#is it an art block is it depression who knows

[sprawca]

dilf edward kenway

i forgot the faded tattoos... i’m sorry hhhhh

[widowshill]

— But it's almost midnight. — Oh, that's the point! At the stroke of twelve, he turns into Dracula. C'mon, Vicki – he won't bite.

pose ref.

[geckothegecko]

Can someone stab me with a knife? Pretty please?

[ailokii]

While cleaning my desk, I touched my art materials, and it truly felt like greeting an old friend. I've missed holding them and making something. But I think they'll have to wait a while longer. I still don't feel like drawing.

[vaspider]

I gotta tell y'all, it's really fucking depressing and stark being a small business in the age of 'all brands are equally evil' because of Twitter bullshit and brands trying to migrate to Tumblr or whatever.

If we pay for advertising, we're evil. If we don't pay for advertising, we might as well not exist on the major platforms (or on the web at all). Etsy is a hostile mess of a platform that we outgrew ages ago.

Anyway I guess what I'm saying is y'all say you love indie artists and companies that live the kind of values y'all love, but have like no nuance when you talk about this shit. If you want companies that start their people at $24/hr and make the kind of queer clothing and art y'all say you love to exist, please engage some nuance when talking about small businesses run by indie artists vs fucking megacorps. "Block every brand post!" Yeah, you know who can survive that? The giant brands. You know who immediately starts stressing over making payroll?

Yeah.

If you want little companies run by artists to survive, you need to engage some nuance. Hard on the internet, I know. But it's gotta happen.

[qingxin-dream]

“In Spite of Thorns”

summary | all you needed was a bit more color in your life. something to make life seem not so dull. little did you know the wallflower of a florist next door found himself in a similar dilemma. (art credits: @/MNCE_o on twitter)

warnings | profanity, pining, reader is a horrible flirt, reader gets a tattoo, smut [18+, MDNI], female-bodied reader, semi-public sex, reader receives oral, face fucking, edging/orgasm denial, mention of cervix-kissing, breeding

genre | florist!kuni au, fluff, slow burn, smut with plot

word count | 5.2k

pairing | kunikuzushi/scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

There was a little flower shop next to your regular morning coffee joint that always caught your eye.

On your way to work, you’d often sit outside the tiny cafe downtown and admire the lovely bouquets sitting pretty in the windowsill next door. You imagined a sweet old lady running such an adorable business, the type to water her flowers early in the morning and know every person who walks through her door.

Much to your surprise, there was only one person attending to the shop—it was a young man with short indigo hair that framed his face and trailed down the back of his neck in soft wisps. You noticed he kept to himself with a stoic expression most of the time. You caught him once switching the flowers on display, it was the only time his face revealed a glimpse of emotion—something deeper and more meaningful than silent indifference.

The city was a place often devoid of the beauty and tranquility nature can offer. It was easy to get lost in the hum-drum of daily life and the grind of your 9-to-5 job, overwhelmed by a concrete cage of skyscrapers. It was frankly depressing when you had those rare moments of self-realization.

So, in an attempt to get a breath of fresh air one morning, you decide to visit the flower shop just a block from your work. The bell hanging above the door chimes as you enter, suddenly surrounded by a sea of beautiful flower arrangements kept in pristine condition. In the back stood the young owner, who didn’t even acknowledge your presence as he focused on his next bouquet behind the counter.

You couldn’t believe the level of detail and craftsmanship in each display, traveling slowly through the store in wonder. Perhaps it is what kept people coming back to this place despite his cold demeanor. He is an artist, there’s no doubt about it.

The sound of wrinkling plastic interrupted the young man’s work as you approached the register, setting down a small arrangement of daises in front of him. He grunted, giving you a slightly annoyed glare, quickly ringing up your purchase.

“It’s $10, even,” he says blandly, already looking back at his little flower project on the workbench impatiently.

You oblige without a word, awkwardly glancing around and silently noting his name badge which read ‘Kuni.’

“Your receipt,” he snatches the small paper and hands it to you.

“Thanks, Kuni. Have a good one,” you attempt to break the ice, but the young man has already turned his back to you to continue putting together his next artwork. A bit dejected, you leave with the daisies in hand. Maybe that was stupid.

You kept the tiny bouquet of daisies on your desk at work. Just having a bit of greenery was enough to lift your spirits when the day would take a turn for the worse. They were so delicate and cute, it had you tempted to visit the flower shop again. It was on the way to work anyway, why not?

At least, that was your excuse. I mean, you couldn’t deny that the young florist was easy on the eyes, despite his thorns.

Slowly but surely, you developed a new morning routine. You had become a familiar face to Kuni, the grumpy and closed-off flower shop owner. Around 7:30am, you’d walk into his humble store with a coffee in hand from the cafe next door, greeting him with a small “good morning.” You’d often casually wander around the store, asking about flower species or meanings to his arrangements.

It took awhile before Kuni was willing to indulge much in conversation. Typical responses came in the form of an eye roll, a scoff, or quips about having something better to do under his breath. Though, if you asked the right question, Kuni would occasionally come around the counter to help.

You swear it was like watching a flower bloom in real time with the way Kuni’s entire expression melted softly when he spoke about his arrangements. What once was but a shy sprout became a beautiful swirl of petals, full of life.

Kuni would reach beside you, awkwardly brushing his arm or his chest against you on accident. He would take the bouquet you were curious about and present it to you with subdued pride, caressing the blossoms. Colors, shapes, lengths, petals, ribbons—everything had significance and Kuni loved to teach you the nuances of his passion.

The days were beginning to feel like they pass by quicker. You woke up with a new reason to roll out of bed, lured by the taste of your usual miel coffee and the sweet aroma of flowers.

The chimes of the doorbell eventually had Kuni slightly jumping out of skin when you strolled through, a faint flush of color on his cheeks. His gaze would follow you intently from the corner of his eye, a small smile adorning his lips.

As an artist, he possessed an incredible attention to detail, picking up on your name that was scribbled on the side of your coffee cup; or how you carefully waded through the rows and rows endless flowers with curiosity crinkled on your cute brows. He discovered that your favorite color is blue. You like cream but not sugar. You love rainy days. You avert your eyes before saying hi.

Kuni soon found himself keeping note of these little details in his small notepad, though you simply thought he was scribbling business to-do’s.

Every other week or so, you’d need a new set of flowers for your desk and Kuni was content to offer his personal favorites. He quite enjoyed these mornings with you, as other customers typically visited around lunch or after 5pm to gift flowers to their spouses or loved ones. He’d never openly admit how you managed to melt his cold exterior and warm his heart as time passed.

You learned more about each other as the seasons changed and naturally became good friends. You were more than a regular to him. He found himself interested in hearing you talk about your day. Tell him about that terrible work meeting or the prank your coworker pulled on your boss. Who are your friends? Do you have a pet at home? Anyone significant in your life?

Kuni wanted to know everything about you.

There came one day that you approached him with a mischievous smirk on your face. He eyed you suspiciously, taking off his gloves and folding his arms over his apron. You had trouble written all over your face.

“Morning, Kuni,” you approached the counter immediately, interlacing your fingers together around your coffee cup.

Something is definitely up with you. He raises an eyebrow, finding your unusual mood to be amusing. ��I have a feeling you have something to say.”

“Indeed I do,” you couldn’t help yourself, grinning widely with excitement brimming in your eyes. You looked like you were going to burst from laughter. “I need your expert opinion.”

On cue, he rolls his eyes at your adorable antics. “Well? Out with it.”

“I want a tattoo,” you confess, the enthusiasm you were feeling a moment ago now shifting into embarrassment for some reason. You had worked up the courage all night to ask for Kuni’s advice, imagining a hundred different ways it could possibly go. It was too late to take it back now.

“A tattoo? You’d be the last person I’d expect to want something like that,” Kuni deadpans with a hint of confusion and condescension. “Why do you need my opinion? I think you look just fine without one.”

It’s not that he disliked tattoos. The florist simply appreciated your natural beauty, and didn’t want you to regret permanently marking your body. It seems you weren’t entirely as incorruptible as he initially thought.

“I just want to try something new,” you sigh, pursing your lips to express your dissatisfaction. You held your breath, tapping on the side of your coffee cup before adding, “I’m plain. And boring. I don’t even have a piercing.”

Kuni frowned. He had no idea where this self-loathing behavior was coming from, but he was determined to snuff out any reservations you had about yourself. “You’re pretty just the way you are, (Y/N).”

You refuse to accept that answer, shaking your head. “C‘mon, you don’t think I’d look cute with a small tattoo? Something tasteful. Not even a flower tattoo?”

“I mean—it’s hard to imagine you with any tattoos,” he replied before finally relenting his distaste with a noncommittal shrug. “But I suppose, if anything, a flower could only make your skin lovelier.”

His mind was already turning its gears, wondering what spurred this sudden desire to change. He lamented the idea of you being unhappy with yourself. If this is what would make you smile again, then Kuni resolved to support you as any friend should.

“Good, because I figured my favorite florist could pick out a flower for me,” your eyes sparkled playfully, waiting for his reaction.

Putting his hand on his forehead, Kuni huffs and slowly runs his palm down his face as if he is annoyed. Truthfully, he was hoping to wipe the warmth that quickly flooded his cheeks completely off. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him a flustered mess over you.

He runs a free hand through his hair, sighing softly. “Why not roses? Everyone does that.”

Your bottom lip poked out in a pout at his answer. This isn’t the response you expected at all. You didn’t understand him sometimes. Groaning, you dramatically tilt your head in momentary frustration and take his hand in yours, pleadingly.

