#like. obviously a preference is a preference

[harrysfolklore]

Future wife pre Silverstone dinner with George and fam?! Or!! A look back on Silverstone with them over the years 🥹

something short but i wanted to write for our favorite babies before silverstone !

You're parked outside your parents' house for the Silverstone weekend family dinner, but Lando's lips on your neck are making it very difficult to remember why you need to go inside.

"We're going to be late," you breathe, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

"Mhm," he hums against your skin, "Probably."

"My parents are waiting..."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, finding that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp.

"That's what you said ten minutes ago," you manage, but your hands are already threading through his hair.

"Can you blame me?" he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. "Do you know how good you look in that dress?"

"The dress you're trying very hard to ruin?"

"I'm not trying to ruin it," his hand slides higher. "I'm just... appreciating it."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

He grins wickedly. "Would you prefer a more detailed description of what I'm—"

A sharp knock on the window makes you both jump apart.

"If you two are quite finished," George's amused voice calls through the glass, "Mum's about to send out a search party."

You roll down the window, trying to fix your hair. "We were just—"

"Yeah, I know what you were 'just'," George smirks. "But maybe save it for after dinner? When I don't have to watch my sister getting felt up in a car?"

"Jealous, Russell? That you're not getting felt up in a car." Lando asks sweetly.

George's face scrunches up in disgust. "I'm telling Mum you're being inappropriate."

"What are you, twelve?"

"Children," you cut in, straightening your dress. "Can we go inside like adults?"

"He started it," they say in unison.

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Oh my god," you open your door. "I'm dating a child."

"Hey!" Lando protests, following you out. "I'm very mature."

"Says the man who was just trying to convince me to skip family dinner for car sex."

"I wasn't..." he stops at your raised eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I was. But in my defense, you look really good in that dress."

"Gross," George comments. "That's my sister."

"Your sister who looks amazing in this dress."

"Stop talking about my sister like that."

"Make me."

"Boys," you warn as you reach the front door. "Behave."

They both straighten immediately, making you roll your eyes. Some things never change.

Your mum opens the door after two knocks, face lighting up when she sees Lando. "There you are! We were starting to worry!"

"Sorry Mrs. Russell," Lando says sheepishly. "We were just—"

"Snogging in the car," George cuts in with a smirk.

Your mum's eyebrows shoot up while you elbow George hard in the ribs.

"We were not," you protest, though your flushed cheeks probably tell a different story.

"The state of your dress says otherwise," George mutters, earning another elbow.

"Well," your mum says, fighting a smile, "come in, come in. Dinner's getting cold."

You're sitting between Lando and George at the dining table when your dad fixes Lando with an intense stare.

"So, Lando," he says seriously. "Your intentions with my daughter..."

"Dad," you groan. "We've been dating for months."

"Yes, but this is the first time he's been to family dinner," your dad points out. "I think I'm entitled to ask about his intentions."

"I'm going to marry her," Lando blurts out, then turns bright red. "I mean... if she wants... obviously not right now, but someday... if she'll have me..."

George snorts into his drink while your mother beams.

"Well," your dad says, fighting a smile. "That's certainly direct."

"Sorry," Lando mumbles. "I just... I love her. A lot. And I've kind of been planning to marry her since we were teenagers, so..."

"We know, dear," your mum says kindly. "You used to tell everyone who would listen that YN was going to be your wife someday."

"Mum!" you protest, but Lando perks up.

"You knew about that?"

"Everyone knew about that," George rolls his eyes. "You weren't exactly subtle."

"Says the one who helped him track my dates," you shoot back.

"You knew about that?" George looks betrayed.

"Everyone knew about that," you mimic his tone. "You weren't exactly subtle."

After dessert, your dad clears his throat. "Lando, fancy joining me on the balcony for a moment?"

"Dad, absolutely not," you protest, but Lando squeezes your hand.

"It's okay," he says softly, following your father outside.

You stay in the living room with George, nervously watching through the glass doors.

"He's probably going to scare him off," George says, "You know, say that it's not convenient that you have a brother driving for one team and a boyfriend driving for another."

You give him a horrified look.

George laughs. "I'm just kidding, sis. Dad knows Lando's been in love with you forever. Pretty sure he's just giving him the obligatory father speech."

When Lando returns, he's grinning, and your dad looks suspiciously misty-eyed.

The goodbyes are warm - your mum hugging Lando tight, your dad clapping him on the shoulder with obvious approval, and George threatening to tell everyone about the car incident if Lando doesn't let him win at Silverstone.

Back in the car, Lando pulls you close, kissing you softly.

"What did dad say?" you ask against his lips.

"That's between me and my future father-in-law," he grins.

"Future father-in-law?"

"Well, I did announce I'm going to marry you at dinner," he reminds you. "Might as well commit to it." You laugh. "My home race weekend, dinner with the family... everything's perfect," he murmurs.

"Even with George catching us in the car?"

"Especially with George catching us in the car," he smirks. "Now we can traumatize him forever."

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love me."

"Yeah," you smile. "I really do."

[kyurochurro]

🎶 hey hey we're the Ponees!

[viorel-lette]

Is it controversial for me to think Pure Vanilla would be Bobby coded 😭 i think he fits the happy girldad manager role perfectly… (I know he’s probably Rumi in your au though?)

From what I've seen of Bobby aka best manager ever, I don't think its controversial at all! I think the manager role really suits him :]

Also woah I never even thought of making it into an AU :O I kinda just drew the beast x saja boys for some crossover fanart funsies but hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[PS! With how popular crossovers with this movie is, there's a chungus possibility this has already been done before, so simply consider this as my own little version among a bunch of others :] ]

With that aside, here's a little looksies on The Beasts outfits!

Since we've established that the beasts are the Saja boys, then that obviously leaves the ancients being Huntrix. And this could either go in two ways:

(1), huntrix are all the five ancients with PV being Rumi/the leader OR (2), they could consist of only the the three ancient girlies! (GCheese, HBerry, and WLily) with Lily being Rumi

And hear me out, I prefer the second option more and here's why:

Lily wears a braid just like Rumi :D

If we're basing this option lore wise, this can sorta click because of how Shmilk and Lily somewhat relate to each other more with the whole knowledge seeking, truth awareness, and fall to corruption— just like how Rumi and Jinu understood each other due to both of them being demons (half on Rumi's case)

Expanding this point ^, just as how Rumi is only half demon while Jinu is fully one, Lily and Shmilk could have a closer dynamic similar to these two with how Lily had corrupted but seperated and Shmilk having fully corrupted.

Also this paves the way for PV to be their Bobby/manager :D— AND! Dark Cacao will be the group's security personnel bodyguard or CPO (Close Protection Officer)! These guys are usually in charge of the idols safety, particularly when their in public or surrounded by fans

[Planned to include their designs here, but I think I'll instead make a separate post just for them, detailing their designs and other possible headcanons I can think of :D]

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Gwi-ma is Dark Enchantress! Tried adding bits of red on the beasts' "Your Idol" fits as a little hint to that.

The previous demon hunters (Or I guess beast hunters?), specifically Celine, in this crossover will be one of the Witches (kind of a little call back to how the witches forked the beasts)

"Wait so with Shmillk being Jinu and Lily, Rumi, doesn't this mean this AU contains ShadowLily?" It can but I suppose not necessarily?? Lily and Shmilks dynamic in this crossover can be taken in any way! Though I'm a pretty big fan of platonic relationships and these two are my favorite shaylas so in a way, their dynamic here to me can be summed up with this one scene:

Their frenimies with besty vibes your honor 😔

ALSO also—

Black Sapphire as Sussie (the sassy little magpie) and Candy Apple as Derpy (the tiger, the kibbie, the blue yellow-eyed floof)!!

And hhh that's about it :D thinking of calling this silly AU "K-pop Beast Hunters" or something akdkskwh idk 😭— and thanks for the ask Anon! A new crossover has been crossed🗿

[lovethegenuine]

Cut From the Same Cloth.

Art by: urinecrust on tiktok!

Read it on ao3! (kudos appreciated)

pairing: stalker/human!hector x afab/stalker!reader

Summary: An alternate reality where you've taken up stalking your next-door neighbor, Hector, only to find out he has the same sick and filthy obsession for you.

Warnings: Obviously +18, this is literally porn in essay format. non-con voyeurism (hector hides under your bed), oral sex, pnv sex, mutual stalking, biting/marking. Let me know if I missed something!

Notes: I love writing alternate realities, so don't kill me. I wanted to stalk him as much as he did for the player. Hector has me WHIPPEDDDD he's been all over my fyp so I cracked my fingers and got to fucking WORK. Originally, this was gonna be a series, but I already have a series going, and I can't focus on one thing to save the life of me, so one-shot it is! If this gets a good amount of attention, I'll consider turning this into a series. (more notes at the end for no spoilers!)

Word Count: 5.0k

Additional Notes: need that submissive hvac system

You'd always been the obsessive type.

As a kid, you would often become attached to various things, alive or material. It never did get better as you got older. In fact, the right person would consider it worse than before. However, you weren't the right person. If anything, you thought of yourself as charming. Wouldn't it be nice to be worshipped? To be loved beyond comprehension? This was always your way of justifying a lot of your weird behaviors. And it was the same for your new obsession: your next-door neighbor.

You had only seen him once, when you ran into him while leaving your home. You had given him a smile possibly too wide that he returned with a flushed face and pouted lips. That was more than enough for you to fall for him. He avoided you like the plague after, but given that you both lived side by side in an apartment building, you could hear him plenty, and you reveled in this.

All the times he spoke, coughed, or cursed. You heard it. The walls weren't thin enough to distinctly make out words, but you knew what his voice sounded like, and that's what mattered to you. Even on the nights when he moaned out just a bit too loud, you heard and cherished it.

After a month of having your new crush, you had already collected two beloved keepsakes—a recording of his moans and a piece of mail addressed with his full name.

Hector Valentino Airnesto Condicionado.

Sort of a mouthful, not that you minded. But, for the sake of quickened pleasure, you preferred to moan just his first name as you dreamt of all the ways you could confess to him.

Hector, I love you.

Hector, I need you.

Hector, let me be yours as you are mine.

Never mind the fact that you had only witnessed his existence once. Still, you continued to trace the outline of what little memory you had of him in your mind. From his brown skin, curly hair, and bushy eyebrows, to his crooked nose and faded mustache. You didn't care if these were the only traits you could recover. It was a blessing to you, nonetheless, and got you off many times.

You did, however, start to wonder if he was genuinely avoiding you, given that you never saw him again after you'd seen him in the hallway. If it weren't for the occasional sneeze or cough, you would have thought he was dead.

You did attempt to take it upon yourself to perform several wellness checks on Hector, but you could never catch a time when his door wasn't attentively locked.

Were you ugly? Was your smile too tense? Weren't you easy on the eyes? Didn't he want to see you too?

Every time you questioned yourself, it made you hot with anger. Can he see how fucking hopeless it made you to live without him? How crazy you became just at the idea of him? You started to suspect that he'd been depriving you of his presence on purpose.

He liked it—loved it, actually, to see you wallow and sulk around like a lost puppy. It was a test; you were sure of it. A test to see if you needed him as severely as you said you did.

After a whole day of working at your customer service job, you became especially riled up. You passed by his door as you did daily, but this time you stopped. Hector continued to stay hidden in the confinements of his home. Shifting your feet, you placed yourself directly in front of what now looked like the gates of heaven to you. You let one gentle fist raise as you contemplated the idea of giving his door a knock. Would he answer? What would you say if he did? I love you?

