#I always say this is going to be a quick sketch and then I end up taking two days lol

[shanalikeanna]

I saw the artwork below the cut and kneeeww I had to draw Doflamingo 💖🦩

@doffyslittledove @physics-of-one-piece @mandiemegatron

[wolvietxt]

Hey! Could you do Bucky Barnes with this prompt?? 👀

grumpy’s soft side: sunshine accidentally finds grumpy’s secret stash of cute little things they’ve kept as mementos - like a doodle sunshine made or a pressed flower from a walk they took together. grumpy tries to act embarrassed, but sunshine can see the fondness in their eyes.

BUCKY BARNES was many things - grumpy, stoic, and impossible to read most of the time. but sentimental? that didn’t seem to fit, or at least, that’s what you thought.

until today.

it had started innocently enough. bucky had left to grab groceries, grumbling something about you forgetting the eggs, leaving you alone in his apartment. with some extra time on your hands, you decided to tidy up his desk - a cluttered corner of his otherwise neat space.

you knew bucky wasn’t the most organized person. papers and odds and ends were scattered everywhere, some of them clearly years old. while straightening a stack of books, you noticed a small drawer slightly ajar. curiosity got the better of you, and you slid it open, intending to tuck away the loose papers.

instead, you froze.

the contents weren’t what you’d expected.

a tiny doodle you’d drawn months ago sat on top of the pile, the edges a little crumpled but otherwise intact. it was a quick sketch you’d made while teasing bucky - an exaggerated cartoon version of him with a cat on his head. he’d scoffed at it at the time, rolling his eyes, but apparently, he hadn’t thrown it away.

beneath it was a pressed flower, carefully preserved between wax paper. it was from a walk you’d taken one spring afternoon, when you’d playfully tucked the flower behind your ear and teased bucky for being grumpy even on such a beautiful day.

there were other things too: a stray button from his jacket you’d helped sew back on, a photo booth strip from an impromptu outing, and a receipt with your handwriting scrawled across the back.

your heart twisted, warmth spreading through your chest as you took it all in.

bucky barnes, who rarely let his guard down, who always acted like nothing phased him, had been keeping these little pieces of you.

the sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts.

“damn cashier was slower than molasses,” bucky muttered as he walked in, shaking his head. he stopped short when he saw you standing by his desk, the pressed flower in your hand.

his blue eyes narrowed. “what’re you doin’?”

you turned to him, holding up the doodle with a small smile. “you kept all this?”

a flicker of panic crossed his face as he strode over, snatching the drawing from your hand and shoving it back into the drawer. “it’s nothin’,” he mumbled, slamming the drawer shut.

“it’s not nothing, bucky.” you took a step closer, your smile widening. “you kept a doodle, a flower… even a button? this is -“

“don’t say it,” he cut in, pointing a finger at you. “don’t you dare call it cute.”

you bit back a laugh, unable to help the way your eyes sparkled. “but it is cute. bucky, this is adorable.”

his jaw tightened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “it ain’t cute,” he grumbled. “just stuff I didn’t get around to throwin’ out.”

you raised an eyebrow. “a pressed flower isn’t exactly something you ‘forget’ to throw away, buck.”

his gaze darted to the side, avoiding yours. “it doesn’t mean nothin’,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

“doesn’t mean nothing?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him. “bucky, it means something to me.”

his eyes flicked back to yours, guarded but softening just a little. “you’re makin’ a big deal outta nothin’, doll.”

“because it is a big deal,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “you kept these things because they remind you of me, don’t they?”

he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “maybe,” he admitted, his tone reluctant. “but don’t go readin’ too much into it.”

your smile softened, and you reached out to place a hand on his arm. “too late. i’m already reading into it.”

he groaned, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and you’re a big softie,” you shot back, your grin widening.

he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look annoyed. but the way his lips twitched betrayed him, the corners tilting upward despite his best efforts.

“fine,” he muttered after a moment, his voice gruff. “maybe i kept ‘em ‘cause they remind me of you. happy now?”

your heart swelled at his quiet admission, and you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “very.”

he froze for a second before letting out another sigh, his arms falling to his sides. “you’re gonna tease me about this forever, aren’t you?”

“oh, absolutely,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

despite his grumbling, bucky reached out to pull you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

you laughed, resting your head against his chest. “your secret’s safe with me.”

he relaxed a little at that, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled, his voice low but affectionate.

“you’re luckier,” you teased, earning a low chuckle from him.

and as he held you there, the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart grounding you, you couldn’t help but smile. because as much as he tried to act grumpy, bucky barnes had the biggest heart of anyone you’d ever known.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend III

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: You make a game

When Lucy cracks open your door, you're as you always are.

You're hunched over your computer, clicking around some game level aimlessly with your tongue sticking out in concentration.

Your mice, like they always are when you're in the room, are running riot in their pen.

Outside of their cage and on the floor, you've set up a little pen for them to roam around and play in.

Lara and Zelda are wrestling like always as Clementine tries to work through the enrichment puzzle full of food. Ezio is asleep, flopped over on your shoulder as you study whatever new game you've found.

"You ready for dinner?"

Now that it's gotten colder, you've managed to get even moodier than before and even more of a shut in.

"One sec," You say. You click around the game level a bit more before pulling up a separate tab to type a long string of something Lucy can't even hope to understand. "Alright, I'm done. What's up?"

Lucy rolls her eyes fondly. "Dinner. Now. Ona cooked."

You push your chair out from your desk and stretch, your back cracking from the long hours you've spent hunched over.

You put the mice back into the cage, each of them getting a quick snuggle and kiss before you bolt it shut.

"Is it good food?" You ask as you go down the stairs.

"It's better than your mum makes!" Ona calls out and you grin.

"Yeah, but anything's better than Mum's cooking!"

Lucy grumbles, shaking her head. "One nice meal is all I ask. One meal where I don't get horrifically bullied!"

"We don't bully you," You say," It's character building!"

You and Ona laugh and Lucy just rolls her eyes. Sometimes, you think she would prefer if it went back to what it was like when you were first adapting to Ona.

"Oh," She says," I sent you those audio files you wanted."

"Thanks."

Lucy frowns. "She's been making you do those too?"

"Yeah, it's for a school project, right?"

You nod. "Uh-huh. It's for programming."

"I know I shouldn't have let you sign up for that," She says," It's all you ever do. I think you're losing sleep over it."

"You'll like it," You declare," What I'm working on. I promise."

"I'm sure that I will but it doesn't mean I think you're sleeping well. Put it down for once, that's all I'm saying."

You roll your eyes.

Lucy's always like that about your programming. Sometimes she lays asleep at gone three in the morning and can still hear you typing away on your computer for hours on end.

You return to your room after dinner ends and briefly come out to show Ona what you're working on while also denying Lucy the same opportunity.

"You've love it," Ona assures her at training the next day.

"Love what?" Keira asks," Oh, y/n's game? Yeah, you'll love it, Luce."

"Am I the only one that hasn't seen it?!" She demands, glancing around the room at people who are trying to not make eye contact with her. "Seriously? Raise your hand if you've seen it?"

Slowly, everyone raises their hand.

"This is so unfair!"

When you first got given the project, Lucy had been the first person to be clued into your plans. You showed her all your design sketches and all your ideas as you jumped between them.

At one point, one of your bedroom walls had been covered in concept designs and you would stand in front of it and point out certain aspects you liked and things you didn't think were quite perfect yet.

Lucu had been integral to your thought process and then all of a sudden she was shut out. You'd ask her to record voice lines or demonstrate doing something but you'd never explain why or what it was for.

You all but unplugged your computer when she came in unexpectedly and tried to get a sneak peak.

"Alright," Lucy says when she gets home to see you and Ona giggling on the sofa together," I've had enough. Show me your project."

You sit upright immediately, eyes wide.

"No-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. I've had enough of the secrets."

She's serious. You can tell by the clench in her jaw and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

Lucy's stubborn but you inherited from her so you're stubborn too.

Your cross your arms in the same way as you stand. "No! It's not finished! You can see it when you're finished!"

"Hey," Ona intervenes before the argument can truly get heated. Her hand rests on your shoulder. "It's okay. Just show her."

"I can't! It's not ready!"

"Come on," Ona says," Show her."

You glance at your Mum, who is staring at you with that same stern look and crossed arms as the one that she came in with.

"Fine. Give me a sec."

Lucy sits on the sofa as Ona hooks up a laptop to the tv.

You come back in with a disc and nervously put it into the dvd slot.

Lucy doesn't know what to say when the opening credits appear.

'Lucy Bronze: The Game' with a little pixel version of her holding the Champion's League trophy up on her head.

"We were meant to make a game about a hero," You say," And you're my hero."

[flowerxbunnie]

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?”

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Follow us! @LoveBuzz on IG!

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

taglist: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude @sturniolowhore @luv4kozume

[giannaln4]

Silly Little Bet

lando norris x artist!reader

summary: You were an artist and Lando loved to do what you did best with you, even if he wasn't very good at it. (917 words)

warnings: this turns into a make out (not heavy, very short), use of y/n

a/n: hi lovelies! i know i said i was going to take a little break, but honestly i just need to not think about quali today (still crying about it idk what to tell you). anyway, this is incredibly short so i’m sorry but i still hope you enjoy it! pls let me know what you think!! feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏻 i also wanted to thank everyone who reached out to me and sent support ❤️‍🩹 ily all so much, i really appreciate it!!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Quiet nights were your absolute favourites. Getting to spend time with your boyfriend without having to worry about some schedule one of you had to stick to was perfect, to say the least. You always found a way to occupy yourselves, doing anything and nothing at the same time. 

Tonight, though, you got to do one of your favourite activities: art. You were an artist, a professional one, and of course he loved that about you; he loved seeing you in your element, so focused on what you did best, and even though he didn’t know yet, you loved dragging him with you so you could see him struggle a bit to at least not be the worst artist the world has ever seen.

Now, he was extremely talented, and if he weren’t a racer, he would be somewhat of an artist; he’s said it himself many times, but that was before he met you, because compared to you, he would never say that about himself, no matter how many times you have said it to him. 

Right now, you found yourselves sitting on your shared bed, facing each other, trying to win a silly little bet you made earlier. It was simple, really. You were supposed to draw the other person, and whoever loses would have to come up with a plan for dinner, which the both of you already knew would end up being a homemade meal, eating it on the couch, and watching some dumb show. This really worked out for him because, as talented as he was, he still struggled to draw real people, and he knew he was setting himself up when he accepted.

You knew that too, and you also knew he only gave in so he could have another one of your drawings of him. But that was okay, because another one of your favourite things was to admire his focused expression while he tried to replicate someone on a blank piece of paper. 

If he was being completely honest, the top reason he loved doing some type of art with you was because you would always come up to him and help with something, holding and guiding his hand or just being really close to his face as you explained something, so he would never say no to that suggestion.

“Okay, so I do you and you do me. Do I have to paint it as well?” He asked as you poured some of your art supplies on the bed.

“No, just a quick sketch,” you replied, scanning the bed as you carefully chose the pencil you wanted to use. “I’m starving, anyway.”

You started sketching each other; you were faster (and probably better) than him, but you couldn’t help but blush any time his eyes fixated on your face for too long, studying every aspect of you to try to draw it. After several minutes, you were done, just finishing up a few details before placing the paper on the bedside table next to you, away from him so he wouldn’t see it yet.

“How is it going?” You asked.

He looked up at you and yelled, “Don’t move!” When you started to get up.

"Sorry,” you whispered, going back to your previous position.

You stayed like that for a while, watching as Lando looked at you repeatedly and then back at the paper, occasionally erasing stuff. He was almost done, but there was one thing holding him back. “I can’t get it right,” he sighed, dropping the pencil.

“What can’t you get right?”

“Your lips. They look too big or too small, and now the paper looks worn out from erasing so much.” He was clearly frustrated.

“Can I see it?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Lando asked you with an embarrassed look.

“Of course I’m not going to laugh; why would I do that?”

“You are a real artist, Y/N. You finished a while ago, and I’ve been stuck here trying to fix it, but I’ve only made it worse.”

“Lando, you are actually talented; I don’t make you do art with me because I wanna have a laugh. C’mon, show me.”

He sighed again and slowly turned the paper, showing you the drawing. “It looks terrible.”

Your eyes set on the paper, and an endeared smile appeared on your face. “It looks great, baby.”

"No, it doesn’t; as I said, you’re an artist, and you know exactly what’s wrong with it.”

“I mean it." You whispered, leaving your spot on the bed and sitting next to him, “Maybe the proportions are a bit off, but it does look great, I promise.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a smile, a moment of silence filling the room as you both stared at the drawing. “You know, maybe I just need to take a closer look at them.”