“Really, Kuni? That’s the most cliché shit ever,” you grumble, though it’s more like a whine as you give him puppy eyes. “I’m being serious. What comes to mind when you think of me?”

The question is innocent enough, but feels like a punch to his gut—stealing the breath right from his lungs. If only you knew what you were asking of him.

Every day he imagines you walking through the door of his flower shop, a pretty smile on your face and a cup of black tea in your hand just for him. He would thank you softly and take your cheek in his warm palm, leaning in to kiss you before the store opens. His fingers would trail down your neck, his thumb nudging your head to the side to give him easier access to that sensitive spot on your neck, lips parting and ready to taste the desire on your skin.

He had to stop himself.

“What about… peonies? It blooms beautifully—a huge blossom with a strong, sweet fragrance.” The florist clears his throat after a brief pause, nervously searching your expression. If you were keen, you’d catch the tips of his ears burning bright pink. “An unmistakable flower that can convey so much… in less than a few words.”

Kuni happens to pull a red peony from the flowers he has scattered on his workbench for his upcoming arrangement, hesitating for a second before extending it sheepishly to you. You’re too caught up in the moment to notice how the dainty flower trembles slightly in his fingertips.

It’s perfect. You bring the peony to your nose, eyelashes fluttering up at Kuni appreciatively. He swears his heart skips a beat.

“I love it,” you exhale, offering the peony back to him. You feel invigorated, elated even, to have found a subject for your first tattoo. It had to be something meaningful, and naturally your first thought was Kuni. “Thank you, I promise to stop by to show you when it’s done.”

Before the lovestruck florist could say a word, you were running out the door, bells chiming at your departure. He held the red peony to his nose, closing his eyes and thinking of you.

It had been a few days since you stopped by, which was unusual.

Kuni tried not to dwell on it. You were a busy person and, of course, had your own life outside of him. He shouldn’t be upset that you suddenly ghosted him, yet he can sense a dreadful feeling crawling into his heart.

The doorbell rings, but the young flower shop owner doesn’t bother to see who entered. Of the hundreds of people who have visited his store in the time that you’ve been gone, none of them were you.

He turns to the counter to water a few flowers, his gaze flickering to the customer, and he can’t stop the way his jaw slowly drops. Standing a few feet away at his newest bouquet display is you all dolled up in a pretty little sundress that stops at your mid-thigh and hugs your figure nicely.

Most notably, your dress has an open back which reveals a plethora of peonies inked down the curve of your spine in an elegant and minimalist design. It’s utterly gorgeous.

“H-hey,” Kuni speaks up, sounding lost as he furrowed his eyebrows at you. His expression was beyond adorable, simply starstruck.

You glanced at the florist from over your shoulder, snickering since he accidentally let his guard slip more than usual. You cover your mouth, giggling at him, “Kuni, I think you’re overwatering the flowers.”

“Shit,” he curses to himself, immediately putting down the small water can on the counter with a light splash. Grumbling under his breath, he tries to drain the pot. “Where the hell have you been, by the way?”

“I took some time off work, sorry,” you admit, but really you were more interested in showing off the final product of your new tattoo. You happily twirl around in your tiny sundress and strike a goofy pose, the frilly ends spinning hypnotically around your upper thighs. “So…?”

All of Kuni’s irritation with his embarrassing mishap washes away as he watches you excitedly spin around, flaunting your curves and the work of art now inked on your back. He smirks and mutters quietly, “I think I like peonies a whole lot more now.”

You brush your hair to the side so he can see the full tattoo. “Haha, come look at it then!”

His heart fluttered, quickly taking off his dirty gardener’s gloves to take a closer look. Every step towards you made his mind race and his breath a little shallow, you were stunning if he was being completely honest. He felt even more attracted to you with such an amazing work of art spanning your back, and to top it off—he was your inspiration—just as you were secretly his muse.

Without thinking, the florist’s fingertips lightly brush your spine in silent admiration. You immediately tense and gasp at the unexpected contact.

He snaps out of his thoughts and recoils in horror. “Sorry, sorry. I-I wasn’t… I, uh…”

You laugh and smile in understanding. “It’s fine. You surprised me is all. Don’t worry about it.”

Yet, he was still compelled to continue tracing the contours of the raven-colored ink over the surface of your soft skin. You said it was fine. You were okay with it. He was overthinking it, right?

“C-can I ask why, of all people, you wanted me to pick your first tattoo?” Kuni was still trying to make sense of everything in his head. He was secretly terrified that he was projecting his own feelings onto you, and masked it behind a playful smile of disbelief.

“Well,” you brushed your hair back over your shoulders and finally turned to face him. Your sundress was just as cute in the front, Kuni smiles to himself. A faint blush dusts your precious little cheeks. “I think I’ve adopted your affinity for flowers. Saying everything while saying nothing at all... it’s poetic, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t have to get a tattoo just for me,” Kuni joked to make light of the situation, throwing in a faint grunt of disapproval and an eye roll. He was sure you picked a flower just to appease him since he was originally against the idea.

In reality, he was more than touched by your thoughtfulness.

There was a peculiar glint in your expression that the florist couldn’t quite place. He felt drawn in. You took a petal from the newest bouquet on display between your index and thumb, caressing the soft blossom.

“I mean, your flower arrangements are always so beautiful, and you handle them with so much care,” you trail off, staring at the bouquet with an indiscernible emotion. Then, in a whisper followed by a smile, you continue, “Maybe I was jealous.”

His gut reaction is to chuckle to hide his reddened face. He didn’t know what to think of it. Surely you were joking.

“Jealous, huh?” Kuni repeats with amusement lining the smirk slowly spreading across his face. “That I touch these flowers with more care than… say, touching you? Is that it?”

However, instead of laughing along, you blush a deeper shade of crimson that rivals his own and to boot, you take your lower lip between your teeth. “S-so you admit it?”

“Admit what?” he scoffs, brushing off your reaction as if you didn’t just confess to wanting his touch. He couldn’t comprehend the possibility that you genuinely had an interest in him. He was in denial, rationalizing every detail in the back of his mind. Where this was going, he had no clue.

As he continued to wage this internal war with himself, attempting to play a kind of 4-D chess to stay a step ahead of you, he neglected the most obvious conclusion. “Y-you really want me to…?”

Poor Kuni had let his mind run in circles this whole time and he was made the fool. You were trying to flirt with him.

You glance to the door of the flower shop, which sported a cute homemade sign that read ‘Come In, We’re Open!’ from the outside. Shifting uncomfortably, you keep your thighs closed tight. That glimmer in your eyes was no longer cloudy but clear as day to the florist—lustful—and he quite liked the way it reflected in your watercolor irises.

A small chuckle escapes your lips, the redness in your cheeks never leaving. You hoped that Kuni could read between the lines. “D-do you take custom orders? Because, I actually, uh, have a special flower I want you to use.”

“Oh?” he knew exactly what you were asking now, heat creeping up his neck at an alarming rate. The tension between your bodies is palpable at this point, as his fingers still hover over your back where he had touched you accidentally. “You know, I’d like to think I’m well-acquainted with many flower species, but… maybe you could enlighten me.”

He wanted you, truly. But part of Kuni had reservations about going this fast.

His attention snapped to you when he felt your fingers on his chest, fiddling with the flower pinned to his apron. Your voice softened and sounded sweet as honey, “You are the florist. I trust that you are a capable man, Kuni.”

“Well, I-I suppose I’d want to give this my utmost attention,” he begins, the back of his fingers graze your cheek down to your jaw, locking eyes with you. This is the stuff fantasies are made of, and here you are batting your pretty eyes at him.

“I wouldn’t mind closing the shop just for you.”

Amid the noise and bustle of the city, the people passing the storefront were none the wiser to the windows of the flower shop, curtains drawn to prevent any prying eyes. The door was locked shut, unusual for this time of day, but no customers would be stopping by any time soon. A sign hung in the window of the door reading ‘Sorry! We’re Closed!’

Even the lights were off, bathing the assortment of embellished bouquet displays in darkness. Near the florist’s workbench in the back of the store, a single lamp cast a warm ray over his newest obsession spread nice and ready for him. A pair of electrifying purple eyes drifted down his favorite fascination, admiring his work thus far—a smattering of hickeys trailing down your bare body. Your beautiful skin was his willing canvas.

The weight of Kuni’s gaze had your cunt twitch around nothingness in anticipation. Your only consolation lied behind your eyelids, edging yourself with the sweet delusion of his pulsing cock grazing your clit before guiding it to your desperate hole. Archons, you could almost envision how it would feel for his tip to venture across every ridge of your walls for the first time.

You needed it, craved it. No, you ached for it—as if you were missing a part of your soul that would make you whole.

Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips brushing on your supple thighs. How he had unraveled you out of every layer of clothing yet never set his sights on your pretty pussy was unfathomable. Art cannot be rushed, after all.

Kuni was taking his sweet time to memorialize the texture of your skin on his, to taste and devour you slowly in every possible sense. His imagination was the limit, and for now he was blissfully chasing your sensual little noises like a dream on the clouds of your lips.

His warm, muscular hand traveled across the round curve of your hip, gripping the plump flesh in reverence, and then snaked it up your back. You whimpered into his mouth as his soft tongue teased yours. He smiled, knowing that deep down you were beginning to reach your breaking point.

Kuni’s voice was smooth and inviting, “Mm, (Y/N), you know why I chose peonies?”

With each vertebrae the pads of his fingers discovered, tracing your tattoo, your spine arched just a little more into his toned chest. The corners of his mouth turn up into an adoring smile, long eyelashes framing the depth of the devotion imprinted in his expression. Your occasional soft gasps of need urged him to capture your lips in a chaste kiss intermittently.

