#and i love that the graphite shows through

[ktsphere]

I'm going to call this experiment a resounding success!

[watercolour on top of 6B pencil]

[sysig]

Goal: Be normal

Obstacle: Watching literally any interpretation of Treasure Island, apparently

[euphoricfilter]

Stardust || JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Friends to Lovers au

Summary: If Jungkook would have known an unintentional orgasm would have led to this, then he would have begged you to work out with him sooner.

Word Count: 5.5k

Tags/ warnings: himbo-ish jk, so much fluff idk where it came from, smut in the forms of: unintentional masturbation turned coregasm, oral (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex (because that’s really cool), mirror sex, doggy style, technically multiple orgasms, they’re both giggly and in love it’s kinda gross, jk is a tits man, he’s obsessed with boobs, it’s all very tame and kinda soft ig

Notes: yay first fic of 2023. this was way harder to write than i’d anticipated, hopefully i pulled through. and if there’s mistakes, no there aren’t!

<3 thank you to my prettiest baby @4amj3zz for reading this atrocity before i posted it

my full masterlist

✯ ✯ ✯

If every living being’s foundation is made of stardust, scattered when born, then Jungkook thinks the two of you were made from the same star.

A friendship that’s near impossible to come by, crafted by the hands of a higher being— delicate fingertips moulding fickle personalities and emotions that seem incomplete when not together. Two angels sent to earth to be each others’ number one in another life they’ll spend together.

Precious, like naturally formed diamonds.

And maybe that’s what your friendship was, one of the world’s little treasures. One everyone yearns for, though only a select few have.

Sure, diamonds can be replicated, graphite turned jewelry, simply there for show. A statement piece if you must.

Fake diamonds and fake friendships that seem to be more common than the real deal. Hard to crack, though not impossible— splitting the two of you up into pitiful shards and lost pieces; where even the most skilled hands have trouble putting it back together.

Jungkook doesn’t remember life before you. Though he thinks it must have been dull, flimsy smiles, and friends that hadn’t bothered to call once they moved away.

His existence so easily forgotten, that the gnawing sadness didn’t seem to last as long as he’d anticipated. Simply walking the path of life alone, though he often thought solitude wasn’t all that bad.

Until your worlds had collided. The big bang of your friendship, a new world, a new start, everything so fresh and untampered with.

He’d thought about what life would be like if one day the two of you were to ever part ways, the very thought of you not being by his side like a harsh punch the gut.

And maybe he had gotten a little teary eyed on those evenings he felt a little softer, a little sadder at the thought of you ever leaving. His hands fumbling around his sheets for his phone, your voice his only remedy for his growing anxiety, where promises were whispered and sleepy smiles remained on your faces as you rested.

Jungkook doubts that day will ever come. And maybe that’s all just wishful thinking, a juvenile dream that the promise you’d made to one another would hold strong for the rest of time, until the two of you lay six feet under. Resting side by side until your bodies rot, flesh becoming one with the earth, what is left of your existence blossoming into something beautiful; perhaps a tree, a flower, truly anything, as long as you were together.

“Together?” you blink up at Jungkook through your lashes, eyebrows creasing in distaste.

Jungkook thinks you look pretty in that moment, even if you are pulling a face at him. The two of you sat at a bench in the park, your head haloed by the setting sun, last of the days warmth kissing both your skin in a gentle goodbye before the moon watches over the two of you.

Littles galaxies reflected in both your eyes, where Jungkook thinks each star in his represents one thing he loves about you; hidden behind the moonlight because he doubt yours represent the same.

“Yes” he nods, hair flopping a little over his forehead, and you push the stray strands out of his eyes. Fingers delicate as they brush over his skin, always so gentle with him that his heart flutters like the delicate wings of a butterfly.

“Kook, I love you— you know I do” and he nods, lips quirking up a little, “But working out just, isn’t for me” you conclude, tone firm and his shoulders deflate. Because he knows it’ll take more than glossy puppy eyes and a pout for you to give in.

“First off, I love you too—“

“Thank you” you nod. But Jungkook doesn’t think you understand the weight behind those words.

“And look, how do you know it’s not for you, if you’ve never tried?”

“You put me off” and Jungkook would have thought you were joking if you didn’t have that deadpan look on your face. One he was all too familiar with.

“Huh” he gawks, “How?”

“You always complain about sore muscles, and the thought of being sweaty grosses me out” your head tips forward dramatically, cushioned by your arms from the table.

“It’s a good ache” he watches you turn your head, lips moulded into an unconvinced pout as you stare up at him through your lashes.

“There is no such thing as a good ache, Jungkook”

“Is too”

“When?” you flail, unbothered as Jungkook’s hands wrap around your wrists.

“Sex ache”

You pause, “Excuse me?”

“You know?” he cocks his head to the side.

“No” you shake your head in utter disbelief.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, “You’re a little pillow princess aren’t you, I bet you don’t do any of the work”

“Do too, besides—“ you swallow, “It’s none of your business” you pull your hands free of his grasp.

“Come on, I feel like we’re at a point in this relationship we can share these things” his cheek rests atop of your head, each syllable pulled out into a whine.

“I don’t wanna hear about your sex life, Jungkook” you huff.

You watch him sit up ramrod straight, brain whirring behind his eyes. You think that if he thought any harder you’d be able to hear the echo of his voice.

“Actually, I don’t really wanna hear about yours either” his nose scrunches up, melting your resolve.

A secret charm of his that he didn’t know he had; and you’d never tell him either, no way in hell would you let him weaponize your weakness against you when your heart could barely stand being sat so close to him.

“Best friends don’t always share everything” you quip, only it leaves a tangy taste on your tongue.

“I suppose” Jungkook nods, evidently less enthusiasm radiating off him.

Best friends. It always wet your mood. Like sour candy that’s too sour, or a cute dog that’s breath smells like a rotting carcass.

But that’s what you were, introductions to new classmates or new lovers; it was always best friends. Two simple words that felt like utter shit to say, tumbling past your lips like vomit and then you had to rawdog the aftertaste because you don’t have any toothpaste or mints nearby.

Never anything less, even though there was definitely a lot more going on between the two of you. (Not that either of you had any idea about that.)

It’s a wonder as to how neither of you had grasped the fact that every previous relationship the two of you had, had ended because of the other. Nothing ever seeming to fit in place, the click never being there when it came to someone else.

Communication is key in upholding a relationship of any kind, issues easily resolved with hours of conversation turned mutual understanding, and progression made with a mix of both actions and words. As two people whose love languages were physical touch, the former is just as important as the latter.

One of the only reasons your friendship has lasted this long, is that you both value each other enough to communicate when necessary.

Apart from when you could probably really use it, unidentifiable emotions weaving into your hearts, mixed with a dose of denial can really set you back when you’re near infatuated with your closest friend.

It’s not that either of you had never considered a relationship with one another, others outside your little bubble had brought it up enough times that the meager possibility of it actually happening had been cemented into your thick skulls.

Something nice tickling both your brains at the fact so many people thought you were together together; like, in love together.

Long gone were the days where you’d blurt out your denial to dating accusations with rose dusted cheeks, simply believing the world had a thing against opposite sex friendships. Now, the two of you just laughed off whoever liked to comment on how good you looked as a couple. (Which had brought more than a few of Jungkook’s relationships to turmoil)

It’s just that neither of you believed the other wanted anything more than friendship. A rookie mistake on both your parts, especially when you’d both establish that every and all emotions were to be discussed with one another, no matter what you felt.

“One time” you break the silence, any way to ease the growing tension between the two of you “I’ll work out with you one time. And never again”

You watch the smile as it pulls at the corner of his lips, the prettiest smile, your favorite smile, enough of a reward for whatever pain you’re about to put yourself through. Because as long as Jungkook was happy, then you’d crawl to the ends of the earth if it meant you got to see this smile one more time.

“I love you” he bends down, sloppy kiss pressed to your cheek and you can’t help your own smile, heated cheeks covered as you swat him away from your face. Wiping his saliva from your skin with the back of your hand.

“Whatever” you tut, though Jungkook sees through your faux annoyance.

“We can use my at-home gym as well, so we won’t even be in public”

“Wonderful. Let’s go back now, I’m gonna freeze my tits off if we stay any later”

You don’t catch Jungkook’s gaze flickering down to your chest, lingering a little longer than proper before he’s slinging his zip-up hoodie around your shoulders. Eyes flickering down to his hands briefly before he’s knocking shoulders with you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead” you utter, falling into Jungkook’s side when his arm falls over your shoulder.

✯ ✯ ✯

Jeon Jungkook was sex on legs when he worked out.

You were no stranger to him training, countless vacations together, where the morning was spent with him doing press-up on the balcony or the occasional few times he’d bench-press you for a laugh.

You’d never found it funny though, pussy throbbing between your thighs as he’d grab onto you, arms flexing deliciously. And he never seemed to question why you’d lock yourself up in your room after, purely a coincidence that you’d disappear for an hour after his little stunt.

You were no stranger to a half naked Jungkook either.

Nor were you a juvenile teenager whose panties got in a twist when she saw a toned stomach.

However, this wasn’t just any toned stomach.

Jeon Jungkook was built like Adonis. Carved where every crevice had meaning and every flaw only enhanced his beauty. And it’s hard to think the bushy haired, acne prone teen boy you’d first befriended had turned into this.

If puberty had benefited anyone, it was Jungkook.

“We’ll do something easy today, okay?” he claps and you nod, watching as he saunters over to a basket.

“Pink or blue” he holds up two yoga mats.

“I didn’t think you were into rhinestones” you snort, sun catching on the bedazzled rim of the pink mat— streaks of pink painting the wall.

Jungkook drops said mat, chucking you the blue one before he’s dropping to his knees on the floor.

“It’s one of my exes” he tells you, motioning for you to sit.

If people were flowers, then this is the moment you would have wilted. Deflating in on yourself; it’s not that you were jealous per-say. It’s not like him and his ex were dating at all but still. The very mention of her was enough for you to roll your eyes.

“And you didn’t throw it out?” the words hurdle out your mouth before you can even think about what you’re saying.

“No?” his eyes meet your own, “I’m not throwing away good gym equipment”

You sigh, somehow expecting no less from him. Jungkook was a man of many skills, and he’d hounded you to try hobby after hobby with him— but nothing got him going like a good work out. If all other passion in life disappeared then he would still have working out as his escape.

You sigh, “I have somewhere to be later, so let’s hurry this up” a little white lie, but that never hurt anyone.

“You’re not going on another one of those shitty blind dates, are you?” he groans and you whine.

“I told you, I’m never going on any of those ever again”

“You better not” he unrolls his mat, and you follow.

“Or what?” you turn your nose up at him and Jungkook’s foot collides with your thigh.

“On your back, you brat.”

✯ ✯ ✯

“How much more” you flop against the mat, eyes closing.

“That was only the warm up” Jungkook hums, pushing himself up off the floor.

You hear him walk to the other side of the room, cupboard door creaking open as he rummages around for something.

You peek up at him through your lashes when he throws a towel over your back.

“Roll that up” he motions towards it, coming to sit beside you, “And up onto your back again”

Your eyes widen by a fraction when he gently takes the towel out of your hands, pushing your knees apart before he’s closing them; towel stuffed between your thighs.

Your gaze travels down the length of your body, thighs twitching as Jungkook’s fingers wrap around your ankles.

“All you have to do is raise your legs like this okay?” and he demonstrates, making sure to keep your legs straight as he lifts them to a ninety degree angle from your torso. “Leg raises should be easy, even for you” he hums.

“What’s that supposed to mean” you snap, ready to push yourself up, except Jungkook’s hands press down over your chest.

“Hey! No complaining”

You swallow thickly, aware of Jungkook’s eyes on you as you raise your legs on your own this time.

“Pretty good, remember to tense your core when you do it, okay?”

You nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you do as you’re told.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body hyper aware of each small movement the towel has right over your clit. Pussy throbbing inside your panties and you worry your slick had started to soak through your shorts.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to take notice of your growing predicament, hands hovering over your calf to make sure you’re raising your legs all the way. Though that’s the least of your worries as you feel each new wave of unadulterated pleasure pulse through your core.

“Not so bad huh?” he grins.

It’s a strange sensation, pure arousal ebbing up your body, every brush of your panties over your clit, weight of the towel over your slit slowly bringing you to the precipice of an orgasm.

“I don’t think—“ you start, cutting yourself off with an arm covering your face at a particularly intense wave of arousal. Your stomach tightening at the feeling.

“Just a few more, you’re doing great”

“Kook, I really don’t think—“ your hand clamps over your mouth as Jungkook’s fingers take hold of your legs, helping you raise them; and that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge. And you can’t help the surprised moan that drips off your lips.

Your knees bend, nudging against your tits as your hand falls over your sodden pussy, dull wave of your orgasm throbbing throughout your body.

Jungkook looks down at you, eyes wide as you simply lay there with your hands between your legs.

“Did you just piss yourself?” he asks, mouth falling open in awe.

“What the fuck?” you cry, “I just came you idiot”

Jungkook’s cheeks flush red, “Oh” he nods, “Oh. You had a— holy shit”

“Don’t look at me like that” your eyes glaze over with tears, heat prickling up your body in embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to, it just happened”

Your feet fall to the floor, towel falling from between your thighs as you let out a stuttered breath, body still buzzing with the after affects or your surprise orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you peek up at him through hooded eyes, heart pattering so hard in your chest you could feel it in your throat.

Jungkook’s eyes meet your own, “That was so fucking hot” he groans, “Looked so pretty”

You watch as his hand rubs over his shorts, his own arousal hard to hide as his head tips back in a way that extenuates his neck.

“Huh?” your eyes widen, willing yourself to not look at what his hands were doing.

“Should have known something like this would have turned you on”

“I wasn’t even turned on” you exasperate, “I clenched my core like you said and it just happened”

“Mhmm” and you can tell he’s unconvinced.

“Stop rubbing your dick, you horny piece of shit” you clamp a hand over your eyes, thighs clenching when he lets out a deep groan.

“Can’t help it” he lets out a sigh, “I’ve been dreaming of what you’d look like when you came, shame it wasn’t on my cock”

Your hand falls from your eyes, “Dreaming?”

“God, haven’t I made it obvious?” he asks, his own hands falling to his sides, though now you have a full view of his straining erection.

“Made what obvious?” you whisper.

“That I like you” he asks and you gawk at him.

“You, like me? I’ve been trying to hint that I like you” you point at him, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Huh?” it’s Jungkook’s turn for furrowed brows, “I swear you didn’t like me”

“I could have sworn you didn’t like me”

Jungkook snorts, “When did I ever say that?”

“You’re unbelievable”

“Me? What about you?”

Your body lays flaccid, muscles loose; heart hammering in your ears as Jungkook leans back on his hands.

“How long?” you ask, not daring to look up at him.

“High school”

You push a palm into the socket of your eye, low groan rumbling up your throat, “I’ve liked you since, I don’t know, probably high school as well”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice soft and you can feel yourself tearing up— so many emotions plaguing your mind at once you don’t know how to feel.

Jungkook scoots closer to you, “I could say the same thing about you” you huff.

“Why’re you crying” he frowns, thumb gentle as it brushes against your damp cheek.

“We wasted so many years. I seriously thought— you’ve had so many girlfriends”

“Because I thought you didn’t feel the same, I guess I thought my feelings would go away if I gave my heart to someone else. And then you started dating around too and I really thought I’d never have a chance”

“Me too” you sigh, nose scrunching up in distaste for all your failed relationships.

“Guess it didn’t work out for either of us huh?” he hums and you nod.

“I think we’re both stupid” you murmur.

And Jungkook nods, “I agree”

“What do we do now?” you push yourself up onto your elbows, frown on your face.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook’s head hovers over your own, the sun meeting the moon at the same point in the sky— your eclipse. The rest of your world suddenly shrouded in darkness, all you can see, think, smell, everything just Jungkook.

You nod, eyes flitting across his face as his arms cage your head. You can see his biceps flexing in your peripherals, thick muscle straining under the weight of his torso.

Jungkook’s lips hover over your own, a breaths width away from touching. You tilt your head up, pillowy lips cushioning your own and that’s when everything falls into place.

There’s nothing desperate about the kiss, ever so gentle and slow, the two of you aware that lost time can be made up in the future as you simply bask in this moment; your worlds aligning, tilting on the same axis, everything just perfect and right, and your hearts beating in sync, and breathing stuttered as you both pull away with hesitance.

Your hands cup Jungkook’s cheeks, eyes searching his own for anything, just something to tell you this wasn’t all a dream— that he really did like you back.

“You’re so pretty, you know?” he whispers, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips.

“No” you smile, giggle bubbling up your throat and Jungkook can’t help but grin down at you.

“I’ll tell you every day, all the time. You’ll get sick of me”

“I could never get sick of you, Jungkook” you push yourself up onto your elbows, noses bumping.

He tilts his head, kiss firm, and you moan as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, a silent plea for access.

You oblige, arms slung over his shoulders as you bring his body closer to your own, heat radiating off the two of you in thick waves.

“You taste so good” he groans, hands wandering down your body, teasing as they pull up the hem of your hoodie, “Want this off”

Your fingers tug at the offending material, dragging it up your body, “Hang on” you pull away from the kiss, and Jungkook feels his cock twitch at the sight of you. Red swollen lips, a sheen of his saliva coating them.

You pull your hoodie over your head, throwing it somewhere, a problem for later. Thighs clenching as Jungkook stares down at you— eyes wandering.

“And this” his fingers skim over the edge of your sports bra, dancing over your skin, mapping you out of every little spot he wants to kiss.

You hesitate.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable” Jungkook’s smile is gentle, retracting his hands and you want to whine at the loss of contact.

“I want to” you tell him, hoping the shake in your voice didn’t sound too unconvincing. The incessant throbbing between your legs wouldn’t go away unless Jungkook helped you out and your patience was slowly wearing thin.

“But?” he urges.

“I’m nervous” you admit and he smiles; reassuring.

