#have a little sketch page tonight

[valfeathers]

oh hey bro dont mind me just,, checking that my Ls are L-ing

[south-sea]

a point in second chance au where the boys get into a Situation. the world’s a bit messed up; if you teleport, you get sent god knows where instead of where you intended to go. the place is dangerous. shadow is known to incorporate short-range teleports and chaos control during regular combat. maybe you can already see where i’m going with this

he gets sent somewhere once, metal freaks, but is chill. concerned, but chill. eventually they meet up again, and things are fine, sort of. shadow looks a bit beat up and one of his quills are sticking up out of place, but he’s fine, probably. shadow is always fine. why wouldn't he be now?

he gets sent somewhere again after that, and metal is significantly less chill. now he’s starting to get Angry, because when metal feels too much of anything (worry, in particular), it registers as anger. he’s terrified shadow is going to get hurt, or worse, never come back at all. and even if this isn’t the same shadow he once teamed up with all that time ago, this shadow is someone he’s come to deeply appreciate. there is still a part of metal that views shadow as his responsibility, but mostly that’s just his friend. they have a similar connection, only stronger than the original. metal won’t—can’t—admit he’s the single most comforting thing in his weird new life. second even to the person one might classify as his best friend, second even to his new caretaker. whatever he’s got with shadow is something beyond a label. he’s everything. he's Important.

metal cannot consolidate the (hopefully only temporary) loss of such an import person with the amount of worry/grief it inflicts on him. all he has left is anger. all he knows is anger.

the third time they’re reunited in this weird place, it’s barely a minute. shadow looks considerably more beat up, he’s clearly exhausted. and in the next moment, an enemy tears through the location, and shadow is gone again. teleported out of there to avoid taking heavy damage, almost certainly, but it still means he’s gone, and there’s nothing metal can do about it. nothing left for him to feel but despair so overwhelming it freezes him in place for a second.

and then it switches to anger. anger at this robotic beast for separating them again, anger at shadow for his recklessness, anger even at the chaos emeralds themselves for providing shadow with the ability to teleport—and consequently be whisked away—to begin with.

so he takes it out on the enemy. just completely rips it apart, piece by piece, panel by panel. and when all is said and done, his own body is bent and the paint is chipped and he’s fizzling with electricity because there’s too much to feel at once it almost feels like nothing. he’s so worried. he’s so despondent. he’s so angry.

his eyes are blue.

he swears the first thing he’ll do the next time he sees shadow again is confiscate his emeralds.

[narislvr]

domestic!ellie who finds herself being completely smitten by you during your weekly movie night. ✧.*

a short and quick one-shot ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Palestine resources !!

DVD's litter the mahogany coffee table in messy arrays of colors and titles as you search for a specific disc for tonight's movie night. It wasn't a movie you and ellie had watched together yet, but you knew it was somewhere in your collection as you hunched over the edge, eyeing each and every disc the two of you owned.

"does it really take this long to pick a movie, babe?" ellie would tease, clicking her tongue as she set down two of your blankets on the couch behind you before crossing her forearms over the crown of your head and resting her chin on them. a huff leaves your lips at her comment as you tilt your head upwards, her playful gaze meeting yours through your lashes and her messy bangs.

"hey, you choose the same movie every week. You have absolutely no room to talk," you quip back, a fond look in your eyes as you watch her chuckle in amusement before glancing back down and finally spotting the DVD you had been searching for. "aha! found it!" you cheer, holding the disc up for ellie to see.

"...mama-mia? babe, I swear if this is one of those musicals you like.-"

"you'll love it. promise." you interrupt, a giddy chime in your voice as you carefully shake her off and get up to insert the beloved disc into the waiting dvd player. seeing your excitement, ellie only shook her head while letting out a playful overdramatic sigh.

"atleast pick up your mess first."

──

so maybe ellie did "love" it, but not because of the plot nor the abundance of ABBA classics. Instead it was because of the way it seemed to bring you so much joy as you smiled from ear to ear and you sang along to each and every song while commenting on little parts of the movie she otherwise wouldn't have picked up on. it was endearing, and although you were generally a rather bright person, she couldn't help but admire the genuine light in your eyes as you watched the film she had learned was your favorite.

her sketchbook was on her lap, her gaze flickering from you down to the page every so often as she scribbled down little doodles of you singing or mimicking certain actions from the characters on screen. you were too busy attempting to harmonize with "donna and the dynamites" to super trooper, that you didn't notice the way her attention was solely on you as she drew a portrait of your side profile. the light from the screen illuminated your features, accentuating the curves and edges of your face with a soft glow that she swore made you look almost ethereal. in the moment you were her muse, regardless of whether your voice cracked or went off key, and all she wanted to do was capture this moment and live in it forever.

"you're not paying attention, els." she hears you whine as your attention finally shifts back to ellie who was still sketching away in her sketchbook.

"Of course I am," she responds, looking up at the screen for a second and realizing she didn't actually know what was going on as she watched sophie help one of the three men crawl out of under a table. you raise a brow at her and she gives you a sheepish smile in return as she puts her sketchbook to the side and signals for you to lean closer to her to which you happily ablige.

"doesn't seem like it," you hum, sneaking a glance at the open book at ellies side before shifting slightly to rest your head against her chest. her arm wraps around your waist, her fingers gently resting on your stomach as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"but I am, promise." she responds, deciding to finally pay attention to the film despite her fingers itching to finish her drawing. It was a habit she had picked up during her time with Joel, always sketching little pictures of things she found interesting in the films and writing down quotes she would later recite to the older man whenever there was a chance to reference them. she found herself doing that less nowadays but it was still something she enjoyed doing, especially in special situations like these where it was you she was drawing instead.

as the movie neared it's end, she found that maybe she could appreciate the plot even if it was rather odd in her opinion. your singing had quieted down to small hums as you slowly began to drift off against ellie's chest, the rise and fall of her chest lulling you into a sense of comfort despite your attempts to stay awake until the end of the movie. she would definitely tease you about it tomorrow morning, especially after all the times you swore you'd stay up despite your track record of falling asleep. It was cute, a sweet moment she wouldn't replace with anything in the world.

she brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, a fond look in her eyes at her feather light touch before she carefully reaches for her sketchbook with the hand that wasn't holding you to her.

she flips it open to the page she had been drawing on before scribbling something down in messy handwriting under your portrait.

"Mamma mia, here I go again ,, My, my, how can I resist you?"

it was dumb, and the song didn't necessarily fit the situation, but she knew you'd get a kick out of it the day she'd finally show you the sketchbook filled with pictures of you.

[allastoredeer]

Whoo! Working on answering some asks right now! Ya'll send me interesting stuff that I want to draw out (which is why some of your asks take so long for me to answer >.<)

I'm feeling a little silly tonight, so have one of the sketch pages to the ask I'm currently drawing for

He's a lil drunk. Wonder who he could be talking to 🤔

[the-kr8tor]

Hi, could you do domestic fluff Hobie x reader where they stargaze on his boat and the artist reader shows off their sketchbook, maybe even draws him!🥹

Hi hun! I have a similar fic that I've been working on (the reader showing Hobie her sketchbook) so I added in your prompt (stargazing part) since we had the same idea (great minds think alike 😏), hope you don't mind! Thank you for requesting ❤️

Pairing: Hobie brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

There's a city-wide brownout, the usual lights in historic London are all off, the entire city enjoys a rare sight in the night sky. Without the light pollution that usually presides over the city, the stars in the sky shine brightly, blanketing the dark sky in twinkling star lights. There's no cloud in sight, therefore nothing could cover the magnificent view.

Hobie's houseboat is littered with candles, providing a romantic light on his 'porch'.

You sigh longingly for the fifth time that night, neck craning up, staring at Orion's belt. You lift your eyes off the constellation for a second to finish your sketch of Orion, pointing your little torch on the page. Your hand expertly shade in the drawing. The well loved sketchbook is filled to the brim with various drawings– some landscapes, food, dogs you encounter and an embarrassing amount of Hobie.

The pages are covered with him, whether he's sitting with a guitar in his lap, strumming away, or Hobie in his suit, sometimes with his mask on but mostly without it, and so many portraits of Hobie, you just love sketching him.

You'd die of embarrassment if he ever sees them, he might think you're obsessed with him (you are) or tease you into oblivion.

You can't help it though, accidentally making him your muse. There's just something about his perfect jawline, how his lips curve into a sly smile, or how his eyes light up whenever he's passionate about something, he gives you so much inspiration to make art.

You sigh, absolutely whipped for him. A breeze sends shivers through you, hugging your thin jacket closer to your torso.

Suddenly a heavy weight drops on your head, Hobie laughs loudly as you make a sound from the back of your throat.

"Hey!" You lift the heavy cloth away from your face, Looking closer at the heavy material, you see Hobie's familiar leather jacket, your heart swells.

" 'm sorry" he pecks the top of your head, his hands full, holding two steaming mugs, Hobie puts the mugs down on the table, the contents sloshing a bit to the sides. "Here let me"

Hobie reaches for the jacket, at first you thought he's gonna take it from you, but once he drapes the jacket behind you, your heart soars, thumping hard on your chest. You're sure he can feel it when he gets closer to you, so he could help you slot in your arms inside the jacket. You feel giddy, you smell like him now.

"There, warm enough?" Hobie rubs your arms, sneaking a look at you wearing his jacket, a smile creeping to the corner of his lips. Your cheeks heat up from his stare.

There's something in the air tonight, making the atmosphere romantic. Maybe because you're floating on the river in his houseboat currently stargazing in the dark?

"Mmhm" you nod with a shy smile, unable to form the correct words, eyes practically shaped like hearts, Hobie mirrors your expression.

Yeah, there's something in the air. It's definitely not because you're both absolutely lovestruck for each other.

He sits down, cringing when his knees creak. Damn his joints, he's trying to act cool in front of you.