“Your smile… reminds me of yellow peonies. Of new beginnings, every morning,” Kuni chuckles quietly to himself between kisses, intertwining his other hand in your hair. His thumb coaxes your jaw to open for him further, swirling his tongue with yours before rewarding you with the heavenly sensation of his lips once more.

“And in your absence,” he continues, taking your lower lip between his teeth to emphasize the emotions behind his words. “Like a soft pink peony, I realize how much I’m missing without you.”

“Mm, miss you too,” you lean into the florist’s mouth as he tries to pull away, not yet ready to part. He obliged with a smug exhale through his nose, hot breath tickling your lips as he nuzzles you. The atmosphere was thick with temptation, both of you closing your eyes to relish in the tension—such satisfaction feels even better when it’s just out of reach.

“When you walk through that door, you’re more beautiful than the day before… as lovely as a white peony,” Kuni let his hand fall from your hair to your collarbone, reminding you of the love bites he marked you with in a fit of passion earlier.

Licking his lips, the indigo-haired florist embarked to kiss every single inch of your body leading to the delectable curve of your breasts. As he neared your aerola, he couldn’t help but give it an affectionate lick and gentle suck, smirking when your nipple hardened involuntarily.

You whimper again, squeezing your thighs together. However, Kuni had planted himself firmly between your legs where you sat on the counter, purposely pulling back to push the bulge of his erection onto your core to remind you of your place. Don’t you dare keep your petals a secret.

“I bet you didn’t even know,” he almost scoffs, pinching your nipple as punishment and studying the squeeze of your eyelids in desperation. “That many of my arrangements were made in the image of you… with all those hot pink peonies.”

It’s not long before Kuni brings his lips back to your breasts, addicted to the sound of your soft pants. He sneaks his way down your abdomen, dragging his wet tongue along the alluring stretch towards your pelvis in sloppy kisses. As he finds himself kneeled in front of you, suddenly he hooks your knees around his shoulders to pull your pretty flower to his attention, earning a yelp from you.

He has you exactly where he wants you. Before you can react, Kuni is already diving his mouth between your soft thighs. You immediately dig your fingers into his purple locks, grabbing a fistful to temper his enthusiasm. “K-Kuni!”

The florist pauses, lust-riddled eyes flickering seductively up to you with bated breath. The way his eyebrow quirks up at you exudes a new kind of confidence you had never seen on him before, causing your protests to slowly die in your throat. “What? Don’t trust a professional?”

Kuni’s expression is downright carnal, flicking his tongue out at you teasingly. Your grip on his hair loosens, though he catches the pout of your lips. “I-I trust you.”

“Good, baby,” he exhales, wasting no time in closing the gap to your flower. “Because I’m about to show you the meaning of my favorite color peony.”

You attempt to relax as he nudges his nose between your folds, slowly gliding his tongue over your pussy. It’s an experimental first taste of paradise, one that evokes an erotic sigh of pleasure from you. Kuni hums in contentment against your clit, his humid breath tickling every crevice of your delicious cunt.

Circling his tongue around the sensitive bud, Kuni hangs on to every luscious moan and silent plea for more that spills from you. It spurs him to lick your core eagerly, occasionally taking your outer labia between his lips and briefly but gently sucking it in a wet kiss.

“F-fuck,” you mumble in a hot whine, running both of your hands through the florist’s hair to see how his eyebrows knit together prettily. He’s so focused on pleasing you, slurping the intoxicating concoction that is your essence and his saliva dribbling down his chin. It was so tantalizing, it had you bucking your hips into his face.

Kuni abruptly grabbed your sides to steady himself, and grunted lowly in response. He flatly licked your folds, then moving to suckle your clit. Your groans were making him so utterly taken with you, sliding a hand back down in his boxers to smear precum over the throbbing tip of his erection and fist his length.

All he could do is mutter sweet nothings into the wet cavern of your pussy, praising you for tasting so divine and even letting him please you like this. He traces your folds sensually, eventually pushing his tongue deeper into your plush walls. The sensation is more than enough to have you a whimpering mess, tugging Kuni’s head closer and fucking your cunt onto his tongue.

Your thighs tighten around the florist’s head, but he honestly doesn’t mind if he passes out from a lack of oxygen. In fact, Kuni buries his tongue even further into you, if possible, while his nose teases your aching clit. All of it was worth hearing you beg for him to make you cum.

“O-oh my fucking god, mm,” you whisper, voice dripping with desire. “Y-yes, yes, yes… ‘m so close.”

He nods in acknowledgement, smirking and chuckling into your cunt while salacious groans of his own pour from his lips. Without warning, Kuni rips himself away and wipes his face, leveling his cock with your sopping entrance and nestling just the tip in. You didn’t have time to mourn the loss of your climax as it was replaced with the unexpected girth of his length, your hole fluttering instantaneously.

“Aghhh, goddamnit,” he curses under his breath, verging on a growl. You weren’t used to this side of him, but every surprise had you wanting to see more. He slams his hands on the table on either side of you, lavender eyes glued to the hypnotic spasm of your lovely pussy around his cock. “I can’t believe you’re so tight—just for me.”

“Please,” you mewl, legs wrapped his hips to slowly pull the florist closer and bury his cock just an inch further. The hazy glint in your irises said everything. You swallow thickly, “I need you so bad, Kuni.”

He entangled himself in you, inhaling your scent as he held you tightly by the waist and bottomed out inside of your heavenly walls. Oh, you were simply in a state of breathless ecstasy, melting into his arms. The feeling of fullness within you was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and Kuni’s first real thrust had your legs shaking.

It wasn’t enough. How could he be satisfied without knowing his cock kissed your cervix and bred you nicely?

Nuzzling into your neck, Kuni forced you to the edge of the counter by your ass, giving him better access to relentlessly pound that pretty pussy of yours. You took the hint and laying down on your back submissively, resting your ankles on his shoulders. The florist didn’t dare stop his movements, growing more and more drunk on the mesmerizing sound of your pussy taking him so well.

His hand groped at the bouncing flesh of your breasts. “Archons, (Y/N), why are you so fucking beautiful?”

Kuni’s head leaned onto your left calf, eyes trained only on you in a loving gaze, before turning to kiss your leg as he leisurely fucked you. His hand roamed south of your breasts and planted his thumb on your clit in tight circles, gripping your leg harder against his chest to keep you in place. He wasn’t about to let you squirm away from the pleasure he’s so kindly giving you.

At this point, you were beyond trying to keep your composure. Slutty groans of euphoria filled the humble little shop with every slap of your skin on his. He had you begging, pleading in hot tears for your release. Kuni had repeatedly tempted, teased, and edged you beyond comprehension.

Now here you were yearning for your climax like a whore.

“Ah, fuck, hah… yes, please, please…!” you panted, loving the way Kuni was using you like his perfect little cocksleeve. He looked so sexy with sweat on his brow and his bangs messily sticking to his forehead, the raw girth of his cock stretching you so good with each thrust. Frankly, you were reduced to incoherent babbling—coaxing the peak of both your climaxes. “Mm, so, so good. Gonna… gonna cum, I-I…”

“Mhmm, it’s okay, yeah… ‘m gonna fucking cum all in you,” Kuni frantically nods, sucking in a sharp breath and trembling all over as he cums simultaneously with you. He keeps his cock fully sheathed in your pulsating pussy, a myriad of praises and curses flow freely between the both of you. “Fuck yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

“Nnghh, yes,” you replied with guttural enthusiasm, eyes rolling in the back of your head as your orgasm washes away. “I fucking love you.”

Kuni is barely able to support you in the aftershock of that mind-breaking pleasure, clutching you to his chest and breathing wildly. Whether it was the sex talking or not, he didn’t care. He had you in this moment and would never let go, he vowed.

The florist’s eyes flickered to a bouquet of red peonies sitting on his workbench with a soft smile.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[shakespearean-dream]

TW!!! — blood, scarring and mild body horror ahead 🥲

benny’s turn!

before i start i wanna clarify i hesitated a bit on posting this because lovely mutual @vor-leser just posted his benny interpretation (go look at it and follow him btw), and idk if we like mind melded or smth but our human benny’s are super similar LOL. i damn near scrapped the whole thing out of fear someone would get mad at me but i Would Not be able to start over and get this done ever so this is as good as we’re gonna get. 😭 my apologies niko love u /p

this has been like a full 7 days in the making 😭😭 the art block that i felt coming on while doing ellen and ted hit me like an optimus prime sized semi truck this week along with a depressive episode so i definitely appreciate that happening and i am not upset about it at all! /s i’m totally good so don’t worry or anything /gen, mental health is just weird and i also wanted to explain the gap in my posts 😔

i do not know how to feel about this drawing if i’m so fr with you; i’m proud of myself for AM-ified benny cause i think i got the slowly rotting from the inside out primal freak energy down pretty good, but on the other hand this feels kinda empty?? i usually have a lot more commentary squished in here but i think my brain’s a little fried 🤦‍♂️ i love drawing me some beautiful buff men though so drawing normal ben was familiar territory. however his wack ass haircut i gave him is his punishment for being a PRICK!!! go sit in the corner and think about ur actions benjamin.

like ted n the rest of the sillies i’m not straying too far from canon with his personality, he’s an ass and a murderer and a hella smart dickhead who desperately needs to be punished by the universe (thank you for that one AM). hot take i did not like his “redemption arc” in his game scenario and i don’t think with how he was throughout the entirety of his life (and also throughout the game, main example his inner dialogue) he would actually go out of his way to help the kid because he means it??? n prove he changed to the guys he killed cause he means it??? i dunno maybe AM torturing him made him have a main character “omg i’ve been in the wrong this whole time!!1” moment like the game suggests i’m just not buying it 💀 i’m sure it’s just cause bennys scenario couldn’t be too long and they couldn’t fully flesh him out which i won’t fault the game makers for. i’m a steven universe fan, i know what time constrictions can do to a plot and redemption arc 😭 looking at you white diamond…

his wife n kids are up top and they’re kinda neat to me— i was considering the hc that part of the reason manya (his canon wife) left him is because she realized she was a lesbian which would be funny as fuck considering benny’s also One Of Them Queers 😭. i think during the brief times he was home and able to parent his daughters they got really scared and tired of him, one because he’s just a very threatening powerful and overbearing man, but also because i feel like he would’ve been on their ASS about everything. grades, extracurriculars, friends, wardrobe, this guy was micromanaging his family to an annoying extreme (ofc because of his perfectionist complex). he probably loved manya and the kids in his own weird way, but it was more contractual to him than any real personal relationship. maybe he inherited that from his own parents?? i doubt he ever talked to them after he moved out.

that’s about the end of my thoughts on this fucker. 🥲 funny storyyyy i just remembered i have laundry to finish so im gonna go do that, lord help me. thank you for reading all this if you did!!!!! we’re over halfway through so who do yall want next? wanna save AM or nimdok for last? i’ll see u guys later :]]]

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/727841287119814656/ehh-generally-they-were-like-ask-specifics-about Can you expand on writer’s block not being real?

