#꒰ა requests ໒꒱

[angelboxes]

This fictionkin queerplatonically selfships with their canon romantic partner + This selfshipper is a relationship anarchist userboxes for @affinity-selfships !

requests are open !

. proship dni .

i wasn't sure what images to use so i just went with these lol i hope that's okay!!

[grenadehearts]

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki nearing his 40s, his muscles aching more than they did when he was freshly 20, the years of hard labor carved into every tendon and joint. his sandy blonde hair, once bright and wild, starting to show a few stubborn greys. he even grew stubble — coarse and scratchy — that leaves your skin burning when he kisses you.

and you'll complain about it, listing off reasons on your pretty, young, manicured fingers why he needs to shave, tapping each one against his chest. he'll just tilt his head, give you that lazy, lopsided smirk, and grunt a simple, "nah."

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki and the way he met you — this bright, pretty thing tucked away behind rows of blooms — when he ducked into a floral shop for a last-minute birthday gift for the old hag. how he saw you there, sleeves rolled up, soil caked on your delicate hands, loose strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, and how you just blew them away without a second thought — left him absolutely weak in the knees.

your laugh was brighter than any flower in that whole damn shop, and your eyes?

god, your eyes put every petal to shame.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who lingered way longer than he should have, asking the dumbest questions known to man about orchids, tulips, lilies, and roses, just so he could hear you talk. how you lit up at every answer, spilling all these little facts with that animated sparkle in your voice.

he didn't even like flowers.

but he liked you.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who kept coming back to that little shop for months after. at first, it was excuses — shitty ones, too. "forgot what kinda flowers she liked," he'd mutter. "need somethin' for a friend."

but pretty soon, there weren't any excuses left. he was just there, like clockwork, hanging on your every word, wrapped around your finger like some lovesick, pathetic mutt.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki whose hands are rough, calloused from decades of labor — decades that stretch back to before you were even born. big, scarred palms that make your soft skin feel like silk in comparison.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who takes a little longer to get out of bed in the mornings, always grumbling about his bad back, how he needs time to "get movin’."

but really, he just wants an excuse to pull you in close — press you flush against him, soak in the heat of you — and watch your pretty eyelashes flutter while you sleep.

and he has to be there when you wake up.

he needs to see those gorgeous eyes make sure they find him first thing in the morning.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who hadn't even thought about dating for years — too busy, too bitter, too tired — until he stumbled into you. all doe-eyed and sweet, so eager and fresh-faced you knocked the damn wind outta him.

made him awkward again, made him red-faced and desperate to impress you.

and all the boys you had before? college kids, jerks who only cared about frat parties and notches on their belts. they didn’t know the first thing about taking care of someone like you.

but katsuki did. he was older. more patient. rough around the edges, sure — but he knew how to make you feel good, how to take his time and worship you like you deserved.

getting there, though?

getting there was tricky.

you were both such messes, two bumbling, nervous idiots, fumbling around each other like awkward teenagers.

but god, it was worth it.

a/n: based on this request lmk if you guys are wanting to see more of this, masterlist link here. and tysm for 1k followers!

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456 @wonubby @kye1aaazene @izukusfangirl @van9lla @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @bluemailhiot @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @d011yyxx @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @blue-birdie-bixch @aj1j @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation

[angelickks]

Hii could u do a request with dean winchester and bimbo gf! where they’re fighting and she goes out for a while with friends (which dean doesn’t know where she’s at) than at night she comes home with the shortest pink dress ever and than start fighting more with angry smut

oh anon…don’t play w me. ask and u shall recieve

pink is the color of payback - bf!dean winchester x rich!bimbo!gf!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): argument. some angst. possesive!dean. lowk toxic tension, makeup sex, smut/porn w/o plot (dom!dean, degredation, hair pulling, name-calling, unprotected piv, wrap it before u tap it, creampie) nsfw, mdni 18+, sweetie iʻm not responsible for ur media consumption. (gif not mine)

#NAV.ᐟ supernatural mlist⋆.˚ bf!dean x rich!bimbo!reader

You weren’t speaking when you slammed the door behind you.

Dean didn’t chase you.

Not when he was angry. Not when his jaw was clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. Not when you threw your hands in the air and called him a “jealous, possessive dick who treats me like a porcelain doll one second and like an inconvenience the next.”

You’d screamed it. In his face. In those soft, sugary-sweet tones he usually loved. This time? They laced venom.

And now, hours later, you’re gone. With no text. No call. No clue.

Dean paces the bunker floor like a caged animal, hand dragging through his hair, over and over. The last thing he remembers is your perfume disappearing with the slam of the door, the way your voice cracked when you said, “Maybe you’d rather have someone easy to deal with, Dean"

He hadn't answered.

So now you’re out, dressed to kill, and he’s stewing in regret and rage, imagining you laughing with guys who don’t deserve to look at you. Guys who don’t know how you cry after hunts. Who don’t know you sleep in one of his flannels like it’s armor. Who don’t know how to touch you without breaking the pieces you try to hide.

Then the front door opens. Clicks shut.

And he sees you.

Pink. So pink it burns his retinas. The shortest goddamn dress he’s ever seen on you. Glitter clinging to your thighs. Lip gloss glossy enough to reflect the hallway light. Eyes full of fire. Heels clicking like gunshots.

You walk in like nothing’s wrong. Like you don’t look like sin incarnate.

Dean’s on you in seconds.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

You toss your clutch on the war room table like you’re above it all. “Out.”

“That’s it?”

You unclip your purse like it’s war prep. “Yup.”

“You storm out on me, disappear for six goddamn hours, and all I get is a yup?”

You shrug. “I figured you’d be happy.”

He stalks closer. “The hell would make you think that?”

You spin to face him. “Because I’m exhausted, Dean! Of pretending I’m not too much for you. Of tiptoeing around every time I wear something you hate or say something ‘ditzy’ or laugh too loud—”

“I don’t hate what you wear—”

“You hate that other people look at me!”

His jaw flexes. “You want them to.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

“Been there done that, sweetheart.”

You both pause, breathing hard, eyes locked, like it’s a standoff. Dean’s hands are fists at his sides. You’re not better, jaw working.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper, throat tightening. “You don’t get what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough for someone who doesn’t even want softness in his life.”

Dean’s chest heaves. “You think I don’t want you?”

You glance away. “I think maybe you just want to fuck me and keep me quiet.”

That’s it.

Dean snaps.

His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you into him with a roughness that borders on cruel. “That what you think?” he growls against your mouth. “That I don’t want you?”

You don’t have time to answer before he crashes into you, lips hard and punishing. He bites your lip, and you gasp, giving him entry. His tongue is all dominance, no patience. His other hand slips under the pink fabric and squeezes your ass, dragging you closer.

“I hate this dress,” he growls. “I hate knowing every guy in that bar was looking at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” you hiss, but your breath hitches.

He smirks, wicked. “Damn right.”

He spins you, bends you over the table, your clutch falling to the floor. You brace yourself on your elbows, dress riding up your hips. You’re not wearing panties. And Dean lets out a low, broken moan when he sees it.

“Fuck, princess…”

He presses against you from behind, already hard through his jeans. “Went out dressed like a whore. Guess I’ll treat you like one.”

You moan when he yanks the zipper down your dress and peels it off your torso.

“I should spank your pretty little ass for making me worry.”

You bite your lip. “Then do it.”

He does.

