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heartyluv · 2 days ago

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Note: This quite literally came to me in a dream. Like…I WAS THERE. I HAD TO WRITE IT. Genuinely, I am in love with this. No need for me to yap. I hope you enjoy. Love you, beauties!

Warning: Smut, Sylus talks about killing while he’s in you, he pours syrup on them 🍒 and licks it off, he has battle scars, very brief mention of him wanting to claim you in blood (IT’S NOT CRAZY WHEN YOU READ IT, PROMISE!!!), slight breeding kink

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: The Empire’s beloved gladiator has had another day of monumental success and wants you as his victory night cap.

Gladiator!Sylus/Reader

When your name is spoken, your skin prickles with goosebumps from anticipation. After every arena held, this is what you always looked forward to.

“He has called for you.”

You look up from the book you’ve been reading, briefly scanning the dining hall that you were sitting in with several other women and feeling their gaze bore into you. Once you give your attention back to the guard who was usually the one to bring you to your champion, you nod and stand.

“Again?” one scoffs, seemingly believing she’s doing so silently enough for you not to hear.

“Out of all the women in the Empire, of all the women here,” another whispers. “He continues to choose—“

“Mind your tongue, new blood,” her maybe friend interrupts. “Have you gone mad? Should she tell him of your venomous and foolish words, you will suffer the consequences. He’s proven so before.”

The golden jewelry decorating your body clinks and jingles with each movement as you slide on your simple sandals to protect your feet from the dirt and stone floor. All eyes are on you when you make your way out the door, silently following behind the large man who was no feat compared to the one whose bed you’d warm tonight.

Everyone within and out of your grandiose town treated you with respect, even the ones who harbored jealousy for you or for the man your soul belonged to. They had no choice if they valued their life and if they didn’t know better, they were always soon made aware.

So in your short journey to the extravagant halls in which your warrior rested after his wins, each individual along your path nodded their heads or turned away out of respect. None were to even speak to you if it wasn’t by his order.

Your Sylus.

The gladiator who’s never lost a fight. One who is so victorious that he’s not just a staple in your town and several others, but in the entire Empire.

A man whom has never been conquered. At least, not physically.

No, the only thing of his that has been claimed and owned by another was his heart. And it was yours.

“Good night, miss.” The guard offered his farewell once you were right outside the giant wooden doors that led to your beloved beast.

After he has fully departed, you softly knock twice to alert Sylus of your arrival.

“Come in, kitten.” He’s memorized everything that is you. How you talk, smell, walk, knock, breathe—it’s all information and knowledge he has safely tucked in his mind. Even if he hadn’t called for you, he would’ve known those gentle raps against his door to be his lover.

Once you enter, the large warm candlelit room was perfectly illuminated to grant you the glorious sight of a nearly nude Sylus, a thin ivory sheet laying across his hips being the only thing separating your eyes from his thick cock that makes an impressive tent beneath.

“Beautiful,” he grins as he takes you in, one strong muscled arm flexing while he rests a hand behind his neck. The white-silver hair atop his head matches the patch beneath his armpit and the trail that sneaks below his bellybutton and beneath the duvet. His hard and large body is adorned with dozens of scars with stories to tell—most old, a few new.

“Congratulations on your success today, my love,”you note after shutting the door, bowing in the way you’ve seen so many do to him before. “I watched it all.”

“I know you did.” He holds a hand out to you. “And I’ve told you, no need for the formalities. Come. I’ve missed my woman.”

“Have you now?” you tease, kicking off your shoes. “It’s only been a few days.”

“A second without you is a poor existence. Tell me, have you not ached for me to the same degree, sweetie?”

“Perhaps once I’m sitting on your cock, you can let me know if you can feel how badly I’ve craved you.”

His dick throbs at your words, his body shifting as if it would relieve any of the pressure. Beginning to walk barefoot toward him, he puts up a hand to halt you, grinning at the way you meet his gaze head on.

“Get undressed for me. Show me my prize.”

You lick your lips, staring into his mesmerizing rubies as you tug the thin material of your dress down your shoulders. Quickly does it pool at your feel, leaving you in nothing but all your bangles and necklaces that he has gifted you.

He likes when you wear the things he buys you, so you don’t work to remove any of the expensive gold.

Once you’re at the side of his bed, he quickly pulls you in by the waist with strength seemingly inhumane, placing you on top of him. The only thing keeping him from slipping inside of you right now is the dreaded blanket, but you can feel his dick trying to nestle between your pussy lips, making you shiver.

He kisses all over your tits, sucking and nipping at your flesh to mark you in ways only he can. Your hand tangles in his hair as the soft crackle of the fireplace behind you sets the romantic atmosphere.

“I see they’ve fed you well,” you smile, looking at the assortment of fruits, cheese, sweets, and syrups he has on his bedside.

“This was intended to be my dessert after the feast they granted me.” He takes your nipple into his mouth, pulling a sexy moan from you. “But I had a different one in mind. A better one. My only one.”

Your hips try to rock in an effort to feel him more, but he holds you still by your waist. “Don’t rush this, kitten. Let me take my time with you. I like to savor my rewards.”

“Some rewards need to be claimed faster than others.”

“Indeed they do,” he grins into your neck as he peppers kisses down the kiss of your throat. “But greed…it’s a slippery slope. Grab the syrup, since you’re so eager.”

You’re not confused at all by his intentions. In fact, the mere thought of what he’s getting ready to do makes you clench around nothing.

Once you grab the small dish of berry syrup, he takes two generous handfuls of your ass, tilting his head lightly. “Pour some on yourself.”

“You’ll clean me?” you grin, using your other hand to take hold of his throat gently. He looks up at you with need, groaning when you lick his lips.

“Do what I say and we’ll find out, won’t we?”

You two stare into one another’s eyes as you tilt the bowl to let the sweetness stick to your tits. Immediately, Sylus’s hot tongue laps it up. The wet muscle licks down the valley of your breast before he alternates between two of his favorite things to give each of them the attention they deserve.

Your cunt throbs and your whines grow louder the harder he sucks.

“Yes…F—fuck, your mouth…” you cry, pouring more of the delicacy when he runs out. You go until the thing is empty and he’s running on lust and a sugar rush.

The soft pops his mouth sounds when he makes contact with your hot body is enough to have you completely soaked. He can feel your juices wetting the sheet, letting his cock know as it soaks it up, how badly you need him.

“Be good,” he mumbles breathlessly, unable to stop lathering you in kisses. “And let me in.”

Eagerly, you reach behind you to pull the fabric away, hissing when it grazes your clit. His cock sits between you once revealed, waiting for you to put him where he’d get on his knees and beg you to be. Sitting on your knees, Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you start to sit down on his length, needing nothing but your bodies to guide him to your tight hole.

“Sylus…” you call his name once you’re filled with him. It’s a relic on your tongue, enchanting him how the two syllable spill out of you. You don’t wait for long, letting his strong hands explore your plush body as he guides you up and down his cock.

“I’ve killed men for you,” he declares, your breasts pressing against his hard chest only surging him on. You hold him closely, like he could snake out of your hold at any given moment.

“I’ve felt their blood mark my skin after I cut them down for the taunting words they’d spew in the arena.”

It was rare for anyone to not know that you and Sylus owned each other. It was even more rare for anyone to not know that should they utter your name with anything negative to follow it, Sylus would make them an example. His attentiveness to that has made it so he hasn’t had to make many.

The sound of slapping skin echos in the room, announcing the beauty of your lovemaking. “Their lives were already mine the moment they decided to go against me, but their fates were eternally sealed when your precious name was used in vain of their idiotic words. And you know what?”

“W—what?” You’re nearly drooling as his length moves within you, your wetness and his precum making a delicious mess along your gummy walls.

“I imagined me claiming you in their blood. Letting everyone watch as I show them how mad I can be for you. Would you let me, kitten?”

“Without hesitation…” you answer immediately, clenching tightly around him when you feel his dick pulse like it’s proud of you. Each dribble of his impending load leaking into your womb makes your mind grow infinitely more foggy with bliss.

“You like when I kill for you. I can feel how much harder you squeeze me.” He smirks cockily, but he’s right. He’s so fucking right and you don’t even care.

“I’m going to put my baby in your womb and the ring you deserve on your delicate finger.” His words hold so much promise.

“Please,” you beg. “Give it to m—me…Fuck, Sy…” Your thighs and legs burn, but you won’t stop. You refuse to—not when both of you are so close.

“My cum will take root,” he kisses down your shoulder. “And when you’re barefoot and pregnant with my seed, I’ll kill a thousand more in honor of the both of you.”

You slam your lips onto him, your tongue and his battling for control as you taste him. Naturally he wins, but you like to let him. You like being owned, protected, and loved by him. No matter how much you could hold your own, he has come into your life to show you that he can and will wield all of it so that you don’t have to.

His hands caress your back and you two fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, coming together at the same time. Your moans and mewls are pouring into his mouth just as his cum does inside of your pussy. He holds you down and close, doing everything in his power to make sure not a drop is wasted.

Your needy sounds curate the perfect symphony alongside his manly grunts and shuddering breath.

With the little bit of energy you have left, you grind against him to overstimulate your aching clit. When you can’t take anymore, you rest your chin on him and trace the scars along his arms in comfortable silence. You kiss each one your puffy mouth can reach, cleansing him with your affection.

“I’ll clean you before I have you again.” You giggle at how he says it so matter-of-factly.

“Good.” You pull back, sighing in contentment as he fondly kisses on your breasts once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mhm,” he continues to indulge. “You aren’t.”

A/N: Guys. What are we thinking? Me? Like I said—I LOVE THIS SO FREAKING MUCH!!! Like lowkey Camboy!Caleb level love. I started writing this last night before I fell asleep, and when I woke up this morning, it was like the little story never stopped. My fingers were just flyinggg (pause). LOLLLL!!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deespace smut #love and deepspace sylus #sylus smut #sylus x you #sylus x reader #lads smut #lads x you #lads sylus #l&ds #l&ds sylus #sylus qin

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plushefemme · 3 days ago

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she grabbed my hips and murmured “you’ve gotten fatter” when i got on top to ride her and i made the most embarrassing noise

#plushetxt #personal #HhhhGHHHGH #also she made me the most delicious fettuccine carbonara with bacon and heavy cream and fuuuuuck it was so good #i ate so good this weekend and she commented on my gain positively waaaahhh life is beautiful #i love being open abt feedism with my girlfriend it’s such a weight off my chest genuinely #i even told her i have a burp kink when i was drunk and burpy BYEEEEE why did i do that 😭 but her immediate response was #‘i am gonna use that information for evil’ 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫🫠

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miniaturesuitgladiator · 3 days ago

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Platonic Yandere Batfamily x

Child Girlscout Reader!!

'In world where you can be anything be kind......'

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 This is part 4!!

'Your beautiful, where did you get your looks from?'

'Thank you! I look just like my mommy.....'

Your cute smile and round eyes had Bruce matching your reaction.

What you said was very true though you did look exactly like your mother.

Well, a smaller version atleast.

You tilt your head up to look at him still holding the purring cat in your arms peacefully.

'Who do you look like?' You ask.

It was a simple ,innocent, question really. One that you probably didn't put much thought in to ask.

Truthfully, it hurt bruce more then you'd expect. He knew that if you had known it would've hurt him you wouldn't have asked.

So ,obviously, doesn't blame you.

Instead he keeps composer and replies with a soft smile.

'I suppose I get my looks from my father.'

Truthfully he didn't really know. After his parents death he tried forgetting what they looked like. It was easier that way.

But he'd have nightmares and their memories never did fade their faces just kind of blurred.

He stopped staring at their pictures and painting in the manor along time ago. He didn't even know if Alfred had ever taken them down. Or if their still hung up in their old room.

'My mama says I have my daddy's smile!'

Your voice drags bruce out of his tournamented thoughts and he's quick to compose himself.

He had seen you smile alot. It was almost like you smiled more then you didn't. But he never really thought you had gotten it from your father. Although your smile doesn't really replicate your mother's.

'Is that so?' Bruce replies with an almost forced smile. Bruce loved the idea of you looking like your mother.

He loved the image that he could paint in his head with it. You could pass as his daughter because you had more traits of your mother then you did of your biological dad.

So bruce could always lie and say you were biologically his. That lie didn't really make much sense to him anyway. Because to him you were already his.

You nod softly looking down at the black cat in your small arms.

Glancing back up Dick's quick to grab your attention.

'There's someone we'd like you to meet..." He says grasping your shoulders gently and leading you to the astonishing living room.

You however don't catch jason nudging bruce towards your mother as she looks out a window admiring the sky.

'Don't mess this one up.' Jason mutters in his ear before following you and Dick to the living room.

Sat on the unnecessary big couch is Cassandra Cain.

Softly letting the cat down on the floor you tug on dicks shirt motioning for him to come closer.

Dick almost smiles at your adorable antics as he hears your next words you whisper in his ears. 'Who is she?'

'Our sister.' Dick declares and jason leans against the wall watching the whole interaction from a distance.

'Oh....' Is all you mutter and for a moment the two oldest Wayne's think your disappointed in that fact until you speak agian.

'She looks really cool.'

'She is.' Tim states like it's a known fact. Dicks flinches at his brother unannounced presence having not heard him step into the room.

'Why don't you go speak to her?' Tim nudges you forward but your quick to run behind them instead.

Peaking your head out like a kitten that doesn't know if she should trust a human.

Cass giggles at your innocent behavior. The boys however look quite bewildered at the thought of you being scared of the only girl in the family.

You tilt your head from behind them watching as Cass giggles at your actions. Maybe she wasn't so scary....?

This time you actually move towards her without being nudged and she offers a soft smile silently begging you to come closer.

She pats the cushion beside her and you hesitatently take a seat.

Cass sends the boys a quick glance silently telling them to leave so she could have some time with you.

Their quick to do as she wishes despite their longing to stay.

'Your very pretty....' You mumble ,eyes cast down, small hands playing with the fabric of the lavish couch.

Cass doesn't speak but hums in delight at your kind words.

The boys had told her you were as sweet as candy ,but she hadn't believed anything but bitterness was reserved in gotham.

Until now.

She pondered for a moment not knowing what to say or do but your timid voice breaks the silence.

'You seem so..... cool.'

Cool? Is that what you thought of her? Is that why you had hesitated to meet her? Because you believed she was cool?

The young vigilantly had never been described as 'cool'. Cold? Yes. Quiet? Definitely.

But cool? Never.

It was a term that was often us as for her brothers not her. Yet, just by the sight of her you had deemed her....cool.

Maybe you were sweet. Like candy that'd rot your teeth ,but she'd gladly let her teeth rot just to have you. And that was made very clear to her in just these small minutes with you.

She didn't utter a word to you and somehow you didn't need her to.

You opened up to her on your own pace ,and she found it quite memorizing how quickly you considered her a friend.

Your smaller hands played with her larger calloused ones like you would with a toy.

But not harsh. No, you were soft. Gentle, as your fingers traced the lines in her palms like she was something to cherished.

'Can I be your friend?' Your quite voice sounds more like a prayer then a question.

It takes Cass atleast three awkward seconds before she's swiftly shaking her head yes. She'd never been asked to be a friend.

Truthfully, she never really cared for it either. But right now she does.

You smile, your naive eyes squinting at the ends. You giggle joyfully as if she'd just handed you a bag of candy.

'I'll be the best friend! I pinky promise!' You bable happily like a person who just won the lottery.

Cass's pinky wraps around your extended one ,carefully sealing the deal. It's safe to say she sees why everyone cherish's your happiness like a gem.

Because in a city full of monster's it seemed you truly were the only angel left.

And she'd gladly keep you safe even if you can't see it ,yet.

While you were being coddled and adored by your new found best friend your mother simply looked out the big windows of the manor.

Bruce's mind raced with ideas of how to approach her without seeming like a creep.

After all she did accuse him of trying to kidnap her daughter and she isn't half wrong.

He couldn't mess this up. He wouldn't ,but your mother was so diffrent then the women he's been with.

She wasn't spoiled or tainted. She wasn't a thief or a killer. She was a nurse.

A simple women with so much heart and love. But it seemed like that was only reserved for you.

That was it! He'd reach her through you!

