#and then i will draw them kissing... every day..

[dannyriccsystem]

hi angel i loved your carlos soulmate fic !!! could you do a soulmate au with oscar please??

YOU’RE MINE, ALRIGHT?

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Oscar’s your soulmate, but he’s certain that you’re not his.

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

WARNINGS: Light angst w happy ending, soulmate au, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Model Soulmate!Reader

I’m sooo tired it’s bed time for me 🥱

Since as far back as mankind can recall, soulmates have been embedded into the universe’s coding. Ancient drawing on cave walls and old decoded passages tell fabled stories of two hearts that become one is a dazzling spectacle of shimmering lights. Your classic love story followed the mindless laws of life to a T, always beautifully describing the event that transpires upon the kiss of your beloved.

It was a simple set of details and instructions to guide you in meeting your other half. Everyone came into the world with a unique mark upon their skin— It could be anywhere from head to toe, and it didn’t even have to be in a spot that was typically visible. It was in a spot with a design specific to you, the only other person bearing such a unique feature would be the one you’re meant to be with forever.

Your mark was always appraised. Perhaps it wasn’t in the most convenient spot for the sake of the hunt, but it was downright gorgeous. Detailed angel wings were folded up on your back, covering the entire surface in the dark tattoo-like ink. Everyone who had the opportunity to perceive it found themselves in awe, jealous of such a beautiful design.

You, however, were not pleased. It was unfortunate to have your mark be located in a place most people kept hidden. You had to wonder if you had ever passed by your destined lover, unaware it was them because their shirt was concealing the truth from you. You truly tried everything from dating apps to display your tattoo to online forums dedicated to finding your soulmate, but if they were out there, they stayed silent.

It was tiring to constantly be putting in all the work. If the universe wanted you to be with this person so badly, why did they make it so difficult for you to find them in the first place? Were you doing something wrong? Maybe you were unintentionally avoiding all the sign, but then again… Maybe they simply weren’t obvious enough.

You want to be bold and make a statement. If they’re out there, you’re going to make one final move that calls out to them. With your career as a model, you had a face that was easily recognizable. However, you carried yourself with humility and a humble attitude. Just because you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing your own mug plastered on every screen and billboard doesn’t mean you have the right to act like it.

You requested a shoot for a fashion designer, particularly intrigued by the open-back dress she had just released for public view. She was delighted to have a high class model like yourself reach out and you two set up a date for the arrangement. It was the day of, and you were currently waiting in the spot you both agreed on.

When she got there, you explained your unique situation to her. She took the news quite well, and offered to feature one photo of your back in the shoot, and hopefully aid you in your final step of the search. After this, if things didn’t work out, you’d finally give in and let love come to you instead. Besides, you were a successful woman living off your own job. You didn’t need love— You were simply itching to find out.

The photos blew up, as they always do, but this time the vibes were different. You had every single fan admiring your mark, leaving sweet comments on how lucky you were to be born with such an elegant tattoo on your back. You’d reply and tell them you were certain theirs was just as lovely, and then either find yourself aww-ing or laughing depending on what it was.

It didn’t take long for expert sleuths on the internet to get to work, and it didn’t take long for the results, either. Being famous had its perks. Your fanbase had a wide range of interests, which meant when one internet user in particular laid eyes on your tattoo, they were instantly able to put two and two together.

To avoid making a scene in your comments, they decided to shoot you a private message at the risk of you never receiving it. It read simply, “Hey girl, about your soulmate mark… I think you might be looking for famous F1 driver, Oscar Piastri.” Attached to their message was an image of him post-race, his uniform pushed down to rest on his hips, while the top of his fireproof was just slightly lifted as he used it to wipe sweat from his face.

He had a strong back and a thin waist, but that’s all you could see about his physical appearance— Aside from the obvious. Just barely peeking out was the tips of a pair of wings, folded in a similar position as your own. You didn’t need a comparison, because you were certain; that was the mark you had been staring at all your life.

You thanked the person who brought it to your attention, playing it off as if they weren’t a match, despite the fact they very clearly were. With this newfound information and a slight skip in your heartbeat, you decided to look the guy up. He was indeed quite famous, and his life seemed very busy. He was always traveling for racing, posting pictures in different areas of the world, and lots of pictures featuring a pretty trophy. Impressive. Your soulmate was a winner.

This was it. You had found the person you spent twenty-three years looking for, and all you could muster up the courage for was a message, and a very straightforward one at that. “Hey” you’d begin, unsure if you would even manage to catch his attention. You just hoped that the blue check mark beside your name would push him into a response. “I’m your soulmate.” You attached an image of your back as proof.

Of course, he didn’t respond for about a day. You were sure it was because he wasn’t someone who was very active, but the more intelligent side of your brain told you that he simply was ignoring you, trying to think of a response to that. What about one even say? Not even you knew.

“Sorry mate, you’ve got the wrong guy. I already found mine.” That response was enough to shatter your heart. Right when you thought the search was over, you were met with the biggest rejection of all. You weren’t sure what hurt worse: Thinking someone was your soulmate and being wrong, or never knowing to begin with. You scrolled through his page once more, finding that he did indeed have a girlfriend— Probably his soulmate.

You had been so sure, too. It was hard to believe that your instincts led you in the wrong direction.

This certainly wasn’t the end, though. The comments finally started to flood in as more and more people connected the dots. You got thousands of messages informing you that this Oscar Piastri guy was the one for you, and you could almost guarantee he was getting the same thing. One person being wrong seemed like a viable explanation, but when more people started to tell you the same thing, you began to grow suspicious.

Maybe it wasn’t your business to ask about someone else’s relationship, but it was your business to ask your potential soulmate if they were lying to you. It was hard to face the man you had just recently embarrassed yourself in front of, but you managed. “I know you said I was wrong, but our marks are identical. I just want to know the truth.” You deserved the truth, right? Soulmates were meant to be honest with one another.

He responded immediately this time. It was like he had been there in the chat too, drafting up his own message. It was somewhat intimidating. “Fine.” You could hear his frustration, and it somewhat angered you. Was it so wrong for wanting to know if you had truly found your soulmate or not? “You’re not my soulmate. But I want to make it very clear I’m already in a happy relationship.”