--

Sure!

I think everyone who's ever made art has hit points where it's hard to go on making art or where a particular project isn't moving. So from that perspective, sure, a version of it is real...

But there's a particular version of it that's what a lot of people mean where you're A Writer™ and then the magic inspiration gnomes come and steal your inspiration juice. This is mostly nonsense, and quite a few author types who've actually finished long projects will tell you so.

When you sit down to a blank page and it stubbornly stays blank like your head, that's a symptom of something... and the something in question is often either depression and overwhelmed feelings that are taking over your whole life or an entirely correct instinct that your project is flawed and the next step is not writing that next scene.

Many people try to be pantsers instead of planners, get maybe a quarter into a project, and then choke. It's because they started with the kind of concept that requires planning, but they haven't planned. If your plot revolves around the characters eventually learning the meaning of life, you'd damn well better start with what you, the author, think that meaning is and work backwards. Same if your characters are solving a twisty mystery or complicated thriller conspiracy: you will not come up with a genius idea that ties everything together just by writing by the seat of your pants. If you don't go in with the ending in mind and some waypoints to write towards, you're going to choke. This is exceptionally common in grandiose fic concepts that are like "What if this true blue hero were a viiiiillain, oooooh!" where it's neat, but 99% of the point is showing us the work of getting from A to B. People write the prologue showing us the big concept and then flash back to how it all started... and then stop.

I see it a lot in projects that start with a character sheet for RP. Yeah, for RP itself, noodling along and figuring out what X would do in situation Y is great fun... but for many longfic/novel plot types, you will not arrive at a workable plot this way. You'll end up with a mess that can, at best, be used as brainstorming and completely rewritten from the ground up, using only key cool images or character observations. There are authors that start from individual characters and then see where they go. In my experience, they don't tend to be working in the genres that fic fandom types tend to want to work in. It's also something that often takes a lot more experience and skill than starting with a basic plot outline, and inexperienced writers often overreach.

It's not writer's block. It's a project that needs to be taken out back like Old Yeller.

Even the salvageable projects that are making you pause usually have some other issue like you not being clear on the central emotional themes even if you've outlined some factual plot. Or you've demanded that your characters do a particular thing for plot convenience, but you know deep down that it doesn't ring true. You can't write the next scene because there is no next scene. You need to rework the forced part till the rest can make sense.

And even more common than any of the above is people thinking that just because Danielle Steel sits down every morning and writes for eight hours, that means they can and should with no warm up or experience. Trying to force yourself to be a type of writer you're not—majorly overdoing it on any work, in fact—just leads to burnout and inability to function.

[sharkyy599]

My Second Art Contest?? Already?? Yep!!

Red suit guy is names Tomás, blue suit guy is named Antonio. They're Hollywood stars who are boyfriend! They don't want the public know though, otherwise people would view them differently.

To enter, you draw this character in any style, any scenery, any way you want as LONG as it’s appropriate!

First place winner will get $50 USD via PayPal or Cashapp

Second place gets $30 USD

Third place gets $20 USD

You can submit vía DM, asks, tagging, but you may DM me for another way to send a submission.

Deadline for submitting is March 28 and the winners are announced March 29

I’ll be judging based on the following

-RoMaNcE (I love their relationship, I can't help it. DRAW THEM BOTH! Otherwise it is just fanart, not an entry.)

- Visual appeal (Don’t be submitting scribbles just to be funny)

-Effort (I love simple art, I do it all the time, but I’ll most likely choose a piece that clearly has more effort put into it)

-Creativity (If they’re just standing there, it will make me depressed, have fun with it!)

-Related to cannon??? (If you take the time to look through my blog and actually learn more about the characters and you create a piece that actually relates to the character, that’s bonus points! Of course, it’s not a huge factor.)

Da Rules

- The contest will not be based on likes. I don’t care if your piece has a billion likes. If there’s one that is better, I will choose that one

-New people are welcome! It’s not just open to only mutuals

-If I don’t choose you, please don’t harass me. Hereby you agree that if you enter, you trust the judgment of a 16 year old.

-You may create multiple entries, but please don’t spam me the same piece just to get more attention.

-If you enter multiple entries, only one can be placed (this is a new rule because I want at least 3 people given a chance, avoiding one person winning all 3 places)

-If you trick me and say that it’s a commission and that I now have to pay for it, I will block you. You only get paid if you win.

-Most importantly, have fun!!

I really hope this gets attention, Reblogs are appreciated!!!

Love y’all!! 💖💖

[sleepyelliee]

taking a bath with jack marston.

౨ৎ SUMMARY... your favorite gunslinger seems to have trouble keeping himself together during the rough patch he is currently experiencing, so you decide to step in and tend to his needs.

౨ৎ RATING...fluff ! but, mentions of depression, implied grief, dirt, bacteria, nude body, alcoholism, scars, cuts, and bruises, implied financial situation, loneliness, implied to be shorter than him, GN READER. no 'y/n', just 'you.' Loosely proofread. established relationship.

౨ৎ CREDITS... thank you sooo much, @slversprngs for allowing me to use your jack drawings <3. you should definitely check them out because they make amazing art.

You were familiar with the young man and his family who lived couple blocks down from your ranch and your father would trade different products each month with the Marston's. This soon became a way to know the teenage boy as his mother, Abigail started to invite your family to dinner every other weekend, an attempt to make her loner son have some friends since all he did was read books and help out his father whenever they did ranch work.

Abigail thought you were a good influence, you liked reading books and engaged in conversations whenever her or her beloved husband would ask about your hobbies or they observed how you would treat their son. The Marston's loved having your family around and soon enough you became a family friend, and a best friend to Jack.

All those memories and dinners with the Marston family soon came an end three years ago, when Jack's father, John passed away and soon after that his mother passed as well.

It changed the young man - crushed him to pieces that it altered his personality. The old sarcastic boy you knew was far from that now, he was quiet and only kept to himself with that stoic mask he displays to everyone.

It seems you were an expectation because he wasn't entirely closed off, he still spoke to you occasionally about the things he's doing in his life - aiming to kill Edgar Ross, a man who murdered his father apparently.

You didn't know what to say to that, two wrongs don't make a right. But, you couldn't stop the young man as he let his anger out about the whole situation as he spoke about it whenever he would lean against the railings of his porch and you would quietly listen to his rambling.

...

Opening the crunched up newspaper that was left in your mailbox messily caught you off guard. The retired federal agent, Edgar Ross was reported as dead - something you didn't want to take literally due to how sweet the young man used to be in the past, nor wanted to believe his words of murder true. You felt terrible because you knew that the true fate of the man before it took place and deep down you knew you could've reported it to the law.

That's what you repeated to yourself numerous times - never to ever interact with an outlaw, a gunslinger, a murderer, someone like him, but you found yourself stripping naked to wash the young man as you slowly got into the bathtub.

"You don't have to do this," The gunslinger repeated as he took a heavy inhale, trying to respect you in the best way possible without making this awkward, "You know you can leave, right?" He continued but any conviction seemed to land on deaf ears.

"Mhm, I know." You muttered, reaching over to grab the shampoo and rubbing it on your hands before massage it into his scalp. The built up grease from days or even weeks was noticable but you decided not to speak about it.

Jack feels guilty - not for the killing a man but how he's making you, a childhood friend of his clean him up like he's a baby. The alcohol in his system doesn't make the anxiousness fade away as he is afraid you'll judge him - you'll will leave him.

He doesn't know how long it's been that he genuinely felt so clean but he won't ever even admit a side of vulnerability despite the fact he allowed you to take care of him.

After shampooing his hair, you gently wash off the shampoo and rubbed conditioner on your hand before going in and applying it to the outlaw's dark hair, causing him to hum. "What else are you goin' to do?" He questions as his gaze slowly meets yours, hoping you won't be grossed out.

"Do you want me to wash your shoulders? You...uh, can do the rest.." You mutter as your cheeks grew into a rosy red. Damn. He swears that look you give him anytime you get embarrassed will be the death of him.

Jack doesn't comment on it though, he silently reaches down and takes hold of your waist and pulls you closer. "Don't stress it," The gunslinger mutters, slowly dipping his face in the curve of your neck. "Darlin'..? Love you."

Jack Marston was not a vulnerable man, but in this moment, he felt safe and secure in your arms.

