#I was experimenting with new brushes and all

[orellazalonia]

Hii, i have a request. I recently just started reading the shatter me series again - idk if you know it - but the main character has a lethal touch, every person she touches - but one man - dies if she touches them, and I was wondering if you could hse that concept but the only person reader can touch is Bucky Barnes. So like, the avengers find her at hydra, and she's settling in at the tower, and gets close with bucky, and then she accidentally touches him, but nothing happens. Idk if you understand this but i hope you do!<3

Hello there! I absolutely loved this idea, has so much potential for angst to be honest. It fits well into the Whispers of the Gifted series as well. So, thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Safe in His Hands

Summary: After being rescued from Hydra, you struggle to adjust to life at the Avengers Tower, haunted by your lethal touch that kills anyone you make skin contact with until Bucky Barnes catches you, and nothing happens. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to end the life of anyone she touches. Mentions of death & labs/experimentation. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 2.4k+

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You were seven years old when you first killed someone.

It wasn’t on purpose. You were just a kid. Scared, hungry, and cold. They’d come into your holding room. One of the guards, you didn’t recognize him. He was probably new. He knelt in front of you and told you to stand. You didn’t, so he grabbed your arm.

He didn’t even scream. He just dropped, went limp, and his life was gone.

They ran so many tests after that. Hooked you to wires, sliced open skin, injected chemicals, brought in more test subjects. They wanted to understand you. Your blood. Your skin. Your curse.

Because all it took was one touch, skin to skin. A brush of fingers, a hand on a wrist, a graze of your palm against someone’s cheek all resulted in instant death. There were no explanations. No control. You were death in the shape of a human. And Hydra thought that made you useful.

So they kept you, caged you. Covered you in thick gloves, containment suits, and glass walls. “For your own safety,” They always said. But you knew better. It wasn’t about protecting you. It was about protecting everyone else from you.

You stopped speaking eventually. What was the point? Words couldn’t undo what your hands did.

But then, one night, everything exploded.

You didn’t know who they were at first. The power cut out and all you heard were screams and gunshots that echoed through the halls. You stayed in your corner, knees pulled to your chest, not daring to move. You knew better than to open the door anyways.

But someone else did.

Blinding light flooded your cell, and a figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by sparks and smoke, a shield strapped to his back. Others moved behind him. You thought you saw a red glow and a flash of metal.

Then his eyes landed on you. You couldn’t move, didn’t breathe, just waited for the orders, the fear, the recoil.

But none came.

“Hey,” He said gently, crouching just enough to be eye-level. “You okay?”

You stared back, not answering.

Another stepped beside him. A man with brown hair and a metal arm, tense but watchful. “She’s not chained,” He murmured. “But look at the gloves. She’s not here by choice.”

“She’s scared,” A third voice said. Female, distant, but knowing. You felt her inside your head like a whisper. “But not of us.”

They didn’t grab you, didn’t drag you. Just offered a hand and waited. You didn’t take it, of course. But you stood slowly and followed.

You didn’t know who they were yet. But you did know one thing: They weren’t Hydra.

Days passed in a blur after that. You were moved to a new facility, high in the sky, full of windows and white light. They called it the Avengers Tower. They gave you a room, food, and clothes that didn’t itch. There were no cells and no experiments.

But still… no touch.

You kept the gloves on and never sat too close to anyone. You didn’t speak at first and they didn’t push. But you could feel the caution in the air, the curiosity. They didn’t know. No one did. And you didn’t want them to.

Because you knew what would happen. They’d lock you up again. Maybe not in a lab, but in some new kind of prison. For their safety and for yours.

So you kept your head down. Ate your meals in silence. Avoided the common room when too many people were there. You stayed quiet and small.

But he kept showing up. The one with the metal arm. Bucky.

He never asked questions. Never pried. Just… existed near you. Sat with you across the room. Passed you a glass of water. Nodded when you acknowledged him. Said goodnight sometimes, soft and gruff. You didn’t know why, but it didn’t scare you.

In fact, he was the only one who didn’t make you feel like glass. Like a threat. And soon, you weren’t avoiding him. You began waiting for him.

As time passed, you had just started feeling like a person again.

You still kept your gloves on, still flinched when someone got too close. But you were sleeping more. Eating with the others, sometimes. Sitting in the common room without being asked. And you were talking to Bucky. Really talking.

He had this quiet way of making you feel seen without shining a spotlight. He didn’t ask invasive questions or try to dig up your trauma like it was some kind of prize. He let you sit beside him in silence, let you borrow his books, or let you eat the cherry from his drink when you thought no one saw.

You’d started laughing again. Just a little, especially with him. Which is why it hurt when everything shifted again.

It happened on a late Tuesday morning. You’d just made tea, still in one of those oversized sweatshirts Pepper had given you, trailing quietly into the common room with your gloves on.

The team was already there. And the air felt thick. It was too quiet. No jokes. No arguing. No music playing in the background.

You paused near the doorway and noticed everyone’s behavior and body language. Steve was sitting stiffly. Natasha leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Sam looked like he was trying not to look at you. Wanda and Bruce wouldn’t meet your gaze at all.

And then there was Tony. Standing in front of a projection screen, a file hovering behind him in holographic light.

Your file. Hydra’s file. You didn’t need to see the text to recognize the red lettering. The Hydra seal with your photo and warnings stamped across every page.

“Subject shows consistent and immediate lethality through direct epidermal contact.” “High fatality rate confirmed through controlled experimentation.” “Extreme caution advised. Gloves required at all times.”

The word “Thanatos” was printed in bold near the top. Your old title, the one they gave you, and the one you hated.

“Right,” Tony said, exhaling as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “So. Now that everyone’s caught up, I figured we should have the ‘Don’t-Touch-the-New-Girl-or-You’ll-Die’ talk.”

Your heart stopped. No one looked at you.

“Well, technically, she’ll still be the last one standing,” He added, more to himself. “Silver lining.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t know what to say as you just stood there. The tea cooling in the cup still in your hands. The weight of the scene before you sinking in your chest.

Natasha was the first to say anything, sighing. “Tony, seriously?”

“What? Did I lie?” He snapped. “You all needed to know.”

“Not like that,” Steve said, his jaw clenched. “She has a right to her privacy–“

“She has a death-touch!” Tony said, throwing a hand toward the screen. “If any of you brushed her arm on the way to the coffee machine, you'd be dead, Rogers! I’m not saying kick her out, I’m saying awareness matters!”

They argued. You didn’t hear most of it.

You turned around before anyone could stop you. Walked straight back down the hall, the sound of their voices fading behind you. You didn’t cry. You just felt cold. Like your skin didn’t belong to you anymore. Like you were back in that white room at Hydra, gloves stapled to your wrists.

You didn’t see Bucky in the room. But hours later, he found you sitting on the floor of your room, knees pulled up to your chest.

He knocked once before entering and sat down slowly across from you.

“They know,” You said flatly, not looking at him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m not safe.” You swallowed. “Not for any of you.”

He didn’t respond right away. Then: “You’ve been safe the entire time I’ve known you.”

You looked at him then, really looked. “You didn’t read the file, did you?”

“No,” He said honestly. “I didn’t need to.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes calm, and voice even. “Because I’ve seen the way you move through a room. I’ve seen how careful you are, how you never slip or let your guard down, not even by accident. You think I haven’t been watching? You think I don’t get it?”

He lifted his metal hand slowly, carefully.

“I’ve lived with hands that kill, too.”

Your throat closed.

“And for what it’s worth,” He said, his voice quieter now, “I want to be the one you trust to take that risk to be around.”

You couldn’t speak. Not yet.

But later that night, after everyone had gone quiet, you stepped into the kitchen and found him waiting. You sat beside him in silence.

Your gloved hand rested on the counter beside his. And even after everything… you didn’t pull away.

But then it happened three nights later.

You weren’t reckless. Not intentionally. You never were, but the compound was darker than usual. Backup generators hummed, and flickering lights made every corner look unfamiliar. You were alone in the library’s upper balcony, reaching for a book too far up. You thought you were alone and with the AC not working well, you had pushed your sleeves up for once.

You didn’t mean to fall. Because you never let yourself be careless. Never let yourself slip. Because you knew what happened when you did. Every part of your body was a loaded gun. Every uncovered inch of skin was a threat.

But you had reached too far and your footing gave way. You didn’t even scream. You just reached out, an instinct burned into your body since before you could remember, and then–

Hands caught you. Strong. Steady. One metal but one flesh. And you felt it, the bare skin on yours.

You froze. Air jammed in your lungs as panic rose fast.

“No–” You choked. “No no no no no– let go!”

You shoved him back hard. Harder than you meant to. You hit the floor on your side, gloves scattering across the room as your eyes went wild trying to find him.

But Bucky didn’t collapse.

He stumbled, yes. But he caught himself, and looked at you. Hands still open in the air where they’d caught your arms. Still alive.

Your vision tunneled. Breath stuttering, chest too tight to expand.

“You–” Your voice broke like glass. “I touched you–“

“I know.”

He said it too calmly. Like he didn’t understand the weight of what just happened. Like he hadn’t just died.

“I didn’t mean to–I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t–“ You curled in on yourself, dragging your sleeves back down over your hands, trying to find air in a room that had too much of it. “I don’t want you to die–I always kill them–“

“Hey.” His voice was closer, lower and solid. “You didn’t kill me.”

You shook your head violently, barely hearing him. Your hands were trembling so hard it hurt. Your whole body buzzed with panic. Your mind raced ahead to things that hadn’t happened. Memories of bodies falling, the smell of burned skin, the lifeless weight of people you'd only brushed.

“Look at me,” Bucky said again, firm this time. “Look at me.”

You did.

He was knelt in front of you, not touching you now, but not afraid either. Still breathing. Still alive.

“Nothing happened,” He said, slower this time. “You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t even make me dizzy.”

“I’ve never…” You voice cracked. “No one ever survives it.”

“I did.”

You stared at him, unable to believe it. Skin still crawling like you were seconds away from watching his eyes go blank, his heart stutter and stop.

