#all of these sketches i did out of boredom

[furmilk]

posting it before i feel disappointed with it again

[achillean-knight]

I'm not gonna indulge too much in my Undertale AU on Tumblr, I am gonna just keep it private as I do wanna keep my main focus on my FNAF AU, but here y'all go

It's a little rough, but people really liked my Mettaton AU design so I wanted to desperately draw him :')

It's not the best, but I wanted to draw something today.

[raisethe-velvet]

local entity discovers ibispaint brushes

[dominantslasherking]

Billy and Stu with dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+. Backstory: You always manage to catch Billy and Stu's eyes on you, whether it be in the college classroom, or when you're purchase horror stuff, they always seem to follow you. Even in your house you still feel their gazes

The dimly lit college classroom was buzzing with chatter, but not loud enough for the professor to call on anyone. Minding your own business as you were taking notes and sketching little side characters on your notebook out of boredom. Eyes were lingering on you, It wasn't the typical glance or side glance.

The lingering eyes were strong and made you feel a cool sensation run down your spine. With a simple turn of the head, you spotted the two. Billy and Stu, how could not know them? Not only did they garner attention all over the college campus. You would always, always catch them staring, although they may be fast to react and look away.

It can't be a coincidence they just always stare at you, not to mention being in the areas you were, your favorite locations, dining areas.

But the really not-so-funny part is, every time you do end up making a friend at this college, they end up disappearing. It had gotten so bad that even your fellow students grew weary of you, believing you were the infamous 'scream' killer.

However after a night in jail and the kills were happening when you were locked up, you were cleared of suspicion but of course not from the college students.

Once the class ended. You made your way out slinging your bag over the shoulder and sighing.

Almost meticulously, with severe calculation Billy had bumped straight into you. He gave a pretty smile as Billy watched you pick up his books. "Thanks, hah," Billy said his eye gleaming with an intense undertone of desire and pure want.

"It's my fault, I should watch where I was going...lost in thought." Your husky voice mutters, stacking Billy's books neatly in your hand before returning them, noticing the subtle hand movement of Billy where his hand brushed against yours.

Turning your gaze to Billy's friend Stu. Stu was silent, his eyes roaming you. The typically loud and humorous friend was silent strange enough, he licked his lips and gave a big smile. "Wow! I love that shirt!" Billy's face fell at Stu's words, elbowing him in the stomach, not enough to cause him severe pain but make him go 'ow'

"What was that for?!" Stu muttered with a pout. "You idiot, his shirt is just plain gray! what do you mean you like it?" Billy scolded, hinting that he knew Stu was checking [Name] out, and now you probably knew that Stu was eyeballing you.

"Ohhh." Stu muttered, as they continued to whisper and bicker among themselves.

Your chuckle made them pause. "sorry, sorry, you guys are just--funny that's all." You spoke softly, you thought they were cute. Bidding them goodbye, you walk out of the classroom.

Billy stared at stu.

"Whattt? Not my fault he's so sexy!" Stu grumbled out.

<<>>><<>>><><><><><<<>>>>

Later that day. You were at the DVD shop, looking through the thriller/horror second, making sure to get your hands on some classics.

With a loud and abrupt clank, your gaze faltered on the row across from you.

"Oops, did I ruin your guy's peeping session?" Randy had asked Billy and Stu. Stu gritted his teeth, Billy gave a urked glare. But the two of them knowing, your gaze was on them resisted doing something they were dying to do. They would just have to get back at him later.

"Wow! [Name], Thriller & horror movies? Nice dude!" Stu cheered pretending as if he didn't already know that about you...

Stu had started to chitter-chatter with you, while Billy was shooing and waving Randy off. Soon after Randy complied (after rolling his eyes and snarky comments) leaving the three of you alone.

"Ehm,--Well Billy and I, we love those types of genres!" Stu happily said as Billy's attention was now drawn to you, his feverish gaze landing on your lips every time you spoke. Taking a pause you spoke, "Really? why don't you two, come over sometime, we can watch them together?" You ask, as the two slashers freeze, slowly turning to look at each other and then back at you.

"What's the matter?...you don't want to---" Before you could finish what you wanted to say, Billy cut you off. "No-! No, we would love to."

Nodding you smiled, "Sure next time in class, we should set up a time and date." After bidding farewell, and purchasing the movies you got, you left, leaving Billy and Stu to celebrate together.

<<>>><<>>><><><><><<<>>>>

Pausing the movie, you itched the back of your neck, a feeling of a sense of dread washed over you. You had it again. Like someone, was watching, analyzing, observing you.

"Fuck." a whisper, under your breath, as you got up to check your popcorn. Walking to the kitchen, you take out the bowl of popcorn, setting it down as the phone rings.

"Hello?" "What's your favorite scary movie, [Name]?"

[ssavaart]

Happy Thursday, All!

In 2020, we were all in lockdown and the world was crazy and I had NO motivation to make art.

So, I joined TikTok and, out of sheer boredom, started posting sketches.

Each day, I’d find a random photo online and spend an hour or two painting that into my sketchbook.

Every day.

I wasn’t “making art”. I was just sketching. Doodling. Goofing off.

I did hundreds of these over the next year until I felt ready to “make art” again.

Sometimes our minds aren’t ready for something big. Sometimes we just need to keep our hands busy and covered in paint until our minds and souls are creative again.

Anyways. I’ll be posting some of my favorite sketchbook doodles for the next few days. Hope that’s okay.

Sending big hugs from the Hobbit Hole ❤️

Scott

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

me casually thinking about miguel o'hara discovering reader's notebook accidentally left on her desk filled with cutesy drawings of him (hearts and all) and personal entries of what they think of him

perhaps there's a playful confrontation?

hii!! omg this is so cute!! I did change a couple small things, hope that’s okay. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

doodles

Miguel O’hara x fem!reader

wc || 1005

warnings || none, just fluff

part 2 -> doodles

masterlist

Sometimes during meetings at HQ, you were so bored listening to Miguel drone on and on that you'd often draw as a way to kill time. You'd have your mini notepad hidden behind your arm as you doodled onto the page, drawing and sketching whatever was around you. More often than not, Miguel would be a victim of your boredom. You'd doodle angry sketches of him as he stood there talking to the other spiders, scolding them or telling them off for things they've done wrong.

So like any other day, you had your doodle pad on the table hidden behind your bent elbow, drawing little sketches of everyone. Finishing up on Hobie's drawing, you glance over to Peter B, noticing Mayday's cute expression as she mimicked Miguel. 

You quickly sketched her, drawing her hat with locks of curly hair and a toothy grin hidden behind, finishing it by adding little mini hearts around her. You turn to Miguel next to her and doodle a softer sketch of him than you typically would. A little drawing where he is subtly smiling into the fist of his hand as he watches Mayday, a moment where he looks somewhat happy. You scribble away with his sketch, pencil to paper as you capture the unfamiliar expression on his face. You finish the doodle by adding small notes beside his face, little thoughts and entries of your undeclared feelings towards him.

You excuse yourself to the restroom, placing your notepad on your chair, discreetly hiding it as you stand from your seat. You make your way over to the door, mouthing to Miguel, "pee break," with a smile as you walk passed the other spiders. 

Miguel wasn't oblivious to your doodles. He often pays attention to you when you don't even realise it, watching you scribble away in your notepad, clearly disengaged in the meetings as he speaks with you and the other spiders. If anyone, anyone acted as uninterested as you during conversations, he would've lost his temper, but not with you. When you did it, he found it sweet, endearing almost.

You thought you were being discreet with your doodles, believing that you've played Miguel, but like always, he was a few steps ahead. So, as soon as you leave the room, he stalks over to your chair, snatching the book and hiding it under his arm before excusing himself from the room.

He was pacing outside the seminar room, fingers tapping on the cover of your notebook as if he was battling with himself; either sneak a look and betray your trust or leave it be. He knew he couldn't ruin what he had with you, so he decided on the latter.

"What are you doing with that?" you ask, your eyes squint in focus as you walk towards him.

"What is it?" he asks, waving the book at you, his gaze following you as you get closer.

"Give it back,"

"You didn't answer my question," he wryly smiles, his head cocking to the side.

"You didn't answer mine," you say playfully, hiding a smirk.

He stifles a snicker, averting from your gaze. "Can I see?" he asks, his tone genuine as he nods to your pad.

"No,"

"Why?" he grins, extending his arm so it was out of your reach.

"Oh, that's not fair," you jokingly frown, tugging his arm.

"Why can't you show me?"

"They're just crappy doodles," you shrug, partially lying. "Please- it's embarrassing, give it back," 

"Okay," he nods, lowering his arm, raising it again as if to play you. "Why can't I see? Am I in there?" smirking.

Your eyes bug, and you feel the heat rush to your hands, feeling nothing but embarrassment under his attention. He must've sensed your unease because he hands you the book with no objection, avoiding your gaze.

"Thanks," you sheepishly smile, hiding the book under your arm. "They're just sketches of Mayday and Pav and stuff," you say, trying to ease the slight tension. Even though you didn't want him to see, you still felt a little guilty about it. He was only showing his interest, that's all. He wasn't being mean or critical. He just seemed genuinely curious about your drawings.

"I'm sure they're good," he smiles small, nodding towards the door as if it was time to join the rest of the group again. "You don't have to show me. If they're private, I get it," he comforts, dropping the question as he extends a hand.

"You can't be mean about them," you say quietly, pulling out your notepad. "If I show you... you can't be mean about them,"

A smile slowly creeps on his face, his eyes softening at the idea. "Promise," he grins, ushering you to the nearby bench. "I wouldn't dream of it,"

You sit down, and Miguel joins you seconds later, sitting close to you, inches apart. You hand him your work and look away, feeling too embarrassed. 

He's quiet, far too quiet, and it's making you anxious. 

"I told you they're bad," you awkwardly laugh. 

He doesn't say anything. He just smiles, looking over your mini sketches. 

"What uh- what'd you think?" you ask, glancing between him and the page.

"You did these?" he questions, his eyes focused on the paper.  

"Yeah," you coyly smile, chuckling.

"They're amazing. This one- is it meant to be me?" he grins, looking up to find your gaze. He softly laughs, pointing to a sketch in the corner. "Why do I look so angry?" 

"That's how you always look, Miguel," you laugh, playfully nudging his side. 

"Is that why I have... squiggly lines coming from my head?" he grins earnestly, watching the smile widen on your face. "And the frown lines?"

"You were being mean that day," you justify, snickering.

"Oh, really? Huh?"

