#in love with the new set design and colors

[samhadjblog2]

Just because the tech improved considerably since the 80s, writing has not. The only difference is that it’s laden with political nonsense, dumb memes and ‘lolsorandom’ humor that makes the occasional anime bugeye-surprise and faceplant scenes feel innocent.

How is the show "Laden with political nonsense" the series isn't talking down to anyone, nor do's it preach to the audience. Nor is the show laden with "Lol memes". The series is focus on exploring the cycle of abuse. And if you look back at the original series each episode ended with a marketable plushy character literally telling you the message of the episode.

And it’s not that nostalgic people hate new things. They love new things. IF the new things are actually good. Which sadly isn’t true 75% of the time. 

Sure there is a lot of bad remakes and revivals, however the new She ra is actually a pretty solid series in of itself.

There are some 80s-90s classics that are drawn and written better than things you can find nowadays, because back then quality was important and people still cared about it back then. There’s an occasional error or outdated bit, but it doesn’t define the entire show as a whole. Cartoons such as Rescue Rangers come to mind. Gargoyles, etc.

And there are show's that great today as well. Because guess what quality is still important as well as cared about the project they are making. And the new She ra series is an example of this.

Now you look at all those countless reboots of cartoons that back then used to be popular, piggybacking on said popularity but completely wrecking everything the original had to offer. Character designs, personalities, backstories and whatnot are all just...thrown out the window and replaced with something the design artist and writer(s) felt “more appropriate”. Deviating so hard from the original, you can’t help but ask yourself one question.

Here's the thing though, the original She ra cartoon from the 80s is far from a master piece. Its a cheesy corny series meant to sell toy's to kids. Its art design was awful with so many clashing designs, you these generic Marvel heroes interacting with elves and pixies from Hanna-Barbera cartoon all with set pieces that either take place in a Dr.seuss book or just 80s metal poster. And it all clashes with one another, meanwhile the new show's art style is something takes these clashing elements and harmonizes them by having this more pastel colored world with characters that have more sharper designs. The original show was a campy series that had very stiff animation and very cookie cutter characters with basic personality's. Meanwhile the new show actually has more interesting characters. (Seriously look at Catra in the new show and compare her to her more annoying 80s counter-part).

“Why didn’t you make something ORIGINAL, then?”

Because studios are more interested in making reboots,remakes and revivals and are not interested in original series.

(having a boy-head with the hair so firmly and flatly pressed onto the top of her skull that there’s zero volume and looks more like some kind of mullet), ...though apparently 70% of those images are actually fembois XD

She really doesn't have a boy-head. And if you look at her hair it isn't that flat. And if you look at the other images you can see these design a lot better.

[hipsternumbertwo]

Can We Guess Reddit's Favorite Frozen Dinners?

[linkeduniverse]

Adding a new hero or princess to the cast introduces a whole new variable. Much like when TotK was released, it would have taken something extraordinary and mind-blowingly inspiring for me to make such a big change to LU. As for EoW, while it was a fun and memorable adventure through Hyrule, it didn’t quite reach the level needed to be a permanent part of LU. I really like this Link, but the story’s simplicity and lack of a first/second-person perspective make it hard to build on. Plus, this game is more about Zelda than Link, and if anyone were to be featured, it would be her. While EoW may not be groundbreaking, it’s still a charming and significant part of the Zelda universe. I’d love to give this Zelda a special role in LU later in the story. Either a special guest, a cameo or some sort of significant contribution to LU.

That said, I’ve already redesigned her for LU, and since she’s not a major character in the cast, I’m excited to share her now!

Design thought prosses: Most of the girls in LU haven’t been revealed yet, but some embrace their royal identity in their attire. This Zelda gave me the chance to redesign a princess without the usual regal aesthetics. Similar to zelda's blue maiden dress and Skyloft outfit this outfit was to have a more humble look that blends into everyday commoner attire. But In contrast, SS Zelda is vibrant, with Skyloft giving off a feeling of saturated, contrasting colors, much like their avian companions. EoW, however, has a more wholesome, toy-like style, and I wanted her design to reflect more light pastels with calmer saturations. Also the art style it'self in EoW and LA remake is very simple, a redesign didn't need much embellishments. I think after focusing on drawing the boys for so long, I was excited to explore delicate youthful femininity—so I went with a cutesy vintage-doll meets cottagecore mood board to set her look.

[infernothechaosgod]

For ppl who havent seen the 2019 Oswald show concepts got leaked and i think its important we all reblog and save these images before disney can attempt to burry them we NEED this archived for the artists sake

Og post discovering this (on twitter) and yt vid i assume by the same person GO THANK THEM RIGHT THE FUCK NOW

Here are all the concepts mainly on envariment

Concepts on oswald himself i belive not finalized?

His little gas station to the crowd that still checks things w disney you might know this is the same gas station oz has the the disney theme parks, honestly very fitting though I do find some irony here i'll share in tags cuz its rubberverse related-

Absolutlry beautiful concepts of the outside enviroment you can accualy sense so much passion put into these the colors are so beautiful omg

Notes on the characters! I do find even more irony here i'll again post in reblogs cuz its off topic We can see some oryginal villians for oz That i belive we also saw in the pilot from 2014 i can see the take on them has changed a bit, also the hound driver is so peak oh my god i think i love him

Concepts of some hotel i wonder what was the idea with that Id assume maybe this could have been a place oz stays in while hes in the city cuz we see he's from the outside rather than a part of it either way on speculation i think the concept of it is my personal fav i mean just look at it

Idk whats this related to but oswalds on a sky scrapper at night and i fw with it good for him

And while it is a bigger speculation and the image isnt the most clear-

We see another rabbit in the city in a trolley, i think we can see eyelashes and she def has some hat on (smaller hats are usual for women at disney from what i saw) We see SHE notices oswald and is looking at him with i think a o.o expression so...

Is that suppoust to be fanny??

Since this is doing numbers id just like to add that oswald obviously being an out the city boy freshly walking into the city and fanny possibly being from the city noticing him first and that he's new and maybe helpin him get around better as well and telling him who are the ppl you wanna stay away from would be cute and the fact (as much as I dont rlly like the idea of blond fanny) their designs are even more diffrent now are all great reasons for them to kiss and hold hands and maybe set a building on fire or somethin

[princesssmars]

thinking of this escape the butch vi fanart. a Lot.

nsfw. fem!reader. roleplaying + rough sex. very light degradation mixed with praise. also inspired by that dbd clip of ghostface and the survivor under him...yeah. penetrative strap-on sex (r!receiving). recorded sex.

wc : 1.954

"come on pretty girl, you said you wanted this, right? so go on and smile for the camera."

like every other story, the erotic memory of your girlfriend pounding you into your carpet actually had a rather sweet beginning.

see, you were a fan of horror movies. slashers, body horror, psychological, just name it and you've probably watched it. most of your friends found it odd, always declining when you'd invite them to catch a late night showing of a new flick.

oh but not your vi. whenever you were absolutely dying to see the hottest new horror in theaters, you knew it'd only take a phone call and playful begging for her to pull up on her motorcycle and whisk you away to the big screen.

you couldn't ask for a girlfriend who understood your passion better. but maybe this time you were...a little too passionate.

it really started when the next big slasher hit theaters, a solid hit with the at first glance simple plot of a psychotic butcher chasing down. a group of college kids who mistakenly stumbled into his shop. everywhere you went people were raving about it, gassing up the style, the characters, the gore, saying it'd be one of the next greats. so of course you wanted to be there opening weekend comfy in a reclining seat with an overpriced popcorn in one hand and a way too big soda in the other.

so of course luck would have it that you randomly fell sick that weekend, stuck in bed with a crazy fever. then the weekend after that a giant storm left you no choice but to cancel your plans, then next week your car had troubles-

safe to say, you were incredibly thankful that theaters quickly gave up on films and sent them to streaming. while you were upset you wouldn't get the full theater experience, when vi recommended an at home movie night date you couldn't pass it up.

and so there you were, snuggled in a comfy pajama set with a bowl of popcorn on your coffee table as you curled up into the side of your butch. you loved the movie, but most of all you loved the killer. a simple yet oh so intimidating design, you admired the bloodied butcher as it dropped a meat cleaver into another unlucky victim.

"jesus, those reviews weren't kidding." vi whispered under her breath, eyes wide and face bright from the colors of the screen.

you gently jabbed your elbow into her side, "aww, don't tell me your scared, baby."

"oh you wish. this movie is great, i've already got my next halloween costume down."

it was...inexplicable, the reaction you had. it was almost like your brain short circuited, rebooting until the only thing you could seen in your mind was vi, your sweet strong and incredibly built girlfriend standing above you in the same costume on screen.

okay, maybe it was explainable - it made you horny. but to be fair, you were shocked at it yourself. you'd heard of some girls thirsting over numerous masked and sinister killers in horror, but you'd never felt any such attraction.

but now your imaging vi in that way, able to see her chasing you down so clearly it makes your heart race.

and of course she noticed, because your love noticed everything about you. her eyes drifted across your face, noticing how your wide eyes were tracked on the screen like it was your job, how you licked and bit your lips and took in stuttered breaths.

and oh, did she revel in it.

she didn't bring it up again until that yearly costume party was creeping around the corner, and she tried not to laugh when you not so suavely suggested that you might as well dress up as the final girl from the movie, for consistency purposes of course.

she also had to hide her smugness seeing your reaction to her stepping out in the costume for the first time. she could see your eyes trailing over her bar arms, the fake (and edible, for reasons) blood decorating her skin and the brown leather apron that stretched across her torso. if she didn't have a plan for you that night, she would have said screw the party and taken you on the couch at the drop of her plastic meat cleaver. but of course, good things come to those who wait.

but waiting doesn't mean behaving. she acted properly during the first few hours of the party, posing for pictures with your mutual friends and taking delight in eating the themed goodies laid out. but it wasn't long until she started to tease, coming up behind you and wrapping you in her arms, biting her lip when she could subtly feel you relaxing in her arms before trying to push yourself back into her.

it got to the point where she just had to take pity on you, with only a few more touches and hidden squeezes bringing out your clinginess as you practically glued yourself to her side, arms wrapped around her bicep as you stared up at her with those eyes you just knew she couldn't resist.

as soon as you stepped into the doorway of your house she was on you, hands squared on your shoulders as she pushed you into the wall behind you, her hips pushing into yours in just the right way that you swore you'd lose your mind.

"oooh, someone's eager huh? y'know, i had a feeling you were always into roleplay, but i couldn't imagine this -"

"vi, c'mon, please. just, j-just -" you whined, half out of arousal and half out of embarrassment at being so.