“How can I help?”

You squirm under his gaze, fizzling embarrassment painting your cheeks red, “Can we both—“ you cut yourself off with a whine.

“Come on, gotta use your words, my love”

“Can we both get naked” you splutter, “At the same time?”

Jungkook’s head falls back, fully belly laugh wracking through his body, “Of course”

You tug your shorts off, Jungkook following you; a pile of both your clothes laying forgotten by your head. You’re too distracted tugging your sports bra off to see Jungkook’s length slap against his stomach. Tip of his cock an angry red, his fingers barely touching his shaft as he closes them around the length.

“Oh” he croons, “How pretty. Can I touch you?”

You nod, falling onto your back.

Jungkook’s careful as he touches you, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, testing the waters as he tugs at them, eliciting a breathy moan from you.

“Feels good?” his voice low, and you nod; hips involuntarily bucking upwards when you finally cast a glance at his length. Eyes widening a little in awe.

His fingers dig into your flesh, and he bends down, lips closing around one of your nipples. Your back arches, mouth falling open in a silent moan as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin; tugging in a way that sends warm pleasure straight to your core.

He kisses over your chest, lips worshipping your skin, fingers skimming over the underside of your boob.

Each gentle press of his lips are searing as he works down your body. And your breath hitches as his hovers over your pussy, folds glistening with your arousal.

“Oh baby” he groans, and your thighs twitch as his warm breath fans over your core.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, impatient as they tug him closer to where you need him; an embarrassed whine falling past your lips when he kisses over you clit, once, then twice.

“Jungkook” you squeak, legs tensing when he finally wraps his lips around it, tongue flicking at your clit meanly.

He simply hums, vibrations sending a new wave of pleasure straight through your body, another gush of wetness dribbling from your hole. Jungkook wastes no time, fingers scooping up your leaking arousal before he’s pushing them into you.

“Oh” your chest stutters a breath as he pulls his fingers out of you, tongue licking a broad stripe over your cunt before his thumb brushes over your clit.

“You like that?” he asks, though the question was rhetorical as he repeats the motion. Tongue teasing over your hole before he’s lapping up your slick; sucking at your folds, squelching lewd accompanied by each hearty moan.

Your thighs start to shake, clamping around Jungkook’s head though that barely deters him, as he pushes your legs open by your knees.

“Stop. Kook— please” you whimper, “wanna cum around your cock”

That catches his attention, and with one final kiss to your clit he’s pushing himself onto his elbows.

Jungkook looks like the epitome of sin, slick stained chin and swollen red lips, unashamed as he licks your arousal off his face, humming in satisfaction as your chest stutters out a breath.

“Lemme get a condom” he murmurs, lips pressing another kiss over your knee before he’s pushing himself to stand. Your eyes follow his body, heavy cock bobbing against his stomach with every step he takes.

“Hopefully they’re not expired” he calls from the other room, and you giggle at that, “We’re good” he flashes you a grin as he drops back between your legs; foil wrapper held between two fingers.

You watch his fingers run down his length, thumb brushing over his slit and you feel slick dribble out of your hole as a bead of pre-cum coats the head of his cock shiny.

“Please” your head tips back, hands impatient as they tug at your nipples; Jungkook completely entranced by the sight. “Hurry, hurry” you nudge his thigh with your foot, and albeit reluctant, he tears his eyes away from your tits.

He rips the condom open with his teeth, a cheesy attempt at seducing you, and you weren’t about to tell him all he had to do was breathe and you panties would dampen.

He rolls the rubber down his length, fingers wrapping around his cock as he tugs a few times. You choose that moment to flip yourself over, hips raised as your chest lays flat against the floor and Jungkook moans.

“My pretty baby” he croons, hands roaming your ass before he’s pulling your cheeks apart; eyes fixed on your clenching cunt. Ever so enticing, silently begging to be filled and fucked until you can’t think or walk; a perfect excuse for Jungkook to pamper you a little.

You wiggle your hips, giggle muffled in the crook of your elbow has he parts your lips with his thumb, gently dipping into you hole before he’s pulling out.

“Please, Jungkook”

And that’s all it takes for him to line the head of his cock up with you entrance, tip nudging against your clit before he’s pushing into you; every inch stretching you apart deliciously.

“So good” you sigh, walls clenching around him and Jungkook can’t help the stutter of his hips, punching the air out of your lungs at the sudden intrusion.

“Sorry—“ his fingers dig into your hips, “Just feels so good, sucking me in”

You rock back onto his cock, breathy moan tumbling past your lips as your ass meets his pelvis; cock fully tucked into your pussy.

“Give me a moment” you shudder, body thrumming in anticipation.

Jungkook hums, hands wandering your body, fingers dancing over your skin. A surprised moan echoes throughout the room as his hands grab both your tits, squeezing them, fingers rubbing over both your nipples sending hot pleasure straight to your cunt.

He can feel you rhythmically clenching around him, walls sucking him in as you rock forward an inch before you’re sinking back down on his length.

“Okay” you nod, fingers holding onto the edge of the yoga mat.

“You sure?” he asks, pulling out to the tip, hips slow as he plunges back into you.

“Mhmm”

You feel Jungkook’s fingers dig into the meat of your hips, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

You can’t help each near pornographic moan that’s pushed out of you with each harsh slap of Jungkook’s hips meeting your ass, skin smacking wet as your slick coats your thighs.

“So good for me” his head tips back, arms hooking around your bent elbows.

You let out a squeak as he sits you up, and your walls constrict around his length as he pushes deeper inside of you, gush of wetness clinging to his thighs.

“So good” your head tips back onto his shoulder, knees helping you bounce up his length.

Your back arches when the head of cock hits your g-spot, ring of creamy slick gathering at the base of his cock each time you pull up to the tip.

“Look at that” Jungkook murmurs into your ear, one hand tangling into your hair as the other settles over your throat.

He tugs your head up, and you catch your reflection in the full length mirror; insides of your thighs coated in a sheen of your slick, Jungkook’s hips thrusting his cock up into you, both your bodies glistening with sweat.

The red hue of your cheeks flushes down your neck and chest, shade darkening with each wet squelch of your cunt as Jungkook helps you bounce in his lap.

He watches your tits bounce, both his hands wandering to grab them, pulling your back closer to chest as he pounds into you.

“I’m gonna cum” you hiccup, hands scrambling to hold onto his bicep as your other hand travels down your body, fingers gathering up your slick before you’re circling your clit.

You thighs start to shake, crescent moons indented into your skin as Jungkook’s grip on your chest tightens, your walls throbbing around his cock, drawing him closer to his orgasm.

“Yeah?” his hips stutter, “Come for me then, pretty. Let’s come together”

You moan, fingers unrelenting as you thrum at your clit in tight circles. Your orgasm wracks throughout your entire body when it hits, stomach tensing as your cum coats Jungkook cock, which twitches as he thrusts up into you.

He holds you down on his length, deep groan rumbling through his chest as he shoots his seed into the condom, your walls continuing to milk him of everything he’s got.

“Good girl” he soothes, hands falling to your hips as you fall forwards, cheek pressed against the mat as Jungkook pulls out, thrusting back into you gently.

“Thank you” you whimper, thighs tensing as he pulls himself out of your sodden pussy, folds glistening creamy white.

✯ ✯ ✯

Everything feels right. The two of you tucked into Jungkook’s bed after a shower, both your hands roaming one another’s bodies.

You’d clung to Jungkook’s back as he’d cooked you both dinner, work-out long forgotten as you’d both worked up an appetite. Muscles too sore, too achey, to even think of carrying on anything that isn’t wrapping up warm in each others’ arms.

It’s strange how so much, but nothing had changed. You still danced around each other with practiced ease, hands still feathery light, skimming over hips and backs, where legs are tangled under blankets, cold feet on warm skin.

There was something mellow in the air, a film of freedom, hearts on your sleeves for one another to see, where kisses felt softer, deeper in promise and love.

All the ‘I love yous’ holding the right weight, both understanding that the love you feel is the right kind of love.

He’d thought about it a lot, from the day you’d both confessed; messy, but a confession nonetheless. (And he had made sure to ask you to be his girlfriend in a more romantic setting than his spare room turned gym). That maybe the time growing up as just friends wasn’t wasted.

Failed relationships and sticky breakups simply teaching the two of you the right way to love.

Learning the give and take of relationships, what it truly meant to be in love with another person. Where you want nothing more than their happiness, a pure sort of adoration that consumes your entire being until they’re always on your mind. Small, seemingly insignificant parts of life reminding you of them. Trinkets in corner shops or the changes in season, certain smells, textures of clothing.

Learning about what you want for yourselves and how to take care of one another.

So he doesn’t regret all those years spent as just friends. Because maybe the two of you were too young, too eager, too scared about something as precious as true love. Growing up together, as just friends, might have brought the two of you closer than rushed first loves and petty arguments that you’d look back on and regret.

Red string. Stars. Fate. Destiny. Any of it. Jungkook doesn’t know what brought the two of you together, two souls intertwined until you both part ways when your lights flicker out. Though he thinks you’d reignite them wherever the two of you end up later on, new lives, new worlds. New everything, where he gets to learn about you all over again, explore your being, as you explore his, and you’re moulding into one another once more.

He wonders how long you’ve both been laying there, lips pulled up into lazy smiles, kiss swollen; little galaxies reflected in both your eyes.

Where every glistening star is a reason as to why you love each other. Your galaxies shining with a million different reasons, moonlight no longer veiling what lay beneath.

Because Jungkook thinks, if people were made of stardust before they were born. There’s no doubt in his mind, the two of you were made from the same star.

💫 like, reblog, and feedback is encouraged!! thank you so much for reading <3

taglist: @koikooky @fandems @guesswhatimthinking @slut-formattsun @satisfied18 @apollukee @scastro95 @happygolucky7777 @jjkw-7 @taeboludo @fairy-jaykay @jeonjjks @exactlygreatcoffee @itzz-me-duh @jkkkkkay @starstruckfangirls @tornparts @seoqity @straykidsmaxident @bebejungkook @twilight-love-nochu-main @chimmisbae @redeyezbloodymouth

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[writing-mlm]

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours. 

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings. 

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up. 

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him. 

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course. 

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch him his sketch to staring at you. 

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation. 

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus. 

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long. 

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit. 

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else. 

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes. 

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps

your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down. 

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you. 

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches. 

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on. 

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there. 

“I have, thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick up to the third floor. 

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder and you see your teacher waiting at the door to the room, talking to a pair of students. 

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile. 

“You will.” 

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people. 

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat. 

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced. 

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek. 

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform. 

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it. 

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving. 

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian. Holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.” 

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building. 

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes. 

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!” 

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus. 

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks. 

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.” 

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for me of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade. 

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush. 

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?” 

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone. 

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster. 

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it. 

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper. 

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.” 

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order. 

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force. 

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a comping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?” 

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room. 

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods. 

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

— 

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t sink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did. 

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne. 

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there. 

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted. 

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck. 

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face. 

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand. 

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside. 

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you. 

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd. 

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his. 

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn. 

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid. 

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.” 

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner. 

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare. 

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why. 

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.” 

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed. 

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes. 

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally. 

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence. 

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay. 

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile. 

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!” 

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,” 

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of

his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod. 

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show. 

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her. 

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him. 

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them. 

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art. 

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him. 

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself. 

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art. 

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it. 

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance. 

The description catches your eye next. 

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life. 

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows. 

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it. 

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening. 

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake. 

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you. 

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me. 

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been. 

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him. 

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his. 

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling. 

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears. 

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus. 

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and the. There was a ghostly figure of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles. 

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look. 

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you. 

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting. 

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people. 

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before. 

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs. 

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod. 

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it. 

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it. 

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing. 

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.” 

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees. 

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.” 

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone. 

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.” 

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug. 

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,” 

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his. 

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance. 

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinks curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss. 

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you. 

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue. 

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles. 

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

[luvjunie]

twirls my hair if you’re taking request uhhh— what about reader with tattoos like a full sleeve and piercings and maybe big hair like a fro, braids something that makes her stand out— basically she’s just real intimidating and popular too fast for her liking she just transferred school and the guys are trying to pounce on her but miles 42 is the one that catches her eye?

— a fresh start

pairing: e-42!miles x fem!reader

summary: it’s your first day at a new school, and surprisingly, making a friend isn’t as hard as you thought it’d be. wc: 1,853

a/n: changed this up a little i hope you don’t mind! 100% unintentional but when my mind wanders i follow it 😭

Back at Brooklyn High, you were always told by teachers that school wasn’t a venue for your ‘personal fashion show’, but that it was a place for learning. And while you agreed, it wasn’t your fault that you looked the way you did… Well, that’s a lie. But you loved your look, and so did your peers.

While your hair was big and somewhat distracting to others, your dad always told you it reminded him of what your mom’s looked like the first time he met her, so you never bothered to change the way you styled it, no matter how much you dreaded putting it in bantu knots or doing a twist out every three days.

As for your face full of piercings, that was all you. It was something your dad didn’t favor at all, and he definitely didn’t understand how it was ‘a way for you to express and be true to yourself’, but that was the explanation you gave him, and eventually he accepted it. Though begrudgingly— it was still acceptance, so you took what you could get.

The first piercing was your eyebrow, and you’d done it in your bathroom when you were fourteen with a safety pin. One look at yourself in the mirror made you forget all about the throbbing pain radiating from your face, and just a week had passed before you were already thinking of another. You swore to your dad that it’d be the only one, and that you just wanted to try something new; until you wanted to try your belly button, your septum, and both of your nostrils. After that, It’s safe to say that everywhere you went, attention followed.

Expressing yourself through your clothes and accessories was just a part of who you were. And back at Brooklyn High, you were proud of the way you looked.

But you weren’t at Brooklyn High anymore.

The uniforms were drab at Visions academy. Every girl wearing the same two articles of clothing as the other; the same sad story for the boys. And to keep it a buck, if you were comparing visions to your old school, the atmosphere here sure looked a lot like a jail. And if not for the small loopholes you’d managed to locate in the dresscode, it would’ve felt like it, too.

The searing heat of curious eyes followed you the moment you entered the building, and you began to wonder if choosing to stand out on purpose was the best idea after all. It seemed at Visions, that came naturally for someone like you.

For a few reasons other than the ones you could change in five minutes, you didn’t fit in here. Not in the slightest.

With a wavered sigh and your books glued to your chest, you continued on to your first block, tuning out the whispers that were far from hushed.

It took you a little longer than the six minute passing period to discover your History class within the ginormous fluorescent halls, and when you finally stepped foot into the dimly lit room and noticed the Crash Course video playing on the projector, it dawned on you that they were already well into the lesson.

Almost everyone’s head lifted to look at you when you entered. Almost everyone’s head but a kid who was face down, drooling on his desk, and another whose gaze remained welded to a sheet of paper the graphite of his mechanical pencil was scribbling against. The familiarity of crisp parts and blue magic-sheened cornrows stood out to you first, and a small sense of comfort finally washed over you— for a moment.

The video on the projector paused abruptly, and your teacher appeared to be the exact opposite of dazzled at your late arrival. Great.

“Nice of you to join us, miss…?”

“Y/n, sorry…” You cleared your throat and smiled more like grimaced apologetically, the chain clipped to the waistband of your skirt serving as an idle fidget. “Got lost, real big school.”

Mr. Benson, as it read on your printed class schedule, adjusted his glasses when he went to jot something down onto the paper below him. “Alright, y/n. You can sit next to…”

You watched as a few kids straightened up in their seats, attempting to look uninterested enough to play it cool, yet noticeable enough for the teacher to remember they existed and place your seat next to them.

“Morales. Raise your hand.”

The boy in question quietly clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, pencil clacking against the wood of his desk when he set it down. It looked like his concentration had been broken, and instead of raising his hand, he lifted his head from where it was damn near nose deep in whatever he was doing, and just stared at you.

His slowed blinks gave you enough grounds to take a gander that he was the ‘Morales’ in question.

A stunted breath and a silent nod later, you made your way through the aisle of desks and smoothly slid into the one a pin-filled backpack had just been removed from.

You’d be crazy to not let your curiosity get the best of you, especially now that you were this close to where the brooding energy was coming from. So once your teacher unpaused the video, you stole a peek over at your new desk neighbor, and noticed that his right arm was now strategically placed over the geometric sketches on his paper.

Seeing as it was already mid-year and you were new to the huge school, you figured it’d be in your best interest to try and make at least one friend. You opened your mouth to introduce yourself to him, until a light tap on your shoulder from behind stole your attention.

“Umm, excuse me?”

You turned around to meet the freckled face of the boy who was sat behind you.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, sorry, but I can’t see over your hair. It’s kinda… in the way.”

It wasn’t necessarily what he said that bothered you, it was how he said it, and the fact that he barely stifled a laugh when he did.

Reclined in his chair with his arms crossed, Miles fought to hide the scowl threatening to twist his lips. The desks in this class were staggered, specifically to avoid the very issue of heads blocking the line of sight, meaning there was no way your hair was actually hindering his view.

“O-oh… Sorry, it does that. Sometimes.” Flustered, you nervously tried to press your hair down a little without ruining its shape, the one that took you a whole hour to achieve just this morning.

Miles assumed you were the girl his classmate was blabbing about just before the bell rung, remembering the brief yet detailed explanation of ‘fresh face, big hair, decked out uniform and kinda cute’. Poking fun at you must have been his pitiful attempt at flirting.

Miles suddenly spoke in your defense, eyes remaining on the screen in a bored daze.

“It’s not her fault you 5’2, James. Drink some milk when you get home, maybe you’ll have a growth spurt.”

You sent an inquisitive glance his way and kept it there. You hadn’t thought about what you expected his voice to sound like, or that the first time you’d hear it would be because of him defending you, but this was definitely a pleasant surprise. His voice was so smooth it put silk to shame, and it was a bit low, too, as if he’d just woken up a few minutes ago. Yet it didn’t sound as if he’d quieted his voice on purpose; something that led you to believe he was usually this soft spoken.

