#Actually had the idea of draw this when I was cleaning up... I have a few boxes with the radioactive material stickers and went ''well what

[astraldelights]

MORPHEUS ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Dream!Reader

Content Warnings: References to domestic violence and abusive households

A/N: This is inspired by The endless concept but DOES NOT FOLLOW IT. I haven't actually watched or read the comics so don't expect it to follow any cannon. I just thought it was an interesting idea. Might draft a part two as I have more I want to explore.

~~~~~~

The sand crunches beneath as each step is taken through it. The endless desert of dreams usually stayed as a calm landscape. Each dune being built by the neverending sands made of dreams falling from the sky. 

However, today, more and more sand seemed to fall. It wasn’t unusual for a massive amount of dreams to appear, but this time it seemed different. Nightmares summoned to every dream, and the touch of despair was strong in each one.  

Who or what was the source of this?

Peering into the biggest portal of sand, a man was revealed. He hunched over a gap in his floor, chestnut brown hair covering his face.

‘You draw from Despair’s realm but manipulate mine. How interesting…’

-

It had been a few months after Bob had last become The Sentry. His memories of the event were fuzzy as always, but he trusted the accounts from his teammates. 

While his fellow Avengers went on missions or reconnaissance, Bob stayed behind and kept himself busy at the tower. He would spend his time cleaning common areas, washing dishes or sweeping up crumbs Alexi had left behind. Journaling was also something he started to do at Bucky's suggestion. It was good to keep record of things that might slip from the mind by your own or another's volition. 

It started with writing down small observations within the tower. ‘Alexi chews loudly.’ ‘John keeps leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor.’ and ‘Did I remember to feed the hamster today…’ 

But as he wrote more, he found the journal to be a good confidant. Writing down his troubling thoughts when he did not feel ready to burden the rest of the team with it, It felt good to release the thoughts onto paper, letting them out of his own head one by one.

Good moments to remember were also written down. Times when it was just him and his Mom having key lime pie, or when movie night turned into a full laughing fit for the whole team. Every small moment was noteworthy.

At the end of each day, he would put down his pen and paper before heading to bed.

Sleep was always something Bob had trouble regulating. In his youth, it was an escape from the discord at home. It was the one place his father's wrath couldn't reach. 

Well…until the nightmares came. Sometimes he still wakes up sweating from the nightmares of his father's hand slamming down fast and hard. Everytime, those dreams throw him back into feeling like the little boy that he was before. In the past, drugs were a common fix he used to numb the issue. Most of the time he would pass out unconscious, in dreamless sleep. Only waking up when his body started to crave food or his next high.

Withdrawal was especially hard. He struggled to stay awake properly when they detoxed him at the lab. He had gotten used to sleeping on a thin cotton mattress surrounded by clean sterile walls. That was when the dreams started to come back. Slowly, and only showed bits and pieces of his day that he tended to forget.

However recently, it felt like someone had been watching him from his dreams. Bob knew it was crazy of him to assume that, but in a world filled with gods and monsters? Anything was possible. 

-

It happened again that night. He was dreaming about the lab. The scientists seemed cold and distant, as they always were. Bob zoned out as their discussions played over and over acting as background noise. That's when he noticed it. One of the scientists seemed out of place. Attire identical to the ones around, but it just didn't feel right. 

Shifting his eyes slowly up, the moment he seemed to look at the figure-

SNAP

Bob jerked up, ripped from the dream that he had. Scrambling out of the bed, he hastily took out his journal and started to write everything that happened before it escaped his mind. Who or what was watching him? Were they even human? His brain, undecided between fear and curiosity. 

He tried to bring it up to Yelena or Bucky, asking if they had encountered beings that could lurk in dreams. But all he was met with were looks of concern. 

“Bob, do you want to talk about it?” Yelena knew Bob had issues with sleeping and paranoia in the past, but this seemed out of character even for him.

When Bucky heard him he seemed a bit more trusting, especially with his previous experiences with the mystical, “I think that's something you need to ask Dr Strange.”

They both tried to help in their own ways but Bob could get the sense that they didn't completely believe him. 

So he started experimenting, sleeping in short and long segments intermittently which spurred his body to dream. This seemed to work, allowing him to dream more often and catch the figure in action. Writing down different encounters, he noticed a trail of sand as a recurring pattern. However every time he tried to look at the figure directly, he woke up. 

Until one fateful night.

-

He was dreaming about being The Sentry again. The power at his fingertips felt overwhelming, bursting at the seams with the power of a million exploding Suns. Weaving his hand through the empty space, he sensed it again. But only now with his heightened sense, he managed to catch it. His eyes glowed with golden rings, deciding if you were a friend or foe.

“Who are you?”

His hand clasped around your throat but you remain unbothered. Reaching up, you place a hand on his wrist, gently pushing him back into the darkness. Your name seemed to echo out of your mouth but no sound reached him before he woke up.

-

The next night arrived with a familiar dream. He was up in his childhood bedroom. The noises of his parents were muffled from the floor below but still present.

“I-I know you're here.”

You step out of the shadow, greeting him with an air of regality. Your form draped with black cloth over your body, gliding gently along with your movements. He stands with uncertainty, unable to decipher if you were even from the same dimension as him. 

“Well our last meeting was very intimate, I only hope this goes more cordially.” His eyes widening in shock, he immediately starts to apologize at his previous behavior. It wasn't everyday you would choke a stranger. Especially one so beautiful… Bob thought, paralyzed slightly from your presence.

“Relax mortal, I am simply teasing.” You chide his shocked response, causing him to blush in embarrassment. 

“You may know me through many names, but to most I am Dream.” His eyes narrow, as if you were speaking in riddles. 

“Every dream that has happened and will happen, comes from my domain.”

“Does that include Nightmares?” You nod. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. Had you been the maestro of his misery? Punishing him for his previous sins through the never ending nights of bad dreams and insomnia.

“W-why do you keep sending them to me! Have I done something wrong? I-”

You hold a hand up to his face, stopping his speech immediately with a stern glare.

“Nightmares are meant to teach. They teach you to survive, and break from the malady in the safety of the dreamscape. While I did create them, I do not control where they go, only what they can do.” He seemed troubled by your logic, unable to comprehend the point of receiving so many nightmares. 

Sensing his discomfort, you continued to explain, “If everyone only had good dreams, who would ever want to wake up?” 

This had seemed to complete a piece of the puzzle for him. Nightmares were not evil or bad, they were a necessary force. You didn't harbor any malicious intent and described it as a natural process.

“There was a time when they were used to punish. But that wasn't a pleasant time for all. Even nightmares can have dreams of their own.” You shook your head at past memories. The previous ruler was blinded by the pain humanity inflicted upon him. He punished humanity with all his might, but also ended up hurting his subjects as well. 

As you walked away, the room seemed to twist and turn. Bob followed suit, pulling away further and further from his original dream into a space where sand seemed to spring up between his toes, falling endlessly from the sky. Each grain pressed softly against the soles of his feet, sinking slightly at each step he placed forward. 

Stopping in your tracks, you wave your hand to summon a cascade of sand to start falling in front of you. Your hand glides through the granules to reveal a world beyond imagination through the tiny gaps. A glimpse into it revealed colours and objects Bob couldn't seem to comprehend.

“This is where we shall part human, I will visit soon and I will be watching.” With a smile, you turned to face him as you stepped back into the falling sand. 

“Wait w-” Before he could continue his question, the sand beneath him started to sink down rapidly. The sandy domain, falling apart without your presence. Bob's heart jumped as he felt straight back into his body, jerking to consciousness. One last question still lingered on the tip of his tongue. 

Why were you watching him?

[cafeoleconlimoncito]

I wanted to explore a different style. I’d had this drawing for weeks, but I only just finished it now due to lack of time."

Fun facts about Yuni—this time focusing on her school, social, and personal life in her world:

She uses Cowco or Gusanito brand pencils and erasers because they’re cheap. (is a popular Latin American brand)

Her uniform skirts always fall below the knee. (Natural phrasing)

Her original phone is a Nokia 3310—not a modern model, and even in her world, it’s considered old (but not "retro"). (In Mexico they were widely used by people who were not economically stable.)

She works part-time as a waitress during school breaks at a friend of her mom’s café, which helps pay for her trips.

Her ballet (childhood) friends and Actual school friends are different groups—she hangs out with one or the other depending on the occasion. (I will talk about this more specifically later.)

She’s what you’d call popular—people know her around town, at school, and if you ask about her, most will recognize her since she’s outgoing and sociable.

She’s a small-town girl, but to give you an idea, her town is similar to Cocorit or San Carlos (Sonora, Mexico).

Her favorite hobbies include rollerblading, clubbing, and going to the movies. She often takes walks and always runs into someone she knows.

She brings all kinds of friends home. If they were guys, they’d usually just hook up a game console and hang out.

Her mom’s family owns a small farm, where they grow crops and host big gatherings. She also has friends with large ranches where they throw parties.

She doesn’t have a fixed friend group—you’ll usually see her with different people all the time. That’s why sticking with the same group at Twisted Wonderland is a new experience for her.

She wore braces from ages 13 to 15.

She has a pet rooster named Rogelio, which she bought as a colorful chick at an expo. (Very common in Mexico)

In middle school, she was in the afternoon shift—she skipped class a lot but still graduated with honors. (School shifts in the afternoon are very common in public schools.)

In her world, Yuni is a third-year high school student, so being sent back to first year at NRC was frustrating.

She studied abroad for a year in Kansas (her dad’s home), but she hated living with her paternal grandparents and begged to go back home (North Mexico).

She knows tons of Mexican songs (Apson, Juan Gabriel, Luis Miguel, Joan Sebastian, Los Tigres del Norte, etc.) from cultural exposure—they’re always playing at food stalls, buses, etc. (You might catch her humming or singing them while cleaning or alone.)

She’s also a fan of foreign and American music, with Aerosmith being her favorite.