“Oh- I guess that would be helpful." You turned your body to face him, cupping his cheek and brushing away a few curls that rested on his forehead. “Do you want help?”

He nodded and broke the distance between you, locking his lips with yours as he pulled you onto his lap and his hands fell on your hips to intensify the kiss. You got closer and closer, pausing when your bodies couldn’t possibly get any closer to each other even if you tried.

“You know I can actually help you,” you said against his lips and in between kisses.

“Uh huh” Lando replied, not really thinking about the drawing anymore.

[veinsfullofstars]

💝🧠 for metadede?

You got it, anon! Let's see...

6. 💝 What is each person’s love language (words of affirmation, acts of service, giving gifts, quality time, and physical touch)?

23. 🧠 What is one headcanon that you have about your ship/one headcanon that’s related to your ship in any way? What would they say is their partner’s best and worst quality/qualities (a physical feature, something they do, something they stand for, etc.)?

How about we ask them?

Dedede: "Oh Nova, where do I even begin with that one? Stubborn little so-and-so… thinks he’s so smart, knows everythin’ about anythin’, like he can solve all his problems by swingin’ a sword at ‘em or bein’ all mysterious about it. Peh! And he says I’m the one with the ego problem. Oh, and don’t get me started on tryna convince him he’s wrong about somethin’! He’ll go from cold shoulder to volcanic fury in a heartbeat, and won’t even apologize for it! I tell you, the grudges that man can hold are legendary, and that is not a compliment…

… He’s got drive, though, I’ll give ‘im that. When he stands for somethin', he stands for it, no matter what. Not even a storm could move him from what he believes is right. Heck, he is the storm, haha! And, man, seein’ him when he’s like that… so strong and brave, oh, so brave. Ain’t nothin’ that scares him, and if there was, well shoot, he’d just about fight it anyway. ‘Specially if it’s to protect the folks he cares about…

Plus, he’s got the cutest darn baby face under that mask, simply adorable, and it is a crime-and-a-half that he hides it from everyone, ha ha ha!"

Meta Knight: *sigh* "He’s… a lot of things, that man. Impulsive, selfish, lazy, not to mention far too quick to forgive those who have wronged him - honestly, how anyone saw fit to put a crown on his head is beyond me. Hmph. Probably why he put it there himself in the end. Just one of his many whims, didn’t even bother to think it through before barreling right in, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces in his wake, like always…

… That isn’t to say he doesn’t care, though. Quite the contrary. He cares so much about his kingdom - his home - as well as the people within it. Lazy or not, he will fight for them, protect them with his life if need be. Even the Fountain knows this. He’s strong, a truly impressive fighter in his own right, one I am honored to stand beside. More than that, though… he’s kind, passionate, smarter than most give him credit for, and, yes… a capable leader when he puts his mind to it.

He also, er… ahem. He also gives, uh, really good hugs, so."

Sketch started 03/22/25, finished 03/28/25. | Kirby Ship Ask Game (made by @/sweetandglovelyart) and alternate questions | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[vavoom-sorted-art]

Sleight Of Hand - Chapter 1: The Pledge

Moonyinpisces and I proudly present Chapter 1 of “Sleight Of Hand”: The Pledge!

Read on Ao3 (with extra Comic pages!)

Early release of comic pages as well as sketches and uncensored Versions on my Patreon.

---

“It’s our last night on Earth,” Crowley says, voice wrung together in chapped, rusted parts. “Six thousand years of this. Of never– of not getting to– *eurgh!”* Uncaring of the styling, Crowley runs frantic hands through his hair, mussing it up in tight, torturous fists. “Six thousand years. And it’s a bloody *photograph* that does us in.” 

His eyes are golden, molten in the warm, ambient light. The pulse at his long, taut neck is fluttering like a trapped bird, the skin there thin, delicate. “Hm,” Aziraphale says distractedly, without thinking too much of it. “I’d always thought it would’ve been what we’d got up to at Job’s.”

Crowley zeroes in on Aziraphale, at that point. All of this has been musings to himself, of attacks towards nobody in particular. Perhaps God. Most likely God. But now he’s not looking at God, and he’s looking at Aziraphale instead. It sets Aziraphale on edge, prickles the angelic sense at the back of his neck. It quickens his pulse, settles the heat of his body decidedly southward. But more than that, perhaps most of all; it makes Aziraphale be as reminded of Crowley’s human body as he is of his own, at this exact moment. 

The demon takes a step forward. Aziraphale, a stuttered step back. His fingers are curled into the top of his opposite sleeve, tips brushing the edge of the polaroid he’d nearly grabbed.

“Calm down, Crowley,” he says waveringly. 

“Calm *down?*” Crowley repeats quietly, dangerously. He’s looking Aziraphale in the eye, now. He’s looking nowhere else. 

Another step. Forward, back. Aziraphale licks his lips. 

“It’s all going to be alright, my dear boy,” he tries. He clears his throat, shifts his fingers further into his sleeve. “You see–”

He’s cut off. Quick as a flash, Crowley’s gripping him around the shoulders, shoves him back so his arse is pressed to the lip of the vanity, the lit-up mirror alighting him from behind. Aziraphale’s arms draw up around the demon’s shoulders in surprise. There’s nowhere else to go, no more steps to take. The look in Crowley’s eye speaks of a hunger all-too-familiar to Aziraphale. Reminiscent of meat, of basements, of languishing drunkenly at the end of another man’s Earth. Behind Crowley’s head, Aziraphale has the photograph clenched in one hand. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers. 

“Don’t–” Crowley’s expression is fierce, desperate. “Don’t say *anything–*” 

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something else.

*“Angel.”* Crowley makes a desperate sort of sound, and then their lips are pressed together, and Aziraphale freezes altogether. 

---

Keep reading

[angelfrombeneth]

SECRET - A . DONALDSON

Sexual Content Ahead

Art Donaldson x Fem!ChubbyReader

Summary: Where you and Art are 'secretly' hooking up without your friends knowing.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), Born with barely any plot, Art is slightly pathetic in this, Reader loves a cheeky ass grab.

Note: This one is a quick one I rushed, because I'm writing a nice long Art fic for yall. So please enjoy this for now.

If you told yourself 3 years ago that you'd be sat on some bleachers watching tennis you wouldn't believe it.

You were never interested in tennis, you knew about it obviously but it was never your thing.

You came to Stanford as an international student due to the fat scholarship you recieved so you packed your bags from London to California.

That is where you met Tashi Duncan, your best friend. She introduced herself to you one day in the library after hearing you tap away to the music playing in your headphones. It was a close call, she saved you from another warning from the librarian.

Tashi and you were inseparable. Learning about eachother more you discovered she played tennis and was quite well known but you had no clue. She found this a breath of fresh air as everyone knew of her some how. She put it down to the fact your from a different country additionally to your lack of interest of the sport.

Tashi coaxed you to come watch her warm ups and games - which you did being a great friend. But you sported to opening your sketchbook and sketching out the scene infront of you additionally. Might aswell do a research project on human posing and what better sport that tennis.

After your first semester you noticed Tashi always hanging out with this tall lanky man. He seemed nice but, you'd never seen him around. She told you he was her 'thing' which made you both laugh over lunch one time. She had mentioned he will be around alot more and he has a friend and that's when you met Art Donaldson, and well. The rest is history.

It had been a good year since you met Patrick and Art and you four were now a little quad. Despite the three of them being raging tennis players and you just sat on the side line they didn't mind.

You did try to take up a sport but it just wasn't for you, after Tashi found you face down in a bush after a 100m sprint.

You were watching Art play against someone from another University - you weren't listening to their name though.

Tashi and Patrick sat beside you, gasping and groaning, cheering and whooping at what was going on in the game but you only knew so much.

In the year you've known Art, you two had a great bond and tend to.. dip into eachothers bonds from time to time. You had no clue if Tashi or Patrick knew about your occasional flings with Art, you both never aired it nor got caught it just happened sometimes.

But as of late, you can't take your eyes off him. The way his shorts ride up his muscly thighs as he jumps from one end of the court to the other. The way his hair bounces but also sticks to his forehead due to his sweat. You were slightly obsessed.

You wouldn't say you had feelings for him, it never got deep enough for that. But you craved him. You craved every single inch of him and how he'd just melt into your hand.

"COME ON!!" You jump slightly as you were ripped out of your daydream as Tashi flew up beside you screaming as you looked at Art celebrating on the court.

You smiled, standing up and clapping as you grabbed everyone's coats and bags as Tashi and Patrick dashed off to see Art.

Climbing down the stairs was tricky balancing everything but as soon as you saw Tashi and Patrick bust through the door of the court as they piled onto Art you smiled. Walking towards them as you put down the stuff.

Art turned to you smiling, walking up to you and pulling you in for a hug. It wasn't unusual just took you off guard.

"We should celebrate! Let's go out for dinner" Tashi smiled.

"I love a good dinner" You smiled as they all chuckled at you.

You got changed for the dinner into a little black dress, you can never go wrong with it. Tashi texted you earlier her and Patrick will be late - which you assumed they were fucking in his car yet again. Dinners cancelled you assumed.

You walked over to Arts dorm, knocking on the door as it swung open to reveal a slightly disheaved Art as he stared at you. Shirtless and in the tightest pair of shorts ever.

"Did you forget we are going to dinner-"

"No- I was just.. working out" He spoke slightly.

You looked him up and down, a knowing smirk on your face.

"You can't hide it from me" You laughed. Art's face contorted as he looked at you confused as you swiped your hand over the very obvious bulge in his boxers before walking past him into his room.

He doubled over, groaning as he shut the door as you laughed, sitting on his desk chair.

"I thought Tashi was taking you to the restaurant?" He dove onto his bed, laying on his stomach as he scrunched a pillow up at leaned against it looking at you. God he looked so pathetic. Ass up and everything.

"Seems she got preoccupied with Patrick, I got this" You pulled up the text and turned it around to show Art.

"We definitely won't make it to the restaurant now" He laughed.

You stood up, dropping your bag on the chair as you walked over to Art, sitting by his head as he looked up at you.

"What do you wanna do then?" You caressed his cheek, smiling down at him.

"I have a few ideas.." His head turned to kiss your palm as his lips made its way up your arm till he was on his knees infront of you.

You stared at him blankly, sucking in your bottom lip as you took in the situation. You both paused for a brief moment staring at eachother.

You leaned in, kissing him roughly as your hands dropped to his back, pulling him closer as his hands slid up the back of your dress as he squeezed your ass. One thing about Art he loved your ass.

The pair of you tumbling with one another as you yanked down his boxers slightly as the back, grabbing a chunk of his ass with his hand as you sucked onto his tongue. A soft moan leaving his lips as you yanked down his boxers completely rolling over as you caged him below you.

"Mm- want you- s'bad" You pulled at his lip as you sucked on it, grinding down against his bare cock as you reached to pull your dress off in one swift motion.

"Fuck- good girl-" He groaned as he unclasped your bra throwing it off as he pulled your neck and pulled you back into another kiss. It was passionate but needy. The way his tongue slipped in and out of your mouth had you yearning for more. You reached down to wriggle out of your panties as you kicked them off to the side before you held the base of his dick. Running it between your slit as you gasped, pulling away from the kiss.

You bit your lip, sighing as you bucked your hips against his tip. Your hands sliding up over your breasts as you peered down at him. "You piss me off how fucking hot you are. Why are you so fucking hot" You groaned, grinding down harder against him as he harshly gasped.

"Shut up" He whined lightly as he grabbed your hip, lifting you up so he could grab his cock and curve it up towards your entrance as he dropped you down against his abdomen as his cock slipped up inside of you. "Fuck-" You both yelped in unison.

You peered down at him, chuckling softly as you let out soft moans as you rocked back and forth against him. "Oh fuck-" You grit your teeth as your hand slid down his chest as you rocked back and forth. Your thighs slightly twitching as your eyes threatened to roll back.

"Such a good girl f'me aren't you" He smirked, sliding a hand up overs your stomach. This was something Art tended to do. You knew you were chubbier that other girls you'd seen him with before but he was definitely into it. His smile grew as he slid them further up to grip your breast as he squeezed and toyed with it.

You smirked down at him, leaning forward slightly, pecking his lips as your ass rebounded against his abdomen as you dropped down on him continously as you rode him.

"Good.." You spoke with breathy moans as light whines escaped Art's lips as he stared into your eyes. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. The way his eyes watched you.

His hands dropped from your breasts, gripping onto the plush of your thighs as he whined slightly, spreading his legs below you.

You could feel his hips thrusting up into your for more, as you bit your lip moaning lightly. "Yessss~ fuck. Art- s-so good" You yelped as his hands gripped your waist before flipping you onto your back. The movement shocked you but the second he got his balance he began to piston into you.

