#i’ll never be good at art i’ll never be good at writing i’ll never be good at any of these things that i love

[we-re-always-alright]

at about 11” or so, finally can see the pattern really come alive, yet somehow still on the first ball of yarn

[bleue-flora]

Ok, I recently wrote an essay [here] talking about the definition and duties of civil engineering as well as the ethics because of the brain rot @swordfright gave me with calling Dream Sam’s ultimate engineering project. So, because I actually am a civil engineer I took it upon myself to design the title and summary of quantities sheets just like I do at work for roads but with Dream as the project instead. And in honor of angst day sponsored by @sixteenth-day-event, I figured I’d share it because I feel like it kinda works for the prison of the mind prompt.

“Sam’s “ultimate engineering project” he deemed too damaged like a bumpy road or crumbling building that wasn’t worthy of patching and filling in the cracks or reinforcing, that’s too eroded to be fixed and preserved. So, Sam strived to tear him down to the bedrock so he could remake, remold, and reengineer Dream according to his design for the common safety, public health and well-fair.”

{These are very similar to the actual sheets I make day to day, which I shall not share for the sake of doxing my location, but yea pretty much everything has a significance. Some of it doesn’t necessarily make sense but that was because I was more so taking inventory of what we see in lore (so you know I counted ;) lol)}

[lulu2992]

“You can’t go back, you hear me?!”

In “that fic I’ll never write”, this takes place after the mission “The Bliss”.

As always, more details below :)

Like in the game, Taylor was found by the Cougars sometime after her second encounter with Faith, and she ends up spending the night at the Hope County Jail. However, when she wakes up in the morning, she realizes she’s been gone for nearly three days, so she rushes back to her bunker in which John is still “trapped”.

When she arrives at what used to be the McClean Residence, now her (temporary) home, she notices the hatch is still locked from the outside, but when she opens it and carefully goes down the stairs, the bunker seems empty. Did John leave, somehow? No, it’s impossible. Did someone else come and find him, then? Well, there are no signs of a break-in or a struggle, so probably not…

Taylor, only now realizing she’s unarmed and feeling even more anxious, hesitantly calls John’s name. He appears, peeking from behind a wall, a baseball bat in his hands.

“Oh thank God, it’s you,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief and dropping his weapon.

Coming up to the Deputy, he asks her what happened. She, having not yet fully recovered from everything she’s just been through, confusedly summarizes what she’s done since the last morning he saw her, about three days ago, when she told him she would probably be back “in a few hours”. Faith, the Bliss, the Sheriff, Joseph, the visions, the Marshal… She speaks rapidly and barely takes time to catch her breath.

Then, since Burke hasn’t been rescued yet and other people still need her help, she realizes and tells him she should go back. But, as she turns around to leave, he grabs her arm.

“No!”

And when John Seed, who swears by “The Power of Yes”, exclaims “no” with such conviction, it makes you want to stop and listen to what he has to say.

“You can’t go back, you hear me?!”

He explains, almost frantically, that she can’t win against Faith, against the Bliss, and that if she tries anyway, things will likely not end well for her, tells her she looks exhausted, dazed, and insists she needs to rest. He simply can’t let her keep throwing herself into danger and risking losing her life or her sanity anymore. She spared him, and if she let the Project know instead of pointlessly continuing to fight them, he believes all problems could be solved.

She listens, and she knows he might be right, but the idea of publicly admitting that the Baptist, in fact, not only is alive, but has also been living with her since his “death” (as her hostage, but still) frightens her. The situation seems inextricable; she’s been keeping this secret for so long...

Too long, according to John, who had already warned her this would happen and can now see, without feeling the satisfaction he thought, at the time, he would derive from the unfortunate situation the Deputy’s fear to speak to her friends has put her in, that guilt is effectively eating her up. It has taken a considerable toll on her health, both mental and physical, and this has to stop. He wants this to stop.

She knows she needs to finally gather the courage to tell the truth, but she’s so scared of disappointing and losing everyone if she does. According to him, though, confessing what weighs on your soul is always a good thing, and he believes that, once he’s officially “back to life”, he’ll be able to help her and her cause, especially in the eyes of the Family.

