A shout out to all the writers out there who don’t make the rec lists or have all the buzz or get all the traffic and attention or kudos. Your work is still valuable and appreciated and loved, and without you and your fics, fandom would be so much poorer.
Keep on writing and creating and sharing your works. You have an audience who loves you. <3
instructions: reveal the last line you wrote for a wip !!
tagged by @kiraavi
Ink and Saltwatert WIP ,cus ive been chewing on,and we need more leg jokes,,,
"Y/N was floating on her back nearby, sunglasses on, hat over her face, humming something that might have been a pop song or might have been made up.
A small child appeared at Jack's chair.
She was maybe six, in a swimsuit covered in flamingos, with sunscreen on her nose and a gap-toothed smile that meant business.
"Excuse me," she said.
Jack looked down. His expression shifted—from relaxed-vigilance to mild-surprise to something that might have been alarm.
"Yes?"
"Are you a pirate?"
Jack blinked."Am I a...what?"
"A pirate." The child gestured at his leg—or rather, at the place where his leg ended and the prosthetic began. "Because you have a peg leg. My dad says pirates have peg legs. Did you hide your treasure? Where is it?"
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
Masterlist ALT Masterlist Subscribe to taglist!
Anyone who knows Dr. Jack Abbot probably assumes his wife loves seeing him in his scrubs. And honestly, look at the guy—the man's biceps could choke a bear, and the recipient would probably thank him for it.
But Jack isn't cocky about it. He’s effortlessly charming, respectfully flirty with the nurses and staff, but everyone knows his heart belongs to his sweet, loving wife waiting at home.
What the staff at PTMC doesn't know is that his "sweet wife" is a SWAT Captain. They picture a soft, doting woman. They don't picture her covered in blood and grime, strapped in heavy tactical gear, ordering a strike team around with a voice that could freeze fire.
And nobody knows the filthy secret Jack hides beneath his calm, professional exterior: the sheer, staggering effect her authority has on him. Nobody knows how embarrassingly hard he gets when he hears her team snap back, "Yes, Captain!" Nobody knows the primal, feral rush that hits his bloodstream when he watches her drop a hostile to the floor. She boxes, she shoots, she commands—and Jack is simultaneously fiercely proud and deeply, shamefully obsessed with how insanely hot she is.
So when she rolls into the PTMC trauma bay with one of her own on the gurney, Jack is fighting for his life. He has to focus. He cannot glance at her standing in the doorway, blood spattered across her Kevlar vest, radiating lethal authority. He has to stare at the open chest cavity in front of him, reminding himself that someone’s life depends on his steady hands—not on the image of his wife in full tactical gear.
But the second the patient is stable and the monitors beep steadily, Jack's legendary restraint snaps.
Nobody questions where Dr. Abbot and the SWAT Captain disappear to.
In the dark, cramped confines of a supply closet, Jack’s hands are on her before the door even finishes closing. He fists the thick fabric of her tactical vest, yanking her into him. His mouth crashes onto hers—hungry, desperate, and utterly unyielding. He is starved for her, kissing her like a man dying of thirst.
You have to physically pry yourself away from him just to yank your balaclava off, gasping for air. "Husband dearest," you pant, trying to sound stern but failing as his lips immediately attack your jaw. "Please keep it together—"
Your words dissolve into a breathless moan as he silences you with another searing kiss. His hand snakes to the back of your head, his palm firmly cushioning your skull so you don't hit it against the wall as he walks you backward into the shelving. Both of you are still fully in uniform—his dark scrubs grinding against your rough, heavy tactical gear.
You probably have exactly five minutes before your radio crackles and your team needs you. But Jack is a man possessed. He is absolutely, unequivocally set on devouring you right here, right now, tasting the adrenaline and sweat on your skin.
Before you can even formulate a protest, before you can remember your rank or your duty, he is kissing you deeper. Without breaking the contact of your lips, his hand reaches blindly behind him, finding the door handle.
Click.
The lock slides into place. He’s making damn sure nobody is going to take away these five sweet minutes with his wife.
The click of the lock is the only warning you get before Jack’s mouth is back on yours, ravenous and demanding. The kiss turns absolutely filthy, all teeth and tongue and desperate, breathless groans. His hands, usually so steady and precise in the OR, are shaking as they drop from your vest to your tactical belt.
He doesn't have the patience for the heavy buckles. With a frustrated, feral noise against your lips, he shoves his hand past the obstruction, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants and underwear.
