#the girl from the other side fan art

[croholz]

Teacher and Shiva :)

Ngl these are some of my favorite pictures I’ve taken for buttons.

[maskmascot]

Queenie scrunchies

[autumnalplague]

[shark-ftw]

Them 🖤

[milfglupshitto]

I settle for a ghost I never knew

back at it again with another digital collage! despite the original image being pretty close to the final this still took hours lmao. the layout and silhouettes are taken from a scene in the final episode of the anime Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo (which everyone should watch btw), and the text on the paper and the uniform jacket is from this passage in Thrawn by Timothy Zahn:

"I ask what you have learned about humans," Vanto said. His eyes narrow slightly. "I misspoke. Apologies. I meant to say I could learn about one person, you, from the stories you choose to tell."

Original frame:

[pylonangel]

scrapped knee

[bratbby333]

satosugu & their favorite lady ♡ poly head cannons

`⭐︎ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ bc who doesn't love when their two boyfriends are also bf + bf?

nsfw mdni; fem!reader, 3sum, anäl, dbl. penētration, oral, yaoi, use of pet names. banner fan art from pinterest

poor suguru, having to work overtime to keep the two of you in check—your unyielding energy bounces off of satoru's childlike enthusiasm, creating quite an unhinged environment. and of course geto switches into dad-mode when it comes to y'all, but he wouldn't have it any other way...not willing to give up what he has, loving how silly his lovers are.

satoru’s definitely the physical touch lover while suguru handles words of affirmation: they take turns showering you in praise in the form of soft touches and gentle kisses while they removing your clothes, two sets of hands running up and down your soft skin.

this dynamic also manifests in public, with satoru being your go-to for steamy dancing and drunken make-out sessions in the middle of the club, while suguru sits observantly at a table off to the side.

when he finally feels that it’s time to go, he’ll join the two of you on the dance floor, his chest pressed flush with your back as you continue to lock lips with satoru. you grind against him, assuming he's finally joining in on all the fun. but his hands pull at your hips before running up your body and cupping the underside of your jaw, quite literally having to peel your mouth away from satoru's. "hey...wha- i wasn't done," you grumble. suguru only chuckles in response. "let's get outta here, you two..." he mumbles. satoru attempts to reconnect his lips with yours before a stern "satoru," rumbles from suguru's chest. your blue-eyed lover pouts, of course, before reluctantly agreeing.

suguru loves hitting it from the back while you suck satoru off, the sloppy sounds of both your holes filling the heady air the room as the three of you chase your releases

and of course, satoru would get creative and suggest a challenge, a little competition to see who finishes first, just for funsies; "bet i'd last the longest". he'd be so fucking smug about it, too. and nine times out of ten, you and suguru would create an alliance and work together to literally break satoru; not only does he finish first but he cums over, and over, and over again. you and sugu take turns bringing him to his breaking point, and after his third orgasm, he's begging to switch so he can get one of you off instead. but you just can't stop. and why would you? he just looks so pretty as his hips buck off the bed, sweat glistening on his skin with his flustered cheeks and swollen lips, while his body trembles with every gasping breath. you swear he does this shit on purpose, plotting for this outcome because he's been feeling super needy lately.

they just love pleasing their precious girl

you're straddling suguru, your forearms resting against his chest as your nails dig into his skin. satoru is pounding into you from behind, his hands anchored on your hips. he tucks his chin into his clavicle to watch as your gushing cunt sucks him in so greedily. suguru pulls your head down, your cheek resting against his shoulder as his fingers reach under you to play with your clit, sultry words of praise leaving his lips and going straight to your listening ears, "feels good, doesn't it baby? uh uh, don't move. keep takin' him...y'doin so good." you whimper as toru’s impressive length reaches unimaginable depths inside you, the sweet squelches of your needy pussy spurring him on as he drives into you even harder. sugu’s fingers keep working at your throbbing clit while you bite and suck on his neck, interrupted by the symphony of soft ahh’s and ooo’s falling from your swollen lips. a few more rough thrusts and rapid circles against your clit and you’re falling apart on satoru’s cock, spraying all over the their thighs. you gasp and whine when you feel satoru pull out, only for suguru to lift you up and quickly take his place, sheathing himself in your pulsing walls. “you ready, baby?” you glance over you shoulder, watching as satoru sucks his fingers into his mouth, a cheeky smirk on his face, your cock drunk brain too dizzy to respond. you nod, groaning at the feeling of his long, slender digits playing with your ass, dipping in to the second knuckle. satoru works to stretch you out in preparation for you to take them both. your face contorts at the dull ache. "look at me...focus on me, princess," suguru rasps, redirecting your attention to him as he slowly pumps in and out of your gummy walls. your nails scratch down his chest as you rest your forehead against his, breathing deeply in an attempt to relax your body for the inevitable stretch. you already feel so full, your pussy absolutely drenched, your arousal dribbling out around sugu’s girth, but you grow even wetter in anticipation for your two boyfriends to take you at the same time

and if you thought it would be a peaceful transition into sleep after y'all finish fucking, you would be sorely mistaken...the three of you constantly fight for the middle spot in the bed. correction, you and satoru are the ones bickering. as the two of you argue, suguru finds his place and waits for y'all to follow suit, and more often than not, it's suguru in the middle, laying on his back, as you and satoru tuck yourselves under each of his arms and curling into his side, legs thrown over his waist.

it's a very balanced relationship. the three of y'all have your designated nights to cook dinner, your assigned spots on the couch (though you occasionally fight over what to watch), a copasetic routine for showering, going to work, running errands together. and when one of y'all is out of town for work, the two left over keep each other company. it's perfect, a home full of love and laughter.

y'all loooove having threesomes, but sometimes it's too much logistically. and that's totally fine...nothing wrong with some one on one action, whether it be you and toru or sugu and you or the two men having their fun alone.