Three hard slaps that make you cry out. Your skin burns, but your pussy drips.

Then his fingers are there, spreading you open. Teasing. “You this wet for me, or for whoever danced with you tonight?”

You glare over your shoulder. “You. Always you.”

He groans and unzips his jeans.

You don’t see him shove inside you, but you feel it. All of him. No prep, no warning. A punishing stretch that knocks the air from your lungs.

“Dean!”

“You don’t get to walk out on me and act like I don’t fuckin' own you.”

His thrusts are brutal. Unrelenting. Table shaking under you. One hand in your hair, yanking your head back, the other gripping your hip so tight you’ll bruise.

“I treat you like glass,” he grits, fucking you harder. “Because I love you. Because if I don’t, I’ll ruin you.”

“You already. Fuck. Already did,” you sob, but your walls flutter around him.

Dean moans at the squeeze. “That right? You gonna come for me like the good little slut you are?”

You nod, desperate. “Please Dean, please-”

He leans down, mouth at your ear, voice full of gravel and guilt and love disguised as filth.

“Say it. Say who you belong to.”

“You—fuck—you!”

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart on his cock, shaking, sobbing, thighs clenching, dress halfway off, tears smudging your mascara.

Dean follows, slamming into you one last time, spilling deep, groaning your name like a prayer.

You both collapse onto the table, breathless. Shaking. Raw.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Me too.”

He helps you up. Fixes your dress. Pulls you into his chest.

“You leave again,” he murmurs, “I’m coming after you.”

You glance up, lip swollen, eyes wet.

“Good.”

[magical-princessette]

꩜ .ᐟ ─ Nurse Parallel / Xiomara Huapaya Tumblr Layouts!

꩜ .ᐟ ─ Requested by? Anon!

꩜ .ᐟ ─ F2U, Credit required unless requester

[owatazumi]

More of girly yn and ni-ki!!💞?

my  cute  little  kitty  !

girly  yn  and  ni-ki 🩰💞

genre?  girly  reader  !  fluff  !  warnings?  not  really  but  reader  is  called  kitty  !  word  count?  somewhat  130  !

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ✧･ﾟ: *✧

“yn, you look so cute!” he squishes your cheeks while you hold your hands behind his waist as you stand in front of the tall boy who’s towering over you with a bright smile on his pink lips.

all you could do was scrunch your nose as he baby-talks to you like you’re a cute kitten or a puppy he’s petting. “my cute little kitty!” his eyes shine brightly as he squishes your cheeks once again, not being able to hold back the cuteness aggression he’s feeling from how cute you looked in that newly bought beanie.

your eyes widen and you muffle out while your lips are formed in the shape of a fish which makes it hard for you to not sound muffled. “m’not a kitty…” you stare up at him, an unamused expression in your face as the tall boy towering above you continues to baby-talk you.

“oh but you are! the beanie just proves your true form, yn!” as he smiles down at you with his usual gummy smile he pats your head over your beanie and simultaneously lets go of your face. “sunoo also has one of those! you don’t call him kitty!” you protest with an exaggerated pout as you stamm your fists on your hips.

ni-ki rolls his eyes softly as he looks down at you. “it would be weird to call my older friend kitty, don’t you think?” he raises a brow at you, a playful smirk plastered on his lips. “it’s weird calling me kitty, don’t you think?” you ask him in the same tone that he used just now, still glaring up at him with a pout.

“now don’t act like you don’t like it. you love it~” ‎

‎✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ✧･ﾟ: *✧

a little event !! don’t be shy, send in a request !!

<33

@j-wyoung @echoofnoise00

[ruibaby]

mizu is aware some arent transparent but is so lazy to fix them.

— ♡ mizuki or noé —

♥︎ bodily 15 ,,, tmasc faer / doll ˳

(⁄ ⁄ ‸ -｡) ﹒ requests are open...

siilverwolf -> mynori -> ruanmyra -> ruibaby

psd — pngs O1 O2 —

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎧 ． My Inspiration !!

i get inspiration from: lavendergalactic, dwevilliette, selysie, virtualjpg , and few more . . .

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎀 ． What I will Edit !!

rentry graphics, discord layouts, rentries maybe, tumblr layouts, really anything that Mizuki doesn't decline.

^ for reqs: bold = usually best at/works better with

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎧 ． Do Not Request !!

including: nsfw media, problematic media, real people, hazbin/helluva, boyfriends webtoon, anything that Myra declines.

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎀 ． Before you interact !!

Mizuki makes a lot of suicide jokes about himself often and will probably say "ky$" when embarrassed, lhk beforehand if youre comfortable with it. He is transgender [FTM] and gay, he is taken so do not interact if planning to use /r [romantic] affections.

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎧 ． Do Not Interact...

If you make /r jokes while ignoring the fact he is happily taken — really no DNI but 'basic dni criteria' can use my edits and interact with me if they don't hate or bring up what is considered 'weird' !!! ♡

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎀 ． Whitelist !

Mizuki edits fandoms such as alnst, hsr, gi(?), pjsk, bsd, some gl/bl animes [ex s&m/madoka m], zzz SOMETIMES; and a bit more..

︵﹒◟ִ͜͜¦͜🎧 ． Blacklist !

Mizuki will not edit fandoms such as hazbin hotel, helluva boss, nsfw medias, extra gorey medias, common [_]phobia (or trauma) triggering medias, anything with insects or what isnt a household pet for animals/living things, real people, very selective but do not ask for:

dr ratio hsr

varesa gi

ayato gi

my personal opinons, if ure a semi-close mootie [or we talk often] then ill let it slide :3 !!!

[dantalionarchive]

Hi there💛 If im not too late may i request a smuttie sleepover with Ace Trappola?💛 I dont think he gets enough attention and I really like your writing style, thank you in advance!💛

Slumber Party

ace trappola x fem!reader wc: 727 tags: mutual masturbation not beta read!

thank you for the request! it sounds super fun to write! i did my best! i actually really like ace!

ramshackle was getting an emergency renovation after a magical explosion(thanks to grim) in your kitchen. when you had wailed to your friends ace and deuce, the fiestier between the pair suggested you come and sleep in heartslabyul and share a bed with him. his expression was smug, and he clearly expected you to turn him down for the third time.

but you didnt. you instead agreed to his offer with hopeful eyes, assuring him that you and grim wouldnt cause trouble during your stay. he looked shocked by your answer but didnt claim that he was joking like before. and now, here you were.

grim was sleeping soundly beside deuce in a bed not too far from yours. his soft snores filled the room as you laid curled up beside ace with your eyes fluttering open and close. he was awake and so were you. you were centimeters apart in the bed, originally starting out with a foot of space between you. your fingers would sometimes touch, your legs would rub against one another, and eventually the two of you would roll over to face one another. 

