#meaning i have one fully shaded drawing in the corner

[hbghq]

shrieking i want to post more pkciv shit on here but two very specific people that i respect and admire and look up to follow this blog and i think i would walk into the sun if either of them got the slightest glimpse of what the hell goes on inside my head so. hand comparison

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[candyje11yfish]

ty! \(^_^)/ feelin good so ill try answer in detail for ya!!!! 

most of the time i just do basic cell shading. here ill explain my rendering process after i choose my base colours, ill try keep it short & sweet!! nvm warning buckle up its really super long.

flat colours -> fully shaded!!

⭐️Picking shading colours!

usually it's just the base colour with +saturation OR a hue shift! i dont really lower brightness.

This is what i mean by HSB, i never use the colour wheel i prefer the sliders!!!

i like my art to look super colourful so i do things like shading pink with blue instead of with a darker pink or red, as shown in the above callie piece.

examples ft lumity:

skin: i always keep it very simple & cartoony! over the nose, below the eyes, the neck & sometimes the tips of the ears is where i'll put shading

hair: as u can See, it's not darker than the base colour at all!! for dark hair like luz's, i brighten & saturate the colour, and for light hair like amity's i just shift the hue a little!

⭐️more kewl tips:

colourpick from yourself!!!! instead of making a new colour for everything, try using a colour u already have down!!!! like below: by limiting my colour palette, it looks more harmonious

really messy image but i hope u get what i mean. also the "off white / black" thing is a separate choosing base colours thing!! i can expand on that if anyone's interested 😙

shove halftones in wherever they fit. here are the 2 pngs i use!! there a rlly good alt to gradients, i used a LOT of them in that callie piece!!! clipping mask over where u want it & alpha lock to change colour.

⭐️here's a WHERE i put the shading:

look st the environment ur guy is in!! pick where your light source is coming from & look where that light will hit and where it is blocked by something.

bounce light: the sun's light is also shining on the grass! so powerful the green reflects right back!

this is kinda more realistic lighting now.

i kinda just put a circle wherever theres a corner!

and i put that Beautiful Shape a lot wherever. i change it a little depending on the character, sometimes its triangular or squarey but thats the base shape! i dont even know what its called but i love it.

look at this hello weird shape guy!!!

actually, my grandfest art are probably some of the most detailed art i have! u can see urself where i put shading & stuff - they do have more desaturated colour palettes though:

& here are some additional examples ^_^ flat colour -> shaded -> multiply layer -> lighting

in this one u can see the hand & leg at the back are completely in shadow too :)

anyway i think that's kinda it? i dont really know how to explain it, i just do what feels & looks right to me??? remember that im Not an expert & this is just how i do things :)

i will always repeat my no1 tips tho: keep drawing!!! and copy ur fave artists!!!!!! it really will hell u find what u like!!!!!!!!!!!!

i hope this post helps a little & answers ur question😇 never be shy to ask me anything cuz i love answering & chattin w u guys!!!!

EDIT: just saying these arent set rules or anything!!!! u can see just how many times i Dont follow my own advice LOL. my artstyle is super inconsistent, i rarely draw things the same every time

[breakfastatmiles]

Your art is wonderful!!!

A constant inspiration to my own creativity and art work. Could you explain some of your art style to me? I’m interested in looking at a bunch of different ones to try and finally find one for me.

Goodnight!!🌙

Thank you so much! That means the world to me! I’d be happy to share some of my process with you 😄

Keep in mind I’m completely self-taught, so this is just the process of how I make my drawings and not any sort of professional advice 😅 apologies for the long post ahead 😪

Starting with the basics, my biggest influences are Jin Kim and Ami Thompson. Both are amazing character designers and I really admire their stylization and expressions. Whenever I feel stuck on something, I always go back to their drawings for inspiration.

I typically start in Procreate with a canvas size of 3300px x 4200px or 11” x 14” with a DPI of 300.

I put my reference in the corner of the canvas (in this case it’s a screenshot from the movie She’s the Man) and I start my rough sketch (emphasis on rough). Sketching is probably the longest part in my drawing process because I’m focusing on expression, composition, proportions, etc. This usually has about two to three passes before I move on.

Then I lower the opacity of the sketch and clean it up with some lineart on a new layer. Lineart doesn’t play a huge part in my style, but I still like to play around with line weight. Since I knew this was going to be a fully rendered piece, I didn’t spend much time on lines that I knew were going to be removed later in the process.

Underneath all of that, I use the skin tone and color the base of the character. I make sure that I color ever so slightly past the lineart, for reasons that will be important later. This part can be tedious, especially because I use a textured brush, so there are a lot of gaps that I fill in later.

Then using new layers with clipping masks, I start the flat colors. Nothing too crazy here.

I’ve made color palettes for characters and backgrounds that I typically draw, so this way it speeds up the process and maintains style consistency. If I need a color that I don’t normally use, I’ll just play around with the colors until I find something that fits well with everything else.

Next, on a multiply layer, I add some basic shading (with the skin tone color) and blush (with an orange-pink color). I also move onto the background. Some are more complex than others. If I’m going for a more cinematic look, I’ll fill the background in with some basic shapes and blur it slightly. Thankfully the background was pretty simple in this reference.

I start checking proportions now that everything has basic colors. Then I duplicate my lineart layer and change it to a pinkish-red and put it on multiply mode and turn down the opacity. This is why the base color layer needs to line up with the lineart, otherwise there’d just be gaps underneath. Instead of erasing my black lineart layer, I put a mask on it and just keep the eyes and eyebrows.

Then I start working on the shading and hair, which is an entire process in itself. Maybe I’ll make a tutorial on that one day 😅

I also use some vivid light and soft light layers and put in some subtle colors for extra pizzazz.



Then I add a hard light layer to the eyes for that glossy look and on a normal layer add some white details just to make some things pop more (like the nose, lips, eyes, sometimes hair, etc.)

I did make an eye tutorial a while back, but my process is still the same!

Lastly, I spend a lot of time playing with different blending modes (multiply, add, soft light, vivid light layers) and really focus on the lighting. I used to focus on adding a lot more details and make the coloring more realistic, but I found that the more simplistic coloring was easier for me to do and fit my style better. Sometimes I still tend to go too far with the details and realize that it looks better when I tone it down a bit.

That’s pretty much it! Let me know if you have any questions! Hope this helps. Have fun making art!

[red-water-dragon]

Raren demonstrating a suspicious spell in front of the royal court.

visual storytelling notes:

The bg was left blank until I started painting and the elements added to the bg were designed around the character. I didn't go into this with a little synopsis of what I wanted to convey. Only an abstract idea that Raren was going to be talking to someone, figure it out later. I decided he'd be presenting a new spell in front of a political chamber because he wears a crown and a blue crystal. So he has to be of some form of nobility and magical prowess. He also has blue eyes meaning he is an ice dragon and thus its a blue spell wow. The monarchs he's addressing are left dark and disapproving in the corner while Raren powers a statue beneath them. He could be demonstrating how the spell effects the world around them, maybe it freezes the stone? maybe it brings the statue to life? Either way its primed to eat Raren's opposition. Two of the bg guys are red one is blue maybe he's an arch nemesis who knows.

Art process and wips under the cut

I'm trying and failing to get better at visual story telling while keeping things simple. My long term goal is to have a frequent and consistent posting schedule. Most of the art would be stylized and simple like this and the rest could be fully rendered.

Art has been more of a "draw what's in you head and make it look pretty/ cool to hang up later" thing to me w/ the benefit of being a good source of self reflection as I create. Writing has more so been my go to for expressing that meditation. Writing I don't share because im unnecessarily cagy abt my emotions and my harshest critic lol. I want to tell stories with my art , convey tone, feeling, etc. and right now my paintings don't do that. I don't have the technical skill yet. This painting is the first of many to come that will hopefully change this.

The texture in this is chaotic and the line work is rough. Raren is the only part of this with a full sketch. All other line art was added to create the illusion of detail. There is less attention on rendering each section and more being put into the placement of characters and props. I had hoped this would make the painting go faster and...it has the potential to do so in the future. Sooo a piece that could have taken a couple hours took a whole day.

While im not overly thrilled with the final image im still happy about the process. Normally the dragon would be the only real focal point in my painting with the bg being a gradient, or a simple theme added last second. Conveying a message is more work but it gives more cool things for the eye to look at and the mind to ponder. So in theory even if the final result is aesthetically unappealing the theme can still salvage the work a bit.

what this taught me:

sketchy line work is passable in the final image

it can even add character to the art

plants are a great way of filling space without actually doing so

(hence the wip of the room looking empty af with out them)

the more clothing and eye candy you put on your character the more clutter you have to add to the bg to balance it out

the main oc was sketched the bg was painted on the fly

doing so saved time but harmed the natural flow of the piece

all of the storytelling is happening in quarters and it is almost abrasive to look at

what ill try in the next piece:

perspective guides

less shading and rendering

find a color palette to stick to

or work in greyscale first

write a little picture synopsis

or pick a theme

just find something that acts as a story guide

sketch out bg elements

toy around with the sketch more before moving to painting

[merinsedai]

for the @dreamlingbingo

Square/Prompt: A5: Stargate (replacing Truth Serum)

Title: Dreamling Abbey (epilogue)

Rating: G (Dreamling Abbey itself is M)

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: Downton Abbey au, omegaverse, omega Dream, alpha hob

This is a third short addendum to my CHBB fic, Dreamling Abbey, which you can read on ao3 (mind tags), because Stargate SG-1 was one of my favourite shows back in the day. This is based on the opening scene of the 1994 movie though, and since I already had my Dream and Hob in Egypt in the 1920s, how could I resist?