You were thankful he stopped flicking pages when he did, as there were drawings and notes a few pages over with some thoughts and feelings you weren't yet ready to share, notations of your personal feelings towards Miguel.

[harmonictechnicality]

*based off this awesome art right here by @chocoarts - the sketch on the left in particular :)

It doesn’t take long for Steve to get used to Eddie’s raised-by-wolves levels of affection. The hair chewing and the shoulder nibbles and the freckle licking. It’s never classified normal stuff - definitely not stuff he ever did with dainty Hawkins High girls, that’s for damn sure.

But still, it takes no time to get used to it. Full on expects it, by now. The most notable time that Steve is expecting it is on their one year anniversary.

Two months prior to the Big Day, Eddie's spontaneity and Steve's boredom led to an impulsive stick-and-poke tattoo on Steve's forearm. Eddie wanted to give Steve a simple crown. Told him it was to reclaim the stupid nickname from high school, make it his own.

'Overthrow all the teenaged bullshit. Kick trauma in the metaphorical ass.' Eddie had said after completing it, smiling up at Steve. 'It's what kings do best.'

After that day, Steve decides to add on to his impulsive tattoo and surprise Eddie with it. He gets one small bat, just like the ones on Eddie's arm. Gets it right next to the crown, side-by-side. The same way they all fought together a while back.

As soon as Eddie sees the addition, he tackles Steve, linebacker style. Steve is ready for it, totally braces for the aggressive affection. Fucking loves it. Expects it.

However, Eddie doesn't just stop there. Oh no. He climbs up Steve's body, tightly wrapping his arms around Steve's neck. Wraps his legs around Steve's upper arms even tighter.

Which... how the hell did Eddie get so flexible? And when the hell did Eddie get so flexible? Like, yeah they do some semi-contortionist stuff in the bedroom, mostly when they're hyped up on sugary soft drinks.

But this? This is... new. Wild.

He clutches on to Steve like he's a goddamn tree trunk. Some rare tree species that's in grave danger of being chopped down from the rainforest or whatever. He’s making lots of pleased sounds, singing maybe. Hard to tell for sure.

Steve holds Eddie firmly, hands underneath his thigh, his back, anywhere that he can get a solid grip. Keeps him safe from whatever corporate bulldozer that dares to take down their weirdly amazing love.

"Shit, I'm crazy about you." Eddie nuzzles into Steve's hair. "Like... totally and completely."

Steve laughs, comes out a bit strangled from the way Eddie is clinging to him. "Guessing you like it, huh?"

"Duh." Eddie slides off, connecting their hands on his way down.

"It represents-"

"I know what it represents." Eddie interrupts, his expression softens from the reminder, the difficult topic they're both skipping around. "You don't have to say it."

He does though, Steve has to say it. Needs to say it the same exact way Eddie had said it to him two months ago.

Because yeah, they act tough about what went down that night. But that doesn't mean they should just be stuck in a cycle of Acting Tough. Pretending to be okay all the damn time.

So Steve takes Eddie's arm, the one that's covered with tiny bat silhouettes. He holds their two arms together and carefully brushes over each tattoo design. Tells Eddie to reclaim the stupid scars that litter his body.

"Fight off all the inter-dimensional bullshit. Kick trauma's metaphorical ass." Steve smiles up at Eddie, who suddenly looks serious, focused. "It's what heroes do best."

"Steve." The seriousness is wiped clean off of Eddie's face. It's quickly replaced with a gentle grin. Relief reaching over his furrowed brow. No more worry lines. No more grimace. He looks at ease. Content, maybe.

And as much as Steve enjoys making Eddie feel content, he wants him happier right now. So he switches up the energy, tries to lighten the mood a little. Steve hooks his fingers into Eddie's front pockets, readying to pull him in.

It's predictable, been his go to make-out move any time they're standing up. This is a special fucking day, however, and that calls for a Special Edition Make-Out Move.

So Steve digs each hand deep into Eddie's pockets, wiggles them around a bit. Watches Eddie's cheeks go pink, blotchy red in some places. Steve moves all of the coins and lint and questionable items out of the way, making room.

He takes deep breath, then yanks the seams at the very bottom of each pocket, flipping the material inside out. Sticking straight up from his jeans.

Eddie is all red now, flushed down to his neck. "What the..."

Steve tugs on the flipped out pocket seams, jolting Eddie closer. He lands on Steve's lips, colliding a bit roughly. For a second, they're too busy smiling to kiss properly. But Steve slides his hands up Eddie's chest, around his neck, scratches the tiny hairs on the back of Eddie's head, and that's it. That's all that it takes for them to get lost in the kiss.

Eddie's mouth opens, biting the center of Steve's bottom lip. Breathes out the warmest air as he lets go, returns to a softer approach. Steve licks over the spot, soothes the pulse that Eddie left behind.

"That was... different. " Eddie laughs. He swipes his tongue over Steve's cupids bow, traces an outline until Steve is laughing too.

"Bad different?" Steve asks.

"Not at all." Eddie shakes Steve by the shoulders like he’s nuts for asking such an outrageous question. "Besides, different is right up my alley, babe."

"I'm highly aware."

"Didn't realize I was such a bad influence on your freakier side."

"What can I say?" Steve shrugs, steals one of Eddie’s rings to twirl around his finger. "I'm very easily persuaded."

They head over to the couch, kissing haphazardly as they flop down. Eddie tugs and twists at the fabric of Steve’s shirt, stretching it out. Wrinkling it. Steve couldn’t care less if it gets ruined because Eddie will be the one ruining it.

Eddie sighs into the kiss. Not a sexy sigh either (which are obviously Steve’s favorite of the sighing variety). It sounds more shocked. Disbelief or something.

Steve angles his head away from the kiss to see that Eddie’s eyes are open, wandering all over Steve’s face. It’s pretty cute, seeing Eddie too busy just staring to even shut his eyes mid-kiss. Like his schedule is too jam-packed up with Gawking, has to multitask during their make out sessions now.

"Kinda can’t believe it." Eddie finally says, still staring.

"What?" Steve stares backs. Makes it a staring contest. Doesn't tell Eddie though cause he wants to win.

Eddie motions toward his pockets that are still turned inside out. "After one whole year, you still keep me on my toes with shit like that."

"I do?"

"Sure do. You're something else, babe.”

"I am?" Steve blinks.

Damnit, he lost the one-sided staring contest.

“Yup.” Eddie nods, transitions to chewing on a chunk of Steve’s hair like he always does. Sometimes, he’ll make mooing sounds. Especially after sex, when he’s at his goofiest. Most comfortable.

It’s fucking unreal how Steve has learned all of these quirks. How he waits for them, anticipates them. Every bit feels familiar to him now.

"You're unexpected in all the best ways, Harrington."

Steve tries not to gush at that compliment. It's not one he gets often.

Eddie stops chewing on Steve’s hair to kiss his cheek instead. The kiss is powdery-sweet, miles away from his usual eagerness. Still perfect somehow. Just like the weird stuff is somehow perfect too.

That's kind of who they are together. Weird and unexpected.

In all the best ways.

[gallusrostromegalus]

So how much are you willing to talk about Ulquiorra?

I will talk so much about him. There are so many things wrong with that man, but to make a brief list of his most notable features:

He's dumb as hell.

I say that with tremendous sympathetic affection. Ulquiorra barely thinks. It's easy for him to do nothing and go nowhere. He eats chocolate in the middle of the night in the dark. When he gets access to a garden, he often just stands around in it. He's often waiting for things to happen.

He just LOOKS smart compared to nearly everyone else in the fic because he doesn't have much to say, so he's not constantly opening his mouth to jam his foot down it.

Consequently, Ulquiorra starts off having little to no initiative of his own. Stuff just happens to him. Some of that is because he is colossally depressed, but he's depressed because the idea that he has control over his circumstances has straight up not occured to him.

The first person he meets that shows him that "You can just do whatever you want, forever" and the boundless joy it is to be a creature of free will is, unfortunately, Aizen. And Aizen left off the key corollary "-EVERYONE is allowed to do whatever they want, forever. We are all equal in God's dead, empty eye sockets."

So Ulquiorra wanders around trying out this "doing stuff" thing without any concept of ethics.

I realize I am infantilizing this character, but I am doing so in a twilight zone "hey, wouldn't it be fucked up to watch a fully anatomically functional person who is able to speak and blow stuff up with his mind go through the emotional development steps of a toddler?", because I think that's a fun high-concept premise to explore with him. Yeah, what if a toddler could speak articulately and also destroy you? How would he act? How does he feel, learning to have feelings?

It'd probably suck for him and everyone around him, and make him very easy to manipulate, for one thing.

So I don't think Ulquiorra is evil, because evil takes intent. He is dangerous to be in the general proximity of, though

Like a horse

lose

in a hospital!

I love that sketch as much as the next person but if an IRL horse got loose in a hospital it would be bedlam, but the horse would be mostly confused and probably willing to follow around the first person who looked like they knew what they were doing.

You know, like how Ulquiorra follows Aizen around because that's the first guy he's met who THINKS he knows what he's doing, and is good at convincing others he knows what he's doing!

So Ulquiorra's entire first character arc is being exposed to more and more people and realizing he does have control over his life, and that he can take actions, and that those actions have consequences.

Like being emotionally devastated by a teenage girl because he was an asshole to her and she's willing to scream at him about it.

Hm.

Consequences hurt.

He lives through the Las Noches arc, and decides to follow his own star!

He follows it right through a portal that was not meant for him and now he's sort of trapped in somewhere he's really, really, really, really, REALLY not supposed to be.

But it's a beautiful place

And nobody is forcing him to do anything.

And for a long time, he just stands out in the garden, waiting for something.

But then

Ulquiorra experiences a novel pair of emotions that he's recently learned from his new...

Orihime is too mad at him for him to call her a friend.

-but he did learn the names and therefore the experience of two new emotions from her: boredom, and it's natural remedy: curiosity.

So Ulquiorra's second character arc is him learning how to be himself without anyone telling him who he is and what he ought to be.

He's travelling up Maslow's hierarchy with the inscrutable but unstoppable instinctual drive of a salmon returning to its spawning ground.

This has lead to an important discovery on my part: Ulquiorra is terrific for comedy because he is the ULTIMATE straight man to everyone else's nonsense, because he's immune to nearly all nonsense.

He doesn't have societal taboos to be hung up on, nor any sense of what is "normal", so the sole thing he geta hung up on is a lack of internal consistency in others, meaning he can slip between straight man to the absurdist at the drop of a single scathing observation. Yet, he retains a sort of understated dignity that compels people to try to earn his respect.

