#not quite anon

[psin314]

be careful, boys. 😦

[chimchiri]

Doodling Harrow is a good start to get into drawing again.

She reminds me of a messy, sweaty, angry kitten.

[hungharrington]

thinking about getting fingered by Steve in the backseat of his car and being crowded against the door and sitting at an awkward angle but not moving because the thought of his fingers losing that spot is a million times worse than the sore neck… just UGHHH 😩

a hungharrington fic? in 2025? i'm just as surprised as you <3 1.3k, fem!reader, what the prompt says hehe MDNI this entire blog is 18+

The numbers on the dashboard blink in the night, reflecting the late night hour.

From the outside, Steve's car looks unassuming, parked in between the trees out by Skull Rock.

You're given away only by the faint fogging of the windows, though you have little doubt of how steamy they'll be soon enough. With the hot heat of Steve's mouth against the skin of your neck and the surety of his fingers, curling closer between your thighs, it's not an if, it's a when.

"God, I missed you s'much," He murmurs heavily. His words get smothered beneath his own fervent kisses, your skin tingling beneath the attention. He can't bring himself to break away from you for more than a moment.

Steve had headed out of Hawkins for the better part of a week, dragged by his parents who wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd returned just tonight, maroon car glinting the last of the evening sun up at your window.

You'd slipped down and taken the passenger seat always reserved for you.

And then, somewhere between there and now, Steve had cajoled you into the backseat, his hazel eyes bright with an adoring lust as he nipped at your neck.

"Missed you too," You gasp breathily.

Tilting back, your head gently hits the glass of the car window behind you. Your hair wipes some of the fog off and Steve nibbles a soft lovebite under your ear, soothing it with his tongue. His hands paw hungrily at your waist and you grapple to find purchase on his shoulders.

"Not as much as me, baby," Steve pants.

He finally pulls himself back from his affectionate attack on your neck, eyes darker, face flushed. His hand on your waist slides forward, following the line of your hips forward, down, til he's cupping your cunt. You think you get a little lightheaded from the way your blood rushes south, gloriously hot at the touch.

He kisses you, his groan seeping into your mouth. It fills your head, heavy and sticky with lewd thoughts.

"Thought of you every," He rubs you through the denim softly. "Damn," Another rub, more pressure this time. "Day."

You keen, hips canting forward, searching for more of that delicious friction. Steve gives you what you want; he always does. You reward him, your hands on his shoulders shifting. You twine your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, just how he likes it.

The inside of the car feels much, much warmer now. The windows can't be seen through anymore and it seems to cast the red light of the dashboard clock much further. Steve's heavy breath fanning across your face is the loudest thing in the car.

You should've worn a skirt, you think— right as Steve asks, "Can I?" his hand now up, thumbing at the button of your jeans.

His check-in douses the ember within you with gasoline, burning hotter, brighter, in an instant. You know what he's asking for, know exactly how well Steve knows how to use his fingers. The thought of them buried in you, crooked just right, suddenly has you aching for it.

Nodding, you murmur out your yes' as you shuffle about, working to kick off your shoes quickly. Steve pulls back to not be in the way, jumping back in time to help you peel the denim off from your legs.

You manage to get your fingertips beneath the elastic of your panties before you're interrupted.

"Keep them on," Steve says, knocking your hand aside. He surges back in, his fervour undulled, and his large hands find your hips, tugging forward.

You end up slightly perched in his lap, slightly pressed into the back corner against the window and the seat. It's an awkward position but when the warmth of Steve's fingers pet your cunt again, cotton stickier now, you can forgive it. You sling your arms around his neck to get closer.

"That's it," Steve murmurs lowly. He ducks his head to reignite every lovebite left on your neck as his fingers get bolder, pressing firmer. Your breath gets thinner, chest heaving more and more.

"God, my girl," He breathes, fingers spreading the wetness up and over your clit tantalizingly. You mewl at his too-soft motions, needing more.

"Steve," You urge.

He doesn't make you wait. Pinching the edge, he pulls your panties to the side and then dips his fingers into the well of slick wet waiting eagerly for him.