“Shut up, Miles.” James grumbled.

“Ain’t my fault you can’t flirt for shit. I’m tryna help you out.”

Some surrounding students close enough to hear the retort had snickered, and a laugh managed to leave your mouth before you could prevent it, resulting in a loud “SHHHH!” from the front of the class.

“That’s funny?” Miles’ hazel eyes floated over to you, swirling with mirth and pinning you in place.

He was joking, but his tone probably didn’t give off that vibe, seeing as you were gawking at him like a deer in headlights.

“I’m messin’ with you,” A small grin played on his face. “I’m Miles.”

“Oh,” an awkward chuckle relaxed your shoulders. “Y/n.” you responded quietly.

“Yeah… I know.” There was a hint of a chuckle beneath his voice. It seemed you’d forgotten that you revealed your identity to everyone just minutes ago.

But you couldn’t help it, you’d never seen a boy quite this pretty before, with lashes long enough to make you jealous and a smile you were certain owed its beauty to genetics, and not an expensive set of middle school braces.

He had six freshly done straightbacks with curved parts, and two clear beads hanging onto each tail that sat a little below his shoulders. It was then that you noticed the medium sized, gimmering stud he sported on his ear, and you deemed it safe to assume his other ear had the same. Cute.

Still feeling the heat of your eyes on his temple long after he’d averted his attention, Miles curiously glanced back at you, then teasingly nodded his head towards the front of the room.

“Pay attention,” he whispered, that same molten look in his eyes. “I don’t share notes.”

—

Class went by in a bit of a haze, to no surprise. It was extremely difficult to pay attention when the fear of your possibly-misshapen fro was on your mind. Today happened to be the one day you’d decided you didn’t need to bring your pick to school, the image of it sitting on your dresser emitting a disappointed sigh from you.

The tinny screech of chairs brought you back to the present, where class had been dismissed and students were shoving papers into their backpacks and shuffling out the doorway, all in a hurry to their next block.

Miles stood up from his seat, appearing to be in no rush.

“I like your hair, by the way.” he observed randomly. “Cool piercings, too.”

The compliment eased your nerves completely. It was genuine, as if he knew you were still thinking about what happened earlier.

“Thank you,” Tucking your notebook away, you looked up to see him sling his backpack over one shoulder. “for defending me earlier, too.”

“S’ no big deal.” he shrugged, but it was, to you.

“Cool braids, by the way.” you parroted through a lighthearted smile.

“Thanks,” Miles’ eyes panned to the floor when he felt himself grin. A habit of his you’d already managed to pick up on in your short knowing of him.

“I’ll catch you later.” He deemed with a two-fingered salute, other hand burrowing into the pocket of his pants.

Rising to your feet, you gave a small wave and watched as he headed out into the crowded hallway with the others; feeling a little less nervous to come to history class tomorrow.

[tacticaldiary]

To Coax The Love From A Ghost

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Fluff (Mentions of Hurt/Comfort)

A gentle brush of knuckles sitting next to each other on the planes to and from ops, a feeling so starkly different from the grit of gravel and the bite of sand that it almost sends him crumbling, because Simon cannot remember the last time he's felt something gentle.

A/N: Something soft after the trauma of the last two fics I put you through- Enjoy!

Masterlist

Loving Simon Riley is like coaxing a grumpy cat out of it's shell.

Time, peace offerings, and showings of trust are what win him over. She'd recognised it since day one, the distrustful way he'd greeted her, the kindness he was capable of locked behind iron bars forged from the gruelling lessons his past had taught him.

It had taken time.

Gentle smiles, so at odds with the scrapes and bruises he was used to. Time ticked away, chipping off that icy exterior to shape to let loose an ease to his shoulders that becomes almost instinctual whenever he sees her. Seconds turn to minutes, which turn to hours and days but not once had she halted her attempts at showing him that there was more to love than apprehension and inevitable loss.

Light seeps through the cracks of the doors he's welded shut, introducing an inkling of what warmth he might be able to have if only he lets her in. He wants to, he's just not sure how, and with this new sprout of...of hope? Simon thinks he may just need to learn

It had taken peace offerings.

A gentle brush of knuckles sitting next to each other on the planes to and from ops, a feeling so starkly different from the grit of gravel and the bite of sand that it almost sends him crumbling, because Simon cannot remember the last time he's felt something gentle.

The extra pudding cup she offers him at lunch in the mess hall, because she knows he likes them even if he's never expressed it, and it's startling because never has a person been so in tune with each breath that Simon inhales, the gravity of each exhale. She offers it to him with a smile that leaves his gaze lingering for just a second too long, the brilliance of someone he did not deserve to infect with the malevolence that is etched into his very being.

He accepts the sweet gifts every time just so he can feel the goodness of her seep into him when they brush fingers, hoping that it would be enough to satiate him. It never is.

It had taken showings of trust.

Every time she lets her head rest on his shoulder when she nods off in a Humvee, Ghost's heart picks up at the astonishment that she trusts him. Trusts him enough to be this vulnerable even after knowing exactly how much blood stains his gloved hands. It's the same feeling watching the dawn of a new day elicits, the warm feeling of waking up after hours of sleeping huddled in the cold.

She had given him a residence in her own space, personal and intimate in a way that made him want to turn his back the first few times she offered. Silent hours shared in her room, indulging in the quiet, whether that be the droning of the television in the background, or the scratching of graphite on paper as they did their paperwork together.

It was such a strange thing, to be let into someone's life so seamlessly. Ghost had lived in his quarters for more than a few years, yet in mere weeks her room had become more of a home than he'd ever hoped to experience again. He had once thought of her as naïve to let such a creature tainted by the grim semblance of his own actions into her life without caution, but after a beat, he noted that everything she did was intentional.

Leaving the door open for him a crack, a silent invitation. Tossing the giant throw pillow he likes to lean against on the floor where they sat together, having that special black pen he prefers to sign documents with sat idly on her desk. Intentional. All of it meaningful, sweet, and solely for him.

It had taken her goodness to break him.

Finally he snaps, has had enough with his mind and his heart at war, going at each other all day. Part of him urged him to keep to himself, to push her away because what need was there to drag someone so wholly her into everything that was so miserably him.

Another part of him is selfish. It aches and groans and whispers at him to take, love and be loved.

The word used to frighten him until she molded it into a sculpture that he could admire without feeling the urge to avert his eyes.

When he finds her this time, she has this knowing smile on her face, a kind glint in her eyes that he has no business indulging in.

She waits for him to approach, patiently, as if one sudden move would send him skittering away like a deer. She's so sweet, smells of honey and cinnamon and his. There's no other way to describe it.

Etched into the stone tablets of fate, inscribed into part of their souls twisted together with strings that drip with blood but are still red, he thinks that she might have been his all along.

The first press of their lips is tentative. And he can't get enough. Not when his heart is full and his mind quiets down to a pleased, content hum.

The welded door creaks open, sunlight and cinnamon spilling into the room and snapping whatever doubts he had away. Simon tangles a hand into her hair and takes. He takes and takes and takes, and with the way she smiles against his lips, slides into his lap, he thinks she might have been waiting for him to take as well. She'd been willing to give, all along.

Simon can't remember a time he's felt contentedness this pure.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(24/08/2023)

[somnambulic-thing]

art student!reader x life drawing model!Eddie Munson

E 18+, so nsfw Words: 7048 read on ao3

find the sequel here

Paint It Black Summery: You’re frustrated with your latest work and look for distraction by attending the open life drawing class on what looks like a very ordinary Thursday. Eddie, the new model, is everything but ordinary but definitely a distraction.

CW/tags: characters somewhere in their twenties, meet-wild, smut, fluff, some sort of voyeurism/public erection, gets a little rough, unprotected sex, piv penetration, oral for everybody, v fingering, biting, love marks, talky sex, aftercare, art school bullshit, messy sex, artsy sex (I guess), love at first sight (I guess)

A/N: @edsforehead made me do it. (thank you so much)

comments and reblogs are so appreciated

The air is cold, stinging your cheeks as you ride your bike through a clear and crisp winter morning. It does wonders for waking you up and clearing your mind; you had spent way too long in your studio last night, hovering over this painting that just wouldn’t go the way you wanted. Inside your mind, you hoisted it off the wall to place it right in the middle of the room, a bucket of thick black paint in one hand, the other one dipping in until the medium reached your wrist. You drop down to your knees and get to work, blacking the wretched thing out one large swoop of your arm after another, sending hours of work into oblivion.

Oh my, it was so tempting. Your fingertips tickle with the urge to turn your frustration into something wild and rough and… simple.

But your Professor had sworn to make your life very hard if he ever got wind of you destroying one of your works again, so you followed the advice he had given you: You had decided to take a break. Do something different, something simple, something rewarding and easy to clear your mind to recharge your drained batteries.

So it is Thursday and you crawled out of bed after four measly hours of sleep to go to the life drawing class. You are early as always to get one of the good spots. The small auditorium is still empty except for your teacher who is busy untangling the cords of the various space heaters that will keep the model warm for the next hours.

“Ah,” he says as he sees you, “haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Yeah, been busy wasting paint.” You smile and walk down the steps of the middle aisle and drop your bag on the best chair: first platform, second chair on the right from the aisle. It had the perfect distance and angle and the top of the backrest of first row to put your feet on so you could rest your paper on your thighs and wouldn’t have to struggle through two hours and a half hours of numb feet.

“Good decision to waste some graphite instead today,” your teacher says and grins. “I’m excited to see your progress.”

You hum, unpacking your supplies. “Who’s the model today? Someone familiar?”

“No, actually, I finally could recruit someone new. He should already be here though. Maybe he has difficulties finding us.” The building was old and could be confusing if you never set foot in it before.

“He,” you say, sharpening your pencil. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

Male models were rare - maybe two out of ten sessions - and you start to get excited about coming in today.

Your teacher climbs up the stairs past you, “I’ll go and see if he’s wandering around somewhere.”

 —

The room fills with students; you say your How are you?’s and What are you working on?’s and when the clock shows 9:37, you brace yourself for the session getting cancelled. Just then, the door opens and your teacher hurries down the stairs.

“Good morning everybody. Sorry for the delay, our model got lost in our hallways. Let’s hear: anybody working on something particular and has some requests for poses?”

You crane your neck up to the back of the room towards the overflowing coat rack while your teacher keeps going through the usual procedure.

The model’s back is turned and you see a long black coat being shrugged off of lean shoulders and underneath: more black. Black lines of ink meandering out of the sleeves of a black shirt; a harsh contrast against pale skin. Ringed hands come up to the back of his head to put the long dark wavy hair into a bun.

No! you plead internally, surprised by that strong reaction.

He chooses the far left aisle down, almost disappearing behind the rows of students but your eyes follow him with a burning curiosity as if you wouldn’t get the chance to look at him for hours in a moment. You shake your head and open your sketchbook to do just anything but stare. There was a difference between observing and staring and the latter wasn’t fucking appropriate inside this room.

“Everybody,” your teacher announces, “this is Eddie. Eddie has never done this before so be patient and just let him know if he’s moving too much.”

You look up and grind your teeth. This Eddie is fucking gorgeous.

“Uhm, hi!” he smiles into the room then looks back at your teacher. “So, uh, I just get naked or what?”

Everybody laughs, but you don’t. You’re taking a long slow breath.

“That’s the general idea,” your teacher grins. “You can put your things on that table in the corner and then just come back to this spot.”

But Eddie does not move to the mentioned corner, he simply pulls off his shirt and throws it the distance to the table. More tattoos come to light; all black, no color. He then kicks off his shoes and you watch his fingers as they open his belt and his fly, how they lodge into the hem of his black, frayed jeans and pull them down in one swoop. There are giggles as he throws the bundle, aiming at the table like he’s at the bowling alley, completely naked.

And then you realize, Eddie didn’t wear any underwear.

“The rings too, please.”

“Oh, sure.” He picks them off his fingers; one two three from one hand and one more from the other. Eddie looks at them on his palm for a moment and grins. “Nah, not gonna throw those.”

The class giggles again as Eddie takes two three long strides to the table to put his rings down carefully and prances back, taking his spot in the middle of the small platform surrounded by space heaters.

There is a soft crack coming from your lap and you look down to see that you had pushed your pencil to the paper so hard that you’d broken the tip.

—

It’s as always: a series of short poses to warm up. One minute, then three and up from there.

Except it is not like always. You're flustered, you’re hot and you spend way too long staring, not finishing any of the one-minute poses.

This has never happened to you before and you had been presented with a lot of good-looking people over the years but this guy was something else.

Three-minute poses and Eddie is slouched back in a chair, long legs spread, left arm resting on top of his head, the right one on his thigh. This was sinful. You just corrected the angle of his left thigh for the third time when you look up and find him looking right back at you. No lost glance into the distance over your shoulder, no: your eyes meet. And those eyes are big and dark and curious and he holds the gaze for several seconds before the timer beeps and announces the change of poses.

He’s not only beautiful and scorching hot but also incredibly adorable. He’s giddy between poses, shaking his arms and legs - and with that his cute little ass - bouncing on his toes and you start to think that holding still normally isn’t his forte. When he lies on his belly, soft gaze on the floor, he tries to stifle a yawn once, twice and only lets it out when he’s allowed to move again. You like his dedication.

Five-minute poses and you finally get into the flow; things start to make sense on the paper until you find him looking at you again. And not only that: he mouthes a small 'Hi'. You bite your lip and look down, feeling the looks of some of the students on you.

He’s cross-legged, leaning back, hands braced on the ground behind him. The angle is weird and it doesn’t help that the way his lean, inked chest moves every time he takes a breath makes you want to bite down on those sharp collarbones. You hold your sketchpad in your outstretched arms doing those quick back-and-forth glances to find out where to correct the mess when his eyes move back to you. Every time you meet his gaze makes your spine tingle more and more and you have to bite down on your lip again to not let a fucking noise slip from your mouth.

Ten-minute poses and your teacher has made it to you to give you some feedback. Nothing you hadn’t expected: you go about it too complicated, want to do too much in too little time, too much detail. Eddie is stretched out on his back and smirks towards the ceiling.

On the next round of feedback, he tells you to really look at Eddie’s hips. You get the angle wrong, it throws off the stance, and you know why all your stupid drawings look a little wonky: you try to avoid looking at his cock for too long. You never thought about a penis as a cock before in this class and it drives you up the walls seeing it twitch slightly while your teacher keeps explaining things you already know and you’re forced to stare at Eddie's crotch, knowing he's side-eying you and your flustered expression the whole. Damn. Time.

Eddie gets a brief pause to stretch and have some water and you want revenge. While his back is turned to you - shoulder blades rippling deliciously under his skin - you open the top two buttons of your blouse, sliding the collar off your shoulder.

One final five-minute pose before the session ends with a twenty-fiver and Eddie is crouched down with his knees pulled under his chin. He shuffles a little before he really settles, tilting his head slightly in a way that forces him to look in your direction unless he wants to lower his eyes to the floor for five minutes.

When he finally looks up, you’re waiting for him, head titled yourself exposing the side of your neck down to your shoulder where your bra strap is barely holding onto your skin.

Eddie’s eyes widen and you smile, tongue poking out just a little to lick your bottom lip before you focus on the paper in your lap to roughly map out the pose. You don’t linger on him while you draw, quick glances only, but you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

This sketch is turning out to be the best so far. You lean back a little, biting down on the back of your pencil and start rolling your shoulders. One gets stiff sitting like that for so long, so people stretch all the time and nobody will notice that you’re giving Eddie a little show. You tilt your head to the right and run a hand over the muscles in your neck, massaging the achy spot right beyond your skull for a moment. When you give in to look down at him, you do it from under your lashes, taking the pencil stuck in your mouth between two fingers and let your tongue play with it ever so slightly.

Eddie takes a deep breath; you can see it in the way his shoulders rise and his knees are pressed forward. You grin and he pulls up his brows and you can’t tell if he begs you to stop or go on.

Twenty-five-minute pose and the crowd demands him to stand.

“Twenty-five minutes of standing is ok?” your teacher asks Eddie, who hasn’t jumped up like a spring toy after the timer rang.

“Uhm, yeah,” he says, legs still drawn to his torso. “Sure thing, uh-hn.”

It takes him another beat to push himself up and come to a stand. Your eyes wander from the top of his cheeks, tinted in a pretty pink, down to those hips to find him not exactly half hard, but on a good way to it. You feel your eyes roll up.

Shit.

Your teacher instructs him how to stand, feet wider apart - a little more, perfect - arms crossed over his chest which too is now slightly pink. His biceps’ flex a few times as he waits for more instructions.

“Can you turn a little, to the left?” a guy in the top row asks and Eddie does.

“Like this?”

Like this you get him in a three-quarter-view and your heart is racing; will he look at you again or did you push it too far?

“Anything else?” your teacher asks and you want to bite down on your tongue but instead it’s moving and forming words.

“Can we have the hair down for this last one?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, catching you in the middle of your request. He pinches his eyes shut at the approval of your fellow students. Below the waist, he’s twitching again.

Loosening his hair tie, Eddie musses around in his dark waves with practised fingers until he seems satisfied with what he sees in the mirror across the room. You suppress a moan, breaking the tip of your pencil again. He’s not looking at you, this time choosing to turn down his eyes while his face points in your general direction again. You curse at yourself internally; you should have just gone to him after the session and slipped him your number or asked him if he was busy after this while the both of you were still flooded with whatever this was and—

Shit!

Whatever Eddie is thinking while not looking at you did not help with what was going on in his loins. That pretty cock was getting bigger: half-hard-hello! And judging by his current state, he was big. You involuntarily grind your hips on your chair and drop your pencil in the process. A groan escapes you, sounding much too pleasant for a case of dropped art supplies and you bend down to get it back. When you come up, brown eyes are waiting for you. There is a smile playing around them while his pretty pink lips are slightly pressed together. Thank god he doesn’t look mad or annoyed, only the blush giving away that something was going on.