The shouting and general excitement are what draws Dream down from their encampment to the excavation site proper. Balancing Aggie on one hip, he deftly navigates between the canvass covered stalls and the rickety wooden planks that criss-cross the pits and trenches on the ground to find his way to Hob. His husband is in the centre of the commotion, of course, broad brimmed hat pulled down low against the unforgiving glare of the Egyptian sun, and trusty notebook already in hand. 

Dream smiles to himself as he weaves through the growing crowd- his Hob, always where the action is! Dream spies Robyn and Orpheus as he walks and his smile grows more contented. Ever inseparable- and ever intrepid, even at just four and six- they are currently clambering amongst the detritus of the excavations, with a series of watchful eyes upon them. Aggie fidgets a bit in Dream’s arms, wanting to join her brothers’ fun, but she is too young yet to be let loose so Dream does his best to soothe her with his humming and jiggling until he reaches Hob. He immediately does his husbandly duty and relieves Dream of their daughter, who is thankfully distracted enough by tugging on her father’s beard to be  momentarily placated.

“What is going on?” Dream asks, shading his eyes with his hand and eying the commotion in the pit. 

“They’ve found something, love,” Hob answers “And it’s a bit… strange, by the looks of it.”

They watch on with interest as the workers scurry around, efficiently uncovering a large, circular object. Dream tilts his head as he watches the men lift away heavy hieroglyph-covered coverstones to reveal a hollow ring of grey…. Stone? He is not sure, it looks too smooth to be stone, but what metal could have lain buried for thousands of years? Surely these ancient people did not use or work with metal like this? The ring is divided into segments, and each segment contains a symbol.

“Those are not hieroglyphs?” he questions and out of the corner of his eye he sees Hob shake his head. He is writing furiously in his notebook- Pitman Shorthand that he and Dream had learned together- having been quickly relieved of Aggie by a helpful local, and looks excited.

“Definitely not,” he says. “Not sure what they are though. I’ve never seen anything like them. I wonder what they mean?” he looks up at Dream, eyes gleaming. “Nothing like a good mystery, is there, darling?”

***

Later, when the strange object has been fully uncovered and cleaned off, it is hauled into a standing position to be more closely examined. Dream, drawn by a feeling he can’t shake, returns with Hob to look at it again. They are allowed close, so well known by the team working here as to be practically family, and Dream reaches out to touch it curiously. He frowns. No, definitely not stone. A kind of metal, but not one he recognises. Certainly not iron or copper and steel would be absurd anyway.

“How curious this is,” he murmurs to Hob as his husband puts his arm around his waist. “It feels… very strange. I cannot put my finger on it, but it draws me in and repels me all at once.”

“Gives me the heebie jeebies a bit,” admits Hob, staring up at the ring. “This thing holds so many mysteries. I wonder what it was? And what happened here? It was clearly deliberately buried and  covered- no doubt the translators will be working feverishly on what the coverstones say- but it was so deep down, imagine the effort it must’ve taken those people… why’d they do it?”

“I want to know what these symbols mean,” Dream says, tracing one of them with his finger. It looked  like an unfinished triangle with a circle perched above its top point. “They fascinate me.”

“Well, could be a new project for you love. You and your ready mind. Not that Aggie will give you much time to concentrate, not now she’s getting her legs under her.”

Dream hums in agreement. “I should like that. I should like anyone to succeed. I feel like this thing has many secrets to reveal.”

“Well, with any luck we’ll live to see them.”

“Perhaps,” Dream touches the object again, traces light fingers over the patterns he can reach. “I feel like if a key could be found then this could unlock a great many adventures.”

[dragonmasterhiccup]

(AHHH 🐢)

The moment Hiccup came to examine her hand, she froze, startled that he'd notice something she had barely even acknowledged. "Uh, I mean, it wasn't really hurting that much--" Freya could predict that her face was, most likely, growing more red by the second as he gently took the small piece of wood out. She unknowingly took the time to finally get a closer look at the freckles that littered across his cheeks, noticing a bit around his nose as well.

She stared back at him, dumbfounded, forgetting how to move properly. The moment he let go of her hand, she felt as though it had suddenly got much colder than it had been before. The fleeting amount of warmth his hand provided was gone as she forced herself to act as though she were perfectly fine - which she wasn't. "..Yeah, it's.. already starting to feel better. Uh, thank you." Freya awkwardly spoke, hoping that neither him or her sister would see the shade of red that covered most of her face.

"How did you even see something.. like that..?" She glanced to the side, seeing Ayla had gone to the side of their home to grab her wooden sword before returning her attention back on Hiccup. Did she actually like the feeling of his hand on hers? Even if it was for a moment? 'He barely even held it.. it wasn't a big deal.' She silently told herself that, but it didn't appear as something small to her - when it most definitely should've been. "Uh, well, either way.. thanks." Freya tapped on her arm, finding a sliver of relief as Ayla came around the corner with her wooden sword, a beaming smile on her lips.

"Found it! Look at how cool this one is, Hiccup! It's not like any other wooden sword you'd find around Berk!" She placed it down into his arms, looking away as she sneezed. "I know, it's the best of the best. And, soon, when I have a real sword of my own, it'll look even cooler!" As they discussed what she might wanted it to look like, Freya went back to drawing in her notebook, resuming the one she had started earlier of Hiccup and her sister, not fully realizing they were right there next to her.

Ayla continued to ramble, glimpsing at her older sister for a moment. She quickly repeated the action, doing a doubletake at her drawing. "Hey! Is that.. me?" She gasped, lightly jumping in her spot, "Was that supposed to be Hic--" Frantically shoving her hands on Ayla's mouth, Freya got up from her place on the stairs and dragged her back on the doorstep.

"Okay! Hiccup, I think it's time you go home or.. do something else, you probably have something more important to do anyway-" She hauled her sister inside as she squealed. "Sorry, but, I really gotta take care of Ayla and all, and Blaze, and, yeah." She shoved her sister inside, clutching her notebook close to her side. "Gotta go now, bye!"

Only a second before she could shut the door, Ayla managed to push past her hold and shout at Hiccup, pointing directly at her as she spoke quickly: "She drew you!" Not a minute later, did the door slam shut, as the young girl could be heard giggling up a storm as Freya tried chasing her around their home.

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

"Aye, that youngin' seems to put a bigger load on himself than he could handle."

"He overworked himself is what happened!"

"Is that how he plans on leading Berk?"

Constant murmuring was heard throughout the Great Hall, and Freya wasn't enjoying it. To get this many Viking's attention about a certain topic, it must have been big. She wasn't one to listen to anyone's gossip, knowing it would all be in vain, and probably false, but she started picking up on a few patterns.

"Right when Stoick leaves too! Can you believe it?" One spoke, causing Freya to put the pieces together of an unsolved puzzle that was suddenly laid out before her. She hesitated, debating whether or not to carry out her idea, before finally stepping closer to the group of Vikings that was in line for the bread she was also there for. "He'd always get sick when he was young.. don't ya think he's a bit.. I don't know.. fragile?"

After hearing this, Freya began to fumble with her hands, trying to ignore the arising anxious feeling in her. 'It has to be someone different.. right?' She pretended to casually wait in line, knowing she might've looked a bit odd standing right behind the group without verbally making herself known. "Yeah.. that's Hiccup for ya..!"

'Nope, it's definitely him.' Finally getting to the front in line, she hastily grabbed her due share of bread, carelessly throwing it into her small basket before she bolted out of the Great Hall, pushing aside the strange looks others would give her as she raced past them out of the large doors. Reaching the outside, Freya panted, looking around for the Chief's home where Hiccup would be staying.

"He's so gonna pay for this.." She ran as fast as she could, dodging the daily traffic of Vikings as they walked past her. It didn't feel as long as she thought it would take when she arrived, gathering her breath together as she finally came to terms with what she was doing. "Why am I..?" Freya shook her head, choosing to merely stand in front of the door without moving. Her eyes slowly glanced at the small basket of bread in her hands, coming up with a different idea.

She had went to gather more herbs from Gothi, just to be safe for Ayla, since she had been able to recover a few days after Hiccup left, and it was stashed at the bottom of the basket she carried now. Freya thought it was the right thing to do. Although, of course, she didn't have the capacity to actually stay there and be with him, she figured giving it to him was enough. She placed the basket down, stretching out her hand to knock on the door. Her plan was to run and hide as soon as she was done, however, Ayla must have decided something different.

"Freya? What're you doing here?" Her younger sister approached her, a confused expression on her face as she carried one or two blankets. "Did you find out Hiccup was sick too? Oh! Cool, we can visit him together!" She didn't wait for her to respond as Ayla casually knocked on the door, making no move to run away.

"Ayla! W-what do you think you're doing? Why would you do that!? I didn't--" She attempted one final time to get away as she heard the door begin to open, startled as her younger sister was able wrap her arms around her waist to keep her from leaving. She turned her face in the other direction, not having the strength to look anywhere else.

Ayla grinned, still holding Freya, "Hey, Hiccup!"

Still looking away, he shrugged. "I don't know, I just...did."

"It's no big deal..."

Why was he feeling so warm? It was just a splinter...

But he could still feel the warmth of her hand in his.

He flexed his own hand, not sure what to think, and that's when Ayla provided a great distraction.

Inspecting the wooden sword placed in his hands, he nodded, agreeing that it was a pretty good wooden sword. "When you get a metal sword, do you want it to be just like this one? What changes would you make?"

His eyes wandered too, to the pages on Freya's notebook, and he immediately turned a shade of red, seeing she had drawn him...

Serves you right, a voice said in his mind. You drew her and her dragon while she slept in the cave.

But he was not going to admit that, or acknowledge her drawing.

Ayla seemed to have no concerns about it whatsoever.