“I understand.” That concluded your conversation. You hated that he dismissed you so easily, but you also understood. Lots of people dated others who weren’t their true love, because it wasn’t exactly an easy task to complete. But dating someone else when you had the right person standing right in front of you felt like a cruel joke.

If he wanted to be that way, you could too.

Being a model meant you ran on a strict schedule that other people planned out for you. Your agency was very busy, always looking for new opportunities to promote your brand and lifestyle to the public. The public opinion on you seemed to be high, considering you as one of the more relatable and influential celebrities out there.

Today was a big step in your career for multiple reasons. You were going to be featuring as a guest at a Formula One race. Not only was that a huge event, but for the first time in probably ever, you’d end up within a mile of Oscar Piastri, who was undeniably meant to be yours.

You wanted to flaunt yourself. You wore that same open-back dress you modeled ages ago now, feeling confident as you strode through the chaos of the paddock. Even without your soulmate mark on full display, the dress itself was very flattering. You received lots of compliments in under a minute, fueling your ego.

You recognized a lot of faces, mostly ones that went down a similar path as you. Lots of the other wives and girlfriends were models themselves— Models whom you looked up to, considering their years of experience and expert knowledge in the field. You greeted one of them, Rebecca Donaldson.

You recognized her boyfriend, Carlos. Beside him was a guy in a bright orange shirt with tan skin and curly hair. He seemed quite friendly, waiting to introduce himself as you chatted away with Rebecca. Finally realizing your impolite behavior, you stopped and held a hand out for both of the other men, who shook it individually.

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. Y/N.” You nodded, and followed your example. The younger one was Lando Norris, a racer for Mclaren. Your soulmate’s teammate.

You dismissed yourself, continuing to walk through the ground of the paddock, running into various fans of your own, or even vice versa: people you were fans of. It had been a delight so far, but all good things must come to a mortal demise. Oscar had spotted you at the same time you spotted him, and he didn’t seem terribly happy.

“What are you doing here?” He questioned. It sounded hostile, but his face was more monotone than anything. “I already told you, I’m not interested.”

This somewhat angered you. Maybe it was a fair assumption to make, but that didn’t help to soften the blow in the slightest. You clenched your jaw, and then took a deep breath before responding, “I’m not here for you.” With that being said, you turned around and walked away; allowing him a good view of your own tattoo.

You didn’t continue to pursue him. He told you he wasn’t interested, and that was just fine with you. Of course, his incessant teammate reached out to you again and again, furthering questioning the undeniable connection between you and Oscar. He claimed to have noticed the tattoo the day you met him, and put two and two together, since he had seen it on his teammate’s back before.

He’d bother you about your plan, trying to create schemes to put you two together. Lando’s timing was impeccable, because you just naturally assumed that Oscar’s new liking sprees were a setup caused by the slightly older man. You’d get a string of notifications letting you know that Oscar had liked your most recent posts all together, implying the stalking of your account.

You figured it could have been anything. Maybe it was for PR, or maybe it was unintentional. What you didn’t expect was his sudden message. “We got off on the wrong foot. Do you want to meet for coffee some time?”

You wanted to have a ‘take that’ moment and brutally reject him, but you found yourself softening at the idea of finally getting the opportunity to meet the person who was quite literally destined to be your boyfriend. So, even though it took some thinking, you said yes.

Come the date of said day, you chose to dress casually this time. The dress at the race was a statement, but your goal here was to have a nice time, and not to intimidate him. So, you opted to wear a nice shirt with some jeans. Still nice, but not overly dressed. You met over coffee, sharing a small table in the corner of the cafe.

You took note of how his knees would accidentally brush against yours when he leaned back in his seat, and of how his feet would idly kick at yours under the table. It all felt so familiar as you slowly warmed up to each other, sharing funny stories and catching up just like old friends would do— Except you weren’t. This was the first time meeting, and it was going so well it almost hurt to part ways.

Being the gentleman he is, Oscar offered to take you home so you wouldn’t have to walk. It was late now, both of you spending hours until evening transformed into a pitch black night sky. You admired him as he drove, smiling softly to yourself. He looked so focused as his strong arms held the wheel, only looking away from the road to sneak glances at you, and then quickly look away thinking you didn’t notice.

You did.

He dropped you off, and you slowly dragged your feet to your front door. You didn’t want it to be over— He had been a delight, but he also had a girlfriend, and you couldn’t handle the pressure of being a home-wrecker. So, even though your mind screamed to run back and kiss him, you didn’t. You kept going until you reached the front door and were forced to stop.

“My girlfriend broke up with me.” He stated blatantly from behind you. That was all he said before you peered over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Goodnight, Oscar.” You slyly slipped inside, locking it behind you.

“Goodnight,” He muttered after you were long gone.

You felt stupid the next day. It should have been clear to you that he was trying to tell you something; he was trying to tell you that he was available. That he really was your soulmate, and he was willing to accept that fact now, instead of continuously pushing you away. Now it was your turn to be the one pulling back.

You were bedridden the next day. Not from a physically sickness, but from the weird feeling in your gut that made you want to throw up anyway. You should have said something. Something other than ‘Goodnight, Oscar!’ You made a complete fool out of yourself.

He texted you around the afternoon, asking if you slept well. You told him yes, but unintentionally threw your excuse out there. “I’m feeling a little sick,” you’d throw it out unprompted. He didn’t respond, until you heard the knock upon your door. Of course, standing there with a back of items in his hand was Mr. Piastri himself.

He’d ask if he could come in, because he brought some things to help you feel better. You’d say yes, even though he’d now be sure to catch you in your lie. And he did. Oscar cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy as he read your temperature, which seemed perfectly fine.

“I’m not sick,” You finally explained, shame tinging your tone. He set everything down and folded his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for you to continue. “I was trying to avoid you, but I guess I did the opposite.” You laughed weakly, and then shook your head. Bad timing, I suppose.

