#Drew this because I have a fever

[curiphynn]

Sweet dreams

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

i just think she’s neat

[fever-project]

I guess we doing dramatic lighting now

Thank you @kikker-oma for accidentlly starting a trend I think 🧍

Let’s get all the Lu boys drawn with dramatic lighting now. So far we got Oma doing Sky, @/theecholegend doing Legend, @/mmelete doing Four, and @/the-sage-of-aura-and-shadows doing Hyrule. Oh and @/isasan347 did Ravio I forgo for a moment.

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[puppetmaster13u]

hello @phoenixcatch7 I am here to offer up a sacrifice a sketch for your opinion for the Possessed Doll AU It is a matter of life or death for this version of Bruce. He shall either be burned or be able to exist as his doll-self

[seaf00d-hater]

I have art i can post but I'm too scared

I hate having a multiple personality disorder because I both like my art and get that gut wrenching cringe feeling simply because its art that i made :(

[i2rizz]

Did I mention I'm wildly in love with this deranged little bitch? Don't even ask where this idea came from-my brain's basically a cursed fanfic generator fueled by chaos, thirst, and questionable zero impulse control

Locked & Loaded

The alley was slick with demon blood—everywhere, sticky, and steaming where it hit the pavement. The stink of it clung to the night air, thick and metallic, crawling into your lungs even through the adrenaline.

Dante wiped his blade on his coat, standing over the remainings of what had once been a gangly, hissing demon.

"Ugly bastard" he muttered, nudging the corpse with the toe of his boot. "That’s the last time I take a bounty that pays in IOUs and moldy pizza"

You scoffed, stepping over a pile of broken crates. "You weren’t complaining about the pizza when you ate half of it"

"Low standards. Occupational hazard"

You shot him a look over your shoulder as you sheathed your own blade. The two of you made quite the pair—blood-splattered, sweaty, and absolutely unbothered. Dante had his usual swagger, that half-cocked grin that never quite left his face, and you? You were the calm to his chaos. Cool hands, sharp eyes, and a pistol always ready—until tonight.

Because, as fate would have it, both your guns had hit the ground mid-battle. His were kicked across the alley; yours had slid under a rusted dumpster in the middle of dodging a particularly aggressive hellspawn.

You figured you had enough time to grab them—until the second wave hit.

The growl echoed before you saw it. Low. Guttural. Disgusting.

Dante turned just as the wall behind you shattered, bricks flying. Something huge and snarling lunged out from the smoke, claws like meat cleavers and a mouth full of jagged teeth that glistened in the moonlight.

You both dove—instinct, perfect synchronization—but you hit the ground hard, knees scraping.

"Shit—Dante, your guns—"

"Gone" he grunted, rolling to his feet. "Yours?"

You looked under the dumpster. No glint. No chance. "Buried. We’ve got nothing"

The demon roared, charging.

Dante grimaced. "Alright. We’re doing this old-school"

But you held up a hand. Calm. Focused. And very much not panicking.

"Nah, twin" you said smoothly, voice cool as the metal you were about to introduce to the situation. "I got this"

Dante blinked. "Babe, unless you’re hiding a shotgun in your boots, I don’t think—"

You reached into your jacket, tugging at the zipper halfway… then lower.

He paused.

"Wait—are you—?"

And with one confident pull, you drew a sleek, silver pistol from right between your chest—tight holster, custom fit, hidden in plain sight. You cocked it without missing a beat, the click loud and sweet in the tense air.

Dante stared.

"Holy hell," he muttered, visibly stunned. "Is that where you keep it this whole time?"

You smirked, stepping forward with a roll of your shoulder. "Emergency backup, babe. You think I wear this top for style?"

The demon charged again. You raised the pistol.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots. Each one precise. The demon reeled back, screeching in pain as black ichor burst from its eye socket and shoulder.

Dante watched you—barely breathing, maybe because you looked like a literal fever dream. Bloody, glowing in the alley light, sweat clinging to your collarbone, your weapon still hot in your hands, smoke curling from the barrel.

He let out a low whistle. "You just became the hottest person I’ve ever seen"

You didn’t look at him—too focused, too in the zone. "Flirt later. Cover me"

“God, I love you” he muttered, dazed, as he grabbed a crowbar from the ground and dove in with you.

It was fast, brutal. You moved in tandem—one fluid, lethal machine. The demon never stood a chance.

By the time it crumpled into a pile of twitching limbs, you were breathing heavy, hands on your knees. Dante came up behind you, slow, still catching his breath.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"I’m not even mad about losing my guns," he murmured. "That was the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, between the boobs? That’s genius"

You laughed, low and smug. "Told you I had it handled"

He nuzzled your neck, shameless. "You have me handled"

You turned in his arms, lifting the still-warm pistol and tucking it back into its secret holster. His eyes followed the motion like a man hypnotized.

"Stop staring"

"Can’t," he said. "My girl pulls a piece from her tits and kills a demon with three shots to the face. What do you expect me to do, not get turned on?"

You kissed him then—sweaty, blood-spattered, and giggling. He tasted like adrenaline and praise and something wild.

"You’re shameless" you whispered.

"And so hard it's concerning" he said against your mouth. "Now let’s go home. I wanna see what else you’ve been hiding under that top"

[demonic0angel]

Danny gets sick with the flu and has to be quarantined due to his half dead biology. Danny's boyfriend Tim isn't happy about the situation, especially since there's a guard at Danny's apartment making sure Tim doesn't break in since he's more liable to an infection because due to his spleen being missing Tim doesn't have an immune system anymore

(Omg THANK YOU for clarifying that they’re bfs /srs)

“C’mon, I can be in and out,” Tim said. He held a fruit basket on one arm and a bag of convenience store medicine and other items in the other. It was really just courtesy, since it probably wouldn’t help Danny much. “I’ll be really quick.”

Fright Knight continued monotonously, “I was ordered to stop anyone other than His Majesty’s family and friends to come in and out.”

“I am part of his friends and family,” Tim argued.