He stood up as Freya started dragging her sister inside, leaning the wooden sword against the house, barely getting out a goodbye as the door was shut in front of him.

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

Over the next few days, Hiccup poured himself into work at the forge. He progressively felt worse as each day passed, but he shoved it off, thinking it was due to lack of sleep.

It was until that morning, when he was treating some leather, that the combination of the forge's heat, being congested, and the fumes from the leather solution got the best of him, and he passed out where he stood.

Gobber dragged him to Gothi's when he came to, and he got a stern whack in the head for not taking care of himself. She subsequently sent him home to rest, telling him he had a fever.

He was honestly glad his dad was away. He didn't need the lecture that would be given.

So there he was, with Toothless keeping him company. He was cold, despite the roaring fire, and thinking he probably, no, definitely, caught this from Ayla.

Oh well. He didn't care too much, it'll go away in a few days, anyways.

Hearing the knock at the door, he looked at Toothless, confused, before making his way over to the door, opening it up.

He was pale, his eyes watery and droopy. The tip of his nose was red, and he couldn't breathe very well through his nose.

"Freya, Ayla...what are you doing here?"

[bikepackinguk]

Day Seventy-one

It's a bright sunny day! Almost too bright, the forecast has some high temperatures so it's time to get slathered in sun block.

After loading up on a good cooked breakfast at the B&B in Preston, it's time to get across the River Ribble and get on ournof the urban labyrinth. A few wrong turns and busy roads but eventually I'm riding out of town following the cycle path as it tracks the A59 southwest.

There's barely a cloud in the sky and the temperature is rising, but the ride along the A road is helped by having some long sections of bike paths alongside periodically, and the flat terrain means it's time to crank the miles out.

The road being lined with hedges and trees does mean a lack of much scenery besides vehicles, but it's a price to be paid to make some good pacing.

It's some solid mileage being put in as the road crosses the River Douglas and I finally turn off the road at Banks, where we finally hit the Ribble Estuary and get a great view back across the water to yesterday's ride, with Blackpool Tower still visible on the horizon.

Further around the corner I get in to Southport, with a beach heaving with holidaymakers enjoying the sea and sun.

Carrying along the coastline, the road runs alongside some big sandy dunes before hitting Ainsdale, where it yhen swings back inland to hit the A565.

Fortunately this busy dual carriageway is well provisioned with fully segregated cycle paths, so I'm able to hrind out some good miles at good pace as the road leads on nice and level.

I take a pit stop for lunch by Formby in order to get some shade and relief from the scorching sun overhead. The rising air temperature is making it a sweaty day, but I'm well provisioned for water.

I head off the main road to swing back to the coastline proper at Hightown, with some nice rides around the dunes here before dropping on to the beachside promenade at Crosby. There are some great views across the water over to Wallasey and the Welsh coastline.

I carry on a ways along Crosby beach before the windswept sand is piled high enough on the path that riding through it becomes impossible, and strike back inland a little.

Liverpool seems very well supplied with cycle routes, but with so many criss-crossing each other it swiftly becomes a pain to work out which one leads where, and I end up just following the A road once more. This still has cycle pathing all along, making for more great progress.

Past tye docklands at Bootle, I have a few weong turns before arriving into the historic city centre of Liverpool, which is bustling in the heat.

I grab a ticket for the ferry across the River Mersey, and join the long queue for the 4pm crossing, which puts us in at Seacombe.

Onwards! There's a simply lovely stretch of non-traffic riding back downriver to New Brighton, which then continues along the promenades past Wallasey.

The hills along the coast of Wales are growing clearer and taller as they draw near, and whilst the temperature is still high the clouds are starting to grow in the sky, giving a welcome break from the sun's rays.

It's finally goodbye to the promenade riding at Hoylake, where the route jumps on to a long, long old rail route that runs all the way back along yhe River Dee Estuary. It's some bumpy going at times with a few gravelly sections, but is still fairly level meaning more miles being eaten up.

At Neston there are a few climbs thrown in, but with a day of level riding the legs are still in good states and these are ascended without any drama.

Past the Ness Botanical Gardens, there's a lovely long zoom downhill with a beautiful view of the Ruver Dee and the hills behind it as the route sails down for a ride through an RSPB nature reserve.

Halfway through the Burton Mere Wetlands, I encounter a very nice looking sign. I've crossed the border into Wales!

Pretty pleased with that! Some solid progress to get this far today, but with the evening setting in I think I've earned a good lie down.

A little scouting around has a nice secluded spot near Deeside Industrial Park, where I'm having a good lie down. The temperature is forecast to still be hitting 20 degrees even by midnight, so I may not even need the sleeping bag tonight! Here's to tomorrow!

TTFN!

[quailfence]

Description of first comic

Description of previous comic

[Image Description: An Ace attorney fancomic, done mostly in sepia/grayscale with bits of color. Teen Metis Cykes says in blue, "Mr. Edgeworth, I don't-" An angry Gregory Edgeworth interrupts her in red, "what was that" Metis nervously asks in blue, "w-what?" Gregory gestures outwards in red, "We never discussed that". Metis stammers, "B-but I-" Gregory continues in red, "you can't just insert yourself like that!"

Metis says on blue, "I just thought, y'know…" She smiles nervously. "I'm kinda part of the family now! We were bonding! We-" Gregory shouts in dark red, "Where are your parents?!"

Metis stares up at Gregory, shaking and crying. She looks down at her hands, then to the side. She clutches her shoulder and says in blue, "Same place where your wife is…" Gregory stares at her, shocked.

We see various flashbacks of prior events in the comic, with present Gregory's thoughts around them in black boxes. Metis: I saw your story in the paper. And… for some reason - it really spoke to me. Present Gregory: (She's been looking for a family this whole time… She didn't just Want to help me be a father again…) Metis, on the phone with Gregory: Half of me says it's to further the field of robotics. But the other half of me says it's to help a lost boy and his grieving father. Past Metis: My name is Metis Cykes. I want to help you. Present Gregory: (she wanted me to be her father…) Past Metis: But he'd say things like how we have to smile during the worst times. And that always stuck with me… (There is a drawing of a crescent moon). Past Metis: Dad jokes are your job!

Back to the present. Gregory stares at Metis and begins to shake. He says, "Oh… Oh no… I'm so sorry… I'm so so sorry…" Metis cries. She looks down and says, "It's not your job to be, sir,." Next to her are doodles of a sun and a moon. Gregory places his hands on her shoulders and says "Metis" in yellow. He hugs Metis, to her surprise.

Metis leans into the hug and says shakily in blue, "My-my dad used to smell like coffee… like you…" Gregory looks down at her and says "Oh Metis…" In yellow. Metis wipes away her tears and says, still in shaky blue, "I-it's okay, Mr. Edgeworth… I'm fine…"

Gregory says in yellow, "No.. you can't be my daughter… and you can't be Miles' big sister…" Metis looks up, still crying. Gregory smiles and finishes in yellow, "…If you're still calling me 'Mr. Edgeworth.' It'd be a bit odd for Miles to hear his sister refer to their father so formally."

Gregory grabs his shoulder and grins. He says in yellow, "I mean, what kind of father figure makes their kids speak like that?" Metis says in blue, "Wait wait wait hold on." She grins and asks, "Are you saying that I can call you dad?" The bubble changes from blue to yellow as she speaks. Gregory says in yellow, "If you want to, of course". Metis says in yellow. "Thanks, dad".

Metis, now in full color, hugs Gregory. He is shocked at first but then returns it, color returning to him as well.

Kid Miles, still in grayscale except for his clothes, looks around a corner. He is surprised to see Metis and Gregory hugging. Metis and Gregory are fully colored. They are interrupted by Miles asking in blue, "…Is something wrong?" Miles, now in full color, looks up. Gregory and Metis crouch down. Gregory places his hands on Miles' shoulder and says, "No, no, kiddo, everything is wonderful!" Metis has a hand on Gregory's shoulder and smiles at Miles.

The panels now are done in shades of one color. A blue panel shows Metis telling Miles, "Miles! It's so nice to meet you!" Two pink panels show Miles surprised, then grinning and saying "Yipee!" The last two panels are in yellow and orange. Metis and Miles hug. Metis: "I'm so happy I get to be your sister!" Miles: "I'm happy I get to have a sister!" Gregory hugs them both and says, "And I'm happy I get to be your father". End description.]

Description for next comic

@aa-described @aceattorney-described

Part 10

<- previous | next ->

[daughterofhighever-blog]

Ask Prompt - 🫢(Changing/Getting Dressed)

(Continued from here - @soiasan )

daughterofhighever-blog asked: 🫢 (as is, or reversed - dealer's choice) soiasan answered: Send 🫢 (or "oops!" if you can't see the emoji) for my muse's reaction to yours walking in while they are changing / getting dressed! ( accepting & this one is reversed! ) Since Solas began traveling with the Grey Wardens’ party, he found he had a startling lack of time to himself. The world was in the middle of a Blight. The Fifth in history, to be exact. Sleep was not to gain knowledge or catch up with old friends. Sleep was to gain the slightest bit more energy for the day ahead. Sleep was short and often interrupted whether it be by darkspawn or that dog. Solas was growing weary so he was resoundingly grateful when he came across a fresh water oasis during their travels. The party was camped nearby enough that Solas could come if called for and far away enough that dipping into the waters to bathe felt like sneaking away. The water was cool, a grace in the uncharacteristically warm Ferelden weather. Soon, Solas was clean again and stepped out onto the grass, where he had left his clothes. Solas opted to enjoy the air hitting his skin for a moment. A moment, indeed, as Solas soon heard his name called. That call did not come from the camp, no, it came from just around the corner. And there she was. Elissa. Solas closed his eyes, too long for a blink but just short enough to be coupled with a sigh. He looks at her without moving to cover himself. “Is it urgent?”