"just what, huh pretty? tell me what you want and ill give it to you."

you bite your lip, eyes darting to the side as you debated on if you were really ready to go that far. but then one of her gloved hands is coming up to your face, a finger pulling your lip out of your hold. its only when you see her blue eyes zero in on a spot beneath your face that you know she left a trail of the fake blood, both of your breaths hitching in your throats.

"do you...do you still have that camcorder in your closet?"

"oh my god, oh my god, 'h my...god!"

you don't register the woman above you loud laughing at your moans, nor do you pick up on the handheld camera still recording every reaction om your face. all you can focus on is the absolutely debilitating pressure in your cunt, your girlfriend's strap down right splitting you open as she fucks you almost like she hates you. the thought sends a shiver down your spine, drawing out more mewls that are muffled by the plush of your rug when your head plops onto the ground before one of her hands is wrapping in your hair and tugging you up, not wanting to miss even a second of you.

"god damn, who knew i'd get this pretty little slut alll to myself tonight, huh?" she grunts, a yellow glove digging into the dip of your back to make you arch even more for her, to take everything she's giving you.

like you had a choice. not that you really want one, anyway.

"aww, poor baby keeps drifting out of it. maybe i should take pity on her and stop -"

her fake pouting rings in your brain and is followed by her hips slowing down, her strap starting to slip out of you before you thrust yourself back into her, letting out a moan do loud if you weren't so far gone you'd be mortified, but at the moment you cant find it in yourself to care.

"n-no! no no no no please don't stop, 'can take it, promise." you intermittently thrust your hips back as you whine, even looking back and up at her and trying your best at the puppy eyes she seems to always do so well, eager to do anything if it means she'll keep fucking you.

and when you gaze up at her looking like that, big round eyes complemented by ruined makeup, your kissed and bitten tits hanging out of your costume top right in the view of the camera, not to mention the slightest glimpse of her strap peeking out from the end of the curve of your ass, how on earth could she even think of not giving in to you?

most of the time she would drag this out, edge you until you were begging and crying for her just to brush a hand over your thigh. but maybe tonight she'll go easy on you, just because she's feeling nice.

so she sets the camcorder a the perfect angle on the table, grips both of your hips in her palms, and starts to absolutely wreck your world.

she truly cant wait for when she'll be watching this footage back over with you later, how you'll groan and push at her out of embarrassment when you witness just how desperate you are in this moment, meeting each one of her thrusts with a vigor she hasn't yet seen and moaning so loudly she's sure you'll be receiving a message from your landlord in the morning.

and she knows in the future you'll be pestering her too, because just in the crack of the constant plaplaplap! of your hips and the gorgeous ass noises slipping from between your lips she can hear herself, too, strained little grunts and cut off growls of "so perfect, so damn perfect for me," and "takin it so well, god, knew you wouldn't run from this-"

her hand yet again comes up to you, only this time wrapping around your neck to arch you even further back for her to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, cold fake blood smearing over your mouths. it's only when you blink up at her and see her smiling while licking the blood off of her lips that you cum, sight going white as you clamp down so hard on to her strap she struggles to keep fucking you through it as she carries both of you through your shared moments of bliss.

its a sweet silence as you both come down from your highs, your body relaxing into the carpet before she gently slips the toy from inside you and off of her hips, quickly turns off the camcorder and maneuvers you both on to the couch, pulling a blanket over you as you settle into the softness of her chest.

vi is the first to break the silence, pressing a plethora of sweet kisses to your head, "so, how did you like it?"

"ugh, don't make me answer, you already know." you groan, digging your head into her shoulder in a pitiful attempt to escape her teasing.

"cmonnn, wont make fun of you, i promise. i wouldn't mind doing this again, y'know."

"...seriously?"

"hell yeah, that was...a lot more fun than i expected. maybe next time i could...i dont know, chas you through the woods or something. just an idea."

of course you notice just how quickly she came up with the idea, and of course she notices how your breath hitches the same way hers does.

[chow0w]

could you draw blaze its her b day today and also OMG i love your art

thanks so much sun! you and @thatoneabsolutegoober (working on your other asks btw, I'll reply to you directly when I finish snowfall or lynx!) wanted to see Blaze redesigned, and while I may have missed her birthday by a mile, I can still give you my take!

My Blaze redesign is set during the war of sandwing succession - I know Blaze hid just outside of the great ice wall where it wasn't too cold, but I still feel like she would have complained her way into getting a fluffy fur coat to wear for more warmth. I used some checker patterns and tan colors to mimic leather, while the fur itself has those little brown spots you always see (I think this is stoat fur, but a stoat isn't big enough to fit around Blaze's neck anyways so it doesn't matter.)

Most of Blaze's actual body is hidden under her massive jacket, but you might notice she has a plumper frame and smaller wings. I can't explain why, but I feel like it suits her a lot. Her scales don't have any unusual patterns, with most of the detail being concentrated at her wings - which have swirls near the top and a small flame-like impression near the base. I feel like it would be cool if all three sisters had fire/flame design elements given their names, but Blaze's should definitely be the least noticeable since she shows the least.. aggression. I've always interpreted 'blaze' as the beautiful way fire looks and linked it to Blaze's love of jewels.

On the topic of jewels, she doesn't wear any. Sorry Blaze, but you could only run away with so much and your icewing friends probably aren't very empathetic toward your hoarding hobby. I imagine Blaze can only get away with light jewelry/earrings during the war, since heavier items would slow her down and make her more vulnerable. I'm sure she argued about this with her icewing allies a lot.

--

Thank you guys so much for taking a look at my designs! This community is so awesome, and I always appreciate your support! Here's my list of characters that have already been requested:

Here's my current waitlist for designs: Sunny, Clearsight, Luna, Freedom, Bigtail, Cricket, Clay, Queen Thorn, Starflight, Darkstalker, Snowfall, Grandeur, Sky, Lynx, Burn, Blister Queen Oasis, Queen Wasp, Dusky, Sundew, Hazel, Whiteout, Squid, Bumblebee, Sky, Winter and Kinkajou!

And for new readers, here's who I've already designed! You can find these guys further up in my blog: Lady Jewel, Tsunami, Sunny, Blue, Moon, Typhoon, Albatross, Glory, Peril, and Turtle!

If you don't see your favorite on this list, I do have a req box! Later!! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

[busra-tr]

🖤PATREON- Coat Collection with Mermalade (FEB#1)

New Collection: @mermaladesims x @busra-tr – Where Style Meets Warmth! 🖤✨

Our exclusive coat collection, created in collaboration, is finally here! ❄️ Featuring 6 unique looks and a total of 8 pieces, this collection is designed to elevate your winter style.

Get yours now and make a statement in the cold! 💫

📌 Set Features:

Belted Long Coat P241 : 12 Color Options

Long Parka P242 : 16 Color Options

Fur Coat P240 : 10 Color Options

Jean P245 : 15 Color Options

For Female; Adult-Elder-Teen-Young Adult

New Mesh and Custom Thumbnail

Compatible with HQ mod

Public Available: 28.02.2025

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📥 Download:

INGAME

🔗 Mermalade's pieces : DOWNLOAD 

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🎉 I hope you'll love this set! Don't forget to share your thoughts with us! 🎉

🌟 Join us on Patreon for more exclusive CC and early access: Patreon Link 🌟

---

[hoshigray]

But like…sugar daddy!Nanami bending you over his pool table and just fucking your brains out🙈‼️

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: missed writing for nanami, let's gooo!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: sugar daddy! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sex on a pool table - finger sucking - lingerie - breast fondling + nipple play - standing (bent over) position - praise - Daddy kink - pet names (baby, good girl, honey, love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - protected sex (bc he's a gentleman, lol) - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

“—Mmmph! Ohhh…Kent—Oooh!”

“Yes, baby…God, you look so good.”

“Your fingers; you’re going too…Mmmm…”

Being a sugar baby is a blessing in its own way. Not having to worry so much about your financial situations as they’re taken care of in your day-to-day life can be a bit overwhelming to comprehend in the days you forget entirely; however, you can’t lie that it’s not a nice lifestyle to live in. All your money troubles no longer being a constant weight on your shoulders, moved aside for you to enjoy your life as freely as you wish compared to before.

And what’s better is that the man taking care of said troubles was indeed a miracle worker — and quite the looker. Nanami Kento, your sugar daddy, took you in when you put your online advertisement looking for a sugar daddy, and you can only thank the stars above for such a wonderful man to come falling from the heavens above to put your mind at ease.

And trust and believe that he’s done so in ways more than one.

He had you bent by his pool table in the living space of his penthouse, your legs spread for him to have your skirt lifted to your waist. It’s easier for his hand to go to your lacy panties and slide his fingers in to meet your folds. And after a few minutes, he’s already made you a complete mess just by the thickness of his digits. 

You squirm, gripping the billard stick that rests on the velvety skin of the pool table. “Hahhhn, ohooo, stoop, don’t rub there—Hic…!” Your hands grip the shoulder of his work shirt.

“Oh? Don’t like it when I do…this?” The blunt of Nanami’s fingertips scrapes the upper wall of your vaginal walls with a curled motion, and you lament with the jerk of your thighs. “But all I’m doing is rewarding my baby.”

His reward was specifically targeted to what you were wearing. Your opened buttoned-up shirt exposed your recent purchase of a new lingerie set; the complex design of the intimate clothing and the bold hue of the color–your favorite color–complimented your skin enchantingly. The blonde man behind you couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off you the moment you meekly showed off the bra of the set. 

“And judging by how tight you’re squeezing my fingers,” he says to your ear while another graze of your inner walls has you arch towards him. “You seem to love this, right, honey?” His free hand was groping one of your breasts; the material of the laced bra felt pleasant to the touch along the squish of your mound.

“Hoooh, ohhGod, Kento, please,” you were a whimpering mess literally in the palm of his hand; he’d made you come once already, so your insides had yet to subside from the acute height that kept you trembling to his touch. “I caan’t, no moooore…If you keep up, I-I’ll—“

“What?” He kisses your cheek, nearly having you give to your knees. “Don’t wanna cum on my fingers?” You shook your head hurriedly, enticing your neck for him to lay more gentle kisses. “What do you wanna cum on then, sweetpea?”

You use your hips to answer, grinding your wet southern lips on the zipper of his expensive, linen dress trousers. Yet, while he returns the motion with synced ruts to your chasm with the tent of his groin, it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind the mess. 

“This,” you moan with more rubs on his pants. “I wanna cum on you, Kent. Please, lemme cum on you…”

The sound of his chuckle has you twitching on his digits, wailing when he stretches your opening with a scissoring motion. “Good girl, asking so nicely…” With a hum, he withdraws his fingers from your warmth and brings your pricy underwear down to your thighs, brushing its garters. After bringing his trousers down and freeing his erection from his briefs, he grabs for the condom from his pocket to release from its wrapper. Once the rubber is on and fitted, Nanami guides his cock to the hole of your vagina. 