“The orders specified that you, Timothy Jackson Drake, were not allowed to come in no matter what.”

Tim groaned aloud.

Without warning, a window opened and Jazz poked her head out with a stern glare. She was wearing a medical mask and had her scrubs on and hair up. “Tim, go home. You can see Danny when he’s not sick anymore.”

“Jazz!” Tim whined. “I haven’t seen him in two days!”

“You’ll live without seeing him. Literally. Your spleen cannot take both the Gotham air and Danny being sick with a ghost illness. Actually, did you take your antibiotics today? You know you’re supposed to! They were prescribed to you for a reason!”

Tim grumbled under his breath, “I thought you were a psychiatrist.”

“I heard that! I can be many things, Tim. Go home. You can see him after he’s not sick anymore, promise.”

Danny then appeared, looking exhausted and red faced with a fever. “Honeybun!” He waved weakly to him, as Jazz sighed loudly, shaking her head.

Tim grinned. He was a little comforted by the sight of Danny. He knew that they were keeping them apart for a good reason, but it just wasn’t fair! His poor boyfriend was sick, while he couldn’t even do anything to help!

“I’ll come back for you!” He shouted.

Danny practically beamed and drew a heart in the air with his finger. Tim returned it with a grin.

Jazz growled. “Just go away!”

[acid-ixx]

Jon accidentally showing Damian a photo of reader, (I LOVE YOUR NEW FICS, IM OBSESSED, YOU'RE A TALENTED WRITER PLEASE LIVE FOREVER)

— related post !

yall hahaha... i got a fever for 2 whole days and just recovered right now hence why i wasnt able to reply to asks since i was in so much pain 💔 but anyways—

OMG 😭 !!! this is so beautiful wth ?? the confused look that damian gives jon, jon literally saying "they've been my parent ever since" like yes !! the fact that jon already sees you as a parental figure the moment clark meets you is such a wonderful implication. you don't need to prove yourself to the kent family to be considered as part of theirs, and i think that's such an opposing symbolism towards the batfamily because after all the times you tried your best to be there for them, all the wasted efforts— just for everything to be nothing. but with the kent family, all you need to do is greet them with a smile then suddenly you're part of their lives forever and ever. and yes, there's times where clark refuses you to go outside but with jon's company, you wouldn't really find a way to complain, right?

tysm for sending this in ! it is so pretty and ofc i love how you drew jon and damian in your artstyle and idk if it's intentional but the slight curl in jon's hair reminds me of superman's curl.

and for everyone, ty all for literally blowing up the fanfic?? i didn't expect it to get so much traction since i didn't have much of a direction for how i want it to go but yes i will write more for the series (hence the "#series" tag)

also... watch out for an upcoming soulmate au because... why not hehe

[crushpunky]

actress!reader has a bad case of baby fever

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask :) changed up names for privacy. warning: discussions of pregnancy and pregnancy/fertility anxiety + FLUFF

Y/n had just gotten back from a coffee date with Drew’s sister and her daughter, Olive. At nearly a year old, the chunky, little girl couldn’t help but steal y/n’s attention for the entirety of her time in the cafe. With her gummy grin and incoherent babbles, y/n found herself falling more and more infatuated with the lively baby. And when Drew’s sister got up to use the restroom and left y/n to balance Olive on her lap, feeding her pieces of dry cereal? Y/n nearly started crying tears of joy. Happiness. Excitement for what could one day be her every day.

However, on her drive back, her reality started to sink in. Of course she and Drew had talked about having kids, but they always discussed it as something for the future. With both of their careers being so out of the ordinary and changing at rapid, often unpredictable paces, y/n found herself wondering when or even if that time would ever come. As her twenties passed her by, and she began encroaching on her thirties, the possibility seemed to feel like more of a fantasy.

“Hey, baby, how was brunch?” Drew said as y/n entered through the front door. He sat on the couch, long legs propped up on the coffee table and glasses on as he worked on his laptop. Charleston curled into his side, but as soon as he heard y/n coming home, he quickly scrambled to the front door to greet her.

“It was good. It was good.” Y/n said, letting out a long exhale as she leaned down to pat Charleston’s head before taking off her shoes. Drew hummed, grinning up at y/n as she padded over to him on the couch. She sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she silently melded into his side.

“Olive is getting so big.” Y/n murmured, her fingers playing with the hem of Drew’s gym shorts. Drew glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, noticing the distant look on her face as she continued to fiddle with his shorts. Clearing his throat, Drew closed his laptop before slinging an arm around y/n’s shoulders.

“She’s gonna be talking in no time… she’s already trying…” Y/n continued. Her body may have been on the couch, but her mind was miles away swirling with questions and wants and needs.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Drew said quietly, his fingers fiddling with a piece of y/n’s hair as he looked down at her. With a deep breath, y/n stopped her fiddling, resting her palm on Drew’s thigh.

“I… it’s stupid. I’m being stupid.” Y/n scoffed, throwing her head back against the back of the couch.

“No, no, don't say that.” Drew brushed a piece of hair from y/n’s face. “Something’s going on. Something’s going on in that pretty little mind and I want to help.”

Y/n bit her bottom lip, trying to compose herself enough to try and explain what was going on. To tell Drew that she was nervous about what their future would hold. That she was nervous about how she could be a mom and an actress. That she was scared because what if things didn’t work out? What if their lives flew by and they missed their chance? What if they never got the family they truly wanted? Or how could she tell him that she was ready? That she was ready for the next step, even if she was nervous? That the thought of waiting another second to become a mom felt like torture?

“Drew,” y/n whispered. “I know we’ve talked about our next steps as a family and I’ve been thinking… I’m ready. I’m really ready.”

Drew’s eyes softened as he let out a small exhale. The corner of his lips turned upward only slightly as he looked down at y/n.

“And I know things are kinda crazy right now,” y/n continued, “and we don’t know what will be next but—”

Y/n’s ramblings were cut off as Drew pressed his lips to hers. She let out a small, surprised yelp before Drew pulled away, a wide grin on his face.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” Drew chuckled, causing y/n’s eyes to widen as he pressed a barrage of kisses to her face.