He also promises that, even if Taylor loses everyone else, she won’t lose him. She saved him, and it’s time for John to return the favor.

[silkjade-archived]

need to yap

[cuteniaarts]

2 hour rough drawing of Ehuang, my precious Green Opal child who I don’t draw nearly enough <3

[novadraem]

Those headcanons(I don’t know what other way to describe them) and art I found, not only were they so outdated they just didn’t make any sense really?

[whumpy-wyrms]

ITS BEEN A MONTH SINCE TLLR CHAPTER 11????? WHAT

[deityofhearts]

you ever just wish the things you made were better and more creative but no matter what you do it’s always lackluster and disappointing?

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

I ran this morning AND wrote some AND made art and I’m so proud of me

[sesamestreep]

Chirrut/Baze, 35

35. It’s brighter now (from this prompt list)

“It needs more lights.”

Baze grunts in both acknowledgement and frustration from his precarious spot at the top of a very tall ladder. “Can you let me get down first before we critique?”

“Sorry, Professor,” Chirrut says, with a smile, clearly unrepentant.

Baze grumbles again, at the glib nickname and at his knees, which are registering their complaint over going up and down a ladder repeatedly. He doesn’t know how he ended up here—well, that’s not entirely true. He knows how he ended up here today in a literal sense. Chirrut had asked him this morning, as they were both getting dressed for work, if he could stop by the community center after he was done with his classes for the day and help him set up the Christmas tree in the lobby. The kids who attend programming at the center will make ornaments and garlands and all that during their art classes and decorate it to their hearts’ content, but someone needed to assemble to enormous fake tree and add the lights. Somehow, this person ended up being Baze.

“What did you used to do about assembling the tree?” Baze had asked earlier, as he moved papers around on his desk looking for his keys. The back half of that question—before you met me—is left unsaid, though Chirrut clearly heard it anyway.

“Grindr,” Chirrut had replied, straight-faced.

Baze had tripped over his own feet and knocked a small hard drive off the desk for good measure. “What?!”

“Idiot,” Chirrut said, lovingly. “Bodhi normally helps me, but it needs to get done this week and he’s busy.”

“Bodhi is busy with something that isn’t catering to your every whim and eccentricity?” he asked. Chirrut’s assistant is, as far as Baze is concerned, an actual saint for the amount of nonsense Chirrut puts him through. He’s convinced Chirrut would forget to eat without Bodhi to remind him. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Chirrut said. “Just between you and me: I think he’s dating someone.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He suddenly has plans outside of work.”

“That’s not that strange.”

“It is for Bodhi,” Chirrut replied. “I’m not complaining. I think it’s good for him.”

“But now you’re realizing how much unpaid overtime you ask of him.”

“I’m a terrible manager,” he said, with a bright grin. “And an even worse boyfriend.”

“I’ll help you with your tree,” Baze had said with a heavy sigh. It’s always pointless to argue with Chirrut. “Just don’t introduce me to people as your boyfriend. It makes us sound like teenagers.”

“We’re not teenagers?” Chirrut had asked, as he slipped his arms around Baze’s waist from behind and kissed him on the shoulder. Against the shell of his ear a moment later, he’d added, “Could have fooled me.”

In the end, they’d both been a little late to work this morning.

Now, safely back on the ground, Baze steps back to survey his work. Chirrut is perched atop the front desk in the lobby, feet swinging like a little kid and gaze fixed on the tree.

“It looks good,” Baze says, but not quite firmly enough. He does think the tree looks good, but the statement still went up at the end like a question. He, stupid man that he is, wants Chirrut’s approval.

“It needs more lights,” Chirrut says, in the exact same tone as before. Pleasant, but brooking no argument.

“You can’t even see it!”

“And still I know it needs more lights.”

“How?”

“I can feel it,” he says. “The tree is too dim.”

“Chirrut…”

“I know, I know. I’m very taxing. But we have more lights. We might as well use them.”

“Fine, but if I fall and die because you insisted on the tree needing more lights on it, when it looked fine already…”

“I’ll feel very silly indeed. They’ll all chuckle at the eulogy I give.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near my eulogy,” Baze grumbles.

“Who else would do it?”

“Leave it to Jyn,” he says, crossing over to the desk, where the extra sets of lights are sitting next to Chirrut. “The service will last five minutes, tops.”