You gasp into his mouth as his fingers find you, slick and incredibly hot. Jack lets out a broken, agonized moan, the vibration rumbling against your chest. "Fuck," he breathes, his forehead dropping against yours for a split second, his hips jerking forward on their own accord. "You're this wet? In full gear? You're going to fucking kill me."
"Jack—" you whimper, but your hands aren't idle either. You need to feel him, need to touch the desperation you've driven him to. You shove your hand between your bodies, your fingers easily slipping beneath the elastic waistband of his scrub pants.
When your hand wraps around his thick, aching length, Jack’s knees actually buckle. He slams his palm flat against the wall beside your head to steady himself, a guttural curse tearing from his throat. He is rock hard, pulsing against your palm, already leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, twice, swiping your thumb over the head, and he whines—actually whines—into the crook of your neck.
"Don't stop," he begs, his voice unrecognizable, stripped raw of all his usual composure. "Please, baby, don't stop."
You set a frantic, sloppy rhythm, stroking him in tight, twisting motions just the way you know makes him lose his mind. He matches your pace, his fingers sliding through your wetness before two plunge deep inside you. His thumb finds your clit, pressing with a ruthless, practiced precision that has you biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.
The supply closet fills with the obscene, wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, overlaid with harsh, ragged breathing. It’s a chaotic clash of textures: the rough, heavy fabric of your Kevlar vest rubbing against his soft scrub top, the cold metal of your belt buckle clinking against his pants, the searing heat where your hands work each other over.
Jack is completely gone, utterly pussy-drunk and desperate. He thrusts into your fist, his breath hot and erratic against your ear as he mumbles filthy praises. "That's it, Captain. Take it. God, you're so fucking tight. You feel so good. Look at you, letting me fuck you with my fingers while you're still in uniform—"
His dirty talk is your undoing. The coil in your belly winds tight, the combination of his thick fingers curling perfectly inside you and the sheer depravity of the situation pushing you right to the edge.
"Jack, I'm—" you gasp, your hand faltering on his shaft as the pleasure crests.
"No, don't stop, please—" he begs, grinding into your palm even as his fingers fuck you harder, faster. "Come for me. I need to feel you, please—"
You break. Your orgasm crashes over you like a shockwave, your walls clamping down hard around his fingers. You bury your face in his chest, your body jerking as you cry out, the sound muffled by his scrub top.
The sensation of you coming apart around his fingers is the final straw for Jack. He lets out a choked, breathless shout, his hips stuttering wildly against your hand. He spills hot and thick over your fingers, his entire body shuddering violently as his own climax rips through him.
For a long minute, the only sound in the tiny room is the deafening rhythm of your combined heartbeats and heavy, gasping breaths. Jack collapses against you, his full weight pressing you into the wall, his face buried in your hair. His fingers slip out of you, and he lazily rests his clean hand over your racing heart, feeling it pound against his palm.
You slowly extract your hands from each other's pants, both of you hissing at the sudden loss of friction. You look down at the mess on your hand, then up at him. His curly hair is a disaster, his face flushed, his eyes half-lidded and completely dazed. He looks thoroughly wrecked.
He catches your wrist, bringing your messy fingers to his lips and pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes fluttering shut.
A sharp, muffled buzz from the radio strapped to your shoulder makes you both jump. "Captain, come in. We're wheels up in two."
You share a breathless, slightly manic look. Jack’s lips curve into a slow, satisfied, utterly unrepentant smirk. He leans in, stealing one last, lingering kiss.
"Five minutes," he murmurs against your lips, his voice still rough. "Told you it was enough."
"Jack," you whispered against his mouth, "look at me."
He forced his eyes open, dazed, glazed over with tears. They were fixated on your face, tracking every movement. "I'm here. I'm here," he gasped, his chest heaving against your hand.
"You're so hard," you murmured, giving him a slow, deliberate pump. "You're so swollen for me. Look at you—begging me like a dog."
