#why bother to share my art with others when they don’t care about it at all

[lesbianlepidoptera]

Being insecure over my art sucks ass because what else am I supposed to do?

The only good thing about my art is the rendering and everything else is subpar. Nobody really cares about my art and it doesn’t stand out in any way.

[angelplummie]

here for revenge.

being lily's best friend - you grow up with her - you're in the donaldsons orbit for all your formative years. you develop a crush on art that turns into love as you grow older. your home life isn't so glamorous. you spend lots of weekends at the donaldsons. art has tucked you in. brought you snacks when you stayed up late for movie nights, making you and lily promise not to tell tashi. you were there when art and tashi got divored, held lilys hand and pretended not to be happy inside at the thought of getting closer to art.

lily gets into college - a big smart one because she has tashi's ambition and leaves you behind, you're still stuck at home because your dreams have always been smaller.

maybe its not appropriate, to still spend time with art. but he's lonely. tashi left, and now his daughter has and you're the only one left in his life that actually wants to be around him, that has always looked at him with stars in your eyes. its probably not healthy. there should be a boundary there. your lilies, not his.

but you like being around him and he likes having someone to take care of. you come over and he makes you eat something healthy and you needle him about spending all his time at home and how he should get out more, and he rolls his eyes, tells you he should be saying the same to you, you're young and beautiful and you should be dating around.

but how can you date around when art donaldson is your dream man? when you're happiest at his side, eating what he makes you. you want more though. you want to share his bed, warm it for him, you want to make him not so lonely, you want him to stop seeing you as a little girl and as the adult you've grown up to be - so you start wearing less and less around him. start acting more and more like a housewife.

art accepts it without even realizing. now you just need to find the right opportunity to pounce.

WHEW. this one is long so buckle up

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

you roll your eyes.

“mr donaldson, how come you never started dating again?”

he chopped the lemon with a deft clunk, eyes never leaving the knife.

“never felt the urge.”

“what does that mean?”

“what i just said. never felt the need to.”

“hm.”

you sat on the island, next to the chopping board. your legs swung haphazardly, and you watched art as he chopped.

why was he playing this game? he could’ve told you to leave, to stop coming back and bothering him, that this was inappropriate. and yet. he didn’t even tell you to get your sorry butt off the counter, or some such dad-ism. the low glow of the many warm lamps that adorned such a luxurious house illuminated art so softly, he looked as young as the day lily was born. he was as fit as back then, if not meatier. he didn’t have the pouch your dad had, but the years had given him a thickness. instead of wasting away like most lean men did, he struggled to the other side. he got broader. layer upon layer of muscle encased in a thin finishing of fat. he was skinnier when you were a kid, but he had no reason to be lean now. under his chin a tiny hammock of pudge rested as his head tilted down, kissed by light stubble. his blonde hair was streaked in silver, but that somehow made him younger looking. made him glow. he had grown it out, by your suggestion. he was everything in the world a man should be.

“what about you?”

“i hate boys. they’re all stupid.”

“you got that right. you’re too good for all of them, never settle.”

“maybe it’s just boys my own age. theyre so immature.”

arts wide chest heaves. his eyes flick to you then flick back down. you see it all, and cross one leg over the other.

“maybe.”

“what were you like when you were my age?”

he laughs at the memory.

“stupid, immature, evil. if i was anything to go by you should swear off men entirely until menopause.”

air left your chest cavity.

“i don’t wanna wait. i want a fully formed one.”

you watched the muscles in arts forearms flex as he squeezed the lemon onto salad. the main course was cooking, was singing loudly on the stove. art had gotten into cooking after the divorce. it took all his attention and put it in one place, something complex and delicate and time consuming. it helped to clear his head. it wasn’t helping right this second.

“i shouldn’t say that,” he said curtly,”boys your age aren’t so bad. give them a go and quit hanging out with an old man.”

“but i like you, old man.”

art was so harsh on himself. he really wasn’t that old. and you really weren’t that young.

he pressed his lips together and kept squeezing. his pink lips, that gave his face the everlasting youth it held. he shrugged his shoulders in that way he did when he was confronted with the truth of your arrangement. there was something going on. something very, very, very wrong. you were the same age as his daughter. 3 months younger. he was the worst man in the world. the worst person to ever breathe. what could he do though? tell you to go? tell you to leave his house and never come back? what would become of you then? without him, what pillar of paternity would you rely upon? what new low would you reach? what men would you come across, and what would you do to please them? while he gingerly entertained you, you dangled something in front of his face that others would not have the restraint or morality to resist. if you had to move to another target, your next victim might not care so deeply for your wellbeing. were you not altogether safer, sitting in his kitchen, eating his caesar salad, rather than inhaling second hand cigarettes from old wrinkled fucks who might murder you, or worse-

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

“you got a bunch of lemon pips in the salad.”

“oh.”

he set down the lemon.

“are you ok? you seem tense.”

“i’m good. are you cold? i can turn on the heating if you like.”

“no. it’s actually quite warm in here.”

he hears the zip of your hoodie and starts away from the island, under the pretence of getting a paper towel to deposit the lemon seeds on. your jumper clatters to the counter, and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. low cut top. he knows that’s what you’re wearing. because that’s all it’s been for the past 2 months. your mini skirt flowers around you as you sit, but when you stand each swish and sway of the fabric is a death sentence. god forbid you take the stairs for some ungodly reason.

“hey, you know what you said about never having the urge?”

oh, fuck off, he thought. fuck off. leave him be. leave him alone. release him.

“yes.”

“you can’t really mean that can you?”

“sure i can.”

“i mean, you can. but i don’t think you do.”

you twirled a strand of hair in between your fingers. your stomach grumbled, loud enough that he could hear. you were so hungry you could die, but if you ate what art was frying your breath would smell like fish all night.

“let me check the salmon.”

“i’m not that hungry. you can’t mean that you never had the urge to. everyone has urges.”

“well sure. but after tashi, i needed a breather. a grace period, if you will. you can’t go from marriage with a woman like her right into dating.”

“but it’s been 3 years. you must be over it by now?”

he ignored the hope in your voice. ignore, ignore, ignore.

“i am over it. but. women scare me.”

he walked languidly over the salmon. it was ready.

“i don’t scare you, i’m a woman.”

a woman. he turned off the stove, and turned to fix you with a stare for the first time tonight. a woman. that was not the word he would use to describe you. your eyes were the size of saucers, and you bat your lashes languidly, like you knew how much you were making him suffer. you sat up pin straight, and twisted your spine to make eye contact with him. your body. he tried not to look. tried not to look in front of you and see the twisted grin come across your lips. but he was a weak man. the weakest of men, and his eyes dragged over where a fatherly view should never cross. your perky new tits, the press and curve of your ass against the counter, the plush of your thighs. it seemed you had grown up overnight, and didn’t know you were still a baby. you’re a baby. you knew what you were doing to him. you knew. he blushed involuntarily.

“you scare me most of all.”

his voice trembled. he hadn’t meant to say that. hadn’t meant to dignify you will any response at all. it had crossed his mind and then it crossed his lips.

your eyes lit up with extreme delight. he liked to make you happy, but his stomach churned with the thought of why.

“why?”

he turned back around, and plated up your salmon, adding potatos and asparagus from the same pan, drizzling it all in the residual oil.

“why art?”

“mr donaldson.”

a twinge of irritation tickles your stomach. what was he fighting this for? you’re all grown up now. you both knew what was going to happen. he was resisting fate, the inevitable.

all your life you had known he was the man you were meant to be with. from that first time he kissed your forehead as you dozed off on the couch, thinking you were asleep. when his strong arms would carry both you and his daughter, flinging you around, threatening to dunk you in their backyard pool. when he would catch your eye in the rear view mirror as he drove you around and winked. he was so nice. so nice and brave and kind and warm, and if you had to be with any man it should be him because you’ve loved him since you were 8, and now you’re old enough to claim it. you’re not just a dumb kid with a crush. you love him. you understand it being one sided back then. but it isn’t anymore, and you wouldn’t let him deny it. with gliding footsteps you approached him, drawing closer every second he didn’t turn around. a hand rests on his shoulder blade.

“just stop,” you breathed after a pause.

his spatula clattered to the pan with a metallic thunk. you pull your hand away like he burnt you. he gripped the counter with a sigh and hung his head.

“you stop. stop it now,” his voice was stern. you felt yourself shrink. art was never stern.

“i know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen. this has gone on far too long and it stops right now.”

a mere few paces from his wide curved back, you blink. the urge to touch him is overwhelming. you want to press your hand to his back, feel him under your palm and tell him you know he wants this. you know he wants this just as bad as you do.

but you don’t, because he’s angry at you, and he’s never been angry at you before.

“i’ve let you come here and cooked you food and watched movies with you because you’re a good kid. because i knew you as a kid and i know your problems with your father and i wanted to be there for you when lily is away. but you have taken this too far. you’re my daughters best friend. i have cleaned up your vomit twice, i baked you a cake for your 13th birthday- it’s not right. i’ve tried to be understanding, i’ve tried to ignore it, but you never drop it. never. your lack of self respect is staggering. you have to drop it right now or, im sorry but you can’t come back here anymore.”

every muscle fibre was clenched. if the counter top wasn’t marble it would’ve crunch and fell away under his grip. he couldn’t take it anymore. he didn’t know how much longer he could be good. didn’t know how much longer he could take resisting you.

maybe he was harsh. but it was the right thing to do. the only thing to do. he rested his elbow on the counter, and between his forefinger and his thumb held the bridge of his nose. he exhaled loudly. he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, hadn’t planned it. but now it was out. he had stared the elephant in the room dead in its eyes. he felt lighter, somewhat liberated.

until he turned around after a few too many seconds of silence to see you turned away from him, slightly hunched over. he stepped closer, and saw your hands covering your mouth. you body jolted, and you drew in quick, grasping breaths. you were crying. he said your name, and you didn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry mr donaldson.”

all the relief he felt was replaced by swift, acute, crushing guilt. your hair fell over your face, shielding you from him. he said your name once more. you sniffed.

“hey, hey hey hey.”

against his better judgement, and because of the aching of his heart, he took you gently by the shoulders, and turned you to face him.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

tears spill from your eyes and you wipe them away with a heavy hand, refusing to meet his eyes. his neck craned down to your eye level, his thumbs began tracing circle in your shoulders. a thoughtless gesture but one that made you cry even harder.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. im just so sorry.”

“hey, it’s ok. it’s alright.”

“it’s not alright. i’ve ruined everything. i’ve made it- so- weird. i just thought that you- you wanted me. i’m so stupid.”

your mascara runs, painting your face with your turmoil.

how could you be so dense? you had been making him uncomfortable. he didn’t want you. the only reason he even let you hang around was obligation. because of what you meant to lily. you didn’t mean anything to him. you were just some kid. did he even think you’re pretty? you bet he didn’t.

worse than that, you had disappointed him. him. he was supposed to be everything your dad wasn’t. and now he was disappointed. you had failed. you had ruined everything. what even were you? were you even human?

“don’t. you’re not stupid. don’t say that.”

“i’m sorry. i just- i wanted to make you happy. that’s all i ever wanted. i wanted you to be happy with me. you were so- so- so crushed after the divorce, i-i just-“

he guides you over to the bar stool, and you let him. you sit across from each other. his hand touches your cheek, the other holds you shoulder still. the touch of his hand quietens your babbling, your eyes round and wet and open.

“you do make me happy.”

your lips parted, plump with crying.

“i do?”

he cringes at the hope in your voice, at the feeling in his chest that it stirs. the feeling in his whole body at touching, after so many years, your soft skin. the last time he held your face you were 8, crying over a bumped knee. he had very different feelings now than he did then. sympathy and concern had ebbed, making way for much darker, much more corrosive emotions. he felt guilt and want broil in the chambers of his stomach, and the evilness inside him told him how easy to would be to get what he wanted. how close he was.