“Why?” He asked, his voice soft. “You were the one who wanted to find me so bad.” Yeah, you expected that sort of response.

“I just… I feel so nervous now.” You huffed a gentle sigh, leaning your head back with shut eyes. “My feelings are always straightforward, but not when it comes to you. I feel… Complex.”

“Maybe you’re not ready yet,” He stated, and for some reason that hurt even more. It was like the twist of a knife that had already been repeatedly stabbed in you, again and again. “But…” Oscar slowly stood up, turning his back towards you. Without any warning, he lifted his sweatshirt up, unveiling his bare back. There was his tattoo, just as beautiful as yours. “We’re destined to work out just fine.”

It was a positive and refreshing outlook on the situation. You slowly stood, your fingertips reaching out to brush against his inked skin. You traced the lines softly. This was the first time you got to see your mark like this, because it was hard to look at your back. He completed your puzzle perfectly, making it all clear now.

You watched his back muscles twitch and flex as you dragged your nail across the outline of the wings, your face unreadable. You stared at his skin, littered with scars and moles, like it was the hardest math equation in the world. This was a problem for you to solve, but Oscar was the solution.

“You’re right.” You pulled your hand away and stepped back, letting him shimmy back into his cozy hoodie. Oscar pivoted to face you, matching your expression. “I want to love you. I want to give us a chance.”

���Then do it.” You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile, and considering the way he matched your grin, Oscar couldn’t either.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses against your knuckles. You watched as your joined hands erupted in a warm light, sending a tingling sensation through your skin. You locked eyes with him, searching for some sort of guidance. Oscar squeezed your hand tighter.

Upon the first kiss, both bodies would erupt with a beautiful light, slowly beginning the fading process of their matching marks. It left you both giddy, filled with hope for this newfound love.

“We’re gonna work out,” You finally declared, actually able to believe it this time.

[totalswag]

hiii i love your posts!! i was wondering if you could do reader x drew where reader has baby fever and wants a baby and drew finds her upset about it all so they talk and decide that the time is right and they are ready?? lots of fluff please!!

baby fever ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note thank you for the request anon and that makes me smile. i love me some baby fever drew omg. feedback is always appreciated <3.

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summary baby fever coming in hot at a family reunion after seeing drew with your nieces and nephews and you think of what he'd be like with your own children one day. drew finds you in your childhood home upset.

warning(s) baby fever, crying, kissing, mentions of having kids.

You were at a family reunion of yours in your hometown. The reunion was held your parents home⎯full of familiar laughter, little kids running around, and the smell of food being cooked. Everything felt right in this very moment.

Family reunions have been a tradition since you could remember. It allows family to get together once every year and spend time together. Plus, seeing family you haven't seen a long time feels great.

"Can you believe we were once their ages running around?" Your sister pointed out to the kids running around in the grass.

Memories flooded through your mind. The good old times when there were zero worries. Knowing your childhood home still belongs to your parents is such a monumental feeling.

"It's crazy even thinking about it" you respond with a light chuckle.

Your two month old nephew cradled in Drew's arms⎯his eyes scanning his surroundings. Your heart melted witnessing Drew interact with your nephews and nieces all day. It made you think of having a family of your own with him one day.

Drew and you have been married for almost a year. Having kids have been come in almost all your conversations at home. With his busy work schedule, you both agreed to wait a bit. You being the youngest out of your siblings, family is waiting for the announcement.

He’s a natural. You always thought he would be, but seeing it⎯the softness in his eyes, the way he supports your nephews fragile head without even thinking⎯sets something deep inside you alight.

You blink fast, trying to shake the sudden sting behind your eyes. You hadn't expected to feel this way. Not here, not now.

You have baby fever. Bad.

"I'll be right back" you tell Drew and your sister as you lift yourself up from the chair into the house to your childhood bedroom. The tears begin to form once you step up the stairs.

It’s silly, you tell yourself. There's no rush. You and Drew have always agreed you'd "know" when the time was right.

But watching him today, you realize⎯you know. You’re ready. You want it more than anything.

A soft knock is heard from the door. You fix yourself in the mirror before answering. "Who is it?" You make your voice sound normal but a hint of whimper falls through.

"It's me baby, can I come in?" Drew's soft voice says through the door. You reach for the door knob revealing Drew's worried look.

He know's somethings up. You feel it.

"Is everything okay?" Drew asks, "You look like you've been crying," as he slams the door behind him. His anxious countenance and body language tell it everything.

You sniffle, partly laughing and half sobbing. "Yeah, I just⎯" You shake your head, unable to find the right words. "You're... quite excellent with them, you know? "With kids." 

Drew moves closer, placing a soothing hand on your lower back. His palm is warm, drawing you close. Your body relaxes in response to his warm touch. 

"I love them," he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They are your family. Of course, I do.

The room becomes quiet. 

Drew softly turns you to face him, brushing his thumb under your eye, where a tear has escaped. His expression is so open and full of love that it almost brings you to tears again. "I've been thinking the same."

Your heart stutters: "You have?" You ask with wide eyes.

Drew nods: "Yes, I have. Look at us now. We're married, have a lovely home, and have all we could possibly want in love..." He goes on, "There's an extra room waiting to be decorated."

"Here goes the tears again" you playfully joke pointing to them falling down your cheeks. Drew's thumb taps them away. "You look pretty when you cry" he says before pulling you in for a kiss.

You two have your moment together in silence. Knowing he feels the same way as you makes you feel better inside. It's been your forever dream to become a mom one day. You couldn't be more excited than to have kids with Drew.

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[charlieluver]

BREAK

Part 2 (can be read as a standalone) (part 1)

carlos's pov

Peeling off the sweaty shirt, I stand in the shower. Warm water falling on my skin, adrenaline wearing off. A sigh escapes my lips, mind reeling to how she used to shower with me, lather of jasmine surrounding our figures. How her fingers used to comb my hair, accompanied by her giggles that makes my heart melt.