“You– you’ve been feeling this way too?” Y/n said incredulously. Drew smiled, nodding his head emphatically.

“For how long?” Y/n said, her hands moving to cup Drew’s blushed cheeks. Her thumb brushed gently over his lips.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?” Drew grinned, to which it y/n nodded quickly. Drew shook his head bashfully before burying his nose into the crook of y/n’s neck.

“Tell me!” Y/n squealed, pulling Drew’s blushed face from her neck.

“Ok, ok fine,” Drew sighed. “Ever since I saw you holding Olive in the hospital I’ve just been waiting— waiting— for you to tell me you were ready.” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open with an incredulous gasp as she blinked at him. He bit his lip as he tried to hold back yet another wide smile.

“Drew, that was nearly a year ago, why didn’t you say anything?!” Y/n scoffed, pushing playfully at Drew’s broad chest.

“We’ve just been so busy and… I didn’t want to rush you.” Drew said. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were being forced or– or that I would be mad at you if you weren’t ready yet.”

Y/n let out a gentle coo, bringing Drew’s head to rest against her chest as she pressed a kiss atop his head.

“I love you, Drew.” Y/n murmured into Drew’s hair. Drew’s hands snaked around y/n’s torso, squeezing her gently before he lifted his head to look at her.

“I love you.” Drew grinned, pressing a kiss to y/n’s jaw. 

The two of them sat on the couch, limbs entangled, in a comfortable silence until Drew finally spoke up again.

“So… should we get started now?” Drew smiled, which caused y/n to throw her head back in laughter.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi! I would love to request something for Aemond x fem or gn reader. I was thinking reader saying prompt. 15 from your general list “I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too."

Maybe one day he wakes up with bad pain in the eye and he doesn’t feel like calling the maester so they help him, they remove his eyepatch and apply his ointment for him. And he feels extremely insecure because it’s the first they saw him without the eyepatch but they reassure him. I need that man to cry in my arms as I tell him he’s beautiful (I know it may sound ooc but he’s my babygirl)

15. ''I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too.''

The gif from the trailer fits perfectly this request

Warnings: mention of past injuries (eye)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You returned to your chambers after spending the morning embroidering with Helaena to find Aemond still in bed. A frown drew between your eyebrows. At this hour, he was either training with Ser Criston or attending the small council meeting.

‘’Aemond?’’ Your soft voice cut through the silence of the room, waking your husband’s attention.

He shifted under the covers, his single eye fluttering open. ‘’Could you tell Cole I will not be training with him today?’’

You walked over to the bed, taking a closer look at him. ‘’Are you well?’’ You touched his forehead with the back of your hand, checking for a fever.

‘’It’s just…my eye. It gets irritated sometimes.’’ Aemond avoided your gaze, not wanting to see the familiar look of pity that he had grown all too used to seeing in the eyes of others. ‘’Would you want me to fetch the maester? He should have something to sooth your pain,’’ you offered, concern etched on your face.

‘’No need for the maester.’’ He gently caught your hand in his own, stopping you from rising. ‘’I already have a salve Maester Orwyle gave to me. It’s on the table, over there.’’

Aemond let go of your hand, allowing you to stand and retrieve the salve for his eye. You returned to the bed. ‘’I’ll do it for you.’’

You had offered your help out of pure kindness, but Aemond did not want it.

‘’No! I do not wish that.’’ His voice was firm, causing your hands to crisp around the jar. ‘’You won’t like what you see under,’’ he added with a gentler tone.

He knew what lay beneath the eyepatch — the grotesque, scarred skin that he had lived with for years now. It was a sight he preferred to keep hidden from everyone, even you. Especially you. Since you’ve known each other, you’ve only seen his good looks, and Aemond wanted to keep it that way.

Aemond let out a soft hiss of pain as he sat up, his body tense with discomfort. It had not been this bad in a long time.

Seeing him in pain made your heart ache, but you tried to hide it.

You sat down close to him and guided him back against the pillows. He clenched his jaw, trying to bear the pain.

‘’Let me,’’ you insisted, only wanting to help him, to relieve his pain.

His good eye was fixed on yours with a mixture of resignation and reluctance. He knew there was no arguing with you when you were like this.

With a resigned sigh, he slowly removed the eyepatch, revealing the scarred skin beneath. The sight was a stark contrast to his usual handsome features, with its puckered and uneven texture. He averted his gaze, unable to look at you directly.

Aemond waited for your response, his body tense, and braced for your reaction. He expected disgust, pity, perhaps even revulsion. After all, his scarred eye had left other people speechless in the past. He glanced up at you under his lashes, searching your face for any hint of how you were feeling.

You remained silent as you applied the salve on the reddish-pink skin with the more careful and gentle touch. Causing him more pain was the last thing you wanted.

Aemond couldn't help but watch you intently, studying the focused expression on your face. Your eyes were fixed on his scar, but there was no repugnance in your gaze, just a mixture of concern and tenderness.

Once you were finished, you put the lid back on the jar and cupped your husband’s face with one hand. ‘’Aemond,’’ you began, looking at him with the most loving eyes. ‘’I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are.’’ You glanced down at his naked chest, seeing the softly defined muscles he acquired from training, and back to his face. ‘’Although you look pretty great too.’’

Aemond's heart squeezed at your words and the tenderness in your gaze. He had expected a lot of things from you, but not this. Not such unconditional acceptance and love.

"You're the only person who's ever looked at me like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘’Come here.’’ You shifted back on the bed and guided him to your lap.

Aemond didn’t protest, curling up to you, seeking comfort and closeness. You began to stroke his hair gently, running your fingers through the soft silver strands. The sensation was soothing and intimate, making him feel safe and entirely loved for the first time.