But he stayed there, breathing evenly, watching you with calm in his storm-blue eyes.

“I don’t know why,” He said, not trying to sugarcoat it. “But you can touch me.”

And somehow, that was the thing that finally broke you. Not the fear. Not the guilt. Not the flashbacks.

Hope.

Because if there was one person in the world you could touch… then maybe you weren’t a monster after all. And that was almost harder to believe.

You didn’t move for a long time and neither did Bucky. He stayed close but not too close. Never crossed the line, never reached out. He just waited. Like he knew you were still one breath away from bolting down the hall.

But he did shift just slightly. “You don’t have to talk,” He said quietly. “Not yet, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Your voice was raw when you answered: “It’s not supposed to be possible.”

He said nothing.

“I’ve killed people for less,” You whispered. “Brushed their wrist, bumped a shoulder. They all…”

The words fractured. Your breath hitched too hard to finish. And still, he didn’t speak. Not in that moment.

But then he exhaled slowly. “They did that to me, too, you know,” He said. “Hydra. Taught me my hands could only cause hurt. That I wasn’t allowed to have anything good, not without ruining it.”

Your gaze flicked toward him, blurry and sharp at once. He looked tired. Not pitiful, not fragile–just… weathered. Like he understood.

“I got used to keeping distance,” He went on, gaze softening. “Figured I didn’t deserve closeness anymore.”

Something tight pulled in your heart.

“I never thought I’d be the one someone like you was scared to hurt.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s not what this is.”

He tilted his head. “No?”

You looked away, unable to meet the weight in his eyes. “I wasn’t scared of hurting you,” You admitted, voice quieter now. “I knew I would.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t judgment. It was understanding. The kind you’d only felt a few times in your life, and never like this.

Eventually, you managed to crawl forward, slowly, moving with the hesitance of someone reaching across a minefield. Bucky stayed perfectly still, not guiding, not pushing.

You reached for his hand. Skin to skin. And still… nothing.

No death. No pain. Just warmth.

You let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve never touched anyone like this,” You admitted, more to yourself than him. “Without hurting them.”

Bucky’s fingers curled gently around yours.

“You’re not hurting me,” He said. “You never have.”

The sob built in your throat before you could stop it. Ugly, sudden, and sharp. Bucky didn’t flinch. Just waited, fingers still gently holding yours. Like it wasn’t dangerous. Like it was normal.

Like maybe, for once, you were allowed to be human. And for the first time since the day Hydra named you a weapon, you believed that might be true.

[earthsparked]

Hallo!! Hallo!!

It's me!!! F.T!!

Tomorrow is going to be my birthday:D(June 26)

I randomly want to ask on how bots would feel or how they'd act about their human friends on their birthday!

Like would they give their human companions gifts? Would they willingly sing happy birthday? Etc?

-F.T

Happy birthday, F.T.! 🎉

Hot Rod is a little confused, but he gets the spirit. This is a special day for you because you emerged from an egg delivered by a stork that landed in a cabbage patch or something (he does not need details). Therefore you are being treated to a new competitive sport, which he has created: having the best birthday. This IS a competition and he is going to win it. You’re getting presents (weird ones, possibly stolen). You’re getting food (definitely stolen). You’re getting a very confused bagpiper who has been hired to follow you around and make sure everyone knows it’s your birthday.

Optimus is a lot more low-key. He actually has some grasp on what the day means, and though he’s not much into presents, he definitely wishes you a happy day. Maybe he spends some time with you talking about your life and what you’re proudest of having done. I bet he’d do something like take you for a drive to have a heartfelt talk about where you want the rest of your life to go, while enjoying some beautiful scenery.

Drift would be in the middle: he’d get the specialness of the day, for sure, but he might be hesitant to engage too much out of fear of insulting you somehow or overstepping. He’d definitely invite you to meditate with him, and probably give you some insight into your life through a deep philosophical conversation from his perspective of spectralism. And then he’d solemnly tell you how much better the world is with you in it, and hesitantly give you a present that he got someone else’s help to pick out for you. Something in a color that really represents your best qualities and his hopes that you’ll have a fruitful year.

Whirl is dragging you to the bar. You’re going to do karaoke and shots. Or you’re going to watch him do karaoke and shots. Either way. He threatens everyone into singing happy birthday to you. Ends the night giving you some incredibly expensive present you’ve wanted for ages, and absolutely will not say where he got it from or how he knew.

Bumblebee is more in tune with human culture, so you’re getting the full traditional birthday experience. Fortunately UberEats is a thing. A catered party, balloons, a cake, some small but very funny and cute gifts. He definitely reminded all your family and friends about the party by hacking their phones so nobody forgets. Gets in a little scuffle with Jazz and Blaster over who gets to DJ the party. This leads to some interesting musical selections.

Ratchet acts like he doesn’t care, but he gives you a book on some subject you’ve been fascinated by for ages. Gruffly brushes it off when you thank him. Yeah, yeah, go on, he’s busy. Get out of his medbay. Secretly smiles to himself after you hug his ankle and bounce off to go read your new book.

Jazz throws a rave that turns out to be a trap for the Decepticons. They bust up your party, but you had a killer time first and Jazz has done something insane like hack into your favorite restaurant and given you free food for life.

Prowl also hacks something for your birthday. You get a notice that your student loans, medical debt, credit cards, car payments, parking tickets, mortgage, etc. have all mysteriously been paid off. He will never admit to doing this.

[sharieb]

Can I request headcanons where Lads men reacting to Non MC Reader telling him how he is her first boyfriend so she's quite nervous please? - 🌕 anon

Whispers of a First Heart

Pairing: LADs x Non-MC! reader

Genre: Fluff Writer's note: Thank you, 🌕anon, darlin. You're my main supplier of fluff content ideas.🥰😘

Mission: Do Not Panic

You’re both reviewing fleet formations in his office, screens glowing with tactical overlays, when your eyes fix on the floor as you gently murmur, “You know… you’re my first boyfriend.”

The stylus in Caleb’s hand pauses mid-air. A split second later, his entire thought process crashes. “...Really?”

He asks, voice barely above a whisper, the corners of his lips twitching like he’s not sure whether to smile or panic.

You nod, shoulders drawing in, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I’m a little nervous. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Inside, Caleb’s thoughts go haywire.

Tactical planning? Shot. Emotional protocol? Rewriting in real time. His chest feels too tight, too full. He didn’t know he could still feel this type of nervousness. I’m her first? Her first. She picked me? I don’t deserve this. What if I mess this up?

But outwardly, he regains composure with soldier-like precision, setting the stylus down carefully. “That’s alright,”

He murmurs, reaching over to gently lace your fingers with his. “We’ll figure it out together. No pressure.”

He makes a mental checklist of ways to make you feel safe, cherished, and absolutely not overwhelmed. There’s a protocol for that… right?

Later that night, he’s lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling like it’s a tactical screen. Her first boyfriend. And hopefully her last.

He adds an extra pillow to the couch you like to curl up on, and spends fifteen minutes picking the right tea for your next movie night.

He’s taking this seriously. Very seriously.

Don’t Tease Her, Don’t Tease Her… Dammit.

You’re in his workshop, nervously offering him a homemade drink when you blurt, “Sysy, umm… I really don’t know how to say this, b-but… You’re… You’re actually my… um… my first boyfriend.”

Sylus stills, mid-sip. Nearly chokes. “I’m what?" “M-My first,”

You mumble, face burning as you avoid his intense gaze.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow as his usual smug grin slowly spreads across his lips. His brain, however, was going absolutely feral. I’m her first?!  FIRST!? She trusts me with that? Shit. Okay. Don’t scare her. Don’t tease her, Don’t ruin this, Don’t— DO NOT COMBUST, DAMMIT!

He quickly recovers, straightening up with his cocky grin still in place. “That’s a bold choice, little dove,”

He smirks, eyes gleaming, reaches up to gently grab hold of your chin, making you look back at him. “Not scared I’ll corrupt you, and turn you into my pretty little rebel overnight?

You hide your face in your sleeves, and his chest squeezes. It’s almost criminal how cute you are.

He softens instantly and chuckles, softer this time, brushing your hair away with surprising gentleness. “My Precious

He murmurs, setting the smug aside and tugging you in by the waist.

“I’ll be good. For you. We’ll take it slow. I want this to be sweet, not scary.

Sylus might be chaos incarnate, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make your first relationship the safest, softest, and sexiest experience possible.

Later, he finds himself idly building a gadget and designing a tiny holo-chip with the gadget that will send daily compliments to your holowatch.

Reason? Just because.

And the holo-chip that plays your voice saying his name.

When you ask about the holo-chip, he shrugs.

“Backup. In case I miss you too much.”

Clinical Panic, Masked by Calm

The clinic is quiet, just the faint sound of soft music and the organisation of neatly stacked supplies.

After you pass him a tray of gauze, you blurt it out like a confession, wringing your hands and avoiding his gaze.  “Zayne… I never told you this but… I’ve never had a boyfriend before. So, um, I’m kind of… new to all this.

He looks at you instantly, blinking once in surprise. "I see.

He says gently, setting the tray down. “Thank you for trusting me with that.

Internally? Absolute mental disaster. Code red.

His brain is screaming first-boyfriend protocol. I’m her first. This is incredibly delicate. Important. What if I mess this up? What if I’ve already messed it up? Oh no, she’s nervous. Don’t make it worse. Stay calm. Fix this with tenderness.

He soon takes both your hands and lifts them up and presses the gentlest kiss to your knuckles, as he carefully guides you over to the exam bed.  “Your words ended up explaining... a lot."

You blink, defensive. "A lot?"

He chuckles softly. "Like why you look like you're about to faint every time I brush your fingers."

But there's no teasing bite in his tone-just warmth.

Once you’re seated comfortably on the edge of the exam bed, he closes the gap between the two of you, his voice quiet and steady. “We’ll take this at your pace, and if anything makes you uncomfortable, you tell me immediately." "We’ll just… be together, as we are.”

He keeps his tone clinical, but his hand is warm over yours. Steady. Protective.