She’s also into foreign and American music, with Aerosmith being her all-time favorite.

She has a small vaccine scar on her shoulder.

"People come to her, not the other way around. She doesn’t ‘adopt’ introverts—if someone doesn’t approach her or seems uninterested, she’ll distance herself and find people she’s more comfortable with. Unless there’s a prior friendship, she won’t drag you out with her (she hates dealing with reluctant people).

"At her middle school graduation, when her name was called for the diploma, her whole class cheered loudly and clapped for her like crazy."

"She used to rank top 5 in ‘prettiest girls in class’ lists—before she cut her hair and stopped putting effort into her appearance. (Not that she’s ugly now, but guys definitely started judging her ‘messy’ look.)"

[1singulargrape]

Sukuita Princess and the Frog AU

I wrote this prompt a few months back and decided to draw the scene I kept thinking about; it's kind of a gift for myself :3 this is near the end

[Yuuji : Even if you're kind of an asshole... I'll protect you, and stay by your side <3]

For additional context, whoever cursed Sukuna did tell him that only a true love's kiss would lift the curse but he thought it was bullshit and decided to look for another solution. Fast forwards to Yuuji and him building a bond and he still doesn't tell him about it because, well, this is way too stupid to actually work. So Yuuji kissed him because he wanted to and now Sukuna has twice as much information to process

[apocalypticdemon]

man. antidepressants.... good

[radrobotz]

i have a million things to do for uay universe but how many of them am i going to do imagining everything in my head is enrichment enough for me so sometimes i forget

[cressidagrey]

Love Letter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri reengineers tire degradation. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who actually knows what she is talking about and is the genius behind the science. She said this science "was understandable and accurate enough for fic." (Also I am aware that this is not believable, but hey, let me have fun 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

By the time McLaren hit mid-season in 2024, Andrea Stella had become something of a veteran in the art of bracing for impact — the kind that came not from a crash, but from the Piastri household.

He had gotten used to it.

Oscar’s precision. His unnerving calm. The way he drove with the composure of a man triple his age and none of the ego.

Felicity, who wasn’t technically on the payroll, but might as well have had a desk in R&D. Who was so liked in the engineering department that Andrea had overheard an engineer asking Oscar like an overexcited puppy when his wife was going to come back and play with them. 

Felicity was always lingering at the edge of a race day.

Always watching. Always noticing.

And then there was Bee — small, serious, and so wildly intelligent it made his engineers nervous. She had literally seen an issue with their suspension during her first trip to the garage. Now, she asked about downforce balance mid-lunch and then drew airflow diagrams on her juice box.

Andrea had learned to expect brilliance from them.

But what Felicity handed him that morning wasn’t brilliance.

It was revolution.

It came in the form of a single-page drawing.

A3 paper. Hand-sketched. Neat annotations in clean block lettering.

She passed it over casually, like it was a grocery list. “Was thinking about deg last night. Couldn’t sleep. Just a theory. Don’t know if it’s actually useful, sorry.”

Andrea glanced at it.

Then really looked.

And stopped breathing.

At first glance, it looked like a cooling solution — rim cooling, a variation on brake duct design. Not uncommon. Not radical.

But then he saw it.

Phase. Change. Materials.

His eyes darted to the margin where she’d written:

PCM core set to activate at 276°C. Peak drawdown window ~30 seconds, reset threshold <210°C. Tapered air channel design for directional retention. Modeled after CPU heat-sink transfer.

Andrea looked up.

Felicity just shrugged. “Everyone’s been trying to brute-force cooling through airflow. I figured… maybe it’s not about keeping it cool. Maybe it’s about controlling the peak.”

It wasn’t theoretical.

It was elegant.

Andrea’s brain kicked into high gear. 

PCM — phase change materials — had been a whispered concept in F1 circles for years. The holy grail of thermal management. 

The idea that you could insert a material that would melt in response to a precise temperature range, absorbing energy as it changed state — holding a system in a stable thermal window. It worked in CPUs. Data centers. Rocketry.

But no one had ever made it viable in an F1 brake drum environment.

Not until now.

Not until this.

Not until it came from Oscar Piastri’s wife, at 2 a.m., in the quiet space between insomnia and motherhood.

Andrea blinked hard. “You know we’ve had engineers — PhDs — trying to crack this for years?”

She just shrugged. 

He had no words.

Just respect.

And the rising sense that something seismic had shifted.

He handed it straight to the sim team. They ran a closed simulation. Quietly. Then another. And another.

By the time they tested it under controlled parameters, the engineers were whispering about windowed degradation curves. About temperature floors. About thermal consistency that shouldn’t be possible.

Oscar was suddenly able to manage medium compounds like they were hard. The performance drop-off curve flattened — flattened. Andrea had never seen anything like it.

No magic bullet in F1 ever worked this fast.

But this?

This wasn’t a magic bullet.

It was physics. It was material science. It was control — without compromise.

They ran it again during a private test at Silverstone. And then — stealthily — implemented portions of the system into the race package.

By the time the 2025 season came around, Red Bull was accusing them of cheating. Mercedes was sulking. Ferrari was confused. 

The paddock wanted to know what the hell McLaren had done.

The answer?

Felicity Piastri.

When Andrea called her into his office, holding the latest race run data in one hand and a calculator in the other, she sat across from him sipping tea out of a mug with Bee’s name on it.

“You realize you’ve just solved one of the biggest unsolved problems in modern F1?” he said.

Felicity blinked. “I was just tired of watching Oscar hemorrhage tire life while driving perfectly.”

Andrea stared at her.

She added, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t… mean to change the whole season. I just wanted him to stop overcompensating for a thermal flaw no one was fixing.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair and said — for the first time in his career — “I am both terrified of and completely in awe of your entire family.”

Felicity just smiled and said, “Would you mind printing a copy of the new tire envelope profiles? Bee wants to compare the heatmaps to the old ones.”

Andrea buried his face in his hands. “Tell her to go easy on us.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

They were rocket ships now. Every track. Every compound. Consistent, controlled, deadly fast.

And somewhere, deep in the McLaren server, the drawing still existed. In a scanned file. Named Piastri_Insomnia_Fix_v1.pdf

Andrea renamed it later that week.

"Found the Window."

Because that’s what it was.

A window — held open by a woman who thought differently. Who didn’t need the spotlight. Who just loved someone enough to stay up all night figuring out how to protect him from heat, chaos, and failure.

And somehow, she’d done the same for all of them.

***

Mark Webber had seen a lot in his career.

Title deciders. Broken bones. Politics dressed up as progress. He’d seen technical miracles and driver meltdowns and the rare, perfect moment when both came together and worked.

But he had never seen a technical revolution arrive folded in half on a single piece of A3 paper, annotated in gel pen and handed in like someone had just scribbled down the grocery list.

And he certainly hadn’t expected it to come from Felicity Piastri. Maybe he should have. 

He was standing trackside in China when Andrea Stella handed him the printout — not the PDF version with simulations, but the original. The drawing. The one that changed their 2025 season from promising to dominant.

“She gave me this on a Tuesday,” Andrea said, voice flat with disbelief. “Said it was just a thought. I’ve had people with entire departments fail to model this. She did it because she couldn’t sleep.”

Mark turned the page over once. Then again.

It was neat. Clean. Not showy.

Pressure curves, airflow vectors, the highlighted activation band of the phase change material she’d used to stabilize tire temp near the brake drum.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “She’s a genius.”

He knew that. He had been aware of it for years. But it was something else entirely to see it in action. 

Andrea didn’t argue. “She just… wanted to help Oscar.”

Mark stared at the drawing again.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t a flex.

This wasn’t about glory. Or proving herself. Or showing up a paddock full of men with degrees and dynos.

It was a love letter.

Written in airflow.

Signed in melting point theory.

Stamped in the stable temperature range of a tire that could now go ten laps longer without falling off.

Felicity hadn’t just solved degradation.

She had — quietly, brilliantly — rewritten the way Oscar raced.

Because he was hers.

And this was what loving him looked like.

Not flowers. Not poems. Just… making the world easier for him. A little softer. A little kinder. A little less brutal at 300km/h.

Mark let out a slow breath.

“Do you think she knows what she did?” he asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I think she knows why she did it. That’s probably enough.”

Mark folded the paper again — carefully, reverently — and tucked it back into the folder.

And in that moment, he didn’t see the terrifying engineering breakthrough.

He just saw a woman who loved her husband enough to change the laws of tire life —So he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

***

Oscar had just come back from a long run on used mediums when Andrea called him into the office.

Nothing dramatic — just a quiet, “Got a sec?” as Oscar peeled off his gloves and handed his helmet to a mechanic. The kind of thing that sounded normal. Routine. Like maybe they were going to go over sector data or tire drop-off or which curb had tried to kill him today.

So when Andrea closed the office door behind them and reached into his drawer without saying a word, Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Then Andrea handed him a sheet of paper.

A3. Slightly folded. Faint graphite smudges along the margin.

 The original one. Still folded along the crease Felicity had made when she handed it to Andrea like it wasn’t the single greatest thermal breakthrough in modern tire strategy.

Oscar took it automatically.

Looked down.

And stilled.

There were notes in clean block print. Equations. Angled airflow paths, subtle thermal gradients, annotations on phase change material melt points and rim temperature drawdown.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His eyes scanned the drawing again, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline, but from recognition.

He knew that handwriting.

It was so her. The tidy script. The neat arrows. The absence of drama.

Just a brilliant mind trying to fix something that made the person she loved suffer.

He’d seen it on post-it notes stuck to Bee’s whiteboard. On margin scribbles in books Felicity had left lying around. On every note she slipped into his suitcase before he went to a race….every note that he then slipped into his racing gloves. 

Oscar looked up, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “This is Felicity’s.”