—

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[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley crying and praying for the first time in years bc you're hospitalized

(self indulgent as fuck, based off of personal medical history bc it'll be more accurate)

You hadn't ate or drank for 5 days, unable to keep anything down. You thought it was the flu at first. Fevers, puking, extreme fatigue. It didn't seem like anything out of the norm. Except for when your fevers started casing full body convulsions that made you look possessed. Chills and cold sweat turned to groaning and crying, muscles all over cramping and clenching, breathing becoming difficult. You figured it was because you hadn't had the flu in years. How wrong you had been.

Once your puke turned green, which was later found out to be bile from your kidneys, Simon rushed you to the hospital. Unable to stand, he pulled a wheelchair from the entrance and pushed you everywhere. Within 2 hours, the nurses had you admitted and on IV meds. Pain meds, IV Tylenol, and bags of fluid were hooked up to you, rehydrating you being high priority. Your body is in shock, resting heartrate being 140. He sat by your side the entire time, holding your puke bag in one hand, and your hair back in the other. The doctors drew blood, running blood cultures, searching for a more accurate answer.

The night you were admitted, they informed you that your kidneys were so infected that one got injured. The bile that was thrown up was caused but how hard you were puking, pulling it up from your kidneys.

He stayed the night, sleeping in the rocking chair, right next to your bed. He woke up when your fevers came back, holding your hand and telling you how good you're doing, calling in a nurse. The morning that followed, he had to go back to the house to make a bag of your immediate needs, clothes, deodorant, hairbrush, and anything else he could think of. When he came back, a doctor and a couple med students came in with important news.

"We ran blood cultures to see if there was possible an infection in your blood due to your symptoms leaning towards that. They came back positive. We are going to give you antibiotics and run cultures every 12 hours to track if the antibiotics are working" The doctor says as gently as possible.

The room begins to feel like it's spinning. Sepsis has a 68% mortality rate, and knowing how deadly it is, it feels like you're already being buried. Simon looks to you with a confused look, not knowing exactly what that it, but knowing it isn't good.

"I have sepsis?" You ask in a quiet voice, throat constricting.

"Yes" The doctor says softly.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna die" you whisper under your breath, tears forming.

Simon looks to you, eyes widening. 'Not again'

"Wait, the hell is Sepsis?" He demands, but not sounding confident, more scared than anything.

The doctor explains it to him, how it when your blood is infected, how the infection can latch onto your other organs and slowly kill you from the inside out. Once it reaches your brain, it's too late. His grip on your hand tightens. The doctor tries to give hope, but she can only do so much without lying. She leaves to give you privacy.

It's silent, neither of you speaking out of shock. The only noise in the room is the quiet hum of the IV machine and Simon's shaky breathing. Your thumb softly glides back and forth over the back of his hands, trying to ground him.

"Si" you softly call.

It takes hour to get him to loosen up a little. It's only when you manage to keep down a popsicle that he feels like he can breath a little easier. Like maybe you'll be part of the 32% that pull through.

That sliver of hope is crushed that night, being woken up by his arm being slapped repeated by you in a panic. His eyes meet yours, concern instantly written on his face. Your hand is on your chest as short, sharp breaths are the only thing you can manage.

"I,, can't,, breath,," you whisper between breaths, unable to say a sentence in one go.

"Baby it's alright, jus' try to breath wit' me, hm?" he tries to demonstrate slow breathing, mistaking it for a panic attack.

"not a,, panic,, attack,, please,, nurse,," you try to tell him.

He nods in a panic, running out to the nurse station and explaining. They rush in and take your pulse-ox just to see your oxygen percentage is at 86% when it should be above 95%. They try to do the deep breathing again before Simon interrupts them.

"It's not a bloody panic attack, she literally can't breath. Get her oxygen or somethin' before she fuckin' suffocates!"

They put you on oxygen until they can get you an X-ray. The nurses try to chalk it up to a panic attack until in the morning they see you still can't breath. They give you an X-ray and when the results come back, they send the doctor in. She informs you that the nurses gave you too much IV fluid and that caused your organs to swell so much that they pushed up on your lungs, collapsing them by 3/4ths. 1/4th of your lungs are still open and they're going to take you off fluid, start you on exercises to open them back up, and keep you on oxygen.

That's the last straw for Simon. Once you fall asleep for a nap, he heads outside to the bench area and punches a wall. His knuckles split but he barely feels it, ringing in his ears drowning out the surrounding noise. With no one around, he sits on a bend, elbows on knees and face in his hands. His breath picks up as his throat tightens and tears threaten to rip out of him.

"Why would ya let this happen to 'er? Aren't you supposed to be lovin'?" He whispers into the wind, looking up at the sky, "That girl in't like me. She's the fuckin' sunshine in human form and she's on death's bloody doorstep."

Tears cloud his vision, unable to keep it in any longer. He blinks them away, falling onto his clenched fists. Years of praying, to a god he later grew to resent, for him to fix his family. A child kneeling at his bed, begging him to get his family out of his father's grasp. Once he got to his teenage years, his desperation became resentment and anger. His jaw began to clench when his drunken father would spew bible verses at him to condemn him. He realized God wouldn't save him, nor would he when Simon's family was ripped from him.

Yet here he was, back to that same god, desperate that maybe, just maybe, he'd have mercy on him this time. He believed himself a rotten man, even if it was subconscious, unworthy of the angel sent to him. His light, reparations for the mistreatment The Father had destined for him.

"You sent 'er to me, it's gotta be for a reason. You've never listened to my prayers before but just this fuckin' once, please don't ignore me." His voice breaks, openly sobbing with no sound, "You sent 'er to me and now I can't live without 'er. She's fuckin' everythin' to me. Don't take back your gift, please" The end of his sentence slips into a whisper.