'She seems happy...' Bruce says and he watches as she slightly flinches at his voice but she hides it well.

Your mother turns looking at you as you play and talk with Cass on the couch. Her eyes softening at the sight.

She hums her voice low and calm. Like the sight of you calmed her. It did.

'She's always happy," You mother comments taking a sip from her cup that's filled with some fancy juice.

'But she does look happier.' She continues calm her heart filled with a feeling of bliss at the view of you so happy.

Bruce smiles a rare sight even for his kids. He nods enjoying the sight of you being so compatible with his kids.

'She loves everyone.' Your mom mumbles her eyes still trained on you having an absolute wonderful time with Cassandra.

'Did she get that from you?' Bruce asks finally coming up with a decent question to strike a conversation.

Your mother smiles and ,agian, its because of the thought of you. She shakes her head her mind replaying the memories of you welcoming any stranger like it was your family.

'No, she inherited that from her father....'

'I see....' Bruce nods hands tight at the thought of you inheriting something that from another man.

'He used to be so.....diffrent back then.' Your mother says now turning her attention back on Bruce.

It was pretty clear what she meant by that but Bruce carries on not wanting the conversation to end.

'Diffrent how?' He voices softly, but your mother still feels distressed at the question.

She still answer's though.

'Happy, like her....'

She doesn't have to gesture to you for Bruce to know who she's talking about.

'What changed?' Bruce ask generally wanting to know. He'd first came to her to get to know you.

Yet, the more he talks with her and each picture she paints with her words ,Bruce finds himself digging bigger whole in his heart.

Big enough to make space for her in it.

'I ask myself that all the time..... One day he just...changed. changed into a man I had to let go.'

Her voice is quiet but it's stable ,something that she came to terms with long ago.

Bruce hums realizing that though she may always love the man she once knew that is not the man he is now.

And maybe he can be that man for her?

She smiles one that looks forced ,almost. Like it's something that's funny but it's not.

'In all of Gotham there's only one person that hopes he wakes up.'

'You?'

'No, I think he hurts more people alive then he would dead,' she pauses then points to you.

'He's that little girls world... She looks at him like he hung the stars.' She sighs almost defeated look I her gaze.

Bruce doesn't like the sound of that at all.

Bruce hums not really having the words to put his thoughts in the air nicely.

'She seems to love you alot too.' He finally says trying to soften the mood.

'She does.... But girls do tend to love their fathers more sometimes....even if their dads are the devil.' Your mother turns looking out the window agian.

But Bruce doesn't miss how she quickly wipes her eyes as a tear escapes. How awful is this man to make her cry?

'I stayed with him four more years before I finally left him.' She admits like something that she's ashamed about.

'What was the final straw?' Bruce doesn't even know if it's his place to ask but his mouth speaks before his mind has time to stop itself.

'When he got to her.' She sighs finally looking to where you are agian. It was pretty clear she prioritized your wellbeing over hers even if she didn't voice it.

It was known.

It strikes Bruce deep not knowing what she meant when it she said he gotten to you.

He had no idea what that man could have done to hurt you but even if he just poked you with his fingers Bruce was livid.

'You must love her alot.' He says trying to diminish his anger and focus on the hurt women infront of him.

'I love her more than anything.' She clarifies like she doesnt want Bruce to mistake it ,but he doubts anyone could.

'She's everything to me.'

'Your a good mother.' He says softly but his words are true. Anyone with two eyes can see just how good of a mother you are.

'She's a good kid. With her...it's easy.' She shrugs.

That may be true but even Bruce knows having a good kid doesn't just automatically make you a good mom like she is.

'You don't give yourself enough credit.' Bruce says and he doesn't miss how she doesn't meet his eyes anymore trying to hide her tears like their scars.

'There's still some things I'm not prepared for.' She says her eyes still on the dark clouds that fills the sky.

'Well a parent can never be prepared for everything-' he wants to add that he's batman and he's still not prepared for half the thing his kid's do but he doesn't.

Because he knows he can't. Even if he wishes he could.

Now if there was one person who'd love your bubbly personality more then Dick it would be Duke.

Because who likes living in a house full of angsty vilganty's? Not many and especially not the happy boy named Duke Thomas!

Cass had taken her eyes off of you for no longer then five seconds before looking back to where you were once seated to see that you were gone?!

Standing up quickly she hastily begins to look around for you!

From the living room to dining room to even the bathrooms that you'd have to walk all the way to the other side of the manor to get to!

She eventually had to get the others to help. Even though she truly didn't want to....

'What do you mean you lost her!' Dick all but shouts before Tim tries to calm him down.

'Don't yell! If her mom thinks we lost her she'll never trust us agian!'

'Do you idiots hear that or am I hallucinating?' Damian asks pointing to the ceiling. Who's room was above the living room? Oh right dukes....

And what was that sound? Blasting music and giggles? Yeah they know exactly where you are.....

Opening the young heros door they see you happily sitting on Dukes lap giggling as he describes what the lyrics of the sounds mean.

Leaving out some parts....to keep your innocent intact of course!

After watching enough and hearing your giggles through the door they finally decode to open it.

Duke immediately turns off the loud music his face blank almost confused to why they look so worried.

'Whats up?'

'Whats up? Whats up! We've been looking for her for five minutes only to find out your having a party.' Dick voices voice cracking from how shocked he is.

'Not to mention your teaching her demonic music ,Thomas.' Damian adds crossing his arms and shaking his head in disapproval.

'Yeah you'd know something about devil music huh ,demon?' Jason quips with a chuckle just to get under the small boys skin.

'First off don't fight infront of her,' Duke says pointing at damian and jason already sensing a fight about to start.

'Second, it's called being cultured. Gotta teach 'em young.' Duke shrug glancing back at your pouting face now unhappy that the music stopped.

'She likes it.' Duke comments smiling at you which brings your smile back.

'I do!' You smile innocently.

'She doesn't even know what the lyrics mean.' Tim utters gesturing at you.

'That's why I'm teaching her.' Duke answers like it's the most common thing in the universe.

Cass quickly goes over to grab your hand sighing as she leads you back to where she had you before one of her brothers ruined her peaceful moments.

'Hey you can't just take her all the time we want to play with her too!' Tim whines dramatically pouting.

Cass complete ignores his request as she continues leading you down the stairs cases.

'Where is my baby?'

'Huh?'

Your mother's eyes quickly dart around the spacious living room and kitchen not being able to see you.

'My baby, where is she?!' She panics not seeing you anywhere?

Bruce could tell the women was definitely about to have a heart attack just from you not being in her sight.

What bruce didn't notice was your mother already thinking of ways to kill this man if she didn't find you within five minutes.

'She's probably with my kids...she's fine.'

'Your kids? The ones that are all practically grown men?!' She says already moving to yell in the man's face.

She couldn't believe how stupid she was! How could she let her baby be alone with strangers!

You being the absolutely ridiculously cute Saint you are saw your mother's distresses state ,and new she was looking for you as you walked down the stairs case.

'I'm here mama! I'm here!' You shout letting go of Cassandra's hand to sprint full speed towards your worried mother.

'Oh my baby...I thought I lost you.' She sighs finally feeling like she can breathe agian as she cups your soft cheeks.

'Nuh uh ,mama, I'm right here!' You giggle as she smiles down at you.

Bruce on the other hand finally realizes that he was about to get murdered by your mother if Cass hadn't brought you back downstairs.

Alfred smiles seeing your mother being so affectionate with you remembering all the times Martha had been like that with Bruce in the past.

It had been along time since a mother's love filled the manors air and Alfred was happy to see how it was finally coming back.

'Dinners ready.' Alfred announces calmly as he gestures to the dining room.

Your mother's sighs at your pouting face because you already know what she's about to say.

'Don't give me that look...we've stayed long enough.'

'Your leaving?' Damian speaks up interrupting your mother's conversation with you.

'It's late we should really get going...' Your mother defends putting a hand on your shoulder ready to lead you out the big manor.

'Wed really like it if you stayed....please?' Dick protest and it was kinda hard to say no to a grown man that was pouting desperately.

Not to mention the other wayne children faces matched their older brother's.

Your mother sighs looking back at you an dshe knows she's lost when she hears your quiet plea.

'Please, mama?'

'Fine...we leave after dinner not a second later.'

All smiles in the manor reach their eyes as they hear her words.

'Well then let's go eat.' The old butler states as you walk over to him grabbing his hand with a smile as he leads you to the beautiful dining room..

Your mother sighs knowing she gave into your cuteness once agian.

'What am I gonna do with you..?' She mutters, watching as you happily skip to the dining room with Alfred, as he matches your skips with long strides.

She rubbed her face, her mind repeatedly saying 'it's just a simple dinner. Get in get out.'

The table was unusually quiet and your mother could tell straight away that this wasn't exactly normal for them as they all fiddled with their hands or their fingers.

Despite their best attempts at seeming normal all eyes did end up falling on you.

You happily spoke and ate not noticing the soft eyes all staring at you lovingly. Your mother did though ,and she was already mentally burying bodies.

You spoke softly your eyes on damian as he told you various facts about animals you didn't know.

And you threw in your two cents when you thought of something you had learned from Wild Krats.

Alfred saw your mother's focused eyes noticing she had caught on to everyone's adoring gaze and she didn't seem to happy about it.

'So you're a nurse correct?' Alfred calm spoken words break everyone put of their deep gaze including you.

'Yep my mommies the best nurse!'

Your mother smiles softly appreciating your kind-hearted words knowing you meant them.

'Yes, I am a nurse.' Your mother clarifies nodding at Alfred.

Alfred smiles at both your mother's profession and your mother-daughter relationship.

'Do you enjoy it?' Jason's ruff voice ask his fork digging into his food as he speaks.

Everyone wanted to ask that was clear by how they all perked up at the question.

The truth was they all new a thing or two about patching themselves up but nothing compared to what a nurse would know.

And they knew nurse helped people. They did too but sometimes they hurt more people then they helped sometimes. A nurse didn't.

A nurse just helped.

You mother takes a moment to think before answering the question.

'I love my job it... it does good.' She shrugs taking a sip of her drink before continuing.

'But it takes alot of time... takes me away from things that I love.' Your mother sighs setting down her cup.

Alfred smiles a rare sight that the Wayne's hardly ever see other then special occasions.

'Being a nurse or really anything in medical attention is a special profession.'

Your mother nods at Alfred kind words enjoying them greatly and appreciating them.

Though your mother barely knew the old man that kept these walls clean. She understood why you talked so highly of him.

The calm silence of dinner was abruptly interrupting by a ringing sound ,but it wasn't a phone.

No, it was your small pinky hello kitty watch that your mother paid about three dollars for.

It was your most prized possession.

As the small watch rang all eyes were on you as you quickly turned it off and ran to your mother's chair in a hurry.

'Mama your phone! Your phone!' You all but scream in a haste as your mother pulls out her phone almost embarrassed at how persistent you are to get her phone.

'Thanks mama!'

Your little legs run as fast as you can to the living room desperately wanting space.

All eyes now turn to your mother silently asking why you had wanted her phone so desperately.

Your mother sighs giving an awkward smile before answering everyone's silent question.

'Her dad calls her every day at this time. That's why she has an alarm set on her phone.'

Soft 'ohs' and hums of understanding reach her ears.

The table goes quiet almost like everyone's in silent agreement to try and hear what your talking about through the walls.

After about three minutes of concentrated silence your mother's voice breaks the silence.

'So I hear your a cop?' She ask her gaze pointed at dick.

He nods an almost shy smile on his face.

'Definitely an honorable profession.' She says her smile warm and dock can't help but smile too.

'What about you?' Your mother's hands tap the table softly but her gaze is on Jason now.

He hated that question. Because he didn't really have a way to respond to it. What was he supposed to say? He lived off of criminals money? No, that wouldn't do.

So he shrugs 'still trying to figure that out.'

Your mother hums soft smile never leaving her lips as she speaks and jason likes that. She isn't judging or looking at him like he's doing something wrong. She looks....understanding.

'You'll figure it out...'

And with how soft her words seemed they sounded...so true.

Maybe he could figure it.

'Ah, and I hear your quiet the genius.' She continues her arms on the table nothing but kind hearted tone in her voice as she looks at Tim.

Now Tim didn't know if you told her that or if she googled him but either way he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to be praised.

'I wouldn't say that I'm a genius...' He shrug trying not to be to cocky.

'I doubt anyone would.' Damian adds with a soft smirk. And while Tim looks annoyed and embarrassed Dick and Jason can't help but snicker..

Bruce however gives them a stern glare which doesn't help much but looking at your. Mother she doesn't look to happy about it so they immediately stop.

Your mother hums her voice carefully and light as she speaks to the youngest wayne.

'You must be Damian.'

'I am.' His voice comes out quiet almost shaky as if her slight glare has him shaken. Now that makes his older brother's want to laugh even more.

'My daughter described you as if you were an angel.' Her voice is tender but there's something behind it.

Like she's disappointed with what she's seeing and that makes Damian feel disappointed in himself.

His heads hung low as she speaks agian. But that disappointment is gone when your mother says her next words.

'You certainly look it. Your absolutely adorable. You must've gotten your looks from your mother.'

She jokes a soft laugh leaves her lips and the other join obviously not goings to miss the chance to diss Bruce.

Bruce laughs himself finding your mother's confidence admirable.

Your mother complements Dukes brightness and Cass for her confidently fiece demeanor.

Slowly the small talk becomes less forced and more familiar.

Like this is how it's supposed to be.

Bruce relivishes in the normalcy and so do the children all while your mother keeps a smile on everyone face.

The once big empty table now feels smaller not with space but with comfort. Like these no gaps missing. Well there is one but you shortly make your way back to the table.

You almost unnoticed by how loud everyone is talking. Cass's the first to see you, your eyes cast down not meeting her gaze. She frowns but decides not to say anything.

You don't sit back on your seat and you don't say anything either.

You just stand there and everyone allows you to thinking maybe you just want to stand.

That is till your mother speaks up noticing how oddly quiet your being.

"You okay, baby?"

You sniffle your eyes still to the ground. Your mother's smile drops and a frown quickly replaces it.

Then everyone sees it. A tear drop. One then two. Then they don't stop.

Your mother's quick to try and comfort you opening her arms to allow you to come to her. But you don't.

No, to her surprise you run right past her.

Her head whips so fast she could've gotten whiplash. Just to see you run straight into Bruce's arms.

Bruce? Bruce!

Everyone's surprised gut Bruce quickly composes himself and sets you in his lap as you cry your little heart out on his chest.

He looks at your mother clearly not knowing what to do. But your mother offers no help. Just as confused as he is but for a totally different reason obviously.

Why would you run to him instead of her?

He awkwardly pats your back and your mother soft voice speaks up.

"What's happened baby...?"

"He doesn't love me mama....."

Your voice is so small and so broken. It hurts everyone how your sobs continue and grow louder.

Your mother sighs your sad small voice breaking her heart. She leans back in her seat.

Everyone's jaw clenched how dare someone break your heart? And this young? Oh, they were gonna pay.

Your mother knows your dad was probably just drunk he probably didn't even mean to call, like he should've.

He probably said something he didn't mean but that doesn't mean anything to your broken heart right now.

Your sad sobs echos throughout the manor cruelly. A reminder of how distressed you truly are.

And despite the other kids efforts; twenty minutes later they still can't bring your glowing smile back.

You cling to bruce like a lifeline, your cries muffled by his expensive shirt that he doesn't mind you ruining with your tears ,and snotty sniffles.

Eventually the kids do give up and just watch as your cries slowly fade. Some watch with curiosity with why you picked Bruce others with jealousy.

Your mother on the other hand watches with neither. She knows exactly why you ran to Bruce and no one else. She understands why you ran to Bruce instead of her.

You wanted something that neither her or the wayne children could give you.

A father's comfort.

Sigh, maybe this would be a bit more difficult then just a simple ,innocent, dinner.

With the dreadful amount of crying you did one would've thought you would've wanted to go home.

But not you!

Somehow you had gotten your mother to stay for a movie. In the manors luxurious house movie theater.

Claiming it would be rude to leave damian on his birthday without watching a movie like you two always did on eachothers birthday.

Normally she would've said no. But she couldn't not when you had just finished crying and she knew that this was your way of trying to forget your father's hurtful words.

