Oh god, yes!” 

“The inside of you feels so good..”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“Sit on my chest and play with yourself until you squirt on my face.”

Daniel loves the visual of your squirting on him. He’s not afraid of your sex liquid splashing him. He enjoys the hit of salt and tang that washes over his tongue, the wet and uncomfortable feel of the ejaculate hitting his flesh, and the squelching lead up and the uncontrollably loud moaning as you release onto him. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8 inches length. 2 inch Width. His head is perfectly bell shaped and a pink color, shade #B75D5C. His slit is convex like a cat’s pupil, with a little pucker in the middle. Circumcised. Slight curve, approximately 0.85%. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Here are the following conditions: 

In the situation of you journeying with him: Daniel will fall asleep if he feels safe/comfortable. May wake up as Leo and try to make you continue. May wake up as Daniel and either: hang around (morning) or continue (night).

In the situation where he comes to your residence: Daniel will stay and sleep, if his PTSD doesn’t act up. Even in the event that it does, he will cuddle and hang onto you. Leo will try to leave or coax another session before hopping out. 

[choutac]

Draw Sneakers with the "Fast & Dirty" Technique!

I drew Sneakers with the "Fast & Dirty technique" on my iPad! Have you heard of it? It's a technique that most beginners don't know because they think they should sketch nicely and neatly to succeed.

How to Draw Sneakers with the “Fast & Dirty Technique”! (7min14) 00:25 Draw with a thick nib01:12 Start drawing with the “Shoe Last” 01:39 Add simple color blocking 01:47 Select a dark grey 02:57 Fail? Draw a new sketch! 04:58 Imagine your design on a store shelve 05:50 Draw Fast & Dirty! I love trying new sketching appsand testing them like a geek. 💻 Today,I use the app “Morpholio Trace” for…

[troubleshade]

"What if..."

Sometimes my head spins around with infamous "What if" scenarios. And I want to bring them to the paper so I don't go insane.

So I want to create a little series where I just can dump the ideas if some choices in my stories took an other direction.

These little stories or explanations will be stored under the "keep reading" option, because it could trigger some people with specific topics or can be get really long. (I'll write out warnings as best as I can)

Anyway... this episode of today's "What if": Aster don't rescue Asha, Coen and Chiisai

(tw: attempt murder, visualizing of blood, injuries)

The three are originally from a human lab, Aster broke in there for informations. After his plan got scrapped by an accident and fire outbreak he flees. He notices the small turtles but don't get the chance to take them with him before his chasers see him. Aster escapes without the turtle tots.

Therefore Asha, Chiisai and Coen are still inprisoners of the lab, their fate takes an other more darker turn.

Asha: The siren

The second oldest faced the most experiments with mutagen, it got more excessive over time to keep their control over Chiisai. Asha get used as a form of blackmail against her sister. She grows over time too fast, reaching a height of 10'49" ft (3,20 m). Due to the massive expose to mutagen Asha's behavior changes from almost normal to feral. She talks in gibberish, only able to pronounce a few words correctly (like the name of her sister).

For the scientists she isn't a too dangerous threat, except if the humans hurt her sister. She mostly listens to Chiisai and going on missions as a guardian. The turtle loves to be in water and has a pond for herself. Nobody should get too near to her if she's in water because she tends to grab and drown her victims in incredible speed. Music fascinates Asha and she sings and hums with a sweet voice her own melodies.

Chiisai: The hunter

The oldest turtle got trained for assasination missions and the dirty work. She got a heated temper and tried the most to escape the facility. If she is on her missions she can be merciless and enjoys the hunt more than she would admit. As she became too rebelious and a serious danger for the humans the turtle got her collar and her sister Asha suffers because of Chiisai's mistakes. She is the only one who communicates with Asha and fully understands her. The two share a cell for the night, she's not allowed anymore to be in a room with Coen after she almost killed her brother.

Because of her soft shell she got an outer protection shell, but she hates it. (She can't take it of, what enrage her more). Chiisai holds a grudge not only towards Coen but to Aster too. In her fuzzy memory she remembers Aster and his escape without looking back at them. She don't really know him but she will hurt him as soon if she ever meet Aster.

Coen: The wolf in sheep's clothing

The youngest has the most freedom of the three. Thanks to intense manipulation he joins the human without questions. He roams freely through the facility and isn't seen as a threat but as a trustworthy follower.