Focus

Getting out of the shower, wearing my hoodie. My brain on the mechanical mode. Press, getting into the car, reaching the hotel. I need to rest for the upcoming final, day after tomorrow. But my mind feels distant as I try to sleep. The keychain she made resting in between my fingers. A duck, she said. I looked like a duck when I pout. Chest feeling heavy. But I was the one who wanted a break. Because I couldn't bear to be the burden anymore. Losing matches that I should have won, my performance fluctuating like hell. My mind, draws blank in between games. I just couldn't make her suffer too with all the media attention. I felt ashamed looking at her, at how I was flopping, her constant support made my heart ache. Our conversations revolving only around me, her trying to make me feel better. No more talking about her fun classes, the thesis she wrote. I could see her holding back, and that broke me. Her leaving out lectures, just to give me a call. To message me, ping me. But I was tired. Tired of how my mind wasn't in sync with my game. Tired of the disappointing faces of coaches, some backlash from media. Tired of how she kept me before herself. I was getting frustrated, didn't feel like talking no more. The missed calls flashing on my phone while I just lay, staring at the ceiling. I was practicing harder than ever, probably stressing even more, but my game was just not getting better. And I lashed out, on her. Her, who always has been on my side, reminding me that I deserve each and every ounce of this fame. Her, who always used to bring me flowers after a big win. Her, who would pull me into a hug, her small frame wrapping around my body, telling me how much she loved watching me play. I stood there in the house, on the verge of breaking down, while she tried to work it out, like always. She tried to hold me, but I didn't let her. Her broken sobs mixed with mine. But I had to leave, just this one time. Because I need to help myself a little first. Because if I'm not mentally stable, how can I take care of the ones I love? Because I need to feel like myself again, trying to win matches and probably win her heart too. Because all this help, it felt unfamiliar. I hadn't let anyone come this close to me, and now that I let her, I didn't know what to do. The bedsheets smells different, not like how her soft pillows laced with her scent. Not like her body pressed against mine, her head near my heart. Not like how I used to move the strands of hair falling on her face, the sunlight making her skin look golden. My mind drifts, to her hair ties I still have back at my home. They have a little ribbon bow on them, which she loves so much. Her lipstick, red velvet, safely inside the cupboard, which used to stain my cheeks as she showered me with kisses. The little polaroids of us, smiling brightly at a carnival. The photo booth pictures, where we had our first kiss, still in my wallet. I miss her, terribly. Tying her hair when she ate, putting on her shoes when her dress was a little too short, her beauty making me forget how to breathe. Sneaking glances when she wasn't looking, her face resting in a cute pout when she slept. The back hugs she used to do, while I was washing dishes at hers. The small rubs on her back she loved when we cuddled, my lips kissing her cheeks. Her eyes wide with excitement when she talked to me about her works. I did this for the better. It's just a break, not the end...right? Unknowingly, a sob makes its way to my throat. Eyes blurry with tears. My fingers hover over our chats, her sweet voice messages filling the room. Strange, she hasn't blocked me anywhere, not like I did either. I could never. Gallery, filled with her pictures, posing, pouting and what not. Stolen snippets, of her reading, brows slightly furrowed, of her sleeping, lips parted.

I have been foolish to push her away. She was just trying to help, but I didn't know how to take help. Perhaps she misses me like I do, I hope she does. Because she made me feel special, feel loved in a way no one had ever done. And just a bit longer till I fix myself. I have been a a bit better, with more success, winning. With points going up, with my mind getting better, able to think clearly, able to feel again. But my heart feels empty, a void that only she could fill. A void, that I couldn't avoid any longer. And just a bit longer, then I could go home, running into her arms again, if she still wanted me to. Her vanilla perfume closing into me, as her arms would wrap my neck, pulling me closer, pulling me into her, just like she used to do.

______

masterlist

[moonlitmedarda]

ׄᐧ✧ if you dare ✧ׂᐧ

Melvika Week - Day 1

prompt: Kisses (@melvikaweek2025)

word count: 3k

Sevika has done her best to develop patience since beginning her time as a Councilor. She wants to do right by her people, to do right by the community she’s fought to protect since she was old enough to walk. 

However, focusing on creating new trade routes to Zaun and advocating for the recovering citizens was virtually impossible when a literal goddess was standing before her day in and day out. 

Mel Medarda was a mystery.  

They see each other nearly every day since the war's end, yet Sevika only knows surface-level details.

She knew of the woman through the years while working under Silco, as Mel was— in a way— one of the most prominent faces of the Council. It was wise to keep tabs on the perfect Piltover princess leading the council into the luxurious future (and far away from the dirty Undercity). 

But Sevika also knows Mel had a hand in ending the war, that her own mother led the charge, and that through feats Sevika wasn’t sure she’d be able to complete, Mel assisted in saving them all. The grief that clings to her like a shroud is testimony enough. Some days it lessens, but on others it seemed to choke her where she stands, and it is plain as day on her pretty face. The older woman looks at Mel with respect and gratitude. The longer she looks, the harder she falls.

And that is a serious problem. There simply isn't enough time for these kinds of feelings to blind Sevika. She has a job to do, a responsibility to the people of Zaun. They fought hard to get even an inkling of recognition. This wasn’t the time to lose focus. But her eyes refused to get the memo. 

During every meeting, they wander over to the woman and trail over her lithe form with a wholesome admiration unfamiliar to Sevika. She studied from the golden freckles that dusted Mel's high cheekbones down to the consistent gold paint donning her nails.

Something about the woman draws Sevika to her like a moth to a flame. 

On a rainy afternoon, after a particularly mundane and unproductive meeting, Mel pulls her aside. Just as Sevika is stomping out of the chambers, head downturned as defeat begins to take over, a glimmer of sunlight pulls her from the inevitable spiral. 

“Sevika, walk with me?” Mel requests, her voice soft as she leans just the slightest bit forward. 

Sevika nods and lets the woman lead her out of the chambers and into the courtyard for some fresh air. They stroll through the small gardens and out into the unfamiliar breeze.

The war left Piltover ravaged, but a few months removed, the new Council made strides in turning the city into a new kind of beauty. But none of it compares to Mel.