You think it's endearing, adorable, even.

You give him a knowing (teasing) smile, putting your chin in your hand, while your elbow rests on the arm of the chair.

He rolls his eyes at you, but his smile betrays his true emotion. Hobie grabs his drink to hide his grin.

"Softie" you murmur.

"Drink your bloody tea, don't want you freezing to death while you're in my boat" he moves the mug closer to you.

You notice him sitting farther from you, you mentally shake your head, that won't do. So you place your opened sketchbook on your lap. Putting both hands on the back of his chair, you try to pull him towards you. But alas he's too heavy for you, your movement causes you to almost topple over.

Hobie's senses warn him before you could fall, with a strong grip on your chair, he stabilizes you. "What are you doing, love?" Words dripping in fondness.

"You're too far" you struggle as you continue to pull him towards you.

Instead of Hobie pulling your chair towards him, he slightly lifts himself off the chair, lessening the weight off it. You don't notice this, smiling triumphantly when you finally move his chair closer to you. The metal scraping against metal, makes your ears ring, but you mentally high five yourself for a job well done.

"Nice, you hitting the gym?" He places his arm on the arm rest of your chair, he's a lot closer now, breath mixing in with yours. Your cheeks heat up, you should've thought this through.

Knowing that you're too flustered to make a coherent sentence, you just nod "mmhm"

"Mmhm" he mimics you, teasing. "Right, just don't replace me with a gym bro, yeah?"

Your eyebrows knit together, taking his joke seriously "never"

He glimpses your opened sketchbook, that's miraculously still in your lap. Without thinking, he grabs it, whistling when he sees your drawing of mighty Orion.

"You drew this? Just now?"

Nodding, You try to reach for it back, please don't flip through it, you thought, embarrassment creeping up to you.

Hobie, being Hobie raises it higher away from your hands. He pretends to compare the constellation in the sky to your drawing. "Can't believe you drew this the whole ten minutes while I was making tea"

"Yeah, the stars inspired me, can I have it back, please?"

" 'm not done admiring it" he holds it with both hands, thankfully staying on the same page.

You grit your teeth, hoping, praying he doesn't move to another page.

Mother nature has a different idea though, a strong wind rushes past, rocking the boat slightly, the candles you meticulously lit up, blow out in the wind; the pages of your book flips widely, conveniently (unfortunately for you) stopping at a sketch of Hobie.

Oh, fuck. You internally curse. Nope that's it he's gonna get weirded out, and he's gonna break up with me. You keep catastrophizing.

"Is that me?" Hobie moves the book closer for inspection, his eyes roam to the perfect copy of him on the page, his heart skips a beat. "When was this?"

You put your face in your hands, you groan out, "I'm sorry, I should've asked for permission"

He's confused, Hobie closes the book, placing it carefully on the table. He grabs your hands carefully, you can feel the calluses on his fingertips.

"Nothing to be sorry about, look at me" he waits for you to remove your hands from your face. "I liked it, hey," he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, "you don't need to apologize"

You sneak a peek through your fingers, "you must think I'm a weirdo"

Hobie ducks his head to meet your eyes "yeah, because you are, knew that before I dated you, but you're my weirdo, yeah?"

You close your fingers together, hiding your flustered state from him, he called me his? You completely forget the part where he called you a weirdo.

"Enough of this, yeah?" He shakes you slightly "you don't need to ask permission to sketch me," he shakes you again, trying to make you laugh,

"I like" shake "it" shake "and I" shake "fancy you" Hobie shakes you harder, you smile behind your hands.

You bravely remove your hands away from your face.

"There you are" Hobie grins, while you look at him through your lashes, bashfully.

"You mean it?"

"We're literally together" he says through his laughs, Hobie cups your jaw affectionately "we're stargazing, even though it's bloody freezing, you think I'll do something like this if I didn't fancy you?"

"And you made me tea," you point out.

"And I made you tea, which you haven't even taken a sip yet, you ungrateful shit" Hobie smiles through his swearing, even with him cursing at you, you smile widely at him, knowing that's how he shows his affection.

You gather all your courage "you wanna see the rest?"

He taps your cheek "you sure?"

"Mmhm" you nod.

Hobie searches your face for any doubt, but finds none. He grabs your sketchbook, opening it to the first page. His own face greets him.

He whistles "who's that handsome man? I like his piercings"

"You dork," you laugh, pushing your face closer to his bicep, feeling his warmth through his hoodie.

Hobie releases his bicep from your hold, you pout, but he places his arm behind you, bringing you closer, a flustered smile replaces your pout.

He flips a page, a sketch of the planet saturn.

"You can actually see saturn from here" you say softly, content in his arms.

"Yeah? Point it to me" Hobie whispers against your hair.

You both crane your neck up, Hobie follows your pointing finger.

"Right there"

"Yeah?" He buries his face closer to your hair, muffling his voice.

"You're not even paying attention," you say softly, noticing his relaxed state.

"Nah, continue, I'm listening" Hobie cuddles to your side closer.

You let him relax in your hold as you point out more planets and constellations.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thanks for reading! Consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

[theodorecanaryhood]

A love story: the Jock and the Geek

Jason Todd x Male! Reader

Warning: some bullying, homophobia, sexual harassment and sexual references

The hallways of the school were built like a wall of pain, you got sick and tired of hearing people say high school were the best years.

You clutched your books to your chest as you roamed the hallway, going to your next class.

A group of boys cheered as they tossed the football to each other, wolf whistling as the cheerleaders walked by.

Skin tight tops with short skirts, faces masked by beauty products. You envied that you were average looking. You envied that they all had someone to call their own.

‘Stacey, you and Jason coming to my party tonight?’ Hilary asked, her Afro hair falling down to her shoulders.

Stacey, the pretty blonde cheerleader nodded, shutting her locker.

‘Obvy, I’m hoping me and Jason will finally make out tonight’ Stacey tells her bestie.

Truth is Jason Todd is this big jock, rich daddy and drives a Porsche, however he is not shy of taking his time.

You pushed your glasses up your face as Mike, another jock, pushes you into your locker, knocking your books out your hands. Your printed knowledge scattered the floor.

‘Watch where you’re going queer’ Mike laughed as he saw you rushing to grab your books from the floor.

Mike and his buddies high fived as they watched you in amusement, Hilary gave a look of sympathy as she watched you.

‘Let’s go’ Stacey grabbed Hilary’s arm and the two left you.

‘Is this yours?’ Jason asked as he handed you a sketch book.

You nodded as you took it from him, Jason looked at the opened page as he admired your work.

‘This is some good work y/n’ Jason praised, you seemed surprised as you never realised Jason even knew your name.

‘Thanks’ you replied shyly, Jason handed you the sketch book.

‘You have Chem next right? Mr Ward is an asshole sometimes. Coming to Hilary’s party tonight?’ Jason asked.

You nudged your glasses up your face, shaking your head.

‘I’m not invited, I’m not cool enough’ you sighed, Jason looked a little sad.

‘I invite you, you should come, you’ll have fun’ he said as he placed your bag on your shoulder.

You couldn’t get Jason out of your head for the rest of that day, you smiled thinking about him.

‘The fuck?’ Mike snatched your sketchpad from your desk and held it up.

‘Hey, give it back’ you shot onto your feet trying to grab the book back.

Mike held it up in the air so you couldn’t reach it, laughing as chaos continued in the classroom.

‘Guys look, faggot y/n has a crush on Jason’ Mike said as he held up the sketch of Jason for everyone to see. Including Jason.

You ran out of the classroom as Mr Ward scalded Mike for his outburst.

Hilary felt the urge to go find you, but her body didn’t catch up.

The debate you had over going to Hilary’s party made you think hard, you’d been humiliated in front of all these people and now you have to face them.

You stood outside Hilary’s house, finding yourself there all of a sudden.

‘What are you doing here?’ Stacey asked as she saw you walking inside.

‘Hey y/n you came’ Jason cheered as he rushed over to you, his girlfriend giving Jason a weird look.

‘You invited him?’ Stacey asked, Jason nodded with a smile.

Hilary walked over and gave you a small hug as she welcomed you in. Jason walking with you to get you a drink.

The incident in the classroom was never mentioned, and Mike didn’t see you the whole night.

You felt attracted to Jason and Hilary picked up on it, but you were painfully shy you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

Stacey wandered off with a jock, Brian, and was gone for a while. Jason couldn’t find her when it was time to go home.

‘Has anyone seen Stacey?’ Jason asked, the remaining guests shook their heads.

You stood in the hallway of the house as Jason could be heard yelling, Stacey got fed up of waiting for Jason to make a move. So she made a move, with another guy.

Some time went by and you managed to get away from the drama, but every now and then Mike would still torment you.

‘Hey’ Hilary smiled as she sat opposite you, the littered floor of your books.

You smiled a little as she sat on the couch opposite and began reading.

The library was quiet, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, you closed your books as you took your glasses off and cleaned the lenses.

Hilary waved as you went to go back to class, Hilary left the cheer squad after the big fight at her house.

Jason seemed angry most of the time and didn’t want to talk to anyone, the two of you were partnered for Chemistry. Then History.

Jason was only interested in talking about the work and didn’t want to engage in small talk. Though you weren’t offended, you figured he was embarrassed and going through stuff.

‘So, we need to study outside of school, is it ok if you drop by mine tomorrow after school to study?’ Jason asked, seemingly in a better mood.

You agreed, wanting to spend as much time with your school crush. Nothing would ever come from it, but you could enjoy it while it lasted.

Your glasses were tucked away as you walked to the front gate, an older gentleman was in the garden.

‘Hello sir, can I help you?’ The older British man asked, with a smile.

‘Hi, I’m y/n I’m looking for Jason?’ You asked, the older man rose to his feet.

His gardening gloves covered in mud and leaves, he pointed to the window to the left of the house.