His job is to blend in in different sanctuaries of the remaining mutants just to hand them out to the humans in the end. For that his sister Chiisai hates him. He doesn't care much for his sisters, Coen is the one who needs to retrieve them if they escapes. The last fight with Chiisai ended almost fatal for him. He lost his eyesight, later he got artificial eyes.

Some rough sketches (click for better view)

[lebenspurpur]

Jealous otis sinclair smut???

bestie who the fuck is otis sinclair/hj

Anyway you're getting NSFW headcannons with the Sinclair brothers and Otis because why not.

ᴠɪɴᴄᴇɴᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄʟᴀɪʀ

Vincent has a pretty high sex-drive but he doesn't show it. He's scared that you don't want him and so he keeps on ignoring his urges.

We all know Vincent has a few dirty drawings laying somewhere. They're really good too since he knows quite a lot about anatomy.

Vincent literally doesn't care what you look like. Bodies are just instruments to him, no matter what shape they are.

Please pull his hair. Especially when he goes down on you. It awakes such an animalistic urge inside of him, it's astonishing.

Don't ask him for cockwarming because that man has patience. He has no problem sitting there for hours, maybe reading, maybe sketching, who knows.

He might never admit it but the thought of his twin hearing the two of you arouses him more than anything else. Vincent will try his best to make you scream to let his dreams come true.

Vincent is pretty much down for everything you want to try, except inflicting pain on you. Him receiving pain? Depends on the pain but he might be down.

Very big fan of cumming inside of you. It feels like he's claiming you with his seed.

Loves tying you up. Especially when it looks aesthetically pleasing.

ʙᴏ ꜱɪɴᴄʟᴀɪʀ

This horny, horny man. Bo has such a high sex drive, he can literally take you all day, every day.

An ass man through and through.

Loves doggy-style. The animalistic side of him comes out and the fact that he's 100% in control just arouses the shit out of him.

Very open with his sexual life. The amount of information that Vincent had to listen to is... really astonishing.

Fucking you to Marylin Manson in the gas station? Yes.

Doesn't care if Vincent listens. Kind of wants him to. Will definitely whisper You want Vince to hear us? in your ear when you're loud.

Teasing motherfucker. For someone so spontaneous and childish Bo has quite the patience.

I am so sorry but he gets horny when he's drunk. We all know drunk sex is not it. Have fun with that.

Sex outside is a must. Bo doesn't really care where exactly, he just wants to be outside.

He will also fuck you in front of victims, especially if they make him jealous.

ʟᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪɴᴄʟᴀɪʀ

Lester is often perceived as a sweetheart but he probably has more knowledge in the romantic apartment than both of his brothers. That being said, he's not innocent.

Also an ass man. Loves your bottom, no matter what it looks like.

This was always a headcannon of mine and idk why but Lester has the best rhythm. He's empathetic enough to be slow and aroused enough to be fast and that somehow works perfectly.

Suck him off while he drives. Maybe not in his truck because yk, full with dead animals but still.

Shower sex. Need I say more.

Very fucking kinky but no one expects that. Let's not forget that this boy has trauma too.

Totally fine with tying you up for the day and just let you wait for him.

Frustrated sex? Hell yeah.

Lester can be both, rough and loving. It really depends on his mood.

ᴏᴛɪꜱ ᴅʀɪꜰᴛᴡᴏᴏᴅ

Oh boy. Get your seatbelt on because this is gonna be one hell of a ride.

Necrophiliac. And a very committed one. He'll fuck you with a corpse lying next to you.

Everything about Otis feels like a fever dream. Sex is very interesting as well. If you're both not high as fuck, you might not be fucking Otis.

Always down for a threesome as long as he can kill the other person later. The more people, the more pleasure as he likes to say.

Extremely into outside sex. Especially when he knows that there are other people outside.

Very degrading, especially if you're a woman. Thrives if you cry.

Will slap you if you're down. Is also very big on spanking.

Want to get fucked by another person while Otis films it? He'll obviously kill the other partner later and fuck you in front of their dying body but still.

A little finger action at the dinner table with the family is one of his favorite daydreams.

Otis has his own porn stacked somewhere. And yes, he'll fuck you while watching it.

Never wears any kind of protection and that will never change.

[shootybangbang]

In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

[electricb00]

i wanna delete my emet sketches bcz they were so rough and fast and dirty and they dont reflect how i wanna draw him in the future BUT the limp wrist tags are SO FUNNY it makes me wanna keep the post.