#HELP MEERE

[froggityboingerrrr]

Google how to focus on English homwork

[dvchvnde]

EXCERPT: JOHN PRICE, WINTER SOLDIER AU.

You're still getting used to the sight of him—bare faced in patches: the beard shorn off into a mere shadow of what it was before; a choice he'd made for himself after scrubbing down in a long shower, refusing any help or medical aid—and he doesn't make it any easier for you in these brief, uncomfortable stages of acclimation you suffer through.

Hands lashing out into dead air. Fingers catching, unyielding and firm, on your skin. Nails—split and jagged; regrown in patches after being ripped off over and over again (for hree years, is the mocking whisper snaking along the nausea when you look at the pinked-tinged beds)—burrowing into your flesh. Anchoring you in place as he bends down, moulds his frame around you. Malleable shadow eating you whole.

Indomitable.

John Price was always an intimidating man.

Towering. Broad. Gruff. Surly. Mean old man was often thrown around amongst the new recruits, ones too scared to voice what they really thought:

Miserable fucking bastard.

His weight thrown around like an extension of himself—all raw, barely contained anger trembling out through the cracks. Lashing thick, brutal lines across his forehead. In the sharp, downward tug of his mouth tucked behind a bed of brunt umbre hair.

He was difficult to deal with on a good day, even when he'd offer that mocking smile of his. A parody of geniality—lips split upwards like a crocodiles maw.

(come, come, put your hand inside this beasts jaws; he won't bite—)

As fucking if.

You've only known him in pieces. Patches. Barely enough to make a whole picture, but you could still fill in the empty spaces with that grizzled anger of his that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

(no wonder he burns so hot—it's all that fury.)

Mostly, he'd come to dress you down in front of everyone watching. Snapping at the sight of your desk—organised chaos a true oxymoron (and for the most part, that seemed to be what he thought of you: a moron)—and how you handled files, and how you waltzed around like you owned the place—

and do you, sweetheart? do you own this place, mm? is that why you never listen to a goddamn thing i tell you?

All-in-all: a miserable fucking man.

And one made of sharp, brutal contradictions. Paradoxes layered over each other. Sealed with fury—of the righteous, pragmatic kind—and reinforced with an utilitarian core. Forlorn hope in the distinct shape of a man, one always readying himself for a pyrrhic victory (but a victory, nevertheless).

Easy, in hindsight, to deal with when you knew how to navigate the frothing gyre of anger and juxtapositions that made up the man who brute force, physicality, to get what he wanted.

By sharp contrast, the version of him who stands before is more enigmatic than the mangled mess of savagery and labyrinthine defenses. Almost unknowable. Unfathomable.

Even more so when he lifts his hand—scarred up, still blistered and bruised from fighting his way through fire and kin to get to you—and presses those mangled knuckles to the swell of your cheek, as tender as a man like him could ever allow himself to be, and runs a soft, shallow line down the side of your face. Eyes—still that same, dizzying blue—darken into liquid sapphire as he stares at you. Inexplicably soft. Lids crested. Half-mast in pleasure as if staring at your face was relaxing. Comforting.

Something swirls in those deep, endless lagoons. Some implacable emotion—all at once too much; too heavy—frissoning over his feature. A paroxysm. You can't catch it. Can't define it.

It's unquantifiable. Unknowable. And yet—

You know, instantly, that John Price would never look at you with something this archaic, this intense, brimming up like geysers in the endless spill of blue that can't seem to look away from you.

This man is not John Price.

But when he pulls you into a kiss—one softer and sweeter than you'd ever imagined the infamous captain could ever be capable of—you let him.

In fact, you kiss back.

And you'd really rather not think about what that says about you.

[greybackpack]

I’m still thinking about Tilda and her relations to my version of Elisabet. Like, you don’t get a lot about how Lis felt other than disappointment and anger about Tilda’s possible involvement in stealing a copy of GAIA. I mean she said she didn’t… but she’s also a spy. And like that voice explaining Zero Dawn in the old Zenith base of operations sounded like a modulated version of Tilda’s voice- the way it pauses and drawls out the vowels is the same, I think. Just deeper? Modulated, perhaps?

Like there’s no way Lis actually believed she didn’t. She knows better than anyone what how cunning Tilda is and how intelligent and savvy she is with manipulating people. It makes her a great spy, but perhaps not a great person. And she’s had time to cook.

Like, how did they break up? Why? Was it amicable?

Tilda spent a thousand years regretting it and regretting that she left Lis behind… but what did Lis feel? Does she still hold some affection for Tilda? When she realizes Tilda’s fucked up (BETA, I’M STILL PISSED ABOUT HOW BADLY THE ZENITHS FUCKED BETA UP) and the extent of the damage, what would happen?

Did she also regret it? Did she think that Tilda helped with the betrayal? Anyways, here’s a possible snippet for the far (heh) future of the fic:

Elisabet stood there, facing her past in a way she hadn’t thought possible. Hadn’t thought will ever be possible again.

She had thought this chapter- this relationship- of her life was closed. When Aloy had recounted her experience in the facility, Elisabet hadn’t truly thought about the implications outside the mind numbing fact that she has another clone-daughter. But then she had met Beta, and it was okay, better than okay, that she had another daughter.

And then there’s this. This- her- there she is, floating in the air and looking as stunned as Lis herself feels. Tilda van de Meer.

“Elisabet?”

God, even the sound of her voice back bittersweet memories. All of those coffee dates and the art galleries and science expos… and the moment Tilda broke her heart. Elisabet swallows, remembering the way Tilda had looked her in the eyes and told her that it couldn’t work out- that it won’t ever work- because of the nature of Tilda’s job. The lie in her eyes and that tremor in her steady hands, Elisabet saw them.

“How is this possible?” Tilda whispers, white clad and shimmery arms armored with the Far Zenith shields reaching out to Elisabet. She stops halfway, as if she’s afraid that Elisabet will disappear the moment Tilda touches her.

“Cryo.” Elisabet says, still staring at Tilda. For the Old One, if she can even claim that title anymore, it has only been two, three years, since they broke things off. Lis hadn’t had time to grieve that relationship properly, having avoided the grief by throwing herself into work and fending off Ted’s lawsuits. Then, the Faro Plague happened… and she barely had time to grieve what she thought was Tilda’s death when it was reported that the ship had blown up on the way to Sirius.

Why are all of her exes so damn beautiful?

The Voice croons in restrained amusement, presence warming Elisabet’s back as the Old One straightens and draws herself up for a long over due conversation.

“That’s- That’s wonderful. I-” Tilda hesitantly, reverently, took Lis’ hands in hers. Elisabet let her, knowing she shouldn’t but all the same wanting the familiar touch. “Elisabet, I spent- I spent the last thousand years regretting how we ended. I regretted leaving you here to die with the rest of them and how we left things back then. But now… now, I get to have a second chance.”

Elisabet wants- she-

Elisabet rips her hands out of Tilda’s grasp.

“I don’t want to hear it. I- I thought you died.”

“The… the transmission.” Tilda’s voice gains a modicum of hope. “That wasn’t my idea, but they had thought it necessary. I thought you died, too. You should have come with us, then, then you wouldn’t have had to be frozen for a millennia.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. What was it, Tilda? The thing that you said when we broke things off? Oh, right, that “the nature of my work will make this difficult.” Well, the nature of my work made it difficult.” Her tone is bitter, twisted in hurt and heartbreak. It makes Tilda flinch.

A part of Elisabet, that unkind part she finds in herself in her darkest moments, purrs in satisfaction.

“Lis, you know that I hadn’t meant it like that-”

“No?” Elisabet shoots back, mouth pulling down. Aloy inches away from the two, the rest of the group watching the exchange like a riveting match of machine strike. Sylens rolls his eyes and wanders off into the lab. Elisabet sees all of this, but it doesn’t matter to her. All she saw was the woman that had broken her heart over and over again. “Even if it wasn’t what you meant, you still chose to leave, Tilda. To preserve yourself, if nothing else. You were scared, of how serious we were getting.”

Tilda laces her unfairly elegant fingers together, voice quiet as she agrees. “Yes… I suppose I was.”

“Didn’t you think, for one second, that I was afraid too?”

“… No. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You betrayed me. You tried to steal GAIA. You lied to me about it. I saw the recording of the reception at the Far Zenith headquarters. I know what your voice sounds like, even if it was modulated.”

The words spill out, faster and more hurt than Aloy had ever heard.

“Lis-” Tilda floats closer, but Elisabet takes a step back. “I- won’t do it this time. I know… I know I disappointed you. I know I broke your heart.”

The Zenith swallows as Elisabet’s heavy gaze landed once more on her face, hurt and disappointment hitting Tilda like a hammer on cold metal. Elisabet’s quiet voice slides in between her ribs, stabbing at Tilda’s slow beating heart and splintering it.

“You chose yourself. Above the world… above me.”

