Something so funny about rereading one's own unfinished fics. Like wow this is pretty good! Almost as if it was written exactly according to what I personally like in fact! Someone should finish it!
Hi dear Hobbs! ❤️❤️ [26.] lifting them onto the countertop while making out. For Alina/Nate or Andy/Farah? But no pressure!
hi seren!! 💕💕i filled it for nalina :) there are parts of it that i'm still kind of chewing over, but it's always fun to write for them and i wanted to share what i had. they kind of. ahem. had a mind of their own. so nsft under the cut
(prompts from here)
26. lifting them onto the countertop while making out
Alina finds Nate attentively slicing strawberries in the kitchen, sun-lit and golden in the early morning light. She comes up behind him, wraps her arms around his stomach, and nestles her face into the solid line of his back. His body is warm where it's pressed flush against hers. She delivers little kisses to the bumps of his vertebrae.
"Good morning, Alina," Nate greets her as he sets aside his knife. He places one of his hands on top of her own, where they curl into the fine fabric of his t-shirt.
"Good morning," Alina murmurs into his back.
They bask together in the blissful quiet, Alina still a little fuzzy with sleep. She'd woken to an empty bed, as she often does when Nate decides to surprise her with breakfast.
Nate inhales deeply and then releases the breath in a controlled exhale. He turns slowly in her arms and glides his long fingers gently over the bone of her jaw, tilting her head ever-so-slightly back with the motion.
"Are you awake?" he asks her. The corner of his lip twitches in a smile that he's clearly failing to hide.
Alina tilts her head back farther and pushes her mouth up so that her lips are closer to his, seeking his kiss.
"Awake enough," she insists.
Nate's smile expands into what she considers to be one of her favourite of his smiles: it spreads slowly across his face, transforms his expression into something adoring and indulgent and a little pleased, and makes his eyes twinkle with just a hint of mischief.
"Awake enough for a kiss?" he teases.
Alina jerks her chin upwards, demanding this time. "Yes."
Nate bows his head down to hers and she thinks he's finally going to kiss her, but instead, he lingers a hairsbreadth away. It's just far enough to torment her; just enough for the heat of his breath to warm her lips. Alina crosses that final distance between them, sealing the kiss.
The kiss starts slow, but quickly becomes dirty. Nate pulls her closer so that her breasts press against his chest and Alina simultaneously slides her hands down, lower and lower until she can grab a handful of his ass and squeeze.
Suddenly - disorientingly, given the supernatural speed at which Nate moves them - she's in a new position on the counter. Nate slides his hands down her thighs, which he gently pushes apart to make enough space for himself against her. The silky fabric of her dress's skirt rides up, exposing her sensitive skin to Nate's pleasing touch.
Alina moans loudly into Nate's mouth, which makes him chuckle.
He pulls away, but mercifully only far enough to speak.
"Everyone else is coming down for breakfast shortly," he tells her, barely louder than a whisper. "You'll have to be quiet, Alina. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Alina promises, more because she's desperate for his hungry kiss than because she believes her own words.
Nate's beautiful, perfect fingers glide up the inside of her thigh, running from the bones of her knee up to the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis. Alina tries to angle her hips up, to spread her legs wider, to give him more to touch.
Nate guides her head back so that he can kiss greedily at the column of her neck while he nudges the gusset of her underwear aside. Those clever fingers find the place where she is wet and wanting and waiting for him.
"Nate-" Alina gasps involuntarily as his fingers slide inside her. The pressure doesn't relieve her ache; she needs more of him.
His laugh tickles her neck. "That wasn't quiet," he chastises, sounding insufferably pleased with himself.
"Nate, I need-" Alina tries again but can't make the thought come together into something coherent. She's breathless and restless and she can't stop rocking into the motion of his fingers underneath her skirt.
Nate knows what she needs anyway. He applies himself even more rigorously to bringing her pleasure, to wringing sounds out of her that he then teases her for making. When she comes, trembling into his touch and his kisses, her right heel hooks feebly around the back of his thigh to hold him against her.