Andrea nodded once. “She gave it to me three months ago. Said it was probably nothing. Just an idea she had when she couldn’t sleep.”

Oscar sat down.

Because suddenly, his knees weren’t quite up to the task.

He stared at the drawing like it might vanish.

This was it.

The fix. The reason their tires held. The reason he didn’t fall off in stint two. The reason strategy meetings had shifted from damage control to aggression. The reason the car felt like it trusted him back for the first time in forever.

He felt it like a punch to the chest.

“She… she did this?”

“She did,” Andrea said. “And she didn’t want credit. Said she just wanted you to stop overcompensating for bad thermal management. That you were too good to keep bleeding lap time for other people’s mistakes.”

Oscar swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

He looked back down at the paper.

At the numbers.

The calculations.

Oscar turned the page over.

A post-it was pressed to the back, Andrea’s handwriting.

“From Mark: ‘This isn’t just engineering. This is her love letter to Oscar — making the world around him easier.’”

Oscar’s heart stopped.

He stared at the sentence for a long, long time.

He read it again. And again.

The words didn’t feel like compliments.

They felt like someone had taken a flashlight and pointed it directly into his chest — illuminating something he hadn’t dared to articulate, even to himself.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

The sketch. The concept. The whole damn thing.

Felicity hadn’t set out to change a season.

She’d just wanted him to stop hurting.

To stop watching his tires fall apart under perfect driving. To stop fighting physics he couldn’t control. To stop carrying all that frustration on his own.

She’d stayed up at 2 a.m. not because it was her job — but because it was his dream.

She had never once made him feel like he had to win for her.

But God, she made him believe he could.

He blinked hard.

Thought about the way she kissed his temple when he came home late. The way she labeled Bee’s lunchbox with thermal guidelines for optimum snack temperature. The way she never said I love you like a performance — only like a truth.

Then he looked up. “Mark… he really said that?”

Andrea’s voice gentled. “He did.”

Oscar stared at the page again.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’s her.”

And in his chest, where the engine noise usually lived — Where the pressure, the expectations, the sheer weight of competition settled — He felt something loosen.

Because winning was nice. The championship would be incredible.

But this?

Being loved like this?

That was better than anything he’d ever drive for.

***

The house was dark when he got home.

Not silent — not entirely. There was the low whir of the dishwasher. The cluck of a chicken outside, ruffling in its sleep. The soft creak of floorboards as he kicked his shoes off at the door and padded down the hall in his socks.

It was late. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t needed to.

The bedroom door was open.

Bee was curled up in the middle of the bed like a starfish in mismatched pajamas, one hand still clutching the tail of her stuffed frog. Felicity was beside her, lying on top of the duvet, eyes closed, one arm slung across Bee’s little body like she was anchoring her in a dream.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a long time.

Just… watched them.

His wife and his daughter. One terrifying genius and one tiny one-in-training. Both of them unknowable and brilliant and his.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat and moved quietly to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Bee as he lay down beside them.

Felicity stirred almost immediately, her breath catching as her body registered the warmth beside her.

Her eyes opened — drowsy, soft.

“Oz?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re home late.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. Just slid his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

And because she didn’t ask — because she already knew — he found his voice again.

“Mark saw the drawing,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “The one you gave Andrea.”

Felicity blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“He said it was a love letter. That you were making the world easier for me.”

She was still for a beat.

Then: “He’s not wrong.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. Pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve figured something out eventually.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to the crown of his hair.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “I’d do it again.”

Oscar’s breath hitched.

“I’d do it again tomorrow,” she said. “And the next day. And the day after that. If it meant you could breathe easier. If it meant you didn’t have to fight so hard just to keep pace with people who were working with better tools.”

He closed his eyes. Let the weight of her words settle over him like a blanket. Warm. Certain. Steady.

She ran her fingers through his curls once, twice.

And then she whispered: “You make the world easier for me, too. You just don’t notice it. You make it softer.”

Oscar kissed her shoulder. Didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

And he’d carry that with him — into every debrief, every qualifying lap, every moment on the podium.

This wasn’t just about racing.

This was home.

And it felt a hell of a lot like winning.

***

Lando found out in the most Lando way possible: completely by accident and one week too late.

He was in the simulator debrief when the topic of “thermal management integrity stability” came up — words that immediately made him want to die a little inside.

They were talking about their tire performance. Again.

Specifically, the fact that they could now absolutely cook it through mid-stint without falling off the cliff. And no one else could.

Lando was half paying attention — until one of the engineers muttered something about “F. Piastri’s material integration concept.”

Lando blinked.

“Sorry, whose what now?”

The room went quiet.

Andrea didn’t even look up from his screen. “Felicity. The drawing. You’ve seen it.”

“No, I have not seen it. Unless it was attached to a meme or came with a side of banana bread, I was not included.”

Will Joseph — Lando’s race engineer — slowly slid a printed diagram across the table.

Lando took one look.

Paused.

And said, “Wait. This is her?”

Andrea nodded without looking up. “Came up with it over insomnia. Gave it to me like it was a shopping list. It works.”

Lando stared at the airflow map, the PCM trigger temperatures, the annotated note that literally said ‘the goal is to stabilize the moment he usually starts slipping — give him room to breathe.’

He felt like someone had sucker-punched him with science and sentiment at the same time.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me Felicity Piastri — as in, Oscar’s wife who wears motor oil like perfume and once fixed the coffee machine with a literal wrench — came up with the strategy that made our car an actual rocket ship?”

“Yes.”

“And it works.”

“Yes.”

“And she just gave it to you? No credit, no fuss, just… ‘here, I fixed the entire concept of high-deg tire strategy because I couldn’t sleep’?”

Andrea finally looked up. “Correct.”

Lando sat back, stunned.

He knew Felicity was scary smart. Knew she could rebuild a gearbox while calculating orbital velocity. Knew Oscar worshipped the ground she walked on and never made a big deal out of it because he didn’t need to.

But this?

This was something else.

“She didn’t do it for the team,” Lando said quietly, the realization hitting all at once. “She did it for him.”

Andrea didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Lando looked back down at the page — the margins, the equations, the gentle note that said “he’s too good to be held back by bad thermal behavior.”

And he felt it in his chest — that familiar ache.

Because that wasn’t engineering.

That was love.

The quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t shout or show off.

The kind that stays up at 2 a.m. fixing something no one else thought could be fixed — just so the person you love can breathe easier.

So he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

So he can go faster, safer, freer.

It was a love letter.

Not in flowers or poems.

In airflow and melting points.

Lando leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Jesus Christ. She built him a better world.”

Will snorted. “She rebuilt tire degradation, but sure, let’s make it poetic.”

Lando didn’t even blink. “It is poetic. He’s the quiet guy. And she’s the quieter genius who knows exactly where he hurts and rewrites the laws of physics to help him anyway.”

Andrea tilted his head. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“I’m right,” Lando shot back, still staring at the page. “He’ll win the title because she didn’t want him to bleed for it.”

He tapped the margin with his knuckle. “This is the kind of love that never asks for a podium. Just builds the car to get him there.”

And for once — no one had a comeback.

Because they all knew it was true.

***

They were in the driver’s lounge two days later, when Lando struck.

He’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

And Oscar, blissfully unaware, had just taken a bite of his protein bar like he wasn’t about to get emotionally roasted.

Lando stretched out across the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam and said, far too casually, “So… what’s it like being loved so much your wife reinvented tire degradation for you?”

Oscar blinked mid-chew. “…Sorry?”

Lando grinned. “Just curious. I mean, some of us get love letters or handmade birthday cakes. You? You get full-phase material integration strategies and temperature-controlled brake ducting. Romantic stuff.”

Oscar groaned, immediately regretting not hiding in the sim room instead. “Lando.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up now, fully energized. “Felicity took one look at your stint data and said, ‘this man needs help. Let me just rewrite thermodynamics real quick.’”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in. “Don’t you dare downplay this. The rest of us? We have to manage deg. You? You have a thermodynamic guardian angel in your marriage bed.”

Oscar flushed, the tips of his ears visibly pink. “She had a theory. That’s all.”

“‘Just a theory,’” Lando mimicked, using air quotes. “‘Just a casual bedtime sketch that turned McLaren into the most stable tire platform on the grid.’ My God, Oscar. She loves you so much it’s physically measurable.”

Oscar sank lower in his seat, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re married to the Nikola Tesla of tire temp control. I deserve to be insufferable.”

“Lando—”

“She built us a better car because she hated watching you suffer.” Lando flopped dramatically. “Imagine. Being loved with that level of efficiency. Can you even comprehend?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s just… always been smarter than all of us.”

Lando stopped mid-rant.

And smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause.

Then Lando added, “Anyway. If she ever wants to fix my brakes, tell her I’m emotionally available.”

Oscar snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“What about Bee? Can she be bribed with juice boxes and data sets?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing now. “She’s already running her own simulations. She’s got standards.”

Lando grinned. “Just like her mum.”

Oscar looked down at the McLaren logo on his hoodie — the one Felicity stole all the time — and felt something warm settle in his chest.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

But when he went home that night, he kissed Felicity extra softly — and whispered thank you against her temple like a promise.

And Felicity?

She just smiled, wiped her grease-smudged fingers on her jeans, and said, “Don’t thank me yet. Bee thinks we can improve the airflow angle by three degrees.”

Because love — in their house — was always a work in progress.

And always worth the effort.

***

[11cupids-tarot11]

★Your Future Spouse's Favorite Thing About Sex With Y♡U★

1 -> 3 ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡

Cupid's Master-List

Cupid's YouTube Channel

My Kofi shop ♡ tips are appreciated, thank you guys so much!! Ily >< I still have two more available spots for my sale on Channeled Love Letters from your future spouse 18+ only, so check it out!