“You would want an expedient funeral.”

“No point in dithering. I’m already dead.”

“Jyn won’t be your graduate student forever, you know…”

“No, but I’ve made the mistake of getting emotionally attached to her, so she’s a permanent fixture, I’m afraid.”

“I like Jyn,” Chirrut says, pleasantly. “Why should you be afraid of admitting that?”

Baze waves a hand, dismissively, even though such a thing is useless around Chirrut. “You know how I am about feelings.”

“You’d just as soon not be burdened by them?”

“Yes,” he replies, pulling out another strand of lights to test at the nearby outlet.

Chirrut snorts. “You know, it’s that kind of attitude that kept you single well into your fifties.”

“‘Well into my fifties!’ I’m fifty-three! And you, if all people, should be happy I stayed single as long as I did.”

“I’m not prone to jealousy,” Chirrut says. “As long as you were single when we met, I would have been happy.”

Baze unplugs the lights rather more savagely than necessary. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Chirrut’s hand darts out suddenly to grasp him by the wrist. His thumb moves gently over Baze’s pulse point. It’s enough to stall him in his plan to retreat in a huff, and he covers Chirrut’s hand with his own.

“I sometimes feel guilty that I didn’t find you sooner,” Chirrut says, earnestly. “I know that’s foolish, but it is how I feel.”

Baze doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s almost too big of an offering to understand, let alone accept. “You found me,” he says, after a moment. “That’s what matters.”

“Still, we could have had a life together…”

“We have a life together now.”

“You think I’m a silly old man.”

“Yes,” Baze says, squeezing his hand. “And I love you for it.”

“You hear that?” Chirrut asks the empty lobby. “He loves me!”

“A very silly old man,” Baze says, as he feels his own face warm in equally foolish embarrassment.

“More lights!” he chirps, happily, his former earnestness now pleasantly forgotten.

“Is this why you wish we’d met sooner? So tormenting me about the Christmas tree could be a yearly tradition?”

“It still can be! Life is what we make of it!”

Baze groans, but dutifully returns to the tree to add the next strand of lights. He repeats this process until they’ve used every last strand that Chirrut had the staff at the center pull out of storage, and then steps back to admire his handiwork.

“See?” Chirrut asks, even though he himself cannot.

“You were right,” Baze admits, begrudgingly. The tree is bright enough to light the entire lobby now. “It looks better.”

“I’m always right. When will you learn?”

Baze returns to Chirrut’s side. “I’m getting used to the idea.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to convince you to buy a tree for your place?”

Baze sighs, and turns to face him, letting his head tip forward until their foreheads touch. His hands come to rest on Chirrut’s hips. He doesn’t normally decorate for the holiday, partially because he doesn’t really celebrate Christmas but mostly because he’s just never seen the point. He’d just have to take everything back down in January! That’s far too much effort for his taste. Still, he can already feel himself wavering on that conviction. This compulsive need to make Chirrut happy is really interfering with his reputation as a miserable old bastard.

“I’m fairly certain you could convince me to do almost anything,” he says, and Chirrut’s answering smile is even brighter than the damn tree.

✨

[strawburrymeadows]

art

there’s something inside my chest, bursting

bursting at the thought of you

it aches with that of a young girl

staring out at the sea for the first time

but it burns with that of a smoke-filled sky

in a city well known

i think it’s funny we call it love

or at least akin to that word

because isn’t that what the artists are trying to prove?

the painter paints a portrait of home

of a person or thing

they have come to hold dear

but will frustrate themselves

when it’s not exactly perfect

when it’s not exactly right

something off in a way they can’t visualize

the musician composes a melody

one that’s beautiful and unified and lilting

one that sounds like their childhood

but the sheet music goes unfinished

one note left imperfected

for it won’t sound like it’s supposed to

like it’s impossible to hear

the poet writes a million words

all describing her

in a million ways and a million tounges

but they know, deep inside

it only covers half of what she is

half of what they love

it’s such a difficult thing to capture

in words, in sound, in pictures

for we have tried for centuries

centuries of searching for the right way

to represent something we all feel

so intensely

but it overcomes our ability to qualify

“you’ll know when you feel it”