The insertion of the cockhead has you gasping sharply, the cue stick in your grasp being the only thing you can use as security as your sugar daddy pushes every inch of his shaft inside you. You could never get used to the girth, the stretch of his limb so euphorically good, and the graze of the tip on the sensitive itches that make you hiccup. And the hilt of his pelvis meets your folds, sighing now that his entire cock is finally one with you.

He rocks back and forth leisurely, careful not to have you released on him just yet. Both his hands now meet your chest, fondling the flesh of your breasts in such a loving fashion that you whimper with the pull of his dick. God, the way his tip perfectly rubs on your inner texture has your brows furrowed and eyes sewn shut, wanting to truly indulge in the sensation that piques the delicate keenness of your nerves.

“Ahaaa, ohoofuck,” you jolt when he suddenly throws a rough thrust to your ass; the stick in your hand hits two Aramith billiard balls to the long rails of the table. “Yesss, right there, Kentoo…! Feel so good…”

“Yeah, honey?” The weight of him on your back as he bends his frame above yours, speaking softly to your ear as if wanting you to shiver on his chest. “Feeling good?” You nod hurriedly with the tweak of your nipples under the rough pads of his fingers. “All cute and good for me…Want me to make you feel even more good?”

“Yes…Daddy,” Oh my, you used the title—a step you were cautious to use at the moment yet albeit eager for the results. And the sand-haired man snaps his hips abruptly, causing a shriek to sneak past you without noticing.

He’s done with the slow pacing—the rhythm now increased to a rapid cadence that evokes more sounds to escape with every rock of your figure. Gosh, you hope you weren’t leaving scratch marks on this man’s pool table. It would make you feel terrible damaging his property. However, that sounds like a worry to check back later when you’re not squealing your mind out.

“—Oooh!! F–fffshiiiit, Daddy!” Your eyes roll up at the scrape of your G-spot. “N–Not shoo fa—Ahhhh! T’oo muuch…!”

“But you’re too close to slow down, love,” Nanami kisses your cheek before slithering his hand to stuff his fore and middle fingers into your mouth. You sounded too cute mewing for him while sucking on his fingers. And it doesn’t help that the erratic ruts to your cunt have you shrilling even more, drool trickling down to your chin just to fall on the table surface. “Come on, sweetpea, let it all out…Hnnmm, let me feel it.”

The piston of his pelvis smacking the skin of your ass with the thick digits stuffed in your mouth is too much to follow through, the climb of your climax becoming more complicated to avoid as the milliseconds rush away. You submit to your growing dizziness as your peak shakes you down.

The orgasm has you screaming out loud, your legs trembling with the flutter of your walls around Nanami’s dick while he slowly plunges himself in and outward, relishing the snugness of your slit. You suck on his fingers hard, nearly choking on spit when your body is experiencing the pulses at its own pace. Your elbows wobble, giving way for you to slump down and accidentally hit an object ball with the cue stick, knocking onto another and pushing it an inch away from a pocket.

Nanami chortles, straightening himself to massage your waist through your aftershocks. “Nice backspin, sweetheart.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[trashytracktales]

GIRL DONT HOLD BACK

WRITE THE LANDO NORRIS HELMET SMUT

Finders keepers | LN⁴

🟢 summary ──── A moment of boredom turns into a game of control and restraint, with Lando pushing boundaries neither he nor his girlfriend expected on such a busy day.

🟢 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🟢 rating ──── explicit

🟢 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, soft!dom Lando, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation, messy finish, Lando low-key losing it.

🟢 word count ──── 3.3k

🟢 date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

🟢 a/n ──── This one has been HIGHLY requested after one of you guys sent in this ask, so I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy it as much as you imagined & can’t wait to hear your thoughts 🤍

Also, yes. This is the second one-shot of the day, because I ACCIDENTALLY posted this Charles Leclerc piece earlier. It’s very short and I was supposed to post it after this one OOPSIES get greedy & go check it out. Thank you, love you all 💋

THERE IS HARDLY enough room for more than two people in the driver’s room. A physio table is pushed against the wall, a couple of chairs sit tucked under a desk covered in notes, post-its and water bottles, and a row of plastic shelves is holding some race suits, a change of clothes and toiletries, and a spare helmet. There is a faint scent of fresh rubber and overall newness of the place in the air that blends with the smell of rain, and something so distinctly Lando, a mix of his cologne and fabric softener.

She has been waiting for hours now. Day two of testing in Bahrain is dragging, and even though she loves watching her boyfriend hit the track, the long hours spent doing nothing are starting to wear on her. She finished reading three books in two days, rewatched her favorite TV show, and scrolled through her feed until the app informed her that there were no new posts.

She sighs, running a hand over the edge of the desk before deciding to tidy up a little. Not that there’s much to clean, since McLaren keeps these rooms nearly spotless, but at least it gives her something to do. A few minutes later, the post-its are arranged on the wall by color, the documents are organized in chronological order, and the water bottles have found a new home, crammed under the table.

Out of curiosity, her fingers brush over one of Lando’s new helmets, freshly designed for the pre-season testing. It’s sleek, predominantly black with neon streaks and intricate models running along the sides. On impulse, she lifts it, feeling its surprising weight before slipping it over her head. The padding presses snugly against her ears, muffling the distant sounds of mechanics still at work in the garage.

She can’t help but feel a vague claustrophobia surrounding her, but the feeling isn’t necessarily bad. On the contrary, it gives her the impression of safety, even if it inhibits her other senses.

Grinning to herself, she pulls out her phone and angles the camera for a selfie. The reflection in the visor catches the glow of the overhead lights, giving her an futuristic look. She continues to snap a few more photos, adjusting the tilt of her head, until a blurred figure appears in the background of her screen.

“Having fun all by yourself?” Lando’s voice is amused yet he sounds tired, and before she can turn around, she feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind. He leans in, lips ghosting over her shoulder in a lazy kiss.

She huffs out a laugh, nudging at his arms, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared me.”

Lando chuckles, hands splaying over her stomach, thumbs brushing absentminded circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to catch you playing dress-up with my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” she says in a singing voice, making Lando chuckle again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It looks cool,” she admits, “Therefore, it makes you look cool.”

Lando squeezes her a little tighter, “That mouth on you,” he teases.

The girl giggles, “Am I wrong? Also, you should’ve knocked, by the way,” she continues, reaching up to pull at the visor so she can actually see him.

“I should knock on a door that has my name on it?”

“Yeah, you do!” she sounds revolted, “Especially when you know there’s a lady waiting for you inside.”

Lando’s gaze darkens ever so slightly as he takes her in. She looks like a mirage under the dim light of the small room, her curls coming untamed from under his helmet and her eyes so bright and filled with love, looking back at him.

He nods with a boyish smile, “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

Maybe it’s just exhaustion making his eyes so heavy-lidded, the lingering adrenaline from a long day fading into something softer. But when she catches him staring, Lando has the same soft gaze he does whenever they sit on the couch and he’s about to doze off; he looks unintentionally hot like this, worn out but content.

“Alright, racer boy. Can we go now?” she asks, pressing back against him slightly.

Lando sighs, reluctant. “Not yet. I still have a couple of hours to go. Gotta go over the data with the engineers,” his fingers tighten briefly on her hips before he steps back. “You can head back to the hotel if you’re bored. I’ll get you a car.”

She pouts, “It’s not as fun without you.”

That wins her another chuckle, but this time, there’s something else in Lando’s expression. His gaze is shamelessly dragging over her with an intensity that makes her pulse stutter. It’s only now that he really registers that she’s wearing his helmet, his name and number stamped all over.

She’s worn his clothes before — his hoodies, his merch, his team’s attire — but this feels completely different. It makes his mouth dry and head spin, and he might be exhausted, but suddenly, swallowing the lump in his throat, Lando realizes he’s so turned on.

“Then stay,” he encourages her, “I have half an hour to decompress before going to debriefing. I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

His suit suddenly feels tighter, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallows again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhales slowly.

“Is that so?” she challanges him. “Something in mind already?”

He runs a hand through his curls before reaching for her again, “Maybe,” his voice is low, amused but laced with something indulgent. His fingers skim her waist, tracing the hem of her shirt as he tugs her closer. “You’re pretty inspiring.”

She tilts her head slightly, the visor still lifted so he can see the teasing glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s new,” she laughs. “But I was just messing around.”

Lando hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

She moves to take the helmet off, but his hand catches hers mid-motion.

“No, leave it,” says Lando, thumb grazing over her knuckles. His breath is warm when he leans in, his next words spoken directly against its glossy material. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and it quickly goes south, right between her legs. It makes Lando grin subtly, then he reaches for the visor, pulling it down with a definitive, loud click. At that, her world narrows in an instant, and the limited view somehow makes every touch and every breath between them more intense.

Lando walks her back until she’s perched on the edge of the physio table, her pulse hammering as she watches him, excited, but mostly curious about his plans. They have thirty minutes, so his movements aren’t rushed in any way. Quite the opposite. They’re almost lazy, but there’s something precise about the way he reaches for the zipper of his race suit.

He rolls his shoulders, loosening up, then adjusts the height of the table so that when he sinks to his knees in front of her, she’s exactly where he wants her to be. Patiently, his fingers trail up her legs, making slow work of the button on her jeans. There’s no hurry in the way he peels them down, taking her underwear with them in one go, but the moment he gets rid of them, there’s a shift in his demeanor.

Lando exhales sharply, his large hands splaying over her thighs as he looks at her, half-lust and half-serious. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he says, a hint of mischief curling around his words. “These walls aren’t real, and anyone passing by the door can hear us blink.”

There was a little giggle stuck in her throat, but now she barely has time to react before his fingers part her, his touch light at first, just exploring while he preps her with the dexterity of a man who did it countless of times before.

Her breath catches at the first slow stroke, her thighs tensing as he traces circles where she’s most sensitive. The first sound she makes is barely a whisper of a whimper, that Lando trained his ears to hear, since is muffled inside the helmet.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Is that my cue?”

Before she can answer, Lando leans in.

Initially, his mouth is warm and merciful. He licks into her with a sort of tamed hunger that’s out of his character, savoring every little shift of her hips, every shudder she tries to suppress. Even so, it sends her a clear message: even though his energy is low from the long day, his need to taste her is anything but.

The world outside their room hums with noise — faint conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant whir of power tools in the garage. But all she can focus on is the way he’s lapping at her clit, the slick sound of it embarrassingly loud in the small space, her own whimpers barely contained behind the visor.

Lando chuckles against her, the vibration making her head tilt back slightly; the weight of the helmet forces her to let her head fall against the wall, which positions her even better in front of him.

“Gonna have to be quieter than that,” he teases, slipping his fingers between her folds, pressing just enough to make her squirm.