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Pile 1- Nine of Cups, Knight of Swords, Nine of Coins, Seven of Coins, The Emperor, Knight of Wands, and Queen of Wands.

Hi my pile 1 pookies ><

So this person hesitated a lot and although I usually do my readings starting off with pile 1 they made me skip them and work on pile 2's and 3's first instead? I think this person is really nervous about something. Kind of in a cute anxious way like 😅 but I had to listen because no cards would come out no matter how hard or long I shuffled. What's with this person? 🥴😭

Alright so this person feels very watery and emotional about you, I think their very thing about sex with you is definitely when you're on top, taking control. I think they really like the intimacy of the positions like cow girl or reverse cowgirl, they really like when you straddle their lap in general even when you two aren't having sex and just chilling on the couch. They really like watching your face as you ride them, they like watching your body move against them, they have the perfect view of you they said lol how cute eek ><

So if you don't want kids, that's okay, it's just in this person's fantasies they want to fuck you til the point the two of you actually want to take the condom off or maybe you both forget you have to pull out because you're both so emersed in pleasure and fucking each other? They want to get you pregnant but in such a wild way, they might not actually be ready for a kid yet, but the idea of it excites them so much they're hoping that you feel the same way and also want to have their babies.

This won't resonate with everyone but I'm picking up on a situation where you guys could already be married or just have children together already, this person could really like making babies with you, the sex that leads up to all, all the love that went into it!!

I think this person really enjoys angry sex, when you're mad at them and they get off their high horse and apologize first and they love to make up with sex afterwards, this person kinda just caves cause they love you and don't really want you to stay mad at them.

This person also likes it when you surprise them with sex, they love foreplay, they really like it when you two draw out sex and don't give it to each other right away, lots of teasing and just being playful until maybe you or them starts begging the other to do something more. I think this is partially because they really like spending time with you, this is only one of their favorite ways to spend quality time with you.

So this person could be a coworker or you might meet through work, something about business here. This person right now is at the top of their career, likes to present themselves as an Emperor. This person could really want to move forward in the connection with you if you know of them already, they're brainstorming lol. They really like you, they see you as a queen in their eyes, you could present yourself very carefully, like you have this clean look about you and you're pretty I heard! You take good care of yourself and your person really loves that about you! They're bananas for you? They said some cute cheesey pick up line or maybe a punch line that I'm unfamiliar with? ><

♡ Messages from them: "The way I have treated you was wrong."

"You are so different from everyone around me."

"You've triggered me."

"I can't handle your love."

I hope you enjoyed this reading!!

Pile 2- Seven of Cups, Three of Cups, Knight of Swords, Two of Pentacles, Seven of Coins, The Empress, and Ace of Chalices.

Hi my pile 2's!

So right away I feel like there's a message here for someone that you might know of this person already, that won't be for everyone so if it doesn't fit let it fly 🪽

So your future spouse might like how different you are in the bedroom than you are irl. Like you could come off as very shy or just someone that's not very kinky and your future spouse might've perceived you as inexperienced but your person loves it when you surprise them, take the lead and I'm hearing ride them lol. They like it when you're more dominant in bed, you don't have to be the dom every time but your person loves it when you are, they'll love for you to ride them until your thighs give out lol.

This person loves close sex, sex that's very emotional and clingy to one another. I think this person will have an emotional attachment to you, like even if you don't get married in 20 years this person will love you literally the same, even if you decide to take a break, this person will still carry so much love and respect for you! They love showing you how much they care for you during sex, they'll hold you a lot, and take the lead in bed most of the time to show you, they're very emotional when it comes to you. You guys might like to have sex in bed a lot, during the day, first waking up, because your person loves being close to you. I feel like they might like it when you lay there a lot while they give you oral, they love it when you're a pillow princess and they can bring you so much pleasure.

This person loves rough sex with you, the kinda sex the two of you can't keep your hands off each other and just can't get enough. They'll still be mindful and gentle with you, they love it when you communicate your needs and let them know what you want, they'll want to indulge in your kinks and make your fantasies happen, this person is safe to explore with. I think they might like to spank you if you're open to the idea! They're not super into bdsm but they're not vanilla either, I feel like this person actually wants to see how freaky you can get and they'd just match your freak so the sex will be better and better, it's never the same really, this person can be soft one night and super rough and wild another.

This person could love missionary a lot, bringing you to an orgasm in missionary so they can see your face, they could just love seeing you orgasm in general, in pure bliss beneath them, it's like it turns them on knowing they're the ones making you feel good. This person also likes that you're an Empress, you can stand your own ground with or without a significant other, they could love to watch you masturbate. I think this person loves chasing after you, it could turn them on lol! They love the idea of pleasing you, impressing you. They really want you lol how cute.

♡ Messages from them: "I know that we have a soul connection."

"I fantasize about you."

"They will never compare to you."

"You deserve better than them."

I hope you enjoyed this reading!!

Pile 3- Four of Pentacles, King of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles, The Lovers, Three of swords, Page of Coins, and Three of Cups.

Hi pile 3!

So right away I heard a funny little message that this person actually likes it when you yell at them, they said it in a hushed way so I feel like this person doesn't want you to actually know that 😭 lol, this person will do all kinds of things just to see you a bit angry and frustrated with them just because they find it hot? Kinda sadistic if you ask me 🥴

Your future spouse is kind of a wild card, but you might be too. I think you wouldn't imagine in a million years to settle down with this person because they always feel like they're on the move and really hard to stay in one place because they're constantly thinking of other things to do, they're very work oriented or something but I feel like at first they might not pay much attention to the relationship, they might even go as far as seeing other people but this is only in the beginning of the relationship obviously, this person will feel very drawn to you and will feel like you're they're missing puzzle piece, suddenly they don't have to be on the move anymore because no one is as interesting as you to them, you'll fill their senses I'm hearing! They'll just suddenly be so enamored with you.

I think when the two of you are intimate this person will become selfish, they'll only want you to come to them for everything, they'll really want to be your knight in shining armor, even during sex, this person will be all touchy and very sensual, they like having passionate sex with you, even if they are usually rougher you've made this person want to be all soft with you, maybe not during the whole time, but this person will definitely slow down suddenly and start giving you slower and deeper strokes, they love intimacy with you and just want to savor the moment and make sure the both of you will remember it, they want you coming back to them for more and only them. Even if this connection starts as friends with benefits this person would slowly come to hate the title, and realize they're scared of you choosing someone else over them because the title isn't permanent enough.

This person could really want to rip the clothes off you, they could rip your underwear right off you and it might surprise you. This person really loves your breasts, regardless of size they really like to suck on your nipples.

This person likes when you let down your guards for them, it could be a flex for them that they actually get to touch you in a way that this person admires you a lot and in their head they're yelling at themselves like "omg I can't believe I get to sleep with THEM, THEY'RE ACTUALLY ALLOWING ME TO???848&(_(_(&!'(&(!_(" This person thinks you're adorable, they just adore you! You could catch them staring at you a lot, like a puppy with big ol puppy dog eyes, it's the sweetest thing ever.

Even if you don't like this person the first time around or something happens that you two decide to break it off, this person would try really hard to come back around, I heard they love you even after you break their heart.

With the Page of Coins I feel like this person is actively working on the things in their life right now, all the things they want to get done they're getting done, they might be a student and they could be focused on studying a lot right now as well, but I feel like this person can't wait for the day this all pays off and they can finally reconnect with not only themselves but with friends as well, they could be in a moment of isolation right now because they're so busy studying or working.

They feel sad and lonely and their favorite thing about sex with you is being with you, they want emotional and healing sex with you, just to be close and feel the warmth of you, something about not feeling as lonely anymore with the comfort of you. :(

♡ Messages from them: "I feel lonely."

"I don't want to be alone."

"Emotions overwhelm me."

"I am better with my mind than my heart."

I hope you enjoyed this reading!!

[oimitocat]

STRAY KIDS REACTION TO…

…having a vibrator and you messing with the settings

ᡴꪫ CHAN…. would have been so against the idea but after so much convincing he finally gave in. you had promised to not interfere with his work for it. yet he should have known better. he trusts you so much that he had thought you were pleased with him just having it in… forgetting about it while being cooped up in the studio.

after being alone for so many hours, when you walked in he had thought nothing of it, looking up and smiling. “hi- AH!” he literally jolts off his chair, kneeling on the floor. you’re wicked smile going unseen as he trembles on the floor. never again.

ᡴꪫ MINHO…. also wasn’t very keen on the idea but gave in when you said you’ll treat him to something delicious. he had simply asked you to not put it at the highest setting and especially around the members. technically you didn’t… just that on the day you two had gone out to get some treats, you had stayed back in the car.

he’s jogging out. picking up the order and jogs back. as soon as he opens the car door and hands you the bag- “FUCK-“ he folds over, clutching your arm for dear life. you quickly yank him inside the car as he jerks. “you little- ah!” you quickly turn it off when the driver looks back at you weird, leaning over and closing the car door as minho slumps into the seat and catches his breath.

ᡴꪫ CHANGBIN…. was completely okay with the idea. what he wasn’t okay with was how you kept messing with the settings. he was literally on a call with his mom.

“h-huh?” he swallowed, legs rubbing together and his breath shallow. “no i’m not sick- i- uh y/n is just next to me and distracting-“ you put it at the highest level “-ME! Y/N!” you grin wickedly. good thing you’re in his room.

ᡴꪫ HYUNJIN…. enjoys his quiet time. meaning he likes the peace he gets while painting or drawing. however, he couldn’t really concentrate as you were in his room- which wasn’t exactly the reason why. he had a vibrator and you were messing with the settings.

he keeps jerking when you switch the settings and his pencils moves wobbly. at some point he’s a whimpering mess slumped over his desk and you watch from his bed with a grin.

ᡴꪫ JISUNG…. likes to bed rot. he was sure you’d go easy on him since you two were comfortable in his bed. except you managed to get him to go open the door for the food you had ordered. he had complained but you kissed him and convinced extremely well. so he obeyed and walked out, only for you to start with level 5.