everyone says

and that’s really all it comes down to

the painter paints and i feel love

the musician composes and i feel love

the poet writes and i hope

she feels love

[omotelie]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[eenochian]

i know it’s stupid for me to be doubting my writing skills rn, like i’m literally getting more attention on my fics now than ever, but i’m just so unconfident in everything i’ve written lol. i’m putting out things that i’m happy with, but there’s always that voice telling me it’s shit and that i should just stop – and, it feels selfish, being insecure despite the support. like i’m not appreciative enough and i’m just being an attention whore. now i’m just sitting here, staring at a blank draft for the past 5 hours. i have the idea, i have people asking for the chapter, and yet i’m paralyzed trying to write.

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Sylus SFW/NSFW Headcanon/s

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A/n: I genuinely couldn’t resist. I’m sorry.  This is also my first time writing headcanons that are NSFW! I hope you like it! And I based Sylus on that anonymous man that Rafayel was talking to, while it’s definitely inaccurate, I didn’t know where to base him from aside from the leaked trailer, I hope you like this one!

Masterlist

Pairing: Sylus x AFAB Reader

Warning: NSFW Up ahead! This is for 18+ readers. Stockholm Syndrome, TOXIC! Obsessive love, unhealthy relationship. Degradation

Tell me if I left a warning out, I’ll update this immediately.

Credits: The line dividers are from Kaomoji; the art is from Love and Deepspace ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

SFW: ✧ He’s the kind of person who won't hold back. After you were handed to him like a free meal, he decided that whatever you discussed with Xavier and Rafayel would fail, and he’d ensure it. Even if the plan was to infiltrate Onychinus, he would absolutely make sure it failed.

✧ When Rafayel handed you over to him, he was so elated that he ordered his men to take you to his home as soon as you were drugged, where you’ll be kept trapped. Unlike the other male leads, he isn't upfront but rather lurks in the shadows, stalking your every move.

✧ Even though he acknowledges your capability and doesn’t see you as a weakling, he will ensure you remain completely obedient to him. If you try to escape, he will isolate you further, providing only food and water to keep you alive. In his view, isolation is the most effective method of punishment, especially if it means breaking your spirit to force your obedience.

✧ He despises you. He hates how you make him feel like he's dependent on your presence, while you, on the other hand, don’t even know him, to himself, you were his whole world. Sylus won’t tell you how easy it is for you to have him under your thumb.

✧ You may hate him for your own reasons, and he can see it in your eyes. Yes, he might have been responsible for the explosion that took your childhood friend and grandmother, but it wasn’t entirely intentional. He didn’t expect you to come home so early that day; it was a miscalculation on his part.  He won’t tell you that though, he likes seeing you so focused on him with an emotion you would never feel for the other men in your life. The hatred fuels him.

✧ Now while he’s lenient with you growling and squirming like a mutt, if you try to bite and hurt him back, he’s going to make sure to put a collar around your neck, you’re being a bad pet. He’ll make sure that you drop that disobedience before he’s forced to make it leak out of you instead.

✧ If you start to relax, or simply get tired of trying to escape, he will reward you by letting you go out with him. However, if you try to speak or ask for help, the collar around your neck will inject you with drugs that will turn your brain to mush, ensuring you won’t betray him in public. Not that anyone would dare to save you; he’s confident a few people recognize him.

✧ Oh, don’t take him as someone reckless though, he takes extra measures to prevent you from acting out. Once he implements those safety measures, he’ll be happy to buy you outfits that fit his aesthetic, or anything you’d like really. Sometimes he’ll be nice to you, only sometimes.

✧ I think it’s obvious how he shows his hatred and love for you in these headcanons, he’s going to make sure to tear down that confidence you have, he’ll break you. One of his methods would be to have you be eaten by guilt till you start blaming yourself instead of him. He’s good with his words, he wouldn’t be gaining such loyal followers without it. ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

NSFW:

✧ BRAT TAMER TO THE FULLEST, he wouldn’t let you act out at all, if you tried, he’s gonna have you bent over the wall while he smacks your ass, making sure his handprint stays marked there. Till you can’t sit down comfortably, actually he won’t even let you test if you can sit down properly,  cause he’ll have you sitting on his lap, it can be during a meeting with his trusted companions, imagine a console table with almost 10 people along with him in front, while people are discussing their plans, you can’t even hear it properly cause of how deep his fingers are pumping in and out, his thumb pressing on your clit. If you let out a yelp he'd chuckle before nipping on your ear.