Thank you soo much for reading ! reblogs and likes are very much appreciated... please do not repost my work on any other platform. Masterlist

[dekusleftsock]

Yada yada, kudou looked through Izuku’s memories and saw big gay thoughts, but we already knew they were gay. Of course they were gay. They’ve always been gay.

YOU KNOW WHAT I WANNA TALK ABOUT? THIS OFA QUIRKLESS THING!

It’s so FASCINATING! And I know I’m late to the party (school, work, life, depression, art block, the list could go on) but all I can think about is the trust that this entire situation holds.

On one hand, Izuku has to trust Kudou and his abilities. Defeating him from the inside out is probably the only way Izuku will win at this point.

And on the other hand, Izuku in his own way, is having to trust shigaraki, something he hasn’t done nor even considered before. He sees that little boy inside of him, but there’s more to that little boy. The man that stands before him, broken and beaten and shattered emotionally by society, is a person too. It truly doesn’t matter that the boy exists; yes it’s a way for Izuku to understand that concept of “heroes and villains are cut from the same cloth”, but it’s also the understanding that even when someone has fucked up their life, still deserves to be treated as a person for doing so. Everyone, EVERYONE, deserves the right to be and feel like a real and alive human being.

To me, it’s in the same vain as Izuku as a little boy. We could go over he details ALL DAY as to how he became the person he is, what could’ve been different, what could’ve happened. But at the end of the day, the only thing that changes the past is how we view it; Katsuki knows this.

There’s a part of me that whenever I see a fanfic where Katsuki meets his old middle school self that he hates him, wants to kick him down, humble him, whatever other verb here:

But that small part of me always thinks that it’s… oddly out of character.

Okay, comparing Katsuki and Izuku, who is more ashamed of their pasts?

If you guessed Izuku (and you agree with me), tell me what exactly inclines you to think that?

Because the difference between them is who accepts themself, and who doesn’t.

Accepting yourself doesn’t just mean, accepting that you were a bad person but you’re better now so it’s okay. No, I think that’s actually more complex than implied.

In my opinion, seeing your past actions as something to forgive is important too. Katsuki meeting his middle school self may seem like an aggressive cat fight in idea, but it practice may turn into high school Katsuki being unaffected by middle school him. He knows why he thought what he did, understands that it was bad, but also understands why that mindset came to be. He can be sorry to Izuku AND sorry to himself.

Izuku I think feels a sense of shame for his middle school self, especially that weakness. He cried more in middle school too; he didn’t try. That’s what he’s most mad about and unable to forgive himself for, he didn’t try.

And to an extent, Izuku has to learn that his perception of his past is what matters most: Shigaraki is the same.

Shigaraki as a little boy could’ve lived better circumstances. He could’ve found a hero and been saved. He could’ve had this or that or made a better decision. And I think a small part of him feels guilty for it. Shigaraki also doesn’t accept his past.

Ofa being taken away, as saddening as it may seem to fans, was always an ending I was hoping for. Of course I could be wrong and by the end of the manga he still has it, and while I’d still be happy with that ending… I just really want Izuku to let himself be a human being. A flawed one, with things he could or could not change, and accepting that fact.

After all, “You’re still human.” Right?

And sorry to bring up the girls again, but part of the key components to saving Himiko were trusting her, and not clinging to a small part of her. She wanted to see and know Himiko as she is, not who she was.

That’s this dudes problem; even if he wants to tear that rug to pieces, there’s certain ideas that hold him back. Think, the idea that your emotions matter less over others, or hating yourself for flaws that nearly every human being has.

Izuku saving Shigaraki has always always always been about saving himself too, and I love that.

Izuku had to trust Katsuki in this battle, trust allmight, trust Ochako, trust people. He had to let them take the wheel, the burden. Maybe he and Shigaraki can lift that burden for themselves too. His mask is broken, he’s become a monster blackwhip thing…

What’s your move Izuku?

[plusvanity]

Yesterday, I wanted to say that people who blocked me did the wiser thing, but today, I want to touch on a recent issue, a hugely (intentionally) misinterpreted and degrading problem.

The controversies that people started to spread about me literally make me sick to the stomach.

They don't give a fuck about my countless explanations of how this ship is my comfort ship, designed to help me heal from severe abuse, self hatred, body dysmorphia, depression and anxiety.

I try to switch from unhealthy coping mechanisms to something that is both productive, helpful and most of all, harmless (because it's imaginary).

They felt the need to turn something that I created as my own personal fictive escape into a gross sadomasochistic, abusive and extremely toxic 'excuse' for 'why is this ship and not that?'. My guts twist for seeing such cruel assumptions when I have one thing that makes me happy (a story, a healthy narrative) viciously turned into a gruesome scenario that is not what it is at all.

The fact that they accuse me of shipping fair-skinned, blonde people is also the biggest hypocrisy that they could come up with when they themselves forget that Øystein's natural hair is blond and his eyes are blue in their own double-standard ship.

The fact that accuse me of romanticizing self-harm while they themselves 'like' (I have proofs) and approve art of EuroDead self-destructive romanticism shows their duplicitous and impostor nature. This is not to be taken as an insult, but an obvious fact concluded by their behavior.

My ship has little to do with physical looks and everything else to do with the in-depth psychology. It's not me, PlusVanity who says that there's a gigantic overlap between highly-autistic traits and trauma response (in personality disorders), it's Freud, Jung, Lacan's teachings and many other's scholars, neurologists and psychiatrists came to this conclusion many many years before you and I were even born. If you, dearly-opinionated friend, think that you can prove to these honorable psychoanalytical figures (and me, of course) otherwise with credible and well-documented research and not your 'I don't like that just because' synthetic opinion, I will gladly listen to what you have to bring up. I am well-versed in the philosophical and psychological domain, and I can provide solid arguments to everything I claim.

It's more than just unfair to point the finger at me, accusing me of a ludicrous sadomasochistic and 'subliminal racial element' in my art just to satisfy your late frustration with an ' good-enough explanation' for something that you never even bothered to look into because otherwise you would know that you are wrong. I'm not spiteful, I'm just pointing your flaws in logic as straightforwardly and inconsiderable as you seem to point mine, but it's not like you will actually try to understand what I'm saying because this must imply 'admitting defeat' and a kick in the ego, so you don't even bother with my transparent explanations. That's alright.

This message is for the people who are open and mature enough to read the motive behind my art and writing. This monologue is not for the ones who blindly accuse me of horrible things or a hidden agenda that I don't have or try to promote.

If you think that you know better than me, you simply don't. Why might that be? Because I am the author, because you don't think with my brain and you have no access to what I stand for, other than my words and actions and neither my words or actions stood for any type of abuse or political extremism.

You also put words into my mouth by calling me a fan of Varg, when I'm most certainly not, but I mean you hate me, of course you will say such things. Everyone who's following me knows that I not only hate Varg, but mock him daily for his spiteful persona.

I do not engage in any drama, I am not here to fight anyone.

I will only have civilized conversations (if openness exists). I am here to be and share with my friends the one thing that makes me happy. To subjugate me for simply having a different view than yours is tyranny and black and white extremism.

Pairing real people is morally bad, but this includes all real people. Not just Varg and Pelle, but Øystein and Pelle too. Doesn't sound fair now, does it? I understand why.

Anyone is free to believe anything, but a conspiratorial opinion will never compare to the ultimate truth that only the author can provide.

Please block me if you wish for. This is a far more mature approach than lurking here or sending hate. I hope this is constructive.

To sum it up, I'm beyond hate and ingoing frustration. I will gladly wish my late-proclaimed haters a wonderful day even if they roll their eyes. 🖤

You cannot change options, you can only provide your insight.

Be kind, be open, be alright 🖤

I wish this post can be shared so a lot of people can read this 🙏

[hinasakuino]

Do I wanna know?

Sommeil Masterlist Next Part

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! You will be blocked<3. Nanami kento x reader, MODERN AU, porn w/ plot, nipple play, vaginal sex, fem reader, pet names (Nanami refers to reader as Angel) 4.6k Words.

Written in 3rd person because I wanted to try something different. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I have had fun writing it!

The interaction is so short she barely has time to process it. She does feel her face heat in embarrassment. She liked the compliment and the sound of his voice as he said her name. She covers her face and shakes her head, feeling giddy like a girl with a school crush. She’s inside her apartment now, music playing in the back while she finishes the final touch ups on the painting. She’s distracted, though; she wonders what he does when he’s in his apartment. Judging from his suit and briefcase, she assumes he works in some hot-shot corporate position. Suddenly, the music sounds too loud. She scrambles for her phone and turns the volume down just a little. She pauses, holds her breath, and listens. Of course, he doesn’t knock. She’s just hoping he comes over and knocks on her door, knowing damn well he probably went about the rest of the evening without a thought of her. She sighs and turns the music back up before tossing her phone to the side and swiveling in the stool to finish the last details on the canvas. 

 She knows her neighbor, well, she’s known she’s had a neighbor, but it’s not like they interacted daily. He was barely home. That much she knew. Staying in the city, she thought things would be different, and she’d have this fabulous life. Back home, she lived a routine life of working just to contribute to society. Funnily enough, she was well off from parents she never got to meet and raised by distant relatives who only provided for her because she was blood related. It sounds sad, even to her, as she thinks about her life, but they were the facts, and it’s not like she could change them. She shakes the thoughts away, returning to mixing white into the green so the pastel could match. She sighs, her mixing coming slowly. She dips the paintbrush into the paint, and right when she’s close to the canvas, she pauses, dropping her hand. She couldn’t help thinking that something spontaneous should have happened to her by now. Sure, there were things like graduating college, but working was voided with the newly acquired trust fund. She took art classes and even got to present her work in an art showcase. Okay, she thinks, that sounds like bragging.  But, still, as satisfying as it was to have people admire her art, it just didn’t feel like her moment. Shouldn’t she have had some big love story unfold for her? She looks at the door, thinking of her neighbor. Surely, there was more to that one interaction on the elevator, right?  She rolls her eyes. Now, she’s just being dramatic. She slams the palette down, dumping the brush in the water container beside her. She stands and grabs her phone and keys. She thinks that a walk would take her mind off her depressing life story. 