You reached back, grabbing the headboard of the bed as you yelped. Whines and moans pouring from your mouth as Art demolished you. His hips slamming into you. His balls slapping into your ass as the bed creaked below the pair of you. One of his hands, gripping at a chunk of your thigh as his thumb caressed against the skin. The other, reaching for one of yours as your fingers interlocked with one another.

You reached forward grabbing his ass harshly with your free hand, as you squeezed it, looking up at him, biting your lip.

His mouth ghosting over yours as he let out soft whines and groans - just like he does in tennis. Fuck do you love the sounds he makes when he's playing fucking tennis...

"Yes- Fuck Art please.. Harder" you groaned, your hand removing from his as they both flew to his back, your nails scratched down it as he pounded harder into you.

His groans got louder and needier, as his hands returned to your chunk sides, his fingers dug harder into your hip. His thrusts became sloppier, you knew he was close.

Art threw your legs over his shoulders as he slammed back into you. A guttural moan yelping from your throat as you shrieked, his pace quickening as you whined. Your nails digging into his shoulder as your back arched down against him as your eyes rolled back as you drew closer to your climax.

He knew you were close abd so was he. He continue to pump into you as fast as he could till you both came undone. Both cumming together, his head hung low as he watched a mixture of your releases create a ring at the bottom of his cock as he thrusted a few more times, dragging the pair of you through the high.

"Fuck-" He groaned as he pulled out, biting his lip as he leaned back on his legs as he stared down at you panting.

You looked at the disheaved boy infront of you, you couldn't help but let out a breathy chuckle as he panted.

"S'good as always" You smiled, sitting up as you pecked his lips.

Art leaned forward, kissing you deeper as his hand snaked around your neck, pulling you closer as he kissed you. You hummed softly, your tongue swiping over his lips as the kiss grew more heated.

Before the pair of you could even consider a second round a loud string of knocks banged against the door.

The two of you pulled away and froze. Your hand pressed against his chest, your other frozen as you stroked his cock. His hands cupping your face as the pair of you just stared at each other.

After a while no knocks were heard so you were going to continue till another string of loud knocks.

"Fuck" You hissed as the pair of you both stood up, grabbing your clothes as you tried to quickly dress.

Your dress nowhere to be seen amongst the large pile of clothes. "Art where the fuck is my dress-" You whispered shouted.

"Shhh!-" He quipped. You grabbed his dress shirt he was wearing off the floor and threw it on over your underwear. He was scrambling around the room looking for his shirt when he looked at you wearing it.

He quickly pulled on his trousers and opened his wardrobe for a tshirt as he stumbled to the door. You stood behind him.

You don't know what you both expected or who you expected to be behind the door. But the colour drained from both of your faces as the door revealed your two friends.

"I texted you Y/N that we were outside 10 minutes ago but I can see you were occupied" Tashi raises her eyebrow, a sickly smirk across her face.

You gulped as you stared at her, smiling awkwardly.

"Tash- did you figure out where Y/N was-" Patrick's voice could be heard down the hall as he gained closer to the door. Stopping behind Tashi as he stared at you and Art. "Fucking knew it" He laughed.

If you enjoyed this fic and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here!

[cece693]

You’re such a good writer, I love you work! Could you please do some Steve Rogers x male reader x Bucky Barnes? I’d really appreciate it.

I couldn't help myself but write you dating pre-serum Steve and Bucky. I don't really see many fics centered around that time, focusing rather on the future when they reunited. I think this fic came out bittersweet since you are drafted to war and it's up to the reader to decide if you survive or perish. Part 2, maybe—maybe not. Enjoy!

Promise To Return

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader x steve rogers tags: 1940s, you are all in a relationship, pre serum Steve and bucky, you are drafted to war, painful goodbyes, serving your country, but at what costs, sad Bucky and Steve, open ended

You first notice the draft letter in the afternoon, tucked amidst the day’s mail. The bold black lettering on the envelope snags your eye, heart clenching at the sight of the government stamp. It’s a warning sign of the storm about to come crashing down. For a long moment, you stand there on the front step of your parents’ Brooklyn home, the envelope in your trembling hand. The weight of it is unmistakable. You swallow hard, slip it into your jacket, and step inside.

Your parents barely look up—your mother’s in the kitchen, humming while she arranges some flowers in a vase; your father is fiddling with the radio. They’ve both seen the news reels and the notices posted around the city, but they have no idea that one has arrived for you. You skirt past them and hurry up to your room, heart pounding, mind racing with one question: How am I going to tell Steve and Bucky?

That night, you lay awake, letter in hand, re-reading the official summons: your name, the location of your reporting station, and the dreaded date only a few weeks away. No matter how you turned the page or tried to blot out the words, they remained the same. You thought about Steve—about how he’d press his face into your shoulder when he was afraid, about the way he always tried to stay brave. And you thought about Bucky—his confidence, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes whenever he looked at you.

You promised yourself you’d get through telling them. Somehow.

The next morning, you mustered the courage to slip out, telling your parents you'd be seeing "some friends." In truth, you headed straight to the apartment that Steve shares with Bucky. It’s cramped—nothing more than a bedroom and a shared kitchenette, but you three have made the best of it. It’s a place of refuge from a world that wouldn’t understand what you are to each other: best friends, confidants and something much deeper.

You knock once on the rickety door, and you can hear Bucky’s familiar drawl asking who’s there. As soon as he hears your voice, he throws the door open, wearing that quick, welcoming grin. But the moment he notices your tense shoulders, the way your eyes dart anxiously around, his expression falters.

“Hey,” he says quietly, letting you in with a cautious glance down the hallway, checking if anyone’s watching. “You okay? You look spooked.”

Steve, perched on the arm of the couch, sifted though a few sketches he'd done. He’s got graphite smudged on his fingers and a slight crease of concentration on his brow. His face lights up in that gentle way you adore—until he sees the strain in your eyes. “What happened?”

You carefully close the door behind you, take a shaky breath, and withdraw the letter from your pocket. “I—I got this,” you said, offering it to them.

Bucky’s brows furrowed before he even opened it. He scanned the page, and you could practically see his blood run cold. “No. There’s gotta be a mistake.” His voice rose in pitch as fear warred with desperation. “Maybe they got your name mixed up with someone else’s—”

“Buck,” you murmured gently. “It’s official. It’s got my number. There’s no mistake.”

Steve’s hands tremble. He looks up at you, blue eyes wide with an unspoken plea, as though hoping you’re playing some horrible joke. “Is this real?” he whispers. “They’re sending you—”

“Overseas,” you finish flatly, because the letter gives no illusions. “They want me to report for duty in a few weeks. Same as all the other guys on the block who’ve been drafted.”

Steve’s eyes welled with tears he tried and failed to blink back. “I—I can’t believe this,” he choked out. “You can’t go…I mean, you can’t just leave.”

“I don’t want to,” you said, your own throat tight. “But it’s not like I have a choice.”

Bucky’s face twisted, his anger boiling over. “Don’t say that! We’ll figure something out!” He grabbed you by the shoulders. “We can talk to Dr. Erskine—he’s working on that program, the one that helps with—”

"That’s not for me,” you interrupted quietly, your voice trembling. “He’s only looking for certain recruits. And even if it was for me…I still don’t get to say ‘no’ to the Army.”

Bucky looked as if he were on the edge of panic. “Then we’ll hide you,” he insisted, voice ragged. “I know a guy who runs a shipping yard. Maybe he can put you on a cargo ship somewhere until this all blows over.”

“We can’t just—”

“Why not?” Bucky’s tone was pleading, irrational. “You’re not even trying to stop this,” he fired at you, desperation morphing into hurt. “You’re acting like there’s nothing you can do. Like you’re willing to go!”

"I don't want to!” you shout, voice cracking. “But I’ve got no choice. I could get thrown in jail—maybe even worse. And it’d only draw more attention to us. You know that.”

Steve had been uncharacteristically quiet, tears sliding unchecked down his cheeks. Suddenly, he let out a choked sob and pressed himself against you, his fingers gripping the back of your shirt as though he could fuse you together by force of will alone. “I can’t do this without you,” he murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”

All you could do was hold him close. You gently tugged Bucky closer as well, wrapping an arm around him. Despite the swirl of anger and grief in his eyes, he leaned in, burying his face against your shoulder. You stood there for what felt like forever, locked in a silent embrace that felt too fragile for words.

Days pass in a blur of tension. Your parents are proud—once they finally learn the news—and though there’s concern in their eyes, they show you off to friends and family like a soldier-in-the-making. You go through the motions, letting them gush about your “service for the country,” but you're numb to it all.

Steve and Bucky oscillated between tense denial and tearful acceptance. One night, you caught them arguing in hushed whispers. Bucky wanted to bribe a doctor to declare you unfit. Steve tried to reason that if it was that simple, they would have done it for him, too—he’d been rejected from service so many times, but for him it was the other way around. He’d wanted to join, and they wouldn’t let him. Now here you were, being forced in. The irony wasn’t lost on any of you.

As the dreaded day of your departure drew near, you spent every free hour in Steve and Bucky’s company, refusing to let go. You idly flipped through Steve’s sketches, listening to him murmur how he’d draw you every day so he wouldn’t forget a single angle of your face. You let Bucky fold you into his arms while he whispered about the times you’d had as kids—summers spent at the docks, or sneaking into a movie. He spoke as though clinging to those memories would keep you safe overseas.

Finally, the last day arrives. You awaken to your mother’s sad smile over breakfast, your father giving you a stiff pat on the shoulder. There’s that undercurrent of pride in the house, but also dread. You’ve promised them you’ll write whenever possible. Still, your mind’s already racing ahead, thinking about how to spend your final hours before shipping out.

By late afternoon, you’re at Steve and Bucky’s door one last time. The letter with your final instructions sits in your bag, telling you to board a train at dawn. You knock softly, and Bucky yanks the door open, eyes rimmed red as if he hasn’t slept. Steve stands behind him, pale and tense. Neither of them say hello; the weight of goodbye presses down too hard.

Without speaking, they usher you in. Steve hovers, wringing his hands. Bucky folds his arms, leaning heavily against a wall. You can feel the swirl of unsaid emotions in the air. “Hey,” you start gently. “I wanted to be with you both until I have to go.”

Bucky can’t meet your eyes. Steve swallows, steps closer, and takes your hands in his. “You’ll write to us, right?” he pleads. His voice is shaking, raw with emotion.

“Every chance I get,” you promise. “Letters, postcards…whatever I can manage.”

“Promise,” Steve repeats, so desperately you can’t help but pull him into a tight embrace. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you say in his ear, while your eyes flick over to Bucky. He’s still silent, staring at the floor. “Bucky…”

He exhales roughly and then, in one swift motion, pushes off the wall to stand in front of you. “I’m coming with you.” His voice is hoarse, but resolute.

It’s such a startling statement that your breath catches. Steve spins around, eyes wide. Bucky rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ll enlist tomorrow. We’ll ship out together. At least that way—that way I can protect you.”

Your heart pounds. As insane as it sounds, a tiny selfish part of you wants to say yes. You don’t want to face war alone. But the rational part knows better. You see the alarm in Steve’s face—Bucky is the only one who can keep watch over Steve, scrawny and plagued by health issues he’s had since he was a kid. The last thing you want is for Bucky to follow you into hell when Steve is already so vulnerable.

You shake your head, voice quavering with emotion. “Buck, no. It’s…it’s bad enough that one of us has to go, but you—you don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Bucky barks, tears glistening in his eyes. “I can’t just stand here while you head off to get shot at on some battlefield.”

“And what about Steve?” you retort, your voice trembling. “Who’s gonna take care of him if both of us are gone?”

He falls silent, fists shaking at his sides. Steve, face flushed with emotion, steps forward, placing a tentative hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Don't leave me,” Steve whispers. “I—I can’t lose both of you.”

Bucky’s shoulders heave as he fights back sobs. He shuts his eyes, head tilting back, as though searching for an answer in the ceiling. Finally, he lets out a shaky breath. “I hate this,” he chokes out. “I hate everything about this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and reach for Bucky, tugging him close until he relents and wraps his arms around you. Steve presses in from behind, cocooning you in warmth. The three of you ended up huddled together for a long, painful stretch of time. Gentle touches, whispered promises, desperate assurances that you’d be reunited, that somehow this war would end quickly. Each kiss felt like it might be the last, pressed to foreheads, cheeks, lips, anywhere to keep the connection alive.

Eventually, when darkness starts creeping in through the thin curtains, you realize your time was done. “I have to go,” you murmur. “I’ll have to be up early for the train.” The words taste bitter. Each one feels like an ending.

Bucky’s hands linger on your arms. “I’m walking you home, then.”

Steve nods, eyes still glossy. “Me too.”