“are you tired?” you asked him softly, reaching to pull at the hem of his shirt. a soft gasp left your lips when you felt something hard pressing against your belly. he shook his head in the darkness, and gently wrapped his hand around your wrist. “im having trouble sleeping so…” he trailed off as his grip loosened. he looked away from you, struggling to keep his hips still. “i need to go to the bathroom.” he murmured as you chewed at your lower lip. “its a guy thing, you wouldnt get it.” 

he sounded pouty and slowly prepared to sit up. “what if i help you?” you offered, rubbing your thighs together feeling excited by the idea. “we dont have to.” ace muttered awkwardly and reached to move the covers aside. you moved your hand to palm at his hard-on tucked beneath his boxers. “i want to.” you purred softly and leaned in closer. your lips met his in a gentle kiss, lips meshing sweetly together as a soft moan left ace. you massaged him gently as he deepened the kiss. his hips rolled against your hand and he began to relax beneath the covers. 

his hands pulled at your pajama shorts as you eased his boxers down. hands fumbled in the dark as he began to massage your pussy with his fingers. your tongues collided and swirled, silencing your moans and whimpers as ace slipped a finger inside of you. 

this was something you had wanted for a while. you always thought ace was cute. even with his nasty personality and the way he would tease you. how he was the first person you met when you came here. how he was the first person by your side no matter what. a soft yelp escaped when he pushed another finger inside you and pumped hurriedly against a bundle of nerves that left your stomach twisting with need.

his cock was hard in your palm and you stroked slowly. you pulled away from the messy makeout in dire need of air. your could feel yourself nearing the edge from the way his fingers pumped and pressed against that bundle of nerves inside of you. his thumb gently rubbed at your clit, leaving your legs shaking. you could see his face reddening as you rubbed your thumb against the slit of his cock. the pearl of precum left his tip sticky as you pumped and pumped, feeling him twitch and flinch beneath you. “fuck m’gonna cum…” he whined under his breath as you moved your hand faster, and you rolled your hips against his fast pumping fingers. your heart was racing in anticipation. you wanted to cum. you wanted ace to cum. 

“feels good. feels so good…” he groaned, his hips humping against your hand as he curled closer to you. your lips were captured in a messy kiss as you came undone on his fingers with a soft sob. with rough and messy strokes, ace groaned in your mouth, and opalescent sperm coated your knuckles and fingers. hot and sticky, leaving you both spent beneath the blankets. you and ace pulled away, panting softly in the darkness. you were glad you shared a bed with him this time.

[pupsqueakerz]

Can you do yan nerd? like he's too shy to even approach reader, so he just stalks from afar. And he gets rlly excited when there is a partner project because he has the chance to ask reader, but it takes a lot of courage for him to do so !!



awaaaah!! m' kickin m feet n' gigglin so hard rn, first request n' i didn't even post anythin yet!! please tell me how i did!!!!! ໒꒰ྀིㅅ´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

yandere! nerd headcannons~

⚠ warnings

~stalking, delusional yandere, obsessiveness, slightly manipulative behavior, slight nsfw( yan bein a perv)

[male yandere!nerd x gn!reader]

୨୧ yandere! nerd who can't help but fall in love with you at first sight! you're so pretty n' nice...who wouldn't swoon over you?

୨୧ yandere! nerd who watches you from afar... hidin behind corners to watch you cause he's too shy to talk to you outright

୨୧ yandere! nerd who's overjoyed when your teacher announces a partner project n' immediately rushes to your desk to ask if you wanna pair up once he gathers the courage. n'when you agree, he's practically bouncin off the walls!

୨୧ yandere! nerd who eagerly agrees to go to your house to work on the project. he gets a chance to be close to you n'get to know more about you while bein n your room!

୨୧ yandere! nerd who rummages through your clothes when you leave for a bit to use the bathroom. you wouldn't notice a pair of underwear or two missin, would you?

୨୧ yandere! nerd who focuses more on you than the project, fantazin about you while you talk n'gettin flustered when you snap him outta his daze. he couldn't help it okay? your lips just looked so so pretty while you talked...

୨୧ yandere! nerd who manages to get closer to you and gets jealous when you hang out with your friends. why would you need to talk to them when you have him? are you not interested n'bein his friend anymore? 's cause he's a loner isn't it? :(

୨୧ yandere! nerd who gets aroused as you hug him n' reassure him that you still wanna be friends with him! he just can't help but feel tingly when you hold him close and rub his back soothingly. you're just so warm n'you smell so so good...

୨୧ yandere! nerd who gets excited when you start to ask him for help with your homework. you're not a bother to him at all darling!! he enjoys helpin you out, and wants you to come to him more often when you need help! he'd do anything for you, you dont even have to ask!

୨୧ yandere! nerd who eventually gathers the courage to ask you out n' cries when you accept his confession. he's sorry, darling! he just got a bit emotional cause he loves you so so so much!!

୨୧ yandere! nerd who clings to you like a lifeline, asking you to spend more time with him when you have plans with friends n'gettin sad when you deny. he's just insecure, nobody's ever liked him back before n' he's scared he'll loose you! :((

୨୧ yandere! nerd who just loves you so so so very much and doesn't want you to leave him! ever!

[sillyseraphie]

@sqgeism SAGIE OH MY GOD... I'M GOING FERAL, YOUR REQUEST???? I'M HAVING FLASHBACKS OF MY PAST LMAO!!

[emotedoggo]

JUNEBUG 🐾‼️ 21 yrs old!! Nonhuman :0!! It/he prns!!! Main blog is @internetcanine

Hihi im a dog with a blog! This is a side blog where I make silly emotes for discord and AAC users or whatever have you!

There's no DNI as I beileve everyone deserves communication, just...please don't use it for anything harmful..T-T

ABOUT THE CANINE!!

Im non human! Specifically a canine shape-shifting creature mwhehe!! I can be any canine :3, main ones are border collie, coyote, coyote crytid, wolf, fox, and were variants of all of those :3!! I am questioning a few kin types as well. Try not to refer to be with human language :0

I am Queer !! I'm bigender, transmasc, and nonbinary. I'm aroace and polyamorous as well. I have a lovely girlfriend and a wonderful crush! My sexuality minus being aroace is unlabeled, I use Queer to describe it!!

I am disabled, I have chronic pain and usd mobility aids! I also have ADHD and autism and use tone tags !!

ABOUT REQUESTS

I am a busy dog! I am a full time college student studying medicine so activity will be scattered!! I do take requests, I have a right to deny any requests I feel like i can't do or don't want to do! Please credit me and do not claim as your own if you use them! You can put JB in front if you use them on discord or tag me on Tumblr:3

Things I won't do

- nsfw

- any shipping discourse

- any system discourse

- anything harmful

Requesting any of these things WILL get you blocked

Credits X X X X

[bratdotcom]

May I request a William Birkin, first time kissing fluff

Lovefool!

( William Birkin x gn!reader || first time kissing in his car ♡ reader works at Umbrella like William )

Like the gentleman he was, he opens the passenger's seat for you before letting himself in the driver's seat. “Much warmer here, right honey? Sorry for keeping you waiting.” He murmurs softly, plopping down in his seat. He turns on the radio, and a soft guitar strum fills the small compact car.

He sinks into his seat, mumbling the lyrics quietly to himself. “Oh, honey, we're really in it now..” He commented, he sounded tired. Working at Umbrella wasn't for the weak. “Just because there's new interns doesn't mean it's the end of the world, dear.” You reply, chuckling and laying your head on his shoulder. Your arm linked around his, you sigh too. You didn't want to admit that you were tired. You believed that if you seemed okay, that he'd believe it and be okay too.

The music from the radio seemed to fizzle out of sight, out of mind. “As long as we have each other, it'll be okay.” You say, leaning against him. “We have each other right now, so it'll be okay?” He asks, looking at you with expectant eyes. If you said everything would be okay, he'd believe it. In a heartbeat.

You smile softly and nod your head “Honey. It'll be okay.” You confirm, he was so close to your face that he could just kiss you. He wants to kiss you. It'd be like something out of a movie to him. He wanted it to be perfect, a perfectionist, as always.