“Please, Elisabet, allow me another chance.”

Elisabet laughs a short, mirthless exhale.

“Even now, you still haven’t even thought to apologize.”

“I’m sorry.” Tilda immediately says. “What can I do? What can I do to apologize? To make it up to you? Anything, Lis. Name it, and it’s yours.”

Elisabet grits her teeth, Tilda’s words reminding her unpleasantly of Ted. But if her relationship with Tilda had taught her anything, it’s that she can use this. Elisabet hates herself for thinking it, but her worry for Beta overrides any moral obligations she might have had.

“Get my daughter back,” she says. “And I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Alright. Just- I will.”

Elisabet stares at Tilda, at the determined, desperate set of her old flame’s shoulders.

Because she’s not hurt enough, because Lis had hurt more, Elisabet couldn’t help but throw her words into Tilda’s face.

“If the Odyssey actually blew up, I think you would have been worth the tears I shed.”

With that, Elisabet hardens her heart once more and turns away. She doesn’t see the devastation that crosses Tilda’s face, nor does she see the way it crumples from the normally impassive face Tilda sports.

—-

Aloy leans against the table, watching Elisabet absently sifting through data.

“You alright?”

Even though Aloy gentled her voice, Elisabet still startles like a rabbit.

“Ah. Sorry you had to see that, kiddo.” Her mother sends a rueful smile her way. Aloy shrugs, all but silently shaking Elisabet and asking if she’s okay with her eyes alone.

“I’m okay.” Elisabet smiles again, a little more genuine this time. “I’m just worried.”

“About Beta and GAIA?” Aloy asks, nodding. “Don’t worry, I’ll get them back.”

“And about you too, silly.” Elisabet rounds the table and pulls Aloy into a hug.

“Make sure you come back,” she orders her daughter, chin resting on Aloy’s armored shoulders. Not the best for hugs, but Elisabet could give less of a fuck right now. “I want both of you to come back safe and sound, understand?”

“Yeah.” Aloy hugs her back. Elisabet squeezes her daughter tighter, and lets go. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’d better be. If you scare me like that ever again,” - the image of Aloy, pale and injured after the explosion flashes through Lis’ head. “Just- don’t, okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Aloy guiltily apologizes, remembering the exhausted state Elisabet was in, looking after her with little sleep. The drawn face coupled with the dark smudges underneath her mother’s eyes had Aloy making sure she was a little more careful on the field.

Elisabet presses a kiss on her forehead, patting the Nora huntress on the shoulder.

“And be careful around Tilda. She’s still- she’s good, at fooling people into thinking she’s on their side.”

“Speaking from experience, mom?”

“Yes,” she sighs, smiling at Aloy’s blatant curiosity. “I’ll tell you later. But, if we’re being honest, I think you have a better eye for figuring out those kinds of deception than I ever was.”

[sofiasfanartcollection]

was really wanting to draw something horse-like/deer-like, so I sketched out a design for another rise of the tmnt oc :]

she’s a kelpie who was raised by a yokai family of kirin in the Hidden City

she’s a trans mare and her pronouns are she/they

her name is Meer I think (that might be short for a longer name, but I haven’t decided yet)

they’re a healer and they run a plant shop, that specializes in mystic and/or medicinal plants and bonsai trees, that River eventually works for ​(there’s a lot more flowers in the shop after River starts working there)

[tijdvoormemes]

Zal ik nu een poll maken met de vraag waar mensen op gaan stemmen/hebben gestemd? Of zal ik wachten tot dat de stemdag af is, zodat ik niet perongeluk nog mensen beinvloed? Of zou dat niet erg zijn?

[mxnf]

My Horizon head cannon: One night Tilda stays at Lis’ place only to notice the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash in her bathroom. Tilda is stupefied by this discovery and simply cannot cope with the idea of it. Tilda then spends hundreds and ✨H U N D R E D S✨ of dollars buying Lis all of the expensive toiletries in which she wholeheartedly believes the woman should not be living without and has a large parcel sent to Lis’ home.

And this is the sole reason why Lis breaks up with her.

[endosexual]

Btw theres an duck kebab stand next to my chestnut one and every fucking minute 3 or more people walk past my stand and exclaim "DUCK KEBAB!?" AND KEEP WALKING. AND I CANT ESCAPE

[seafoam-taide]

I'm so pissed im so pissed that fucking the fucking game has More things that make me insane the more I see of it the more I'm INSANE . If I play regretevator will I. No. I can't. Ohhh but fuck me the fucking. Fuck. There's Eyes.

[perfectyeager]

obsess | e.yeager

eren yeager x fem!reader

!!: heavy smut! vaginal sex, eren is obessed with you, praise, dirty talk, flirting, male oral giving, eren being disgustingly down bad, eren sex god!! all characters aged up.

You didn’t need do to a lot to get male attention.

The way your perfectly hips rocked as you walked, your perky breasts bouncing ever so slightly with each step, your perfect, long luscious hair swinging in the wind had many, men and women, staring at you. You couldn’t help it—it wasn’t your fault your Mother passed down such incredible genes.

When you’d walk into rooms or the cafeteria at your college, you’d have many heads turning just to watch you. You didn’t mind it, though, as many other pretty girls did. You liked the attention secretly.

But, amongst all the boys who stared and whispered about you as you walked past. No boy like him ever had the courage to come up and talk to you.

You were surprised when the tall brunette sauntered over to you, radiating confidence as he approached the bench you were perched upon in the courtyard. You admired the way the white t-shirt he was wearing hugged his muscles so perfectly, watching as his hands were stuffed into the oversized grey sweatpants he wore on his bottom half, hiding the rest of the tattoos he had littered over his arms and hands, as well as his neck. He had his dark brown locks thrown into a messy bun, a few rogue strands framing his face, suiting his piercing green eyes as he stared down at you. He was hot.

So, when he took a seat next to you and flirted like his life depended on it—you were taken aback. The only time you’d ever been intrigued by a guy and their antics. He was perfect, so incredibly gorgeous and had a way with words for certain. He had you hooked from one conversation and you couldn’t get him out of your head.

So, that’s how he got you to see him outside of classes and how he had you making risky decisions after only knowing him for a few days.

And that’s how he has you any time he wants.

“Oh, Eren, fuuuuck.” You drawled as you grasped the headboard desperately, your knuckles gleaming white as you gripped the cold metal.

“What, baby?” He teased, his voice laced with a teasing tone, his hands resting harshly against the pudge of your hips as he held you where he wanted you.

That sinisterly intriguing voice of his is how he got you stuffed full of his dick in his dimly lit room and your eyes streaming full of tears at the meer size of his cock.

Words failed you as you gripped his headboard as your trembling thighs straddled him, your cheeks flushed red and covered in your tears. This was the third round he’d had you in—your legs were aching and your pussy was quivering due to the amount of times he’d made you cum in the last hour.

He had you bent over his desk the first round, his hands pawing at your waist and ass as he pounded into you from behind. Only pulling out once to cum all over your back with a low groan of pleasure—only doing so after he’d reached underneath you and circled your clit while pushing further into you until you creamed around his thick cock.

The second round, his head resided between your thighs as you sprawled out on his bed, panting and whining as his tongue worked wonders against your throbbing clit. Eren didn’t stop until you’d cum twice and were kicking him off your trembling pussy, panting like a dog in heat. Eren may have stopped devouring your pussy with his mouth—but, he wasn’t done with you yet. He fucked you in missionary, your right leg on his shoulder as he rammed into you, stringing dirty sentences together to add to the intense pleasure you felt. He, once again, only pulled out to cum all over your tits and face, groaning your name as you stuck out your tongue for his load like the dirty slut you were.

Now, he had you riding him, the third and final round as he promised. Though, your attempt to ride him with your tired, shaking legs was poor—so Eren gripped your hips harshly, his cold rings pressing deliciously against your warm skin, and lifted you up and down on his cock, which remained still dangerously hard and ready to release for a third time.

“Come on, beautiful, use your words.” Eren drawled, his voice low and dark as his eyes bore into yours. His hand reached up from your hip to wipe the tears from your face, the other slowly rolling you back and forth on him, sparking a loud, elicit moan from your mouth as your clit rolled against his pelvic bone.

“‘M so tired, ‘Ren.” You slurred, “Can’t take it anymore.”

“I know, baby, I know,” He fawned at you, brushing the hair that stuck to your sweaty forehead out the way, “‘M so mean for making you cum so many times, aren’t I?”

You nodded absentmindedly as his hand returned to your hip, continuing to roll you back and forth against him, feeling the way his tip jabbed against your sweet spot every time he did so.

You yelled out in pleasure as his hips bucked up abruptly, the head of cock kissing your cervix evilly. Your hands rushed to his defined shoulders, stringing whines from your mouth as he laughed at you, his chest rocking as he gripped your hips harder. You knew what was coming.