You eventually gave up and trailed back home, still yearning for just one interaction.

As you lay awake in your bed that night, you recounted that same series of questions you were forced to ask with no answer to follow. As you stirred in your anger, you slowly let your hand trail down to the waistband of your shorts. You teased yourself, pretending as if Hector was the one controlling the pace. Once you eventually let your hand enter your pants, you danced around the fold of your lips, gently dipping your fingers in and out, not yet probing yourself as you continued with your odd fantasy.

"Please, Hector. Let me feel you." You shuttered.

You hoped for a second that he'd manifest from the darkness of your apartment to take care of you. You wished so badly that he'd sense your pain and ease you with a pleasure only he could provide. If only he'd take control.

What did he smell like? What were his hobbies? Did he think you were pretty? What would he say as he fucked you? Would he be sweet or controlling? Honestly, just getting to know what he felt like would've been a gift alone. Was it bigger in width or length? Did his erection have a curve? What made him hard? What did he prefer in a partner? It didn't matter. You could become anything he wanted you to be at the drop of a hat. You'd do anything.

You eventually became so bothered that you lost control and began penetrating yourself. With two filthy fingers, you found yourself stretched around your digits as you continued to call out for Hector.

That is, until you heard his voice.

It was soft but close enough that you heard exactly what he said.

Your name in a soft whimper.

You thought for a second that you might've been mistaken, considering how close it was. It sounded crystal clear, like he was in the room with you. You put your masturbation on pause as you contemplated your sanity. Were you so pent up with lust that you started to have audible hallucinations?

Then came a soft exhale. It was crisp, not like the muffled quality you were so used to. In fact, you had half a mind to believe it came from under you. In all honesty, if Hector really were under your bed, you would jump for fucking joy. Just the idea made you shiver with delight. So, for fun, you decided to take a look.

You gathered yourself out of bed and bent under to take a peak. Aside from the occasional dust bunnies, the space under your bed was usually clear. On any night, you could look under and see the moonlight reflect off the floor across the other side. However, there was now a black mass in place of the empty space. It took your eyes a second to not only adjust but comprehend what was in front of you. When you eventually did, you were met with the awkward face of,

Hector.

His eyes were wide like a deer in headlights, frozen in place, waiting for your reaction.

You took a short breath, letting your body fall back in disbelief.

He took this as disgust and immediately fumbled awkwardly from under your bed.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll leave. I'm leaving now." He couldn't even look at you as he rambled on, apologizing profusely as he scrambled to fix himself.

He was touching himself. Not just anywhere, but under your bed. It was perverted, disgusting, horrific even. But above all things, it was filthy.

And it was your type.

Just as Hector was about to rush out of your room, you grabbed hold of the cuff of his jeans. It made him trip slightly, but it also got his attention. He looked back at you, angling his head downward to meet your eyes. He'd been so quick with his attempted exit that you hadn't really gotten a chance to look at him. Now that he was out from under the shadows of your bed, you could take in his appearance, just as you did the first day you met him.

His face was flushed, presumably with embarrassment. He looked at you like he was about to pass out. This was accompanied by his ragged breath and shaky legs. It was cute, just as you knew he would be.

"Why are you rushing to leave?" You pleaded.

You'd finally gotten what you had wished for: mutual attraction. Which is what you also assumed he'd hoped for. So you couldn't understand why he would even fathom leaving you again.

"Don't you want me to?" He squeaked.

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

"Did I say that? Come on, don't do this to me, Hector." You begged. It was slightly pathetic, but you were shamelessly desperate, and not an ounce of you could care less.

He raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised. You continued to look up at him, waiting for him to do anything. Letting go of his cuff, you watched the gears seemingly turn in his head. He looked at the exposed window in your room for a breath and then shuffled his feet to face you. You almost lost your breath as he squatted down to your level, his face now inches from yours. You felt your jaw falter as you became lost in his appearance. His mustache was fuller than before, as were his eyebrows. His brown skin was glossed with sweat that you knew would taste just as delicious as it smelled. One more second, and you would've taken your tongue to lick up the sweetness that seeped from his flesh.

He turned away from you with the same pouty lips he had in the hallway.

"Please, don't stare at me. I can't tell if you're disappointed or not." He mumbled.

His voice was meek. You could tell he wasn't much of a stand-up guy, given how hesitant he was in front of you. Was this the test? Was he behaving like this to see if you really were desperate? You finally had him, or would eventually have him. Not only that, but he presented himself to you. How sweet was he to not only return your affection but to stay.

"Disappointed?" You hurriedly closed the gap between you. With one swift motion, you took your tongue and slid it across his shut lips.

This was your way of giving your beloved consent, not that you felt he needed it. If he wanted you, he could've had you.

You leaned away for a moment to catch a glimpse of his reaction. He fell back, unable to handle his weight after your cheeky taste. He then lifted a shaky hand to cover his now immensely flustered expression.

"I've seen you already, haven't I? Hector. Valentino. Airnesto. Condicionado." You made sure to emphasize how well-known he was to you. How much care you had put into getting to know him with what little material he'd given you.

"If I was disappointed, would I be so eager to fuck you?" You leaned back into Hector's bubble, letting your hot whispers caress his slick neck.

You felt him shift under you with one nervous whimper. The faint light from the lamp on your bedside reflected off his sticky neck. Just one more inch and your teeth would collide into his sweet skin, finally getting to know what he tasted like.

"Ah, you, uh, know my full name." He sighed, his voice trembling with every word.

"Is that bad?" You replied without a beat, taking a moment to look at him from under his chin.

He fumbled over his words, taking quick looks at you before averting his eyes with growing embarrassment.

"No. It's just, well." You knew he had more to add to that thought; however, you became too impulsive at the moment.

Letting your greedy mouth take control, you began to suck at the side of Hector's neck. With every suckle, you listened as he attempted to put his thoughts into words rather than gibberish.

"God, I can't, my love, when you, please..." He tried to push you off with one weak hand to no avail.

He tasted rather salty in a way that made sense to you. It was gritty, rich, and a bit sour. Overall, it wasn't a bad taste by any means.

"I can't, I can't meet you like this." He whined.

"I'm sorry for being so desperate. Fuck!" He let out a tiny yelp once you added your teeth.

Once you had finished sucking, you unlatched your teeth from his neck. You looked at the spot you'd been working on to find a dark, purplish hickey in its place. A disgusting grin spread across your lips as you admired your creation.

As if you'd sucked out all of his energy from one kiss, he fell back now with his body entirely on the floor and under you. Seeing him sprawled out on your floor was practically a dream come true. What would you do with him first? Get to know him or get straight to business?

"This isn't how it was supposed to go!" Hector whined again, his body trembling as he attempted to slide out from under you.

"I was supposed to take you out first, get to know you, make your night. I was supposed to court you like a gentleman!" He haphazardly cupped one side of his face with one hand as he moved up.

You countered his attempts by stepping over him with every shuffle backward.

"Please, my love. I can't have you like this." He pleaded with you.

"You're a hypocrite, you know that, Hector?" You chuckled.

"You need to court me? Be a gentleman? Do gentlemen hide under the beds of the people they plan to pursue?"

He'd crawled out to the middle of your living room, making no progress in the sheepish attempt to escape from under you.

"I'm sorry, I truly meant to be patient, but after countless nights of hearing you moan my name, it was hard to stay forbearing." He finally looked up at you, meeting your eyes with a sulking expression.

"I don't need your apologies. Neither do I need you to woo me properly." You knelt your head back down to meet him almost at his lips.

"Wanna know the best way to win me over?" You snarled with bated breath.

Hector eagerly nodded his head.

"With every ounce of my being." He whispered back at you.

You cut the remaining inch between you and planted a gentle kiss on his warm yet dry lips.

"Fuck me." It was rather forward, but there was no other way to say it. You needed him.

He followed your lips as they left his, yearning to meet them again in the middle.

"Ok, I can, I can do that for you." He mumbled, returning the kiss with a more hastened attitude.

You found a comfortable spot on his lap as you finally laid your body onto Hector. With the way that you were positioned, you could feel the outline of his hard-on prodding at your pussy through the fabric of both his and your pants. It was wonderful—this moment of intimacy you could finally behold. You were on top of your cherished next-door neighbor, and kissing him at that.

After a minute of tender kisses, Hector let his hands finally touch you. Your whole body shivered as they began to roam across whatever exposed skin you had. He started at your shoulders, and soon his fingers traced down your arms, then to your back, where he rolled up the bottom of your loose tank to travel up your spine. You had planned to take advantage of the position you were both in by exploring every inch of Hector's skin, but he kept you low to him while slowly working towards eliminating your tank top. You let a series of small moans spill from your lips into the kiss. You felt his lips curl into a cheeky smile before you had to break the contact to finally remove your top.

"Contain yourself, my love. We haven't even started." Hector chuckled, still slightly awkward, but he was beginning to become more charming nonetheless.

Your chest was now exposed to him, given that you weren't ever wearing a bra. He tried to take a good look to marvel at the shape, but soon he became preoccupied again with marrying his lips against yours. So, he left it up to his hands to get to know every inch of them. He fondled your breasts with such a gentle touch that it was almost as if he believed they would shatter if he were to apply any more pressure.

You broke the kiss, which earned you some complaints in the form of whimpers from Hector. While it was cute, you paid no mind to it. Instead, you became concerned with something else: the skin under his shirt. He kept his warm hands on your breasts, groping and pinching at the tips of your nipples while you slid your hands under his top. Your fingers slowly started to become acquainted with the details of his exterior. This was, however, a challenging feat to accomplish because, with every pinch Hector gave your nipples, you tensed up with unfathomable pleasure. You felt your arms stall at his chest hair as you tried to twirl the hairs between your fingers to no avail. You didn't think you would ever be this sensitive, but soon you found yourself trembling from his comforting touch.

"Something wrong?" He cooed.

You could only whimper in response, which was pleasantly pathetic. The palms of his now increasingly hot hands slid off your delicate chest, down the sides of your quivering torso, finally finding themselves at the waistband of your shorts. With one sly finger, he tugged at the fabric, watching—waiting for your reaction.

You didn't realize it, but you'd closed your eyes shut, and it didn't occur to you until you had felt the sensation of his fingers creeping into your pants. You looked at him with eager eyes that he read immediately. Sitting up, Hector shifted his arms to cradle you as he turned the tables on you. You soon found yourself in the position he was in just a moment ago, under you. Your bare back lightly hit the cold floor, and once you were settled, he began to remove not only your shorts but your underwear as well. It was apparent that he was just as anxious to get what he'd wanted, just as you were.

"I do want to apologize for my growing absence, my beauty." He was practically salivating as he knelt down to face the entrance of your aching core.

You tried to keep a keen eye on Hector by elevating your body with your elbows, but you became so nervous that your head fell back, leaving everything he did as a surprise.

He parted your folds with two fingers and began to practically talk into your entrance.

"It was, embarrassing, to even consider showing my face after our premature meeting."