“Quiet, you’re distracting them” he’d murmur while squeezing your waist as a warning.

✧ While he gives off a vibe of being a dominant top if you want to ride him, he’ll let you, however with the condition that you make him cum before you do, which fails! Cause he has a pretty good endurance, you poor girl. Once he wins, he’ll flip you down, pinning your arms up while spreading your legs further, hand pressing on your soft tummy.

“Can’t even ride properly huh? You want me to do all the work pretty girl?"

✧ HATE SEX is one of his favorites, once you get the privilege to go out, if he ever sees you try to speak to another man aside from the bodyguards, he sent to watch over you while he’s busy, he’s going to use that as a reason to leave multiple marks on your body, specifically your neck. You can’t even hide it, along with the bite marks on your thighs. Oh right, not like anyone can see it, you’re forbidden from going out till he milks you of every orgasm he can pull out of you for the next few days.

✧ The type to finger you while you’re in public, if you’re wearing something short, like a skirt, he’ll lift it up, sliding his hand underneath your panty before fingering you. Make sure you don't make too much noise now, or people will notice, slut.

✧ He’s messy, the type to eat you out like a man starved, watch him suck on your clit while he pushes his fingers on your sweet spot, he had his arms wrapped around your thighs just so you don’t try to run away from his skillful tongue, the type of man to make you squirt and once he does he gets drunks over your taste, pulling away a bit just to look at you,

“One more, I know you can take it” he’d say before giving your puffy clit a kiss."

[vxnuslogy]

— will they, won’t they.

pairing: hoshina soshiro x gn!reader

premise: hoshina soshiro has been hopelessly in love with you for years now. and for the first time, you finally hear him say the words "i love you."

— warnings: down bad + jealous hoshina, modern setting, reader is a kyudo player.

— author's note: little miss says she's going on a break then proceeds to write about hoshina soshiro for all the dying fans (its me, i'm the dying fans.) art credits to @.BByo_chick on twitter.| ~700 words.

“how long are ya gonna keep me here?”

“no one is forcing you to.”

hoshina only clicks his tongue and stares at the dojo walls. his finger impatiently tapping at his chin as he hits crossed leg on the floors. it’s half past 5 in the afternoon now and you have no intentions of going home anytime soon.

“i’m gettin’ bored here,” he drawls, hands stretching over his head as he watches you shoot another arrow with pin-point accuracy that makes his smirk twitch uncomfortably. you’ve gotten too good at kyudo, and it shows.

“then go home,” you reply as you pull the bow back and aim for your next shot. “you don’t have to keep waiting for me to finish.”

but that was the thing: hoshina wanted to wait for you and he always will.

he wants everyone to know that you had him and he’s all you’ll ever need. there was no need for that guy who caught your fall a few days ago—not when he’s been catching you for the past 3 years. he was your guide in the train station every morning, so why do you keep trying to go to the station earlier and ask your junior for directions? hoshina soshiro was always by your side, so why couldn’t you see that?

“i’ll wait,” he murmurs into his hand, eyes looking at anything but at you. “got nothin’ to do at home anyways.”

it was a weak excuse, but it always does the trick. you always relent and let him stay but not without throwing a look over your shoulder that screams “you’re acting strange.” because he was. hoshina, against his will, feels his lips being tugged into a frown whenever you interact with anyone that isn’t him.

that sounds very bad–it is bad in a sense–but hoshina would never dream of taking away your freedom. so he just watches, painfully by the sidelines, with a scoff on his face as another student from a rival school stammers to ask for your number. it was irritating, having to watch everyone throw themselves at you when you’re clearly uninterested. 

“what the hell will happen if i’m not by yer side, captain.” hoshina jests as you pack up your stuff and lock the dojo.

“is this about earlier?” you ask with an amused lilt to your voice. “when the new student asked for my number?”

hoshina hated how you always aimed for the heart.