There had been many different sights that Elissa Cousland had been prepared to possibly be confronted with when slipping away from camp - Solas being completely naked after just emerging from the water had not been one of them. A light blush sprayed across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and there was even a shade of pink that flushed the outer shell of her ears. Wide, bright blue eyes lingered on him just long enough to blink once, twice, before what she was seeing appeared to fully dawn on her.

"I... uh... I'm..." she stuttered for just a moment before rubbing at the back of her neck and averting her eyes upward towards the treeline.

"No, it wasn't urgent," she said in response to his question. Her eyes came back down to meet his own again, and no lower. Her time as a Warden hadn't been terribly long, but even before then - having been raised and taught how to fight amongst soldiers in her family's service - there was at least some degree to which some casual nudity did not particularly fluster her.

"I have something for you," she continued, shrugging a shoulder to move and draw attention to what she carried underneath that arm; a somewhat flat, rectangular bundle wrapped in oil cloth.

"I just... thought it would be better to give in a moment of peace, while it lasts. I did not mean to disturb you - not in this manner at least."

Shifting her gaze away again, over her shoulder towards camp and then down to the grass in front of her, Elissa dug at the ground with the toe of her boot. "Should I go?"

[misstheraege]

Sorry to Bring Him Home

✧ synopsis: kazuha and heizou catch up on the events following kazuha’s story quest, when suddenly...

✧ warnings: slight reference to kazuha’s story quest 

Along the shores of Ritou, away from the bustling docks and midday chatter of the crowd, Kazuha and Heizou sit beneath the shade of a maple wood tree, watching as the waves leisurely roll in. Though the scene is serene, Heizou’s expression is one of slight ire, his lips quirked downward in what Kazuha can only assume is a pout.

He sighs for the nth time at his friend’s demeanor. “I’ve told you, Heizou. It was not my intention to leave you in the dark. You were unavailable. Nothing more.”

Heizou lets out a scoff. “Ha! ‘Nothing more,’ he says.” 

“It’s the truth. Like me, you seldom stay in one place for too long. I assumed you were preoccupied while the Traveler and I were investigating.”

Heizou looks pointedly at him, though it lacks any real fire. "You say that as if you can’t detect a person from the wind alone. Believe it or not, I was in the area. Surely your sensitivity to the natural world could’ve told you as much.”

Kazuha chuckles. “Even I have my limits. Though I’m flattered you think so highly of my abilities.”

Heizou lets out a sigh as he falls gracefully into the grass behind him, arms resting behind his head. “What can I say? Your connection with nature would be an incredible asset to my investigations. Tracking down suspects would be a breeze.”

Heizou smirks up at Kazuha from the ground. “Pun half intended.”

Kazuha tilts his head to regard him. “Though I can’t deny it’s usefulness, I’m afraid the Tenryou Commission’s atmosphere is a bit too restrained for my taste.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Pun fully intended.”

Heizou barks out a laugh at Kazuha’s words. A moment later, however, he clears his throat. “Ah— don’t think I’ve forgotten how this conversation started! So you can track down a rogue samurai with little to no leads, but not the best detective Inazuma has to offer?”

He huffs. “Absurd. I don’t need my intuition to see that something doesn’t add up.”

Kazuha shakes his head. “You really give me too much credit,” he sighs. After a moment, he extends a hand to the still seething Heizou, causing the other to raise a brow from where he rests.

“If it truly bothers you, next time I will make more of an effort to include you in my endeavors. Perhaps even agree to tag along on one of your investigations. How does that sound?”

Heizou’s eyes brighten ever so slightly. “You mean it?” he says, glancing at the other’s outstretched hand.

Before Kazuha can confirm his promise, however, the two are interrupted as a familiar golden light engulfs Kazuha’s figure, his hair swirling around him as a feeling of weightlessness takes over.

Stunned, their gazes lock for a moment.

“Kazuha,” Heizou warns, drawing out the last syllable. He wouldn’t dare.

Kazuha merely flashes him a sheepish smile. “You know it’s out of my control.”

As Kazuha begins to levitate, Heizou makes an attempt to grab his still outstretched hand before he’s out of reach. “Oh no you don’t—!”

Laughing softly to himself, Kazuha retracts his hand in a gentle wave before he’s catapulted into the sky, leaving Heizou to shake a fist at the retreating streak of gold his friend left in his wake.

“You sly samurai!” he shouts to the air. “Even you have to admit that wasn’t fair!”

When Kazuha is nothing more than a fleeting speck of gold in the distance, Heizou rises from the floor and dusts himself off, sighing in disappointment. “One case together, that’s all I ask.”

He points an accusing finger at the sky above. “I’m expecting to be vaulted in a brilliant array of purple after that. How dare you interrupt us at such a crucial moment.”

Somewhere in the distance, Heizou swears he can hear the tinkling laughter of an unfamiliar presence, their eyes following him as he begins his trek back to the Tenryou Commission. He purses his lips in annoyance.

“I’m coming home next, you hear me?”

author’s notes: AAHHHHH i kind of got carried away with their dynamic, but i bet you heizou was PEEVED that kazuha solved a case without him. the guy practically gushes about kazuha’s nature senses. talk about a missed opportunity lol.

mind you, i’m writing this before i’ve done heizou’s hangout, so for all i know this could be super ooc. oh well. hope you enjoyed anyways!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

“I wanted to see.”

Y/N’s eyes flit towards where he’s cradling her jaw with startlingly demure intentions, her breath catching in her throat at the sudden change in atmosphere. “See what?”

“See you, obviously.” He squeezes her cheek playfully, rolling his eyes with mirth. “Wanted to see what you looked like in my glasses, acting like a fucking moron with my dress shirt falling off your shoulders and my teeth marked all over your neck.”

Y/N swallows thickly at his tender remark, and the feathery sensation of his fingers dusting across her flesh sends pulses of heat racing throughout her entire body. Her voice comes out as a strained whisper, so quiet that it’s almost inaudible. “Well?”

Harry uses his thumb to tap over the center of her parted lips thoughtfully, quirking his eyebrows in the same manner she had. “Well what?”

Y/N comes to the sudden epiphany that he looks so much younger without his glasses. His features aren’t as chiseled and stoic as usual, almost as if the harsh charcoal lines have been smudged with a kneaded eraser, leaving behind a shaded sketch instead of stony geometric edges. This version of his physique is colored in by someone who appreciates kindness, laughter, and the individualism that comes with drawing outside the typical boundaries, rather than the typical artist, who conforms to calculation, poise, and cool indifference instead. It gives his appearance a more juvenile and approachable hue, meaning he actually looks his age for once, rather than seeming older, colder, and borderline apathetic. Less regal and intimating, more mischievous and personable. Sweeter, even. He’s attractive either way, of course, but he just looks so much more attainable when he’s not using his glasses as a scare tactic to hide away how affectionate he truly is.

Y/N clears her throat lightly, her words made of vulnerable glass and brittle mirrors, capable of shattering into a million pieces if handled incorrectly. “Do you like what you see?”

The corners of Harry’s mouth tilt even higher, and she can spot the buckling indents that suggest his dimples are bound to pop into place any minute now. He leans forward until their Cupid’s bows ghost over each other in suspense, and she suddenly detects the shifting of plastic in front of her eyes, which results in her lashes fluttering out of unsuspecting instinct. She realizes the action is courtesy of Harry’s forefinger, as it has reached up to shift the frames of the accessory, and she watches in a dopey, cross-eyed haze as he uses the pad of the digit to push his glasses further up the bridge of her nose, arranging them into a more secure position. The motion is identical to the one he often performs on himself out of habit, and for some inexplicable reason, that comparison sends a tidal wave of emotions raging through her stuttering chest.

Harry appraises her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, his gaze made of honey and emeralds as he contemplates the strangely intimate question she’d posed. Do you like what you see?

His tone emerges just as fragile and timid as her own, though its crystalline syllables carry the weight of many unspoken sentiments he may never be able to fully express. “I adore it.”

read more anthropology/philosophy student!harry here

[cruelprincae]

The playful, light words of his husband are met with an equally amused tilt of his head, his dark eyes gleaming as though the gold in them is of liquid nature in the dim candle light. A bejeweled hand rises against the heavy wooden door of their shared bathroom where each, ringed adorned digits drums against; a belated knocking of sorts, performed only to appease to the whims of the writer — well, author now, it would appear to be.

❛ I believe in nought that keeps you from me, ❜ Comes the airy answer as the High King dares take a step forward — and another, and then another, until he is standing before the human, fully clothed in comparison to his naked contrast. The hand which carries the wedding band rises to tangle through the unkempt brown strands, wielding it as a means to tilt Bill's head back and bring his mouth hard against his own, into a deep, hungry and searching kiss. His other, free hand comes to rest upon his husband's waist for a brief moment before it slides upwards as long and slender fingers feel the calloused muscles beneath them, tracing them as though one would do with a work of art — muscles that have only grown stronger, more prominent since their permanent stay in Faerie where the brunette has trained and rode for a good portion of the while.

The searing kiss is broken early, for none reason other than he recognises that mortal lungs do not behave as those of a Faerie, and thus, are in need of air to fill them quicker than one of the Folk. Still, Cardan's lips hover close to Bill's, occasionally brushing close to them but never quite lingering — and, upon releasing his hold on his hair, the High King swiftly undoes the lace of his shirt and draws it above his shoulders, sending it flying to the pile of clothes that Bill has created a few minutes prior. His boots and leather pants follow soon after, until the Fae is left bare of any and all attire before his husband, save from the golden, leaf circlet that rests above his temples, parts of it hidden under the wild, black locks of hair.