“Eren, plea—“

Eren didn’t let you finish as he began bucking his hips upwards inside you at a devilish pace, his hands holding onto your hips for dear life. His grunts and groans of pleasure filled your ears as he did so, his pearly white teeth biting down on his plump bottom lip as he stared down at his disappearing cock.

You couldn’t help but stare at the pure beauty that engulfed him as he rolled his eyes back in pure pleasure of your tight pussy. The sight of him sparked adrenaline throughout your body as you pressed down against his shoulders as you brought your body down to meet him half way, pushing every thrust deeper.

“Oooh, fuuuck, baby, that’s it,” Eren praised, his hands digging further into you and you leant forward to nibble at his neck, littering purple marks against his tattooed skin.

One of his hands flew to your clit as he continued to fuck upwards into your wet walls, the sound of your slick covering him filled room along with your desperate moans.

The pressure in your stomach grew faster than ever before as he rubbed your bud swiftly, his pace never faltering, “Mmm, ‘rennie, ‘m gonna cum.” You whined, your eyes squeezing shut as his cock abused your G-spot deliciously over and over again.

“Yeah? Yeah, you ‘gon cum for ‘rennie, hm?” Eren pushed, knowing how close you were, “Cum with me, baby, make ‘rennie cum with that pretty pussy.”

You pushed yourself faster down on his as you chased after your high, soon catching it. Throwing your head back, your leg tensed up as you moaned loudly, your orgasm hitting you for the last time like a ten tonne truck. Eren soon followed, holding your hips down, his fingers twitching against your clit as he spilled himself inside you, groaning against your neck as he kissed the delicate skin.

You soon came down from your high, your chest heaving quickly as you stared down at him, feeling his large cock finally becoming flaccid inside you. You bit your lip in pure ecstasy as the brunette boy peered down at you, a smirk resting on his kiss-swollen lips.

He pecked your lips lovingly as he lifted you off his member slowly, making sure to take your aching body and pussy into consideration as he moved you. He laid you on your back on his ruffled sheets, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles before retreating to his bathroom. He soon returned with a warm, wet cloth which he used to clean the three loads of cum off your body, his last dripping from you and down your thighs.

As he did so, your eyes fluttered shut as tiredness coaxed you into a deep sleep, your mouth resting openly comfortably. Eren chuckled quietly at the state of you—feeling proud of himself that he’d managed to have the most wanted girl in your college in every way possible.

He planted a sweet kiss to your forehead, “You got me obsessed, girl.”

[tojisteddy]

Sukuna’s favorite part of the day is yours— when you get to dress him for the day.

Every morning is the same and Sukuna loves it that way.

He hears you when you quietly come in before dawn and sit on the floor, ideally waiting for him to call out to you to get his robe. But he grumbles maybe five or ten minutes later, turning in the bed, and motioning with his hand for you to come.

“Come here little one, let’s sleep more.”

And your heart beats outs out of your chest, coming over and laying on the bed. But he pulls you into his warm arms, an incoherent grumble leaving his pink lips as he cuddles his messy pink hair in the crook of your neck.

You’re not sure if he just likes your touch or not or if he sees you as a body pillow, but it makes your heart speed up nonetheless. You fall asleep not long after, waking up to the sun creeping in. That’s when you know it’s time to wake Sukuna up, you pat his back looking up at his handsome sleeping face.

“It’s time to wake up my lord,” you speak and it’s like music to his ears. But he mumbles something you can’t understand, but hes said ‘again’ he wants to hear your ever so melodic voice again. When you do, you quickly climb out off the large bed, grabbing the large black robe and slipping it on to him right as he stands from the bed.

He watches your every move as you make your away around the room, straight into the closet and coming out with his the attire he’ll wear today.

He’s practically silent as you prepare him for the day, still in a sleepy haze. But you move ever so meticulously, standing on the stool to properly dress him. Your hands are all over him, his black markings and tan skin, his muscles— you both love it. Smoothing out any wrinkles that may be on his yukata and tying them perfectly, big brown eyes taking in the God while correcting every crease of his attire and, getting down from the stool to style his pink locks.

His low red eyes watch you in the mirror, he asks, “And what will you do today, pet?”

Sukuna knows Uraume will give him his own run down of what he will do today as soon as he steps outside of his chambers, but he’d rather hear about what you’ll do for the meer short time you’re apart. The silly, fickle things he yearns to hear you talk about.

The simplicity of your life, he adores.

It’s still hard for you to wrap your head around it. Your role around the palace has- changed. Not title wise (officially) but you don’t take orders from anyone but the King of Curses.

You don’t help the other servant if you can’t squeeze in time to, you don’t wait outside his chambers for him to come back, you don’t go fetch as much for him because Sukuna believes you’re so fragile.

You’re Sukuna’s personal lap cat.

He tells you to go play when you’re done eating breakfast and cleaning his chambers— to enjoy yourself before he fetches to you be with him from lunch until the end of the night.

You don’t get it, but you try.

You think for a moment about his words— what to do today, what to do today-

“I-I think I’ll go to the library and then work on my kite in the garden.”

A kite, your brand new interest you’ve been absorbed in after reading about it. Sukuna told you he’d have 4 beautiful, professionally painted ones made specifically for you, but you told him you’d want to do it by yourself. It was harder than you thought, but it made you want your own work to sore with the clouds more and more.

Sickeningly adorable. What a hard working human. A wonderful mind.

“It will be fantastic pet. Show it to me soon, yes?”

And you bashfully nod, so sure of his words, your own tiny doubt flying away by his little encouragement.

The man stands from the mirror, all done with the preparation for the day and caresses your brown skin, cupping your cheek in his hand, then lifting you chin with his finger to look at him. He’s handsome as ever, he always is.

So astoundingly beautiful his little human was. He couldn’t get enough of you. Soon you’d be in his arms again. Maybe he’d send for you sooner. He always yearned for more time. A minute more, a second more.

“Be good for me pet.”

“Yes my lord.”

He walks away to the chamber doors, lower set of eyes stealing one last glance at you before opening them wide, closing them shut behind him. Walking right into his busy day.

And it’s the same every morning.

Sukuna loves it that way.

a/n: no one gives af but dude I love them.

most recent masterlist

[tpwk-formula1]

Biggest Fan - MV1

Max Verstappen x Dancer! Reader

AN: Sorry this took me so long! Literally been sitting in my drafts almost done but had a lack of motivation but it's a new year so we need to relive this blog!

Summary: Just Max being madly in love with his dancer girlfriend

Face Claim: Rylee Arnold

Max Insta Stories

Twitter

Youruser Insta

Liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff, landonorris, and 1,890,879 others

tagged maxverstappen1 and stephen_nedoroscik

youruser life lately <3

user1 I love being able to watch you every week!

user2 you two better win this year or I will riot

maxverstappen1 I can't wait to see you two perform

youruser I'm so glad you're coming!

user3 I love knowing that those 2 are both dominating in their respective field... power couple of the century

user4 I love how max posts Y/N like he's there with her. Like we KNOW he's sitting down every week to watch Y/N and Stephen dance

landonorris yes... and most of the time he ropes everyone else into watch youruser Lando... don't act like you didn't make Max facetime to last week to tell me how amazing I did.... landonorris damn... catching strays user4 lmao... I didn't realize my comment would create such discourse

Max’s Insta

Likey by your user, landonorris, redbullracing, and 3,809,899 others

tagged yourusers

maxverstappen1 4 time world champ and I still didn't beat Y/N karting

user5 what are the odds he let her win?

youruser wow... that little faith? Remember Oscar defending in Baku? Ya that's me behind the wheel

user6 I'm sobbing at the fact that Y/N watching races so intently she can bring in references

user7 I still can't believe he's a 4x world champion

youruser I am so beyond proud of you love! My Champion <3

maxverstappen Ik hou meer dan woorden van je

landonorris congratulations!

user8 LFGGGGGGG!!!

Youruser Insta story

Max’s Insta

Liked by youruser, landonorris, yourbestie, and 2,094,632 others

maxverstappen1 I've loved every moment with you

tagged youruser

user34 I love seeing these two together! And the way he's always posting her

user42 perfect perfect

youruser I love every moment with you too!

landonorris GAG

user13 Im cryinggggg! Lando be nice youruser ya be nice!

user22 I have a feeling Y/N helped with the aesthetics of this post but I am STUNNED that Max didn't sneak a RB pic in

Max’s Insta Story

Twitter

[aloyxtilda]

This is old but it still stands. 💕☕😌

I came to Tumblr so I can shout to the wind how much I love Tilda. I am screaming it all over my other social media and none of my followers get it or have a clue who I am talking about. I feel so alone in this ship of Lis/Aloy x Tilda. I am as obsessed with Tilda as Tilda is with Lis/Aloy. I mean this is becoming a problem. I even started expressing my love for her through art.

