#i don’t think i’ve drawn this much in months

[nightsilver]

have another

[katabay]

while I get commissions done, I’m going to throw some things into my queue and schedule a couple posts since I made a lot of text posts recently and I want to brighten the place up with art. do you guys want to see more Robin Hood/Medieval adjacent stuff, or perhaps. some video games fan art. I got Death Mark, Honkai Star Rail, and Thief fan art I can feed into the queue machine. Assassins Creed as well! tbh if it’s a video game I did fan art of before, I probably have more of it somewhere. there’s even js&mn in the vault! however. it got. very scribbly.

[itspileofgoodthings]

have had a bit of my crash after flying too close to the sun this past week and you know what, it’s very annoying and also very good for me in a stabilizing way.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Uh-oh. This is bad

[peapod20001]

Gbavag not knowing enough about/ how to draw your oc is such a curse...

Like you draw them, but it’s not THEM y’know? And the you’re stuck in a loop of “I’m not drawing them because I don’t know how to” and “I won’t know how to draw them unless I practice”

[evarenity]

Hello I am still alive but I fell back into my SRMTHFG phase

[tariah23]

Been crazy about this particular title page for years actually

[nereidprinc3ss]

promiscuous

in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)

flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them

“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”

It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans. 

“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”

“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile. 

“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”

“You’re going on a date?”

You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache. 

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on. 

“With who?”

You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”

“Dalton?”

Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong. 

“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag. 

“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”

“And if it’s not Dalton?”

“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”

“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive. 

“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.

Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”

“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”

“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows. 

“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”

He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm. 

“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”

The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty. 

Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”

Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. 

“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”

“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”

You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”

God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long. 

“Is he what you want?”

At least he has the bravery to ask. 

You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow. 

“I don’t know why it matters to you.”

“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos. 

“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”

“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”

The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him. 

“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”

“It’s not like that!” He splutters. 

“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”

“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”

He’s turning increasingly pink. 

“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”

And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys. 

It’s just the wind. 

Nothing else. 

-

Maybe you’re simply not meant for love. 

It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone. 

Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?

Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything. 

The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself. 

It gets frustrating. 

Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you. 

Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction. 

“What year are you on?”

You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check. 

“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”

He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”

Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence. 

Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering. 

“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers. 

“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.”

“Did you say sulfuric acid?”

“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”

You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise. 

“For what?”

“For—”

He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind. 

“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”

“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost. 

From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping. 

You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place. 

But it’s not anyone else. 

“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”

He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.

Do you ask too much? 

Do you offer enough in return?

Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files. 

Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it. 

“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”

A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on. 

“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”

“Spencer, it’s fine.”

His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter. 

“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”

Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. 

How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?

Spencer takes pity on you. 

“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”

It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk. 

You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown. 

“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”

“91 18 00063 7.”

You hold the file up, eyes alight. 

“I found it.”

Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief. 

“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”

It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket. 

“Will you tell that to Hotch?”

“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”

“There are people who will take care of that later.”

“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”

“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush. 

You smile to yourself. 

Still got it. 

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[jinkicake]

Spring Is In The Air~

Something happens to them when the seasons change. 

Itto, Tighnari, Yae Miko, Zhongli x Reader

A/N: I wrote this like two months ago and never posted it... I’ve always wanted to try writing something like this so here is my pathetic attempt! It’s corny BUT, smutty!!! :-)