She barely manages to shake her head, her breath ragged. The visor fogs up as a result, which forces her to close her eyes, since her sense of sight is officially useless.

Lando looks up proudly, fingers pushing deeper as he settles in, more than happy to test her limits. He knows how to curl them just right, the wet sounds obscene in the stillness of the room.

His free hand grips her thigh like he’s starved, holding her open for him, his name echoing softly inside the helmet — muted yet desperate. He feels the way she gets even more aroused with each passing second, coating his fingers with every slick stroke, her body responding to him exactly as it does every single time he takes over.

Startled with new sensations experienced in the dark, she brings a shaky hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, only to realize, all over again, that she can’t. A frustrated whimper escapes instead, the same hand scrambling for something to support herself. Finally, her fingers clutch at the edge of the table, but it’s useless; her hips are already rolling against Lando, chasing more.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice shallow. “Getting so wet for me, should’ve done this ages ago. Why didn’t we?”

She gasps, trembling on the edge and so ready to agree with him, but then Lando stops, and the loss of his fingers is almost unbearable. Before she can think, a loud, frustrated moan slips past her lips, making him laugh at her impatience.

She’s too gone now, drunk on the feeling, and the weight of the helmet is definitely not helping. Not when she’s melting under his touch, making it hard to move, and pretty much do anything but stay there, waiting. Aching for more.

Lando watches her for a moment, dark-eyed and smirking, already hard just from seeing her like this, her body so pliant and responsive under his hands. He pulls himself out with one hand, stroking lightly, and with the other, he grips the edge of the helmet, forcing her to look at him.

“Alright, baby, I’m serious. No more of that, okay?” asks Lando. “If someone hears us, it’s gonna be bad. And we don’t want that, do we?” he continues, watching her gathering all her strength only to nod slightly. “That’s right. The second I hear you moan, I’ll have to stop.”

Even Lando knows it’s a lie, but he had to say it, just in case.

She swallows, nodding again as best as she can, her pulse a frantic rhythm against his fingers when he drags his hands down her sides, holding her still. Then, with a precise snap of his hips, he buries himself inside her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The force of it sends a shudder through the physio table, the legs creaking against the floor. She barely has time to adjust before he thrusts again, deeper this time, pressing her body into the table like he’s trying to mold her into it. Her thighs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, desperate to keep him there, to keep him buried inside her where she needs him most, the weight of him, the pressure and the friction maddening.

Lando swallows a moan, but some of it manages to slip past gritted teeth, “Fuck, you look—” he cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even have words for it. The way she feels around him and the heat of her pulling him back in every time he dares to pull away, it’s enough to make his mind go blank.

The table shifts again, inching against the floor with every thrust. She grips at the suit still clinging to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, but there’s no escape from the way he’s driving into her, every drag of his cock making her shake beneath him.

“Lando…”

He knows. He feels it too. The way they’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously intoxicating, and the way they’re doing that together.

His hands tighten on her, his next thrust shoving the table another inch to the side. “Shit,” he breathes, voice husky with restraint. “Hold on, love. A little more, yeah?” He grips the edges of the table and snaps his hips forward again, watching the way her body reacts to him. “Fucking hell,” he spits, eyes dark as he watches her fall apart under him, little by little. “Keep me in, baby. Like that.”

She clings to him without hesitation, like she was made for this, for him. He’s marking her and he knows it, his fingers moving back to her waist, digging into her soft flesh. Lando’s name is all over her, in ways that only he can see, in places only he gets to touch. And the way she lets him, makes his head spin.

In the haze of it all, a sudden, foreign thought crashes into him like a gut-punch: her name next to his. It’s ridiculous, completely out of place in a moment like this, but it paralyzes him for a second. Until his body reacts on its own, fire spreading through his veins. He leans forward, caging her in, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. His forehead presses against the cool surface of the helmet for just a moment, grounding himself, before he pulls back and looks at her.

He can barely see her eyes, wide and glazed over, but it’s enough. His fingers tighten on her hips as he slams back into her, dragging her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his length. The sharp noise that the table makes underneath them is lost in the delicious sounds of their bodies moving together, of their heavy breathing, of the desperate way she silently whimpers his name like she wants to keep it on her tongue forever.

He’s spiraling, drowning in the heat of her, in the thought that she lets him take her like this, lets him ruin her for anyone else.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough.

Her hands fly up instinctively, grasping at the helmet, knuckles turning white as she tries to steady herself against the overwhelming feeling of him.

Outside the room, voices pass by again, too close, and Lando clenches his jaw, fighting his own demons as he’s forcing himself to stay quiet.

Luckily, she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes as she tries her hardest to stay silent. Inside the helmet though, her breathing is shallow, small cries coming out of her parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl,” says Lando in a demanding yet soft tone. One of his hands clamps around her neck, guiding her into each thrust. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Lando doesn’t slow down one bit, rolling his hips in a way that he knows it drives her wild. As a result, her body tenses, trembling as pleasure overtakes her. A choked gasp echoes inside the helmet, and Lando smirks, watching her unravel. He’s so utterly captivated by the way her walls tighten around him and the way her thighs quiver in his hands, as if she can crumble if he’s won’t be careful. It’s almost too much for him, but Lando manages to pull out just in time, watching as her release coats his throbbing length, as she shudders through the aftershocks.

“Yeah,” he breaths, running a hand up and down her thigh. “Such a good girl, baby. Let it all out.”

She slumps back against the table, panting inside the helmet, her body overly sensitive. Keeping his eyes on her, Lando gives himself a few slow strokes, exhaling hard through his nose; he’s so close it’s painful.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice as hoarse as if he screamed for hours at a concert.

Slowly coming back to her senses, she exhales sharply, “I’m good,” she manages and, before she gets the chance to ask him the same question, Lando slaps her thigh in order to catch her attention.

“Down on your knees, then. Come on,” he rasps, guiding the girl to her knees, his patience wearing out quickly, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers.

The glow of the light catches on the sleek surface of the helmet, and something about it — about her like this, still catching her breath, still his — makes his stomach flip.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of the visor as he grips the helmet gently. “Obedient little thing.”

She doesn’t speak — can’t, really — just watches him through the darkened shield, completely at his mercy.

Lando’s breathing stutters as he pumps himself faster, the tension coiling tight in his core. “Gonna make a mess of you, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “Right there on my—”

He barely manages a breath before the orgasm crashes into him, blinding and all-consuming. His grip tightens, a sharp groan breaking free as heat pulses through him, spilling in thick streaks across the dark visor. Each of his breath is shaky, his mind fogged with pleasure and a sudden possessiveness.

She stays still, letting him ruin the helmet just like he ruined her, and the sight leaves him dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he pushes sweat-damp curls from his forehead, exhaling a laugh, wrecked and breathless. The sound of it fills the space, mixing with the muffled hum of voices just beyond the walls. But all Lando can hear is the quiet, pleased sigh that leaves her lips, her fingers scratching against her thighs, as if she wants to touch him, as if she wants to taste him.

His stomach clenches at the thought, the aftershocks leaving him lightheaded, wrecked in a way he’s never felt before. He exhales sharply, looking down at her, at his helmet, at what he’s done.

Then, Lando’s fingers are flexing against her head before he finally loosens his grip, running a slow thumb over the mess he’s made.

“Hell,” he pants, still catching his breath. Then, softer, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Might have to fuck you like this more often.”

She exhales a quiet, amused breath, tilting her head slightly. “Guess that means I’m actually keeping it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[antisocialxconstruct]

nyehehe

I gotta leave for a concert soon but I've been buying thinking a lot about "blind box" collectibles lately and it got me onto an Idea™ I think could be fun... I want to do a bunch of little bespoke i-dog/i-cat designs to get made as stickers and maybe also small keychains, and they would each be different colors/patterns (some that were actually made and some that are just original and fun). Then I could sell "blind bag" sets where you get like three or five or so but it's a surprise which ones specifically. I might make some a little fancier (more elaborate patterns, holo finish or raised foil details, etc) and more rare, but you'd always be guaranteed to get at least one that's not just a plain color 🤔 and maybe if you don't want to play the gacha game and really just want the full collection I can sell that too for a higher flat fee lol

[prettygirl-gabi]

Correction, Baby

Pairing: Suagr mommy turned gf!Nika Mühl x sugar baby turned gf!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Seattle Storm

Summary: maybe it’s all too much at once

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsavg

There are few things more exhausting than a double shift with barely any tips and a throbbing lower back. But that’s what I signed up for when I picked up extra hours at the restaurant. School fees don’t pay themselves, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask Nika.

Especially not after Croatia.

A dream of a vacation—five-star hotels, private boat tours, designer boutiques in every major city we hit, and a suitcase I could barely zip because Nika kept stuffing it with things she thought would look good on me.

I didn’t even ask for half the things she bought, and yet she dropped money like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

I heard the little jingle of the bell above the restaurant door and didn’t even need to turn around to know it was her.

My spine straightened on instinct.

She always had that effect—commanding without even trying.

Even when dressed in joggers and a tee, she looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

“Hey, your hot mafia wife’s here,” my coworker Aisha whispered with a smirk.

I laughed under my breath, tired and sore, the weight of tuition hanging over my shoulders. “I’m not asking her for it,” I mumbled, wiping down the counter. “We just got back from vacation. It feels wrong.”

“Y/N, you’re literally her girlfriend. And for like… a year now? Ask her.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m still in sugar baby mode.”

“Girl, she lives to spoil you.”

I didn’t notice Nika standing just behind the pastry case. But she definitely heard that.

She didn’t say a word the entire car ride to her place.

Not a single word.

Her jaw was tight, hands on the wheel a little too firmly, and her silence was louder than anything she could’ve said.

I hated it.

I hated the guilt clawing at my stomach and the ache in my chest. I also hated that I knew I was partially wrong, and partially not.

Once we were inside her place—the condo she kept telling me was ours even though I still hadn’t moved in fully—she tossed her keys on the table and leaned against the kitchen island.

“You really weren’t gonna ask me?” she finally said, voice low, even.

“Nika…”

“No,” she interrupted, standing straight. “You weren’t going to ask me for help with your tuition because you think I do too much?”

My arms crossed defensively, even though I hated when I got like that with her. “We just got back from a vacation where you spent—what—like ten thousand dollars minimum on me? You bought me shoes I didn’t even say I liked, and then you saw me glancing at a bracelet and got it in two colors.”

“And?”

“And before we even left for Croatia, you bought me a new laptop, clothes for the trip, skincare, a carry-on—Nika, you spoiled the hell out of me. And it was… beautiful. But it was a lot. It started feeling like I was just a sugar baby again.”