He wipes his tears on his sleeve and sniffles hard, trying to erase the evidence of his vulnerability. He stands and walks to the door, looking back at the bench before turning back to the door and walking in. 'Amen'

[totalswag]

At the hospital appointment for the X-ray, without realizing it, Drew discover two infants in Reader's womb, meaning that they're learning that they're going to have twins (boy and girl//(or)//boys or girls) A news that Drew x Reader did not expect as new parents, that their first child is going to be a double child. They're quite nervous (Reader mostly) but they reassure each other that everything will be fine :)

Inspired by Friends <3

seeing double ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note dad!drew with twins sound so adorable; makes my heart melt. feedback is always appreciated <3

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary attending your very first ultrasound and finding out you're carrying twins. both of your younger sisters throw the gender reveal party with a gorgeous theme.

warning(s) pregnancy, cursing, mentions of being feverous, crying, and happy moments.

Today Drew and you will be going to your first doctor’s appointment to see your newest member of the Starkey family. Nerves flowing through your entire body for the past week. The only thing on your mind if there’s gonna be one, two, or three little humans in your growing belly.

Drew on the other hand is holding your hand sitting next to you in the waiting room⎯thumb gently rubbing against your knuckles. Continued to whisper sweet words in your ear till your name was announced. Drew has been feeling the same way as you but wanted to keep his persona intact. 

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, cam recorder was a must for Drew and you because one day your children will be able to look back before they and after they were born. Something about documenting your entire pregnancy is unimaginable.

The door that leads to the rooms opens, “Mrs. Starkey” the nurse announces, looking around, smiling while holding a clipboard.

Drew and you get up from your seats following the nurse down the hall into a room. Gestures you to the bed and gives you information you need to know and the obstetrician will be in shortly.

Five minutes later, the obstetrician enters the room with a bright smile on her face. “Hello, my name is Julia, and I’ll be taking care of you”

“It’s nice to meet you!” You both say.

Drew takes out the cam recorder, zooming in on you, staring at Julia as she explains what will be shown on the screen and how your pregnancy has been going so far. 

She tells you to lift your shirt up and the gel she's about to put on may be a bit cold for a few seconds. Drew puts his hand in yours, lifting your hands up, kissing your knuckles as he keeps his eyes on the sonogram.

"So, is this your first child?" She asks, swirling the remote around to find the baby. 

"Yes it is!"

"How exciting, are you ready to see your twins?" she asks with a grin, pointing to the sonogram.

You felt your throat go dry. There's no way you're carrying twins in your growing belly. Turning your head to Drew, already shocked as you are right now. The room is filled with silence and emotions.

"Holy shit" you mumble underneath your breath.

You're nervous. As fuck.

And so is Drew⎯he looks like he's seen a ghost.

Julia laughs slightly, "a lot of people say that when they see twins. But, how exciting is this?" she makes light of the news. Knowing she's been in this position plenty of times.

"We're gonna have two mini us's running around the house" you say with tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

"I know right, I can already imagine what they'll be like" Drew smiles with a light chuckle.

After your appointment, you guys safely made it to the car. Once all buckled and left the parking lot, you spoke up, "I'm obviously very excited and very nervous."

Drew puts his hand on your thigh, "I'm in the same boat as you, baby. Everything will be okay, we got this, we always do," his voice is calm and reassuring⎯which makes you relax more.

Two months later.

You have finally reached the second trimester of your pregnancy. Being pregnant for the previous two months and seeing your body evolve into something beautiful melts your heart because you are carrying twins. 

When you announced you were having twins, friends and family went nuts hearing the news. The excitement from your loved ones meant so much to Drew and you. Pretty much everyone said they were betting on twins.

Today is your gender reveal party. Drew and you decided, after much discussion, to choose your sister and Brooke to learn the genders. They felt honored to be the ones who knew about and planned the plan to reveal. Their thoughts are quite similar.

The gender reveal party looks magical. From the entrance to the backyard—unimaginable and unforgettable. A dreamy outdoor garden or a decorated indoor space with pastel balloons, fairy lights, and soft floral touches. A large sign reads: "Two Little Blessings on the Way!" 

Brooke and your sister went around with the camcorder, asking guests what they thought the genders were and what they wanted to tell them.  Drew and you were the last ones before the announcement.

 "We need you two to stand right here," Brooke says, indicating the location where the two shooters will reveal their genders. "Take these and wrap them around your eyes," your sister smiles as she hands you the blindfold. 

 Drew and you ask the crowd what they think each baby is—you don't care as long as they're healthy.  Your sister follows you, while Brooke follows Drew.  The anticipation in your stomach feels like it's rising up your throat—not to the point where you'll vomit. 

“3, 2, 1” voices counting down and then the popping sound relieving the genders.

Drew and you quickly take off your blindfolds—your eyes meet one anothers then the ground.

Pink and blue.

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[lotusdrops-world]

Canvas & Cradles

wc: 1.5k

rating: explicit

tags: rafayel x pregnant reader, pregnant sex, established relationship, husband/wife, paints, fluff with smut, p in v, oral sex f!receiving, creampie.

cross posted on ao3 | sylus version.

The scent of linseed oil and acrylic paint clung to the warm air. Rafayel’s studio was a haven of creative chaos—brushes in jars, canvases leaning like dominoes against the walls, and the gleaming seawaves dancing with the wind outside the studio were playing in the background as white noise.

You sat in the center of it all, posed on a worn velvet chaise, a thin robe draped over your shoulders. The robe had slipped open, framing the swell of your belly, glowing with the soft blush of candlelight and the waning gold of the sun slanting through the tall windows.

Rafayel stood a few feet away, brush in one hand, palette in the other, white shirt paint-stained and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He tilted his head dramatically, squinting at you through one eye.

“Okay, but be honest, are you trying to seduce me or are you just naturally this breathtaking?”

You smirked. “This was your idea, remember?”

He clicked his tongue. “Yes, but you are the one sitting there glowing like a fertility goddess who just stepped out of a Renaissance fever dream. You’re ruining my concentration, cutie.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’ve already been staring for over an hour.”

“That’s because I’m in agony,” he said, placing a hand to his chest in mock despair. “Do you have any idea what it's like trying to paint you while you’re literally the most beautiful thing that’s ever existed?”

“Flattery won’t make me sit still longer.”