You make matching groans; Steve moaning at heat of your inviting cunt, wrapped around him, and you sighing at the way his long digit sinks into you, slow and so sweet.

"Steve," You say his name again, this time a honey, lusty thing.

Steve breaks his kiss to moan against your neck, feeding on the obvious salacious eagerness in you. His finger draws back and then he sinks it back in, beginning slowly to fuck it in and out.

"Missed you," He whispers. A second finger prods at your entrance and eases in gently, sending a streak of something white hot down your spine. Your arms around his neck tighten.

"Missed this," He continues, still a whisper. He's picking up the pace now, having found a lazy rhythm, fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so perfectly that it makes your clit twitch, envious and missing out.

You whine into the crook of his neck. "Me too."

Then, just as you think the angle of your back might be just a tad too uncomfortable, Steve curls his fingers.

A gaspy noise escapes your throat. Desire pulses wildly and you can feel the way you flutter around his fingers. Steve's other hand on your waist tightens, gripping you tightly.

"Fuuuck," He groans. "I missed that too."

Then he does it again, fingers crooked to hit that perfect spot that makes you feel like you might cry if he rubbed it too much. Your noises sound much louder now, jagged and pitching up.

"You're such a tease, honey," Steve accuses, his motions not slowing. "Keeping me from this. Keeping all your cute noises to yourself."

And, as if he'll know what it'll do, he stretches his hand, veins bulging in his forearm, and plants his thumb on your clit. You jolt against the new stimulation, another cute gaspy noise, and Steve moans against your neck.

His hand keeps moving, fingers still plunging into your sopping cunt, thumb rubbing tight, small circles on your clit. You cling to him, hips rolling to meet his strokes, the heat in you building, suddenly desperately fast. Your breathing comes out heavy and if it's not a moan, it's his name that slips from between your lips.

"Feelin' good? M' making my girl feel good?" He says raspily. "You deserve it, being left alone. So mean of me."

Something fiery swells within you and you inhale sharply, squeaking out Steve's name in warning. His hand, which must be cramping much like your poor back, still rocks into you, unfaltering.

"C'mon, let me have it. Please," He pleads. "Let me see you cum f'me, honey."

The sincere thread in his voice, the genuine plead, is what unravels your last ties. You tremble, lusty and quivering sounds that you bury away in his neck, as you ride his fingers through a dazzlingly hot high. It drags on, nerves glittering with a fresh coat of pleasure that have you whining Steve's name pitifully.

When your breath starts to settle, Steve eases his fingers out, already beginning to pepper little kisses along the side of your head.

"That was big, huh?" He says. It's mostly care in his voice but there, in the back, is a smidgen of smugness.

"Shhhh," You shush him, still gathering yourself, eyes closed. You body gives a volatile twitch when Steve politely moves your panties back to their original position. "I'm deciding if that was worth fucking up my back a little bit for."

Steve makes a wounded noise, realising that he'd had you crowded up in an uncomfortable position the whole time. He's a worrier. That's enough to make you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes lidded low.

"Mmm, decided." You hum, the pleased smile of post-bliss on your face. Steve softens at the sight of it, at your easy happiness. "Worth it."

[sdv-confessions]

I headcanon that natural hair colors are the default of Stardew Valley and that odd hair colors that you'd normally need to dye your hair to be are representative of specific magic of the valley you're more attuned to. And the more vibrant the color or the more of the color you have, the more of that magic you have.

Abigail has a lot of some kind of arcane magic, Emily has some sort of gem or dream based mer-magic, Caroline has some plant based magic.

This headcanon also works with characters like Shane, who has purple tones in his hair. How does one breed blue chickens? Magic. And Seb, who also has purples/blues as his undertone, has a lot of knowledge about things like slimes and the mines.

.

[valyrfia]

okay now give me your thoughts on the george and max fight

Honestly I fall solidly on the side of Max with this one and there's a few reasons why. However, the main point and the one I REALLY want to hammer home is that the drivers' currently need a competent GPDA director who is on the pulse of these overly harsh penalties that the FIA has suddenly become happy to start giving out. George has just proven that rather than doing his job (which he volunteered for) which is call out the harshness of these penalties, he would much rather throw any and all of his colleagues under the bus as long as he himself benefits in terms of track position. It's not a good look.