“yes. you’re my favourite buddy, we have a great time together,” he ruffled your shoulder like you pat a dog, speaking quick to placate you.

the hope in your eyes dwindled.

“so,” you sniffled, “you don’t feel anything for me? you don’t-don’t want me at all?”

with your convulsive sobbing your chest rose and fell, and with each jolt you spilled further out of your thread bare top. he closed his eyes, and swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. inhaling deeply, his fingers released your shoulder.

“it doesn’t matter what i want.”

“yes it does, it matters the most,” you answer immediately, tears gone from your eyes, now sliding down from your water line and down your cheek, “what do you want?”

what does art want? when was the last time he asked himself that question? years. at least. he drew away from you. you felt sick.

he turned on the stool, ducking his head and cradling his face in his hands

“i want…”

what the fuck was he saying? he couldn’t say this to you. he couldn’t. but he was.

“i… you’re a very gorgeous girl. you’re sweet. you’re smart. you’re funny. i like you very much.”

he said it like he was confessing to murder. elbow resting on his knee, his hand covered his eyes with splayed fingers. god, he was going to hell for this. even saying the words felt like the deepest sin imaginable, and he was sanitising his truth extensively. what he thought about at night, when you went home and his house became cold again, when he got into the shower and mechanically relieved himself into the drain, that was truly deplorable. when he touched himself, it was you he thought of. invariably. everything a man could possibly do to a girl, everything a girl could possibly do to a man, he had laid up in his bed and touched himself to with you in mind. ropes and ropes and ropes of cum in your honour, so gently splattered on shower walls and bedsheets he needed to wash anyway. sometimes he came on his torso, just to feel young and frivolous, like you were. and when he did his brain would turn back on, and he would feel so guilty that he would lay there to soak up his guilt, a punishment for himself from himself. so yes. he wanted you. he wanted you very, very badly. with every fibre of his being, he craved you. and with every fibre of his soul, he hated himself for it. but apparently he was still talking. what his morality urged him his mouth couldn’t hear, or wouldn’t obey.

“so don’t think you’re delusional. you had every reason to think i might reciprocate.”

you watched him, glossy eyes wide as ever. he peeked from beneath his fingers, immediately covering his eyes again when he saw you watch him. he shouldn’t have said that. he shouldn’t have. that was bad, it’s only giving you hope, and there is no hope. he can’t, he can’t. he want to so badly but he can’t. god, no he can’t. it would be so easy but easy isn’t right and how could he ever look his daughter in the eyes again if he did? how could he look at tashi?

“mr donaldson?”

“mm,” he replied miserably.

“kiss me.”

slowly, exhausted, he lifted up his head. mistake. now he was thinking about it as he looked at your face, puffy and damp and shining like a star.

why did he look so disgusted? what was so wrong with you? you couldn’t stop yourself from barreling ahead, feeling his premature rejection like a rock in your stomach.

“just once. then i’ll leave and i’ll never bother you and you won’t see me anymore and i’ll go to church and ill get a therapist, but just once.”

he looks so tired. so tired and so fucking good. his eyes smouldered with deep thought, the thought only a mature man can have. he was so mature. he was so much larger than you. he could hurt you if he wanted to. he could make you do anything but all he did was look at you so tired it made you squirm inside. as your sobs died in your throat, regret and embarrassment become indistinguishable from desire.

he blinked slowly, and opened his mouth. the white of his teeth glittered. his tongue pawed the inside of his cheek. he was thinking about it.

how could he be thinking about it? he was the worst person in the world. and yet. and yet. one kiss. he could control it with one kiss. one kiss wouldn’t hurt. one kiss. he had kissed your head before. your cheek. what was so different about this?

wordlessly, he moved off the stool. heart in your mouth you waited. a tremulous breath shuddered from your chest as he took one step. two steps. three steps. until he was stood above you. his face was unreadable. not cold. not warm. just looking, appraising from above his brown lower lashes, down his strong kissable nose.

“one kiss?”

his hand rose slowly, palm facing upwards. his finger tips grazed your jaw, your chin, tilting your head up. fireworks burst in your stomach, and you resisted the urge to moan.

“one. that’s all.”

one. that would be all. one kiss and he would put this silly fascination away for good. a kiss is deniable. a kiss is nothing.

he stoops down, can feel the nerves vibrating from your skin. his head tilts slightly, and your eyes lock as he descends to your level. his hand moves into your hair, a combing hold. and you kiss. no tongue. your lips connect, mush and expand over the others. his nose touched your cheek. your arms remained stiff by your side as they gripped the stool. you felt the pinkness of his lips, felt the edge of his cupids bow. and then he pulled away.

there. one kiss. he had done what he had to to get you to drop it. had fulfilled your criteria, and now you could move on. now he could move on.

but if that was true, why was he leaning in again? why did almost tasting your saliva, a substance he had thought about in great detail, make him hungrier for it? why was almost having it worse than never coming close? why did he pull gently on your hair, making your head tip back, opening you mouth so he could kiss the part of you he craved; the inside part? why was he hard if it was over?

his tongue flicked gently inside, asking permission. your mouths closed together, making the kiss noise you hate hearing but love making. they open quickly and in sequence. your hands rise up to gently hover over his chest, barely grazing his shirt. you didn’t want to touch him too hard in case he dissipated into a cloud of smoke, an illusion.

but he was very real, and under your timid girlish touch he was undone. a soft exhalation like a groan into your mouth, and his tongue protruded. it touched yours and you tasted the salt on it, shivering. his other hand fell back to your shoulder, gripping so hard it was like had no idea what he was doing. feeling your mouth against his was all that there was. there wasn’t right, there wasn’t wrong, there was only sensation.

all the want he had saved for solitary and depressing masturbation now burst through his veins, into his actions and he kissed you with all the passion in him. with everything he’s never said, with all the times he held back with you, with tashi. he kissed you like if he didn’t he would die, breathing and groaning and grunting involuntarily. he mashed his face to yours, crushing your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before recapturing your mouth in a sloppy open mouthed kiss. it felt like steam evaporated from where your met, so hot and wet.

you didn’t know what was your and what was art, where you finished and art began. you meshed like the broken pieces of a vase slotted against each other. his tongue became so wild it clipped the side of your mouth in its frantic exploration, and you sighed.

ultimately it was you who had to pull away. you pulled your hands into your own chest, gasping for breath. he didn’t move an inch. he gripped your shoulder still, cradled your face the same. he opened his eyes, chest rising and falling graciously.

he surveyed you, still too high from your touch to feel guilt, with lazy eyes. he was so fucked. your eyes sparkled like glitter. your lips shined pearly with his spit. his.

“art?”

“yes?”

“it’s not just one kiss is it?”

despite himself, despite everything, he smiled.

“no. i don’t think it is.”

[hauntedhokage]

miscommunication

summary: Toge's been distant, you finally confront him to find out why

word count: 2.5k

warnings: explicit sexual content (minors dni), emotional conflict, Inumaki uses his cursed speech

note: for my beloved @silverrings-n-prettythings who drew some inspirational Inumaki art. Ily bbygirl

It felt like with every day that passed, he’d become more distant. Late nights that were once spent talking about the future, kisses exchanged between soft touches and other intimate gestures that replaced the words that he couldn’t use himself, turned into nights spent apart with you going to bed alone and waking up with cold sheets and a note. Did he love you anymore? You weren’t sure, and that uncertainty hurts more. The anxiety that came with waiting for that shoe to drop - waiting for the note written in his messy handwriting that tells you that he didn’t love you and wanted to separate. 

What would you do if it came to that? A life without him didn’t feel like something that you could do, considering the way he’d steadily been a constant in your life over the past year. Nobody made tea the way he did, or knew exactly how to scratch the itch at the base of your scalp when it was bothering you. Squeezes of your hand in his when you were feeling anxious, how it felt to be wrapped around him after a particularly rough mission - the despair you felt when he left, and the relief when he returned. 

These things all became constants, things you’d come to expect like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Your sunrise was Inumaki Toge; morning, afternoon, midday and the evenings - but you’re worried that the sun was beginning to set on your relationship. You didn’t think it was fair for him to just distance himself, not even try to talk to you about what was bothering him that he’d feel the need to do this to you. Even with his limited verbal communication ability, you’d spend hours on the couch texting back and forth or learning sign language to develop something that was more efficient than texting and note writing. 

Tonight was worse than any other night, only because you’d had plans. Plans made in advance; plans to stay in and have a nice dinner, play some silly board and card games, and then cuddle up for a movie or two. Plans that he was now two hours late for, plans that had you sitting at a dinner table with two plates of a dinner that was a blend of his and your favorite dishes. Dinner that was now about as cold as you’re Toge felt about you, dinner that had you crying as you stood to pick up the plates that clearly wouldn’t be touched tonight. To punish yourself; you’d probably eat the leftovers for a couple days, reminding yourself that Toge would rather do anything but share a meal with you. 

The front door opening has you slamming the fridge shut, and you’re making eye contact with your boyfriend as he takes his shoes off. Your obvious emotional state has him immediately concerned, closing in on you to try and assess the situation until your hands smack him away to put some space between you both. 

“You don’t get to pretend to care after missing game night for the third week in a row.” Your statement has his eyes widening, phone coming out of his pocket while his other hand pulls his collar down. “Don’t even bother, Toge, I get it. You don’t love me anymore and you’re tired of pretending, so you don’t have to pretend anymore! And to think I started taking sign language classes just for you to…”

You turn away as his fingers start to rapidly tap against the screen, needing to clean up the table and finish cleaning the kitchen. The whole time, though, you can’t stop talking at him. Telling him that you know he thinks you’re more of a burden because you don’t have any cool talents like his, that you must be overbearing since you like to know his schedule, how awful you most be to be around that he never wants to be home when you are or spend time with you. Those kinds of things that you’re not even sure where it all had been bottled up but you do hear his frantic tapping behind you as he tries to respond only to have to pause, backspace a bunch, and type some more. 

You catch him gesturing, frantic “tuna, tuna” leaving him while he tries to show you his screen, but you keep your gaze fixed on the task before you because you fear that if you look at him you’ll start crying. You didn’t want to cry when you were trying to yell at him for putting off breaking up with you, that would make you look more pathetic to him than you’re sure you already did.

“Please stop.” 

Two words uttered so softly yet full of desperation have you freezing, though you’re sure even without the cursed speech you’d be frozen at the sound of Toge’s using words that weren’t his usual safe words. You’re afraid to even look at him, but you face that fear as you turn to face him and the phone extended towards you with a screen full of words intended for you to read. 

“Toge?”

“Please,” he whispers again, angling the phone towards you in a silent plea for you to take it and let him defend himself. You do; your fingers grazing against his as you take the device into you hand with your thumb tapping the screen out of habit to keep the screen awake. 

I love you so much. 

I’m so afraid that I’ll let something slip and hurt you by accident so I’ve been trying to stay away while figuring out words that can be safe for us to use together. 

Didn’t know that my distance would hurt you

I’m so sorry

“Toge,” you whisper, nearly dropping his phone in your rush to pull him into your arms. Tears burn at your eyes while you feel his dampen the skin of your neck, his arms tight around your waist to keep you pressed flush against him - as if you could be apart from him after this. “Don’t you ever try to hide from me again.”

“Salmon,” is mumbled into your neck, and you give your own nod before you pull back to kiss his cheek.  A kiss to your cheek becomes a kiss on your lips, Toge’s mouth carefully coaxing yours open to allow him the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You feel small shockwaves along your tongue as it brushes against his, the sensation caused by his cursed markings sorely missed by you in the period of distance he’d forced between you now a source of comfort and a reminder that he was with you again and just as desperate for your touch as you were for his with the way his mouth worked against yours. Your back hits something sturdy, you think it’s probably the fridge but don’t have time to think too much about it because Toge is bringing your leg up to rest on his hip to press the growing tent in his pants to your core in search of friction that would bring pleasure to you both. 