He grinned mischievous, roguish—and walked over to you, the tiled floor warmed under his slow, theatrical steps. “No? Not even if I tell you I’m immortalizing you? Preserving this perfect moment of motherhood, beauty, and ‘glowy hormonal goddess energy’ for future generations?”

You raised a brow. “Future generations?”

“Well,” he said, kneeling between your knees with that familiar smirk, “at least for our kid. So they’ll know how extra their parents were.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crest of your belly. His lips were soft, reverent. The humor faded from his face, replaced by something quiet, intimate.

“I mean it,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… everything. Every shade I’ve ever mixed. Every curve I’ve ever chased with a pencil.”

Your fingers sank into his curls. “Raf, you’re getting sentimental.”

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m vulnerable right now.” He kissed your belly again. “I’m painting my muse while she grows a whole human. I think that earns me a free pass to wax poetic.”

You leaned down to kiss him—slow and deep, tasting the intimacy that had always lingered between you. When you pulled back, he exhaled against your mouth.

“You’re warm,” he murmured. “And you smell like paint and peaches. It’s driving me crazy.”

“You’re the one who said this was going to be a ‘wholesome art session.’”

“Cutie,” he said, grinning, “I’m an artist. I lie for a living.”

You laughed again, tugging him up by the collar of his shirt until he was hovering above you. His hands found your thighs, parting them with practiced ease, his eyes flicking between your mouth and your belly like he couldn’t decide which miracle to worship first.

“You’ve been sitting there for almost an hour. Can we unwind a bit?” he spoke gently, while his hands filled with paint that had already dried played with the hems of your robe.

“Absolutely.”

The robe slid further open, revealing the fullness of your breasts, the curve of your hip. Rafayel drew in a breath like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

“You’re more than a muse,” he said. “You’re a masterpiece that keeps changing. Evolving. It’s not even fair.”

You let out a breathless chuckle, “You’re very dramatic today.”

“It’s the lighting,” he whispered, brushing his nose along your neck. “And the hormones. Yours and mine.”

You reached between you, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Then take this off and stop talking so much.”

“Oh now you want me to shut up?” he teased, tugging the shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. “You didn’t seem to mind when I was reciting sonnets to your belly a minute ago.”

You pulled him closer. “I love your mouth most when it’s not speaking.”

His laugh rumbled against your skin, low and sweet. “I do love when you get bossy.”

Then, he pulled back slightly—just enough to kneel before you once more, eyes locked on where your thighs parted.

“I have to see you,” he said, breath husky, reverent. “I need to see what I’ve made mine.”

You laid back slightly, propping yourself on your elbows, robe fully open now. Rafayel dipped between your legs like a man approaching the altar of a cathedral, his hands coaxing your thighs wider, mouth already parting with anticipation.

And when he looked at you—slick, swollen, divine—it was as if he were looking at brushstrokes in motion.

“God…” he exhaled, brushing a thumb so gently over your folds you shivered. “Cutie, you’re... you’re glowing down here too. This—” he spread you open more, watching your slick catch the flickering candlelight, “—this is the center of the universe right now. Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you like this?”

He leaned in, tongue pressing flat and slow, tasting you like a sommelier savoring wine, moaning low in his throat. His lips moved over your core as if kissing a page of scripture. Every motion was languid, reverent, worshipful.

“You’re sweeter than I remembered,” he murmured between licks, voice rasping like charcoal over silk. “And I remember everything, cutie. The first time I saw you, you were standing by that gallery window, wearing that ridiculous linen jumpsuit you hated.”

He kissed just above your clit, making you tremble.

“I looked at you and thought—that’s it. That’s the line I’ve been trying to draw my whole life.”

You moaned softly, hips arching into his mouth as he flattened his tongue against you again, dragging it up slowly, deliberately.

“Every painting before you was a draft. A study. And then you walked in like light through stained glass and ruined me.”

Your breath stuttered. “Raf—”

“You’re art,” he whispered, now licking you in firmer strokes, his voice cracking under his own arousal. “But this? This is my favorite part. The wettest, softest proof that you’re real. That you want me.”

You cried out softly as he sucked your clit into his mouth, groaning like a man starved. He didn't rush—he savored. Between every flick of his tongue he murmured praises, confessions, tiny worships.

“You taste like something I’d die to paint, but never share.”

Your legs began to tremble, hands clenching the velvet beneath you. He looked up, lips glistening, chin slick with your arousal, and smiled against your heat.

“You want me now?” he murmured.

You nodded, breathless. “Need you inside..."

And then he rose, pressing his body against yours once more. His hands cradled your hips, your belly, freeing his cock from the restraints of his trousers, hard and heavy between you.

He guided himself to your entrance, sliding in with one long, slow push. You both gasped at the depth, the fullness. One of his hands never left your womb.

“Let me leave one more memento before I finish the piece,” he said again—but this time his voice was trembling with raw, unfiltered adoration.

When he moved inside you, it was a rhythm of worship. Slow, unhurried. Like strokes of oil on a canvas he never wanted to dry. His mouth brushed against yours in quiet pulses, his murmurs soft as paint on linen.

“You’re a living sculpture. I still can’t believe I get to keep you…”

As much as you want to tell how much he means to you, words are stuck in your throat. The long drag of his cock around you, your tightness memorizing each thrust makes you feel dizzy, feel needed.

“This body, this soul—this is the best work I’ve ever helped create.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until your foreheads pressed together. His thrusts grew deeper, still gentle but filled with a hunger that reached past flesh and bone.

“Raf… ‘m cumming…hah…”

“M-me too, princess. Paint your cum around me…”

And one finally thrust got Rafayel shaking on top of you. When you both finally came undone—shuddering, clinging, whispering each other’s names—it felt less like an ending and more like the finishing stroke on a masterwork.

Minutes passed in warm silence. Rafayel pulled the robe back over your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you as you curled into him, the baby nestled safely between you.

“I’m keeping this canvas forever,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “But even it won’t do you justice.”

You smiled, tired and full. “Guess you’ll just have to keep painting me.”

He smirked. “Deal. But next time, I get to pose. Nude. With a flower crown.”