you arrive home, expecting to be entrapped in a double bearhug by your two boyfriends, only to hear moans and grunts echoing down the hallway. you laugh to yourself as you make your way upstairs. opening the bedroom door, you're greeted by a smiling suguru being topped off by his blond counterpart. "hey baby, how was work?" he asks casually, not even acknowledging the fact that he's actively getting head. you smile softly, walking to the edge of the bed and placing a gentle peck on suguru's waiting lips. "mmm, it was a pretty rough shift...i'm gonna go take a long, hot shower," you reply, exhaustion evident in your voice. satoru sits up, continuing to jerk suguru off. with his free hand, he wipes the spit from his chin, grinning ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him, too. "you sure you don't wanna join us?" "not right now, toru, but i might when i get out," you smile as you walk to the dresser, grabbing a change of clothes before heading toward the master bathroom. you turn back around to face the two of them, giggling at the disappointed looks on their faces. when the door closes, the wet sounds and breathy moans fill the bedroom once more. but of course, not even five minutes into your peaceful shower, your back is pressed up against the tile wall as satoru's tongue laps at your throbbing clit. "this is the best way to decompress, baby," he says before his fingers dip into your core and his lips reattach to your sensitive bud. "f-fuck, toru...feels s'good..." as you surrender to the bliss, you hear the bathroom door open and close. seems like suguru was feeling left out. so much for your alone time, huh?

loneliness is no longer apart of the equation for you. after years of failed relationships and agonizing heartbreaks, you have finally found peace, your yin and yang. you have your boys, and they have you.

author notes: stsg has had me in a fuckin chokehold recently so i had to get this outta my head. i just rly rly want two boyfriends so so bad and i want my two boyfriends to also be boyfriends. ugh. is that too much to ask? ♡

©bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[bi-writes]

i'm a big fan of your writing! can i ask what made simon want to mail order a bride in the first place? thanks <3

mail-order bride

he's tired of staring across his dinner table and seeing nothing but empty space.

it isn't something he had thought about in the before. he's spent a long time shifting between different cots, collecting sand from faraway places and counting the bodies he dropped with tally marks against his boots.

there's a picture he keeps tucked into his vest, but he won't take it out. it sits heavy there, an invisible wall between himself and the outside world, a reality that he chooses not to believe. if he doesn't look at them, he won't think of them, and if he doesn't think of them, maybe he can pretend they were never even real.

they all have something outside of here. his sergeants are too pretty and too outgoing to stick around; they're social butterflies, and simon has seen the shuffle of pictures of some pretty girl that gaz can't stop staring at, and soap never shuts up--whenever they have a signal, he's somehow got a phone call with his cousin's stepfather's little sister, or it's his second cousin's brother-in-law's birthday, and he's got to wish him well since he missed his art exhibition last month.

even price has a pale circular shadow that is stained onto his ring finger.

it's not his fault, is it? it's not his fault he was dealt the worst fucking hand. it wasn't his fault he was born already two feet into the grave; it couldn't have been his fault that he can only get a good night's sleep when there's screaming in one ear or the rattle of a battlefield over his head.

it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault.

the cigarettes taste bland today. they're old, stale, and he can taste the bitterness already, but he lights it anyways, flicking ash into the ground, scrunching his nose until he gets used to the bite of it.

there's a shadow at his side, and he turns to snap at them, assuming it's johnny and his incessant nagging, but he holds his tongue when he realizes it's his captain.

he's got a warm cigar in one hand, and he leans against the concrete wall beside him, sighing deep, the kind of pensive weight that only a captain can bear.

price looks tired. he needs to go home.

"boys invited y'out, didn't they?" price asks, and simon chuckles lowly.

"'m olready 'ome," simon murmurs. "'n i can get piss drunk oll on my own 'ere."

price shrugs.

"ya haven't taken leave since you joined my team, simon," he says low. "can't have that. you know it."

simon shrugs.

"can try and make me go," simon tells him. "but y'know i won't leave."

"i'm not asking, simon," price says firmly. "'m telling."

"doesn't matter," simon takes a long drag of the cigarette, holding it in for a second too long before letting it out slow. "got nowhere ta go."

his captain is not blind. simon's on a one-way road, and the end of it stops at the end of someone else's gun. men like simon, the ones who have nothing to lose, they're dangerous. they clear rooms outnumbered thirty to one because no one thinks they can. they hit targets from thousands of yards away because it's the only place that never changes. they kill and sleep peacefully because the blood of a stranger is far cleaner than that of someone they know, of someone they love.

they'll never leave because war is familiar. they don't want to go home because home isn't something they know. they're nomads, taking with them only what they can carry, because the rest is baggage and an emotional weight that they aren't strong enough to carry.

but it doesn't mean men like simon don't want. it doesn't mean they don't wish for more. it doesn't mean they don't think about using their teeth for something other than baring them to show their dominance, their aggression, their insecurity.

simon's a protector. the way he shoves his men behind him says so. the steadiness of his voice over comms when the op goes to shit. the ease of his hand when he ties a tourniquet. the split second that simon never wastes, the way he uses his body as armor and the look he gives his men when they're scared. simon's died twice before, and the look in his eyes tells them that this isn't it, that this isn't death, because he'd fucking know--he'd recognize it if he saw it.

simon's unrelenting. his past, his trauma, it's tried to beat him into a shape that will bend and snap, but its obvious simon is not made of lead--fuck, he's an entire block of unmovable steel. he does not give when compressed, he does not crack when the strength of him is tested. simon's fought too hard to live to let a gun terrify him, he's endured too much torture to flinch when someone sinks a blade into his chest.

but he knows, simon knows, that there is something missing. he fought hard to live, but for what? he's endured, but what the fuck is there when he lays his head down at night?

simon's a lover. he tries so hard to convince himself that he's always been this way--alone, drifting, lost, but it's a lie. simon knows what it's like to want. he knows what it's like to look into a crowd and hope you see a familiar face. he understands wanting to pull that string taut, but he also understands what it can do to you. what it can take from you.

he understands what you can never get back.

he thinks this is a bad idea. he crumples the note paper in his hand that had the address scribbled onto it, tearing it, staring up at the house in front of him. it's quaint, a lovely little house in the outskirts of london, with a red chimney and overturned planters in the yard. there's a weathered wooden door, a porch step that needs fixing, and when he kicks open the door, he grimaces seeing a carpet that need's replacing.