Later that night, Zayne pores over relationship psychology articles as if they’re medical case files. He even outlines a six-week schedule for low-pressure dates and communication check-ins. As her first… I have to be worthy of that.

Smitten to the Core… Internally Screaming

He’s waist-deep in creative chaos—paints everywhere, canvas in progress, soft music echoing off the studio walls.

You curl up nearby, cheeks flushed. “Rafie? Have I ever told you that I'd never had a boyfriend before? You being first.” “PARDON?!”

He gasps, eyes wide, as if you’ve just admitted you’re an angel disguised in human form. “I just… I’m sorry if I mess things up sometimes, and for not knowing how to be perfect at this.”

You say, voice barely above a whisper. “But I really want to try with you.”

He melts. Instantly.

Internal meltdown. He's lost to chaos. Sketching your wedding outfits in his mind, painting your initials into heart-shaped clouds, composing symphonies. She trusts me. Me. With her heart. Oh no. I’m going to die. That means I get to be her first kiss, her first date, her first everything. I’ve won the jackpot."

He calls out to you using a cute pet name in Lemurian as he stumbles across the studio, nearly knocking over a stool in his hurry to reach you with his arms open wide. “I will honour this heart like it’s the finest work of art.”

He takes your hands, lifting them to kiss your knuckles, then your forehead, cheeks, and the tip of your nose, murmuring in Lemurian between every touch. “You don’t have to know anything. Just be you. I’ll meet you there.”

That day, he started an entire series of paintings titled The Beginning of Us.

With the first, now his favourite painting that he was working on, which was a portrait of you, lounging on his couch with blushing cheeks, and a shy, radiant smile, labelled: First Love, First Brushstroke.

Processing.exe Has Stopped Working

The room is quiet as you're both cuddled up beneath the soft glow of a holographic star map, fingers lightly brushing as you adjust constellations.

While adjusting the orbit of a simulated star cluster, when you glance up and whisper,  “Xavier? You know that…  that you’re my first boyfriend, right?”

He blinks once. Twice. The stars behind him literally stall mid-spin. The projection glitches. “You—wait—really?”

His voice cracks halfway through the word. "Yeah.”

You say, suddenly shy as you rest your head on his shoulder. “Sorry if I’m weird or awkward about things sometimes. I’m still learning…”

His lips part as if to say something, then close again, a soft pink blush dusting his cheeks.

Internally, Xavier.exe has crashed. Panic, awe, disbelief, joy-all screaming in binary. Does this mean I can’t mess up ever? Am I the blueprint to her love life? Am I really the one setting the bar for any future boyfriends after me? No, other boyfriends. I'm going to be her one and only.

He's immediately rewriting his emotional algorithms. Must not mess up. Must be perfect. Must cherish.

When he finally speaks, it’s soft and sincere. “You’re not weird. You’re… you. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He holds you closer in his arms, brushing a gentle kiss against your temple. “We’ll learn everything together. One step at a time. I’ve never wanted to get it right so badly.”

When you leave, the star map resumes, but one constellation, newly named after you, glows a little brighter than the others.

Later that night, he adds a private entry into his logbook titled: Her First Sky.

[deansimagination]

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Warning: NSFW, cunnilingus, somnophilia

Summary: reader has recently started training but has started to have some crazy dreams about Az. Unbeknownst to reader, she is pushing her dreams into Azriel’s because she’s his mate. He does not have self control to say the least to deny her what she wants.

~

Recently, you had been having very vivid dreams. Vivid in the sense that you had been waking up feeling disoriented and like everything that happened in your sleep had actually occurred in real life. Especially the sensations. You felt everything, smelled everything, tasted everything. It wasn’t that your dreams were particularly dull prior to this new development, but they had never made you feel such things.

It seemed to have started a couple weeks ago. You had been working with Rhysand and the inner circle as an emissary between the Night Courts and the other courts in Prythian for a few decades now. Although you had been living with them for quite some time, you had never quite taken to any sort of training. However, when Nesta approached you a few weeks ago and asked if you would like to join her and the other priestesses, you gave her a reluctant “Sure….”

You really liked Nesta, and wanted to support her in her pursuit of doing something meaningful for these women, and for herself. You could see that her plans were already having a positive effect on her experience here in the Night Court, and they were healing some part of herself that you knew needed attention. So, although you felt that training had absolutely no pertinence to your job, you wanted to support a friend.

Which brings you to the start of this whole mess.

~2 weeks ago~

You had arrived 20 minutes early to the training ground, mostly due to pure nerves. Nesta helped you obtain some Illyrian leathers, which she promised would be comfortable to train in. She lied, because although they kept you warm as you stood outside, they did feel a pretty tight.

You didn’t want to just stand around as you waited for everyone to arrive, so you just started stretching your muscles. It had been quite awhile since you invested any real time in developing your physique, but at least you knew to stretch before doing anything extraneous. You thought this training might be good, just in case one day push came to shove you could at least defend yourself. However, you hadn’t really exercised because you were busy with court relations and were always traveling, and you also happened to love your body…. A lot. If there was one think you knew, it was that you were always confident in yourself, mind and body, which helped in all your work endeavors.

Now you weren’t so sure. You felt completely out of your element. This isn’t something you could maneuver yourself out of with your quick wit or an intelligent argument. You had to face this head on. As your anxiety was getting ready to fester, you were pulled out of your thoughts by a cool dark wisp brushing your ankles and wrists, which you quickly recognized as Azriels shadows. You turned your body around to see where he was, only to find him watching you with his arms crossed.

“Nice of you to join us” he smirked at the end of his sentence, almost sounding amused. You and Azriel had a good relationship, although you didn’t get to spend much time with him due to your travels. You did like him though, you guys had a similar sense of humor, liked a lot of the same books, could have very interesting discussions, and you both seemed to have a similar competitive streak.

“I thought it was finally time that I learn how to kick your ass physically since I’m getting tired of cards” you said as you crossed your arm, giving him a little raise of your brow.

“I think you’re in for a rude awakening, Sweetheart. I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to kick my ass… Physically of course, ” Azriel smiled as he took a few steps closer to you “you’re here early.”

“I was eager to start learning” you lied. He did not need to know about your nerves, although you guessed that his shadows had already alerted him of your fast heart beat and sweat gathering in your palms. He was about to say something when you heard a group of voices approaching, thankfully saving you from whatever embarrassing thing he was about to say.

Cassian, Nesta, and a fairly big group of her new trainees came into view. You were excited for these women but scared for yourself, so you prayed to the Mother that you would give yourself the same encouragement you were inclined to give total strangers.

(A Few Hours Later)

You were panting and sweating like you had been running for years. You had not expected the intensity that the morning held. You started with some strength building exercises, then moved on to some simple fighting movements. Azriel and Cassian had decided to do a simple demonstration for the group. But, as the sun had risen, the temperature increased significantly, which led to Cassian and Azriel shedding their leathers. Although you were trying to focus on the hand and foot movements of the two males in front of you, your eyes kept drifting to the sculpted chest of Azriel. You had never looked at Az in that way, although you found him very attractive. But now you couldn’t help how your eyes hungrily trailed the sweat beading from his neck, down his chest, quickly falling down a sculpted v into his leathers. Your mouth had suddenly run dry, and you licked your lips, very distracted by the sight in front of you. And, your distraction was apparently very noticeable.

“Y/N, I’ve been saying your name for a few seconds now. Seems like something has gotten your attention” Nesta quirked her lips, amusement clear in her eyes.

“No no… I’m just focused on the, um, lesson” you could feel the blush heating your cheats. Great, even you didn’t believe that horseshit.

“Well, I’m sorry to distract you since the demonstration is over. I just wanted to ask how you’re liking the training” Nesta asked, thankfully letting your little ogle session go.

“I like it, and it seems like I need it. It’s very challenging, which I thought I would hate but I actually enjoy” you told her truthfully. She gave you a genuine smile and fully faced you.

“I’m so glad! So you’ll continue coming” she stated, not leaving room for argument. You just smiled and nodded, happy that she seemed happy. Nesta looked over your shoulder, smirking to herself and quickly told you she’d see you later. You were about to reach for her when you heard a very recognizable deep voice.

“So, are you ready to kick my ass?” Azriel mused, challenge dancing in his eyes. He was still shirtless, his tattoos proving to easily (very easily) distract you for a second. This didn’t go unnoticed, as you looked back into Azriels eyes, and found them zeroed in on you.

“One day Shadowsinger” you tried to remain cool, but again felt heat on your face. You quickly turned around and rushed away from the training ground.

~Present~

Which brings you to now, and your vivid dreams. After feeling some sort of way toward Azriel during training, you were having some intense dreams about him, which only seemed to get worse as you continued to go to training.

In the last two weeks, you went to training every single day. You continued getting stronger and developing your skill, but when you were training you always had lingering thoughts of Azriel. You could always feel his eyes burning into you as he watched your train, sometimes coming to correct your form and give you advice. When he did correct your form, he would place his hands on you, which would almost always cause you to take a sharp intake of breath. It was like he was sending electricity through your veins every time he did it. And why did he always have to be shirtless? You’re sure he knows what he’s doing, but you would never confront him about it.

Your attraction for him was growing more and more, which was causing your dreams to be relentless. The first few nights has been innocent enough. Kindof. You were dreaming of him training you, shirtless of course, one-on-one. He was always so close to you, you could feel the warmth of his skin as he demonstrated what to do. You could smell cedar and mist and salt as he would step into your space.

That was the innocent start.

When he had started to correct your form and breathe his suggestions far too close to your ear, the dreams took a turn. In the dreams, he was still training you, but now he was getting closer and more confident. When he would correct your form, he would come up behind you and change the position of your arms. His hands would linger, slowly drifting down your sides down to your hips, where he would tighten his grip, then let go. When he would give you advice, he would come up behind you, his lips brushing over your ear as he whispered to you, his hand resting on your torso just under your breasts, holding your body securely to his. Your breath would hitch and you would turn your face away from his voice, giving him access. He would dip his head and run his nose along the crane of your neck, surely smelling the not so subtle shift in your scent. He would begin peppering kisses to your sensitive skin as his hand would begin to travel south.