He hesitates to get closer to your face. He doesn't know why. Maybe he was afraid to let you down? How could he let you down anyway? William didn't know. He wasn't the best at making the first move for his life of him. He wasn't the confrontational type, no, not one bit.

Instead, he hugs you close. Not a kiss, not just yet. He holds you in his arms, jacketed and sterile lab coat sleeves brushing against your cheek. “I love you, dear. You know that, right?” He says softly against your scalp, resting his cheek atop your head. “Very much. I love you very much.” He adds, hand pressing gently against your neck to keep you close to him. As if you'd disappear if he didn't.

He looks to you for your reaction, your eyes closed. His eyes go from your face to your lips, back to your face.

You feel William's eyes on you, making you open your own. “What's wrong, honey?” You ask, noticing the way he looked at you. The same look he'd give you when he wanted a bite of your food. He wanted something.

“C-can I..” William cringes at his stutter, clearing his throat. The man felt smaller, even in the compact car you were both in. A momentarily silence between the two of you is filled once again with the music coming from the radio. Like white noise, it drowned out the silence till he spoke again.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks shyly. He was glad that the lamp posts adorning the sidewalks were dim. He didn't want you to see how pink he was right now. Pink in the face, cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. Baby mouse pink, you'd say if you saw his face right now.

Thank God you couldn't, he'd probably disintegrate in his seat from how flustered he'd be if you teased him for it.

“Kiss me?” You repeat his question, this time to yourself. It was cute, that he'd ask to kiss you before actually doing it. He just had to know, didn't he? Had to make sure.

You smile to yourself, though he can't see it because of how dark it was inside the car. “Course you can, hon. Don't need to ask-” He cuts you off, pressing his lips against yours in a messy fashion. Cupping your face in his hands messily, saved his first kiss for you. What a gentleman.

He pulls away as quick as he pulled in, turning from pink to red as he turns on the car light to see you. Your face. You were surprised, quickly your face heats up at the realization.

[angelboxes]

This User selfships with Conquest, This User selfships with Squirrel Girl, This User selfships with Senshi, + This User selfships with Tigress userboxes for @on-this-my-island !

requests are open !

. proship dni .

[grenadehearts]

drunk needy clingy kirishima??

Kirishima's drunk. You can tell by the warm, rosy flush blooming across his cheeks under the soft streetlight glow. His crimson eyes, glassy and half-lidded, blink slow and unfocused as he leans into you, words slurring just enough at the ends that the tang of alcohol clings to every breath.

And god, he's clinging. This big, broad, beefy man—pro hero, strong enough to level buildings—is latched onto his girlfriend like a needy puppy, Anyone passing by might do a double take, but luckily, the street is silent and empty at this hour. It’s one in the morning, and the city's tucked into sleep.

He whines softly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he drawls, “But babyyy, I missshhh you—hic.”

You laugh under your breath, amused and endeared. “Kiri, I’m right here.”

But he isn’t having it. He spins you around clumsily, his hands landing on your cheeks, fingers poking at the soft skin like he’s checking if you're real.

“Hmmm,” he hums suspiciously, nose wrinkling. “Don’t believe it.”

Then, after a beat, his expression breaks into a crooked grin. “Kidding. But I wanna hug you. And kiss you. Can we do that? Please?”

There’s such raw, eager affection in his tone, it tugs at your heart even as you bite back another smile. You turn your head slightly, dodging his attempts to plant a wet kiss on your cheek.

“Soon, babe. Not yet. I gotta call a cab first, ‘kay?”

He lets out a dramatic groan and crosses his arms like a sulking kid, swaying slightly on his feet as you pull your phone out. But as soon as you start dialing, he’s pressed up against your back again, wrapping you in a warm, clumsy hug. His face buries in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as he mumbles,

“You smell so good… and you taste good too...”

The kisses start then—sloppy, uncoordinated little pecks peppered across your jaw and neck.

You laugh, startled, and gently push him off. “Kiri, no. You’re drunk. Save the love bites for when you’re sober, yeah? The cab’ll be here any second.”

He grumbles in protest, muttering something unintelligible, but he doesn’t fight it.

The cab ride home is another challenge. Kirishima immediately collapses into you, burying his face into your chest, arms wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. At one point, he even shoves his head up under your shirt in some misguided attempt to get closer.

“M’just love you so much, y’know that?” he murmurs into your skin.

You hum, combing your fingers through his messy hair. “I know, baby.”

“You’re so manly,” he mumbles next, and it’s so slurred it takes a second to process. “Like… so manly I gotta marry you or somethin’.”

You laugh, heart swelling at the raw honesty in his voice.

“You’re so pretty I—hic—I can’t even handle it...”

And then, without warning, the tears start. His head lifts from under your shirt just long enough to rest against your shoulder, sniffling. His voice cracks as he continues, a mess of intoxicated love confessions spilling out in barely coherent sentences.

“Just wish I could crawl into your skin and… and live there. You’re so warm. So soft.”

You don’t even try to suppress the fond exhale.

Later that night, you’re in the bathroom with him, kneeling on the cold tiles. One hand holds back his messy crimson hair, the other rubbing gentle circles on his back as he throws up everything he'd drunk. A bottle of aspirin and a full glass of water wait nearby.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456

[angelickks]

Pretty When You Cry ✮ LION KAMINSKI

request. I was wondering of you could do lion and reader being like opposite attracts where we already know how lion is but reader is more of this fem, Lana del Rey song if that song was a person, and maybe lion is the one having these doubts so it could start off as angst (as angst as you want it) where maybe he's convinced she's someone he has to work for, someone he hasn't quite earned since he's used to fighting for what he's got maybe even trying to convince her she deserves better than what he can give her. Hurt/comfort angel talks. OH i was FEENING for this one. got a bit carried away but no harm, no foul babes. i hope i did this justice. my inbox and my legs are OPEN for lion kaminski (gif not mine)

#NAV.ᐟ jack o'connell mlist

“YOU WON BIG, LITTLE BROTHER!” Stan shouted from across the cluttered apartment, the sound of hangers clattering hitting the floor right behind him. “So we’re fuckin’ celebrating like big winners. Gonna rub elbows with some high-class snobs, baby! You’re gonna wear that new button-up I just bought you—yeah, the one with the real buttons, not the snap shit you love—and we’re hittin’ this pimped-out bar tonight whether you like it or not!”

Lion winced slightly at the noise, rolling his sore shoulder as he sat hunched at the edge of the mattress. His back ached like hell. His ribs were still tight from the last fight, too tight to inhale all the way without something cracking. His hands, calloused and scraped raw, trembled faintly as he threaded one through his damp hair, trying to flatten it down.

He hated crowds. He hated bars.

Hated the throb of bass beneath the floor, the way the music chewed through his eardrums. The press of strangers too close, smelling like alcohol and ambition. And he especially hated walking into places where he was expected to pretend. Pretend he didn’t feel every nerve ending buzzing with the ache of a dozen hits. Pretend he wasn’t one wrong look away from falling back into something darker.

He didn’t even want to look at himself in the mirror tonight.

The bruise on his cheekbone had bloomed from violet to a raw, bloody wine red. There was a gash, still healing, right at his temple—barely closed, still crusted dark. Definitely not snob suitable, as Stan put it with a smirk and zero regard for tact.