WC - 2,224

NSFWWWW // SMUTTYYY

~~~

ITTO

Itto is not subtle. Try as he might, the poor oni cannot learn the art of subtlety. His reactions always give him away to you within seconds. 

His struggle can currently be seen in the way he braces himself against the counter but still attempts to stand up straight to play it off. 

“Hey,” He sounds breathless, almost as if it is hard for him to breathe. You know he’s going to break any moment now, you can see it as his chest begins to rapidly rise and fall. His breathing quickens and all you can do is stare at his expanding chest. “I need you.”

Itto breaks every spring and putting him back together is your favorite part.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Itto groans loudly and the sounds, one after another, fly off of the walls. He’s absolutely losing himself as you bounce on his lap, up and down while your thighs pound against his own. The pace is fast, quick, and your knees are not able to handle it alone. It’s entirely him, Itto uses the strength in his muscular arms to toss you around on his lap. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, eyes squeezed together shut all while both of your hands are wrapped around his throat. “Yes, yes, yes,” It’s almost pathetic, the way he is singing your praise and grinds down onto the mattress. He can’t get enough of the feeling, of it all. 

Itto is loud in everything that he does and he never shies away from expressing his desires. 

“I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” He sounds entirely desperate, almost as if he is about to break into tears. You squeeze your thighs together and watch his every reaction as you clamp around him. His reaction is almost imminent. Itto’s hands on your waist squeeze you tightly as his bare nails dig into your skin as he cums with a drawn-out groan. The oni chases his high without stopping, still wildly thrusting up into you just as before. His pace then grows slower, impossibly slow as he slams into you a handful of times. There’s something final about this but, you know better. 

This is just the beginning. It takes hours to satisfy Itto, especially during the spring. 

You don’t even have the chance to catch your breath before you feel him twitching inside of you again, now hard as ever. His fast recovery is almost as quick as his reflexes. Itto pulls you off of him within a flash before mounting you from behind. 

“I’m sorry, just one more, one more, okay?” You can hear how his voice shakes in your ear but, you don’t have the chance to reply as he effortlessly slides back into you. In this position, you can hear everything, every puff of air that escapes his lips and every whimper that falls. Itto cries into your ear, tongue lapping at the surface as he moves his hips at a quick pace. “You’re fucking me so good,” 

You can almost feel him in your fucking stomach as you clamp around him but, his brutal strides feel so good. Each thrust against your bottom sends you flying and you end up face-first in the duvet. Itto keeps you still with a firm hand on your hip but, you can imagine how broken his expression must be as he groans above you. 

“One more time, one more time,”

((It’s never just one time with him.))

TIGHNARI

“(Y/N), please,” 

Hearing the forest ranger beg is something you are not used to. Tighnari never begs or yearns for your touch and attention. If he wants something, he takes it with little hesitation. 

Except when the seasons begin to change. 

When the air grows colder, something primal shifts in Tighnari. You can see it in the way his eyes soften into pools of need and how he becomes much more sensitive to the slightest touch. If you even think about touching his fingers, over his gloves, he will drop whatever is in his hands. 

Tighnari becomes reactive all over. 

“It’s happening again.” He murmurs into your ear as he presses up against your side. His tail wraps around your thigh, squeezing over and over again as he ruts into your leg. “I need you.” When Tighnari gets like this, you know it’s best to just let him take. 

“You poor thing,” Your voice is full of sympathy, perhaps a bit condescending, and it makes the forest ranger whimper. His ears flatten against the top of his head as his eyes squeeze shut in concentration. Your quiet sighs and hums only make him more delirious, Tighnari burrows his face into the crook of your neck and simply inhales. His breathing gets heavier as his messy thrusts become erratic. If he had not been holding onto you so tightly, you’re sure you would have fallen to the floor by now. 

He cums with a gasp, one that sucks the air from his lungs, and he tries to hide it by biting on your shoulder. Tighnari grits his teeth against your skin as little whimpers leave his lips, his tail rapidly thumping against your leg. His weight becomes too much and you both sink to the floor under his passion. 

That first orgasm meant nothing to him, it’s merely a warm-up. 

Tighnari can’t even bring himself to guide you to your shared bedroom, he takes you on the floor. 

He can’t help the way that he spreads your thighs and licks, running his tongue along your slit. The poor man devours it all, spitting and lapping up at whatever he can reach. His harsh sucks make you shiver and squirm but, you can’t move under the tight grip he has on your waist. 

“Ah,” Whatever Tighnari planned to say is muffled by your cunt as he shoves his tongue inside of you. He thrusts the muscle as far as he can go, ears flattened in concentration while his nose grinds against your clit. It’s as if he has become utterly consumed by you, everything about you because all he can focus on is getting his tongue in you as deep as possible. 

But then, he suddenly pulls himself off of you as if it hurts to touch you.

In the blink of an eye, Tighnari is above you, staring down while his legs get situated between your own. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but, I need it,” His breathing has become erratic, eyes almost feral as he begins to heavily salivate. With his primal urges brought to the surface, you know you won’t be able to leave this position and similar ones for a few days. “I have to- I have to fuck you.” 

YAE MIKO

With the amount of time you’ve spent beside Yae Miko, you know her exceptionally well. 

You know when something begins to shift within her, almost as if it is in the air. It’s seen in the way the other shrine maidens keep their distance and in the way Miko’s fingers dance along your skin as she grabs you at any possible opportunity. She makes sure that she’s touching your bare skin, her pink nails nearly breaking it as she stands behind you. 

“I require your assistance, pet,” Her breathy voice always confirms it for you and is the tell-tale sign of when her primal urges begin to show. She drags you by your wrist to a lone room, one decorated exceptionally well with everything you could need to last for weeks. Your lover’s touch grows lighter.

“You know what I need from you.” Yae Miko stares down at you as if she is truly looking down on you, her eyes hold little interest but you know better. You can see how her finger is nearly starting to tremble and how her lips have begun to part. “Come here,” She doesn’t even have to lift a finger for you to stand in front of her, within her grasp. 

Her lips are on you without another second to spare. Immediately, it’s all tongue. She parts your lips with tight squeezes of your sides before her hands move to paw at your breasts. While letting her tongue run over your own, shoving the muscle as far down your throat as she can, she towers above you. Her moans are low and entirely full of pleasure. 

You have a belief that her urges bring out something in you, something similar because you can’t help but want to be used by her every season. 

With heavy hands, Miko pushes you to the ground forcefully on your back. She slowly lowers to her knees, watching you carefully as you pathetically stare up at her. Your lips are still part and slightly swollen because of her previous ministrations. It makes her heart stop as desire stirs in the pit of her stomach. 

She spreads your legs with her slim hands and hooks one of your thighs over her own. Your underwear is discarded in seconds by her nails and her shorts are magically on another side of the room. 

Yae Miko’s lips turn slightly upwards, almost in a mischievous grin as she presses your leg to your chest and sits on top of you. She’s hot, the touch of her skin nearly makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. An immediate roll of her hips makes you moan loudly, the feeling of her sopping cunt against your own renders you speechless. 