His hot breath played with the sticky skin of your cunt. With every flattering word that hit your filthy flesh, you grew more flushed and impatient. He was just as desirous but enjoyed watching you yearn for whatever—however he planned to please you. He was certainly at your service, but he planned to take his time just relishing in this newfound intimacy. He toyed with the idea of making you beg, but his lust was already unbearable. Besides, he couldn't fathom the thought of your sad puppy dog eyes as you whined for his touch. He didn't need the confirmation. Hector already knew how badly your body craved his. After all, he'd spent nights listening to your desperate yet soft cries of delectation. He couldn't bear to listen to them any longer.

With his searing tongue, Hector began to indulge in your flesh. You both had more to say to each other, but with the growing tension in the air, neither of you could take it. So straight to business it was.

Pleasure took control of you in the form of various sounds and twitches. Your hands attempted to grasp at the solid floor while your toes curled over themselves. As Hector sampled every inch of your cunt, he took one of your legs and applied it onto his shoulder. He couldn't determine if he wanted to savor your reaction or taste. For the most part, it was both. While he worshipped you with his tongue, he made sure to revel in every whimper, every moan, and every grunt that made its way from your mouth. It was his work, after all.

Soon, Hector snuck a thick digit into you, which made you yelp in shock. He chuckled while keeping his warm mouth on you. The feeling of his one finger was surprisingly different from your two fingers. Maybe it was because you weren't the one controlling the pace or the pressure. However, giving it some more thought, it was odd. He used his finger as if he were more concerned with finding a specific spot. It soon became frustrating the more he continued.

You finally let your head fall forward to look down at Hector. Once your eyes hit him, you were met with a pair of cunning yet awkward eyes staring back at you. He took his mouth off your clit just enough for you to hear him talk yet also just enough for you to feel the heat of every word.

"Unsatisfying, right?" He snickered.

You furrowed your brow at him, making him laugh harder. He was playing with you, but you couldn't determine his purpose. Frankly, he was fascinated by how you needed him so badly. To say he was aware of your obsession with him would be a significant understatement. The first time he'd heard his own name whimpered through the thin wall of his apartment, he wanted to—well, he didn't really know what he wanted to do. He never thought you would actually take a liking to him ever.

Truth be told, he was the one who liked you first. The day you knocked on his door to introduce yourself after you had moved in, he never answered. But he watched you through the peephole, too nervous to open the door. He saw your sweet, confused face as you left and vowed that one day, he'd work up the courage to ask you out. The only problem for him was his "plain face" and "ugly features". So he kept you waiting for a day when that courage came. If it weren't for how desperate he was to be near you, you would've never seen him again.

"Alright, I'll do it properly." He promised, and soon, his lips found themselves latched onto your now puffy clit while his finger pumped in and out of you at a tantalizing pace.

Once he added a second finger in the mix, it was over. You felt the heat in you boil up as you grew closer and closer to your peak. The way his tongue was shockingly attentive made you eerily jealous. How was he so good? Why was he so good? Was he with others before you? How much practice had he had?

"How are you so good-!" Your growing anger was cut off by pleasure boiling over.

He made you cum. Quicker than you could've ever managed by yourself. It was slightly embarrassing how fast he drew that out of you, but then that shame morphed into agitation as he kept going.

"I came! You can stop, please!" You whined, giving him a tiny slap on the head.

He let out a small grunt but never let up. He helped you ride out your orgasm and then some. You became dizzy and frustrated by the constant feeling of lips licking and lapping at you like a lollipop. Your whines became louder, and the pumping of his fingers grew faster. It wasn't long before he sucked another orgasm out of you. Your body fell back onto the ground as you shivered with overwhelming delight. You almost felt tears collect in the corners of your eyes. It was too much. Thankfully, he finally had his fill after you came a second time.

He crawled up away from your cunt and back up to your rosy face with delicate eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's just that, your taste is something heavenly. I felt increasingly like a ravenous dog as I ate from your sweet, sweet skin, my love." He shuttered a bit as he whispered close to your face.

You could smell yourself on his breath. It was, enthralling, to say the least. You both stared at each other for a minute, taking in the different details that made up the other person. Hector's eyes practically glowed in the darkness of your living room. He was in love, and it was plastered all over his pussy drunken face. You must've made a particularly needy face because suddenly, he leaned back and began to unbutton his pants. You scooted from under him and sat up, watching as he messed with his pants. It was funny; he was fumbling to button up his jeans just a moment ago. Now, here he was, desperate to do the opposite.

"Do you need me to tie my hair up?" You asked.

He froze and peered up at you in confusion.

"What, what do you mean?"

You froze yourself.

"What do you mean what do I mean?" You questioned. "Don't you want me to suck you off?"

"Oh. Hardly." He remarked like it was the most casual thing you could've asked.

He continued to undo the zipper of his jeans as you sat there in puzzlement.

"...Why?" You finally managed to say.

"Do you think I've been blue balling myself just to finally get a blow job? I'm sure your mouth would be something else, but I've waited too long, my love."

Without a second more, Hector pulled his already erect cock out from his jeans. Finally, you could have multiple answers to the plethora of questions you'd asked yourself plenty of nights. It was just slightly bigger in width than length. The size was quite normal but big enough to where you knew it'd hit all corners. He was also circumcised, and no, he did not have a curved erection.

You stared at his penis for longer than you should've. It was as if you'd found the correct puzzle piece, and now the picture would finally come together.

"And I'm sure you've waited too long, too, no?" He purred before scooting your body closer to his.

Your ass made an embarrassingly loud squeak as it slid across the floor. However, neither of you paid any mind because soon, Hector would be inside of you.

You let your body fall to the floor again as he lined his cock up to the entrance of your slick cunt. Slowly, he began to press it into you while holding your hips. This, of course, drew out a variety of different whimpers and whines. It wasn't entirely painful, but it was vastly different in comparison to just your two fingers. Once he bottomed you out, he looked at you and never let his eyes leave you again. You gazed back at him with a drunken expression and mopey lips. He smiled at you. It wasn't a malicious grin but a smile that matched the same tenderness that had run through him since the beginning. He began to pump in and out of you, watching the dissimilar faces that your features contorted into.

"You have a lovely face when you cum." He whimpered with a very meek voice.

You tried to remark with something but were too lost in the embrace of Hector to even think of what you'd say. This is how it went for the next five minutes. He would feed you sweet nothings, possibly fishing for a slurred yet coherent response, only to be met with a series of loud whines and gibberish. Through the sounds of slaps and your own enjoyment, you could hear Hector's voice begin to crack with every other sentence. Almost as if he was about to finish.

"Did you want to try a different position, my love? Or-!" Before he could conclude whatever he meant to say, he came.

It was fast. Quicker than you thought sex with Hector would be like. You felt his hot semen flood into you as he grunted and whimpered, tightening his grip on your hips as he whined the words, "I'm sorry!"

You watched as he averted his eyes from you with a guilty expression. Shivering, you propped yourself up and out of his lap with your hands. His penis slid out of you as you moved, and soon you felt his sperm do the same. You placed a gentle but shaky hand on his cheek, guiding his face back to yours. The remaining arm holding you up felt like jello. He'd somehow drained every bit of you. If he had came too fast this time, you didn't even want to imagine what sex would be like on his good days. His eyes found your face again, and he placed his now sticky hand atop yours. Another lovely smile painted itself across his lips, and like a disease, his visual delight spread to you. A grin likewise of the same loveliness soon laid itself on your face.

Nothing was said at that moment. The silence between the both of you was enough to say what needed to be said.

"I love you."

Well, maybe a couple of words needed to be spoken.

Regardless of the timing and the duration of what happened between you. It was still bound to be the start of a rather eccentric relationship. You were made for each other, and nothing would be better.

"I love you, too."

End Notes: I was originally going to include a plethora of things. Hector was actually going to drill a hole in your wall, but I didn't know how I'd make that work. I was also going to have you and Hector go a second round, but again, I'm unmedicated, and if I randomly go to TikTok instead of finishing my fanfiction again, I WILL kill myself. ALSOOO i want this blog to be filled with hector for a month so PLEASE if you want anything hector REQUEST IT!

[uniasus]

Damian has been softened. Danyal has been ruined. Damian has been weakened. Danyal has been betrayed.

Danyal continues watching his brother, building an understanding of patrol routes and connections and skills.

He is here for a mission. He is here to kill the disgraced heir.

Danyal tries to get his emotions under control, so he doesn't attack Damian with the rage of an abandoned brother but the coolness of a trained assassin. It's hard, the hardest thing he's ever done, to push down his rage and jealousy and grief and want.

This open, friendly, loving Damian? Danyal doesn't get that.

Danyal doesn't even get acknowledgement of his spying, and there's no way he's good enough Damian doesn't realize he's being watched.

Danyal slowly works through the pain, shoving his heart into a smaller and smaller box as he watches Damian's expand. Is this how Mother feels? Removed from affection so much she believes harsh, personal training is a hug? Is this how Grandfather feels, removed from the world and judging those still connected?

Assassin, assassin, assassin.

That's what Danyal is, more than a brother or child or heir-in-waiting. He has no emotions, just weapons.

It allows him to get the jump on Damian, tired from a long patrol. To slice the deserter heir's cheek. Break a rib. Plant a blade in Damian's torso.

It's not a vital spot. In the end, Danyal loves his brother too much. Loves him so much he'll allow him to live with brothers he obviously prefers.

"Dan-"

Danyal stands and looks down at his brother, bleeding out on the roof. His older brothers will be here soon, and Damian will be the youngester they fuss over.

And Danyal will be the left-behind, unwanted brother. Loved, briefly, as the LoA allowed, but ultimately not enough.

Not enough for Ra's. For Talia. For Damian.

"Keep the sword, Damian," Danyal says. "Proof you knew me."

He leaps off the roof seconds before Nightwing jumps on, leaving his sword in Damian's side.

He's failed his mission. Failed Mother's leason.

Danyal heads west, shedding lessons. Damian had looked so happy with his emotional freedom. Somewhere, there's an adopted sibling of Danyal's own that can make him smile like that.

Demon Twins AU

AKA "Danyal al-Ghul is seven minutes younger than Damian. Those seven minutes mean something."

Danny loved his older brother. Even when Talia favored Damian over him, even when Ra's spared no expense for his brother's care, even when Danny was left unprotected against their mentors' brutality without the title of heir. He swallowed the bitterness of jealousy and instead accepted any affection Damian could secretly give him away from Ra's prying eyes.

He knows Damian loved him, too. As much as Ra's and their mother allowed, as much as being in the league allowed. It was the hitch in Damian's breath when Danny was hit a little harder than usual, bread under his pillow when Danny was sent away without food, the twitch of his lips when Danny said an amusing joke. They could never hug, never speak openly, but Damian always had a small, secret space in his heart for his brother. (Danny and Damian learned early on to never show affection. Danny was once gifted a hawk for his birthday, only for Ra's to slaughter it once Danny had grown to love it. He had nightmares for months that Damian was forced to slaughter him. He woke up every morning feeling sick because he couldn't remember if he'd forgiven Damian in his dreams.)

The only thing that tested Danny's love for Damian was when he left. His mother didn't tell him that Damian was gone. He'd carefully crept into Damian bedroom one night, asking if he'd go stargazing with Danny, when he realized Damian was gone. All his clothes, weapons, gone. There was a single bare mattress. It wasn't until weeks after that Danny's mother told him Damian was sent on a mission as the heir to train with the notorious Dark Knight of Gotham, their father.