Nate removes his fingers and artfully arranges her clothes back into their proper place. He helps gently guide her off the countertop and back to standing, unsteady-legged, on the floor.
"You'd better wash those before you finish cooking." Alina gestures weakly to his fingers, which are still slick with her wetness. Her chest heaves with each gasping breath as she tries to recover her composure.
Nate glances down at his fingers quizzically, as if noticing their predicament for the first time. Then he lifts them to his mouth and sucks on them, licking the taste of her off of his skin and savoring it slowly.
Alina stifles an aroused groan, but she still feels the drumbeat of renewed desire that pulses within her somewhere lower.
She tries to ignore it and says, "That doesn't count as washing them," and Nate laughs. The sound is unfairly charming.
Nate kisses her once more - this time only a sweet peck on the lips - and heads to the sink to follow her orders. Alina smooths down the her skirt and tries again to calm her racing heartbeat before any of the other vampires hear it from down the hall and come running.
Not, Alina muses as she watches Nate dry his hands on the tea towel hanging off the oven, that it will make much of a difference anyway: she'd more than broken her promise of silence.
(Later, Morgan subverts Alina's expectations by observing, "It smells like sex in here."
Farah's eyes light up, her grin gleeful as she readies something to say that will make the embarrassed blush flooding Alina's cheeks cause her head to explode. Then Farah freezes, her face contorting into a disgusted grimace.
"Don't have sex here," Farah begs, pained. "I eat here."
Nate and Alina sputter through their pretty apologies, but a voice in the back of Alina's mind suggests that, in the future, perhaps Nate could eat there too.)
i was tagged by @fauville to share something for wip whenever. i haven't written much recently (except for filling out some prompt requests like this one) because i've been trying to finish the turning fic research, but i took a bit of a break from that to work up the courage to finish the final push through book 3, so i don't have much to share research-wise either
sorry for any double tags, i'm tagging @anticupid16 @wayhavenots @mornynge @turtleybeachin @serenpedac @lalizah and @kurczakmarty to share any writing/drawing/etc you've been working on recently!
Hi dear Hobbs! ❤️❤️ [26.] lifting them onto the countertop while making out. For Alina/Nate or Andy/Farah? But no pressure!
hi seren!! 💕💕i filled it for nalina :) there are parts of it that i'm still kind of chewing over, but it's always fun to write for them and i wanted to share what i had. they kind of. ahem. had a mind of their own. so nsft under the cut
(prompts from here)
26. lifting them onto the countertop while making out
Alina finds Nate attentively slicing strawberries in the kitchen, sun-lit and golden in the early morning light. She comes up behind him, wraps her arms around his stomach, and nestles her face into the solid line of his back. His body is warm where it's pressed flush against hers. She delivers little kisses to the bumps of his vertebrae.
"Good morning, Alina," Nate greets her as he sets aside his knife. He places one of his hands on top of her own, where they curl into the fine fabric of his t-shirt.
"Good morning," Alina murmurs into his back.
They bask together in the blissful quiet, Alina still a little fuzzy with sleep. She'd woken to an empty bed, as she often does when Nate decides to surprise her with breakfast.
Nate inhales deeply and then releases the breath in a controlled exhale. He turns slowly in her arms and glides his long fingers gently over the bone of her jaw, tilting her head ever-so-slightly back with the motion.
"Are you awake?" he asks her. The corner of his lip twitches in a smile that he's clearly failing to hide.
Alina tilts her head back farther and pushes her mouth up so that her lips are closer to his, seeking his kiss.
"Awake enough," she insists.
Nate's smile expands into what she considers to be one of her favourite of his smiles: it spreads slowly across his face, transforms his expression into something adoring and indulgent and a little pleased, and makes his eyes twinkle with just a hint of mischief.
"Awake enough for a kiss?" he teases.
Alina jerks her chin upwards, demanding this time. "Yes."