He whimpered, a high-pitched sound that betrayed his military training and his stoic facade completely. "Yes," he nodded frantically, tears actually spilling over and rolling down into his hairline. "Yes, I'm your dog. Just… please, just… give me something. I can't breathe."
but i made a discord server for fans of shawn hatosy! we already have a lot of people on there, both yappers and and lurkers - all are welcome! everyone is very chill and for those us that write, we all help each other in any way we can!
just an FYI - the SLUTS thing is a joke, its an acronym for "sure love us that senior"
Check out the SLUTS for shawn hatosy community on Discord - hang out with 60 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
i personally love seeing everyone in the community come together and interacting!
if and when you join the server, you will NOT be able to access or see most of it until you read the rules of the server
Ben Pointdexter x Y/N x Jack Abbot
Summary:
After a shift in his tactical gear, Jack Abbot is used to being the one in control—until he’s caught between his two lovers. With Y/N in pastel blue lingerie setting a torturous pace and Dex whispering filthy demands in his ear, the good doctor doesn't stand a chance of keeping his composure.
The bedroom was bathed in the low, warm glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of sweat and arousal, the quiet sounds of heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence.
Jack was sprawled across the bed, the dark tactical fabric of his TEMS SWAT uniform contrasting sharply against the pale sheets. He hadn't even bothered to take off the shirt—just unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and shoved them down just enough. He was propped up on one elbow, his silver curls falling across his forehead, his hazel eyes half-lidded with a haze that made him look utterly wrecked.
And he was. Completely, utterly wrecked.
You straddled his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. The pastel blue lingerie—delicate lace trimming the edges, the soft fabric hugging every curve—shifted as you moved. The color looked almost innocent against the dark, tactical bulk of him beneath you. Almost.
Your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly, torturously. You didn't speed up, didn't give him more than that maddening, deliberate pace. Your thumb dragged across the tip with every upstroke, smearing the precum that had already gathered there, and you watched with a hungry kind of satisfaction as Jack's jaw went slack.
But it wasn't just you.
Dex was behind him.
The assassin was pressed close, one arm slung casually around Jack's broad chest, his chin hooked over Jack's shoulder. From this angle, Dex could see everything—the flush crawling up Jack's neck, the way his stomach tensed under the tactical shirt, the way your hand moved. His pale blue eyes tracked the motion with predatory focus, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips.
"Look at you," Dex murmured against the shell of Jack's ear, his voice low and velvety. "All that tough guy swagger in the ER, and now? Now you're shaking apart from just her hand."
Jack let out a strangled noise—half groan, half gasp. His free hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles white. The blush on his cheeks had spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his uniform. "Dex—"
"Ah-ah." Dex's fingers found Jack's chin, tilting his head back toward him. His lips brushed Jack's jaw, trailing up to his mouth. "Don't look away. She's putting on such a pretty show for you."
Dex kissed him then—slow, deep, claiming. His tongue swept into Jack's mouth with a possessiveness that made the older man groan against his lips. Jack kissed back clumsily, desperately, his hips bucking up into your grip as if on instinct.
You squeezed him firmly, and Jack broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his head falling back against Dex's shoulder. His chest heaved.
"There he is," Dex purred, his lips dragging against Jack's stubbled cheek. His hand slid down from Jack's chest, fingers deftly popping open the top buttons of the tactical shirt, exposing the flushed skin beneath. He splayed his palm over Jack's racing heart. "You're so desperate for it, aren't you, doc? Both of us, and you can barely hold it together."
"Shut—shut up," Jack managed, but his voice was wrecked, thin and ragged. His hips stuttered again, chasing your fist.
You leaned forward, pressing your weight down just enough to pin him, your free hand flattening against his chest. The lace of your lingerie dragged against the rough fabric of his shirt. "Don't be rude to Dex, Jack," you scolded softly, your thumb circling the sensitive head of his cock. "He's just getting started."
Jack's eyes squeezed shut. A shudder wracked through his entire body.
Dex's smile widened against Jack's throat. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just below Jack's ear, feeling the rapid pulse there. His hand joined yours—larger, rougher—and together, both of you wrapped around Jack's aching length.
Jack's elbow gave out. He collapsed flat onto the mattress with a broken moan, his head still pillowed against Dex's shoulder, his chest heaving. His hips bucked up into your combined grip, helpless, unraveled.
"That's it," Dex breathed hot against his ear, his voice dropping to a dark, filthy rasp. "You're doing so good, Jack. So good for us. Look how hard you are—dripping, actually. You're making a mess of her pretty blue lingerie, you know that? Can't even help yourself."
Jack whimpered. Actually whimpered.
Dex's teeth grazed his earlobe, tugging lightly before releasing. "I can feel how close you are. You wanna come, doc? Wanna make a mess all over her hand while I hold you down?"
"Please—" The word tore out of Jack before he could stop it, raw and unguarded. "Please, I—"
"Please, what?" Dex goaded, his hand tightening alongside yours, stroking faster now. "Use your words, Doctor Abbot. You're always so good with those."