There was that bitterness but this time, Danny couldn't swallow it. The emotion sat in his throat like acid, burning in his eyes and throat until he could escape to his bedroom that night. Muffled a scream into his pillow and felt sick, agonizing fury. Jealousy, grief, resentment. It didn't subside for weeks, months, until aching loss of Damian's presence replaced it.

And then Danny's first and only mission.

Kill the heir. Murder his own brother. Danny's grandfather had always looked at him with contempt, hatred. But there was something truly terrifying in his voice when he'd gripped the back of Danny's neck, growled do not disappoint me, and released him into his mother's waiting arms. "He was softened by your father. Dulled and weakened. Don't forget, Danyal," Talia said to him. "The more you care for something, the more sway it has over you. The more it ruins you."

Danny hadn't believed her.

Even as he boarded the private plane, Danny wondered if he could join in Damian's life: fantasies of living in an apartment, stargazing, learning who his father is. Finally learning if Damian had started drawing like his hands always yearned to. Wondering he could see the stars in Gotham as well as in the desert. Danny was almost too eager to see his older brother again, practically giddy at the thought of a reunion away from Ra's and their mother.

Except Damian's hair is... longer. Two older boys are on either side of him and one reaches over to ruffle his hair. And Damian turns with a wide, unguarded smile that Danny's never seen. Watches as one of the other boys hands Damian a takeaway cup of coffee and Damian drinks it without any hesitation. Watches as they banter back and forth, Damian's shoulders no longer rigid with immaculate posture or tense with hypervigilance. Danny watches as Damian acts as if he... as if Danny never existed, as if he'd completely forgotten about him.

The all-consuming ache of Damian's absence is crippling. Worse still is the anger, the rage of being left behind and forgotten while he suffered. Danny was forgotten despite how many times he forgave, loved, hurt. This stranger stands in Damian's place.

(And maybe Danny's mother was right. Danny's never loved anything more than Damian, yet mere moments of watching his brother interact with his new family makes him feel... ruined. A forgotten memory to be tucked under Damian's bed like blunted pencils hidden from their grandfather.)

It... doesn't matter. Danyal al-Ghul has a mission to complete.

[ventique18]

~ analysis with a bit of 🐉🌸 drabble

Malleus is obviously wealthy, but throughout the game, he's always depicted as someone who doesn't particularly flaunt this. While he does have times when he gets carried away and offers to purchase exorbitant amounts of something (Jasmine Silk, New Year's), most of the time he would just act like any regular student with a humble budget.

We may have thought of this as "person in a position of power is actually down-to-earth to make him lovable" or the "rich prince is actually humble" stereotype. Until you realize that he is intimately familiar with poverty... because his adoptive dad lives in poverty.

Lilia was never given the riches the country owed him, because he was branded as scum. Forced to live like a rat in the middle of nowhere.

(drabble) So when 🌸 bravely announced that they would be treating him to a nice lunch, he gladly accepted with no expectations whatsoever. Neither did he offer to pay instead-- unlike what you would expect of a wealthy CEO trying to impress the person they like. He tagged along only with keen interest in what they thought he preferred to eat on a special day.

They stopped in front of a rather pedestrian Western restaurant. The type a layman would dine in with their family on a nice Sunday. He neither liked nor disliked the menu posted just outside the entrance but... Seeing 🌸, brows furrowed, burning holes into the restaurant menu display, and unconsciously fiddling with their wallet, was not worth considering any of the cuisine over.

"By the way, I heard about this popular street food recently. The one with meat and vegetables rolled in seaweed-wrapped rice."

His companion, surprised at his sudden comment, quickly stuffed their wallet back in their pocket, "Street food... Kimbap?"

"Yes, that. I feel rather out of place when everyone in my dorm has apparently had it, except for myself. I think I would like to try it out today, if you would be inclined."

Lies. Silver brought enough for all four of them yesterday.

Their eyes lit up. Suddenly, the glum washed away from their face; replaced only with a mixture of relief and excitement as they grabbed him by the arm. "Okay, let's go find one. It's grab-and-go, so we can even stroll around town while eating!"

You would think he would simply offer to pay for their meal instead. That would be easy, yes, but time and again he tried that on Lilia when they dined out as a family, knowing that he barely had enough to even feed Silver. He would refuse every time. I may not be rich like you, but treating my growing boys to good food always fills my heart with pride! It makes me feel less like a bum and more like a responsible guardian, you know?

As he got dragged along the street, he couldn't help but smile. That was another one in the long list of things he had to thank Lilia for.

[anglbunny]

NERDJO ASKING TO RECORD YOU - S.GOJO

smut mdni, nerdjo, lots of use of the word 'shit', recording, based on this req, ignore the errors - not edited

He pushes his glasses up his nose with the back of his wrist, lips parted, face flushed, hair a mess — and yet he still somehow manages to look like he just tripped out of a library instead of over your thighs.

You’re sprawled out beneath him, shirt hiked up, chest rising unevenly. He’s already made a mess of you tonight — tongue too curious, fingers too focused, brain too obsessed — but now he’s hovering above you with that look again.

The one that says he’s thinking something deranged and trying very hard to phrase it like a math problem.

“Okay, um,” he starts, swallowing. “Don’t be mad. Or weirded out.”

You blink at him.

“…You’re making this sound like a confession.”

He groans softly and scrubs a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, maybe a little bit. I just — I was thinking. Not in a creepy way! Just — like, data collection.”

“Data,” you repeat, deadpan.

He nods too eagerly. “Y-Yeah, like… observational stuff. To better understand your responses and preferences and, uh…” His voice dies in his throat. “Like, for next time. I can be more efficient.”

You stare.

“Gojo. Are you asking to record us?”

He goes red. Almost comically so.

“I mean — yes?” He winces. “But, like, not in a weird guy way! Not like that! Just for — just to review— I mean, I wouldn’t share it or anything, obviously, it's strictly for— for scientific purposes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Scientific.”

“I’m a visual learner,” he blurts.

A beat of silence.

You laugh — loudly. “You’re such a freak.”

He groans, collapsing forward against your chest, hiding his face like you’ve just caught him cheating on a test. “I knew you’d say that.”

“But like,” you grin, combing your fingers through his messy hair, “a hot freak.”

He peers up at you, all glasses-askew and hopeful. “So… not a no?”

You hum, dragging your nails gently down his back. “Only if I get a copy too.”

He chokes on his own breath.

-

The camera’s recording.

You’re under him — flushed, dazed, stretched out against the sheets — and he’s hovering over you like he’s trying to catalog everything, the way your lips part when he lines up against you, the way your fingers clutch at the pillow, the sound you make when his tip just presses in.

“For science,” he mumbles, breath catching, trying to laugh it off as he pushes in inch by inch.

But his voice breaks halfway through.

You’re so warm. So tight. Gripping him like your body knows him.

“Oh— f-fuck, that’s…” He chokes on a groan, burying himself to the hilt. “Yeah. Okay. I— I need to remember this angle—shit—”

He braces one hand beside your head, the other gripping your waist as he starts to move. Slow at first. Like he’s holding back. Like he thinks he can pace this.

He can’t.

The moment your hips roll to meet his, the spell snaps.

His rhythm stutters, and suddenly he's thrusting harder, head dropping to your shoulder with a guttural moan.

“You feel so good, fuck, it’s insane—”

You moan his name, fingers dragging down his back, and that breaks him. Fully.

His glasses slip down his nose, and he doesn’t bother fixing them — he’s too focused on the way you tighten around him, the way your body reacts to everything he does. You grab the foggied glasses off his face and toss them aside. "you look hotter like this" you grin at the way his face turns tomato red.

He pulls back to look down at where you’re joined, eyes wide, watching the way his cock disappears into you over and over.

“God, I wish you could see what I see,” he pants. “It’s fucking— shit, you’re perfect—”

You clench around him, and he stutters, hips jerking.

"You're doing it on purpose," he groans, the sound desperate. "Fucking me dumb so I can’t analyze shit.”

You grin. “You already sound dumb, baby.”

He whimpers. Actually whimpers.

And then he’s grabbing your thigh, hooking it over his shoulder so he can fuck you deeper. The way you gasp, back arching, sends him reeling. He knows the camera’s picking it up. Every moan. Every slap of skin. Every filthy, broken whisper that falls from your lips like music.

He drops his head again, panting against your neck.

“Y-you’re gonna watch this later, right?” he babbles. “Wanna see yourself, wanna hear how wet you are—fuck—how loud you get when I—”

A particularly deep thrust cuts him off. You cry out, and his entire body shudders.

“Shit, shit, I’m close—baby, I can’t—”

You grab his jaw and make him look at you.

“Come in me,” you whisper.

His eyes roll back.

He moans like it physically hurts, hips stuttering, pace breaking down into frantic thrusts as he fucks you through it. Choking on your name. Losing every thought he ever had.

And when he finally spills into you, cock twitching, breath ragged, chest heaving — he collapses on top of you like he just got knocked out.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled, still buried inside you..

“Okay, but… this is, like… invaluable data.”

You laugh breathlessly, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Your nerd.”

And the camera keeps blinking red — still recording every second of it.

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau @laslowchan @ethxrxxlity

A/N: got kinda long and got kinda carried away, excuse me :p

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

Masterlist

[itslifetreesworld]

So I've been having this idea of doing one of my favorite looks of Ethan and Benji across the M: I series! Obviously Benji joined in mi3 so I put the first two Ethans together to jump start everything. I hope to do each one every day so stay tuned!

I will also write something explaining why I picked that particular costume/look, with screenshot references and anything I found interesting during the process, so if you are interested in some ramblings here we go:

Mission: Impossible

I know everyone thinks of the Langley suit when talking about the first M: I movie (so am I). I'm not saying it's overrated because it's not, but I do think maybe that's too much of a cliche if I also pick that? So the other day I watched a video essay discussing the evolving of costumes in movies and they mentioned this grey striped suit with blue shirt and a blue tie in M: I and I just thought, damn, that's a really nice suit:

It was the suit Ethan wore when he met with Max. It's a bit of a shame that Ethan slowly turns to a very utilitarian all-black-and-leather choice of clothing and does not really wear anything like this anymore.

Plus, I think it is one of the very few times where Ethan wears a long coat (the only other appearance actually being in FR? Correct me if I'm wrong)

Mission: Impossible 2

Ok so the thing is, I don't remember a lot from mi2 ... (would you blame me thou) so when I watched it again trying to pick a favorite look, what I realized is that... (Spoiler alert if you haven't seen mi2 which is from,,,literally 25 years ago)

...that a lot of my favorites are actually the villains in Ethan's mask!?!? I find it very funny but then it would not be fair to do that, maybe I can do that as a bonus one after everything? Anyway eventually I picked Ethan in this grey-ish blue shirt with a vest:

I think this was technically still part of the disguise of Nekhovich, but it was pretty cute (and I'm running out of options)

My favorite part of this look is actually the disheveled hair due to the removal of the mask, and it's also super fun to draw :D

Mission: Impossible 3 (finally)

My first choice of Ethan's look in mi3 is actually the one with the brown suede jacket, which is also the one with the most screen time (I think?)

The second one that came into my mind is the tactical suit during the mission to rescue Lindsey, which is also something l like a lot but never really reappeared on screen:

(btw do you know how hard it is to find anything that's neither pitch black nor blurry while showing the suit during this sequence, this is the best I can do)

But as I put them next to Benji...none of them feels right!? At that point I realized I had no other choice than this aforementioned all-black T-shirt and jeans combo when he called Benji in Shanghai.