“T-Tore,” you breathe when he pulls back, watching as his eyes search the space beside your head for something while keeping himself pressed against you. When he finds it, he’s reaching for it, and you recognize that it’s one of the magnet strips with pre printed statements on it that he’d been searching for. This one had been originally something unimportant to your life with Toge, so you’d used a label maker to make it something that would have real purpose in your home.

Would you like to fuck? Stares at you in bold black font, the smiley face after bringing a smile to your own face as you take the magnet from him to slap on the fridge above your head before you’re kissing him again. It’s not a kiss that lasts long before he’s pulling away, slowly lowering himself to his knees before you and pulling at your pants and underwear as he goes. 

He only bothers to free one of your legs from its confinement, bringing it to rest over his shoulder so he could be close to your core, his eyes closing as he takes a deep inhale of your scent. It was clear that he’d missed you just as much as you’d been missing him, the pure relief that you see in his relaxing features bringing a new wave of calm through your body. He was here, he was happy, any doubt that may have lingered regarding whether or not he wanted to be with you is calmed in this moment - only to be replaced with the sparks that come with the feeling of his tongue against your clit. With the way his cursed markings seemed to vibrate against your skin, it’s like you feel him in your skin in all the best ways while his fingers carefully probe your wet slit. 

“Toge,” you whine, your hand in his hair while your other hand grips the handle of the refrigerator door. “Please, no marathons.”

That earns you a displeased grunt against your clit, but he had to understand that his forced distance was the reason why you needed him to go easy on you. But you continue to stare at him, eyes locked on his own as you push his hair back away from his forehead until he gives a more affirmative grunt with a nod that would serve as his agreement that he would not intentionally seek to overstimulate you like he typically enjoyed doing. 

Two of his slender fingers ease into your cunt, the wet sound so loud in your ears but drowned out by the loud groan Toge let out when he got a taste of how wet you were already. His tongue moves eagerly around your clit, the cursed appendage rolling around the sensitive bud in tight circles while his lips maintain a tight suction that keeps you clenching around his fingers as they fuck you. You’re not sure what is louder; your moans of pleasure, Toge’s moans and groans of delight, or the sinful squelching of your wet pussy being attacked from the inside and outside by your attentive lover’s hand and mouth. His eyes open, the look he gives you full of pure adoration as he opens his mouth to press the pulsing flat of his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue their fast strokes inside your cunt. 

“Cum for me,” is mumbled against your clit, the command forcing your eyes closed as your body tightens up around him while he does his best to keep you upright and prevent injury. Your pleasured cry is music to his ears as his tongue laps at your throbbing clit to try and keep you on the edge of overstimulation. You said no marathon, you didn’t say he couldn’t use his cursed speech and that loophole was an unfair advantage you’d truly scold him for later. 

“You’re cheating,” you scold; voice nothing more than a whisper as you push his head away from your core, pouting down at him as he grins, his free hand massaging your thigh that rest on his shoulder as he brings his fingers to his mouth. Your leg is carefully removed from his shoulder, and he’s carefully pulling you down to the floor to sit with him. There’s a delightful awkwardness in trying to get each other undressed while sitting on the kitchen floor, and it all reaches its intended outcome when Toge is carefully lying you back against the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Your feeble attempt at an offer to reciprocate the oral pleasure you’d received is met with a shake of his head as he settles between your spread legs, his fingers trailing along your slit before you feel the blunt tip of his cock trying to make its entrance. 

Your hands settle on his chest as he kisses you, his length working its way into your neglected pussy. You feel his groan rattle his chest, the sound reverberating through your mouth with the additional hum of his cursed energy overwhelming your senses. He’s all that matters to you at this moment, the slow grind of his hips into yours to keep close as he savors this reunion. His pace is slow, hard strokes pressing deep into your core and sending waves of pleasure along your spine as your hands move to clasp at the back of his neck. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, a statement that has him frowning, an apology in his eyes that has you regretting your honesty only momentarily before he’s smiling again as he shakes his head. Everything was going to be okay, you know that and trust in that. He sits up slightly, his hands taking your thighs in his hands and pushing them back towards your chest to allow for closer contact. He’s checking only momentarily to make sure you’re okay, the nod on your end allowing him to continue with his forceful thrusts. 

“T-Toge,” you gasp, the deeper angle forcing the wind out of you as he rests his forehead against yours. The only sound that follows is the sound of skin on skin with his hard thrusts, the primary soundtrack to your lovemaking as his mouth leaves yours in face of kissing along your face down to your neck to that spot that made you squirm as you feel yourself approaching the cusp of your orgasm. He knows you’re close, the pace of his strokes slowing down to try and force you to hold out for him. He wouldn’t dare tell you to wait, and you’re relieved when he whispers in your ear for you to cum for him. The cry that leaves you has him smiling against your cheek, his own groans flooding your ears as he finds his own release inside your pussy. 

He finally pulls out, moving to lay on his side beside you and gently stroking your cheek as he smiles at you before poking your nose and getting a giggle out of you that has him chuckling. In return, you reach out to poke his nose, which results in a poke competition as you’re both laughing until your arm gets tired. Your eyes close, relief washing over your system at the fact that you still had Toge, he still loved you and wanted to be with you, but his need to protect you from himself had him doing something stupid and not communicating his fears. That would need to be discussed when you weren’t naked on the kitchen floor.

There’s a gentle nudge to your side, and your eyes open to see Toge sitting up and looking down at you with a fond smile while nudging you with his knee. There’s a head nod towards the hallway that led to your bedroom, you know he’s trying to get you either to the bedroom to rest on a more comfortable surface than the kitchen tile. 

“Get into bed.”

“You’re a menace!” And you’re standing, Toge taking your hand in his own so he could walk with you to the bedroom. 

[endereies]

FREEDOM OF SPEECH

No Nut November - Day 10

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When Matt sees you with someone else, he couldn't help but admit how he feels

It was obvious that tensions were high. Anyone could see that. After being friends with the triplets for so long, you felt like things couldn’t change, yet you found yourselves proving that wrong. You saw the way he looked at you, only because you were looking at him too. 

Everything, down to the way you acted and dressed revolved around him. You just couldn’t help it. You wanted, no, needed him to notice you, to see you.  

Yet after what felt like years, his behaviour didn’t seem to change. You tried to convince yourself that he was just excellent at hiding his feelings towards you but if anything, they were on show. 

“Yeah, this is y/n! She’s my best friend, the one I told you about.” A shudder crept up your spine as he introduced you. It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you just couldn’t help it. That’s all you were to him, a best friend. You tried to be grateful, after all you were friends with the fucking Sturniolo triplets. And here you were, pitying yourself because you wanted more with one of them.  

You just couldn’t get over it, over him. How was it fair that he had total control over your mind. The little moments you used to fawn over just turned into self-deprecation. Any other girl you knew that had caught Matt’s eye wasn’t like you. They were prettier and had mastered the art of make-up. Their hair was styled and flawless even after the hours of a party. It was just something you couldn’t do. 

Yet, his hand would still drop over your shoulder, rubbing your skin as you watching a film. He’d insist you borrow his jacket when it got cold, goose bumps rising to your skin. A few of them ended up in your persona collection after he denied the return saying, ‘keep it, they look better on you.’ There had to be something, right? 

Months of trying felt pointless, flirting fell flat and as far as you were concerned? Matt still thought of you the same. You weren’t going to sit around anymore just pining over someone who obviously didn’t feel the same.  

So, when another guy stood in front of you, a hand stretched out as an invitation for a dance, how could you say no. Gawking at Matt wasn’t going anywhere, and you didn’t want to never endlessly pray that he’ll pull you close. Why get your hopes up when an attractive man is stood in front of you now? 

Although, when you placed your hand into his, Matt’s eyes were on you. He liked you, hell that man loved you. He didn’t miss anything you handed out to him. His anxiety just stepped in front whenever he wanted to act upon it. No amount of talks with his brothers fixed that. 

He wasn’t dumb, he saw it burn in the man’s eyes. Lust. He only wanted a quick fuck, he wasn’t a newcomer. Unbeknownst to him, you had spent your time staring at Matt rather than scanning the crowd.  

He tried to ignore it, he really did. But as much as he shared the feeling, he hears your laugh through the group of people. He heard everything. The flaunting, the flirting, and the way you let yourself giggle at any small thing he did. 

After about ten minutes of his eyes tracing where his hands met her body, he’d had enough. He couldn’t believe it took him until you were in the arms of someone else to make him see just how much be didn’t want you to be with anyone else. 

Before either of you knew it, his hand was wrapped around your wrist, dragging you away from the man.  

“Hey! Matt?! What’s your problem” He didn’t listen, he only waited until you both were secluded. 

“don’t go and dance around him, he’s just in it for a fuck.” 

“Maybe I wanted that.” You crossed your arms, pouting like a small child. 

“As if, you aren’t that type of person.” As much as you wanted to admit it, it felt wrong. You were leaning into another part of yourself. It hurt both of you. 

“Oh really? As if you care about what I do.” Every sour thing came up your throat before you could stop it  

“Excuse me? “His tone changed significantly as he etched closer, his hands now crossed over his chest. 

“You haven’t batted an eye at me in months.” 

“I have.” The more he spoke, the more be admitted things he wasn’t proud of. 

“Hm. When then, name one time.” You wanted to believe him, but if you did. Could you bring yourself to trust him. 

“Literally every night since I realised, I love you.” 

Shit. Now he HAD fucked up. 

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[tofupixel]

I agree with your thoughts on art plagiarism, and I’m sorry people are giving you shit about them. People don’t tend to take art as seriously as writing or “literature” and in our current culture of instant consumption, people don’t consider the amount of time and effort that went into a piece of art. It’s an image you can look at in seconds, versus the act of reading something takes time and is immediately understood as something that will take time to consume. This is also not helped by art and art processes being a mythical magical concept to most everyday people perusing social media. A book can be judged by its thickness but an image is just an image. I dunno, just my 2 cents.

Keep fighting the good fight and thank you for sharing your work with us 💚

thank you. i know im right on this so i'm not bothered. 😋

i just wanted to start discourse and get people thinking about WHY nobody cares when people steal from artists, but just recently we had a whole thing about youtubers copying each other, and everyone could agree it was wrong. if we want art to be respected we have to respect it

[geronimosong]

Okay, for a long time, I had a head cannon. Now that we have a great new adaptation, it is a good time to share it.

I firmly believe that the Neriad Percy meets after his fall from St. Louis Arch is Amphitrite, the Sea Goddess and Wife of Posiedon. Why do I believe this well? Firstly, she is the highest regarded Nereid, and after Amphitrite married Poseidon, the Nereids became part of their royal court.

I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I bowed. "You're the woman who spoke to me in the Mississippi River." "Yes, child. I am a Nereid, a spirit of the sea. It was not easy to appear so far upriver, but the naiads, my freshwater cousins, helped sustain my life force. They honor Lord Poseidon, though they do not serve in his court." "And … you serve in Poseidon's court?" She nodded. "It has been many years since a child of the Sea God has been born. We have watched you with great interest."