.........I've now come to the conclusion that I have become Tilda. Send help. 🍷💔🍳☕

[aetherraeys]

rebel

sirius black x slytherin!reader ⊹ 7.1k

for this request x

cw ⟢ swearing, slightly suggestive, COCKY!sirius, pining, tension, kind of enemies to lovers, angst if you squint, internal conflict, slytherin!reader

summary: sirius black is shameless, even is his conflicted pining and endless watching, of you. but after years of successful rebellion, one thing could make it all come crashing down, prove his parents right--make them proud. and sirius is struggling to stomach the idea.

a/n: again idk how this became so long im just a girl. not proofread x

Sirius Black.

The disgraced heir, blood traitor, the run-away who burned too brightly for the cold halls he was raised in.

He was wildfire in human form—untamed, untethered, always on the verge of consuming everything around him. Fire is never safe. And Sirius Black had never once tried to be.

He was shameless in the way only someone truly unrepentant could be.

Defiance lived in his bones. In every choice he made, every rule he broke with that easy grin. In the way he carved out freedom with bare hands and bleeding knuckles, daring the world to punish him for it. He would not kneel. Not for his mother. Not for their pureblood rot. Not for anyone.

He wore rebellion like a second skin.

There was no hesitation in the way he looked at people—like he had the right to. Like he wanted you to know you were being watched. Desired. Picked apart by eyes that never pretended to be subtle. Sirius never mastered the art of pretending, not when it came to impulse, not when it came to you.

Regal, in the way a blade is regal—sleek and polished, but built to cut. You were every inch the legacy they praised in whispers and expected in silence: one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, born with history in your bones and expectations curled like silk around your throat. You wore your pedigree like a cloak, but never let it chain you.

Poised, deliberate and sharp, like you’d studied how to command a room before you ever learned to walk.

Sharp eyes that missed nothing, mouth even sharper, and a presence that made people step aside without quite knowing why. Slytherin suited you like a whispered secret.

You knew the weight of your name, but you wore it on your own terms. And that, perhaps, made you more dangerous than any of them. Because you saw the system for what it was—and still moved through it boundlessly.

A truly captivating sight to behold. Never in the way that begged for attention, but in the way that demanded it. Like art in a gallery too expensive to touch. People looked, they always did, and then they looked away—because looking too long felt like trespassing.

Except Sirius never looked away.

Eyes endless in their following, stalking—almost hungry in the way they lingered.

When he looked at you, which was almost always, it felt like being scorched—burning holes into your from ever angle, as if he could set your soul alight with nothing but his gaze.

Truthfully, it used to anger you—made your lips purse into a tightline, grip onto your fork a bit harder, when you felt his eyes on you from across the Great Hall. The infamy that surrounded him was nothing positive, and each time his sights helplessly drifted to you, you couldn’t help but feel like a target had been placed on you back.

So unbareably brazen in the way he scanned over your figure, that same smirk smeared across his face, when you’d enter Charms—settling into your seat with a roll of your eyes as he quickly abandoned his one beside James, in exchange for the one beside you.

You hide to fight the urge to openly scrowl, calming yourself with a deep breath—you didn’t even spare him a glance as you flicked through the textbook and began delicately scratching into parchment with you quill. Though, unfortunately for you, Sirius didn’t miss the small reaction his meer presence had earned him, scooting slightly closer with an eagerness that almost had your eyes flickering over to him.

Perching his elbow on his empty desk, chin on his hand, he watched you for a few moments—very obviously—before he leaned in, too close for you liking. So close infact that you could smell him, leather and warm sandalwood and cinnamon, maybe. His head was ducked, trying to catch your gaze—*and failing—*then his voice, low dripping with a uncalled for casual tone.

“I’m Sirius, by the way,”

Gods, was he distracting—it had you pressing your quill unforgivingly harder into the blameless parchment. Pausing, before you accidently broke your quill, slow and reluctantly your gaze shifted over to him.

Wide smirk and wild eyes.

You blinked at him, eyes doing a once over his slouched form—unimpressed before turning back to your work, and to your shock and horror. Sirius all but melted into his seat beside you—grinning like the cat that got the cream.

What a peculiar reaction.

You didn’t know what you expected after that, you were hoping for silence. Maybe for him to get bored and slink back to Potter, tail between his legs.

But Sirius Black didn’t take silence as rejection. He took it as encouragement.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” he asked, voice warm with amusement as if this were all a game and you were the shiny new toy he’d decided to break. “That’s alright. I like a bit of mystery.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, moving your quill purposefully, though the words you were writing made less and less sense as his presence curled around you like smoke—thick and cloying and difficult to ignore.

Most would be completely deterred by your lack of acknowledgement, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Sirius wasn’t like most. Unbeknownest to you, you were quickly becoming the object of his affection.

Sirius felt like he was drowning in something he didn’t understand.

He shouldn’t have been looking at you like that—should’ve shrugged it off, moved on, found someone else to bat their lashes and giggle at him. He could’ve. Merlin knew he had options. There was always someone willing to chase the fire.

But you didn’t chase. You endured.

And gods, he couldn’t look away.

There was something in the way you held yourself—shoulders straight, chin lifted, gaze sharp enough to draw blood—that made his pulse trip. You weren’t just beautiful. You were untouchable. Unbothered. And it drove him mad.

You were infuriating. And he was fascinated. Completely, utterly wrecked by the quiet fury behind your eyes, the way you made him feel loud and messy just by being near you. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even like Slytherins. But he watched you, like you might disappear if he blinked. Like you were something from a half-forgotten dream he’d been trying to recall his whole life.

The push and pull went on for ages.

Sirius never stopped. Not really. He pestered, prodded, flirted, lingered—always with that maddening gleam in his eye, always circling like a star caught in your orbit. He made it a point to sit near you in every class he could. Made himself a nuisance in libraries and corridors, at assignment meetings and Quidditch stands.

But you remained ever the picture of composed indifference, met him with narrowed eyes and razor-edged retorts. You had mastered the art of dismissing him without ever quite telling him to leave. And perhaps that’s what kept him hooked.

Because despite everything—your scorn, your status, your silence—Sirius liked the chase. He shouldn’t have. Especially not after he finally put the pieces together.

One of the Twenty-Eight Sacred. One of them.

The very type of pureblood he was raised to despise. To dismantle. To escape from.

But you were different. You always had been. Not cruel, not bigoted. Not brainwashed. Just…sharp. Steely. Independent in a way that made his chest ache. You hadn’t chosen your name—but you had chosen what to do with it. And Sirius had never seen anything braver than that.

And he was infatuated. Still. Helplessly.

He couldn’t say when it started. And you couldn’t say when it changed.

Somewhere between the sarcastic quips and biting glances, something shifted. It was subtle at first. A twitch at the corner of your mouth, a less scornful scrowl, a slightly delayed response. The way you didn’t move away quite as fast when he leaned too close. A pause where there had once only been dismissal.

And then, one day, it happened.

Charms class again. Seventh year. The classroom warm with late autumn sun, shadows stretching across parchment and desks. You had arrived early, as usual, and settled into your usual seat without fanfare. Sirius slid in beside you, as he always did, far too casual, far too smug.

“Good morning, your majesty,” he said with a grin, dragging the words like silk between his teeth. “Gracing us with your presence again, I see.”

Normally, you’d roll your eyes. You’d sigh or pointedly ignore him. But that morning…something in his tone was especially absurd, and something in you—maybe the soft air, maybe the way he looked at you like you hung the bloody moon—broke the routine.

Your lips twitched.

It shocked you even, you didn’t mean to. Not really. But they did. Just enough.

A small, restrained thing. Barely there. Gone in an instant.

But he saw it.

And Sirius Black lit up like the bloody sun.

His mouth parted slightly, blinking as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d witnessed. Then—slowly, irrepressibly—a grin spread across his face, wide and utterly boyish, delight pouring from him in a way you hadn’t expected. Not cocky. Not flirtatious. Rather radiant, actually.

Proud.

“Was that—?” he whispered, hand pressed to his chest in mock-shock. “Was that a smile, princess?”

As always, you rolled your eyes, but not with the same exasperation as before. It didn’t have the same venom. In fact, there was something dangerously close to amusement in the way you turned back to your notes. Sirius leaned back in his chair, the beam on his face entirely uncontainable.

He didn’t even care that Professor Flitwick had started lecturing. Didn’t care that James shot him a confused glance from the row behind.

He’d seen it. He’d earned it. After years.

And if there was one thing Sirius Black had learned about you, it was that you didn’t give your softness freely.

From that moment—that damned smile—something shifted between you.

The icey exterior had began to melt, and you dont know when it had started, only that it did. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Sirius, for all his insufferable grins and arrogant charm, somehow started to feel less like a thorn in your side and more like a…habit. One you hadn’t meant to form. One you couldn't shake.