Her jaw twitched, but she didn’t raise her voice. She just came closer, her hands gentle as they reached up to cradle my face. “Baby. Love. That’s kind of the point.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Whether you’re my sugar baby or my girlfriend—or both, like you are now—my job is to spend a shit ton of money on you. No matter how ridiculous or important it is. You need something for school? You ask me. You wanna set up a date? I’ll pay for it. I don’t care how much Croatia cost me. You’re not an expense. You’re an investment. My investment. My girl.”

It should’ve melted me.

And it did… until she really started getting petty.

The first time I paid for dinner, she didn’t even say a word.

Next morning? A blush-pink LV bag set on my bed. Wallet, phone case, cardholder, tote. Custom monogrammed. I wanted to scream.

Then I paid for her coffee on a random Tuesday. That weekend, she sent three crates of my favorite drinks to the apartment. THREE. C R A T E S. Of little canned lattes and obscure matcha blends that cost more than groceries.

I tried to outdo her once—set up this elaborate, romantic, expensive date night for her. I planned it down to the lighting and the playlist.

She stole my phone while I was in the bathroom, removed my cards, added hers, went into my shopping apps… and BOUGHT EVERYTHING in my cart.

Skincare.

Lingerie.

A random kitchen appliance I’d been debating for months.

Everything.

Packages started showing up like it was Prime Day for a week straight.

I confronted her. Furious, overwhelmed, borderline humiliated.

“Is this some kind of punishment?” I asked.

She laughed. Laughed. “Punishment? Babe, this is normal. You’re just not used to being treated right.”

But it wasn’t normal for me.

So I stopped.

Stopped going out. “Wanna go on a date?” she’d ask. I’d say no.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Nope.

Stopped replying to her ‘what do you need today?’ texts. Ignored the packages. Politely asked our doorman to return anything in Nika’s handwriting.

And for the first time in a year, she stopped sending gifts.

Our relationship shifted. Became… off.

She’d stare at me from across the room, confused and frustrated, like she was waiting for me to come back to her. And I was trying.

I was.

But she didn’t hear me.

Until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sit.”

I looked up from my laptop, sitting at her kitchen island with homework sprawled out. “What?”

“Sit your ass on the couch. We’re talking. Now.”

Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. So I went.

She sat next to me, close but not touching. “I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, I just—”

“Let me finish.”

I shut my mouth.

“I thought I was being a good girlfriend. A good… whatever we are. You said you needed something, and I fix shit. That’s what I do. That’s what I did from the beginning. I don’t know how to stop. But when you pulled back, it felt like you were punishing me. And I didn’t understand why. Not until I realized… you were scared.”

My throat closed a little.

“You think I’m trying to make you dependent on me.”

I nodded slowly.

“I’m not.” Her voice broke a little. “I just want to love you the only way I know how. And yeah, maybe it’s through buying you dumb shit and sending you drinks I know you like. But I never want you to feel like you owe me. Or like you’re just a sugar baby again. I want to be your girlfriend first. And if you need space, I’ll give you that. But don’t shut me out.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until her thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

“I felt like I was losing myself,” I whispered. “Like I was slipping into someone who only existed because you funded her. I love you for how you love me, Nika. But I need to know that even if I couldn’t accept a dime from you… you’d still want me.”

She pulled me into her arms like she was afraid I’d disappear.

“I’d want you broke, rich, in debt, or even if you made me split a salad on date night.”

I laughed through the tears. “You’d never split a salad.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t,” she grinned. “But you get my point.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her. “You promise to let me pay for things sometimes?”

“Not even a little.”

“Nika.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “Only if you let me add stupid shit to your cart after.”

I kissed her softly, then grinned. “Deal.”

But the next day, I paid for her lunch.

That night, I came home to find a car key on the counter.

“Nika!”

“You paid. I punished.”

“YOU SAID IT WASN’T PUNISHMENT!”

“It’s correction, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[gukcnt]

TEDDY & SECRETS ⭒ JJK

in which you discover your shy coworker jungkook, has been leaving teddy bears and plushies with questionable notes on your doorstep to confess his secret crush for you

pairing — secret admirer!jungkook x coworker!femreader

genre — workplace au, friends to lovers, mystery elements, slice of life, romantic comedy, lots of fluff

warnings/tags — shy!jungkook, cozy vibes, teddy bear obession, slowburn, confrontation, adorable gestures, romantic notes, nervous confession, stalker vibes turned sweet, happy ending, no warnings because it's literally the cutest shit bfr

wc — 1.1k

a/n — I decided to write this short oneshot quickly because I was craving some fluff, and I haven’t had the urge to write in weeks TT but I hope y'all love this one! <3

m. list

────🧸────

You’ve always adored teddy bears ever since you were a kid.

Their soft squishy forms always brought you comfort in a way that you couldn’t deny.

They were like your silent friends.

A safe place.

Your apartment was the proof of this obsession—lined with bears and plushies of every size, from a mini one to a massive teddy that takes up half your couch.

At work, you’ve mentioned it during a random talk, gushing about a new bear arrival that you’ve seen at the market.

Apparently someone was listening.

For the past two weeks a new teddy bear has appeared at your doorstep every morning.

Each one unique.

Fluffy pastel ones, simple brown ones, and now you had bears of all unique colors and designs.

The one that stuck out the most

Was the pink polka dotted teddy with a bow tie.

And for some reason it was exactly the one you’ve been eyeing in the market, which confirms that it was someone from your work.

Each teddy came with a note tucked into their paws.

The handwriting was shaky and uneven, almost like the writer's hands trembled while writing.

“You light up my dark” — the first one said.

“I’m closer than you think” — another one.

The one you received yesterday felt like a soft plea.

Like the person sending these was facing a desperation, a need.

“Please notice me”

At first you thought it was a silly prank, maybe a friend teasing you for your love for plushies.

But all your friends denied it and your neighbors—an old couple—obviously weren’t the type to do such things.

The mystery was charming.

A little creepy, yes.

But each bear was tugging at your heart at the same time.

Endearing in some way but making you curious.

Tonight, you're done wondering.

You set an alarm for 3 am, determined to catch the culprit.

You stand by the window, coffee in hand as your eyes scan the quiet street.

The moonlight was the only source of light, your heart racing with anticipation.

After a few minutes or so you see a hooded figure approaching your door with careful steps, and they hold a small teddy bear.

A brown choco colored one with a tiny red bow.

He kneels to place it on your doorstep.

You don’t hesitate and rush to your door, flinging it open.

“Hey!” you shout.

The figure stumbles, and before you could react, he starts running away but you’re quicker, not caring about your bare feet.

You grab hold of his sleeve.

“Who are you? why are you doing this?”

The hood falls, revealing a familiar face—jeon jungkook, your quiet coworker with a shy smile and doe eyes that always seem to find you.

His cheeks are flushed, breaths shaky and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Almost like he got caught stealing

“jungkook?” you gasp.

“You’re the teddy bear guy?”

He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… yeah, I—I’m sorry,” he stutters.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

You release his sleeve, stepping back as you cross your arms over your chest.

“What’s with these bears?”

jungkook fidgets, staring at his sneakers like they hold his answers.

“You mentioned it at work. A lot, actually and I thought you’d like them, so I wanted to do something special—“

“But I couldn’t just… approach you.”

Your mind flashes to those coffee break chats and your rants about teddies.

You imagine he’d listened sitting somewhere far.

Nodding quietly, his shy grin hiding how much your words had taken to his heart, valuing your wishes like they were the most precious thing.

“Why didn’t you just… talk to me?” you ask

“I tried talking, I mean. But every time I got near you… I—I don’t know.”

“You’re so…”

He trails off, then mumbles quietly.

“You’re you. And I’m just me.”

Your heart flutters strangely.

jungkook’s always been sweet at work—bringing you coffee when you’re too busy to look after yourself.

Laughing at your dumb jokes.

You never thought much of it, but now looking at his nervous gaze

It clicks.

The notes are starting to make sense.

“The notes,” you say, softly.

“They were about me?”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Doe eyes glassy.

“I’ve liked you—uhm—for a long while actually, and I thought the bears might be… romantic? but then I realized it was probably weird, I didn’t know how to stop without explaining and—“

He rambles and cuts himself off.

He exhales sharply, heart pounding out of his chest.

“I’m an idiot for doing this stupidity.”

You glance at your doorstep, where the brown bear sits, a note in its paw like always.

You pick it up, unfolding the paper.

“I’m scared, but I love you”

Your breath catches, lips parting as jungkook watches you now like he’s waiting for rejection.

You clutch the bear to your chest, heart skipping a beat.

The softness of the bear grounding you just like previous ones given by him.

“jungkook, this isn’t stupid.” you whisper.

A smile on your lips.

“It’s… adorable. Scary at first yes, but adorable.”

“You picked bears because of me?”

He nods.

“I thought they’d make you smile and you always light up when you talk about them.”

“You’re not mad?”

He asked, restless.

His eyes still wide with uncertainty, the fear of rejection still there.

You can't help it—you laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh god, you’re just ridiculous you know that? but I love them, every single one.”

You pause, meeting his gaze.

“And I think maybe… the guy leaving them, too.”

“Really?”

Hope in his voice, along with a slight tremble.

“Really.” you grin.

“Next time, maybe just ask me out instead of leaving stuffed animals in the dark like a little stalker.”

He laughs, a nervous yet joyful sound.

The sound warming you despite standing outside in the cold night air.

“So coffee tomorrow?”

You hum, looking at him while pretending to consider, enjoying teasing him and watching him squirm.

“Is that a yes…?”

His smile fades slightly.

“Depends. Only if you promise to keep leaving me bears.”

jungkook chuckles, the tension calming.

“Sure, but if I bring a bear for every date, you’ll need more space. Think you can handle my teddy bear game?”

His tone now cheeky, his smile bright.

“Bring it on, teddy guy.”

You both share a giggle, and you wonder why you didn’t notice him sooner.

As you invite him inside to escape the cold, you glance at the bear in your arms that you are hugging to yourself even tighter.

And the fluff in your arms feels like the start of something.

A promise

For the future.

────

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[divadepreshawn]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader

Summary: You spent a large part of your life taking care of people. Between a test to grade, a phone call to calm Spencer down, and the problems of everyday life, there was never any time left. And honestly? You never cared about investing in your own love life. Love (in the intimate sense, between two people) was something for other people. But it seems that destiny had other plans. Warnings: Reader is Spencer's older sister. Mention of parental abandonment, premature maturation. Second part here WC: 5 363 *ops*

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When you were a child, you liked to imagine that you were a great designer. You would create fancy dresses out of blankets, glue anything shiny to your neck – aluminum foil was your favorite. And when you didn’t have real makeup, you would use blackberries from the garden as lipstick. A contrast to Spencer who, at the same age, lived for any neutral-colored sweater and a good giant book, no matter the subject.