Honestly I'm of the opinion that the current GPDA action of 'a few warnings' doesn't seem to be working. The FIA is drunk on power and is all too happy to call the union's bluff and George Russell, their DIRECTOR, suddenly being pro penalties in the stewards' room just strengthens the FIA's belief that they don't actually need to take on board any of the drivers' concerns. George not only completely lost Max's respect but he also destroyed the legitimacy of the recent GPDA complaints and quite honestly, maybe a controversial opinion but I think it's ground enough for George to be forced to step down as the drivers' representative.

TLDR: Max is completely in the right and George acting in his own interest may have just destroyed any chance of the FIA taking the drivers' current concerns seriously.

[the-muppet-joker]

First you start fucking a stuffed animal then you start pissing on it then when that stuffed animal is burned you claim that it's Spirit has gone into a plastic figure and now you want to eat the figure

Excellent summary!

[ooliecat]

can you draw Frazie 🥺🥺🥺 (PS: your art is so freaking rad I always get a stupid smile when I see it on my dash)

i quite like her

[devotion-disorder]

I'm sorry Noel but we have to break up... It's not you, it's your cock. Ever since I found out that Kuuya has a big dong I've realized that your tiny pp is not enough for me...😞 Also I love twinks so I'm leaving you for Kuuya- I'M COMING KUUYA!!!🏃

THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINNNGGGGGGGGGG

[notherpuppet]

Alastor is a complex character!

Despite being one of the few characters in Hazbin with confirmed identities (his ethnic background and sexual orientation), those identities are in of themselves, complex experiences.

There’s seemingly nothing about the character that is Black or White.

I think that’s why he is such a compelling character! Also, it’s probably one reason why he is such an attractive conduit for folks’ creative expression.

His identities are not necessarily why many people may gravitate towards him, but they do offer a chance for people to investigate him and explore a character—as unique as he is—into avenues they may not have considered before.

I can commiserate with feeling defensive of a character who shares an identity with you—ESPECIALLY an underrepresented one. Discourse is natural and completely fine! (And very educational sometimes in my experience)

But I don’t think it’s fruitful to police a fandom in these matters. Some folks come to my inbox (I delete the really rude ones) or comment sections with a very cop-like attitude to a space that’s supposed to be creative and/or fun *airhorn*

That’s my take as just some guy on the internet 🤓🛜 have a good dayyyyy

[sakasakiii]

Every time I see your art it makes my day brighter. Glad to hear you're doing well!

hi hi hello!!!! thanks for checking in, anons, and for the kind words!!! im doing great, though im predicting ill be a bit busy in the weeks to come, so i hope you wont mind me if i slowly slink back into posting less and less OTL I've still got a few proper pieces to be posted per my usual time, but im gonna do my best to answer more asks in-between!! anon 1, i hope your day is even brighter than how you made mine when you sent in that ask <333

here's a quick sketch of tyelpe and annatar as requested :D anon 2, im so sorry for taking so long to get to this but im absolutely flattered to hear you like my art!! most of my gallery is filled with the works of artists i study, but its a foreign concept for me to consider that my art is potentially saved in someone else's?!... im not quite sure how to put it to words.... 😭😭thank you again aaarrghhh;;;;;

its been too long since i drew these two so.... redesigned buffer tyelpe finally gets his own piece :D thank you again anons!!! i hope you both have a wonderful rest of your week! ❤️

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[bigidiotenergytm]

Hey hi! So first love all your art and second im gonna be honest when i first read your username i did fully think it read "bigtittyenergytm" until i looked at it again lol

well ur not.......................

not EXACTLY wrong-

[legs-like-jelly]

hey saw your lee prime ler megs earthspark and your art is amazing ! could you do optimis revange ? would be cute and funny

(if i miss understood what your willing to draw or anything just ignore me and sry)

anyway have a nice day :D

yes of coooarse(ik how to spell it i just like spelling it like that)

[nadiapodoroska]

IGA ŚWIĄTEK + racket spinning | 2025 United Cup | requested by anon!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

“No, wait. Stay- Stay back. I need to think rationally.” “...What’s that got to do with me?” for bruce please? 🤲

“I’m weak for you.” Prompts

Sure thing nonnie! This one went a little angstier than intended, sorry 😅 the spirit moved me

Warnings: Angst that ends in fluff; no relation to The Other Half

You were trying not to completely lose your cool, but under normal circumstances, who wouldn’t be freaking the hell out?