So with a sigh she said yes.

Your mother left the movie theater claiming she needed something to drink. Bruce took this opportunity to make the final move everyone was planing.

Securing a date.

What Bruce obviously doesn't know is that you don't try and make moves on a women who's little girl heart just broke.

'What. Did. You. Just. Say.'

Your mother's voice is colder then any blade he's ever been stabbed with and the menacing batman flinches.

He swallows then continues.

'I-I was just wondering if perhaps if you wanted to we could-'

SMACK!

Well, that didn't go to exactly to plan.

And that's pretty cleat with how Bruce's cheek is reddening from the impact of your mother hand.

You mother's glare looks meaner then Clark's when he's angry. Now Bruce knows he really messed up.

But....is it wrong to say he...might enjoy it?

That thought quickly disappears faster then it came with how fast your mother begins cussing him out.

'How fucking dare you! My baby looks up to you! And you just want to get in my fucking pants?!' She takes a pause a short and dramatic cruel pause before she continues.

Hands on her hips and her right palm slightly red from how hard she hit Bruce's face ,but by the look on her face she clearly doesn't regret it.

'I'm not one of your whores you can get a quick fuck out of. And my baby ain't no orphan who needs saving.'

She turns around like the wind itself better fear her fury.

'Fuck you! And your mother-fucking bitch mentality!'

She thinks he got to you just to get to her? Well that's not how it is at all! But Bruce can't say that he wants her just to get you or that'll definitely sound wrong.

So he stands there and watches with a red cheek as your mother pulls you out the manor leaving you no time to whine and complain before your out the door.

The rain is oaking your clothes but you still make a point to wave to everyone watching you through the window.

Your mother's old car drives off like she Dominic Toreto himself and when the cat finally come out their view Jason says the words everyone's been dying to ask.

'What the fuck did you do?'

Bruce sighs hands in his hips copying your mother earlier stance ,but instead of anger fueling his heart it's desire and love.

'Alfred get me the best lawyers in gotham.'

Alfred sighs a knowing look of defeated acceptance in his gaze.

'The adoption one or matrimonial one?'

Obviously Bruce's plan was going to need a bit more.....force.

'Both.'

Thanks for reading!!

Likes ,comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Note: I do not encourage violence readers mother is just very protective of her baby.

Second note: I don't know why I picked that song in particular it just reminded me of reader and her dad relationship.

Taglist: @rovcarmen @yua-who @nervousalpacalady @jsprien213 @blue-flower-lady @ghost-0rch1d @vanilliona @vanessa-boo @cat-lover-over-9000 @itsmossy @nightstarblue @imhere2dosomething @hearts4mica @minny-ka @alishii @tsxukikami @its-simply-just-krys @maskedvoyance @theworldscalamity @kazuuhali @eyeless-kun @bbmgirll @jjoppees @justafank @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @iamapotatoe @asillysimp @whiteoakoak @leogf @sanchann @nisarelle @ratterpatter @venomsvl @sh4rk-k1d @reeyy0-2 @kneelforloki @sirlovel @moon0goddess @cruzerforce4256 @ironsaladwitch @gaychaoticraccoon @dubidumzy @ssak-i

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dakusan · 2 days ago

Text

UNTOUCH-UP

Tattoo Artist!Lee Minho x Reader | Exes. Ink. Unfinished business. And nowhere left to run.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You go in for a touch-up. He’s the one holding the machine. Your ex. The one who fucked you like he loved you—and left like he didn’t. Now he’s working on your skin again. And you’re both trying not to fall back in. Too late. You never stopped wanting him. He never stopped being yours. This time, he’s not letting go.

💌a/n: bro. BRO. i am ✨deceased✨ this fic nearly ate me alive. i was so lazy writing it my brain was just like . . . O.O static noise the ENTIRE time. BUT I DID IT. I DID IT. SHE’S DONE. Minho's demon dick: delivered. Tattoo angst: served. You: ruined. also not me having a day™️ — my cat knocked over a potted flower like she pays rent in this house?? broke the damn pot. soil everywhere. ON. THE. CARPET. and guess who was sitting in the mess like a chaotic forest gremlin? her. the criminal. not even sorry. anyway enjoy the filth I bled for <3 p.s. reblog for minho's sake. he worked very hard. p.p.s. if you read this and didn’t moan once, you're lying. p.p.p.s. minho said “mine” and I folded like a lawn chair in a hurricane.

📌 Please read with caution. Scream into a pillow. Mop your floor. Apologize to your downstairs neighbors.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » WANT — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:29 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

BACKSTORY

You met Lee Minho back when he was still building himself. Not the man with a waitlist. Not the name clients whispered like prayer. Just a perfectionist with ink-stained fingers, a cigarette habit, and a sketchbook full of obsessions.

He only took blackwork clients. His designs were architectural. Cold. Brutally beautiful. Like cityscapes carved into skin. Like cathedrals swallowed by shadow. You used to tease him—“Do you ever draw anything soft?”

He never answered.

But he kissed you like his mouth was a vow.

You were chaos to his control. Bright to his brutalism. A fire escape on legs, always halfway out the window—but you stayed for him.

The first tattoo he gave you was on your ribcage. Fine lines. Intricate, dark, permanent. He said, “I’ve never done this for someone I care about before.”

You said, “Don’t make it perfect. Just make it ours.”

He made it perfect anyway.

But love wasn’t enough—not when his world narrowed to ink and reputation, and yours was spinning with needs he couldn’t name, let alone meet. He stopped coming home. You stopped trying to explain. The last fight was quiet. The kind of silence that ends things.

You left. He let you. Neither of you ever reached out again.

Seoul, South Korea. Wednesday, 4:03 PM

The bell over the door jingles.

It’s the same goddamn sound. That soft metallic chime, like a warning.

You step into NO SAINT INK and inhale the familiar scent—disinfectant, ink, citrus cleaner, and something darker beneath it. Nostalgia, maybe. Or just Minho’s ghost.

“Hi! Welcome to—”

Jisung’s voice cuts off the moment he looks up. Eyes widen. Blink. Blink. Jaw slightly drops. He’s behind the counter in a ripped vintage tee, one glove on, holding a paper cup of iced Americano like it’s mid-scene in a music video.

“...Holy shit.”

“Nice to see you too,” you deadpan, stepping up to the reception desk like it’s a confession booth.

From the back, Felix emerges, sliding in with a practiced spin on the rolling stool. His crop top says “NO SAINT, JUST HOT” and he’s chewing pink bubblegum like it’s personal.

He squints. “Wait. Waitwaitwait—no way.” He turns to Jisung. “That’s her, right?”

Jisung nods slowly, eyes still on you like you might disappear if he blinks. “Mm-hm. That’s her. The ribcage girl.”

You sigh, reaching for the clipboard. “Still the same greeting process, I see.”

Felix leans in over the counter, lashes weaponized. “So. What brings you back to the scene of the crime, gorgeous?”

“Tattoo,” you say simply, checking the box marked cover-up on the intake form.

Felix raises a brow. “Cover-up? On what?”

You give him a flat look. Then slowly, deliberately, tap your rib.

Jisung immediately chokes on his iced coffee. “Oh my god. You’re covering Minho’s piece?” he hisses.

“Don’t say it like that,” you mutter.

Felix gasps dramatically, grabbing your form. “Does he know? Does he know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Does he know you're gonna cover the sacred rib tattoo of doomed romance™?”

“Still no.”

Jisung is now whispering to himself in horror. “He’s gonna combust. He’s gonna short-circuit like a printer from 2003.”

Felix pats your hand. “You’re braver than the Marines.”

You slide the completed form back to them. “You gonna let me through, or you want me to relive the breakup right here?”

“Booth Three,” Jisung says instantly. “He’s in there right now. I’ll text him that a client is coming in.”

Felix grins like the devil. “We won’t say who. Surprise trauma!”

You exhale slowly as you make your way to Booth Three and pushing the door open.

Minho is inside, doesn't even look up. Of course he doesn't. He is seated at his workstation, black hoodie sleeves pushed up, long fingers flying over his iPad. The screen glows with precision: a mandala lattice interwoven with brutalist architecture, all angles and absence. It’s violently elegant. Just like him.

He’s got one AirPod in. The other rests on the desk, silent. His tattoo gun is prepped and sterilized beside it. Black gloves folded, still untouched.

You stay silent for a beat.

He’s changed, but not really. Hair darker now. Under-eye shadows deeper. Forearms inked in blackwork he used to say wasn’t “for him.” You recognize his neck tattoo—you designed that motif. He said he’d never use it. Guess he changed his mind.

You speak, voice even, soft.

“Hope you still remember how to do ribs.”

He freezes. Literally freezes mid-stroke, like someone hit pause on a film reel.

His eyes flick up.

And when they meet yours—his stylus drops.

“...No fucking way.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Hi.”

Minho blinks. Once. Twice. Then leans back slowly in his chair, as if needing distance just to believe you're real. He doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes drag down you like a scan—lips, collarbones, arms. His gaze stops right where it used to rest: the dip beneath your ribs. “What the fuck are you doing here.” You shrug, like this isn’t a slow-burn emotional arson scene. “Cover-up.”

He exhales like he got sucker punched.

You don’t say it. You don’t have to. He knows which one. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is the quiet buzz of the fluorescent light, and your pulse hammering against silence.

Minho finally breaks it, voice lower now. Raspier. Rough around the edges.

“Sit.”

You walk forward. The vinyl of the chair squeaks as you lower yourself onto it.

Minho adjusts his stool with one foot, pulling closer—close enough that your knees nearly touch. He reaches for a fresh pair of gloves and pulls them on with a muted snap.

“You still flinch?” he asks, without looking up.

“Only when it matters.”

A breath leaves him like a short laugh, disbelieving and hollow. He nods at your ribs.

“Show me.”

You tug your top up slowly. The air is cool against your skin. But his gaze is colder.

The tattoo’s still there—his lines, his shape, the intimate architecture of a design he once called a cathedral just for you. You watch his eyes trace it like he’s reading a language he forgot he wrote.

He exhales through his nose, once. Then leans in. Not touching. But close.

“Still healed well,” he mutters. “Even after everything.”

He lets out a short sound—not quite a laugh. Not quite not.

Then turns to grab his iPad.

You watch him swipe past old sketches. Lines. Shapes. A few human figures, but mostly… structures. Always structures. Stained glass, brutal staircases, the shadows between pillars. And suddenly—one design with your face sketched into the edge of a crumbling spire flashes past.

You blink.

He quickly flips to a blank layer.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, stylus in hand.

You hesitate. Then: “Something clean. Cold. Geometric. No softness.”

He looks at you. Just looks. Then tilts his head. “So the opposite of what you used to want.”

You lift a brow. “People change.”

“Do they?” He doesn’t say it like a question.

Silence. Only the soft tick of the stylus moving. Drawing. Erasing. Redrawing.

You glance over.

The lines are sharp. Intricate. Interlocking shapes—architectural, yes, but still haunting. There’s depth beneath the harshness, shadows where light should be. He’s already building something brutal.

“You always sketch this fast for clients?” you ask.

He doesn’t look up. “Only the ones who know how to bleed for it.”

Your breath stutters. He notices.

After another beat, he holds the iPad out to you, jaw tense. “You want this? Final answer.”

You study it. And it’s beautiful. Devastatingly so. The kind of piece that erases history—not by covering it, but by burying it in monument.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s perfect.”

He huffs softly. “It’s not.”

“Minho—”

“It’s not what I wanted to put here.”

The sentence hits like a quiet car crash. No screech, just impact. You say nothing. He turns away to print the stencil. You watch the lines appear on paper, black and cruel.

“This gonna take long?” you ask lightly, trying to breathe again.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “It’s big.”

“Good. I’ve got time.”

He turns. Looks at you—really looks. The gloves are still on. The stencil in hand. “You sure you can lie here for hours with me that close?”

“You sure you can touch me for that long and not fall apart?”

For one suspended moment, the room goes still.

Then Minho steps forward. “Let’s find out.”

He sets the stencil aside. Pulls out the prep tray. It’s methodical—his ritual. You remember it. He moves with that same detached precision: antiseptic wipe, alcohol spray, barrier film over his tray, black nitrile gloves pulled snug with that quiet snap that used to make your stomach twist.

The scent of alcohol hits first. Then the click of the spray bottle. Then his voice—low, close. “I’m cleaning the area.”

He waits. You nod.

And then his hand—gloved, cold—presses gently at your side, just under your ribs. The contact makes your breath hitch. He feels it. “Still ticklish,” he murmurs, but there’s no amusement in it. Just memory.

His fingers move across the old tattoo and you close your eyes as he presses the stencil on.

“Hold still,” he says softly. Too softly.

You feel the pressure of his palm, the warm slide of his knuckles against your waist, the careful tension as he positions the design.

Then he pulls back. Steps away. And you exhale.

“Mirror’s there,” he says, voice neutral.

You sit up, top still raised, and step to the full-length mirror near the booth’s edge.

The stencil is stark black. Clean. Brutal. It spans from just under your chest down to your hipbone—an interlocking spiral staircase, collapsing inward on itself, surrounded by broken geometry and cathedral archways. Inside the spiral, there’s a single vacant silhouette—like a missing piece in the shape of a person.

“It’s…” you begin. But you can’t find the word.

“Empty?” he offers.

“Yeah.”

Minho shrugs slightly, adjusting the height of the chair. “You wanted cold. Unsweet. Brutal.”

You nod. “I did.”

He doesn’t move until you return to the chair and settle in again. He leans down, pulls the stool closer—so close his knee brushes yours. “Ready?”

“No.”

A pause. Then: “Good. That’s honest.”

The machine buzzes to life. He dips the needle into the ink—pitch black—and presses the foot pedal. Then the first contact hits. The sting. The bite. The sound.

Your breath stutters. His hand is firm on your waist, grounding. “Still breathe like that,” he murmurs.

“Still touch like that.”

The buzz of the machine fills the booth like static between stations.

Minho works in silence. You breathe in silence. Time stretches. His gloved hand stays steady on your waist—anchoring, professional, unyielding. But every time his fingers shift to wipe the ink, every time his forearm brushes your side, you feel something buried rattle. Like bones under floorboards.

You focus on the ceiling tiles. Count them. Try not to flinch when he drags the line near your ribcage. He’s precise. Too precise. You feel every goddamn millimeter.

And still—he says nothing. It’s been maybe an hour. Then—quietly, like a thread being tugged:

“You finish school?”

Your eyes blink open. “Yeah. A while ago.”

“Thought so,” he murmurs. “You used to study here. In this chair.”

You huff. “I used to do a lot of things in this chair.”

He pauses. Then wipes your skin with slow, deliberate pressure. “Still mouthy.”

“Still quiet.”

“One of us had to be.”

The machine hums again. You both fall silent. But the air isn’t. It hums now—charged and heavy. After another few minutes, you speak, voice softer.

“You still living above the shop?”

Minho’s hand doesn’t pause, but you hear the answer in the way he exhales. “Yeah.”

“You ever fix the leak by the kitchen window?”

“Eventually. Felix slipped on the water and broke his assbone, so…”

“Justice.”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You catch it. Pretend not to. “What about you?” he asks. “Where are you now?”

You shrug. “Seoul. Still. I work freelance—mostly visual design, some concept art stuff. Clients suck. Pay’s decent.”

“Still draw?”

“Always.”

He nods, as if that explains something only he understands.

Another beat of quiet. Then: “You tattoo now too?”

That makes you pause. “A little. Not full-time.”

“Anyone ever ink your ribs like this again?”

You meet his eyes. “No one ever touched me here again.”

That silence? Not like before. This one cracks. Minho sets the machine down slowly. Wipes the needle. Re-inks. Doesn’t speak for a full thirty seconds.

Then: “Good.”

You shift, heart thudding. “Why?”

He glances up, and for once, doesn’t look away. “Because it’s not theirs to touch.” He says it like he didn’t just lay a claim. Like it’s fact. Like it’s law.

You don’t reply. You can’t. Your ribs ache—not from the needle, but from the breath you’ve been holding since he started this goddamn piece.

Minho presses the foot pedal again.

The machine whirs to life, slicing through the silence. The black ink spreads, sharp and deliberate, marking over what was once softness.