He would make quick work with the ties on your leathers, and his hands would drift into the fabric of your pants. He would push your panties to the side and feel exactly how excited he was making you feel.

“You’re so wet sweetheart.” He would state.

“Azriel please” you would breathe out, to which he always responded, “Tell me exactly what you want to me to do to you.”

But you always woke up after that.

Azriels POV

Y/N coming to training was proving to be an incredibly difficult feat. Although I enjoyed spending time with her when she was back home from her emissary trips, it made keeping my little secret hard.

In all honesty, the bond had snapped for me several months ago. Although I had always felt an attraction to her, I was shocked when the golden thread laced my soul to hers, but just because I didn’t feel like Id had enough time with her. We always enjoyed each others company; she made me laugh and always drove me crazy when we would get into little debates, card games, or anything that had to do with competition. She had a fire in her eyes that I’m sure mirrored my own, her competitive nature always drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

Now that she was training, my self control was beginning to become loose. I had to see her moving about the training ground in her tight leathers, which did everything for her figure. And when I saw she needed correction, I had to be the one to do the correcting. I could not bother to think about anyone else putting their hands on her body.

Seeing her at training, however, was not the most difficult part. It was her dreams. She had no idea of the bond that was connecting us to one another, so she had no idea that she was pushing her dreams into my own every night. I knew they weren’t my own, they were always from her point of view, and they started immediately after our first training when I had seen her hooded eyes after seeing Cassian and I demonstrate.

She made waking up extremely difficult, I never wanted to leave her dreams. Where I was confident and she wanted me openly. Especially hearing her call my name, feeling her skin beneath my fingers, the scent of her breaching my senses. She is so perfect, and I want her so badly. Although I struggle with letting her find this golden thread in her own time, I pray to the Mother that she never stops training. I only get to feel her when I sleep, but the temporary bliss is worth the disorientation when I wake up.

~

We had successfully gotten through another day of training, which had involved some one on on time with Y/N. I was teaching her new moves and sparring with her, but I noticed she was pulling her punches.

“Stop pulling your punches Y/N” I instructed. She scoffed and shook her head, but the next punch she threw was, again, pulled. I quickly grabbed both her wrists and pulled her swiftly into my space. She looked startled and placed her hands on my chest out of reflex. She was glaring into my eyes as I looked down at her, but I only smirked.

“If you want to kick my ass one day, I need you to put your strength into your swings.” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she looked from eyes to my lips and back up to my eyes. We were standing entirely too close for what I would consider appropriate when I train the priestesses. But I couldn’t help it, Y/N is my beautiful mate and it was my instinct to want her body as close to mine as possible.

“Okay” she whispered, and the rest of training she heeded my advice. Although I wish she hadn’t, just so could correct her and breathe her in just a few more minutes.

~

I had already fallen asleep after doing some paperwork for Rhysand and having dinner with the Inner Circle, which had involved a lot of catching lingering stares and averted gazes from Y/N. I was in the beginning of her dream when one of my shadows began tugging at my hand to wake me up.

“What?” I whisper-yelled, upset that they had interrupted this time with Y/N. They continued to tug on my hand, dragging me out of my bed.

Theh brought me straight to Y/N’s door, urging me to step inside. I knew she was asleep because I had my (her) dream interrupted by my shadows. I twisted the door handle softly, being careful not to make too much noise. I quickly found her form on her bed, her hands gripping the sheets. The shadows continued to guide me until was I standing over her bed. I raised my eyebrow at them to ask why they brought me here but they just whispered “Yours.” But i understood more after Y/N called, “Azriel!”

My heart leaped into my throat and I immediately felt myself stiffen. I felt so wrong standing over her in her bedroom without her knowing, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away now that I was here. This woman really would be the death of my self control. As I was going through my moral dilemma, she gasped again “Az please,” lust evident in her voice. I reached my hand down and brushed my knuckles along her cheek, wanting to feel her skin. She lifted her chin as I ran my fingers along her jaw, entranced by her reaction. She whispered my name again, but I responded “Sweetheart” not exactly whispering. I could feel the timber in my voice as my own lust was consuming me. I could smell how aroused she was, and knew she wanted me, badly.

At the sound of my voice, her eyes barely fluttered open. She was not even half awake, she seemed to think she was still in her dream

She reached for my hand on her jaw, pulling me down to sit on the bed. Her pupils were so wide, almost black. I knew what she wanted and needed, but also knew she was still in her dreamland. She pulled my hand close to her mouth now that was sitting, using her fingers to bend mine so that my index and middle fingers were pointing out. She brought my fingers into her mouth and sucked them, her eyes drifting closed. I let out a sharp breath of air, watching her push my fingers to the back of her throat. I wasn’t sure what to do now, as she sucked, but she pulled my fingers out with a pop. She guided my hand down under her covers, and placed my hand over her pussy, her eyes still closed, as she whispered “Please Azriel.”

Although this seemed to be a bit of a gray area for us, Y/N being my mate (unknowingly), and her damn near asleep begging me to help her as she gripped my hand. But I just can’t help myself. With my other hand I lifted the covers and crawled in. I was already in my underwear having been woken up myself. I maneuvered myself so that I was completely under the covers, my shoulders slotted between her legs. I nudged her knees wide, so they would lie flat on the bed as she bared herself to me. She smelled so good, and she was already wearing no underwear, I had to lean forward and taste.

I ran a stripe up through her folds, already getting a tase of her wetness. She moaned loudly which only encouraged me. I began to circle her clit with my tongue when she shoved her hand into my hair. I started sucking, while entering my index finger into her pussy. I started moving in and out and she started rocking her hips into my mouth.

“Oh Az, I’m gonna cum” she moaned as she rocked her hips faster. I added another finger and started flicking my tongue faster. All I could do was moan back, vibrating her clit in my mouth.

Y/N pov

You came with a loud and crude moan, startling you out of the in between of your wet dream and real life. You had never cum so hard in all your life, but were shocked when you realized there was a head of hair gripped in your hand. You lifted the cover only to find your dream male (literally), eyes boring in yours, his chin glistening with the moonlight now hitting his face. You put your fingers under his chin, guiding him up to you. He followed, quickly settling his body over yours.

“Are you real?” You whispered. You didn’t know if this was real, it felt more real than any dream you had about him, and you were already previously dreaming.

“Yes, baby” he answered, looking to the side as if in shame. You brought his face back to yours, “why did you come here?”

“Because you called out to me” he breathed leaning his forehead on yours. You had never felt such intimacy, especially from someone you desired so desperately.

“How did you know?” You felt something glimmering in your chest, which you thought had something to do with an answer to that question.

“Y/N, your soul calls out to mine, your body calls out to mine, your desires call out to mine. Your dreams infiltrate my slumber Your thoughts fill my head. Your feelings have taken root in my heart” He searched your eyes frantically, looking for something. You felt your chest crack open, a golden thread weaving itself to male on top of you. You suddenly felt a wave of love, want, and need, all which didn’t belong to you. You gasped, eyes wide as you took in Azriel. You weaved your hand behind his head and brought his face down to yours, kissing him deeply. He kissed you hungrily, moving his lips against yours almost as competitively as you two played games. You didn’t want to fight for dominance, you were His and He was yours, equal in every way.

“Azriel” you gasped, tugging his hair back. He looked at you, seeming worried that he had crossed some line (that line has been crossed king).

“You’re my mate” you smiled so wide, tears springing from your eyes. He smiled down at you, relieved it was nothing bad. He nodded, kissing the tears that gathered on your face. You were filled with such joy, you and Azriel had always clicked so well, with undeniable chemistry. You trusted Him completely, he made you laugh, made you think, made you feel. You felt so blessed.

“How am I supposed to kick my mates ass in the ring for real?” You pushed his shoulder, and he let out a loud laugh, his face falling into your shoulder.

“I know other ways we can compete physically, but I’m not sure if there will be any losers” he winked and now it was your turn to laugh.

The end

[ramp-it-up]

Girls Who Wear Glasses

The Cleo Era | Muse Masterlist

Summary: Ari gets your glasses dirty.

Word count: 1.6 K

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model!Reader

A/N: Muse Monday on a Wednesday!!! I just got some new glasses and I... Well, this is the result. This is a part of the Muse vers, but can be read as a standalone. Enjoy! (And if you do, or if you don't, let me know!)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, menace mommy Muse, Editor-in Chief Muse; brat Muse, dom Daddy Ari, glasses kink, rough oral (male receiving), cum play, the glasses get dirty, SIZE KINK, wall fucking, allusion to shower sex.

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

Editing the magazine confirmed two things: you were a stickler for detail, and you needed reading glasses.

At first, your vanity flinched.

Briefly.

Then the fashion brain kicked in.

Your editor Trixie had a field day.

She put out the call, and by week’s end, your desk was flooded with designer frames. They were all fire, but the ones that stopped your heart came with a note from Virgil himself.

Limited edition Louis Vuitton. Matte black wire with tortoiseshell tips: clean, sharp, and seductive.

You brought them home the second they arrived.

After riling Cleo up to crash-out levels, tickles, giggles, and a shared mango popsicle, you handed her off to Ari and slipped into the bedroom.

Off came your pencil skirt and heels.

On went his button-down, black lace panties, and thigh-high socks.

When you stepped out, the lights were low, and the nursery glowed gold.

Ari was in the rocking chair, humming something soft, holding Cleo against his chest. One hand curved over her tiny back, and she was nearly out, her face nuzzled into his shirt, and her breaths slowing into perfect little puffs.

He didn’t look up right away.

But when he did…

His eyes dragged over you from the socks, to the lace peeking out beneath the hem of his shirt, to the hint of breast and the chain he'd given you for your anniversary. And finally, to the slim LV frames perched on your nose.

“How do they look?” you asked, voice low and playful, wondering if he’d even register what you were talking about.

Ari didn’t even pretend to play it cool.

His gaze dragged back down, then up again, lingering where the shirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs.