"If my father is so interested in me," I said, "why isn't he here? Why doesn't he speak to me?" A cold current rose out of the depths. "Do not judge the Lord of the Sea too harshly," the Nereid told me. "He stands at the brink of an unwanted war. He has much to occupy his time. Besides, he is forbidden to help you directly. The gods may not show such favoritism.' "Even to their own children?" "Especially to them. The gods can work by indirect influence only. That is why I give you a warning, and a gift." She held out her hand. Three white pearls flashed in her palm. - Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief

Theseus and Amphitrite, Athenian red-figure kylix C5th B.C., Metropolitan Museum of Art

Secondly, in mythology, King Minos questions Theseus's parentage with a ring thrown into the sea. Proving his connection to Poseidon, Theseus dives, carried by dolphins, to Poseidon's palace. Amphitrite treats him as a son, gifting him a purple cloak and a crown. Theseus triumphantly returns to his ship with these divine presents, reminiscent of Percy's encounter with a Nereid in "Lightning Thief."

Though Theseus proves his parentage to Poseidon, the god is not in the underwater palace. Theseus gains the ability to breathe underwater from Amphitrite. This parallels Percy's first underwater experience. You might ask why his stepmom would decide to help him; well, it is her kingdom that is at unwanted war, and Percy is her hope, too. In Riordan's own words, Poseidon and her have an open relationship:

“Most of the gods are jerks,” Delphin agreed. “And they have a lot of girlfriends even after they get married—” “Gah!” Amphitrite said. “I wouldn’t care about that. I’m not the jealous type. I just don’t want to be mistreated. I want to be my own person, do my own thing, without some man lording over me!”

As the years went by, Amphitrite discovered that Delphin was right. She did love her children even more than seabass, and most of the time Poseidon was a very good husband. He did have a lot of affairs with nymphs and mortals and whatnot, but strangely that didn’t bother Amphitrite so much. As long as Poseidon didn’t try to own her and tell her what to do, and as long as he was good to their three children, Amphitrite was cool. She was even nice to Poseidon’s demigod children, unlike some other goddesses I could name. (Cough, Hera, cough.) One time the hero Theseus came to visit, and Amphitrite treated him like an honored guest. She even gave him a purple cloak to wear, which was a sign of kingship. She’s been pretty cool to me, too. She doesn’t freak out when I leave my dirty laundry in the guest room. She makes cookies for me. She’s never tried to kill me that I know of. Pretty much all you could ask of an immortal stepmom. - Percy Jackson's Greek Gods

The description that Percy gives of Neriad matches the way he describes Amphitrite in Percy Jackson's Greek Gods, Although it could be argued that all the Neriads are described in the same Percy imagines the Neriad to resemble his mom because of the warmth she emits.

She had flowing black hair, a dress made of green silk. Light flickered around her, and her eyes were so distractingly beautiful I hardly noticed the stallion-sized sea horse she was riding. - Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief

She came in riding a hippocamps, in traditional depictions Amphitrite is represented either enthroned beside Poseidon or driving with him in a chariot drawn by sea-horses (hippocamps). It is one of her queenly attributes that separates her from the other Nereids along with her crown.

Amphitrite was gorgeous. The more she tried to avoid the gods, the more they pursued her. Her black hair was pinned back in a net of pearls and silk. Her eyes were as dark as mocha. She had a kind smile and a beautiful laugh. Usually, she dressed in a simple white gown. - Percy Jackson's Greek Gods

Amphitrite sat on a coral ledge, watching the sunset filter through the deep water and make rosy streaks in the seaweed forests. A seabass lay in her open palm, all blissed out, because Amphitrite really had a way with fish. Normally I don’t think of sea bass as cuddly, but they loved her. Delphin could see why Poseidon liked her. She radiated a sort of kindness and gentleness that you don’t see in a lot of immortals. Usually with gods, the longer they lived, the more they acted like spoiled children. Delphin wasn’t sure why, but that whole thing about getting wiser as you got older? Not so much. - Percy Jackson's Greek Gods

Hestia is the only other God that Percy has such an honorable description of in this entire book. This is significant. So, I can't wait to see if the show proves my theory to be right or not.

[skellebonez]

Ok people. Real talk for a second. Cause I am genuinely pissed off.

Stop. Reposting. Other’s. Art.

Save it all you want, but stop saving it or screenshoting it and then resposting it (especially without crediting the original artist).

You may think to yourself “oh, I’m just one person so what harm could it do?” and let me ask you this.

How many other people do you think have thought the same thing? That they are just one person resposting another person’s hard work thinking that it won’t have any kind of effect on anyone? Thinking “oh, this is only for me and maybe my friends”. Or “this will give the artist EXPOSURE so it’s fine” (which makes no sense when you don’t CREDIT them and no one can figure out who the artist IS).

Because let me tell you, I have seen what having three or eight or DOZENS of people reposting or liking and sharing reposts of an artist’s work does to some artists. Yeah, some are going to say “meh, I don’t really care” and brush it off. But that’s not every artist.

I have seen artists completely stop posting art online because seeing people take their art and share it without bothering or caring to share who made it makes them feel like ya’ll don’t actually give a shit about them. You only care about what they can make and how you can take it for yourself. I have seen other artists give up on art entirely because they genuinely feel like it’s pointless to keep drawing and sharing at all because it will all just get taken anyway and no one cares who the original creator is.

So why bother making more?

Do ya’ll WANT artists to stop sharing their work for you to see and appreciate?

Because taking it and reposting it is going to make some artists stop sharing their work entirely. Reposting art only does two things: momentary gratifaction for yourself and hurting artists.

And if you are so selfish that knowing your actions hurt other people, emotionally or financially or otherwise, doesn’t get through to you to make you understand that what you're doing fucking sucks then…

Congratulations.

Hope ya like looking at nothing in the future.

And just use the fucking reblog button IT IS RIGHT THERE. THAT'S WHAT IT IS FOR. TO SHARE ART. WITHOUT REPOSTING IT. WHERE PEOPLE CAN SEE CREDIT.

DAMN IT.

[etheries1015]

hi so I’m curious if I can request the pomfiore trio with a Yuu who loves scars, has like a little under 50, and whenever Yuu gets hurt their super ecstatic is it scars and loves to have people guess how they got all of them. And it’s totally ok if you don’t want to do this it is up to you.

This is very interesting! Not a lot of people like their scars. It for sure took me some time personally to come to terms with the one I have smack dab on my forehead :[ So it's nice to see someone accept them and even find them fascinating! Thank you for the request <3

Pomefiore reacting to MC who has a fascination with scars

TW: Scars! Not self-inflicted in this fic. However, If you struggle with self-harm or know a loved one who does, please reach out to someone you care for and consider receiving assistance through your struggles. You are loved, you matter, and your body does a lot for you, please take care of it! xoxo

General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, more like short little headcannons than anything else of their general thoughts and feelings behind it!

Vil

The first time he saw the different scars on your body, his soul almost left his own. How could someone have so many?! He also admired your confidence, you did not let others teasing you about them get in your way, you never covered them up with makeup, and you basically made a show off of your scars. On one particular day when the two of you sat in the lounge of his dorm, Vil gathered the courage to inquire what exactly is the significance of the scars on your body. He does find it a little disturbing, but if it isn't bothering anyone and you are fully confident in yourself, why bother? It just isn't his cup of tea. BUT he does find your point of view very nice! He starts to see scars in a new light, that includes normal bodily marks.

Epel

"And THIS one-" You spent all of the lunch period going over each and every one of your "battle scars." He was watching you intently, amused and genuinely interested in the stories behind the marks left on your body. You gave him a speech of how scars are like words on a book- there's always a story behind each and every one of them, it's what makes us human. "So cool..." He muttered. Epel probably had more interest in you after that, thinking you're so cool for your scars and how you go into things with full confidence and an adventurous soul! He looks up to you, and sometimes when you're sitting with other people, he will bring it up and you are absolutely ELATED. "Tell them that one story you told me!" You two make quite the pair!

Rook

Rook also has a bunch of scars mainly hidden from the normal person's eyes, so he can relate to you! He is always out hunting, adventuring, and getting himself into a lot of trouble often regarding his physical safety. You spend a good chunk of time sharing stories between each of the scars, and you two soon become pretty close friends because of it! He loves your enthusiasm and the way you remember each of your scars stories, and you even remember HIS stories. You're such an interesting person to Rook, and he is always up for an hour-long conversation about "battle wounds"! Your body is a canvas, and the scars you get from the walk of life are the art! Beautiful, just beautiful!

[caustinen]

Omg I’m actually so in love with your Hollywood au 😭😭 do you have any headcanons for them? Like how they started dating, or what they do on a daily basis, general domestic things!!

Hi!! Sorry I took so long to reply but your ask sent me SPIRALLING — this whole au was such a random quick thing and I never expected it to go anywhere, but thinking of a response to this I got so into it I might actually manage to write something!

Just the first meeting hc got so ridiculously long that I’ll respond to the domestic hc’s (I HAVE SO MANY) on a separate post and tag you! Thank you for the inspiration luv 💘

HOLLYWOOD AU! First meeting:

Their first impressions are not very good… John hasn’t made it big yet but he’s definitely getting some attention so he decides to relocate to Hollywood and find a good PR-team around himself despite having always thought that the marketing/branding side of his profession is capitalistic nonsense — and while he has changed his attitude to the exctent of ”if you can’t beat them join them”, he’d still expect all the suits to be cold business men who don’t care about the art of it all.

Gale on the other hand expects all actor clients to be self-obsessed nepo pricks; he’s been climbing in the industry steadily for years and enjoys the challenge of bringing the best versions of people out and finding them their best options (he takes pride in being very good at what he does) but since initially he ended up in the industry through his love for film, he’s also often annoyed by the up-and-coming stars who only care for the fame.

Loud, relaxed and seemingly no-care-in-the-world John fits this prejudice perfectly, as does John’s expectation for an uptight, borderline rude PR-executive in a suit — at the end of the meeting he chooses a much more laid-back seeming guy called Brady to represent him, and Gale is relieved he’s not stuck with him, he really is, despite the teasing, annoying smile of that bastard refusing to leave his mind for the rest of the day.

Their second meeting is somehow WORSE, in a week or so a meeting runs long so Brady invites John to after-work drinks. Gale looks so different out of his suit (now in a white t-shirt and black pants that hug his waist tightly, hair mussled and curlier after a long day of running his hands through it) that Bucky is absolutely blinded for a second and goes to introduce himself flirtily. Gale stares at him for a bit before informing him they met last week and while John is able to laugh it off with the others, this doesn’t exactly help with Gale’s image of him (why can’t i get that smirk off my mind when he couldn’t even bother to note me??)

It doesn’t help that Bucky gets very drunk and keeps seeking his company, not caring he’s only receiving grunts as reply to his stories told draped over the blonde’s shoulders as Gale sips on his non-alcoholic beer (he also shares the Buck story and starts calling him Buck like in the show), and whatever progress John might’ve done to make him almost smile a couple of times is undone immediately as he flirts with everyone else just as much when he leaves Gale’s side, cementing him in Gale’s mind as a playboy who’s gotten a bit too into his own head with his modest success lately and decides to forget all about him.

After that they run each other a couple of times at the office and social gatherings, and things are civil enough, they chat briefly each time but there’s some strange tension between them that makes Gale uneasy and John confused and a bit frustrated because he usually gets along with everyone but this man just seems to be immune to his usual charm; he can’t understand why the man is seems so cold and barely ever speaks up, that sweet smile he rarely sees him show others is completely wasted on him in his opinion.

They only properly meet again at a premier of John’s new movie a couple of months down the road, the first one under Gale’s firm, and end up in the backroom between the red carpet and John walking into the theater post-film (Brady is busy with organizing everything) and it’s TENSE, they’ve never been in a room by just the two of them and John is obviously nervous wreck which makes him antsy and Gale isn’t making any effort to make small-talk to ease his nerves (he’s not a natural at that okay, and esp with John he doesn’t know what to say)

Only when John is basically doubled over on the couch groaning into his hands as the film approaches its end Gale is forced to interfere. ”Why are you so upset?” ”They’re gonna hate it.” Gale is thrown off, never expecting to see this vulerable side underneath all that loud confidence. ”They’re not gonna hate it.” John scoffs. ”And how would you know?” Gale frowns, annoyed. ”Listen, it’s not Casablanca but you had to know that walking into the project, and you give it enough life to keep the tension up ’till the end. This is your best work since Thorpe Abbotts so just sit back and relax.”