You groaned. “God help me.”

“Cutie,” he said, kissing your temple. “You married a menace. No take-backs.”

And with that, you fell asleep in the arms of your artist—his paint-streaked fingers still wrapped around your hand, your body resting in the quiet, sacred glow of love and new life.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Coming Out

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mention of an unsub hurting Emily 😱, vague insinuations of homophobia, mostly fluff on fluff, feat. loyal himbo Derek Morgan Word Count: 2k

Summary: Emily gets injured on the job, and all she really wants is you, her girlfriend. But she's not out to the rest of the team yet. Can she be vulnerable enough to share that part of herself with the team? Can she be vulnerable enough to let you take care of her? Takes place at the end of S3.E2.

Emily dabbed at her head and winced, checking her watch to see if it had been long enough to take more pain medication. But despite getting clocked with a plank of wood, she was glad to be on the jet, glad to be back with her team because they really were starting to feel like her team. Who was she kidding? She loved her job.

According to the pilot, the team would be landing at Quantico in a little over an hour. Emily grabbed her phone, discreetly shoving it into her pocket, before heading to the back of the plane. She needed to call you, but the rest of the team didn't know about you yet. Hell, the rest of the team didn't even know she was gay. It felt too personal, and she'd been hurt by people's reactions–people she loved and trusted deeply–too many times. She played her relationships and her sexuality close to the vest.

Reid tapped Emily's arm as she passed by.

"Oh! Are you going all the way to the back?"

Emily tensed. "Yep."

"Could you bring me a Sprite?"

She felt her shoulders relax, and she patted Reid on the arm. "Sure."

After knocking on the bathroom door to make sure that truly no one was around, she called you, her voice hushed as she rifled through tiny airplane soda cans, looking for Reid's Sprite.

"Hey, Em," you said, your voice bright.

"Hey," she said, a goofy smile spreading across her face. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Saw a street rat earlier. I named him Guillermo. I think he's on the prowl for a girlfriend."

Emily laughed, covering her mouth.

"How was Milwaukee?" you asked.

"Good. Really good. We got the guy. We're on the plane now."

She could nearly hear how smug you were through the phone.

"You're glad you went back," you snickered, relishing in being right. She'd sworn that it wasn't a big deal, that it'd be easy to get another good job, but you knew her heart was with the BAU.

Emily sighed. "I am. You were right."

"You're gonna stay?"

"Looks that way."

"I knew it!" you crowed. "I'm glad. You're too good at your job to quit it."

"Thanks, love. Listen, Y/N, can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course! Anything."

Emily winced, touching the swollen bump on her head. "We land in about an hour. Can you pick me up and stay at my place tonight?"

"Wow." You drew out the vowel, milking the fact that Emily needed you for once. "You missed me that much, huh?"

"Well, yes, of course, but... I, uh... I kind of have a concussion?"

Your tone shifted immediately from smug to concerned. "What?! Why?! What happened!?"

"Unsub hit me with a plank of wood," she admitted reluctantly.

"Jesus Christ, Em! Are you okay!?"

"I'm fine, baby, I promise," she reassured you. "I just got a little banged up, that's all. But I'll need you to wake me up every few hours and make sure I'm cognizant."

"I think I have some soup in the freezer," you observed, your voice far away. You'd put her on speakerphone to rifle through the cabinets. "And I have a thermometer. I don't know, do concussions cause fevers? I've never had one."

Emily shook her head, smiling. She loved that your first response, always, was to take care of her. Emily was not used to being taken care of, and she didn't let many people do it. She certainly wouldn't let many people see it either. But she let you.

"No thermometers needed. Just you and your car and more you when we get home."

"You got it. When did you say you land?"

"In about an hour."

"Okay. I'll leave in a few."

"Oh," Emily added quickly. "And you're cleared to drive into Quantico. They know the car you drive and they've got your ID on file. Just show it to them at the gate."

You paused. "Well, that's a little Big Brother of them."

"I gave it to them a few months ago. Just in case you ever needed to come by. Sorry, I should've told you."

"It's okay," you decided, pulling on a jacket and a beanie. "It feels kind of badass to be on Quantico's list."

Emily laughed, almost excited to have a concussion because it meant you'd be snuggled right up to next to her for however long it took to get better. 48 hours at least.

"Alright, baby," she finished, Reid's Sprite in hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, love."

Emily wiped the grin off her face before returning to the cabin with Reid's Sprite–it'd look suspicious if she was too happy coming back.

An hour later, the team was going their separate ways in the parking lot, waving goodbyes and slamming car doors under the buzzing lights.

Emily leaned on the wall outside the building entrance, relishing the crisp night air.

"You need a ride, Prentiss?" Morgan asked as he walked out, used go-bag slung over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be driving" He pointed to her head.

"No, that's okay," Emily waved him off. "I've got– uh... someone's... picking me up."

Fuck, she thought. The concussion was not helping her ability to lie well.

Morgan stared at her suspiciously.

"What?" Emily laughed, trying to act normal.

"Why are you acting shifty?"

"I'm not!" she protested.

Morgan smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Do you have a secret boyfriend?"

"What?" Emily said, laughing a little too forcefully. "No!"

He crossed his arms and waited. "You're seriously not gonna tell me?"

Emily leaned against the brick wall, rubbing her forehead. On the one hand, she was tired of keeping you–and herself–a secret. And if anyone was going to be supportive of someone on the team getting laid, it would be Morgan. But on the other, did she really know that much about him? She didn't know his religious background. Sure, he'd defend a gay victim, but that was his job. This was personal.

Emily sighed before replying. "I have... I have a secret girlfriend."

The silence felt like it lasted hours, stretching between them until Emily was sure the chasm would never close again, and that with just a few words, just by being herself, she'd ruined any chance of a friendship with Derek Morgan. It wouldn't be the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Morgan seemed to think deeply before leaning against the wall next to Emily, turning to look her in the eye.

"Prentiss, why didn't you tell us you were gay?"