The streets outside are quiet, the lamps casting long shadows on the sidewalk. Steve walks close by your side, as if terrified any gap between you means losing you that much sooner. Bucky’s presence is solid at your other side, glancing darkly at any passerby who looks your way. No one would guess that the three of you share more than just friendship. They just see three solemn men making their way through the late evening gloom.

Finally, you arrive at the front of your parents’ house. The curtains are drawn; the lights are off—your folks likely went to bed early, knowing you had a big morning ahead. You turn to face your boys: Steve looked like he could hardly stand, while Bucky hovered beside him, his arm around Steve's shoulders, the two of them visibly bracing each other.

“Don’t be a hero,” Steve whispers fiercely. “Just stay safe and come back to us. Please.”

“If anything happens,” Bucky adds, voice thick with emotion, “I swear I’m coming for you. War or not.”

A sad smile ghosts across your lips. “I believe you.” You force yourself to step away from them, stepping onto the stoop. “Promise me you'll look after each other." They both nod, though Bucky’s jaw works like he’s fighting more words. Instead, he just reaches for your hand and squeezes it once, hard, before letting go.

“Don't forget to write," Steve says.

“I will. Every chance I get. I’ll write so often you’ll get sick of me.”

“Never,” Bucky said in a choked whisper. “We could never…” He trailed off, unable to finish. You give them a smile before turning around and opening the door to step inside. You watch through the curtains Bucky squeezing Steve's shoulder before walking away, seeing their figures getting smaller until they completely disappear around the curve.

[charrfie]

I recently had a clinical trial related dream and wanted to draw some moments from it. Below the read more I've included my dream journal entry of it and another bonus sketch!

The dream takes place after the events of the game itself, where angel and lee had been living together for roughly a year now. They settled into a schedule and were well accustomed to their daily rhythms. Angel, however, had used this time to start considering what they wanted to do with their life. Now that they weren't reliant on a paycheck to paycheck life, they could consider options and career paths that actually brought them joy, weren't detrimental to their health, and weren't too demanding of them. And so, for the first time in a long while, angel considered going back to college. Lee was quick to encourage them! They didn't know what they wanted to do quite yet aside from being in a creative field, so they planned to go in for general courses and eventually settle into a certain path. Unfortunately for lee, the college they would get into was states away (a couple days drive), and so he missed them terribly but still cheered them on in following their passions.

At first, they had some difficulty making friends. They weren't eager to open up and were afraid that if they did make friends there, they would eventually get burnt out from school a second time and leave them behind. Their favorite class in the first weeks turned out to be a film class! Their roommate also ended up in this same class, and so as luck would have it, they became fast friends despite angel's worries. She was a very adri-equivalent character.... though she WAS someone else in this dream. Unfortunately though, angel would also go on to make enemies with a girl in the same class that was incredibly rude to them for no reason, sabotaging them throughout the semester, tripping them, talking smack about them in front of their face, etc. Even going so far as to spread rumors about angel that almost got angel suspended from the school. It was probably transphobia or something idk; there's no other discernable reason for the random hatred campaign she was running. Thankfully, angel was still well-liked by their classmates and teachers. But it did wear on them.

Lee calls to check up on them often, always offering to make the drive up there in case angel needs anything, though angel is quick to assure him things are working out. They do confide in him about their bully, which he can tell is bothering them, even if they brush it off. He's worried sick about them being so far from home and having to deal with that.

As the semester nears it's end, and angel is getting ready to go back home in a couple weeks for break, they begin making a breakthrough with their bully. Again, for no discernable reason! All of a sudden she's nicer to them, even if there's traces of malice in their interactions with one another. Maybe school WILL be alright, they think. If this works out. If it's all settled. Maybe she's starting to see me as a person instead of a freak to harass.

With the closing of the semester comes two things: one, finals are due. In angel's film class, they're meant to bring in a final film they've shot to present to the class. As these presentations are happening, they're set to have a party in class, with everyone bringing different foods to eat while the watchparty happens! Two, after finals are completed, the last two weeks of the semester will be spent on a field trip where everyone will stay at a fancy hotel and get to go on museum trips to learn about art/film. So of course, angel excitedly speeds to class the morning of the watchparty, only to stop in their tracks when they see a very suspicious looking lee that is painfully aware he is not doing a very good job of hiding. As angel walks up to him, he visibly deflates, trying to excuse it with "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I was worried." Angel gives him a hard time about it, saying "you couldn't have waited two more weeks?" Despite their teasing though, they feel bashful about the fact that he drove all that way with the intention of just checking on them in secret and driving back home immediately after. So they tell him that they have to go to class, but once they're done then they can let him stay in their dorm room, he only needs to busy himself in the meantime.

They make it to class at the last minute, film hard drive and brownies in hand. Considering that they've been talking about lee all semester with their classmates, they're eager to mention that he's visiting the campus today, so everyone's free to meet him if they want. They do note, however, that their bully isn't in class today, and they're admittedly a bit relieved because- even if they've been making progress with her- they still would rather not send out an open invitation for her to hang out after class. As they settle down and the first films are being pulled up by the teacher on the projector, somehow (AND DON'T ASK ME HOW, ITS JUST DREAM LOGIC) the projector screen at the front of the room suddenly lights up with security camera footage of a random hallway at the school (WHY DID THE TEACHER HAVE ACCESS TO THIS AND WHY WAS IT THE COMPUTER DEFAULT????), and on it is lee chasing down angel's bully into a stairwell. The teacher does not make note of this because she's having too much difficulty figuring out technical problems with plugging in the students' hard drives, so angel darts out of the classroom unnoticed, along with other class friends that follow them.

While I don't remember the exact details of the conversation that followed, angel explained to everyone that they needed to find those two before anything bad happened, and the group split up. Cue running around the school montage! Angel kept trying to call lee in hopes that they could distract him and find out where he was, to no avail.

Out of breath and awfully dizzy after 15 minutes of sprinting around the campus, angel shakily walked out onto a random balcony to get some fresh air and sit down, only to find lee sitting out there already. A lee with........ blood on him, they found. It wasn't a lot, just enough to notice it on his face and a few drops on his shirt. But it was enough to get angel mad enough that they forgot about their dizziness. As soon as lee noticed them, he looked at them silently like a sad, wet puppy who knows he's about to get in trouble. And he was. Bc angel was fucking pissed, not frozen and terrified like the last time they found brandon's body. Not only were they furious over the fact that the day they had been so looking forward to got interrupted by this, not only were they furious that lee had done this AGAIN after promising he wouldn't ever, but the fact that they had been making actual PROGRESS in the relationship they had with this girl and had other ways of addressing it was really the cherry on top. So they fully let into him for it, getting angry enough that they were brought to tears.

Again, the details of the conversation are fuzzy, but I do remember at one point lee said "the people that have passed me on this balcony keep asking ME if I'm alright because they think I've just had a nose bleed," kind of cluing angel in on the fact that he very intentionally didn't clean himself up because he knew he wasn't supposed to do this again and wanted to self sabotage by getting caught before angel could see him. Angel doesn't know what to say or how to handle the situation at all, so they tell lee to just go back to their room, exasperated, and they'll figure out what to do about this later.

There's a bit of a time skip after this point. I know angel returned to their room at some point, only going back to class to tell their teacher that they weren't feeling well and needed to leave early. I can't recall what happened to any evidence of the murder, but it was never an issue. And for the next few days angel makes lee follow them around EVERYWHERE, even on their field trip, bc they don't trust him not to go off and do something stupid (either to someone else to himself). They even make arrangements for him to come on the field trip with them because they don't want to let him out of their sight.

The rest of the dream is the fuzziest (and also I'm tired of writing), but it revolved around the two slowly trying to repair their relationship. Even after the field trip was over and break had started, angel said that they didn't want to go back home and wanted to spend more time away from the house, thinking that maybe their distance from lee at college had perhaps allowed him to spiral into his unhealthy thought patterns again, which he never mentioned over the phone since he wanted to make room for angel's grievances, considering how much they are dealing with. Maybe being on vacation might help. And despite how heavy everything in the dream was prior to this, it eventually lead to some especially cute moments between the pair. Also I remember tammy from anthology of the killer being there at one point for some reason. The end that's all I'm writing. Thank you.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Crushing On The Nerdy Guy At Work

Masterlist

Next Chapter

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Synopsis: You can't stop thinking about the adorably awkward tech genius with messy hair and a slight smile that had made your heart flutter more than you'd like to admit. Too bad he barely knows you exist.

Tags: NSFW, characters are in their twenties, coworkers to lovers, oposites attract, nerd/popular, she fell first, virgin hero, first time, one-sided pining (reader has a massive crush on Tim), Angst, betrayal,

Tim Drake was brilliant, and there was no other way to put it. When he wasn’t glued to his computer, he was sketching complex symbols into his notepad, his messy dark hair falling into his eyes as he worked. You’d caught yourself watching him once or twice. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and those piercing blue eyes behind thick glasses that seemed to analyze everything around him. He was the opposite of the jock type you usually went for. But something about him just made you catch your breath. You decided you were being punished for overlooking guys like him in high school and college...

As Gotham PD's PR associate, you got to see the detectives at work, especially if you had to take pictures for press releases.

Tim’s skinny frame was deceiving. He must have had some sort of training growing up. You'd seen him take down guys twice his size when he trained. Unlike the other detectives who had burly builds, Tim was lean but strong. His shoulders were broader than you would expect for a "tech nerd," and his arms and chest toned - visible when his shirt sleeves pulled tight on those rare days when he wasn't drowning in his oversized hoodies.

You always dressed to impress. After a long year of figuring your shit out, you left you bougie corporate job and replaced it with the gotham police department. You didn't know exactly what would lead to it, but you knew you wanted to serve the public rather than exploit it. That meant that all the high-end fashion you wore would fit right in at your old brand, but in the PD, you stood out. Tweet blazers, skirts, clean button ups, and knee-high boots. Your clothes are highly contrasted from the sports shoes, jackets, and practical clothes you saw worn each day.

But the attention you got for it was good.

After catching his eyes lingering on you in the office, you tried flirting with him. It didn't go well.

A couple of days ago, he sat at the kitchen table, alone, scribbling on his notepad. His hands, calloused but delicate, were mesmerizing you while you sat and ate your lunch surrounded by chatty co-workers. You noted small scars on his knuckles and fingers, always raising questions that you didn't have the guts to ask.

You got up from your own table and walked up to him, your heels clicking with each step.

"Hey," you began, clearing your throat to steady your voice. "How’s the Phantom investigation going?"

Tim looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. His blue eyes flicked over you, quick but observant. "Slow. Phantom’s code isn’t cracking anytime soon." He tilted his head. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know." You waved your hand. "Same old, same old. Just got off the phone with the mayor. No big deal." You winced at how obnoxious that sounded, but Tim offered a faint smile.

"Uhmm..." You hesitated, taking a seat next to him. His scent was a mix of coffee and old spice. "You know, Tim, I think you're really nice, and..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to go on.

Only, you didn't know what to say.

This hasnt happened since middle school...

You were always confident around men. You knew what to say to have them in the palm of your hand.

And now, with Tim, you choked. Like you were back in middle school or something.

"What I mean is," you continued. "You’re kind of the cutest guy in the office - " your eyes widened. You didn't mean to reveal that.

Tim spared you a small smile before turning back to his notes. "Ha. Very funny, y/n." He pushed up his glasses, then stood and walked away, wishing you a good day.

You frowned, not knowing whether you should be relieved or disappointed. He thought you were joking.

"I don't get you." Jake bit into his bagel as he leaned against Tim’s desk. "The hottest girl on our team wants you and you just... walk away?"

Tim turned away from his screen to look at his friend, shrugging his confusion.

"Y/n," Jake clarified. "She was flirting with you at lunch -"

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples. "She was joking, Jake. Come on, you really think someone like her would go for... me?"

"She called you the cutest guy in the office!"

Tim pushed his glasses up. "Girls like her don’t go for awkward computer nerds." Not to mention, virgins, he thought.

"By girls like her, you mean...?" Jake pressed.

Tim chuckled. "You know exactly what I mean. Beautiful, sweet, charming. She could get anyone she wants."

"Bro, she wants YOU though!"

"She does not. Trust me." He shook his head. "Now, go away, please. I need to focus." Tim looked back at the screen, the code looking back at him in patterns.

The Phantom’s latest message was a cipher. A complex one. He’d spotted a recurring theme, though. The symbols seemed to resemble constellations.

Jake groaned before muttering. "Youre the dumbest smart person I know," then, taking another bite of his bagel, he walked back to his desk.

The day Tim rejected you, you came home sulking. When your roommate saw your face, she raised a brow.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

You let out a groan, flopping down onto the couch and reaching for the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. "Tim," you muttered.