Luck must also be on her side because she sees him on the phone in a heated discussion as she turns the corner to enter the elevator. He sees her as well. He could have easily let the doors close, but he doesn’t. He nods his head to her as she steps in. She returns the gesture, about to press the button for the parking garage, but she sees he’s already pushed it. She feels that bubbly feeling in her stomach. She’s going to the convenience store in the parking garage; he could easily get in his car, and she’d have another missed opportunity to speak to him. She chews on the corner of her lip, thinking of something to say, but nothing comes to mind. She realizes it’s now silent, and she looks up. He’s already staring at her. She wonders when he got off the phone and looks away quickly, but he smiles, making her pause.

 “Y/n? Right?” he asks, and she nods, clearing her throat. Something stirred in her. The urge to say something poked at her.

“Going for an evening drive?” She asks in a surprisingly calm voice. He shakes his head no.

“Popping down for a drink, it’s the weekend, My first free weekend in,” he trails off to count, “a month. Huh?” he sounds impressed.

 She looks at him with a frown, and he chuckles. 

“Yeah, that’s the reaction I normally get,” 

“It’s just crazy, sorry. You should probably get some rest,” She says. She can’t help the hint of concern edging into her tone. 

“What about you? A walk to clear your mind?” He assesses her outfit, leggings and a hoodie, her go-to cozy outfit. She can feel heat warming in her face. When he first saw her this evening, she was struggling to get her new haul of art supplies in the elevator. She dropped a box and sent pencils flying everywhere. Without hesitation, Nanami had helped her gather them before exchanging formalities, and then they went their separate ways. It was such a simple interaction, and suddenly, he consumed her mind. 

“I’m just going downstairs to get some snacks. I uh c-can’t seem to finish this last piece. I paint,” She says, flashing her hand, there’s specks of paint covering her hand from her attempt at finishing earlier. 

He nods in silence, and then the elevator dings. Nanami steps to the side to let her step out first. She smiles graciously. She wishes there was more to say, but he scoops up a basket and waves, once again, going in the opposite direction. 

*****

The rest of the night is uneventful. She goes back to her apartment. All thoughts regarding the painting were thrown out of the window. She grabbed her remote and decided to watch a show instead. It was Friday, so she had all weekend to finish.  

Later, she gets ready for bed, but sleep doesn’t find her. An ache sets into her skull. She sighed and tossed over for the fourth time. Sleep was always like this for her. She remembers the first time she experienced restlessness. 

It’s one of the reasons she pulls frequent all-nighters when she works on projects. But she was damn near finished, so why was sleep so hard to come by tonight? She sighed and turned to lie on her back. The bedding was cool, her ceiling fan blew cool air across her skin, and the control chains scraped lightly against the light, creating small white noises that usually lulled her into sleep. 

Tonight, it was irritating. She grits her teeth and rolls over, now facing the window. When she was younger, she remembers being able to reach others’ dreams. It sounds bizarre even to herself, but she remembers so vividly going from one dream to another; She hasn’t tried that trick in so long. It started when she was in grade school. She always hated sleepovers because of the strange power. When she was a teen, she tried to do more research on it but only came across a couple of stories that always ended in tragedy. She stopped traveling to dreams when she graduated college and moved to the city. She assumed it was because no one ever slept. There was always a club or an after party to the after party.  Nights like this make her wonder who her parents were and if they had this strange curse. Her heart suddenly aches, longing for comfort that will never come. 

 She goes to sit up but feels like she’s being restrained. She gasps, and her eyes snap open. She looks around the room, and it is dark, but she’s not alone. She feels the weight of muscles thrown across her abdomen and looks down for confirmation that someone is definitely holding her. The owner of the arm pulls her closer and nuzzles into the back of her neck. 

 “You’re up early,” He comments. She doesn’t say anything. Her hand tugs at the arm around her, alarm ringing through her.

“Angel?” He asks, pressing a wet kiss to her exposed neck. The feeling makes her shiver. She should be scared. Instead, she feels relaxed. He chuckles, humming a sweet tune, repeating the same action of kissing her neck. She hesitates before turning over and facing her lover. Though it’s dark, there’s no mistaking it. Nanami looks down at her with a lazy grin that warms her heart. 

She’s silent as he watches her, with curiosity brimming in his eyes. She can feel herself smiling back at him, but she has so many questions. For starters, why, of all times, did the dream travel work? And why did it have to be his dream? It’s an intimate setting that she would have backed out of had she sensed it, but even now, wrapped in him she felt like she couldn’t do anything but accept his affections.

“You caught me,” She speaks. Her voice sounds different, she thinks to herself. Sultry and velvety, unlike the croaky mess it usually is in the morning. He smiles again, and her stomach feels like it’s doing flips from the way he looks at her. She leans into him, testing the waters, wondering if he’d remember this dream at all.  He inhales sharply when their lips meet. She pulls back but is surprised when he grabs her chin, directing her lips back to him. He kisses her as if his life depends on it, like she will slip through his fingers at any moment. It makes her heart flip. She kisses back just as passionately, nipping at his lip. He gasps, and she wastes no time sliding her tongue against his; he moans in surprise, and his hand leaves her chin. He trails his fingers up her back, warmth blossoms in the caresses he makes, and she whines. 

A part of her feels guilty; this is her neighbor, his dream, and she was being invasive in participating in it. But how could she back out when he touched her like that? She gasps when his hands knead the fat of her ass, bringing her closer to him.

“Fuck” He huffs out. He pulls back to look at her. She shivers again, and her leg hikes up on his hip, pulling him closer.

“How’d I get so lucky, Angel?” He whispers as he traces the outline of his features with his fingertip, and she can only sit and inhale slowly as it happens. 

“I’m the lucky one,” She replies, kissing the tip of his pointer finger when he touches her lips. 

 He groans when she wraps her lips around the tip of his finger. Her mouth is hot and wet, making him close his eyes and steady his breathing. 

“You’re trouble,” He mumbles, pulling her closer to kiss her again. This time, it’s soft. He’s taking his time exploring her mouth while his hand roams her body. He grabs her throat lightly, holding her in place as he ruins her. His hands were so large and warm, groping her breast, he settled on pinching and rolling her nipples. He loves how she responds to his touch, her body jerking in every way as he continues teasing her. 

“Want you,” She whispers. She strokes her fingers through his hair, letting her nails rake his scalp. Now it’s his turn to pant and grunt, rutting into her. She chuckles at his reaction, repeating the motion of gripping and releasing his hair. He curses under his breath, hand going to her hip and grinds into her. She whines now. The teasing makes her pussy grow wet with slick. She can feel it making a mess on her cunt with every slide of his cock.

“You have me, angel. I’m yours,” he moans, and it’s such a magnificent sound. She bucks her lower half into him, unable to control herself now, gasping when she feels him hard and throbbing near her entrance. She tentatively reaches between them, her touch featherlight as she slowly jerks his dick in an upward motion. 

“Fuck, angel,” He whispers, throwing the blanket that covered them to the side. Without the safety of the blanket, she realizes she’s stark naked. She looks up at him shyly through her lashes. Nanami cups her face. He kisses her slowly, barely able to do that with how she’s still jerking his cock. 

“Do you like it?” She asks breathlessly when he breaks the kiss, and he nods, wrapping his arms around her middle. He rolls to lie on his back and has her on top. She stays close, her hair trickling in his face as she leans in to steal a kiss. His hands massage the globes of her ass, rolling them in circles while he grinds against her wet slit. She whines again when the head of his dick presses slowly into her. 

“Please,” she whispers against his lips. It’s all the confirmation he needs before he lifts his hips. She’s so wet he practically slips in, and they both gasp when he’s bottomed out. He trails a hand up her curves, and she sighs. Sitting up, she swivels her hips in a circular motion, gasping when she feels his hands on her ass. He flips them over suddenly so that she’s resting against the pillows again. She gasps, and he chuckles huskily at her reaction. He slips out of her in the process and unconsciously begins rutting into the space between her thighs with an urgency that excites her.

 “Wait,” he mumbles when she eagerly reaches for his cock. He pushes her hands out of the way and strokes his cock once before tapping the head of it against her clit. The motion sends a wave of pleasure rippling through her, and she has to bite her lip to hold back a moan. He does it again, this time rubbing the head of his cock up and down her slit. 

 “Wanted to see the pretty faces you make while I fuck you,” he says before pushing into her velvet walls. Her back arches off the bed, pressing her exposed tits to his chest as if begging to be touched again. Nanami leans his head down to roll a nipple into his mouth. He pushes the flat of his tongue across the pert bud and then sucks it in and bites down hard. The shock of pain makes her yelp, followed quickly by a moan as his other hand squeezes her other nipple, quelling the pain. He thrust forward, hard and slow, and she felt like she would explode. 

 “It feels so good,” She pants when he pulls out. He smirks at her when her eyes flutter close, her mouth opens in a soft gasp, and she throws her head to the side. Namani takes advantage and leaves open mouthed kisses against her neck. She grabs hold of his bicep, mewling when he thrusts in again. She relishes the way he lifts her hips now to meet his thrust; it feels impossibly good she’s not sure what to focus on.