“Fuckin’ edible,” he murmured, eyes hungry now.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You tilted your head and smirked.

“I meant the glasses, Ari.”

That pulled his gaze back to your face. Finally.

He looked at your face properly, the realization finally settling behind his eyes. And then his mouth curled into that crooked, filthy little smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Well,” he rasped, his voice deeper now, “you look like a librarian I’d corrupt in a heartbeat. Like I’d bend you over the nearest table and fog those lenses up.”

You tried to keep a straight face and failed, then grinned as Cleo stirred in his arms. He adjusted her gently, without looking away from you.

“You like them?” you asked, more sincere now, lips parted, your cheeks warm.

“I love them,” he said, eyes darkening.

“But I’d love anything on your face.”

You let out a shocked little laugh.

“Ari...God, you’re filthy.”

“And still not done,” he murmured as he rose, holding Cleo close. 

He kissed her head, whispered something soft, and gently lowered her into the crib. He gave her one last glance to make sure she was out.

Then he turned toward you.

You were waiting in the doorway, leaning against the frame, glasses low on your nose, shirt open just enough to make him come closer. When he reached you, his mouth brushed your ear.

“Those little glasses make you look like you follow instructions,” he rasped.

“But that lace?” 

His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt. 

“That tells me you don’t plan to.”

You bit your lip.

“That’s not what I meant…”

“I know what you meant,” he said, eyes dark and glittering. 

“And I gave you the truth. You’re my favorite problem. One I don’t want solved.”

You started backing out of the nursery as Ari followed you, eyes locked on yours and predatory.

“So,” you whispered, letting the shirt fall open completely. 

“You were saying?”

He moved even closer. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripped your jaw. His mouth hovered just above yours.

“I was saying,” he murmured, “you walked out here knowing I couldn’t touch you when I wanted to. And now you want me to be calm?”

His hand slipped inside the shirt, thumb roughly rubbing your nipple, leaving it aching, then dragging down your body to the waistband of your panties.

“Ari…” you breathed.

“You wore these,” he whispered, “knowing I’d lose my mind.”

“Maybe I wanted you to.”

“You look like you want to be ruined,” he growled, “with your hair wrapped around my fist and those pretty little frames sliding down your nose while I fuck that beautiful face.”

Your knees almost buckled.

“You’d mess up my glasses?”

“They’re cute,” he rasped.

“But I told you. I’d love anything on your face.”

You sank to your knees without a word.

He watched you the whole way down, his chest rising and falling harder now.

You adjusted your glasses and looked up at him like you were his dirtiest fantasy in thigh-highs and nothing else.

He swallowed hard, his knees weak from how gorgeous you were, but he didn’t say anything. He groaned and pulled himself from his sweats, already hard, wet, and aching.

“Open,” he whispered, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

You did. 

Your lips parted and your tongue stuck out as he slid his broad crown as deep into your mouth as it would go. Your hands gripped his thighs as you licked and sucked his girth.

You worked him slowly and sinfully, your tongue swirling, eyes locked on his, the glasses slipping with each glide of his hips.

You looked obscene like this.

Messy and beautiful, like your mouth was built to take him. Almost.

You were Ari’s Head Master, sweet, filthy, and fucking perfect.

He couldn’t last.

Not with you on your knees, glasses fogged, mouth slick and trying to swallow everything he gave you. He came with a growl, spilling his cum thickly across your tongue, your lips, your neck.

Your glasses caught the rest, little drops that painted them prettily.

Everything you couldn’t swallow dripped from your chin. And when you looked up at him, you looked like a filthy little angel.

“I just wanted to know if they looked good,” you said innocently.

“They look better dirty,” he said, voice rough, reaching down to pull you to your feet.

“But I plan to get them much dirtier.”

He dragged you up like he couldn’t stand being apart from you another second. Your knees barely had time to lock around his waist before your back hit the hallway wall.

Your glasses were crooked now. And your lips were still swollen from sucking him off. You were adorable.

Adorable and hot.

He reached up, adjusted your glasses, and then grinned.

“They stay on.”

Ari looked feral as he tugged the shirt down your arms, baring your breasts to the cool air and his hungry stare.

The sight earned you a delicious sound from deep in his throat. Then his mouth was on you.

His tongue swept inside your mouth, tasting himself on your lips, groaning when you moaned into him like you needed more. Your fingers gripped his hair because you needed something to hold on to.

His hands gripped under your thighs, lifting you without breaking the kiss. You hips ground down to where he was already hard again, dragging delicious friction through his sweats.

“You think I’m done with you?” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Think I’m not gonna fuck you stupid against this wall?”

“God, Ari,” you gasped. “Yes. Yes, please.”

You kissed his neck, sucking just below his ear as you whispered, “I just wanted to know...”

He lined himself up and slid inside you in one thick, devastating thrust, the angle deep and sharp, making your head thunk softly against the wall as your mouth dropped open.

He was so damn thick.

Your body protested for a split second, then gladly lubricated and accepted him. You were gasping, helpless, and clutching his shoulders as he started to move with rough, controlled thrusts that hit the deepest part of you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your glasses slipped; you didn’t care.

He growled against your throat.

“Look at me.”

You tried, but your eyes were half-lidded, mouth open, glasses fogging again as the heat built impossibly fast. He slipped his hand around your neck, his thumb tilting your jaw up.

“Look at me when I fuck you like this. I want to see those eyes. Want to see how wrecked you get behind those perfect little frames.”

The dirty glasses made it all hotter, messier, and more unbearable.

But Ari fucked you through it.

And you felt everything. The grind of his hips. The drag of his cock. The stretch, the ache, the overwhelming fullness. Your head fell back with a whimper as he slammed deeper.

“You look so goddamn pretty in these,” he panted.

“Riding my cock with fogged-up glasses like you were made for it. Taking it like the good little filthy girl you are.”

Your orgasm hit fast and brutal.

You clenched around him, nails digging into his back, body trembling as you reached for that peak. He fucked you deep and hard, all while kissing the air out of your lungs. He fucked you through every aftershock until you were shaking against the wall. 

Then he, hooked your knees around his arms and dug even deeper, pushing you over the edge again until your vision whited out, your cries muffled by his mouth. And when your pussy milked his cock again, glasses tilted, shirt hanging open, he lost it right behind you. 

He stayed buried inside you for a long, shuddering breath, holding you close, his forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your ass in his huge paws.

“I ever see you in these glasses in public,” he whispered, “You better get someplace private. Fast. You understand me?”

You nodded, boneless and buzzing.

He kissed your cheek, let your legs slide down to the ground, and held you steady with one hand as he gently adjusted your frames again with the other.

“Still look perfect,” he murmured.

You smiled.

“Thanks for your review,” you whispered. 

“I have 28 other pairs at the office.”

Ari groaned.

Then he threw you over his shoulder, causing the glasses to fly off somewhere behind you as he headed toward the shower.

Because Ari absolutely wasn’t done with you.

[isabelckl]

nathalie scatorccio x new girl (Pre-crash High School Au)

transferring in your senior year at Wiskayok High School, the last thing you expect is for cigarette-scented, eyelinered Natalie Scatorccio to take you under her wing—and maybe never let go.

“You stood me up, loser.”

Her voice was low. A little smug, as she walked past your desk, flicked your pencil off the table like she owned the room—and your attention.

You hadn’t met her after school yesterday.

Because, well… you didn’t have time for girls like Natalie Scatorccio. Girls who showed up smelling like smoke all the time. All leather and sarcasm and those stupid heart-shaped sunglasses.

You stopped rewriting your notes and sighed. Bent down to grab the pencil. Rolled your eyes before sitting back up.

She was already in her seat—slouched low, laughing with the same crowd she always smoked with after school. Loud. Reckless. Effortlessly magnetic.

You glared at her.

The classroom buzzed with chaotic energy—desks scraping against tile, someone yelling across the room, a ball of paper flying past your head. Laughter. Curses. The clatter of pens hitting the floor. The teacher wasn’t even pretending to pay attention anymore.

Natalie turned to you, one foot up on the chair in front of her, elbows on her knees, eyebrows raised like she was waiting for a reaction.

“Bitch,” you muttered under your breath, staring.

She tilted her head, lips curling. “You’re the bitch,” she said—smug. Smirking.

You rolled your eyes and turned to face forward just as the bell rang.

Around you, the classroom erupted into motion—desks scraping, chairs dragging, students calling out to each other across the room like the teacher didn’t even exist. He shouted something about homework, but no one cared. Not even you.

You sighed and began gathering your things. Just as you were about to slip your notebook into your bag, a hand slammed down on your desk, making you flinch.

You looked up—and, of course, it was Natalie. She was leaning over you, looking down like she was sizing you up.

“I can’t believe you stood me up yesterday,” she said, her eyes taking you in casually.

You tilted your head, forcing a confused look as you blinked up at her.

“Uh, I don’t remember ever saying yes to meet you at your friend’s park.”

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, studying you like some disappointing little science experiment.

“You’re so boring,” she muttered.

Her fingers hovered near your face for a second, then casually brushed the edge of your hair—like she was wiping something off. Without warning, they dropped lower, trailing along your collar before coming to rest on the top button of your blouse.

You blinked. Hard.

Your eyes dropped just in time to catch her buttoning it up, like it offended her.

You looked back up, eyebrows raised. “What are you—”

She sighed dramatically, like you were the one being ridiculous, and grabbed your bag off the seat. “Come on.”

She was already halfway to the door, slipping into the flow of students in the hallway.

You groaned under your breath and grabbed the rest of your stuff, stuffing things into your arms in a mess of folders and pens.

“Natalie,” you called after her, annoyed. “Seriously?”

She turned around, already halfway into the hallway chaos. Without a word, she marched back over, took everything straight out of your arms, and shoved it all into your bag. You just stood there and stared.

“…Where are we going now?” you asked, arms crossed, voice sharp. You sounded annoyed—but not enough to stop her, and she knew it.

She zipped your bag shut with a loud zzzt, then grinned. “To the park.”