"'Hot Nerd' Tim?” Your roommate asked. She knew how much you’d been into him.

"Yeah. I tried flirting with him, but he ignored me." You grabbed the wine glass, pouring a generous amount into it.

"Wait... would this be like... the first time a guy has ever rejected you?" Your roommate asked, laughing.

You ignored her because yes, it was. "There’s this intensity about him, Jess." You sighed, looking at her. "Like, he’s always so capable, so... smart. And he's so humble about it, you know? Not like those guys at forensics, that man-splain everything. And that makes him so... damn attractive. Even if he doesn’t see it." You took another sip of wine and set the glass down, glaring at it.

Your roommate stared at you for a long moment. "Yeah, you need to get laid."

"I know." You groaned.

"Well, lucky for you," she said with a raised brow, "I need a wingwoman tonight. Get dressed."

You weren’t in the mood to go out, but maybe a distraction was what you needed. The guy you ended up coming home with was the type you usually went out with. A finance bro named Jared with perfectly styled hair and an expensive suit. He was charming and a good kisser

It didn’t take long for you to realize everything about Jared was wrong. He wore a designer suit when you preferred a wrinkled button-down, with rolled up sleeves and dark jeans. His loafers were clean and new, but you would have liked dirty sneakers. And he was missing something essential: a pair of smudged, square-rimmed glasses.

Despite all that, you went along with it, kissing him back, but your mind wandered back to a certain awkward tech genius with messy hair and shy smile that had made your heart flutter more than you'd like to admit. You found yourself imagining Jared was Tim, and every touch, every kiss became more interesting.

Suddenly, Jared broke the kiss, looking down at you with a frown. "Who's Tim?" His voice felt like a cold splash to your face.

You froze, blinking up at him. “Huh?"

"You were moaning 'Tim,'" he said, his tone accusatory.

Your face turned red. "Oh my god," you muttered, avoiding his gaze. You didn't even realize you were whispering Tim’s name. "I’m sorry," you said. "I shouldn’t have - there's this guy at work - ugh. I'm sorry, Jared."

You expected him to be rightfully upset. What you didn't expect was the reassuring hand placed on your shoulder.

"I get it." He said, sitting up. "I'm kind of on the same boat actually."

You looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. There’s this girl on our data team. No matter what I do, I can’t get her out of my head." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Stupid fuckin nerd."

You chuckled at that. "Tell me about it.

The next day, Tim came to the office with hollowed out cheeks and bags under his eyes. It was clear last night was another sleepless night of work for him.

He marched into the captain's office, closing the door behind him.

Halfway through your meeting in the conference room, the door swung open, and Tim walked in, Jim Gordon at his side. Both men were dressed in gear. Bulletproof vests with "GPD" printed boldly across the front. Tim held a handgun, meticulously checking the bullets in the chamber. His movements were calm and precise, but his eyes burned with intensity.

The room stilled. Gordon nnounced, "We’ve got a lead on the Phantom. Squad One, you’re with me. Squad Two, you’ll follow Drake."

The nervous tech genius you were used to seemed to vanish. Tim's usual fidgeting hands gripped his weapon with precision, and his hunched posture straightened into one of authority.

As he broke down the plan of action, even the detectives who usually brushed him off as “the kid prodigy” were silent. And you felt it too. This side of Tim was undeniably captivating.

In under an hour, the squads was deployed, and both Tim and Gordon led their teams out into the field.

Three hours later, the Phantom was caught. Tim’s code-breaking that led them to the hideout. As the criminal was hauled into the precinct in cuffs, Tim stood quietly to the side, his shoulders finally relaxing. Exhaustion lingered in his features, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. All the while, you stood on the sidelines and looked on in awe.

The team celebrated at a local pub. At the captain's insistence, Tim joined despite his usual aversion to social gatherings.

When you stepped onto the small stage to read the press release you’d written about the case, Tim couldn’t help but watch. You looked stunning in a frilly top tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged your waist.

As you spoke, his lips moved silently along with yours, already having memorized every word when you’d sent the draft to the team earlier. You made him sound like a hero. It was… nice.

Tim looked adorable, sitting beside Jake, his hair falling over his forehead in a way that made it seem like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Rose, a paralegal who worked closely with you, cleared her throat. "You’re staring."

You blinked, startled. "No, I’m not."

"Oh, come on, Rose," Karl chimed in, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n's allowed to admire Gotham’s best boy."

"Ignore them," Maria from forensics said, sliding into a seat beside you.

Your table had grown larger as the night progressed, but despite the lively company, your eyes kept drifting back to Tim. You wanted to invite him over. If only you could have him alone.

"So, Y/N, what song are you gonna sing?" someone asked, nodding toward the karaoke session currently underway on the mini stage of the bar.

You laughed. "Not sure yet. Any suggestions?" You looked around the table, and in a moment, you received about ten shouts of song ideas.

Rose teased, leaning closer. "I have one. It's not a suggestion, but it is a challenge."

"Go on?" You raised a brow, waiting for her to continue.

"I dare you to get a kiss from the genius boy tonight."

The rest of the table broke out into one collective. "Ooooh,"

You eyed Rose. She knew exactly how to get under your skin.

Grinning, you tossed a French fry into your mouth and rose from your seat. You sauntered over to put in your song request, then returned to your table, excitement buzzing as you waited for your turn.

You smiled sweetly as you sang a song Tim didn’t recognize.

Apparently, everyone else knew it, though. His coworkers sang along enthusiastically.

What the hell did "bed chem" even mean? That wasn't a word, right?

The ones who weren’t singing were ogling you outright, and Tim could hardly blame them. The way you flipped your hair and batted your eyelashes sent his face burning.

Tim swallowed, shifting awkwardly on his chair and clutching his beer. Every glance you sent his way made his chest tighten, though he tried to convince himself it was all in his head.

Still, the idea that you might be looking at him made his thoughts spiral. He cleared his throat and cast his gaze down, pretending to focus on the contrnt of his bottle.

Cheers erupted around him as you finished the song, offering a playful bow. You handed the mic back to the DJ and stepped down from the small stage, making your way to him

Tim tensed. By the time you stopped in front of him, his mind had gone blank. You bit your lip - an innocent gesture, but the shiny pink of your lipstick made his vision go hazy.

"Can we step outside for a moment?" you asked in a sweet tone.

Tim blinked, not registering the words, too stuck on the fact that you were so close, your perfume smelled like roses.

"Uh… sure?" he mumbled, unsure if he’d heard you right but unwilling to make you repeat yourself.

You tilted your head toward the exit. Tim stood, feeling strange, and followed you, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Outside, you turned back to face him, the night air crisp against your skin. "Hi."

Tim shifted nervously, his back pressing against the cool brick wall behind him. "H-hey."

"I have a confession to make," you said, stepping closer, your gaze lingering on his lips. You noticed the way his eyes darted to yours.

He swallowed hard. "O-okay -"

Without another word, you rose onto your tiptoes, closing the small distance between you, and kissed him.

Tim froze, clearly caught off guard, but then his lips began to move against yours, tentative but eager, and his hands hovered awkwardly before finally wrapping around your waist. His grip was firm yet cautious, pulling you closer.

When you pulled back, you smiled, breathless. "Do you want to come back to my place?"

Tim blinked at you, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. He stammered, "U-uh... can we just... pause for a moment?"

You stepped back slightly, hugging yourself against the cool breeze. "Sure,"

Tim shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he began to speak.

"Y/n," he said hesitantly, his voice low and unsure. "I sometimes have trouble knowing when people are joking or being serious. Like... right now."

You tilted your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Tim, I’m serious. I want to take you home."

His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "I-I mean, that sounds... amazing. But..." He hesitated, his eyes darting away before meeting yours again. "I wouldn’t even know what to do with you."

The vulnerability in his voice made you pause. You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his palm. "Do you mean…?"

Tim’s face burned brighter as he nodded. "Yeah."

Instead of laughing or teasing like hed expected, you laced your fingers with his, squeezing gently. There was something about his confession that made your pulse quicken. "Would you like me to show you?"

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave a small, nervous nod.

The dim light of your bedroom cast a warmth across your tidy place and the only sounds were coming from the heater and the city outside your window.

Tim was fidgety, avoiding eye contact as you planted kisses along his jaw while gently undoing the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched when you kissed his neck, his hips rolling under you.

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, bringing it to your own top, hinting him on what to do.

His movements were tentative as he began undoing the buttons of your blazer and removing it, leaving you in your bra. His eyes studied the patterns on your undergarment, pretty flowers, and subconsciously, his hand brushed your arm up to your collarbone, enjoying the softness of your skin, making you shiver. He liked that.

Your own work had resulted in removing his shirt, showcasing his impressive bare chest and torso, riddled with valleys of muscle and scars that you eagerly ran your hands over. You leaned down to plant kisses down his chest. With every lick and nip of his skin, he let out quiet gasps that he could barely contain.

You reached the train of hair from his belly button leading down to his pants, slowly unbuttoning them and lowering them and his boxers. You couldn't help the pang of triumph at seeing him hard. You looked back at him through your lashes. "You like what I'm doing to you?"

He nodded shyly.

You licked up to his tip, making sure to give it extra attention. "I can't hear you, genius boy," you teased.

"Yeah -" he sucked in a breath. "I like it,"

You smiled to yourself, working him with your hands and mouth. You went slow, then accelerated speed, then went slow again. You kept up this pattern for a while, basking in the glow of his responsive body and enjoying his taste. As Tim got comfortable, he grew more assertive, reaching for your hair with his hand and coming wrapping his fingers in your hair. Really wanting his first time to be enjoyable, you hoped his moans and gasps were an indication that you were doing well. You looked up, seeing him squeeze his eyes shut and roll his head back against your wall as he gasped your name. You couldn't believe it. Your unreachable crush was moaning your name. Go you!

You felt his hips tense and knew what was coming, so you sped up your movement, helping him reach his climax, never taking your mouth or hands off him.

Gasping against the wall, Tim looked down at you, his hroad chest moving up and down as he came down from his hogh.

Parted lips, pink cheeks, sweat glistening skin, and hazy eyes all made for a really hot visual, and you couldn't help but bite your lip. He’d clearly enjoyed that, even if he was shy about showing it.

Before you could say anything, he grasped you by your arm and lifted you to sit on his lap in a matter of seconds. Wrapping a firm hand around your nape, he pulled you into a kiss, deep and desperate.

He pulled apart for a moment, leaving you to catch your breath. "Teach me how to make you feel good." He rasped against your mouth.

"O-okay," you stammered, turned on by his eagerness. "Get on your knees in front of me."

He did so with impressive speed, also managing to remove your pants and panties in the process and pulling you to the edge of the bed, holding your legs open for him.

"Wait -" you giggled, cupping his cheeks and bringing his face closer to yours. "Start slow."

Obediently, he began to kiss you. God, you liked kissing him. And he was a good kisser, too. He's definitely had practice doing that. Leaving your lips glistened, he planted a trail down your throat, biting at your collarbones, before soothing the marks with his tongue. The mix of pain and pleasure had you arching against him, and his fingers pulled down the straps of your bra, lowering the garment and baring your breasts to him.

There was hardly any blue left in his eyes as his pupils grew at the sight of your breasts, and he leaned down to kiss your nipple. The warmth of his mouth mixed with the sparks of pleasure he produced with every kiss on your sensitive nub. He did the same with your other nipple, sending pleasure through your whole body, leaving you whimpering and biting back moans so as not to wake your roommate.

Tim watched you with hooded eyes. "Does this feel good?" His focus is on making the experience enjoyable for you.

Your breath hitched. "Yes!"

Tim kept kissing down your breasts to your lower belly, essentially mimicking your earlier movements on him.

When he reached your core, you knew you had already been wet. You didn't know how much it would amaze him. He murmured your name in awe as he closed in on your cunt. His hands grasped at your thighs as he brought his lips to your folds, carefully exploring you with his tongue. Your fingers grasped the bedsheets as your head rolled back. He was eager in his exploration - messily messaging your sensitive muscles with his tongue, mixing his saliva with your juices.

He tightened his grip, not letting you move from his grasp as he ate you out. That heat that situated in your sex spread through your whole body like fire.

"Tim -" You grasped at his messy locks. "Wait,"

He froze, eyes searching yours. "Whats wrong?"

"Nothing," you swallowed. "I'd like to come with you inside me. It just feels better. If that's okay?"

He huffed out a chuckle of relief, running his hand through his hair. "Of course."

"I'll talk you through it." You promised. "It's going to feel good. For both of us." You moved to sit on his lap, reaching for him and aligning him with your entrance. "Do you trust me?"

Like this, you were facing each other, and you could clearly read all of the signs on his facial expression.

"I do." He said.