“How funny,” She coos but, struggles to hide back her own shakey exhales. Desire takes the forefront of her brain and all she can think about is satisfying the demanding urge in the pit of her stomach. Over and over, she presses her clit against your own and rubs at the sensitive area while roughly thrusting her hips. This is only the beginning, you’re too aware of it. 

With the way Miko is squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipple, you can’t help but anticipate the rest of her plans with you. 

ZHONGLI

After spending lifetimes with Zhongli, you still end up winded when the seasons change. 

Your husband is a dutiful man and always gives you a fair warning, a notice before something ever happens with his body. However, sometimes a warning is not nearly enough. 

It’s been days since his insides have turned into a molten heat and Zhongli has not been shy about tackling this issue with you. You’re always so good to him, let him do whatever he desires just to satisfy the annoying urges. 

Day after day, he can’t help but grow stronger about his affections. He’s a selfish man and he desperately needs more. 

“Oh, you’re-” The words can’t even leave his lips as his head tilts back, a loud moan leaves his lips. Zhongli grits his teeth painfully, grinding them down as his hand tightens in your hair. He’s not being careful and neither are you. You continue to choke on him, around him, as your spit coats his entire cock. The cool sensation makes your husband’s thighs twitch as he grunts at the feeling spreading between his legs. 

You feel incredibly lucky that his primal form has yet to take over, perhaps it won’t even show this time around. It would be nearly impossible to satisfy him with another appendage hanging between his thighs. But, the thought still makes you moan wantingly. 

“My love-” Zhongli finds it hard to speak, his balls painfully tight and it only gets worse when he sees your hand hidden between your thighs. He focuses on your fingers moving against your clit and his eyes nearly turn into slits as he focuses on the image. The realization that this brings you as much pleasure as it does him causes a guttural groan to leave his chest. “Come here,”

His voice changes, it becomes much deeper, much more commanding. Zhongli doesn’t wait for you, he roughly pulls you up to your feet before pulling you into his lap. The way he manhandles you, forcing you to sit back on his face makes your entire being light up with need. 

“Morax!” You screech as your hands press into his abdomen, his tongue doesn’t waste a second now that you’re on him. The archon presses his tongue into your cunt, thrusting in and out before running the muscle over your clit. The stimulation makes it hard to focus but, you still reach for his heavy cock. 

You grip him tightly and lick at his slit, tongue digging into the area as you hum at the taste. Zhongli’s grip on your thighs becomes stronger and he fights back with his sharp nails digging into your skin. Had you been any more focused, you would have thought he had grown claws.

Your cunt pulses around his tongue and all Zhongli can do is continue to shove the muscle inside of you. He doesn’t shy away from rubbing against your walls, no, he has his own agenda. It’s almost sick how he coaxes you to gush around him, all so he can swallow it greedily to satisfy some gut-clenching demand. 

But, he can’t help it, he also can’t help how his skin begins to turn and scales spread across his arms. He can’t help but connect with his primal side when you satisfy the very deepest desires that he has. 

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[elssero]

streamer !

.d.kaminari

♰ nsfw, pro hero denki x f!reader, male masturbation

pro hero chargebolt logging onto twitch on his day off too see his favourite pretty streamer play her favourite games or talk about whatever’s currently trending.

it’s his favourite past time, he spends all week looking forward to his day off so he can catch up on all your streams he missed this week.

he gets especially giddy if you actually stream that day so he can watch it live.

at first his infatuation with you is innocent, your a rising streamer just like he’s a rising hero!! your situations are so similar in that sense, your both adjusting to your new found fame and your both rising the charts of your respected careers very fast.

he admires you! you seem to interact with fans and the media so easily so that he just can’t help but be drawn to you ! it’s not his fault ! but it helps that your exactly his type.

he feels incredibly lucky to be able to catch one of your streams live, your currently around thirty minutes into a just chatting stream, your doing a q&a more so aimed at new fans who don’t know all that much about you yet.

but he knows, he knows you answered questions extremely similar to the ones your answering now in your q&a two months ago but still he can’t help the wide grin that appears on his face everytime you giggle, or at the little smirk you give the camera when you answer a question that could be deemed a little risky.

he watches the whole stream with anticipation, despite being able to correctly guess all the answers your giving, he is genuinely interested in what you have to say, he swears!! it’s not his fault the bludge in his pants keeps growing everytime you re-adjust the way your sitting or when you move your arms to type something on your keyboard and the action pushes your tits together slightly. he’s really is trying his hardest to ignore the growing feeling in his sweats but it’s getting sore !

not wanting to lose control completely he begins to palm himself over the material of his sweats, just slight rubbing down on himself to help the ache he feels from watching you do something as normal as answering a few questions from your fans.

your forty-five minutes into the stream now and a donation pops up with a question that you’ve never answered before, denki immediately straightens up, beyond eager to hear the answer to the question.

“hey pretty! first of all i love your streams but i need you to settle a debate for me! of all the new young heros that have had their debut this year which is your favourite?

you immediately giggle and thank the donator for their donation and their compliment, the question seems to still you for a second, you look deep in thought and denki is on the edge of his seat awaiting your answer.

you suddenly break out into a huge grin and begin to answer the question “firstly i think their all very inspiring! being able to use your quirk to help people in the way they do is very admirable i can’t help but always feel safe when i hear news of yet another save from our hero’s”

denkis breath hitches, he feels like he can’t breathe, you think he’s inspiring. you admire him.

“however, if i had to pick a favourite i guess it would probably be chargebolt” you take a second to think before you continue “i’ve seen a few of his interviews and i would say he’s clearly very charismatic, he seems like he would be easy to get along with!”

he watches in a trance as you giggle at the end of your sentence before taking a breathe and biting down a small smirk you say-

“he’s also very cute so that helps too!”

denki swears he could’ve came in his pants right there and then. you just admitted to all of your viewers that he’s your favorite up and coming hero. you just admitted to all your viewers that you think he’s cute.

he’s scrambling to reverse your stream to hear you say it again, to make sure he isn’t dreaming, when he hears it come out of your mouth for the 3rd- no 4th time he’s sure he isn’t hearing things.

he feels like he’s going feral, you his favourite twitch streamer, someone he’s been watching from afar getting his rocks off too for months just said that he’s your favourite. just like how your his favourite too!

his dick twitches in his sweats and he doesn’t even hesitate to take it out like he normally does, any guilt he’s ever felt for touching himself to the idea of you is completely out the window, he wonders what you’d think if you saw him now, your favourite pro-hero scrambling to get his dick out while he watches your stream… would you enjoy it? you did say you thought he was cute… maybe you would enjoy it.

the thought has him almost drooling. his dick is twitching in his hand as he moves his hand up and down his cock at a pace he’s never done before. he’s so pent up that he feels like a teenager again, quickly jacking himself off in search of a realise he knows is already approaching.

he’s moaning at this point, completely drowning out what your now saying.. something about your outfit? he doesn’t know but what he does know is that you looking absolutely breathtaking while saying it.

