Beauty, Peace, Harmony

May the Force of Inspiration & Love Be With You...Always🦋 (profile pic by @kajotko ; gif by @sistar19)

[uncahier]

[howl224tgeundying]

[4thelovabob]

I Run Hot

Pairing: Boblena (Bob Reynolds x Yelena Belova)

Another summer, another Boblena one-shot born from a spicy heatwave prompt. Featuring thigh riding, hand jobs, and of course ice play.

New York was in the throes of a heatwave, and the AC in the Avengers Tower was broken.

The question was not, in fact, why didn't the power outage seem to affect greater Manhattan? Not, why did it seem specifically isolated to the Tower? Nor was it, why didn't the Tower itself have a high tech backup generator? It did.

No, the question was, who was causing the outage?

Unbeknownst to anyone, including himself, that person was Bob.

Ever since training to "get a handle" on his newly developed powers, Bob had a habit of making things happen with his mind without meaning to. It was a work in progress.

And right now, in this sweltering heat, he didn't really know how to make it cooler.

While the others had left long ago to find their own ways to cool down, ever since he sees Yelena, he can't help it.

She had just woken up from a long nap, her blonde hair damp and mussed, dressed in a pair of black boxers and matching zip up hoodie.

Bob had just woken up from his own slumber, already sprawled on the couch in basketball shorts and a muscle tee, sweat running in rivulets down his body. Sipping lemonade with a straw and reading a book, he's not sure she notices him as she strides into the common room.

"Jesus, it's hot as balls in here," Yelena moans, and with a quick zip begins stripping off the hoodie. The fluid motion reveals a cropped, clingy white tank top. Bob freezes, lowering his book slightly. She's not wearing a bra underneath, judging by the shapely outline of her breasts, and her skin is gleaming with sweat. "Is the ice maker on?"

Bob finally realizes the question is directed at him. Because something very distracting is happening in his shorts. "Oh, uh, I think so, yeah."

Yelena makes a beeline for the freezer, scooping up a handful of ice in her bare palm. She flops on the couch across from him, unflinchingly holding the cool ice cubes to her neck and clavicle with a long sigh.

Bob sucks in a breath, placing a splayed hand on his thigh in front of his tented pants in a way he hopes is discreet. He swallows as Yelena moans again, this time in satisfaction as the melting ice leaves a wet trail between her cleavage.

He tries not to ogle as he glances up from an unread page. He really does. But she doesn't seem to be aware that he's watching, or maybe she doesn't care. She's all too focused on the sweet, cool relief on her skin. Her nipples peak under the fabric of her tank top, and he finds himself licking his lips.

It's that exact moment that Yelena's gaze flickers to him.

"You're the color of borscht, Bob," she says in a husky tone, tilting her head back to allow more of the cold water to drip down her throat and chest. "Are you staying hydrated enough?"

Bob sets his book down, looking at his nearly empty lemonade glass, feeling sweat bead on his brow. "I don't know," he admits. For someone who should be able to regulate his own body temperature easily, it's not coming easily to him now.

Yelena inclines her head. "You have got to get some of this ice, at least," she insists. "In a glass, or on you. Can you die of heatstroke?"

Doubt it, but probably from embarrassment, Bob thinks as he shifts in his seat, wishing away his uncomfortably solid erection. "Um, I'll, I'll take some ice. Looks really nice," he says before thinking. He wants to bite his tongue off.

With her free hand, Yelena slicks back the cropped blonde hair plastered to her forehead, rising to approach him. The partially melted ice cubes in her other hand drip steadily between her fingers. For a moment that feels like forever, she just stands there observing him. He struggles to meet her hazel eyes.

"I can help with that, you know," she says, and her tone has changed to something...different. Smooth, soft as velvet.

"With, uh, the ice?" Bob demurs. God, he can smell her this close. The salt tang of her sweat, a seductive note of diesel-like fragrance, and - if he could dare to believe it - a musky, warm wetness between her thighs.

That just makes him even harder.

"I can help you," she repeats, lower and slower, "with that."

Her gaze trails down his navel, meeting the place where his hand covers his dick. Only then does he understand what a poor job he was doing of hiding it the whole time. Because, well, it's huge.

Yelena's eyes meet his. Her mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something else, but she waits for him.

"Ohh, I..." The moan that emerges from him feels obscene. Sweat rolls down his face now, as he struggles to form words. "Yes, Yelena. Yes, fuck. Please."

"Take off your shirt," she murmurs at once.