Hence, I'm having fun turning him loose on the most absurd, internally inconsistent and frankly, insane batch of characters in the series:

The Royal Guard.

:)

[dreamingcloudie]

im sorry for immediately jumping into requests but i see dottore content and i immediately go gdusabjnkdsa

HI HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY <33 IMMA BINGE READ THROUGH YOUR STUFF BUT LEMME JUST DROP THIS RQ

reader, feeling a bit bored and lonely, gathered a bunch of segments and asked if they could just cuddle with them OF COURSE they'd agree... prime comes back from a mission to see the tasks he'd assign them half done but before he could get too angry, sees you all snuggled up in a pile with the most relaxed expression on your face he'd seen in a while.......... he tells the segments to leave and hugs you himself instead (jealous perhaps? HHEHEHE)

HAVE A GREAT DAY, FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS NO PRESSUVE <3 !!

❛❛ In My (Our) Arms You Go ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ Dog pile!— Oof! ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore (& segments) x GN!Reader

Genre/Format: Fluff (oneshot)

wc: ~1.1k

Notes: Back to our regularly scheduled fluff :D This is so cute istg 😫✋️✋️Dottore and his skrunkly segments are just ANAKSHDIEJEFIS 💕💕💕 I'm sorry this is short! ^^;

You sighed as you threw your head backwards and stared at the ceiling, the pencil that you were holding dropped onto the desk.

"I give up." You groaned into your hands.

It has only been fifteen minutes since you started to sketch random objects in the room. You thought having your mind run wild with imaginations by adding some twists to them would be the cure to your boredom. 

But it clearly backfired, it required too much thinking.

If anything, it made you feel even more bored than before, if that was even possible.

Heck, you even tried to watch the raindrops sliding down the window pane, pretending that they were racing against each other! 

No matter how much effort you put into distracting your bored out mind, you were too occupied with thoughts of your lover. 

A week ago, the Tsrista had sent out an order to Dottore, there was a mission that required his assistance in the far lands of Sumeru. And since this was an order from the Cryo Archon herself, there was no way he could decline even if he wanted to. 

So reluctantly, you had to let him go for you didn't even know how long. 

Without his goofy laughs and your daily dose of kisses, you felt lonely…

Especially with how your work schedule has been pretty hectic lately. Just as you thought you could have some peaceful moments with Dottore, he had to leave.

What kind of cruel joke was this?

What to do now… You thought as you closed your eyes.

Reading… Cooking... Beating Delta's ass up—

Wait, what?

Where did that come from? 

Reopening your eyes again, you focused on your hearing and could make out faint footsteps walking past your room along with a grumpy voice.

"I can't believe Delta messed all of this up! More work for me, ugh."

So it was a segment.

The segments…

You gasped a bit when a sudden idea came to mind. 

How fun would it be if you cuddled all of them at once?

You were getting a little giddy about your genius idea but then a realization made you doubt your plan.

They are probably busy though… You let out a huff.

Before Dottore left, he had given out a task for each of them to complete. He expected them to finish everything he asked of them by the time he returned.

But a fifteen minute break for them wouldn't hurt, right? You reasoned.

---

As you slammed the laboratory doors open, you slightly cringed at the loud noise it made when it hit the wall, startling some of the segments.

"(Y/n), my dear. You could've just knocked next time," Omega lightly scolded you.

Smiling at him sheepishly, you lightly scratched your neck.

"Haha, sorry."

He shook his head, chuckling at how adorable you were.

"Well, what brings you here?"

Right. 

"So I was thinking… if we could all cuddle together?" You asked. 

Your voice wasn't loud enough to reach the other segments, but they could still make out the words "we" and "cuddle". All of them instantly dropped what they were doing and surrounded you.

Getting affection from their darling? And with no Prime around? Who would pass up such a great offer?

"Are we gonna cuddle?!"

"Can we really?"

"Cuddling? I wanna join!"

Well, that was a lot easier than you thought it'd be. 

---

Oh, how you loved their happy little faces as they trailed behind you, with you leading them to your room.

The moment you got into your room, you laid down onto your bed and sprawled your limbs out, inviting them to come join you.

One by one, each of them plopped themselves down onto the bed with you. 

Some of them held onto your arms while some intertwined their legs with yours, and a head was laid against your torso.

Though, even with this king-sized bed, it could barely fit all of them. 

Theta moved around a little to find a comfortable position when he accidentally kicked someone.

"Ow! Who kicked me?!" Delta yelped.

"Deserved, you gave me more work to do by spilling the serum everywhere!"

"Oh my— Whoever has their feet near my face, please move. It smells of rotten flesh." Omega covered his nose from… whoever feet that was.

Well, this was definitely a bit hard to get used to with how much weight was laying on top of you. 

You weren't complaining though, the weather was a bit colder than usual and they made such a great heat source.

Their bickerings died down and silence soon took over the room, only to be occasionally broken with some light snores and the soft sounds of rain hitting the window.

Ah, life was good.

---

After a week of being away from the comfort of the palace, he was finally back from the mission and he felt like he would pass out any moment.

The mission he came back from was hell even though it was a success in the end. Nonetheless, he was now back and he had missed you dearly.

Though before going to your room, he was looking forward to seeing how his personal project was coming along. He had calculated that by the time he came back, it would've been completed by his segments.

However, all he saw was an empty lab. What's even stranger was that the work was half-done.

Where did they go? They wouldn't abandon their work like this unless it was an emergency…

Dottore turned back and walked to your room, afraid that something might have happened.

The sight he was greeted with made his blood boil. His segments were slacking off, hugging you as they slept. But when he got closer and took a glance at you, he noticed how peaceful you looked, and it's been a long time since he had seen you this relaxed.

You were complaining about how your work was stressing you out and you weren't able to get some proper rest.

Well, he supposed he'd let his segments off the hook this time for helping you to relax.

Though, his chest tightened at the realization that he wasn't the one who was holding you.

It was his turn now.

He nudged one of the segments awake, and soon the others began to wake up as well at the movement. Miraculously, you were still sound asleep.

All of them stiffened at the sight of Prime glaring at them, oh boy, they could already hear the mouthful lecture they'd get later.

"All of you get back to work, now."

The segments scurried to get out of the room, a little down that they had to leave you so soon.

Changing out of his work clothes and taking off his mask, he slowly got into the spot beside you. Chuckling lightly when his thumb cleaned the drool that left your mouth.

His arm wrapped around you, sighing in content that he finally got to hold you again.

All to himself.

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 6

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Dr. Crane wants to make some changes to your previous arrangement.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, kissing, hickeys, grinding, riding, praise, degradation, crying (but in a hot way), consensual sex, cockwarming?, he’s a simp lowkey, but he’s doing his best to hide it.

Words | 3k

Notes | I hope y’all enjoy! I’m doing my best to keep it consistent with how his character would act but it’s definitely a challenge lol

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 5

True to his word, he did return the next day with a few things. He stopped by your cell, rather than having someone bring you to him. When he handed you the bag, you eagerly took it and sat down on your bed to look through it. A sketch pad, multiple pencils- some colored- and two books that you haven’t heard of. 

“I hope it is satisfactory.” He said, emotionless as ever. 

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You beamed at him and he gave you a stiff nod, awkwardly looking everywhere but your eyes. 

“Would you like anything else?” 

“This is plenty.” You lied, not wanting to abuse his kindness. 

“Okay. Bring that whenever you come to my office just in case you need something to do.” He gestured to the bag in your lap and you nodded. “Shall we?” You weren’t sure why he was asking, but even with the items he gave you, having only a little decent human interaction is not enough so you agreed eagerly. 

“Do you have something planned?” You asked as you walked next to him, bag in hand. 

“Not exactly. I just have some questions.” That’s all? He’s just going to ask you things? When you arrived, you sat down across from him, waiting for his questions. 

“Are you eating?” He asked suddenly. 

“Uh- yes? It’s hard to, though. The food is… not what I’m used to.” You did your best to say ‘the food here tastes like shit’ without actually saying that. 

“And that is preventing you from eating even though you must be hungry?” His tone was clinical… neutral. 

“I’ve gotten used to the feeling by now.” You shrugged and he hummed in acknowledgment. 

“From now on I think it would be best if you ate lunch with me, in my office.” 

“What?” You choked out, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You are of no use to me this malnourished.” Is it really that obvious? You’ve only been here a couple weeks… “So I will bring you something and you will eat with me.” He said simply, as if his words didn’t have the impact that they do. He wants to not only bring you food, but eat with you every day too? 

“You can refuse, though I would highly frown upon that, given your current state of health.” 

“No, I- I’ll eat in here. Please.” The thought of actual food was already making your stomach roar to life. 

“Good. Starting tomorrow then.”

“Okay. Was there anything else?”

“When you offered your assistance, was that to satiate boredom or were you being genuine?” He asked casually. 

“Both. Why?”

“It might be nice to have someone to help with all of the paperwork so I can spend my time on more important tasks.” It wasn’t lost on you the way he phrased it as a statement, rather than him just asking for your help. 

“What would you have me do?”

“To start? Copying my notes onto forms, scheduling appointments, things like that.” While it didn’t sound like the most exciting job in the world, it seemed better than your current routine. 

“Sure.” He almost seemed caught off guard by your answer. “During lunch? Or would I do it another time?”

“You need to eat so, no, not during lunch. It will vary each day so I do not have a specific answer.”

“Okay.” 

 “Have you thought about my other offer at all?” You completely forgot about that to be honest. Which he seemed to be able to read from your expression. “That’s alright. You can think about it now if you want and I can answer any questions you have.” 

“Okay… I do have questions.” He motioned for you to continue so you did. “What exactly would I be doing?”

“Sometimes administering the toxin yourself, sometimes writing down my thoughts. Depends on the day.” He shrugged. 

“Why do you want me to do this?” 

“There’s no catch, if that’s what you’re asking.” He said coyly— trying to deflect.  

“If there’s no catch, then why?” He let out a heavy sigh and looked away from you as he thought. 

“Normally when a patient outgrows their… usefulness… Well, you saw the state of some of them down stairs. And as of right now, your fears are trivial. Phobias of a person or an object are common, it’s not something I need to use you for.” 

“So instead of giving me enough toxin to drive me mad, you’d rather I help you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why can’t you let me go? If I’m not useful to you anymore.” 

“Do you want me to?” That made you falter. 

“I… I don’t want to leave you, I just want to leave here. I miss my bed, I miss real food and comfortable clothes.”

“You miss that… more than you would miss me. Is what you’re saying.” He almost sounded offended. 