‘Master Todd is just in there, go ahead in’ The older man said, you thanked him as you walked into Wayne Manor.

The Manor was built to the same level you would expect as a palace, but it wasn’t overdone. Considering where Jason lives, he isn’t a spoilt rich kid.

‘Hey y/n’ Jason greeted you as he spotted something different about you.

‘Hey, you have a nice house’ you smiled, visibly impressed as Jason studied your face.

‘Where are your glasses?’ He asked you, you pointed to your bag.

‘I have contacts in’ you revealed, Jason smiled a little.

‘You look better with glasses’ he said, pulling your book out your bag.

The two of you spent more time together as friends as well as study buddies, and you found yourself falling in love.

The walls came crashing down as you spotted Stacey rubbing Jason’s arm, the school hallways began feeling like they did before.

‘Stop touching me’ Jason barked, pulling his arm away from her touch.

You heard the interaction as you watched frozen, Jason visibly annoyed.

‘Baby please’ Stacey pleaded as she grabbed Jason’s arm, him shoving her arm away from him.

‘Fuck off, slut’ Jason said as he walked away, Stacey stood sad as her ex boyfriend walked away.

You did feel a little sad for Stacey, she knew she’d done something wrong but she also felt she couldn’t right her wrong. She had an amazing guy, she couldn’t be patient like Jason and lost him.

Study dates together seemed a little different as Jason had fire in his eyes, he seemed annoyed but never with you.

Jason became sweet with you but never pushed you, you felt like there was a little spark there.

‘You wanna hang out somewhere other than my house some time?’ Jason asked out of the blue, you seemed a little nervous to answer.

‘Yes’ you answered, a few seconds of silence as Jason smiled ear to ear from your answer.

The two of you began hanging out at other places, the diner, coffee shop and even just walking through the park together.

You kept feeling an urge to just kiss Jason, hold his hand. But you were scared of his reaction. Jason never had an issue with the fact that you’re gay, he never had any idea that you’re falling for him.

The TV screen lit the dark room as the two of you sat on Jason’s bed, the PS5 controllers in your hands as you played against each other.

Jason kept beating you in the game and the two of you laughed as you played, Jason howled with laughter as he commented on your playing skills.

‘You’re shit, like so bad dude’ Jason laughed as you nudged your glasses up your face.

‘I’m more into books bruh, video games are new to me’ you laughed along with Jason.

You both got closer, Jason looked into your eyes as he smirked a little. Your heart thumped in the ears as Jason seemed to lean in a little.

‘Fuck it’ Jason whispered under his breath as he connected his lips with yours.

It made your heart scream in joy and happiness as Jason pulled you into his lap. Taking your glasses off of your face, placing them onto his bedside table.

Jason’s hand on your face, fingers crossed over the side of your neck as your legs were opened, welcoming Jason.

Jason’s hot breath mixed with yours as he thrusted deep, making you pant a little.

The feel of Jason’s skin in yours, the feel of his body. The feeling of his manhood inside you made you feel incredible.

The sun hit your face as you woke up, the most amazing dream the night before, as you realise it wasn’t a dream. Jason’s naked body lay next to you.

You ran your hand down his chest and abdomen, feeling his tight abs. His strong muscle, the arms that held you in place all night.

‘Morning love bug’ Jason smiled as he saw you awake, you rubbed your sleepy eyes with a smile as Jason leant up and greeted your lips with a morning peck.

You stretched a little as you rose to your feet, a little lightheaded and your anus feeling a little rough.

‘Shit, it’s 10am? My dad’s gonna be home soon’ Jason saw his phone screen as he rose to his feet.

Towering at 6’3 as you stood at a shorter height, you were supposed to be home hours ago. Your parents were probably not going to be happy with you for staying out.

Jason kissed you goodbye as he promised you’d hang out again soon, your walk home was a little different as you still felt a little tired and sore. But it felt nice.

Jason was the first guy you’d had sex with, he was sweet and gentle when you told him you’d never had sex before.

The two of you began going on dates, officially, and Jason began to open up about his repressed homosexuality.

He dated Stacey because he thought he had to, not because he liked her. Jason took her adultery as a blessing in a way, it gave Jason the escapism he needed to be him.

Jason held your hand through the school hallway, everyone stopping to look as they saw you and Jason together.

Stacey spotted it and felt ashamed of herself, seeing Jason got the right person in the end.

Hilary smiled at you two and ran over to hug you both, congratulations being received as she walked with you two.

Graduation, Prom, College, Red Hood being born, you were with Jason through all of it.

10 years together and paying a mortgage as the two of you stuck together, you worked on your arms and legs a bit more.

Growing and building more muscle, Jason cooked naked in the kitchen after a heated night.

You admiring the view of his back and chest, not being able to stay away from him too long. Jason greeted your lips like a reward.

Celebrating festivities at Wayne manor as Jason held you on his lap, smiling brightly as he fluttered kisses on your shoulder every now and then.

Hilary was married and expecting her first by now, you were still best friends and of course, soon to be god father to her baby girl.

Life had a way of working out for those who waited, Jason waited for love and you waited for Jason. It worked out amazingly for the two of you, the two of you lay in bed together as Jason slept laying on your chest.

You stroked his hair, Jason sleeping soundly on you as he dreamt sweetly. Jason felt like he was the luckiest man alive to have a boyfriend like you, and you had won the lottery.

[luveline]

OMG need to see more of Steve drawing reader in the zombie au!!!

steve zombie au —steve draws you all the time. fem

Sometimes, you collapse under the weight of it all. A lot of bad things have happened to you, and the world in this state is overwhelming. You used to wake in a soft, warm bed, spend days surrounded by loved ones, eating and drinking when you needed to, when you wanted to, with no worrying about where your next tube of toothpaste or toilet paper was going to come from. 

These days, you wake, and it's into a world where you've seen agony, and inhumanity, and it's hard. You're his sweetheart and he doesn't care, he'll take care of you for the rest of his life, but there's only so much he can do. 

“Sure you don't need anything else?” he whispers, pulling the linen blankets up to your chin. 

“M'sure. Thanks, Steve.” 

He feels bad touching you when you're squirming. “Yeah, no problem. I'm just gonna sit outside and read, okay? I'll be right there.” 

“Okay,” you mumble, pressing your face into your pillow. 

Steve grabs his rucksack and drags himself outside of the tent. From here, the sea of tents, he can see the fire in the centre of camp leaching smoke into the air, and he can hear the unmistakable hum of hundreds of people in one place. He figures it to be almost like an army base, and the small amount of military personnel only cements that. 

Robin's off somewhere. He misses her more and more lately, not sure where she is, but you've been sick this week. He has to stay close to home. She'll be back tonight for sure to see you both. And Eddie, your new (and, to Steve's reluctance, good) friend, popped by to see you both an hour ago. You weren't in the mood to talk and so he mostly talked to Steve about the next run for supplies. 

You're loved, but you're lonely. You lost everyone you knew. 

You need time to mourn now you're somewhere safe enough to do it. 

Steve rummages through his rucksack for his novel, but he doesn't want to read it without you. Between that and his sketchbook, he has very little to do. Still, you'd brought him those nice pencils and a new skinny sketchbook full of smooth paper, and there are pages yet to fill. 

It's all you. Every inch of space. Your unknowing smile as Eddie showed you how to make an origami crane, or your stomach in the dark as your t-shirt rode up in sleep. Your hands clasped around one of his, squeezing, and the figure of your crouched by the river watching tiny fish swim by. You're in lilac, and sepia, and green, green-green-green, the darkest green pencil he has in want of a black detailing your pupils and the seam of your lips over and over. 

He looks in through the tent door and sketches the curve of your hip under the blanket. He could likely draw you head to toe and inch by inch without reference, or he likes to think it, having seen it all a hundred times, maybe more. You sigh in your dozing and curl inwards, and he starts again. 

He notices when you start to cry because he's focused on your shoulders as they tremble. Steve folds the pen between leaves of paper and shoves it all back into his bag. To comfort you or let you cry? Sometimes people just want to be left alone. 

“Steve?” you ask through a little sniffle. 

“Yeah, honey, I'm here.” 

“Will you come in here?” 

He must be doing something right if you're calling him in when you need him. Finally, something right. Steve crawls into the tent and presses your shoulders against the tent flooring, shaking his head at you. “It's okay,” he says, enthusing his voice with a light amount of loving ridicule. “What are you crying for, huh? You're okay.” 

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you agree, snuffling as he touches your cheek. 

“You are. You're okay. You're beautiful.” He goes sticky like syrup, praising. “I'd write you love letters if I had a pen.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Just talking about how pretty you are would take up ten pages. I keep trying to get it down, you know? So when I'm gone, they'll know someone as pretty as you was walking around loving on some loser,” —you laugh wetly and distract him— “right? So why are you crying?” 

“Just don't feel well.” 

“I don't blame you,” he says, nudging a tear off of your cheek with his thumb. 

“But,” you say, smiling at him weakly, “I have to keep my head up. Yes?” 

“Yeah, honey.” He swallows a funny lump. “God, you're fucking everything when you smile.”

It's not that he doesn't care, he wants to hear it, but you just don't know how to tell him. How do you verbalise a mountain of grief? So he rescues you instead, flirts and soothes the wound with a warm smile. You respond to it as he'd hoped and perk up with a couple of carefully pressed kisses. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

“Were you drawing me, before?” 

“How'd you guess that?” 

“You were really quiet. It's like you go somewhere else.” 

“Nah. Just with you.” He clears his throat. “Did you… wanna see?” 

“Really?” 

Steve would write an itemised list of all his worst secrets if it meant you'd smile. A few pages of shoddy pencil sketches is nothing. 