"the fuck am i doin' 'ere?" he whispers to himself, sliding his mask off, running a hand over his face. his heart is pounding, but he's not sure why, but he catches his reflection in the window. what looks back at him terrifies him--he can't do this.

he makes his way back outside, rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. he takes a seat on the steps, lighting it, and as he takes his first frantic drag, he sees the torn pages of the note still on the ground. he picks up one end of it, running his thumb over the crumpled paper there, smudging the pencil scribble there.

she needs you

it's written in price's ugly handwriting, letters all tilted to the side and barely legible, but he still can read what price didn't write--and you need her.

but simon doesn't need anyone. he barely needs himself, barely can take care of himself. this won't help him--he can't help anyone, he isn't the kind that can be this kind of thing for anyone. he's stayed in the service because at least this way, he can die with honor, he can prove them all wrong, he can at least be remembered for what he could do and not by what was done to him.

his touch is ice. his heart is buried too deep under his ribs; no one has seen it since he could finally register a memory. his face, the skin he wears--he's not a pretty man, he's a forgettable one. he isn't gentle, he isn't capable of it. he can't forgive. he's so quick to anger, likes to snap his teeth, and he cannot be the kind of thing that they all expect him to be.

he does not love himself. he will not love himself. so he cannot love another.

there is a certain kind of satisfaction he feels when he fixes the porch step. once abandoned, once a nuisance, and now it functions as intended. he feels the same kind of thing when he rips up the stained carpet, and he feels it again when he watches the seeds of the thyme leaves grow as they rest in a pot above the sink.

things once forgotten serve a purpose. with effort, they can be used again. they don't have to be replaced, they can be open anew, they can live again and breathe deeper and see through the lens of a different perspective.

when you climb the porch steps the first time, he thinks about the board that doesn't wobble any longer. when the door shuts behind you for the first time and you take off your boots, he thinks about the new carpet that warms your toes now.

and when you lay next to him for the first time, under the covers of the bed he's made, he reaches over and slips a few fingers around your wrist, thumbing at the base of it and swallowing hard when he feels the pulse of your heartbeat. it beats, warm and steady, to a beat familiar, one he knows. his heart has not been hiding under thick bone and the tar of his own blood.

it's here now. under your skin. and now it's home.

[wyniepooh]

Know

art knows you like no one else. he knows you better than you know yourself.

standford!art x reader. mentions of alcohol. cheating on reader’s part but it’s valid bc her bf is an ass. art knows he can treat u better than ur shitty bf, and proves it.

“You have to know, right?”

“what?”

your words came out slurry and slow, and it took all your might to not let your squinted eyes close. through the sliver of what you could see, art sat opposite you, back against the side of his bed and beer bottle in hand.

you chuckled, “I don’t know what you-“

“That he treats you like shit.”

you stop in your sentence, choosing instead to fill your mouth with another sip of your beer. You gulp down the prickly liquid, wiping your mouth as you say, “you don’t know anything about us.”

He shrugs. “I know you’re spending a Friday night getting drunk with his roommate, rather than accompanying him to that fancy tennis gala he was invited to.”

you shook your head casually, taking another full sip before speaking.

“I’m wasn’t interested. You know I don’t play, right? i didn’t want to-“

“Did he ask?”

you laugh, running a swift hand over your face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he sat up slightly, scooting a little closer to where you were. you had your legs crossed, and you were drowsily leaning on the side of your boyfriend’s bed. he propped his elbow on a raised knee. “did he even ask you to go?”

you smile slowly faded as you looked down, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you tried to focus instead on the harsh, brown carpet of the room. Faded music could be heard from the other rooms, and usually, you’d be in one of those dorms, partying it down, but tonight, you much prefer the silence.

“No,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat and took another swig. “you know, with the way he talks about you and the way he acts around you, you would think everyone knows exactly how he feels about you. everyone except yourself.”

He chugged what was left in his bottle, tossing it to the side where a pile was beginning to accumulate. He stared straight at you with half-closed eyes and pressed his lips together. “honestly, sometimes, I think you know too. deep down. I think you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he’s going to do to you, and yet you choose to ignore it.”

“Why?” He asks. there was a look of genuine concern and confusion of his face. his expression was pained, as if the idea of you suffering hurt him more than you.

You nibble at the bottom of your lip, hoping that the pain of the peeling skin would stop the tears from running. your actions were done in vain, as your tears had already begun to form and fall. Suddenly, you feel a warm finger on your face, gently swiping away at your dampened cheeks.

The pad of his thumb stayed on your cheek while the rest of his hand uncurled around your jaw. “You have to know, right?”

“Yes,” you sniffled, “of course I know he treats me like another one of his fan girls that he tosses away after-“

“No, not that,” he mutters.

“look at me.”

He guides your chin up until your eyes are parallel with his, and for the first time that night, you get a good view of his face. His overgrown blonde hair scattered all over his face, some across the front of his blue eyes. They seemed to not be able to concentrate in one place, flickering from your hair to your nose to your chin. You were sure that your cheeks were as flushed as him from the alcohol and the embarrassment, so much so that heat was practically radiating off of the two of you.

“what are you talking about, then?”

he sighed, dropping his hand from your face and slumping his head down at the same time. you could feel his warm breaths escaping his nose and hitting your cold knees.