You can’t help it, you’re biting your lip, eyes wandering between his face and his cock and his brows draw slightly together before he averts his eyes again, breathing a few times: deep and slow.

Deep and slow.

Holy shit you are throbbing and wet and all you can do is fake another stretch and while shuffling around, press your thighs together for a little bit of friction. You tilt your hips down slightly and the sensation is so good and welcome that your eyes pinch close and your back arches. The movement is jerkily and you stretch your arms over your head to conceal it, slowly opening your eyes again.

Eddie is watching. Eddie is hard.

You grab your pencil and start drawing the spectacle in front of you; concentration isn’t the right word for the sharp focus that settles over you. It’s fucking lust.

It’s not the first hard-on you’ve seen in this class, not by any means. It happens now and then and usually a slight blush from the model was the only reaction. But this wasn’t any hard dick: you did this. You did this to this gorgeous man and you wanted to capture this with your own hands. In case he just bolted right after the session, you would have something to remember this.

You’re leaning in, literally, sketch pad balancing on your knees and bent over your thighs you almost forget the additional loosened buttons on your blouse until you catch those eyes directed at your chest. Seems like Eddie figured the damage was done anyway so why hold back now?

And fucking hell was that precum glistening at the tip?

 This is when the timer starts announcing the end of class.

Eddie shoots you one final look, a sharp grin, a slight shake of the head, tips of his hair tickling his shoulders and hops off his little platform to get dressed.

“Holy shit,” says the guy next to you, leaning over. “Have you seen that dick?”

You huff a laugh that throbs in your pussy. “Hard to overlook.”

“Exactly,” he groans and picks up his things.

—

You look at drawings of Eddie of all kinds. They are all beautiful, even the bad ones. You rub your forehead catching that corny thought and look across the room where Eddie is talking to two people, gesturing to the drawings on the floor, laughing. The two of you are slowly moving towards each other. The journey consists of looking, talking: This is a good one! and That one is crap, right? and glancing to your right. You reach the row with your own stuff, groaning internally at how very off everything looks, everything but two.

Suddenly, a chest presses to your back and an arm sneaks past you to point at a drawing.

“That’s amazing.”

The explosion in your insides barely travels to your voice and you’re impressed with yourself. He even smells amazing. “Thank you.”

“Oh, that’s one of yours then?”

You turn to face him. The smile on his face is obscene.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Eddie.”

The smile shrinks a little and his nostrils flare with the air he pulls in. His voice is low and deep when he speaks. “You… uh, made that a very hard job to do.”

“I’m almost sorry,” you croon. His face is way too close; one uptilt of your head and you could bite his plush bottom lip.

“Don’t be,” he licks the spot you just imagined nibbling on. “I didn’t start it for nothing.”

You both jump when someone hijacks your moment. “Those detailed studies are really nice.”

“Yeah, right?” Eddie says with genuine enthusiasm. “Almost the only ones who got some of my tattoos…”

“Uhg, tattoos are hard in that short time, man and you know, not really anatomy.”

The exchange goes back and forth a little longer until Eddie loops his arm under yours and not so causally pulls you in the direction you’d come from under the disguise of looking at sketches.

“So, uh, what are you doing, like, right after this?”

“You, I hope.”

“Shit…” he shakes his head, hair falling into his face. “You’re killing me already… where do you want to go?”

You think about this for a moment, greedy and soaking through your panties you’re in no mood to wait much longer to have him naked again.

“I have a studio two corridors down…”

His brows shoot up. “You ahm…” he blurts out, then lowers his voice, “want to do me here at school?”

“Yes, Eddie… like the pretty little muse you are.”

—

His hand is warm in yours as you pull him along behind you through the hallway past your fellow students who throw curious glances over their shoulders.

Eddie catches up to your side and leans close to your ear, “Are you already wet for me? The way you moved on that chair…”

“Drenched,” you breathe against his neck and almost stumble over your own feet. Eddie sneaks his arm around you, keeping you steady.

“Easy, sweetheart. Let me be the one to bruise you, ok? I’ll do it in aaall the nice places.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open.

“Promise,” he adds, tapping the tip of your nose, a devilish smile spreading on his face.

You drag him on and he laughs behind you until he catches up again. There is a brief moment where you leave him in the middle of the empty foyer to get your key from the doorman, interrupting his lunch break, praying to whoever deity will listen to your horny call that none of your studio mates is in there already. You almost moan when the guy hands the key to you and you bump into Eddie’s chest face first when you turn around in a hurry.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he rasps, takes your face in his large hands and bends down to press a hot kiss to your mouth. Your fists close around the lapel of his coat as he licks along your teeth until your tongue finds him. The world around you feels vague and unimportant until the doorman behind you knocks against the glass of his booth.

“I don’t need to see this, folks.”

This time Eddie takes your hand and walks on. “Show me the way, babe, or I’ll have to hoist you up one of those windowsills… you people are doing performance art here, right?”

Eddie is mumbling filthy things at you the whole way down the empty corridor where your shared studio is the last room on the left. You try to fumble the key into the lock and drop it because Eddie is already busy bruising your neck. Pressed flat to your back he brushed your hair to the side and started sucking at the spot just below your ear, his hands sneaking around you, cupping your tits through your blouse. As you bend down to pick up the key, Eddie grabs your hips and rolls his own against you, almost pushing you into the door. You both laugh and he pulls you up by your waist.

“Sorry,” he chuckles as you finally unlock the door. “I couldn’t help myself.”

You let him inside and lock the door behind you.

“What’s your workspace?” he asks, already poking his nose into things. “No! Don’t tell me… it’s… this one.”

“How did you know?” you ask surprised, taking off your coat and fully unbuttoning your blouse while he looks at your work lined up on the wall, hand on his chin like a proper little art critic.

“Well, I saw your drawings and this stuff here… it has the same… Duktus?”

“Christ,” you moan and he looks at you. “That was so sexy.”

“Hey, you’re starting without me?”

Eddie rushes to you, hands instantly sliding inside your open blouse against your bare skin. His hands are rough, calloused in some places and the slight scratch is making you shiver in his arms. He pulls the fabric off of you and drops it to the ground. His coat falls next, then his shirt. Eddie hisses as you sink your teeth into his collarbone as soon as you have access to them.

“Too much?”

His eyes are lidded and so very dark as he shakes his head. “Just start pulling my hair too and you’ll never get rid of me again…”

“That a threat or another promise?” you purr as you open his belt and fly over the impressive bulge in his pants.

“Which one turns you on more?” You hook your fingers into his waistband and drop to your knees, pulling his pants down with you, making his breath hitch. “Oh, s-shit…”

This is the close-up you've been yearning for all morning. Fully hard and flushed a deep pink already; you wonder if it will feel as heavy on your tongue as it looks. You run a finger along the underside and it twitches again, bobbing up and down in front of your face. You lean in, stick out your tongue and give the swollen tip a lick that makes Eddie whimper above you.

Again you meet his eyes and the expression in them is so unexpectedly soft that you almost whimper too. Your cunt is clenching around horrible nothingness as you lick him again, flat tongue sliding along the underside, feeling a vein, tasting salt, watching those big brown eyes roll up and close as a moan escapes him.

“You’re gorgeous, holy shit.” You firmly grip his cock around the base and stroke him a few times, your mouth watering, before you close your lips around the tip, your tongue swirling in lazy circles around it. Eddie’s breath is uneven and laced with soft moans from his glistening parted lips while you softly play around with his cock. Every twitch of his face is a delight, the way his abdomen tenses when you press small kisses to the length of his shaft makes you swoon with adoration. You reach up one hand to trace up the lines of a tattoo on his ribcage and he catches it, pressing it flat against his chest. Eddie’s heartbeat pounds against your palm and you moan around his cock.

“Holy… fuck… I wanna watch you so bad but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“You can take it, big boy,” you say in a low voice. “Look at me.”

It takes him a few more seconds until he opens his eyes and looks down at you; the moment you lock eyes you take him down as far as you can. A string of loud but mostly intangible curses echoes through the large room as you suck him down again and again in long leisurely motions. Your lips stretched around his girth curl up into a smile when his hands look for something to hold onto in your hair and you place your index finger at the corner of your mouth without stopping your onslaught to signal him to keep the volume down.

“Sorry, ah fuck fuck FUCK… I’ll try… shit I’m balls deep in your mouth and still don’t know your name—”

You don’t want to stop, not even for the moment to tell him your name. There’s a big portfolio folder leaning against the wall and you point in the general direction before running your fingers through the dark curls around his base and up the trail to his stomach while he’s trying to figure out what you’re showing him, failing at his attempt to stay quiet.

Then he says it: your name, no, he moans it. And he doesn’t fucking stop.

Suddenly your abdomen is on fire and you have to pull back to catch your breath. But you can’t, not really, because Eddie has kicked off his pants the rest of the way, dropped to the floor and pushed you to your back to peel you out of your clothes.

The floor is cold under your ass and back and you thump your head a little as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to him.

“Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “keep manhandling me.”

Eddie grins like the devil himself and goes to work. He’s everywhere: kissing, lapping biting at your mouth, your jaw your neck your tits, his fingers pushed into your thighs and you know it will bruise. He’s keeping his promise, leaving wet tingling marks all over you, a purple trail of small galaxies. His fingers find your cunt, finally, and Eddie eats the moan out of your mouth.

“Shh,” he says with a cocky laugh, his forehead pressed to yours, two fingers circling your clit in dragging motions. “You’re loud, beautiful. You don’t want us to get caught before I had a chance to fuck you.”

“N-no… ahhh.” Two thick fingers slide into you and your muscles grip down hard at the sudden intrusion.

“Hi,” he grins down at you as if he wasn’t just pounding your g-spot out of nowhere and making you see stars.

You hold on to his face, grappling for purchase and finally wind your fingers into this wild tickling hair and pull.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I— I’m so close.”

“Keep holding on,” he groans and moves down your body, fingers stilling for a moment.

You keep your hands in his hair, pulling in frustration from the ebbing pleasure.

“Of course, you have the prettiest fucking pussy, you—“ he doesn’t finish his thought, diving in with his tongue to lap at your clit like he’d been starving for you his whole life.

You bite the back of your hand to keep from yelling out at the sight alone. His eyes meet yours, of course they do and he sucks one of your lips into his mouth.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie… what’s your last name?”

“Munson,” he mumbles against your core and keeps on feasting.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie Munson… ahhh don’t stop please.”

And he doesn’t. He gives you his fingers and his mouth, his eyes fixed on you— well, most of the time, he keeps looking to a spot behind you but you have no time to inquire as your legs start to tremble and everything inside you starts to tense and pulse and you’re coming apart under his mouth before you’ve really seen it coming.

Yeah, that guy was something else.

When you’ve come down he gently pulls his fingers from you and litters your thighs and belly with kisses. His fingers are sticky against your skin but a slight roughness remains.

Your head lolls against the floor while you’re still blissed out and Eddie still puts those feathery kisses to your skin.

“You… you’re a musician…” you drawl out.

He looks up. “Yeah! How do you know?”

You take his hand from your chest and lick your wetness from his fingers before you turn his palm to him, sliding a fingertip over the calloused skin.

“You like that?” he grins.

You let go of his hand and nod. “Something with strings?”

“Guitar. And vocals.”

“Fuck you, you’re way too hot as it is…” you squeeze him with your thighs and his eyes go to that spot behind you again before he kisses your chest.

“What do you keep looking at?” you wiggle and crane your neck. It’s that painting. The one that has been haunting you for weeks.

“Sorry,” he scrunches up his nose. “I don’t know, draws me in somehow… it’s… weird… sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be…” you say and pull him up to you, kissing him. “You’re right.”

“Yeah?” he glances over again. “Well, fuck… yeah… m’ not gonna lie to you it’s kinda terrifying.” You both laugh. The warmth in your chest only expands more.

“Want to slather me in paint and fuck me against it?”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he glances between your face and the canvas. “Yes? Fuck yes!”

He pulls you up and into a hungry kiss, his thick cock hard against your belly.

 “Is that stuff safe to use?” he points his chin to some paint tubes on the trolley in the corner.

“No, oh god, no. But…” you leave him to look for a large bottle of black paint letting out a triumphant ha when you find it. You turn around beaming. “This here is… and will wash out of hair with no problem.”

“Come here…” he curls his finger to beckon you to him. “And hand that over.”

“Is that turning you on?” you ask as you join him.

“You have no idea.” Eddie takes the paint from you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling your back to his chest. “You’re so pretty already with all my marks on you.” He walks you over to the canvas that way, his lips pressed close to your ear.

You turn in his arm and reach for his cock, stroking him softly. “How do you want me?”

“Fuck if I know… gimme a second and don’t stop that.” He looks at the canvas, really thinking about this. You suddenly want to pull his hair again. “Hands above your head, babe,” he says, opening the bottle of paint and squirts a generous amount into his hand. “Keep them clean. You have to put me inside you.”

You lean against the canvas; it’s large, so large that your outstretched arms above your head just graze the wooden frame inside.

Eddie’s hands are dripping black paint as he grabs your hips, bends down and sucks your nipple into his mouth before he kisses up to the crook of your shoulder to suck on you once more. “One last one before I make a mess out of you.” The contrast between the warmth of his lips and the cool paint as he slides his hands up your sides to your ribs makes you squirm and whimper. Eddie steps back to look at his work.

“Fuck, I’m an artist.”

He grabs the bottle from the floor and gets more paint, letting it drip right to your tits before smudging with splayed fingers. You watch him, mesmerized. When he is satisfied, he spins you around and pats your thigh as a sign to widen your stance. You feel him shuffle behind you as he presses himself against you and your chest against the canvas.

“Ready?”

You reach down, fumbling in the air for a moment before you find him. “You ready?”

 “Ye—ahhhh, you little minx,” he groans as you line him up and push back on him half the way. He holds you steady and slides in the rest of the way breathing out a long low fuuuuck. Then he stills. “Are you holding your breath? You ok?”

You are more than ok and you let the air out, your forehead dropping against the canvas. “It was that or letting everybody in the building know I’m getting stretched real fucking good right now…”

He angles your hips back and pushes closer. “Yeah, you are… shit, you’re unreal.”

“And you’re big. Gimme a moment.”

“All the time you want, I’m cosy here.”

While you get used to the stretch, Eddie caresses your back, rubbing small circles up the sides of your spine.

“I have a show next Tuesday,” he says kissing your shoulder. “Would love to see you in the first row.”

“Wouldn’t miss it… I assume it’s something hard?” you wiggle your ass, making you both sigh.

“You like it hard?” he laughs. “Music, I mean.”

“I do.”

“’Course you do. Can I fuck you now? Please?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Before the paint dries.”

He starts slow, pulling out almost all the way and sliding back in till he bottoms out. Your front slides against the canvas blackening out parts of it in big splotches.

“How’s this?” He’s so careful it makes your throat feel tight.

“You feel in-incredible.” You push back, meeting his thrusts as he picks up the pace.

“You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

Then you’re just getting lost in each other. His movements get rougher, more confident as he thrusts into you. You feel him deep inside you lighting little fires everywhere. A hand presses to the canvas next to your head, an arm loops around your waist and you yelp as he sharply slams into you. You beg him to do it again but he’s already on it, relentlessly fucking you into the canvas. Most of the paint is dry now, it’s prickling on your skin. Eddie moans your name into your ear, squeezing your tits and you squeeze your muscles around his cock.

“Shhh, babe…” you chuckle after he cries out.

“Fuck you,” he laughs hoarsely into your hair.

You’re so close again and you slip your hand between your legs but Eddie stops and pulls your arm to your back. “No nono, shit, not-not like that…”

“Eddie…”

“Stay like that,” he says and pulls out of you, leaving you empty and confused. There is some shuffling and then he is back behind you. “Going to be cold.”

“What— uhn!”

Paint trickles onto your arched back, sliding down your spine and making you shiver. Eddie gives your ass a little smack and turns you around, crowding you against the canvas, and hoists you up by your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck while he balances you out.

“Can’t do that all day but you’re close ‘n I wanna see that face when you come.” He leans you back to create some space between you. “Help me out, put me back inside you…”

You do as you’re told and you clench your thighs hard around his hips as he starts up almost at the same pace he stopped. He kisses you, so sloppy so wet you feel a string of spit between your mouths when he pulls back again to hook his arms under your knees and spreads you open so wide that you’re crying out his name.

“I got you,” he assures you, pounding into you at a new angle, so deep it makes you dizzy. “I got you, you can juuust fall apart…”

The noises you two are making where you’re joined are obscene.

“Holy shit,” you moan, “li-listen… those sounds.”

Eddie drops his head to your shoulder, sweat dripping from his forehead onto you. “Like fucking music…”

You laugh. “Fucking music indeed.”

“God, you’re perfect,” he presses out through a laugh and really leans into you. You grab a thick strand of hair and pull as your insides begin to tense.

“Oh… oh shit, don’t stop.”

The world tilts as he leans you back again. “Wouldn’t dare… touch yourself for me, I need to feel you come around me.”

“Come inside me, yeah?” you rasp as you circle your swollen throbbing clit.

His eyes bore into yours, the strain and pleasure all over his face. He’s a mess as much as you are. “Come on, darling… come for me… I want you to run through my fingers.”

And you swear you do: your head thumps against the wood frame as your muscles try to create a black hole or whatever happens under so much pressure, but who cares when this stupidly perfect man fucks you through the hardest orgasm anyone ever had while looking at you like he was fulfilling his fucking destiny. You can’t hear him over the blood rushing through your ears, but he looks so pretty with his nose scrunched up, a streak of black paint running over the bridge and his eyes shut tight. A few more thrusts and he collapses against your chest with stuttering hips, pinning you so hard against the wall that it drives the air out of you.

There is only breathing, hot air from his lungs against your tickling skin. You cup the back of his head and stroke his hair; he nuzzles deeper into your skin and makes a noise that sounds like fucking home.

“I need to put you down now… sorry.”