“i have no idea what yer talkin’ about,” he weakly tries to change the topic. hoshina racks his brain to think of something—anything—to help change the conversation, but his mind keeps circling back to you. how you almost looked serious when some guy–who was leagues below you by the way–had the gall to ask you out for a date.

“never took you for the jealous type.” you tease.

“it’s because ‘m not.” he said through gritted teeth, hands balling into small fists against his school bag. “‘m lookin’ out for ya, alright? that guy was a creep. i’m keepin’ yer ass safe from weirdos.”

you looked unconvinced but didn’t comment on his unusual aggressiveness. hoshina let out a frustrated sigh, a hand coming to ruffle your hair and pull just a tiny bit closer that would make everyone question your relationship. this was driving him crazy but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“‘m not jealous. get that over yer pretty little head.”

and until you both got on the train and went your separate ways to go home, hoshina soshiro never once let your hand drop to your side. he kept you impossibly close to his side and whispered sweet good lucks into your ear. body so comfortably lax in your presence he was slouching on the train seat so he could bury his nose in your hair. 

hoshina soshiro was so unfathomably in love with you. 

how could he not love you when you use your own heartbeat to calm his erratic one during every competition? when every hug has his mind spinning with gold and you. every victory is dedicated to your name, and no trophy or medal could ever compare to the feeling of running into your arms and drowning in your praise.

“i love you.” he mutters as you sleep peacefully on his shoulder on your way home. how many years has he been saying it before he lost count? it’s truly just a matter of when you’ll wake up and finally realize it yourself.

he feels the blood rush to his brain as he throws himself on his bed, unable to wipe the image of you smiling as if you had heard him.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[rodolfoparras]

The art of tardiness

Pairing: Unspecified Male Character x Male reader

cw: 18+, possessiveness, anal fingering, anal sex, top male reader, bottom male character, age gap, morning sex, writing on skin, feminization (hole referred to as cunt)

Synopsis: sometimes calling him yours just isn’t enough

There were times you were sure that your boyfriend was dating two different people.

One was the young man who’d swiftly tuck his tail between his legs at the smallest comment made about his relationship. That man could admit that he lacked experience compared to his much older partner, could admit he probably wasn’t his partner’s ideal type with his scrawny frame and short height, and he knew that even if his boyfriend were to look past those things, the people around them would never do it.

Then there was the rabid dog in the shape of a young man, that barks and bites at any potential threat, such as hostile comments made about his relationship. He’d look you straight in the eye and tell you not to make comments about a relationship you know nothing off, hell he’d get in a physical altercation if you provoked him enough.

And then of course there was the desire to bite the hand that feeds him, devour his person down to the bone so he wouldn’t have to share him with the world. He or rather you were pretty good at keeping this desire at bay but sometimes you just couldn’t contain it especially early in the mornings, when he looks like a sight to behold with his lazy smile bleary eyes, thin white sheet doing nothing to cover up his naked body.

You want to keep him in bed, mark him up, make him cum over and over again til all he can remember is the feeling of your cock

Unfortunately things aren’t that easy, especially when he has to get ready for work in half an hour, but stubborn as you are, you don’t let him go, dead set on marking him up as much as possible.

At first he’s too lost in bliss to notice what you’re doing, letting you suck and nip on the sensetive skin while desperately clinging onto your body, that is til you bite down hard enough to draw blood and the man jerks in place, wide eyed and suddenly too aware of what you’re doing.

“No marks” he says, even goes as far as to scruff your neck, as if you’re nothing but a disobedient dog to him “I have work, remember?”

“Please?” and you know that you must sound rather pathetic but honestly you couldn’t care less, especially not when you notice that a couple of marks have already started to bloom on his skin.

“So goddamn possessive what am I gonna do with you huh?” He says, while keeping a vice like grip on your neck “Should I let you write your damn name on my forehead? Would that make you happy hm?” He says gaze much softer as his thumb strokes your neck.

Even though he hadn’t intend to do so, his words gave you an idea and you immediately find yourself reaching for the night stand, hand blindly rummaging through the drawer.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” He says, brow raised but it doesn’t take long before realization strikes him “Absolutely not,”

You turn to the other man , practically giving puppy eyes. This time you do feel a tad bit of embarrassment but not enough to give up on this battle.