After rolling on the condom, you slowly lowered yourself on him, letting his stretch you out and adjusting yourself to his size. Your hand shot up to your mouth to smother a desperate moan, and your eyes closed. When they opened, it was to a view of a desperate Tim. His brows were furrowed as he watched you with pleading eyes, his hands gripping your hips.

"Good?" You asked.

"Fuck yes," he brushed his lips against your. "You?"

"Yes," you said, slowly moving up then down, increasing the friction he cause within you. Slowly, Tim began to match your pace, lifting his hips to meet you, brushing deliciously against your nerves with his thrust.

On particular movement had you squealing before you could stop yourself.

"Here?" He asked.

"Uh, huh," you panted. "Please, I'm close -"

He kept thrusting at the same angle, hitting your spot each time. You grabbed on to his shoulders, feeling them flex each time his lifted and lowered you.

"Oh my god," Tim moaned against you. You were squeezing around him tightly. "Kiss me," he pleaded.

You lowered your mouth to his as the two of you continued moving in unison.

"Tim-" before you could say more, your body seized and shook. He continued to thrust into you, his iron grip keeping you in place even when the sensation became too much.

"Tim!" You grasped at his attention and pulling his focus away from you. "S-sensitive!"

Understanding, he backed away from your poor, overstimulated sex, muttering. "Sorry,"

His reaction made you giggle. "Not bad for your first time." You said quietly.

He grinned. "That was... incredible."

You nodded, still out of breath. "You're incredible."

"Thanks," he said, his tone one of disbelief.

You felt the need to clarify. "No, not at sex-"

His brow rose, and he looked like a kicked puppy. "Oh,"

"No!" You rushed to explain. "You're good at that, too! I just meant - " you sighed, closing your eyes. "God, I always get tongue tied around you." You laughed, then took a deep breath and faced him again.

Tim smiled, waiting patiently.

"I meant to say that you - Tim Drake - are incredible. Not just tonight, but the person you are." You said.

Those eyes gazed into you intensely, and now it was your turn to shily look away.

Tim had other ideas. He brought his lips down on yours in a slow, meticulous kiss.

"Thank you," he wispered, smiling against your mouth as the two of you exchanged more soft kisses

On Monday, Tim was sipping his coffee at his desk when he overheard Rose’s unmistakable voice drifting from the break room.

"They’re so cute, oh my god!" she squealed.

Tim couldn’t help but smile, his mind immediately conjuring up images of you.

"I better get invited to their wedding!" Rose continued, laughing. "I’m honestly not sure she would’ve ever kissed him if I didn’t dare her to."

The grin on Tim’s face froze. What?

Rose dared you to kiss him? Is that why you did it?

He tried to rationalize it. Was the rest of the night also part of the dare? Was anything you said or did genuine, or had he just been a pawn in some game between you and your coworkers?

His grip on his coffee mug tightened involuntarily, his thoughts spiraling into shame. That night had meant so much to him. His first! It was nothing more than a casual challenge between friends?

The sharp sound of shattering ceramic brought him back to reality. Tim stared down at his hand, now dotted with small cuts from the broken shards of the mug. Hot coffee dripped onto his desk and the floor.

His chest felt heavy, and his head fillee with thoughts of betrayal. Without another word, he rose from his seat, grabbing a few tissues to wipe his hand. He needed air. He needed space.

You stood alone in the office balcony sipping coffee when Tim stepped out to join you.

"Good morning!" You smiled at him.

He didn't reciprocate your smile. Closing the door, he turned to face you. "Did you get with me because of a dare?"

You nearly choked on your coffee. "What? No!" You blinked up at him, alarmed. "Well, I mean, Rose did dare me - "

Tim’s jaw clenched, and he took a sharp inhale. "That’s all I needed to hear." His voice was tight. The hurt was unmistakable.

"Tim wait," You stepped forward, grabbing his hand. "There's been a misunderstanding, I liked you - "

Tim closed the distance between you, crowding you, his broad shoulders stiff with frustration. His blue eyes flickered with emotion. “How much of Friday night was real, y/n?"

Desperate, your voice strained. "All of it! Please, you have to believe me - "

Tim shook his head bitterly, cutting you off. "God. I’m such an idiot." He turned away from you, his hands running through his hair, face flushed with embarrassment.

"Dont say that!" You rushed forward, but he took another step back, his face hardened. "Tim, please, you don’t understand - "

He turned his back on you completely, his breath heavy with the weight of unspoken words. "Save it."

You stood frozen in the cold silence that followed, a sick feeling settling in your stomach. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone on the balcony.

[upon-sunflower-trails]

hunger hurts but starving works (when it costs too much to love)

viktor x reader | oneshot | 4178 words

slowburn, yearning, angst with a happy ending

warnings: one brief mention of reader wearing a skirt

You hadn't attended the Academy for long before you met Viktor. You wanted to further the technological advancements of Piltover through what knowledge you already had but always sought to learn more. It was what was expected of you. 

You kept to yourself, focusing solely on your work and not much else. 

Viktor was the same way. The two of you had to be top of all of your classes, the way you committed yourselves to your work. It only made sense that you would be partnered up for your final project in one of Heimerdinger's classes. 

It started with simple meetings in the library to discuss what direction you wanted to take the project. 

You doodled on your notes, humming to yourself. You were usually so much more studious than this, but a less-than-ideal week had you in a slump where all you could wish for was finishing the rest of the week under your duvet. 

Viktor narrowed his eyes, much to your discomfort. You knew he was probably writing you off as spacey, incapable. The anxiety clawed at your throat as he spoke. 

"You seem distracted." 

It was the most he'd said to you outside of the classroom, and of course it had to be negative. You felt your cheeks warm as you huffed, setting down your pencil. 

"It's... I'm okay, just..." You struggled to find the words. You hadn't meant for your burnout to carry over into such an important project, let alone one where somebody else was relying on you. You knew you could finish your work on your own time, but he didn't know that— he didn't know anything about you. 

He waved off your attempt. "It's fine." He was back to scribbling away on the paper, though you could still feel his judgment. 

In his presence, your mouth moved before your brain could. You blurted out the very thing that had been on your mind all week. 

"You know, this wasn't always my dream." 

Your voice came out hushed, unsure, as if saying the words aloud would get you into some sort of trouble. The boy from across the table's writing ceased, perking up even as his eyes stayed trained on the page in front of him. 

"... Go on," he urged. This was the first time either of you had a real conversation, and his tone caused warmth to spread through you. 

You straightened up in your seat, adjusting your skirt from beneath the table. "I... I wanted to be an artist, for the longest time," Your fingers traced the indents in the wooden table as you spoke. "To paint the beauty life had to offer me, mold clay into the things I loved the most, sketch people who came in and out of my life." 

Your tone was somber as you watched the shapes your fingertips drew into the surface. Viktor turned his attention from his work to you now, brow quirked upwards. 

"Yet you're here, studying sciences and technology?" His words were careful as he sized you up, causing you to let out a dry chuckle. 

"I know, it makes no sense when I put it that way. But... sometimes you have to give up certain passions to fulfill what you need to become." You chewed on the inside of your cheek, finally picking your pen back up as you finished your ramble. As you met the golden eyes of the boy across from you, you suddenly felt small under his gaze. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, fidgeting with the pen in your grasp. "Ah, anyways, I'll get back to work on my half of the project." 

Viktor shook his head, giving you a small smile. It struck you then that you had never seen him genuinely smile before. "It's ok. I like hearing you talk." 

The awkward silences of your meetings eventually gave way to comfortable chatter, and both of you finished the project earlier than expected. Even then, you still found excuses to be in the other's company. Whether it was grabbing a quick bite to eat after Viktor had neglected to eat a meal that day or working quietly on individual projects, simply happy to be near each other. 

That was how your friendship with Viktor began.  

The two of you only grew closer, discussing every and any topic you could think of until one of you decided the other needed rest. You didn’t go a day without talking to him, until eventually he was a research assistant, and you were on your way to becoming a somewhat-known technological researcher at the Academy.  

When Viktor met Jayce and vouched for him, you immediately supported their endeavors. There weren’t many topics that brought such a light to Viktor’s eye, so seeing the way his passion ignited over simple meetings with the man was enough to convince you. 

You would bring them food when they had been working for hours with no break, slipping an extra baked good to Viktor when you thought Jayce wasn’t looking. When you finally went on your own way with a smile, Jayce sent his colleague a knowing look. 

Focusing on your own work was growing easier, as you found yourself living vicariously through the two men you had grown so much closer to. Their passion was enough to ignite your own, and you became more and more renowned by your peers. Living became easier with Viktor at your side, as the two of you would go out for lunch together every now and again, with Jayce always insisting he had “too much work to do.” 

You did your best to ignore your little crush on Viktor. You had always admired him, how could you not? But you knew better than anyone that it was much more than admiration. He would come to your home on days he knew you weren’t feeling yourself, comforting you with just his presence.  

Those feelings were pushed aside as best as you knew how. It was just a silly crush; Viktor was just a close friend, after all. He was so hard at work anyways, there was really no use in chasing after him or ever hoping for more. 

Even with Jayce constantly teasing you when Viktor left the room for a moment, you pushed down whatever feelings you had for the boy. It was just a simple schoolgirl crush. You would get over it, and Viktor would continue to achieve success with whatever he and Jayce had been working on. 

You'd been startled awake at your desk one night, dozing off while in the middle of researching a new method of transcribing information in Piltover, using a newly developed piece of technology that you couldn't quite remember the name of. Hair pooling out around your head resting against the desk, you were jolted from sleep as the door to your room was flung open. 

An exclamation of your name from a familiar voice was enough for you to whirl around in your seat. Viktor stood there, beaming brightly as he leaned against the doorway. 

"We've done it." 

“Viktor! Jayce,” you called, hugging both men tightly as you raced over to where they stood. Jayce gaped at you, wide smile on his face. 

“You made it? I thought that-” 

“You had a presentation to give on your newest findings,” Viktor finished, looking at you with a raised brow. Despite his concern, you didn’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitched into a small smile. 

Waving off their concerns, you beamed. “You didn’t think I’d miss your big moment, did I?” Your gaze lingered on Viktor for a moment longer before Jayce was called to the stage. In seven years, you still held the same admiration for the man. 

“I’m proud of you, Viktor.” You smiled at him, cheeks heating up slightly as he sent a smirk your way. 

“Jayce is the one who’s out there giving the speech, making this possible for both of us. You should save the congratulatory statements for when he gets off stage.” 

You scoffed at his words. “I’m being serious. I know how much this means to you in particular. I’m really, really happy for you.” 

He had only given you a short ‘thank you’ before you moved into the crowd, hoping to listen to the speech in its entirety. You weren’t sure exactly how Jayce’s speech was supposed to go, but you could tell something was off—especially if the way Viktor reacted when you congratulated the both of them afterwards was anything to go off. You did your best to ignore whatever animosity was lingering between the two as you went on your way, rushing back to where your presentation was taking place.  

You didn’t need the men to know that you’d had to delay your own moment just to be there to witness theirs. 

It was after that night, as you mulled over the way your heart had fluttered when you embraced Viktor, the way your day brightened noticeably more with him around even after all these years, that you came to the realization that you were in love with him. 

When he invited you out the next day to lunch, you found yourself unable to focus even as he lightly ranted to you about his problems with Jayce. 

“...Y/N? Are you listening?” 

His voice cut into your thoughts as your head snapped up, looking at him with wide eyes as you stopped stirring your drink. 

“Uh, yeah... Yeah, of course I am, Viktor.” 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You really are always so easily distracted.” The smile he gave you made your heart soar as you laughed. 

You pushed your feelings aside for one more day as he rambled on, confiding in you. You could’ve painted a thousand pictures just from the way that look in his eyes made you feel. 

The rest of the day was spent on your own as you worked endlessly on research and trials, allowing yourself only a brief respite when you took short breaks to eat. You worked through the night, only stopping when you got news of what had happened. 

You were the first one to know when Viktor had collapsed. You’d dropped everything and rushed to his side, tears pricking at your eyes when you finally saw the state he was in. 

Doctors, nurses, really anybody who came in and out of the room, spoke in hushed tones while glancing at you. It wasn’t until they confirmed you were who they thought that they finally indulged in Viktor’s state with you. 

You’d held your tongue, nodding along with their words while your eyes flitted over to the man you loved, lying comatose on a cot. You slept in the uncomfortable hospital chair, jerking awake every time hospital staff entered and exited the room. Jayce joined you eventually, sending a sympathetic glance your way. 

When Viktor finally stirred, he only quietly asked you how much time he had left. You hadn’t been able to answer, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did your best to quell your tears. 