“No, I just- I want to help you, but I can’t stay here forever. I’m miserable.” He looked down to the desk at your words. 

“And how do I know this isn’t just some plot to get out of here?” He said, looking at you again. 

“You’re the one with the psych degree, you tell me.” He narrowed his eyes as he examined you and you waited patiently for him to find that you’re telling the truth. He hummed in acknowledgment, seemingly not finding the right words. 

“Why do you want me to stay so bad? You said it yourself, I’m not useful to you anymore.” You asked softly, hesitantly. 

“Just because I don’t need to study you in my experiments, doesn’t mean you can’t help me with them.” 

“That’s the only reason?” You could already feel yourself deflating from his words. 

“What other reason would there be?” You bit your lip and looked at your lap. 

“Nothing.” You smiled dryly, looking back up at him. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, whatever I do is up to you. You’re not going to let me go and you don’t want to use me in your experiments so there aren’t many options.” You shrugged, not wanting to draw this conversation out so you can avoid any other tactless remarks. 

“Fine. Regarding your… treatment, that will be up to you.” Did he not want to do that anymore? You don’t want to say you want to keep doing it if he doesn’t actually want to. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” You tried to sound normal and not desperate or sad. 

“Do I want to keep raping you? No, I don’t.” 

“Oh,” You didn’t mean it like that. Honestly it’s hard to think of it as that now. “Okay, then… we can stop.” You said quietly. 

“Is that what you want? Or are you just saying that because of what I said.”

“It doesn't matter what I want if you don’t want to. That defeats the whole purpose of discontinuing the rape.” He eyed you curiously before responding. 

“If it wasn’t rape, would you want to continue?” He asked, looking at you through slightly narrowed eyes. 

“I mean… it’s- I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. 

“It’s a yes or no question.” He said teasingly with a glint in his eyes. 

“You answer first then!” You said defensively. 

“Would I want to keep fucking you consensually? Yes.”  He said lowly, making your breath hitch. 

“Okay well maybe I want that too.” You said, once again, defensively. When he didn’t respond and let you stew in your answer, you rambled out more. “And by maybe, I mean more than maybe.” You watched his lips turn up into a smirk at your rambling. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like- like that!” You exclaimed, pointing at the growing smirk on his lips. 

“Would you want me to consensually fuck you right now?” He asked casually, making your eyes widen. You tried to stammer out a response, but he granted you mercy by continuing. “Come here.” As he took off his glasses and set them on the desk, you stood and slowly walked over to him, waiting awkwardly once you were by his side. He grabbed your hips and rolled his chair back a little, giving you room to straddle his thighs. Once you were settled, he placed his hands on the arms on the chair, making you frown. 

“It’s only consensual if you actually give consent. So far you haven’t.” He explained, raising his brows as he waited for your response. 

“Yes. Fine- I want it.” You muttered, embarrassed. 

“What was that?” 

“I want you to fuck me. Please.” You weren’t able to maintain eye contact as you spoke. His hands grasped your hips, pulling you forward to grind against his bulge, making your breath hitch. You lifted your hands to place on his shoulders, but froze, not sure if it’s okay. He seemed to sense your hesitation because he gave you a nod to your silent question. As your hips maintained the movement without him needing to guide you, your gaze drifted down to his lips. You’ve never seen a man with such pink, soft looking lips. You watched them curl up into a small smile, making your eyes snap up to his. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asked, eyes fluttering down to your lips. 

“Yes please.” You whispered, subconsciously leaning closer. It hasn’t even been very long but you already miss the feeling of his lips pressed to yours— the way he eagerly swallowed down your sounds. 

He leaned up a little and captured your lips in a kiss, making your hips stutter. This kiss was less desperate and hungry than the previous one you shared. Instead, it was slower, more gentle. He removed one hand from your hip and placed it over your covered heat, rubbing your clit through the layers of clothing, making you gasp into the kiss. 

“Please.” You whined against his lips as he continued to tease you. That seemed to be enough for him though and he pulled away from the kiss to free his cock before pulling your pants and underwear down just enough to free your drooling cunt. 

“Tell me what you want.” He prompted, stroking his length to full hardness. 

“Please fuck me.” You whined, hips squirming, trying to maneuver yourself onto him. He relented, lifting your hips enough to line his cock up with your entrance, then pulling you all the way down. You let out a choked moan, brows furrowing and eyes slightly watering from the stretch— maybe I should’ve let him tease me a little more, you thought, trying not to wince. He seemed to pick up on that though and he let you remain buried on his cock, not moving yet. 

“Relax.” He said softly as his hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You whispered, willing your body to just hurry up and adjust. “I’m okay… You can move.” You said, holding your breath, preparing yourself for the stinging pain to worsen. Instead, his hand moved to your clit, rubbing slowly to build your arousal. When your walls fluttered around his length, the only indication he gave that he was affected was a slight hitch of his breath. 

His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you into another kiss. Your hips started rocking slowly and he pulled back from the brief kiss to remove your shirt. He leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, not even teasing you first, and you gasped as your hands found their way to his hair again. The hand that wasn’t on your clit, moved to your other nipple, lightly pinching and rolling it between his fingers. After another few seconds, he pulled back with a wet pop, then switched to the other one. The stinging in your core was replaced with a dull ache by the time he had finished. 

“Fuck me.” You whispered, hips rocking greedily. He had to look in your eyes to be sure, but once he was satisfied with your honesty, he moved both hands to your hips again and slowly lifted you before letting you drop back down with a startled moan. He continued the slow, teasing pace, you started to whine impatiently as you pulled on his hair. You could tell that he was having an internal battle of whether or not he should fuck you like you wanted or punish you for being greedy and you did your best to hide your smirk when he chose the former. 

He grabbed your hips tighter and planted his feet to start thrusting up into you, but he only lasted a few seconds before his chair started rolling back. He cursed under his breath and stood up, making you grab onto his shoulders as you let out a startled sound. Holding you up by your thighs, he walked you over to the couch, then sat down and almost immediately started bucking up into you. 

“Shit-“ You said through a breath at the suddenness of his thrusts, but he paid no mind to it. He just held you still and fucked you with an intensity you didn’t know he had. 

“That’s it- just take it. Just be a good girl, sit nice and still, and fucking take it.” He growled, making you whimper. 

“Please.” You cried, holding onto his shoulders so tight that your fingers ached. 

“Tell me what you’re begging for.” He said lowly, but his voice was starting to get breathier. 

“I- I don’t know… please!” 

“Poor thing. I fuck you for just a few minutes and already you’re too cock drunk to even know what you’re begging for.” He cooed mockingly, making you whine and clench around him. 

“Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, eyes filling with tears of desperation. 

“I wonder how long I’ll have to fuck you for until you’re permanently cock drunk.” You sobbed out a moan at that, feeling the knot of arousal in your stomach grow even tighter. 

“Please!”

“You want that? You want me to turn you into a cock drunk whore? Just a little sleeve for my dick?” You let out an embarrassed whine, feeling your cheeks heat up as you nodded. 

“I bet you do.” He chuckled breathlessly. “I bet you just want to be turned into a proper fuck toy— you don’t need to think, you just need to be fucked and bred.” You let out a choked sob, his words feeding into your kink enough that the fear was at the back of your mind. You nodded again with a whimper. 

“If you want something, you need to ask for it. And quickly too, otherwise I’ll have to pull out. You don’t want it to go to waste do you?” He frowned, making you mirror the expression. 

“No… Want your- I want your come, please…” You whimpered, eyes burning with tears of humiliation. 

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up? Say it.”

“I- I want you to- to fill me up... Please, Dr. Crane.” When the tears started falling, he removed one hand from your hip to wipe them away as he shushed you. 

“There’s no need to cry. I’ll give you what you want.” He said softly and you sniffled in response.  

“Thank you.” You whimpered. 

“Ready?” You couldn’t respond, not as his grip became painfully tight on your hips and he fucked even rougher. All you could do was nod. “Rub your clit.” He said through a breath. You moved a shaky hand between your legs, rubbing fast circles over your clit as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. He let out a low groan as your walls spasmed around his length from the pleasure, then forced you all the way down, the tip bulging your stomach a little. You let out a choked moan, feeling his cock twitching inside as hot come painted your walls. Through your moans you could hear him groaning and panting, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his orgasm. When he stilled, you whimpered painfully, feeling close to your own orgasm. 

“Please.” You cried, hips trying to rock against him even though he was mostly holding you still. “Please, I wanna come.” You whined, eyes filling with tears once again. 

“Go ahead.” He said simply, removing his hands from your body and settling into the couch with a small smirk. 

“But I want your help.” You frowned. 

“I’m giving you my cock. Would you rather I let you hump my leg instead?” You let out a long, needy whine as you pouted. 

“…No.” You muttered. 

“Then go ahead.” You whined, but started rocking your hips faster, continuing to rub your clit. “That’s it. Put on a good show for me.” The emotion in his voice was new to you— even if it was just smug amusement. You moved your hips faster, rubbed your clit harder, eagerly chasing your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” He was teasing you, mocking you, but you still let out a strangled moan from the praise. Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, making your whole body tremble as you rode it out, sobbing out moans from the pleasure. When your sounds died down and your body stopped shaking, you sagged in exhaustion, hissing as his cock went even deeper in your now sensitive cunt. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked up at him through your lashes, sleepiness clear in your features. 

“Good girl. Did that feel good?” He said softly and you nodded, not even attempting to talk. You wanted to lean forward against his body, lay your head on his chest and let your heavy eyes fall shut. But you knew there wasn’t even a slight chance that he would react any way other than negatively. So you placed your hand on his chest, forcing yourself to stay up and not give in to the sleepiness. 

“Are you tired?” He asked and your eyes fluttered open again, not even realizing you closed them. 

“Yeah.” You did your best not to slur the word. 

“You can rest here before returning to your room. I have quite a bit of work that needs done so I’ll be here a while.” 

“Mhm.” You nodded, giving him a small smile that you swore he almost returned. When he grabbed your hips and started lifting you off his cock, you whined. 

“I know.” He said quietly. Once you were sitting normally on his lap, he pulled your underwear and pants back up, then gently set you on the couch. When he stood up and walked away, you frowned, but he quickly returned, holding your shirt. He slipped it on over your arms and head, then let you lay down, resting your head on your hand as you curled up on your side. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, not able to keep your eyes open long enough to wait for a response. 

Part 7

[poisonlove]

i hate you!¹

I still hate you… but less.