“Oh…My god.”

“Okay,” Bruce set the helmet on his kitchen counter, raising his hands, “I know this looks bad.”

“Oh my god."

“I need you to take a deep breath—“

“Oh my god.”

“And relax—”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?” You screeched, waving your hands to the batsuit. Bruce took another step closer, and you raised your hand to stop him. “Don’t.“

“Let’s sit down,” He took another step, and you shook your head.

“No, wait. Stay—Stay back. I need to think rationally.”

“…What’s that got to do with me?”

You shot Bruce a withering look, eyes darting between him, the suit, and the helmet. The engagement ring on your hand had never felt so heavy before, not even when he put it on your finger. Your hands curled into fists as you lowered them to your sides. Bruce’s expression was indiscernible as you took a few steps closer, then skirted around him, hurrying to the penthouse elevator.

“I’m going to—I need to clear my head,” You flubbed.

“Are you coming back tonight?”

You should’ve said yes, you knew that. This was Bruce, your Bruce, the man that you loved, but…You were suddenly questioning whether you’d ever really known the man at all. You gave a small shake of your head.

“I don’t know.”

You felt like you should apologize for it, but you couldn’t. You stepped onto the elevator, curling your arms around yourself and keeping your gaze studiously on the floor. You saw Bruce come into view just as the doors slid closed, but he made no effort to stop them from closing.

You drew in a shuddering breath as the elevator began to descend, leaning back against the wall and scrubbed your shaking hands over your rapidly heating face. You heaved in tight, nervous breaths, desperately trying to calm yourself. You pushed away from the wall as the elevator doors opened, and nearly slammed directly into someone.

“Oh—!”

“Pardon me, miss.”

You looked up to find Alfred there, his hands steadying you. He searched your face for a moment, his smile wilting.

“…He told you,” He surmised, and your stomach lurched. Of course Alfred knew.

“Not exactly,” You managed. “Excuse me.”

"Can I drive you somewhere?"

"No! No. Thank you."

Alfred gave a small nod as you stepped past him, hurrying out and into the night.

—

You both looked like shit—tired, and drawn, sitting at the opposite ends of the counter as sunlight crept into the kitchen. Neither of you were speaking as Alfred puttered around efficiently, setting mugs of coffee down for both of you before disappearing up the stairs.

“…Where’d you go?” Bruce finally asked.

“You didn’t follow me?”

“You thought I would?”

You nodded. He tipped his head to the side.

“…I considered it,” He admitted.

“Have you followed me before?”

“A couple of times, early on.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t traveling to the safest of places.”

“I was fine.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” You muttered.

"So?"

"Hm?"

"Where'd you go?"

"Just to a hotel." You trailed your finger along the side of the coffee mug. You didn’t feel any less flustered than you had the night before. Distance and space had helped level your head a little, but the more you’d thought about your life with Bruce, with who he truly was, your questions had multiplied.

“…Has it been you the entire time?” You asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re not some copycat?”

“No.”

“…How can I trust that?”

“You—“

“How can I trust anything that you say now, Bruce?”

He didn’t answer, or try to justify anything, just hung his head. You were angry, sure, and you were so fucking confused, but you couldn’t just look at that hangdog expression and just sit there like a fucking statue.

You straightened up, crossing to Bruce and curling your arms around his shoulders. Bruce twisted slightly in your grasp, drawing you closer and curling his hands in your sweater. You sighed softly, pressing a kiss to his head as you gently raked your nails over the nape of his neck. The two of you held one another for a few minutes, reveling in one another’s touch.

Bruce leaned away to get a better look at you, grasping your hands. His thumb smoothed over the band of your engagement ring, and you watched relief sweep over him.

“You’re still wearing it,” He murmured.

“Mhm. Someone would have to pry it off of my cold dead—“

“Please don’t say that.”