As she guides Sevika through the gardens, the sun's rays cascade down onto her soft, dark skin. She is ethereal. Even the plants seem to reach out to touch her. 

“How have you been finding your new apartment? Do you need anything?” Mel questions. Her hands are clasped behind her straight back. Even in her heels, she has to look the slightest bit up at Sevika. The sight thrills her. 

“Oh yeah, the place is nice. It’s still weird…being topside so consistently. I appreciate how close it is to the chambers, makes my life a hell of a lot easier. The stipend for the furniture is a little extreme, though. I still have leftovers, and they refuse to take them back.” Sevika complains, the luxury of this position continues to make her uncomfortable.

Even moving into Piltover was a big adjustment, one she still isn't certain about. It feels ike something too close to betrayal of the roots that made her. 

“Well, I’ll have to be the judge of that. If you still have money left over, you’re doing it wrong. You deserve to have a space with the proper accommodations and conditions that make it a home to you. Or at least a comfortable home away from home.” Mel says, her voice almost chastising, but the softness of her honeyed voice relays her genuine concern. 

She is a light Sevika has never seen before. She wants to look into it—into her—all the time.

“I’ll take your word for it, princess. I have more important things to do than shop— like resist the urge to chase down Shoola.” Sevika starts, letting Mel lead her into advice with a playful roll of her eyes at the petty situation. They devolve into a conversation about Shoola's last-minute decision to back out of a proposal, and Mel listens as Sevika briefly rants.

This has become a habit since Sevika joined the council. It was the highlight of her day, finding moments with Mel to learn about this new world and watch her navigate issues with poised ease. Watching her use her brilliant mind to create the solutions they so desperately needed. 

It would be hard to see her leave. Sevika was well aware that Mel had responsibilities to attend to in Noxus. She’d upended her family line and needed to settle the unrest. But her impending absence made the feelings Sevika felt blooming within her even more pressing. 

The walk leads them out of the chambers and into the city. Sevika has nothing to do until the evening, so she happily follows Mel the short distance to her apartment. 

“Are you just going to stare at me all day, or are you going to answer my question?” Mel teases, nudging Sevika's shoulder with her slim, gold-laden shoulder. 

“Huh?” Sevika clumsily replies, her mind stuttering to a halt as she tries to catch up in the conversation. Mel watches with a lifted eyebrow and a smirk. “Sorry, I’m running on low sleep. Mind’s not where it should be.” 

“Clearly.” Mel teases even further. “Are you free this afternoon? I have a few proposals I think you’ll find quite useful, and I would like to adjust your most recent one. Hopefully, things won't take too long, and you can get back to rest. My apartment isn’t far.” She offers, and despite the rush of fear, Sevika blindly agrees. 

The pair enters Mel’s apartment less than 15 minutes later, and Sevika tenses at the new, sleek environment. In all their time getting to know each other as colleagues, both inside the council chambers and out, Sevika had never seen the inside of Mel’s home. It was luxurious, in an understated way. The tasteful decor and beautiful furniture, combined with the beautiful art, made the space feel like the kind of place Sevika should not be.

Once upon a time, she would have robbed a place like this. But today she was watching her colleague pull out her notes and a decanter of fine wine. Life can change in the blink of an eye…or in this case, over the course of several excruciating few decades. 

The pair sits in Mel’s study, the desk cluttered with an array of paperwork and half-finished proposals they will be going over... at some point. A few plates of dessert sit on the desk, out of the way of the papers and beside the glasses of wine. Sevika’s stomach threatens to rumble. 

“You’ve been working hard over the past few weeks, I thought a few treats might make the work a bit more relaxing.” The woman offers with a smile that borders on sheepish, and the sweet way she fiddles with the sleeve of her robe makes Sevika’s heart sore.

She feels herself loosen. The tension melts from Sevika's frame as she allows Mel to guide her into one of the chairs. 

They make easy small talk about the recent developments in medical buildings, air quality improvements, and housing regarding Zaun as they settle in. The talk pulls Sevika’s mind back into focus. 

She isn’t here for fun, despite how much she enjoys Mel’s quick wit and surprisingly hard-to-resist humor.

The wine is what snaps the last threads of control. It’s good shit that actually tastes nice. Nothing less is expected when Mel Medarda presents a wine pairing. It’s this lush, dark berry flavor with a hint of something chocolatey that makes her drink it fast. 

“This is one of my favorite Noxian wines. It’s usually served with a little dark chocolate truffle, but the closest I could get here was this cake. I’ll try harder to get one for us the next time we have to do something like this.” She says offhandedly, her hazel eyes gleaming with excitement and sorrow as she pairs the sip with a bite of cake.

“Isn’t the goal for me to not need your help anymore?” Sevika questions with a snort, mirroring Mel and pairing a sip of wine with the dark chocolate cake. 

Her eyes slip shut, and the moan that escapes her lips should be a source of embarrassment, but the delicious tastes blind Sevika for a few moments. So much so that she completely misses the heated look Mel gives her as she makes her pleasure with the flavor vocal. 

“Janna, you weren’t kidding. I could have this for dessert every day.” Sevika groans, taking another sip of wine to experience the dark berry flavors washing over her tongue again. 

“I did for a few years. It was a great homesickness remedy for a while. But that’s beside the point. The true goal of these meetings is for you to have so many opportunities for Zaun that you’ll need to have me on retainer at all times.” Mel jokes, earning a surprised chuckle from Sevika. 

“So you like slumming with the council's underdog, huh?” Sevika rumbles with a smirk.

“I like spending time with the protector of Zaun, a woman who fights tirelessly for the liberation and respect of her community. I happen to think she’s quite interesting.” Mel comes back softly, gazing down into the nearly empty glass in her hands. 

She speaks as if she’s confessing for the first time why she makes time for Sevika in such a capacity. But Sevika isn’t sure how to respond. She's nearly 50 years old, and she still struggles to express her emotions to this woman.

Vulnerability is not her strong suit. The thought of vocalizing the feelings swirling behind her sternum makes her nauseous. But maybe a few more glasses of this wine might give her the courage.