Emily was afraid to look at him, but when she did, her heart soared. He looked at her with nothing but love and respect and appreciation, no hint of hatred or disgust. If anything, he looked sad that she'd waited so long to tell him.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I don't always get a good reaction."

"Well, you know nobody on this team would have a problem with that, right? Hell, Garcia'd probably hang pride flags everywhere."

"I know," Emily nodded. "I just... I don't think I'm ready yet. For everyone to know. Soon, though."

Morgan nodded, then thought for a few minutes before asking, "Is it serious?"

Emily chuckled. "Being gay? Yeah, I'd say so."

Morgan shoved her shoulder gently, mindful of the day's injuries. "No! The girl! How long have you been seeing her?"

"A little over six months."

"So, it's serious."

Emily grinned. She was glad to have someone to talk to about this. She'd held it so close for so long. She wasn't used to having anyone to tell about you. Maybe Morgan could be that person.

"Promise not to tell the others?"

Morgan put his hand over his heart. "Promise."

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me."

"Wow." Morgan raised his eyebrows, smiling lightly. "Prentiss is in love," he said, teasing her.

Emily fought a wide smile, but lost in the end. "Oh, shut up. And don't tell anyone. Especially her."

"Your secret's safe with me," Morgan reassured her. And she could tell he meant it. Emily trusted him, she realized. She trusted him to be a good friend, to keep her secrets. She trusted him not to out her to the rest of the team. He'd let her go at her own pace when it came to telling the others.

"She better be amazing," Morgan added. "I don't know how anyone could be good enough for you."

Just at that moment, a pair of headlights crept slowly into the parking lot, hesitant and unsure. It had to be you. Emily stepped forward and waved a bit, then turned to Morgan.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow?" she said.

"Not with that head, you won't," Morgan observed.

You put the car in park next to the curb and leapt out of the driver's seat, hurrying over to Emily.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, anger and concern washing over you. "I thought you you said you were fine!"

You gingerly touched Emily's face and pulled her head down to examine the butterfly bandage above her eyebrow.

"Look at this," you grumbled, more to yourself than anyone else. "It's already bruising." You glared at the butterfly bandage. "Did a doctor do this or you? If it was you, I think we should clean it with rubbing alcohol at home."

Morgan looked absolutely delighted, both because you seemed like a delightful person and because Emily was beet red at being observed with you.

"Y/N, I'm fine," Emily said firmly, grasping your fingers in hers and removing them from her face. "This is my colleague Derek Morgan. Morgan, my girlfriend, Y/N."

You looked Morgan over and immediately decided you liked him. Mostly because you could tell that he really cared about Emily. But also because he looked mischievous, like he'd tease her. And if there was anything you loved, it was teasing Emily. You shook his hand enthusiastically. "It's really nice to meet you," you said. And you meant it.

But you didn't have time to chat with Morgan tonight. You were too worried about Emily.

"You don't look fine," you argued, looking to Morgan for backup. "Does she look fine to you?"

Morgan grinned at Emily, raising his eyebrows. "She definitely looks like she could use some TLC."

"Oh, and she'll get it alright," you assured him, opening the passenger door for Emily. "Shall we?"

Emily bent gingerly to get into the car, and you were careful to guard her head from the ceiling.

"Derek, it was really nice to meet you," you said, shaking his hand one more time for good measure as Emily rolled down the window, staring bullets at Morgan.

"You too, Y/N," he said, looking over your shoulder at Emily. "I hope you all have a very marry evening."

Emily pointed at him aggressively behind your back, mouthing, "SHUT. UP."

"See you, Prentiss," he called as you pulled away. He laughed and called out, "I hope it's a real honeymoon from work!"

Emily's hand shot out the window, flipping him off.

Later that night, your alarm buzzed and you blinked awake. You forgot for a moment that you were at Emily's, but her strong arms wrapped protectively around your waist were enough to remind you where you were.

You turned slowly to face a sleeping Emily, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Em. Hey. You gotta wake up, honey."

She groaned, placing a hand on her head.

"Sorry," you grimaced. "Gotta make sure your brain's alright."

"My brain is fine," she growled.

"Oh, yeah?" you joked, checking the time before shaking a few pills into your hand from the pill bottle on the nightstand. "Who am I, then?"

"The love of my life, Whitney Houston."

You laughed, which made Emily laugh, too. But she quickly doubled over in pain, groaning.

"Here, take these," you said gently, handing her the pills and a glass of water. "It'll help."

She took the pills obediently and lay back down.

"You know," you said, pulling up the blankets to make sure they covered Emily's shoulders. "I may not be Whitney Houston..." You wrapped your arms around her and drew her to you, and she burrowed her head into the space between your neck and your collarbone.

"But I think I'm a close second," you finished, running your fingers rhythmically through Emily's hair.

She sighed contentedly, pressing into you, then moving one of your arms to wrap it more tightly around her.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked, quiet. You couldn't quite tell if it was a joke or serious, but you'd reply the same either way.

"Because I love you, you nerd."

She leaned up, planting a kiss underneath your chin. "I love you, too."

Within minutes she was conked out again, and you were setting another alarm, ready to do it all over again in a few hours.

[ranticore]

ok i drew lucky and kettle as children having a good old scamper

younger kobolds lose their baby fluff from the tail to neck, often over the course of years. so you can tell age by the presence of additional hair coats around the neck or back. these guys are teenagers here.

the characteristic eyebrow whiskers are a marker of age - for a full set, you'd have to wait until middle age. the number varies by individual but female kobolds tend to have more cold phase traits like accessory whiskers (as well as the blunt tail ofc - the shape prevents heat loss)

as they live outside the warren in a relatively cold zone, they are more cold coloured than in other drawing i did of them as adults. but despite that, lucky is in full fever mode as his eye socket goes septic, his hot colours spreading in uneven patches down his neck. he was lucky that the sting hit his eye and ripped it out because if it hadn't, it would have punctured his skull and left a far less survivable wound.

even still, he was very ill for a long time with reoccurring infections and never seemed to recover fully.