His hand settles against your waist again. Firmer now. Less technician—more… anchor. His fingers brush under the hem of your top again. Not on purpose.

But he doesn’t apologize.

“Gonna do the lower spiral now,” he murmurs. “I need to adjust your position.”

You nod. Try to keep your voice even. “Tell me what you want.”

His gaze flicks up. Something flashes in it—heat, recognition, regret. “Lift your arm. Stretch back.”

You obey. Your back arches slightly. The angle shifts. Your shirt slides up higher. And suddenly, his breath catches. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you feel it—in the tiny hesitation between glove and skin. He moves slower now. Drapes the barrier cloth gently over your chest. Focuses on the lower edge of the design.

His hand brushes the curve of your hip. “Still got the scar,” he mutters.

“From your old chair. That screw that stuck out.”

“I told you to stop climbing into my lap during sessions.”

“I told you to fix your fucking chair.”

Another small ghost of a smile. Another memory you didn’t mean to let through. The machine buzzes. The lines go deeper now. Bolder. You wince slightly—less from pain, more from the weight of his closeness. “Hurts?” he asks, quiet. “Not as much as losing you did.”

The machine goes silent. He sets it down. Slowly. His head tilts up, eyes dark, unreadable. “You think I didn’t lose you too?”

Before you can answer—knock knock knock.

The booth door creaks open an inch, and Jisung’s head pops in. “Hey, just checking—OH.” He blinks. Stares. Feels the temperature of the room. “Never mind.”

Another head appears behind him—Chan, black tee, clipboard in hand. Owner. OG. Quiet ringleader of this whole tattoo circus.

“Minho, did you review the—” He pauses mid-sentence. Eyes shift from Minho to you. To your lifted shirt. To the way Minho’s gloved hand is hovering just above your skin.

Chan arches a brow. “...So this is happening again.”

Minho doesn’t even flinch. “Out.”

Jisung salutes. “Godspeed, soldier.”

Chan just sighs. “Try not to punch holes in the wall this time.”

The door shuts. The lock clicks. Silence again.

You exhale. “They always this nosy?”

“You always this distracting?” His voice is low now. Tight.

You blink. “Minho—”

“Lie back.”

You obey. He pulls the stool closer. Closer than necessary. Then, gloved hands on your hip, he says—quiet, slow: “I’m finishing this. Every goddamn line.”

You nod. And the machine starts again.

You lose track of time somewhere around the fifth wipe.

The sky outside is darker now. The booth hums with that post-tattoo stillness—low light, blood buzz, the deep ache under your skin like something blooming and bruised.

Minho’s working slower now. Not out of fatigue. No—he’s dragging it out. You can feel it in the way he traces your skin. The pauses. The glances.

It’s 7:23 PM.

You know this because your phone buzzes uselessly on the counter and Minho glares at it like it’s an intruder. Then again—he hasn’t looked away from you much at all.

“You’re almost done?” you ask quietly, voice hoarse from the hours of not speaking.

“Final shading,” he says, shifting. “Then bandage.”

You nod, letting your head fall back against the chair. You close your eyes.

Until—click. The door opens again.

“You better not be tattooing her feelings back on,” Jisung says, peeking in once more.

“It’s after seven,” Chan adds, stepping in behind him. “We’re leaving. You can lock up.”

Minho doesn’t even glance at them. “Bye.”

“Damn,” Jisung mutters. “I missed when you were nice.”

Chan folds his arms. “He was never nice.”

Minho wipes your side again. “Do you two need something, or are you just doing walk-in commentary now?”

“We’re giving you the key,” Chan says patiently, tossing it toward the counter. It lands with a clatter. “And also warning you: no sex on the chair.”

“Especially not that chair,” Jisung adds. “That’s the holy one. Client blood and heartbreak juice only.”

You blink up at them. “You do know I can hear you, right?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like three moans away from a confessional,” Jisung grins.

Minho’s hand tenses on your hip.

Chan gives Jisung a sharp look. “Okay, that’s enough. Let the man finish tattooing his ex.”

Minho’s voice cuts in—low, flat, and dry: “I’m raising the booth rent if you two don’t leave.”

Jisung gasps. “You can’t evict my vibe.”

“Watch me.”

With one final laugh, Chan tips an invisible hat at you. “Pleasure seeing you again. Don’t break our boy, yeah?”

You don’t respond. You just hold Minho’s gaze.

The door closes. The lock clicks again. Alone. Again.

He exhales. “They never change.”

You hum. “Neither do you.”

“Not with you.”

His hand brushes your skin again, wiping the last bit of ink away. He doesn’t move it. Just leaves it there. Warm and steady.

“I’m done.”

You nod. Slow. Dazed. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

But neither of you move.

The machine is off. The gloves are still on. His hand is still resting on your bare waist.

You watch his throat move as he swallows.

“I need to bandage it.”

You nod.

Minho finally pulls back. Peels off the gloves, slow. Tosses them into the bin with a soft crack. His hands are bare now—warmer, familiar, devastating. He reaches for the tattoo film. The kind that clings like a second skin.

“This part’ll be cold,” he murmurs.

“So were you.”

His hands pause.

Then, with infinite care, he presses the bandage to your ribs. The plastic clings, sealing the ink beneath. His fingertips ghost over your side. Flattening. Smoothing.

Too gentle.

His hand lingers a second too long on your hipbone. Then again on the edge of your waist, just under your breast. You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

Neither does he.

“You’re still warm here,” he murmurs. “Still soft.”

“I never stopped being yours here,” you whisper. “Even after you let me go.”

His hand freezes.

And then—

Minho exhales. Slow. Controlled. Devastated. “Fuck,” he says. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

He looks up at you, finally. Face unreadable. But his eyes? Wrecked.

“I didn’t stop wanting you,” you say, soft. “I just stopped begging.”

And that’s when something inside him cracks. Minho drops the rest of the bandage. One hand cups your jaw. The other pulls you forward by the waist. His lips crash into yours—not neat, not planned, not patient. Just real. Messy. Hot. Familiar. Like all the years you lost were just smoke.

He tastes the same. Regret and hunger.

You kiss him back. Desperate. Needy. Home.

When he pulls away, he’s breathless. “The shop’s closed,” he says hoarsely.

“I know.”

“You’re not leaving yet.”

“I know.”

But he can't stop kissing you and his kisses leave you gasping, lips parted, your ribs burning with fresh ink and something even hotter under your skin.

But Minho doesn’t move for your mouth again.

He just looks at you. And presses the last edge of the bandage into place. Palms flat on either side of your ribs, holding it there. Holding you there.

“You need to keep this clean,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Saniderm on for at least a day. No sweat. No friction. No heat.”

You smirk. “So I shouldn’t fuck my tattoo artist, huh?”

He closes his eyes like that physically hurts. Then opens them again, and they’re darker. Gone. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Come here.”

He grabs your face and kisses you again—harder this time. His mouth is warm, demanding. He tastes like ink and restraint and the last piece of something you thought you’d never get again.

You whimper into it, fingers fisting into his hoodie, tugging him closer. He moves fast now, pulling you upright, spinning you around so your back hits the wall behind the chair.

Your top rides up, exposing your waist. His hands drag along the un-tattooed side of your ribs, his touch finally hungry.

“Minho—”

“You still talk too much.”

His hand finds your thigh, fingers digging in as he lifts you onto the edge of the chair.

“Don’t you dare come undone on this chair unless you want your name carved into it,” he growls.

“Do it,” you whisper, breath hot. “Like old times.”

He groans. Hands gripping your hips, pulling you forward against the bulge in his jeans. But even now—he's careful. His fingers skirt around the bandage. His mouth trails everywhere but the fresh ink.

“I can’t touch there,” he pants. “But everywhere else? Mine.”

He leans in—bites at your neck. Licks under your jaw. You shudder. “Mine.”

You nod, breathless. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

He groans into your skin. One hand slips under your waistband—slow, deliberate, filthy. “Keep still. You move too much, I’ll stop.”

“Minho—”

He kisses your collarbone. Soft now. “I never should’ve stopped touching you.” His voice is low, almost broken against your skin. And then his hand dips further—sliding past the waistband of your pants, then beneath your underwear. You flinch at the first brush of his fingers against your bare heat.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Already soaked?”

You moan, soft and unfiltered. “You did this.”

“Damn right I did.”

He doesn’t dive in right away.

Minho’s fingers ghost along your folds, barely there—just the suggestion of touch. Teasing, cruel, worshipful. Like he wants to remember this. Every slick, desperate twitch.

“Still so fucking warm,” he murmurs. “Still react to me like this.”

“Because I never stopped needing you.”

That does something to him. His jaw tightens. His free hand grips your thigh harder.

His fingers stroke your clit now—slow and purposeful. He still hasn’t pushed in. Just teasing, rubbing, feeling every tremble in your core.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “All this time and I still ruin you like this.”

You whimper, hips bucking up—but he presses you down against the chair again.

“What did I say?” he growls. “Keep. Fucking. Still.”

You nod, gasping. “I’m trying—fuck—Minho, please—”

He slips one finger inside. Just one. It glides in so easily, so wet, he groans low into your neck.

“Still tight,” he pants. “Still perfect.”

You clench around him and he curses, fingers curling just slightly as he begins to move.

“Say it again,” he whispers, lips dragging over your ear.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m—fuck—Minho, I’m yours—”

His second finger joins the first. Scissoring. Filling. So slow it’s maddening. His thumb circles your clit in rhythm, expertly cruel. You’re grinding against him now, trying not to cry out.

But it’s no use.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let me hear you. You think I forgot what you sound like?”

You moan—loud this time—and he smiles against your skin.

“There she is.”

His fingers curl again—deep, deliberate, cruel. You cry out, thighs trembling, body completely unhinged on his tattoo chair.

“Fuck, you’re clenching so hard,” he groans, dragging his fingers out almost entirely before plunging back in with a wet sound that makes you whimper. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasp.

“How much?”

You can barely breathe. “So much—Minho—fuck—”

“That’s not good enough.”

He pumps harder. Faster. His fingers scissor deep inside you, stretching you wide while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged, jaw clenched like he's holding back a growl.

“Feel how fucking hard I am for you,” he grits, grabbing your free hand and dragging it down between you both.

Your fingers brush the bulge in his jeans and—fuck. He’s thick. Hard in a way that hurts even through the denim.

“All that from just your voice,” he rasps. “From your pussy sucking my fingers in like it still belongs to me.”

You whimper, hand tightening instinctively over his cock. He twitches under your grip.

“You’re gonna make me cum just from your fist at this rate,” he breathes, panting into your mouth. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your hips roll against his hand, the wet slap of your cunt obscene now, the squelch of each pump making your eyes roll back.

“M-Minho—can’t—too much—”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Take it. You used to take it so well.”

You cry out, grinding shamelessly against his hand, your wrist still caught against the outline of his cock. His fingers are relentless now—deep, punishing strokes that angle just right, hitting the spot that makes your back arch.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, voice hot and filthy. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Please—need to—”

“You think I’m letting you go home with anyone else’s cum in you again?” His hand grips tighter. “Nah. You’ll cum on my fingers. Then my tongue. Then my cock. One by one. Until you remember who you belong to.”

You sob into his shoulder, body locking up.

“Then cum,” he growls. “Let me feel you fucking fall apart.”

And you do. You shatter. Right there in his chair, cunt clenching around his fingers so hard he curses, hips bucking involuntarily, thighs shaking. The orgasm crashes through you like a wave that never breaks.

You’re still gasping, barely coming down, when he kisses you again—rough and breathless.

Then he pulls his hand out and brings his digits to his lips, licking his fingers clean with a sinful groan. “Still the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Minho leans in—presses a soft kiss just beneath your jaw. Then another. Then pulls back, his lips swollen and wet with you.

“Stay,” he says simply.

“Yes.”

“Upstairs.”

You nod again, dazed. He grabs a clean towel, wipes his fingers off, then flicks off the booth lights.

You stumble to your feet. He steadies you with a hand on your lower back—protective, but firm. The other hand? Already sliding down to cup the curve of your ass.

“Don’t test me,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Or I’ll take you right here. Front door be damned.”

You laugh breathlessly. “You always talk this much now?”

“Only when I’m starving.”

He steps out first. Walks to the front.

The shop’s dark now—just the glow of the neon sign outside, and the sound of him flipping the lock with a click. Pulling the blinds. Turning the CLOSED sign.

The only other sound is your breath. And the creak of stairs.

Minho turns back to you. Extends his hand. “Come home.”

And you do. You follow him up the stairs—your fingers tangled in his, your heart in your throat. He pulls you behind him, not once looking back.

The upstairs apartment is dim, clean, and familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

His hoodie hits the floor first. Your shirt follows. Your bra is gone with one snap of his practiced fingers.

“Fuck,” he breathes, stepping in closer. “I’ve dreamed about this. Exactly this.”

“Then stop dreaming.”

“I’m not stopping anything tonight.”

He kisses you hard, mouths crashing, tongues tangled. His hands roam over every inch of skin he missed—the good side of your ribs, your back, your thighs. He lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist.

Your back hits the hallway wall.

Your pants are yanked down, barely a memory. His belt clinks open, jeans shoved past his hips. You’re both gasping, biting, pulling, years of silence poured into filthy, reckless touch.

“I missed your body,” he mutters into your mouth. “Missed how you sound. How you taste. How you fucking feel.”

“Then take me.”

“You think I won’t?”

He kicks the bedroom door open with one foot, lays you down onto his bed, and finally—finally—he crawls over you like you’re something holy. You are.

Minho kisses you again, slower now, lips dragging down the column of your throat. Over your collarbone. Across the top of your chest. He palms your breast—squeezes, just enough to make you gasp—and then closes his mouth over your nipple.

You arch.

“Still so responsive,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue over the peak before sucking hard, slow. “Still so good for me.”

Your hands knot in his hair.

He kisses across to the other one—giving it the same attention, tongue lazy, mouth open and hot. Every sound you make fuels him.

Then lower.

His mouth trails down the center of your stomach—soft kisses, open-mouthed and hot, then bites just sharp enough to leave blooming heat behind. He kneels between your legs, hands parting your thighs.

You’re soaked again. Dripping. Panties long gone.

He growls low, eyes locked to your pussy like it’s fucking divine.

“You knew this was next,” he says, voice low, hands sliding under your thighs to lift your hips. “I told you.”

“Then shut up and—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Minho licks one long stripe up your slit—slow and filthy—from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. And moans. Loud.

“Still taste like a fucking fever dream.”

Your hands shoot into his hair again. “Minho—fuck—”

He flattens his tongue against your clit, then circles it. Slow, heavy pressure. Just enough to make your thighs jerk around his head. “Keep them open,” he mutters, pulling back only to kiss your inner thigh, your hipbone, your mound. “Let me see all of you.”

And then he devours.

Tongue pressed deep. Lapping. Sucking. Flicking. He eats like he missed meals for years and this is how he survives now. Your moans go from soft to broken, gasps ragged, legs shaking around his head.

“Oh my—fuck—Minho—”

He groans into you, the vibration making your hips buck. His arms wrap tighter around your thighs, holding you down, keeping you right there as his tongue circles your clit in tight, ruthless rhythm.

He sucks your clit—harder now. Lips wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling in circles so precise it feels like he mapped this out. Every flick is a promise. Every kiss, a punishment.

“Minho—fuckfuck—please—”

Your thighs tremble against his shoulders, toes curling, head thrown back into his sheets. But he’s relentless. Focused. Cruel in the way only someone who knows your body this well can be.

Then—suddenly—his tongue dips lower again.

He licks into you—deep—pressing into your entrance, slow and wet and hot.

Minho—”

He moans into your cunt, arms flexing around your thighs, nose pressed into your mound like he never wants to come up for air. He tongue-fucks you harder, the slick sounds obscene now, spit and arousal dripping down his chin.

He pulls back just enough to suck your clit again, messy and loud—then goes back down, tongue fucking you like it’s a competition. Like it’s penance. Like he’s going to draw the second orgasm out of you with his mouth alone.

“You’re close again,” he pants. “I feel it. You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak my face?”

“Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. In fact, he doubles down—tongue driving in and out while he rubs tight, fast circles on your clit with his thumb. Your thighs snap around his head. You try to pull away, too sensitive, too much—

But Minho just growls, deep and possessive.

“Fucking take it.”

Fuck you do. You fucking do take it. How can you not. And you finally break apart on his face, legs locking, body spasming as that second orgasm rips through you harder, wetter, longer. He holds you through it, licking and sucking until your voice is nothing but choked whimpers and your body can’t stop twitching.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth is glossy, chin soaked.

He smirks—wild, satisfied, dark before kneeling up, grabbing a condom from the drawer, tearing it open with his teeth.

“Now I’m gonna ruin this pussy properly.”

You’re barely conscious of the way he tears the condom wrapper open—just the sound of it, sharp and needed in the haze of your wrecked body. He rolls it on quick, jaw clenched, hand pumping his cock once, twice, eyes locked on you like you’re prey he’s finally allowed to devour.

“Get on all fours.”

You try to move, limbs shaking, but he grabs your hips and flips you himself—effortless, firm, like muscle memory. You barely get your arms under you before he’s behind you, one hand gripping your ass, the other dragging along your spine.

“You remember how loud you used to get?” he mutters, voice thick. “Gonna make you scream into my fucking sheets again.”

He guides his cock to your entrance—rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, slow and teasing, soaking himself in your mess.

“Fuck—you’re dripping,” he groans. “You came so hard for my mouth, and you’re still ready for my cock?”

“Please—Minho—need it—need you—”

He sinks in. Deep. One smooth, devastating thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“Oh my fuck—”

“That’s it,” he growls, bottoming out. “Tight as ever. Like your pussy never forgot me.”

You choke on a moan as he pulls out slow—just to slam back in, harder this time. Your arms buckle, face falling into the mattress as his hips snap against your ass with punishing rhythm.

“Minho—fuck—you’re so—deep—”

“Yeah? You missed this cock?” His voice is ragged, filthy. “Tell me. Tell me who fucks you like this.”

“Only you—fuck—only you, Minho—”

“Damn right.”

He grips your hair, pulling you up by the back of your neck, arching your body so your back curves into him. His mouth is by your ear now, panting, biting.

“No one touches you here,” he growls, fucking into you harder, deeper. “Not your mouth. Not your thighs. Not your pussy. All mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours—Minho—I’m fucking yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He snarls into your neck and slams into you so deep you see stars. One of his hands slides down to your clit, rubbing fast, relentless circles while his cock drags against your g-spot.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants. “On my cock this time?”

“Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”

“Let go for me, baby.”

You don’t even need to try.

His thumb circles your clit with such devastating precision, and his cock hits so deep, so right, you come apart again—body locking up, mouth falling open in a moan that barely sounds like your own.

Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, sharp and overwhelming, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping him, milking him like your body knows he’s supposed to stay there.

“Fuuuuck—Minho—!”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Cum on my cock like a good girl. So fucking wet—so tight—I can feel you pulsing, fuck—”

Your vision blurs. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting through it, relentless, dragging it out with brutal pace, your pussy so sensitive now you can barely breathe. His hand’s still on your clit, rubbing slow now—just enough to make you whimper.

“Minho—please—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

He leans over your back again, teeth dragging along your shoulder, breath hot and harsh. “You gonna take it, baby,” he pants. “You’re gonna be good and take it. All of it. Until I cum too.”

You cry out when he fucks you harder, cock slamming in deep, hips slapping skin, the sound so obscene it makes your whole body flush. You feel your own slick running down your thighs, pooling under you—and still he keeps going.

“You said you were mine,” he groans. “So act like it. Let me fuck you how you need.”

“Minho—f-fuck—it’s too—too much—”

“It’s never too much,” he hisses. “Not for my good girl.”

His fingers leave your clit, only to grip your throat—lightly, possessively, pulling you up so your back is flush to his chest. His cock drives into you deeper from this angle, the stretch unbearable, perfect.

“You feel this?” he whispers into your ear. “You feel how hard I still am inside you? I’m not even close, baby.”

“Oh my god—”

“You’re gonna take every fucking second of it.”

You moan, broken and needy, as he slams into you again and again. His hips are ruthless now, fucking you straight through your oversensitivity, chasing his own high while demanding you keep up.

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans. “Gonna fill you up and fuck you until you can’t even stand—until all you know is my name in your throat.”

“Please—Minho—yes—yes, please—”

You feel another orgasm building and he knows it. His hand snakes down again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick tight circles just as he starts fucking you even deeper, fucking into your sweet spot with perfect, punishing rhythm.

“Cum again,” he growls. “Do it. Show me how good your pussy gets when it’s mine.”

Your legs are trembling now, slick and spent, but Minho doesn’t let up.

“C’mon,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Give it to me again. You know you can.”

His fingers never leave your clit—tight, ruthless circles in time with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. He’s fucking into you so deep you swear he’s carved out space inside you. Your body’s a live wire, too sensitive, too soaked, too close.

And then—

You break.

A cry tears out of you as your body convulses, squirting hard around him, wetness gushing as your vision whites out. He curses low and vicious, gripping your hips to ride it out, holding you through the aftershocks.

“Fuck—just like that, baby. Look at this mess. All for me.”

You’re limp, gasping, gone—and he’s still fucking you, chasing the edge with a growl in his throat. His rhythm stutters, hips snapping faster, deeper, until he finally buries himself to the hilt with a sharp gasp.

“Mine,” he groans. “Taking all of me—fuck—mine.”

You feel the shudder of him spilling into the condom, body tight, muscles locked, every filthy, pent-up second poured into you.

And then—

Silence.

Only breath. Sweat. Your heartbeat in your ears. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, chest pressed to yours, mouth by your ear and pressing soft kisses.

Then finally—slowly—he pulls out. You both shiver from the loss.

Minho moves carefully now, the storm in him simmered down to something softer, raw-edged but human. He slides off the condom, ties it off, discards it in the bin by the bed. Then he vanishes for a beat—into the bathroom maybe—but returns just as fast with a warm cloth, water, tissues.

“Easy,” he murmurs as he wipes between your legs, his touch gentle, reverent. “Let me take care of you.”

You wince slightly when the cloth brushes too close to your clit, overstimulated and twitchy. He notices immediately.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “You okay?”

You nod. Too gone to speak yet, but he sees it—your blinking gratitude, the softness returning to your breath. He kisses the inside of your knee before tossing the cloth aside.

And then he climbs back into bed, arms open. You crawl into them without hesitation. He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucks your head beneath his chin. One hand rubs slow circles into your back; the other is tangled in your hair.

For a long time, neither of you say anything. Just breath. The muted thud of his heartbeat under your ear. The faint creak of the studio pipes somewhere above.

Until you finally whisper, “Why’d we stop talking?”

His fingers still for a moment. Then resume. Slower. “I was angry,” he says. “And stupid.”

You hum. “Me too.”

He sighs. “I hated that you left without saying goodbye.”

“I hated that you let me.”

A pause.

“You came back,” he says quietly.

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

Another beat of silence, heavier now. “I never moved on,” he admits.

You look up at him, eyes glassy. “Neither did I.”

His jaw flexes. His thumb brushes your cheek. And this time, when he kisses you—it’s slow. Deep. No lust. Just longing. A kiss built on what-ifs. On might-have-beens. On maybe-again.

He whispers against your lips, “Stay the night.”

You nod, barely breathing. “Okay.”

It’s been three weeks since that night. Since Minho locked the studio door, fucked you senseless, and told you—without words—that he never stopped wanting you.

Now?

Now, your toothbrush is in his bathroom. Your sketchbook’s on his kitchen counter. Your bra’s been living on his bedpost for four days and counting.

You’re upstairs more than not—first it was overnight visits, then a drawer, then a closet, then one morning he just grunted, “Your stuff’s already here. Might as well stop pretending.”

So you stayed.

Mornings are quiet. Shared coffee in oversized mugs, his hand on your thigh while he skims client bookings. Nights are louder—sometimes it’s just TV and takeout, sometimes it’s moaning into his mouth while he fucks you over the arm of the couch, one hand tangled in your hair and the other keeping your legs spread.

Rebuilding hasn’t been linear. You argue. You remember old fights. You see old wounds still healing. But you talk now. And when you don’t have the words, he kisses the silence out of you, palms framing your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.

One afternoon, Jisung barges in to drop off a delivery and freezes at the top of the stairs. You’re half-naked in one of Minho’s shirts. He’s behind you, tattoo gun still buzzing.

“Are you seriously tattooing her naked again?”

Minho doesn’t even flinch. “My apartment. My rules.”

Jisung groans. “I’m gonna start charging rent for the trauma.”

Minho just smirks, wiping your skin clean and pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Close the door on your way out.”

You laugh into the sleeve of your shirt. You’re glowing. A little inked, a lot in love.

And Minho? He’s not going anywhere this time.

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz smut #lee know #lee know x reader #lee minho smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho skz #tethered tuesday

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ofstarsandvibranium · 3 days ago

Text

Dr. Flirt

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: Jack flirts with you at work with no shame.

The Pitt Masterlist

You’re rushing down when you receive a call from the ER that there’s a woman in labor. You scrub in and rush into a trauma room. You see Dr. Abbot handling the delivery.

“Hi. I’m Doctor L/N from labor and delivery,” you introduce yourself to the expecting parents, “How are we doing?”

“This is her first pregnancy so we’re out of limit here, the dad speaks.

“Doctor Abbot, you got this?”

“Like a walk in a park,” he says plainly, “Alright, Janine. You’re crowning so you’re going to have to start pushing. Ready? One…two…three!”

_________________

You have one of your nurses escort the new parents up to your floor as you stay back to talk to Dr. Abbot.

“You did good there. You sure you don’t want to switch departments?” You look at him with a smirk.

Jack chuckles, “Don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

You cross your arms over your chest, “And why’s that?”

Jack looks you up and down and smirks, “You’d be far too distracting for me to get any work done.”

You snort, “You didn’t seem distracted just now?”

“Because you weren’t in my line of sight. If you were…”

“You’re being very bold today, Dr. Abbot. I’m not sure my husband would appreciate such language from you at my workplace.” The diamond ring on your left hand sparkles under the bright hospital lights.

Jack glances at it and smirks, “Trust me, I’m sure your husband would appreciate the fact that he scored the most beautiful and amazing woman in the world.”

————

Doctors Santos and King watch from a short distance as you and Dr. Abbot converse with each other.

“They’re bold,” Santos says, arms crossed over her chest.

Dr. King’s brows furrow and looks at her colleague, “What do you mean?”

“Dr. Abbot is flirting with her despite her being married and she’s flirting back. You can tell by the way she’s looking at him and smiling.”

“Isn’t Doctor Abbot married as well?”

Santos nods, “Yeah. So I’ve heard.”

“So you think they’re a thing?”

“Probably, but I know someone who will definitely know the answer,” Santos immediately spots Princess and waltzes up to her, Dr. King following behind.

“I need some intel.”

Princess looks at her in confusion, “On a patient?”

“On Doctor Abbot,” she nods to him across central. She leans in, “Are Doctor Abbot and Doctor L/N having an affair? I notice they flirt with each other a lot when Doctor L/N comes down.”

Princess bursts into laughter, “Ay nako. Kasal na sila.”

Santos’ eyes widen, “They don’t share the same last name.”

The nurse snorts, “Girl, it’s 2025. A woman doesn’t have to take a man’s last name if she doesn’t want to.” Princess proceeds to head back to her patient.

Dr. King hums, “So…they’re married?”

Dr. Santos nods, “Yeah.”

“That explains all the flirting. That’s good right?”

“Well now they’re just gross then,” Santos retorts before heading off to help patients.

———————

You meet Jack outside of the hospital. He immediately takes your bag in one hand, his hand slipping into yours.

You look at him with a smirk, “We got another one.”

Jack chuckles, “Yeah?”

“Your new student doctors. They thought we were having an affair.”

Your husband snorts, “Still not changing your last name?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. Making people think we’re cheating pieces of scum is kinda fun.”

Jack rolls his eyes, “Trouble,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to your head.

#jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 3 days ago

Text

Bob Floyd X F!Reader: Crash and Burn

a/n: I love writing near-death experiences that lead to confessions and smut. It’s a guilty pleasure 😉

Warnings: smut, angst (very tame), cursing, fighting (nothing too bad) near-death experience, emotional conflict, sexual content, explicit smut, mutual pinning, f!reader, no use of y/n, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i mean anyone could have walked in), possible me remembering stuff wrong from the movie ( i haven't seen it in awhile okay 🙃)

Word count: 3.4K

Maverick had made it his personal mission to push every pilot past the point of comfort. He was determined to test your limits. You were more than eager to prove you could take the heat.

The sun beat down on the cockpit canopy as you adjusted your helmet, eyes locked on the radar screen. Somewhere out there, Maverick was hunting, pushing you to fly faster, think sharper, and stay alive.

Failure was not an option.

The sky in front of you was clear. It was a beautiful day for a flight. If Maverick hadn’t been hunting you, you were sure you would have enjoyed the scenery a lot more. Unfortunately, your heart was racing with the thought of somehow losing. It wasn’t a real possibility, not in your mind anyway. You were a good pilot and Fanboy was an excellent WSO, so you didn’t have much to worry about.

But then again, you were flying against Maverick. He had proved to you and the rest of the crew that he wasn’t just a legend. He knew his craft, and he wasn’t going to let any of you stop him from doing what he did best, which currently meant beating you.

“Anybody got eyes on him?” Hangman’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp and steady.

You scanned the horizon, muscles tense. “Not yet. But I’m pushing the limits. I’ll call it if I see him.”

Fanboy’s calm voice came over your headset. “Radar’s clear for now, but he’s tricky. Don’t lose focus.”

Your grip tightened on the controls as you adjusted your heading, heart pounding. Maverick was out there somewhere, and this chase was far from over.

And then, almost as if he’d heard you, Maverick appeared out of nowhere. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew he was there because of the curse Hangman had just let out, followed by the clear sound of the older pilot saying, “Hangman, you’re dead.”

The comms crackled with frantic voices as pilots scrambled to react. You tightened your grip on the controls, eyes darting between your instruments and the horizon. Fanboy’s calm voice came through your headset.

“I see a blip on the radar. Twelve o’clock, fast approaching.”

Your eyes darted to where he was talking about, immediately catching sight of the two jets. You watched as Phoenix and Bob tried to outmaneuver Maverick, zigzagging low, trying to shake the older pilot off their tail. You spotted the ridge up ahead, your heart suddenly clenching as you realized just how close the other two pilots were flying to it.

“They’re too close to the ridge,” you said, voice tight. “Fanboy, tell me if they’re not pulling up.”

“Roger that. They’re pushing it.”

You should probably have been thinking about how to win this game. If Bob and Phoenix got eliminated, that only meant you had a bigger chance of winning. But you couldn’t get your mind to think like that, not as you watched their jet come closer and closer to the ridge.

Your heart was pounding, and it wasn’t because Maverick was hunting you. The jets dipped low, causing your breath to catch.

“Phoenix, Bob, pull up now! You’re gonna hit the ridge!”

Static buzzed, then Phoenix’s voice came through, strained but steady. “We’re fine.”

You knew Phoenix was a good pilot–you trusted her instincts–but you could see where she was going, and it seemed like she was too focused on Maverick to realize just how close she was to the ridge. The way she said it, so calm, so certain, made your blood boil all of a sudden. You were warning her because you cared, and she wasn’t even trying to listen.

“Phoenix, you’re too fucking close. Pull up now!”

There was no response. You fought the urge to shut your eyes, unable to look away even though your mind screamed it was coming. Then, just as you were about to call out again, their jets jolted upward, barely clearing the jagged rocks by inches.

You exhaled sharply, your breath shaky.

“Jesus,” Fanboy muttered in your ear, echoing exactly what you were thinking.

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes were still locked on Phoenix and Bob’s jet, watching it level out.

A second slower and they would’ve been gone.

The rest of the game had gone by in a blur. All around you, pilots were getting eliminated left and right. Maverick was absolutely destroying all of you. But you kept fighting like you had a chance—because maybe, if you believed you would win, you could.

Yeah, right.