He puts you down but doesn’t let go. Kisses cover your face until you cup his cheeks and claim his mouth while he’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

Then you giggle together, Eddie squeezing your ass with both hands, smiling at you so silly and soft. You’re thirsty, you let him have the bottle first and he gulps the water down, spilling down his chest, creating little rivers of paint that let the ink show through. You want to study those lines up close without twenty people around you, without the blinding fire of lust, but calm, taking your time asking questions.

“What’s going on up there?” he asks, tapping a finger against your forehead.

“I wanna study you some more,” you say, taking the bottle and down what’s left.

He doesn’t ask you what you mean, only tilts his head and smiles. Then he sits down in that worn-out armchair your mate had dragged in a few months ago, still naked, it isn’t time to cover up yet and you find a clean enough rag, climb into his lap and clean the paint off his face as gently as you can.

“Stop,” he grabs your hips, “do you have a camera or something?”

You do and the timer takes too long for you two not to start fooling around before the soft click of the shutter sounds. One more and one more and the film has only two more left and he pulls you in to kiss you just before the camera rewinds.

“You want to join me when I make the prints?”

“You, red light and chemicals?” he grins. “It’s a date.”

The painting is dry already; Guache dries rather fast, you explain to him. It’s itchy, he adds and scratches his chest, small flakes of black falling down to the floor. You sit in front of both your work, your head against his shoulder and your fingers fumbling with a strand of his hair that is stiff with paint.

“You know,” he says, “it would have made a damn good record cover before…”

“You can have a picture… I document every night before I go home.”

“Really? I mean, the picture?”

You brush sweaty hair off his forehead, “I’m sure it’s in good hands with you.”

He almost shoves you over when he kisses you, the giddy streak you saw earlier during class showing when he chuckles and licks your cheek like a puppy.

“It looks really good now though, don’t you think?”

“You’re just horny,” you laugh.

“What? You don’t like our work?” he pouts and this shouldn’t pull at your heart that much.

“I do,” you kiss the pout, “I was just teasing.”

“I mean it,” he looks at the canvas, “It’s a bit crooked and dented now, but that just adds to the charm.”

 “It has nothing on you though when it comes to charm.” You lean in with a sultry smile and his palm cups your breast and then—

A knock on the door. “Come on, you still fucking in there? I need to work.”

You look at each other with large eyes and break out laughing, scrambling for your clothes. Eddie hisses sharply when you slap his ass just before he pulls up his jeans and you forgo the bra because one strap did not survive Eddie’s enthusiasm. There is paint sticking out of his collar that you couldn’t clean before your photo shoot and you remember to put the film in your pocket while he kisses your temple because he seems to can’t help himself but stay close to you.

“Ready?” you ask and he grabs your hand and nods, following you out.

“Finally,” your mate says, but smiles when she sees you. “Aren’t you that new model?”

“Muse,” he grins without further explanation.

You hand her the key, mouth a small sorry and admit it when she calls you out on your lie.

His hand is warm in yours, his thumb playing with your knuckles as you walk back through the hallway.

“So,” he says, “we gonna shower at your or my place?”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

hey queen, for “see no evil hear no evil” pt3, would you consider doing pregnancy x speech where our girl discovers from someone that she can learn how to talk, and she secretly practices it and one day she finds out she is pregnant and she tells aemond that she’s pregnant by talking to him (she also tells him “i love you” 👀) bc that would be so cool!!!

Sorry this took a few days but my writing time had seriously been cut back and I miss it 😭

See No Evil, Hear No Evil {3}

Aemond Targaryen x deaf!fem!reader Author's Note: I may have got a little side tracked but I think I have covered this all as requested with a few extras thrown in. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, period sex, blood, allusion to infertility struggles, canon-death, vomit. WC: 4210

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Half of your body was too hot and the other half was too cold when you woke at dawn. The golden hues of the sun breaking the horizon lightened the room as you looked around and found the fire had died overnight. Aemond’s arm tightened around your waist and he nuzzled your shoulder as he curled his long body around yours, providing more heat than you needed. 

Easing out of his embrace for the fifth week in a row, you went into the adjacent room and pulled the string that connected to the maids’ quarters. You had just finished washing your face to chase away the lingering feeling of exhaustion from the early rising when two handmaids appeared and grabbed the dress you had selected for the day. 

Appropriately attired, you made your way through the quiet castle to Princess Helaena’s chambers and found the whimsical woman already opening the door for you with a warm smile. “Ready for today’s lesson?”

Nervousness crept in once again as you nodded and stepped into her room while the children still slept, apparently dawn was the only time it was quiet, or so she said. You thought you had long put the feeling of self-consciousness behind you but these lessons with Helaena had regressed you to the youthful mindset of bygone times and it was a constant battle to continue to show up, until you reminded yourself why you were doing this. 

Helaena waved her hand to the cushioned chair opposite her and you flattened your skirts as you took a seat, grabbing your book and a graphite pencil that Aemond made sure you had plenty of. After writing your message you turned the book around and Helaena read the writing. 

I am to see the maesters this morning so I must leave before long.

“You are not ill,” she stated or asked, though you weren’t quite sure which.

Your hand flew across the page as your chest tightened at the mere thought of what you were writing. It had been the cause for your increased anxiety and only grew as the days passed by and your body experienced no changes.

Six cycles and I am yet with child. 

Helaena gently pushed the book back onto your lap and took your hands in her smaller, delicate ones. “You are not ill, and you will be with child soon. You will be holding a babe by Maelor’s third Name Day. I have dreamed it.”

You struggled to concentrate on the lesson as Helaena’s words echoed in your mind and hope fluttered in your chest. You loved Aemond more than anything, you loved him so much that you felt you could not contain it - you wished to take all that love and create life from it. You wanted to see Aemond as a father, knowing there is no one more loyal to his family and that the child would be loved deeply. 

Yet each cycle you would wake with cramps in your abdomen and an ache in your heart. Aemond could see the tears in your eyes on those mornings and, try as he might to comfort and assure you that good things take time, you could see the same sadness in his eye. 

You had hoped to have a moment with Alicent but with King Viserys’ ailing health she was oftentimes busy ensuring the kingdom ran smoothly and you did not want to be a burden. The queen had enough pressure on her shoulders as it was, though she could have had some more help in the kingdoms’ matters if her eldest son would do his duty.

You looked at the princess, ethereal in her beauty and kind in her disposition, she hardly saw her husband and you wished she had known a dutiful husband. She deserved to be doted upon as Aemond did you. 

“Your mind has taken you places, dear sister,” Helaena said with a smile. “It is almost time to break our fast, would you accompany me to the dining room?”

You nodded and tucked your book back in your pocket with the notes from the lesson before following her to where the twins were being ushered by their maids. Both Jaehaera and Jaehaerys waved excitedly and broke away from the maid trying to detangle their hair to wrap their arms around your legs. 

You knelt to the floor and hugged them back until they pulled back suddenly. 

“Uncle Aemond,” Jaehaera said with a toothy grin and a moment later the door opened to reveal your husband. 

Though it had not been long since you had seen him, your arms were reaching for him and wrapped around his waist as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “I thought I would find you here, my love. Are you hungry?”

You nodded and took Jaehaera’s hand as she reached for you and Aemond, swinging herself between you two as you imagined you would be doing with a child of your own one day. You looked across to Aemond as she swung again and his smile grew although the light never quite reached his eye.

Jaehaera tugged at her Uncle’s arm until he dropped to one knee to address her and his eyes darted to your, then your stomach, then back to your face. Her back was to you so you did not see what it was she said but whatever it was gave him pause. You flipped your hands over so your palms faced up, asking him ‘What?’ but he just shook his head with a smile and took Jaehaera’s hand once more.

You woke the following morning with waves of pain and rushed from the bed to the bathing chamber where the strips of clean linen were stored. You had grown to hate the natural process of your body with each passing month and when word came that Rhaenyra was pregnant yet again, you questioned yourself. 

You had seen it time and time again throughout the Red Keep and in the city beyond. You couldn’t understand why some found themself with a child after bedding a stranger for one night but you could not with over one hundred nights bedding Aemond. You were not one to delude yourself with what was fair and not fair in the life you had been dealt, but seeing the blood stain on your nightdress certainly challenged that. 

You dropped the nightdress into the basin and wrapped a robe around yourself as the weight of defeat pressed on your shoulders and tears leaked down your cheeks. Light poured into the room as the door was open and Aemond filled the space, the soiled sheets bundled in one hand.

You looked away, feeling guilty that a prince was reduced to maids activities, when he knelt before you so you had no choice but to face him as he spoke, “I have trained with the guards for much of my life, dear wife, a little blood is of no concern to me.”

Fresh tears rolled down your face as his tenderness served to catapult you far from your sadness but his worry only increased. 

“Why are you crying, my love?”

You shook your head, hoping to shake the abundance of thoughts filling you. There was no explanation that would make a man understand how turbulent emotions were in those first days of your womanly cycle, so you settled on kissing him instead. 

He dropped the sheet to the floor so he could cradle your face in his hands and deepen the kiss. You pulled away breathless as his hands untied the sash of the robe and pushed the material off your shoulders. You gasped and tried to cover yourself but there was no hiding the streak of red between your thighs, your body burning with embarrassment. 

“Don’t hide from me,” Aemond said as he bent his knees to look at your bowed face. “There is not one part of you that is not beautiful to me, nor is there anything that would change my love for you.”

You bit back the fear that filled you as you asked him something that had been dwelling in the depth of your mind for months and your hands shook as you signed, What if I cannot give you a child?

His lips pressed together sternly and your stomach plummeted within your body before he gave your shoulders a small shake and said, “There is nothing that would change my love for you.”

The air in your lungs released along with the immense pressure that you had not realised had been building in you and you sagged into Aemond’s embrace with relief. His strong arms encased you as your tears dampened his skin and he pulled back. 

“I did not know this weighed so heavily upon you, my love.” He closed his eye and pressed his forehead to yours for a moment. “I should have been more attentive as your husband.”

The thought of your loving husband being even more attentive than he already was didn’t seem possible and your lips parted with a laugh as you shook your head at the impossibility of it all. He froze and wonder fell across his features at what he heard before he crushed his lips against yours and hooked your leg around his thigh. 

“Please,” he said and you knew what he was asking as you felt his erection against your thigh. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of the act, one that was usually saved for those wishing to not fall pregnant. If you said no, Aemond would respect your choice but you found yourself not wanting to say no - though it was possibly the lady-like thing to do. You always wanted your husband and the blood was no concern to him, so why deny both of you the pleasure?

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck as he guided you backwards to the bench that held the basin. The wood was cold beneath you as you sat at the edge and Aemond spread your legs with his hips as he stepped between them and pressed his manhood to your entrance.

Your fingers danced over his back as he filled you and from the smile on his handsome face you knew he was enjoying the sounds you were making as the cramps eased and a different tightness grew. You had not known the remedy his body could give but you were grateful as he chased away the pain and replaced it with pleasure. 

His breath was hot on your neck as he kissed over your pulse and you buried your hands in his hair, holding him close as you felt your heart beating hard in your chest and the same pulse throbbed at your core. 

The long thrusts were teasingly slow and you needed more, dropping your hands to his firm buttocks and pulling him closer. His response was instant as he planted his hands on the wall behind your head rutted hard and quick, leaving you gasping as he hit the deepest parts of your core until you came undone around him. 

Aemond bit his lip at the feel of your release tightening your walls and he dropped his head to your shoulder, wrapping you in his arms as he filled you with his seed through the shudders. Pulling away, he kissed you sweetly before reaching for a washcloth and he laughed as you gasped at the mess, your jaw dropping wide.

“It is blood, not poison,” Aemond teased as he dunked the cloth in the basin and wrung it out before cleaning your thighs. Once you were clean, he wrapped the robe around you to chase off the morning chill before cleaning himself shamelessly, easing the sense of taboo that had crept back in. “I’ll call for breakfast in our room this morning, unless you feel well enough for the dining room.”

Though the cramping ache had gone for the moment, there was still a dull tenderness with each move you made and you did not wish to trek down the halls and stairs to the dining room so you shook your head. You left the bathing room with a handful of linen strips as Aemond grabbed his own robe and found a fresh sheet cast across the bed, though it was not tucked in finely as the maids did.  

Another wave of emotion swamped you and your chest jumped with a hiccup that drew Aemond’s attention. He was in front of you in a heartbeat, seeing fresh tears in your eyes and he ran his hands down your arms. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head and placed one hand over his heart as the other signed, I love you.

“I love you too,” he said with a smile as he wiped your damp cheeks. “I never realised how many different tears there were. I prefer your happy tears over all else.” 

Another laugh bubbled from your chest and you pulled away, leaving him smiling to himself as you went to the dressing room. There was nothing pretty about the undergarments that were reserved for your cycle, their only purpose was to hold the linen strips in place and you quickly hid them under a fresh bed dress, deciding you were not going to venture out into the public eye at all. 

Aemond was already laying in the bed when you returned, the blanket barely covering his modesty as he watched you cross the room to him. The hunger in his eye had you stumble and you knew that look intimately, it held the promise that he would give you no reason to want to leave the bed, perhaps ever again.

Smiles came easier and there was no longer an ache in your chest when you watched Aemond play with his nephews and niece. In the last six weeks he had reassured you a plenty that child or not, he would love you until the end of time. 

Sex also came a plenty as the stress of bearing a child was eased from your mind and you took your time enjoying and learning Aemond’s body intimately. There were certainly perks to having sex purely for the fun of it, especially when you wrapped your lips around his cock and brough him to release with your mouth. That was a favourite of yours, being able to look up the length of his body and see how he reacted to your touch, to your tongue. 

“Look at me like that and we will not make it to the Vaemond’s challenge,” Aemond said as he sent Maelor toddling back to his mother so he could have a moment with you in the tower window.

You grinned and lifted your shoulders, silently asking if it would be such a bad thing. His hand wrapped around yours and lifted it to his lips to place a delicate kiss to your palm. 

“And miss the grand family reunion,” he said with a slow growing smile as he saw his sister’s carriage arrive unmet in the courtyard far below. “Come, my love, we should get ready.”

 Your stomach turned as you looped your arm in your husband’s and let him lead the way down the staircase, towards the one who had scarred his face. You knew the story of that night, and how young the boys were when the incident happened, but Aemond’s resentment still burned like the red hot embers that remained long after the flames stopped flickering.

The nervous nausea grew the closer to the throne room that you stepped and when you crossed the threshold you were sure you were going to vomit. Aegon and Helaena were already waiting with Alicent, a clear division in the room as they stood to the left and waited for you to join them.

Alicent greeted you with a kiss to your cheek and she cupped Aemond’s scarred cheek gently as if to remind herself of the pain the other half of King Viserys’ family had wrought on hers. All words that could have been exchanged between mother and son died as Rhaenyra and her family entered the great room. 

Your eyes immediately fell to the swell of her belly that her hand rested upon but you did not feel the usual pang of hurt and it was a relief. 

The relief was short lived as three heads of dark hair trailed in her wake and you felt Aemond tense beside you as his eye fell on them too. You laced your fingers with his and felt him squeeze your hand gently in thanks but he dared not look away from the ones he saw as a threat to his family. 

The group barely gave you a passing glance but their stares lingered on Aemond, or more so the scar and leather patch that hid the worst of his injury. 

Your free hand inched up your throat and flicked out while Aemond coughed a laugh at the vulgar gesture you aimed at the young man who had drawn blood from your husband. The laugh was echoed by Aegon, as he was usually on the receiving end of the gesture, and Alicent shook her head but said nothing as the corners of her eyes wrinkled like she was suppressing a smile too. 

Your eyes trailed over the two halves dividing the room but as you were not in the centre there was not a lot you could read of what they were saying. You could only judge how the challenge was going by the reactions of the faces you were seeing. It was almost a physical ripple of surprise that spread along the room and you watch row after row turn to face the doors. 

The King had risen from his healing slumbers to decide the fate of Driftmark. 

Risen may have been the wrong term, for the King was hardly upright as he struggled to cross the floor with his cane to aid him. Pity filled you for the ailing man who had been kind and welcoming to you and you wished someone would ease his struggle to the throne. 

Your respect for Prince Daemon grew as he stepped up when Viserys’ crown tumbled from his head and the second son placed it back upon his brother’s head. It said a lot about a man who could be so close to the throne and never have it to still hold love for his older brother. You had no doubt that if tradition had not been broken to have Rhaenyra as Viserys’ heir and not his first born son, Aegon, that Aemond would have publically supported his brother too. 

With Otto sitting on the throne as Hand you could read his lips, but with Viserys there was no hope, not with half of his face hidden by the golden mask he wore. You didn’t like the confusion that came with being on the outside of the conversation and it left you more than a little stunned when Daemon suddenly drew his sword and beheaded Vaemond with one foul swoop.

You could scarcely believe your eyes as his body collapsed one way but his head the other and Aemond grabbed your waist, spinning you away from the sight that stayed burned in your mind. It took you a moment to process what you had seen, the odd organ that had been bared from the strike, and you realised it was Vaemond’s tongue that had remained with his body. 

Your stomach lurched and there was no stopping the bile that rose in your throat as you tore away from Aemond and made it passed the line of witnesses before collapsing to your knees and vomiting across the stone floor. Cool hands brushed across your forehead and you knew who they belonged to in an instant. He did not hesitate to use the corner of his clean cloak to wipe away the bile that clung to your lips and draw you away from the mess you had made.

There was no condemnation on his concerned face when he turned you to look him in the eye and you were glad to find that the wave of nausea had passed with what you had emptied from your stomach. With a trembling hand, you closed it to a fist and rubbed your chest but he caught your wrist before you even completed one circle, shaking his head as he pulled it away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love,” he said, placing your hand on his chest instead. “You are too pure to have witnessed such violence.”

You frowned at the statement, remembering the many violent deaths you had seen during tourneys over the years and not once had you been squeamish at the sight of a man dying on the sand and straw ground in the summer heat. However jaded it may seem, you had come to expect violence when royals and knights collide.