John stares at him, mouth open, despair forgotten for a while. ”You know my work?” he asks, blindsighted, and Gale blushes and turns away. ”Maybe. I go to most films they show in my local theatre so don’t make too much of it.” John doesn’t have time to digest the words properly before he’s ushered to take the applause of the crowd, but it stays with him.

Things shift after that. John starts to pay attention to what Gale says, and realizes while he might speak rarely, when he does it’s always meaningful and thought-out. When Brady wants to make him do some new audition tapes he asks him to bring some of his collegues for second opinions, and he’s satisfied to see Gale roll up to the little studio they’ve rented one afternoon.

Wanting to impress Gale apparently works wonders because he feels like he reaches a new level with scene they’re working with, and the feedback reflects this. Even Gale gives him an approving nod, which somehow sends butterflies down his insides.

He turns his show-off when they go for drinks as a group next time to actually have a conversation with the blonde, and it turns out Gale is OBSESSED with old hollywood — whenever things were bad in his childhood home (often) he’d hide himself into the world of fiction of all kinds, and he’s seen an obscene number of films and loves learning trivia about it too, film star biographies are his favorite genre of books. He used to go to his little local movie theatre so much he was eventually offered a job there and could help with picking the movies, but his brief dreams of being an actor were never realized as he knew he needed a less pecarious job to give himself the stability his childhood home didn’t offer.

Learning these pieces of information draws John even more facinated with him, and Gale seems to be laughing at more and more of his jokes too. Once Gale lets his guard down he has also started to see John underneath the bravado, and makes mental notes to check out the books he recommends and he might even lightly flirt back these days, secretly enjoying the those dark, observant eyes fixed on him and squeezing into a surprised smile.

All in all, it’s been going better for a while until a faithful day, when they’re doing another auditiong tape. Bucky’s been rejected from a film he really wanted earlier that day, and his previous film has gotten some lukrwarm reviews upon getting into streaming services, so he’s in a shitty mood, and the unimpressed faces Gale keeps making annoy him to no end.

They call it a day and they agree to meet at a bar closeby to start the weekend and get everyone’s spirits up. The beer only serves to make Bucky more upset tho, espescially when he sees Gale hitting it up with someone who walks up to him, laughing at his stuff and looking relaxed in a way he never quite does with him. A bit drunk and a lot angry he follows him to the bathroom, Gale noticing him as he walks in with the same swing of the door. He turns around and greets him, the smile from talking to that whatever dude still lingering on his lips being John’s final straw.

”Oh, so you can be happy? Thought it was fucking impossible to achieve.” Gale’s smile immediately drops and his posture shifts, arms crossing over his chest. ”What are you talking about?” ”You’re always making those faces no matter what I do. You’ll ruin your pretty face with all that frowning.” ”What on earth are you-” ”When I try to talk with you. Or when I do a scene and you’re supposed to help but you just keep looking at me like I’m an idiot. I don’r get it.”

Gale starts to get upset too now, something John has never seen before, his calmness finally breaking. ”What do you want me to say?!” ”I don’t know, be fucking supportive for once?!” ”I am being supportive by being honest! Do you think that was the best you can do?” It surprises John, but he’s already too worked up to back down. ”Well what if it is?” They’ve gotten closer to each other in the empty men’s room, and Gale’s hands are no longer crossed, he’s pointing at John’s chest and staring him down. ”You have so much goddman potential, John Egan, and it’s killing me to see you waste it like that. Reach for something bigger. Get more complex charachters, more nunaced scripts. If it takes you hating me to hear that then so be it.” John scoffs despite the blush trying to creep to his cheeks. ”Well since you know fucking everything maybe you should help me find those roles.” ”I’m not your agent, or your publicist, or your mom, or your boyfriend, I don’t see how it’s any of my-” They’re practically yelling at each other, and without thinking John takes the wrist of Gale’s hand poking his chest to his and pushes it down so they’re chest to chest, noses almost touching, so close they’ve gotten. ”Maybe you could just help me out if you didn’t hate me so much.” John isn’t yelling anymore, and all of Gale’s nerves are on fire, he can feel John’s breath on his cheeks, his own pulse pounding in his chest. ”I don’t hate-” And that’s as far as he gets before John crashes their lips together, the small movement inevidable as the sun coming up each morning.

Gale makes a muffled sound into the kiss and goes to grab his shirt, pulling him closer as John reaches to cup the back of his head. The kiss is just as messy and teethy and perfect as the months of growing tension between them has promised. Gale wants to climb him and bite him and drag him down the floor, his own desire punching air out of him as John stumbles until his back hits the wall, his big hand protecting his head from the hard impact. They are lost in it until their lips are swollen and bruised and they’re both more than half-hard after being pressed so tightly together, and Gale bites his abused lips to silence a moan trying to escape him as John dips down to suck and lick on his sweaty neck, his own hand tangling in his curls and pulling and feeling victorious as John makes a choked sound. He pulls until their eyes meet again, and he’s sure his own pupils are as big as John’s as they stare at each other for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breath like they just ran a marathon. ”You drive me fucking insane,” Gale grits at him, and John laughs a short sound. ”I drive you insane?! You’re the one prancing around… Being all, you know, intelligent and sexy with your James Dean features and Paul Newman eyes.” Gale stares at him for a little bit, mouth open, before pulling him into another kiss.

They go back to Gale’s eventually (Gale comes back to himself enough to realize he does not want to be caught with all his collegues on the other side of the bathroom wall) and they make out for a while more, little less heated but just as passionate, but when it’s getting more intense again John has a moment of clarity and pulls away. He’s drunk and tired and overwhelmed and he doesn’t want this to be just a hook-up. Gale understands but asks John to stay the night anyway and he ends up sleeping on his coach that night. It’s a bit awkward in the morning because neither of them really knows what to say and John’s just about to leave, thinking this was a mistake after all, when Gale suggest they’d watch a movie, and the nervous hope in his face grips John’s heart enough to realize there’s no walking away from what he’s started to feel for this man. They watch a film, and another, and by the third the funny commentary both of them make has shifted into the movie playing in the background as they make out, Gale in John’s lap, and it feels right.

John ends up staying the whole weekend, they just watch films and make dinner together and get to know each other. John is scared he’ll overstay his welcome but Gale makes it feel natural, and the exciting newness of it all is addicting, and perhaps exactly because they’ve had to overcome so many of their own prejudices about the other everything feels more vibrant and exciting. Seeing Gale relaxed and smiely and silly and nervous as he rolls his eyes at him when he sings along to the radio as they cook makes his heart miss a beat. He’s completely prepared to not go further than kissing for now but after a delicious, footsie heavy dinner on Sunday evening at Gale’s kitchen they finally end up in bed, and it feels just right that their first time together is slow and searching and absolutely perfect, and they get the final confirmation that their chemistry seems to be working out pretty fucking well.

After that weekend, John never accepts a role without running it by Gale first (they often read them together naked in bed on the weekends, making each other giggle while dramatically imaging the scenes while leaning into each other amongst the fluffy pillows), and within a year he’s a rising star and his name is on everyone’s lips, but he’s only got one pair of lips in mind.

It isn’t just smooth sailing after that either, navigating a relationship and his career and the publicy, but as slow as their love might have started it’s all the more steady for it, and it never stops growing.

SORRY THIS GOT SO INTENSE!!! Literally all of this came to me as I thought how to respond to your ask so thank you for being a major motivation 🖤

[magics-neptunes-things]

Surprise

Hi guys ♥

Sorry to be a little slower to post those days, I have some change in my personnal life and I need time to adjust, I think.

I still have some request for McFoord, like here, here, and here. And the prompt come from here .

Thank you!

TW : Homesickness I guess, past Ruesha-Katie mentionned

Despite the international break, Caitlin finds herself stuck in London due to a very slight thigh muscle injury. Since these are only friendly matches, the Australian staff decided not to take any risks with the player and leave her at home in London. Caitlin genuinely hesitated to accompany her teammates to Australia to have time with her mother, her sister and her sister-in-law for a few days. But the break falling during Katie’s birthday, the Australian finally decided to stay in London to at least make a FaceTime in the rules of the art with her girlfriend.

Despite the distance, Caitlin has arranged things with a restaurant near the hotel where the Ireland team is, to be able to have a dinner face to face with FaceTime. And she also gave the gift she plans to offer to Katie to Grace, whom she has come to know well since dating Katie. And that Caitlin appreciates a lot.

It’s been three days since Katie and most of their friends left London. And Caitlin’s already a little bored, taking care of Katie’s cat to pass the time. Coopurr had time to get used to the presence of the Australian at her side before, but Caitlin sometimes feels that he misses the presence of the Irish woman too.

The typical September London rain waters London when Caitlin goes home to Katie's after going shopping for her and the cat.

"Bloody hell" Caitlin yells, getting rid of her wet jacket.

Sometimes she really misses Australia.

Taking off her shoes and socks, also wet, the young woman puts on Katie’s slippers to go drop her things in the kitchen. When she puts the last package in the cupboards, her phone starts ringing. Taking a brief glance in the direction of the clock, a smile appears on her face, knowing that it's most certainly Katie.

But her smile turns into a worried look when she sees Grace’s name appear on her phone screen. Why would her girlfriend’s best friend call her? Already imagining the worst, Caitlin hurries to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi mate. It’s Grace"

"Is Katie okay?" Caitlin asks, forgetting any manners.

"Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, don’t worry" Grace quickly replies, suspecting Caitlin’s worry.

"What’s going on?"

"I mean, when I say she’s okay, I’m talking about physical well-being. But I’m not hiding from you that since she came here she seems… I don’t know, sad? I even thought at one point that you had an argument or that you had broken up"

Despite her, Caitlin feels her stomach twist. Everything was fine between them when Katie left and during the various exchanges of messages or calls they had.

"What? No, we’re fine. And she didn’t tell me that something was up when we talked."

And they were talking at least once with FaceTime everyday, in addition of messaging through the day. Frowning, Caitlin sits on the first chair near her. She tries to understand what can bother Katie so much, not really finding answers. What intrigues her is that her girlfriend doesn't seem to have wanted to share her moods with her, whereas normally they talk about everything.

"I tried to talk to her, but you know her. She doesn’t want to say anything." Grace continues

"Does Ruesha give her a hard time?"

There is a few seconds of silence before Grace's answer and Caitiln imagines her perfectly shruging her shoulders after having thought a little while.

"No more than usual. Katie avoids being with her as much as possible but they can’t avoid each other all the time. Rue is Rue but it could be worse tho"

Caitlin gives up a grunt for any answer. Letting Katie go with her ex wasn’t something easy for Caitlin and not just out of jealousy. We can’t say that Ruesha was nice to them.

Persuaded that Katie has cheat with Caitlin even before their breakup, Rue seems to take a malignant pleasure in taking revenge on something that never happened. Despite the multiple explanations from Katie, who finally gave up.

"I think spending her birthday away from you and most of her friends weighs more than usual, because of all that." Grace says.

"Oh…"

Of course, Caitlin would have preferred to spend that day with Katie. She could also have followed Katie to Ireland to spend a few hours with her that day, but the two women made the decision not to do so to avoid any drama with Ruesha precisely.

"Look, I know you both agreed it was better that way, but I really think Katie would like you to come. She needs you. But I don’t mean to put pressure on you, obviously."

"I’ll get someone who can take care of Coopurr and I’ll be there as soon as possible."