“Oh fuck, you’re squeezing me,” He mumbles, looking down at where they’re joined. He grabs her legs and lifts them on his shoulder. She moans aloud at the new angle, trying to meet his thrust the best she could. 

“ ‘m close,” She pants out, and her hand trails down her body to rub circles on her clit. Watching her bring herself to pleasure, he slows down, loves how her pussy sucks him back in so easily. He can feel how she flutters around him and knows she’s close.

“Fuck look at you; you’re soaking me,” He groans, her fingers moving clumsily on her clit, “Poor thing, you want it so bad. Here, let me help you,” He pushes her hand out of the way and brings it to his mouth, licking messily at the liquid on her fingers. She curses at the action. The way his tongue flicks over her fingers is sinful, and the image alone is enough to make her come undone. Her breath hitches as he fucks into her slowly, he uses her fingers to rub precise circles on her clit, and she feels herself getting wetter.

“ ‘m gonna cum,” She can barely get her words out now; she’s writhing, hips bucking upward as he picks up his pace. He fucks into her with reckless abandon, his abs flexing, and she feels the jump of his cock and knows he’s closer.  She pulls him down for a quick brush of her lips, and then he’s pounding into that sweet spot that makes her gush, and she knows she’s cumming

“Oh! Right there!” She shouts, holding him by the neck, holding him in place so that their foreheads touch. It’s so intimate, she thinks, the way that he whispers sweet nothings to her as the world shatters around her. She has to squeeze her eyes shut and focus on her breathing to calm herself down. He cums shortly afterward, pulling out of her; He jerks once and then twice, letting his cum splatter across her belly in hot spurts. He thrusts in again, letting her warmth engulf his sensitive cock. When he’s done, he removes her legs from his shoulders. He leans forward and kisses her slowly, and his cock twitches inside her. 

 “Let’s get some rest,” He huffs, slowly pulling out of her. He inhales sharply, and she whimpers at the loss, but she doesn’t protest; she just lets him continue running his nose against the crook of her neck and whispering how perfect she is. She wefts her fingers through his hair, holding him close until her eyes feel heavy and she feels like she’s drifting.

She rolls over in bed. Her vision is blurry as she tries to read the time from the bedside table. The sunlight is blinding, but it’s only a little past 9 in the morning. She half expects to be in bed with someone, but when she looks around her room, it’s the same cluttered space with clothes littering the floor. She sighs and rubs her eyes, trying to recall the dream. She turns over, away from the sunlight, and touches her lips. Had it all truly been a dream? Does that mean her method still works? She wasn’t tired, so it must have right?  She thought to herself. She wants to ponder more about the dream, but there’s a knock at her door, and she groans, throwing the cover off her body as she stands. She stretched, popping her bones as she crossed the apartment. Her mind feels like it’s rebooting as she stumbles into the wall leading into her living room. She curses when she stubs her toe and hops the rest of the way. The knocking starts again, this time more rapidly.

“I’m coming, jeez,” She yells out, unlocking the door and snatching it open. Her eyes grow wide in shock at the blonde standing before her. He looks disheveled and is dressed in sweats and a white shirt. The dream comes rushing back to her. The way his lips felt against her skin, the way he caressed her body, and the way he made her see stars all come crashing into her. She licks her lips, but it doesn’t help; they still feel dry, and her throat feels drier.

“Sorry, the delivery guy got it wrong,” He says when she doesn’t speak, he stretches his arms out to her, a medium sized box in his hands, and she accepts the package, nearly dropping it. 

“Thank you. Sorry, I just woke up,” She says apologetically. He doesn’t say anything. He simply nods and turns to enter his apartment. 

 She closes the door wordlessly and puts the box on the counter. She runs straight to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, uncaps it, and downs it. She stares at the door, mind running a mile a minute. Did he know? She stares at the door. Was it really his dream, or was she that touch-deprived that she dreamed her neighbor fucked her silly? She tiptoes to the door, peering through the peephole. She knows he won’t come out, but she can’t help looking through, making sure he didn’t come back.

 She sucks in a deep breath before turning around to slide down the door. Okay, so she wasn’t figured out. Relief washed through her. She makes a mental note to sleep early tonight to avoid an accidental visit. Her eyes land on the painting, and she groans. She was so caught up in her head that she had forgotten about finishing the painting. With that on her mind, she stalks over to the bathroom to rush through her morning routine. She returns to the kitchen phone in hand, selecting today’s playlist. With the music flowing, she makes a quick breakfast of toast and a banana and then throws herself into work.

 *****

Kento Nanami woke up this morning feeling well rested. That wasn’t a problem. He needed the sleep, lord knows when the last time he had actually gotten a decent night of sleep. He yawns and looks at his bed as he exits the bathroom. He was far from lazy, but he occasionally loved to sleep in past noon, especially if work was hell during the week. He scratches his shoulder absentmindedly, his mind going back to his dream last night. The way her nails dug into his biceps when he entered her. He rubbed his arm; it wasn’t real, but he swore he felt it. Kento sighs, dropping his arm. He looks down at his bottoms, his dick rising from the memory. He could just take care of his morning wood and forget about it all, but something in his mind bugged him. He seems to remember everything except for his dream lover’s face. He frowns. He knows it’s wrong to feel sad because it was just a dream, but he remembers staring into her eyes and kissing her so sweetly. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He thinks. He inspects his room, nothing out of place. He wants to shrug the whole thing off and forget it ever happened because, quite frankly, admitting that he had a wet dream at his big age was sort of embarrassing. He chalks it up to just that and leaves the bedroom to make breakfast.

* a week later *

 She’s slept like shit all week. She yawns as she scrolls through her email. It’s the middle of the day. Of course, she’d get sleepy now, She thinks to herself, suppressing a yawn. With her project out of the way, y/n had a free week, which she would normally spend sleeping, but she couldn't sleep, so she posted her commissions link online, and already her email was filled with requests from all over. She favorites several emails from galleries asking for her to send some pieces for display. She wants to participate in another showcase soon but needs a new project to keep her mind off of Nanami. She yawns and shakes her head, trying to fight the sleep. She checks the time and groans. It's 4 in the afternoon. If she can stay up a couple of more hours, she’s sure she can finally go to bed and sleep through the night. 

She hadn’t stopped thinking of Nanami. She saw him on her way to drop off the painting to her client, and he saw, even complimenting the work. Outside of that, she didn’t interact with him, nor has she traveled to his dreams. It’s not like she tried. Well, okay, she tried immediately the next day and failed. She failed to visit Nanami’s dream but successfully wandered into her downstairs neighbor’s dream. It wasn’t anything fancy, quite sad, really. The poor guy dreamt of hitting the lottery, but when it was time to present the ticket, he couldn’t find it. She chuckles and cuts herself off, yawning.

It proves futile to stay up; her head rocks forward, and then she jumps. It was now a quarter past four. She sighed in defeat.  She shuts the laptop with a yawn; she lies on her couch, falling asleep quickly. 

  She dreams she’s walking in darkness, and then she stumbles and falls. She doesn’t hit the ground like she thought. Instead, she finds herself sitting in a dimly lit room. The sun is low but still bright enough to light up the area. She recognizes the black and gold decorations almost immediately. Her heartbeat quickens; She knows he’s here. She can feel his eyes on her.

“You’re awake,” Nanami speaks softly. She whirls around; he’s got a book in his lap. He tosses it to the side and ushers her forward when she meets his eyes. She goes to him wordlessly, seating herself on his lap. He grabs the back of her neck and pulls her closer. She wants to kiss him badly, but his grip on her keeps her in place. She whines at this, and he swats her ass in warning. 

 “Patience, Angel,” he murmurs. He studies her face, and for a minute, she feels like she’s not dreaming and he’s staring at her. Then he leans in, capturing her lips in the sweetest way, making her sigh into the kiss. He doesn’t take it further; he just stares at her curiously. 

“What’s the matter?” she asks, worrying her lips between her teeth. He thumbs her bottom lip and rubs his thumb across it. 

“Nothing, I just feel like I’ve seen you somewhere. Like Deja vu,” he says. She stills in his lap, and he pulls her close, rubbing soothing circles into her back so she can relax. 

“I’m sure I’m just making you up anyway. I know I’m dreaming, but you, I know you’re real,” He says matter of factly. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“I”m n-not sure I know what you mean,” She says. She sits up far too quickly for someone who’s trying to be casual. Nanami doesn’t stop her as she slides away from him. He does watch as she walks to the window, her arms wrapping around herself. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

She sighs, “I feel like I should apologize,” 

He frowns, “What for?” 

“The other day, when we uh…yanno?” She doesn’t turn around, but she hears him move. He’s behind her instantly, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her to his chest. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should apologize to you. I don’t know if it’s offensive just to do what we did and not follow up?” He says it like a question, and she giggles. 

“What are you talking about? How could you call me up?” She questions. He shrugs. 

“I don’t know, but I did it today. I must’ve fallen asleep at my desk or something. You’ve been on my mind all week. I was thinking of you as I was finishing up paperwork and must have, I don't know, dream rang you?” He says it jokingly, but it scares her.

She freezes in his arms. Her brain felt foggy most of the day, and she blamed that on not sleeping the night before, but now she wonders if he had anything to do with him.

“Sorry, that probably sounded weird,” He says apologetically. 

“No, it’s okay, I just, I don’t know what to say,” She mumbles. He nods in agreement, 

“Well, what do I call you? You got a name?” He asks. It could be so easy for her just to let her name slip and let him know who she really is, but she doesn’t do it. She opens her mouth before closing it, averting her eyes when he raises a brow at her. 