Bob obliges without question, rolling the fabric over his head, freeing his toned arms. His body laid bare is slick with sweat, and he's shocked to see her staring unashamedly at his physique. Drinking in his broad chest, taut abs, and the trail of hair leading to the edge of his boxers.

She moves in closer, bending down so her breasts are at eye level. Holds out the ice, watching it drip cool droplets on his naked skin. "Feel good?"

"So good," he says through a tight throat, aching.

Yelena stops teasing, then. Leans over him, sliding the ice down the length of his torso, then back up to his neck. Bob lets out another moan, and he catches her smile out of the corner of his eye.

"How long have you wanted me?" she whispers against the shell of his ear.

"Since we met," he manages, his cock straining to be free from his shorts. "God, since I barely touched you."

The ice fully melted now, Yelena slides her cool hand down, breaching the waistband of his boxers.

"Me too," she exhales, and slips her fingers around his cock.

Bob goes rigid, gasping in pleasure as she palms him, slow and steady. The soft pressure of her fingertips alone is almost too much to take, but then she deftly straddles his thigh, her other hand joining in. Cradling, stroking his balls.

And Bob can feel the slickness of her pussy, pooling on his thigh as - ever so gently - she starts to ride it.

He's about to fucking lose it.

"You can touch me, Bob," she urges him in that deep, accented undertone.

With that permission, Bob's trembling hands find her ribcage, sliding under her shirt until his sweating palms cup her full, supple breasts. Yelena's breath flutters, soft and sensual.

"L-Lena," he rasps through gritted teeth. "You're so..."

She bears down on his length, pumping him in her grip now. "Say it," she commands.

"So gorgeous," he half-slurs, tilting his head back open-mouthed, his pulsing cock practically begging for relief. "So good at this. At everything."

"Good boy." Yelena smiles, savoring every bit of this. Knowing he's close already, and can't last much longer. "Say my name when you come."

At those words, Bob's cock spasms. Waves of pleasure consume him as he writhes under her, coming thick and fast in his shorts, keening her name on his lips over and over.

Yelena gasps, her hips bucking through her own orgasm, letting the friction of his thigh rock against her clit, soaking her panties.

They end up drenched in sweat, breathless and hotter than ever. Staying there for awhile, skin sticky and slick, panting in the intensity of the afterglow. Instinctively, Bob slides his hands around Yelena's hips, holding her there so he can feel her. Dripping just like icemelt on his thigh.

"That was hot as fuck," she says with a chuckle against his neck.

Bob grins in stunned satisfaction, squeezing her. "We're gonna need a lot more ice."

[vanessagillings]

Wanna be my friend?

[beestingfwm]

Happy mohabbot Monday giggling like a child when drawing this

[leahbear30]

jack got home from the night shift early today :)

[falteringstars]

Mohabbot x Princess Diaries 2

Brain has been overflowing with ideas for AUs that I most definitely am not capable of writing (but who knows)

I’ve never read the Princess Diaries books but I really did enjoy Garry Marshall’s take on the series and his addition of Nicholas Devereaux, so it got me thinking:

Imagine our beautiful ER princess Samira as an actual princess who must take on the throne after her grandmother. Unfortunately, that was also when people began to question Samira’s capabilities of ruling without a husband. Having graduated from Harvard with a double degree in Political Science and International Relations, she is much more than “capable.” However, her country is small and comes with rigid laws that nobody ever thought to change and now, Samira is left with the hard decision of having to find a husband.

Enter the charismatic and charming Jack Abbot, a duke from a wealthy family. His cunning uncle has plans to take over country under the guise of wanting his only nephew to be king. Jack and Samira have a flirty encounter before chaos ensues when it is revealed by the press that his family is competing for the throne. A now furious Samira wants nothing to do with the infuriatingly witty and handsome man. Sadly for her, Jack is on a mission to seduce the princess and hopefully break off her arranged engagement to Prince Frank Langdon.

I tried to reimagine that fountain scene with Mia and Nicholas and give my own slight spin to it. Probably a lot of inaccuracies but I wanted to focus on their dynamic because mohabbot!enemies to lovers?? Sign me up 🙏🏻 (Also minor implications of Kingdon just for the sake of the plot)

━━━ 𖤓 ━━━

It is 90°F and Samira Mohan can feel droplets of sweat and perspiration in places that never see the light of the day.