You looked at Helaena beyond Aemond’s profile and she was clutching her hands together, looking far too joyful for the startled response she had had only moments earlier. Her smile only grew as she stared back at you and her hands arced over her flat stomach before pointing at you. 

Your lips parted with a gasp and you looked down, expecting to see a bump in your dress but it looked as it usually did. You counted back in your head and your hands began to shake harder as you realised while you had not been paying such attention to your cycle, you were about two weeks late for yours. 

“Aemond,” you said as you stumbled back in surprise, but not as much as he did. 

“What did you say?” he asked in shock, and you feared you had not enunciated it as well as when you had practised with his sister. “Say it again, please.”

“Aemond,” you said carefully, breaking it down into the syllables as instructed. It was possibly too quiet for him as he stepped closer so you said a little more forcefully, “I’m pregnant.”

His eye widened in surprise and behind him you saw Alicent, as well as most of the guests, spin away from the throne to look at you. Many smiled at the news while others frowned but you paid them no mind as you saw a tear slip over Aemond’s thick lashes and cascade down his unmarred cheek.

“You’re pregnant?” he asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it had finally happened. “A child, our child?”

You nodded and he closed the distance, crushing his lips to yours despite the bitter taste that still filled your mouth. He did not care. The only thing he cared about was you and his child that was growing in your belly. His arms wrapped around you and you melted into his embrace as if the world around you and the body on the floor behind him did not exist, it was only you and Aemond sharing this moment.

You pulled back so you could see his face when you spoke, “I love you, Aemond.”

His chest shuddered and he swallowed deeply as he savoured hearing those words on your tongue. “Say it again,” he begged.

“Aemond,” you said with a teasing smile and he kissed you before nipping your lip lightly.

“Not that.”

Unable to tease him anymore, you gave into the adoring look on his face. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he said as you wiped his tears away and he placed his hand on your stomach. “And our child too.”

Aemond turned away at something someone must have said but when he returned his smile was tenser than before. “The King wishes to have a family banquet tonight, to celebrate the news.”

You stepped around Aemond so that you could see the King watching his youngest son and you touched your chin with your fingers to show your gratitude before bowing your head. Helaena had not stopped staring at you with a knowing grin and you returned it as Aemond curled his arm around your waist and you nuzzled into his side to look up at him.

“I was quite jealous, truth be told, when you snuck from our bed to visit my sister each morning,” Aemond said with a smirk. “But this is how you and my sister spent all those hours locked away together?”

You slapped his chest lightly at what he was inferring and rolled your eyes before parting your lips to speak, “It was for you.”

Aemond stood a little straighter, his shoulders back and his chest puffed. “I have never been prouder to call you my wife, mother of my child. You continue to surprise me, my love.”

Your lessons had not been so extensive and without seeing how some words were broken down to each sound they were harder to speak. Instead, your fingers danced and he watched them speak for you, I have to keep you on your toes.

With many pairs of eyes still intently watching you and your husband, he gave you a wink before returning his own signs that caused a heat to wash over your skin. 

Or you could keep me on my back.

Click here for part four.

Taglist: @sheetalkalkhandey , @hydrationqueensworld

[archangeldyke-all]

imagine sevika finding all the drawings reader has made of her in their sketchbook. Drawings of her face, body, nose, back, everything. 🙃🙃

wahhhh now i'm crying

men and minors dni

she's rifling through your drawers looking for a clean tank top to borrow when she finds a manila folder hidden under your socks.

she hums, opening it, expecting to find your birth certificate or tax documents. she freezes when the first thing she sees is her own face.

sevika knows you like to draw. she's always laughing at the little doodles and sketches she finds around the house, on the back of old receipts or napkins.

one of her favorite pastimes is reading in bed while you doodle away in your sketchbook beside her.

but she's never seen you draw her before.

she gazes down at the sketch, soaking in every scratch of your pencil, a lump forming in her throat at the loving way you've captured her sleeping face.

she moves the first sketch to the side. the next one is a bit messier, clearly done in a rush. black ink smudged in some spaces where your hand smeared it on the back of an old receipt in your attempt to quickly capture the rare sight of sevika's toothy grin. she chuckles at the little hearts you've drawn around her smiling face, then moves onto the next.

it's her whole body from head to toe, naked and asleep on your bed. she's got one hand above her head, the other resting across her stomach. she looks... soft. you've drawn each and every scar on her body with loving reverence. you've captured the hickeys you'd sucked into her neck earlier that night with a gentle smudge of your graphite. a gentle smile creeps up sevika's lips as a tear falls from her eyes.

there's hundreds of sketches in the folder. sevika gives up on her search for a shirt and situates herself on the bed, rifling through all the papers in the folder.

some of her hands, some of her back, some of her lounging on the couch with a cigarette between her lips.

her favorite is a quick doodle you'd obviously done when she'd pissed you off, a caricature of her flexing, captioned with 'all these muscles and she still makes me shovel the driveway.'

she loves the little studies she finds on various parts of her face. one page is just full of her nose from different angles. another is of her hands, both flesh and prosthetic.

you find her while she's admiring a particularly saucy sketch of what she assumes must be your view of when she's fucking you missionary.

"sevika?" you ask. she jumps off the bed, scrambling to stack the papers and slam the folder closed. you chuckle. there's a lovely little blush on her cheeks, and she's still clutching the folder to her chest like it's her prized possession. "you found your folder." you say. she blinks at you.

"why didn't you show me these before?" she asks. you shrug.

"'s kinda embarrassing. i'm, like, obsessed with you." you say. sevika chuckles.

"'m your muse." she says. you roll your eyes.

"i didn't say that--"

"these are beautiful." she says. you blink at her. "i've-- fuck, i spent like an hour and a half lookin' at 'em. you made me beautiful." she says.

you blink back tears. sevika's always saying stuff that takes your breath away, then acting like she's said nothing.

"you are beautiful sevika." you say. she gulps, and then in a flash she's kissing you.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity

[meluiloth]

For @silmarillionepistolary day 7, Remembrance and New Beginnings! Artwork at the bottom.

Night has fallen. The lamps have been turned low, the house cleaned, the bedtime routine completed; all Maglor and Maedhros have left to do is tuck the twins and read them their customary story.

They look so small wrapped in the red wool blankets, like two little birds in a crimson nest. They are quiet, too, waiting patiently for Maglor to ask his routine question: “Now, what story would you like tonight? Or would you rather hear a song?”

“I want the one about the Sun and the Moon!” Elros pipes up, scrunching the blanket in his hands eagerly.

Maglor smiles. “Is that what you want as well, Elrond?”

Elrond, the quieter twin, looks bashfully down before murmuring, “I’d like to see the picture book…”

Maglor shares a confused look with Maedhros. They did not own any picture books. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asks.

Elrond tips his head. “The one in your study,” he says. “It’s got gold string around it and lots of pictures on every page.”

Maedhros frowns. “You know you are forbidden from entering my study,” he reproaches.

Elrond bites his lip. “Yes, I know … I just saw the pictures and thought they were pretty.”

Maglor sees the telltale signs of a lecture in Maedhros’s expression, so he swiftly says, “Perhaps we can excuse it this once, if you promise to ask before you touch our things.”

Both Elrond and Elros nod emphatically, and Maglor leaves the room to search for the ‘picture book’ in his brother’s study, which is packed with volumes, scrolls, and papers. Maglor thinks it will take him forever to find the book Elrond described, if it exists at all, but surprisingly he easily locates it in the first bookshelf: a worn book of red leather, tied with a fading gold ribbon. It is familiar to him, but he cannot recollect why until he brings it back into the twins’ room. Maedhros’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Grandfather’s sketchbook? I thought that was lost ages ago!”

“It was in a box in the back,” Elrond supplies.

Maglor looks down at it, a stab of nostalgia and old grief passing through him. “I thought we never even brought it,” he murmurs.

“Can we read it?” Elros asks, leaning forward curiously.

Maedhros frowns, his reluctance clear. There are many memories neither of them want to relive, the life and death of their grandfather among the most heartbreaking. But many of the memories Finwë recorded in his beloved sketchbook were his happiest, from both his life and the rest of his family’s. And the two young children looking up at Maglor are also Finwë’s family … and he wants to share something of his life that is not just the blood on his hands.

The spine of the book cracks softly as he opens it, and the yellowed paper releases a small puff of dust, but the artwork on the inside is still as lovely and life-filled as the day he penned them.

Maglor explains each piece as he showed it to the twins, and lets them look as long as they like. Even Maedhros sometimes asks him to wait a little longer on certain pages, the heavy, dark look in his eyes brightening when he remembers his childhood in Valinor.

It is well past midnight by the time they reach the last pages, and all of them are surprised to see that they are all in full color, when all the previous pages have been only graphite sketches.

“Who are they?” Elros breathes, tracing his finger delicately over the meticulously painted faces.

Maglor swallows, his throat and his eyes clogged with tears. His brother, too, is at a loss for words.

“It’s them,” Elrond says, looking up at the Fëanorians and then back down at thd drawings. “Maglor and Maedhros are right there … but Maedhros looks different …”

It was true. Maglor and Maedhros, along with all of their brothers - still alive and smiling radiantly - and their parents. On the other pages, their cousins and uncles and aunts, before any of them had suffered the horrors of Morgoth.

“That is us,” Maedhros murmurs. “That was us then. We were so happy..."

“What was it like … then?” Elros ventures.

Maglor smiles. “I will tell you.”

“Tomorrow night,” Maedhros interrupts. “It is very late, and if you are to understand a word we say, you must be well-rested.”

[cordeliawhohung]

Golden Days

soap x pianist!fem!reader - written for @glitterypirateduck holiday challenge

A quiet coffee shop is the perfect place for Johnny to relax and get his mind off things. But he finds he enjoys it a bit more when someone starts playing the old, beat up piano.

masterlist

warnings: none! super fluffy! short and sweet. maybe slightly ooc soap because i don't write for him super often...

wc: 1.7k

a/n: inspired by the original lyrics to "have yourself a merry little christmas." i think that version deserves some more love.

Getting some R & R was always easier said than done, and Johnny found that he always had to keep his hands busy while he was on leave. Whether it was a quick skirmish of footy, hitting the gym, or even going for a walk, he was always in motion. But as the weather got cruddy with the bitter December wind and the pavement slick with what little snow dusted the lands, he found himself stuck to drawing. Simple sketches, he liked to call them. Silly doodles that meant little to nothing. 

A majority of his journal was full of fragments of the world. A favela in Brazil where the buildings and homes seemed to stretch forever; a watermelon with a knife sticking out of it; diagrams of various ships and vehicles; the works. And he’d write some snarky comment or make fun of his captain in the privacy of ink and paper. His home away from home, whenever he was feeling sentimental, anyway. 

Even as he enjoyed a fresh cup of coffee in his favorite mom-and-pop’s cafe, he drew. At first he started out with attempting to draw his cup of coffee, logo and all, until he realized that it would be lukewarm at best by the time he got the sketch how he liked it. Instead, he opted to drink his coffee while he scribbled down a Christmas tree. Might as well keep it to memory when the older gentleman who made his coffee had obviously spent so much effort into decorating it. Dazzling lights, gold tinsel and ribbons, and a glowing star at the very top. He wouldn’t be able to catch all the details, but it was enough. 

A cold chill blew past the exposed skin on his forearm as the door opened and closed with a ringing bell. By habit, Johnny quickly glanced up towards the entrance where he saw you, bundled up in a winter outfit. He had never seen you before, which didn’t surprise him because he was hardly home enough to recognize most faces anymore. Your smile instantly warmed the shop back up as you grinned at the old man behind the counter. 

“About time you showed up,” the old geezer teased as you approached him. “The usual?” 

Sweet, Johnny thought. There was always something endearing about the love elders held for younger generations. Their knowing gazes, their kind smiles, although usually mischievous too. The owner got to work on making your cup of coffee, and as you waited you began to wander around the shop. Decorated head to toe in pine and all the gold decorations in the world, it was a bright warm corner in the sleepy city. 

Naturally, you eventually made your way over to an upright piano pushed up against the wall next to the Christmas tree. Somehow, it was beautiful and ugly at the same time. Faded ivory keys, but a beautiful dark stained wood for the body, and it was also missing the upper panel, exposing the hammers and strings. It looked like it had been through hell and back, yet still stood proudly like the day it was made.

“Why don’t you play us something?” the owner suggested, his hands still busy with making your drink. 

You paused just as your fingers brushed against the keys before throwing a cautious glance around the shop. No one else was in the shop besides Johnny, who you threw a polite smile towards before your eyes settled back on the older man. 

“Maybe another time,” you deflected, eyes flickering over to Johnny. “Don’t want to scare away your customers.” 

“Aye, don’t worry about me,” Johnny spoke up. He waved a graphite covered hand at you, pencil still nestled between his fingers. “I don’t mind a bit of music.” 

The internal struggle was obvious in your eyes, and Johnny turned his attention back to his drawing in an attempt to keep the pressure off of you. Eventually he heard a slight creak of wood as the ancient stool settled underneath your weight. Johnny couldn’t help but glance back up at you as your fingers ghosted over the keys, petting them almost, before you dove headfirst into a dreamy chord. 

“What the hell?” you exclaimed, the music quickly cutting off. 

Boisterous laughter erupted from the owner as he leaned against the counter, your cup of coffee next to him. You looked at him with wild eyes and mouth slightly agape. 

“You tuned this piece of junk?” you questioned. 

The old man held his arms to the side and shrugged. “Merry Christmas.” 

With some newfound vigor, your attention returned back to the piano in front of you before you played that chord once more, that time with more confidence. It was such a soft, beautiful melody; something that reminded Johnny of his childhood somehow, yet he couldn’t quite place it. Some sort of nostalgia hidden deep in his chest that started to ache and burn. 

And then you started to sing. 

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas. It may be your last.”

That… wasn’t how he remembered the song going. Blue eyes tore away from his journal as Johnny looked up at you. With your back turned to him, it was impossible to see your face, but he watched as your arms moved and fingers danced, how your body swayed with the beat and your feet tapped on the pedals. 

“Next year we may all be living in the past. Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Pop that champagne cork. Next year we may all be living in New York.”

So much for making the Yule-tide gay. There was something a little more somber about this version of the song you performed, something that had both Johnny and the shop owner completely enamored. Between your singing and the lights of the Christmas tree casting a warm glow over you, it was something straight out of an odd, demented Hallmark movie. 

“No good times like the olden days, happy golden days of yore. Faithful friends who were dear to us, will be near to us no more.”

There was a slight pause in the music. A prolonged chord that rang on the exposed shimmering strings of the piano. The moving hammers fell still in the exposed skeleton of the piano. After a moment, your head fell slightly as you continued on to finish the rest of the song. 

“But at least we all will be together. If the Lord allows. From now on, we’ll have to muddle through somehow. So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.” 

Notes sang and died down into silence as the song ended. You sat there for a short while before sliding off of the bench and awkwardly facing the rest of the mostly empty shop. The owner gave you a few well-natured claps, to which you bowed sarcastically to before approaching the counter once more to retrieve your drink. But Johnny was still dumbfounded. 

“Beautiful. Haven’t heard that version before,” he spoke up, setting his pencil along the center of his journal where it rested between the pages. He leaned back in his seat, stunning blue eyes taking in the sight of you.

You turned to him with a sheepish smile, hands wrapped around the warm center of your cup. “It’s the original version Judy Garland wrote, actually. The one they deemed too depressing and asked her to change.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I always liked this version better,” you explained. 

Somehow during your short conversation, you had managed to meander closer to Johnny’s table, hand brushing against the chair across from him yet not braving to take the seat. He wasn’t ignorant to the way your eyes flickered down to his journal, or how your lips tugged into a small smile at the sight of it. 

“Pretty,” you commented, nodding towards the journal. 

Instinctively, Johnny glanced down at his work, and he could feel his throat grow a little tight. There was the luxurious Christmas tree he had sketched, with the dazzling ornaments, then there was the dimensions of the walls behind it, and then there was a half finished sketch of you, sitting at the piano facing away from him. 

“Aye, it’s something I guess,” he chuckled, hands playing with the edge of the paper.

He blamed the glow of the lights for making you so beautiful. Like some sort of angel that should have been sitting on top of a tree rather than talking with someone like him. But you are there, and you’re real, and you ask him his name and give him yours and he swears that whole conversation feels like coming home. Like he never belonged anywhere else except in that coffee shop with you. Maybe he was just feeling sentimental. 

“Well, I, uh, have to get going,” you said eventually, eyes awkwardly darting to the clock that rested above Johnny’s head on the wall. “But I’ll be back here around the same time tomorrow. I could… play you a happier song.” 

It was impossible for him to hide his grin as he stared up at you. Of course he agreed, and he found himself getting more excited for it than he should have been. You give him a sheepish wave as you exit the shop, the bell ringing with your absence as you dissipate down the street. Things grew quiet again as it was just Johnny and the old shopkeeper, who was busy cleaning his machines. He looked back down at his journal and fiddled with his pencil as he thought about how to finish up his sketch. A part of him wished you came into the shop earlier. He would have put you at the center of the picture rather than that tree. 

“She’s single,” the man suddenly spoke up. 

When Johnny looked up, he realized the man was looking at him, and he wasn’t all too secretive about the mischievous glint he had in his eyes either. Really, he wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. 

“Yeah? That’s some intel you got,” he said, slightly stiff and a bit sarcastic. 

“She likes the Italian restaurant two blocks down the road,” the man continued. “I’m sure she would say yes if you asked her to go with you.” 

At that, Johnny had to chuckle, and it sounded something like a warm grumble in his chest, as if he was actually attempting to entertain the idea. Still smiling, he glanced down at his journal again, finger tapping against the paper. 

Have yourself a merry little Christmas. It may be your last. 

Well, perhaps he could entertain that thought after all. 