Even you knew that beating Maverick wasn’t something you were going to achieve today. Still, your chest swelled with pride when you found out that you and Fanboy were the last ones to get eliminated. Not quite a victory, but still a win in your book.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t even appreciate it the way you wanted to. Your brain kept replaying the sight of Phoenix and Bob’s jet almost crashing into the ridge. The happiness you felt over your small victory was short-lived, immediately replaced by a sudden anger that bubbled up inside you and filled your chest like fire.

The sun was high by the time you all hit the tarmac. Sweat clung to your skin, your body already aching from the endless drills, but it didn’t matter. Maverick had ruled the sky again, and now everyone was paying the price.

“One hundred push-ups,” he’d said flatly. “Rules are rules.”

So you dropped to the ground with the others, hands pressed to the hot concrete, heart still pounding from more than just the exercise.

You were seething.

Each push-up only made the rage worse. You tried to breathe through it, focus on form, on rhythm, on anything else. But your mind was stuck. Stuck on how close they’d come to slamming into that damn ridge.

Phoenix was beside you, gritting her teeth, her form sharp. Bob, quiet as ever, kept his head down and his pace steady.

You didn’t look at either of them.

Once you finished your one hundred push-ups, you were all exhausted. You were equally drained and angry, and you were sure it showed in your facial expressions and body language. That thought was confirmed when Hangman so helpfully quipped, “What's with the face? You suck on a lime or something?”

You gave him your most meaningful glance. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Whoa, hit a nerve,” he said with a coy smile.

“Fuck off, Hangman.”

That surprised him because, despite all his teasing, you were always someone he never managed to get under the skin.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, of course. All eyes had turned to you as you said those words. You could feel Bob’s gaze on your shoulder and Phoenix’s smoldering eyes watching you. You made brief eye contact with Bob, then with Phoenix. Without a word, you exited the room.

You didn’t expect them to come after you—maybe today was a day for unexpected things.

“Can we talk?”

You paused at Phoenix’s voice, then turned around to face her. Your eyes flicked to Bob behind her. He wasn’t cowering, but he did seem to be slightly hiding from you, allowing Phoenix’s body to shield him from your rage.

It made you feel bad for a moment, but then the moment was gone, and you were back to seeing red.

“I don’t know. Are you going to listen to me?”

Phoenix rolled her eyes at you. She would have expected this from someone else. She wouldn’t have expected it from you. But here you were.

“Look, I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. You should be.”

Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

You crossed your arms, jaw clenched. “You nearly clipped a ridge trying to show off. That’s not just something you shrug off, Phoenix.”

Behind her, you saw Bob glance over from his locker, brows furrowed like he was debating whether or not to step in.

He didn’t.

Phoenix held your stare for a beat, then scoffed.

“I had it under control.”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“You didn’t. That’s the problem.”

Fanboy stepped between you and Phoenix just as the tension reached a breaking point. His voice was calm, almost tired.

“Everyone’s exhausted. Maybe we should just call it for today—get some rest.”

Phoenix’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to you. You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue.

“Fine,” you muttered.

Without another word, you turned and pushed your way through the hangar doors, needing space. Needing to breathe.

You’d gotten cleaned up and found a space where no one was around, which was kind of a miracle, considering how many people were constantly coming and going. You weren’t hiding exactly, but you weren’t exactly inviting company either.

You didn’t think anyone would be looking for you. You and Phoenix would work it out eventually. She knew better than to come to you when you were angry. And Bob was just as quiet as ever.

So yeah, you hadn’t expected him to come.

Yet there he was, just outside the door, eyes fixed on you.

You only noticed his presence when he let out a soft knock, causing your eyes to shift from the window you’d been staring out of to the other side of the room. He opened the door gently, peeking his head through the opening.

You studied him for a moment. Maybe there was a problem. Maybe Maverick had called an unexpected meeting and sent Bob to find you.

But you were surprised when he let out a soft, “Is it okay if I come in?”

“I don’t own the room, Bob. You can do whatever you want.”

You sounded like a dick—you knew that—and you saw it in the way Bob’s expression shifted, but he shrugged it off and stepped inside.

He took in the way you were standing, posture rigid as you leaned against the window. The anger from before still radiated off you. He’d do what he could to avoid igniting the fire, but he couldn’t keep “fighting” with you without talking it over.

He hated not being able to talk to you. He hated seeing you angry. It had only been a couple of hours, and he was already missing your smile. He wanted to see it again. He’d do anything in his power to make that happen.

“Did you warn her?”

Bob had barely taken a couple of steps when your voice cut through the room. You shifted your gaze to him, silently telling him you were waiting for an answer.

You were sure that, as Phoenix’s WSO, he would have warned her about how close they were getting to the ridge. You knew Fanboy would have been screaming in your ear if it had been you.

“Is that what happened? Did you warn her and she just ignored you?”

Bob hesitated, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s a good pilot. I trust her,” he said quietly. “I knew she had it.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up again.

“But she almost didn’t, Bob.”

You strode across the room toward him as you spoke.

“She almost crashed. And if she had, it wouldn’t have just been her life—it would’ve been yours too.”

Bob didn’t move. He let you keep coming closer, each angry step echoing in the quiet room.

“You could have died. Do you get that? You could’ve been up in smoke right now because you didn’t speak up.”

You poked at his chest as you spoke. Bob barely flinched.

“Floyd, are you listening to me?! I could’ve fucking lost you!”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. You blinked, suddenly aware of what you’d just said.

Not “we.”

“I.”

Not “both of you.” Just “you.”

Bob’s eyes widened, just a fraction, catching the change like a spark.

Your hand was still pressed to his chest—no longer sharp like a knife but soft, your palm resting there as if you were leaning on him for support. As if, if you let go at that moment, you would crumble to the ground.

Your breathing shifted. Your lip quivered. Before you knew it, you were crying.

You tried to pull away, tried to hide the tears, but he didn’t let you. He tugged you into him, strong arms wrapping around your frame. His arms tightened around you, steady and grounding, as if to hold not just your body but the storm inside you.

You leaned into him, the tension in your muscles slowly melting away. Your breath hitched when his lips brushed softly against your temple. The feeling seemed to awaken something inside you.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze.

Bob watched you with a pained expression. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He would never do that. Knowing that the tears wetting your cheeks were because of him—and from the thought of losing him—made his heart tighten.

You shifted your face softly, mouth opening with slightly sped-up breaths. You brushed your nose against Bob’s, your eyes catching his furrowed brows.

He called your name just before you claimed his mouth.

His lips met yours with a gentle insistence, soft and searching, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say with words. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent.

Bob’s hands gripped your waist as he gently guided you to the nearest wall. Your back hit it with a soft thud as he pressed in closer, crowding into your space but never overpowering. His lips moved with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You had started this, but you hadn’t expected Bob to mirror your desire so clearly. He was always so quiet. Always kept to himself, averting anyone’s gaze if they stared at him too long. You knew he could be confident—you’d seen it before—but it was rare, and you weren’t prepared for the kind of need that was seeping out of him now.

Your hands slipped under the edge of his shirt, fingers splaying against the warmth of his skin. His breath caught at your touch, the sound vibrating softly against your lips. He pulled back just slightly, his eyes scanning your face, asking a silent question.

You nodded before he could even get the words out.

“Bob,” you breathed, fingers curling around his wrist as you guided his hand to your waist. “Touch me. Show me you’re real. That I’m not imagining this.”

Your words caught him off guard. You thought you were dreaming? Then what did that mean for him? Had he somehow died and gone to heaven? No. He could feel your warm palms pressed to his chest. Real. Alive. Waiting.

He surged forward, kissing you like he’d been holding back for far too long. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, and when they found bare skin, he let out a quiet groan into your mouth. You helped him peel the fabric from your body, your breath hitching as cool air met overheated skin. He stared at you shamelessly, drinking in the sight of your barely clothed chest. You couldn’t help but smile at the awe on his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it out loud.

But he meant it. You could feel the truth of it in the way his gaze lingered, in the slight tremble of his fingers as they traced the edge of your bra. You could tell he wanted to take it off but was hesitating to ask.

You didn’t make him beg—your hands moved to unclip the bra.

Bob’s breath hitched as your breasts bounced free, nipples hardening at the sudden chill. You pulled him closer, guiding his mouth to the side of your neck, tilting your head as his lips explored the sensitive skin there. You felt the drag of his teeth, the wet heat of his tongue, the gentle suction that made your stomach tighten and your knees threaten to give out.

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, undoing the button with practiced ease. He hissed at the contact, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as you slid your hand inside, stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers.His breath hitched.

“Fuck…”

It came out as a soft whine. Your eyes nearly rolled back at the sound. God, he sounded pathetic, and you fucking loved it.

You stroked him a little harder, feeling the twitch of his cock against your palm, the way his hips instinctively pushed forward. Then you heard a noise outside. Both of you froze for a moment, suddenly reminded of where you were.

You didn’t have much time. As much as you wanted to drag this out as long as possible, you knew you were on an invisible timer. And with how hard Bob was pressing against your hand, and how wet you were feeling between your thighs, you knew leaving without cumming was not a possibility.

“I need you,” you whispered, voice breaking on the words. “Please.”

His gaze softened even as his jaw tightened. “Yeah. Okay. I got you.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you back into the wall. One hand steadied you, the other guided himself to your entrance.

The moment he pushed into you, slow and fucking delicious, you both gasped. You clung to him, forehead resting against his, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

He started to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, dragging pleasure through your core like waves. The wall at your back grounded you, but it was him—his arms, his steady breath, the way he whispered how good you felt in broken fragments—that made you feel steady. Safe. Present.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you were crying again. Only this time from the overwhelming ache of it. The kind that came from being seen. From being held like this.

Your hands traced the line of his jaw, tilting his face up so you could look into his eyes—dark, searching, full of everything you’d been holding back. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Just… stay with me.”

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

You clawed at his shoulder, nodding as he quickened his pace. You were both hanging off the edge, bodies full of adrenaline and the intense feeling of each other. He drove deeper, every movement raw and urgent, as if trying to bury himself inside you and never let go.

And then his lips found yours again, and something snapped inside you. He swallowed the moan you let out as he came. You felt him tense beneath you, arms tightening around you as his orgasm washed over him.

When it was over, he didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

He held you there, face buried in your neck, your bodies still tangled. He only pulled back when he felt your breath start to steady.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

And you believed him.

After a while, both of you got dressed again, laughing as you searched the room for different pieces of clothing. You helped Bob neaten up his hair and clean the smudges off his glasses. He smiled at you as he put his glasses back on, leaning to place a soft kiss to your cheek. You grinned up at him, grabbing onto his hand.

“I’ll talk with Phoenix.”

Your brows furrowed.

“About being reckless. And about listening.”

“Oh. For a second, I thought you were talking about what happened here.”

Bob flushed at the mere thought of Phoenix—or anyone else on the team—finding out just how desperate he had been for you a few seconds ago. Not because he was embarrassed by you, but because he was embarrassed by his lack of control. He should have at least taken you out to dinner.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Bob’s eyes snapped up to look at you. Had he spoken the last part out loud?

“I’ll patch things up with her. I promise.”

Bob smiled.

“Good. Can’t have my favorite girls fighting.”

You raised your eyebrows again.

“I’m one of your favorite girls? I would have never guessed.”

Bob laughed at your mock surprise. Your face spread into a grin. There it was—the smile he loved so much.

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yunalinwrites · 19 hours ago

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one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

#jinu x reader #kpdh #jinu kpdh #jinu #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #fanfic #kpdh fanfic #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh romance #kpdh abby #kpdh mystery #kpdh baby

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sinsxo · 1 day ago

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voiceover chaos. —blue lock

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro.

synopsis. makeup grwm but your boyfriend does the voiceover (poorly).

cw. drabble, fluff, lighthearted fic.

wc. 0.8k words, not proofread.

isagi yoichi ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

“hi everyone— oh we’re already starting? okay.” he immediately locks in, hyper-focused, like it’s a soccer match. the only problem? he has no idea what you’re putting on your face.

“um, this is foundation, right? okay, so she’s starting with foundation— oh, wait no, this is foundation.”

wrong. it was primer and concealer, but close enough.

“huh? isn’t this foundation too?” he’s genuinely confused. “ahem, so she applied three layers of foundation and now she’s applying uhh... what’s this? a tan stick?”

contour. it was contour.

“and now she’s blending it out with a brush,” he says, trying to sound confident. “okay, another stick? oh, it’s the nose thing. now she’s... drawing shadows... on her nose?”

“another stick?? this one’s shiny. now she has sparkles on her nose,” he narrates, then mutters, “oh, wow that’s a lot, uh... s— slay!”

“okay, now she’s applying lipstick— woah, why does it look like that? is this lip gloss?” he leans in like the screen holds the answers.

“and now she’s peeling her lips off???”

“and she’s done?” he’s completely flustered. “gosh, i did so bad. anyway, she’s the most beautiful girl in the world, even without all this.”

“aww, you’re so sweet yoichi,” you laugh. “can i do your makeup next time?”

“s— sure!” he laughs awkwardly, but he’s already mentally preparing to be your next canvas.

itoshi rin ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

“why do i have to do this?” he asks flatly.

“for entertainment! now go,” you say as you press play.

he sighs, defeated.

“what the hell is that?” he frowns immediately and the video barely started. “she’s applying… some cream on her face.”

“okay, i bought her this one. i think it’s concealer. whatever that does,” he mutters, watching you blend it in. “i think it’s what she uses when she didn’t sleep enough — which is, like, every night. told her to sleep earlier but she never listens, so she wakes up looking like a panda.”

“rin! voiceover, don’t diss me!” you call out in the background.

“whatever— why are you moving so fast?” he’s clearly panicking now, squinting at the screen. “what the fuck is this???”

he gives up trying to follow, then regains composure.

“okay, now she’s drawing on some lips. even though i think she already has enough.”

“rin.”

“anyway— okay. nevermind. it’s over. she’s done,” he says, finally backing up from the screen. “beautiful like usual. perfect. don’t ask me to do this again.”

“can i do your makeup for the next video?”

“…no?”

itoshi sae ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he looks like he’d rather be doing anything else. but he agrees to do the voiceover anyway — even if he’s still a menace.

“alright, so we’re starting with dior,” he says, casually. “bought her that one. it was like three thousand.”

“now we’re putting on… whatever this is. costed like two million,” he deadpans.

“babe, you’re supposed to describe what i’m doing.”

“i don’t know what you’re doing,” he replies, unimpressed. “i think this is blush. she looks like she’s blushing now.”

well, no shit.

“next, dior again. another million dollars gone. why is makeup so expensive anyway?”

“you’re exaggerating.”

“am not.” he squints. “okay… now we got this blue thing. for lips?”

a pause.

“and now we look like frozen, from elsa or something. she looks like she has hypothermia.”

you swear this man will be the death of you.

“okay… we wipe the blue thing off, then we spray some mist on our face. and look at that, all done,” he exhales like he just ran a marathon. “beautiful. her whole routine costs like four million dollars. no wonder she won’t let me touch her face.”

“it doesn’t cost that much, you’re being dramatic!”

“debatable.”

“also, can i do your make up for the next video?” you batted your eyelashes.

he didn’t flinch.

“again, debatable.”

nagi seishiro ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

“this sounds like a hassle... but okay,” he yawns.

he’s clearly half-assing it at first, but by the end, he’s genuinely interested.

“mmm, she’s putting this, like... stuff... on her face.” he mumbles. “blendy, blendy. looks like she’s doing art.”

“and now she’s drawing on her eyes or something. she looks cute when she’s concentrating,” a pause, then he turns to look at you. “wait, how did you do that? your eyes look like a cat’s now. that’s cool.”

“and then lip gloss, now her lips are shiny. my favourite,” he mumbles. “i like kissing them. very soft. tastes good. wait, can i say that here?”

“anyway, she’s sparkly now,” he says, eyes glued to the screen. “looks so pretty. like an angel. she always does.”

“okay, done. is there more?”

“didn’t you say it was a hassle?”

“yeah, but you looked good doing that,” he shrugs.

“want me to do your makeup next time?”

“if i can just sit there and do nothing, then yeah.”