Jack's hand flew up, gripping Dex's forearm hard enough to bruise. His silver curls were damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, his hips moving erratically, chasing the friction. "Please—I need—I need to—"
"Need to what?" You leaned down, your lips brushing his jaw, your breath warm against his skin. The pastel blue lace shifted again, and Jack's eyes flew open, hazy and desperate, fixed on you.
"Need to come," he rasped out, his voice cracking. "Please—I can't—"
Dex's grip in your hair tightened, pulling Jack's head back further, exposing the long line of his throat. He bit down gently on the junction of Jack's neck and shoulder, soothing the sting with his tongue, and then whispered directly into his ear:
"Then come for us, Jack. Now."
Jack shattered.
His whole body arched off the bed, a guttural moan tearing from his chest as he came hard, spilling over your intertwined hands and onto the delicate pastel blue fabric of your lingerie. His hips jerked erratically, riding out the aftershocks, his grip on Dex's arm white-knuckled and desperate.
You stroked him through it, gentle now, coaxing every last tremor out of him. Dex pressed slow, grounding kisses along his shoulder and neck, murmuring soft praise against his sweat-damp skin.
"That's it," Dex soothed, his voice stripped of its earlier sharpness, tender now. "Good. You did so good, Jack."
Jack lay there, boneless and breathless, his chest heaving. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, the blush still burning across his cheeks and down his neck. He looked completely, utterly undone.
You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, weak but present, holding you there.
For a long moment, the three of you stayed like that—tangled together, breathing heavy, the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a blanket.
Then Dex huffed a quiet laugh against Jack's shoulder.
"Didn't even get your pants off, doc. Disappointing."
Jack snorted, his eyes still closed, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Shut up, Dex."
"Make me."
You grinned, pressing your forehead against Jack's. "Give him a minute."
"I don't need a minute," Jack muttered, though he made absolutely no move to get up.
Dex pressed another kiss to the back of his neck. "Sure you don't, old man."
Jack's hand shot back, grabbing Dex by the front of his shirt and dragging him down for a slow, messy kiss that said more than any words could.
Maybe later, you'd clean up. Maybe later, you'd take turns.
But for now, this—sprawled together, breathless, and utterly content—was more than enough.
synopsis: Jack coming home to you after a long shift.
word count: 0.5k
content: established relationship, fluff, domestic fluff, fem!reader
a/n: just a small blurb that came to my mind
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No matter how much time passed, coming home to you always felt special to Jack.
The two of you had been dating for five years and living together for three, but the warmth that spread in his chest when he came home to you after a long shift never faded.
If anything, it only grew stronger.
There was something about finding you in the kitchen, humming to whatever song you were obsessed with in the moment. Sometimes you wore one of his old shirts because you missed him; other times, one of your favourite nightgowns, your hair still tousled from sleep.
Jack thought he could spend the rest of his life coming home to the same sight and never once grow tired of it.
He had a long shift tonight, nothing out of the ordinary but exhausting all the same.
The start of the aestival season meant people grew careless and somehow landed themselves in his ER. Fireworks gone wrong, severe sunburns, barbecue parties taking a turn for the worst and a hundred other accidents that could have easily been avoided.
He'd seen it all.
And god, he was tired of it.
Still, he came back every day.
He wasn't sure if it was masochistic or if it was just how he was.
Jack lingered in the doorway, one hand still on the strap of his bag. You hadn't noticed him yet, so he took the time to admire you.
The first rays of morning filtered through the blind, wrapping around you and making you look almost unreal. The smell of freshly made coffee and pancakes filling the house, the music coming out of the speaker blending with your voice.
You looked beautiful.
He wondered if you felt like this when you came home from work only to find him making dinner for the two of you before he left for his shift.
They were simple moments, but they felt special to him.
After spending twelve hours witnessing people's worst days, coming home to you felt like remembering how to breathe and taking in a deep breath of fresh air.
As if sensing his stare, you looked up and smiled at him. It was bright, gentle and so full of affection that he thought that his heart might give out because of you.
God, he was so in love with you.
"Morning," you greeted him softly, reaching for a towel to wipe your hands and walking up to him.
Jack met you halfway.
"Had a good shift?" you asked, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him.
He hummed into the kiss, resting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer.
"It was the usual." he answered once you pulled away.