he wants to last he really does but he can’t help it, not when your looking into the camera like that, almost like your looking directly into his eyes, encouraging him.

he thinks about it for a second, he thinks about you whispering in his ear, telling him to cum for you.. urging him to finish himself off to the sound of your voice.

he bottoms out with a whine of your name, shooting thick ropes so far they hit his laptop screen, he’s panting, regaining his breathe as your voice starts to become more clear from the foggy state he was just in. he doesn’t feel guilty, not like he usually does, instead he feels a sense of pride.. or maybe contempt?

he clips the part of your stream when you talk about him, adding it to a file he has saved “my favorite streamer<3” he cleans the cum from his laptop as he fully calms down, head still a little spacey from the moment he just had. his phone is blowing up with notifications, hundreds of tweets tagging him in the clip that someone had already reposted, in just a few minutes it’s clear that people think positively of what you’ve said about him with many people agreeing and he feels that all familiar sense of pride.

you notice it too, you gasp at the sudden rise in viewers, thanking everyone for their support and ending the stream abruptly. normally he would feel a little disappointed but nothing can move him from his high right now. he waits a couple minutes in a state of awe, he can’t believe it. truly.

just as he begins to stand up, deciding to order a little victory take out for himself he gets a dm on twitter from an account he follows.

yn: hi chargebolt! i’m not sure if you’ve seen the clip circling around but i wanted to send you a quick message to apologise for any trouble it’s causing you or your team! if you need me to put out a statement i’m happy to do so, all the best!”

okay now he can’t believe it. you just dmed him, mere minutes after he’d came like a sexually frustrated virgin to your stream, he’s convinced he must be dreaming, but the once again growing tent in his pants proves that he’s not.

chargebolt: “don’t worry about it sweetheart, there’s much worse things that i could be dealing with today, i don’t think i’ll need you to put out a statement but i’d happily treat you to dinner instead?”

[pucksandpower]

Rosso Corsa

Lewis Hamilton x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton has been called the GOAT by many … after he becomes your brother’s new teammate, you learn firsthand that being the greatest of all time extends to quite a few other aspects of his life as well

Warnings: 18+ content

Special thanks to @struggling-with-drivers for being an amazing friend and source of feedback who experienced today’s crazy whirlwind of news with me

You stand on the balcony of Lewis’ penthouse overlooking the harbor in Monaco, watching the rain pour down. The raindrops beat a steady rhythm on the metal railing as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Lewis says as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You relax into his embrace, still not used to how affectionate he is with you.

“Morning,” you reply with a small smile. “The rain woke me up early.”

“Hmm, I hope it didn’t disturb you too much,” Lewis murmurs as he nuzzles your neck. You bite your lip to hold back a pleasured sigh.

“I don’t mind it. I’ve always found the sound of rain soothing,” you say.

Lewis hums in response as you both stare out at the stormy sea. The rain is coming down hard now, large droplets splattering on the balcony floor.

“Shall we go inside where it’s warm and dry?” Lewis asks after a few moments.

You nod and let him guide you back into the open living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows provide a stunning view of Monaco even in the gloomy weather.

Lewis busies himself making a fresh cup of tea while you settle on the large sectional sofa, tucking your feet under you. Your mind wanders as you watch the rain streak down the windows.

You’ve been staying with Lewis for almost two weeks now, only a few months after he signed with Ferrari as your brother’s new teammate. You grew up in these very streets with Charles, the two of you extremely close in age and personality. He was your fiercest protector, shielding you from the realities of life in the spotlight.

But now you’re an adult, and Charles can no longer shelter you entirely. Especially not from someone as charming and persuasive as Lewis Hamilton.

You suppress a shiver as you remember the first time you met Lewis while joining your brother in Maranello. His warm brown eyes lingered on you as Charles introduced you. He took your hand and held it a beat too long, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. A secretive smile played on his lips, sending your heart racing.

Over the next few days, Lewis went out of his way to talk to you, compliment you, make you laugh. Whenever Charles was preoccupied, Lewis found an excuse to steal you away, guiding you by the small of your back or brushing his fingers against yours.

You knew you should keep your distance. Lewis had a reputation, and Charles would be furious if he knew how Lewis was pursuing you. But you couldn’t resist his allure.

So when Lewis invited you to stay with him instead of in your empty apartment while Charles was away, you said yes despite your better judgment. And now here you are, growing more attached to Lewis each day.

You’re drawn out of your reminiscing when Lewis sits down next to you, switching out your rapidly cooling coffee for some earl grey with a splash of oat milk.

“What are you thinking about so seriously over here?” He asks, his tone playful yet gentle. He runs his fingers lightly up and down your arm, raising goosebumps on your skin.

You take a sip of coffee to buy yourself a moment. “Oh, just remembering when we first met,” you say, aiming for nonchalance.

Lewis smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah yes, I remember it well. I took one look at you and was completely enthralled.”

You blush and avoid his gaze. “Lewis ...”

“What? It’s true,” he says earnestly. When you shyly meet his eyes, they shine with warmth and affection. “From that very first moment, I wanted to get to know you, protect you ...”

He trails off as he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your cheek. Your breath hitches at his touch.

“Why me?” You whisper.

Lewis shakes his head in amusement. “How could I not be drawn to you? You’re beautiful, charming, intelligent … anyone would be lucky to capture your attention.”

You stare down into your coffee, overwhelmed. No one has ever spoken to you this way before. Looked at you the way Lewis does, like you’re the most captivating person in the world.

“Hey, look at me,” Lewis murmurs. He tips your chin up until your eyes lock with his. “I mean every word. From the moment we met, all I’ve wanted is to get closer to you.”

His thumb strokes your bottom lip as he speaks. You’re helpless to pull away from his intense gaze.

“I know your brother wants to keep you locked away from reality,” Lewis continues seriously. “But you’re an adult now. You can make your own choices.”

His eyes flick down to your lips. Your breath catches in anticipation. Slowly, giving you time to pull back, Lewis leans in.

When his lips meet yours, you let your eyes drift shut. The kiss is soft and undemanding at first, Lewis letting you set the pace. As you respond tentatively, he pulls you closer, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Kissing Lewis surrounds you in warmth, makes you feel desired and cherished. You let him deepen the kiss, chasing the delicious sensation.

After long, blissful moments, Lewis gradually slows the kiss. He presses light, sweet pecks to your lips as he pulls back just enough to meet your dazed eyes.

“Wow,” you breathe, eliciting a delighted chuckle from him.

“I’d say so too,” Lewis says, smile crinkling his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your lower lip again. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long now.”

You bite your lip as you study his handsome face. Your heart is racing but you’ve never felt more secure than wrapped in his strong arms. Still, a niggling thought won’t leave you alone.

“Lewis … what about Charles?” You ask uncertainly. “If he finds out ...”

Lewis presses another soft kiss to your forehead. “I know, I know. We’ll have to be careful.” He strokes your hair soothingly. “This can be our secret for now. I don’t want you to worry, love. I’ll take care of you.”

His sincerity and confidence settles your nerves. You nod and cuddle into his broad chest. Lewis’ arms come around you as he drops a kiss to the top of your head.