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

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azzinator3000 · 1 day ago

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Locked Doors

Word count (so far): 2K

Content: Friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, intense sexual tension, UConn season 2023/2024

Warnings: Mature Content (Minors DNI)

CHAPTER 1 - SOFT SPOT

Paige wasn’t sure what scared her more — that Azzi stayed the night, or that Paige kind of wanted her to. No, actually — not kind of. She wanted it. She definitely wanted it.

Which was… a problem.

Because this wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had their thing, you know? Their rhythm. Their rules. Well, not rules exactly, because neither of them ever really said anything out loud.

But there were rules.

Azzi was right there, asleep in her bed. Paige could hear her breathing, could see the soft light hitting her brown skin, the little rise and fall of her shoulders under Paige’s old t-shirt. God, she hoped she was wearing underwear. Paige was honestly too scared to check.

A part of her felt dirty for even thinking it, for looking at Azzi like this, for wanting something so uncomplicated to suddenly become so messy and demanding. But the dirtiness was mixed with a thrill, a possessive burn in her gut. Azzi, here, in her bed, wearing her shirt. It felt… right. Too right.

And it’s not like this was the first time. This was college. They did this. That’s just what it was.

Paige didn’t even know if Azzi liked girls, she never asked. She never asked because — well, she didn’t want to hear an answer that would ruin this thing they did.

Maybe Azzi just liked her, and that was easier to sit with. The idea that Azzi was only drawn to her, Paige Bueckers, not the concept of girls in general, was a selfish thought. But it was a comforting one, a private vanity she clung to.

Paige knew she liked girls, of course she did. She always knew. She’d been messing around with girls long before Azzi ever showed up on campus.

But that wasn’t something she could say, not out loud. Not as Paige Bueckers.

Paige Bueckers? She’s a shooter. She’s clutch. She’s marketable. She’s not gay.

Well, she is, but not in a way that fits the story people already wrote for her, the one with the clean, straight lines and the wholesome, All-American appeal. It was an unspoken contract, signed in endorsements and public appearances, that her private life would remain just that: private, and preferably, utterly conventional.

It was weird, right? That she was bothered people just assumed she was straight, but she also never really corrected them. She accepted that this was how it had to be.

Except… then there was Azzi. Azzi, with her soft voice, her big heart, her perfect family, her laugh. Azzi, who Paige would do literally anything for. Everyone knew that. It wasn’t even a secret. It was just Paige and Azzi. That’s how they worked.

Paige would tape over the windows to block the sun, but after Azzi started, well, showing up more often, she stopped doing that. She let the light in, even though she hated it in the morning, because Azzi was scared of the dark. Paige could never let her be scared.

And now here they were. Morning. Quiet. Paige sitting there, hugging her knees to her chest, trying not to lose her mind, realizing Azzi slept over. Azzi stayed. That wasn’t their thing. Their thing was the stolen moments, the frantic rush, the quick, desperate relief, and then the return to their separate lives. Azzi rarely spent the night.

And the girls? The girls definitely saw them. Paige vaguely remembered the door creaking open last night, the shuffle of shoes, someone whispering, and Paige trying to laugh it off, like it was nothing, like, haha, we just fell asleep. But no one really said anything.

A soft rustle from the bed. Azzi stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips as she burrowed deeper into the pillow, her dark curls splayed against the white cotton. Paige’s breath hitched. God, she was beautiful, even rumpled and half-asleep.

The morning light, which Paige usually abhorred, seemed to halo Azzi, highlighting the caramel tones of her skin, the gentle curve of her neck. Paige felt a familiar possessiveness clench in her chest, a primal urge to keep this sight, this moment, all to herself. She wanted to lean down, press a kiss to Azzi’s forehead, feel that soft skin against her lips. But she didn’t. Not yet. The rules, unspoken as they were, still held a subtle power.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly against the sunlight. For a moment, she looked disoriented, then her gaze landed on Paige, sitting on the floor by the bed, and a slow, sleepy smile bloomed on her face, dimple flashing. That smile. That fucking smile unraveled Paige every single time.

“Morning,” Azzi mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, a little hoarse. She stretched, arching her back, and the t-shirt rode up, just enough to reveal a sliver of toned midriff.

“Morning, Princess,” Paige responded, her voice coming out a little rougher than she intended.

But then Azzi’s face changed. Like, she remembered. Like her whole body tensed up all at once.

“Wait—” she sat up, eyes wide now. “Oh my God. I stayed over.” Paige’s stomach dropped. This was it. The moment the fragile bubble burst. “Azzi, it’s fine.” Paige tried to keep her voice even.

But Azzi was already spiraling, grabbing her phone like that was gonna solve something. “No, no, no, this is bad. They’re gonna think—like, if the girls saw me leave this morning, they’re gonna think there’s, like, something going on.” Her voice was a frantic whisper, her eyes wide with genuine alarm.

She glanced at the door, then back at Paige, her caramel skin looking paler in the bright morning light.

And Paige just blinked at her, sitting there like—what? You think they don’t already know? You think they didn’t know when we disappeared last night, mid-Jena’s dance moves? You think they haven’t known for years, since we were barely teenagers and I couldn’t keep my eyes off you at USA camp? Since your first UConn party?

Paige’s throat went a little dry. She didn’t know why. Maybe because she’d just realized Azzi was scared. Like, really scared. Like, this wasn’t just pretending-it’s-nothing scared. This was don’t-even-let-them-think-it’s-something scared.

or Azzi, this was still just a casual hookup, a fun, illicit thrill with a friend. Paige felt a hot surge of annoyance, mixed with a deeper, more painful sense of embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” Paige said quickly, forcing the words out, because Azzi was pulling on her shoes like she was about to sprint out the door, her movements jerky with anxiety. “I told them you were drunk. That’s why you stayed.” Lie. A complete, unadulterated lie. She hadn't said a word to anyone.

The girls had let them be, as they always did. But Azzi’s shoulders relaxed, just a little. The tension drained out of her, replaced by a visible wave of relief. And Paige wanted her to feel better. Even if it meant lying.

Azzi gave her this soft little smile, still half-flustered, but grateful. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Thanks, P.” She zipped up her jacket, grabbed her small bag, and gave Paige one last, quick, almost apologetic glance before hurrying out the door.

Paige just nodded, watching her go. The door clicked shut, leaving a silence that felt heavier, colder, than before. Paige wanted to scream, to break something. She wanted to grab Azzi and shake her.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, the spot where Azzi had been still warm, a ghost of her presence. She pulled herself up, her movements stiff, and headed out to the kitchen, a restless energy buzzing under her skin.

KK was there, leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone, eating dry cereal out of the box because, you know, of course she was. Aubrey was perched on a stool nearby, humming along to something in her headphones, probably already awake for hours, having finished her morning lifts. Ice was nowhere in sight, likely still passed out.

“Well, well, well,” KK grinned without looking up, a spoon clattering against the cardboard box. “Look who finally came out of her love nest.” Ice took off one headphone, a knowing smirk on her face. “Took you long enough, P. We were starting to think Azzi had you chained to the bed.”

“Don’t start,” Paige muttered, pulling open the fridge aggressively, the harsh fluorescent light doing nothing to improve her mood. She wasn’t even hungry. She just needed to do something, anything, to dissipate this frustrated energy.

The thought of Azzi’s panic, the casualness of her exit, grated on her nerves.

“Okay, but like—” KK’s grin only widened, “—are you gonna tell us when the wedding is or should I just pencil in spring? We need a head count for the national championship party, might as well combine.” “Shut up.” Paige’s voice was sharper than she meant, laced with a bitterness she usually reserved for bad calls on the court.

She slammed the fridge shut, rattling the bottles inside.

KK raised an eyebrow, finally looking at her, her expression losing some of its playful edge. “Whoa. Okay. Relax. We’re just messing around.”

“Yeah, well, maybe don’t.” Paige’s voice was, icy. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We literally do,” Aubrey interjected, leaning forward on the stool. “We heard you two stumble in last night. And we saw Azzi leave just now, looking like she’d run a marathon”

“You don’t.” Paige’s jaw was tight. She knew they knew. She’d always known they knew. But Azzi didn't. And that was the problem.

That was Azzi's problem, and now it was Paige's.

KK tilted her head, studying her, a rare seriousness in her eyes. “Okay. You’re mad. Like, actually mad.” She held up her hands, like, I’m out of this.

“Whatever’s going on, it’s between you and Azzi. But don’t get all cold with us when we didn’t do anything. We’re literally just trying to support whatever the hell that is.”

Paige clenched her jaw. She knew that. She knew KK wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Paige wanted something that wasn’t hers to want.

This was supposed to be her senior year, her championship run, and instead, her heart was getting twisted into knots over a girl who saw them as nothing but a 'night rush.' It was messy. It was a distraction she couldn't afford.

Just then, the door to the room opened again, and Azzi came out, wearing her jacket, still looking a little shaken but smiling now, all soft and sweet again, like the panic from earlier never happened.

She’d clearly just come back from her own room probably to grab something or just to make a point of leaving Paige's room properly.

“Hey, guys,” she said to KK and Ice, her voice light, innocent. Then her eyes found Paige’s. She brushed past Paige, lightly bumping her shoulder, a casual, friendly gesture that felt like a slap in the face.

“You okay, P? You look… intense”

Paige looked at her, and yeah, her heart softened immediately, which was annoying.

Like, seriously? Seriously? You’re just gonna melt like that? All that anger, all that frustration, it just… evaporated the moment Azzi’s eyes met hers.

Paige Bueckers you’re pathetic

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, forcing the word past her tight throat. “I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter.

Azzi smiled at her, real and bright, and Paige hated that it made her feel better.

KK watched the whole thing, chewing slowly on her cereal, her gaze shifting between Paige’s softened expression and Azzi’s guileless smile. Aubrey, too, had put her headphone back on, but she was definitely watching, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Huh,” KK said finally, once Azzi had turned to chat with Ice about their morning practice schedule.

“So, you’re all sharp with us, but with her, you’re soft. Interesting.”

Paige shot her a look, a venomous glare that usually made KK back off. “KK.”

“Just saying.” KK shrugged, unbothered, her eyes twinkling. “Guess we know what your weakness is, Bueckers.”

But Paige couldn’t even stay mad because it was true. She was soft with Azzi. That’s how it worked.

Paige could act all tough with the rest of the world, she could be the fierce competitor, the unyielding superstar. Azzi? Azzi was the soft spot. Always was.

#pazzi #pazzi fics #paige x azzi

254 notes · View notes

norrisainz33 · 7 hours ago

Text

protect your peace || ls18

summary: you and lance keep your lives pretty private and so it's no surprise when you keep a really big secret from the world!

pairing: lance stroll x wife!latina!reader

fc& warnings: karol g and some hate comments, mentions of pregnancy and poorly translated spanish

requested: yes!! thank you for your patience xoxo

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

view replies

user1: who cares

user2: omg pls let this be true lance and y/n would make sure good parents

user3: respectfully no one cares about y/n and lance

user4: y/n really did disappear hold on.. she hasn't been in the paddock since australia and she hasn't posted a photo dump since winter break

user5: hope its not them i truly don't care about y/nlance

ynstroll has posted to their story

view all story replies

user4: so cutieful but i am noticing the crop here

yourbff: spoilleedddddd

ynstroll: hes always taken good care of me but ever since we found out he's gone above and beyond

yourbff: i mean AS HE SHOULD!!! you are the perfect, beautiful, gorgeous woman carrying his child

ynstroll: can you believe you're going to be an auntie?

yourbff: no! but i cant wait!!!

user1: yeah your husband is rich we get it

lance_stroll: i hope you enjoyed your day my beautiful girl!

ynstroll: i had the best time!! thank you for coordinating and for getting chloe to come with me. you are so incredibly thoughtful even when you're not here

lance_stroll: its been killing me that i can't be there with you

ynstroll: i know but you are busy scoring points for us my love! plus you'll be home for a summer break soon

user2: you've got a glow about you

flavy.barla: prettiest girl in the world

ynstroll: 😭🤍

user6: a rare y/n appearance! that spa must have really hit

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, yourbff, chloestroll, estebanocon, ynstroll, scottyjames31, pierregasly, and 875,324 others

lance_stroll: slowing down for a while 💙

view all comments

f1gossip: convenient cropping

chloestroll: sunshine for my sunshines

ynstroll: and it is much needed 🤍

user1: you’re usually pretty slow mate

estebanocon: enjoy mon ami

lance_stroll: 💙

user4: y/n front and center as she should be

ynstroll: always thankful for you and summer break 🤍

lance_stroll: one day summer break will be every day

ynstroll: looking forward to it

user3: will never understand why she chose you

flavy.barla had posted to her private story

view all comments

iamrebeccad: GORGEOUS

flavy.barla: no you

ynstroll: i love youuuuu 😭🤍

flavy.barla: i love you more my wonderful best friend 🤍

lance_stroll: thanks for celebrating with us flavy😘

flavy.barla: i wouldn’t have wanted to celebrate with anyone else!! i love you both so much and can’t wait to see what wonderful parents you two make 😘

estebanocon: 🥹❤️

flavy.barla: 🤍🤍🤍🤍

chloestroll: two of the prettiest girls in the entire world

flavy.barla: merci mon ange 🤍

ynstroll has posted to their private story

[only 3 more days until we meet our baby girl!!]

view all story replies

flavy.barla: it’s actually criminal how beautiful you are

ynstroll: you’re the sweetest. i’m so thankful to have had you here with me through this all

flavy.barla: aww mon ange!! you are my best friend and i sincerely can’t imagine a world in which i wouldn’t be by your side 😭❤️

chloestroll: you’re glowing

ynstroll: i actually feel radiant but also i feel really ready to get ms girl out!!

chloestroll: i totally know the feeling. you’re almost there mama!

yourbff: MILF!!!!!!! wait who said that

ynstroll: must have been the wind!!

lance_stroll: i can’t wait to meet her!! i love her so much already my heart may explode

ynstroll: same!!! i’m so excited. i can’t wait to be her mommy and daddy 🤍

lance_stroll: you’re going to make the best mom in the whole world

ynstroll: i really hope so 😭

lance_stroll: i know so! you are the best mom to our puppy and the most caring and thoughtful person i’ve ever met. our little princess is in the best possible hands

ynstroll: i love you lance

lance_stroll: i love you more my beautiful wife

estebanocon: i’m so excited to be an uncle 🥹🤍

ynstroll: and i’m so excited for you to be an uncle!!!

iamrebeccad: carlos and i have been training for our auntie and uncle duties! house is officially baby proofed

ynstroll: no why am i actually crying my eyes out right now. you and carlos are going to be the best aunt and uncle ever! baby stroll is so so so lucky to have people like you guys in her court 🤍

lance_stroll has posted to his private story

view all story replies

yourbff: i’m screaming i can’t wait i can’t wait i can’t wait!!!! im in the car right now on my way to the hospital!!!

lance_stroll: we just got here and she’s asking for you!! hurry up !!!!

yourbff: oh my god i’ll be there in 2 minutes

chloestroll: AHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! IM OMW!!!!!!

lance_stroll: i’m freaking out please hurry

chloestroll: you’ve got this my sweet baby brother!!! it’ll be ok!! i’m pulling up now.

estebanocon: sending you both all of my love! i can’t wait to see the little princess stroll 🤍

lance_stroll: merci estie 😘

flavy.barla: best news!! praying for a safe delivery for mama and the beautiful little girl 🤍

lance_stroll: thank you flavy! i’ll keep you up to date

iamrebeccad: make sure you take care of our girls 😘

lance_stroll: i will do my best!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: i’ve actually never been more excited for something ever in my life

lance_stroll: SAME

ynstroll has made a post

liked by lance_stroll, flavy.barla, yourbff, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen1, lando, estebanocon, and 876,239 others

ynstroll: the happiest we’ve ever been. welcome to the world little girl! your mommy and daddy love you more than life itself. gracias por elegirnos [thank you for choosing us] 🩷

view all comments

yourbff: brb crying in the club

ynstroll: me too

user1: hid the whole thing that’s wild

ynstroll: it’s called protecting our peace 😘 [liked by lance_stroll, estebanocon, yourbff, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen1, lando, flavy.barla, iamrebeccad, alexandrasaintmleux and more]

lance_stroll: the strength you have shown has been nothing short of inspiring. i am so thankful to be sharing this life with you and now our little girl 🩷

ynstroll: thankful for a husband like you 🩷

user4: getting a little parasocial rn no one look at me!!! i’m so excited for you both

astonmartinf1: welcome to the team princess stroll 💚

ynstroll: gotta get her in some am gear quick

user2: another milf and dilf have entered the villa

iamrebeccad: beautiful mama

ynstroll: beautiful auntie

user12: cutest family on the grid

flavy.barla: the best parents to the best little girl 🤍

ynstroll: love you big time auntie flavy 😘

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

233 notes · View notes

smutmind · 3 days ago

Note

how MiSaMo give head to their boyfriends

Mina knelt in front of you without a word, eyes calm but locked on yours. She tucked her hair behind her ear with slow grace, the pads of her fingers brushing her cheek.