“Angel? Should I just call you Angel?” He asks. And she’s quick to nod her head. Relief washed over her. 

“What’s your name?” She blurts out. He chuckles and holds her close. 

“You can call me Ken,” He whispers in her ear. Her legs buckle, and he catches her, laughing at her reaction. He begins swaying with her, humming under his breath. His hands slide to her lower back, resting just above her ass.

“So Angel, what will I do with you tonight?”

Likes, comments and reblog are appreciated <33

[semper-draca]

There's something so depressing about being an artist on tumblr these days that I'm finding hard to articulate. Years ago, shitty one-hour sketches I posted would at least get double digits in the notes. These days, I can post commissions that took over fifty hours and get 5 notes at most. Blah blah do art for yourself, sure, but the important part is -

I Rarely Get Commissions Anymore.

Where I used to have to limit how many comms I could accept at once because I'd get that many requests, now I'm lucky to get two when I open up coms again. People don't reblog the art I do for myself, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog the art I do for commissions, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog commissions posts. A couple likes will get tossed at it from people who don't actually reach out in interest, so it doesn't circulate and it's just me reblogging it into the void, desperately hoping for some modicum of cash. I feel like people don't understand these days how little money most artists are bringing in, and the anxiety that comes with drastically declining circulation of art on websites like tumblr. Right now, for example, I'm desperate to earn as much money as I can during the summer because what I earn this summer? Has to last me rent for seven months straight to help offset the inevitable drain of all the savings I have. Normally some of that would come from art - nowadays, I can't rely on getting even a single commission.

I think this anxiety and this real material concern is what is behind all those "please for the love of god reblog art/posts you like" posts that people love to get angry about. If you haven't been here for years, it can be hard to see the ways in which this vanishing reblog culture has severely hit artists and forced many away from this platform. I don't want to leave tumblr or stop posting my art here, but good god is it depressing to see this site, and I cannot stress this enough, almost COMPLETELY VANISH as a revenue stream. I don't know what the solution to this culture shift is, but I do know that it's causing this site to deteriorate and forcing artists to move elsewhere and invest less effort on tumblr because it no longer makes any financial sense. I know that everyone is tired of hearing this, and fair enough, because there are plenty of other artists with louder voices than mine saying similar things, but please, if you like some art, consider reblogging it. Even if you have no interest in ever commissioning that artist. Others might see it and be interested, and that's how most new clients are made. Artists have rent on the line.

anyway, if you've made it to the end of this rant and haven't blocked me for it lmao, I still have commissions open

[littlelillycatsworld]

introduction

updated 10/6/24

Hiya this is a little introduction to me.

English is my 4th language I rely on Google translate alot sorry if I get things wrong (Korean, mandarin, Cantonese then English)

I also speak Japanese and Thai not quite fluent yet but close

only follow me if your part of the ed or sh community I don't want to expose this to anyone else

I'm making this account away from my main so I can interact with other people in the community without people who know me trying to get involved.

do not report I'm not pro just pro recovery for everyone I'm just not ready yet but when I am I'll get professional help

DNI if you are homophobic/transphobic fatphobic racist or ana coach

my name is Lilly (not my actual name)

I'm 19

I use she/her/they pronouns

lesbian with a loving gf of 3 years🥰

I have depression, anxiety, BPD, ADHD, and autism (all diagnosed) and ed

pro recovery for everyone

I'm last time I checked 37.3kg BMI 16.6 and im 150cm (4.9ft)

ballet is my passion (I go to school for that)

I was adopted at birth by a Korean mother and Chinese father (rip I miss you)

I'm from Scotland

I'm pretty ok at art

pro LGBT and pro choice

I love kpop and nu metal

my favourite kpop group is twice and my bias is Sana

my favourite metal band is Korn

I'm an ex-taekwondow national team member

and current national ballet member

personal tag is #네네

meal logs tag is 네네 meals

ed tags #네네's ed #네네's 3d

feel free to interact with me but don't be creepy I'll just block you.

anyway I hope I can make some friends who understand what it's like with an ed ☺️

my dms are open if anyone needs someone to talk to. if you have any questions feel free to ask

my backup account is @little-lilly-cat

[phoenixyfriend]

Star Wars Omegaverse Recs

Here's a couple solid omegaverse fics. This list is shorter than most of the ones I write but Meh.

Stars are for my favorites.

⭐ The Rain Fell Already by @loosingmoreletters: variation on Jedi Indentured AU containing omegaverse. Xanatos is omega Qui-Gon's bio kid but nothing changes, depressing but poignant

House Call by @elthadriel: two idiots knot while on medication that requires no knotting because it can get stuck for literal hours. Kix has to help and he is very annoyed about it

Status Quo by @captainkirkk: (G-rated) Anakin responds to Obi-Wan in a "you are my dad" way and the clones are surprised pikachu about it

⭐ Temporary Like Achilles by @intermundia: standard-ish fuck-or-die scenario where both sides are like "I can't take advantage of you/I just took advantage of you" because of course they are. (This author has a lot of solid Obikin, but they have me blocked (no I don't know why) so I can't tag them.)

⭐ He Said Yes by @threebea: (G-rated) B!Quinlan and O!Obi-Wan get mated for Obi-Wan's safety, the nature of their relationship is unclear to basically everyone (romantic? qp? other? unclear)

venus flytrap by IntoThineHands: Sith!Obi, role reversal of trope standard (omega deliberately takes advantage of an alpha)

Bite of Caramel by @thewriterowl: A!Jango needs a date to the family reunion, asks O!Obi-Wan to accompany him

⭐ good things in threes by @galateagalvanized: Codywan accidental pregnancy after O!Obi-Wan's implant gets nullified by an overpowered EMP (along with Cody's brain chip)

all my roads lead back to you by @tennessoui: idiots to lovers comedy (modern au, Obi-Wan got pregnant in a one-night stand across the country with a bartender who kind of looked like Anakin, because he's in love with his roommate but can't come clean and so hooks up with guys who look like him, and Anakin is in love with Obi-Wan enough that he's decided to be the Dad Who Stepped Up to this kid because anything Obi-Wan makes is part of Obi-Wan and obviously deserving of adoration)

The Theory of Letting Go by @ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing: never a Jedi!Anakin, Padme dead of uterine rupture, Obi-Wan hormonally addled and insistent on taking care of the twins like they're his own

The Swan Serenade by @shatouto: heavily AU, Mando!Anakin and Jedi-but-more-like-real-world-monks!Obi. (Has the most adorable art in the end of chapter notes, btw)

For Safekeeping by @glimmerglanger: Sith O!Obi-Wan feels safe because of the army of clones, which is the first time he's felt safe enough to have a heat, ends up fucked by his army of betas

when the snow falls we will wrap ourselves in furs by @hornet394: the fic I reread that had me going "I want Rex with O!Anakin but being in character" because this is one of the few omegaverse Rexwalkers that hits that button for me (though it's technically Anakin/501st poly stuff)

⭐ Find a little stranger by @obimanletkenobi: Villain!Obidala, both alphas, find Anakin at an omega auction, decide to ask him to play surrogate for their child since they can't do it themselves (with the offer to drop him off on a random planet with a wiped memory and enough cash to start a new life as a free man if he doesn't want to get pregnant), followed by smut

Belonging by IronCannon: this is the OTHER solid omegaverse Rexwalker

⭐ Conceal Me by @himboskywalker: longfic that is VERY good imo and builds the tension incredibly. Anakin is an omega pretending to be an alpha (literally the only people alive that know he's omega are his mother and the midwife). Senator Obi-Wan is an alpha pretending to be a beta (for weird reasons relating to his parents being kind of insane). They get married for politics, suggested by Palpatine because he found out about Obi-Wan being an alpha but not about Anakin, and decided a forced alpha/alpha marriage was going to self-destruct and help destabilize the Republic further.

Both by @obimanletkenobi: Anakin is the omegaverse equivalent of intersex and this explores the ways he's fetishized and discriminated against by the culture around him.

Peachy the Series by @the-writing-mill: IDK what to say, if you want 15k of O!Obi-Wan getting absolutely railed by two alphas, this is the fic for you

⭐ Packed Together Like Test Tubes also by @the-writing-mill: Jangobi, forced on both sides. Neither of them wants to mate, but the Kaminoans are forcing the issue with synthetic pheromones. It takes several weeks to get to that point and they are both fighting it with every ounce of willpower they have.

⭐ [Only] Think of Me by @inferior-fairy: Empress Amidala and Emperor Kenobi need Anakin to not go off the rails again, but they need a reason for him to want to stay because they love him too much to force the issue (and make him hate them) with chains or the like. So they give him Babies.

⭐ unfortunately it seems I have written more by @gaily-daily: Look at me. LOOK at me. This is fucked up and ugly and horrible and awful and messy and triggering and so incredibly well written as a dawning horror situation. Dead Dove at its finest. It is incredibly good as a story, but it is also really bad, and you need to go in accepting that. Without details, it's messy/triggering in the GoT sense.

⭐ terribly inconvenient and incredibly terrific by @tennessoui: A classic "Anakin wants to do something he is in no way qualified for and then suffers the consequences for his idiocy" plot, very fun.

I can fill those places in your heart no else can by @pontah: modern au post-breakup revenge sex I guess???

Ba’jurir by @mockingjay34: Rex/Fives, explores the intersection of anti-clone bigotry and anti-omega sexism.

Out in the Corner of the Dark with You by kazmir: a 5+1 fic about Anakin giving Obi-Wan a bunch of soft things as courting gifts

instincts by amidnightlove: just some fun and funky 'cycles make people go a little feral' stuff

EDIT: I missed a bunch so there's a Part Two!