You scoffed. “Well, I don’t wanna go to the park with you. I wanna go home. Maybe consider asking me that?”

She just smirked—your bag now slung over her shoulder—and stepped in front of you like she hadn’t heard a thing.

You tried not to roll your eyes as one of her friends passed by and dapped her up, muttering something about a party or some place they’d “see her at later.” You didn’t catch most of it, and Natalie only laughed like it was an inside joke.

She didn’t even look back at you until you glanced past the flow of students heading for the school gates.

Then—her arm looped casually around your shoulders, tugging you forward.

“You’re bloody irritable,” she muttered, lips close to your ear. “Let me fix that.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms even as she dragged you along. “You’re annoying.”

She laughed when you snatched your bag back from her shoulder with one swift motion.

“So this is the park?” you asked, arms crossed as you looked around.

It wasn’t a park. Just the fenced-in patch behind the classrooms that the school didn’t bother using anymore—overgrown grass, sun-faded vandalism all over the brick walls, a few broken plastic chairs scattered like litter. There were big rusting metal pipes students used to trip over before they started sitting on them. Someone had drawn a very poorly executed... something on the side of one.

Natalie scoffed and reached up to pinch your nose.

“Hey—” you started, but she was already tugging you closer, her arm still slung around your shoulder like it belonged there.

She guided you toward one of the sturdier pipes. A few of her friends were already there—leaning against the wall or sitting on the pipe ends, passing around a lighter and a half-empty soda bottle of something that was definitely not soda.

They dapped her up one by one, throwing lazy greetings. A few glanced your way, nodding casually.

You nodded back—awkward, just a little. You felt ridiculous. But then you remembered the way Natalie sometimes nodded smugly when she greeted them, like a queen making her rounds, and for a second it almost felt like you were part of something.

You knew the group. Knew their names. Had shared classes. But you didn’t really talk to them—mostly because Natalie never let them talk to you the way they talked to everyone else. She kept you close but separate. Like some pet project. Like you were hers. Sort of.

Natalie plopped down beside you, lit a cigarette, and exhaled slowly like it was something cinematic.

You watched her.

“So... you brought me here to watch you smoke?” you said, flatly. “To inhale secondhand smoke and possibly get lung cancer in the near future?”

She laughed under her breath, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, ash flicking onto the ground.

“Isn’t it kinda hot, though?” she asked, grinning. “Watching me smoke?”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

You sighed, deciding to dig through your bag for something to distract you. Maybe your sandwich. Maybe your last shred of dignity.

But the second you unzipped it, Natalie reached for the bag.

“You’re not gonna do your homework here,” she said, cigarette balanced between her fingers like punctuation.

You frowned at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’m not going to do my homework here,” you hissed, glancing around at her friends, suddenly hyper-aware of their presence. God forbid they hear that.

Natalie let go of your bag with a laugh. You glared at her, muttering something under your breath as you rummaged inside, finally pulling out your sandwich.

She watched you as she smoked, eyes lazy, amused.

You unwrapped the sandwich—wax paper crinkling—and took a bite. Just as you swallowed, you caught her still watching.

“…Are you eating a sandwich right now?” she asked, brow raised, the faintest smile twitching at her lips.

You deadpanned, “No, I’m hitting it.”

She let out a short laugh, surprised. You scoffed at her reaction.

“What’s funny?” you asked, chewing.

Natalie shook her head, smoke curling from her mouth as she grinned, still laughing a little.

“Hm. You’re just so damn adorable,” she muttered, before taking another hit.

You looked away, choosing to focus on your sandwich instead, but she didn’t stop staring.

“Let me have some,” she said, eyes dropping to the sandwich.

You shook your head. “Nope.”

She frowned like you’d just kicked her dog. “Why?” She was still smoking, like she hadn’t already forgotten the sandwich wasn’t the only thing in her mouth.

“You have your cigarette,” you said, flatly, taking another bite.

“This isn’t food,” she argued, gesturing with it.

You turned your head, leveled her with a deadpan stare. “Put that out.”

She stared back at you, slowly took one last hit, then scoffed and stubbed it out on the side of the pipe.

You didn’t say anything. You just tore the sandwich in half and handed her the other piece.

Natalie took the sandwich half from you with zero gratitude, like it was hers by default. She took a bite, watching you like she was waiting for a reaction.

Before you could give her one, a voice cut in from a few feet away.

“Yo, Nat,” one of her friends called out—Trev, maybe, the one always trying too hard to be funny. “You sharing lunch now? Since when are you nice?”

You didn’t look up. You just kept chewing.

But then he added, louder, “If she gets tired of you, send her my way.”

That made your head snap up. You stared at him, brows pulled together, already halfway annoyed.

Natalie didn’t laugh.

Instead, she exhaled slowly, shifted closer to you, and without even looking at him, said, “Yeah, no. She’s not for you.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a threat. But it was solid. Sharp.

You blinked, caught somewhere between startled and flustered. Her arm brushed yours as she leaned forward on her elbows, like she hadn’t just claimed you in front of half her friends.

Trev made a face, held up his hands. “Damn, alright.”

You turned to her. “Not for him?”

Natalie shrugged, casually licking some crumbs off the corner of her thumb. “Yeah. You’re mine.”

“…Excuse me?”

She grinned. “Relax. I meant the sandwich.”

“Mostly.” She added after a beat.

You scoffed and looked away.

She laughed softly, bumping your knee with hers under the pipe. “Don’t worry. I don’t share stuff I actually like.”

The group eventually thinned out—one by one peeling off toward home, practice, wherever else teenagers with too much time and not enough supervision went. Someone tossed an empty can across the fence. Another lit a cigarette and left before finishing it.

Soon it was just you and Natalie again—still on the pipe, a bit of empty silence settling between you. Not awkward but not comfortable either.

You wiped your fingers on the sandwich wrapper, crumpling it into a ball. She was still beside you, leaned back on her hands, her eyes squinting at the sky like she was pretending not to look at you.

“You know I actually waited for you yesterday?” casually, she said.

You turned your head a little. “What?”

She kept staring up, voice airy, almost joking. “At the shed. I waited. Thought maybe you’d show.”

You blinked.

Natalie snorted at your silence and glanced at you, eyes squinting. “Don’t worry, I didn’t cry about it or anything. I just chain-smoked and threatened a raccoon.”

You let out a breath through your nose, trying not to smile. “Sounds productive.”

“Oh, super,” she said, nodding. “Therapeutic. Changed me as a person.”

You shook your head, looking down at your shoes. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I’m never serious,” she said immediately, grinning. “That’s, like, my whole thing.”

You didn’t say anything.

She didn’t either, for a few seconds. Just kicked a piece of gravel with her boot and sighed like she was bored. It was quiet, unusually quiet. Only the rustling of trees behind the fence, the sound of traffic a few blocks away, and your own pulse in your ears.

“Come on. Let me take you home.” She stood up.

You blinked, squinting up at her. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “But I want to.”

So you stood too—dusting your palms off on your skirt, slinging your now-lighter bag over your shoulder.

The two of you headed out of the school grounds together. The sun was low in the sky, casting everything in a soft pinkish haze. The air smelled like cut grass and old smoke. Someone had a car stereo blasting something distant and bass-heavy down the street.

You didn’t talk.

You just walked. Your shoulders barely brushing sometimes. Her steps falling into rhythm with yours, like they always did.

And it wasn’t the first time Natalie had done this—claimed you like that. Said things that made people laugh, made you roll your eyes, made something uncomfortable stir in your chest before you buried it.

She did it often, actually. Called you hers. Told people to back off. Grabbed your hand in crowded hallways just to lead you nowhere. Took things from you like they were hers to begin with.

You didn’t really think anything of it.

Well—she’s Natalie. She says things. She does things. That’s just how she is.

You didn’t think of her that way.

Not until now, really.

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye.

She looked calm. Unbothered. Like she wasn’t still carrying half your sandwich in her stomach and a small piece of your brain in her back pocket.

You looked forward again, swallowing whatever that thought was before it finished forming.

You slowed down when you reached the last block before your street. Natalie glanced at you, one brow raised.

“You live that way, right?”

You nodded but didn’t keep walking.

She frowned. “You scared or something?”

You rolled your eyes, slumping your shoulders as you released a heavy sigh. “No. You can’t walk me all the way.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

You hesitated. “My parents.. don’t like when I hang out with you.”

Natalie blinked at that. Then laughed. “Ouch.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, I’m flattered.”

You sighed, rubbing the strap of your bag. “They think you’re... a bad influence.”

“Well,” she said, grinning, “they’re not wrong.”

You didn’t smile. She noticed.

For a second, Natalie looked like she might say something real. But then she shrugged, all lazy charm again. “Alright. I’ll stop here then, Miss Good Influence.”

You looked at her.

She leaned in, voice lower now. “Don’t ditch me tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’ll see.”

She smirked. Took a step back. “Don’t make me wait at the park again. I might actually cry this time.”

You snorted. “You’d cry because no one’s watching you be dramatic.”

“Exactly.”

And with that, she turned and walked back the way you came, hands in her pockets, head tilted toward the pink sky.

You stood there a second longer than you needed to.

It was late.

You were sitting at your desk, the yellow glow of your lamp cast across your textbook. The same paragraph had been sitting in front of you for nearly ten minutes now.

You were not thinking about Natalie.

Okay... you were. A little.

You resisted the urge to glance at your phone for the fourth time in three minutes.

But of course, you lost.

You:

Hey

She replied almost instantly.

Nat:

ohh

can’t wait till tomorrow?

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched a little anyway.

You:

i feel bad.

Nat:

why is that?

You bit your lip. Your thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

You:

it's because my parents don’t want me hanging out with you

and i know you’ll still walk me home despite that

i don’t wanna feel bad

don’t walk me home anymore

It took her all of five seconds to reply.

nat:

don’t be dramatic

i don’t even feel bad even if your parents don’t like me

ur making it like we’re dating or smth lol

u actually like hanging out w me ik haha

You groaned and slumped forward in your chair, letting your head drop onto your arms.