Finally, he looks up, brows creasing as he responds, “how I feel about you.”

he parts his lips, struggling to find the words. “You have to have already known, right? I mean, all the times I’ve wiped away your tears and and comforted you because that asshole did something stupid again.” A beat passed.

“I know I can treat you so much better,” he breathes, “if you would just let me.”

Somewhere between his first question and his last, the proximity between of the two of you had closed. His arm suddenly wraps around your neck as he pulls you into him, digging his nose into the space where your shoulder and neck connects.

“Please,” he mutters.

chills spill down your body from his words, and you simply pause in all of your thoughts for a moment. Finally, you close your eyes and hug him tight around his waist as he tenderly rocks you back and forth.

you’re the one to pull back, and at first, you see a glimmer of disappointment in art’s eyes. but then you lean close, and closer, and, for the first time tonight, he smiles. He further guides your actions by placing a hand on the back of your head, not letting go even once your lips have connected with his.

your own fingers scratch at the back of his curls, and you swear he laughs against your mouth. You bask in the sounds of your mixed pants and the electric buzz generated from the delicate connection of skin in the otherwise quiet room, and it brought upon a lightness in the air, something you hadn’t felt since earlier that day when you first saw art in the dining hall.

“I know,” you mumble against his lips, stopping for a minute to catch your breath. You rest your forehead on his, eyes still closed as you caress his glowing face with both hands. he laughs again, harder this time, and you join him, repeating the same two words over, and over again.

-

a/n: hey google play the historically significant song treat u better by shawn mendes

[rayhalloffame]

So in love with divorced!art (because I want to be his little gf)

Rating: NSFW below the cut *minors DNI*

You and Art start seeing each other when his divorce is pretty fresh, maybe a year later. He introduces you to Tashi eventually and she likes you, thinks you’re sweet. Art does too, but he’s still super cautious about bringing you into Lily’s life.

When he finally decides to take that step he wonders why he hadn’t sooner. Art has a proper house now, it’s lived in and smells like a home. You take Lily on your day trips to run errands, play dress up with her, sneak her treats Art says no to on the rare occasions. Most days when he has Lily, you come home from work around dinner time. Art and Lily are usually in the kitchen preparing the meal or sitting at the table talking and coloring while they wait. It makes your heart melt every time. You see the way he is with Lily and how much he truly loves that little girl. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger.

Tonight though you’re home late. You’ve missed dinner but see a wrapped plate sitting on the kitchen counter. After you slip your shoes off, you find your way to Lily’s bedroom. You peak your head in to see Art lain against the headboard with a book held open on his chest, Lily curled into his side. They’re both sleeping and so relaxed and you can see how safe and cared for that girl is.

It makes you happy of course. Art is a great dad. But you start to notice this feeling of jealousy. You love Lily as if she were your own, except she’s not. You want a little version that’s really yours, that has your eyes when they look up at you, and not Tashi’s. You go back to the kitchen to eat your food before it can hurt too much.

You’ve eaten and showered and you’re in bed quickly, almost asleep lying on your side when Art’s body slides under the covers behind you. His strong arm wraps around your waist, pulls you tight against him. He tucks his head in the space where your neck meets your shoulder and presses a few soft kisses there. You hum in acknowledgment, settling further back.

“Hi, pretty girl”, he says. His breath is minty when it fans across your cheek and his body is warm. You turn your head so you can meet him in a kiss. He’s rubbing his thumb back and forth on your tummy where his shirt has ridden up on your body. You press your face closer to his and can feel his teeth from the force of your kiss.

You turn fully to face him, never disconnecting from his mouth, hands grabbing where they can reach. You feel desperate, hike your leg over his waist and grind against his growing erection where it presses against your thin cotton panties. He groans, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh enough to anchor you to him, roll you so you’re straddling his lap.

“Missed you today”, you pant between urgent kisses. You’re rolling your hips down and hard against him, pulling moans from deep in his chest. He reaches a hand between your bodies to cup your cunt, groans when he feels you’ve soaked through your panties. In one quick motion he’s got them pulled to the side and the pads of his fingers press harshly to your clit. Your hips falter, you suck in a deep breath.

“Wanna make you feel good”, he insists, fingers sliding between your folds and finding your entrance. You sink down on the fingers he offers you easily, sucking him in. You’re a mess of whimpers. He holds your face close with his other hand and kisses at your slack mouth, across your cheekbone. He’s watching you intently, noting how your eyes squeeze or your eyebrows crease at certain maneuvers of his wrist. You’re so close when he slips his soaked fingers from you, shushing your whines at his loss with whispers in your ear. “I’ve got you, angel”, he’s saying, “gonna give you what you need.”

He pulls himself from his briefs, lets the band of them rest at his upper thighs. Then he’s sinking you down the length of him, slowly, guiding your hip with his big palm. A drawn out moan falls from your lips that he has to quiet by sticking his tongue in your mouth. He’s pistoning his hips up into you before you can regain your composure. Soon you’re rocking back on him, meeting his every thrust.

He sits up, holding you against him with a forearm across your low back, one hand still controlling your head like a ragdoll. From this angle he can see your face clearer and his pace slows. Your eyes are wet. You’re looking at him like you love him. His thumb collects some of the moisture off of your face. “What’s going on, baby? Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head no in a panic, squeezing your cunt around him. It makes his nostrils flare and his eyes close. He tries hard to concentrate. He keeps a slow roll of his hips into yours. His eyes are probing. “I love you,” you say quickly, “I love you I love you”, and then you’re leaning in to kiss him desperately. He takes your face in both of his hands and really looks at you, says it back.

“I want to have your babies”, is the next thing you say.