[lil-blue]

Finally moved Prospero and (maybe) finished the smoke <3

I’m going to add rats on prospero’s page and the mirror to Ada’s still but I’ll do it later, I’m ordering the paint markers tonight and they should come between the 29th-3rd sometime

never ordered off TikTok so I’m kinda sketch about it 😅

Anyways here’s your update because y’all have been spamming my last 2 posts you little vultures ❤️

Edit: ignore the baby snacks 😭 they’re too yummy I’m sorry

[ot9snumber1]

craving

son chaeyoung x reader

summary: you never understood why chaeyoung refused to show you her sketches until you find her sketchbook on your desk. warnings: smut, thigh riding, fingering, degradation, perv!chaeng notes: let's pretend this hasn't been in my drafts for months... dedicated to my favorite @nr1chaedickrider <3

———

"wait for me, chaengie! i just need to grab my keys!" you yell at chaeyoung, who was already halfway through the front door by the time you dash back to your shared room.

a loud groan can be heard, and you only chuckle at the response. you nearly burst into the room, but you don't rush to find your keys.

you think to yourself, why the hell did i take them up here when there's a place for it downstairs...? but there's no time to have thoughts when your roommate is already yelling at you to hurry.

"y/n! come on!" you hear, imagining chaeyoung's pout accompanying her whiny voice. "you promised me we'd be early tonight!"

you scoff, poking around a little bit faster around your desk. your eyes eventually land on the keys, and you whisper a little hell yeah! as you pick them up.

you're about to go back down, until you see the sketchbook your keys were previously on top of. it was chaeyoung's, for sure. you were aware that she's an artist, but you never really get to see her art.

chaeyoung didn't like showing her art. to you.

her friends have talked about her art a lot, even showcasing different shirts and knickknacks that chaeyoung had designed for them. it always made you feel a bit jealous, why is chaeyoung so protective of her art around you?

it was wrong to look at someone else's sketchbook without permission... but you've been chaeyoung's roommate for two years and been her friend for even longer, you feel like you deserve even a glimpse into her artistic mind.

you flip through the pages carefully and your jaw drops. her art is beautiful! why had she been gatekeeping it this whole time? the whole world deserved to—

oh!

you're being dramatic. drawing naked figures are completely normal! chaeyoung's just studying anatomy for sure. sometimes studying the human body requires putting them in provocative positions, of course.

...

she really likes anatomy, huh? you don't even know how she comes up with the positions the figures are in, you haven't seen her bring a girl home in forever! you chuckle at your own thoughts to ease nonexistent tension.

...

okay, maybe it's a little weird how the drawings are starting to look a bit too familiar. you try to convince yourself it's just chaeyoung improving as time goes on, but your eyes can't help but notice that you and the figures are starting to share the same hairstyle, same body type, eye color, facial features, even down to the body hair?

you also can't ignore the elephant in the room. those hands. there are two pairs of hands accompanying each figure, always groping their tits or fingering them or choking them or—

was chaeyoung really drawing you?

you decide to just forget about it. maybe you were seeing things? still, you felt weird about it, and maybe a bit turned on by the fact your roommate had a very vivid imagination.

you close the sketchbook with a long sigh, turning to leave but freezing when you see chaeyoung in the doorway. she looks just as surprised as you, color drained from her face.

the two of you just stare at each other.

"did.. did you get the keys?"

"were those drawings of me?"

you ask at the same time, and chaeyoung feels lightheaded. you were never meant to see that sketchbook! she doesn't even know when she left it on your desk.

neither of you speak for a moment. you were waiting for her response, not letting her get away from this scot-free.

chaeyoung wanted to lie, to forget about this and move on. but where was the fun in that? it's not like you slapped her in the face for obviously drawing you being fucked over and over again.

"so what if they were?" chaeyoung says confidently, crossing her arms. "why, you liked them?"

you pause, taking your time to actually think about what you felt. it was definitely weird and maybe creepy that she was drawing you naked. on the other hand, it meant she'd been thinking about putting you in those positions.

you must have been taking too long to think, because chaeyoung takes your blush as a sign and traps you against your desk. she leans in close to whisper, "you wouldn't mind skipping the movie and staying home to help me draw, right?"

you felt unsure, so you just shook your head. chaeyoung frowns, "aw, come on. i'm sure momo and jihyo wouldn't mind watching without us."

"plus, we were going to be late anyway."

"i thought you wanted to impress jihyo?"

you both stare at each other again. chaeyoung's eyes were dark, it made you uneasy and horny at the same time. "i've got more important things to be doing than impressing her now."

you raise an eyebrow. "me?"

chaeyoung blushes, her 'cool' act dropping immediately. "...yeah." she nods shyly. you chuckle, she was being incredibly adorable—but it wasn't what you wanted from her.

"only if you recreate what i saw." you whisper, bravely putting your finger under her chin to make her face you. chaeyoung's smile grows, the lustful glint in her eyes returning.

"i can do that."

—

you're gagging on two of chaeyoung's fingers as she presses her clothed thigh against your bare pussy. "you look so pretty, all slutty for me." chaeyoung chuckles when she sees your arms jerk as your wrists strained against the cloth she tied behind your back. "you'll tire yourself if you keep doing that." she hums, making you huff.

you desperately wanted to tug at her hair, leave scratches on her back, anything—but she decided that you were being a brat prevented you from doing so. if you weren't desperate for your release, you would've protested her decision entirely.

the way she bit her lip as she looked you up and down got you even more wet—you were sure her jeans were ruined by now. your movements grew erratic, nearly putting chaeyoung in a trance.

"god, you're such a whore. you don't even care that i've been drawing you while you slept." she snickers, removing her fingers from your mouth. all you could reply with was a moan.

maybe you should care. but does it matter when she replaces her thigh with the fingers you were choking on seconds ago? not really.

the ring on her finger brushing against your folds made you wince. the cool metal feeling so delicious against your wet heat. "fuck—fuck, don't stop." you beg, making chaeyoung chuckle.

"so needy." she mumbles, her fingers working in and out of you at a quick pace. the sharp gasp you let out when she pinches your nipple combined with the lewd sounds of your cunt made her own underwear damp.

"and so cute." chaeyoung adds, pulling your shirt all the way up and making you bite down on it to keep it there. "you like it, don't you? the fact i've been spying on you?"

you nod, almost looking pathetic in your roommate's eyes. chaeyoung's grin grows as she curls her fingers in you and makes you scream. "don't worry, baby. i won't stop anytime soon."

the way your thighs closed around her wrist as you came all over her hand gave her the biggest smile. "what a good girl." she coos, kissing you as she helped you come down from your high.

you ended up calling jihyo to tell her you couldn't make it. the reason she heard was that chaeyoung got sick suddenly.

sick with lust, maybe. the way chaeyoung had you bent over your desk confirmed that neither of you would be stepping foot outside of this room for a long while.

[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.”

[cowgirlcasanova]

LIQUOR & LONLINESS

pairing | arthur morgan x fem! oc

summary | arthur sees caroline alone by the fire and gives her some company. caroline can’t stand seeing him so exhausted and tries to take some weight off his shoulders

tags | fluff, flirting but everyone denies it, two idiots pretending not to be in love, fireside chat, massage, cute nervous arthur

word count | 2.5k

a/n | hi bffs! this is my first time ever publishing a fic! i’ve been trying to get back into creative writing again so here we are. please be nice to me ok? :)

i plan on publishing more arthur fics with this oc, building up their world/relationship & revealing her backstory. i just always think it’s so fun to read about ocs so i thought i’d give it a try! so this is a little introduction. hope you like it <3

A small sliver of the moon peeked through the clouds reflecting off the bay surrounding Clemens Point.

The glow of the moon and the dying firelight contrasted beautifully on Carolines face, something Arthur couldn’t help but take notice of as he gazed at her from under the awning of his wagon.

He couldn’t force himself to revert his gaze, completely enthralled by the way the shadows danced across her at the smallest of movements. He was already picturing the angle in which he’d have to move his pencil to even attempt at sketching the sight of the warm and cool light dueling on her face. Arthur cursed himself under his breath at the mere thought of filling another page in his journal with her face, something he’d found himself doing far too often these days.

“Arthur you miserable fool.” He muttered to himself, grimacing as he stretched out his overworked body and rose off his cot.

Caroline sat alone, unsure if the heat she was feeling was radiating from the ebbing fire or from the burn of the dark liquor making its way through her system. She stuck to taking small sips of her glass of bourbon, feeling a strange guilt for drinking it in the first place.

As the only member of the Van Der Linde gang to have advanced medical knowledge it all fell on her to heal their various ailments. She often had just enough supplies to keep everyone afloat, but having the law after you constantly made it a challenge to get your hands on much needed medicine. So, she’d save what she could and turn to liquor as her medicine of choice, trying to save all the expensive tonics and remedies for the traumas that really needed it. Bill complaining of a back injury? Whiskey. The days that Hosea's cough seemed to worsen? Whiskey. Even using whiskey as a last ditch effort to warm John after his wolf attack. She always tried her best to stay out of her own medicinal stash of liquor, But, some nights she wanted the peace that came with the burn of whiskey. Tonight was one of those nights.

“Hey there, Miss Caroline.” Arthurs gruff voice breaks through the unusually silent night. The smell of the burning fire filled his nose as he got closer. He approaches her with a courteous nod, running a hand across his growing stubble.

“Mind if I join ya?” He removed his banged up hat, holding it close over his chest, a small sign of respect toward the lady that did go unnoticed by her. Rarely anything he did went unnoticed by her.

She smiled up at him with the warm smile she always wore, but something about it made him feel like that sweet smile was just for him everytime. Though he’d never let himself believe something as foolish as that. When she turned to look at him the shadows on her face stopped battling and the warm light of the fire covered her completely. From Arthurs vantage point it almost looked as if she was glowing.

“Please do.”