She was the worst. And she was right.

Your phone buzzed again.

nat:

guess who’s outside your window rn

Your heart skipped—just once.

You turned your head toward the window. A second later, a small clack hit the glass. Your eyes widened.

“What the—” you muttered, pushing out of your chair and walking to it.

You unlocked the window and pulled it open, cool night air brushing your face. Down below, standing on the grass in your backyard, was Natalie.

Grinning.

“What are you doing?” you half-shouted in a whisper-yell, hands gripping the windowsill.

She shrugged. “Thought you said you felt bad.”

“That doesn’t mean come to my house!”

“Too late,” she said, like that settled it.

You sighed and closed the window halfway, muttering under your breath as you crept out of your room, through the dark hallway, and tiptoed down the stairs.

You opened the back door and there she was. Same grin. Hands in the pockets of that worn leather jacket.

“You’re actually insane,” you whispered as she slipped inside.

Natalie just smirked. “Takes one to let me in.”

You closed the door behind her with a quiet click, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t make noise,” you whispered. “My parents are already asleep.”

Natalie nodded, eyes roaming your room like she was walking into sacred territory.

It was her first time here. You could tell by how she looked at everything—your bookshelf, the notes stuck on your mirror, the old Polaroids from school trips and birthdays taped to the wall.

You sat on the edge of your bed, watching her.

“So,” you asked softly, “were you already outside even before I texted you?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze had landed on a framed photo—one of you, maybe nine or ten, grinning with missing teeth

Then she turned, hovering by your desk.

“Well,” she said slowly, “there was this party I was going to…”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not coming with you.”

Natalie smiled, walking closer. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

You blinked. She shrugged, like it was obvious. “It was lame anyway,” she said. “Figured I’d rather stay here. With you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t specifically invite you over.”

“I was going to surprise you,” she replied nonchalantly.

You scoffed, giving her a look. “Uh-huh.”

She grinned, unbothered, and sat beside you—close enough that your knees brushed.

She leaned back on her hands, arms behind her for support, head tilted toward the ceiling like she was trying not to look directly at you.

Your eyes stayed on her—on the messy strands of her blonde hair falling across her face, the way her eyeliner had smudged just slightly under her lashes. Your gaze dropped to her nose, then her lips. The shape of it. The way it moved when she breathed out.

She sighed, eyes still on the ceiling, before finally turning to look at you.

She stayed just like that—propped on her hands, relaxed like nothing about this moment meant anything. All confident and calm, her expression unreadable.

Until her gaze shifted. Slowly.

From your eyes… down to your slightly parted lips.

Like she was already imagining the next move.

You swallowed. Your chest was suddenly too tight. You didn’t move.

You didn’t want to.

Maybe you’d been drawn to her from the start and just kept pretending it didn’t mean anything. Maybe tonight you didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

“Keep looking at me like that…” she said softly, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t say anything.

And then she leaned in—fast, like she needed to do it before she changed her mind—and kissed you.

It was sudden, and warm, and made you gasp softly against her mouth.

She pulled back—barely an inch—searching your face, waiting for you to push her away.

You didn’t.

So she kissed you again.

And this time, you kissed her back.

Her hand slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before she deepened the kiss—slow, exploratory, like she’d been waiting for this moment and wanted to take her time with it. Her mouth moved against yours with the kind of confidence that made your breath catch.

Her tongue slid past your lips, and you let her in.

You barely noticed when her hands moved—one on your waist, the other curling around the back of your neck. She pushed you down gently, guiding you back onto the mattress like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart was pounding. Loud. Full. But you didn’t stop her.

Natalie leaned over you, lips trailing away from your mouth to the line of your jaw, then to the soft skin beneath your ear. Her breath was warm. Her voice even warmer.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” she whispered against your neck.

She kissed there too—your neck, your collarbone, each press of her mouth softer than the last. You felt her fingers at the buttons of your nightshirt, and you didn’t stop her. You couldn’t.

She went slow. Like she didn’t want to spook you. Like she was still checking if you’d change your mind.

Then she kissed her way down—lower, to your chest, to your stomach—pausing just long enough to look up at you.

"You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this to you,” she murmured, voice low, honest.

And you didn’t know what to say back.

You only let her keep kissing you.

[concretejunglefm]

A little hurt/comfort with bestfriend!noah just because 💕

CW: sensitive topics around past relationships and sexual coercion, hint of trauma and light details, shitty ex's and circumstances, noah being your safe space. read at your own discretion and take care of yourself.

Sometimes the memory resurfaces, and being alone is what you hate most. Even more than that, you hate that you never told anyone. You tucked it away like a little secret—something you’re ashamed of, and in a way, you are, even if you feel like you have no right to be.

“Jesse mentioned you let yourself in,” you hear Noah as he enters his room, eyes already finding you curled up against his pillow, tucked into his green hoodie—your favourite of his. You always seek it out in times of comfort or need, and now is one of those times.

“Yeah, sorry…” you mumble, wiping at your eyes. They still sting from when you were crying earlier. You’d managed to calm yourself down before Noah came home, but the moment after you’d arrived and wrapped yourself in the cocoon of his bed, you fell apart—flooded with too many memories, too many thoughts, and the heavy realization of something you’d tried so hard to block out.

“Hey, you been crying?” His voice is gentle, cautious, as he closes the space between you and sinks down onto the bed beside you. His large hand reaches out to soothe you, brushing gently along your arm, your back—anywhere he can touch, but all it does is make your breath catch in your throat as you fight off the reemerging tears.

The moment they fall, Noah doesn’t move to pull you into his arms. Instead, he gently draws you from beneath the covers, lays your head in his lap, and pulls the hood of his hoodie—the one you’re wearing—down just enough to let his hand rest lightly atop your head.

“It’s okay. I’m here. What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet and soothing. He’s not pressing, just offering space and comfort, and it sounds like he truly cares. Your body shakes with the weight of emotion, the effort to hold back the sobs failing as they start up again.

He shushes you softly, fingers threading through your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You don’t need to see his face to know how deeply concerned he is—you can imagine his brows furrowed with worry, nothing but care written across his features, and you know he probably has a good idea of who brought this on.

Sadly, he’d be right.

When you recount the story, the reason for your current state, your voice is quiet at first, barely above a whisper.

“I thought something happened that night,” Noah confesses.

You had been drunk, having fun out with your friends, and with someone new—the same someone your ex had convinced you to leave with. The three of you, together.

You’d agreed to it at the club, thinking it would be just another experience to cross off your checklist, the way every young person does, and Noah had trusted you to go, because you were with your ex—someone who was supposed to take care of you.

You hear the grind of his teeth when he realizes that had been far from the truth, like he’s biting back a snide remark about your ex, but he reins it in. He’s doing better at listening now, keeping his mouth shut, because he wants to let you speak. He’s giving you the space you need to share whatever you’re ready to say.

You recount what you remember, how you started to second guess things on the way there, how when you arrived, you changed your mind. Only your ex changed it right back.

You wanted it. You keep repeating that now, like somehow, if you say it enough, you’ll convince yourself you’re overreacting.

Your voice sounds empty as you describe the act—the way you let a stranger fuck you on a mattress on their living room floor, even though you hated it, but your body had let it happen, so you tell yourself maybe you didn’t hate it that much, right?

You bury your face in the fabric of his hoodie when emotion chokes you, your voice muffled and thick as you quietly mumble,

“I never liked anything they said they were into. I just wanted them to like me.”

The truth is, you were years deep into a relationship with someone who never really seemed interested in you. You were younger, more naive, convinced that if you liked what they did, they might finally care, but you never needed to do that.

You never had to break off pieces of yourself to mold into their idealized version of someone—a fucked up one at that.

“I just wanted to go home…”

That’s the part that breaks Noah’s heart the most, because you were supposed to be with someone who made you feel safe. Instead, you were left with someone who made you feel the exact opposite.

It’s not regret. Regret doesn’t leave bile sitting in your throat every time you dare to think about what happened, and it’s not regret when you never wanted it in the first place. You’d said yes—until you were sober enough to want to back out, but by then, it was too late, and it wasn’t anything else, because it hadn’t been forceful.

That’s what your ex told you, and you believed them. You let their version of events sink its claws into you. The version where you hadn’t been crying in the bathroom, begging to go home. Where they hadn’t been kissing you to calm you down, to smooth things over, to manipulate you.

“It’s coercion.” Noah’s soft voice breaks the silence of the room—and the storm in your mind. Just like that, the noise dulls. It all falls quiet the moment he speaks.

You turn your head slightly, the smallest motion of acknowledgment, a silent ask for him to explain.

“What you described… it’s coercion.” His fingers stroke through your hair, gently massaging your scalp in that same soothing way as before.

“You did nothing wrong.” His reassurance feels like the weight you’ve been carrying is finally starting to lift—even if just a little.

“They did.” There’s a distinct bite in his tone, something bordering on open disgust. You already knew how deeply he disliked your ex, but now, now it feels more justified than ever.

You let out a shaky breath. Noah shifts beside you, moving until he’s lying next to you. He rolls you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you as he buries his face in your hair, breathing you in.

“I wish you had told me… but I understand why you didn’t.”

You close your eyes as warm tears slip silently down your cheeks.

“No one’s ever gonna hurt you like that again,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

His arms tighten around you, and you exhale—slow, steady. For the first time in a long while, you feel safe, you feel loved, you feel protected.

With him, you feel like you’re home.

[rookinthecrownest]

Ship Sleep Dynamics (Madeleina x Lucanis)

How often do they sleep together?

Pretty much every night once Madeleina moves to Antiva! They have a lot of sleep to catch up on after the events of Veilguard wrap up. There is a brief period of time where she's back and forth between Tevinter and Antiva, initially staying to help with reconstruction efforts in Minrathous after the final battle. Nights they spend apart are always toughest. They have this effect of quieting each other's minds when they're together and both of them just ... sleep much more peacefully together.

Where do they sleep?

Post-VG Madeleina moves in to the Dellamorte family home, so they sleep in Lucanis' room :)

How do they prepare to sleep?