4:35 PM

It was only 4:35 PM when the principal's verdict had hit us like a bolt from the blue. After the heated argument with the unbearable Jenna Ortega, we were forced to stay at school for an extra two hours. But the worst part? It wasn't just for one day; it was for an entire week.

"I want to die," I sighed. My elbow rested on the desk, my head propped up by my hand as I watched the clock tick away the time.

Our Science teacher shot us a stern look. "Absolute silence, please. I'll be back at the end of detention," he warned, making it clear that any infractions would lead to further penalties. "If you attempt to escape, the detention will be extended by a week, and if you argue, another hour... understood?"

"Mmm-hmm," I muttered with boredom, rolling my eyes in annoyance.

"Miss Ortega, did you understand?" the teacher turned his attention to the source of my frustration.

Jenna was sitting three desks away, her back against the wall, and from my vantage point, I could only see her profile. Ortega had her legs up on the table and earphones in her ears. It was as if she had erected an invisible wall between us, a clear sign of our tension.

"Ortega!" the teacher scolded with annoyance.

Jenna removed her earphones. "Yes, I understood," she replied through gritted teeth, clearly fed up.

"And remove your feet from the table," the teacher added with exasperation.

Jenna complied, and the teacher gave us one final glance before leaving the room.

I decided to pass the time by pulling out my notebook from my backpack, along with a pencil, and started drawing whatever came to mind. The punishment felt endless, and I needed something to distract myself.

As I drew, I scrutinized Jenna's profile more closely. She was clearly ignoring me, with earphones in her ears and a body posture that sent a clear message: she didn't want to talk at all.

My attention focused on her face, noting her upturned nose, heart-shaped lips, and slightly hollowed cheeks. But what struck me the most were her eyes. They were a deep brown, with long lashes framing them perfectly. They were physically flawless, and they captured the attention of anyone who gazed upon them.

My pencil began moving on the paper almost instinctively, creating lines and shadows that took shape. The graphite flowed on the page, delineating every detail of her brown eyes. Each individual eyelash seemed to come to life, capturing the imaginary light reflecting in her real eyes. It was as if I was trying to capture not only the physical appearance of her eyes but also the essence of what they might hide behind that distant expression.

I stuck out my tongue with a slight smile as I continued to draw, this time focusing on Jenna's eyebrows. She raised an eyebrow with confusion and shot me a glare, clearly feeling my gaze on her.

I increased the pressure on the pencil, creating heavy and precise lines as I outlined the curves of Jenna's eyebrows.

"What a pain," Jenna muttered and then stretched, yawning slightly.

In that motion, she lifted her hoodie slightly, revealing her perfectly flat stomach. I felt a bit embarrassed and quickly averted my gaze, my cheeks flushed, continuing to draw while only looking at my notebook. I had gotten the sketch I wanted, and now I wanted to fully concentrate on my work, trying to ignore the distractions around me. The tension between us was still palpable, but at least my drawing was taking shape as I desired.

This bitch has some nice facial features, despite being so insufferable I thought with a wry smile.

Her beauty was undeniable, even though her attitude was anything but amiable. It was a contradictory thought, but at least it helped me focus on my work and set aside the tensions.

"I must say I was wrong; you don't draw that badly," a voice murmured beside me.

"What do you want, Ortega?" I asked with a sigh, not in the mood for an argument.

Jenna had placed her hands on my desk, her head close to mine as she closely examined the contents of my notebook. Her breath was very close to my ear, her hair gracefully falling over her shoulders.

"Nothing from you, just the least I can do is see how you draw, considering that my eyes are on that notebook," she confessed in a bored tone.

The desire to draw faded.

Jenna, with a quick movement, sat in the desk next to mine. "Not drawing anymore?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"No, I feel a terrible presence by my side... very annoying, I must say," I muttered with faux irony.

Jenna burst into laughter.

"I don't understand why you've become so unbearable, you know?" I asked sincerely. "I remember that we were very close friends as children," I mumbled distractedly, smiling at the memory.

Flashback:

I was a little child using colored pencils, trying my best to color a car printed on a piece of paper.

"Wow, you're really amazing!" a voice came from my right, and I smiled when I saw a girl looking at my drawing.

That girl was completely covered in marker stains and seemed quite clumsy. "Can you teach me?" she asked with bright eyes. "Of course," I muttered absentmindedly, and the girl sat down next to me.

"I'm Jenna," the girl said with a big smile. "Y/N," I returned the smile. "I'm sure you and I will become great friends," she confessed, clumsily coloring the sheet.

"The best!" she added quickly, sticking out her tongue and running it over her lower lip.

"We're friends because I'm helping you draw?" I asked, intrigued and a bit confused.

She tilted her head to the side, looking at me curiously. "Isn't that what friends do?" she innocently asked.

End of the flashback.

The reminiscence of those happy moments with Jenna filled me with warmth, but at the same time, it made me feel the sadness of time passed and friendships lost. It was a missing puzzle piece that I had forgotten, and now I held it in my hands, hoping it could help resolve the current situation between us.

Jenna's fingers snapped in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Everything okay, weirdo?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yeah, pain in the neck," I muttered absentmindedly.

"Ugh... what can I say? Those were good times," she smiled, eliciting a faint smile from me.

"Do you remember the times we used to play Romeo and Juliet?" Jenna asked with a smile on her lips.

I chuckled, nodding. "How could I forget? You dressed me up as a prince and said we had to get married," I confessed, making Jenna blush.

"And that time I broke my arm falling from the tree?" she asked, amused.

"I'm sorry about that, it's my fault the ball ended up there," I admitted, remembering the moment when Jenna had tried to catch the ball thrown too high, ending up falling and breaking her arm.

"We were friends... for how long? 7 years?" I asked uncertainly.

"7 years and 4 months," Jenna murmured, surprising me.

"Can you explain why you've become like this?" I asked curiously.

Her smile faded. She crossed her arms around herself, almost embarrassed. "Do you really not remember?" she asked in a whisper.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"No," I honestly replied.

"And if I tell you... 'monkey arms'?" she asked, making a grimace.

I widened my eyes in realization.

I couldn't believe it... Jenna had become so unbearable because of a comment I made when we were 12 years old. We were in the gym, ready for our physical education class.

"Hey, Jen," I called my best friend.

Jenna turned toward my direction, looking at me with a smile on her face and bright eyes.

"Tell me," she asked, adjusting her short-sleeved shirt.

"Have you heard the new song 'Dance Monkey'?" I asked, barely holding back my laughter.

"Yes?" she asked unsurely.

"With those arms, it's definitely your song," I exclaimed, making the girls in the locker room burst into laughter.

I was clearly joking. But Jenna looked at me with flushed cheeks and teary eyes, grabbed her hoodie, and rushed out of the locker room. That moment of light teasing had a much deeper impact than I could have ever imagined.

"Oh, crap," I looked at Jenna with wide eyes, incredulous.

"You made my life impossible because of a comment from when we were kids?" I asked, unable to believe it.

Jenna shrugged without thinking, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "Because of you, I'm still afraid to wear short sleeves," she confessed.

I analyzed her outfit again: an oversized hoodie that completely covered her arms.

"Damn... Jen, I was just joking! I didn't mean to cause all this drama," I muttered absentmindedly, taking her hand to uncover her arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked in panic.

"Showing that you look amazing regardless," I muttered absentmindedly, trying to address her insecurities.

Jenna blushed, and she seemed almost on the verge of a panic attack. "See?" I asked with a nervous smile.

I ran my fingers along her arm, feeling like a complete idiot for making this girl feel bad for years. I had never thought that such a joke could ruin a friendship.

Jenna broke free from my grasp and got up from the desk, seeing that the science teacher had returned to the classroom, ending our punishment.

"See you tomorrow, loser," Jenna muttered, a small smile on her lips.

In the end, now I knew why Jenna detested me so much. In the end, the responsible, clueless idiot was just me.

[oddballwriter]

HEYAA. I’ve been so obsessed with ur MK stuff lately it’s insane. Wondering if I could request a little blurb with Steven? 🙏 Maybe artistic reader who uses Steven as a muse of sorts? 🎨 Maybe Steven finds reader’s sketches of him and Reader is like embarrassed 😨 that he may be uncomfortable with it? Add and change up anything you’d like!! 😽 ur my fav writer thank you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️

Your Drawings Look like Heaven to Me

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Summary: Steven always enjoys your drawings and art, big or small, painting or simple sketch and doodle. But he's a bit surprised when he discovers that you have a habit of drawing a certain muse that you have. 

Warnings: There's nothing that I can actually thing of other than it's mentioned that the reader draws Steven when he's unaware, but I don't think it's that bad. Also 'Y/n' is used once. 

Author’s Snip: This was meant to be just a little blurb but I got the writing equivalent of zoomies. You asked for a cookie and I made you a cake with layers, frosting, and toppings. This is insane how did I do this. I think it's because I've been drinking a monster while writing this. I have paused the video that I was previously watching in the background because I am so focused. I'm not even joking this shit is 1517 words long and that is before I proof and grammar checked it. I think this might be the longest writing I've done thus far. Enjoy your free cake, anon.

Notes: This is written in the lens of a world where it's just Steven, so none of the actual events in the show happen.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven always knew you drew. You met at your jobs at the museum, at the time, you were working the front desk while he of course worked at the gift shop. The two of you weren't all too familiar with each other since you only saw each other in passing. You knew him as Steven from the gift shop, and he knew you as Y/N from the front desk. You did learn more details through others. Steven was a chatty guy who had an impressive knowledge about Egyptology and mythos. And you were the person at the front desk who did nothing but sit there and draw all day when not granting visitors entry, or in most cases, taking a second to scan a preprinted ticket and check the schedule.

Steven heard talk that you were really talented in your art. You were able to draw what were basically pictures of things you saw or even made up. He hadn't seen your actual art till one day he found you sat where he usually did for lunch, drawing the statue man that he talked at everyday. And wow, were they right about how well you could draw. Though while you talked to each other you laughed "Well of course I'm able to draw him perfectly. He doesn't move.".

That lunch break was a long time ago. You two started dating between then and now. Steven managed to leave the museum for a new one that actually let him be a tour guide. You eventually managed to find work that let you use your skills in art instead of using it to beat the boredom of your job. And you also moved in with Steven in his little flat, in which he cleared out some of this clutter to make a space for you to work and make your own.

You would draw little doodles for Steven to have. Like Gus swimming around. An Egyptian god that you made using his books as a reference. You even drew him a little alligator with a speech bubble saying "Later" on a sticky note. He still has it by the way. He laminated it using clear tape and has it in his wallet as a pick-me-up when he's upset or as a lucky charm of sorts. You always made drawings for him. But never once had he thought that you would make drawings of him. Let alone how many drawing you made of him.