He moves as gently as he can for his size, taking his seat next to her on the old log the gang has fashioned into a bench. His usual confidence was tempered by something softer while next to her. His leg brushes against her knee, as he sits down, a reminder of how close you two are. The weight of his knee was pushing the scratchy material of her skirt against her leg and yet, she can’t bring herself to move her leg away from the tiny space they share. In the harsh life she's suddenly found herself thrown into, although by her own actions. She finds herself craving affection and touch more and more everyday. A gentle touch. Not a casual pat on the shoulder from Dutch or a clap on the back from Sean. Something with meaning behind it, with care and tenderness.

When Arthurs leg stays planted firmly, their knees barely brushing, her heart aches at the thought that the ever so tough man beside her may be feeling the same.

"you doin’ alright this evenin’, caroline?” He asks, his voice softer than usual. His eyes moved across her face, taking in the closeness and her warmth that he was now admiring up close.

“Im doin’ just fine. How ‘bout yourself?” Her sickeningly sweet southern accent hits his ears, making him unable to stop a smile from tugging at his lips.

“I’ve been worse.”

“Long day I take it?” She asks, sipping from her glass, not diverting her gaze from him. Her face takes on a concerned expression. He has to glance away from the look she gives him, deflecting his eyes to the fire. Something about the way she looked at him always seemed so soft and genuine. It turned him into a fool everytime.

“Ain’t they all.” He drawls, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.

Arthur stretches out his sore, muscled arms in front of him in an effort to work out the constant deep ache that his overworked body feels. His biceps flex through the thin material of his button up shirt, the material looking like it could give way any moment, unintentionally drawing Caroline's eye. Her heart speeds up as she takes another sip from her glass, doing her best to quiet her thoughts of him with liquor. A quiet, painful groan slips from his mouth at the movement. He closes his eyes and rolls his neck to try and soothe discomfort.

“Did’ya hurt yourself?” She asks swiftly, her voice filling with immediate concern. Arthur scolded himself, trying to push down the warmth he felt over her worrying for him. It was her job.

His eyes warmed at her concern, making her wonder if it was the pain or her that caused the change. She hoped it was the latter. “my shoulder just been actin’ up on me. nothin’ for you to fuss about.”

“Well, if ya keep throwin’ your weight around it ain’t never gon’ heal.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as if she was scolding the tough and hardened man beside her.

He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, hating to be reminded of how often he seemed to be caught in some violent altercation nowadays. He hated it more coming from Caroline, the sweetest woman he knows. He couldn't help but feel like she should loathe him and this life. That she should turn heel and run while she still had a chance at a good life. Maybe even being able to settle down with a rich man somewhere, raise a family. The things a woman like her should be able to do. Not running with a gang of criminals.

“It ain’t the “throwing my weight around,” He says chuckling, repeating her choice of wording. “I’m just gettin’ old”

“Oh, you are not gettin’ old you silly man!” She whacked his arm playfully, the sound making a weak thump because of her carefulness, taking extra precaution to hit his forearm and not his sore shoulder.

All he musters out is a small lighthearted scoff at her strike, which felt more like a love tap.

“It ain’t age! It's all that punchin’ you're doing.” A weak attempt at chastising him, but she's not able to keep the smile off her lips long enough. “And yes, I did hear about that fight at the saloon.”

He looked over at her and the way she clicked her tongue in disapproval. She was still wearing that same smile. He couldn’t help but chuckle when she raised her eyebrows at him, the expression playfully reprimanding him and silently telling him that she was owed an answer.

“Yeah, I guessed you would’ve heard about it. But, they were was askin’ for it.” He felt an odd sense of understanding when she didn’t disagree with him but instead laughed and shook her head affectionately. “I'm sure they was.” Maybe she didn’t see him and his life as horribly as he thought.

“I guess maybe I can be a hotheaded fool sometimes.” He spoke, berating himself under the appearance of a good humored joke.

“That you certainly can be.” She chuckled, with a warm grin. He heard no malice in her words.

The way Arthur sits with his shoulders hunched forward, It's obvious he’s tired, sore, and overworked. It breaks her heart, the way he does so much for others here just to end up sitting here aching internally and externally.

“C’mere,” She gestures to the dirt ground under her feet. “Let me see what I can do for ya.” the pleading in her voice sounds like this is just as much for her as it is for him.

He doesn't want to. Making her work for him? No, it should be the other way. For a girl like her, he should be spending every waking minute running around making sure she has everything she could possibly want.

Before he can turn down her offer, she snaps her fingers, pointing at the same spot. She won't allow him to put himself last this time.

“Yes ma’am” He chuckles at her unusual assertiveness.

She carefully lays her hand on his shoulder, as if she was checking to make sure he wouldn’t flee like a wild horse the moment he felt her touch. Once certain, she rolls the pad of her thumb over his sore muscle, taking great care to be gentle. Like there was something she cherished under hands. The fabric of his shirt moves along with the movement of her thumb, stopping her hands from being able to touch his skin.

His broad shoulders relax under her touch, goosebumps rising over his skin when she touches him so delicately. He’s grateful for the shirt covering him so she can’t feel the way his skin reacts so easily to her touch. His head hangs forward as he lets out a quiet groan of contentment, relishing in the feeling. Whether it's the feeling of the sore muscle being worked loose or the feeling of being cared for so sweetly he’s not so sure. She peers down at his face and sees his eyes flutter closed as she continues her soothing movement. Her eyes were stuck on his face as he relaxed for the first time.

The smile lines around his mouth made it obvious he wore a warm expression often no matter how tough he looked at a moment's glance. His aging eyes were developing small wrinkles on the outer corners from years of squinting in the sun and all the times his bountiful laugh trailed up to his eyes. He always smelled of tobacco and ash, even his scent exuded warmth if you're able to get close enough to notice.

Arthur Morgan, The man who could make statues talk. He didn’t look intimidating to her, he rarely ever did but, especially not in the vulnerable position she’s seeing him in now. In their closeness, she could see the way the longer pieces of his growing stubble had a small curl to them, The way he had a few tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose, presumably from being in the sun his whole life. She realized he didn’t look so sad for once, he looked peaceful. And she was the one making him feel that way.

“That helpin’ at all?” She asks quietly, close enough to him that he feels her breath against his ear.

He nods sleepily, angling his neck to the left to stretch the muscle she’s working on. With the more exposed area, she runs her thumb along his neck, landing just under his jaw bone. He lets out a low, content murmur to answer her. “Mhmm” With her hands on him, she can feel the vibration of his rumble throughout her.

“Alrigh’, jus’ relax.” She whispers, her calm voice mixing with the sound of the crackling fire and the waves of the bay lapping quietly.

He lets out quiet, low groans here and there. The rumble in his voice suggests the sound is emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. His head hangs in his calm state, being enveloped in warm light.

Although this was meant to help him, she could feel it soothing her as well. She craved tenderness so deeply that this moment felt like a relief from all the toughness around her. She wasn’t just offering gentleness, she was receiving it. Arthur trusted her touch and surrendered to it. In this intimate moment, he let her be gentle and soft. For now that’s what she needed.

Even though his hands weren't on her at all, she felt as though they may as well could've been.

“That should help it at least.” She feathers her massage off, now just gently running a soothing hand over the muscle. “I don’t wanna end up aggravatin’ it more.”

He rolls his neck as he stands back up, positioning himself on the log once more. “Felt real nice. Thank ya” She feels his hand pat against her knee, gently squeezing it. Her leg felt cold after the loss of contact, even through a layer of fabric. A chill goes through her entire body. She's grateful for the long skirt covering her legs so he can’t feel the goosebumps across them.

“Don't mention it.” She says dismissively, although her heart is hammering in her chest. She takes a sip from her glass hoping he’ll believe the alcohol is the reason for the redness washing over the apples of her cheeks. “Just glad it did ya some good.”

“You’re a damn fine nurse, Caroline” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking almost jovial in nature. He doesn’t look so tense anymore. His shoulders fall in a more relaxed manner and the fire casts long bronze shadows over him, creating contours on his face that give his usually piercing eyes a new kind of gentleness.

“Well thank you Mr. Morgan” She beams at him, happy that her work is noticed. Especially by him. She’s constantly half exhausted with all she does in camp, fixing every small ailment that anyone complains of. And yet, shes not bringing in money or doing “domestic chores” so, Grimshaw sees no worth in her. “I do my best to keep you boys alive.” She laughs.

He scoffs with a lighthearted chuckle at her calling him “Mr. Morgan” He turns his gaze to the fire, watching it dance for a few moments before his eyes flicker down to his hands, looking at them with distant thought. “We’d probably be in a lot worse shape without ya…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She laughs bashfully. She’s never been one to accept a compliment easily. But, something about the sincerity his voice holds always manages to make her consider that it could be the truth. She laughs again, shaking her head as if she was physically shaking the thought out. “Now, any other ways you’ve gone and gotten yourself hurt that I should know about?” Her eyebrows raise playfully.

The same scoff leaves his mouth, along with a low chuckle. “No, nothin’ else. Not now at least.”

“Well stop goin’ and gettin’ yourself hurt and maybe it’ll stay that way.” A warm smile bloomed across her face. He couldn’t help but notice the way a small crinkle formed across the bridge of her nose when she laughed. The sight captivated him too much, she seemed almost holy to him.

“I’ll try. No promises” He said with a chuckle that sounded from deep within his chest. “But, I'll try for you.”

[erikahenningsen]

47, rejanis?

47. “No one needs to know.”

Janis has always processed through art—drawing, painting, embroidery, her brief foray into stop-motion animation.

Rebuilding her friendships with Cady, Gretchen, Karen, and Regina in the summer after junior year is... a lot. Even after apologies and long conversations (and Damian's attempt to facilitate a restorative justice circle), there are some days that Janis feels angry, or sad, or guilty, or confused.

She's particularly confused about how she feels about Regina.

So she opens a new sketchbook, just for drawings of her friends. Some of them are just simple sketches of their picnic in the park or afternoons at Gretchen's backyard pool—and some of them are more elaborate, from the late nights when she can't stop replaying everything that happened in sixth grade over and over again in her mind.