His hips still, a beat passes, and then he’s smiling. “Yeah? My baby wants to have my baby, hmm?” You’re nodding emphatically, subconsciously squeezing around him where he rests inside you. He sets a punishing pace then, athletic body rutting up into you, your body crushed against his chest. You take it, arms locked around his neck, strings of “uh uh uh” being knocked out of you. His mouth is pressed against the hollow of your throat, breath hot on your collarbone and you’re begging him to come in you, to give you his babies, telling him you love him.

When he’s coming he puts a hand between you again to rub harshly at your swollen clit. It takes less then five swipes of his thumb for your legs to shake, body tensing and teeth biting into his shoulder nearest you to dampen your moans.

You sit in his lap for a few moments, him softening inside of you. He traces his fingers along your spine, still breathing hotly in your neck, tells you to stop the birth control. When you pull your sticky body off of him enough to hold his face, his eyes are wet. He’s looking at you like he loves you.

[flowersforabby]

gf!abby who just can't keep her lips off of yours, even for a moment

abby hasn't always been a fan of lip gloss. to her, it's too bland and sticky, and it leaves a greasy residue on her lips whenever she wipes it off. there's just so much she'd rather reach for, such as tinted lip balms or lip tints, both of which never clings to her hair. in all honesty, she might've once been one of the biggest gloss haters out there.

soon after she met you, abby came to the realization that gloss wasn't really so bad.

"stop it," you groan, trying to shove her away to no avail. "you're ruining my makeup,"

at first, she'd been sat on the edge of your shared bed, sipping on a cup of freshly brewed coffee as you told her all about your plans for the day, which happened to include your friends and exclude, her. abby then ended up bringing over a chair from the dining table to sit by your side, watching intently in the mirror as you did your makeup, highlighting all the features of your face that she loved so much. it wasn't long before she was standing behind you with her arms wrapped around your neck, trailing kisses along your jawline.

"y'just look so pretty, babe," she mumbles against your skin.

you're all dressed up and ready to go, with a periwinkle boatneck top and shorts on. abby on the other hand, still bears her seal patterned pyjama set, with a matching pair of seal slippers on her feet. her unbrushed hair flows down freely her shoulders, with tangles that hold the memory of your fingers once intwined in them. during your more intimate moments, abby almost seems like a greek god, but at the moment, she's really just your girl. she looks human, in  all the ways that make her abby.

she sneaks a hand under your shirt to palm at your stomach, a comforting warmth and weight on your torso as you reach over on your vanity before you for the very last step of your makeup look, the final touch. with smitten eyes, her pupils all dilated, she watches as you apply a thin layer on your lips. you glance at her in the mirror, weary of the way she stares at your face, and you know what's exactly about to come when she starts to get up, her arms pulling away from your side.

"go away, abby,"

"one kiss, promise,"

abby leans down for a kiss which you duck, and she lets out a whine, before tilting your chin up to face her.

"what's the point of  having a girlfriend if i can't kiss her when i think she looks all pretty?" she grins, eyes still focused on your lips.

"one,"

"i'll take it," she says.

usually, abby's good at keeping promises. she lives up to her word and you'd trust her with your life. this time, she lies, as once you pull away- lip gloss still in hand, she leans in for another kiss. you kiss her back, just that once, and even though you stop doing so and even turn away, she doesn't stop. you shriek as she coats your cheeks in smeared gloss and abby doesn't let go until she's proud of her art; her last finishing touch.

"abby," you say, frowning in the mirror, observing the mess she's made all over the lower half of your face.

"think y'look even better, babe. but there's a little spot i missed right over there,"

a/n: finished hs and made it out of recovery so i think i'll be able to post a lot more... LOSER ELLIE HERE I COME!!!!

[croholz]

Hi I’m Croholz (Or Fin :3) and

I MAKE BUTTONS!!!

Like the art I make for these fandoms?

YOU’LL PROBABLY LIKE THESE COOL ASS BUTTONS THEN

Look I took these high effort photos too

If you like my work and think a certain design/character would be cool in my style, let me know because I am having so much fun designing these buttons.

Some of these I look back on and I’m like “O.O how did I do that” because I really went out and experimented with colors.

Anyways, check em’ out, even if you don’t buy anything, I appreciate any traffic to the shop profile that’ll help me in the algorithm <33

[lovelettersforthedamned]

The Winner

✰ stanford!art donaldson x stanford!f!reader

✰ word count : 1.0k

✰ summary : you never get tired of being art donaldson's girl, especially when you get to reward him for his win later that night.

✰ warnings: kissing, allusions to smut, minors dni, 18+, tashi erasure (i'm sorry), art is happy LOL.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ art donaldson m.list

⋆ gif by @supersoldierslover

Your professor’s monotone voice was the cherry on top of your already long day. Scheduling back-to-back lectures right before Art’s game days wasn’t ideal, but you made it work. You’re grateful to not play a sport while also engaging in academics. There have been countless nights spent in the library with Art, going over his notes because his practice in the afternoon tends to run late, pushing his homework time to the late hours of the night. 

With your head resting on your hand, another yawn is pulled from your body. A buzz from your back pocket jolts you awake, causing an embarrassing heat to flood your face. Quietly, you reach for your phone and check the message that almost gave you a heart attack. 

artie <3: I saved you a spot! My bag should be on the seat, and there’s a snack in there for you. 

You smile at the text. 

you: I’ll be out of class soon! I love you, superstar. 

artie <3: I love you!

And with the clock striking six thirty in the afternoon, you jump out of your seat and rush to the courts. Determination is written across your face as you frantically rush to the spot Art had saved for you that’s right at the front. Sure enough, a granola bar is inside his bag. 

It only takes a few minutes before Art makes his entrance on the court, his eyes automatically searching for you. Even after months of dating, spotting him made your heart race. He’s so captivating in the way he moves, especially when he plays. 