Steven isn't a man who likes to snoop around regularly, feeling a massive sense of ruining someone's privacy. But you said that he could always look through your sketchbooks and art pieces if he wanted, as long as it wasn't a commission that was still being worked on, which he respected. You, like any other artist, had a plethora of sketchbooks of different sizes that served different purposes. There were your personal sketchbooks, outline and testing sketchbooks, practice sketchbooks, a lot of sketchbooks with a lot of different things they were for. It amazed him just how many you had and how you were able to remember which is which.

He knew which ones were ones he gifted you though. Steven was never confident when it came to gifting you supplies. He wasn't an artist himself so he didn't know what was perfect and what was something you would say thank you for out of courtesy. One of the things he used as a safe play were sketchbooks. The bookstore he frequented had a section of art stuff and found that the sketchbooks were not only great quality but also had various designs on their covers. So he'd get you one almost every time he went.

When he looked at them on the shelf next to your desk he realized that he had never actually seen inside of those ones. He was a bit hesitant to grab one since he didn't know if you would want him to. It's not like he could ask you right now. You were out running some important errands and he didn't want to bother you. However, they were on the part of the shelf that you put all your regular personal sketchbooks, which he was allowed to look at so he took a one random from the collection and flicked through the pages.

Out of some coincidence, it was the first sketchbook he got you, which was admittedly one he got you before he learned what pages were good for actual art. The first few pages were doodles that were likely from testing how the paper held up with the actual process of drawing which soon stopped and the rest of the art was actually taped on like they originally belonged to another sketchbook.

Steven thought of that as a clever use for the pages. You would sometimes make art you thought was nice on miscellaneous papers and would simply take the piece with the art out and stick it somewhere else. But he soon notices a theme amongst all the doodles and drawings, which then follow into all of the other sketchbooks he gifted you.

Him.

Most of the drawings in these sketchbooks were of him.

They were all different. Some were him lounging around or taking a nap. Something that would have made him unaware of you creating a drawing of him. There was one that was him asleep laying in bed from what would be your side of the bed. His face was calm, the limpness of his arms and body was captured perfectly, the sheets drawn with the most accurate wrinkles, and the lighting gave the impression of the light of the morning that came in through the curtains. It looked like you simply took a picture of him while he slept but it was clearly a sketch drawn using a pen and pencil.

There was these bust and face portraits that spanned through out the books, of course of him. The first were already so good in detail considering these had to be drawings of him from memory. But they only got more detailed as they went on. You managed to get his amount of stubble right. You had the little baby curls that lived along his hair line. The crease between his eyebrows he had since he always had a slight anxious expression. That tiny little dimple that he had next to his nose that he didn't know existed until you pointed it out one time.

Steven's mind was boggling to him to see such detailed drawings of him that looked so carefully done even when they were simply quick sketches. They were life-like. They were him. They were Steven. To be honest, how could it not? You see his face all the time. So why wouldn't you have him completely memorized. It was just the fact that you had taken time and pages to draw him and him alone.

It was a bit jarring, for the both of you, when you walked through the front door with a hand full of groceries and other things from your errands and he was seen looking at all the drawings of him. You were embarrassed that he finally saw all your drawings of him and worried that he would think it was weird. He thought that he crossed a line and breached your privacy.

You two avoided talking about it till Steven finally did during dinner later that evening.

"You, uh, draw me... a lot." Steven spoke. "Yeah. I do." you blush as you avoided eye contact in case his eyes showed that your fear of him finding your habit with drawing him was strange was correct. "Why do you draw me so much?" he questions. You sighed, "It's sort of a habit I formed." you confess. You proceeded to explain how it started,

"I first drew you as an exercise to get rid of some art block. I usually draw faces of people I know as a means to do that. So I drew you. It was okay. But when I looked at it a couple days later I thought that I could do it again to improve on detailing some more. Then I used you as a study for lighting and colors.".

"Then, sometimes, I would just draw you when I thought you looked pretty or thought of you. And that's sort of what I've been doing." you explain further. "I thought you would find it weird if you saw all the times I drew you and so I just put them in the books you got me and hoped you wouldn't see them." you say in a timid manner.

"I don't think it's strange. I think it's actually quite flattering." Steven clarifies. "I was just surprised that you think of me as something worth drawing. Especially with such detail." he remarks. You breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"If I'm entirely honest, love," Steven spoke up, "Never tell me that you're drawing me from where I am. I'll get nervous and possibly ruin the position that you're drawing me in." he remarks.

[writingpromptsworld]

Prompt #56

When villain broke into the hero’s agency, they didn’t expect to see their posters hanging on every wall of the hero’s office. Pictures from years ago, little drawings lay around on their desk, scraps of their clothes held in a frame like some kind of precious diamonds. It was ridiculous.

They knew to some extent that they and the hero had something between them. A strong pull, a powerful desire, holding them both together. Attached to each other like a delicate string. But what they hadn’t expected was this. This obsession. This mad, crazy obsession that they could feel radiating off the hero’s entire office. It was like the place held every part of the villain. From the smallest detail to the biggest one. They felt a kind of unease, perturbed.

They looked around through all the memories from the little objects splayed everywhere. From the newspapers that displayed their headshots to their over-the-years changing costumes. Everything was so admirable and terrifying at the same time.

There was a clicking of a door opening, and the villain froze in mid air, whilst they were holding up a ring that they remember losing the last time they had fought, which was months ago. They couldn’t believe how long it had been since they had seen the hero.

“Oh, look who’s here.” The hero chuckled, locking the door behind them and coming forward to where the villain was standing, their hands now putting down the ring back on the table.

“I was wondering where my ring went. So, it was here. You’re such a dirty little thief, aren’t you.” The villain murmured, leaning back on the said table. The hero raised their eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t call myself that. I saved it from the cliff where we were fighting and thought to give it back to you after, but unfortunately forgot.” The hero explained themself, as they crossed their hands in front of their chest before uncrossing them again and strolling to where the ring was placed. They picked it up and examined it carefully.

The villain scoffed. “So, you’re a liar too.”

“How so?” The hero asked, not taking their eyes off the ring.

“You’ve been collecting all these things of me like a psychopath. And, I’m supposed to be the crazy one here?” The villain rolled their eyes, moving their hand to take the ring back from the hero. But the hero just snatched it away, frowning.

“I haven’t been “collecting” them. I’ve been merely storing them for you.”

“Oh yeah? Sure. That’s what people say when they are caught, hero.” The villain muttered, moving their feet to the suit they used to wear two years ago. How did the hero even find that?

“Hmmm. No comment”. The hero replied, putting down the ring and coming to stand by the villain.

“Where did you find this suit?” The villain questioned, turning their head to the side to look the hero in their eyes.

“It was in your closet, I found it thrown on the floor like some garbage. I couldn’t believe it. It was and is my favorite costume that I liked the most on you. I had to take it in.” The hero went on, staring at the villain back. A blush adorned their cheeks.

The villain’s eyebrows arched. “You liked it on me the best?”

The hero nodded hesitantly.

“Huh. Interesting. What about those drawings? Are you gonna say you were bored and thought of sketching me, your enemy, to get rid of that boredom?” The villain dared, their body now facing the hero as they stared them down with an intensity in their eyes.

The hero shook their head, and looked down. Not able to hide how flustered they were. “No, no. It definitely wasn’t out of…boredom, so to say. I like drawing, and-and you have an attractive face that I could use as a reference.” They gulped.

The villain smirked. “Do I now? Do you really think I’m attractive, hero?”

The hero’s eyes widened as they lifted their head. “You know, for a well-known person like you; I didn’t think you would be such a hideous thing.” The villain continued, amused.

“I’m not a thing.” The hero said, simply. Their blush deepening, as they tried to move away from the villain. The villain grabbed their wrist and pulled them back. The hero hissed, the grip was tight. Perhaps a little too tight and the villain knew it, because they smiled a little before tutoring their head.

“You don’t care that I called you hideous, but that I called you a thing? Tch.” The villain snorted in what felt like a very disappointed manner to the hero.

The hero swallowed, as they tried again to snatch their wrist away but the villain’s hold on them was too strong. They felt weak, just like how they have been feeling for the past few weeks, thinking of the villain. They couldn’t stop thinking about them, it was like a musical record playing on repeat for hours on ends. It felt undefinable. They felt defeated. The force of the feelings that they had for the villain nearly crushing them.

The villain tugged them closer and brought their face closer to the hero's face and smirked. "Does someone have a little crush on me?"

The hero faltered. "W-what? No."

"You're red as a tomato. What else am I supposed to make of it if not the fact that you're clearly blushing?" The villain wondered, their unoccupied hand moving to the hero's face to brush back a strand of hair from their eyes. The hero flinched at the action, taking a step back even though they wished so hard to let the villain continue, this was no time to get lose in their feelings.

"I am not blushing. You should get your eyes checked." With that, they turned around and broke the moment. The villain raised their eyebrows but said nothing and soon enough, left.

The hero sighed.

[rreskk]

Mama's boy

Summary: How the tables have turned. Trevor learnt his lesson from having attitude.

TW: -Smut -Usage of drugs

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 2976

“ – Your mouttthhh, so hot… Your web; I’m caught. Your skin? So wet. Black lace – “ Sung Trevor who drifted out of his bedroom, shirtless and holding a cigarette bud close to his lips. He stomped over and slapped your thigh, gesturing you to move over so he could take a seat on the sofa as well.

The song “poison” by Alice Cooper continued to be lowly hummed as you recognised the melody. He manspreaded and gave you little to no space, your annoyance going unnoticed since the cig was the only thing he seemed to be focussing on. Trevor was cross-eyed as he’d stare down at the smoke fuming. You watched him attempt some tricks, but of course, it resulted in him growing impatient and burning the bud against the tiled floor. He then wiped his face with irritation before giving him a small pout.

“I’m bored.”

“You’ll find something.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t right now.” He mumbled back, displeased with your remark. You felt his eyes burning Hell into the side of your head. Without any recommendation of ideas that would entertain him, you gave him an innocent shrug.

“You could always watch TV with me.”

Trevor gazed towards the TV with subtle curiosity, “What’s on?”

The channel was nothing special – by all means, it was broadcasting the latest cartoon that was inspired by celebrity drama. You weren’t interested but it was somewhat entertaining. The occasional comedy sketches made your belly chuckle, and when it did, you’d look over at Trevor to see him utterly disgusted. He scoffed a little bit and ruffled through his pockets to seek out – what you’d predict to be – another lighter. You could only imagine he was planning on getting high to defuse the boredom.