As you reached your teens, you explored your artistic side even more, staying up late at the clubs that your school offered – painting, reading, woodworking. Grabbing hold of any hobby that could explore your creativity.

But such trivial things ended when your father left. It wasn’t that your mother was bad, quite the opposite, she was extremely loving. It turns out that as the schizophrenia progressed, the episodes became more frequent and longer, causing her to lose her job. Spencer needed stability, something safe and constant to hold on to.

You could give him that – you needed to give him that. So you chose a profession that would give you the security of a good salary, so he wouldn’t have to worry, things were already hard enough. And that’s what you did for the next few years, studying and working countless hours, sacrificing what was most precious to you – your time and dreams.

You made sure he had clothes, food, a roof over his head and as many books as he wanted. Trying your best not to freak out with college and two jobs.

But in the end… you were missing.

You didn’t notice when he started coming home from school later.

You didn’t notice when he stopped telling you about the new theories he was reading, or when he started apologizing for rambling – as if your words were a nuisance.

When Spencer finally gathered the courage to tell you what was going on, his voice was so low that you thought he was just joking.

“I… didn’t tell you before because I thought it would be better to ignore it,” he mumbled, playing with the hem of his shirt. “But that didn’t work.”

You frowned, placing your dinner plate in front of you. ���What are you trying to say, Spence?”

He looked at you, hesitant, before looking back down at his food. “They say I talk too much. That it’s annoying, that my books are stupid, my clothes are funny. And that’s why Dad left… because we’re all weird.” You felt your floor crumble.

For a second, you thought — wished — you’d heard him wrong. How could someone treat your most precious thing so carelessly? How could someone have the nerve to try to shame you for one of your brightest traits? Or worse, how could someone have the nerve to blame a stupid, cowardly adult on a child?

He interpreted your silence negatively, quickly correcting himself, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping these silly things on you, I’ll figure it out myself.” Your eyes softened, “No Spence, you don’t need to apologize for this, I’ll always have time for you dear”, you put your hand on his shoulder, giving him a caress, “I’ll figure this out.”

To say you were furious would be an understatement. You’d threatened teenagers, yelled at some parents and threatened to set the school on fire if the principal didn’t do something about it – things you weren’t proud of, but certainly didn’t regret.

The prejudice the neighborhood had towards your family was horrible – the stares, the whispers and the teasing. But you learned to use it to your advantage, after your little outburst no one dared to provoke Spencer again. You took care of him as if he were your own son – even though they were only seven years apart.

A few years later he left home and with your mother in a mental institution, you found yourself alone for the first time in years. It was strange at first, the silence was uncomfortable, the house felt colder – eerily lifeless. It took a few weeks to get used to the idea of ​​living alone.

After a few months, you started to enjoy your life, the house seemed more cozy, and you now had the freedom to decorate it the way you wanted – which meant you could move the furniture around as much as you wanted and there would be no one to complain, saying that things had a “life of their own”.

You learned to love your profession and, over time, you discovered that sharing knowledge was your true purpose.

You replaced the old blanket with designer clothes, shiny things with some discreet jewelry and the blackberries in the garden with a makeup collection.

You had time to take care of yourself now.

-

Despite the age difference, you have a lot in common with your brother. A passion for books, languages ​​and the human psyche are some of them. But there are two things that are the complete opposite.

Style and personality.

You followed a ritual every morning.

First, you would take a shower – hot enough to almost make you pass out. Then you would apply your favorite moisturizer, a perfect blend of lychee, berries and lily.

You would apply moisturizer and sunscreen to your face with your fingertips – making sure to use circular motions and lightly dragging your fingers upwards over the eye area, concealer only on the dark circles, a little liquid blush on the apples of your cheeks and compact powder to set the skin. Nothing too extravagant on your eyes, just a well-blended eyeshadow, thin eyeliner and mascara.

This was your therapy, your way of connecting with your child self.

And honestly? You loved it. It was by far one of the best moments of your day.

You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup when your phone vibrated on the vanity.

Spence: Hey, are you going to be at school today? Can I come over during my break? I'd like to borrow your Neuropsychology textbook, the one with the black cover and the blue brain, the one with the notes in the margins. I think it's on the second shelf of your bookshelf.

You rolled your eyes, an incredulous laugh escaping your lips. If it were anyone else remembering such a specific detail, it would probably be creepy. But this is Spencer we're talking about.

Checking your watch, it was still an hour before you'd be at school. Perfect.

You: Can I bring it to you, is it in the office yet? Spence: Really? Like, right now? You don't have to do that, I can stop by the school later. You: It's okay Spence, just make sure they let me in (preferably without pointing a gun at me). Spence: You know that's not how it works, right?

You, apparently, got all the good humor in the family.

You put your phone in your bag and head to the office to get the book – which, of course, was exactly where he said: second shelf.

-

Your heels echo on the cold marble as you walk to the reception desk, attracting the attention of the agents who pass by you – all of them looking as friendly as the grinch on Christmas Eve.

Before you can introduce yourself, the woman behind the counter looks up from her computer, smiling as she looks you over from head to toe.

“You have to be Miss Reid.”

You blink, surprised – and slightly scared. How could she know that? Telepathy? Is that some kind of mandatory course for anyone working at the FBI?

“How did you…?”

She smiles, holding out a badge in your direction. “Dr. Reid called earlier. He said: You’ll smell the perfume before she arrives, you’ll probably be the only one smiling.”

You take the badge with a half smile, and carefully pin it to the lapel of your overcoat, mumbling a “thank you.”

“Elevator on the left, sixth floor. You’ll see a sign: Behavioral Analysis Unit. Just go straight.”

You nodded, thanking her once more before walking away towards the elevator.

Honestly? The place is creepy. Some dark oak details on the wall, portraits of important people in expensive clothes hanging in a row. The white light makes the mood even worse.

As if the people who work here weren’t intimidating enough already.

If the Batcave had a bureaucratic version, it would definitely be here. Where are the interior designers?

You followed the path the woman at the reception indicated, spotting Spencer a little further ahead of the sign. He was leaning against a table near the entrance, looking like he’d just been punched by a hurricane and a cyclone (spoiler, he lost).

Wrinkled shirt, slightly disheveled at the shoulders, having been at odds with the iron for years. His tie was to the side and his curls were a mess.

You frown, pressing your lips into a straight line as you look Spencer up and down. “Let me ask you, did you get ready while running away from a shooting?”

Spencer turns toward the voice, his brain taking a moment to process what you said. He opens his mouth in disbelief. “What? No!”

“Really? Because it’s not what it looks like.” You move closer to him, fixing the collar of his shirt and straightening his tie.

“You always do that,” he sighed, pouting the same way he did when you showed up to tell him it was time for bed.

“Spence, you’re practically begging me to do this.” You correct him with a half smile, brushing the thread that insisted on falling into his eyes.

“Okay,” he murmured, waiting as you finished trying to straighten the fabric of his shirt.

You take a step back, watching approvingly. “Much better. Now no one will think you were raised by wolves.”

Spence snorted lightly, but the corners of his lips betrayed him in a half smile. “You know… I can do this myself now, right?”

“I know you can,” you agree, picking up the book and holding it out to him. “But apparently you’re not willing.”

You’re brothers, after all. No matter the age difference, the teasing never ends.

He takes the book, his eyes wandering over the title before returning to your face. “Are you going to be busy this weekend?” he asked, his tone hesitant, avoiding your eyes.

You tilted your head, studying his reaction. The way he holds the book and avoids your eyes is familiar – exactly how he used to be before he asked to sleep in your room after a nightmare.

“You don’t have to ask to sleep over for the weekend Spence. We can always binge-watch Doctor Who,” you finally say, reading between the lines of what he meant to ask.

He blinks a few times, genuinely surprised. “It’s bizarre and extremely creepy how you still know these things before I even tell you.”

“A mother knows her children,” you joke, poking him under the ribs before pulling him into a hug. “Eat something decent. Get at least six hours of sleep a day, and… fix your hair, it looks like you got a shock.”

He hugs you back, tucking his head between your hair and shoulder. “Yes ma’am,” his voice is muffled.

There’s a brief comfortable silence before he clears his throat. “Um… can you let me go now? Your perfume is intoxicating me.”

You laugh, pulling away from him, “Okay, I need to go or I’ll be late,” you point to the book in your hand, “take care of my son.”

“Yes ma’am.” He repeats in an ironic tone, just to tease you.

–

Across the bullpen, Emily was the first to notice — actually, feel — your presence. Your scent spread silently, sweet and citrusy. Filling the usual smell of paper and reheated coffee.

Without taking her eyes off you, she fumbled around on the table, searching for anything she could throw on Morgan’s desk.

The sound of the pen hitting the keyboard was enough to take his focus off the report, and he looked up, irritated. “What the-”

Emily just pointed her chin discreetly in your direction. He frowned, following her gaze before freezing. “Okay… who’s that?”

“Who’s that?” JJ approached, looking away from the pile of reports she was carrying, looking for what they were both staring at.

Emily pointed discreetly to the entrance. “The woman in the structured coat, probably tailored. Expensive perfume. Heels. Impeccable makeup at eight in the morning.”

“It’s not just any shoe, it’s a Louboutin.” JJ looks more closely, before looking back at the two of them. “Do you know anyone who has a thousand dollars to spare for a shoe?”

They both shake their heads. Morgan turns to the two of them, slightly confused. “She doesn’t look lost… Who is she here to see? Rossi?”

JJ shook her head. “I don’t think so, he hasn’t even arrived yet. Besides, if this was a formal meeting Garcia and Hotch would be here too and– Wait, is Spencer going to her?”

The three of them leaned over the table, side by side, like children watching a very interesting episode.

“Did… Did she just grab his tie?” JJ asked, her eyes slightly wide.

“And he let her.” Emily nodded, astonished. “She touched his hair. His hair. And he didn’t flinch.”

Emily blinked slowly. “She must be a witch.”

“Maybe a girlfriend?” JJ suggested, still unable to take her eyes off the scene.

Morgan laughed, straightening up to lean back in his chair, incredulous. “Girlfriend? If prettyboy managed to do that I need to reevaluate everything I know about him and seduction techniques.”

In front of them, Spencer was waving goodbye to you with a smile. You grimaced and gestured at his shirt before turning and walking away – which he responded with an eye roll. Then he returned to the table as if nothing had happened. He sat down, opened his book and turned a page. Completely oblivious to the commotion.

“Pretty boy,” Morgan crossed his arms, his expression falsely serious – his eyes sparkling with amusement. “We need to talk.”

He frowned, looking up at him. “About what?”

“The James Bond meets Audrey Hepburn thing.”

“Who?”

Emily rested her face on her hand. “The woman who literally just hugged you.”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, averting his eyes back to the book. “Oh yeah. She just came to hand me a book.”