“It’s only a formality kanna. You know how it is. Us royals have an image to upkeep. Now that we’ve let the press in on your engagement to Prince Langdon, we must ensure that the other royals are here for the wedding festivities.” Her grandmother, Queen Vaidehi Mohan, had explained to her after Samira had collapsed dramatically in her chair during tea last week.

Samira thinks this is all bullshit.

Despite it being almost ten years since her royal status was revealed to her barely months before she graduated high school, she could never get over how painfully performative Royals can be with their money, status and lavish lifestyles.

Her mother, Priya Varma, had raised her in a fairly middle class neighborhood in New Jersey. She had never met her father, Prince Kailash Mohan. But she knew him through his handwritten letters. He always made sure to send gifts on her birthdays. He paid for her private school tuition. That’s what good fathers do, right?

When the letters stopped after her 17th birthday, time momentarily stopped for her. She watched her carefully crafted, safety-net backed life plan crumble when she met Vaidehi a week shy of her 18th birthday.

“A princess? Shut. Up.”

She twists the pendant dangling on her neck — the royal family crest with a diamond on the center of it. It almost makes her feel her late father’s presence. The last gift from her father. The last remainder of what she knew of Kailash Mohan.

What would he have said, seeing Samira basically being pawned off to another family just for her very rightful place on the throne? She tried to remember the kindness that emanated from his letters and the pictures in her mother’s photo albums. She wanted to imagine that he would be opposed to all of this. Besides, it isn’t like her non-royal mother has any say in this either. If her own father dared to defy tradition, marry out of love and nearly sacrifice his royal status, why can’t Samira Mohan rule without a man by her side?

Her train of thoughts are interrupted as she watches a shadow loom over her, blocking the harsh rays of sunlight.

“Emma, you know you don’t need to be glued to my side at all times,” Samira chastises gently. The young woman shakes her head, her braids swishing and almost smacking Samira’s shoulder. “I’m your lady in waiting, princess. It’s my job to be your side at all times!”

Isn’t that reassuring, she thinks to herself almost scornfully. She’s got enough eyes on her as it is. She side-eyes her assigned bodyguard Robby and his bodyguard in training, Whitaker. They’re standing a mere few feet away, expressions stoic and barely withering.

“I do have to say, your highness, you look beautiful today.” Emma shyly compliments her. A small smile forms on Samira’s lips. She’s wearing a sage green maxi dress with floral patterns, paired with a floppy hat to match. Not only is it a fashion faux paus, but the designer’s decision to use unconventional material renders it useless and blocks her vision if she isn’t holding it upright.

“She’s right. You really are a sight for sore eyes, princess.”

She freezes. She’d recognize that low, gravelly voice anywhere. She rips her hat off as gracefully as one can, shooting him a fake, exaggerated smile.

“I can’t say the same for you, though. I think you’ve seen better days, Lord Abbot.” A little white lie to throw him off. Annoyingly enough, he looks quite good. His built stature is draped in a tailored beige suit, a flower sticking out his breast pocket.

“Whatever you say, your highness.” His crooked smile shows that he’s unfazed. She resists the urge to stamp her sharp heel onto his foot again.

“Besides, what’re you even doing here? Last I remember, I didn’t send out any invites to aggravating, know-it-all royals with a tendency to lie,” she retorts. He smirks.

“Actually, the queen requested I be here today. It’s royal tradition. I’m sure you know that by now, unless you need to revise etiquette and hospitality. Did they not teach you that at Harvard?” He blinks at her, feigning innocence. “I’m only here to offer my well wishes.”

“You and I know damn well what you’re really up to, Abbot. And I will not fall for your schemes a second time,” she huffs.

“You mean for the third time.”

“What?”

“You remember, don’t you? Our little encounter in the closet—“ Samira slaps a hand over his mouth. Emma eyes them. Jack stifles a laugh behind her clammy palm.

“It was a moment of weakness, okay? I was already feeling on edge about the festivities,” she lamely replies. She swiftly removes her hand from Jack’s mouth.

“Not another word about any of this, Lord Abbot. I’m already on thin ice. People are talking. They think I’m not cut out for this.”

Despite their strange little rivalry, she finds it easy to be honest with Jack. He may be infuriating, but he never judged her. Never reprimanded her unconventional mannerisms and plans for the kingdom. Unlike her inability to be less than formal with her betrothed, Prince Langdon.

“Cut out for what?” A voice cuts through the tense air.

Prince Frank Langdon. His brown hair is brushed out for once instead being trapped under hair gel. Frank is smart, well-read and very handsome. He’s the picture perfect prince. Straight out of a fairytale. But not Samira’s fairytale. He’s a lovely man, but a lingering ache in her heart yearns for something more.