Before long, the work is abandoned, and the women are just enjoying wine and snacks that Mel ordered on a whim. 

They get along well. Better than Sevika expects. Mel is witty, funny, and at times shy in a way that surprises her. She was such a socialite, but in the quiet comfort of this apartment, she is so soft. At times, she looks up at Sevika with such vulnerability and softness that the woman regrets coming. Because there is no way that someone like her could handle Mel with care. She was a disaster waiting to happen. Mel deserves better.

When they finish the bottle, another is quickly opened. By this point, they both have let go of the false pretense of work. They made it through a few proposals halfheartedly, but now they are simply trading stories and anecdotes back and forth.

Mel shares the first time she sparred with her Mother, and how quickly the ruthless general withdrew said training when Mel so much as teared up. Sevika shares the story of her first heist and how she'd managed to upset a Piltover storefront's guard dog. The damn thing chased her nearly a mile. Each story brings them one step closer to understanding one another, and the curiosity only grows.

They transfer from the study into the plush living room after the first glass of the second bottle. The sun is just setting below the horizon, casting the most beautiful hues of reds, oranges, and purples across the sky. The wide windows of Mel’s apartment give the perfect view.

It serves as the perfect background to Mel’s unraveling beauty.

Throughout the evening, she’s been progressively letting go of hair adornments, jewelry, and extra clothing layers. She makes no big fuss of it; she simply takes off the accessory and places it on a nearby surface. Almost as if she does not realize the show of trust. All the unnecessary bits of her armor fall away with every story shared, leaving her bare braids falling down the soft material of her dark dress.

The trails of gold tattoos that Sevika wants to caress are out in the open—Janna, it’s been a while since she had a drink. She cut back after a few too many spirals post-war. A few too many glimpses of blue hair and big gold eyes. It’s catching up to her fast.

A low thrum of want curls in her chest the longer she watches Mel, but there is no way this could work. Sevika is not worthy of her. She is an undercity ogre whose only means of communication is violence. She could never be what Mel needed, what she deserved. 

Surges of panic bubble up in her chest, choking her and almost sending the wine back up. She can't do it. The words tumble from Sevika’s mouth before she can stop them.

“We shouldn’t do this anymore.” 

The mood is broken immediately. Regret and guilt fill her as she watches Mel wilt. The woman visibly swallows down the burgeoning embarrassment and bites her lip as she takes in Sevika’s words. She looks like a wet kitten. Deflated and unsure, fuck she should have taken a second to think before blurting out the first thing on her mind. 

“I’m sorry, I—I have overstepped. I apologize. You are free to leave at any time, and if you’re concerned about your sobriety, I’ll have El—I’ll have a car called for you.” The other woman rambles, tears slowly filling her eyes as she spirals. Sevika can see it behind her hazel eyes, and she’s quick to reach over and comfort her. She grasps Mel’s hands in her own, in a tight grip, and looks down at her. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…I panicked for a second and said the first thing that came to my mind. I just meant that…I’m starting to develop unprofessional feelings for you. I know this wine is not helping, but I don’t want to run the risk of making you uncomfortable or——

“—Sevika,” Mel gently interrupts. “You do realize that you are perfectly capable of completing these proposals and passing new aid on your own, right? You were the right hand of Zaun’s most notorious Chembaron—you were practically a Councilor yourself, though with a different ruleset. I’ve inserted myself because I’ve found such peace in our time together…and I have been feeling rather unprofessional things myself.” She confesses quietly, every word carefully placed as if ensuring her message is received. 

And it is, though Sevika can’t believe this is truly happening. “You….you aren’t just saying that, are you? You don’t have to let me down easy, I—

Mel interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a graceful lean forward to press her lips to Sevika’s. It is an innocent peck full of promise. Her soft, wine-stained lips still taste of chocolate and her lipstick's underlying sweetness. 

“I have wanted to kiss you for months. I felt so guilty…holding so much grief, needing to focus on so much responsibility...and still wanting to be close to you. Still wanting to hold you.” Mel confesses in a haunted whisper that Sevika soothes with another kiss. This one is slightly longer, the heat of their growing desire beginning to spring forth. 

“I've been trying to pour myself into this work day in and day out to help Zaun. I felt guilty, wanting to be near you all the time and still needing to be an advocate for so many... But I'm realizing it's like you said. We’ve been working hard, and we deserve a reward. The warmth and awe I feel when you come near me feels like something we should indulge in… something we should explore.” Sevika confesses softly, giving in to the urge to get closer by pressing her hand to Mel’s face. Holding the golden goddess of a woman in her hands and cherishing every second. 

Mel melts into her touch, her eyes going soft. “I want to…But I need you to know that despite the impending trip, I want this to last. I don’t want this to be one time…” She confesses, and relief floods Sevika as her words. 

“Good. I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go after this…I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.” Sevika promises, some cracked part of herself falling into place the moment Mel’s composure breaks.

She climbs into Sevika’s lap, full of hunger and desperation. Kisses grow hungrier, more passionate by the second. They move together in an easy rhythm, one that they fall into with no hesitation. But Mel's hips roll in search of friction in the most distracting way.

Sevika soothes her, moving her hand up and down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin. Mel practically squirms under her touch, her kiss becomes more frantic as arousal begins to take over. The slight grinding into Sevika’s abs sends the woman into a tailspin. 

But in the midst of their kiss Mel pulls away briefly. A yawn forces its way out of her, and its so adorable Sevika in her tipsy state wants to coo. She wants to, but refuses.

"I apologize, I forgot the drowsiness that hits after a few glasses of this wine, I still want to--

"--I can make you scream in the morning, princess. I'm feeling a bit sleepy myself." Sevika confesses, grey eyes drooping as she fights sleep.

"A side effect of your age I imagine." Mel teases quietly, letting out a delighted laugh when Sevika wrestles her back onto the couch in retaliation.

"You're the dainty little thing who yawns after a few glasses of wine. Get your pretty ass up and show me where the bedroom is. Big Mama needs a nap."