he’s not even out the door when he yelps and slumps against the bedroom door. you watch him with glimmering eyes before stopping. he doesn’t even trust you anymore to walk out but again, you’re a good convincer… he barely makes it to the living room…

ᡴꪫ FELIX…. so our wannabe gamer is literally in his own world. after some good sex he happily agrees to the vibrator. he knows you’re a huge tease but he didn’t expect you to actually torture him. he’s screaming at the top of his lungs while playing with his friends… when you put the highest setting possible. he chokes. literally.

“I’M MUTING-“ he screeches and with a quick tap on the button in his headset, he freely whimpers. you mess between the settings. you later suffer the (extremely good) consequences because he kept losing and sucking at the game afterwards.

ᡴꪫ SEUNGMIN…. was not easy to convince. it took a lot of work. you had to PLAY NICE. l/n y/n does not play nice but you really wanted this so you had to work for it. after so much coaxing he finally gave in. he was super awkward and tense, expecting you do start from the first second you stepped away. but he realized this is actually something he has to go by unexpectedly.

hence… after a few hours, he’s comfortably walking around and cleaning. he’s tidy. you’re helping out and watching him. the second you see him bend over to pick up the dirty clothes bin, you hit the button and- “NGH-“ he doubles over. never again…. at least for a super long time

ᡴꪫ JEONGIN…. was super nervous. yes, he was extremely down to test that out but again, nervous and shy. you coaxed him after a while and soon you managed to make him accustomed to it. as you know, jeongin is pretty clumsy…. so no one was really fazed when you’d put the lowest setting and startle him.

he’d drop whatever he’s holding, topple things over… his ears would be so red and he’d make a strangled noise. of course, you don’t do it often around whoever’s in the dorm but you tease him enough times that he ends up crying and begging you to stop (but to stop teasing and actually do something about his boner)

[thoughtssvt]

nanami kento had one condition when it came to fucking you.

he was to always see your face.

cw : gn!reader (no detailed depictions or implications to readers genitalia), mix of dynamics (soft and gentle to rough), cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), squirting

missionary was always good. he liked touching as much of your body as he could with his. he loved keeping you close, putting almost all his weight on you as if to say i'm here. he'd cup your cheek, keep you from pressing the back of your head too far into the mattress that he wouldn't be able to watch your blissed out face. always swallowing your moans because, god, he had to taste you. his tongue always yearning for both sets of lips.

having you on top awakened something primal in his chest. the way you'd struggle to stay upright with the force of his strokes like it was actually his goal to throw you off. the only down side to this position were the moments you would throw your head back. he loved the idea that he was fucking you into a blissful arch, he wouldn't trade it for the world. "play with those pretty nipples, darling." he'd command through gruff pants, jaw slack as he examined the way your brows would knit tight. your body naturally curling forward as your hips began moving with his until you were forced to plant your hands on his chest.

on rare occasions your schedules refused to line up he was happy to take advantage of the sliver of time you actually had together under a weak veil of efficiency. the mornings when you were half naked in front of the sink, dutifully brushing your teeth as he stepped out of the shower. he couldn't help the way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you close, taking in your scent. he'd ignore your incredulous expression as he began kissing your neck, rough fingers running under the waistband of your underwear. "just keep doing what you're doing. don't mind me." you never really knew how you'd get from one point to the next on mornings like these. toothpaste suddenly running down your chin as he pumped into you from behind. a firm arm keeping you upright, your chin fitted between his thumb and forefinger as he compelled you to watch. watch how good he made you feel. how good you look while he does. it's one of his favorite sights if not number one. his voice drawing your focus no matter how much you wanted to roll your eyes back as he lifted your leg up onto the sink's expanse, hammering into you impossibly deeper.

with the same intention, it was the only reason you had a full body mirror in your shared bedroom. his hand tugging the hair at the nape of your neck just enough to keep your head up, providing a delicious sting. when he's feeling rougher he especially liked you on his lap, your legs draped over his thick ones as he sat on the edge of the bed. spreading you wide so he could see all of you. his arms looping around your shoulders until he could intertwine his hands behind your neck. the only way to keep your head from drooping as he bullied your sweet spot. relishing the sight of your spasming body as you splashed against the glass. his eyes would darken, guiding your jellied body to your reflection to clean up your mess. chest rumbling with a reminder to keep your eyes open.

the only time he allowed your head to dangle uselessly was when he was pinned beneath you, his mouth working dutifully between your legs. nothing mattered when you were riding his face. not his lack of breath, not the way his cock twitched painfully in his slacks, not even the way his eyes burned and threatened to close. he'd keep his eyes on you. the view so divine that he could cum untouched to which he has, unashamedly, done in the past.

he'd keep pictures and videos of your fucked out face on his phone if it wasn't so risky, so please don't blame him for all the positions he put you in at the end of the night.

A/N : the creation of this piece was a possession, i fear.

nanami x reader masterlist

mdni banner + heart chain divider by @/adornedwithlight

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[syoddeye]

oh ho ho! so simon calls and asks the bartender out...what are we thinking? does he go all out trying to prove he actually isn't a loser and can pull off a suave date? or does he purposefully plan the most off-putting date possible to get back at her for being a pain in the ass?

prev.

i love that you think he's going to call right away. nope.

simon sends some version of you up? after close, then stews for hours when you don't reply. he sits in the dark, phone in hand, grumbling to himself. the cigarette between his fingers burns low, barely making it to the ashtray before he lights another.

he lasts three days. three nights of drinking alone at home, refusing to go to the pub and show his face. the thought crosses his mind to go elsewhere, where it'd take him all of fifteen minutes to find a bit of skirt, but somehow, you've gone and sucked the thrill out of that.

his pride keeps him tethered in place, stubborn to a fault, but even that has its limits. on the third night, the ashtray beside him overflowing, he finally caves. he calls.

"so you can follow instructions. i was worried i'd have to draw you a picture."

he doesn't waste time. "sent ya an address. i can be there in ten." 

"yeah, i looked it up. looks like a classy joint. free wifi." 

"…you comin' or not?" 

"mm, got a policy. can't sleep anywhere lower than three stars." 

"s'not for sleepin'." 

"then let's do yours. got a bed frame?"

simon straightens, caught off guard. that's unexpected—that you're game. he expected more of a fuss, but if you're just in it for dick, things are back on track.

he glances at his bed. the rumpled dark blue sheets are half-pulled off the mattress, still on the floor where he's always kept it. it's never mattered before, but no one's ever been here, either. hotels keep it impersonal. neutral ground. they reinforce the rules. they do the cleaning.

"can't. i'll come over." 

"oof, i've got another policy." you chuckle. "can't have someone over until we've gone on an actual date. you know, to make sure they're normal. or close to it." 

you have no idea.

he imagines sitting across a table in some overpriced restaurant, squeezed into a tiny chair, with loud music pounding in his ears. wasting money on drinks and food. all that just to stare at the tits he knows you're going to hide underneath some layers while you make small talk. it makes his skin itch.

but. if your stupid little 'policies' don't exist solely to jerk him around, he'll earn passage into your world. your place. unknown territory, somewhere to plant a flag and humble you all at once.

forget his lack of a bed frame, he hasn't had a bird in her own bed in ages.

"fine. tomorrow."

"sunday," you counter, and he hears the grin in your voice. "i'm off monday. send me a better address, and i'll meet you there. no french food."

he scoffs. "that, we can agree on."

you laugh, teasing. "bring that with you—the sense of humor. you're gonna need it."

[callmeizukunotdeku]

I love the idea of parentified Tim Drake.

Bruce loses Jason and isn't ready for another son. Tim sees this, he acknowledges this, and he's okay with it. He's never really been a son to his own parents so he wouldn't expect the neighbor to start taking care of him.

When Tim's parents come home, they're not mean or anything, they just don't baby him. They treat him as an equal--as someone who knows what he's doing--and that's fine, because he does.

He's been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember, so when people try to treat him like a child, it angers him more than anything. The way that they assume just because he's young he can't take care of himself.

Tim's been to galas before, though. He's talked with Bruce and the man never treated him like he was incompetent. Tim's parents would ask Tim questions about the company so that he could recite them to Bruce. It was a song and dance he was well versed in, but he didn't really mind, not when Bruce looked at him with such a fondness in his eyes, always saying, "That's really interesting. You know a lot about your parents' company. Did it take you a while to memorize it?"

And he'd shake his head and say, "No," because that was the correct response, even if it was wrong.

Even if he had flashcards about Drake industries and kept up to date with perception of the company and the stock value and who the shareholders were and what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get that.

It wasn't one bout of work. It wasn't a single night of studying to make sure he passed the test, but a lifetime memorizing information and then rememorizing it when it changed.

So when Jason died and Bruce started getting bad, Tim knew what to do.

He was used to long term projects where it would be years before he actually got to see any result. He was used to seeing adults as people who he was responsible for, though he had to admit that the responsibility had never been that big before.

When Tim showed up at Bruce's doorstep, he was young, just like both of Bruce's other sons, but his eyes lacked that sort of naïveté and childlike wonder that should have accompanied the baby fat which persisted on his cheeks.

That's what made Alfred pause at the door.

There was a kid. A black haired, blue eyed kid. He was young, like both of Bruce's sons. His lack of naïveté was something he shared with both children, only Dick's had been a fresh sort of loss, one he was still mourning, and Jason's naïveté was something long-forgotten and left to rot. It was a feeling you smelt when you left the windows closed for too long.

Still there, still somewhere, but not quite right and never able to be found, only stumbled upon in rare moments of something that could almost be called joy.

Tim's naïveté is something he left at home. He keeps it on a shelf in his bedroom, something to look at when the going gets rough, but something too fragile to be held.

Maybe that's why Alfred lets him in.

That day, Tim meets Bruce--not Brucie or Batman, just Bruce.