“Nothing, it’s not important,” Samira says. She looks between the two men before realizing this was their first encounter of each other.

“You must be the lucky man. I’m Lord Jack Abbot. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Jack extends his hand to Frank. Samira holds back a scoff. Frank takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Prince Frank Langdon. Pleasure is mine.” He smiles politely at Jack, taking Samira’s hand in his other. She smiles at how Jack’s expression nearly falters at that gesture. However, he quickly straightens up, smug smile taking over.

“Actually, I have somebody I’d like to introduce to you as well.” He gestures to someone behind them, and a young woman appears beside him.

“This is Duchess Melissa King. We worked together briefly during my time on the force. She’s a brilliant scholar and a gifted academic.”

She greets them shyly, fiddling with the hem of her dress’s waistband. “Oh, he’s exaggerating. And just Mel is okay. I’m not a stickler for formalities.”

Melissa looks young, almost around Samira’s age. Her blonde hair is tied into a bun to match the elegance of her midi lilac dress with puffy sleeves. Her gold-rimmed glasses slide down the bridge of her nose before she pushes them back up quickly. Something dark forms in Samira.

“Well, Melissa— sorry, Mel. I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of things, no doubt. In fact, I was just about to mention that Prince Langdon here is doing his residency at Johns Hopkins. Isn’t that right, Frank?” She squeezes his bicep, closing the gap between their sides.

Frank scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, well, I suppose it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve been lucky enough to be supported by my family.” Which is more than what Samira can say about her own.

“Oh, but it is! Don’t be so modest.” Samira nudges him gently, trying to spur Jack. He narrows his eyes at her manicured fingers wrapped around Frank’s bicep.

“Well, Mel here is not only a scholar with a doctorate from Yale, but she’s also served on the royal force while also graciously donating to charities and starting foundations for the betterment of veterans,” Jack states curtly. His hand lowers onto the small of Melissa’s back. Samira can feel that ugly sensation rising slowly to her chest.

She retorts almost aggressively. “Prince Langdon graduated with honors from The University of Pennsylvania while being at the top of his class. His family owns multiple charities and he plans on making STEM education more accessible in our country. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Sweetie? Samira has never called Frank anything besides Prince, Prince Langdon or Frank. She almost cringes. Frank seems to be caught off guard with the new nickname too.

“Right…” he trails off. This conversation is starting to get very awkward. Jack is about to open his mouth before Melissa interrupts him.

“How about we stop talking about each other’s achievements and get to know each other instead? You know, personal interests and all.”

Samira and Jack glare at each other. She pulls away from his steely gaze to look at Frank, who looks perplexed.

“Actually, she might be right. Frank, why don’t you take Mel here and introduce her to your family and my grandmother? I’ll join you in a moment.”

He hesitates for a few seconds before nodding. “Whatever you’d like, Mira. Come find me soon, okay?” She nods back at him, pulling him in for a kiss before letting him go. Frank looks almost shocked at her sudden brazenness. Jack’s jaw tightens.

Jack and Samira watch as Frank guides Melissa away from the palpable tension before Samira shoves her hat in Emma’s hands and storms away towards the royal gardens. She hears heavy footsteps behind her, the smell of pine and musk invading her nostrils seconds before a rough and calloused hand grabs her wrist. She spins around in an instant.

“What do you want, Jack? Can’t you see I would like some privacy?” She gestures towards the maze.

“I think we’ve abandoned all semblance of you needing privacy right now. What was all that about?”

“What was what all about?”

“That whole—” he lets go of her wrist to gesture around wildly, flailing his hands around for dramatic effect. “That whole competitive streak you started there? And don’t even get me started with your lovey-dovey act. You think I wouldn’t catch on to what you’re trying to do?”

Samira scoffs loudly. She folds her arms. “I have no idea what you’re on about. He’s my fiancé. Of course I want everyone to know that he’s brilliant.” She leans into Jack’s proximity, not breaking eye contact. “And that we’re in love.”

That finally stirs the pot. Makes the pot blow up, even. Because now, Jack Abbot feels green with jealousy. He doesn’t try to his suppress his feelings this time.

“Well I call bullshit! This whole act you have going on with Langdon? This engagement and fancy wedding to show how in love you two are? It’s all just a facade. I know how you truly feel, Samira. I’ve spent more time in the same space as you than even he has even getting to know who you really are.”