❛ The children are tucked into their beds and otherwise occupied, ❜ Hums Cardan as the corner of his lips curl into that of a insinuating smile. Leaning sideways and past the brunette, manicured digits reach to test the temperature of the water — mainly to make certain of the fact that it is not too cold for his husband to climb inside and thus become sick with a mortal illness —, ruffling the jasmine, cinnamon and nightshade blooms that swim in the streaming surface, opaque in shade with the silky droplets of milk. ❛ Bathe with me. I may rub those aching muscles smooth, or else, should you find yourself uninterested in such offer, I could merely sit back and be a exceedingly beautiful face for your entertainment alone. ❜

👀

@cruelprincae || x

Bill sighed as he stripped out of the clothing traditional to the Fae, tossing his pants to the side first followed by the shirt which he needed to literally untie. He still wasn't fully used to things, but he did enjoy taking the occasional hot bath when it was offered.

He had been about to step into the water when he heard the door opening. Turning towards the noise blue eyes landed on the familiar form of his husband, a slow smile stretched across his face.

"We don't believe in knocking anymore?" Bill teased, not bothering to cover himself up. Why would he when Cardan looked at him like that.

[real-jane]

Shrapnel

[Bucky Barnes x doctor!reader]

Summary: Bucky is paying for his time as the Asset by going on dangerous missions for SHIELD. As his injuries escalate, the doctor who cares for him worries that the cost will be irreversible.

Warnings: Bucky is repeatedly injured. Angst with a happy ending.

Words: 4k+

A/N: this was inspired by watching Westworld and the way they discuss trauma, and what the hosts deserve. Enjoy :)

It was delicate work.

He insisted he didn’t need anesthesia, his body was just going to push the bullets out eventually, but his torso was riddled with them. Still, he lay there, blue eyes open and watching the doctor use the forceps to pull out the small rounds. The clink on the tray was less disturbing than her huffs; she was distraught. This wasn’t like her usual touch. She was lovely, Bucky had always thought so, and he flirted with her like a man very much out of practice, which usually meant she left a lingering hand on his arm or her cheeks turned pink. All in the course of administering some sort of minor medical care. This was extreme compared to what she was usually in for. Certainly the worst condition she had ever seen him in. Just the results of a friendly springtime shootout.

She was frustrated after removing the first bullet. By the eighth, she wasn’t speaking much and struggling to look him in the eye. Her hands were sure; her prowess as a surgeon wasn’t in question, but that gentle rapport they had built over months of flirting was absent.

“HYDRA used to keep me surrounded by like… fifteen guys with guns that could shoot hundreds of rounds in a minute,” he murmured to draw her attention again, maybe distract her, “like they didn’t send me out on assignments to do worse than a gun could ever do to me.”

She didn’t acknowledge his words verbally, but her eyes flicked up to his over the top of her mask. She raised an eyebrow.

“Always thought that was strange. Maybe it was for their peace of mind.” Bucky gritted his teeth when she palpated the area around the bullet in his side. The pain radiated outwards. It didn’t matter if his body was doing double-time to heal–the agony was still a factor. If only Zola had turned off his pain centers, too, just deactivated all of his nerves…

Bucky glanced down at the doctor’s hands, steady as they slowly removed the eighth bullet. “I mean, look what good it did them. ‘M still here.”

“Stop talking, please,” she murmured.

“Knew a guy in the war–”

“Barnes–”

“He sang when he was in pain.”

“If you burst into song right now, I’ll let you bleed out.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. She stepped back from him for just a moment, turned fully away to set down her tools. Bucky shut his eyes the moment her watchful gaze wasn’t on him. Every inch of his skin was on fire. He couldn’t take a breath without a sharp stab. His heart was racing, too.

He could have gone about his day with eight bullet wounds, and spent one agonizing night in his washroom, getting sick from the feeling of his muscle and tissue knitting back together in real time. But Steve made him promise he’d go to the med bay after assignments, so there he was… feeling that intense, nauseating, blinding heat of his conditioning take over, with a doctor’s supervision.

Plus… he wanted to see her. The world seemed a little easier with her around, even when he was fielding pain so biting that his fingers were trying to go numb. He focused on her features in his mind. The curve of her lips, which he so rarely got to see, because she usually wore a mask when tending to his wounds. Her eyes, and how they transformed in dusky light through the measly sun shade. But then, there was the part of her he always saw in the murky abyss behind his eyes when pain was the worst–no, not something he could see, per se. A feeling.

It always seemed, when he was fighting his way through a mission, like he was just fighting to get back to her.

That thought, however fleeting and serious… it made him emotional. In the way that Steve would gently tease him, and with the severity that he’d lose sleep over her and be happy about it. As his body came to terms with eight painful–but not deadly–bullet holes, he focused all the energy he still had on the woman at his side, and how happy he was that she was there. Always.

She turned back to him with clean gloves on, and he could’ve sworn he heard her gasp. Her thumb pressed at his inner elbow, seeking a reliable vein. Then, cold on a cotton swab–the stinging scent of the alcohol made it to his nose. A pinch. An IV.

“This will help. Just breathe.”

Bucky almost whined in relief. He didn’t realize he was gritting his teeth until she willed him to take what little comfort he could in a needle. “Thought you were done poking me.”

“Just ten mg of morphine, for the pain,” she said softly. “I need to clean you up. Do you need a moment?”

He anchored his lucidity on the slow spread of the drug. He wasn’t sure if he could actually feel it creeping through his veins, or if he was so delirious from the pain that he was imagining it. Either way–it reminded him of sitting clamped down to a metal chair, while being rehydrated and healed from whatever negligible injuries he had attained in the course of an elimination. Funny how certain treatments had no allegiance. Morphine was morphine–not Russia, not HYDRA. Morphine was magic, gifted by his benevolent angel.

“I did not miss getting shit pumped into me, Doc,” Bucky sighed.

“Do you want me to wait a few minutes until the morphine has a chance to do its job?”

He peered up at her through pained slits. “I’m okay.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she nodded. The doc was consistently the only person in the room when he was in surgery; he asked her about it once, and she told him that it was on Fury’s orders. But on days like this when he needed extra care, it made him wonder. If he ought to just take care of things on his own. Stop wasting so much of her time. He hoped she didn’t feel the same… that she wanted to see him, that she thought he was worth her time. Healing him, that is. Easing his pain a little.

He jumped as the cold cotton ball touched his abdomen. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed.

“Thought you could take it.” He couldn’t see her mouth, but he heard a touch of amusement in her voice. “May need to give you a few stitches this time. That one in your side is a doozy.”

“It’ll be nothing by morning.”

She didn’t say anything else as she cleaned the blood from his skin. Every once in a while, she pressed a few fingers around a tender spot so she could clean him without pulling unnecessarily. It seemed like more than he deserved. More than most nurses would do. She didn’t do anything by halves, and it meant that he didn’t have to spend his evening with crusted blood drying around increasingly superficial wounds. It was a mercy Bucky felt so blessed by that he couldn’t speak to distract her, or try to make her smile… or even make her annoyed with him. Her gentleness robbed him of any inauthentic feeling he might have.

When she was done, and he was bandaged (despite telling her again that he didn’t need it), she helped him slip the scratchy cotton hospital gown over his arms.

“How’s your implant? Any issues?”

“It’s heavy.” He smiled when she shook her head in annoyance.

“I swear,” she muttered.

Bucky laid his fingers over hers on the cot, but she pulled her hand away. “Are you… mad?”

“No, Barnes,” she said gently, even as she snapped her latex gloves off the end of each finger. “Seems like all I do is stitch you back together. I’m trying to figure out why this happens with such regularity.”

“I heal. What does it matter?”

“From bullet holes, but what’s it doing to your head?”

“Can’t do much more damage though, can it?” he laughed wryly.

She huffed and ripped her mask off, letting it dangle off one ear. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. That was… unprofessional of me.”

“No–it’s okay. Thanks for caring. Nobody else does.”

She huffed. It was true–nobody but her voiced similar worries over him, especially not to his face. Still, she gripped his shoulder, just for a second, and clutched his unmarred skin with her gentle fingers. Then, she seemed to second-guess her right to such worries, and stood to put distance between them, even as her fingers flexed at her sides.

“Let me get a nurse,” she said in defeat.

The doctor stalked out of the room and she did not return. In her place, a nurse took over administering the rest of Bucky’s IV fluid regimen, but he didn’t pay much attention to what she did. Instead, he was stuck on the look on the doctor’s face when she was finally unmasked. It was like… grief.

***

The heat of summer brought fewer bullets, and bigger injuries.

The first time he lost consciousness on-mission, he came to with an eye so swollen shut that he began to panic. Her voice urging him that she was there, just lay back, I’ve got you, helped him calm down. An hour later, Bucky’s eye was almost healed enough to open it, but it was still purple and swollen around the cut in his brow. He had to strain to give the doctor a look under the lid. She didn’t get a chance to reset his broken nose–he did that for her. It made a painful crunch, and he saw white for a full ten seconds, but at least she didn’t have to do it. No bullet wounds for her to tend that day, just broken bones, from having the entire ceiling of a concrete bunker collapse inward on him, after beating the shit (and getting his own shit rocked) out of a passel of HYDRA soldiers guarding a set of data banks. Captain America had practically carried Bucky into the med bay, and spoken for a long time in hushed tones with the doctor. The only doctor who treated him.

By the time Bucky was conscious long enough to remember where he was, his skin was already starting to exhibit a litany of erratic bruises. The doctor was at a loss for words.

Bucky wheezed when she examined his ribs. She sucked in a sharp breath in sympathy.

He laid a hand on her arm to encourage her–he was alright, she didn’t have to worry. But she slid her hand into his and squeezed. Something in his chest squeezed too, and it wasn’t a fragment of rib rupturing a lung. He couldn’t speak. She didn’t ask him to. She sat next to him for a long time, waiting for his breathing to regulate, while he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles to apologize.