Tonight, her sketchbook is forgotten upstairs in her room. Everyone has gathered in Janis's living room to watch movies and play video games—a pretty standard Saturday evening.

What has also become standard: intense arguments about whose turn it is with the controller.

"Oh my god," Regina shouts over Cady and Damian heatedly debating whether Cady's brief turn taking over the controller while Damian was in the bathroom counted as a full turn, rolling her eyes. "You're giving me a headache. Do I need to write your names down and put them in a hat?"

Janis snorts, Cady pauses. "That's probably a good idea, honestly."

Janis waves vaguely towards the stairs. "Grab some paper out of my room. It's in my desk."

It's a testament to how far they've come that Janis trusts Regina to go into her room, albeit only for a moment.

However, several minutes pass, and Regina doesn't come back.

"Did Regina die?" Damian asks, and Cady whacks him on the arm.

"Don't say that!" she scolds. "Regina did almost die. Like, recently."

"That was one time."

"I'm gonna see what's up," Janis cuts in, jogging up the stairs.

"Regina?" Janis calls, pushing the door to her room open further. And then freezes.

Regina's head whips up from where she's looking at Janis's sketchbook.

"I'm sorry!" Regina says quickly, taking a step back. "It... it was open. And I saw a picture of me. I wasn't trying to snoop."

Janis's first urge is to slam the sketchbook and tell Regina to get out of her room, out of her house. But Regina looks a little frightened, a little embarrassed, and Janis takes a deep breath and decides to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"It's fine," Janis says.

"These drawings..." Regina looks at the book again. "They're really beautiful."

Janis's cheeks heat a bit. Not every drawing in the sketchbook is of Regina but she is the subject of a lot of them.

"You're a good subject," Janis says, not realizing how flirty that might sound until Regina's eyes widen. But she doesn't take it back.

Regina taps a page, and Janis comes closer to see that it's a drawing of Regina from one of their pool days, from the beginning of the summer, seated on the edge of Gretchen's pool with her feet dangling the water, a soft smile on her face.

"This day," Regina says. "I hadn't been that happy in a long time."

Janis doesn't know what to say to that.

"Can I have it?" Regina asks softly, tentatively.

"I... I guess," Janis says "But can you not, like, show this to anyone? It's personal."

It might be a strange thing to say about a drawing of someone else, but Regina nods like she understands.

"No one needs to know," she says, reaching out and squeezing Janis's arm. "Thanks."

Janis's skin tingles where Regina's hand is and her stomach flips over, and all she can think is how she needs to draw this moment later.

[haleyvalentineart]

Late post! To be honest, I just wanted this to be done tonight. I’m also adding a textless image if you want to zoom in on any details, and will continue below with the concept.

The basic premise of my fan comic (right now) is that Matt as Daredevil somehow causes the death of one or more people, which makes him go into a downward spiral and recklessly throw his life around during Daredevil activities. In this scene, Foggy is exasperated, trying to get Matt to see sense as to how careless he is being.

Next in the works is either a positive Matt and Foggy interaction based on some replies I got (thank you!!) or a page to practice drawing the Daredevil echolocation type panels. If you’ve read the comics you might know what I mean, if not, it’s like a two color contour line that outlines all of the objects in the space the way DD might “see” them. Other than that I’m glad to draw asks/requests.

If you saw the version of this where they were floating… no you didn’t <3

And thanks to MattFoggyFanartArchive for alt texting this! :)

Finally some notes on the art itself, mostly for future me. If you care to read, be warned they are mostly criticisms:

Matt and Foggy designs are not final, mostly based off of Checchetto design (hairstyles). The staging took a huge turn from how I planned it. Overall spent way too much time on this page, but then again that included planning, 2 sketches, lines, color, and lettering. Foggy’s mouth in panel 2 was a struggle. The dramatic lighting might be a little too dramatic, it’s hard to see the characters. And TOO MANY WORDS! Way too wordy. Although I liked this dialogue in the beginning, seeing it in action is not as good. It might work better in a writing piece than in comics. Finally have to stop hand writing my text when there is an “add text” button with a comic font. On a lighter note, introduced movement into the scene with Foggy circling the table and motioning with his hands. Made the page less static. The dramatic lighting does help to show which direction characters are facing. Had a lot of fun with decorating the office and hid a few easter eggs. Expressions are alright.

[nolita-fairytale]

don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: the honeymoon pt. 2

summary: you and carmy enjoy the last few days of your mini-moon.

warnings: light smut, husband!carmy who comes with a warning label of his own, swearing, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov, she/her pronouns

wc: 3.2k

listen to: the official don't want to walk alone playlist (mentioned song - lizzy mcalpine's 'dancing queen' cover)

a/n: hi cuties. here is part two of the honeymoon in chicago. i will be writing an epilogue to finish out this series, then my focus will be back on the world of 'burn your life down.' please enjoy all of this fluffy, lovey dovey content because these two deserve.

part four | masterlist | epilogue

This feels right, you think to yourself, stretching out in the abnormally large bath tub that overlooks the Chicago River. This being the bath, your honeymoon, the non-stop sex between you and your insatiable husband. 

You’re up to your shoulders in bubbles, the temperature of the water just the right amount of hot, and you’ve got to admit that you need a recovery bath from the last night or so. 

“You gonna join me in here or what?” you ask Carmy, a flirtatious smile on your face as you steal a glance his way. 

He sits facing you, a few inches away on the floor of the bathroom, the sketchbook that you got him as a wedding gift laying in his lap as he continues to make furious strokes with one of the wildly-expensive-yet-worth-it pens that you purchased in addition to the sketchbook. 

“Nah,” Carmy exhales, the corners of his lips curving up into a smile as he looks at you like you might disappear. “I just wanna look at you a little longer.”

“I know it’s kind of our thing now. But maybe tomorrow night?” he offers up, half apologetically. You shake your head, as if to let him know it’s no problem, and Carmy returns his attention over to what he’s sketching. 

“Watcha workin’ on over there?” you ask, curiously, in reference to the broad strokes of pen on paper that you can hear. 

“It’s a surprise,” he answers almost too quickly, his focus unbroken as he keeps his head down, buried in whatever it is he’s drawing. 

You inhale deeply, letting out your breath on an even deeper exhale and it feels as if you’re melting into the warm bubbles that surround you. 

“I’m just glad you’re drawing again. You always seem to light up when you do it,” you sigh, settling into the comfort of your bath, even though you now have to accept that Carmy won’t be joining you tonight. 

You close your eyes, listening to the sound of your bubble bath playlist that plays over the speakers of your phone – the easily recognizable voice of Leon Bridges filling your ears as your shoulders relax. 

“Why don’t you draw something? For our next tattoo,” you suggest, your eyes beginning to close. 

“God, I love you so much,” is Carmy’s reply, without missing a beat. 

Opening one eye, you sit up slightly to get a good look at Carmy, shooting a quizzical look his way. 

“Well, yeah. But are you referencing anything in particular this time?” you giggle, peering over the edge of the tub in hopes of getting a look at what he’s sketching. Carmy tuts, clutching the sketchbook close to his chest so that he’s sure you can’t see. 

The two of you exchange a look, then a laugh, before you resign yourself, sinking back into the tub. Carmy can’t take his eyes off of you, watching you close yours. He looks down at his sketchbook, the image of you in the bathtub, your hair tied up in a messy bun on top of your head beginning to take shape on the page. With deep blue eyes full of love, he finally answers your previous question with:

“You encourage me to dream, baby.” 

A beat. 

“It’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

You inhale again, peeking one eye open just for a moment as you grin.

“I love you too, Bear. So, so much.” 

You take another breath, and a beat, before reiterating, “And I meant what I said. You should draw something for our next tattoo.”

“You really want my scribbles on your body forever?” he asks, skeptically, completely discrediting the talent that you know he knows he has. 

“I married you, didn’t I?” you shoot back with a shrug. 

He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head incredulously. 

“Don’t know if that’s the same.”

“Seriously, Bear. I know we talked about maybe adding some ink to mark this chapter of our relationship… but I really want you to draw it. You don’t have to make up your mind now but, just think about it, okay?” you continue, this time opening both of your eyes to look at him – just so he knows that you mean it. 

“Sure,” he nods hesitantly. “Uh… yeah. I’ll think about it.”

You hum along to your playlist as the song changes, and Carmy returns his attention to his sketchbook, stealing glances your way as he continues to work on his drawing of you. You swear you’ve slipped into the kind of relaxed state that yogis traveling to an ashram for the first time can only dream of, as both you and Carmy settle into a comfortable and quiet rhythm. 

Carmy hasn’t felt this inspired in a long time – noting that he hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long time either – and he’s more than willing to admit that it’s all the love (and all the sex, because it’s certainly not hurting) that’s sparked this creative kick. He was nervous before, before checking into the hotel earlier today, that maybe he wouldn’t be able to relax – the idea of going to the spa with you tomorrow is still absolutely terrifying – but it’s moments like these that remind him that he may not be so bad at this whole relaxing thing after all. 

It could be minutes, hours, days when you decide to get out of the tub – having lost track of time entirely since you checked in at the Langham hotel. Without saying anything, you pull the plug on the bathtub, allowing it to drain as you stand up, grabbing for the fluffy, plush white hotel towel. 

And you know that you could put on a robe, just like Carmy, but you have a better idea. 

You’ve been saving the little white slip dress that Natalie bought you for just the right moment, and you think this might be it. You can feel Carmy’s eyes on you as you disappear from the bathroom, leaving him where he sits on the floor, and back into the bedroom in search of where you hung the slip dress earlier this evening. 

You wonder how long it will take – if he’ll follow you back into the bedroom – but he doesn’t, so you take your time drying off. The white slip dress slides off of its hanger easily. You pull it over your head, allowing it to settle gently over your frame, noticing just how softly it drapes over your figure. 