Nate bows his head down to hers and she thinks he's finally going to kiss her, but instead, he lingers a hairsbreadth away. It's just far enough to torment her; just enough for the heat of his breath to warm her lips. Alina crosses that final distance between them, sealing the kiss.
The kiss starts slow, but quickly becomes dirty. Nate pulls her closer so that her breasts press against his chest and Alina simultaneously slides her hands down, lower and lower until she can grab a handful of his ass and squeeze.
Suddenly - disorientingly, given the supernatural speed at which Nate moves them - she's in a new position on the counter. Nate slides his hands down her thighs, which he gently pushes apart to make enough space for himself against her. The silky fabric of her dress's skirt rides up, exposing her sensitive skin to Nate's pleasing touch.
Alina moans loudly into Nate's mouth, which makes him chuckle.
He pulls away, but mercifully only far enough to speak.
"Everyone else is coming down for breakfast shortly," he tells her, barely louder than a whisper. "You'll have to be quiet, Alina. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Alina promises, more because she's desperate for his hungry kiss than because she believes her own words.
Nate's beautiful, perfect fingers glide up the inside of her thigh, running from the bones of her knee up to the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis. Alina tries to angle her hips up, to spread her legs wider, to give him more to touch.
Nate guides her head back so that he can kiss greedily at the column of her neck while he nudges the gusset of her underwear aside. Those clever fingers find the place where she is wet and wanting and waiting for him.
"Nate-" Alina gasps involuntarily as his fingers slide inside her. The pressure doesn't relieve her ache; she needs more of him.
His laugh tickles her neck. "That wasn't quiet," he chastises, sounding insufferably pleased with himself.
"Nate, I need-" Alina tries again but can't make the thought come together into something coherent. She's breathless and restless and she can't stop rocking into the motion of his fingers underneath her skirt.
Nate knows what she needs anyway. He applies himself even more rigorously to bringing her pleasure, to wringing sounds out of her that he then teases her for making. When she comes, trembling into his touch and his kisses, her right heel hooks feebly around the back of his thigh to hold him against her.
Nate removes his fingers and artfully arranges her clothes back into their proper place. He helps gently guide her off the countertop and back to standing, unsteady-legged, on the floor.
"You'd better wash those before you finish cooking." Alina gestures weakly to his fingers, which are still slick with her wetness. Her chest heaves with each gasping breath as she tries to recover her composure.
Nate glances down at his fingers quizzically, as if noticing their predicament for the first time. Then he lifts them to his mouth and sucks on them, licking the taste of her off of his skin and savoring it slowly.
Alina stifles an aroused groan, but she still feels the drumbeat of renewed desire that pulses within her somewhere lower.
She tries to ignore it and says, "That doesn't count as washing them," and Nate laughs. The sound is unfairly charming.
Nate kisses her once more - this time only a sweet peck on the lips - and heads to the sink to follow her orders. Alina smooths down the her skirt and tries again to calm her racing heartbeat before any of the other vampires hear it from down the hall and come running.
Not, Alina muses as she watches Nate dry his hands on the tea towel hanging off the oven, that it will make much of a difference anyway: she'd more than broken her promise of silence.
(Later, Morgan subverts Alina's expectations by observing, "It smells like sex in here."
Farah's eyes light up, her grin gleeful as she readies something to say that will make the embarrassed blush flooding Alina's cheeks cause her head to explode. Then Farah freezes, her face contorting into a disgusted grimace.
"Don't have sex here," Farah begs, pained. "I eat here."
Nate and Alina sputter through their pretty apologies, but a voice in the back of Alina's mind suggests that, in the future, perhaps Nate could eat there too.)
there is something so crazy and powerful about having art of your oc that was made by anyone other than yourself. like oh my god you actually exist outside of my own brain that's WILD
i have informed my mother that she will be teaching me to knit and/or crochet. she asked me what i want to make like damn idk i thought we'd start with some squares and if that goes well then maybe get wild with a circle
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
dededos
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