“Why don’t I make us some breakfast?” He suggests. “We can spend the day inside, just the two of us.”

You smile up at him. “That sounds perfect.”

Lewis smiles and steals one more lingering kiss before heading to the kitchen. You settle back against the plush cushions, heart full.

The rain continues to fall steadily outside. But here, wrapped in Lewis’ affection, you’ve never felt warmer.

***

You pace back and forth in Lewis’ driver’s room, nerves making your heart flutter. The deafening roar of the crowds just outside echoes in your ears.

Lewis did it. He won his first race with Ferrari today. You watched with pride and excitement as he stood on the top step of the podium, rosso corsa vivid against the grey skies as the champagne poured down.

Now you wait for him to finish with the press and the team, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet. You smooth your hands down your dress for the tenth time, wondering if you’re making a mistake.

Finally the door opens and Lewis steps inside. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, his sculpted chest straining against his fireproofs underneath. He breaks into a huge grin when he sees you.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says warmly, striding over to fold you into his arms. “What a lovely surprise.”

You hug him back tightly, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “I’m so proud of you! Your first win for Ferrari.”

Lewis kisses your temple before holding you at arm’s length, hands gentle on your waist. “Today has been incredible. But coming back to find you here waiting … that’s the best victory of all.”

You blush under the sincerity of his gaze. Reaching up, you run your fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “I wanted to celebrate with you privately first, before the team party.”

Lewis’ eyes darken with desire and he pulls you flush against him. “I can think of a few private celebrations I’d like to have with you,” he murmurs suggestively.

Your breath catches but you place a hand on his chest. “Wait. I have something to tell you first.”

Taking his hand, you lead him over to the small sofa along the wall. Lewis sits and pulls you down next to him, studying you intently.

You take a deep, steadying breath. Your heart is racing for an entirely different reason now.

“Lewis, I … I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” You keep your eyes locked on his, willing him to understand the depth of your emotions.

“I know we have to hide this from Charles and the team. But I’m tired of hiding how I feel.” You reach out to cradle his face in your hands. “I’m yours, Lew. In every way. If you want me.”

Lewis’ eyes flare with a mixture of desire and affection. He turns his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm.

“Are you certain, my love? We can wait until you’re ready,” he says seriously, though his body vibrates with pent up longing.

You smile tremulously and nod. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Needing no further encouragement, Lewis crushes his mouth to yours. He kisses you deeply, holding nothing back. You moan into his mouth, your hands twisting in his race suit.

When you finally break apart both gasping for air, Lewis rests his forehead against yours. His eyes blaze with arousal but his touch is gentle as he caresses your face.

Lewis lays you down gently on the bed, his body blanketing yours. His hand slips into your hair as he kisses you deeply, with restrained passion.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing hard. Lewis trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at your pulse point in a way that makes you gasp.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he rasps, his voice rough with need.

You shake your head, arching into his touch. Your hands grasp at his shoulders, feeling the strength coiled under his shirt.

With deft fingers, Lewis begins unbuttoning your dress, exposing more and more of your flushed skin. He pauses when he reaches your bra, meeting your eyes questioningly. At your tiny nod, he reaches around and unhooks it, sliding the straps down your arms.

You flush as he reveals your bare breasts for the first time. Lewis groans low in his throat, eyes raking over you hungrily. Slowly he lowers his head, watching your face for any hesitation. When you bite your lip and nod for him to continue, he closes his lips around one taut nipple.

You cry out at the sensation, back arching off the bed. Lewis lavishes attention on your breasts, licking, sucking, kissing every inch of the sensitive skin. You’re mindless with pleasure, grasping at him desperately.

After an eternity, Lewis begins trailing hot kisses back down your stomach, hands unzipping your dress the rest of the way. He slides it down your legs tantalizingly slowly, caressing each new bit of exposed skin.

When you’re left in just your panties, Lewis pauses to admire you. “So beautiful,” he murmurs reverently before capturing your lips again.

His hands explore your body with new urgency, stroking along your sides, grasping your hips. You tentatively slide your hands under his shirt, feeling his muscles flex. Lewis groans and sits back just long enough to rip the Nomex over his head.

The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you dizzy with need. You start fumbling with his briefs until Lewis gently stills your hands.

“Slow down, love. We have all night,” he rasps, though his eyes are dark with desire. He kisses you languidly until you relax again, melting into his touch.

Only then does Lewis trail his hand down between your legs. You gasp against his mouth at the intimate caress, even through the fabric of your panties. He rubs you in slow circles until you’re mindless, pleading for more.

With utmost care Lewis slides your panties down your legs. His fingers return to stroke you directly and you cry out, arching into his hand.

“That’s it darling, let go for me,” Lewis coaxes. He watches your face raptly as he brings you higher and higher until you shatter around his fingers with a sharp cry.

As you float back down, Lewis kisses you tenderly. “You are so perfect, my love,” he whispers.

When you’ve caught your breath, Lewis stands just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. The sight of him bare above you makes you flush anew, but you boldly meet his heated gaze.

Lewis settles between your thighs once more, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your core. He braces himself above you on one arm while the other hand caresses your face.

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” he says thickly. You nod, heart pounding in anticipation.

Lewis reaches down to position himself at your entrance. He watches your face intently as he begins to press inside you. Despite his care, you gasp at the burning stretch. Immediately Lewis stills, face taut.

“Keep going,” you plead breathlessly.

Jaw clenched, Lewis pushes forward inexorably slowly until he’s fully seated inside you. He drops his head to your shoulder with a guttural groan.

“Oh god, you feel incredible,” he grits out.

You cling to him, overwhelmed at the new sensations. The fullness, the intimacy of being joined so completely.

Lewis is trembling with the effort to keep still above you. You trail kisses across his shoulder, silently telling him you’re ready.

Tenderly Lewis begins to move, rocking into you with gentle thrusts. The slight ache soon disappears, replaced by waves of pleasure. You wrap your legs around his hips, urging him deeper.

Lewis gradually increases his pace, unable to hold back any longer. His eyes burn into yours as he moves within you.

“I love you,” he gasps out. “Love you so much, Y/N.”

You cry out his name as the pleasure crests and breaks over you. Lewis follows seconds later with a low groan, burying his face in your neck.

You cling together as you float back to earth, hearts thundering in tandem. Lewis trails feather-light kisses over your face as you bask in the afterglow.

“Thank you for trusting me with this gift, my darling,” Lewis eventually murmurs.

You smile up at him radiantly. “I’ll love you forever for this night.”

Lewis’ eyes shine as he draws you impossibly closer. The crowds and thoughts of your brother seem lifetimes away. There is only you and Lewis and the sweet passion between you.

And as your bodies join in intimate unity, you know you made the right choice entrusting yourself completely to this man. For Lewis holds not just your body, but your heart.

***

The morning light filters into the bedroom, rousing you from sleep. You shift under the sheets, pleasantly sore, as memories from the night before come rushing back.