Nat really nailed it with this one, you think to yourself, the pads of your feet hitting the ground as you head back into the bathroom to hang up your robe. 

Carmy’s gotten up off the floor, having carefully set his sketchbook down on the long counter, confident in the way he stands, waiting for you. He watches you like a hawk as you begin hanging your robe on the back of the door, a smirk beginning to form on his face. 

“What?” you ask, because you know exactly what he’s thinking without even having to look at him. 

“Nothin,” he answers, cheekily.

As you turn around, Carmy’s taking a step towards you. You busy yourself with taking your hair back down, watching your reflection in the mirror as Carmy approaches, coming up behind you. You can feel his hands slide along your hips, pulling you towards him as he begins to leave soft kisses on the tops of your shoulders. 

“Jus’ wanted to let you know how beautiful you are,” he mumbles in between kisses, pressing his hips against your ass. “That’s all.” 

“That’s all? You’re insatiable, Carm. You know that?” you ask him with a giggle, watching him in the mirror this time. 

“Oh come on,” he counters you. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” You moan as soon as you feel one of his hands bunching up the material of your dress, his lips curving into a smile against your skin as he hears you. “Putting this on for me.” 

“Baby,” you sigh happily, beginning to understand just how fun a honeymoon is supposed to be. 

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he begins to tease you, moving your hair to one side of your neck.

“Remember when we snuck into a dressing room…” he continues you, his piercing blue eyes bearing into your soul through the mirror image – just like that night. “... during the James Beard Awards…” 

“How could I forget?” you gasp, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of your neck. “It was Syd’s first win and neither of us could wait till we got home.”

You remember it well, especially now, as Carmy begins to grind his hips into your ass, his eyes pleading with you in the reflection, begging you to let him fuck you. 

“Friday night and the lights are low…”

You smile, as soon as you recognize the lyrics to one of your favorite songs. Only this time, it’s nothing like the version you and your best friends sang at karaoke night, this version done as an intimate, acoustic singer-songwriter cover. Carmy’s hands are patient, slowly exploring your body as you turn around to face him, surprising him as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

He sends you a questioning look and you smile back as you lean in, placing your mouth over his in a messy kiss. 

“I love this song,” you whisper against his lips, pulling him in for another kiss as you press your body closer to his. “Dance with me, Carm.”

“Yeah?” he asks, with a single, amused raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” you answer with a smirk. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Instead of answering (or protesting, considering he had his sights set on fucking you up against the bathroom counter), he just embraces you, holding you close to him as the two of you sway back and forth to the song, exchanging heated kisses. It’s here, in the midst of a push and pull of desire, dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe and the slip dress his sister bought you, that you and Carmy have your first dance as man and wife. 

It’s exchanged kisses, teasing remarks, and eager hands till the very end of the song, both of your feet coming to a halt, too consumed with the passionate makeout that Carmy’s engaged you in this time. Your hands travel to where his robe is tied closed, beginning to open it as your breathing picks up. 

“Think we can count that as a first dance?” Carmy asks, in between kisses, his lips moving at a feverish, more desperate pace this time. 

“Definitely,” you reply, the softness in his eyes matched so well with the softness of the music. It’s then that you kiss him again, your mouth beginning to trial south every time you return to him. 

“Baby,” he moans, as he watches you kiss lower and lower, anticipating what comes next. 

“Said I’d make it worth your while. And right now, I want to go down on my husband,” you rasp, your voice low and sultry as you drop to your knees. 

Carmy moans as soon as he feels your mouth on him, your tongue coming out just to taste the tip of him. His right hand tangles in your hair, beginning to grasp at the back of your head as he lets out a:

“Fuck.”

———————————

Your vintage lace slip dress, plucked from the ground where it was carelessly thrown the night before, and Carmy’s denim jacket draped over your shoulders. 

That’s what he wakes up to, Carmy, your husband, as you climb back onto the bed, having left your brown paper bag filled with all kinds of goodies on the nightstand next to him. 

It may seem silly, bringing his denim jacket considering you barely planned on leaving the room, but he brought it for moments like this, when he knew you’d inevitably want to wear something of his while heading down to explore the rest of the hotel. 

“Think you’ll even need that?” you’d asked as you watched him pack his bag for this weekend. 

“Gotta be prepared, babe. You’ve been stealing my clothes since day one,” he had pointed out, making it clear that he was only packing options at this point. You’d giggled, making a comment about how considerate your then-husband-to-be was and a declaration that you were nothing if not consistent. 

“Good morning, my love,” you say as you climb onto the bed, settling at the foot. 

Carmy just smiles dreamily, his curls a wild, beautiful mess, as he sits up, reaching for your hands so that he can pull you over him. You smile, leaving a quick good morning kiss on his lips as you mutter something about morning breath. 

“Fuck off. You love me,” he teases in response, laying back down. 

“Fuck off. I do,” you parrot him, nodding happily, as you settle over him, straddling his hips. 

With your hands still in his, Carmy brings your conjoined hands up to his lips, leaving a kiss to each knuckle, his eyes fixed to yours, his focus unbroken. He smirks, seeing you in his denim jacket, just like he predicted. It looks damn good on you and there’s something so primal about the way he feels when you wear his clothes – the fact that you’d showcase to the world that you’re his stirs something inside of him that feels intoxicating.

“I went downstairs to the hotel cafe. Got a few pastries and coffee for us,” you say, as you run your hands up and down his chest. 

“Thanks, baby. But I’m not hungry yet,” Carmy replies, something in his voice that tells you he’s got something else in mind. You quirk an eyebrow in his direction, letting out a loud laugh as he flips you over, rolling you onto your back. 

“Think we should work up an appetite first.” 

“Again?” you giggle, heat pooling between your legs as you think of how he fucked you up against the bathroom counter last night – after you went down on him. 

Instead of answering, he captures your mouth with his, groaning into the kiss as he lays his body over yours. You could care less about the morning breath as Carmy winds you up with the way he kisses you, the way he touches you, and you’re sighing out in pleasure as his hand slips between your legs. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby,” he spits through gritted teeth, as soon as he realizes that you’re not wearing any underwear. 

“You go down to the cafe like this?”

You smirk, letting out a devious chuckle at his discovery. 

Before you can properly answer, Carmy’s fingers are dancing over your wet heat, earning well deserved gasps from you as you buck your hips into his hand, a sudden possessiveness taking over. 

“Fuck, Carm,” you groan, knowing exactly how to wind him up. “Yeah. Might have to punish me for it.”

“Think so, sweet girl,” Carmy mutters, before his mouth is on yours again. 

———————————

It’s your last night at the Langham hotel and you and Carmy have barely left your room – save for the trip to the pool downstairs. You find yourself curled up with your husband, your head buried in the book you're halfway through in a cozy silk PJ set as Carmy works on something else, a few pages deep into his new sketchbook. 

“How’s your book?” he asks, his focus still on the page before him. 

“Good,” you answer quietly, looking for a good place to pause. You look over at him, smiling as you notice the very cute face he makes when he’s concentrating. 

“Watcha workin’ on?” 

A light blush runs across Carmy’s cheeks as he prepares to show you. 

“Uh… just been sketchin’ up some ideas… you know. Ever since you asked about, you know… the tattoo,” Carmy answers, suddenly feeling shy about showing you his work. 

“Yeah?” you ask, only to be met with a nod as Carmy hands you the sketchbook. 

You take it, your eyes eagerly scanning the page, considering it’s the first time since you gave him the gift that he’s let you see anything he’s been working on. You smile, a look of awe in your eyes as you take in all of the little food-related tattoos that he’s drawn up. 

“I like this one,” you say, pointing to the nest of spaghetti he’s drawn, clearly meant to be a single portion of carbonara. “I mean, I like all of them… but I like this one.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, only a little surprised that you like any of them really. 

“Yeah,” you nod in response. You look down at his work, then back up to Carmy before gesturing towards the page. “May I?”

“Uh… sure,” he answers anxiously, the sound of the page turning only magnifying his nerves. 

He’s so incredibly talented that it hurts, and it’s not till you get back to the very first page, the one where he's drawn you in the bathtub that your heart stops. 

“Carmy,” you gasp, looking down at the sketch. 

“You hate it,” he’s quick to say, offering up a way out, almost too eager to beat you to the punch if that is how you feel. 

“Baby, of course I don’t hate it. I-,” you shake your head, marveling at the drawings below as you trace your fingers over the broader strokes of the pen. “It’s just… no one’s ever drawn me before so. I’m kind of… in awe right now.”

Carmy inhales, then lets out the breath on a deep exhale, because he’s drawn you before – considering he’s barely made time for his art in the last five years anyways – and that they just aren’t things he’s shown you yet. 

“What do you think?” is all he asks, his eyes searching your face for a reaction. 

“I think,” you say, returning his gaze with yours. You can tell that he’s nervous, that this feels extremely vulnerable, and you know exactly how to pivot. “... that you’re incredibly talented… and it’s really, really not fair.” 

He laughs. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies, brushing off the compliment. 

“No, I mean it, Bear,” you harp, making sure he hears you. 

“Okay,” he nods, and you know it’s the best you’re going to get when it comes to him accepting your compliment on the spot. 

You take a beat, before handing him his sketchbook back, returning your attention to your book as the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm of spending time with each other. This is exactly how you pictured this weekend going – spending time together, doing absolutely nothing, and fucking all day long. You’re not quite ready to go back to real life yet, but you also miss Aioli, and you know you and Carmy have another shot at this when you go on your real honeymoon in a few months. 

“Maybe I should bring this with me… you know… on our honeymoon part two,” Carmy says, gesturing towards his sketchbook. It warms your heart to see him so excited, so inspired and relaxed. 

“Definitely,” you reply with a smile. “Let’s do it all over again in a few months. When we go to Japan.”