Letting him sit closer without side-eyes and sighs. Sometimes even answering his questions when he poked at your homework or made some snide remark about Slughorn’s newest “favourites.” You’d begun meeting his teasing with deadpan sarcasm instead of silence. And occasionally—very occasionally—you didn’t hide the way your lips curled at something he said.

You weren’t sure why it happened. Maybe it was the persistence. Maybe the way he never pretended to be anything but infatuated, even when it was inconvenient, even when it would’ve been easier for him to stop. Maybe it was because you saw something in him—beneath the bravado and leather and grins—that reminded you of yourself. A recklessness born from rebellion—hunger to be known.

And Sirius? He was too far gone to pull back.

He’d always watched you, but now he read into everything. The way you no longer flinched when he leaned in, how you didn’t swat his hand away when he nudged your quill out of your grip. How, sometimes, your eyes lingered on his profile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So when Saturday rolled around and he hadn’t seen you all day—not at breakfast, not in the common areas, not even passing through the library—a strange itch clawed at him. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, but he couldn’t help it, he felt deprived of nutrience, of your presence. Maybe you were just sleeping in or studying or avoiding the Gryffindor rabble.

But by evening, he cracked.

Against every instinct, against everything in his brain that told him this was probably a very bad idea, Sirius reached for the Marauder’s Map.

And there you were.

A tiny dot, alone in an empty classroom on the fourth floor. Probably studying. Probably buried in books and ink and the smell of parchment.

He couldn’t help it, he went.

…

The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, and you startled, head snapping up from your book.

You hadn’t expected anyone. Least of all him.

And there he stood—framed in the doorway with a grin too wide, too smug, like he'd just stumbled across treasure.

“Well, funny seeing you here,” Sirius said, like this was all pure coincidence and not the result of him committing several minor breaches of privacy.

You blinked at him. “Did you follow me?”

He placed a hand to his chest, faux-offended. “Follow you? Please. I’m just a curious soul drawn to light. And look—here you are, all lit up and studious.”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice held less bite than usual. “I think you just came to distract me.”

“Distract you?” He was already halfway across the room, dropping into the chair beside you with the sort of lazy ease only he could pull off. His knee bumped yours, and you didn’t move. “You think I’m distracting?”

He leaned in close, far too close. You barely had time to process the proximity—the warm scent of him, like spice and mischief, the way his voice dropped just low enough to slip down your spine—before you tilted your head toward him.

Eyes locked with his, sharp and steady, with a confidence that made his grin stretch visibly.

“That is your one goal in life?” you asked, tone silken and mocking. “Or am I mistaken?”

Sirius froze—not visibly, not in a way anyone else would notice—his pulse sounding loudly in his ears. But you were so observant, even if you hadn’t been looking at him, you would have felt it. The flicker of breath caught—the way his grin twitched, lips parting just slightly as his gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth.

And lingered.

The tension that knotted between you was painfully palpable, the air gone suddenly too thick. He leaned in—just a fraction—and you swore the space between you crackled. His hand flexed on the table beside yours, struggling to stay in place—twitching as though if it had it’s own mind, it would already be on you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and for a moment, you thought—

In that split second, something like hesitation crossed his face. Regret, maybe—or fear. His smirk faltered.

He pulled back.

Barely. But enough.

And he looked at you like maybe he’d ruined something by not doing it.

You didn’t say anything.

Not because you were disappointed—though maybe you were, a little—but because you didn’t trust yourself to ask. To question if this was real or just a long game he’d been playing, entertained by the chase, by the idea of an untouchable prize. Like you were just something to be worn down, after all.

Your gaze stayed on him, unreadable. And he almost shrunk under it, second passing like hours as your eyes practically punctured his skull. Stare too cool. Too neutral.

Wordlessly, you turned back to your book, fingers brushing over the forgotten text, you couldn’t remember a single word you'd just read—mind feeling scattered—disrupted. He always had that affect on you, more than you cared to admit, inwardly scolding yourself for being so soft, so naive.

Sirius watched you for another long second—jaw tense, eyes searching—like he’d just watched all his efforts spoil right before his eyes, watched the wall go back up in realtime.

“Right,” he said softly—more to himself than anything—before leaning back in his seat with a forced exhale.

The silence stretched again. But this time, it was different. Colder, almost dismissive, begging to be unravelled—understood.

Sirius stormed into the Gryffindor common room with the energy of a brewing storm—quick, loud steps echoing in the corridors, hair wild from his fingers raking through it too many times. By the time he slammed the dormitory door behind him, he was already pacing like a madman.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

He didn’t notice the quiet creak of the door opening again behind him.

Didn’t see James and Remus freeze on the threshold, their eyes wide as they watched him stalk across the room like he might combust.

James gave a silent what the fuck look to Remus, who just raised a brow, waiting for an opening.

It didn’t come.

“Sirius,” Remus said, voice slow and cautious. “Did something happen?”

No answer. Just a ragged sigh as Sirius ran a shaking hand through his already-wrecked hair. His face was taut, jaw clenched.

He looked up like the words physically hurt. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

James, ever calm when Sirius wasn’t, moved to the windowsill and perched there. “Alright, mate. Pause. Just breathe.”

Sirius obeyed, if only because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Try again,” James said.

Sirius exhaled, long and sharp. “I ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” Remus asked.

“Everything,” Sirius said, dropping onto his bed like gravity had finally caught up to him. “I could’ve kissed her. She was right there and I could’ve. And I didn’t.”

James blinked. “Why the hell not?”

Sirius scrubbed a hand down his face and then—quietly, bitterly—voice just above whisper, stained with shame, “Because she’s exactly the kind of girl my parents would want me with.”

A short silence shrouded the room, thick and overbearing before Remus stepped forward, slowly. “Wait…what?”

“She’s regal. Poised. Slytherin. Perfect! One of them—” Sirius bit out, like the words tasted like ash. “And fuck, I’ve never wanted anything less than to make my parents proud. But she—” His voice cracked, frustration bubbling up. “She’s not like them. She’s not like them at all. But they’d love her. And what does that say about me?”

James stared. “You didn’t kiss the girl you’ve been obsessed with for years because your mum might approve? Because she’s a pureblood? That’s—actually insane.”

“You don’t get it,” Sirius snapped. “I’ve spent years trying to tear their world apart. Burn every expectation. Every rule. And then she walks in, and I can’t stop looking, and it makes me sick because it feels like they’d win.”

He didn’t need to look at him to know there was a frown etched on to Remus’ face. “Sirius—”

“It’s not her fault,” Sirius said quickly, defensively. “She’s not them. She’s sharp, and brilliant, and she knows what she is, and she still doesn’t play their game. But that’s what makes it worse. Because I look at her and I want her. Not out of spite. Not to rebel. Not to destroy anything. Just—because I do. And that makes me feel like I’ve already lost.”

James sat back, arms crossed. “So you let her think you’re toying with her. Because that’s better?”

Sirius looked up sharply. “Of course not—”

“But that’s what it looks like,” James said, gentler now. “You think she doesn’t know exactly what she is? Exactly how she’s seen? She probably assumed you were interested just long enough to mock her, to make a statement. And when you didn’t kiss her—after all this time—you proved her right.”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat, and the guilt settling in the form of an unforgiving weight, like a stone heavy in his stomach. Remus moved closer, voice low. “Is this really about her? Or are you scared that if you like her for the right reasons, it means maybe they got something right?”

Sirius didn’t answer, eyes wide and hollow

Because fuck.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe he was a coward.

…

For two whole days, Sirius acted like nothing had happened.

He still greeted you with that infuriatingly easy grin, still dropped into the seat beside you in class like it was habit, like it hadn’t once meant something more. He cracked jokes at the same tempo, still leaned too close when he spoke—but something was off.

Forced. Brittle.

And you? You didn’t even look at him. Not once. Not when he spoke, not when he laughed a little too loudly trying to get your attention, not when he lingered beside your chair a bit longer than necessary.

You sat there, eyes focused and face composed, ice sliding beneath your skin. Where once your silence had been cutting, now it was impenetrable.

He was unraveling, and he knew it. He’d been so close—so painfully close—to something real. The memory of you in that quiet classroom haunted him: your voice smooth and laced with quiet confidence, the heat of your gaze holding his without flinching, the way your words had wrapped around his chest like a fist and squeezed.

You would have kissed him—let him in, he’d felt it.

But he’d foolishly let it slip right through his fingers—just as it entered his grasp. And now you were gone. Not physically—you still walked the same halls, shared the same spaces—but the shift was irreversible. Whatever thread had tied you to him had snapped.

So when he spotted you in the side corridor, alone and unreadable, he didn’t think. His body moved faster than his doubt. He caught up in seconds, slipping a hand gently around your sleeve, tugging you into the empty class room nearby. “Stop,” he said, breath already short. “Please. Just give me a second—”

You ripped your arm back like he’d burned you, and for a second, the flash in your eyes looked lethal.