“You really think anyone in a suit gives a shit how my face looks?” Lion muttered lowly, reaching for the crisp shirt that had been tossed onto the bed beside him. It was black, collared, the kind of thing that made his scars look sharper, somehow. Like someone had tried to clean him up and only made the roughness stand out more.

Stan, now in a half-tucked shirt and the kind of slacks that creased at the thighs, popped back into the bedroom doorway, grinning like the devil on payday. “You’re damn right I do. We gotta look like money tonight, brother. You earned this. I mean—hell—how many people get a purse like that thrown at their feet and walk away standing, huh?”

Lion only shrugged, wincing at the pull of bruised muscle. “Standing’s a generous word.”

Stan tossed him a pair of cufflinks, silver and sharp-edged. “Don’t care if you limp in there, long as you’re beside me. Come on. One night. No fists. No cold showers. No patching yourself up with whiskey and dental floss.”

Lion gave him a look, quiet and unimpressed. “We’ll see.”

Still, he stood. Pulled the button-up on with slow, deliberate movements, jaw clenched every time fabric skimmed a sore spot. He didn’t say it out loud, but maybe Stan was right.

Maybe he had earned something.

Even if all Lion could manage tonight was a drink he wouldn’t finish and the corner of a crowded room—at least it was different.

At least, for once, he could try to look like he belonged in the light.

Even if he was still bleeding under the collar.

Stan walked into the bar like he owned the deed, the land it was built on, and maybe the lives of half the people inside. Shoulders back, grin cocked like a loaded weapon, he moved with that particular breed of swagger that said I’ve got nothing to prove, but I’ll prove it anyway.

Lion trailed behind him, quiet and stiff, like a shadow that hadn’t decided if it wanted to be seen.

He was in his nicest pair of jeans—dark, fitted, clean—and the black button-up Stan had thrown at him earlier like a gift wrapped in obligation. The collar itched against the healing scab near his jaw, and the sleeves were just a bit too long, the gold chain Stan slid around his neck with no care for Lion's grumbling glinting like he didn’t belong to himself anymore. He kept his hands close to his sides, unsure of what to do with them, his eyes low and darting, heart drumming in a way that had nothing to do with excitement.

He felt the glances before he saw them. The too-long stares, the once-overs from men in pressed suits and women in sleek dresses. Brows arched, lips pursed in silent questions he’d heard a hundred times before. Who let the bruised guy in? Is he with him? Are they lost?

Lion resisted the urge to tug at his collar, to make himself smaller, quieter—something more invisible than the discomfort already blooming up his spine. Then came the familiar yank—Stan’s calloused hand wrapping around his wrist like a leash, a lifeline, a reminder: we’re doing this.

“C’mon,” Stan barked over his shoulder, already weaving through velvet ropes and gold-backed booths with the kind of ease that only came from sheer delusion or absolute confidence. “Don’t go turtle on me now.”

Lion’s jaw clenched.

“This place is…” He muttered under his breath, ducking between two glittering couples laughing over martinis. “Christ, Stan. This place is fuckin’ reaching.”

Stan only snorted in response, dragging him faster, deeper into the swirl of money and meaningless conversation. The music was low and expensive-sounding, some moody remix of a Sinatra track bleeding from speakers hidden in the marble walls. The air smelled like citrus, cologne, and artificial cool like no one here had ever sweat or bled or limped into a room like they were trying not to fall apart.

Lion hated it.

He hated the lighting, dim but strategic. He hated the polished glasses that looked like they’d shatter if he held them too tight. He hated the way people smiled without meaning it. Most of all, he hated how out of place he felt in a room full of people pretending they didn’t notice him.

He gritted his teeth and followed anyway. Stan was already halfway to the bar, talking fast to some bored-looking bartender in suspenders, and Lion didn’t want to be alone.

Not in a place like this. Not in skin that didn’t fit quite right. Not tonight.

"Two beers, sir and keep em' comin', me and my little bro are celebrating tonight!"

Lion was halfway through his first beer, nursing it like a man on probation. One elbow braced on the bar, shoulders hunched in as if trying to fold himself in half, he hadn’t said more than three words since he walked in. And that was over an hour ago.

The beer was expensive. Tasted like it was brewed by someone who’d never had a hard day in their life. But it was cold and something to hold, so he held it.

Stan, on the other hand, was on his third round of trying. Currently planted at the opposite end of the bar, half-leaning against a marble counter that looked more suited to a country club than anything Lion was used to, Stan was laying on the charm. Loud, smiling too wide, trying to chat up a girl in a backless dress who was already asking, out loud—why someone like him was even in a place like this.

Lion tuned it out.

His eyes kept drifting, like they always did, low and quiet across the rim of his bottle, scanning the bar like he was waiting for someone to catch him looking so he could immediately look away. This wasn’t his world. Not the glittering glasses, not the laughter that sounded more like performance than pleasure. Everyone here seemed polished and polished again, with manicured lives and clean, deliberate pain.

Lion’s world was scraped knees and back alley bruises. Fistfights in underground rings. Cheap whiskey and bruised ribs. He was thinking about calling it a night when you walked in. No one else noticed you the way he did.

But he did.

You didn’t arrive on a man’s arm. You didn’t stumble like the girls who'd had too much too early. You didn’t beg for attention—you commanded it without asking. All perfume and soft sighs, with a dress that whispered when you walked and lips the color of a sin he didn’t have the right to name.

You slid into the bar two seats down from him like you’d been here a hundred times. The bartender recognized you instantly, already setting something elegant and pale on the napkin in front of you before you even opened your mouth.

Lion watched. Quiet. Unmoving.

You tilted your head and smiled in thanks, then laughed at something the bartender said—soft and low, like an old French record being played too slow, like sound traveling through smoke. It scraped something inside him raw and sweet.

He blinked, and for the first time that night, he forgot about the tight collar on his neck. Forgot the ache in his ribs. Forgot that he didn’t belong in a place where people drank cocktails with flower petals floating in them.

You were silk slipped into a world that had long since traded softness for spectacle. Glamour that didn’t shout. The kind of slow, devastating elegance that felt like it belonged to another era—red lips, jasmine perfume that he was catching the soft swells of even with the distance between you both, and heartbreak trailing behind in your wake like smoke.

You weren’t the kind of woman men saved. You were the kind they tried to, and bled for. The kind they didn’t realize had already ruined them, just by being looked at too long. A woman out of reach. Out of rhythm with the neon blur of the city. And completely unbothered by it. And then—then—you looked at him.

Not around him. Not through him. Not like he was something unfortunate the night had coughed up on the marble floors. You just looked.

Steady. Curious. Soft in a way that didn’t make sense.

Lion blinked once. Swallowed. His fingers flexed slightly around the neck of his beer, heart thudding in a chest still stitched up from the last time he let someone that close.

He didn’t look away. Couldn’t. And then—you smiled. Not coy. Not cruel.

Like you already knew something about him. Something unspoken and aching, buried too deep for language.

And for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Lion Kaminski didn’t feel like something to hide. Didn’t feel like a scar in a room full of skin. Didn’t feel like disappearing. Instead, he turned slowly back to the sweating beer in front of him, and it felt different—like drinking was no longer about forgetting, but waiting.

The bar buzzed around you both, gold-rimmed glasses clinking, silverware kissed by candlelight, jazz bleeding from invisible speakers like memory. Conversation flowed like money—too easy, too fast.

But your gaze didn’t flicker. Not once.