I am not complaining about anything, the beaten-up Ethan and the blood are all part of the look and they are VERY GOOD (I mean to draw).

Speaking of Benji, before doing this, I genuinely thought he only had one costume, the one when he's rambling about the rabbit's foot:

But the one when Ethan called him is actually slightly different! I think it was the same blue jacket that gave me the impression of only one costume:

Anyway, I actually preferred the rabbit's foot one, but again for pairing him with Ethan I went with the second one.

Btw I cannot find anything about what pants Benji wears in the movie, so I had to make something up. Judging from the dress code of the IMF at that time, I guess it was probably also something dark or black, colorless, and probably not really Benji's choice of clothing.

Another thing I realized from this is that Benji in his pre-field agent days might be quite sensitive to the cold? In both of the IMF office scenes, he wore at least 4 layers and he kept his jacket on, in comparison Ethan only wears a light sweater while Luther is wearing a sweater and a jacket, no one else in the IMF seems to wear as much as Benji did:

It was probably just part of the character building, to have this kind of geeky-nerdy look? He doesn't seem to wear particularly more than others in the following series.

Anyway that's all of my ramblings for my fav looks in mi1-3! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading, and looking forward to seeing you again maybe tomorrow ;)

[fluffyblackdragon]

"I've convinced your favorite coffee shop to move to a BIGGER space just outside your preferred walking range! It's now exactly ONE MILE from your home, and you now HAVE TO USE public transport to get there!"

"What... are you talking about? What's a "preferred walking range?" How do you know where I live?"

"I studied you, obviously. I am your nemesis, I need to know everything about you. You won't walk to a location of interest if it is not within .6 miles of your home. Locations greater than that distance will spur you to take public transportation, as you do not have a lisence having failed your driving text 4 separate times."

"... Okay, but how did you study me? How do you know I failed my driving tests?!"

"I have sources, of course. Your last driving attempt was on November 6th, which coincided with you and I having a little spat which ended when my beloved ray gun malfunctioned."

"You remember that?"

"Anyway! You have exactly one bus stop near you, where only ONE bus comes by- it's the 36, by the way- and you now have to take THAT BUS with ME every WEDNESDAY MORNING!"

"Just, ask me out like a normal person?"

"You... What now?"

You are a supervillain. You've discovered where your hero nemesis lives, works, and relaxes. However, you follow the code so you'd never attack them. Doesn't mean you can't change the city slightly to annoy them.

[askthehedgehogs]

CALLING ALL PHOTOGRAPHERS!*

Do YOU have a camera**? Are you coming to Wedding 2.0 on July 12th?

Great! We need more photographers!

Obviously Ames has a pro lined up for the big day to capture the real important stuff (me and Shads looking handsome), but since we’re expecting a LOT of guests, we figured the more the merrier! We wanna make sure we get photos of all the guests~

So yeah, if you take any nice shots of wedding guests, send ‘em in! You’ll get a slice of wedding cake*** for your contributions.

See ya there!

*artists

**art supplies

***the cake is a lie

More info below 👇

[Hello hello, mod here! Wedding 2.0 is one week away (eek) and I thought I might throw kind of a fun drawing challenge out there? No obligation to take part of course but this is your chance to have your favourite characters/OCs/‘sonas/self inserts be at the wedding!

GUIDELINES:

- You have from now until the 12th of July to send in your “photos” of the wedding guests! You can submit them here! You can also post them on your blogs and tag me if you prefer

- I’ll be posting them probably the day after the wedding (Sunday)

- You can draw, paint, animate, take photos of plushies/figures, whatever! Have fun with it! Whatever you think about your skill level, this is for fun and we wanna see what you make so don't worry about that!

- It’d be great to get a wide variety of characters, so here’s a list of who I will be drawing/who has a bigger part to play in the wedding (not to say you can’t draw these characters as well, but just so you know they’ll be covered and may have specific outfits/roles set out for them in the fic already):

-> Sonic (obv)

-> Shadow (duh)

-> Amy

-> Tails

-> Rouge

-> Cream

-> Knuckles

-> Omega

-> Darkness (the cat)

- OCs, mobian sonas, self inserts etc are also encouraged! Whoever you wanna see at the wedding!

- Anyone else is fair game (apart from Eggman or anyone who would certainly cause huge chaos… like, no Infinite or anyone who’ll actively ruin everything. Jet isn’t invited but he’s allowed to crash if he does minimal damage haha. If you’re not sure you can ask 😅

- Reminder that Classic Sonic and Classic Shadow will be there too 👀 wonder what they’ll get up to?

Anyway, only take part if you want to! This is just for funsies as I thought it’d be nice to share peoples’ fanart 😊

See you at the wedding!

Mod 💜]

[desceros]

ao3 is down and i want to write but i can't decide what so i'm coping with a quick soft leo leonardo/reader; gn reader; rated m. mentions of sex, brief allusion to an attempted drugging

That night, sixteen, twenty four hours before your first prom, you kiss Leo for the first time. 

“For practice,” you say sternly. “I can’t have my first kiss be with him.” 

“Why not?” Leo asks, obviously curious why you’re keeping something from your prom date like this. “Isn’t that exactly what prom’s for? What he’s for?”

“I want to be good at it,” you tell him. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“But it’s okay if you mess up with me?” His brow ridge shoot up, causing you to roll your eyes and scoff. 

“Duh. You’re my best friend. Who cares if it sucks with you.” 

“Right. Totally makes sense,” Leo says, easily grabbing your chin between two fingers and leaning in.

It sucks, because it’s your first kiss—and, as far as you know, his too. A quick peck at first, not really accomplishing anything. Then a second one when you huffed in frustration, a third to try and line it up right, then a fourth once you mostly figure it out and want to see if you could get the whole “melting” thing down right.

By the time prom comes, and you sneak behind the gym to kiss your date, you have no idea which number he’d gotten. Only that he pulls away, dazzled, and you wonder why it doesn’t quite feel as good here as it had in a rail car bedroom.

****

When the time comes for you to go off to college, a new fear strikes you. It’s college. Expectations. 

Twisting your fingers together, you find your best friend and ask. 

“You—I’m sorry, you what?” he coughs, wiping away at the tea that had spluttered out of his mouth when you’d just spit it out. 

“I’m asking you to have sex with me,” you tell him again, straightening your spine. “I don’t want to go to college a virgin.” 

“Who cares about that?” he asks, dropping his comic book on the table next to his bed.

“I do!” you retort sharply, tossing your hands. “I don’t—I don’t want it to be with someone it’s not going to matter to.” 

Leo’s quiet as he studies you. “…It’ll matter with me?” 

“Of course. You’re Leo. My best friend,” you tell him earnestly. “I’ve always done everything with you first. And, y’know, I know you’ll treat me right. So.” 

“…I’ve not exactly done this before either, you know,” he says, gesturing at his face. “Not with this whole situation.”

Scoffing, you fold your arms. “What, like you aren’t hot anyway? Please. And I’ve seen you flirt with a sign post.”

“It was dark, okay!” 

Gingerly, you approach his bed, sitting on the side, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I’m only asking because I trust you. And that’s not to—pressure you or anything. I just—I’d prefer it to be you. Like everything else has.” 

Leo’s silent again. You wait, not looking at him, trying your best not to exude any influence at all. But then, fingers delicately skim the exposed skin of your shoulder to your neck, prompting a gasp as little goosebumps chase the thrill. 

“You sure?” he murmurs, ducking in close, tucking his beak into the crook of your neck from behind. "Because I'll do a really, really good job figuring it out."

Your fingers curl into the bedsheets you helped him pick out. You swallow. You nod. “Y-Yeah. I’m sure.” 

Months later, pulling your clothes back on after your first hookup, sneaking out of the dorm room back to your own, you think back to each orgasm Leo had pulled out of you that night, each gasp, each curl of toes and whimper and beg; so different from the mindless rutting and grunting and panting and sweat that had met you tonight.

****

The first time your girlfriend asks you to move in with her, it’s a bit of a red flag when your first thought is I need to ask Leo. 

She’s been kind of hinting at it, you realize, sitting at the little table in your apartment, staring at her pretty hand clasped in yours. We do so well together. Man the trip here is so awful. Your decor feels like home. When is your lease up?

Nausea billows as you realize that you’re in unfamiliar waters. Then, when your phone rings and you see Leo’s face on the screen, relief is a tangible spill of heat from your scalp to your soles. 

“Sorry, I—I need to get this,” you tell her, pulling your hand out of hers to reach for your phone. 

Her nose wrinkles. “Now? We’re kind of having an important discussion?”

“It’s Leo,” you tell her. It should be answer enough. 

Apparently, it is. But not for the question you think she’s asking. 

Two weeks later, the first time you're dumped by a long-term partner, it’s Leo’s shoulder that bears your tears, his hands that rub your back, his hushed hums that calm your hiccups. 

“Fuck her. She didn’t know what she had,” he tells you, his red crescent cheek pressed hard to your temple so you can’t see his face. “How lucky she was.”

****

The first time you get blackout drunk, it’s Leo’s bed where you wake. 

He pets your crown, rubs between your shoulder blades as you puke into his trash can, plays old Jupiter Jim reruns the both of you know by heart while handing you crackers to try and keep down. 

“You okay?” he asks, seeming more tender than you expect. Fragile, almost. Almost like he’s spun glass.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice but a croak. “I didn’t think I drank that much.” 

“You didn’t,” Leo says, petting you, nuzzling you, bracketing you in like the brick walls of a dragon-kept castle. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened. I made sure of it.” 

A few weeks later, when you return to that bar and the bartender apologizes profusely and promises next time the staff will watch your drink more carefully before handing it to you, that the guy in question was fired on the spot, you sip a coke instead and sit at the bar, staring at the rainbow collection of bottles, remembering, one by one, every pensive thought stained blue. 

****

The first time your heart clings to the lining of your throat, you’re looking at Leo. 

He does this, sometimes, when he’s goofing off with you. A little bit of roughhousing, like the two of you are still little kids throwing sand at each other on the playground again. 

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asks, caging you in against the wall, forcing your chin to tilt, up up up, so you can meet his eyes. 

Oh, fuck. Since when has he been so… big?

“You okay?” he asks when you don’t respond, immediately dropping the act, checking in, putting his hands on your shoulders. “You’re kind of tense.”

“Great!” you manage to squeak, a pathetic excuse of a thing since your lungs aren’t quite cooperating and you can’t breathe.

Hours later, vibrator in hand, you come, over and over and over and over, each one imbued with all of the pieces of him that you’ve carried your life; the way he tastes, how his cock feels inside you, the warmth of his hugs, the ferocity of his protection, the enduring of his affection. On and on and on, until you’re sobbing into your pillow, not sure if it’s from the overstimulation or from the awareness that it will never, ever, be the same. 

****

The first time you say it, it’s to Leo. 

Because of course it is. It’s always been Leo, you think, smiling when he drops his water flask and it makes a mess on the gym floor. All of your firsts, all of them, have always been him. You should have known this was how it was going to end up. 

“S… Say that again,” he tells you, turning around, a cross between a predator before his prey and a priest before his rapture.

“It won’t be the first time again if I do,” you say, teasing, tilting your head a little, not even a little bit worried about it. It’s Leo. Your best friend. You know how this is going to go.