Morgan leaned forward with a wide smirk. “Tell me the name of this library, because I want to sign up. Maybe I can get a kiss.”

Spencer groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “First of all: ew. Second, shut up, she’s my sister.”

The room was silent for a moment. Morgan, Emily and JJ, frozen – almost comically like in a cartoon, exchanged a look before turning back to Spencer.

“Your what?” The three asked in unison.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us that this being… I don’t even have adjectives to describe it. Why didn’t you tell us that this was your sister?” Emily asked, incredulous.

Spencer cringed, already expecting this reaction. “I talk about her all the time,” he muttered, defending himself. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“We thought she’d be more like you.” JJ muttered, glancing at the entrance where you had been standing for a few minutes. “Now I wonder how you didn’t become a fashion expert growing up with her. Because I’ve never seen anyone so flawless at eight in the morning.”

Spencer clicked his tongue with a shrug, returning his gaze to the book. “I have a different style and she respects that. But whenever she sees me she still says that self-esteem is a shield against institutionalized mediocrity.”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, Penelope will love her.”

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You hate renovations.

Construction, leaks in general. In fact, anything that involves noise and dust, even if it has the classic promise of “It’ll be worth it in the end”. They are inconvenient – ​​the constant sound of hammering in the background, furniture being dragged from one side to the other. The smell of cement and fresh paint – your nose burns just thinking about it. And all this without mentioning the layer of dust it leaves on the furniture – even after it’s been cleaned. Your eyes itch, you sneeze as much as you breathe and the visual chaos leaves your head throbbing at the end of the day.

With each step inside the apartment, you can feel the fine grains of sand on the soles of your shoes. You love this place, you really do. This is where you spent the first years in the city with Spencer, after leaving Vegas; every corner of this apartment carries a memory.

You ignored the first signs of degradation. When the heater broke, you spent the entire winter wrapped in blankets, telling yourself that it was a time to test your resilience. Then you forgot about the cracked tiles in the bathroom and the strange noise of the shower. But when the plumbing in the wall burst, turning your apartment into an unlicensed water park, it became clear that living there was no longer a viable option, you needed to move.

The elevator door opened with a soft creak, Spencer stepping out first, balancing one of your boxes with clumsy care.

“I still think you should have stayed at my apartment for a few days to look around more calmly,” said, your voice quick but low, as walked down the slightly dusty hallway of the new building. “You know I hardly ever stop at home, there would be space, and… well, at least I would know you would be in a safe place.”

“Spence, I really appreciate your concern but I wouldn’t ruin my clothes by leaving them in suitcases or boxes,” you said, putting the box you were holding on the floor to grab the set of keys and unlock the door to your new apartment. “Besides, where would I leave my furniture?”

Spencer let out a grunt of agreement, as if he had forgotten that detail. “Not that this building is bad, of course. In fact… yeah, it’s a good building,” he said, as if trying to convince himself, his eyes wandering over the door hinges and the reinforced lock. “I asked Penelope for a list. Of the safest buildings in the area. I mean, nothing too invasive, just the basics: police incident rate, presence of a doorman, security cameras, distance from police stations.”

You laughed, placing the box on the counter. “Spencer, I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’ll be fine,” he agreed, mimicking your gesture, “but with my job you can never be too careful. This one was number five on the list, which is good… good enough. But the one on the corner with Laurel was number two, and it had those bulletproof glass doors, remember? Not that you need bulletproof glass… but, well, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

“Spencer.” You hummed in warning.

“Okay.”

“Thanks. But now help me find the coffee before I throw this box out the window or decide to jump.”

–

All in all, it took a week to finish tidying up the apartment. And you certainly owe a – huge – apology to all your neighbors. You could almost feel them peering through the peephole, hoping that this would be the last piece of furniture, the last noise, the last night someone would wake up in shock to the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

By the seventh day, you were exhausted. Sitting on the living room floor, knees bent, surrounded by duct tape, trash bags with burst bubble wrap, and tools lying around. The apartment had finally started to feel like a home, and not like the set of a failed home improvement show.

You were leaving the house when your cell phone vibrated in your coat pocket. You grabbed it, sliding your fingers across the screen as you read the first few lines of what looked like an urgent email. Turning the corner, you didn't see the body in front of you until it was too late.

The impact was strong. Your heel slid across the floor, making you lose your balance. At the same moment, two arms reached out towards you, a pair of strong hands gripping your shoulders with precision, preventing you from falling.

"Are you okay?" His tone was low, slightly alarmed.

You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the shock. Your heart was still racing inside your chest – surprise and embarrassment competing to see which would push you over the edge first.

The man in front of you remains still, his hands still close together, suspicious that you won’t be able to keep your balance if he lets go of you completely. His serious face, etched in firm lines, adds an air of authority – or maybe it was just the absence of expression.

“Hmm… yes. Considering other realities that could be worse.” You murmur automatically, still a little bewildered.

“Worse…?” He repeats, confused, as he slowly pulls his hand back.

“I could have fallen, hit my head, broken my heel, torn my tights, hurt my back…”, you started to list.

Did you think about all of this now or do you have a list of tragedies saved in your mind? The question echoed in your mind, but he remained silent. Aaron watched with a frown, his dark eyes following every feature of your face, trying to remember if he had seen you in the building before. Coming to the conclusion that no, this was the first time he had met you, he would certainly remember if he had crossed paths with you before.

You notice his expression, staying quiet immediately, biting the inside of your cheek to try to prevent the blush on the top of your cheeks from intensifying. “And I digress. Great.” You sigh, before smiling. “Anyway, I’m sorry. And thank you for preventing a fall that would have been incredibly embarrassing.”

“You don’t need to thank me, it was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he waved, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, giving a small smile as you walked back towards the exit. As soon as you entered the elevator, you leaned against the wall and discreetly pulled out your cell phone.

You: Spencer, as if the noise I made this week wasn’t enough, I just bumped into my neighbor in the hallway. And to top off Murphy’s Law, he’s also a DILF.

The answer came almost immediately. What most people don’t know is that Spencer Reid is a huge gossip.

Spence: What’s a DILF?

Oh dear, it’s better if you don’t know.

You: Well, that’s irrelevant. Anyway, I think I’m in love.

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Appeared again. Gone.

You could almost see Spencer at his desk, frowning, the gears in his brain turning, mentally reviewing everything he had ever seen about love at first sight.

Spence: Is it smart to date someone on the same floor as you? What if it doesn't work out? What about mental health?

He was right about that.

You: Mental health is a thing of the past, Spence. Something cavemen looked for, now what brings a couple together is shared trauma. Spence: I really hope this is a metaphor. Please tell me it is a metaphor. You: No, this is me saying I need your help to find out who he is, because I'm going to marry him. Spence: You need (psychiatric) help.

Spence put his phone down on the table, trying to get back to work, but the nagging feeling was still there, in the back of his mind. He read and reread the message again, as if the meaning would magically appear on the screen.

“DILF,” he mumbled, trying to remember if he had ever heard or read that word before, “maybe a character name…” Emily walked past him, returning from the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee.

“Emily,” he called, whispering, trying not to attract the attention of the people around him.

“What?” he whispered back, bringing the cup to his lips. Spencer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“I’m having doubts about the semantics of a word, do you know what a… DILF is?”

Emily choked on her coffee, coughing slightly. “What?” she repeated, surprised.

“A DILF, do you know what it means?” he analyzed her reaction for a second, before continuing, “I don’t know what it means but it seemed important to understand the context.”

Her lips opened in a wry smile. “Oh Spencer, who is corrupting your beautiful brain?”

Spencer ignored the provocation, curiosity overcoming embarrassment – ​​big mistake. “Is it some kind of acronym?”

“Yes,” she replied, smirking, “it stands for ‘Dad I’d Like to…’” She paused, waiting patiently for his brain to fill in the rest.

“Oh,” he blinked, remaining completely still. Despite the lack of words, his face was turning different shades of red. “I-I, um, thanks.”

Emily walked away shaking her head, an amused smile on her lips.

Spencer: I figured out what DILF stands for, and I have two things to say. First, Freud must be turning in his grave right now (and he would love to meet you). Second, you owe me a lobotomy.

You couldn’t help but laugh out loud in the elevator when you read Spencer’s last message. Putting your phone in your pocket, you took a deep breath, trying to get your thoughts in order. You could still feel the touch of his hands on your shoulders, the way his dark eyes had examined you for a second longer than necessary, as if he wanted to make sure you were really okay.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, another realization dawned on you: the man lived right next door. He was there all the time. And you had spent a week making a hell of a lot of noise.

Great. Perfect first impression.

You continued on your way to college, but your mind was on your new apartment, mentally rehearsing what the next time you bumped into him would be like. Maybe a formal apology? A cake? An anonymous note slipped under the door?

Fate seemed particularly generous, because when you were returning home at the end of the day, a woman and a little boy were walking towards your neighbor’s door.

Instinctively, you slowed your pace, watching the interaction. The woman – who you assumed was a close relative, or probably the boy’s mother – glanced briefly in your direction, offering a polite smile.

You smiled back, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, taking a deep breath before taking the last few steps that separated you from their door.

Oh, he’s married, God isn’t in all things.

“Hi, I live right across the street,” you pointed to the door, smiling at the little boy before turning your gaze back to the woman. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“Apology? Why?” she asked, her tone gentle, despite the clear confusion on her face.

“For the moving noises,” you smiled, a little embarrassed, “and also for almost knocking over what I assume was your husband in the hallway.”

She laughed, shaking her head as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. “Oh, you mean Aaron? Oh my God! Husband? No, I’m just Jack’s aunt.” She bent down a little to adjust the backpack on the boy’s shoulders, casting a mischievous look over him. “And he’s single, by the way.”

Well, maybe he is.

You felt your cheeks burning at the insinuation, smiling as you turned your gaze back to the little boy. “Well, anyway, I thought I’d make up for it with a proper apology.” You crouched down a little to be closer to Jack’s height. “Do you like cookies? Cake?”

The boy’s smile widened now, his eyes lighting up. Before he could answer, the woman laughed softly. “Oh, he loves chocolate chip cookies.”

“Really?”

Jack nodded. “Chocolate chip cookies,” he said, whispering as if it were an important secret.

You placed your hand on your chest, leaning closer to whisper, as if this were a secret mission. “Understood, Mr. Jack. Chocolate chip cookies. I’ll make the best cookies, with double the chocolate.”

The woman smiled amiably, unlocking the door. “I’m sure he’ll love it. And don’t worry about the noise, moving is chaotic. Welcome to the building, by the way.”

“Thank you. See you soon, Jack. See you soon…”

“Jessica,” she added, with an amused smile. “See you around.”