“It is a good show.” You tried to explain.

Trevor held a pipe and gave you a laugh, “No chance.” Then he began warming the glass with his lighter, the meth bubbling, making you feel uneasy.

His body relaxed when the substance spiralled into his system via oral consumption. He closed his eyes, feeling the buzz. You watched closely and when he went to breathe in another hit, you grasped his wrist tightly.

The grab caused Trevor to eruptively sit up. He looked between you and the hand with a confused grin. A few tugs wouldn’t fix it, and he was soon yanking around his arm to break your hold, but you weren’t budging. Nonetheless, the hand grew tighter – ensuring some bruises.

“The fuck?” He croaked out in confusion, holding the pipe in his other hand.

You remained speechless as to opposing a daring hand around his gruffy wrist. Although his tugs would send your body forwards and backwards, it seems as though he’s mistaken this as some roughhousing, chuckling lively at your challenging stare. He proceeded to misunderstand your irritation with playing until he was caught off-guard when you snatched his other wrist – restricting both mobility of his hands. And the pipe fell onto the floor.

Trevor’s gaze followed it and he wasn’t okay. He grunted, his fists clenching.

“[y/n], let go. My pipe.” He protested.

“Stop smoking that shit around me.” You finally vocalised.

His mouth twitched into a grumpy scowl. His face screamed his refusal, so your grip tightened.

“Let go – it ain’t funny anymore.”

“It never was.”

“[y/n].” Trevor warned.

“Just stop it, okay?”

“Let go of my fuckin’ wrists.”

“You are just gonna pick that pipe up and smoke it again.”

He laughed, “Talk about lack of faith.”

“Can you blame me?” Your words had struct him a bit, “I came over to spend time with you, not that thing you turn into when you smoke that crap.”

“That thing? Quit the shit-talk, [y/n]. I ain’t in the mood.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Don’t be short with me.”

“Pardon?” You encouraged his temper with a smile.

“I said – “ Trevor paused before his face coiled into a cheeky smirk, “Oh… You’re good. You ain’t fooling me, sugar. How ‘bout you quit clowning around and let go of my wrist?” His face playful yet his tone serious.  

You slyly kicked the pipe further away and freed his hands. He immediately went to reach for the drug – but you came prepared – snatching his wrists again, earning yourself an angry man who was trying to squirm out of your entrapment.

“Fucks sake!”

His inability to learn had gave you a light bulb moment. If he wasn’t gashing at your hands, he’d notice the way your eyes enlightened with madness – but instead, he carried on causing a scene. Which was an unfortunate decision since you were beginning to enjoy this tantrum. It made him look pathetic, easy, addicted.

“[y/n]! Fuckin’ let me go! Fuck!”

Holding a grudge, despite the countless threats, it resulted in you practically spawning him down against the sofa. Trevor was trapped underneath as you’d pin his hands above his head, your body weight trapping mobility to his legs as well. He was purely outraged – daggers in his eyes. His energy fell and his yells turned into muffled cries and grunts. Thanks to his stamina, Trevor could only pant to express the pure anger. He’d pant out your name and attempt to detain the partial conviction of his hands.

“Lemme go, for Gods sake. I hear you, I hear you! Just cut the crap, Christ…” Now he had realised this wasn’t rough-housing. He defeatedly relaxed his body and just stared at you above, sweat slowly dripping down his forehead from the fighting and withdrawal of the pipe.

You hadn’t of said anything in this 20 minutes of pinning him down, and it was beginning to rile him up again. Trevor’s jaw clenched and he fiercely tugged on his legs, trying to lift you up with just his hips (as is it happened before), it didn’t exactly work due to his weakened, worn-out frame.

“Fuckin’ speak, [y/n]. You know I hate the silent treatment.” He urged.

“I know you do.”

He scoffed at your ignorant acknowledgement, “You enjoy fucking with me, babe? ‘Cause I don’t. Now do me a favo – “

“No, I don’t think I will.” You’d cheekily smile, holding his hands up higher that it outstretched his chest, causing him to muffle out sweet groans.

“[y/n]…” He had closed his eyes to avoid giving you the pleasures of seeing him riled up. However, his face says it all. The way you only pinned him down more, the gradual exposure of his arousal would become more and more obvious; flushed face, whiney voice, growing urge in his pants. He couldn’t hide that one.

“This was the only way to shut you up.”

Trevor pouted, “Surely not – “

“You know it.”

“But – “

“Don’t lie.” You continued to cut him off with a smirk, forcing him into this vulnerable state where he was getting more vocal with this new tension. Whenever you dominated the conversation, he’d relentlessly whinge and squirm (but in a sensual way).

“I’ve been bad,” He had finally admitted, “I’m a fuckin’… I’m a…”

“Go on.” You egged him.

“I’m a fuckin’ brat. Piece of shit, I deserve to be beaten – “

“Like a?”

“Like a naughty boy.” He whimpered.

“You wanna learn your lesson, baby?”

“Mmm – fuck, maybe I do. Fuck… Yes, please.”

“Are you sure?” You whispered in his ear.

His body trembled when your breath managed to tickle the side of his face. Trevor released a strained whine as he nodded his head frantically, an erection lurking just in front of your lap, occasionally touching your thigh.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Beat me, hit me, shit! – Fuckin’ make me cry, ma!”

“Aren’t you precious?” You forced him to look up, “It wasn’t worth the trouble, hm? What do you have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry, ma…” Trevor lowly grumbled from the depths of his chest.

“That’s my boy. Keep your arms up for me, baby. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.” You let your hands fall as they fell to his face. Trevor tried his best not to abuse the sudden freedom, his arms jerking but he had the authority to restrain himself (for a while). Nonetheless, he was too distracted by the way you’d caress his cheeks and inspect his neck. He was getting used to this love before a hand striked his left cheek, a bellowing cry leaving his cracked lips.

“Fuck!” And it stung horrifically. His skin throbbed at the impact of your hand. Trevor wanted to question you, but after you had slapped him another time, the more he was beginning to praise your palm. The more he began to plead. The more he began to enjoy the burning pain it caused.

Then soon you were beating the living Hell out of his tortured face, throwing punches and slaps until his skin was threatening to bleed black and blue. You’d watch him laugh and moan, squirm and tear up. Trevor disobeyed your commands and lowered his hands, using them as pathetic self-defence to lure you in more. He loved when you broke the barrier between his arms and face, he loved making it a challenge. It brought him more punishment, therefore, more pain and bruises.

“Fuck, fuck… Yeah – “

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” You panted between slaps, “Should of known.”

“I love you so bad, ma… God, keep going, I deserve! Make me bleed, mama!”

Your fist reconnected with his cheek another, a streaming gush of blood seeping from his nose and staining his naked chest. You stopped for a minute but Trevor grabbed your wrists, giving you a begging face.

“Don’t stop, mommy.” He whimpered – extremely submissively.

You looked conflicted when seeing how much blood poured from his battered nose. It caked his mouth and neck, and when he spoke, it stained his teeth as well. Some spats would find themselves covering your hands and arms as well.

“Don’t stop.” He repeated.

In a matter of seconds, you sighed and raised your fist again. Trevor squeezed his eyes closed in preparation before you sent another punch to his cheek. He moaned, his head falling back against he sofa as he lifted his arms up again, sitting them above his head like you ordered him to before. You longingly leaned forward and pressed kisses against the skin you abused, ignoring how his blood would cover your lips.

Trevor tried to meet with you, his own lips desperate to feel yours. So you gave him the chance and you both grabbed each other’s heads, deepening the kiss with such hunger and aggression. He sat up from the sofa and crawled onto your lap, your arms holding him like a big baby. Trevor wrapped his arms around your shoulder as you were both mangled in this red, hot liquid. So much so that his hair was mattered, but it gave him this ugly charm.

“I love you –“ He murmured between hot kisses.

You both departed to gain some air as he’d lean in again but you held a hand to his chest, keeping some distance. Trevor gave you a panicked expression, his neediness overcoming the temptation. He tried to kiss you again and missed. He tried to kiss your neck, but was held back. He’d whine and bury his face in your chest, removing any original colouring of your shirt to be replaced with his messy blood.

So you stroked his hair and allowed him to mumble inaudible words into your temple. You made out sentences like “I need you” and “I wanna feel you, mama”, the usual pleads to get what he wants – the typical “mommy boy” manipulation.

“Trevor.” You recollected his attention and adjusted his body on your lap, your chests smothering each other.

“I wanna feel you, [y/n].”

“I know.”

“I wanna see you, real bad.”

“I know, baby.”

He groaned and pressed his forehead against yours, “I wanna see you.”

“Why should I let you?” You chuckled, your fingers massaging his sweaty scalp.

“Stop playing with me, ma… I really want you, so bad.”

“I’m not playing with you.”

“M’no, you are – “

“Trevor, baby,” You kissed his cheek, “I’m not playing with you. Sometimes you have to earn it. I’m not going to give everything to a naughty boy, hm?”

“But – “

“Do you understand?”

He refused to say anything as he licked his lips and stared down at your chest, ogling whatever he could find from under your shirt. This behaviour itself was affirming prejudice and you groped his ass, throwing him aside where he limped onto the sofa with a groan. You stood up before he eruptively lashed onto your legs, his hands begging for mercy upon your thighs.

“Babe!” Trevor cried out.

“Always begging, aren’t you?” You belittled when staring down at him on all fours.

“Please…”

His hair was being tugged brutally, small whimpers escaping, yet he maintained a serious face with glassy eyes. You forced him to his knees where he looked up with admiration. His eyes darted to your crotch area as you slowly undressed, revealing your wet pussy that had been enjoying Trevor’s submission from the course of the night.

He chewed his bottom lip and went to reach forward, but you snatched both of his hands and pinned them directly behind his headd. You kept your grip there, enforcing little to no chance he’d free himself.

“Take a good look, Trevor,” You opened your legs up as he was facing the glory, “You keep your hands behind your head while you eat my pussy good, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

Trevor’s lips quivered, leaning forward until he was breathing against your cunt. His knees were still dug into the floor, hands shaking behind his head (by your authority), and his tongue slowly extended to greet the utter wetness. He moaned when tasting you. A little tease turned into full desire as he dived into your sex and feasted upon your clit.

Justice was served to his own arousal since the define stench of your cunt on his tongue was enough to cause staggering pleasures in his own cock. You forced his head closer so he was merely suffocated, the muffling of his mouth feeding your sex the lust and neediness he portrayed from all that time struggling.