You bit your lip. Fuck, you didn’t mean it like that.

“Sorry, baby.”

"Mm."

You sighed, grasping his chin and tipping his head up to get a good look at his face.

“…I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I have a lot of questions.”

“I know.”

You shook your head, sighing.

“Okay,” You turned, looking around. “We’re going to bed, we’re getting some sleep, and when we get up, I’m going to interrogate the fuck out of you.”

"I'm looking forward to it."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @missswriter ; @nominalnebula

[6okuto]

i was thinking about oikawa and i just KNOW that he LOVES to be babied. that's just him, yk? like that's totally him and i would love to read about 30 year old professional volleyball player oikawa tooru being babied by his wife

(timeskip, fem!reader) he's just like me fr. i actually wrote something different but there wasn't enough babying so here u go 🥹🙆🏻‍♀️

tooru is one of if not the hardest worker you know, never losing sight of his ambitions and passion. determination lines his veins, and late nights of practice and analysis have seeped into the cartilage between his bones, gluing together what makes tooru oikawa, #17, setter for club athletico san juan.

but it's not oikawa, it's tooru, the boy you met in high school who stumbled down the steps after using a cheesy pick-up line on you and whines when you try to leave his arms for the washroom, who's your husband.

"long day?"

tooru groans and buries himself deeper into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped snug around your middle. he didn't really need to answer—the lit street lights and dim sky outside were answer enough.

holding back a laugh, you comb your fingers through his hair, the familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla dancing its way to you. "proud of you, baby."

your husband's voice is quiet, "thank you."

"you want me to run a bath for you?"

"...maybe later?"

"m'kay. you wanna stay here for a while?"

"yeah." his fingers trace hearts across your back, and when he pouts, you feel it against your skin. "i'm so tired."

pouting too in response, you press a kiss to his head and rub his back. "i know, baby, at least you're home now."

"but then i have to leave you tomorrow."

"and then you come back to me again tomorrow."

"but then i leave again—oh my god, what kind of sick world do we live in?" he whines, letting out a noise that could be described as a choked sob.

and this time, you let yourself laugh. "aw, my poor tooru,"—you cradle his head against you —"the horrors of a job have caught you."

"what if we worked somewhere together?" he lifts his head to look at you.

you raise a brow. "i love you, you're the light of my life, but you are not getting me on that court."

he gapes. "betrayal from my own wife?"

"okay, then come to my job."

"...well—"

"betrayal from my own husband?" you gasp and tooru pouts again—though at this point you're not sure if the original pout ever left to begin with.

it's still just as endearing, and your expression softens. "you'll be fine, 'ru. i'll baby you as much as you want every time you come home."

his pout pulls even more at his lips, and you mirror it. bringing your hands up, you hold his face and squish his cheeks with your words— "i, tooru oikawa, love my wife and my job, and i'm a strong, independent guy who can do anything."

"d'you rilly hafta hol' m'face?"

"it's for the effect and affirmations," you tease, before your amusement softens to something else. "how long are you out tomorrow?"

tooru's jaw drops as much as it can with you holding him in place. "why would you—9 hours!"

and before the dread of leaving you can fully take hold, you kiss his forehead. the apple of his left cheek, the right, then his eyes, his nose, both sides of his jaw, his lips—all with a resounding mwah!

tooru's arms cling tighter, and he leans into each kiss, always chasing your affection though he doesn't have to. you smile at the flush dappled across his face. "see? a kiss for each hour."

he opens his mouth to answer, but then the pout comes back. "each half hour at least. each 15 minutes—"

"tooru." you snort. "what is that, like, 36 kisses?"

"okay, a kiss for each minute."

"babe—"

"you know how hard i train, i know you watched my interview."

and you really don't think you'll make it to 100, much less 500 kisses, but you'll try anyway, even if after the first one, tooru says, "one."

you snicker as you place the next four, and he counts them before pointing out, "you know, kissing your husband is way easier than doing rdl's."

"yes, yes, i know, honey." you softly laugh and press another to the spot between his brows. "i'm not complaining."

he counts again—six, seven, eight, nine—and you remember the determination and patience of oikawa was never separate from tooru, especially not when it came to you.