–

Saturday morning started like any other in the Hotchner household: Jack – still in his pajamas, with his hair messy – dragged his feet to the kitchen, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Aaron was already preparing his son’s breakfast when he heard a soft noise coming from the door – a sound almost imperceptible.

He frowned curiously. Gesturing for Jack to wait in the kitchen, he walked to the front door and opened it slowly, alert.

On the floor, there was a glass jar filled with cookies that looked homemade, golden brown, with generous chunks of chocolate. Tied to the jar was a note tied with a simple bow, written in beautiful, slanted handwriting:

“Mission accomplished, Mr. Jack. Hope you like them. Note: If they’re good, I made them. If they’re bad, oh what an evil bakery, selling bad food.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, a laugh escaping before he could contain it. For a second, he stood in the doorway, scanning the silent hallway, hoping to find some clue. Who would leave food on the doorstep of someone they barely knew? He glanced at Jack, who now seemed fully awake, his eyes shining with satisfaction at the sight of the gift.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked in an amused voice, shaking the jar of cookies slightly.

Jack nodded excitedly. “When Aunt Jess came to pick me up yesterday, we ran into our neighbor from across the hall. She apologized for the noise and for almost knocking you over the other day.” Aaron raised an eyebrow, listening intently to the explanation. “She asked me what I liked, and I told her I liked chocolate chip cookies. So she said she’d give me some along with her apology.”

He inhaled slowly, carefully opening the jar, taking out a cookie, and taking in the smell and texture—and the bounty of melted chocolate chips. “Oh, so now we have a neighbor who makes secret deals with you?”

Jack laughed, shrugging. “Aunt Jess said she’s nice.”

Aaron stared at the jar for a few more seconds, his mind torn between the tempting smell of chocolate and the invisible weight of caution. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gesture. It was the kind of gift his younger self would have accepted without a second thought. But after years of seeing the worst in people, it was hard to believe that someone would take the time to bake cookies just to apologize.

“Yeah…” he said finally, reaching for another cookie a little hesitantly. “She seems really nice too.”

He broke the cookie in half, offering it to Jack before taking a bite. As the smell had already given away, they were very good, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, just the right amount of sweet. You clearly knew what you were doing.

Jack finished the cookie, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pajamas before reaching for another. “Can we get her a present too?”

“How about a card? You could draw something. I’m sure she’d like it.”

–

You were heading to the kitchen to make some coffee, still a little sleepy. You needed a generous amount of caffeine to grade your tests – if you received another email asking about your grade, Spencer would have to come and get you with his work friends. Something caught your eye on the floor, a small colorful envelope was resting under your door.

You bent down and carefully pulled out the card: A piece of cardboard folded in half, covered in colorful stars and a rosy-cheeked sun with a big smile in the center. When you opened it, the message written in the adorable handwriting of a child:

“Apology fully accepted. The cookies were very good, thank you! I just realized I forgot to ask, what’s your name? Your new friend, Jack.”

You stood there, still for a moment, smiling at the card as you felt your chest immediately warm. Maybe you could reframe your thoughts on construction work, because now, maybe deep down, you’re glad the pipe burst.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

I've been writing this since April *biting fist emoji*, and to be honest, I've changed the script so much that I don't even know how to continue. I'm only posting this because I know myself and I know I'm one step away from freaking out and deleting everything :) When this is over I'll probably write a sequel.

Anyway, I think this is my favorite (cover your ears, alien superstar).

[polyamorousmood]

Okay, apparently some people don't know this and that's not gonna do on my blog. So as we used to say on this hellsite,

sit down and shut up because I'm about to learn you a thing

This:

is the ORIGINAL polyamory pride flag. Jim Evans created it in 1995 in fucking MS Paint. Not using hearts was an intentional choice to: avoid stepping on the leather pride flag's toes, allow people to use it without immediately outing themselves to those not in the know, and be easily input into MS Paint. The infinity heart symbol did not exist at the time and certainly wasn't available in MS motherfucking Paint. The color symbolism is blue for honesty, red for love, black⚫ in solidarity for those that cannot be out to the world at large, and gold for the high value of each relationship. sources (x, x)

There are valid complaints that people want a pride flag that does advertise what they are, and that this design is hard on the eyes. However. Many polyamorous people still use this flag to represent themselves, most of them 35+ years old. As a personal favor to me, please do not say you hate this flag. Say the colors are too bright till you're blue in the face, sure. But to openly hate this flag is to disparage your predecessors and denounce your history.

The earliest polyamory pride flag to incorporate the infinity heart symbol that I could find actually made its debut on tumblr in 2016. The infinity heart was established as a polyamory pride symbol by this time. ratlab-art intentionally kept the original color symbolism, while using hues generally considered a little more pleasant to look at.

This one, obviously, set the precedent for numerous other iterations of the same idea -- tweaking the colors, swapping the pi for the infinity heart. I will not be posting all of them, because I doubt I could track them all down anyway. The icon I currently use on this blog is one such iteration. But this one uniquely puts the black stripe in the middle, which does make for a nice contrast with the gold.

and of course

This is the "new poly flag" designed by Red Howell for the polyamproud online vote, which took place in 2022. They call it the "tricolor polyamory pride flag" (presumably, not to distinguish it from the other established flags, but to distinguish it only from the others that were in their run-off) Its symbolism is as follows: the triangle ▶️points forward for progress and is off-center to represent the non-traditional nature of polyamory, white⚪ represents possibility, blue for honestly, magenta for love, purple for unity in the community, gold for perseverance, and obviously the heart for love.

It has garnered controversy, because they kind of... openly disparaged every previous polyamory flag and claim theirs is the one true poly flag. They do still say you can use any flag you like, but the whole vote was predicated on the assumption that no one wanted the existing designs, and no pre-existing designs were included in the vote. And that it was bad to have variants of the same flag, even though you see that with many pride flags, including the rainbow flag. Many old school polyams still don't know this design, let alone that there was a single vote years ago, which they missed. However. This flag has quickly become a popular design, especially among the younger generation. So if you would be so kind, please do not say you hate this flag. Say you're frustrated with how the process of choosing it happened, by all means. But to openly hate this flag is to disparage the next generation and sever yourself from new directions in the community.

finally,

A couple of honorable mentions made by Em Essex in 2019 and Molly Colleen Bennett Wilvich in 2020, respectively. They don't get full write-ups, but they're an additional couple of the more unique (without being downright obscure) flag designs.

Go forth with pride and knowledge,

[ducksido]

Might I request Vil and/or Idia with a s/o who has a habit of doodling on their skin? In specific they tend to draw on their non-dominant hand. It's usually just a star here, a crescent moon there, maybe the stray card suit every now and again. But one day the hand doodle is instead a bunch of lines flowing into each other, some thicker others thinner. The end result kinda looks like a bunch of thorns.

Perhaps the characters' general reaction to the skin drawing when they first find out about it, as well as the scenario described above?

-🥀🪻anon (if that is alright)

(Hello 🥀🪻anon 😁)

Vil Schoenheit

When he first notices the doodles:

At first, Vil catches sight of the little drawings during a shared study session, when your sleeve rides up slightly as you flip a page. A small star glimmers faintly in smudged ink across the back of your hand.

He blinks.

“Darling,” he says, raising a perfectly plucked brow, “did someone draw on you, or have you taken to decorating yourself like a notebook margin?”

When you shyly admit it’s your own handiwork—a habit, just little things when you’re thinking or zoning out—Vil’s tone softens. Just a bit.

“I’d prefer you not stain your skin, but… it’s not completely without charm.”

He starts watching for new doodles—making offhanded comments like “That crescent would look better with a sharper arch” or “Hearts again? Feeling romantic?” Eventually, he buys you fine-tipped skin-safe pens in a rainbow of colors and high-quality makeup remover—practical, but still thoughtful.

When he sees the thorny lines:

It’s after a long week, stress coiled in both your shoulders and his. You're curled up on the sofa in his dorm room, hand resting palm-down on your knee. Vil approaches with two glasses of infused water and freezes mid-step.

“...What is that?”

Your hand is covered in thick, dark lines—some like vines, others jagged like thorns. The design isn’t random this time; it spirals, tenses, curls. It looks almost angry.

Vil sets the glasses down with care and kneels in front of you, gently taking your wrist in his hand.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your knuckles, “this isn’t like your usual drawings.”

He doesn’t jump to conclusions—but he doesn’t ignore it either. His voice becomes quiet, almost coaxing.

“Was this just idle sketching… or are you trying to say something?”

If you brush it off, he won’t push—but he’ll watch you closely after. If you admit you were upset or stressed, his expression tightens, and he presses a kiss to the side of your hand.

“I’d rather you come to me, before your hands become canvases of pain.”

And he means it. After that, he pays more attention to your non-dominant hand than ever—like a barometer for your heart.

Idia Shroud

When he first notices the doodles:

The first time Idia sees your doodles is during a gaming night. You reach for a controller, and he sees a little star and spade etched on your fingers.

He kind of malfunctions for a second.

“Wha—you… draw on yourself? Like, on purpose?”

His hair flickers orange with interest. He scoots closer, peering at your hand like it’s an ancient artifact.

“That’s kinda… cool. And retro. It’s like an NPC with flavor text written on their body. Uh, not in a creepy way! I mean—it’s cool!!”

From then on, he lowkey loves spotting new drawings. He’s too awkward to comment every time, but he notices. Sometimes he’ll awkwardly say, “That one looks like a mana circuit,” or compare your crescent moons to ones from his favorite JRPGs.

He even starts sending you memes and reference pics: “This flower looks like the one you drew on Thursday. Just saying.”

When he sees the thorny lines:

It’s late—your wrist resting on his desk as you both work on some coding for a club project. He glances down to ask a question and immediately stops.

His eyes lock on your hand.

Those aren’t your usual scribbles.

The lines twist and intersect—sharp angles like brambles, elegant but tense. They remind him of curse marks, or the corrupted glyphs in a horror visual novel.

He doesn’t speak at first, just hovers his hand over yours, as if afraid to touch it.

“…Hey.”

His voice is soft. Hesitant. Different from his usual rambling.

“Is this, like, a vibe thing? Or are you… okay?”

If you try to brush it off, he gets quiet—but his hair flickers violet-blue with worry.

“…It’s just. You’re usually all stars and sparkles and—this one looks like it came from a bad end route.”

If you tell him it’s stress or something emotional, he goes full support mode in his own awkward way. He doesn’t know how to comfort with words, so instead he gently takes your hand and starts tracing around the thorns—not erasing, just acknowledging.

“…It’s okay. Even thorny roses are still roses. Just… let me know if the vines start creeping too far, okay?”

And later, he makes you a custom pen that glows faintly and can only draw with skin-safe ink. A little light, so he can always find your marks in the dark.

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.