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t loud, but it cracked between you like that of a lightning strike, harsh and cold and burning. Sirius was frozen, fingers still half-curled in the empty air. His stomach churned when it caught your gaze, full of ice and fury and a rare kind of heartbreak that didn’t scream—it seethed.

“I just—please,” dripping in his voice as he spoke again, hands open, pleading. “Let me say this. Just let me explain. I know what you’re thinking—”

“You don’t know anything,” you snapped, tone suddenly louder. Fiercer. “You don’t know what I’m thinking, Sirius. You never did. You just assumed, and I let you.” cutting him off so sharply it knocked the air out of him.

He almost flinched away from the biting cadance of your words, and yet his eyes still remained soft, swimming with a quiet desperation that made your stomach turn, that made you want to run away—hide from the weight of his affections.

“Did you even for a second think about how it feels?” you continued, voice tight and trembling with anger. “To feel like some…experiment in your rebellion. One of the sacred twenty-eight, right? How thrilling for you. How poetic.” The venom in it had him fightly every urge in his body that screamed retract.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, breath hitching. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I wasn’t using you—”

“No?” you cut in, a hollow laugh slipping from your lips. “Because that’s exactly what it felt like. Just another way for you to stick it to your family. Another line crossed.”

He stepped forward, almost desperate now. “I promise—I wasn’t meant to be like that, just—”

But with each step closer he took, in return, you backed away, putting more distance between you; shielding yourself, as if even the idea of his explanation made your skin crawl. “I don’t care anymore, Sirius.”

That hit harder than any spell.

“I don’t need to tolerate this,” you said, quieter now—vulnerable. “Not when I already have parents breathing down my neck, pushing names and suitors and with titles lined up—expectations. They want someone who’d take me seriously.”

His expression cracked. It happened all at once—something behind his eyes just broke.

He looked lost, like he was being peeled open slowly and painfully. Hands dropping to his sides, one twitching like he still wanted to reach for you. Even though he shouldn’t—couldn’t—because you had already slipped passed him. And the last look on your face made him shiver, the controlled, polished fury—that had flashed like a flame frozen mid-burn, had vanished.

Instead your eyes swam with a dejected, gloom that he knew all too well, your usually untouchable exterior cracked under the pressure of empty promises, under the weight of hope you didn’t know you were holding.

Hope that had already gone.

The silence that stretched in your absence was brittle and cold, and Sirius just stood there—silent, stunned, and aching wishing he’d done more as the door clicked shut behind you with finality that burned.

Sirius wasn’t going to hesitate—not anymore.

He stormed through the castle like a man possessed, fury and desperation curling hot beneath his skin. His chest was tight, thoughts snarled and tangled, and before he even fully registered it, he was standing in front of Regulus’ dorm.

Twisting the handle with a vigour that made the hinges whine.

“Regulus!” he barked, pounding on the door with a flat palm. “Oi, Regulus!”

A beat. Then another. Then the wall began to shift with a groan, and there, in all his , unimpressed glory, stood his younger brother. Cloaked in his usual composed disdain, book in hand, and a brow already lifted.

“What in Merlin’s name—how the hell did you even get in here?” Regulus asked, eyeing his brother like he’d dragged in mud behind him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius snapped. “I waited.” He pushed past him into his room without permission, pacing immediately, eyes wild. Regulus blinked, still holding his book open, voice dripping with disinterest.

“Charming as ever.”

“I need to know something,” Sirius said, turning back to him sharply. “Now. What’s going on with the—you know, the pureblood lot. Events. Ceremonies. Matches. L/N’s.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t change, but he slowly closed his book with a soft thud. “L/N’s?” he repeated, flatly.

“Yes,” Sirius snapped again, running a hand though his hair, with such tightness his brows raised involuntarily. “She said her parents already have suitors lined up. Lined up, Reg. What the fuck is going on?”

Regulus tilted his head. “You really don’t read the letters they send you, do you?”

Sirius scowled, rolling his eyes as if even that was even a possiblity, “Of course not,” he muttered. “I’d set them on fire to see what the delightful expectations they’ve dreamed up this week smell like.”

“Well,” Regulus said, crossing the room to set his book on his desk, “then it’s no surprise you’re completely out of the loop.”

“Loop?” Sirius echoed, exasperated. “I didn’t even know there was a loop.”

“There’s an event,” Regulus said, tone clipped. “Soon. A ceremony, more or less—each of the Sacred Twenty-Eight hosting, rotating through their estates like some grotesque little social carousel. A chance to flaunt heritage, to parade eligible heirs and daughters like prized livestock, and, of course, to sniff out the most suitable matches. To keep the lines pure.”

Sirius stared at him like he’d been slapped. “You’re joking.”

“Am I ever?” Regulus replied dryly, arms crossed now, gaze neutral.

“And she has to be there?” Sirius asked, voice low now, more to himself than anything. “They’re forcing her to—”

“They aren’t forcing anyone,” Regulus said. “They’re expecting it. Same thing, really.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment, jaw clenched, fingers twitching like he didn’t know where to put them. Then—“Are you going?” he asked.

Regulus tilted his head again, slightly.

“I was requested, Sirius. Not all of us can run away from our obligations and burn bridges on a whim.”

That earned a deep, heaving sigh. Sirius dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “I didn’t come here for a lecture, Reg. Just—just tell me when it is.”

Regulus blinked slowly, a curious note in his eyes. “Why?”

Sirius turned toward the door, not looking at him.

“Next time you write home,” he said over his shoulder, “tell them to send an extra suit.”

And with that, he was gone—black robes flaring, boots echoing down the stone corridor, fury and purpose trailing behind him like a storm.

Regulus remained in place, staring at the empty doorway for a long beat. Then, slowly, he walked back to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a fresh piece of parchment. He uncapped his ink bottle, dipped the quill with a practiced hand, and began to write.

Once finished, he folded the parchment neatly, sealed it with deep green wax embossed with the Black family crest—and held it in the candlelight just long enough to watch the wax catch fire at the edge and curl to a close.

…

The estate was bathed in gold and candlelight—opulence hanging in the air like perfume, rich and cloying, too heavy to breathe in properly. Everything gleamed. The walls, the glasses, the laughter. It was a curated thing—pure, controlled, a dance of lineage and power dressed in silk and arrogance.

The guests were already gathering in clusters—family names floating in the air like ghosts, ancestral ties whispered behind fans, strategic glances exchanged beneath low chandeliers.

And then the room shifted. Subtly.

It wasn’t his name that announced him. It was his presence. A current, a tension, like something electric slipping beneath polished marble.

Sirius stepped through the entrance—alone.

Manovering through the room like he belonged there, which only added to the stir. No parents in sight, just him in a sharply cut black suit with silver-threaded detailing that caught the light when he moved. His hair, often untamed and wild, was tied back at the nape of his neck, loose strands framing his features. There was something about him that looked sculpted and regal—yet defiantly unbothered. Untouchable.

Undeniably Black.

And people noticed.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind brushing over a pond—soft and hushed, as if the very idea of Sirius showing up was somehow offensive, even as it made them all crane their necks to get a better look. Some turned their heads quickly, unwilling to acknowledge him at all. Others simply watched—too curious, too scandalized.

He didn’t glance at a single one of them.

Eyes set like steel, Sirius beelined across the room, moving between clusters of witches and wizards dressed in robes worth more than cottages, heading straight for the two familiar figures near the drinks.

Regulus stood poised as ever in black and green dress robes, brows lifting slightly at his brother’s approach.

Narcissa stood beside him in a floor-length silver gown that shimmered with every subtle turn, hair twisted into a perfect knot of braids and twist, chin tilted at just the right angle. She saw Sirius first, and while her expression didn’t falter, her fingers stilled around her glass.

Well,” she said, voice low and dry as Sirius came to a stop before them. “I see the rumors of your arrival were not exaggerated.”

“Hello to you too, Cissy,” Sirius said, voice smooth as sin, eyes scanning the room with bored calculation. “You look like you're about to gut someone with a compliment.”

She hummed. “And you look like you’ve come to start a war.”

He smirked faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Regulus, beside her, sipped his drink. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence. I trust you remembered the name of the family hosting?”

“Of course,” Sirius replied airily. “I even wore their colors—look.” He gestured lazily to the subtle detailing in his suit. “Silver for virtue. Or was it for vanity? I forget.”

“You’re impossible,” Regulus muttered, though his eyes flicked down the hall—searching. Sirius followed the glance instinctively. He hadn’t seen you yet.

But he would.

And when he did, he knew the room would fall away.

Because despite the suit, despite the defiant way he held his head high like this was all some elaborate game he didn’t care to be apart of—he wasn’t here for theatrics.

He was here for you.

But yyou didn’t notice him, not at first.

Not until the weight of his gaze sank into your skin, unmistakable—cutting through the sea of eyes that had lingered on you all night. People always stared, their glances clung to you, your family, the expectations woven into the hem of your gown. But his gaze was different.