[elexaria]

it was hard for simon to grieve when johnny died. price turned an eye when they got back to base and the first thing simon did was go and lay in johnny’s cot, curled up into a ball. they were close, they were best friends.

he feels a pang of guilt at johnny’s funeral, the sound of bagpipes overwhelming his already heightened senses. one of the mactavish sisters stops in her tracks and makes her way over to simon, who’s stood smoking by the floral donations. “i’m sorry for yer loss, ghost.” she whispers out to him, teary eyed and sniffly. he blinks down at her, albeit slightly confused. “pretty sure i’m the one supposed to be sayin’ that to you.” he replies with a dry writ, clearing his throat as he nods down at her. she lets out a quiet laugh, albeit a saddened one. it’s a brief interaction on an unfortunate occasion, but it lets simon come to realise something— johnny loved him.

simon’s not one for wakes, but he’s not one to pass up a good buffet. yet, for some reason, he finds himself awkwardly stood in the corner of the room, his weary eyes watching everyone converse. johnny’s mom, eileen, makes her way over to simon— and it’s crazy how much johnny looked like his mam, same smile, same deep blue eyes that simon became rather fond of.

“my john even got his beard from me,” eileen jokes, laughing her head off as she rubs her peach fuzz. it makes simon’s lips twitch, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. the chuckles dissipate, when ms mactavish reaches out to stroke simon’s cheek. simon riley’s not one for showing his face, but he wanted to do this for him. at first, simon has to fight against every muscle that wants to recoil out of her touch, to scuttle away further into the corner he finds himself stood in. but instead, his nostrils flare as he peers down at the little scottish lady that’s affectionately rubbing his cheek, and it’s almost as if johnny’s still there. “he loved ye, simon. i wish we could’ae met ye when our john was still around.”

simon can’t bear to watch as johnny’s room is packed up, he feels sick to the stomach. it makes everything worse, seeing him being physically scrubbed from base, from the only resemblance of a home simon’s ever had. laswell leaves a small box outside of his quarters, giving him a curt nod as she lets him pick it up and bring it into his room. it brings a smile to his face, just for a moment, as he cradles the cardboard box in his arms— a threadbare scottish flag johnny had pinned up on his wall, some of his old action figures he had kept from childhood, a few sketchbooks. and a note.

his stomach knots up at the sight of the letter, shakily placing it besides him as he flips through the sketchbooks first, the pads of his calloused fingers stroking fondly over every graphite smudge and ink blot on the pages. finding himself laughing hysterically over johnny’s drawing of price’s dick tickler moustache, and he nods in agreement that it should, indeed, be neutralized. the little scribbles of football scores, shitty and dirty limericks and even coffee cup rings on the pages just… it makes simon feel like he’s inside johnny’s mind, and it feels homely.

simon’s heart aches when he comes across the sketches of himself in johnny’s sketchbook, eyes welling up as he fights back the onslaught of tears that threaten to patter down onto the precious pages below. they were so beautiful. they made ghost, a husk of a man, look… alive. and he begins to breathe heavier, seeing small love hearts and silly cartoon drawings of johnny and simon doing stupid shit— like the time johnny and simon came up with a wager that if neither of them settled down come their mid-30s, they’d move to the countryside and get a dog or two.

why the fuck did you have to go and die for, johnny?

the sketchbook tour comes to its conclusion, the final sketchbook only half way through before, well, the artist passed. and so, the letter sits, almost as if there’s a spotlight casting down on it — screaming out to be read. it really gets on simon’s nerves how his hands will not stop shaking, but he pulls through and begins to open up the envelope that reads ‘for ghosty and ghosty only’, the underside of the envelope reading ‘i mean it!!’ with an angry face. it makes simon’s stoic expression crack into a grin, rolling his eyes as he continues to open it up.

the letter reads:

“well pal, if you’re reading this, it means i’m dead as fuuuck. oh well, it’s something we have to accept in our line of work, innit?

maybe i’ll get really lucky, you won’t have to read this letter and we can just laugh about it when we’re retired, living our best lives in the countryside with our wee dugs. cos you know you’ll never settle down, monsi, i’m the only bastard out there who can handle you!!!

but … on the odd chance i’m wrong (which is rarely the case cos i’m handsome and smart), it was great knowing you. you’re the bestest friend a mug like me could ask for, and i’m glad we found each other. gay, i know. whatever. i fucking love ya, pal. always and forever. dickface!!!

in another lifetime, maybe we can find each other again. although, don’t know if i can handle you being a brit again in this alternate universe haha. i don’t love you that much!!!

all my love,

yer johnny xx”

an emotional chuckle escapes from simon’s lips, tear stained cheeks flushing a light crimson colour as he sharply inhales, eyes shutting tightly as he holds the note to his chest. and for the first time, in a very long time, simon allows himself to cry. heaving his chest, snotty nosed as he really sobs it all out.

his entire life, he’s been beaten down, abused, witnessed family (both blood and found) being killed. but losing his best friend no, his soulmate, is the very thing that breaks his heart the most.

maybe, in another universe, johnny missed that bullet. and right now, in that universe, johnny and simon allow themselves a moment to breathe, comfortable in each other’s presence.

in another universe.

[guardkeywolf]

Cod boys seeing their artist male readers art when they get back from a mission and they are just relaxing and they decided to ask him to see his art book since they never saw it and male reader says yes and they look through it and Is shocked how nale reader makes things so realistic.

It's... Beautiful Y/n...

Hello @gamersansblog ! I am SO SO SORRY this took so long!

I hope you enjoy it!

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If there was anything that was needed after a tense mission, it was relaxation. When the boys got back from dealing with another terrorist, Laswell gave them so well needed time off and they used every second of it. Not only that, but a good friend of theirs also swing by as well.

Y/n was seen quite frequently at the 141's base, so just about everyone knew him.

Y/n was an artist who liked to sketch around their base sometimes.

The man loved making realistic drawings of them if he had the chance. Usually after 141 returned from their missions the man would be waiting there, doodling in his sketchbook. The others were quite interested to see it the first time they caught on to him being around and Y/n was more than happy to show them.

Inside, there were multiple pictures. Different mediums used, charcoal, pastel, water color, even some good ole' oil paintings. The man was very deserve in his style so he usually had a different instrument when he swung by.

Today, Y/n said he wanted to draw Price, the others a tad bit jealous that their Captain got the lucky honor of being Y/n's model but went with it nonetheless.

While Price finished the last of the paperwork he had, Y/n sat there on his couch sketching away with his graphite pencils he brought today. Though most would find the sound annoying, Price found it comforting as he heard Y/n's pencil rub against the multi-media paper. He could hear the difference between each stroke. Light and Hard.

He couldn't help but chuckle when he also looked up to see the others watching the man from behind as the man drew their Captain.

"Don't you boys have 'ork to do?" He hummed as he went back to doing his own.

"I don't mind them, Captain. After all, they were curious to see just how I manage to make it so realistic," Y/n chuckled to himself.

Price looked up and saw Ghost staring in awe at the paper, eyes widened at the probably nearly finished masterpiece. Gaz and Soap did the same as they watched over Y/n's shoulder, taking in each movement the man made as he worked.

It must have at least an hour that passed or so before the Captain heard Y/n's sketching come to a stop when hearing the "oos' and "aahs" of his men.

"Jesus Y/n, tha's amazing..." Soap said as he gazed at the photo.

"Agreed Johnny..." Ghost complimented as well baffled by the amount of detail that went into the sketch.

"Captain...you gotta' come see this, sir...it's.. it looks just like you," Gaz spoke as he looked upon the breathtaking piece.

"Guys please, your over exaggerating..." Y/n smiled up at them before walking over to the man.

Y/n turned the sketchbook towards the man slowly, smiling as he watched the man's eyes light up.

Price looked up to him, eyes full of curiosity making the artist chuckle again.

"That's...that's bloody beautiful Y/n... think I may frame it in 'ere."

"Thank you..." and he meant it.

"No problem, Captain..."

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-Guards

[tinyfishtits]

Need a Haircut, doll?

Micah Bell / Gender Neutral Reader

Photo by @red-dead-simp

Summary: Reader notices Micah's had a rough time since returning to camp and decides to pamper him with a haircut.

Word Count: 3,203 Rating: Teen and Up ~ for foul language Author's Note: Fluff and Flirting! I just want to pamper my boy 🥺

★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

It had only been a few days up at Clemons Point, but I already found myself falling in love with the place. The heartlands had their own charm, sure, but it was hard to beat the picturesque serenity of being by the water. Night was quickly approaching as I lounged on the shore, aimlessly sketching the pillowy clouds that reflected in the expansive mirror of water before me. The graphite lines didn’t do the sunset justice. 

The gravely earth at my back crunched with approaching steps and I turned to see who they belonged to. Micah Bell walked over to a tree a few yards away and leaned against it with a deep drawn out sigh. I’d only interacted with him a few times since he showed up at camp after the move, and even though the majority of the camp seemed to despise him… I kind of pitied him. 

He was obviously an outsider. Even though he played it off like he was a lone wolf I could tell he craved connection. Always provoking people, trying to get reactions out of those that would otherwise ignore him… I could only guess the kind of upbringing he had to have him put up so many defensive walls to keep people out.

Either unaware or just indifferent to my presence, he started grumbling about Mary Beth. I’d noticed her shoot him down on a few occasions, just like every other woman he flirted with. But today she’d really got to him. He was mumbling about her ‘damn smarmy romance books’ giving her all types of unattainable expectations. Upon further eavesdropping, I deduced that he had asked her to dance and been rejected. 

He reached for a stick at his feet and unsheathed his knife to start whittling away at it, still mumbling under his breath. The sun had dipped below the horizon at this point, bringing an end to my doodling. With the darkness came the cold. I hadn’t brought a jacket and the chilled breeze that wafted up from the water was already making me shiver. I wanted to head back to camp but, glancing over at Micah, I wondered if he’d be upset at me for eavesdropping on him… 

“Are you okay?” I broke the silence, which got a startled grunt from Micah as his head whipped around to me, still sitting on the ground, partially concealed by the large rock I leaned against. He gathered his composure quickly and hit me with one of his usual sleazy retorts. 

“Why darlin’? You wanna come over here and make me feel good ?” His southern drawl dragged on the last word. 

“Not as lewdly as you’re implyin'.” I said, getting up and walking over to him. From what I’d heard from the others, he’d been locked away awaiting the noose up in Strawberry until Arthur broke him out. Spent a month camping up in the mountains before showing his face back here earlier this week. All that time out in the wilderness was obvious on his appearance. His hair had grown out past his shoulders, the stubble on his chin threatened to turn his mustache into a full on beard, and his entire body was caked in layers of dirt and dust. Micah let out a low hum as he watched me inspect him. 

“I have somethin’ in mind” I finally said, to which his brows raised. His light blue eyes peeked out from the brim of his hat and I reached out to tip it up, revealing more of his face. He seemed wary at first, his body stiffening as I got closer to him, but he didn’t stop me. 

“Oh yeah?” He said, his tone attempting to reach its typical tinge of cockyness, but it came out a bit too breathy to accomplish it. After a hard swallow, he continued, “What did you have in mind, doll?”  I ran my fingers through a lock of hair that cascaded over his jaw and down to his collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and I could hear his breath hitch at the unexpected contact as my fingers brushed against the exposed skin on his chest.   

“That I could cut your hair.” I said, tugging lightly on the strand I was playing with. A laugh burst out of him and he seemed to regain his normal air of arrogance. 

“What makes you think I’d trust you with a blade by my neck?” He said, a grin plastered on his face. His stick and blade were forgotten at his side now and I took advantage of his distraction to slip the knife out of his hand and throw it quickly at the tree beside us. The blade landed snuggly, smack in the middle of the trunk with a satisfying ‘thud’. 

“Cause doll” I said, taking his hat off and placing it on my head, “If I wanted to kill ya, I would have done it already.” The corner of his mouth twitched up at that, and before he could come up with a retort I started off back to camp. “Meet me by the fire when you’re done strokin’ your stick!” I yelled back to him. A low chuckle rang out behind me as I walked away. 

I had always loved doing things for people. It was a gift and a curse. The feeling of helping somebody with a task big or small, taking a weight off their shoulders, surprising them with something they needed - that feeling was close to the best in the world. But it also meant I often found myself putting other people's needs and wants before my own. I would work myself into the ground if it meant someone else got to take a break, go above and beyond for the simplest tasks… and that’s how I found myself boiling water at the scout fire with the hope of giving a disgruntled outcast the best goddamn haircut he's ever had. 

“All this for me?” He said, sauntering over to the log I sat on and eying the various supplies I’d gathered for the task at hand; scissors, comb, powdered shampoo, towel and a pot of water. 

“Mmhm.” I hummed, starting to feel a bit embarrassed about all the effort I was going to. I kept my eyes on the fire as he sat beside me, holding the glass of shampoo in his hand. 

“You gonna give me a bath?” He asked. I could feel my cheeks flush at the implication and hoped the heat of the fire camouflaged it enough that he wouldn’t notice. 

“I was rather hopin’ you’d keep your clothes on for this.” I said, removing the small pot of water from the fire as the first bubbles started to spring to the surface. I dumped it into the larger pot of cool lake water I'd collected and dipped my hand in to test the temperature. It was warm enough that my skin reddened at the touch, but not too hot. “Perfect.” I continued, collecting the supplies in my arms and nodding at the pot of water, “Grab that and follow me.” 

I led him back down to the lake and had him set the water beside the large boulder I had rested against earlier. He waited patiently for me to set up my supplies. When I was ready, I patted the flat top of the boulder and motioned him over. “Okay, lie down.” I ordered. He glanced between me and the rock skeptically, but relented with a grunt and came over to sit on it. 

Standing behind him, I pulled him down by the shoulders to lay flush against the rock. “Scoot toward me so your head hangs off the edge a bit.” I said, tugging at his shoulders until he obeyed. 

“You sure are a bossy one ain't ya?” He said, to which I gave him a soft laugh in acknowledgement. With his head resting in my hands, I knelt down beside him, the vat of water nestled between my legs. Taking cup-fulls of the warm water, I began pouring them over his hair. I could feel him relax into my hand as I went. “Damn that feels good.” He admitted with a whistle. I laughed, he was so easily pleased. 

“Ain’t even got to the good part yet.” I said, sprinkling some powdered shampoo in his hair. It was my own stash, something I was gifted by an herbalist out in Cumberland Forest after I’d helped him find some sage, which is what the shampoo smelt of. I personally loved the scent, it wasn’t too floral or perfumy, it had a nice earthy musk about it that just felt so natural. 

The moment my fingers started massaging into his scalp he let out a gravely moan, followed by a string of expletives as my hands continued to travel around his head, kneading out the tension at the base of his skull. “ Fuck darlin’.” His voice came out in a whisper. I gave him a generous head massage, lathering his long hair far more than was really necessary. But the poor man seemed so peaceful for once, I wanted to make it last. 

I dipped a hand in the water between my legs, checking it hadn't gone cold before I rinsed his hair. Luckily it was still lukewarm. I slowly began washing the suds out of his hair, and with it an obscene amount of grime. Did this man sleep in the dirt? Once his hair was clean I bundled it up in my towel and gently wrung it out. Micah didn’t move a muscle or make a sound while I worked. 

Seeing as he was being so cooperative I decided to go ahead and comb through his hair before having him get up. Working as gently as possible with his - not so surprisingly -  tangled mess of hair, it took a good half hour to get it all smoothed out. He let out a few soft grunts during the process but was otherwise quiet. When I was finally done, I patted him on the shoulder and stood up. My legs tingled a bit having kneeled in an awkward position for almost an hour, but with a few testing stretches they calmed. 

I expected Micah to get up or at the very least say something, but he was completely still. I leaned over him and noticed he was dead asleep. His mouth hung crookedly agape and his eyes fluttered under his lids. I almost didn’t want to wake him, but I knew sleeping strewn out on a rock with his neck hung over the edge would be a bitch of a position to wake up in come morning. Still, I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. 

It hit me then that I'd never actually seen him asleep before. I hadn’t seen him much anyway, sure, but the few days he’d been at camp I couldn’t recall one moment he had so much as shut his eyes. He was always moving, pacing around, polishing his guns, going off to smoke or widdle… but never sleep. He was the last one at the fire before I went to bed and the first up in the morning making coffee.

Without thinking, my hand reached out and lightly caressed his sleeping face. His skin was surprisingly smooth for how rough he appeared. My fingers traced along his thick blond facial hair, brushing down to the scar on his chin, just barely visible beneath the stubble. He looked so peaceful. His hand shot up suddenly and grabbed my wrist, holding it in place at his jaw. I let out a gasp at the quick movement. My eyes met his and he seemed to relax, realizing where he was, but he still kept a hold of me. 

“Sorry doll.” He said, his voice heavy with sleep. “Didn’t mean to startle ya.” The hand that gripped my wrist slid down into my palm and bought my knuckles up to meet his lips. He gave my hand a soft, scratchy kiss before sitting up with a groan and jumping off the rock to stretch his limbs.  I was taken back by how beautiful he was in the moonlight. 

His normally golden blonde hair was darkened with moisture, falling over his broad shoulders in shiny wisps. He was a nicely built man, the perfect inbetween of muscle and thickness. I could tell he was strong and sturdy, but soft as well. Not like Arthur or Charels who were mountains of men and muscle that towered above you and seemed like they could kill someone with a single punch. Michas strength was more subtle. Someone at first glance you’d think you could pretty easily take in a fight, but his quickness and dexterity would soon prove you wrong. 

“Are ya tired? I can cut your hair tomorrow if you’d rather go to bed.” I said, trying to shield the blush burning on my cheeks under the brim of his hat. He was silent for a moment before closing the distance between us and pushing the hat up with his thumb. 

“You offering to go to bed with me?” He smirked. My cheeks were on fire now and I was sure he could tell, as his smirk grew into a full on beaming smile. He let out a chuckle and tapped the brim of the hat so it sunk back down over my face. “I’m just messin with ya darlin’. Like seein ya get all red.” A part of me hoped he wasn't jokin’ around. The kiss he’d given my hand still tingled, and mixed with his flirtatious words I felt a warm churning in the pit of my stomach. 