His jaw goes tight. Two steps, and he’s close, a hand in the small of your back, pulling you into his plastron tight, like he’s not ever going to let you go. 

“And what,” he grits, teeth sharp and flashing white, “makes you think I’m going to let you tell that to anyone else?”

Laughing, feeling like your chest is filled with bells, you rest your hands on his biceps where they’re curled around you. Sounds good to you.

****

The first time you can’t fall asleep because you’re staring, entranced, at your lover, it’s with Leo. 

The moonlight is streaking into your apartment perfectly, cascading on his skin, highlighting all the little valleys and mountains that delight your fingertips every time you touch him. His crescents almost seem to glow, inviting your fingers to trace their shape—but you don’t. Not now, when he’s finally asleep now that you’ve finally fucked his insane stamina out of him. 

Quietly, carefully, you lean in and press your lips to his pulse in his throat. And then you groan, because instantly, sleep-heavy hands cup your nape, pulling you close. 

“Damn it,” you huff, pressing a smile to his skin, savoring the churr that echoes through you like a far-off promise of thunder. The kisses, soon to be raining down onto you, the storm clouds in his eyes, the electric lightning of his touch. Soon. 

“Didn’t mean t’sleep,” he slurs, sliding his thigh between yours, pressing it high where you’re leaking with him still, sensitive, satiated yet still hungry. 

“You need it,” you tell him, putting your hands on his shoulders. You mean sleep.

“Hell yeah I do,” he responds, rolling, crushing you beneath his weight. He doesn’t.

Hours later, you wake, aching all over in the best possible way, to the sun in your eyes. 

It’s the first day of the rest of your life, you think, shimmering from the inside. Rolling over, pressing a honey-sweet kiss and tasting an old, familiar smile, you share it first, like you plan for all the rest of them, with Leo.

[supernaturaldoll]

Dating Dean Winchester Moodboard/Headcannons:

(sfw and nsfw)

!!warnings: sexual content ,switch!dean ,praise kink!!

SFW:

𖦹 Dean Winchester loves watching you sleep, not out of perversion ,but because he finds you beautiful when completely relaxed. Dean loves the fact the hunting life calls for such long roadtrips. The gentle hum of the car and the swaying road always soothes you to sleep. You take off your shoes for added comfort, your feet often ending up in Dean's lap. He tenderly rubs your feet, admiring the lace of your socks. dean ends up swerving,caught in distraction, captivated by the rise and fall of your chest and the soft snoring escaping your parted lips. you find it embarrassing,he adores it. he adores you

𖦹 Dean Winchester LIVES FOR physical touch. His hand always is on your waist or in the back pocket of your jeans. when he drives ,his hand clings to your thigh ,kneading the plush skin. when you lay in bed next to him,he’ll rub your shoulders and back until you fall asleep. you wake up with his thick,heavy arm slung over your waist. every time you try to get up he drags you back and groans “just five more minutes,let me enjoy this baby”

𖦹 Dean Winchester enjoys bickering with you just to see you all riled up. He finds it endearing the way your fists clench at your sides, your attempts to get in his face despite being shorter,those expressive faces and little huffs you make are all too cute. You stomp off,rolling your pretty eyes and it only makes him want to tease you more. He hates to see you go, but fuck he can't deny he enjoys the view as you walk away (wink, wink).

𖦹 Dean Winchester is definitely a yapper, sharing stories and obscure references that only you fully understand. You listen attentively, nodding and meeting his gaze with your large, wide-eyed expression. Softly, you occasionally add a 'yeah' to show your interest, or ask, 'What happened next?' No one has ever genuinely engaged with him like you do. Others may have dismissed him as a high school dropout, but you make him feel valued and appreciated. When he makes a niche reference on hunts that no one else seems to understand,you’ll softly giggle to yourself. dammit does it warms his heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

NSFW:

𖦹Dean Winchester is 100% A SWITCH. When you first got together,he was always on top. He’d spend forever inbetween your legs,making sure you finished at least twice before his pants came off. but one night after a long hunt you got back to the motel and hopped in the shower together. he was obviously very tense so you offered to wash his hair. you softly scrubbed his scalp and he just leanneedddd into your touch. you slowly snaked your hand around to the front of him. he tried to turn around to focus on you but you whispered

“no baby,just be a good boy for me ‘kay?”

you started to softly stroke him and fuck did he just melt into your hands. dean finished fast,whimpering your name as he shot his thick load into your hand. nowadays,you both take turns,usually switching multiple times in a night. dean says he prefers being ontop ,but the way he grips the sheets obviously holding himself back from prematurely cumming in your warm tight hole,sucking and nibbling at your tits as they bounce infront of his face,whimpering and begging for you to let him cum,yeah makes you think otherwise. he’ll never admit it though.

𖦹 Like i said,dean winchester reallyyy does live for physical touch. He’ll have you in doggy style,his arms wrapped around your stomach and his sweaty chest flush against your back as his hips grind into you. “you like that? you like feeling all of me? i know you do” and when he leans back to drive into you,both of his big calloused hands will be sprawled across your back,forcing you into a deeper arch. He’ll lay you on your side and fuck you slowly,you use his thick bicep as a pillow while his other hand is inbetween your legs lazily rubbing your bundle of nerves. he kisses all along your neck and shoulders,occasionally dragging his teeth just to make you shiver. He’ll put you in missionary and press your chests together while sloppily making out with you. His fingertips dig into your hips ,and you both know it will leave marks, which is a good segway intoooo

𖦹Dean winchester LOVES marking you up. he’ll leave marks anywhere he can. on your neck,your tits,your stomach,your thighs,your shoulders,ANYWHERE. you’ll be just chilling watching a movie together and his lips will latch onto your neck lightly sucking. “dean!” you squeal and giggle “it tickles!!” he’ll smirk into your neck,only pulling back slightly “shh baby,the others are fading. i gotta make sure people know who you belong to” he leans back into your neck,nibbling and sucking harder. you whimper lightly “yeahhh there’s my girl”

𖦹Dean Winchester adores the noises you make. he’ll try anything to get you to be more vocal. he’ll play with your nipples,softly run his hands up and down your body, tickle you, knead your thighs and ass ,spank you occasionally,lean into your ear and whisper

“come on baby,tell me how good it feels”.

“fuck i love this pretty pussy”

“you feel how deep i am?”

“you’re so fucking beautiful”

“just let go for me”

and when you finally do get vocal he goes crazyyyy.

“yes! dean mmhp fuck! yes! yes!”

“yeah? yeah? he punctuates his words with hard ,deep strokes “yeah baby tell me alllll about how good i’m fucking you.”

[totallybelova]

First Time || Headcanons !

a/n: This includes Wanda, Natasha, Yelena and Kate only, sorry, if you have any hc suggestions send them into my inbox and I’ll see what I can do, only Wanda, Nat, Yelena or Kate are accepted!

NSFW CONTENT! MINORS DNI ! MEN DNI. THIS IS WLW!

Yelena Belova

Yelena would totally be very gentle, like extremely gentle and terrified of somehow hurting you,

I feel like she’d opt for external pleasure, not inserting anything. So, no straps, no fingering etc. She’s focused on stimulating the outside as much as possible, mainly with her hand so she can keep her eyes on you,

She’d be constantly looking at you, at your face, one because she likes seeing you enjoying yourself and two just to make sure you’re comfortable, she’d be studying your facial micro expressions. + At the start she asked you so so so many times if you’re sure, because she doesn’t want to scare you off or pressure you or anything

As in for Aftercare she’d bring you anything you need. Water? She’s sprinting to get you some from the kitchen. A blanket? Done. No blanket? Also done.

For more NSFW headcanons she is a switch, who mainly bottoms, but she’s usually the one guiding you, unless you want to, she’s definitely open to suggestions.

Natasha Romanoff

Natasha would be gentle and slow, though she’d seek reassurance more in words, she would constantly check on you, ask how whatever she’s doing feels,

She would go more for fingering, and your foreplay would be longgg, just her trying things out, seeing how you like to be touched and making mental notes of it,

For Aftercare she’d praise a lot, purring all sorts of compliments into your ear, her hands still glued to your body, gently massaging your belly,

Natasha is a switch, who prefers to dominate, she doesn’t have to be a top always, though she prefers it, she’s still a bit hesitant on receiving during sex, cause she doesn’t often feel up to it at all. So she mainly is a dom!top, but can definitely be a sub!top too. I just see her being a top mainly.

Wanda Maximoff

Wanda would be a bit more fierce, very excited to pleasure you, obviously all within boundaries,

She’d prefer to eat you out, cherishing each whimper and noise like a reward, also boob worship, so much boob worship, she just loves boobs ok? let a girl love a good tit. She’d touch them a lot, her hands still glued naturally returning back to playing with your nipples or just resting there.

For Aftercare Wanda would definitely need a moment to rest, just on your own, next to each other, the hear radiating off of your bodies that are not touching but it certainly feels like they are. After she took a moment to rest she’d ask you if you liked it and if she was good,

Wanda is a sub, but a top, she can definitely change it around here and there, but she’s a whore for some praise. praise kink? definitely.

Kate Bishop

Kate would be very confident in herself, very cocky, but at the same time it would be a very fun goofy moment between you two.

She would go for fingering too, probably on a table, kitchen counter or something, alternatively thigh riding. That is her jam.

For Aftercare I think she’d love some resting together, her playing with your hair as you calmed down, her dom demeanour totally gone and she’s a big old silly softie again.

Kate is a switch, who tends to lean into a dom!top kinda vibe, she has days where she just needs you to eat her out, but she still doms just as a bottom.

[definitionoffernweh]

The Thunderbolts slander not as criticism for the movie but as just shitting on these characters for going by the Avengers name is crazy! Putting the OG 6 on a pedestal is also crazy. Blind hero worshipping has never been good for anyone lmao and after watching TFATWS I feel like Sam would agree.

Natasha went through with murdering an innocent child in order to kill Dreykov (which didn't work btw) and Thor is a 1500+ year old God who actively committed genocide against other races/species for his empire or whatever they would be called. Both Steve and Walker took some drastic ass measures in response to how others were treating their best friends. There's a whole show the MCU made about Clint repeatedly saying (and proving) in the viewer's face that he was made to be a weapon and Kate repeatedly saying (and proving) that he's still a Hero because he tries to do the good thing despite all that. If Clint was allowed to have his pre-Thunderbolts redemption, then the New Avengers can as well.

Also I don't understand the discourse between some BNW fans and Thunderbolt fans. I understand the racial stuff that was being said but I don't get why everyone is fighting each other over it?? If anything, Valentina alone should be getting shit on and not the team/fans of Thunderbolt themselves. SHE publicly named them the Avengers.

I'm not gonna fault the ragtag group of losers with no support system for staying in a nice house, probably being paid and having immediate access to food and medicine. Bonus points they get to prove to the world that they aren't villains so 🤷

Though this leads into me being confused about Sam's angle with the copyright. Hopefully it's explained in Doomsday but I'm trying to put an idea together that's in character for him because it seems OOC with the limited info we have. I can only think it's directed toward Valentina specifically and Bucky & his team are just caught in the crossfire (obviously Sam and Bucky fight a lot so that's not too surprising).

Also I prefer the name Thunderbolts but we can have multiple groups who go by the Avengers. That's a thing the comics already do.

People acting like the New Avengers are evil incarnate whilst pretending the og team were paragons of virtue is hilarious to me.