Now that stirs something warm in Samira. She feels something fluttering in her abdomen. But a hot flash of rage engulfs her almost immediately. She feels exposed.

“YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”

Heads are starting to turn.

“You don’t know what I want, Jack Abbot. I love Frank, and he loves me, period. We’re going to get married in three days whether you like it or not. I have my duties to carry out, and so does he.”

But Jack doesn’t give up. “Is that what you really want, Mira? To be chained down by someone who doesn’t even know you past this royal facade? Or how you like your tea? A relationship built on formalities, devoid of a real connection?”

Samira feels her body go warm. The nickname, the words he says. It feels almost like a confession of some sort. She suppresses those thoughts and attempts to push him away.

“I’m going. And stop following me!” She walks furiously towards the maze. Of course, Jack fails to heed her words. Jack and his stubbornness that rivals Samira’s.

He follows closely behind her. She feels anger building up in her. “Leave me alone, Jack. I won’t tell you again,” she says, gritted.

Once again, all her words are disregarded as he spins around and is pulled against his chest. There it is again, that warm and fluttery feeling. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat and their close proximity.

“Mira,” he rumbles lowly. “Stop trying to run away from this. You can’t deny that there’s something here.”

“I’m not running away. And there’s nothing between us.” But she doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve seen you look at me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. That’s not the look of somebody who loves another.”

“And so what if I do?” Now she pulls away. “It doesn’t mean anything. Stop trying to analyze something that doesn’t exist,” she almost yells.

She makes a dash for the center of the maze, halting at the old stone fountain. Jack appears seconds later, huffing and puffing. “I said stop following—“

Before she can finish her sentence, his large hands engulf her waist and gracefully spin her around before he captures her lips skillfully.

Time stills for a moment. That warm feeling blossoms in her chest as her anger fizzles out. His lips are slightly chapped from the heat, yet they feel perfectly aligned with hers. All those pent up emotions, lingering stares, bickering with an undertone of flirting make her kiss him back with this desperation and want. He catches on quickly and holds her tighter, deepening their kiss and taking her lower lip between his teeth. She wraps her arms around his neck and inhales his musky scent. She feels her foot slowly rise behind her — the cliche foot pop. That hadn’t happened since her first love from high school.

She moans out loud. That’s when she snaps back to reality.

She is lip locked with Jack fucking Abbot. And they are alone. In a secluded area. People have definitely taken note of their absence.

A wave of anger and regret floods her and she jerks back. Unfortunately, she jerks back too hard. She slips on a wet stone and feels herself falling backwards. Jack unhelpfully tries to grab her as she yanks him forward by his tie. But it’s too late.

A huge splash ensues. The two are drenched in water from a fountain that was probably last cleaned a decade ago.

Samira has just about had it. She stands up, shivering from the cold but hot from embarrassment. It’s a terrible combination. She looks at him trying to stand back up from that humiliating tumble.

“I loathe you, Jack Abbot.”

Jack pushes his wet hair back from his face, smirk forming. “Is that why you kissed me back, your highness? With quite a bit of passion there, too.”

She feels a scream bubbling in her throat.

“Samira Mohan! What is going on here?”

She feels herself going cold again. She ducks her head in embarrassment. Jack bows behind her.

“Your highness, it was my mistake,” he tries to reason.

Vaidehi Mohan’s steely gaze is fixated on Samira. “No, Duke Abbot. Samira is well on her way to being the Queen soon and she doesn’t need to be spoken for.”

“You have a lot to explain here, young woman.”

Fuck.

━━━ 𖤓 ━━━

Alright, that’s all I got in the chamber there 🛠️ If you’d like to see more, I’ll probably make this a proper story on ao3. Hope you enjoyed this silly little blurb!

[falteringstars]

“Save me, Doctor Pretty Face”

Jack Abbot comes into the PTMC for a gnarly injury and is treated by Dr Samira Mohan.

Aka Mohabbot au where Jack is a senior at the University of Pittsburgh and Samira is a second year resident at the PTMC 😋

I watched The Faculty recently, and young Shawn Hatosy was such a charmer that I had to write this blurb. I thought I’d explore the idea of a younger Jack who attempts to flirt with slightly older Samira who is not impressed at first but gives in eventually because he’s just so silly and adorable hehe

(Also please note there will be several medical inaccuracies because I am clearly no doctor and for good reason)

“We’ve got incoming at Trauma 2!”