He meets a man who's hair's grown long, but not long enough for it to have been intentional. There's grease in his hair and bags under his eyes and you can tell that he's been biting his nails.

He's clean shaven, because that's what people can see when he wears the cowl.

Tim takes a deep breath before walking into the room.

Bruce doesn't move, but Tim doesn't doubt that the man notices him.

The room smells like alcohol--a smell he recognizes from when his own father is home, though he can't say he's ever remembered it smelling so concentrated.

"Hello," he says, when he's right in front of Bruce, "My name is Tim, and I'm here to help."

Bruce doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.

Tim talks to him, slowly distracting the man as he brings him to the bathroom, first trying to put a toothbrush in his hand and then, when that doesn't work, brushing the man's teeth himself.

Tim draws a bath for him and grabs him a new pair of clothes, and tells him to take his bath, only leaving the room when Bruce finally stands up and starts undressing.

Tim takes care of the sheets, puts new ones on the bed, and goes to the kitchen, to find Alfred already making food.

The butler asks him if he's staying to eat but Tim just insists that he's not hungry and brings the food up to Bruce.

He knocks on the bathroom door, and when Bruce doesn't respond, he opens it.

Bruce is sitting in the bath, knees to his chest, crying, but not otherwise moving.

So Tim rolls up his sleeves and washes Bruce's hair, then keeps him company as Bruce washes himself.

Bruce finds it easier to get things done when there's someone else in the room--talking to him, giving him something else to think about.

Tim talks as he gets Bruce out of the bath and hand him a towel. He talks as Bruce dries himself off and gets dressed. He talks as Bruce eats the lunch that Alfred made him and he talks until he gets Bruce back to bed.

He leaves, voice hoarse from talking so much after living in an empty home.

He comes back the next day and does it all again.

Alfred doesn't know what he should do. He knows, of course, that Tim is young and shouldn't be taking care of someone at that age.

He also knows that Bruce is in no state to take care of himself and all of Alfred's attempts have been in vain.

Tim's talking was what got Bruce to eat his first actual meal in a week--not just popcorn and protein bars. Tim's presence is what got Bruce to bed.

Tim was what was making things better, so while Alfred knew he should put a stop to it, he couldn't quite make himself do so.

Instead, he started doing little things.

He invited Tim to stay for meals.

Invited Tim to stay the night.

It took a while, but eventually, Tim started living in the manor.

One month, there's only ghosts in the house, the next, three beating hearts.

One month, Bruce can only think of his son, the next, he's calling Tim his dad.

One day, Bruce crosses the line as Batman, and the next day, he has a Robin.

You know how things go from there, some things are lost, others are gained. Some things stay the same, others do nothing but change.

Bruce and Tim get better, but Bruce still thinks of Tim as his dad.

No one really pays it much heed, though. That's just how they are--nothing really to note.

It's Dick, though, who starts noticing something's off, because Tim never sleeps.

When Dick was first adopted, he had nightmares.

He'd remember what it was like to watch someone fall. He did not watch it from the ground, but from the balcony, holding onto a trapeze, moments away from completing his own jump.

It took him months to finally come to Bruce, tell him about his nightmares.

Though he was never told the details, he knew it was the same for Jason. He pushed Bruce away, insisted that he'd be fine on his own, but eventually started letting him in.

He never asked, but assumed it was the same for Tim. When Tim couldn't sleep, when he had nightmares, when he couldn't stand to sleep in an empty bed, he'd go to Bruce like the rest of them did.

It was a reasonable thing to assume, and it was a belief he only questioned when he got up in the middle of the night to get water.

That same night, Bruce had a nightmare. Bruce knocked on Tim's door. Bruce slept in Tim's bed.

Tim ran his hands through Bruce's hair, promising that everything would be okay until Bruce fell asleep.

Now that he knew to look for it, Dick started noticing even more. The way Tim knew Bruce's favorite food and the way Tim took care of the man's company so that Bruce had the freedom to do what he wanted. The way Bruce turned to Tim when he had a problem or wanted to be told he did something well.

It was wrong.

It was wrong and Dick was trapped because he hadn't noticed it earlier. Why didn't he notice it earlier?

Tim came to him first, asked him to become Robin again. Dick knew about Tim from the start. Dick was there for the entirety of his stay as Robin.

He was there.

So why didn't he noticed?

Jason sees him panicking on patrol and Dick just breaks.

He breaks down in his brother's arms--arms he can feel tightening around him as he tells him everything.

They talk about it a lot after that. Jason starts noticing things too.

They bring in Babs and start making a file--compiling evidence because there's always the urge to just ignore it. To acknowledge that Bruce is doing better than ever.

But that requires them to forget about Tim.

To let the boy take care of Bruce and not live his own life.

Because, now that they're looking, they can see how lonely it is.

How he doesn't have any school friends--he had to drop out to take over WE.

How he's grown apart from Young Justice--always leaving when Bruce is in trouble or needs someone to talk to, not able to bear the idea of what Bruce might do if left alone.

Because Tim knows he'll break.

Bruce needs someone to take care of him, and Tim exists to fulfill the needs of others, regardless of how much it takes from him.

So Tim goes and helps his son. He never talks about how tired he is. He has sleeping pills to fix that, and maybe he can't take them because what if Bruce has a nightmare and then he can't wake up Tim--it's unimaginable.

Dick and Jason notice, though, and they try to bring it up with him, but they're not sure how.

Not when Tim's gut reaction is just to start taking care of them, too. Easing their worries, telling them that everything's okay.

They want so bad to insist that it's not okay, that this is going to ruin Tim and he can't spend his whole life like this.

But they want even more to be held. To be granted that unconditional love and care that comes with being Tim's child.

So they try to say something--anything.

But then, Tim smiles. He opens his arms to them and asks about their days.

And they they try to tell him that not everything's okay, but Tim is smiling, and they try, but they can't say a thing.

[euon111a]

SmokeStack Blues: Another Alphabet

summary: the other half of the Smokestack abc’s

warnings: again, obvious NSFW themes, relatively tame

notes: so I made this version significantly shorter compared to the stack alphabet, I was a little extra for the other one, so I tried to keep this version within like two paragraphs. all of my work so far is in second pov for afab, so this is too. this also isn’t proofread, and i actually hate this but i kinda had to have this part out, so let’s pretend it doesn’t exist.

A is for Aftercare:

Elijah is big with aftercare, he’s awfully quiet when he’s taking care of you, sometimes won’t even speak until he’s regained his breathing and you’ve stopped panting.

He likes the silence, not that uncomfortable kind but the peaceful kind. He’ll keep one arm wrapped around you, running his fingers up and down your arm, tracing small patterns before the silence gets too loud. He’ll fetch you anything you’ll need without you having to ask; get you a glass of water, draw you a warm bath, fetch you a blanket. Anything you can think of, he’ll make sure he’s gotten on top of. He’ll never leave your side, make sure you’re scrubbed clean and taken care of before finally saying something. “You feel alright, mama? D’you want more bubbles?”

B is for Body:

He secretly likes every part of you, and it shows. He can’t choose one part that he favors the most, but he loves you from top to bottom.

He loves your thighs. He loves the way they look, the way they feel, and the way they’ll rest against his shoulders when he’s eating you out. He likes grabbing them, squeezing them, kissing the inside of your thighs when he’s in between them. He likes the way they quiver and tremble against him when he’s stroking deep into you.

He likes his hands the most out of his body. It’s a basic answer, but he likes being able to touch you, being able to feel the softness of your skin against the callous of his hands. Likes the feeling of those fancy bedsheets you got, likes the feeling of silk against his hands, and especially likes the feeling of your hands in his. It’s a nice contrast.

C is for Cum:

He gets off on using your thighs in a way that's all about pushing boundaries. For him, they're a tool to use when it’s late at night. He loves the way the warm skin feels against him, likes watching the way they engulf his dick.

He’s softer when he’s sliding his cock up and down the slick skin, relishing the way your thighs would squeeze and massage his dick. Maybe it’s the filthiness of it, the sight of it, the feel of it, but it always gets him gripping onto your hips, grunting and letting out labored breaths.

D is for Dirty:

He hates pulling out. Doesn’t like it. Once he got that confirmation that he didn’t have to pull out anymore, he was quick to fuck into you and let himself cum deep.

He loves nothing more than to see his cum leaking outta you. The sight of it dripping down sets something off in him. Likes the look of when you clench around nothing after he’s pulled out just to have his cum seeping out.

He loves to scoop up the mess with his fingers, and offer it to you. Watches you with a little groan when you lick his fingers clean, immediately leaning in for a kiss.

E is for Experience:

He’s the image of experience. He knows your likes, your dislikes, your comforts, what makes you tick, that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

He’s good at reading your body language. Has this talent of knowing where to keep fucking into, of where to keep pressing and kissing against. Uses those telltale signs; the way you’d clench around him, that change in your expression, the shaky breathing. “Mmm, I know, I know, taking me so well.”

F is for Favorite position:

He needs some variation, doesn’t like the idea of always having you on your back or always having you on all fours. Wants to do what’ll make you feel good, no matter what.

Reverse cowgirl: Likes the feeling of resting his hands against your stomach to pull you closer, gives him a better feel of your breasts, and a better view of your ass moving. Plus it’s easier for him to pull you back and rock his hips up against yours.

Spooning: Loves cuddling you from behind, kissing your shoulder as he’s got one hand beneath your thigh, gently spreading your legs apart just enough to sloppily fuck into you.

Doggy style: Likes the opportunity of pinning you down against the mattress, guiding your hips back against him as he rocks himself into you. Gives him a better reach of your clit, to see the way you wrap and clench around him.

G is for Goofy:

When he’s in there, he’s focused. Views being with you during intimate situations serious and passionate, and strides away from humor, but he will be playful if he feels like it.