"Nothing too bad, I hope?" you tilted your head slightly.
Jack raised his hand to brush a strand of hair that fell into your eyes when you moved your head and tucked it behind your ear.
"No," he replied, "it was okay."
You smiled tenderly and nodded.
"That's good, then." You pulled away from him and made your way back into the kitchen.
"I made some pancakes," you told him over your shoulder, "and the coffee's in the pot."
Jack smiled and followed you further in the room.
"Perfect." he replied.
He wasn't sure if he was talking about pancakes or you.
when series masterlist - jack abbot x autistic! reader - WIP
accidently deleted the original series masterlist so here it is again!
autistic! reader, an aspiring archaeologist, moves to pittsburgh for an internship where she meets the pitt's one and only, jack abbot
cross posted on AO3
CHAPTERS
chapter one - series teaser ( march 9th, 2026)
chapter two - episode 1 preview (april 29th, 2026) - full chapter coming soon!
SIDE-STORIES, DRABBLES AND BLURBS
burnt pancakes and breakdowns - coming soon! and yes, it's going to be in second person pov because apparently i'm not suppose to write in first person?
for context:
i identify as having high-functioning autism - this story and behavior of the reader character are based on my personal experiences living with autism, especially when i was undiagnosed. my experiences cannot speak for the whole of the autistic community - if you have met one autistic person, then you know one autistic person. autism is a spectrum and the things that come with one person's autism may not apply to another.
also this is my first time writing creatively in nearly a decade! so please be gentle with me!
this is my own writing - i do not use or support the use of artificial intelligence ( ai ). i do not own any characters associated with the pitt television series - i only own the plot of this story. do NOT repost my work without my consent. do NOT put my writing into any ai programs. support authors by commenting, liking, and ( where applicable ) reblogging - it helps more than you know! thank you! all banners and separators made by me! ( had to make them a couple times before i was happy )
Working as an IT professional at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center means monitoring everything that happens in the hospital while keeping exactly five steps away from the real trauma. You’re the one paged down to The Pitt for login errors, crashed monitors, and uncooperative fax machines, trading tech support for the camaraderie of the Pittlings and keeping the real-life savers fueled on company-sponsored energy drinks.
But staying five steps behind the trauma line only works if your past stays buried. When you’re running from a devastating FBI history, unopened medication, and a suffocating amount of survivor's guilt, the safe distance you've carefully constructed begins to crumble. An attending physician in the emergency department with his own visible and invisible scars sees past the IT badge and the deflection, refusing to let you face the crash alone. In The Pitt, you can try to hide behind the screens, but eventually, you have to learn how to let someone step into the trauma zone with you.
NEWS REGARDING TO THE SERIES FROM 001-006
001. fourth of july
-SMAU
002. "In sickness and health."
-SMAU
003: Too many iced coffees
-SMAU
004: "Mentee and Acolyte"
-SMAU
005: “You can be so cold, Midwest Indigo."
-SMAU/Fanfic
006: Alive and Not Well.
-SMAU/Fanfic
Small announcement regarding the series
007:"Don't Wanna Vortex Again"
-SMAU/Fanfic
008: I Don't Wanna Backslide
-Fanfic
009: "Somebody Catch My Breath"
-SMAU/Fanfic
Double Trouble
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
Standstill
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
At Your Service,Captain.
(Jack Abbot x Reader)
Something something,,,,,
(Reveal)
Link
Helloo, I am Murdock!
-overly close to my 30's. fandom elder in a way of "GET OFF MY LAWN."
-bilingual (due to English not being my mother tongue)
-he/him they/them
Brake lights stretched red to the horizon, and Jack's knuckles were white on the steering wheel for reasons that had nothing to do with traffic.
You'd unbuttoned the first three buttons of your white shirt before he even noticed. Then his eyes flicked over—casual, exhausted glance—and locked.
"No bra." The words came out strangled. Not a question.
"Didn't have time to grab one when the mass casualty alert went out." You undid another button. "Eight hours ago."
His jaw tightened. "Sweetheart—"
"Jackie." You reached over and lifted his right hand off the wheel. He resisted for half a second before letting you guide it, his palm settling warm and heavy against your bare chest. "I need you. Please. Please, Jackie."
His thumb moved on instinct—one slow drag across your nipple that made your breath hitch. His pupils blew wide.
"I'm gonna crash the car if you keep going."
"We're not moving anywhere." You pressed into his hand. "The car is staying still."