I let out a sigh, trying to exhale the tension that was building up under my skin to no avail. “Sit down, would ya?” I gestured back to the rock beside us and he did as I asked. I brushed through his hair once more, evening it out. “How short ya want it?” I asked, taking the long strands that framed his face in my fingers. 

He hummed, his lids drooping the more I touched his hair. I took the ends of one strand between two fingers and held it up to him, about two inches of hair poking out at the ends. “That okay?” 

“As long as ya don't go cuttin’ all my hair off darlin’, it’s okay.” He said, closing his eyes and letting me work. I started snipping away at his hair, trimming it just enough that it still grazed his shoulders. The long look really fit him, though his features were sharp and strong enough I was sure he’d look just as good with a really short cut. 

“Have you always had long hair?” I asked. He hummed in thought for a moment. 

“No.” Was all he said, short and firm, like the topic wasn’t something he wanted to dip into. 

“Hm.” I said, and decided to push my luck. “Is this the longest your hair’s ever been?” He started to turn his head to look at me but I put a firm palm on his scalp and kept him in place. “Don’t move.” 

“Why so many questions?” He grunted. I didn’t answer at first, letting the silence around us fill with the rhythmic snipping of hair. 

“I’m just curious about ya is all. Seems the only thing anyone here knows about you is that you're an ass.” I admitted. 

“You been askin’ about me darlin’?” I could feel a grin stretch across his cheeks and circled around to face him. His smile softened as I got closer, my eyes flickering back and forth across his face as I lined up each side of his hair with my fingers to make sure they were even. I was so close to him I could feel his warm breath brush across my lips. 

“I- Um, I think that’s good.” I said, a little flustered by how close we were, my hands lingering in the hair on either side of his face. He reached up and took my wrists in his grasp, holding them in place. 

“Why you bein’ so nice to me?” He asked, his brow furrowing a bit as his steely blue eyes bored into mine. 

“Look who’s got all the questions now.” I said, trying to mask the breathlessness in my voice. He didn’t move, waiting for a genuine answer. “I- I’m nice to everyone, Micah. Why would I treat you any different?” This answer seemed to suffice and he let go of my wrists, standing up with a huff. Not that he’d ever admit it, but I got the feeling that he wanted me to be treating him different from the rest of the gang. 

The moon was a halo behind him as he stood an arms length away. He wasn’t as tall as the other men in camp, but he still had a few inches on me. He was dusted in loose strands of hair and I reached out tentatively to brush them off, approaching him more slowly than normal as he seemed to have a habit of gripping my wrists in reflex to any sudden movement. 

He let me approach, brushing my hands over his shoulders and chest to rid him of the scratchy remnants of hair. I circled him, making sure to get the hair that coated the back of his shirt. My hands lingered a bit as I brushed over the muscles on his back, feeling the dip between his shoulder blades and the tension so evident in the long muscles that stretched down from his neck. 

“You know, I’ve never seen ya sleep before today” I said, resting my hands on his back and feeling the deep breath he took. His body moved under my palms as he turned to face me, my hands now on his bare chest, unwilling to move away from his warmth. He locked eyes with me for a long moment, searching for words. I’d heard him say something along the lines of ‘sleep is for the weak’ before, and wondered if he would give me the same retort. 

“If ya keep touchin’ me like this, it may not be the last time.” He said, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. I smiled back at him, giving the furry skin of his chest a squeeze before I reached up and removed his hat from my head. I placed it onto his hair, cleaner now than I'm sure it’d ever been. Another breeze wafted up from the water and brushed through his hair, carrying the scent of sage to my nose. Having my smell on him sent its own chill down my spine, erupting in a burst of electricity between my legs. 

My mind went hazy with warmth as his eyes continued to burrow into my own. Not knowing what to say, I simply leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. I could feel his skin burn under my lips. “Night Micah.” Was all I said as I gathered my things and started off back to camp, leaving him blushing and still as a statue on the shore.

★ Read Chapter 2

[shuhwaa]

Shuhua | Canvas [M]

(G)I-dle Shuhua x fem-bodied!reader words: ~2.5k genre: soft smut (a bit of body worship, fingering, some praise, ninety-six, mostly just pretty soft lovemaking) warnings: none

Desc.: You’re trying to draw a picture of your girlfriend Shuhua but the way none of your attempts seem to turn out right makes you frustrated, so she decides to take your mind off of things.

The lines on the paper add up, grey-ish pigments of your pencil leaving traces of graphite that keep growing thicker. However, you're not getting any closer to where you want - no, need to be, and so eventually you tear the next sheet out of the notepad to start over again. It's an agonizing process, and frustration has you on edge so you end up yelling when the girl in front of you moves. 

"No!" you shout at her, your voice sharp and filled with urgency, and you immediately regret your harsh tone.

"What?!" she, however, yells back, eyebrows furrowed. There is frustration visible on her face as well, and after you whisper a small "sorry", her features relax. "Y/N," Shuhua calls out to you now, having regained her composure. "Just leave it. Nothing's going to come of it anyway." You clench your fingers a little tighter around your pencil upon hearing her words. You know she's right, deep down you know, but the truth is hard to accept. 

Eventually, you throw the notepad aside along with the pencil, and you get up off your chair with a heavy sigh.

"I know," you mutter, letting your eyes scan her frame in the light dress you picked out for her to wear, scanning her position once again for any possible difficulties that have led you to make a mistake. But then again, all of your sketches you make of her look off somehow. And it hasn't always been this way, only when you started dating have you slowly begun to lose your ability to draw her. 

She raises an eyebrow at you while pressing her lips together and you know she feels sorry for you. You watch her body shift into a more comfortable position on the bed, then you peel your gaze away from her.

"I can draw anyone, anything, but you," you hiss through gritted teeth. "I don't understand why. Shouldn't I know how to draw you better than anything else?" You sound more desperate than angry as you clench your fists, but the heavy feeling on your shoulders seems to lift as soon as Shuhua calls out your name.

"Y/N, come here." She raises up her arms to invite you into her embrace, tilting her head to the side a bit as she smiles. Her long black hair sways to the side as she moves, and once again you find yourself captivated by her beauty.

Slowly, you walk a few steps over to the bed, kneeling down on the sheets and crawling closer to her. She chuckles when you reach her, putting one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders in order to rest her hand atop your head.

"You look miserable," she remarks. "You don't have to try so hard. You can draw literally anything else, there's no need to get so stuck up on drawing me." You sigh, releasing the tension in your muscles and letting your body sink into her hug. With your head against her chest, you listen to the calm beating of her heart and you close your eyes for a moment in an attempt to find some peace.

"I know," you eventually mutter. "I know I don't have to. But it just bothers me that I can't draw pictures of the woman I love." You sit up, looking right into her eyes now. "That's what artists are supposed to do, right? Draw the person they love as if they were obsessed with them." Shuhua raises her eyebrows in concern, but when you show her a weak smile to indicate you were joking, the corners of her mouth curl up as well. 

"Let's not think about it anymore, okay?" she suggests, adding, "At least for today." You nod eventually, and as you're wondering whether you can really banish this problem from your mind, you feel yourself being naturally pulled towards her, and you start to lean in. 

She meets you halfway, brushing a spare strand of hair out of your face before her lips find yours. Light touches turn into firm kisses, but movements remain slow, as if you were trying to savour every second that your lips are connected. You snake your arms around her upper body, pulling her in closer eventually, until her chest is pressed up against yours, and only then do you part.

"This is better, isn't it?" she whispers, close enough for you to feel her breath tickle the skin on your face. She brings up her hand to cup your cheek with it, but ends up letting her fingertips dance down to your jaw, and eventually they find a path down the side of your throat too. She reaches the shirt you're wearing - a loose button-up - and when she draws near again to press her lips against yours with more need now, she begins to undo the buttons one by one.

"I love you," you moan in between kisses, but what you actually meant to say is probably closer to a "thank you". However, Shuhua leaves you no time to speak nor to think properly as she finds your lips again, nipping at them and sinking her teeth into the delicate skin. She peels the shirt off of your shoulders, helping you out of it and tossing it aside. Then she immediately reaches for your shoulders and restlessly rakes her fingers through your hair. You break apart for air eventually, and you let your fingertips glide down her back, dragging them over her thighs and finally slipping them underneath the skirt of the slightly see-through dress. You let your hands explore her body lines blindly, caressing her hips, waist and sides, and you catch yourself wondering once again what you're doing wrong when trying to put those lines to paper.

"Stop thinking," she says, and as you look up at her face you're met with a serious expression. 

"Right..." you mumble, feeling guilty because she caught you red handed. However, that feeling soon makes way for surprise when she boldly pulls the dress over her head, discarding it herself, and she's now sitting in front of you in just her underpants. You can't help but let your eyes observe her body closely, even though you've seen her naked a thousand times before. Still, upon being met with the sight a gasp escapes you, and when you feel her putting her index finger under your chin to make you look up at her face, heat rushes to your core.

"Or I'll have to make you stop thinking," she adds on to her last words, and you find yourself unable to do anything but nod, and then she kisses you again. 

The movements of her lips against yours feel hot, like fire burning under your skin and demanding more, wanting to consume you whole, and the flames only spread as she runs her palms down your chest and stomach, and then up again on your back until she reaches your bra to take that off you as well. She releases your lips for a second to look you in the eyes, checking in with you while she cups your face with her hands. And then she pulls you closer, bringing you in for an open mouthed kiss. Meanwhile you let your hands roam her body again, this time without the intention of finding an explanation for your countless failed drawings, but simply to feel her skin against yours, to feel her chest rise and sink as she breathes and to feel her shiver and hear her sigh into your mouth as your palms find her breasts. 

You break the kiss naturally, allowing for Shuhua to throw her head back, eyelids fluttering shut from the sensation of you fondling her boobs. Taking the opening as a chance, you attach your lips to her neck, scattering kisses all over her throat and when she moans in appreciation, you can feel the vibrations of her voice against your skin.

"You're so beautiful..." you mutter in between nips. Then you put one arm behind her back and you lay her down on the pillows. "So beautiful," you repeat, and you begin to slowly make your way south. You let your fingertips dance down her belly, making her laugh and suck in her stomach from the tickly sensation. Tracing every line and connecting every spot, it's like your fingertip is drawing on her skin what the pen couldn't bring to paper. You study her features anew, worshipping the shapes of her body, until eventually you press your digits against the fabric of her panties. Feeling the wet spot on them, you chuckle, and your grin only grows wider when she squirms underneath you as you begin to tease her through her underwear.

"Love..." she mumbles as she gives herself up to you, letting you have your way with her.

"Baby..." you answer, light touches to her core sending shivers down her spine. "You're so pretty..." you say again. "And I'm gonna make you look even prettier." Finally, you pull down her underpants, and with your help she wiggles out of them. Having thrown them to the floor, you run your fingertips up the inside of her thigh, earning a small impatient whine from your girlfriend, and you position yourself so you can comfortably kiss her while fingering her. Lips leaving a trail up the side of her neck, you drag your fingers up and down her folds, causing her to press her thighs together tightly, but eventually she relaxes. Putting one arm around you, she brings you closer to kiss you, and when you unexpectedly dip a digit inside her, she breaks contact with a gasp. You can't suppress a playful grin as you pull out again, finding her clit to draw circles on it. You alternate between that and pushing two fingers inside, curling them against her walls for a while, until she whines again and you find her frowning at you.

"What's wrong?" you whisper, halting your movements. Shuhua brings you in for another kiss on the lips, before muttering an answer.

"I wanna make you feel good too." The pleading expression in her eyes makes you melt, and you show her an adoring smile before placing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"I have an idea," you say and you slip out of your pants before you get on all fours. Completely naked now, you turn around, crawling on top of her so your hips are just above her face and you can lean forward to have your head aligned with her core. Without needing another word, she wraps her arms around each of your thighs, kissing her way up to your pussy as you lower yourself. Feeling her tongue lick a stripe up between your folds makes you let out a sigh, overcome with heat that rushes through your whole body.

"Mmh... you taste good..." you hear your girlfriend mutter before she starts tending to your clit, and you moan from the pleasure. You follow suit by pressing a kiss to her wet cunt, wrapping your lips around her sensitive bud. Now it's her moaning in response, and the vibrations up your core make you whimper. 

"Fuck..." you let out a curse, feeling her lap at your pussy, her tongue slipping inside you and then darting back up to your clit as she hums in appreciation. She has you in a steady hold, nails digging into your ass, but she allows you to slightly rock your hips for more stimulation. "Fuck, you're doing so well baby," you praise her through gritted teeth, already feeling your orgasm building up somewhere in the distance. Led by a greed to make the two of you reach your high together, you try to focus on eating her out, slipping your fingers back inside her while you suck on her clit, having her buck her hips up to feel more as she keeps moaning at your touches. You rile each other up like that, seeing who can push the other over the finish line faster, but once your body signals that you're almost there, it's getting increasingly hard to focus on what you're doing. The movements of your fingers inside her and your tongue on the outside are getting slower, while she is maintaining a steady pace that’s just about to drive you crazy.

"Shuhua... baby... I'm-" you cry out, digging your fingertips into her thighs now. "I'm gonna..." You moan her name as your orgasm comes crashing down on you, and she helps you ride out your high as you fuck yourself on her tongue. However, once you're done you don't give yourself any time to catch your breath, instead going back to pleasuring her. The way a shaky whine escapes her when you start sucking on her clit again tells you she's close, and so you push your fingers back inside as deep as you can, curling them against that perfect spot. 

"Right there..." she moans, and you pick up the pace while your mouth alternates between licking and sucking. "L-like that... keep going like that," she adds, and you feel her body tense up as she continuously bucks her hips to meet you halfway while chasing her high. Still holding onto your ass, she suddenly cries out and when you feel her walls clenching around your fingers, she drags her nails down, leaving scratch marks along your thighs.

Breathless, you crawl off her and lie down right next to her. One of your hands finds its way into hers, and you give her a kiss on the cheek. Your girlfriend’s eyes are still closed, face reddened as she bathes in the blissful feeling that lingers after her high, and once again you can't but smile at her because of how much your love for her makes your heart swell. And then it hits you.

"I think I know why I can't draw you," you say out of the blue. She turns her head and raises her eyebrows at you as she looks at you. You explain, "Because I love you so much, and I could never bring to paper the way I feel about you in a single sketch. That's why it always looks off." Shuhua gives you a smug grin, and for a second you're wondering what makes her react that way, but then you figure it out - she already knew this and was just waiting for you to understand it yourself. You sigh when you put your arm around her, and you bury your face in her neck.

"I should stop trying to draw you..." you mutter, and a moment later you feel her wrapping you into a warm hug. 

"Probably," she answers with the smile still present on her lips, and you start to wonder if maybe there's more that she knows about you which you haven't managed to figure out yet.

[lesbianreaderidk]

mha females x nb reader incorrect quotes (pt 2)

i didn't realize that this has mostly mina and kyoka with the reader-

I love writing tsu being passive aggressive

Mina, talking about Y/N: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH THEM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? THEY DID. THEY KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

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Y/N: My crush isn’t picking up on my hints. Momo: What hints have you given them? Y/N: Well, I think about them a lot. Y/N: And sometimes I even think about talking to them.

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Momo: Ooh, somebody has a crush Kyoka: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Y/N I just think they’re cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about them. Later that night Kyoka, very much awake: Uh oh.

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Y/N: I love you. Tsu, not paying attention: What was that? Y/N: I said I’m selling you to the zOo-

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Momo: Would you guys be there for me if I was going through something? Kyoka: Nope, absolutely not. Toga: I hope it sucks, whatever you're going through. Mina: I hope it emotionally scars you for the rest of your life. Y/N: I hope you reach out to me so I can ignore you. Tsu: I can't wait to go to your funeral, knowing I could've changed that outcome

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Mina: Dumbest scar stories, go! Toga: I burned my tongue once drinking tea. Momo: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and it burned. Ochako: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade. Kyoka: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it in my hand and I got a really bad burn. Y/N: This entire class has given me emotional and mental scars

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Kyoka: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash. Y/N: Oh. We're going out? Kyoka: Wh…

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Mina, about Y/N: Can I tell them they look nice? Momo: Sure. Mina: Can I tell them I respect them? Momo: Maybe, if they ask. Mina: Should I show them an oil painting I made of us surrounded by our three cats and four dogs? Momo: … Momo: I’d save that for later.

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Ochako: How the hell did you crash the car?! Y/N: So I was just driving today, right? And my navigation told me to go straight. Y/N: I was like "woah, that's homophobic". Instead, I went gay. And, THAT'S when I got into an accident. Ochako: … Toga, with a proud smile: And THAT'S who I'm in love with, ladies and gentlemen.

Ochako: HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?

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Y/N is telling a story Kyoka: Wow, Y/N, this story has everything! Action! Adventure! Romance! Mina: Romance? Kyoka: I have a crush on them.

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Y/N: I don't know how to tell you this, but… I love you. Tsu: That's great, Y/N. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 fucking years.

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Shigaraki: So anyways have y'all seen Toga? Twice: I think they went in Y/N's room 'studying'. Dabi: Doubt that. I heard groans there. Meanwhile in Y/N's room Toga & Y/N, fighting:

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Y/N: Tsu and I are no longer friends. Tsu: Y/N THAT IS THE WORST WAY TO TELL PEOPLE THAT WE’RE DATING!

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Mina: angrily presses Y/N against a wall WHERE'S THE MONEY?! Y/N: … Y/N: Are we about to kiss-

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Y/N comes home absolutely drunk, undresses, and stands in Momo's bedroom. Momo: Babe, are you.. coming to bed? Y/N: No thank you, I’m sure you’re lovely but I have a girlfriend. Y/N: Lies on the ground and falls asleep Momo: …

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Tsu: Stop doing that. Y/N: Stop doing what? Tsu: Saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell out of you.

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Definitely doing more of these (if anyone wants a certain fandom I can certainly do that) :]