“I can’t go out like that,”

“You won’t,” you immediately say “I’ll do it somewhere you can cover it,”

“Jesus Christ kid,” he sighs out and pinches his brows but despite his words you know that his resolve has crumbled.

You’re quick to grab the first best pen before straddling his waist, the late night escapade having left him in nothing but a thin white sheet covering the most sensitive part of him but you can still feel you cock head rubbing upon the cleft of his ass as you settle down.

“Cheeky bastard” he breathes out, fully aware of where your mind’s gone to.

You only hush him response, muttering how you have to be focused before you attempt to put the marker to his arm.

But before you can do that he grabs ahold of your egg wrist, a firm look painted on his face “promise me it’ll wash off,”

“Promise,” you say with a shit eating grin on your face.

And as you proceed to put the marker to his skin, you realize that you’re at loss of ideas on what you could write on him. It’s like you wanted to do so much when the idea first struck your head but sitting here you almost feel overwhelmed by all the options that you have.

You play it safe at first, writing out your name just below his pec, a move that has the man squirming beneath you.

“Tickles,”

“Sorry,” you say, not an ounce of sincerity in your tone as you draw another scribble on his forearm. It’s you and him- well it’s supposed to be but your artistic skills only allow you to draw two stick figures holding hands.

For a moment there are no words exchanged as you continue draw on his skin. You do a couple of doodles here and there, some ridiculous other more scandalous. You even write some words on his skin- some being your name others being lewd quotes, everything done within range where he’d be able to hide it beneath his clothes.

“This enough for you kid?” He says, when the majority of his chest is covered in little scribbles.

He probably didn’t mean anything by those words. But the ugly monster residing inside couldn’t help but take this as a challenge especially when he says that as he lays naked in your shared bed, soft smile on his face, the scribbles of your name clearly showing under the rays of sunlight protruding through the bedroom window.

Instead of responding to him you grab ahold of his wrist, black marker writing out the letter M on his skin, bold and big, just within the range of where he can pull on a shirt if he wishes to hide the word. The letters I N E are soon added in place, big bold and curling around his underarm.

The word mine now lays written on his forearm.

But you don’t stop there, eyes flicking over to his furry stomach that looks awfully bare before you take a marker to it and start writing your initials all over it. This time around the skin isn’t as forgiving, straight lines turning jagged from coarse hair and faded scar. Not that you mind and neither does the little monster residing inside.

You continue writing on him, covering as much skin as he allows but truth be told you don’t know how his clothes will be able to cover up some scribbles, not that you plan on telling him that right now.

And he doesn’t seem to care that much as his gaze carefully follows your movements, breathing growing heavier and heavier with each second that passes.

At some point you feel the need to get closer to him even though you’re practically sitting ontop of him, swiftly shuffling around til you’re slotted between his thighs, carefully drawing a line from the crevice of his knee down to the groove of his left thigh.

He continues to watch you with attentive eyes, as you add a triangle to the end of line, the marker reaching dangerously to where his balls lay hanging between his thighs and from where you sit you can smell his musk hitting your nostrils, can feel his thighs clench beneath your fingertips , can now see the way the black arrow is humorously pointing straight to the furley ring of muscles.

It’s impossible not to reach out to the spot between his legs, a curious finger swiping over his sensitive skin and pulling a gasp out of him“Hah!”

Your eyes flicker up, cock twitching at the sight of the man who already looks so wrecked before looking back to the marker in your hand, moving it back and forth til the line on his thigh grows in size, doing anything just to busy your mind because you’re supposed to draw on him not fuck him, remember that?

But it’s not long before your attention is back onto his burning heat, a glob of spit landing onto the sensitive skin before your finger circles his now wet rim.

“What are you-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you slip the tip of your finger inside, watching the way he jerks in surprise, the sudden movement jacking up the straight marker line, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Jesus Christ kid,” he breathes, voice dripping with both arousal and amusement as you continue to sink your finger inside of him.

“This alright?” You ask, and push til you’re knuckles deep before giving an experimental curl of your finger.

Another gasp escapes his mouth, hips bucking up into your touch “ hah -now you ask?” He says, but despite his words the man nods at your question.