They do their evening routines together. Madeleina (or Lucanis) brushes through her hair before bed. Then, usually they'll debrief over the day for a bit, before Madeleina picks a new story to read to him and Spite, sometimes bringing it to life with magic. Then, it's time for bed :)

What do they wear to sleep?

Madeleina usually wears a satin night dress. Lucanis I headcanon goes for the classic shirtless + boxer combo.

Do they cuddle?

Oh heck yeah, all the time. But usually at some point in the night they'll separate. Madeleina tends to run VERY warm, like a furnace. So eventually the cuddling stops unless Lucanis wants to wake up drenched.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

It usually starts with Madeleina's head resting on Lucanis' chest, but she's kind of like, on his chest but laying diagonally on an angle almost? Idk how to explain it, but it's not the kind of 'sleeping with head on chest but curled up next to them' kind of thing. She starfishes, likes her space. At some point it transitions to cuddling. Then either one will usually roll and they'll be a part for a little bit.

How easy do they fall asleep?

When they're together they fall asleep quite quickly. Without Lucanis, Madeleina tends to ruminate. Lucanis i think takes a little longer, even when she's there.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Madeleina tosses and turns a lot. Lucanis I don't think does.

Do they snore?

I'm not sure about Lucanis, but Madeleina will snore if she's VERY tired.

Who hogs the blanket?

Lucanis, but only because Mads usually kicks the blanket away

What do they dream about?

Madeleina is sometimes haunted by her experiences from the events of VG. Sometimes she has nightmares, but they definitely lessen in frequency over time.

How easily do they wake up?

Madeleina is not a morning person, Lucanis is. He's usually up early way before her. She haaaates being woken up early and usually is very slow/hard to wake. It's honestly a miracle they weren't late to the battle of minrathous bc she wanted to sleep in.

How awake they are afterwards?

Once she's awake she's awake, but it's a process to get her there. Usually needs at least a cup or two of Lucanis' strongest coffee.

Thanks for the tag @introvertedfangrl ! this was fun to do

gently tagging @thewardenisonthecase @flowersforthemachines @larkinna @corvus-frugilegus @pinkvbay @wardentabriis @inquisimer @rookamell and YOU!!!

[rdmasevi]

Ink-Stained Hearts

Title: “Ink-Stained Hearts”: BTS fanfiction ( poly )

Pairing: BTS x Reader Male ( poly relationship)

Genre: Romance | Idol AU | Polyamorous

Warnings: None

Summary: An American tattoo artist living in Seoul finds himself in a new, flirty polyamorous relationship with all seven members of BTS, balancing teasing affection, quiet rooftop moments, and the chaos of dating global idols.

Living in Seoul had started out as a dare to yourself.

One year, maybe two — that’s all it was supposed to be. You’d told your friends in New York it was “for the experience,” but you knew better. You needed a reset. Somewhere new, somewhere loud and fast and filled with stories — and Seoul was exactly that. You never expected to find love. Let alone seven of them.

The bell above your tattoo studio door jingled softly. You didn’t have to look up from the sketchpad to know who it was.

“Five minutes late, Namjoon,” you said without missing a beat, your pencil still scratching at the paper. “Tardy boys don’t get kisses.”

“I brought iced Americanos,” Namjoon replied, voice low and amused. “Don’t push your luck.”

You did look up then, grinning. He stood just inside the door in a hoodie and cap like it’d fool anyone. You rose and plucked the coffee from his hand with a dramatic flourish, sipping like it was a gift from the gods.

“Mmm. You’re forgiven. Temporarily.”

Namjoon shook his head with a fond smile and wandered deeper into the studio, eyes roaming over the new flash sheet hanging on the wall. It featured celestial designs, fine lines, and a few hidden lyrics only true fans would recognize. Some of them were his.

“You’re gonna end up tattooing ARMY lyrics on someone’s ass,” he murmured, fingers brushing over the edge of the sheet.

“Already have,” you said with a wink. “Twice.”

He choked, and you smirked.

This was your dynamic with all of them — flirty, teasing, sometimes borderline scandalous. It made them blush, especially Jungkook and Jin, though Yoongi usually just gave you an unimpressed look while clearly fighting off a smile.

The door jingled again, and Hoseok’s bright laugh filled the shop before you saw him. “You flirting with Namjoon again, babe? Save some of that charm for the rest of us.”

“You can’t put a leash on natural charisma,” you said, already walking over for a kiss. He cupped your cheek and kissed you sweet and slow like he hadn’t just danced for five hours straight.

“Hyung, he was flirting with the barista on the way here,” came Taehyung’s amused voice as he entered behind Hobi, eyes gleaming under a wide-brimmed hat.

“Was not,” you said. “I was complimenting his latte art.”

“He made you a heart.”

“It was a good heart.”

They all filed in, casual in caps and shades, and your studio suddenly felt full of heat and energy. Jungkook tackled you into a hug, almost knocking you into your station, clinging like a koala.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into your neck, muffled and boyish.

“You saw me yesterday,” you chuckled, but you hugged him back just as tight. “Did you bring the thing?”

He pulled back with a grin and unzipped his hoodie — revealing his ribs, where the stencil of a small inked compass sat just under his heart.

You whistled. “Brave boy. That’s gonna tickle.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m tough.”

“Sure you are, muscle bunny.”

He scowled adorably, and Jimin swooped in like a shark smelling blood. “Oooh, he called you cute again. You gonna let him get away with that, Kook?”

Jungkook growled and lunged at Jimin, and the two started mock-wrestling in the studio, laughing while Namjoon sighed deeply and Yoongi muttered something about “children.”

“I’m dating seven clowns,” you said aloud, grinning helplessly as you moved to prep the station. “I should’ve gotten into ceramics.”

Jin gave you a mock-offended look. “Excuse you, I’m the face of worldwide handsomeness, not a clown.”

You shot him a sultry look. “Oh, I know what kind of face you are, hyung. It’s the one I dream about when I’m lonely.”

That got you a scandalized yelp from Jin, a laugh from Yoongi, and a flirty wink from Taehyung, who was now lounging across your guest couch like a painting.

Life had been wild since you’d met them. The relationship had started quietly — you’d done a tattoo for Namjoon on the down low, something private and meaningful. You hadn’t known he was the Kim Namjoon until halfway through the session, and when you realized it, you’d only arched a brow and said, “Cool. Wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Apparently, that sealed your fate.

What started as a flirtation turned into a group dinner. Then another. Then late-night texts, group chats, long walks, secret movie nights. When they admitted they shared a relationship already — seven souls tangled together in something deep, soft, and rare — you’d taken a moment to breathe, and then said, “I want in, if you’ll have me.”

And they did.

Now, you had seven very different boyfriends. Jin was dramatic and secretly the softest. Yoongi was blunt and sleepy, but let you nap on him like a pillow. Hoseok kissed you like the world was ending. Namjoon read you poetry when he missed you. Jimin spoiled you with affection. Taehyung sent you cryptic messages at 3 AM. And Jungkook clung like gravity, all soft cheeks and sudden kisses and big, open love.

It was a lot.

But it was yours.

“Alright,” you said, snapping on gloves and giving Jungkook a look. “You ready to suffer for beauty?”

He saluted. “Tattoo me, baby.”

From across the room, Taehyung groaned. “Gross.”

“Jealous,” you teased.

“Always,” he said, eyes dark.

You met them all like this — in the quiet in-between of busy schedules, in secret corners of a city that never slept. They didn’t need you. They were BTS — global stars, legends in the making. But they wanted you. That meant more than anything.

Later, after Jungkook’s session (during which he whined adorably and squeezed your hand the entire time), you all spilled out onto the rooftop of your building. The city lights blinked below, cool breeze tugging at your shirt, and seven boys leaned into you like a second skin.

You had your arm around Yoongi’s waist, Hoseok’s head on your shoulder, Jimin playing with your fingers, Taehyung humming into your neck, Namjoon curled close beside you, Jin feeding you chips, and Jungkook asleep with his legs across everyone’s laps.

It felt absurd and magical all at once.

“You’re dangerous,” Namjoon murmured, tracing your jaw.

“Me?” you said, pretending to look scandalized. “I’m just a humble tattoo artist with seven very clingy boyfriends.”

“You keep flirting like that,” Yoongi said, voice rough with fondness, “and we’re gonna write a whole album about you.”

“I dare you,” you said, grinning.

And honestly? You hoped they did.

Because ink fades eventually — but love like this?

That’s forever.

My Main Masterlis

[almendramatic]

Him

[fisherrprince]

run, little prince!

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of riz gukgak from fantasy high. in the front is a relatively small drawing of riz juggling books that are falling out of his hand and a phonecall, and he has a huge backpack on. he looks a bit overwhelmed, hair flying in all directions, and has a nervous smile on. in the background is a large shadow of riz, only one glowing eye and a shining gun visible. the background is red, giving an eerie feel. End ID]

Kill your best friend

Cheat your way to your rogue teacher

Announce your presidential campaign

Don't let them know how angry you are

LEARN TO RECOGNIZE A MONSTER

[wardingshout]

started playing oot but couldn't stop thinking about la so here's ww :) it makes sense 👍

[psychomusic]

induced to me by my contemporary art exam AND a rewatch of rebels after years that. got me into sabezra unexpectedly AND i updated krita and there were many new brushes i wanted to try

refs (IF U CAN PLS HELP ME FIND THE ORIGINAL COSPLAYERS i can't find anything EDIT: found them!! they're starwars_irl on insta and @rebelartistwren / lionesscosplay on insta. thank you guys <3) and ✨colored version✨ under the cut

i can't find themmmmm I've been looking for 2 days but all i found were uncredited reposts

anyway they look amazing

i really wanted to try greyscaling but I'm not sure it looks good. idk. + while i was making it i was listening to i love you by fontaines d.c. (GREAT SONG FROM A GREAT UNDERRATED BAND) and. the grey fit into that mood much better

also two versions without the sketch lines. where ezra looks happier even if they're uglier

[temporary-gentleman]

[munnchausenzip]

breaktime