But even as he’s approaching you, you’re stuck in a daze. “Hi, pretty girl,” his voice carries a smile through it, something you’ve always appreciated. You lean over the fence and give him a kiss, his hand coming to the side of your face as if he wants to pull you impossibly closer to his touch. 

Taking his other hand in yours, you can feel that his palm is slightly clammy, “Are you nervous? You shouldn’t be.” 

He huffed a laugh and looked down because his ‘tough guy’ act didn’t slide past you. “I’m always nervous when you watch me play,” he admits, a rosy blush fluttering over his cheeks. 

You squeeze his hand once, an unspoken form of reassurement. “Don’t be,” you smile, “I’m your number one fan.” You joke, but not really.

With one last kiss, he leaves to play the game you’ve watched him perfect for the past few years. And though he’s hitting the ball to his opponent, you can’t help but focus on your boyfriend. The muscles in his arm flex with each movement as the sweat drips down his forehead, causing him to pull the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the perspiration away. Giving you, and the girls behind you, a perfect view of the cut of his abdomen leading down to the waistband of his shorts. 

Of course, you knew Art was attractive, and pair that with him being the best man on the team, he’s bound to receive attention. At first, the constant gawks and inappropriate comments towards him made your blood boil. You couldn’t stand the sight of the girls throwing themselves at your boyfriend, but now, you’ve learned to use them to your advantage. 

Before dating Art, there was no way you would purposely put yourself out there. Going to parties and bars wasn’t your favorite way to spend Friday nights, but now, you’re forced to embrace the spotlight just by being associated with Stanford's star tennis player. 

Art always has you by his side, an arm snaked around your waist as he greets friends at social gatherings. It took a while to get used to, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with Art by your side. 

Leaning back in your seat, you enjoy the Spring sun as you watch Art’s match unfold. And with the girls behind you giggling at your boyfriend, you smile. You smile because you know you’ve won.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

With Art’s opponent hitting the ball out, that was the match; an easy victory for Stanford. You rise to your feet and smile while applauding. Slinging Art’s bag over your shoulder, you unapologetically flaunt the embroidered stitching writing, ‘DONALDSON’ towards the girls behind you before walking off. 

You make your way to the exit of the locker room as you wait for Art to appear. You make casual conversation with the people around you, mostly friends and family of the other players, when some of them start to come out. Slowly, but surely, you see the mess of dirty blond hair push open the door, a smirk coming to your lips. 

He puts his classic red hat on backward before engulfing you in a hug, picking you up off of your feet, and spinning you in a circle. You giggle as you find your footing on the pavement below you, “See? There's no need to be nervous when I watch. You crushed it, baby.” 

“Maybe you’re my good luck charm,” he suggests, pulling away before he grabs your hand, leading the both of you to his dorm—a stupid boyish smile on his face. 

You brush off the feeling of his cock pressed into your thigh as he spun you as you let him lead you to his place, “Is this you subtly asking that I come to every single one of your matches?” 

“Hmm,” that smile never faded from his mouth, “maybe?” 

“Are you going to prove to me why I should? Or are you going to keep subtly flirting with me until I’m the one that has to beg for you to fuck me?” 

Your question surprises him and causes him to quicken his pace as you laugh behind him. He’s dragging you to his room, and you won’t stop him. Not after his big victory, he deserves to feel good tonight. 

⋆ author's note: ANOTHER ART FIC BECAUSE I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF HIM!!!! thank you for all the love on the last few art fics!!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog this work if you loved it!! ok, ily byeeee!!!

[bloddysnow]

What if you were a popular anime/ game character he’s obsessed with?

Pairings: Sub! Yandere! boy x Dom! A/G character reader

nsfw minors dni

He would’nt have missed any opportunity to get any item related to you, and was ready to spend significant amounts of money to supplement his collection. Figures, posters, clothes, mugs and other items with your image. His room or workplace is decorated with this things. He would definitely have a whole collection of books or manga dedicated to you. He buys official soundtracks if they included tracks related to you or important moments with your participation.

He refused to be in relationship with girls. He would have difficulties in communication or negative experiences in real relationships, which would encourage him to avoid them. He feels a deep emotional connection with you, which would seem more meaningful and safe to him than real people. He could spend most of his time watching anime or playing the game where you exist, which made this world more meaningful to him than everyday life.

He would feel a strong rejection of any hint of your romantic relationship with another character. He actively expressed his dissatisfaction in comments, forums and social networks, leaving negative reviews and criticizing such stories or fan art. Often his negative comments were based on a sense of personal jealousy. He could perceive shipping as a threat and felt rejected. In response, he could have created alternative content where you are left alone or associated exclusively with him.

He reads fanfics where you are always dom and he is sub. You are his master, and he is your devoted slave or pet, humbly waiting for your orders and striving to please. You are his god, and he is your worshipper, ready to fulfil any of your wishes. His fantasies come to life when he imagines himself on his knees in front of you. Sometimes he writes fanfics by himself about how you crawl on him to cover his face with gentle, warm kisses, starting from his forehead and gradually descending to his eyes, cheeks, and finally to his lips. He was very excited by such fantasies. In the process of reading, he masturbates, presenting scenes so realistically.

You whispered softly in his ears: "If I could, I would have you all day, make you warm my dick, keep you stuffed and fucked all the time, you would look so beautiful..."

His pants have been lowered for a long time, his hand is covered around a red, leaking dick. Mouth is full with a shirt that gets wet because of saliva. He holds phone that threatens to slip out of his fingers. He whines your name and begs you to let him cum.

One, two, three sharp pushes, his whole body shuddered when you poured inside him. "You are mine," you whispered, sticking your nose into his neck on the side, sticking out your tongue to lick it comfortingly and proprietaryly. "My sweet little reader."

His phone screen is sprayed with his own sperm.