Two seats down sat the man who didn’t belong. Who looked like he’d been dragged into his clothes by someone trying to make him forget what his hands were capable of. Shoulders rigid beneath too nice fabric. Knuckles scraped from something he hadn’t talked about, and probably never would. Hair slicked back like an after thought, like he’d tried to tidy up a life that refused to be cleaned.

All that silence. All that weight. And you, a certain softness wrapped in danger, were already leaning closer. Not loud. Not obvious. Just slow, deliberate.

Your chair whispered across the floor as you slid one seat closer.

Not next to him. Just close enough.

He didn’t look up, but you caught the twitch in his brow, the brief flicker of his eyes in your direction. A pause. You crossed your legs. Let your perfume drift closer — jasmine and vanilla. Rested your elbow on the bar, fingers toying with the edge of your napkin.

You didn’t rush. Just breathed him in just a seat away—his stillness, his tension, the way he looked like he was trying to disappear and punch something at the same time. And when you spoke, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t bright. It was like letting someone in through a door only you knew was there.

"You look like you hate it here."

It floated in the space between you, softer than the music, meant only for him. A quiet kindness wrapped in silk and smoke. Lion’s head turned, slow and cautious—like he wasn’t sure he’d imagined it. Your eyes met again, you didn’t look away.

He didn’t know what he expected your voice to sound like, but this wasn’t it. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t cutting. It wasn’t amused. It was gentle.

“I do,” he muttered, barely above a breath, like anything louder might crack the moment in half. Your smile pulled lazy at the corners of your mouth, soft and knowing. "Then why stay?"

He blinked and for a second, Lion had no answer.

Because Stan had dragged him here. Because he hadn’t wanted to be alone. Because the ache in his chest hadn’t worn off yet from the last fight. Because he’d already learned how to sit with pain in public. But none of that made it to his mouth.

Instead, without thinking, his eyes drifted over your lips, the curve of your smile, the way your fingers traced your glass like you were drawing circles around him. He cleared his throat, "Guess I was waiting for somethin’ better to happen." You tilted your head like you already knew what he meant. Like you’d been the better thing he didn’t know he was waiting for.

Then, a beat slower, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Lion shrugged. Half a smirk. Half shame.

“Not to people I don’t trust.”

“And do you?” Your voice dipped just a little. Velvet. Playful, but real. “Trust me?”

His soft, guarded, and gentle gaze lingered too long on your eyes. The kind of eyes that had made bad men swear they could be good.

“…Don’t know yet,” he admitted. You leaned in slightly—not enough to close the distance, just enough to make the air between you hum.

“That’s alright.” You tapped your finger lightly against your glass. “I don’t mind waiting.” It hit him like a bruise blooming under the skin. That quiet, kind flirtation. No games. No expectations. Like you meant it. Like you weren’t here to pull something out of him but to offer something instead.

Lion looked at you, long and slow.

Not the way most men looked at women in places like this—like they were measuring what they could get away with. No, he looked like he was memorizing something he didn’t think he’d be allowed to keep. Your words played in his head again, soft and unbothered: "I don't mind waiting."

No one had ever waited on him unless they were waiting for him to fail.

His hand curled around the neck of his bottle again. Tighter this time. Like if he held on too loosely, the moment might drift away like the rest of them. You didn’t push. Didn’t speak again. Just sipped, smiled, leaned your chin into your hand like it was easy to sit beside someone like him. Like you were content with silence that didn’t ask to be filled.

He wasn’t used to that. Wasn’t used to softness that didn’t come with strings or the sharp edge of mockery hiding underneath.

He hesitated. Then, like someone saying a prayer through a cracked door,

“…What’s your name?”

He didn’t look at you when he asked it. Not at first. Just kept his eyes forward, watching the way the bar lights caught in the bottom of his glass like distant firelight. You turned your head slightly.

“You want my real one?” you asked, a hint of that playful warmth curling into your voice again. “Or the kind I give to men who forget to call?”

That earned the barest smile from him. Small. Tired. Real.

“…The real one,” he said after a moment. “If you feel like givin’ it.”

You said it simply. No performance. No tease. Just yours.

Lion turned to you fully this time. And the name, your name, hung in the air between you like a secret. Something precious. Something he didn’t think he deserved to know, but now that he had it, couldn’t stop rolling over in his mind. It didn’t feel like a casual exchange. It felt like a key.

He nodded once, slow, like it settled somewhere deep in him.

“…I’m Lion.” He said it again, softer this time. Like maybe you were the first person he ever wanted to really give it to. “...just what my brother calls me. It’s not on the birth certificate, but y'know..."

Your eyes sparked with something between amusement and curiosity, nodding in understanding. His nickname was just as real as his actual one.

“That’s a lot to live up to.”

His jaw shifted, half a wince behind his smirk. “Yeah. Tell me about it.” The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. Wasn’t awkward.

Just a quiet space where something delicate had been exchanged. Name for name. Look for look. A fragile kind of trust that neither of you had to name yet. Lion tapped a knuckle against the bar once. Glanced sidelong at you again.

“…You wanna move one closer?”

He meant the seat. But he didn’t really. And you smiled like you knew that too.

The night unraveled gently, like thread between fingers. Lion hadn’t planned on staying past one beer, hadn’t expected to be sitting still at all—let alone in the low hum of a bar too clean for his calloused hands, too polished for the scuffed soles of his boots.

But there he was. Stone cold sober, buzzing with something far more dangerous than alcohol. You.

You were curled into the seat beside him, legs crossed at the knee, your wine-red slip dress brushing against his jeans like it had no idea how out of place it was next to denim and dirt. The silk shimmered in the dim light every time you shifted, glistening like a secret you wore with ease, your perfume drifting into his lungs like smoke and sanctuary all at once. You spoke in a voice that didn’t belong in this bar. Hell, didn’t belong in his world at all. It was low, velvety-soft. Every syllable laced with patience, with mystery, with the kind of slow grace Lion had only ever seen in women on old movie posters—women you didn’t touch unless they asked you to. And still, you sat beside him.

He didn’t say much. Just listened. Let himself drown in the sound of you telling some half-funny, half-haunting story he barely registered because he was too focused on the way you leaned forward when you got excited, the glint of gloss on your lips, the warmth of your laugh when you glanced at him like you already knew how this was going to end.

He barely noticed your phone light up on the bar.

But you did. Glanced at it mid-sentence. A small flicker of surprise in your eyes. Then the ghost of a smile—bittersweet, half-resigned—as you finished the story anyway.

1:47.

“Shit,” you breathed under your breath, barely a whisper. Regret tangled with the syllables. Lion’s eyes met yours. There was a twist low in his gut, that old ache that came creeping in when something started to feel too good. Too safe. Too soft. This was the part where the night slipped away. This was the part where you got up, and the fantasy vanished, and he’d go home and tell himself it never would’ve lasted anyway.

But you didn’t leave—not yet.

You turned to him instead. Slower this time. Studying him like he was something worth remembering. Like he hadn’t already convinced himself he wasn’t. And then—then you smiled.

That knowing, velvet smile. All mischief and melancholy, wrapped in red.

“Give me your hand.”

Lion blinked. Didn’t move at first. Because asking a man like him to give you his hand wasn’t just a gesture. It was a risk. But you waited.

So, he did.

Uncurling fingers like he was surrendering. Letting you take something no one else had thought to ask for. You held it gently, turning his palm upward, and he swore your touch burned hotter than anything in this goddamn place.