“Fuck, yes.” You praised when he was licking you savagely.

It was hard standing there when your legs were shaky with joy. You had used Trevor’s head as stability – whenever you felt a lunge in your legs, you weighted onto his pathetic figure that was praying your pussy. He, being a good boy, kept the promise and held his hands behind his head, even when he wanted to cuddle you during this heat. Trevor would moan, signalling this need of extra attention, but of course, you refused to gift him anymore (which secretly turned him on more and more and more).

“I’m gonna – “ He breathed against your cunt, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Aw… You’re such a cumslut, baby. I didn’t even have to touch you.”

“Please…”

“Such an easy little shit, aren’t you?”

Trevor panted, his tongue becoming sloppy. He enjoyed being undermined as it made him tremble.

“Let yourself cum, baby. Don’t slack.” You ordered when noticing his tiredness.

“It hurts – “

“C’mon…”

“I wanna touch myself – “

“Shhh. It’s okay. C’mon, I know you love it; not being able to touch yourself. It feels good, Trev?  I bet it does…”

He gained the motivation and took you into his mouth again, pestering a spot in which he began to thoroughly ignite. You gasped out a heavy moan, begging him to go faster as his tongue began working hard-labour to trigger a climax.

All while he experiences his own.

Trevor cruelly groaned when his cock squirted out semen from the overstimulation you had caused him. It evolved when his blood began to dry out on his skin, your pussy drenched on his tongue, your hands restraining his own, your dirty words – it blew him up, and he came. He came hard.

“Fuuuuuck!” Trevor murmured from inside your cunt.

You didn’t give him a moment to process the orgasm. You evilly pushed him further into you – mockingly.

“That’s right…” You’d whisper and examine the way his hands would shake as you hold them tightly against his damp hair.

“I love you, fuck – “

“Keep going.”

He slurped before it was clear that you were finishing soon. He grasped a safe momentum and eagerly slashed your pussy, his mouth inhaling every pleasure you felt until your legs were weak. Trevor finally sucked, and this was where you threw your head back and gasped.

“FUCK!”

Cum dripped onto his face, replacing the blood. Trevor smirked and invited your fluids into his mouth as you continued to orgasm swimmingly. He licked every last drop like a reward and leaned away to see you. There was a proud glimpse in his eye, cum running down his face, making him look ruined.

“You tasted to good, ma.” He whispered from his knees and begged to hear you again.

“Shit… Baby…”

“I love you. I love your taste, I love your voice, I want to marry you – “

“Trevor, shhh…” You pressed a finger to his lips, recovering from the intense orgasm, “Fuck.”

“Thank you for coming on my face.” He desperately tried to resist your attempt to silence him.

So with that, you rolled your eyes and embraced him into your arms. Trevor nuzzled his face into your neck and repeatedly asked for more cuddles as he’s “tired” from all the begging and fighting. He dragged you to the bedroom and lied on top of you like a kid. He rested his chin on your stomach and smiled cheekily.

“I like when you hit me – “

“I thought you were tired, baby?”

“Nuh uh… I just wanna hold you…”

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights

Part 1 of 3 for @inklings-challenge

An older lady befriends and adopts a ghost she found in her garden

Next part >>here

Michael Goffrey bid his wife farewell as he left for his next shipping job, and Gail Goffrey was once again faced with the fact that her house was cavernously empty.

She had expected the house to feel empty after her children grew up and moved on with their lives; that was the sort of thing one always heard about from the mothers and wives left behind. However, everyone seemed to stress the loneliness—not the rather more intense boredom.

Gail had always preferred quiet and alone time, so she did not take issue with the solitude. However, though she still had to cook and mend and clean and tidy and all the other tasks, it was one thing to do so for six people and quite another, shorter thing to do so for two. It was even less of a thing to do so for one, since Michael had been promoted to first mate and now had to accompany the airships personally, no longer simply loading and unloading at the cloudends as he once did.

Empty and meaningless. That’s what it felt like. With her family, she had people to help and care for. With just herself, she felt as though she were wasting time walking in circles for no other purpose than to exist.

She made it to the second day without any significant issue.

She was out tending to the herb garden when it happened—a bug wandered in front of her. That shouldn’t have been a problem. Bugs were some of her favorite creatures. But after the first smile, it hit her that she hadn't seen a new kind of one in months—this one already had three sketches in her notebook.

She’d run out of garden bugs to document.

Bugs, of all things. Bugs were everywhere, bugs had never-ending variations, bugs were constant. And she’d run out of them.

Stabbing the trowel into the earth perilously close to the offending bug, she sat back on her heels and looked up at the sky.

"Well, Lord, I reckon you put me on your good Earth for a reason. And I don't think it was just to sketch bugs." She smoothed her apron out, flicking bits of dirt off of it. "I also doubt I'm done with what I'm supposed to do down here, otherwise I wouldn't be here. But if you don't mind me saying, I'm awfully bored of where I am, though I do love my house and my husband and my town quite fierce. But I have all the time in the world, and I'd like to do good with it, if I could. So if you could show me what to do where I can—give me eyes to see as who I can do good towards—then I would appreciate it mightily."

Gail had prayed similar prayers before, with varying regularity. She knew the good Lord had heard her, as he always did. And if he answered with more solitude and time and boredom, then she supposed that was where she was meant to be for the moment. But she dearly hoped there might be something new this time.

So, really, she shouldn't have been surprised to see someone under the loquat tree. But then again, it had been raining since before dawn, so no one in their right mind would have been outdoors. She should know, since she herself had been out gathering moss for terrariums and hadn't heard a breath from anyone all day, even near the city.

Her first impression was that the lad was quite young. Younger than her youngest, in fact, who had not too long ago started her career as a professor at the nearby university. Looked perhaps like he could be one of her students. Very slight of build, as though he needed to eat more, and small looking as he sat hunched in the rain and letting the wet drip down his messy hair, full of loose ends that had gotten free from his ponytail.

Gail stood at the edge of her garden for a moment, resting her pail of moss against the stone border as she observed him.

He didn't move, just sat there with his face turned towards the soil, and didn't seem to see her. Part of his shoulder seemed stained, perhaps with mud. With the house not a few feet to the left, she wondered if he'd tried to knock and not gotten an answer, what with her out and about.

Well, unexpected or not, there was really only one thing to do.

Gripping her pail handle resolutely, Gail marched her way through the garden paths and stood in front of him. He shifted at the sound of her approach, turning his face up towards her—his eyes were pale, as if someone had sketched them on and not bothered with paint. What's more, up closer, the brownish stain on his shoulder looked rather like dried blood.

He tilted his head, as if trying to tell where the sound had come from.

"Well then," she said after a long moment of trying to figure out what to say, "who might you be?"

"Oh." He looked more directly at her, and somehow the eyes looked a bit more colored in, like they remembered they could be brown. "Dreadfully sorry, ma'am. I seem to have gotten lost in the rain. I hope you don't mind me taking a few moments here under your tree?"

He hadn't answered the question, but he seemed more surprised than shifty. "Not at all. Unpleasant weather to be lost in, for sure. If you'd like, you can wait it out under a roof."

"Oh," he said again, and looked to his left; this time it seemed like he understood what he was seeing. "I suppose that would be nicer."

"Well, you're welcome to my roof, if you’d like," she said. She wondered how long he would take her up on that.

He awkwardly stumbled to his feet before she could offer her hand. "That's very kind of you, ma'am."

"Would you like anything to eat?" She went ahead and led the way to the kitchen door.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Thank you ma’am, but I don't think I'm hungry."

She didn't think he would be, but, well, it wasn't like she had experience with this. Which concerned her—she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. At least he didn't seem to be wicked. She supposed he must need a helping hand and, while she needed to figure out what that help was, he was still just a boy; she would do him the courtesy of treating him accordingly.

The porch and floors, old and creaky since long before she and her husband and infant son had moved in decades ago, greeted them with typical fanfare as they trudged over the threshold. She dripped her way over to the stove, where she put the kettle on; it was unlikely that her visitor would want any, but she most certainly did. Setting her pail of moss by the stove to deal with later, she glanced back to see the lad standing in the middle of the space, staring up at the roof.

Gail wondered if he noticed that he wasn't wet.

"Say," she said, carefully pulling teacups out of the cupboard, "what did you say your name was?"

He looked at her sharply. "I… I don't think I did."

"Hmmmm. Well, how should I call you, then?"

He stared at her.

In the background, the rain continued on.

"Should I just call you ma'am, then?" He said, smiling faintly.

Gail squinted at him. "Now then, young man, are you dodging the question deliberately, or do you just not have an answer?"

"Oh." He glanced around the kitchen, then back to her, and blanked. "Sorry, what was the question?"

Gail rested back against the counter. She picked up her glasses from where she'd left them this morning, and stuck them on, pushing the temples through her sodden mess of hair. "I was just asking what your name was."

His eyes widened. "I… don't… Didn't I answer that?"

"Not as I can recall."

"That… that was rude of me, then, wasn't it?" His eyes were still wide, and the brown was fading.

Maybe it was rude of her to keep pressing the matter. He seemed not to know. Gail pressed her glasses firmer on her nose, trying to reach some kind of decision—but whatever was going on with her guest had been set in motion.

"What is my name?" He asked, his voice rising. "I can't remember my name."

"That's alright, dear," she said, trying to distract him, calm him down. "Do you remember where you were before my garden?"

It had the opposite effect.

He stepped back, towards the door, and glanced around with eyes that no longer understood where he was. "No… I-I can't remember… where am I? Do you know my name?"

"I'm afraid I—"

The kettle shrieked into the space between them with a rush of steam.

The lad cast a wild glance in its direction, stepped backwards. Gail, startled into motion, scrambled to shut the thing off.

When she turned back, the space where he had stood was dry and empty. She and the rain and her pail of terrarium moss had been left alone again.

Next

[ssavaart]

Happy Friday, All!

In 2020, we were all in lockdown and the world was crazy and I had NO motivation to make art. So, I joined TikTok and, out of sheer boredom, started posting sketches.

Each day, I’d find a random photo online and spend an hour or two painting that into my sketchbook.

Every day.

I wasn’t “making art”.

I was just sketching. Doodling. Goofing off.

I did hundreds of these over the next year until I felt ready to “make art” again.

Sometimes our minds aren’t ready for something big. Sometimes we just need to keep our hands busy and covered in paint until our minds and souls are creative again.

Anyways. I’ll be posting some of my favorite sketchbook doodles for the next few days. Hope that’s okay.

Sending big hugs from the Hobbit Hole ❤️

Scott