[ashyblondwaves]

Can you write Peeta giving katniss a bath after a particularly messy day in the woods and she comes home happy but muddy?

This is such a fun little prompt! I had a blast with this one, thank you!

Move Me, Darling

Rating: Soft M

I’m on the porch painting when she comes home with mud from her boots to her forehead, twigs in her hair, and the brightest smile I’ve seen in weeks. When I see a smile like that, I don’t even care if she tracks dirt across every surface in the house. 

I should’ve known the overnight storms would make for a muddy visit to the woods for Katniss today, but she insisted she go. Perfect conditions for finding mushrooms, she’d said. She must’ve found them, because her game bag is full, and she looks like the cat that caught the canary as she trudges up the cobblestone to our house. 

She stops at the edge of the porch and raises her eyebrows, as if daring me to say something. I set my brush down and give a smile back that matches hers.

“So,” I start, meeting her at the bottom of the first step. “Do I want to know what happened to the rest of the woods?”

“Well, most of it’s in my boots,” she says, plucking a twig from her braid. “And my hair.”

“Successful hunt, or did you roll down a hill for fun this time?” I ask with a smirk. 

“Both, actually,” she snorts, rocking back on her heels.

She looks so innocent. Younger, somehow. Like the girl I remember from school.  

“Should I get the hose or draw you a bath?” I finally ask. 

“Depends,” she grins. “Are you joining me?”

I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face. These days are few and far between, where Katniss is at ease with herself, carefree enough to just have fun in the woods, and truly be the young adult she actually is. 

“I think I can do that,” I say with a nod. 

She steps closer, reaches for me with her grubby fingers, and grins. Before I can dodge her, she presses a damp kiss to my cheek, leaving a perfect muddy handprint behind on my shirt

“There,” she says, walking past me and up the porch steps, undoing her braid as she moves. “Now you match me.”

I watch her disappear inside, one muddy boot already half-off and clunking against the floorboards as she goes. There’s a trail of damp footprints and tiny leaves in her wake, and I don’t care at all. Not when the culprit is a happy Katniss. 

I press my hand to the kiss she left on my cheek, but not too hard. I like the reminder.

By the time I head inside, she’s already peeled out of her jacket and is working on her shirt, dirty fingers made stiff by drying mud. 

“You’re leaving a path of destruction, you know,” I say, brushing past her toward the stairs. “At this rate, I’ll be scrubbing the floor until next week.”

“Then you better make the bath worth it,” she tosses back without looking up, her voice half-laugh, half-dare.

I’m already smiling as I take the steps two at a time.

The tub in the upstairs bathroom is old but deep, claw footed and charming. Just big enough for the two of us. I twist the tap, test the water with my fingers, and reach for the jar of mint leaves we keep under the sink. She likes those. She says they smell like early mornings.

The water’s steaming by the time I hear her pad up the stairs. I turn to find her in the doorway, shirt loose and hanging open, her breasts on display. Her cheeks flush from the way I am looking at her, but she stands her ground.

“You gonna gawk or get in?” she asks, arms crossing with a smirk that tells me she already knows the answer.

I extend my hand toward her, and she takes it willingly, shimmying out of her shirt and letting it drop to the floor as she moves closer to the aromatic bath. Once she’s out of her clothes, I take her hand again and help her step in. She hisses at the heat, but it’s followed by a soft moan as she sits and submerges her body in the water. 

“That good, huh?” I ask, watching the way her eyes flutter closed. Her head tips back against the porcelain.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Almost worth getting stuck in a landslide for.”

“You what?” I say.

“Nothing. Get in here,” she says, cracking one eye open.

I strip without ceremony, her gaze shameless as it drifts down my body and lingers. The water is hot when I dip my good leg in, waiting just a moment to acclimate myself before fully sitting down. The warmth soothes my joints immediately, and I can see why Katniss let out that sound. It feels good. 

She shifts, her legs brushing mine underwater. It could be accidental, but the look she gives me says otherwise.

“You smell like mint and mischief,” she murmurs, reaching to trail wet fingers along my jaw.

“You smell like forest and trouble,” I shoot back, dipping my head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Irresistible.”

Luckily, the mud was contained mostly to her clothes, so the water is only slightly murky from what was on her hands. I use a wet wash cloth to rid her face of the mud, and she leans into my touch with every swipe, sighing in that way she does when she’s content, and with a new wash cloth, I move downward. 

I start with her shoulders, gliding the warm cloth over her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. The faint sheen of dirt lifts easily, revealing the soft skin beneath. She closes her eyes again, her head tilting just enough to give me better access to the slope of her neck.

“You’re going to spoil me,” she murmurs, her voice low and lazy.

“Good,” I whisper back, tracing the line of her collarbone. “You deserve it.”

Her breath catches when I move lower, the cloth passing over the swell of her breasts with the same reverence I might give something sacred. I don’t rush. I let my fingers linger as I rinse, the barest pressure guiding the warmth of the water down her sternum, between her ribs, across the plane of her stomach. Her skin twitches under my touch.

She doesn’t speak now. Doesn’t need to. Her body does, in the way she sinks a little deeper into the tub, in the way her legs shift slightly, brushing against mine under the surface.

I lift one of her arms, careful, like I’m handling something fragile, and run the cloth along its length. Then the other. Her hands rest on my knees now, grounding us both, the water lapping gently between our bodies.

“You cold?” I ask, my voice hushed.

“Not even close,” she says, opening her eyes.

“Good,” I smile and lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her damp temple. 

“Your turn next,” she says, turning her face toward me, her lips nearly brushing mine.

She shifts, the movement sending a small ripple through the water, and takes the cloth from my hand. Her fingers graze mine purposefully as she does, her eyes not leaving my face.

“Lean back,” she says softly.

I do as she asks, resting against the curve of the tub while she wrings out the cloth and begins her work. Her touch is different from mine, more teasing than reverent, but no less gentle. She starts at my neck, brushing away the sweat and faint trace of paint from earlier in the day that somehow always manages to get in places they shouldn’t. The cloth is warm, but it’s her hands I feel more than anything else. Sure, slow, unhurried.