You stayed with him most of the time, not wanting to leave his side for the duration of his stay. You knew he could take care of himself, advocate for himself, but you were afraid. Afraid of what might happen if you left him alone, frightened that if you dared to leave you would get the news that he had passed.  

He insisted on you holding his hand in yours as he slept, believing that your touch would be what kept him from slipping away while he was sleeping. 

You obeyed. 

But you weren’t sure how to handle it in any semblance of a platonic way. 

You were there when he was finally cleared to leave, as he clung to you like a lifeline once the both of you left. For as long as you’d known him, you’d never seen him look so defeated. Even once you took him home, helping him get settled back in.  

You almost wanted him to beg you to stay, insist on staying however many nights he needed, but you knew that wouldn’t be good for either of you. 

Viktor suggested stargazing with you once he was discharged from the hospital. Even though he needed your help after stumbling, a steady hand on the small of his back as you climbed to the hill you’d went to think many times throughout your time as an Academy student. 

The two of you sat there in silence for a long while, shoulders touching. You hugged your knees to your chest as you took in the stars decorating the sky. It took everything in your power not to stare at the man next to you. 

“I used to stare at the stars as a child constantly.” 

Viktor’s voice finally put an end to the silence. You looked at him now, tilting your head. 

“What?” 

“In Zaun, I would look out at the sky every night and count the stars. I thought about how the night sky in Zaun was the same night sky over Piltover. And yet...” He swallowed thickly, still glaring at the sky. 

You could sense the bitterness in his voice as he tensed up—you knew what he meant. Experimentally, you wrapped an arm around him. His tension eased ever so slightly at your touch. 

“I only want to make things better. For everyone.” You winced at just how quiet his voice had become. “Even if I... don’t have much longer.” 

You pulled him closer to your side, shaking your head. “Viktor, you’ve already done so much. I know you don’t feel you should be proud of yourself, but...” Trailing off, you instead focused on the proximity of you both while looking at the constellations in the sky. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Truly.” 

Another pause, filled with all the things left unsaid between the two of you over seven years. You interrupted the quiet this time. 

“I’ve always wondered how it would feel to burn out as a star.” 

It was the man’s turn to be perplexed by you now. He let out an incredulous laugh, shifting towards you. “Whatever do you mean?” 

Picking at the grass beneath you, you huffed out a sigh. “How it would feel to finally use up every last bit of energy you have, until all the light you have stops shining. Sometimes...” You shook your head, opening your mouth to continue. “No, it’s-” 

Viktor nudged you with his shoulder, cutting you off. “Don’t say it’s stupid. Even your ramblings have value. I want to hear it.” 

There was no point in arguing, then. You steadied the rapid pace of your heart as you began to speak, ignoring the heat rising to your face. 

“... Sometimes, I wonder if burning out as a star would be easier than continuing to work myself to the bone as I am now. If all the pressure I feel now could mix with the heat and push me past the point of burning brightly, so I could flicker and collapse instead.” 

Viktor intertwined his fingers with yours as you spoke, gaze trained intently on your face. You tried to ignore the way it was making you feel. 

“If you ever tire of being a dying star, think of yourself as a supernova instead.” He gave you a small smile. “A star burning out sounds more final. Saying you wish to be a supernova is much better.” 

You both chuckled at his suggestion as Viktor squeezed your hand just a bit tighter. 

He moved to face you, whetting his lips as he opened his mouth, as if to speak, before quickly stopping himself. He leaned in, just by a hair, and your heart jumped. You panicked, and in that moment, you quickly scrambled to hug him. 

Silence enveloped the moment yet again, but it was more comfortable this time. You cherished the moment, deciding not to move away from the embrace just yet, but also neglecting to comment on it. 

A fail to kiss is a fail to cope. 

After that night, you didn’t hear from Viktor for a while—even though you had caught him with flushed cheeks, eyes darting down to your lips as he struggled to focus on gazing at just the stars. You did your best to convince yourself that he was busy. That he wasn’t pushing you away on purpose, running away because he’d figured out your feelings. 

And when ash rained down upon the majority of Piltover, your mind immediately went to Viktor. Hearing about the attack, in the building you knew he was in, caused you to spiral. There were already so many confirmed deaths, you couldn’t bear to think that he was one of them. Jayce was the one to console you through your sobbing before explaining how he had a plan. 

Jayce had found a way to save Viktor. Or, at least, prolong the inevitable. 

Jayce had called you to the lab in the middle of the day, meaning that you expected the worst. That Viktor could no longer hold on. You were put off by the uncharacteristic silence of the lab, Jayce leaned against the desk with his head in his hands. 

“Jayce?” You were almost afraid to speak, not wanting to hear the news you’ve dreaded since Viktor first lost consciousness after Jayce was put on the Council. Thinking of Viktor’s life being cut short before he could accomplish all he wanted, before you could ever tell him all that he meant to you, it was a sickening reality you didn’t want to face. He had been your closest friend for seven years, and now he could be taken from you over circumstances neither of you could control. 

The larger man looked at you. “Y/N...” he sucked in a breath. “Viktor, he left.” You scoffed at his words.  

“He left? He was on the verge of death just last night, and now you’re telling me that he woke up and left everything?” Jayce’s brows only stayed furrowed, and you knew he was being deathly serious as he explained the situation. The tension, the events leading up to the explosion, what Viktor had said to Jayce before he left. You stood there the entire time, nails digging into your palms in little crescents. 

You had to fight the tears back as you pressed Jayce further for answers. “He didn’t say where he was going?”  

“No.” 

“He didn’t tell you if he was coming back?” 

“Y/N, I don’t think he’s coming back.” 

A drawn-out, pregnant pause. Your breathing came out trembling, same as your body. 

“... He didn’t even say goodbye.” 

Your voice was barely audible, wobbly as the tears you had been holding in since the beginning of this encounter finally spilled. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, and you weren’t sure exactly when Jayce had comfortingly pulled you into a hug as he began to cry himself. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, the sky had bled into orange and red, and you had work to attend to before leaving for the night. You turned on your heel to leave before Jayce spoke again. 

“Y/N.” You barely turned back, giving him enough acknowledgement to continue. “I’m going to fix this.” 

You nodded, finally leaving the lab. Your heart sat heavy in your chest, feeling as though it was weighing you down the entire walk back to your own home. You didn’t even want to go back there, not with all the memories it seemed to hold. It had been where you and Viktor celebrated your graduation from the Academy, where you would both spend countless hours bouncing ideas off each other, where he would rest after a long day as you cooked his favorite meal as a child (something he’d confided in you shortly after you had first met). 

You couldn’t go home, not right now at least.  

The cobbled road you walked every night seemed even more desolate than usual. Your feet dragged you to the one place you could think of going. You didn’t want to feel the pain of losing Viktor anymore, thinking of what could have been or why he left you without so much as a curt goodbye. 

So, you let the soft tickle of the grass beneath you consume your senses as you stared up at the empty night sky. No gleaming lights, you couldn’t even see the moon at this point. Even in all of its emptiness, you knew it was the same sky that connected you to him. All you needed was one star—to prove that you could continue hoping.  

You found nothing. 

The chill in the air was biting, a harsh reminder of the fact you no longer had Viktor with you. No one to ponder the origins of constellations with, to lean closer to when you dramatically whispered whatever gossip you had heard around the Academy that day, to warm up when he shivered despite wearing layers of clothing. 

Much like the night sky, you were empty. 

Word had spread about some sort of messiah appearing, gathering a large following in a short span of time. Your interest was piqued, as the thought of someone healing such ailments made you think of him. If you could enter the commune, perhaps speak to some people about the miracles being performed, you could find him and take him there. 

Yet as you stepped into the commune, assuring those at the front of the oasis that you had nothing of danger on your person, a wave of familiarity washed over you. 

It was beautiful, that you couldn’t deny. It was the sort of place you would never have wanted to leave, had it not been for the mission you were on. You chatted idly with residents of the commune, listening as they spoke so highly of their herald. 

It wasn’t until you saw him, glassy eyes meeting your own, that the dam burst, and you felt all the emotions you’d felt when you were twenty-five bubbling back to the surface. 

You weren’t sure how you ended up in his arms from across the expanse of land, sobbing into his chest as he held you. It felt right, even as words you couldn’t hear nor understand fell from your lips as Viktor’s grip on you only tightened. 

When you finally calmed down, he pulled you into the place he resided and explained everything. You only understood some of what he was saying, still blinded by relief that he was here, he was real, he was alive. 

Viktor had changed noticeably, not that you cared. He looked more beautiful than ever, which you admitted to him breathlessly when you were both finally away from prying eyes. He had only chuckled at your compliment, spouting off something about what he’d learned in his time away.  

When an uncomfortable moment of silence finally passed, you were the first to jump at the opportunity to tell Viktor all the things you were afraid you would never get to tell him. 

“I’m in love with you.” His eyes flickered with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint, throat bobbing as he took in your words. 

“... I am... not the same person you once knew.” 

“I don’t care. I never cared, it’s not about your condition or whatever afflictions you have. I held back for so long, because I was afraid. I convinced myself that I would ruin any of your chances of success by simply confessing my feelings for you. I’ve been waiting for seven years; I’m not waiting any longer.” 

A small, imperceptible smile etched onto his features as he moved to take you in his arms again. He rested his forehead against yours, hands settling comfortably on your hips. 

“Your patience is admirable, really.” 

And he finally kissed you, a slow, passionate combination of desperation and relief, his resolve slipping for a moment as he grabbed at whatever he could take. You didn’t mind, you only further offered yourself up. Once you both parted, it was as if the world was shining just a little brighter. 

“Let me promise myself to you, here and now, to make up for lost time,” he pleaded, eyes glossy as he stared into yours. “I just have to warn you, that I’ve... truly changed.” 

“No matter how you’ve changed, you still live under the same night sky as you always have,” you muttered, brushing a strand of hair from his face. He had so much to show you, to tell you about. He had seven years and an eternity to make up for, after all. 

He was finally letting you into his life, with no barriers or inhibitions. Eternally intertwining both of your futures, without fear of ruined success or what could have been. He held out his hand, a symbol of the promise he had made. 

Wordlessly, you took it. You knew you would have to be a fool to deny him now. 

[ronearoundblindly]

Can-can I ask something? For Steve and alpine in the companion animal au?

Steve obviously cat sits for bucky which means a lot of hours doing not much of anything unless he’s called into the office (heh) so he’d probably be spending some of that time drawing alpine don’t you think? So when he’d be drawing her as a cat, does reader like him doing this or does he try to do it while she’s sleeping? Would she catch him doing it? and then what about drawing reader as a human? Would he ask reader or would he do it surreptitiously on the sly? I’d like to think he’d have pages and pages of it, especially considering he takes all those beautiful photos of her on his phone. Not sure if you want to make this in anyway in the direction of spicy but I leave that up to the writer’s discretion!

Ok, OK! What if Steve has you get involved in the art with him though??? He gets non-toxic fingerpaints--or knowing him, he just squishes up some berries for you to dip your paws into--and lets you walk all over the paper. He'd use whatever pattern came out of it to create an image, like maybe he grinds up spinach or whatever and has you pat down a bunch of 'leaves' for a landscape he's working on 😍. Right, anyway, that's not what you asked, whoops! Warning: they finally KISS!

Artist's Discretion, part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Cats are freaking hard to draw. You're constantly moving around, even adjusting in your sleep, so he does quick sketches to get the general position right. Steve then spends a lot of his downtime filling in the details by memory.

He's annoyed he can't capture how soft your fur is in the pencil strokes, but since it's soothing to sketch, he keeps going.

THEN he learns your secret, and you only see the notebook with him, not open, not anymore. You never figured out if Steve wondered at your compliance to spread your paw out sometimes, because doing what he asked made him look at you so fondly. (Eventually, Steve gets bossy, once he knows you can follow his instructions to pose, but that's another story about how you're both annoyed and flattered that he wants to draw you a lot.)

There are pages and pages, but you only see them by accident.

Bucky and Steve have taken you out to a restaurant, chumming it up, talking about the good ol' days, when they both clock a riotous group of girlfriends loudly cackling at their booth. The women are drinking, having a good time, telling stories with their hands, and boy, do their hands swing wildly.

"No, no, I'll tell you exactly what she did when he said that--"

Bucky can see she's about to stand, oblivious to her surroundings. Steve can see the server with a tray stacked high raising over a patron's head to get to the table catty corner. Like lightning, they branch out and connect, narrowly averting disaster without a single drink spilled or laugh lost, but Steve's fast move knocked his notebook to the floor.

That's how you see. There are pages and pages of you, a very specific part of you.

You hustle to get the book replaced as the boys accept appreciations and apologies. If Steve notices, he says nothing, but you have an idea.