***

It was late in the year, with the leaves acquiescing to the chill in the air, when Bucky finally told the doctor about the dreams he’d been having. She was stitching his scalp, where he had been hit with a dislodged airplane propeller when keeping a small passenger plane from taking off. He admitted it apropos of nothing, as the sharp needle stitched in the doctor’s unwavering hands. She knotted the string, and then she sat in a chair at his hip, and all she did was listen.

Bucky relayed the vivid dreams and what he remembered… how far back the visions originated. Because he wasn’t really dreaming in the way where his brain was making sense of something so his gray matter could burn it off. These were distinct memories of things which had him jolting back to reality in a cold sweat.

It was Christmastime by the time he told her about the hallucinations. He’d had three concussions in the span of three weeks, and he was starting to see someone staring back at him in the mirror, who he knew for a fact had died in Wakanda. Every reflective surface showed him a part of himself who wasn’t supposed to exist. For the first time since he fell from a train in the Alps, he was scared.

He told her. Because she was holding his hand, and brushing his fallen hair off his cheek, and because she had been right to worry all those months ago when she asked what his missions were doing to his mind. And… maybe he told her because he didn’t want to burden anyone else other than someone who understood. She’d pulled bullets from his body, stitched his skin up, cleaned his blood out from under his fingernails, while staining her coat with the stuff, and she sat with him long after her healing skills were no longer required. Ungloved, unmasked. And holding his hand, always.

Bucky didn’t really know what to do with it, the intense care. He almost looked forward to whatever gruesome injury would next put him into her capable hands. Clinging to her like a lifeline felt like a dangerous proposition, which might end in her running the other direction, but she kept reaching for him in comfort.

When he finished telling her what he was seeing, she just stared at him. The rip of the velcro from the blood pressure cuff at his elbow was a little too abrupt. She tossed it on the bed beside him.

“Enough,” she whispered. The doctor opened her mouth to elaborate, but shut it just as quickly.

Bucky blanched. “Oh–I’m sorry if that was too much–”

She held up her hand. “Stop. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Have to,” he said lightly. “It’s a condition of my pardon.”

“To wear you into the ground? Bucky–”

“Better me than a guy who isn’t gonna walk outta the bunker if he gets hit.”

“You were wheeled in here on a stretcher!”

“This one time–”

She stood, with her back to him. Her head shook, and then her chin fell to her chest. Defeated. “You’re seeing things, having night terrors you can’t wake yourself up from, and every time you’re in here it takes a little bit longer for you to leave.”

“Doc, maybe that’s what I’m good for,” he said.

“What if it’s not good for me.”

Bucky blinked. “What did you say?”

“Maybe it’s too hard. For me.” The doctor turned to look at him over her shoulder.

Bucky held out a hand to her. “I’m sorry.” She sat down hesitantly, and Bucky pushed himself to sit up cautiously so he could be nearer, despite the bandages around his stomach. “I’m talking to the therapist like i’m ‘sposed to. Don’t worry. I just… I dunno. Wanted you to know.” He set his chin on her shoulder.

Y/n leaned into him and rested her head against his. “Buck… doesn’t it hurt?”

He huffed. “Yeah. Real bad.”

“It shouldn’t be like this. What is happening? Do you just run into bunkers with no cover, no backup?” Bucky was silent. She gripped his hand where it rested on her knee. “They can’t do this to you.”

“It’s part of my amends–”

“It seems like they’re trying to kill you.”

“I don’t have a choice.” He brushed his lips against her cheek and slowly leaned back, wincing all the way. “I still have years of service left before I’ve served my full time.”

“By then you might not know who you are,” the doctor sighed. “You’re gonna come in here one of these days and have no idea who I am, either.”

“Psssh. Impossible.”

“Is that so?” She laced her fingers with his. Bucky nodded.

“I’d know you anywhere, doc.”

He fell asleep with morphine dripping a little manufactured relief into his IV port, and the reassuring brush of soft fingers on his knuckles. In his dreams, he hastened ever towards her, waving frantically–I’m here, I’m okay! He shouted, but she didn’t hear him. She just cried.

***

“Doc!” Bucky’s ragged voice carried across the med bay. He had been waiting for her to come in–fighting consciousness so he’d be aware when she was finally with him, where she fit. She stopped walking, but it took her a moment to turn to him. When she did, she winced.

“I’m fit as a fiddle,” he said, even as the nurse shoved his non-mechanical shoulder back into place. Bucky clenched his teeth. His tendons were ruptured in his non-bionic arm, and he couldn’t even make a fist. He wanted to reach out, to ask her to take his hand but he couldn’t convince his bones to work in tandem with his muscles.

The doctor stood in the doorway with her hands in fists. That perfect, beautiful face… she wasn’t alright. Her eyes fell to the cold metal legs of the bed which might as well have a placard with his name on it, given how often he occupied it.

“You too good to treat old men?” Bucky asked, but what he meant was please smile, I promise I’ll be okay.

“I’ve been reassigned,” she said softly. “Same old thing with you though, huh?”

When she finally looked at him, her eyes were shining. Bucky huffed. Reassigned? Not just busy, or worse… disinterested. No. Preoccupied with a new mission, which didn’t include his rehabilitation, and just when he needed her, too.

Just when he had a mission so bad that he had called on any god he could think of from any pantheon and begged that he make it back to her. I’ll be good, he had bargained. I’ll give up this fucked up kind of freedom, but I can’t go. Not when I know that she’s back home. He had done just that, only to be bereft of her through the worst of his pain. How could he tell her how much he needed her?

“Hey nurse, I gotta ask doc a question about this problem I’ve been having, and it’s kinda embarrassing, could you give us the room?”

The nurse glanced between Bucky and the doctor lingering in the doorway, but she didn’t say anything. She just skirted around the doctor and shut the door behind her. Bucky raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Doc Y/n let out a long, low breath. “I asked Fury to pull you from active duty.”

“What?” Bucky frowned. “I’m fine–”

“Because I took an oath to care for my patients to the best of my ability, and I can’t do that for you.” She worried her hands together like they ached. “You’re being sent on suicide missions. It’s going to be worse for you than what HYDRA did in the long run, and I can’t abide it. The fact that you can survive doesn’t mean you’re coming out of there unscathed. You’re not a machine, Bucky. It’s too much to see you like this–” she swallowed a soft cry. “But. I won’t have to. I’m being transferred to the ER at George Washington.”

“When?” He couldn’t breathe.

“As of tomorrow. So. Take care of yourself, okay? They sure won’t in here.” She nodded through tears. He tried to speak–to tell her anything. But she was going, and what could he do to stop her? The doctor turned the doorknob and he panicked.

“Wait! Won’t you come here? Just… talk about this–”

“No, Barnes. I let my concern for you go to my head,” she wept, but she remained stoic and contained. “I compromised myself, and it cost me my job. I’ll miss–I’ll be seeing you, alright?”

“How do I find you?” he called after her. “Doc–”

She was gone, down the hallway into a swell of nurses.

***

The beeping machines were familiar and asynchronous, and a sure sign that he was close. Bucky shuffled through the halls, head swinging towards every doorway in hope of some glimpse–and then hope rose in his chest in a way it hadn’t done since she touched his forehead months ago to keep his hair from falling in his eyes. It had been many months more since he had seen her last. Agonizing time, which had driven him to an extreme of sorts.

The doctor he sought leaned over a computer screen at the check-in desk, speaking in a quiet conference with a nurse, who pointed emphatically at something she needed to approve. Y/n considered the question, and nodded–and her eyes flicked upwards at the slightest hint of movement in her periphery.

Bucky’s heart raced. Her mouth opened in shock.

His faculties were entirely about him. Nothing had cut into his skin to expose his tissue and bone to the air. His muscles weren’t bruised. He wasn’t being wheeled in haste to the operating theater to endure her scalpel. Bucky was a man entirely well, and as such, he experienced every single nerve ending in his body standing at attention because the woman who made life bearable had noticed him.

He blushed as she straightened; Bucky couldn’t stand to look at her for a minute. She was too beautiful. An angel. But he came to her for a reason, so he forced himself to step forward again and raise his head in feigned bravery. He swallowed hard.

She spoke softly to the nurse at her side without looking at her. The woman handed her a clipboard, and then pointed to a room which was unoccupied a little ways down the hall. Bucky followed her gesture, and hastened after the doctor. She slipped into the exam room and he wasn’t far behind. The moment the door was shut behind them… Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. He swallowed, and kept his breaths even. He sat on the exam table.

“W-what brings you in today, Mr.--” her voice cut out like she didn’t trust herself to actually address him.

“Barnes,” he volunteered. “I think I’ve got an issue with my heart. Piece of shrapnel lodged in my left ventricle. Just gets worse and worse.”

“That’s very serious.” The doctor pretended to consider her clipboard as if his chart were there, laying out this condition for which he required her help. “Have you been doing anything to exacerbate it?”

“No,” he sighed. “And that’s the problem. I’ve been feeling quite sorry for myself, when the answer is so obvious. But I needed to check with my doctor, to confirm my theory.”

“Which is?” She set the clipboard on the counter, beside the jars of various swabs and exam tools.

“I need you.” Bucky held out his left hand to her. “The further away you are, the more it hurts. And if it continues much longer, I think I’m going to be in danger of never recovering.”

Her hands rose to cover her mouth in shock. She shook her head. “You’re going to get in so much trouble for being here–”

“I got permission.”

“God–I can’t believe you,” she murmured. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in my exam room when you weren’t shirtless.”

“I mean, that can easily change–”

“Bucky,” she huffed a laugh.