It was easier for Caitlin to find a plane ticket to Dublin than to find someone to take care of her girlfriend’s precious cat. It's finally Laura who has custody of it for a few days, after receiving a long list of recommendations from Caitlin who finally became almost as fond of the feline that Katie is.

Caitlin came to Ireland twice, but it was always with Katie and to meet her girlfriend’s family. Learning that Caitlin was coming, Ella and Lauryn, some of Katie's sisters, offered to pick her up at the airport and then take her to Katie’s hotel. Grace is supposed to help Caitlin sneak into Katie’s room while another teammate keeps Katie busy.

"Oh wow" Caitlin says when entering the room she rented.

The decoration she requested for the occasion is already installed and it's even better than what she had imagined. She takes the time to open her suitcase to install the last elements to the decoration, some pictures of them in particular.

Then Caitlin takes a quick shower to cool off after the trip and changes clothes, before heading to the suite lounge to wait for Katie. She voluntarily didn't respond to Katie’s messages as quickly and as long as usual, wishing that the surprise effect for Katie was to the maximum. But she transferred the photos of the cat that Laura sent her in the last few hours, giving her the impression that she is still in London. In her humble opinion, Caitlin will be able to embark on a second career in events when she has to retire from sport.

But these thoughts are quickly pushed back when Caitlin distinctly hears the voice of her girlfriend ringing in the corridor leading to the room. She is grumbling, something based on "I hope it’s worth it Gracie, I just wanted to put my ass in front of Netflix" which amuses the Australian a lot.

Thanks to the double magnetic card that Grace has, she opens the door of the suite on Grumpy Katie.

Her face changes instantly when she sees Caitlin patiently standing in the center of the room.

"What the fuck?!" almost shout the Irish.

Caitlin’s laughter mingles with Grace's in front of Katie’s stupor, who doesn't seem to dare sketch the slightest gesture. The fact that it's two days before her birthday probably plays a little too.

But Katie ends up getting out of her stupor and suddenly rushes inside the room to hug her girlfriend. Grace takes the opportunity to make a discreet exit, delicately closing the door behind her after depositing the card on the cabinet of the entrance.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asks Katie, taking Caitlin’s face in both hands, as if to make sure she’s not dreaming.

"I heard my girlfriend was having a hard time. And I missed her very much too"

"Wait where is Coop?" frowns Katie

"Really? Your damn cat before kissing me?" Caitlin laughs.

A guilty smile on her lips, Katie hurries to put her lips on Caitlin's to properly celebrate their reunion. A tender and delicate kiss and Caitlin would swear she feels Katie’s muscles relax one by one in her arms.

"Hi" smiles Katie after kissing

"Hi" replies Caitlin smiling back, dropping a new kiss on her lips. "Coop is with Laura"

Katie hums simply, sticking herself in the arms of her girlfriend. Grace was right in calling Caitlin, the captain of Ireland has had better times than now. But she obviously wasn’t going to complain to anyone. Understanding the message, Caitlin tightens her arms around her, affectionately stroking her hair by gently rocking her, giving her the confort quietly asked.

"What’s all this?" Katie asks several minutes later, looking at the decoration.

"The second part of the surprise. The first being me, of course"

A smile appears on Katie's face, who becomes aware of the whole decoration, her gaze lingering on each of the photos that Caitlin has installed. Some are recent, some are from last year and some are even older.

"This is the first photo we took together" informs Caitlin pointing to a photo

A smile appears on Katie’s face when she looks more closely.

"We look like babies" Katie smirks

"You do. I still look the same actually"

"You’re right. You’ve always been beautiful"

"You're such a simp"

Caitlin rolls her eyes, unable to retain an amused smile. This is probably not the right time to talk about all her adolescent and young adult complexes. The Australian prefers to focus on the present and her girlfriend. Although they were quickly interrupted by knocks on the door, announcing the arrival of their dinner.

********

"Thanks for coming" whispers Katie, a few hours later.

They enjoyed their meal accompanied by champagne (without alcohol of course), talked and laughed. Katie has honestly not felt as relaxed as she is since arriving at the camps. When Caitlin offered to take a bath, Katie didn't hesitate a single second before accepting. Before, she was not a fan of baths, considering that it was a great waste of time. But if she has the opportunity to add Caitlin naked with her in the hot water, she's suddenly a very big fan.

Sitting in front of her in the bathtub that is about to overflow with foam, Caitlin leaves the foam with which she was playing, to report her eyes on Katie.

"Sure. But next time I’d rather you tell me directly if something’s wrong. You don’t have to pretend with me."

Katie looks thoughtfully at Caitlin for a few seconds, a slight guilt creating in the pit of her stomach.

"I- I just…"

"It’s not dramatic, Puddin" Caitlin says, smiling, taking her hand in hers.

"I just didn’t want to worry you and complicate things"

"It's ok, I’m not angry. You want to talk about it?"

Katie sighs, her hand slowly playing with the foam. When she thinks about it, she feels like she's overreacting or something. That's partly why she didn't talk to Caitlin about it.

"It's nothing really. It's just that everything seems harder here. Without you" she adds, without looking at her. "Rue is an ass and the team's dynamic isn't really the same. It's like every single one of them has to choose their side between me and her, but I never wanted this. It's really weird."

"I'm sorry" mumble Caitlin.

"It's not your fault" frowns Katie, looking at her this time. "It will get better"

Caitlin shrugs and sighs too. If she has the choice, she would pack her bags, put Katie in it and go back to London. But she can't, for obvious reasons.

"I know how much you loved the Irish camps, I just want you to be happy"

"I will kill you if you say other people and they see how much you make me sappy, but I am happy, thanks to you. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy in my life as I have been since we are together. I know I like to play the big guy, but you make me feel cared, safe and loved. There is no stupid competition between us to know which of the two is better. I’ve always looked for someone to push me to be better every day, but you do it and in a much healthier way than I’ve known so far."

Caitlin’s tormented face transforms into tender and Katie barely has time to finish her sentence as the Australian moves to find herself as close to her as possible, sending some hot water and foam on the ground.

"I hope to continue to feel this for a very long time" adds Katie on a whisper, Caitlin’s face a few inches from hers.

"I intend to love you for the rest of my life. And you will have no choice" Caitlin replies with an amused smile.

"Sounds good to me" Katie smirks, before grabbing her girlfriend’s face to kiss her.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Hiiiii!!! I’ve got a whole book load of ideas for this pathetic man named Carmy Berzatto but this one’s been in my head for a while. Basically they aren’t together (yet wink wink ;)) but reader keeps a sketchbook around and has a few drawings of Carmy because how can you not wanna draw his sad doe eyes. One day they leave it behind and Carmy finds the drawings and is flustered that someone would wanna draw him.

He can also confront reader for some tension but this boi just needs to be drawn like a French girl and given some love.

Happy writing btw!

Thank you for this request!!! I would love to hear more of your ideas if you’d like to share them hehehe

You are going to murder your best friend.

He’s incredibly irritating, in ways he doesn’t even realize. He’s disgustingly caring, keeping his fridge stocked with snacks and drinks that only you like, remembering books you’d wanted to get and dropping them at your front door, taking you around Chicago to find the best art supply stores. He even comes with you whenever you want to take a trip to the art museum, not because he enjoys the art but because the thought of you being there alone makes him anxious.

Not only is he upsettingly kind, he’s also nauseatingly gorgeous. Sometimes it’s a little hard to look at him, you’re so worried your heart is going to stop. You love every little thing about him, every tidbit and quirk you learn loving stored away in your mind to turn over when you can’t sleep. You can’t stay away from him, but you’re not sure how much more of him you can take.

“Wanna go down to the park with me?” You lean yourself across his counter as he cuts the fruit you’d just bought at the farmer’s market. You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself, but he didn’t even ask, and you’re sure he knows more than you do when it comes to making produce last longer. Plus, this just means you get to stare at his hands and his arms and that face he makes when he’s focusing.

“Why?” He asks, not even bothering to look up at you, not because he doesn’t care but because he’s desperately trying to impress you with his knife skills, as if he doesn’t run one of the best restaurants in the city.

“I have to practice my figure drawing,” you tap the front cover of your sketchbook for emphasis, hoping he hears the gentle thudding even if he doesn’t see it.

“I’m almost done,” he says, instead of reminding you of how hot it is and how little free time he has, because he’d do anything for you, even if you didn’t ask, even if he only suspected you wanted something, he’d make it happen.

It's not long after that the two of you are sitting on a scorching park bench, roasting underneath the sun. You’re sure Carmy’s bored and sweating, and you know he has a million other things he could be doing right now, but he’s sitting next to you in the blazing heat while you try and find a clean page in your sketchbook.

You flip to a clear page, searching the park for someone interesting to draw when you see a laughing baby a few feet away, the high-pitched noise bringing a smile to your face. You try your best to capture that particular joy that you’re almost certain only babies are capable of feeling, and it’s not your best work, but your only glad was to get more comfortable with live references and exploring emotions. Plus, Carmy is much too distracting. He’s got his head tilted towards the sun, eyes shut against the light that illuminates the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw, making him look nothing short of godly. You’re not sure how you get away with all this staring, but you don’t want your luck to run out, so you turn back to your paper and search the park for someone else to draw.

After a runner, an elderly couple, and a young woman crying, you close the cover of your sketchbook as your fingers start to cramp. You rest your hands on top of the cover, trying your hardest to deter the breeze from disturbing your pages the way it ruffles Carmy’s curls. As close as you are, you never want Carny to see your sketchbook, beyond the few pages you’ve already shown him.

Most of the pages are full of him, different angles and emotions and parts of his body. There’s a page dedicated to his hands, to his curls, to those beautifully expressive eyes. You’re certain that you could draw him from memory and have every slope and curve and angle be absolutely perfect. Those drawings are your reminder that you’re talented, that you have skills that you’ve practiced for years and years and that your art is good, whether you always think that or not, but you’d die if Carmy ever saw them.

Friends don’t secretly fill pages and pages with drawings of their friend, because it’s strange and a little creepy and reveals feelings you’d rather keep hidden. Really, you’re not sure how you get away with staring at Carny so often, ogling without so much as a glance from him, but you can’t help yourself. You’re friends with the most beautiful man in existence, of course you’re going to stare when he’s focused or distracted and won’t notice the stars in your eyes.

It’s not until hours later, after you’ve returned to your own apartment and you finally get around to unloading the bag you’d been carrying all day, that you realize your sketchbook is missing. You know for a fact that you carried it back from the park, mindful of the reassuring weight of it in your hands, and you immediately know you must have forgotten to put it back in your bag after you’d stopped at Carmy’s to cool down before making your way back to your apartment. You can practically see it on his countertop, all of your most closely guarded secrets left unprotected. You’re halfway through your spiral about needing to pack up and move away forever to save yourself from the mortification of Carmy knowing how you feel when there’s a knock on your door.

You open it without thinking, immediately regretting your decision when you see Carmy on the other side, looking rather disheveled. Your mind comes up completely blank as you struggle to form a sentence, trying to decide between playing it cool and pleading for forgiveness.

“You’re really talented,” he tells you, offering the sketchbook out to you. You can tell by his tone, by the fact that he sounds like he’s choking, that he’s seen the drawings. You take the book, the weight heavy in your hands without any of its security. You feel raw and exposed, ripped apart and stomped on, but you step back and open the door farther anyway, walking towards your kitchen and hoping Carmy follows.

“I’m sorry,” you settle on a simple apology, not certain you’d be able to articulate anything more, because how are you supposed to explain to your best friend that you’re so in love with him you can’t help but commit him to memory, can’t help but fill pages and pages with just his figure because you love him so much it’s like your body and soul are being taken over by some force you’re completely unable to control as your pencil glides across the page?