“Oops, I missed a spot,” she says playfully, tapping the center of my chest.

“Oh? Better get it, then,” I murmur, keeping my eyes closed.

She presses the cloth there, dragging it down the line of my sternum with maddening precision. Her knuckles brush skin as she rinses, and I open my eyes, unable to help the small intake of breath that earns me a satisfied look.

“Hmm,” she murmurs, letting the cloth trail lower before shifting to my side, wrapping one arm around me for balance. Her breath is near my ear now. “You're flushed.”

“I’m in a hot bath with a beautiful woman,” I say, my voice lower than I intended. “Kind of inevitable.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, but I feel the way she presses closer, her chest against mine now, slick and warm and bold. The cloth floats, forgotten, as her hands settle instead against my shoulders, then trace lightly down my arms, curling at my wrists.

We sit like that for a long moment, the only sounds the gentle splash of water and the quiet stutter of our breathing as the heat wraps around us. There's no rush. There never is with her. Not in moments like these.

“Stay a while,” she whispers.

“Try and get rid of me,” I say with a nod, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. 

Her legs shift again beneath the water, draping over mine now, her knees bracketing my hips. Skin against skin. Warmth against warmth. She moves like she’s always known how to unravel me, and I let her, breath hitching as she settles more fully into my lap.

Her fingers slide up my chest again, this time without the cloth, tracing the line of muscle, the dips and rises she’s memorized in the moonlight, she now reacquaints herself with in daylight. The air between us crackles, but her movements stay slow, indulgent. Like she’s savoring. Like she wants to draw this out for as long as she can.

“You’re staring,” she says, voice soft but sultry, lips brushing just shy of mine.

“I’m memorizing,” I murmur back. “Every freckle. Every breath.”

She doesn’t argue, just tilts forward and kisses me, slow and deep, like we’ve got all the time in the world. And we do. The water laps against the porcelain with every shift, every gentle press of her body to mine. Her hands move again. First down my arms, then my sides, anchoring herself as she deepens the kiss, tongue brushing mine with a languid tease that makes my stomach clench and my fingers grip her hips beneath the water.

She gasps against my mouth when I pull her just a little closer, the slick heat of her skin sliding over mine, and for a breathless moment we just stay there, touching, tasting, breathing each other in.

Her forehead rests against mine, our noses brushing.

“We’re going to overflow the tub,” she whispers, smiling like she doesn’t care one bit.

“Let it overflow,” I say, catching her mouth again before she can respond.

The water has cooled by the time we pull apart, our breathing uneven, our skin flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with temperature anymore. She leans back just enough to look at me, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of heat.

“Come on,” she says, her voice husky and low as she stands, water cascading from her skin like silk. She doesn’t reach for a towel, she just holds out her hand, bold and bare and beautiful.

I take it without hesitation and let her help me from the tub.

We step carefully onto the mat, her fingers still wrapped around mine, leading me out of the bathroom and down the hall, dripping footprints in our wake. The bedroom is dim and warm, the sheets already rumpled from this morning. The scent of mint still clings to her skin, but it’s mixed now with something headier. Something wholly hers.

She turns to face me as we reach the bed. There’s no rush in the way she moves, just certainty. Just intent.

She brushes a hand along my jaw, tilting my face toward hers.

“No more interruptions,” she whispers. “Just us, here, together.”

“Just as it should be,” I murmur. 

And when she pulls me down with her, I follow willingly.

[moon-upright]

julian doodle dump ???

im obsessed with him. so ive been working toward drawing julian in a way that does him justice, and i grow closer yet closer.

here's my latest drawing of the boy (left) next to the very first one (right), which i made over 2 years ago now (wow!)

vvv

im getting there.. i do love the improvement. the problem is just whether i can replicate this vibe or not. like if i draw him this way today, will i be able to do it again tomorrow? we'll see

here's a random array of more doodles and unfinished drawings ive made between then and now. i doodle a lot, you'll notice. it's very much on display, how inconsistent my art style is 😭 though tbf some of these are considerably older compared to others.

i just want to get to a place where i can draw whatever i want and it actually looks decent a majority of the time. but im self-taught and have zero patience, so it's slow going

that's it for now. i kind of want to post more art, so there may be more doodles here in the future. my lack of consistency is what keeps me from posting them most of the time. like don't even get me started on my backlog of esme sketches that don't even look alike

but maybe i don't even care at all (i do)

[rosieyart]

v day. . .

[thwackk]

he’s been down bad since the 50’s idk what to tell you

[kanadellama]

kagamiiiii and marinettteeeeee + sketch of marigami kissing but i dont want to finish because it looks baddddddd

i was oh so lazy on this but i was fun anyways i love pretty sparkly dresses

[arthur-lesters-inguinal-masses]

There are two wolves that live inside of me.

One is a big aro Arthur headcannoner, and doesn’t think John and Arthur need to be in a romantic relationship, because it’s more interesting to see their relationship develop platonically while exploring emotional intimacy, and dealing with the hardships of such a close relationship, but still loving and caring for eachother in the end, without them needing to kiss.

The other was trying to find where the episode they kissed in was.

[lale-txt]

i wanna be caught in a love triangle with them sooo badly you have no idea

[kibutsulove]

— i don’t have a quote for this one don’t look at me

My second submission for @avatar-wtf-weekend, day 2, prompt(s): Hand in unlovable hand / “Dance with me.” / Abandon (depends on interpretation)

Pairing: Fire Lord Azulon/Master Pakku

I’ve noticed that my submissions aren’t rlly showing the affection in the depicted relationships and are more of showing their social dynamic lol, but I promise these are romantic pairings

[marblerose-rue]

silly doodle for my fursona since i made her 11 years ago today :-)

[ca-3]

Pegoryu that was originally for Kiss Ryuji Day ❤️

[lunarharp]

revamped looong mermaid orufrey au :')

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sorry I'm a bit late on this, but I just wanted to say congrats on finishing season 1 !! 🥳

LOSING MY MIND AT HOW PERFECT THIS IS!!!!!! THANK YOU PIO!!!!! B'*)