Like you don't get to be all outraged about Alexei being a "child trafficker" whilst ignoring how Wanda slaughtered an entire temple full of teenage magic acolytes & tried to kill another teenager all in an attempt to kidnap the childen of her variant.

You don't get to condemn Walker for "killing an innocent man" to avenge the murder of his best friend, but also be fine with how Tony tried to brutally murder Bucky despite (and shot him in the back) knowing he was mind- controlled.

You don't have a right to complain about Yelena "continuing to kill after she was freed" and yet make excuses for Clint having gone on the rampage as Ronin and killed hundreds of people during The Snap.

The people condemning the Thunderbolts don't have the moral high ground here. They're just revealing themselves to be hypocrites.

[womenlover0]

-ˏˋChapter IIˊˎ

Prologue , Chapter I

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Ten months after Jerry’s death, you and Abby navigate grief, war, and the quiet ache of things left unsaid. A shared moment in the kennel turns into something deeper - something you've both buried for too long. But just when it feels safe to want again, everything unravels. And this time, she’s the one walking away.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), grief, trauma, injury, mild language.

: ̗̀➛ Note: Back again with another chapter y'all and this time I deliver some spice. First time writing smut but I TRIED OKAY??? Cut a girl some slack pls. Anyways enjoy pookies ily. Abby come home the kids miss you.

: ̗̀➛ Word count: 4.2k

SoundView stadium, the headquarters of the Washington Liberation Front, was buzzing with activity. Each person walking with purpose. Yours, as always, was with the animals. The years of practising and shadowing Jerry paid off, now you get to do what you love the most. Even if it never felt quite the same without him.

Your heart clenches at the thought. 

Ten months.

Ten months since the killing of Jerry.

Ten months since the disbandment of The Fireflies.

Nine months since joining the WLF – not out of belief, out of necessity.

And somewhere in those months, something shifted between you and Abby. Nothing was said, it never is, but the space between you started to feel different. Charged. You caught her looking at you sometimes. Not always. Not obviously. But enough for you to notice. Her eyes lingered a moment too long when you passed her in the hall. She looked away when you met her gaze, jaw set, like she was angry at herself for something.

You never brought it up.

Maybe she was grieving. Maybe that was all it was.

But sometimes you remembered how her shoulders relaxed when she was around the animals. How she used to lean just a little closer when you laughed.

You tried not to read into it.

But lately, it was getting harder not to.

You shake your head softly, trying to shake off the depressing thoughts, mood now dampened. You reach the wooden door to the medical kennel, tucked underneath the east bleachers of the stadium. Half vet clinic, half refuge. You open the door and the familiar scent hits you. The space smelled of old wood, wet dogs and antiseptics - a now familiar and comforting smell in a world where comfort was rare. Makeshift beds were laid in each stall; folded blankets, torn shirts or even foam from some old mattress. Supplies were stacked in old milk crates sitting along the concrete wall - jars of salve, syringes, portions of kibble.

It was mostly quiet. Just the thud of wagging tails and occasionally the soft scraping of paws on cement. You preferred it this way, tucked between warmth and responsibility, where grief could sit without needing to speak. You approach the closest stall, fingers curling around the wired gate. The hinges creak as you pull it open, the familiar sound echoing softly beneath the bleachers. 

“Hi sweet girl.” you murmur, crouching down as Alice approaches you with a limp. Her tail thumps on the floor as she sits in front of you, liking your hand. Your hands are placed on both sides of her face, fingernails scratching behind her ears. Her favorite spot. 

“You missed me?” you whisper to her softly. Her tail wags faster, she nudges her nose to your cheek before licking it. You giggle, your cheek now wet with dog slobber. 

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

You proceed with your routine check up. Your hands move on muscle memory – antiseptic, gauze, gentle words. Your mind drifts as you work, giving Alice occasional head pats and treats. 

“She likes you.” A familiar voice slices through the silence. You don’t need to turn to see who it is.

“Dogs like anyone with treats.” you murmur as you wrap the last bit of the gauze around Alice’s paw. 

Abby chuckles, that low, familiar sound that makes your chest tighten. 

“You’re not wrong,” she says. Then, softer: “But she really likes you.”

You finally meet her eyes. She looks…tired. Worn. The dim light of the kennel reflects off the slight sheen of sweat on her body. She must have returned from patrol. More muscle is on her frame, more than ten months ago. Not only has the death of her father changed her but the war against The Seraphites too. Jerry wasn’t the only one who died that night, Abby’s compass on what's right died with him. 

There is something unreadable in her expression. Not cold exactly…but guarded. Like she built up walls in your absence and isn’t sure you’re allowed behind them anymore. 

You stand slowly, brushing off your pants. “Long patrol?” you ask, voice soft. 

She nods. Says nothing. Just moves to the nearest crate of supplies, sorting through the gauze and antiseptics like it's easier than a conversation.

You watch the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw ticks as she pulls out a roll of bandages. You wonder if she's hurt, or if the wound now runs deeper than skin. 

So you tried again, “How bad was it?” you ask while approaching her, taking the roll out of her hand. 

“Same shit.” she answers curtly. You nod, eyes raking over her figure.

You spot a deep cut on her forearm, the bleeding seemed to have stopped, blood crusting along the edges, but it doesn’t look any less painful. You wrap your arm around her bicep, which flexes under your hand, and drag her to one of the work benches. You pull out a bottle of antiseptic, a clean cloth and sutures. You’ve stitched up many animals before, a human is no different, right? Minus the fur. You clean off the wound, emitting a quiet hiss from Abby. As you prepare the sutures on the table Abby doesn’t take her eyes off the floor, moving side by side on the rotating stool in front of you. 

“I heard about sector 7,” you break the silence, “About the ambush.”

She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes holding a distant look as she sighs, “Yeah, we lost two.”

You nod quietly while taking her forearm in your hand, ready to stitch it up. The silence stretches on as you work, not awkward, just tense with unspoken words. You finish up quickly, wrapping the bandage securely around the newly stitched wound. 

“Make sure to clean it twice a day. And change bandages regularly” you say as you hand her a fresh roll of bandages. 

She takes them with a nod, still silent.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

No response. You’ve grown used to Abby's occasional silence these past 10 months. Losing her father has not been easy for her, her guard up as a coping mechanism. It’s not the first time she has shut you out, but you’ve learnt that Abby doesn’t want to be alone in those moments. The fragile and quiet ones. 

So you stand in front of her patiently. And then, she lets her body fall forward. Her forehead landing on your stomach, resting. Your hands instinctively land on her shoulders, rubbing them with tender care. Her muscles slowly relax under your touch. And you stand there for however long she needs. 

Just you and her. 

—

You walk through the hallways of the stadium, Abby’s hand in yours. Her hand is cold, in contrast to yours. You don’t recall how long you stood in the kennel, your back strained by the end of it. Abby walks a pace behind, you squeeze her hand while looking at her past your shoulder. Her head is held higher than before, her spirits lifted just slightly.

When you reach Abby and Manny’s shared room, room 203, you dig for the spare key in your pocket. When your group - now dubbed the “Salt lake crew”, joined the WLF you and Abby got separate rooms, to much disdain. 

As you enter the cluttered space you see no signs of Manny, he must be hanging around the mess halls. Abby takes a seat on her twin sized bunk bed, swinging her backpack off her shoulder and onto the floor with a thump. She lets out a deep sigh as she lays down on her back, staring idly at the bottom of the top bunk. 

Something more must have happened on that patrol. Going on patrol has its risks, everyone knows that. Losing a few is a given in the world you live in, death is almost always a certainty. Abby has seen it first hand many times during your ten months as Wolves, so why is it different this time? So heavy on her? Is it all catching up to her? Seeing her like this leaves a heavy feeling in your chest. 

You pull out a book from your bag. A book you’ve seen Abby read many times before. 

‘Circe’  

A book you distinctly remember her rereading once, sitting beside you while you studied.

You were sitting in a lab late at night, more than halfway through the pile of documents Jerry had found for you in an abandoned clinic. Your back was aching from the hunched over position, your hand cramping from the constant scribbling of notes. Abby sits quietly beside you, nose deep in her book, as per usual. You pause your scribbling for a second to study her. Her eyebrows are furrowed with concentration, her back slightly hunched as she reads, a tiny smile on her lips. A sight you might never grow tired of.  

“You seem awfully invested in that book.” you ask jokingly yet quiet, not trying to startle her.

“Hm?” she hums, eyebrows raised and head turning towards you, yet her eyes never leave the page. Too captivated by the story to look at you. 

You snicker quietly, tapping her on the cheek with your pencil, “Hello? I’m not talking to myself here.” 

She finally meets your eyes. Blue, bright with something playful. You could drown in those eyes. 

“What are you reading?” you ask. 

“Circe.” she says softly while showing the cover.

“Tell me about it.”

She’s shy at first, explains in a very gentle manner, choosing her words carefully as if trying not to bore you, “It’s…it’s kind of beautiful, in a brutal way. Circe loses everything - her family, her name, her place in the world.” she pauses “But she builds something for herself out of nothing.” she says more confidently this time, having found her voice. “People fear her, or want to control her, but she keeps choosing herself. Even when it hurts.” 

She glances up to meet your eyes, before quickly glancing down again, voice softer. “Sometimes it’s not about being the hero. It’s about surviving long enough to stop running from who you really are.” she finishes with a soft smile on her lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest, eyes softening and cheeks warming. She has talked about this book many times, never any less enthusiastic or passionate. You’ll never grow tired of it, that's for sure. 

She looks at you, really looks at you. Her eyes wander to your lips, like a magnetic pull. Your eyes scans every feature of her face - her freckles, her flushed cheeks, her lips - you can’t help it. Like there is some invisible force between you, your bodies gravitate closer to each other. Lips brushing slightly, barely touching. Your eyes meet once again before closing them and the distance. Her lips cracked yet soft on your own. The kiss deepens slowly, like the two of you are afraid to break whatever fragile thing has blossomed between your ribs. 

Her hands find your waist, tentative at first, then firmer, grounding herself in you like she needs proof that this moment is real. 

There was no rush, no desperation. Just the quiet understanding of two people who have danced around this for far too long.

When you finally part, foreheads still touching, her breath lingers on your skin. Neither of you speak at first. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s heavy. Heavy with meaning.

Her eyes search yours for any sign of regret. Like she's bracing for you to pull away.

But you don’t.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” the confession slipping past your lips before you know it. 

A faint smile thugs at her lips, shy but real. “Me too.”

For a moment there's peace. No duties. No fireflies. No war.

Just her.

Just you.

Just this.

The kiss was never brought up again, not a single word spoken about it. That same week, Jerry was murdered. The Salt lake crew fled from the St. Mary’s hospital, in search of something new. Abby’s entire life was left behind - her father, her future, her quiet little habits. Including her favorite book. 

You’ve seen how much it meant for her. How she would trace underlines with her fingers, mouthing the lines to herself like scriptures. It was the one time she looked calm. Not driven, not hard, just…at peace.

So when she left it behind, you noticed.

Ten months later, everything's changed. The WLF base is your new home, the war against The Seraphites a constant hum in the background. Abby has muscle now. Sharper edges. She walks like she’s made of stone.

And still, you have the book.

It’s not her old copy, that one's gone. But after months of digging through trading routes, border towns and ration exchanges, you found another. Not pristine. Not perfect. But the same story. 