He grinned. “I missed you so much. Please tell me I’m not gonna die from internal bleeding.” Bucky wiggled his fingers, which were still raised to accept her touch. She set her hand in his. He tugged until she stood between his knees.

“I’m unfit for duty,” he said, as if it were a badge of honor. “So declared by Captain America, and nobody goes against his word.” Bucky brushed her cheek. “I’m sitting on my ass watching too much reality television, and I haven’t seen my own blood in weeks.”

She cupped his jaw. “I’ve never been so happy to see you,” she said quietly. “I should’ve given you my phone number, but I… I don’t know. I thought I was the one who got too attached. I was embarrassed.”

“You were embarrassed? I’m pretty sure I called out for you more than once in the middle of you sewing my body back together,” he chuckled. “Truth is, doll: it was worth it. All the injuries. Because you were always there.”

“Are you still having those dreams?”

Bucky wound his arms around her waist. “I’ve got some new ones.”

“How do they go?”

“Cap checks me into the ER for a broken heart, and the doctor is so skilled at what she does that she patches me up, and then–well, it doesn’t always end the way I hope.”

She tucked his hair behind his ears, keeping her hands at his face like she still can’t believe that he’s there. “Which way is that?”

“When it’s the best dream? The doctor kisses me. And I’m healed.”

It was delicate work.

He might have kissed someone else in the course of his life, but Bucky Barnes had never kissed a woman who could mend him just by sighing against his lips. She was lovely, and now she knew he thought so. She wasn’t just a figment of a fever dream. Nothing mattered to her but giving him deliberate and sweet drags of affection. This wasn’t like her usual touch, no; she had never given him a piece of herself in exchange for his healing, before. This was precious. Just the result of taking a leap, and finding that his hope had wings.

***

thanks for reading!

my masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

Bucky taglist: @peterhollandkait @honeywithemoney

[lepusrufus]

Very random bits of art wisdom I learned over the years bc I'm bored on the bus:

If you use black for shading it'll muddy up your colors (not saying do not do it ever cause I'm sure some ppl make it work but still)

Use references kids

Like seriously who came up with the idea that refs are bad

I pinky promise you don’t have to pull poses, outfits, etc out of your artist ass

Drawin' chompers? Lower canines always in front of upper canines

The secret to the other eye is not copy pasting the first, but drawing both together as opposed to fully rendering them one at a time

Styles are annoyingly overrated. How about we realize the value of experimenting and being versatile eh

Step out of your comfort zone. Will it suck at first? I mean yeah probably but there's no other way to learn something you wanna learn

Idk what ppl are on about hands, it's shoes that are the real devil here

Also while I'm at it, have a "comfort subject" that takes little effort to draw, for when you really wanna do something but don't feel particularly inspired

It's also a good little bit of ego boost

Take breaks. Seriously. Don't be like me. And stretch.

Half the fun of designing a creature is figuring out its anatomy (but i mean I'm a nerd so take this with a grain of salt)

Textured brushes are your friends, but they can make something a lot messier than intended so watch out for that

Learn just a little bit of color theory (no not the children's hospital that isn't even actual color theory, funnily enough)

Cutting corners is valid, but try not to end up completely dependant on certain tools

Name your files something other than keyboard smashes. Trust me.

Treat your microns like newborns and don't let that one fking classmate that presses the pen like their life depends on it borrow them i swear to fucking god-

There's no one size fits all for art, maybe every single bit of advice i just gave is complete useless bs to u and that's fair

[venenatd]

last meal; jean kirstein x reader

summary: you and jean are in a relationship, and finally get some private time for a cute picnic date the day before he goes on the mission to marley. it’s v cute but also ur both horny!

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (public/outdoors sex, dracylphilya, size kink, fingering, thigh riding, use of “good girl/baby”, praise kink, female bodied reader, unprotected sex, creampie) some fluff for good measure.

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 3.3k words of unedited content

a/n: i saw a cottage core inspired jean post and this idea immediately popped into my head. i also kept thinking back to the sunset blush scene and it felt destined lmao. i thought it was gonna be shorter but i guess i get carried away lol. pls feel free to send me requests or ideas or give any advice on what you liked!! thanku!<3

Everything is painted with gold. The sun hanging low in the sky, despite the late hour, still warms your skin. You and Jean walk away from the Scout Headquarters, warmth of the evening allowing you to roam without coats. 

He’s in a tight cream shirt, braces holding up darker toned pants. A simple hat sits on his head, shading his eyes from the setting sun. You, a simple sage dress, loose and flowing around your legs. The long grass tickles your flesh, and the two of you laugh as you try running through the field, lifting your limbs stupidly high to jump over the pasture. 

Jean snorts at you, watching you flap around. The orange hue of dusk makes your hair shine, your skin glow beautifully. And as you look up at him, a wide and goofy smile spreading across your face, he can see all the flecks and details of varying colours in your eyes. And it takes his breath away. 

It was the last night before the end. He’s not sure of what, but it feels like the next chapter is to be finished when he closes his eyes tonight. Tomorrow he goes to Marley. Hange ordered all of their team to go relax for the final day at home. “We’ve gone over the plans enough, we know every angle! Go! Shoo!”

Hange was right. Going in and getting Eren home. It was engrained in Jeans brain. The scouts knew everything they were going to before they arrived. So tonight, it’s all about you.

You, with your skirt floating around you as you weave between trees, making your way to the clearing the two of you know so well. It’s where he first admitted feelings, where you first kissed. The others don’t know (or so you both think), and until he’s safe from his last mission, you’re not sure the two of you will ever reveal your affiliation. 

Pulling a blanket from the picnic basket you’ve brought with you, Jean lays it down on the ground. There’s a wide pond in front of you both, some ducks still paddling about. A thin haze floats over the water, the last of the summer heat still encouraging dragonflies and water skippers out. 

The light snacks you’d managed to sneak out from your job in the kitchen were delicious. You’d whipped up some light pastries and desserts from leftover ingredients. Even some strawberries and grapes. Whilst everything was miniscule from lack of provisions, it tasted good enough. 

Dipping the sweet red fruit from the cream and sugar and between your lips, Jean is in heaven. Your hair being pushed by the wind away from your face, the rosiness on your cheeks. The world may end tomorrow, but tonight he’s got all he needs.

His hands reach over, noticing the drip of cream collecting on the corner of your lips. Swiping his thumb along your cheek, he notes “you’ve got a lil..”

Jean looks at you, his eyes locking on yours, still gently cupping your face in his hands. Warm pupils flick down. His brows scrunch together for a moment, before he moves forward. His other hand comes up to your face, and he is so gentle when he kisses you. It’s as if he may break you if he goes too far.

The soft plush of his lips on yours, slowly pulling you in is intoxicating. He leans back on his forearms, pulling you over him, not letting you leave his mouth. You knock into his hat, it flopping off behind him as you lower your chest over his.

A hand reaches to his chestnut hair. It’s grown long over the last few years. You play with tendrils, the two of you lazily kissing. It’s soft and easy. You’re breathing into one another your chest resting on his as you move a leg to intertwine with his. 

Shifting yourself slightly, you rest directly above his thigh. Jeans hand comes to the back of your neck, making sure you don’t split the contact he so desperately needs. Your nails slide softly against his scalp, twisting into his hair with more want. 

The man, your man, underneath you curls forward, leg lifting and chest pushing up into you. Your crotch bumps against his thigh. A delightful little gasp erupts from you. If Jean wasn’t tongue deep in your mouth he could have even missed it. But he is, and he didn’t. 

He’s tempted to see how far he can take this, maybe make another first here. You’ve had sex, and plenty of it. Although for the most part it’s been rushed, the nature of your jobs only allowing for quickies. You both lived in shared rooms, and the lack of privacy was definitely a roadblock in his attempts to please you.

This clearing, in the outside meadows by headquarters, is maybe an ironic place for the privacy you both so need. Putting any doubt out of his mind, Jean lifts his muscular thigh, achieving another gasp into his mouth from you. You grind against it slowly, tentatively.

“No need to be shy, baby girl” he smiles into the kiss.

Cheeks rosy, you roll your hips along his leg. Jeans body rises further, leaning back casually on one hand, the other gripping the flesh between your waist and hip. He breaks the kiss that has been going on so long, wanting to take in all the ways your face displays pleasure. 

Your eyebrows knit together slightly. Your lips are wet with saliva, slightly parted as you give off little mewls each time your clothed cunt is brushed along his cotton pants. 

There’s a sweet and tender feeling building in your lower stomach. You can feel how wet you’re getting, the slow and methodical undulations generating a heat between your thighs. 

“Jean, plea-”

“You want more?” he’s quick to answer. Your head jumps and up and down, past the point of playing shy. 

His long fingers meet with your jaw once more, lightly skimming your features. He’s noting it all down in his head. Maybe he’ll even make a drawing of you. You pause in your ministrations, and a low tutting comes from the man. “No, no. Keep riding. Get yourself ready.” 

A delicious smile emerges on your face, and you bear down on his thigh. You take your hands on each leg, gripping onto the thickly built muscle underneath the cloth. A couple of fingers miss their mark, and you can feel how hard Jean is getting. Eyes flash between his crotch and his face, and he can sense how eager you are to please him. 

His touch moves from your jaw down, one finger slowly running along the centre of your throat. Jeans hand dips, slowly dragging his fingernails across each collar bone, down to the valley of your chest. Your breath hitches, and he moves away again. You shift your hand in response, moving it towards the joint between his thigh and pelvis, allowing your fingers to brush his clothed balls.

Wherever his fingers move leaves a tingling in their wake. They push towards your shoulder, teasing the fabric from each one. Your dress pools a little, allowing him to make his way back, this time taking your breast in his hand. Thumb brushes against your puffy buds, and a finger meets it to squeeze lightly.