A smile steals over your face as you recall Lewis’ tender passion, the way he whispered his love to you again and again. You’ve never felt closer to another person.

Strong arms tighten around your waist from behind as Lewis nuzzles into your neck. “Good morning, my love,” he rumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

You roll over to face him, heart skipping at his rumpled hair and warm brown eyes. “Morning,” you whisper back, suddenly shy.

Lewis’ hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”

You lean into his touch. “Wonderful,” you say honestly. At his delighted grin, you add, “Last night was … incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“Mmm, neither have I,” Lewis says seriously. “Making love to you was the greatest gift you could have given me.”

He kisses you sweetly, then trails his lips along your jaw. “I can’t wait to explore more with you,” he murmurs, making you shiver.

Over the next weeks and months, Lewis takes great joy in broadening your horizons in the bedroom. With endless patience he teaches you the intricacies of pleasure, guiding you through new experiences you once only dreamed of. Under his patient guidance, you blossom from an innocent novice to a confident lover.

He delights in watching you come undone under his skillful hands and mouth, praising you for being such an eager student. Your nights together are filled with ecstasy, whispered endearments, and an ever deepening bond.

“That’s it, darling. Just like that,” Lewis groans as you learn to use your mouth on him. He gently guides your rhythm, fingers tangled in your hair. His throaty praise urges you on until he finally spills over with a ragged moan.

Other nights, he focuses solely on you. Lewis maps every inch of your body with lips, tongue and fingers until you’re trembling and oversensitized. Only then does he finally sink into your eager body and take you apart completely.

“So perfect, so responsive,” he rasps in your ear as you claw at his back, his deep thrusts pushing you higher. “You were made for me, love.”

Your muffled cries ring out as ecstasy crashes through you. Lewis follows moments later with a guttural groan, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips.

The end of the British Grand Prix finds you waiting nervously in Lewis’ driver’s room, heart swelling with pride at his victory. When he strides in, sweaty and exhilarated, his entire face lights up to see you there.

He sweeps you into his arms, kissing you passionately. “Another win, my darling. Will you give me my prize now?”

You smile coyly up at him through your lashes. “Happily. I’ve missed you.”

Lewis groans and reclaims your lips. As your kisses grow heated, he murmurs, “You’re the best motivation any driver could ask for. My favorite part of winning has become knowing you’ll be here waiting for me.”

You make quick work of removing each other’s clothes, too impatient for slow seduction. Lewis lays you back on the couch, eyes blazing with desire.

“I love watching you experience new pleasures,” he says thickly. “Let me show you something exquisite today.”

You nod eagerly, ready for whatever he wants to teach you. Lewis trails hot kisses down your body until he’s kneeling before you. He looks up at you with dark eyes.

“Just relax and feel, my love.”

When his mouth descends on you, you cry out in shocked rapture. He wasn’t exaggerating about showing you something exquisite.

After, he gathers you close, pressing kisses to your temple. “Winning used to be my greatest joy,” he confesses softly. “Now, knowing you’ll be waiting to reward me is the only thing that matters.”

You smile and kiss him tenderly. In Lewis’ arms, you’ve discovered passion and intimacy beyond your wildest imaginings.

When asked about his dominance this season during interviews, Lewis just smiles secretively. “I’ve found powerful motivation,” is all he offers.

You watch from the shadows, heart swelling with love and pride for the man who’s brought you such fulfillment. You know that no matter what happens next, you'll never regret giving yourself so completely to Lewis.

***

You stand against a wall, watching Lewis take pictures with his side of the garage after a hard fought victory, unable to keep from smiling.

When he catches your eye, his lips quirk up. The heat in his gaze makes your cheeks flush.

You’re so distracted you don’t notice Charles until he’s right beside you. “Enjoying the celebrations?” He asks with a nudge to your shoulder.

You jump. “Oh! Yes, it’s quite exciting.”

Charles’ sharp eyes sweep between you and Lewis. “Hmm. Well I’m heading out for drinks with the team if you’d like to join.”

You grasp for an excuse. “Oh, um, I’m pretty tired actually …”

“She already has plans with me tonight.”

You freeze at Lewis’ voice over your shoulder. Dread pools in your stomach as you turn to see him watching Charles calmly.

Your brother goes rigid, eyes darting between you and Lewis. “Plans? What plans?” He asks, voice dangerously level.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Lewis steps closer, hand coming to rest on your lower back.

“I’m taking your sister out to dinner to celebrate properly,” he says smoothly. His thumb strokes your spine comfortingly.

Charles’ eyes zero in on the intimate touch, nostrils flaring. “Is that so,” he states flatly. His piercing gaze bores into you. “And does this happen often?”

Your mouth is dry as dust. You look helplessly up at Lewis.

He meets Charles’ glare steadily. “Your sister is an adult. Our relationship is no one’s business but our own.”

“Relationship?” Charles’ voice rises sharply. “How long has this-this thing been going on?”

You wince at his accusing tone. “For most of the season,” you whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just-”

Charles holds up a hand, looking ill. “I don’t want to hear it. My own teammate, Y/N? Are you trying to ruin me?”

Indignation flares through you. “For once, this isn’t about you! I lov-” you break off, tears stinging your eyes.

Lewis wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. “That’s enough, Charles,” he says quietly but firmly. “I understand you’re upset, but don’t take it out on your sister.”

Charles’ mouth twists bitterly. “Oh so now you’re going to lecture me about my own family?” He takes a step closer, eyes blazing. “Stay away from my sister, Hamilton, or I swear-”

“Enough!” Your shout echoes through the suddenly silent motorhome. You pull away from Lewis to stand tall, glaring at your brother.

“You don’t get to make demands, Charles. Not about this.” Your voice doesn’t waver even as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with Lewis. And he loves me. This is real.” Your tone softens. “I wanted to tell you. But I need you to understand that this is my choice.”

Charles looks stunned, anger fading into hurt. “Y/N …” he reaches for you but you step back, shaking your head.

“I just need some time. Please try to understand.” With that you turn and hurry away, ignoring the tears clouding your vision.

You don’t stop until firm, familiar arms come around you. Lewis tucks you into his chest, stroking your hair as you finally let the tears fall.

“Shh it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. He continues holding you until the storm of emotion passes.

Finally you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “What do we do now?”

Lewis caresses your cheek gently. "We’ll figure it out together. I meant what I said, I’m not giving you up.”

You manage a watery smile. Whatever comes next, you know you and Lewis can weather it as long as you have each other. Leaning up on your toes, you silence anymore words with a soft, sweet kiss.

It takes a few weeks, but finally Charles seeks you out.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, petite soeur. It was a shock, but that’s no excuse.” He takes your hands in his. “I just want you to be happy. And if Hamilton — if Lewis — is who you want, then … I can accept that.”

Relief crashes over you. You fling your arms around Charles, tears pricking your eyes again.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his shoulder. “That means everything to me.”

Charles holds you close for a long moment before pulling back to give you a rueful smile. “Just promise me I won’t have to see anything too lovey-dovey between you two.”

You laugh through your tears. “I promise.”

Charles has never been able to resist when you turn your puppy dog eyes on him. And deep down, he wants nothing more than your happiness — even if that’s with his teammate.

[ahqkas]

Ex bf theo who was really toxic and was a bad bf but after the break up he matures and tries tonget you back?