That’s all it takes for you to work a second finger inside, this time coaxing a hiss out of him,“easy there kid going to break me,”

You can’t help but chuckle at that”Think you’re giving me too much credit pretty,” you say but decide to move your fingers at a much slower pace, watching the way his body once again relax onto the sheets as contented hums escape his lips.

You continue curling your fingers inside while drawing onto the man; circling birth marks and scars you find pretty, drawing arrows across every inch of skin while watching the way he twists and turns in the sheets with every brush of your fingertips “so fucking pretty like this drives me crazy “

At some point you stop drawing on his skin, turning all your focus to the fingers buried inside him.

You don’t even notice the way tears have started to gather at his eyes, nor the begs and please continuously escaping his mouth, too entranced with the sight of his hungry hole practically swallowing up your hand.

It’s only when he grabs ahold of your wrist that you snap back into the present moment, now noticing how you’ve left the pen to bled out on the white sheets, and how the ink on his skin has already started to smear.

The gruesome monster inside tells you that you need to find another way to mark the man.

Within moments you’re grabbing ahold of his legs, pushing his knees up to his chest til his cunt is on full display, not wasting another second to line your cockhead up with his entrance before pushing inside him.

“Ah fuck! Insatiable dog,” he barks out, not having expected you to do that but that doesn’t stop him from practically clamping onto you as you bottom out: heels digging into your ass and nails digging into your back as you start driving up into his hungry cunt.”mpf fuck just like that keep going kid“

Who’s insatiable now? You think to yourself, a strangled chuckle escaping your lips as you continue to thrust into his tight wet heat.

It doesn’t take long before you’re setting a steady pace, thrusting so erratically he’s practically choking up on the moans that are trying to escape his lips, bed frame frantically rocking against the wall every thrust of your hips.

“Ah! Fuck! Going to - hah going to kill me,” he says through choked sobs, hands madly clawing at your back as if he’s losing his footing on this world.

And as you look down at the beautiful mess he makes, you can’t help but notice the shadow of a bulge showing on his stomach, right below the spot where your initials lay.

Once again you feel the zealous monster within you take the steering wheel, hand pushing his legs past his ears, before drilling into him.

“Say it “ you grunt out, hands keeping a vice like grip on his thighs, pushing his legs so far back you’re sure you’ll split him in half if you keep it up “Come on come on say you’re mine”

At first he’s at a loss for words, barely even able to catch his breath with the way you’re erratically thrusting into him but eventually he manages to respond to you.

“Yours yours all yours fucking fuck I’m cum-“ he splutters out, hole erratically clenching down onto your cock before he cums in hot thick white streaks, across both his and yours abondmen “‘m sorry ‘m sorry” he slurs out, while he continues to shamelessly fuck himself back onto your cock.

Something about that sight is enough to triggering your own orgasm

“Fuck!” You cry out, eyes squeezing shut before youre hit with hot blinding pleasure.

The world around you blurs out, ears ringing loud as you continue to ride out your high before you eventually slump down beside the man.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, ears still ringing loud, world barely coming into focus. “That was-“ you begin but trail off once you can’t seem to find the right word for it.

A laugh rumbles through the older man’s chest, his big hand cradling the back of your neck before he says “got that right kid,”

You look up at him only to be left speechless at the sight.

See people always said that a relationship with someone so much younger than him would ruin him. You’d hear it over and over again while eavesdropping on whatever conversation he was having about this “sudden” relationship.

You never really understood what they meant until you saw him sprawled out on your bed, gaping hole stuffed full with your cum, and every inch of his skin covered in your initials.

At least they knew he was yours to ruin.

Yours

Yours.

Yours.

That little insatiable monster that can't seem to find rest rises to life again, coaxes you to slot your lips against the older man’s, tongue slipping into his mouth and licking along every nook and crevice, leaving the taste of you behind for anyone that would dare kiss him.

It takes one more kiss before he prys himself away from you, and walks over to the bathroom on shaky steps, the sight of his inked ass is the last thing you see before the door closes behind him.

You slump back into bed with a smile on your face, the taste of him still lingers on your lips, the previous string of events practically burned into your iris and for a second it all feels like a dream that is before you hear your name being shouted behind the bathroom door followed by a string of angry words “why won’t this shit wash off,”

Oh well…