“Don’t be,” he clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the back of a chair, “they’re really good,” he pauses, lips working silently like he can’t quite push out the words, “I don’t understand.”

“You’re my muse, I guess,” you force out an awkward chuckle, trying your hardest to be funny so you don’t have a breakdown, “I dunno, it’s just easy for me.”

Drawing him, loving him, comes naturally to you, like it’s something you’ve been doing your whole life. You know him, every slope and curve and angle, every shadow, you know him so well he seems like a part of you. He’s trying to process, you can tell by the way he works his jaw back and forth, and you’d be committing this moment to memory to add to your pages and pages of drawings if you weren’t so nervous. You’re going to have to let him go when all you want to do is keep him with you forever.

“No one’s ever done anything like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize lamely, because you’re not sure what else to say.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he clarifies, seeming like he’s finally getting his thoughts in order, “I don’t mind, I just wish I’d known.”

“Well, now you do,” you feel a little stung, wishing for something more than indifference, rage or elation or any strong feeling at all.

“I’ve gotta go, early morning tomorrow,” he says and you just nod, because you’re not sure what else to say. You’re still standing in the kitchen when you hear your door open and gently shut again, leaving you alone once more. You feel weightless and weighed down at the same time, and you speed through the rest of your nighttime routine, desperate to crawl into bed.

It's not until you’re passing by your front door to make sure it’s locked that you see the containers of cut-up fruit Carmy had left for you.

Tagging people who seemed interested :) @onceuponaoneshotfanfic @yxtkiwiyxt @veryprairieberry

[katuschka]

Scene One – Lampshade

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader (1st person narrative)

2.541 words

On my bedside table, I have a beautiful art deco lamp. When my lover leaves, he ties a scarf he wore for days on top. And when he’s gone I let my window open just a bit, the gentle breeze sets the scarf on motion, just like the waves in the tempestuous ocean.  Once or twice, I swear, I could smell him in my dreams.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings: longing, alcohol consumption, penetrative sex, phone sex and masturbation, sex toys, phantasmagorical dream visions

Taglist

It’s been almost three weeks since I last saw him. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s not that bad, but the truth is that I always start missing him the moment he leaves. It’s a bittersweet feeling. I’m a grown, independent woman, engaging in my daily routines...or breaking them, just to stay sane. 

But, it feels as if a part of my soul got attached to him. It travels with him wherever he goes and I feel it tugging at my insides every now and then. At first I thought it was just a side effect of the early stages of falling in love. I believed that it would get easier with time, but it never did. If anything, it only got worse. 

It’s bearable during the day. My mind’s too preoccupied with my job, thank god. It’s not really much different from when he’s here. I still have my work to do and he’s busy too, until we finally meet at home to share a glass of wine or two. And then we fuck.

That’s why early evenings are the worst when he’s away. The house is just too big, too quiet, and my mind too restless. No sound of the strings being plucked greets me when I get home, no smell of savory dishes waiting for me in the oven or on the stove. I’m too lazy to do it myself, so I just order in, only to be reproached by him later that I’m not taking proper care of myself. My lover does all these things. My body’s spoiled with constant hugs and my cheeks peppered with warm kisses. So, on days like these, this is what his lady misses. 

He knows that, so he tries to call anytime he can. It’s easier in between shows. He makes sure to call me around eight, even when it’s already 3 am where he’s at. Him being a night owl, this has never been a problem. Sometimes it’s just a quick hello to make sure I’m ok. Other times we talk for hours. 

I didn’t expect anything like that today. He might call late or not at all. Probably not at all because today’s show was too important. He wanted me there, but I couldn’t go this time. I had an important project to finish and came home pleasantly exhausted. In a perfect world, we would celebrate our respective achievements together, but this world is not perfect, so I have to content myself with the fact that he is. 

Well, not really, but I wouldn’t change a thing about him. 

So, I just poured myself a glass of wine, climbed in bed early and tried to read, only to find myself checking the Instagram updates constantly. I don’t do it very often, because I’m not really keen on seeing hundreds of women swooning over him, but someone might be streaming the show, and I just couldn’t miss it. 

Before he left, he fastened his scarf on my lampshade. That little piece of fabric is basically marinated in his scent – his strong, yet religiously comforting cologne mixed with the warm smell of him. I made sure to leave both the bedroom door and the window open, to create a slight draft. After three weeks, the scent had already faded a bit, but I still could get whiffs of him while falling asleep. Just like today. The livestream I found ended mid-show, but I wasn’t really paying attention anymore. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy long before the concert ended and without even bothering to turn off the light, I fell asleep with my phone still in my hand. 

Except I couldn’t sleep. The thunderstorm in the distance and the billowing wind kept me awake. The sky was clear when I went to bed, so I couldn’t understand where the clouds came from. It didn’t matter anyway. 

He was here. In my bed, sleeping. The intoxicating scent of clove and incense mixed with his musk wrapped around me like a second comfort blanket. The bedside lamp illuminated his disheveled hair and the clothes he had carelessly thrown over the armchair next to the bed. He was naked and all of the sudden, so was I.

It was our bedroom…and it wasn’t. The southern wall was gone, exposing us to the elements outside. Our garden turned to a stony shore, with the waves of a rough sea crashing upon it. Somewhere in the distance, I could see the storm raging.

I was feeling snug under the blanket, the warmth he elicited sheltering me from everything else around. I reached out to touch him. His skin was warm and dry and I snuggled closer to him from behind, inhaling the comforting aroma of his relaxed, sleeping body. 

He never slept much. Sometimes I wondered how he could function after yet another sleepless night, and the dark circles under his eyes often worried me. But when he did fall asleep, he looked like a baby boy, his full lips slightly parted and his brows turned upwards. A man of paradoxes. He would fuck my brains out just moments after he spoon-fed me pistachio ice-cream. My doe-eyed barbarian. A romantic adventure, but a reptile too. Always offering something new. Just like the sky outside, with the full moon now illuminating the stormy sky. Where did it come from? It was hanging there in mid-air in front of the clouds, so big, so close it seemed that I could reach it with my fingers if I just stepped outside of the room. 

But I didn’t want to. Instead, I slowly swirled around him like a serpent. I could feel him stir, his body responding to mine. It was a silent dialogue. He turned to me and pushed my chin upwards to nuzzle the soft skin behind my left earlobe. I could hear him murmur a prayer, the words of which I didn’t recognize, but I understood it anyway. I could feel his hand travel slowly down my belly, pulling my thighs apart, his palm sliding gently to my pussy and his middle finger slipping in between my folds. It’s been too long… My body reacted immediately. I arched my back and gasped for air as his moistened fingertip glided over my clit in slow circles. He kissed my shoulder and I could feel his parted lips stretch in a smile before he nibbled lightly on my skin covered with goosebumps.

He spread my thighs even more, like the petals of a blooming flower. I felt the weight of his body on mine as he shifted, obscuring my view, silencing the wind, his porcelain face dimming all the celestial lights behind him. He was coming home. 

I cried out when he entered me, grabbing pillows on both sides of my head. He, too, yelped like a puppy, laying his head on my bosom just for a while, to gain his composure. I felt every exhale of his quickened breath on my skin, and enveloped his body with my limbs in a false promise to never let go. 

He started moving inside me and I felt absolutely lightheaded, as if we were floating in an empty void. It got darker with each deep, long thrust until time and space around us disappeared and the only thing that tethered me to reality was the rhythm of his beating heart and the alluring sounds of his raspy moans. We moved together languidly, drunk in love, and the waves of pleasure running through my body intensified with each passing second. My fingernails dug into his skin…so deep until he suddenly stiffened and screamed in pain right next to left ear…

…nooo…at first I couldn’t tell where I was or who I was until the sound of my phone ringing on the pillow next to my head slowly brought me back to reality. I couldn’t believe it. What? Why? I looked at the screen and saw the name of the only person whom I could forgive for calling me right fucking now!

“Jake? Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I breathed out. 

A moment of silence before the man on the other side responded. I must have sounded pre-t-t-y irritated. “Babe? Did I wake you up?” 

Of course you did. What day is it? Oh yeah, it was slowly coming back to me. Madison Square Garden… “What time is it?” I breathed out.

“Almost one am here, your midnight. We just arrived at the hotel a moment ago, I haven’t even had a shower yet, I just had to hear…”

“Urgh,” I interrupted him with a groan, not in a reaction to what he said. My still not fully awakened body was just fighting with my mind as I tried to sit. I was still slightly disoriented and my coochie weeped. “I, uhm, I’m sorry baby. I just had a very intense erotic dream…the first one in years. And you just happened to interrupt it at the worst possible moment.”

“Oh, daamn!” he chuckled. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Not funny Jake. No one else but you could ever make me this wet. The sheets below me are literally soaked through.” I heard him inhale sharply on the other side. It took him a few more seconds to respond. “You’re wet?” It sounded a bit like a stifled groan, followed by him clearing his throat. Poor Jake, he was so taken aback by my response that Oliver had to take over. “Thaths probably because I was absolu-te-ly on fire tonight, my love! Telepathy must be one of my many superior powers. Now I need to clean the mess…”

“What do you mean?”

“Phone sex, obviously.” 

I laughed. Nah, I’m not a fan. I love his voice, don’t get me wrong, but it couldn’t possibly make up for all the stuff that my subconsciousness flooded my brain with just a moment ago. Also, I’ve always found the idea of phone sex strangely disconcerting. We could do the most obscene stuff face to face without even batting an eye, but to be describing to him how I’m touching myself? No, thank you. I’d be embarrassed. Don’t know why. That’s just how it is, And that’s what I told him.  

“Oh come on, let’s try it.” Jake was back. “Besides, it’s a mutual obligation now. I’m already hard.” 

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ok Jake,” I crooned monotonously, “what are you wearing?” 

“Oh GOD!” he moaned theatrically. “You sound so sexy when you’re bored. Mmmmm.”

I laughed again, in earnest. “Sorry,” I chuckled. “Ok, let’s try it. But I’m not going to describe what I’m doing. You tell me what to do.”

“Deal.”

I heard his sheets rustle as he shifted on his bed, which meant he already had me on speaker, so I did the same. I adjusted the pillows, stripped off my babydoll and tried to find a comfortable position. “Ok Jake, I’m ready.”

“Good girl. Now, close your eyes and cup your breasts. Let your thumbs draw slow circles around your nipples. No pressure.” His voice suddenly sounded huskier than before. 

“Are you jerking off?” And then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of his fist sliding rhythmically up and down his cock. Of course he was. 

“You can’t blame me sweetheart,” he breathed out. “I got here, still full of adrenaline from the show, only to hear you tell me that I was fucking you in your dreams. I couldn’t wait any longer.” 

The sound of his heavy breath made my pelvic muscles contract and my heartbeat quicken. I licked my fingertips and let my hand slide between my legs, trying to ease the ache. “Talk to me Jake. Forget the nipples. Guide my fingers.”

“Who’s impatient now?” He let out an involuntary moan, swallowed harshly and continued: “Squeeze your clit between two fingers, scissor-like. Now rub from side to side and gently pull.”

I knew what he meant. His technique was completely different from mine and effective in its own way. I never tried to recreate it before. I did now, and it all suddenly came back to me. The dream, his touch, his dick, stretching me, fucking me, our loins dancing together to the rhythm of our heartbeats…

“Not enough,” I whined. “I need more, Jake.”

“Ok, time for Mini Me.”

That was yet another thing my lover did for me. We found a company that makes custom dildos using castings of real customers. Now, a cold piece of silicone can never compete with the real jake, but it was the next best thing whenever I needed to release the tension after a long day. I loved the shape of it. It was mine. I opened the drawer and reached for the toy. “Now what?”

“Ride me,” he groaned. 

“How am I supp…”

“Let’s pretend we fell off the bed.”