“Pen?” you asked the bartender, and of course the guy gave you one without blinking. Lion took notice of how people gave you things, the longing and lustful gazes men shot your way. Of course they did. The sight and reactions made him crawl back into wanting to not be seen all over again. You uncapped the pen with a delicate snap.

And then, with deliberate strokes, you wrote your number across his palm. Like it belonged there. Like it was always meant to be inked onto the skin of a man who’d never asked for anything soft in his life.

“In case you decide you wanna see me somewhere quieter,” you said, voice barely louder than the jazz melting from the speakers. Your gaze held him firm. “Somewhere the music doesn’t drown out the good parts.”

Lion looked down at his hand. At the numbers written in ink that would fade by morning. At the delicate loops of your name beside them. And for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

“…You sure?” he asked, quiet, almost broken. It wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t charm. It was disbelief, raw and aching. Because no one like you had ever looked at him like that and meant it.

You tilted your head, smiling like you already knew what haunted him.

“I wouldn’t have written it if I wasn’t.” Your voice was calm, warm. Sure.

You said it like it was simple. Like there wasn’t any room for doubt.

Then you looked at him, really looked. Directly into those storm-blue eyes of his that didn’t quite know what to do with tenderness. Like you were memorizing him, or maybe just giving him permission to believe this moment was real.

You smiled, slow and sincere. The kind of smile that stuck with a man long after the lights went out. “Goodnight, Lion,” you said, letting his name linger like a secret only you were allowed to say that way. “I hope you call.”

And just like that, you slid off the stool. Graceful, unhurried, like you knew he would. Like you knew he was already halfway yours. Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you walked away. Lion didn’t stop you. Couldn’t. He just sat there, eyes locked on the spot where your perfume still lingered in the air.

Pen warm in his hand. Your name burned into his skin like something holy. And for the first time in years, Lion Kaminski didn’t feel like a man waiting to lose something. He felt like someone who’d been chosen.

Even if he didn’t think he deserved it yet.

You were everything Lion Kaminski wasn’t. Everything he never dared to dream about, not even in the fractured quiet between bruises and broken sleep.

Silk where he was scar tissue. Velvet where he was silence. A voice like warmth in a world that had only ever been cold to him.

And yet—you were his.

He didn’t believe it. Not really. Not for a second. But it was still true.

Months had passed since that bar. Since that slip of wine red silk and lipgloss and the ghost of your number written across his calloused palm. Since those first two agonizing days of debating whether to call you or let you be a beautiful memory he could carry like a relic.

He had paced his apartment like a man losing a fight with himself. Turned the phone over in his palm, back and forth, thumb hovering above your number like it was the trigger to something that might ruin him.

And all the while, Stan's voice filled the space between—talking fights, money, schedules, bruises, bills. Life. The kind that left no room for softness.

But he called you. Of course he did. And somehow, by some twisted miracle he hadn’t yet managed to explain, you answered. And you stayed.

From then on he spent every evening with his back pressed to the cold brick of the alley behind his apartment, tucked just out of sight, crouched on an old milk crate like a kid hiding from trouble. Fingers raw and bleeding from training, body worn out and half-broken—but still showing up, just for the chance to hear your voice on the other end of the line.

Stan thought he was cooling off, collecting himself. Lion let him think that.

Because how the hell was he supposed to explain that every night, he left the chaos of his life behind just to hear you laugh softly about your day? That he sat there, hunched in the dark, knees aching and knuckles throbbing, replying to your texts in under three seconds flat like a teenager? That when you called him by name—his name—it didn’t sound like the one people barked in a ring. It sounded like something he hadn’t known he needed until you said it.

You made the nights feel slower. Softer.

And every time you said his name in that voice of yours—sweet, low, like it was meant to be whispered in the hush between sirens and city static—Lion felt like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t imagined it all.

Those nights in the alley faded like a distant bruise. It been replaced by warmth, soft sheets, and a bed that didn’t groan beneath his weight like it resented him. Now there were mornings in golden quiet, nights wrapped in the scent of jasmine and skin, and pieces of Lion. His boots by the door, his jacket draped over your chair, his name murmured in your sleepy voice—scattered like he belonged there.

And God, how you made it yours.

You called him handsome with that silk-soft tone, kissed him like he was something rare and breakable—like he was the most precious thing in your velvet-draped little world. You’d straddle him on your couch, fingers buried in his hair, the nickname baby playing on your lips, your laughter trailing like smoke through a room lit by warm lamps that didn’t flicker like his always did. You kissed him like he was someone worth coming home to. And he let you.

Your perfume lingered on his skin long after you were gone, soaking into his shirts, haunting the curve of his neck like a memory. You were the first thing he saw most mornings now—messy hair, sleep-heavy eyes, lips still parted in the echo of a dream—and it made something ache in him. Something he didn’t have the words for.

It felt like a dream. The kind he never dared to have, let alone keep. But he was living it, somehow. And it scared the hell out of him.

Even if part of him still waited to wake up because you were softness incarnate. And he was a man who only knew how to hold things that could survive the grip.

Your relationship started slow, soft, and shrouded in a certain type of raw, unfiltered, captivating beauty. Everything Lion didn’t anticipate. Everything he never wanted to end.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t something he bragged about or put on display. It was quieter than that—secret and sacred. A balm to every part of him that had been bruised and left unhealed.

And tonight… tonight you were something else entirely.

You were dolled up in a dress that dipped dangerously low down your back, like it was tailored to flirt with every eye you passed. Lips painted a glossy, cherry-red hue, the color of cherry Coke on summer lips, one Lion wanted to drink up like a man deprived of water, and paired with mischief dancing just beneath your lashes.

Lion had stared at you for longer than he meant to. You’d caught him doing it. But instead of teasing him like you usually did, you smiled a little softer. Like you knew he was trying to memorize you. Like you knew he always was.

The dive bar had been your idea.

Ironic, really, considering the polished little lounge you’d met in all those months ago. This one was grime and wood paneling and stools that wobbled when you shifted too far to the left. Cheap beer. Flickering neon. A jukebox that refused to play anything made after 1989.

But you wanted it. And that meant Lion agreed. Even if it made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t have the words for. He’d never tell you no. Not really. Not where it counted.

He kept to your side, quiet and close, the way he always did in public. Hand hovering just shy of your lower back like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you tonight, not in that dress, not when you looked like that. And maybe it was the crowd. Or the whiskey. Or the way some guy across the room looked at you a little too long when you were headed back from the jukebox. But something in Lion shifted.

Tightened. He didn’t say much after that.

Just let the noise of the bar bleed into his ears while you sat beside him, glowing like something that didn’t belong in this place or beside him. Your laugh cut through the static. His silence deepened.

You noticed. Of course you did.

You leaned in, gentle hand brushing his knee, that lipstick-stained smile faltering just slightly. “You okay?”

He nodded. Too quick. Too practiced.

But you didn’t buy it. Not tonight.

You stood, smoothed your dress, and murmured something about air. He followed like he always did—wordless, reluctant, his boots heavy against the old floorboards.

Outside, the cold slapped his face like a warning.

You stood by the alley wall, arms crossed loosely over your chest, looking at him with that half-worried, half-patient expression that always made him feel seen in a way that didn’t sting. Lion exhaled, long and slow, like he was letting something dangerous out of him. Then ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back the same way he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, jaw clenched.