"Because—because—" His voice dropped, gravel and want. "God. Come here."
His free hand shot toward the back of your neck, hungry, pulling you in—
And you pressed your palm flat against his chest. Pushed him back into his seat.
He blinked, dazed. "What—"
The devilish smile answered before you did.
You leaned over slow. Deliberate. Lips brushing his temple, the scruff of his cheek, the warm column of his throat where his pulse hammered wild. His collarbone, where you tugged the fabric aside with your teeth. Lower, across the hard plane of his chest, his stomach jumping under your mouth through his scrub top.
When you reached his waistband and palmed the thick, rigid heat of him through the thin fabric, he moaned—unashamed, loud, his head falling back against the headrest.
"Fuck—"
You tugged his scrub pants down just enough. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip, and his hips bucked up into nothing, desperate already.
"Eight hours," you murmured against his hip, your breath ghosting hot over him. "Eight hours of watching you run that trauma bay like a goddamn machine." Your tongue traced a slow circle on the sensitive head. "Do you know how hard it was to focus?"
"Y/n—" His voice cracked.
"You were so good today, Jackie." You wrapped your hand around the base, squeezed, and his whole body shuddered. "Let me be good for you now."
You took him into your mouth—slow, deliberate, inch by inch—and Jack's hand finally found the back of your head, not pushing, just holding, his fingers tangling in your hair like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
The cars around you sat motionless. Someone honked distantly. Neither of you heard it.
"Oh—god—" His hips stuttered up, and you pressed them down with one firm hand, setting the pace yourself. Slow. Torturous. The wet, obscene sounds filled the cabin of his car, mingling with his broken, breathless litany of your name.
His fingers tightened in your hair. "Faster—please, I can't—"
You hummed around him in response, and his back arched off the seat.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he gasped.
You pulled off just long enough to look up at him—wrecked, flushed, chest heaving—and smile.
personally i had a really hard time trying to make dividers so i'm making this to hopefully help others who may be having the same problems as me.
1. Programs
i like to use clip studio paint since that is what i have but there are other free options too like: Photopea (free, browser), Canva (free, browser),IBIS Paint (free, ios/android), ect...
2. Canvas Sizes
this is where i struggled the most since it can be hard to judge how something will look in a post vs how it looks when you're making it. i put together some "guideline" dividers so its easier to see how things will look:
^ small divider 2000 x 40px ( good for pixel art )
^ medium divider 2000 x 100px (good for small doodles)
^ large/ medium divider 2000 x 140px (small text and drawings)
^ large divider 3000 x 225px ( good for titles )
obviously you don't have to follow these exactly but they are a good reference for what looks good at different sizes
3. Saving
the way that you save your drawings will affect how they look if you want parts to be "clear/ see through" make sure to save in .png these files may be a little bit bigger but they will keep any transparent parts of your divider / drawing.
^ a good example of this is my star divider
if you're ok with having no transparent parts/ a solid colour, pattern divider you can save in .jpg these files are smaller than .png so are good if you don't have a lot of space on your device.
All of the above "size example" dividers are .jpg so they don't have any transparent parts.
[Side note: if you have transparent parts in your drawing but save it in .jpg they will become white]
i hope that this was a helpful little tutorial, i didn't go through everything but i tried to give some good starting points!
Hatosyverse this, Hatosyverse that— but imagine Jack sandwiched between two of you.
He's genuinely overwhelmed at first. How is this possible? What is happening? His brain scrambling for logic, for some kind of explanation, but all coherent thought flies right out the window the second you—and you—start touching him.
He's sitting in the middle of the couch, and one of you is peppering kisses across his jaw, dragging curious hands all over his chest, his stomach, fingers catching in those curls and pulling. His head drops back against the couch on a punched-out breath, baring his throat, and the other you is right there—lips pressed to his neck, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line.
Jack is trying. Genuinely trying to fight the urge building low and hot in his belly, trying not to ruin his pants like some desperate thing. But he's not fighting anymore. He lets himself drown in it—the ecstasy of being worshipped from both sides, double the hands, double the mouths, double the want.
And when he finally does come in his pants, shuddering and gasping between you, neither of you cares. You just keep pushing. Palming him through the mess he's made, whispering filthy, obscene things against his skin—things that make his spent cock twitch and fill out all over again.
He gets lightheaded from all the attention, overstimulated and trembling, and he never wants it to stop—
OMG GIVE ME THE MIC BACK I WAS TALKING AAAAAAAAAAA