[anchoeritic]

♥︎ — BEAUTY BEHIND THE MADNESS

MIGUEL O’HARA + SPIDER-FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: a big bad guy was what you saw in him. but he proved you differently, in a way no one else would get to experience the other side of his coldness: a perfect warm seat, just for you, on his lap.

WARNING: eighteen plus only content, minors do not interact. dirty talk, praise kink, vaginal sex, clit play, choking kink, biting kink, cockwarming, use of fem. terms (good girl, etc.), stomach bulging, breeding kink, size difference/kink.

ENDING UP IN THE SPIDERVERSE was not on your list: exploring off and falling into a world filled with multiples of people, creatures, concepts like you. the hole in your heart finally felt filled at last, but was that all it took for you to feel complete? to find peace and answers?

well, not exactly. not when miguel o’hara is always peering over your shoulder, almost holding you up by the back of your suit. he was the ‘leader’ around here, they say. he says.

miguel o’hara. universe 2099. the creator and the same man to put an end to it. the dark in his eyes whenever they’d wander the second you stepped foot into a room or the heat of your scent filling up his nostrils. a big bad guy was what you saw in him.

so he proved you differently, in a way no one else would get to experience the other side of his coldness: a perfect warm seat, just for you, on his lap.

“m-miguel..” a soft whimper fell from your lips as your hands gripped onto his broad shoulders, trying to keep yourself from falling off his thighs.

his cock sat nestled in your tight pussy, stretching you out beyond your reach. “shh, shh.. feels good, doesn’t it?” if it wasn’t for his hands gripping firmly onto your hips, you probably would’ve fell limp by now.

he was a much better man than you were, in every way possible. he stood at a taller height, towering over you. his biceps were the size of your head, covering half of your body whenever they wrapped around your front.

that man was a work of art and he knew it too.

“feels s’good.. god, fuck.” your voice was shaky as you were consumed by the immense amount of pleasure he was giving to you right then and there.

“mm, where do you feel it, honey?” moving your hips, he guided you slowly to make sure you took every last inch of his cock inside of you. if you were going to try a taste, might as well finish the rest.

leaning in close, his breath fanned hot against your jaw. his heavy breaths weren’t close enough to match the volume of your pornographic sounds, only letting you hear them.

his teeth sunk softly into your delicate skin, his fangs sharper than the others as he continued to drag them down your jaw.

“tell me, baby. where do you feel me, hm?” sliding his hand down the valley of your breasts, he laid his palm against your lower stomach and putting pressure on the spot. “here?”

your eyes rolled back as your hips twitched against his, rolling backwards. “right there. i-i feel you right there..”

“takin’ me like such a good girl, aren’t you? so deep and you can take all of me.”

miguel was so deep inside of you that he could feel the bulge of his own cock against your skin. the pure thought of your pleasure had him groaning to get deeper inside of you, to fill you up with his warm cum.

to see you all swelled up, carrying his children.

[222col]

girl you're so fucking talented 😩 i don't know if you write sub!Art but i seriously can't stop thinking about the idea of meeting Art's friends and intentionally making boyfriend sub!Art jealous by laughing at Art's best friend Patrick's jokes and Art getting so jealous and he looks like he's on the verge of crying because he's so obsessed with you and he gets so jealous when you give your attention to some other guy and when you go back to your shared apartment he starts acting very needy and desperate and all he wants to do is to please you so you won't look at any other guy except him. He's literally begging and all desperate for your validation

thank u sm <3!!!! bestie 100% sub!art is my little baby i luv him (u may enjoy this that i posted yday too if ur a fan of sub!art🫣) 18+

you and art had been dating for a while, recently having moved in together. he relishes the fact that he gets to wake up to your pretty little face every morning. you had met most of art's friends, in passing usually as you meet him after his tennis practise or a quick hello when they pass you in the stands at his matches. he's met all of your girlfriends, joining in on girls night occasionally, sitting in a face mask on the floor in front of where you're sitting on the couch. braiding his hair as you gossip with your girls. "we should go for drinks with your friends sometime this week," you suggest one morning, sitting up in bed, sipping the coffee art made for you. he nuzzles his face into your side, he's been avoiding this from the day he set eyes on you. he just can't stand the thought of you giving any attention to another man that isn't him. "hmm, maybe," he attempts to hide his jealousy, kissing your waist, snaking an arm around you. "i actually already dm'ed patrick and asked him, told him to bring your other friends too," your words are sheepish, you know what you're doing to the poor boy beside you.

he looks up at you, pouting. "you messaged patrick?" he trusts you completely, patrick on the other hand, not so much. your hand strokes his cheek. "baby, it's not like that, i just told him i wanted to meet him and your other friends properly." art's head leans into your hand. still pouting, why did you want to meet patrick? art grumbles, still sulking as he mumbles a 'fine'. the night for drinks comes around quicker than art hoped. you're pulling a pair of jeans over your hips, and placing a white crop top over your body. art doesn't object, as much as he wants to, instead just peppers kisses onto your shoulder. "my beautiful girl," he whispers in between kisses. art does up the buttons to his shirt as you slide your feet into your heels. kissing his lips as you make your way to meet his friends.

art's friends have already claimed a table, the six boys all stand up as you both arrive. art doesn't let go of your hand as you hug and introduce yourself to them all. patrick is last, lifting you up as he hugs you hello, forcing your hand from art's grip. "so so good to finally meet you, can't believe art kept your pretty face from us for so long." patrick winks to his friend as he places you back on the ground. you laugh and sit down in between the two of them. "nice to finally meet you too, patrick." art's already seething, hugging you is one thing, picking you up is another, but calling you pretty right in front of his eyes is a completely different story. "be a good boy and go get your girlfriend a drink, art," patrick teases art. what art wouldn't do to be back at home, between your thighs as you call him a good boy. patrick's arm is resting on the top of the booth behind your head, art can't stand it. "no," art returns, his friends all gain questioning looks. art physically cannot leave you alone with them all, he'd be sick. "fine, weirdo, i'll go get a round in."