He’s got this natural, almost instinctive dominance to him, and it bleeds through to how he is in bed. He tells you how it is, openly and honestly. He’ll be honest about what he wants, what he needs, and what he craves. Sometimes, he’ll make a teasing comment on how worked up and wet you are or some mocking/playful joke on how loud you are; “Look at you, leaking like a faucet,” or “Shhh, gonna scream your throat raw.”

H is for Hair:

He’s got this (almost) obsessive attention to detail and that goes with his looks. Safe to assume that he would be well-groomed and put-together in all aspects. Including his intimate areas.

His hair is tidy, well-kept and always groomed. He doesn’t shave, doesn’t like the feeling, but he’s thoroughly trimmed. He doesn’t let himself get too wild down there, strives for cleanliness.

I is for Intimacy:

He needs eye contact when he’s alone with you, even if it’s just for two seconds, cause Lord knows you get all shy about it. He likes that connection there, being able to see and feel you, and eye contact is that first step.

He likes watching every flicker of emotion and feeling on your face, those subtle shifts in your eyes. He’s got his hands and his lips all over you, rubbing the sides of your ribs, kissing you soft and messy. “So fucking gorgeous, so so pretty.” He’s especially selfless, prioritizes you over him all the time, especially when it comes to your pleasure. He’s watching you, kissing you, holding you, adjusting his thrusts to be slower and faster just from the look on your face.

J is for Jack off:

He’s only ever jerked off by himself a few times; when he was away, and when it’s too late at night and you’re already sleeping. Hates doing it without you watching, doesn’t give him that same satisfaction, but he’s not a very patient person when it comes to masturbating.

He’s not sure what it is about having you watch that makes it so much easier, feels better than hiding off in some bathroom to fuck into his fist when all he’s thinking about is you. He likes the encouragement from you, the feeling of your hands on his knees, that look in your eyes. “Keep looking—keep them pretty eyes on me.”

K is for Kink:

He’s relatively tame, isn’t too vanilla but isn’t too much of a freak to put you off. He finds that perfect balance between being safe and being reckless.

Sensory deprivation: He fucking loves it, both giving and receiving. He likes the way you’ll lean forward when he’s got your eyes covered by some makeshift blindfold, the way you’ll call out for him when he takes too long to touch you. He gets impatient when you do it, says up and down that he hates it, but he’s literally leaking through his pants. “Baby, c’mon now, stop teasing and sit on my face.”

Breath play: Now he’s gentle with it, won’t be too hard, won’t hold his hand around your throat for too long or press too heavy. He won’t risk that. He loves sliding his hand around your throat and squeezing right in the middle of a moan, just to hear the way the moan would trail off into this whiny gasp. But then he’d kiss the shock away, tonguing your neck all slowly.

Messy sex & kissing: Messy kissing is something he can never get enough of. Makes things feel more raw and hungry when it’s all tongue and breathless sighs against each other. Face fucking, sloppy blow jobs, messy hair and creampies are something he’ll go all out for.

L is for Location:

He prefers somewhere secluded, and private. Wants to make sure you feel respected but somewhere different enough that it feels new. The three B’s are important to him.

Balcony: He’s extra fucking careful when he’s got you against the railings, doesn’t want you to get scratched up by the material. He’s thrusting all too slow, all too deep and all too rough, rubbing small circles against your clit. He’d pull out if you get too loud, gently resting his hand over your mouth just to slide into you again. “C’mon mama, gotta be quiet this time.”

Bathtub: The water always made it easier for you to rub up against his dick, coating it in the fragrant, bubbly suds and the slick of you. He’d guide you with a gentle lift of his hips, resting his hand on your back as you grind yourself back and forth on his lap. He was quicker to guide his dick into you, slipping in and out with each wave of the steamy water.

Bedroom: It’s the choice. Wants you to be comfortable, and relaxed. Fully exposed to him when you’re lying on your back. He’ll bear hug you, kissing and biting at your neck, gently wiping damp strands of hair from your face. If he’s not bucking up into you when you’re both in bed, then he’s doing it when you’re bent over the kitchen counter, guiding you down to ride him when he’s laying down on the couch or fisting your hair and fucking your face in the hallway.

M is for Motivation:

Literally everything about you. The way you look, the way you speak, the way you walk, the way you smell. He likes that emotion there, the way you match him so perfectly, the way you say what you want, how you feel.

He loves the passion, likes seeing your eyebrows come together when you’re annoyed, likes when you’d get angry and ignore him just to have him apologizing with his head between your legs. Liked feeling the way you arch up into his hand when he’s feeling all up on you, likes the way you’d scratch at his back when he’s rough, loved when you’d get all teary eyed from over stimulation just so he can kiss them away.

N is for No:

He loves you with all his soul, and he’d never put you in a position where you questioned that, where you were uncomfortable and felt uneasy in any way.

He’d never hurt you, physically, emotionally, mentally. He’d do his best to keep you happy, to make sure your needs and wants were always fulfilled. He’d never force any ideas or thoughts on you, would need for you to be comfortable, for some verbal communication before doing things. He’d want you to feel safe and for there to be mutual understanding.

Now since he’s direct, and open with whatever he wants, he’d want the same thing. He doesn’t like the whole second guessing bullshit, he needs you to know what you want and what you need.

O is for Oral:

He’s a sloppy eater. Doesn’t care about the mess, just likes the feel of your thighs tryna clench shut and the grip of your hands on his shoulders and tugging at his hair.

He might start off slow, soft licks, gentle kisses, slight sucks, but the more you squirm the further things progress. He’ll let you buck your hips down against his mouth if you’re sitting on his face, lets you wiggle all you want when he’s in between your legs. He’s got his entire attention on you solely, watching your face, resting one hand on the side of your thigh as the other gently runs up along the slick mess you’ve both made just to press another sloppy kiss on your clit.

He’s a groaner when you’ve got him in your mouth. He’s got his head hung back against the head of the couch, one hand firmly rested against the back of your head as the other is clutching onto the couch cushions to keep himself from fucking your throat. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he’ll get a bit sensitive, buck his hips up against your face, sucking in heavy breaths, tangling his hand into your hair to guide you further down his dick. “Don’t be shy, go’n—fuck—goood girl.”

P is for Pace:

He craves that slow sexual intimacy. Wants to spend as much time as possible strictly feeling you, soaking in the feeling of your lips on his, the warmth of your body under his hands. He likes to keep building that energy and that need until he’s decided of how hard he’s gonna be.

He’ll like it rough and long, he’ll slow down a bit, just to prolong the moment. When he wants to savor and draw out every moment of the intimacy, he’ll take a slower, more sensual approach, massaging your skin, kissing your face, working away any tension. When he’s fucking you, he’ll thrust deep and hard, grabbing your thighs to bring them around his hips to give him a better angle.

Q is for Quickie:

He sees quickies as a something for immediate relief, something needed when he’s real wound up and doesn’t want to take the time like he usually does. Helps him get rid of stress, that momentary annoyance and the pent up frustration of life.

He had you bent over the counter, resting his hand on the side of your face to keep you from leaning too closely to the cold counter. He wasn’t sure what he was angry at, not sure it even mattered now with the way you was clenching around him. He was quick with it, kissing the back of your head and reaching down to rub your clit as he bucked messy into you.

R is for Risk:

He’s open minded to exploring, but it’d have to be talked about or something that he knows would make you comfortable not uncomfortable.

He’s probably always down for new things just for some change and to avoid the same things. He won’t do anything crazy that would hurt you in any way. Maybe a few new sex toys or stuff to bind you up, but nothing outside of that.

S is for Stamina:

He’s good at pacing himself and paying attention to your needs, desires, and comfort. But he also recovers very quickly.

At his best, he can go 5 rounds of 25 before needing a more substantial break, which only depends on his mood, your preferences and your comfort. He’s never once gone over 5, but certain times he’ll make certain rounds longer than the others, whether for your or his pleasure.

T is for Toys:

He’s open minded to them, but he’s probably only exploring or owning them specifically for you.

He’ll look for things like restraints, blindfolds, or spanking toys. He’s got a clit vibrator to stimulate you better if he’s fingering you, maybe one of those dual sided ones just so he can see how it feels.

U is for Unfair:

He loves teasing, like when you do it and especially likes your reaction to when he teases you.

He loves to use suggestive language and dirty talk, and he loves that you don’t shy away from it. He likes to play, and likes to purposefully draw things out just to build it up. He’ll start with slow, sensual touches before speeding up and then completely stopping just to hear you get all riled up.

V is for Volume:

He’s never quiet, he’s extremely vocal. If he’s not grunting or cursing under his breath, he’s talking to you, praising you or telling you how good you’re being.

He’s a panter. They’re often interrupted by his own groans when he’s in you, letting out low gasps and drawn out groans when he’s leaning against you. He’s louder when he’s about to cum, grunting and groaning all breathlessly; “Mmmffuck”, “Ohh shit”.

W is for Wildcard:

If he gets too focused, he’ll get real quiet and completely tune out everything and everyone around him. He’s laser focused on whatever task it is and won’t snap out of the trance until he’s finished it.

Sometimes he’ll tap his fingers on the surface of a counter if he’s out, or he’ll tap the side of his hip when he’s focused. His eyebrows will be furrowed together in a way that makes him intimidating but not unapproachable. He’ll hum to himself like he’s agreeing or disagreeing with whatever thoughts he’s got going on in his head, and he hates to be interrupted when he’s in the middle of it.

X is for X-ray:

He’s more muscular than his brother. He’s got it where he needs it. He likes the look, he needed the build when he was a soldier, and after he left he kept his build by working out more often.

His skin is tan and coarse from all his time outside. His skin is smooth and relatively hairless, save for a trail of fine, dark hair that runs down his abdomen and disappears beneath his waistband. His dick is a little more thick than it is long, has a vein on the left side that shows even when he’s soft. His tip’s a deep caramel, but the slit reaches a red color when he’s overstimulated. He’s a grower, reaching about 8 when he’s hard, with a little upward left curve to it.