See, Bucky bought you this lovely dress, bit stretchy and billowy, so that if you transform by accident, you can wiggle out easily (or put it back on quickly). As the check is paid and you get up to leave, you tug the sleeve off of one shoulder, revealing that stretch of landscape Steve’s been drawing on repeat.

You aren’t positive it’s because you did that, but Steve walks back to Buck’s apartment very slowly. Bucky gets impatient and goes ahead while you hang back with Steve.

There’s always been chemistry. You’ve always known you are attracted to him. What you aren’t sure of is if Steve’s interest in you is merely fascination with something strange or true attraction.

Steve is kind and affectionate, but…maybe he’s just comfortable with you…maybe there’s a bit of pity for how you ended up meeting.

He chats about the weather, his eyes landing everywhere except your exposed décolleté, his hands fidgeting, passing his notebook back and forth between them.

Too lost in thought about those pages, you’re not processing his words until just outside the front door.

“—so scratch me or something if this is unwanted, okay?” Steve finishes, turning to face you.

He’s close. Close enough that his downturned gaze perfectly aligns with that bare skin on display.

Did he…is he implying what you think?

But there’s no time to think before you’re being nudged by his nose to tilt higher and an inch to the left, lips catching yours as shock parts them. Your eyes shut. You only feel the gentle graze of Steve’s hand trailing up your sleeve, his fingertips somehow gentler still as they map the curve of your shoulder, clavicle, and neck.

He’s unpracticed but unhurried, testing the waters of touch, never diving in until he’s sure. His thumb catches beneath your jaw, applies pressure to keep you right where he wants you, and releases after moving his angle. Three inches to the right. Even closer. So there’s barely a breath to pass.

Steve’s arm snakes around your waist, the worn leather corner of his sketchbook digging into your lowest rib because he is too lost to notice how his weight presses against you.

Forget chemistry. This is combustion, both of you freely tossing fuel on the fire, heat licking your face, tears forming in otherwise dry surroundings, and coming back for more.

Senses heightened, you and Steve startle at the door flinging open, caught lead-handed in the act by an utterly unfazed Bucky.

Everyone stares for a long moment until Buck squints and simply shuts the door again.

Steve chews his bottom lip and steps away (but not far). “Not…unwanted then,” he mumbles.

You’re struggling to swallow your grin and compose a response.

“GoodNiGHT, punk” comes rattling through the wall.

Smile breaking free, your eyes lock with Steve’s.

“Very, very wanted.”

He beams, shyness taking over once more, fiddling with the notebook you now sport an imprint of on your back.

“Okay…” his cheeks are flushed a hotter red than you’ve ever seen “…okay then. Good. I’ll…”

Steve awkwardly shuffles back into your space, kissing your cheek, sweet and innocent as always—well, almost always.

“I’ll see you later.”

🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈

[Next Part: Codename: Agent Alpine]

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: December 2024

We promised a graphic novel treat for December to send off 2024, which we have at the end of the update, so let's dive in!

Colleen has been working diligently ahead of the graphic novel going to print next month, which she discussed over on Patreon. For those looking for more behind the scenes on both Good Omens and Colleen's work more broadly, we recommend either following her Substack, or subscribing via Patreon, as she approaches the finish line.

A snapshot from our production HQ where dummy books of the graphic novel, slipcase and other editions of Good Omens have been arriving thick and fast. The graphic novel (slipcased version shown) has quite the heft to it. It's going to be such a magnificent object inside and out.

Here, we're testing out the various papers, finishes, embellishments and more – everything is falling into place!

Merch-wise, some more delights. The A.Z. Fell & Co tote bag design is in, one side in celebration of our favourite angelic bookseller, the other as if it's been purchased from the bookshop itself, so you can take your pick.

We've got more pins that will be available in the 3-pin set add ons. While the full list will be available in 2025, we're happy to share a few more to get excited about:

On the trading card front, have a look at some of the base deck designs by Steve Gregson and Kirsty Hunter in situ as this all comes together rather nicely, and causes a heated game or two behind the scenes.

And, a quick admin note to wrap up that we always recommend checking the FAQ page as a first port of call for any queries. If you have questions tied to specific tiers, we'd suggest checking the last few updates if your answer can't be found on the FAQ. If there is any information required for your pledge, we will be in touch. We will be back at full steam in the New Year!

Thank you.

So, to wrap up this year's updates, we give you the draft of the full first scene of the graphic novel, artwork by Colleen Doran and lettering by Lois Buhalis. If you'd like to wait until the graphic novel publishes in Spring, skip everything after the ducks!

To 2025 🥂

Until next time.

+ post from Colleen Doran:

Good Omens: You Get...Stuff Like This

In the most recent Good Omens update at the Kickstarter, a few people got upset at the suggestion that you have to get past my paywall here to see Good Omens updates.

Except you really don't, and the post doesn't actually say you do. You get a bit more, like pics of my studio, a discussion of tools and process - but not all of that is exclusively about Good Omens.

I think the Dunmanifestin team just wanted to draw a little attention to my blogs and other works, for which I am very grateful.

As my Patreon supporters already know, Good Omens info posted here gets to the Substack and Kickstarter eventually. And since most of my posts here aren't just about Good Omens, but my other projects and personal stuff, as well as links to our weekly Virtual Art Studio sessions, I think I'm justified in keeping that material behind a paywall.

In fact, I don't think I've posted much stuff about Good Omens since the summer: pages of flats like the one you see above, a few studio photos, and color tweaks.

Also, me boo-hooing about my nerves and health.

But for those who feel left out missing even this small amount of stuff, then the screen shot above is for you.

That's called a flat.

It's a prelim color before adding final color.

Here's what the final color looks like.

So I've posted a handful of this sort of thing since this summer, but frankly, there's even more of my sketches and so on posted at my Instagram that aren't here at all.

For those who don't know, I am doing most of the color myself on the book, but I am working with assistants. I'm not sure how much the Dunmanifestin team wants out there before the big reveals, but here's a snippet of a sky.

In the first image, my flat color.

And after my assistant worked on it.

Here, I've done a repaint. Sometimes I do very extensive repaints after the assistant works on a page. Sometimes not so much. I didn't use assistants on many pages at all. About 80% of the labor on the color of the book is my work.

However, the assistants have been a big help, and I am very appreciative of them.

I will make a point to go through all my prior posts and get every single bit of art that you haven't seen and make it public for all of you in the coming weeks. I need to excise it from previous posts. As I respect the privacy of all my readers, I never make prior posts public without their permission as they may not want their comments or identities to be public.

Thanks so much for everything!

[mistfallengw2]

How do charr hands function? Here's my headcanon (with drawings!)

So I made this poll earlier today and I ended up making some sketches to explain how I headcanon charr hands and their supposedly retractable yet too big claws. The idea is that both the game and the books are partially right: claws can be big (not as big as the models), and they're semi-retractable (so fully-fluffy paws). [Disclaimer: I am bad at anatomical drawings and did not try to make them super accurate :')]

Basically charr fingers are made of three phalanges, but functionally they're just two, with the 2nd and 3rd being much shorter and sort of "merging" with the claw itself, which is mostly supported by the 3rd and starts very close to the knuckle between them. The palm is covered almost entirely by a skin pad/paw pad, which usually extends to the first phalanx of each finger, and the fingertips are covered by pads as well.

The claws are semi-retractile, though the exact range of motion depends on the individual's genetics (claw size and shape + hand anatomy) and preferences (how much they trim the claw). The ability to retract their claws is managed by specialized extra tendons and muscles in the hand's structure, and they can lock the claw in place or move it, even while the fingers are bent, though with some limitation at the extremes of movement. While the claw at rest will stay at a "safe" angle, the claw's bed can shift on the cartilage structure when pulled, sliding back into a "sheathed" position or be pushed outwards. [note: I was too scared to go too far with the "x-ray" sketches and probably the claws could go a bit further back in the finger lol]

Ancestrally, this system kept the claws from always digging into the ground and losing sharpness when running on all fours, while still allowing for extra grip when necessary (similar to cheetahs) and the use when fighting or taking down prey. During the evolutionary transition in which charr started walking upright most of the time and using tools, it lost some of its ancestral necessity and functionality. However, instead of turning into something vestigial, charr evolved the ability of controlling each claw's movement independently from the rest of the finger, allowing for greater precision, fine motor skills and dexterity.

The pad grants grip and softer manipulation of items, while the claw handles movements finer and more precise than the pad allows, and other races find it complex, fascinating or a bit freaky. Some say that charr are as dexterous than humans, if not more, which is quite an accomplishment for creatures with such big hands.

That said, variety is huge among charr. Some have stubby paws with big, wide claws, while others have long, slender fingers with narrow claws.

Claws are still used as a natural weapon by many soldiers, but it's totally not uncommon for charr to file their claws down or keep them blunt, as there's a huge variety of reasons for not wanting sharp knives on one's fingers (job requirements, handling of delicate materials, safer interactions with cubs or creatures with softer skin, personal preference, etc), and some even keep their claws at different lengths for specific uses.

That said, claws can't be trimmed beyond the quick without bleeding or potential damage, and since it extends out of the sheath it's not possible for a charr to fully sheath their claws. Claws grow quite fast to make up for the daily wear and tear, so upkeep must be done regularly, as trimming too much might temporarily impact coordination. Declawing can happen during combat or following injury, and those affected might wear prosthetics/fake claws to make up for it.

[stsgluver]

“i like this one,” you pointed to a particular design in one of the portfolio books you’d stolen from geto’s desk. it was a dahlia – black and white with wisps spinning around the flower. it was delicate and soft, and very much unlike the usual tattoos your boyfriend usually created.

the boyfriend in question peered over at you laying across his tattoo chair that you’d adjusted so the back was resting horizontally. he looked unfairly attractive – hair tied back in a messy bun and the glasses he only ever wore when no one else was in the room tipped to the edge of his nose. 

“want me to do it for you?” geto nodded his head towards the portfolio in your hands, a small smirk present. to say you weren’t a fan of needles was an understatement and, in the six months you’d been together and the two years you’d been friends, he was yet to convince you to let him do one for you.

“no,” you scrunched up your nose at him, ignoring his light chuckle at your quick response. 

“yeah no one wants your shit ass.” you spun your head around to see fushiguro toji sliding open the door to geto’s work space. out of all the people geto worked with, toji by far ranked in last place for his distasteful personality. his lips curled up into a twisted grin, scar lifting as his eyes drifted over your figure and you wished you were hiding behind your boyfriend and not sprawled out along the chair. “i’ll do it for you darling, even add some extra benef–”

“fuck off fushiguro,” geto said forcefully. you’d been coming to the tattoo shop long before you and geto had started dating and the older man had always been this way, but he’d ramped it up tenfold once you’d officially gotten together. 

toji rested back against geto’s door frame, his cocky attitude fueled by geto’s clear annoyance. “gojo just wanted me to tell you that you haven’t responded to an email yet.” he gave a wink in your direction before he ducked back out of the room. you gagged in response, slipping off of the chair to shut the door he’d left wide open.

“asshole,” geto muttered under his breath, leaning back and pulling his hair out of its loose bun as he so often did when he was stressed. “how much longer are you going to be here?” 

geto loved having you down at his work, loved being around you as he sketched as he considered you his muse. however, toji had his own special way of tainting every situation he was ever in and digging his nails right under your boyfriend’s skin in a way no one else could.

there was a small pout on your lips as you made your way over to geto, to your boyfriend who was usually always so level-headed no matter what was happening. “hey, don’t punish me for him putting you in a bad mood."

holding onto the back of his chair, you spun it slightly so that he was facing you. he didn’t resist your movements and his legs naturally spread enough so that you could shuffle between them, your arms loosely swung over his shoulders. beneath the collar of his top you could see the ends of several tattoos that decorated his tanned skin. 

“i’m not,” he closed his eyes, leaning into you to press a light kiss to your forearm. “i just prefer for my girlfriend not to be sexualised by that thing.” 

you pushed the strands of hair that obscured his face from your vision behind his ears, “i think i know what will make you feel better.”

“letting me tattoo my name on your forehead?” geto grinned up at you and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning down to kiss him. knocking your nose against his, you feel the cool metal of his nose ring against your skin. a nose ring he could definitely convince you to get, though it would be from shoko and definitely not him. you had seen what had happened to gojo’s ear when the two of them had gotten drunk and thought piercing each other with a sewing needle would be a genius idea.

“buying me something from the vending machine?” you countered, giggling at the drop of his smile. the vending machine had been gojo’s idea of bringing in more money for the business and he’d somehow managed to convince yaga he was right. so far, the only person who ever seemed to use that thing was you (with geto’s money). 

“i hate gojo for buying that thing,” geto sighed, dramatically making a thing of grabbing his wallet from his drawer. he pinched your hip lightly and nodded his head towards the door, “after you, princess.”