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ENIGMA, a puzzle that you never quite managed to solve. during your relationship, his brooding silence and sharp wit had initially drawn you in, but over time, they became the very things that chipped away at your happiness. he was toxic — possessive, distant, and emotionally unavailable. the relationship became a series of ups and downs, with moments of passion followed by long stretches of cold indifference. you spent too much time trying to reach him, trying to make him care the way you did, but in the end, it was clear that he wasn't ready to be the person you needed him to be.

the breakup had been inevitable. it was messy and painful, filled with harsh words and lingering regrets. you walked away shattered but determined to heal, to rebuild yourself without the weight of his darkness pulling you down. months passed, and slowly but surely, you began to find your footing again. life moved on, and so did you — or at least, you tried to.

then, one day, theodore showed up in your life again.

it was the warmest day of early september. you were in diagon alley, browsing through the rows of books at flourish and blotts, when you felt that painfully familiar presence behind you. your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of dread and curiosity flooding your senses. you turned, and there he was, standing awkwardly near the entrance, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

theodore looked different. although he was still the tall, slender figure with the same piercing eyes that once made your heart race, something had changed. his posture was more relaxed, his expression softer. gone was the constant scowl that used to mar his handsome features, replaced now with what seemed like genuine vulnerability.

“hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, almost hesitant.

you blinked slowly, caught off guard by his presence. “theo?”

he shifted on his feet, glancing around the shop before meeting your gaze again. the use of his nickname by you stirred up unforgettable memories inside him. “can we talk? in private,”

you nodded at his request hesitantly and followed the boy, now who seemed like a man. he hurt you badly, and there was no reason for him to talk to you ever again, so why was he seeking you now?

theo’s quiet voice broke the silence between the two of you as you stood in a smaller aisle of the shop. “i’ve been thinking about you — a lot,” he admitted. “there’s something i have to say to you or i’ll go mad.”

you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to expect. theodore had never been one to easily admit fault, and seeing him now, looking almost remorseful, was jarring. part of you wanted to turn and walk away, to avoid reopening old wounds, but another part — the part that once loved him truly and deeply — wanted to hear what he had to say.

“i know now i was a terrible boyfriend,” he began, his eyes not leaving yours. “i treated you horribly, and i don’t deserve your forgiveness. but i’ve changed. i know it’s hard to believe, but i’ve spent a lot of time thinking about everything i did wrong, everything i took for granted.”

he paused, as if searching for the right words. “i’ve been working on myself, trying to understand why i was the way i was. i didn’t realize how much i needed to grow up until you were gone.”

his words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. you could hear the sincerity in his voice, see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the past. too many memories of broken promises and hurtful words still lingered in your mind.

“theo, i . . .” you hesitated, unsure how to respond. “i’m glad you’ve been working on yourself, really, but i don’t know if i can just forget everything that happened. you hurt me, a lot.”

he nodded and his eyes found comfort on your hands. “i know. and i don’t expect you to just take me back. i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry for how i was. truly. and . . . if there’s ever a chance, even a small one, that we could try again . . . i would do everything differently. i would be better for you.”

theodore nott’s words were raw, unfiltered, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. this wasn’t the theodore you had known — the one who hid behind sarcasm and anger. this was someone who had faced his demons and was trying, really trying, to be a better man. but could you trust him? could you risk your heart again after everything that had happened?

“i need time, theo,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “i can’t just jump back into something that hurt me so much.”

the slytherin nodded again, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “i understand. i’ll wait as long as it takes. and if you never want to try again, i’ll respect that too. i just needed you to know that i’m sorry, and that i’m here if you ever want to give us another chance.”

with that, he turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look — a look filled with all the things he had never been able to say before.

[kbwrites]

How the JJK Men Flirt

characters: Gojo, Nanami, Choso

⚝ content: slightly suggestive for gojo, choso is a cutie pie, Nanami will always be husband material

Satoru Gojo

Thinks he is a smooth operator

In reality, has zero rizz. Creepy rizz.

“Damn Ma, you shit with that ass?” 😩

Makes up for it with his looks and the fact that he’s loaded (wallet and pants).

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” He leans against the wall looking down at you through his blindfold.

“Go away Satoru.” You slip past his arms, leaving the white-haired sorcerer speechless.

You lounge on the couch of your apartment when you hear a knock on the door. Upon opening it you see roses, snacks, and a Chanel bag on the doorstep. Attached to the flowers is a card.

‘Get ready for the BEST NIGHT EVER be there @ 7<3’

Guess you have no choice now?

Once you get past his strong personality he’s actually really sweet.

His laid-back demeanor is really just a front, Satoru is a nervous wreck when it comes to talking to women. Especially You.

Is so worried about impressing you, he buys the most expensive thing on the menu. The food ends up being way too fancy for your tastes so you guys end up at a fast food place.

Orders everything off the menu there too.

Ends up getting so sick from eating too much you have to take him home to take care of him.

That was his plan all along.

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Kento Nanami

You can’t really tell he’s flirting??

It starts as little things he does for you.

Complaining about working late? A cup of coffee is on your desk when you get to work.

No time to grab lunch? Kento coincidentally has an extra bento.

He always plays it off though:

“I just happened to make too much food.”

“We can’t afford for you to get sick, there’s too much work to get done.”

But the truth is, he hopes you complain about something so he can swoop in and fix it. On your day off, the first one in months you decide to visit a bakery you’ve seen all over Instagram. You see a tall man in front of you… he kind of looks like-

“Kento?”

“Oh. Hello.” He turns around, recognizing your voice immediately. He looks different without a suit. “I’ve never seen you here before. Might this be your first time?”

“Yeah, I saw it online and wanted to give it a shot!” You chuckle nervously.

The line moves, it’s now Kento’s turn to order.

“I’ll have the sourdough loaf, half dozen croissants and..” He turns to you “Whatever this young lady wants.”

You end up ordering a slice of chocolate cake and a few other treats. Profusely thanking your coworker for paying, ever the gentleman.

“Thanks again, please allow me to pay you back-”

“Don’t even think about it.” He says firmly, a moment passes. “Are you heading out now? Maybe we can eat some of these together—”

“YES.”

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Choso Kamo

Actually adorable.

Follows you around like a love-sick puppy.

You need him to jump? How high?

He notices EVERYTHING about you.

“You changed your hair today. I like it.”

“I’ve never seen you in that sweater before, its pretty.” All said with an intense blush on his face.

He doesn’t really understand why you have such an effect on him, at first he thinks you cursed him or something.

But one day he’s out with Yuji and brings it up.

“Whenever I’m with (Y/N) I don’t want to leave her side. It's like I’m drawn to her.”

His younger brother just laughs.

“Sounds like you’re in love Choso.”

Love?