It sought you, nothing more.

So when you finally looked up and caught it—caught him—your breath faltered. Lips parted in shock, only to snap shut again as your eyes narrowed. He looked good. Too good—untouchable in the dim glow of the chandeliers, all shadows and silk and the sharp cut of that smirk he wore so well.

The tilt of his brow was smug, a silent challenge. But you held his gaze a moment too long, just long enough for the swell of something warm to flutter between you.

But then, just like that, someone called your name.

An you turned away quickly, heart knocking against your ribs, and let the swell of polite conversation sweep you off before your reaction could be noted. But the look…it stayed with you. Beneath your ribs. In the corner of your mind.

You didn't expect to seek him out. Not really. But at some point in the evening, after doing your dutiful rounds—smiling, nodding, tolerating—you found yourself wandering towards the drinks table with the precise kind of detachment that made you feel normal again.

Like you hadn’t grown up learning how to smile through marriage negotiations. Like you didn’t know exactly which families your parents wanted you to charm.

Hands reaching for a drink when you felt it. That familiar warmth. The subtle hum of chaos wrapped in silk.

He was beside you before you could stop it. And even though you didn’t look at him, your lips twitched upward the moment he said, smooth as ever, “Funny seeing you here.”

Reaching past a crystal decanter, voice casual as you picked up a flute of something pale and effervescent. “Black.”

He grinned—not his usual roguish grin, but something smaller, almost boyish—relieved. “You’re not fleeing in the opposite direction. That’s progress.”

Taking a small sip, you tried to ignore how warm your face suddenly felt, heat curling beneath your cheeks in a way you couldn’t escape. “Wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

His eyes didn’t leave you. You could feel it. That slow, indulgent drag of his gaze from the curve of your neck to the subtle shimmer in your gown. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he tried, gaze overflowing with want—something craven even he couldn’t name.

“If you stare any harder,” you murmured, setting your drink down with a soft clink, “I might disintegrate.”

He laughed low, leaning in just enough for you to feel the pull of him. “Just the clothes though, right?”

A startled gasp left you as you choked on your drink, coughing delicately behind your hand. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are,” He picked up a glass, holding it between his fingers with idle grace. “You look bewitching, by the way.”

You always found your eyes rolling in his presence, but it was the smirk—that tugged at the corners of your lips no matter how hard you tried to push it down that betrayed you. “Thank you for the assessment, Black.”

“I can assess more if you want.”

“Sirius.” You hissed his name like a reprimand, but it lacked real venom. He heard that softness, low and creeping as it slipped through, and he wore it like a badge, hand rising in mock surrender.

Conversation blurred around you, background noise as the two of you drifted towards the edge of the room. A whisper of unspoken understanding passed between you—no need to say anything. The glittering, gold-drenched facade of the ballroom fell away with each step, until you were sliding through tall glass doors onto a balcony bathed in night.

The air was cooler out here. Cleaner. A balm against the perfume and pressure, the prying eyes and scrutiny.

Sirius leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the dark gardens below, moonlight catching the silver thread in his suit. You didn’t mean to stare—but your eyes lingered, studying the shape of his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, displayed without the usual cloak of his dark curls—the wild softness of the strands that had escaped the hair tied at the nape of his neck.

He turned slightly, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that you said about staring earlier?”

You shrugged, scanning him more brazenly, unapologetic as you sipped your drink, “You scrub up nicely,” words so matter of fact, light.

He looked at you then, eyes that usually swam with unadultered mischief, lips that held a smirk so well—free from it all. And for a long while he didn’t say anything, just held your gaze hostage under its unfair tenderness.

No mischief, no smirk—just him, with that maddeningly fond expression that made your stomach twist. You looked away first for once, cracking under the pressure, looking down to your half-empty glass.

Voice soft. Quiet.

“I appreciate that you came—despite everything.”

When he spoke, his voice was low, just above a whisper—and it didn’t need to be any louder, because he was already so close. Word earnest, confessional—sincere in a way that made your breath catch. “I’d do it again for you.”

It made you gulp, throat dry despite the lingering chill of your drink. He was close—too close now—and yet not nearly close enough, heat radiating off of him like it was set on defending you from the harsh bite of the night’s air. Eyes were fixed on yours, unreadable but intense, like he was waiting for something, for permission or a sign or maybe just a heartbeat where you didn’t pull away.

“I really do like you,” he murmured, voice quieter now, all velvet and gravity. There was a kind of raw sincerity bleeding through his words—none of the cocky theatrics, no grin or drawl.

Just Sirius.

“I mean it.”

Your chest rose and fell, slow and unsure. The teasing edge in your voice was brittle when you managed to speak, trembling at the edges. “Really?” Your gaze flicked between his eyes, searching. “How much do you ‘like’ me?”

The question lingered in the air like a challenge—half jest, half dare.

But he didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk. He only exhaled, like the weight of every unsaid word had been pressing on his ribs, and leaned in slowly. Palm coming up to brace against the cold stone wall beside your head, the other brushing feather-light against your waist as he tilted toward you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

“This much,” he whispered.

And then there was no space between you—his lips soft and warm against yours—holding you in an embrace so delicate that you could mistake his touch for the wind.

It was gentle at first—like he was still afraid you might change your mind. Like the moment itself might collapse beneath the weight of history, your families, the thousand things neither of you had dared say. His lips still hesitant, just ghosting over yours, testing, asking.

But you didn’t pull away.

You leaned into it.

And Sirius needed no more invitation, his palms slid from the wall to cradle your jaw, tilting your face to his with such reverent care he could surely feel your heart hammering beneath your ribcage. The kiss deepened—not rushed, but aching.

Starved.

Months of lingering glances, of holding back, of almosts and maybes spilled out all at once in that kiss. Clutching the fabric of his jacket, gripping him like a lifeline, and he groaned softly into your mouth, like he’d been holding this in too long and it was finally—finally—unraveling.

Kissing like you were trying to memorise each other with your lips alone. Like it was the first time, and the last, and everything in between.

When he finally broke away, barely pulling back—lips still tempted over yours—both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours. His hand stayed at your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your ear as if to capture you both there, in the small moment, just a fraction of solace, of something warm and real.

“I would’ve gone mad if I hadn’t kissed you tonight,” he whispered, his breath shaky, brushing across your lips.

Your grip loosened slightly in his lapel, voice barely above a whisper. “I think you already have.”

Sirius huffed a chuckle—soft, hoarse, breathless—but he didn’t move away, smile fading slight as he stared at you, gaze dark and so full of feeling it nearly shattered you.

“I’m not playing games,” he said, voice low and rough. “Not with you. I never was.”

Just him showing up was enough, going against everything he stood for—you already believed him.

[st4rymoon]

◦𝐈𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝◦

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟒: 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 | 18+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warnings: ice play, fingering!, pussy! Eating, pussy fiend Miguel, overstimulation, semi mean dom miguel, language, pet names

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Ah ah what did I say” Miguel hummed with his hand pressing down onto your stomach. You whined as he dragged the cold ice cube up the side of your thigh and teasingly running it down your puffy folds.

Every time you squirmed Miguel’s ruby red eyes looked up at you, threateningly squinting as a warning. “P- please mig” you whined.

He ignored your pathetic whines and dragged the cold ice down your slick filled folds. Your back arched instinctively as the new temperature made chills run down your spin. You bit your lip as Miguel’s thick fingers dipped into you all the while he pressed the small cube onto your clit.

“A- ah fuc- Miguel!” You whined in surprise. You looked down at him with pleading eyes all the while he gave you a cocky smirk. He scoffed at you, giving you a tsk and pumping his fingers in at a painfully slow pace.

He loved how easy you were to break, it was so damn easy for him to have you a complete mess. Pulling out his fingers, he smiled as he dipped the cube softly into your pussy and ignored your cries.

The mix of his warm hands on your tummy and the freezing ice in you cunt had you shaking. Loud moans spilled out of you as the new sensation caused a brand new type of pleasure.

“Feels good huh doll?” He teased as he blowed warm air onto you pussy. Miguel could cum at the meer sight of you right now, he was losing every inch of sanity.

His eyes studied the way your pussy clenched around nothing, the way the ice cube was covered in your slick as he played with you a bit more.

He couldn’t help himself as he slowly lowered his mouth onto your messy pussy, tongue gliding through your sticky folds as he hummed in relief.

You were scratching at his back as he went in, ice cube between his teeth as he rolled it into his mouth and hummed at your taste.

He tucked the cube into his cheek with haste so he could ravage you like he needed. “Migu- Miguel fu-“ you whined as he wrapped his arms around your plump thighs for a better hold.

He bobbed his head back and forth, tongue flattening on your clit and rolling back up in need. Miguel moaned into you pussy as he felt you throbbing on his tongue.

Miguel was a man cast under your spell as he began to fuck himself onto the cushion, causing him to moan into you even louder as he finally relieved some tension.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking as your orgasm washed over you. Your vision went blurry as he continued to eat you out like a starved man.