Y is for Yearning:

He needs you. Needs everything about you. He’s not shy about his reactions, how he responds, how he’s open with how he is towards you. He’ll always come to you and ask you first about your availability and willingness.

He has a deep appreciation for the full spectrum of intimate acts, kissing, caressing, teasing, and touch. He sees these acts as essential components of sex, and uses them to his advantage. He is always thinking of new ways to surprise, and satisfy you. Because he is willing to discuss his needs with you, he wants to ensure that you can do the same, that you’re on the same page and both enjoying things, not just the sex. “This pussy was made for me, ain’t that right, baby?”

Z is for Zzz:

He's a restless sleeper at the best of times, so he likes to stay up and just talk. He says he’s not much of a cuddler, but he’ll keep you close to him either way.

He’ll wait for you to yawn or for you to lay on your side before mentioning sleep. He takes great pleasure in savoring the afterglow. He’ll stroke your hair, gently tracing the curves of your face and body with his fingertips, committing every detail to memory. Once you’re asleep, he’ll shift into a more comfortable position, either spooning you or pulling you in close so that your back is pressed against his chest. Ensuring that you’ll remain close and safe in his embrace as you sleep, he’ll finally close his eyes (and attempt to fall asleep).

[bonus-links]

Ahem, if I may impose.... Directors commentary?? 😁😁

YEAHHH lots to say abt this one

i know rule number one is don't point out the flaws in ur own work but i have to confess. i forgot to add hair highlights to this entire update. i didn't realize until i had already queued up the posts and i could not bear re-exporting and color correcting every page again. so i just let it be. it only kills me a little bit. they rlly add something y'know

i haven't seen a whole lot of comments about this to the point i worry i didn't do a good job of conveying it so: Loft's dream at the beginning is about ganondorf.

Loft has, in fact, chewed his nails to bits.

i'm gonna be so real, part of the delay for this update was bc my brain got so stuck on the logistics of where that damn bookshelf would go

korok bookends :D

i like to think the story of the hero of time is actually mostly an oral tradition on Outset, or at least that's how Gran Gran first told Link and Aryll the stories when they were children.

i worry a little bit about these 'lore recap" updates, bc like. I'm assuming you've played the games, or at least know the gist. but I feel like there's a few stories it's important for us to see Loft's direct reactions to, and the conclusions he draws from them, because it'll be important to his actions later. I try to make up for it by at least making these sections visually interesting HAHA i think this is the last major one though

on that note: I hope this comes across on its own, but Loft finishes Gran Gran's story himself because he's just realized the flood was sent by the gods, and not some external force of evil. he's also realizing that this is not the first time the gods have been willing to wipe the slate clean in the absence of a hero, and that it's actually something of a pattern. it runs up against his idea of how Demise's curse is meant to work. this is one such mystery mouseketool we'll use later.

also on that note: regardless of ganondorf's actions, i find it significant that the gods chose to destroy a man whose people suffered in a droughted desert with,,,,a flood. that thought was the conceit for this update

Loft has seen this play out in his dreams, but obviously doesn't fully know the context. also I'm gonna refer to this version of zelda as Sheik. he uses he/him pronouns thank you :-)

just wanted to show some closeups of the stained glass bc. i worked hard on them HAHA + the grayscale wip

i was really hoping this chapter would be done. last year. it was meant to be a chance to slow down for a second before the plot speeds up 😅 but we're nearing the last few updates!! thank you all for bearing with me <3 life has been kind of insane and extremely discouraging irl, so getting to post these updates and seeing you all enjoy them has been a real bright spot <333 special thank you to my patreon supporters bc. seriously it has helped more than you know.

i think that's all ive got for now! see you next time, hopefully sooner than 4-5 business months

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perv!mingyu ⟡ kmg

wc: 731 | pair: perv!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: roommates au, 18+ (minors go away) | tags: mingyu is PERVERTED, panty stealing, dirty thoughts, mingyu spies on the reader

summary: when your roommate mingyu is a filthy, dirty pervert obsessed with you

authors note: maybe i'm a freak, but i literally thought that mingyu uploaded a pic of himself sniffing either socks or underwear. this is a really short drabble. wrote this in an hour. i might write more about perv!mingyu :) i told y'all that this blog is really self-indulgent...

Mingyu can’t remember exactly when his obsession with you began. One day, you were his roommate. The next, you were the star of all his fantasies. He’s had plenty of roommates before you, but you were different.

Maybe it's the fact that he knows what you sound like when you’re touching yourself. He knows you only do it when you’re the only one at home, where you can freely vocalize your pleasure without being embarrassed by anyone listening in. Except, that is exactly what Mingyu does.

If he tells you that he’ll be back from the gym by eight pm, he’s actually home at 7 and listening to you use your fingers to pleasure yourself. He tells you that he’s going to be at work until six, and comes home at five-fifty to hear the tail end of your orgasm.

Most of Mingyu’s nights are spent leaning against the wall your rooms share, pathetically fisting his swollen cock in his palms. His head would be pressed against the wall, his ears straining to find your moans. If he’s bold enough, he’s right outside your door with his dick out, where it’s significantly easier to hear you.

Right after you cum, he loudly opens and closes the front door to the apartment, hollering, “I’m home!”

He listens to you stumble around your room before you peek your head out. With your hair a mess, and eyes wide, Mingyu finds your flustered state so cute. He prevents a smug smirk from appearing when you innocently ask him how his day was.

He’s well aware that it would take only three strides of his long legs to reach your room. He’s also certain you didn’t have enough time to wipe your fingers clean of your essence. The idea that while you’re smiling innocently at him, behind the door your fingers are coated in your cum drives him insane. It takes everything in him not to burst into your room, take your hand in his, lick your fingers clean, and then make another mess of your pussy.

Mingyu’s perverted habits have been ongoing for several months. Mingyu was too far gone to feel any sense of guilt at this point. Not when you didn’t have to know. Not when he stole a pair of your panties from your laundry hamper while you were out with your friends.

He tries to use it sparingly to preserve your scent. He pulls it out on the occasions where he is so horny that his imagination cannot satiate his needs. It’s erotic, Mingyu thinks, that he’s using your panties while jerking himself off without your knowing.

He’s flat on his back, in the centre of his bed with the sheets pushed to his ankles. His room is plunged into darkness aside from the bedside lamp that illuminates his filthy act of perversion with a warm glow. He has his eyes closed whilst imagining the sight of you seated on his lips. He imagines his nose is buried in your delicious pussy, not the fabric of your underwear. His free hand grips his cock fiercely.

His mind presents him the image of you gripping his dark locks, your hips rotating as you grind into his mouth. His tongue is expertly drawing circles around your clit, the pressure of it so perfect that he brings to you an orgasm that is so shattering that you threaten to fall off of him. His arms would lock around your thighs like a vice. His eyes would look up at you, telling you everything that his occupied mouth can’t. His puppy eyes would be imploring, begging for more. His gaze would track your every movement, every rise and fall of your chest, every ‘o’ your mouth forms, every time your eyes clench shut when he sucks on your pussy.

And when you’re finished with his mouth, you’d come off of him, and clean up the mess you made by licking your release off of his lips. You two would make out as a result, messy and slick with saliva and cum.

While his imagination goes wild thanks to your used panties, Mingyu struggles to keep in the pitiful whine that threatens to leave his throat. He doesn’t want to wake you up. You’re obliviously sleeping on the other side of the wall, unaware that your pervert roommate is thinking such depraved thoughts about you.

[iamhereforfunnzies]

Fun idea what about a gyaru! Reader, Like she tried to get attention for being high maintenance but no amount of spending will ever dent the fortune of the wayne

Girlie you spend over 1,500 dollars with my melody inspired nails , make up cost more than an entire state of Gotham High , always shopping in taobao or out thrifting. I can also imagine this reader active in social media (Tiktok , Instagram , youtube , and etc.,). Like those bimbo tiktokers who are actually smart? Yeah that is so you.

Bruce! He noticed you because he saw you making a youtube tutorial on how you do your makeup. He always thought he never influenced you since he barely talk with you , he felt proud about it having a normal child in his mind. He didn't ruined your mental health with this batman stuff. He genuinely did care , he thought having atleast one normal child who didn't have to risk their life to crime was a gift enough of him. When he heard you talk though... The way you speaked sounded too much like him. Not as batman but as Brucie Wayne.

The persona which he fabricated so no one can guess he is Batman, he knows you don't know anything about his Vigilante life so he had a epiphany. He never actually truly showed his real personality with you did he? He appeared to always been a playboy , party animal , sex addict , and himbo to the media. The way you talk is a mirror on his persona , it terrifies him it's ridiculous.

Eversince he started trying to "clean" you , he can't have you imitate his persona that will stump your development. He started always joining you to your nail sessions , makeup spree , and shopping clothes. He legit forces you to waterdown your style by cutting your allowance and monitoring you. He even learned makeup, specifically clean girl makeup or douyin cause he finds it adorable. He loves buying you elegant dresses from Dior , Vera wang , and Channel. He genuinely loves matching with you. His Brucie Wayne persona tames down just to set a example for you.

Damian! When he first saw you , he actually liked how colorful you are. He never once talked to you just because he assumed you were dumb and the family never converse about you. He didn't want to waste his breathe but that didn't mean he didn't find you stunning.

He loved painting , drawing , and using your color combinations of your outfits as an inspiration. You always thought he was glaring at you but the truth he is admirring your makeup , wig , and charms around your bag. He loved doddling you around his sketchbook. He started an insta account just to see fits he never got to see up close. The day he saw one of your reels about you talking about finance , politics , or any topic he was dumbstruck.

He started talking to you, it was awkward at first. The first thing he said was why you dressed like that. It didn't to sound insulting he just curious but you gave him a loopy smile saying why not. A moment to himself after that conversation he wanted to be closer to you. His sibling who so colorful and fun. He hated when Bruce started to "clean" you. He wanted to rip that man to shreds when he saw less of your vibrant long nails , and colorful wigs.