“What?”

“Off the bed! Now!” he commanded. I climbed off the bed and attached the dildo to the wooden floor. “Mini Me’s ready. What now?”

“Now sit.”

I did as I was told. I got on my knees, placed the tip between my folds and slowly slid all the way down. Our roles reversed for a brief moment as I was now guiding him through. I heard him spit into his palm and groan with relief. It was his time to take the reins again. “Move,” he rasped. “Grab your hips and pretend it’s me. Set the pace, but tell me.”

I started moving my hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, while whispering up and down and up and down to him. I was now close to my bedside table, the fragrant scarf only a few feet from me. I closed my eyes. The illusion was almost perfect. 

“That’s my girl,” he moaned. “Do you want to go faster?”

“No, this is fine.”

“Ok, continue baby. Let me hear you.”

We continued like that for several minutes, eyes closed, listening to each other. I could hear that he was close as his low moans turned to high-pitched whimpers. My thighs started shaking and I had to catch hold of the bedside table to ease the tension in my legs. I opened my eyes and that’s when I saw it. The multi coloured lampshade. As I was moving, so were the colorful lights before my eyes. It was like being there, under the stage lights, as I was listening to my man. The most beautiful song. It overwhelmed my senses and I came, screaming. From the haze of my own high, I heard him finish shortly afterwards. 

I wanted to hear every detail of his show, and he wanted to know about my project, but we were both already too exhausted, so he promised to call me again in the morning. I knew he would, because that’s what my lover does. 

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @klarxtr @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @GVFstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise

[sakuralovespossums]

Pickles x Artist/Painter Reader

You two actually knew each other since high school and started off as strangers to unlikely friends to eventual lovers

Pickles, as much of a rebellious punk he was, couldn’t help but find your detailed artworks interesting and decided to ask you about them one day

“Ey dood, you the one behind all these paintings?”

“Uhh yeah, why?”

*Shyly shrugs his shoulders* “Cool if I like……take a look at how you make em?”

Fast forward to today and you guys are still together

Pickles is now the drummer for Dethklok, while you continue your passion of painting for money and love

You’ve also done a lot of artwork for the Dethklok albums

And Snakes n’ Barrels

It’s still a shock to everyone that you, a soft-spoken person who likes spouting poetic words, is with a stumbling short-tempered drunk like Pickles

But thats one of the reasons why he loves being with you. He likes listening to you share your philosophic words and questions as he drunkenly listens while resting his head on your lap

It calms his brain as lets himself get lost in your serene voice and deep words

He’ll often stop by while your working on a new canvas and plop his chin on your shoulder, asking what your painting this time

Pickles can be a reckless drunk, but he knows to be careful around your artworks and avoids your canvas room when he’s out of it

He also tries not to bother you when your really invested in your work but will occasionally wine for your attention outside the door

Seth has def tried to charm you into working for him but you rejected his offer with a kick to the groin

Pickles loves you even more for that

One of your paintings actually foreshadowed the events of army of the doom star, but nobody ever noticed

Pickles always makes sure your not overworking yourself and taking breaks

“Hey dood, cool stuff so far! Wanna get a sandwich?”

“Don’t forget yer water, babe.”

“You look kinda sleepy, babe. You need a nap? Dat paintings not goi’n anywhere.”

He finds your deep thinking and creative outlook so attractive

When he first mentioned you and your art profession to the band, he was so casual about it lol

“I guess my s/o can help us think of a cool album cover. Hm? Oh, yeah they’re an artist.”

[xruiiii-blog]

Hi I’m literally obsessed with this au

I have a couple questions I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you but I’ve been analyzing this comic for way too long

Who is leading mountain to be killed? Who is getting crowned? Why is mountain being killed? Are the rest of the knights/other portraits other ghouls? Who is helping phantom unbury him? Is phantom unveiling him at the end?

I’m so sorry I’m obsessed, your art is amazing and thank you for your time

Thanks for the time and energy you invested into this!!! Wow! I might disappoint you after this haha. But u know! Always analyze and believe in whatever you think it’s the best explanation! I love when ppl have their own understanding of a piece :) that’s why there’s no dialogue

Anyway about the comic…

It supposed to be a simple “once upon a time” kinda thing. A bedtime tell, someone’s small piece of memory, a casual story that’s melancholy. Nobody’s really important, except the little prince and his knight. There’s no deeper meaning other than the lonely prince lost the only person he cares about to a war.

Something about the titan knights is that they don’t care about their identity. Their powers and skills are the things that matters. That’s their identity instead of who that person is under that mask. They are weapons and they like to keep it that way. Meaning that if any one of them dies during the war, a weapon has served its purpose. The others will move on and there’s no sorrow. I don’t want to talk too much about different species lore here it’s a lot…maybe next time :)

However, the two anonymous knights are rather closer to Mountain and Phantom than everyone else. They are also more human-like. They are more sentimental than some others on the team. It’s not anyone’s fault that the titans are this way btw, it’s just how things is. These two knights care about phantom more than the others does spiritually, they kinda understand how close their captain was to the prince and what Mountain meant to him. So they take him to Mount. Usually titans don’t even take the dead body back with them. It’s not like they don’t care, they do, but to them dead body it’s meaningless. No longer serve any purpose. Titans don’t ever grieve, mourn, or anything.

Phantom does. Be glad that he’s even able to contact with the corpse one last time cuz a lot of times soldier’s grave is just an empty tomb. That’s also why he digs. He needs to see it himself in order to let go. He places the veil back to place and sees what he’s familiar with for his whole life. The mere illusion that Mount is still with him.

…

Honestly this whole thing came to me at 2am and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I feel like its more of a vibe, very vague story and fear of death I didn’t executed it the way I wish I could (skill issue…) anyway my first actual try at drawing comics and it took me 2 miserable weeks(it was okay). I shared this before I have concentrate issue my attention span is short💀…ngl the process it’s challenging and I wasn’t expecting ppl to understand what’s happening or even read it. I didn’t expect myself to finish the whole thing even lol. Glad you like it and look at it with these much appreciation AND letting me know!!! :)) that’s what I was tryna say. 🖤🖤🫶🫶🫶

[girl4music]

Can I just say something about the whole Waverly hair controversy? The big deal made about it with Waverly having short hair in ‘Vengeance’ because Dom does.

Throughout WayHaught’s entire evolution Waverly and Nicole have swapped over with the long hair/short hair. Neither have truly been the roles of the “the girly girl” or the “tomboy” all the time when it comes to their physical appearance or aesthetic. Again - this is the same with Xena and Gabrielle where they both take turns with being the “femme” and the “butch” in the dynamic and in the “stereotypical gender roles”.

That’s what it is. It’s a stereotype. It’s not even what most real females look like or sound like or feel like. Who really cares about their physical appearance?

They’re still women. They’re still warriors.

Still heroes. Still wives. Still lovers.

Why does it matter for either of them to have a specific appearance? Why does it matter which one has long hair/short hair at all times or at any one time?

It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. If anything - it just makes them even more real as individuals and as a dynamic that all of this changes and fluctuates about them depending on where they’re at in their lives and what stories there are to tell with them, what developments are to come for them,…

it’s kind of the whole point of them to be honest. So what are you watching for if it bothers you that much?

You know the great thing about same-sex ships and WLW ships in particular is that they share the visuals.

I find this majorly appealing in Xena and Gabrielle. So therefore I also find it very appealing in WayHaught.

I don’t like gender roles and stereotypes… but if I have to have them in TV art/entertainment, I like them to be shared out and equalized between the characters because I like to see how they affect each other to the point where their appearance changes because they’re different people now. Their energies change. Their lives change. Their reality changes. It’s how it is.

We change with the world and the world changes with us simultaneously. That’s the dynamic we have with it.

And any characters in a romantic/sexual relationship in TV art/entertainment representing the truth of that is worth all my time, attention, energy and money.

Yeah, Waverly and Nicole are fictional characters with particular visuals to them but they’re representing real people… so why on earth do you want them to look the same all the time? Isn’t it better for them to not to?

[onmyyan]

hi hi hi 🥺👋 i hope i’m not bothering but omg :’) the delmont brothers brainrot is so real, esp after reading “sharing is caring”, i have so many headcannons and scenarios in my head about them 😭 i’m so delulu for them esp caspian and marcos *bark bark*

ok ok but just imagine the delmont bros with darlings that are athletes??

i imagine caspian with a darling who’s a figure skater, mans is definitely going to go feral, foam at the mouth, and cum in his pants everytime he sees bbygirl twirl and lutz, doing her routine on the ice with her short, flowy, and almost sheer figure skating dress on esp if it shows her collarbones and/or her thighs. 😩👋 definitely gets hella jealous if darling is a well-known figure skater and has fans throwing flowers and plushies at her during the end of her routine but at the end of the day, he know his bouquet of flowers is the only one that darling will accept 😌🫶 100% will cook nutritious and healthy meals for his baby to keep up with her lifestyle and internally screams and gets possessive when darling skates up to him and kisses and cuddles into him after her routine because she’s cold

gabe with a gymnast darling‼️‼️‼️ idk why but it just FITS like the utter chaos that darling will cause because she did some aerial moves or a floor exercise and makes him all bricked up is *chefs kiss*. he’s the type to work out and go to the gym w darling and wipes off her makeup after her competition ends and rewards her when they get home, really testing out how flexible she can be 👀 gets all smug and smirks when he sees his love bites and marks that can’t be covered on his darling when she’s competing, knowing that she’s taken and spoken for already

ricky with a ballet dancer darling *screams*!!! not only is ballet a sport but it’s also an art form and ricky appreciates all art, esp if his darling is the one executing it 😌💗 (we love a supportive mans) referring back to his hc’s, ricky can dance and he just loves dancing with darling, twirling her around and lifting her up in the empty studio where it’s just him and his love 😩😭 feral caveman brain activates when he finds out his initials are written on the inside of darling’s pointe shoes and/or she wears a leotard and tutu in his favorite color during her recital

MARCOS WITH A DANCER DARLING‼️ i don’t think it’s an official sport (BUT WHATEVER LETS JUST SAY IT IS) and just picturing him with a darling that dances and choreographs her own moves RAHHHHH *horny noises* he definitely gets hard watching her moving and thrusting her hips to the music and heaven forbid it’s a song like “you right” by doja cat or “shirt” by sza where it’s all sensual and sexy 😩😩😵‍💫 i JUST KNOWWWW there was definitely an instance where he’s watching darling with hearts in his eyes and high on zaza, a blunt in between his fingers while making grabby hands at darling while she dances to his freaky playlist and teases him AAAWWWOOOGGGAAAA 😤 100% picks darling’s outfits for her dance routines and matches it with the same vibes as the songs she’s dancing to/choreography

manny with street racer darling 👊👊👊 idk if this is actually a sport but whatever, let’s call it an extreme sport since it’s highly dangerous and probably illegal in some places 👀 but anywayzzz, just imagine darling speeding down the streets in the middle of night with cops chasing her down and she blasts the most toxic/fuckboy/fuckgirl music ever like chase atlantic or the weeknd out of her loud ass modified car speakers and places one hand on the wheel and the other on manny’s thigh, gripping it and smirking at him as her car’s exhaust is booming as she’s hazardously merging onto the freeway to curb the cops 😩😭😭😭 manny is literally just turned on by how dangerous and hot darling is, feeding off the thrill and excitement she gives him *SCREAMS*

that’s only a little bit of the brainrot i’ve been having about the delmont brothers but 😮‍💨 the delulu is deluluing omg 🤪 tysm for creating these scrumptious hottie ocs and i love your writing sm 🥺 i hope you have an amazing day/night!! 💗

I adore this soooo much it gave me so much inspiration thank you for sending this in I love it ❤️💗😍