Samira Mohan perks up from her desk, hoping this could mean taking a break from her charting.

She sees Perlah rushing in beside a gurney with two paramedics on both sides. She jumps up from her rickety swivel chair, rushing to the room to take the case before anybody else volunteers. Although, it doesn’t seem like Shen or Ellis seem to be too interested in jumping in at the chance.

It’s a Saturday night at Pittsburgh Medical Center and the night shift consists of the lucky few residents and one singular attending. The usual suspects. Or as her fellow resident and close friend Trinity Santos loves to call her, Doctor No-life. She should take offense to that. That girl has no respect for her seniors.

“I say this out of love, Samira. Get off the night shift and go somewhere that isn’t the library or the grocery store. You’re at the bodega so often that the bodega guy gets concerned when you don’t stop by.”

She shrugs off the echo of Trinity’s voice as the gurney rolls in through the doors.

“We have a 23-year-old Jack Abbot with a right knee dislocation following a motorcycle collision. Vitals have been stabilized and IV has been given with fentanyl to offset the pain.” The paramedics brief Samira as she snaps her gloves on.

She turns to face the patient, who has been groaning. “Hi there, I’m doctor Samira Mohan. How are we doing here Mr Abbot?” Jack turns to look at her, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not sure, doctor. I fucked up my knee and was given a shit ton of fentanyl; I’d say I’m feeling just peachy.”

She smiles at him lightly. She takes some vitals from him, shuffling around him quickly. “Mr Abbot, since this is a knee dislocation, we’re going to have to realign the knee right now.” Jack sighs in response. She presses around his knee, fingers pressing into the firm muscles around. Sports player, perhaps?

“Damn doctor, if you were going to feel me up at least take me out to dinner,” Jack slurs.

“Funny. Any pain around here?”

“No.”

“Alright. Let’s get to it then. Mr Abbot, if you feel any pain or sensations, please alert us right now,” Samira warns him.

“Doctor, no offense but this isn’t my first rodeo. I could’ve even done this myself. But boy, am I glad I got admitted because I would’ve missed out on being treated by Doctor Pretty Face.”

Normally, Samira is used to older patients attempting to smooth talk her. She’s aware she’s good-looking. But somehow, this auburn-haired college student with his stupidly adorable drawl and crooked toothed smile almost throws her off.

“I take it we’re okay to go ahead, then.” She hears Perlah huff out a laugh at the other side of the gurney.

“By all means, save me, doctor pretty face.”

Will maybe continue this, who knows

Let me know what you all think!! I’d love to interact more with mohabbot oomfs who love our princess Samira :p

If anyone wants to be on my tag list for when I post the rest of this + my scandal au, comment down below ♡

[falteringstars]

Happy Manic Mohabbot Monday to those still sailing with us on this ship

“SAMIRA HASN’T LEFT THE PTMC SHE’S WORKING THE NIGHT SHIFT” I say as they drag me away

Somebody sedate me I want Samira back so badly

[eliabbott]

Been drawing all afternoon for Popemira Sunday. I definitely didn’t have to redraw Andrew’s head about four or five times to get the scale right but I feel like I got a decent likeness for Samira somehow from the get go?

[eliabbott]

Popemira.

I’m a little late to Popemira Sunday as it’s Wednesday. But I’m definitely a convert. Managed to sketch and colour this one in my sketchbook and finish with some more neon reds in photoshop.

[recluse-moth]

“Does it hurt?” Samira asked, dabbing gently at the wound.

Pope drew in a ragged breath, his eyes shutting for half a second, body tensing from the pain.

“You still with me?”

His gaze found her face in the dim light—brows pinched, lips caught between teeth—a kind of concentration she reserved for the Emergency Room or Sunday morning crosswords. He wondered how many words she could carve into his skin before she realized she could never truly hurt him.

[gordisbilly]

was gonna wait till sunday but im too impatient!! I just know abbot would be infront of the tv like hes the ref, he would also get so much fomo that him and samira would fly down to mexico for the games

[gordisbilly]

Happy 4th to those who celebrate! when i lived in texas i always loved seeing the fireworks and how the colors merged idk how to explain it so i wanted to do a more artsy and painty drawing of that but with mohabbot, focusing on how their first kiss would feel fun and exciting but also that anticipation and nervousness idk if that makes sense lol

[rianarchy]

mitch is gone

[courteous-otter]

i had another vision

[earhartsease]

[asparklethatisblue]

children of any species are very good at being annoying and very cute while doing that

a sphinx child based on this post