You blinked, soft and steady. “For what?”

His gaze dropped to the pavement. “For this. For me. For not knowing how to be the guy who deserves this shit.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet. You let him say it.

“I mean—look at you.” His voice cracked at the edges, low and ragged. “You’re… fuckin’ art. You walk into a place and the whole goddamn room changes. And me? I’m…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely to himself—bruised knuckles, heavy boots, old denim, and a winbreaker that still smelled like your soap and sweat.

“I don’t fit next to you. Never did.”

You stepped toward him. Quiet. Certain. He didn’t back away. But he didn’t meet your eyes, either.

“You think I don’t know what I look like standing next to you?” he went on, voice sharper now—not angry, just scared. “People stare. They wonder what you’re doing with me. Hell, I wonder what you’re doing with me.”

You reached for him. Slow and soft—always soft. Your fingers found his, pried them gently open. Held them between yours like something precious.

“I’m with you because I chose you, Lion,” you said, voice low like a secret only the alley was allowed to hear. “And I keep choosing you. Every day. Every minute.”

Lion’s eyes searched yours like he didn’t believe you—like he wanted to but didn’t know how. His breath hitched, chest tight, heart thudding like it didn’t know what to do with softness. Not when all he’d known was survival.

“I don’t deserve that,” he rasped, voice thick. “I don’t deserve you.”

Lion’s jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to the pavement like your words physically hurt—too soft for the callouses on his heart, too kind for the man he saw in the mirror.

You lay a gentle hand against his chest, the way someone might calm a frightened animal. He was all tension, all coiled muscle and tremors under the surface.

“You don’t have to earn me,” you said, slow, deliberate. “You always had me."

Lion made a choked noise in his throat, quiet and broken. Like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t. His shoulders trembled. His hands flexed at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

"God, I’m scared every day that you’re gonna wake up and realize you could’ve had someone who didn’t come with this much fuckin’ baggage.”

There it was. His voice cracked. You thumbed gently over the rough stubble on his cheek.

Your thumb brushed his cheekbone. “Then you don’t know me as well as you think.” His eyes snapped to yours.

“I’ve had the smooth talkers. The ones who made it easy. The ones who didn’t flinch when they smiled. They never made me feel like you do, baby."

He blinked.

You smiled—soft, sure, lips curled with something sweet and dangerous. “When I’m with you, I feel like I’m standing in the middle of something real.”

Lion made a choked sound, one of half disbelief, half surrender. And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he moved.

His hands were on you in the next breath, desperate, one on your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck like he couldn’t stand another second without touching you. He kissed you like he didn’t know if he deserved it, but needed it anyway. Like he needed you—in this moment, in this body, in this skin, in this breath.

Your lips crashed into his with heat and hunger, the alleyway dim and distant around you. Cold brick at your back, warm mouth at your front. You kissed him like he was something to be consumed, and he kissed you like you were salvation with legs. His tongue swept over your bottom lip, slow, testing, until you opened for him with a soft, breathy sigh that made his knees threaten to give. Your fingers dug into his jacket, pulling him closer until your hips aligned, his thigh sliding between yours like he was grounding you.

He groaned into your mouth, low and reverent, like he hadn’t touched anyone like this in years. Like kissing you was the first thing that made him feel human again.

“You always kiss like you’re starving,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice sticky-sweet and slightly dazed.

Lion’s forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving. “Maybe I fuckin’ am.” You smiled. A little breathless. A little undone. “Then let me feed you.”

His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone as he kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing every sound you made. Every soft moan. Every shift of your weight toward him. Every time your hand fisted in his shirt like you couldn’t stand the distance between you, even if it was only air.

“Whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere if it isn't with you,” you breathed when he pulled back just enough to look at you.

That made him kiss you again—long, slow, and almost reverent. Like a vow written in breath and tongue and soft gasps.

The night Lion met you, he won a fight that didn't matter, even if he tried to give it purpose. Between the breathless moans slipping from your lips like prayers, your cherry-red gloss smearing against his mouth in kisses that taste like sin and salvation—this is where he feels it.

[magical-princessette]

જ⁀➴ ⏦ﾟAdachi Rei Tumblr Layouts ♡︎

જ⁀➴ F2U w/credit unless requester ⏦ﾟ

જ⁀➴ ⏦ﾟRequested By? ♡︎ @cellphone-love-story

[owatazumi]

hellooo could i request something like the enhypen members meeting rikis gf for the first time? snd the reader is like a very girly girl iykwim? and the members actually expected a tomboy? thanksss 🫶🫶🫶

that’s my girl

featuring nishimura riki and reader genre fluff warnings cursing and swearing. a/n sorry for the long wait everyone, i’m kinda busy and really stressed recently but just to let you know, i’m working on your requests from time to time !! forgive me for the inactivity:((

riki and you were together for almost a year now and for your anniversary he wanted to invite you over to the dorm to do a sleepover party with him yet what all of his members didn’t expect was that you weren’t like they imagined you to be…

“hey, i’m yn” you send heeseung and jake a sweet smile as you hold onto rikis hand shyly while the other boys giggle into themselves from the living room. heeseung motions you to come in as jake makes room for you to walk past him so you could enter the living room. “ignore the mess yn, the boys aren’t very good when it comes to keeping their stuff clean and tidy” heeseung scratches the back of his head in an embarrassed way while sunghoon whispers to sunoo and jungwon, eyeing you a few times which riki obviously noticed.

“keep your eyes to yourself sunghoon— she’s mine.” niki glares at sunghoon as warning to show him that he should be careful about how and why he looks at you since you were his pretty and adorable girlfriend after all and not sunghoons or anybody elses.

“hi sunghoon” you give him an adorable smile as you send sunghoon a wave which he returns with a kind smile before niki tugs on your hand to signal you to not do that after he had just basically checked you out. “i just said hello, niki…”

—

“that’s your girl?” jay looks over at niki with a raised eyebrow as the corner of his lips is raised up in an amused grin. niki sends jay a warning glare as your head lays on your boyfriends lap, peacefully slumbering.

“why, got a problem with that?” he asks with a low voice to not wake you up or disturb his sleeping beauty. the rest of the boys chuckle quietly as niki caresses your hair in a sweet manner, a blanket covering your bottom half since you were wearing a skirt that may lift up accidentally when you move.

“never expected you to be with such an innocent angel, rik” sunghoon chimes in as he puts down a plate of chips on the coffee table in front of the couch before he takes a seat beside sunoo. a smile creeps up onto your boyfriends face as he listens to his friends assumptions and ideas that they had of you, saying that they thought you might have been a tough girl but instead you were the complete opposite of what they made up.

“you two fit together though, don’t take it the wrong way,” sunghoon chuckles once again as he looks at your sleeping figure before looking back at niki.

“she seems sweet, don’t fuck it up, niki.” sunghoon adds with raised eyebrow, giving his younger friend a piece of advice on his new relationship. all niki did was roll his eyes playfully as he mumbles out a quiet “i won’t” while continuing to stroke the strands of hair that fell in front of your eyes behind your ear.

he was so in love with you and the other boys could definitely tell even from miles away. the night passed by really quickly as the boys were just chilling and talking and niki was taking care of you on his lap, making sure you don’t wake up because of the noise his members were making so he carries you to his room, lays you down on his bed and tugs you under the blanket comfortably.

“i love you, baby…”

<33

@j-wyoung @lacieeeeee00