You heard him mumbling into your pussy as you looked down at him tugging on his hair. Miguel shook his head, his eyes glaring up at you from below your legs as a warning.

Your head flew back onto the pillow in defeat as he continued, you laid there in complete bliss and overstimulation as Miguel sucked on your throbbing clit.

You could hear him slurping your mess up before he finally came back up for air. “I could do that all day” he panted with a wide smile. He looked so handsome with his hair a complete mess and your slick coating his mouth.

“Una más?” Miguel pouted up at you, how could you say no.

[littlemissaddict]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

She's sweaty, tired and gasping for breath and yet Simon still continues. She ducks, dodging the incoming blow to the head but she's exhausted so the next blow that he throws hits her in the side, winding her even though they both know he's pulling his punches.

Collapsing to the floor, arms around her middle as she tries to catch her breath, "Enough, I can't, s'not fair fight" she gasps as Simon's stance finally breaks and he holds out a hand to help her up. She gratefully accepts it, letting him haul her to her feet and then makes a beeline for her water bottle, welcoming the refreshing feeling flooding her body as she drinks.

"Ya know if ya wan' go out in ta tha field ya'll hav' ta learn ta take down those twice ya size" he speaks, looking like he's barely broken a sweat despite being covered head to toe including his mask. It makes her a little mad if she's honest.

"Twice my size! You're easily more than twice my size! And I'm not going to be fighting hand to hand combat every single mission" she huffs, slamming the bottle back down on the bench.

"Ya don' know tha', love" he smirks, well she can't see the smirk but she can hear it in his tone, "but think of it this way, ya can take down me, ya can take down any fucker tha' gets in ya way"

He has a point but at this point she's starting to believe that he's unbreakable, that nothing is going to take him down. At least in the field she'll have a weapon that she can use to take out anyone who gets in her way if it comes to it, it's not like she can take out Simon in that way so she's going to have to think outside the box.

They spar another couple of rounds before she gets her chance, somehow she's ended up on her back with Simon between her legs, not an unfamiliar situation for them but this is where she takes her chance. She surprises him by wrapping her legs around his waist and in that moment that he drops his guard she uses all the strength she has to flip them both over until she's the one pinning Simon to the floor. A triumphant grin on her face as she stares down at him.

"S'not a tactic ta use in tha field" he almost growls up at her.

"Aw shush, you're just upset I finally managed to beat you," the grin still present on her face as she taunts him.

"Upset s'not tha word 'd use" he grumbles as she finally registers the lustful look in his eyes.

Let's just say the reward she gets for taking him down is not one she'll easily forget, nor is the ache that leaves her unable to train for a couple of days afterwards.

John Price

She's doom scrolling. She just hasn't realised it yet, but John has. She'd been asleep when he'd first gotten up to go for his morning run, but somewhere in between him leaving and then coming home and showering, she'd picked up the phone.

At first, he'd thought nothing of it, but when he'd come in the room after showering and started speaking to her, she completely ignored him. Well, not ignored him, so to say, more that she was just so invested in the phone in her hands that she'd not heard a word he'd said. To test the water further, he dropped the towel leaving him stark naked in the middle of the room and still nothing from her which as John knew from their years together was not like her in the slightest.

Deciding enough was enough, he dressed first before coming to her side of the bed and plucking the phone straight from her hands.

"Hey, no fair!" She cried, pathetically reaching for the phone that he was currently holding out of her reach.

"No, it's plenty fair. You've spent your morning rotting in bed, glued to this thing" he waved the phone in front of her which caused her to make a grab for it again only for it to be pulled from her yet again. "And you've ignored me when I've spoken to you so I think it's time you spent some time without" he added, pocketing the phone and exiting the bedroom.

On his way down the stairs, he can hear the grumbling coming from her and meer seconds after he sits on the couch she enters the room with a pout on her face.

Her feet pad softly against the carpet as she makes her way over to him and joining him on the couch, "M'sorry" she professed, sealing her apology with a kiss to his cheek.

"I know sweetheart," he assured, leaning in a pressing a sweet kiss to her lips that wipes the pout from them. "Now c'mon go get dressed and we'll get breakfast at the cafe you like" he encourages, patting her behind lovingly when she stands up from the couch.

He expects her to go running to get ready but instead she stands and stares expectantly down at him. It takes him a second to realise she's after her phone back but he just shakes his head with a chuckle, "Uh-huh sweetheart, I'm gonna hold onto it for a bit longer" he informs her as he sends her off again to get dressed so that he can show her why she doesn't need to be glued to her phone white she's got him.

[caitlynsrighteye]

Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader(Vi replacement)

Takes place after S2E3. After their fight with Jinx and Caitlyn doesn't leave us TT.

Contains: wlw, smut, angst, f!reader, 1st pov, established relationship

wc: 931

Masterlist

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The night is cold. Outside, it's dark till lighting brights up the sky. Sounds of pitter-patter of the rain hitting the tall glass window. The mood is full of sorrow, yet pleasures amongst our bodies as I rock back and forth. Our centers are rubbing against each other. We breathe heavily as I do my best to keep pace, straddling her. I lean on her shoulders, pushing them into her soft yet firm matress. She lays still, her hands gripping onto my hips harshly, finger tips digging into my skin as I continue to ride her.

I look down at her and stare into her deep ocean blue eyes as they glance back and forth to mine and to the motion of my sweaty body. To her, this may just be a meer distraction from the pain and grief she has been going through the past week, ever since her mother and others were killed by Jinx. To me, it is a moment of bliss and love. After everything we've been through, she is the one I often think about. She never leaves my wandering mind. I think about her smile that she's lost, the light in her eyes, the spark in her laugh. Now, the only thing that sparks is the fuel of rage and hatred towards the girl I once called my sister.

"Ah... Cait..," I feel my heart race, and my stomach turn. I lean my head back in pleasure. The feeling of an intense release arriving shortly. The six foot enforcer says nothing, just grunts, and uses her hands to help my hips move faster. The both of us moan loudly. "Shit," she says behind her moans before pushing her head back into her pillows. She orgasms with a groan and grits her teeth. As she looks up at me, she quickly turns us both over. My back slams onto the cold matress, a refreshing feeling to my overheating body, and she kisses up my leg from my knee and to my groin. Soon licking and sucking my cunt quickly with one of my legs over her shoulder. I death grip the pillows that my head landed on and arch my back. I moan her name repeatedly. "Ah- fuck, Cait- ah!". Her tongue swipes and glides swiftly around my cunt, causing my release to zap through my spine.

After a moment, the shaking of my body begins to slow. Caitlyn licks her lips before wiping them with the back of her hand. Our eyes lock. She hides her pain well, a bit too well, but I know deep down she's hurting, bad. I reach out to hold her cheek, and she looks down at it. I almost touch her before she moves, getting up and sitting at the edge of the bed, opposite from the big window. I sigh. Saddened that she isn't able to talk to me or allow me to comfort her. I give her a moment, I sit up onto my elbows and start crawling over to her. Lighting strikes outside and lights up her room. I am able to get a quick glance at the details of her figure. Her messy shoulder-length blue hair, the toned lines of her arms that look a bit skinner than before, and some small scratch marks that scatter her back from earlier that evening.

I slowly stretched my hand out, gently grabbing her shoulder as she's leaned over onto her knees. Softly, I spoke, "Cait..." she doesn't move. After a second, I feel her inhale deeply before letting out a long sigh. "I'm sorry... it's just - " she stopped before finishing her sentence, but I understood. "Caitlyn, I am here for you. Let me be there for you. I will do anything. Just let me help you." She places a hand on mine and looks over at me. Her eyes are shiny from tears that struggle to eacape. I wrap my arms around her into a tight hug. Then I felt her tears drip onto me, like they've finally left a seal that Caitlyn has locked them into. They break free, and so do her cries. She leans into me, releasing sobs under her breath. I hold one of her cheeks in my palm and touch my forehead against hers as she continues letting out her hidden grief.

Her cries soon die down. Her reddened eyes meet mine, eye bags dark from exhaustion. We glance at each others lips and lean into a soft, comforting kiss. The kiss was not long, but it was all that we needed to exchange passion towards each other. Our lips unstick. Cait and I sit for a while before I pull her back, gesturing for her to come back to bed. She follows, and we both climb under her sheets. She cuddles and wraps her arms around me, giving quick pecks to the red and purple marks that are painted all over my neck and chest. Then she burrows her face into the crevice of my neck, her warm breath on my skin. Her breathing calms and slows, indicating that she'd fallen asleep. I'm happy with how the nights ended. The girl I love deeply in my arms, resting after all she's been through. I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes. Falling asleep and the contact of her body kept me warm throughout this cold, storming night.

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Note: i miss her sm, happy late bday loml

First time writing in years, in honor of season 2. Hope you enjoyed♡