Jean fully lifts off the blanket, sat up straight. He makes quick work of your dress, pulling it down and pushing it up. He grabs at your legs, going between light caresses and tight grasps, not knowing which to settle with. Finally he finds purchase in your ass, guiding you back and forth over his thigh.

You moan into his mouth, fully succumbing to the wetness surely dampening through your panties, the feeling of his fingers twisting and teasing your pert nipples. He raises his fingers from your chest, using his thumb on your lower lip to apply gentle pressure. 

Breaking the trail of saliva that connects you both, he pushes an index finger between your lips. You’re all too eager to suck on it, eyes looking dutifully at him. He inhales sharply between his teeth. His cock is so hard, so desperate to fuck into you. Jean wants it to be slow and beautiful, but he simply needs to have you. He wants you close to him before he leaves and doesn’t know if he’ll come back. And close means being inside you, hearing you in your purest form. 

The dusky pink settling on his cheeks could be the sun, low in the sky, filling the meadow with rich hues. 

Your moans could not be interpreted so wholesomely.

Fingers wet with your spit, he moves his hand between your legs, under the skirt. Pushing your panties to the side he lets you ride his palm for a moment. Teasing yourself, teasing your clit on his strong hand. He goes deeper, fingers sliding through your folds. He slips through your folds, resting at your entrance, before allowing your hips to rise and him to push knuckle deep inside you.

You reddened lips form a perfect ‘o’, and the bliss on your face is one he will remember forever. His thumb moves to your clit. Still on top of him, Jean watches you fuck yourself on his fingers. He kisses your neck, your chest. Taking your nipples and sucking, biting, nibbling. 

Your walls are closing in on him, before gently relaxing and he can tell you’re close. 

“Don’t be shy” Jean reissues his earlier statement. But now it’s far huskier, far more commanding. “I want to hear you, y/n. I want to hear you cum.” 

You’re watching his face, the words - orders - tumble from his lips. They make you flutter around his fingers. You murmur out tiny please’s. 

“What did I say? Louder, y/n.”

You moan against his neck, “please.”

Jean pulls your hair, making you extend your neck, forcing you to look up to the hues of pink and orange. “Louder.”

You’re so close. “Jean, p- please!” 

“Good girl.”

With that he’s flicking his thumb over your clit, fucking his fingers up into your cunt. The sounds of liquid and wetness only add to the noises of you cumming. Pussy clenching around his fingers, hips giving way and as your legs start to burn and shake. Jean holds you up, working you through your orgasm. He wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart, moaning his name. And then whining curses as you become oversensitive. Yet your gummy walls still suck him in, begging for more.

Leaving your tight walls, he brings the fingers to his lips. You taste tarte and sweet. Better than strawberries any day.

Your breaths are heavy as he twists the two of you, resting you with your back on the blanket. You are radiant. A green halo of grass above you, the dusting of pink on your cheeks, your lips kiss-swollen.

Jean pushes your skirt up, eyes trained on yours as you rest on your elbows. Your eyes follow his movements. How his tongue wets his lips before he drags them on your inner thigh. How his fingers dig in to pull you closer towards him. 

He pulls off your sodden panties, kissing into your hips, your belly. Jean is slow and deliberate. As much as he wants to be deep within you, he’s never had the chance to enjoy you this slowly before. 

He rises, kissing your breasts as they spill from the top of your dress. His tongue paints saliva on your lips before slipping between them. The kiss is intense. It’s deep and sloppy and so needy. 

Your hand reaches to his shoulders, thumb slipping underneath his braces pulling them off. Hands slip under his shirt, and he quickly helps you pull it off. His muscles are firm and taught, the amount of work his body has been through over the years evident underneath your fingers. You trail fingertips over stripes of knotted flesh, kissing each mark and scar after your hands move onto the next one. 

“You’re beautiful, Jean”

Jeans cheeks go rosy and he smiles so bashfully that it breaks you apart. The lopsided grin makes you pull him back into you, teeth bumping together as you giggle into the kiss. 

He unbuttons his pants, pushing them far enough down his thighs to allow more friction as he grinds into you. Jean is noticeably straining his underwear, his member long and hard. You move your hand down to cup him, squeezing gently through the cotton. You tug on his cock, leaving him stuttering into your mouth. Holding him just tightly enough, he ruts his hips into your hand, little sighs escaping his mouth into your hair. 

Tucking your hand under the fabric, you pull out his dick. It makes your hand look smaller, Jean’s member long and hard. The pink tip is slick with precum, and your thumb brushes his head slightly, earning a little hiss. 

You go from light little touches to harsher ones. Fingers brushing against the veins on his length, before you wrap around him again. He’s whining in your ear, “you like playing with my cock? Seeing what you do to me?” 

With hooded eyelids you look at his contorting face and whisper “yes, yes. I want to please you, I want to make you feel good.” 

“Such a good girl for me.”

Taking his member, you push the tip against the heat between your legs. Teasing your clit with his head, he looks down to watch you work. Precum lightly sheens over your folds, and fuck, Jean can’t wait to add to it. 

“I w-want you so bad Jean.” 

“You have all of me.” 

You hold him against your entrance, the tip of him just resting at your little hole. Pulling him in a little, he pushes against the first tight ring. It’s always intense letting Jean fuck you, making you so full. You rock your hips up, letting him slip out a little, before grinding back down. It pulls him into you so sensually. He moans unashamedly as you control the pleasure you both receive. 

Repeating the action, you lift again, pushing him out, and again tightening your stomach muscles to curl and bring him deeper inside you. His golden eyes are trained on where you’re conjoined. 

He’s halfway inside you, stretching your tight walls so much already. Jean sits back, moving his tongue around inside his mouth before letting a ball of spit fall where his cock rests inside of you. Spreading it on his length, he helps you the rest of the way. Letting your eyes widen and gasp of surprise (how are you always surprised by the feeling?) as he fully sheaths himself inside you. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he holds himself above you, head falling back as he inhales slowly.

Jean allows you a moment to breath, before he pulls back out, quickly snapping his hips back to yours. Moans tumble out of your mouth as he fucks into you. Lashes fluttering and your tits bouncing in rhythm, you are a sight for the sorest of eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me, all splayed out on my cock.” 

He pushes your legs apart, watching his length disappear inside you. Watching how one hand twists your own nipple, the other feebly trying to grab onto his wrist. He’s splitting you apart on his dick, the feeling of being so fucking full taking over. You were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but he builds another, the tightening in your core unmistakable. 

“J- Jean,” you hiccup, so overwhelmed by him. “You’re s- so big” 

“You’re taking me so well, y/n.” 

He lowers himself against your chest, bringing his knees upwards and closer to your ass. You curl up around him, holding your legs further up. Jean quickly renegotiates the position, pulling your legs around him whilst you hold under your knees. You can feel him so deep inside you this way, pulled into a ball underneath him. Jean wants to be impossibly close, and this new angle is punishing on your pussy. He can feel how wet you are between you, how much you enjoy the intensity of his cock working in and out. 

His forehead presses against yours, his hand snaking between you two. From his new angle, he can hit that sweet spot inside you so easily. His length sweeps against it, and hits into your furthest wall. He lets out curses as he feels your cunt tighten each time, mixing with the moans and mewls from you. You lock eyes with him, big doe eyes pricking. 

“Pl- please, I’m so close, Jean.”

Fat tears roll over your cheek, trailing to your temple. Everything feels too much. Him inside of you, the wet squelching between you. His strong fingers rubbing over your clit again and again. You let out a sob, followed by a moan. It’s a combination of knowing this is the last night, feeling how fucking intense his cock is inside you, hearing how much Jean needs you. He kisses your cheeks, tasting the salt, not faltering as he continues to pummel into you. 

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

His balls slap against your skin. 

“You can do it.” 

His teeth bite at the flesh of your breast, pull at your nipples.

“I want to hear you.”

His fingers play and roll with your clit, feeling the way you tighten around his cock.

“Please cum for me, y/n.”

Your back arches off the blanket, the night sky soaking up the moans. The lewd noises in between you both are all consuming, the slap of slick and wetness only adding to your full body sensation. 

His fingers keep moving on your clit, and Jean grunts each time your pussy spasms around his cock. He keeps pace, fucking you raw and with need. He loves to see your delicate face scrunched up, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. 

And with the tightening of your walls around him, Jean’s close. “Where do you want me?” 

“I want,” you inhale sharply, as his cock drives back into you, “you inside me- I- I need you Jean. Please.”

“You’re so good, baby, you’re so good.” He’s getting quicker, making you writhe beneath him in your overstimulated state. “I’ll give you what you want, okay? I’m going to cum inside your pretty pussy.” 

Jeans fingers are going to bruise you. He's holding onto you so tight, never wanting to let you go. It’ll be something to remember him by. Movements are starting to stammer, the sweat evident by the sheen forming across his shoulders and face. You tuck a tendril of his honey hair behind his ear. “I love you”, you whisper amongst the moans. And with that he pushes deep enough to make you cry out, feeling the hot ropes of cum painting your walls. 

Your man rests inside you for a moment, gathering his breath as he leaves languid kisses against your breasts, your jaw, your lips. He pulls out, seeing his cum drip from your pussy. Using his fingers he pushes the white around your folds, earning a sharp his when he brushes past your clit. Finally, he brings his fingers to your lips, and you put out a delicate tongue. 

Cleaning him with your mouth, he sits back, sighing softly. How can you be this good? And you like him? Jean thinks he is the luckiest man on earth. He adjusts your dress for comfortability, before dipping next to you. Your heads are lightly touching, your hair intertwined with his. Staring up at the sky as the last colour leaves it in its inkiness, he holds you close. He presses his final kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too.”