“You wanna take a bath?” you ask, an implied, ‘you said you would join me’ in your voice as you ask the question. 

Carmy licks his lips, a small smile threatening the corners of his mouth as he answers, 

“Deal.”

[noob-with-a-shitty-computer]

Secret Romantic (Grell Sutcliff x gn!artist!Reader)

A/N: I’m still pretty new to black butler but this woman has been living in my head rent-free for the past few weeks, which fortunately has given me a bit of inspiration to write a fic :> hope u like it and i hope it isn’t too ooc.

Summary: You were not really known to be a hopeless romantic, unlike your flamboyant companion. However, she wasn’t expecting to see a different side of you on the night you dropped your sketchbook nearby…

In the midst of another work-filled night, you quickly flipped through the to-die list one last time. “I think that’s about everyone tonight.” You let out a sigh of relief in unison with the red reaper in front of you, “What a night. I’m so glad that Phantomhive got this case closed rather quickly.” A bit of awkward silence passed until you heard a few quiet giggles, which made you turn to your friend who’s green irises were swinging left and right to each picture she had in her hands.

“Grell, are you listening?!” You raised your voice enough for her to let out a yelp as if she was a frightened puppy. “‘Bassy’ caught your eye again?” You scoff. “Come on, can you blame me? He was ever so graceful, how could I not take a photo or fourty~? Especially when he was wearing that ridiculously handsome suit~!” She dreamily sighs and you do nothing but roll your eyes. You never liked demons, always thought they were a hassle to deal with. It didn’t make it any better that a certain demon butler just so happened to steal the doting heart of the woman who stole yours.

“Well, I’ll head off now so you can have your little fun, I suppose. See you at work, my lady.” You greeted nonchalantly as you quickly jumped out of the scene using your reaper agility. Before Grell could glue her eyes back to the photos, she heard a thud nearby, finding a familiar book on the stone ground. It was the sketchbook you always brought around during work to draw on whenever you had a bit of time on your hands. She remembered the times you refused to show her your artworks, hiding the pages against your chest as a faint but cute blush creeped onto your cheeks.

It seemed that curiosity killed the cat (much to Sebastian’s dismay) as Grell approached the sketchbook with a smirk, letting go of her precious photos for the time being…

“Let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me, darling.” She mutters to herself as she slowly flips through the sketchbook, admiring every image. There’s a sketch of the town you recently visited in the view from a tall building, doodles of a couple of dresses you saw from a store window, and other random things. You were quite talented, she thought, curious if you happened to have a doodle of dear Bassy as well~ It only took a couple minutes until she flipped through a page that caught her off guard.

Several doodles of the red reaper herself were presented to her, some smiling, some frowning, some drawings ended down to her head or bust and there were a couple of full body drawings as well. She flipped through more pages and found herself again. There was one drawing where she was wearing a beautiful dress and another where she and you dancing together, she was wearing the same dress while you wore your own outfit with a similar design. It was like an illustration from a fairytale book, the you in the sketch revealed a big smile that your colleagues don’t often see on you in real life.

The next page had sketches of her in other fancy outfits, the page after that had sketches of her doing her signature pose, the page after that was a drawing of you and her, hand in hand and looking at each other fondly while the moonlight illuminated your figures. She didn’t realize you were so observant over her. It was a bit unsettling, but it also felt endearing to her that you put in so much effort into capturing her beauty on paper. Her mind was filled with different thoughts, the memories of you and her training, laughing, smiling and spending time together all those years ago up till now. She couldn’t deny that it made her heart flutter.

Meanwhile, you were panicking in your room trying to find that lost sketchbook, worried that Grell had caught it first. You dejectedly rushed to your door only to find said reaper in front of your doorstep, causing you to stumble backwards. “Gah! G-Grell, what are y-you doing here..?” Your heart was pounding as you looked over to her hand which was holding very thing you were looking for over the past several minutes. Grell chuckled a bit as she handed it back to you. “Darling, I never thought you felt this way about me~” She stepped closer with a smile.

“I-I’m sorry, I can explain-“ “No, I’m sorry for pulling on your heartstrings like that, my dear.” Grell’s eyes softened as she apologized. “The drawings are gorgeous as well. I didn’t know you were such a romantic~!” She smirked and you huff your cheeks, “I guess you just rubbed off on me, my lady.”

“No worries, it’s cute.” Her smile grew as she watched your cheeks flush and eyes widen. “Aww, look at your cheeks! They’re covered in such an adorable shade of red~” She failed to supress a cheeky giggle. “Stop teasing me!” You quickly protest before she held out a hand to you.

“Heh, well I must admit, you were always dear to me, darling. I guess I was too occupied with my own obsessions to realize it sooner… But since you seem to be interested in a dance, may I take your hand tonight~?” She stated flirtatiously, causing your cheeks to grow hotter. You were a lot less experienced in the world of love compared to the reaper in front of you, causing you to hesitate taking her offer…

But then again, who are you to refuse a lovely lady such as Grell Sutcliff~?

A/N: i need sleep. why must motivation show up during midnight T_T anyways hope u like it :P

[suuuupernovaaa]

More

Timothee finds the sketches you’ve drawn of him.

Chicken freaks me out. It always has. I can never quite be convinced that it’s fully cooked and as a result, it’s almost always dry. Maybe even burnt.

Tonight is no different. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and scowl at the dead bird before me, looking just a little too crisp. It’s seasoned to perfection but really, what good is that if the insides are dry as sand?

“I’m sorry, Tim, but I can’t serve you this!” I holler as I turn from the stove and leave the kitchen to enter the adjoining living room.

Before me is an empty couch. Empty chairs. Sometimes he perches on the round wooden coffee table, but he’s not there either.

“Tim?” I ask. A glance to the right allows me to peer through my bedroom door, and I can see him standing by my bed. “What are you doing?” I ask, pushing the door open wide. He turns to reveal my sketchbook, a new one I got just a couple weeks ago, in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I know it’s like a huge violation of privacy!” he says, his eyes wide with panic as if he’d just been caught rifling through my panty drawer.

Actually, this does feel a little like that, but I know I left it open on my desk. I usually stash it before company arrives. Stupid mistake.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal, really, if the pages weren’t full of him.

He’s there, on every page. His face, his eyes, his broad shoulders and thin arms, his angles and sharpness, the branches and leaves that make up my best friend.

I see him in my dreams, or every time I close my eyes. If I don’t draw him, I can’t stop thinking of him when we’re apart. Even then, it’s only a temporary fix.

He extends the sketch book to me, the look of an admonished child still on his face, and I take it with a gentle smile.

“It’s okay. Um, dinner is ready, but it’s not very good, I’m afraid.”

I toss the sketch book onto my rust colored duvet, hoping to toss away his memory of those drawings with it, and turn to leave the room. A blush is creeping across my cheeks, and I really don’t want him to see it.

Tim’s long fingers clasp around my wrist, halting me in my path.

“Y/N…” he says, quietly, just above a whisper, and the floor below me turns to cement.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “We could, um, order out. Maybe Thai?”

The air shifts around me as he walks slowly, still holding my wrist, until he’s right in front of me. His lips are set in a straight line, his brow furrowed, his eyes questioning.

“Tell me,” he commands, so unlike the casual Timmy from just moments before. He stands before me with an almost threatening air, and I pull my shoulders in, and take my wrist from his grasp.

“I burned the chicken.”

It’s not what he’s asking. We both know. It’s been years of dancing around this. I can’t let a sketch book carelessly left open be how he finds out.

“I don’t care. Those drawings, Y/N. What do they mean?”

My cheeks are really heating up now, and as always when I’m overwhelmed, tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I glance over at the sketch book. It’s plain, unassuming, and causing me a lot more trouble than I thought it ever would.

They’re just drawings.

I should open my mouth and say that. Just drawings. Just drawings.

“They’re just,” I stop, the lie stuck on my tongue. “They’re how I feel.”

He walks over to the bed and picks the book up again. He flips a few pages in and lands on a close up of his face. It took me a couple days, I kept going back to get the eyes right.

“People have drawn me before but this is… something else,” he says, staring at the drawing and then back up at me.

He doesn’t mean it arrogantly. He is who he is - and who he is, gets drawn a lot. Mine aren’t particularly special. There are probably better drawings out there of him.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me. Like, I see myself differently here. Through your eyes.”

My cheeks will explode if they get any hotter. “Well thank you, I think.”

“How do you feel?”

“What?”

“You said, these are how you feel.”

I take the book from his hands and close it. “Don’t, Timothee. We’ve been friends for so long.”

He shakes his head and steps closer. I fight the urge to step back. His gaze is so intense. “Tell me. Please, Y/N. Say it.”

The book is clutched to my chest now, as if it can protect me from this.

As if I want to be protected from this.

“I want…” I stop, lost for a moment in the deep brown of his eyes, staring so passionately into mine. “I want more.”

Just a few words. I can’t think of how else to express it. The way he consumes me whole, and always has.

“More? I can give you more.”

There is no space between us anymore, and the sketch pad falls to the floor. I don’t hear it land. There’s a deafening roar in my ears. The ocean. My heartbeat. His heartbeat.

He wraps one strong arm around my waist, pulling me flush to him, chest to chest, and his other hand comes to my face. Deft fingers trace my cheek. I close my eyes, and lean into them with a sigh.

“More,” he whispers again, his breath on my lips. “I want that too.”

His lips are everything I’ve always imagined. I’ve felt them on my cheek, my hand, but never on the sensitive skin of my own lips.

My mouth opens for him in a heartbeat, and I sigh with longing and fulfillment. My hands are in his hair, on his back, his chest, at his waist. It’s a frenzy but it’s slow, too, and the world spins around us.

He moans my name and pulls away for just one second. “Incredible,” he whispers, a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad you left those drawings out.”

I kiss one cheek, then the other, and softly once more, his lips.

More.