You’ve kept it tucked away all this time, waiting for a version of her that might not exist anymore.

And today, watching her at the kennel, sweat lining her eyebrows, jaw clenched like she's running from ghosts, you wonder if it’s time. Or if it’s already too late. 

You glance at Abby while rummaging through your backpack, laid out on her back, one arm behind her head, the other resting on her stomach. Eyes now closed, yet eyebrows still furrowed. You feel your hand graze the cloth wrapped book at the bottom of your heavy pack. You pull it out carefully, and unwrap the cloth. You hold the book behind your back as you walk towards Abby’s bunk, practically floating across the room with how quiet you are. 

You sit on the edge of the small mattress, the foam sinking from your weight. You observe Abby for a moment, more like admire. You place your unoccupied hand on hers, wrapping your fingers around it. The other still holds the book out of sight. Abby’s hand squeezes your back quickly, as if it’s instinct. She opens her eyes and stares at you, blinking softly, her long lashes brushing her cheeks. 

“I have a little something for you.” you whisper.

“What?” she questions, exhaustion lacing her tone.

You smile and reveal the book to her. 

It takes her a few seconds for it to register in her head, eyes flickering over the book cover. When it does her eyes widen and she shoots up from her laying position, hitting her head into the top bunk emitting a loud ‘thump’. She’s quick to grab her head in pain, eyes clenched shut as she hisses a quiet, “Ow, fuck.” 

She recovers just as quick and grabs the book from your hand. She holds it with both hands, fingers tracing the cover oh so gently. You see different emotions flash in her eyes all at once. 

Excitement.

Sadness.

Confusion.

Gratitude.

Guilt. 

Grief.

You see her eyes brim with tears. Regret seeps into you. Fuck, was this a bad time? Maybe this was too much, too soon. Your hand, slightly trembling, reaches out to hold hers but stops mid air. 

“Abs-” you exhale. Your eyes closing for a second, searching for the right words. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you but I never found the right time so I thought -” Abby interrupts your rambling by taking your hand in hers, book placed to the side. Your eyes meet hers, still brimmed with tears.  You try to read her face, to find any signs of anger or resentment. You find nothing of the sort. You find quite the opposite. The ends of her eyebrows are curled upwards in that unmistakable way - not out of anger or resentment, but out of pure ache. Her eyes, while still glistening with tears, are full of love. The kind of love that aches - heavy with everything left unsaid but deeply, unmistakably there. Her hand squeezes yours as she pulls you closer, pulse quickening under her touch.   

You let her - you let yourself get pulled like a tide giving way to gravity. Your foreheads meet first, a soft touch of skin and breath. Her free hand ghosts your jaw, rough fingers trembling yet steady as if trying to memorise your shape. Your heart races and suddenly you are hyperaware of every touch. Her hand in yours, squeezing in a comforting manner. Her fingers grazing your face, sending chills down your spine. Her knees brushing yours as you now sit facing each other, eye contact never breaking, breath shuddering. 

Her face relaxes as she closes her eyes. She sighs before whispering, “You have no idea how much this means to me.” She opens her eyes again, her blue, sharp - yet soft eyes meet yours. This time you don’t only see love, you see longing - lust even, as if something has shifted in her. Your breath picks up, clashing with hers. You feel an invisible force slowly pull you closer, lips brushing each other. “You know I care about you Abs.” you whisper back gently, trying not to break whatever is building between you. She stays silent. Her eyes study your face then drops to your lips, the invisible force almost impossible to ignore. She breaks the silence gently, “Tell me you want this…” she says breathlessly, “Please tell me you want this…” she continues. 

Without saying a word, you break the distance between you. Her lips are dry yet soft against yours as they mold together. Her hand cradles your jaw gently as you grip the front of her shirt, as if holding on to a dream about to slip away. The kiss starts off slow and unsure - not awkward in a sense - just careful, but as time goes the kiss grows more heated, more desperate, more confident. Abby’s free hand grips your waist gently - pulling you closer with a new sense of urgency. You let go of her shirt and with a new surge of confidence - or maybe adrenaline - you break the kiss to carefully straddle her lap, never breaking eye contact. A soft whimper leaves Abby’s lips as her hands fall on your waist, her pupils blown wide and mouth slightly parted. The desperation hangs in the air, heavy like fog. And without uttering a word your lips mold against each others yet again, tongues wrestling with a sense of uncertainty yet boldness. 

Abby grows more confident, her hands travel down your waist and underneath your shirt, searching for more skin contact. Your skin burns under her touch - her hands are rough and calloused from hard training, yet her touch is soft against your skin. The once lingering heat in your core intensifies as the kiss grows sloppy and her touch becomes more desperate. You feel her fingers play with the hem of your shirt, in a shy yet determined way. You slowly pull away from the heated kiss, your lips parting as you both catch your breath. You grip the hem of your shirt - skin burning underneath, and drag it up over your head. Abby’s hands now linger on your hips, twitching with anticipation. 

As you toss your shirt on the floor, you are left straddling Abby’s lap in your sports bra. Your arms are thrown over her shoulders, fingers twirling the fallen curls from her short braid. Your eyes rack over her face. Breath caught in her throat as her eyes stay glued to your chest. Heat creeps up her neck to the apples of her cheeks. Abby’s grip on your hips tighten and her eyes finally meet yours. They are glazed over with unbearing desperation but in that haze you see the softer side of her. The side that cares so deeply for the people she holds dear, the side that shyly loves with her entire soul. You smile softly at her as your breath starts to even out, 

“Holy shit.” you giggle. 

She snorts with a lopsided and nervous smirk before replying: “Yeah…Holy shit.” 

Her grip on your hips loosen as she moves them up to your waist, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your soft skin. Your foreheads touch, noses bumping and lips forming onto each other yet again. This time more certain. The heat in your core amplifies as the slick between your folds soaks your panties. The seam of your jeans gives little to no friction as your desperation grows. You press your weight down onto her lap and - slowly but surely - start to grind, growing needy for friction. 

A low moan crawls its way up your throat, the sensation sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. Abby’s hands tighten around your waist, pulling you flush to her, then moves down to your hips again to guide your movement. She takes control of your hips and moves them in a painfully slow pace, her own hips buckling up to yours, providing just enough friction. Your body shutters from pleasure, lips parting from hers as breathy moans escape your lips. You open your eyes to meet hers, already looking at you. Your face scrunches with pleasure as another, stronger wave of euphoria surges through your body. In a desperate attempt to reach climax you take one of her hands off your hips and guide it to your breast. As her hand latches to the mound of your breast, your hand lays itself on top of hers - giving it a squeeze. Understanding the silent order she massages your breast with one hand and helps you grind your hips with the other. A strangled moan escapes your parted lips as you throw your head back. 

“I’m so close…” you whimper while pushing down on her lap harder. Your breath quickens as you feel your climax approaching, your walls clenching around nothing. Abby’s hand squeezes your breast harder, her breath coming out in pants. Just as your climax approaches you're interrupted by a wolf whistle.

You and Abby react simultaneously, parting like the red sea in a blink of an eye. You both are panting, heat crawling up your faces as you scramble away from each other. Your arms fly up to cover your chest, eyes blown wide and breath coming out erratically. Your heart races as you spot Manny walking down from the loft. Your head whips to Abby, her face is flushed red, her eyebrows furrowed as she follows Manny with her eyes. 

“Woah, didn’t mean to interrupt you guys,” Manny says in a teasing manner, hands up in a surrender, “Sorry about that.” he finishes with a smirk. That bastard. Abby stands up from her bunk to pick up your discarded shirt on the floor. 

“What the hell do you want Manny?” she asks agitated while adjusting your shirt before giving it to you. 

“This is my room too y’know,” he says with that godforbidden smirk on his face. You roll your eyes at the statement while smoothing down your hair and wiping your lips with your sleeve. The unattained climax and the slick in your panties leaving an uncomfortable feeling, yet the heat of it still lingers. 

“Maybe next time lock the door, or maybe put a sock on the handle.” He finishes with a teasing shove to Abby’s shoulder. Abby groans, face still flushed from embarrassment, as she shoves him back, “Fuck off already.”.

He cackles as he turns towards the door to leave, but not without making another teasing remark, “Don’t have too much fun, amigas.” he throws over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Pendejo.” you hear Abby mumble as she readjusts her shirt. As the sound of the door shutting fades, you are left with complete silence, and not the comfortable one. The room feels tense with past actions, with regret. Not from you, from Abby. You feel it before she utters a word. You stand up from her bunk, hesitant to move forward. As you’re about to close the distance, she turns around, but not all the way to face you. Her one arm is held across her torso, the other leaning against it as her hand rubs her forehead. Her body language screams regret, her shoulder tense, spine straight, head dipped forward into her hand. 

Your pulse picks up, and not for the same reason as before. 

“Fuck.” she mumbles to herself. She glances at the floor, eyes refusing to meet yours. 

“We shouldn’t have…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t have to. The words pierce your chest and your breath quivers. Your eyes sting with unshead tears - a lump sits uncomfortable in your throat, making it hard to swallow. Your mind floods with shame. 

Without thinking you reply, “What’s that supposed to mean Abby?” trying to keep your voice steady, unshaken. You rarely call her Abby, it feels unnatural. Only two people in Abby’s life have granted permission to call her ‘Abs’ - you and Jerry, well now only one. Her spine straightens a fraction at the question. 

“I just-” she pauses for a second and sighs, “I can’t afford feeling like that.” she says quietly, eyes still not meeting yours. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, then falters and furrows with confusion. What? So she does feel something towards you. 

“Abs, wha-” you barely finish your sentence as Abby interrupts you, “Just forget it.” she says hastily as she takes brisk steps towards the same door Manny just exited. 

“Abs, wait!” you hurry towards her but she's already halfway through the door as she glances at you past her shoulder. You see her face is drawn in confusion, her eyes filled with regret. Is it regret over what happened between the both of you or regret over leaving you abruptly? You can’t determine as she shuts the door behind her, leaving you with the weight of your questions.

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[tyrestrategist]

I feel like part of the reason I support Lando for WDC instead of Oscar is almost some sort of mental justice system.

Growing up I liked to earn things myself by hardwork paying off and then getting things with time; I'd always hate to see someone just start something and immediately be better than me, it felt humiliating. Like Lando has been in F1 longer and has "earned" (quotes because it's a loaded term) the championship in my mind. His hardwork just shows he "deserves" (again a loaded term) it.

That being said, of course I want the better driver to win and I want to see some top-notch driving from the both of them, and if that is Oscar than I obviously recognize that he is the better driver. I just relate to Lando so much more on a mentality level.

I'd hate for Lando to have to feel humiliated or something because his teammate is better sooner than he was. Like Lando was with McLaren for years before he got his first win while Oscar got his relatively soon. Obviously that is due to the car, but on paper it must be really frustrating for Lando. It really just shows the luck of the sport and how careers can be shaped by so much more than just talent and hard work (which Lando and Oscar both have an abudance of).

Anyway, that is just why I personally am going for Lando. I'm aware it's probably kind of shallow, but it's just this innate, instinctual, raw support, and I can't help but go for him in every race. I actually do love Oscar's personality and racecraft, and he is still one of my favorites.

Thanks for coming to my rant! This is all just my personal preferences and opinion, but I felt the need to articulate it because it really strikes a chord with me beyond just picking a favorite driver and wanting them to win, I guess.