patrick knows just how obsessive art can get, yet he's never seen him this bad. scooting out of the booth, patrick states your name, "come tell me what you want to drink, help me carry them back to the table?" you smile and stand up to join patrick at the bar. fuck, this is even worse, art thinks. his friends are trying their best to engage art in conversation, but his eyes are focused purely on you, and patrick. your head swinging back, laughing profusely at whatever patrick just said to you. art's leg is bouncing up and down, his teeth grinding together. it's not until your hand touches patrick's arm that he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. "art, you good?" one of his friends asks, waving them off and fighting off the tears. you return to the table, helping patrick carry everyone's drinks over. "what was so funny?" he's pouting at you now, an oh so familiar face. "nothing," you take a swig of your drink. "just a story patrick was telling me." you're playing with him now, you can see clearly what you're doing to him. you should feel bad, should, but you love seeing him so desperate for your attention.

the night progresses, more alcohol drank together, a more worked up art. his hand rests on your thigh, reminding you he's there and reminding his friends you're his. you shuffle your body further under the table, art's hand creeping further up your thigh. you look to him, he's desperate. his eyes are dark, still glossy, watching you pay so much attention to patrick. you finally cave. "c'mon then you, take me home." you state to your boyfriend, patrick wolf whistles. you roll your eyes and laugh at him again, art only gritting his teeth and glaring at his friend. art's friends all hug you both goodbye, art can swear he sees patrick's hand start to move towards your ass before you escape his grip. patrick hugs art last, whispering in his ear, "don't fuck this up artie, or i'll take her from you," patrick's smiling, kissing his best friend on the cheek. art knows he's joking, but he knows patrick so well to know that he would, given the chance.

you land on the edge of the bed, removing your shoes with a sigh of relief. art sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. "your friends are nice, patrick's so funny," you tease him further, throwing your shoes across the room. he holds your feet, pressing kisses to the soles. you continue discussing the night, and your positive opinions of his friends. "please, baby, i need you," art whimpers, peppering your ankles in sloppy kisses. "you need me, huh? how badly, baby boy?" he groans at your words, as you undo your jeans, shimmying them down your body. once they reach your thighs, art pulls them off and throws them behind him. "mmm, so so badly, my cock is sore just thinking about tasting you," he sits up more, his eyes level with your pussy. shuffling closer to him, your knees on either side of his head. slipping your top over your head and throwing it in the direction of your jeans. the lace of your bra and panties is almost see through, your pussy so close to his face, he's almost drooling at the sight. he breathes in deeply. "you smell delicious baby, please let me taste, i wanna show you how good i can be,"

"you've been a jealous little boy, all night art, i'm not sure you deserve it." you grab him by the hair, forcing him to look into your eyes, they're welling up again. "i can't help it," you lean down to him and kiss his pouting lips. "please, let me make it up to you, i need you." he's begging you, you've never seen him this desperate. you let go of his hair, spreading your legs. he immediately moves to push your underwear to the side, your thighs squeezing his head, stopping him in motion. "i never said you could touch." he groans so loudly, "please, i'll do anything, anything you want, just please, please let me taste you." you unclench your thighs, tears are pouring from his eyes now. "you want me so bad you're crying, pathetic little baby." you place your hand on the back of his head, swiftly pushing his face into your pussy. he mumbles, "thank you, thank you, thank you" into your cunt as he moves your underwear aside again.

his tongue plunges straight into you, his nose pressing against your clit. he's moving his head side to side, letting his nose grind against your sweet spot. his laps up every inch of your pussy that he can, moving to focus his tongue on your clit. he knows exactly how to please you, he's spent hours eating you out. his hands grip around your thighs, you lean back on your hands, head flung back as his name escapes your lips. he's looking up at you through his lashes. "such a good boy you are baby" your breath his shaky, one hand moving to his hair. "you taste so good, thank you baby." art mumbles, slipping two of his fingers inside you. you gasp, his moans louder than yours as his hips buck up into the air.

"my pretty little boy, you're so fucking good at that," you can barely contain yourself, he knows your body inside and out. he loves hearing you compliment him, giggling into your pussy. his fingers speed up, placing your feet on his shoulders, deepening the angle his fingers are fucking you. your hand can't keep you sat up anymore as your body falls onto the bed, back arched as art works you closer and closer to orgasm. "fuck- baby boy, i'm so close." your moans growing louder, art only removing his lips to whisper, "i know, princess," his fingers curl up, pushing you over the edge. pulling his hair as you come all over his face. he doesn't stop, not even for a second. "fuck, art, baby i can't," you attempt to pull him away, he won't let you. only smiling up at you, his chin covered in your juices and he places his tongue back on your clit. your head flings back onto the bed, screaming his name now as feel him smiling against you. "oh, fuck- my perfect boy, shit, fuck," you’re screaming profanities as art works you to another orgasm.

the hand he's not using to fuck you with his fingers reaches up your body, groping your boobs as his cock twitches in his pants. "come for your boy again, please baby, i need to feel you come on my face again." your body is shaking, nearly screaming out as you finish over your boyfriend's tongue once more. he pulls his fingers out, licking up your pussy and placing one final kiss on your clit, licking up any remaining taste of you from his fingers. his forehead is slick with sweat, his chin dripping with your wetness as he joins you on the bed. leaning down to kiss your mouth. "you're such a good boy artie," you mumble against his lips. you reach down his body, palming his boner through his pants before he removes your hand. "no no, princess, tonight was all about you." you sigh and kiss him again. "you're my perfect boy, art." all he can do is smile at you, undressing himself and lulling you to sleep, any thoughts of jealousy disappearing as long as you never spend any more time with his friends.