“You’re so hard already,” she murmured, eyes flicking down as she undid your zipper. “Did I do that to you?”

Her fingers hesitated for a beat, then wrapped around your cock, drawing it out like she was revealing something sacred. Her breath caught. “You’re… beautiful.”

She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip, then another, soft and slow like a pianist testing ivory keys. Her mouth parted and she took you in—hot, wet, unhurried. Her lips sealed around you as her tongue curled beneath, and she began to suck with quiet devotion.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered between strokes, her voice velvet against your skin.

When she went deeper, her eyes fluttered closed, cheeks hollowing, throat relaxing. She gagged once softly, then adjusted, never breaking her rhythm. Your cock disappeared between her lips again and again, her eyes eventually rising to meet yours.

And when you warned her, she didn’t stop. She simply sucked harder, deeper, until you pulsed against her tongue. Her lips never left you as she swallowed everything—graceful, controlled.

“Shh,” she breathed, wiping her mouth. “I wanted to.”

“You’re already this hard?” Sana grinned, kneeling between your legs as she slowly pulled your cock free. “I haven’t even touched you yet, baby~”

She wrapped her fingers around it, tilting her head. “It’s bigger than I thought… I’m excited.”

She licked a stripe up the underside, watching you twitch. “Mm, sensitive too~”

Then her mouth closed around the tip, and she moaned dramatically—half performance, half pleasure. Her tongue circled your head in wide, slow swirls before she sucked harder, sinking down with surprising skill.

Her hands gripped your thighs, nails gently digging in. “You like my mouth, don’t you?” she asked between sucks, strings of spit connecting her lips to your cock.

Every time she came up, she looked at you with wide, gleaming eyes. “Tell me when you’re close. I want to feel it.”

You did. And when you came, she stayed locked around you, swallowing with little moans and fluttering lashes. She pulled off with a wet pop, licking the corner of her lip.

“Yummy,” she whispered. “All mine.”

Momo dropped to her knees like her body moved faster than her mind. “I need this,” she said, hands already at your waistband. “Been thinking about your cock all day.”

When she saw it, her breath hitched. “Fuck, you’re thick…”

She gripped you firmly, thumb rubbing the underside as her lips hovered just over your tip. “Can I taste it?”

Then she went down hard—no hesitation. Her mouth was instantly wet, hot, sloppy. Her tongue swirled frantically, lips stretching wide as she pushed deeper. She gagged but didn’t stop, pulling back only to spit and suck again with louder, needier sounds.

“You feel so fucking good,” she moaned, bobbing faster. Her pace was rough, her rhythm hungry. She held your hips tight, pushing you into her throat over and over like a dancer keeping perfect time.

When your hands found her hair, she groaned and shoved her face deeper onto your cock. “Give it to me,” she begged, mouth full. “Right in my throat.”

You did.

She swallowed every drop with wild satisfaction, breathing hard when she pulled back, face slick.

“Holy shit,” she grinned, licking her lips. “You’re addictive.”

#asks #misamo smut #sana smut #mina smut #oral worship #momo smut

279 notes · View notes

infictionalwonderland · 2 days ago

Text

YELLOWJACKETS W/ VERY FEM READER!

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Shauna Shipman. .

- You’re all bubble, beauty and sparkle and honestly at first she found that kind of annoying. Maybe even saw you as weak—like, you’re so girly and pretty you should’ve been in cheer or something other than the soccer team (her unjustified dislike towards you was, actually, probably just internalised homophobia and hating you for giving her all of these feelings)

- However, once the plane crashes and you’re all stranded. You truly show that you’re more than just this pretty princess who really reminds her of bubbles from the Powerpuff girls (everyone else on the team already knew you were more but she never allowed herself to dwell—subconsciously trying to prevent any of the feelings from getting worse) but no. You’re amazing out there. You’re very resourceful, you’re efficient. And sure, you always do make sure your hair is all silky and brushed in the mornings: you even make fucking perfume from the flowers once yours runs out.. but these are things she’s (regrettably) coming to really, really adore about you. Fuck.

- Once you two actually get together, it’s done. She’s gone for you. Like, pathetically bad. She indulges all of your whims, no question - she’ll trek out into the wilderness in the pitch black and freezing cold if you wanted a specific flower to make a new perfume. She made you flower crowns in replacement when you lost your one bow that survived the plane crash and were upset about it. Especially later seasons Shauna: as time goes on in the wilderness, she’s get so possessive over you. Unhealthily so. She literally doesn’t care about anyone else expect you and will do anything to keep you alive and happy. Sometimes she’ll give you a bit more food than one of the other girls (cough Mari) without anyone noticing, because hey. She wants you alive. Who gives a fuck about them?

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Natalie Scatorccio. .

- She honestly thinks you’re cute as fuck, not that she would ever say that. You’re so completely her polar opposite but she actually admires that about you. Again, not that this pussy would say anything to you. She likes your vibe more than she’s comfortable with: she likes your bows and your lace and all the pretty pastels you wear like necessity. Sometimes, in quiet private movements she will never ever admit to, she imagines taking that bow out of your hair and watching the pretty locks tumble, running her hands through them. She imagines kissing off that sparkly lip gloss and having it smeared all over her own lips as well.

- The plane crash happening only solidifies that uncomfortable squirmy stomach feeling you give her. You’re so on it. Not that she thought you’d cry and bitch and let everyone else do all the work but still, seeing you. In your torn pretty pink shirt and your mudded jeans, gash on your soft cheek, stomping around the wreck and bandaging people up with whatever supplies you had—comforting people, sorting through all the luggage and making plans. Shit. She feels weirdly safe around you, which she never feels around anyone mind you. (And seeing an absolute babe of a femme taking charge isn’t something she doesn’t not enjoy)

- Regardless if you’re together or not, she doesn’t want anyone to dim your sparkle. No one says anything bad about you really—but if anyone did, she’d be there. Defending you like it’s what’s keeping her alive. Like there’s no fucking question. Your bubbly soft nature is something she lives for and she’ll do everything in her power to keep it thriving, no matter how many friendships she has to tear down to do so. You are really the only light in her life.

- When you’re dating, Natalie is definitely the more silently devoted partner type. She doesn’t make a big deal out of her love: it’s a quiet, fierce and achingly genuine thing. Private kisses and sincere compliments instead of big gestures and spectacles. She worships you and she feels for you something she’s never felt with anyone else. Giving you forehead kisses and lingering caresses before she goes off for a hunt. Staying in ‘bed’ cuddling as long as you want. Truly listening and giving you all the time you need. Braiding your hair for you. Soft, honest consideration and care.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Jackie Taylor. .

- You’re sort of like ‘rival’ personalities in school, you know? With a half hearted friendship, at least on her half. Because you’re both very popular, you both play for the soccer team, you’re both gorgeous girls with hot, equally as popular boyfriends. (Ugh fuck you’re so pretty it just annoys her). She hates staring at you—lie—because she can never bloody look away—truth. It really frustrates (read: confused ‘straight’ girl flusters) her that way she always seems to be thinking about you. Like, what? She doesn’t even like you! You’re basically her competition in the school hierarchy.. and yet, you constantly plague her mind. Weird.

- Jackie feels even more weird and probably strained towards you after the plane crash because she thought you’d be in her boat. But no—you really seem to manage. You don’t bitch or moan and you certainly don’t embrace it, but you make do. Somehow. You’re steady and smart and you plan, all while looking and sounding just as much like Fluttershy from My Little Pony as you usually do. Ugh. You take to it in a way she doesn’t and you’re still you. It upsets her, and all around aggravates her. (The smatterings of butterflies that dance around her stomach as she watches you only aggravate her more).

- Eventually, you end coming together after a blow-up. Jackie ends up having a one-sided screaming match with you; she’s just so tired, scared and frustrated with everyone and you’re just so not and you always seem to be everything that she just can’t be. So blows up. And well.. it ends differently than she thought it would: you’re kind. You talk her down with a soft voice and gentle reasoning and by the end of it, she’s in your arms and sobbing into your chest. From then on, you grow closer as she realises you’re actually.. so not what she thought. You’re the only one that makes her feel heard and sane and honestly comfortable, these days. She takes to you very quickly from there—and as your relationship progresses, you honestly soften her as a person. She’s less biting and you help her learn how to actually help out, and deal. You make her feel like her again.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Lottie Matthews. .

- Pre-crash Lottie and you are best friends!! She’s pretty feminine herself and she really, really enjoys your whole aesthetic—and just you as a person. 1000% you’re the closest friendship she’s ever had!! You share everything—makeup, clothes, books, tips on how to get yourself off!! You know, casual best friend things ha. Really, you’re best friend goals: she was even kind enough to suggest you learn how to kiss together, by practicing on one another. Sleepovers are filled with makeout sessions—but hey, you’re just practicing! (The only time it was ever really practicing was when you were both 13 and it was for the first time. You were each other’s true gay awakenings). Sometimes she’ll model for you in lingerie that she brought, pretending that she brought it with a guy in mind when really it was for you—this usually ends in aggressive making out and groping.

- Pre-crash Lottie is playfully possessive more than anything, even if you do sometimes catch the genuine clenching of her jaw, but after the crash… girl. This bitch is on you like a barnacle. She is so possessive and protective over you. Like you’re just her beautiful little princess fairy she wants to hold close and protect. Always sitting by your side around the fire, hand rubbing a bit too far up your thigh. Setting up on the cabin floor right next to you—like, I’m talking barely two inches of space. Sneaking kisses in the night when everyone else is asleep and she rolls all the way over. Obviously, she’ll never be overbearing (oh!)—she’s just incredibly devoted to your health and safety. You’re, also, the only person who makes her feel safe and thus she’s more inclined to seek your presence.

- Once the wilderness starts effecting her and she begins having her visions again.. well. She only seems to cling tighter to you, both metaphorically and literally. You’re her haven, her soft safety net in pretty pastels. You ground her in a way nothing else ever has. Just sitting in your arms, head tucked into your neck and eyes closed—allowing all thoughts of anything other to dissolve is all she needs. Muttering gentle worries and nonsensical mumbles into the sweet skin of your throat. Confiding in you. Something in her always feels right when she’s with you—like yes, this is where I should be. A sort of truth that reverberates through her weary bones. You’re right. This is right.

- Lottie who’s fully affected by the wilderness at this point is wholeheartedly convinced you are some sort of deity. She is in love with you, just as the wilderness is in love with you. If you’re officially ‘dating’—she takes it more like marriage, honestly. This is a certain forever thing to her, a fact she makes known constantly through declarations against your lips, into your hair, into your knuckles as she kisses them slowly. Savouring you. Cherishing you. She truly worships you in a way that is almost religious.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Van Palmer. .

- Openly flirting with you. Sometimes she’ll make it more jokey and mocking—like ‘cute bow princess’ with a little cheeky grin when she’s mentally picturing you with just your bow on. But other times she really will make it blatant—‘you looked so fucking pretty out there you’re lucky I actually managed to save all those goals, bubbles’. You’re either under the impression she’s messing around, in which case you flirt back and she, promptly, short circuits or you’re just flustered as shittttt because come on. Van is pretty bold—she doesn’t really hide the fact she obviously finds you attractive, despite being your ‘friend’. But there is a part of her that genuinely doesn’t believe she deserves you: sure, she’s confident but you’re you, you know? Beyond gorgeous, talented, a total sweetheart and funny to boot. Ultimately she just wants to see you happy, under all that flirting.

- You end up saving Van, when the crash happens. Hearing her screams and coming running back in—your perfect hair all strewn and mussed, blood along your arm, pretty pastel purple summer dress mudded and bloody too, racing towards her and using all your might to undo her belt and get her the fuck out. You are, simply put, her angel. Van couldn’t give a shit less if anyone thinks she’s being dramatic about that—and she’s dead serious: you weren’t really far off from being an angel to her anyway, but this? This just solidified it. From that point on, she feels closer to you. More than she ever has with anyone ever, really. Making a point to accompany you… everywhere. You need a piss? She’ll escort you and find the prettiest bush she can. You’re going down to the lake? Funny! So was she.

- Her angel. Her pretty fucking angel. Is even bolder and more open with her intentions now, but with an extra aching softness. She really is the gay stereotype of a yearner. You mean more than you will ever known to her, and she can’t tell you enough how it really is not just your looks. It’s your everything—the way you make her feel so light and alive. So free and content in a way she’s never felt before. So full of love and genuine joy: she doesn’t have to fake anything with you or for you. She can just be.

- Van was already practically crawling on her knees after you with the most obnoxious heart eyes before you were together but you when you actually get together? It’s seriously ridiculous times tenfold. The littlest touches from you make her shiver. Her pupils dilate just admiring a strand of your hair. Her whole goal for her days is to make you giggle and smile. And now she can openly show affection? She literally will not stop. Picking you up around your waist and spinning you randomly until you’re in fits of laughter. A hand always on your back or in your hair. Cuddled so closely you’re basically one, her head nuzzled into your chest, warm content breaths against your skin—no place she’d rather be. She’s anything you want her to be: your bodyguard, your puppet. She’s so gone she even lets you test out the ‘makeup’ you’d tried to make from berries, etc, on her—just leans into your touch on her cheek and closes her eyes with a dopey grin. Whipped.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Taissa Turner. .

- Tai is more in Shauna’s boat. Without knowing you, she judges you. Sees the delicate sparkly jewellery, the shiny hair, the perfectly done makeup, smells the warm perfume that makes her stomach tingle and thinks superficial. Your bright smiles and your genuine giggles make her a mix of secretly flustered and slightly annoyed—come on, there is no way you can be that much of a sweetheart. Ever skeptical, she thinks you’re just.. fake, really. However. At one practice, in which Tai ends up getting injured—nothing serious at all, but even slight mistakes embarrass and frustrate her like no other. She played it off and you were the only one to notice—you didn’t make a big deal out of it, you simply flounced over looking all perfect, discreetly handed her a bandage and her water bottle, asking a quiet sincere ‘are you okay?’. She thought differently of you from that day. Not noticeably. Not really. But to her it was noticeable. Her eyes lingered on you, and sometimes when you sprayed your perfume near her—she breathed in a little deeper, wanting to catch it. Seeing your smiles and knowing you mean them makes her heart beat with emotions she’d rather not name.

- When the crash happens, Tai panics. In a way that both surprises her and doesn’t, pumped on adrenaline and gut wrenching fear. Where are you? That is what’s racing through her head. When she finds you—soft locks of hair fallen from your bun, baby blue dress half torn and bleeding from your leg, looking so devastatingly perfect and alive—she hugs you. Engulfs you, really, would be the right term—in a flurry of emotion and limbs, launches herself at you. From then on, she knows in herself what she feels for you. Every day after—she keeps her eye on you, discreetly (mostly). Making sure you’re there, breathing. It’s all she needs at the moment, all she feels is really getting her through. Speaking with you, hearing your voice, laughing with you—quietly catering to you, it becomes her escape. The only times she feels normal. Feels happy.

- It’s very noticeable to the others that Tai is much softer to you than she is with them. Her face always does this little melting thing subconsciously when she looks at you—I mean, she lets you dress her up for fun, Christ sake! They never would’ve expected Tai of all people to fall for your bubblegum sweetened feminine self, but alas. You’re her weakness. She’s headstrong, stubborn—but you make her.. ease, a bit. You relax her enough for reason. Gentle hands running over her skin as you mumble into her ear softly, calming her. You’re a miracle worker.

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