Once he realizes it he just flat-out confesses. Pulls you away to a secluded spot on the school grounds. There's a bouquet of roses, a teddy bear and chocolate by the base of the tree.

Takes your hands in his and looks at you with a scared but hopeful expression.

“(Y/N).. Would you please be my girlfriend?”

And your heart swoons.

[mikeystrawberry]

Today is Dungeons & Daddies’s 5th Anniversary!

I haven’t been listening for nearly that long but the podcast and all its characters means a lot to me. Happy Anniversary!!!

Throwing the cropped sections under the cut because there’s a lot of stuff going on and I know Tumblr likes to throw half the pixel quality out the window. And also so I can ramble a bit about this piece!!!

This piece has been months in the making, possibly an entire year. And by that I mean I’ve had a sketch of the comp scribbled on my whiteboard for ages because I wanted to save this specifically for 5th anni art. Now onto design stuff!

(First off a random thought: I really love how the garlic knot came out, I kind of want it as an enamel pin.)

I knew I wanted to make this a stained glass piece since the beginning, but I was also going to add flowers at one point but quickly dropped the idea. It felt like too much and I also didn’t want to fuss over flower language assignments for everyone. I was also going to add Doodler tentacles, but also dropped that idea pretty early. Kind of on accident, right at the end, I figured out how to make it even more stained glass-like but taking a duplicated lineart underneath the regular layer and turning the brightness all the way down, then setting it to overlay and adding a guassian blur. It’s very subtle but it adds that tiny bit of depth that makes it look more real. As for shading on the lineart/gold, I tried adding more highlight on the characters who died but once I evened everything out it wasn’t as noticeable anymore so I’m throwing that thought here so the attempt at least known lol.

The order of characters only changed a little bit from my original comp, I flipped the Wilsons and the Oaks so the rainbow could work. As for the anchors, specifically in season 2, I lined them up to the teens since the season 1 anchors lined up with each dad:

Tony —> Scary: his death was the beginning of Scary’s betrayal arc and also Willy killed him.

Guitar Pick —> Taylor: it’s not really aligned with Taylor at all, but the anchor was with Glenn so I put it next to his blunt.

Scroll —> Normal: was only because it was the last left to give him, but there’s the whole scene of him and Hermie in the Green Room so it still works!

Garlic Knot —> Link: one of two that he broke, but the more significant of the two with him telling Grant he never wants to see him again.

Small notes on the season 1 anchors: I put the layer of mold in the overnight oats but you can’t really tell with the overlay. And to make the supper bowl more interesting I added the fantasy sodas mix they dumped into it. The lure of actually drawn before so I just traced my own art lol.

As for the other smaller triangles, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to put there. I didn’t even think of adding the vehicles until two days ago but I’m so glad I did. I don’t really have my own take on the mascot version of the Doodler (yet?) so I borrowed the design from one of the stickers in their merch shop. Teeny was terrifying as just a front facing head so I made him cute again.

In the outer circles, I put what I felt was the most significant quotes for each family. I really wanted to use “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to be cruel” but it was just a little too long.

That’s all I can think of! If you read all the way through, thank you for indulging me in my excitement to gush over this piece.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

The second one is for Harry. I don’t have a plot for him tbh. Anything works…maybe something like James and lily are still alive and the reader is Sirius’ and Remus’ daughter (if you’re comfortable with that else she’s just Sirius’s daughter) and that her and Harry have feelings for each other but they make sure that their parents don’t know about this because they think they won’t approve but secretly Sirius and James have made a bet even before they were born that they’d end up dating.

Gonna sign off as - 👀

harry potter x black-lupin!reader where you both decide to come clean about your relationship only to realise the bets that were going on before you were even born

The morning started off innocently enough. You and Harry decided, with great trepidation and a little bit of sweaty-palmed hand-holding, that it was time to come clean to your parents. You’d spent months sneaking around, dodging suspicious looks and sharing whispered secrets under that big oak tree in the Potter backyard. But enough was enough. Today was the day.

At breakfast, you sit on one side of the table, gripping Harry’s hand under it like a lifeline. Across from you, James is mid-story, waving his coffee cup wildly, nearly splashing Sirius, who’s cackling in support. Remus stands by the stove flipping pancakes, while Lily is engrossed in her tea. It’s almost too peaceful. Almost.

You exchange a look with Harry, both of you gulping in unison. Here goes nothing.

You clear your throat, trying to sound calm and confident but ending up squeaking, “We have something to tell you.”

Every head swivels toward you. Four pairs of eyes lock on, and it’s like they’ve turned into your jury.

Sirius’s brows lift, eyes flicking to your joined hands, a smirk already forming. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

James takes a leisurely sip of his coffee, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Go on then, let’s hear it.”

“Uh… well, Harry and I…” You glance at him, wide-eyed. “We’re together. Dating. You know, in a relationship.”

Silence. Deafening, horrible silence. You brace yourself for the absolute chaos about to ensue—a dramatic gasp from Sirius, a whole speech from Remus, something. But instead…

“Oh, finally,” Remus sighs, flipping another pancake like he’s completely unfazed.

“Pay up, Padfoot.” James holds out a hand to Sirius with a smirk that could only mean one thing: they knew.

“Are you—are you betting on us?” Harry sputters, his face turning beet red.

Sirius lets out a long, overly dramatic sigh as he fishes out a handful of Galleons and plunks them into James’s waiting hand. “Yep. And I had my money on last Christmas, but nooo, you two had to make it as painful and drawn-out as possible.”

James shrugs, looking positively delighted. “I told him you two would take forever. I mean, you’re related to Sirius, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Oh, come on!” you snap, indignant. “You didn’t even wait for us to tell you?”

Sirius leans forward, smirking like he’s the world’s wisest sage. “Kid, you were about as subtle as a hippogriff in a teashop. ‘Oh, dad, we’re just going out to ‘study.’’” He air-quotes aggressively. “Or, ‘Oh, daddy, it’s so peaceful under the oak tree.’”

“Do you know how many times I nearly hexed you?” Remus says, shaking his head, clearly unimpressed. “Once or twice would’ve been fine, but the ‘study dates’? Please.”

Harry’s face falls into his hands, groaning. “So you… knew? This entire time?”

James snorts, leaning back with the air of someone who has been utterly vindicated. “Son, I’ve known since you looked at her like she’d personally invented Quidditch.” He raises a smug eyebrow at Lily. “Which, by the way, was second year.”

Lily laughs softly. “Second year, James? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“Oh, not at all,” James replies with a flirty expression. “I’d know that look anywhere—it’s exactly how I used to look at you.”

You and Harry exchange an exasperated look. “So… none of you are upset?” you ask, bewildered.

Remus grins, nudging you both toward the table. “Not at all. In fact, this is excellent news because now I can finally use your time together as leverage for chores.”

Lily laughs, patting your shoulder with a wink. “Honestly, we were all just waiting to see how long you’d last before one of you cracked.”

Sirius, meanwhile, is dramatically clutching his chest. “I was holding out for the Christmas confession! So many prime opportunities wasted! I could have retired on those winnings!”

“Oh, get over it,” James says with a slap on his back. “We all saw it coming from a kilometer away.”

And as you and Harry sit there, faces hot with embarrassment and disbelief, the rest of them toast to the “official family binding,” clinking glasses and laughing like this is the best entertainment they’ve had in years.

thank you so much for requesting, 👀!! If it is no trouble, could you tell your age and gender?